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stusbunker · 1 year

Text

Smoking Spirits on the Roof

Thank you to @michaelsworddean for the throwback Misha pic and @talesmaniac89 for the divider

Featuring: Dean/Cas

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.5k

Other characters: Sam, Anna, Gabriel, Bobby/Rufus, brief mention of past Dean/Cassie, Michael, Chuck, Naomi, Samandriel, Garth, Benny, Gordon and Sam/Jess at the end.

Summary: When Dean shows up to a Halloween party, he isn’t expecting his entire world to change. But that’s what happens when he drunkenly makes out with the mysterious Castiel, a brother of a friend of a friend. Follow Dean as he navigates Cas’ world and works to be the boyfriend Cas deserves.

Song fic, inspired by Tyler Childers’ Feathered Indians

Warnings, etc.: Drunken hook up, handjobs, driving under the influence and then not, Sam’s a lightweight, RELIGIOUS families and the way some of them are shitty, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, being closeted, hidden relationship, fellatio, first times, drug use, unsafe sex, HEA, seriously it’s actually pretty fluffy.

Big thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield for her support, edits, and pre-reads.

Well my buckle makes impressions

On the inside of her thigh

There are little feathered Indians

Where we tussled through the night

If anyone asked him, Dean just said it was what he had available. But if you really knew Dean, you’d know that the costume he wore that night was born from a deep seeded interest— some may call a fetish— in cowboy culture, films and legend.

He tips his hat as he walks into the kitchen of Benny’s upper, Garth in aviators follows with Sam in overalls behind him. Sam was lucky he was so huge otherwise Dean wouldn’t risk bringing a high schooler to his friends’ party. And as his big brother, he made sure Sam knew it before they headed out that night.

Benny’s roommate Gordon is manning the keg, decked out in full ninja gear with foam swords that cross his back. His dark eyes smile when he sees Dean, and they fist bump in greeting before passing plastic cups to Garth and Sam.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Gordon calls over the ruckus, keeping the drink line moving.

Dean shrugs and replies, loudly. “Didn’t really have any other plans, figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“Well, you know where the big man will be.”

Dean nods, then thumbs towards the back porch. “Andrea bring any friends?”

Gordon smirks, and Dean feels it behind the mask. “Yeah, she’s got a whole Greek Chorus out there.”

Dean hedges his chances and brings his entourage outside to mingle. The deck is almost at maximum capacity. And Dean sees what Gordon meant, there are three or four girls and a couple of guys all in togas, hanging around Benny and Andrea with their spray-painted leaf crowns. There are the customary sexy nurses and cats and a few guys too unoriginal to be anything but some kind of athlete with their favorite jersey thrown on for the night.

“Hail to the King!” Dean jeers, swaggering over to Benny for a jovial handshake and a side hug for Benny’s long-time girlfriend. “And her majesty, looking gorgeous as ever.”

“Eyes front, John Wayne,” Benny drawls. “This Sammy?”

Sam waves awkwardly and Garth finger guns. “Hey, Andrea, who are your friends?”

Dean rolls his eyes but lets Garth get the introductions.

“Meg and Anna are my sorority sisters, and this is Anna’s real brother Castiel and their cousin Gabriel. And Bela and Billie are up for the weekend, we grew up together.”

Everyone smiles or at least nods at the acknowledgment of their names. Then Garth is off, “well I’m your Top Gun Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth, with my two compatriots, Dastardly Dean Winchester and his hayseed of a brother Samuel.”

“Sam is fine,” Sammy points out, ducking his head nervously.

Dean just tips his hat again.

He catches a few eyes, but the unshakeable stare of the taller guy makes Dean swallow around whatever follow-up quip he’d been working on after Garth’s eagerness. And from that two hours, four shots, and three beers later, Dean is wrapped around the guy in the kitchen pantry, sloppy and silly, making out like they’re on a timer.

Seven minutes in heaven indeed.

The guy, Castiel, is strong, and solid. He shoves Dean back against the door and bites Dean’s bottom lip before slotting their legs together to get some frictional relief. Dean’s both grateful and frustrated with the jeans of his costume. Cas, Dean decides to shorten it now, in the toga is practically free for the groping, but Dean’s been keeping his hands on his hips until he’s given more verbal permission.

Sometimes kissing is enough. Sometimes, it’s hard to stop once you get started.

Sometimes Dean's a chicken shit.

He lost his hat somewhere on the floor, but he's still got his boots on and that oversized belt buckle he's saved for just an opportunity like this to present itself. And it's his belt buckle that snags on the rope tie of Cas' toga.

Cas pulls away with an annoyed grunt, tucking and twisting and gathering the flowing fabric until it’s bunched around his waist and Dean thinks he sees the hem of some white boxers in the shadows of the closet. And then he looks at Dean and tilts his head, jaw hitched and eyes imploring. “Have you ever heard that song about saving a horse?”

And then, some minutes later, Dean’s on his back, and there’s a dress's worth of sheet fanning out from either side of him as Cas writhes against him, both still fully clothed, but hard as steel as they gasp against each other’s mouths.

“I, uh, don’t usually listen to any modern country—- but I think I found a new appreciation for that song,” Dean gushes in between kisses. Dizzy and drunk on this stranger above him.

Castiel chuckles and grinds deeper. Dean sees spots and just as he realizes he’s going home with spunky shorts, there’s a bang on the door.

“Dean-o! Your brother’s puking his guts out!”

“Fuck off!” Dean hollers back before Benny finishes talking. “Christ,” he mutters under his breath, letting his head drop back onto the floor. He runs his hands up and down Cas’ thighs, feeling his retreating erection make room between them.

“Do you need to go?” Cas asks, voice low and forgiving.

Dean peers out of one eye. “Need to? No. But I’m gonna, just wanna—”

Dean finds Cas beneath all those layers, hot and heavy and somehow still hard. Cas groans at the rough tug of Dean’s hand, but he leans forwards and kisses Dean filthy as he lets this midnight cowboy get him off. At least the train makes for easy concealment and clean-up, for Cas, Dean thinks.

Begrudgingly, Dean stands to sort himself out before going to find Sam. He untucks his plaid button-up and tries to hide the dark patch on his pants. Cas hands him his hat. Dean smiles shyly and ducks into it.

“Hey, uh, think I can get your number? That was some ride,” Dean asks.

“Maybe. Go check on your brother and then find me before you go,” Cas says thoughtfully. But Dean starts to get nervous that this was all it was ever gonna be.

And then Benny’s pounding again.

It takes damn near twenty minutes to get Sam vertical and cleaned up, but with Garth’s sober, wiry strength, they get him into the backseat of the Impala. Dean dusts off his hands and looks at his friend. “Thanks, but give me like five minutes, and we can head out.”

“What?! Dean! He’s a little green in the gills to be beating around the bush,” Garth objects.

“I know, just— five minutes. Please?” Dean clamps his hand on Garth’s shoulder and begs with his eyes.

Garth agrees begrudgingly, “clock’s a’ticking.”

Dean rushes back into the house, but can’t find any sign of Cas. He spots a couple of other members of the toga crew, but none of them have the build of a centurion. He checks the den, the kitchen, even the bathroom, and then, finally, he resigns himself to being a drunken hookup.

He waves goodbye to Benny and Gordon who are in an epic battle against Bela and Andrea for the beer pong championship and mopes down the front steps.

To stop dead in his tracks.

Cas—Castiel is talking to Garth, who is apparently reassuring him that Sam is gonna be fine.

“--- won’t mind at all, in fact, it’s on the way to my place anyway.” Then the string bean notices Dean’s return. “What do you say, Dean, can we give Mr. Milton here a lift home?”

Dean straightens up and smiles, feeling ready and willing to do whatever Cas needs. “Everything alright?”

Cas clenches his fists at his sides and looks back at the house. “Uh, my sister, it appears she and Gabriel left some time ago. If it’s not too much trouble, I don’t live far.”

Dean understands his apprehension. He’s not about to draw this out in front of Garth, and least of all a shitfaced Sam. “Sure thing, man. Take shotgun, Garth can be on Sam watch for the first leg.”

Cas lives about a half mile off campus in a two-story bungalow with a well-maintained yard and three rusty cars in the driveway. No wonder he didn’t drive himself, Dean thinks.

Instead of asking for his number again, Dean gives Cas his, scratched out on the back of a gas station receipt. “Just text me to let me know you got in okay.”

It’s overkill. Everyone knows it. But no one mentions it.

Cas accepts the piece of paper and nods at Dean, never breaking eye contact. And suddenly Garth is ready to swap places with Dean for the drive to Garth’s apartment. The moment is broken, Cas lets his fingers brush against Dean’s as he tugs on the receipt, but nothing more is said.

He goes in through the side door, and the Impala backs out onto the quiet street.

If I'd known she was religious

Then I wouldn't have came stoned

To the house of such an angel

Too fucked up to get back home

Cas doesn’t text Dean until the following afternoon.

>>> I got in okay.

<<< I figured

<<<Must have been some lock

<<< glad to hear it

<<<hows it going otherwise?

They start casually talking, getting to know one another instead of just each other’s mouths and bodies. Cas is in his third year, studying ancient history with a focus on the Mediterranean. He seems very impressed with Dean being an engineering student, which isn’t the first time he’s heard it, but it still feels good.

Dean’s done with his last class with an entire day left before Thanksgiving break, so he and Benny are getting stoned and watching slasher fics. The bloodier, the better, they agreed. They’re about to start the last movie of the first trilogy when Andrea bursts in, in tears. Something about her stepmom or some family drama. Benny gives Dean a regretful look, but Dean knows when to make himself scarce. He stands to go and realizes he cannot drive. Everything is light and fluffy, and his tongue works over his teeth to give it something to do.

Dean decides to go for a walk. The fall air is crisp, and he knows the neighborhood well enough, even high as balls in the darkness of the late afternoon. He makes the brilliant decision to text Cas, to see if he’s free. Dean’s been trying not to get too attached to the stoic history major. But he can’t deny he wants to see him again and is curious to see what he only drunkenly felt on Halloween.

There are two major streets that lead into campus, and each has a minor grid of residential streets that break off in either direction, to the east it ends with the lake, to the west it ends with the river, and more pointedly, the start of the freeway. Dean heads to the west and the rows of older homes which have all slowly been turned into rental properties for the upperclassmen. The streets are full of students rushing off campus, but once Dean reaches the turn-off to Cas’ place, the chaos of the campus has quieted to normal neighborhood noises.

It’s peaceful, Dean thinks. Nothing like the crappy trailers he and Sam have been in and out of since their house burned down. Not too shabby for university housing, all in all. Cas had replied a simple ‘not much’ for his plans for the night, so Dean takes the risk. Worst case scenario, the guy isn’t even home.

So, when an acne-covered kid, who couldn’t be over fourteen, answers the door, Dean is concerned. Then the kid goes and yells at the top of his lungs, “Castiel, you have a guest!” Like they’re suddenly in some sort of Victorian novel.

Then it all clicks, this isn’t some rental, this is the house Cas lives in, with his entire family. And there are a lot of them, besides pimple face, there’s Anna and some blonde guy watching television in the den just off the foyer. Cas comes down the wide wooden staircase with a pencil behind his ear and his eyebrows pitched in alarm, pink lips pinched tight.

Dean tries to smile and wave, but he is interrupted by a short guy with curly gray hair and piercing blue eyes, lighter and more ominous than Cas’.

“Are you a friend of Castiel’s from school?”

Dean swallows because he hasn’t been asked a question like that since he hit double digits. He looks to Cas and back to his dad and holds out his hand.

“Uh, hi, I’m Dean. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d say by— swing hi.”

“Dean—,” Cas warns softly, hand clutching the ornate railing.

“I’m Chuck, but you can call me Mr. Shurley. I’m Castiel’s dad.” The guys got a grip on him, and very soft hands. Dean nods and shakes for longer than is probably necessary, but better to be safe than sorry.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise,” Chuck smiles and pulls his hand back, finally.

“I didn’t realize you were already done with classes,” Castiel tilts his head, probably trying to remain civil, but Dean feels himself be weighed and measured in his gaze. Damnit, he knows Dean’s stoned.

Does his dad know though?

Dean shrugs. “I got lucky this semester, only got Tuesday/Thursday classes.”

“Castiel?” His dad interrupts. “Why don’t you see if your friend would like to join us for dinner?”

Food sounds amazing and Dean kind of likes all the politeness. “Yeah, Cas, can I stay for dinner?”

Cas looks to the ceiling and then at the couch, glaring over a fleeting giggle from Anna. “I’ll go set another place for him,” he grumbles, sulking through the den and into a door that must lead to the kitchen. Or maybe the dining room, old houses like this would have one of those, Dean thinks.

“Come on in, Dean,” Chuck holds the door wide, and Dean steps inside and takes off his leather jacket. He sets it on a well-stocked coat rack just inside the door, there aren’t any shoes in the foyer, so Dean keeps his boots on.

He doesn’t think he’d be able to unlace them in front of an audience, not at the moment anyway.

“Something tells me you know, Anna as well–”

Dean smirks. “Guilty.”

“And that’s Michael, our oldest.”

“How’s it going?” Dean nods to the guy, who looks to be damn near thirty.

“Sup?” Michael barely glances in Dean’s direction.

“Hey, Dean. How’s your brother?” Anna asks, turning from the t.v. to give their guest her full attention.

“Sammy’s fine, just a little low on the tolerance level, but I think he learned his lesson.” Dean tries to cover all his bases, not sure how well received underaged drinking would be by Cas’ family.

Chuck sighs awkwardly. Dean turns to look at him, and he almost elbows the kid that answered the door in the face. Where the hell was the twirp this whole time?!

“Samandriel, did you finish your homework?”

“Not yet, but I will after dinner. I swear!” The kid’s voice cracks, and Dean feels for him.

He shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and tries not to make his presence too obvious. Though he’s probably the biggest person in the house unless there are more brothers somewhere. Dean glances around the room and sees a row of school pictures spanning an entire wall. One, two, four, shit there’s six of them!

And Anna’s the only girl.

“Guilty,” she shoots his answer back at his thinking out loud. “Did Castiel know you were coming?”

Dean spins his head and bats his lashes at her, trying to remember the question. “No— nope. I, uh, kinda just assumed.”

“Well, you’re in it now. I hope you like spaghetti because she always makes too much as it is,” Anna says.

Dean’s stomach growls. Even Michael laughs.

Luckily Chuck wanders away at some point, so Dean is able to relax a little. But then Cas is back, and Dean has to remember not to openly flirt with the oh-so-handsome grump.

“So how blazed are you right now?” Cas murmurs as they let his siblings lead the way to the table.

Dean squints and pouts his lips, contemplating. “About half as much as when I got here. I’ll be fine!”

Cas cocks an eyebrow, but Dean must be adorable like this or something because Cas throws him a bone. “My mother’s name is Naomi, call her Ms. Milton if you want to get in her good graces.”

Dean whispers, “I thought your dad’s name was Shurley.”

Cas licks his lips and grins. “It is, she didn’t take it.”

“Ah!” Dean gets it, and Cas nods him towards the dining room door.

The dining room is lined in dark wood, but is well-lit. The parents take the seats at either end of the table while the mostly grown children all find spots along the sides. No one mentions the empty seat between Anna and Michael or from whom Dean’s borrowing his chair. He chooses the seat on the end near Cas’ mom, she looks nice, and he hasn’t gotten to charm a mom since he helped Benny and Gordon move in August.

“It smells amazing, Ms. Milton. Thanks for having me,” Dean beams as he pulls in his chair.

The woman’s bright eyes sparkle with amusement. “So you’re our surprise guest. Mr?---”

“Winchester, ma’am. Dean Winchester. I go to school with Cas and Anna,” Dean explains as Cas fills his water glass. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s nice to see that Castiel is being social, he tends to get so involved in his studies that he—,” Naomi starts.

“Mom!” Anna cuts in, eyes Cas and Dean, and then bobs her head to show that line of conversation is a little awkward. “Dean, what’s your major again?”

“Mechanical Engineering, though it was a tough call, I almost went civil, but I figured the small problems are more my specialty. I love figuring out how to make things work and work better.”

“It’s nice to see someone passionate about their field,” Chuck adds, after which Dean catches a glare between Michael and Salamander. Chuck clears his throat and holds up his hands for his children on each side to hold. “Bow your heads.”

Dean takes Cas’ hand in his left and Naomi’s hand in his right, the size difference between their two hands is mesmerizing, and Dean forgets to listen to the prayer of gratitude. He risks rubbing his thumb against Cas’ while it’s out of sight.

Cas has good hands.

Suddenly there is a very abrupt chorus of “amen,” and Dean catches up a beat too late. But at least he can open his eyes again. Anna smirks at him, and Cas does his best to avoid making eye contact as they eat. Other than Dean eating two full plates worth, his presence becomes less of a novelty as the meal progresses.

He volunteers to do the dishes because that’s how he was raised.

Awkwardly enough, it is also Michael’s turn. So Dean dries as Michael washes. The weed is almost completely out of his system, but a thick food coma has settled in its place. Michael isn’t terribly chatty, but Dean gets the impression that he is not impressed with Dean at all.

Dean’s spinning the cullender as he wipes it dry. He wonders what Cas is doing since his dad insisted that Dean was fine on his own. Either way, there are worse ways to spend a night off.

“So, you go to State too or—?” Dean tries to make conversation.

Michael chuckles and shakes his head.

“No, I work with our dad printing his magazine. I set us up online, and now I kind of do whatever comes up,”

“Family business, huh? I get that. What’s the magazine? Anything I would have come across?”

Michael looks at Dean in mild amusement. “I doubt it.”

Dean counters, “try me.” He takes the last pot from the drip tray.

“Christian Home & Family Quarterly,” Michael deadpans and flicks the water off his hands towards the sink before wiping them off on the front of his jeans.

Dean concedes with a little bounce of his head. “Yeah, can’t say that I have seen that one.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the church-going type. No offense.”

Dean just raises his eyebrows, because he’s not about to get into an argument with this guy in his own kitchen. But also, what the fuck?!

Michael grins and slaps Dean on the back. “Thanks for the assist. I’ll go tell Castiel he gets to have his playdate before it’s time for bed.”

Dean mutters silently behind Michael’s back. “Playdate my ass.”

He drains the sink and wipes down the counters, unsure if Cas is going to come to find him or if Dean is going to have to wander back to the living room for a prayer circle.

He wouldn’t be surprised either way.

“You’re still here,” Cas says briskly. Dean can’t decide if that’s shock or annoyance in his eyes.

Dean goes for broke and smirks. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I’m sorry— when you texted— I had no idea you were nearby. Or—”

“High as a kite? Yeah, man, no problem, I didn’t realize this was your folks’ place. This is all on me. On a scale of one to never, how likely will I be welcomed back?”

Castiel tilts his chin down. “Do you want to come back? We usually weird people out well before they make it to the dinner table.”

“Uh, well,” Dean stutters and scratches the back of his head. “I don’t mind the family time. I was just hoping to maybe hang out with you some more. But, uh, I’m guessing they don’t know about—.”

Cas sighs and looks behind him to see that the kitchen door is still closed. “No, they don’t. They think I’m an innocent, socially inept, straight guy who is so busy with school he isn’t ready to find a wife and settle down.”

“What about Michael?” Dean asks because that’s the first counterpoint to Cas’ parents' thought process his brain supplies.

“What about Michael?” Cas leans against the sink, holding his opposite elbow.

“Why isn’t he married and having a soccer team of his own?”

Cas frowns, but mostly in the brow. “He’s got impossible standards. And a bit of a temper, if I’m being honest. But who am I to judge?”

Dean tugs Cas’ hand away from his middle, stepping into his space and whispering, “Cas, if me hanging around could get you in trouble, I won’t do it. But if you still want to get to know one another better, I’ll be on my best behavior. Honest.”

Cas bites his lips and looks at their fingers looped together. “I don’t have many friends. I can’t trust a lot of people with who I am, Dean. All I can do is work my ass off to graduate on time and find a doctoral program or a teaching job somewhere my parents and their church can’t repress me.”

“Well, I gotta admit I was hoping for more than friendship showing up here tonight. But if that’s what you need, Cas— I can be your friend,” Dean tries to swallow down the disappointment. It’s not a rejection, but the aches are related.

Cas looks firmly into Dean’s eyes. “I can only be friends here, Dean. Anywhere else, in private—”

Dean nods, biting his bottom lip as he tries not to stare at Cas’ mouth. Oh, to feel those lips on his again. He clears his throat and straightens up.

“Alright, buddy, you got it. So— you think you can give me a lift to my car?”

Lookin' over West Virginia

Smoking Spirits on the roof

She asked ain't anybody told ya

That them things are bad for you

I said many folks have warned me

There's been several people try

But up 'til now, there ain't been nothing

That I couldn't leave behind

It was one of those in-between weeks, where the panic of finals sneaks up after Thanksgiving. Meanwhile, everyone is rushing to get ready to head back to wherever they’re actually from. Except for Dean, of course, ever the townie.

He inhales a long drag off his cigarette and looks out over the campus. It’s late, even for night classes. The walkways are lit up like a Christmas tree but in Hannukah’s colors of white and safety blue. He’s got a good ten minutes before his supervisor comes looking for him, so Dean spends the last minutes of fresh air sucking down chemicals. It still beats the fake lemon tinge of the floor wax.

He’s got two more floors worth of hallways ahead of him, and then the main floor’s bathrooms. Dean sighs and watches the smoke drift over the edge of the roof and into the night. He’s grateful for the job, especially since campus jobs are required to work around his class schedule. It’s just the second shift that kills most of his chances at socializing. And stops him from keeping closer tabs on Sam during the school week.

Which might be for the best, for both of them, these days.

Dean knows he’s not their dad, but Sam could really stand to listen every now and again. Kid’s smart, of course he is, but Dean doesn’t want him bullshitting his junior year and losing his chance at scholarships.

Fuck— this isn’t the time to start worrying about this shit. Dean takes the last pull and holds the smoke in his lungs, letting it simmer. He exhales, scrapes the cherry off the end, and tosses the butt into the abyss between buildings. Sammy’d glare at him for littering, but when it’s his crew that’ll be pulling it out of the bushes someday, Dean can’t feel too guilty about it.

He feels his phone vibrate against his thigh once he’s back inside and he takes the chance to check his messages.

Cas

>>>Kinda a nasty habit

Dean instinctively looks over his shoulder, and back into the blinding fluorescence of the physical science building hall. He’s alone. Before he can reply to Cas being a creepy fucker, he gets another message.

>>>I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s not very good for you.

Well, at least he knows what he’s getting reprimanded for.

<<<Yeah, but I look hot doing it

<<< call it a wash

>>>I doubt your lungs would agree.

Dean checks the hall one last time and walks to the stairwell behind the elevators, mostly meant for staff use.

<<<Why are you still at school?

<<<Don’t you usually turn into a pumpkin about this time?

He shoves his phone back into his pocket as he marches down to the fourth floor to pick up where he left off. He doesn’t feel a reply until he’s got the scrubber lined up and crawling along. It’s tomorrow before Dean can reply, but he goes to sleep rereading Cas’ last message.

>>>Working in the library. God has not been so gracious as to turn me into a gourd to save me from the FOUR papers I have this semester.

>>>Don’t work too hard. Or give yourself cancer.

It’s weird to have somebody besides Sam giving him grief about his health. It almost feels like enough of a nudge to actually listen.

From the circles it has raced

Well my heart is sweating bullets

Like a little feathered Indian

Callin' out the clouds for rain

Dean steps through the old wooden doors and does not immediately burst into flames. Sam’s behind him, and Bobby’s behind him. They make their way to one of the back pews, guided by candlelight alone. It’s Christmas Eve, and Dean decided they were going to church for the first time since John’s funeral.

Amazingly, neither Sam nor Bobby questioned it.

Dean sits down and tries not to get caught searching the congregation for a specific head of dark hair. Bobby even takes off his hat and reads over the single-sheet program. The shadows cast by the flames turn the room into something otherworldly, both ancient and echoing. An unmistakable strum of an acoustic guitar breaks through the murmuring of the settling crowd. Then Cas’ little brother sings the first verse of Silent Night to start the service.

Dean doesn’t have anything against God. Besides the usual orphan’s complaints, he supposes. He just doesn’t feel like he has anything to prove to the guy either. As far as he’s concerned, if God minds his own business, Dean will too. But there are those people who look at him funny, like they can see the gutter he dragged him and Sam out of and blame him for it. Like it really matters if he’s poor, or fucks around, or parties.

Life’s too short not to enjoy it.

And until God gives him a personal guarantee either way, he’s not changing.

Those people are just too uptight to see the things Dean enjoys as blessings, not temptations. Sam’s more of an everything-in-moderation type, but that even seems restrictive to Dean. And as long as they're safe and happy—

An older man stands at the front of the church and begins reading from Luke. The guy has a nasally voice, and it grates against Dean’s ears, but he soon passes the story on to Anna, who is wearing a simple black velvet dress with her hair pulled back.

They pause in the reading to lead the congregation in a verse of O’ Little Town of Bethlehem. Then Dean sees Cas for the first time. Not singing, but approaching the front of the church from the side aisle. He takes the Bible from Anna and stands with dazed patience as the melody trails off. Dean wipes his palms on his thighs as he mumbles the words he thinks are right, swallowing when Cas starts to read.

His voice is so much better to listen to than creepy guy’s.

It’s then that Sam catches up. Dean doesn’t look directly at him, but he FEELS the bitch face he’s getting across the side of his face and down the suddenly tight collar of his dress shirt. It’s uncalled for is what it is, it’s Christmas! Can’t a guy pick a church to go to without an ulterior motive?

Dean hates that he knows what Sam is going to say already and that he’s probably right. What Sam doesn’t know is that Dean is doing this to get in good with Cas’ family, not just get into Cas’ pants again. But he couldn’t exactly explain that without spilling all of Cas’ secrets, either.

Dean ignores Sam but misses the end of Cas’ reading. There are a few more songs and more scripture. They close with their heads bowed in prayer, and a simple chime from the organ sends them off, to proceed reflectively and silently into the dark night.

Their very conveniently placed seats for arrival suddenly are not so helpful as the people fill the aisles and bottleneck at the exits, either for donning their hats and coats, which Dean and company hadn’t bothered hanging up, or for socializing in whispers. Dean feels suddenly scrutinized as boomer after boomer eye him and Sam as fresh meat. He smiles and nods placatingly until he catches Michael’s raised eyebrow.

Dean is trapped. What was he even thinking— now he is actually going to have to interact with Cas’ family. And not the nice ones.

Michael lunges forward and grabs Dean’s hand in a tight shake, but takes care to murmur his greeting. “Dean, my man. Glad to see you.”

Dean squeezes his hand back. “Hey Mikey, this here, uh, is my little brother Sam and my Uncle Bobby.”

“Fellas,” Michael nods in turn. When Cas approaches and eyes the space between Michael and Dean suspiciously, Michael smirks. “Caught me fraternizing, huh, Castiel?”

Cas just rolls his eyes before nodding at Dean, his jaw is locked tight.

They share a glance as the crowd crawls out the back of the sanctuary, but nothing close to the reunion Dean was hoping for after weeks apart. He waits for the Milton-Shurleys to pass and then he follows them outside, completely unaware if Sam and Bobby are following or if they left him to fend for himself.

Dean keeps his head down, though his heart is in his throat and his stomach is in knots. He came to see Cas and seeing him just makes Dean miss him more. Once outside, he hunches his shoulders against the cold, stepping carefully down the stone stairs. The parking lot is packed with people mingling, despite the late hour and the weather. There’s a row of people waiting to be picked up along the small walkway.

Dean blows on his bare hands, rubs them together, and looks around, trying to find Sam or Bobby in the crowd. It’s like he’s been transported to an old movie or a Christmas card. Silver Bells’ lyrics run through his head as the snow gently falls on the retreating churchgoers. A throat clears behind him, and he spins, expecting Bobby.

It’s Cas.

With apologetic bright eyes, he smiles secretly at Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

This was all worth it, dragging Sam along, singing carols, and the awkward exchange with Michael. Because Cas is looking at him like he’s a gift and Dean has to swallow and remember to breathe all at once.

“Heya, Cas. Merry Christmas.” His cheeks prickle, but he can’t get any redder, from cold or blood.

Cas’ face softens further. “It is, isn’t it?”

They hold each other’s gaze, ignoring the dwindling crowd and even the rumble of the Impala’s engine as it pulls up beside them on the curb. Cas’ family is climbing into a beat-up van that’s parked in a loading zone. But neither of them really registers any of it. Because even in the darkness, Dean’s green locks on to Cas’ blue and holds tight, like spring leaves reaching towards an afternoon sky.

“Thank you for—”

“I should probably-”

A nervous beat breaks the stalemate and forces them to look away. And all the world rushes back around them. Dean shifts and holds up a finger to signal Sam to button it up before he starts heckling.

“‘S good to see you, man. Take it easy.”

Cas reaches out and grips the meat of Dean’s bicep and nods. “Merry Christmas.”

Dean wants to kiss him so damn bad. Instead, he licks his lips and does them both a favor by stepping back and breaking the contact. He waves at Anna as she approaches, folded in her puffer coat, big eyes full of concern. Impossibly, he walks away.

Dean doesn’t look back as he crawls into the backseat. Bobby’s got the keys, and there’s no way Sam would forfeit shotgun now. It’s almost two before Dean’s in bed, looking forward to a long weekend of good food and sleeping in. Exhaustion can’t stop him from checking his phone one last time.

It’s not in vain.

Cas

>>>How would you feel about getting coffee soon?

<<<Free now

<<<just saying

>>> *grinning emoji* Very funny.

>>> Monday?

<<<Monday! bright n early

>>>Until then. * kissy emoji*

Dean blushes and cringes in equal measure as he types a simple “x” and darkens his screen. Suddenly he’s very much awake.

I'd go runnin' through the thicket

I'd go careless through the thorns

Just to hold her for a minute

Though it'd leave me wanting more

Coffee gets crashed by Cas’ cousin Gabriel, and though he’s annoying and nosey, he seems to be someone Cas can trust. Then Cas has to drive Michael and their father to the airport the next time they try to schedule something.

Dean’s getting desperate, but he tries not to let his disappointment show. To top off all of their scheduling conflicts, Cas is taking a winterim course, three credits of work, and knowledge packed into three weeks’ time. Dean is worried he’s coming on too strong, pushing Cas away with his neediness.

<<<If it doesnt snow maybe we can get lunch on campus tmrw

It takes nearly an hour for Cas to reply. Dean does not have a cigarette as he waits, impatiently. He has to stop himself from deleting the text or double texting three different times. Why is he like this?

>>>I’d love to. Subs or burgers?

<<< Burgers!

<<< The redder the meat the better

>>>Agreed!

Dean huffs out a chuckle at Cas’ earnestness.

<<<Meet you outside your class?

>>>Sounds good. See you at 12:45

It snows. From sun up until just before noon. Which means Dean has to work, clearing the sidewalks with one of the plow-fitted ride-on lawnmowers. During breaks, he fills in on the grounds crew to make up for the hours he loses with fewer custodial shifts available. The school’s recruiting brochure brags about the five miles of walking paths on a scenic, green, urban campus. Dean curses every inch of those five miles as he speeds to make it in time to at least tell Cas in person why he has to miss lunch.

He pushes the engine as hard as he can while taking the time to carefully plow the way from the parking lot to each building. He forgot his headphones and his phone’s tinny speakers do little against the open air, but Dean bobs his head and sings along, trying to keep up some momentum. And fight his growing anxiety.

The Humanities’ buildings all back up against a small pond and Dean gets to those paths as his phone reaches a glaring 11% battery life. He shuts off his tunes and keeps pressing forward, only thirty minutes or so to get done.

He’s gonna make it. He has to. Even if he only gets a thirty-minute break and getting back to the Union will take ten of it, he’s going to get to see Cas. One-on-one, finally.

Dean plows and backs up and plows some more. He clears the loop around the pond and kills the engine just outside the nearest side entrance to the History building. It’s 12:48 and Dean is swiping his staff badge to get inside quicker. He stomps his boots clean before charging up the steps to the second floor and nearly runs smack into Cas as he turns toward the discussion rooms. Cas apologizes without looking up at first, clearly irritated.

Dean grabs him by the upper arm and makes Cas see him, however late. Dean made it. He’s sweaty, and his nose is freezing, but Dean beams as Cas’ eyes take him in.

“Hey, sorry, I—”

“Yeah, I just made it. Sorry, I’m on the clock.”

Cas squints and closes his distractingly chapped lips. “I see.”

“Got time for a quick lunch, if you’re still game?” Dean cocks his head down to the stairs and holds his breath.

“It’d be a bit brief for a first date, don’t you think?” Cas asks, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder.

Dean licks his lips because he knows he’s got to salvage this. “This is just the pre-date. The real date will be longer— better.” He sighs and steps closer. “Maybe we can hash out the details over lunch?”

Dean ducks to meet Cas’ reluctant gaze, giving his best hopeful eyes. Castiel looks at Dean and sighs with his whole being.

“Okay, burgers?”

Dean slaps him on the shoulder and holds on. “Burgers!”

They ride to the Union on the lawn mower with the plow raised for safety, Dean speeding on the nearly abandoned pavement, and Cas holding on to the back, grinning like a fool.

Hold me close my dear

Sing your whispering song

Softly in my ear

And I will sing along

They've managed a handful of stolen moments since. And now, Cas is over at his place, attempting to watch football while not overtly flirting in front of Sam.

Their first date was indeed longer, but finding time and location that had both access and anonymity was difficult. The Italian food left much to be desired, though Dean couldn't ask for better company. Miraculously, Cas asked him out for a second date, and the movie wasn't bad.

Sam is not buying it. "You guys know you don't have to babysit me, right?"

Dean looks at Sam and silently begs him to not be a bitch. "What are you talking about? I wanna watch the game."

Sam cocks his head. "Who’s playing, Dean?"

Dean looks at the TV and tries to figure out the teams by their helmets and initials on the score at the bottom.

"That's what I thought. Go fool around, or whatever it is you keep stopping yourselves from doing. I get it," Sam clips out the last t's.

Dean pushes up off the couch, hovering over his seat as he looks at Cas and smirks.

Cas’ eyes go wide, but he nods, his lips hollowed out in query. Dean nods towards the back of the trailer and heads down the hallway without another word, away from Sam and to the thinnest illusion of privacy. He feels Cas follow but doesn’t see his fisted hands at his sides.

The hollow door latches loosely closed behind them.

Dean turns on Cas instantly. Before he even realizes he chose to, he’s cupping a nape, and his mouth is catching Cas’ on the uptake. Both open and filthy. Dean feels Cas exhale into him, feels his body still and his hands perch on Dean’s shoulders delicately.

Dean grins into the kiss and presses closer into Cas’ space. Tries to unbury that toga-clad energy from Halloween. However sober, Dean knows it's in there.

All while getting them closer to the bed.

Cas sighs and grips Dean tighter. Pushes in with his chin forward and gives back. Dean sucks his tongue into his mouth and moans at the thick, heavy wetness.

Fuck, he’s hungry.

Dean stagger steps them towards the far wall, which makes the bed less than three feet away, but for some reason, they can’t stop kissing long enough to get there. It’s like depleting oxygen tanks or the last slurp of soda at the bottom of the cup. They need to kiss until they’ve gotten all of each other, desperate and determined; they taste.

Until they start to laugh.

Dean feels Cas chuckle, hunching his shoulders as they peck around giddy smiles.

“What’s so funny, hm?” Dean asks, looking down at Cas’ scrunched-up nose as he tries to pull away.

Cas just shakes his head and hauls Dean by the waist, kisses him again, and notches their thighs tighter. And okay, Dean is all about that, but he still feels like he’s missing something, but he doesn’t really think too hard about it with all the friction.

Then the floor is out from under his feet, and Cas is on top of him, half off the bed and growling against his neck. Dean huffs and giggles. Because, damn. He should have had his guard up. Luckily Coach Sonny wasn’t here to see that, because that was a solid takedown and Dean let it happen.

Dean catches his breath, slides his hand under Cas’ sweater and squeezes.

Cas freezes and glares. Dean looks back under his lashes, challenging.

“Ticklish, Cas?”

“No, but I know you are— that , I remember,” Cas replies as he slides up and pulls Dean’s hands above his head. Dean stretches out, slinking further up the bed and Cas follows, fucking stalking up his body with heated determination.

Dean swallows and goes for broke. “You gonna lose the Sunday best? Been dying to see you— feel you.”

Dean looks Cas up and down, crumpled and creased. His starched khakis do little to hide his desire, even in the gray afternoon light of Dean’s one-windowed room.

Cas rears back, kneeling on the bed between Dean’s legs and yanks the thick crocheted sweater over his back. It leaves his hair messy, but Dean’s too busy watching the way his shoulders flex as he pulls his arms out of the sleeves.

Cas balls up the shirt and tosses it in the corner, shrugging as if to say, ‘and?’

Dean rolls his eyes but scoots to sitting and starts unbuttoning his flannel. Castiel plays with Dean’s necklaces until it’s time to take off his t-shirt. And now that he’s got Cas in his lap, topless, Dean’s a little shy about his own bare torso. He’s not exactly super-defined or anything. He knows his strength, but he likes to eat, okay? Being poor you don’t skip meals unless you have to.

He’s kicking himself for not letting Sammy talk him into matching tattoos. Any tattoo automatically makes you hotter. But the kid’s got another two years before Dean could get him into a legit parlor anyway. He inhales and ducks out of his shirt, and immediately surges up to restart making out, unwilling to watch Cas see him just yet.

Cas’ hands roam Dean’s back, groping and kneading, dexterous and distracting.

Dean gets lost in the fog of want, too tight in the pants to dwell on his shirtlessness. Then Cas cups his jaw and pulls back to look him in the eyes. Insistent, imploring blue.

“Can we turn on some music?”

Which was not, at all, what Dean was expecting Cas to ask him in that moment.

Dean laughs and nods. But Cas keeps talking, “it’s just I know we’re probably louder than we realize. And with a younger sibling within earshot— I’d feel better if we— at least pretended—”

Dean kisses Cas, shutting him up. “Dude, yes.” Peck. “I’ve got tunes.” Peck. “Just give me a sec.”

Dean carefully unwraps himself from Cas’ body, giddy and grinning over all the skin he can see and finally feel . He pulls out the thigh of his jeans, trying to create room as he half stumbles and half struts to the bookcase and the ancient boombox he found at the Goodwill that has a double tape deck and a six-disc changer.

He had been making compilation tapes during his downtime before spring classes start, and had intended to make one for each year to give the impala some diversity without letting Sam use his damn phone all the time. He just pushes play on the last finished tape. The old hiss from recording from vinyl starts and the room is filled with the crooning of Tommy James and the Shondells.

When Dean turns around Cas’ head is cocked and he’s resting back on his palms, broad chest and strong arms on display. Dean wants to crawl into his lap and pink up his lips some more. But, ever the little shit, instead he unbuckles his belt and drops trow, kicking out of his pants and making Cas’ eyes bulge like a treefrog.

Cas licks his lips and sits up, trying to open his fly and watch Dean step closer at the same time. If there’s one thing Dean knows it’s the art of distraction, and if his dick is out, there’s less chance Cas is gonna be staring at his softer-than-he’d-like torso.

He grabs Cas by the back of the neck and leans down to kiss him filthy, kneeing between Cas’ legs as he feels Cas’ shaking hands find his hips. Dean smiles into the kiss and slows it down, pulling back to watch Cas’ lids flutter open, dopey and bright.

“Wanna see you— can I?” Dean gestures down to Cas’ khakis and instantly draws attention back to his ruddy cock. Cas mumbles something but then nods, sitting taller and leaning back, forcing himself to look away as Dean sinks to the floor.

He starts with Cas’ shoes and then his socks, and sees Cas flex his toes before falling fully onto his back on Dean’s bed. Dean drags himself back up and pulls open Cas’ pants, hands snaking beneath his thighs and tugging the fabric as Cas rocks from side to side. Dean looks him over, strong runner’s legs and dark hair, flat stomach, and messy hair. Fuck! If Dean didn’t know he went every which way already, he’d be so screwed. Castiel is gorgeous, and Dean’s got him in his bed naked as a jaybird.

Happy early birthday, Dean thinks to himself and sets his hands alongside Cas’ waist to crawl up the miles of skin, trying not to stare at Cas’ fat dick that's hard and leaking for him.

“I don’t want you to penetrate me,” Cas blurts out of nowhere.

Dean stops in his tracks. “Uh, wasn’t even close to that yet, buddy. But, okay. That’s fine.”

Dean looks down at their laps and then away, resting back on his heels, needing Cas’ to say more or even look at him. Cas’ eyes are shut tight, and he’s rubbing the bridge of his nose. Dean feels his anxiety in the air, so he starts rubbing Cas’ thigh and waits.

And does not touch his own dick, even though it’s begging for any sort of contact.

“Cas?” Dean asks after a solid two minutes of tense silence. “Is this your first time?”

Dean knee-walks to Cas’ side and tries to pry his hands from hiding his face. “Because it’s totally okay if it is. I, uh, I haven’t really done much with guys— and I’m just excited we’re finally getting a chance to be alone— and all that.”

Cas sighs and glares at Dean.

Dean drops his chin and glares back. “What’s that for?”

“You are being completely understanding, and I really don’t need another reason to like you,” Cas explains.

“Thanks?” Dean guesses a polite response.

Cas rolls his eyes and sits up, apparently unaffected by his own nakedness. He reaches for Dean’s hand and fiddles with his mother’s ring. “Can we go back to the kissing? I can handle that, and it’s goo—”

Dean doesn’t let Cas talk himself into more embarrassment. Yeah, the kissing is good, great even. But Dean doesn’t want Cas worrying either. So he lays them both down, on their sides, knees knocking and dicks not quite touching. The heat between them lays in concentrated hollows, making the rest of them pucker in the winter air.

Dean cups Cas’ jaw and runs his thumb along his cheekbone. “You okay?”

Cas holds his wrist and husks out, “yeah. You?”

Dean breathes out a single laugh. “Yeah, I’m pretty effin’ okay.”

Dean kisses Cas’ chin, and nudges down to kiss along the underside of his jaw until he can suck on his pulse point. Cas’ breath hitches and Dean goes for broke, sliding his pelvis across the neutral zone they’d silently negotiated, in search of progress and the throbbing relief of the press of flesh against flesh.

Cas moans and Dean reaches down and grabs a handful of Cas’ ass. Then he rolls them both so Dean’s on the bottom and Cas is the one in control. Cas licks into Dean’s mouth and grinds down, feeling the way their dicks slide together between their bellies.

“What do you like?” Cas asks suddenly, hips rolling long and languid as Dean squirms and pecks at the parts of Cas he can reach.

Dean looks up at Cas and smirks. “Do your worst. We can try whatever you want to try first.”

Cas stills and bites his lips. “Are you sure?”

Dean spreads his legs and feels Cas fall harder against him. “Yeah, it’s okay, just see how it goes. No stress—- this is supposed to be fun.”

Cas nods seriously and kisses Dean’s cheek. “Thank you, Dean.”

He looks down at their bodies, nestled and sticky, their dicks have been impossibly patient. “I’m not sure about the taste of semen. Do you mind if I taste you?”

“Do I mind?” Dean stares slack-jawed and appalled. “No, I do not mind. Fucking taste away, Cas, Christ. Blow jobs are only some of the best things humans have invented, up there with music and pizza.”

“Hmmmm, I may have to ask you to prove your hypothesis, but—.” Cas clears his throat. “Later.”

Then he inches down Dean’s body and takes Dean’s dick firmly in hand. He traces the head with the pad of his thumb, making Dean whine as he tugs the skin of the shaft, watching carefully as more precum beads at the slit. With a flattened tongue, Cas laps the head of Dean’s dick and Dean goes cross-eyed watching him.

Still holding Dean’s shaft, Cas starts licking Dean like an ice cream cone, and it’s not bad, it’s just very apparent the guy has never watched porn. Dean moans and starts rolling his hips, trying to at least get some stroking going on if Cas isn’t gonna take him into his mouth fully.

When Cas starts to mirror Dean’s movements, Dean husks, “yeah, now, uh, can you suck on it? You don’t have to take it all, just start slow.”

Cas watches Dean’s face as he holds the tip of Dean’s dick on his bottom lip and mouths around the girth. If he wasn’t so worried, Dean might have laughed, but Cas’ bright-eyed earnestness is making it hard for Dean to keep talking him through it.

“Okay, now try and use your tongue, like we’re kissing,” Dean offers. “And take a little more in.”

Cas obliges, words buzzing around his mouth as he asks, “like that?”

Dean nods, licks and bites his bottom lip as Cas rolls his tongue and squeezes with his lips.

“Suck, Cas, and bob,” Dean says, trying to stay still as Cas finds something like a rhythm.

He pulls off breathless, but smiles. “Your dick is quite big— I, uh, I have to try again.”

Dean chuckles. “Hey, look who’s talking, that monster between your legs is gonna be a full meal.”

Cas blushes, but grabs Dean by the base and takes him even deeper. Dean’s starting to throb, the storm in his belly makes him thrust against Cas’ efforts, but he forces himself to keep it shallow.

“You’re doing so good, babe, sucking me so good,” Dean murmurs, voice pitching higher with each wave of pleasure.

Cas groans around Dean’s dick, tonguing the underneath as he dips his head down and up, down and up, dooooown and up. Dean’s right on the edge when Cas starts to gag. Dean catches himself a second too late from whining in defeat, but he gets Cas upright and coughing before it can go beyond repair.

“Just breathe, it’s okay,” Dean says, watching Cas for any signs of regret or vomit.

Cas clears his throat and takes big breaths through his nose, eyes wide with alarm.

Dean hugs him around the shoulders and just squeezes until everything evens out. He doesn’t say anything, just brushes his lips along Cas’ hairline and waits it out.

“Sorry,” Cas gasps out.

“Sorry? Don’t be sorry— you don’t apologize for going whole ham on me like that, okay? We’re figuring shit out. There’s a learning curve to this, too, you know.” Dean says firmly, not making Cas face him just yet.

Cas chuckles mirthlessly. “I do now.”

Cas side eyes him sheepishly, but Dean just smiles and waggles his eyebrows. Cas rolls his eyes but lightens up the more Dean goads him with flirty faces.

Dean kisses him softly, hands brushing over Cas’ face and down his neck until they start leaning back towards the pillows. Dean thinks about the skin mags shoved beneath his mattress and the lube he’s got in an old shoe box beneath that. He thinks about how none of that feels like this.

Having Cas here, to himself, has been the true fantasy since Halloween. But this is real, and it’s happening. And Dean isn’t going to waste it.

“Do you touch yourself?” Dean murmurs.

Cas exhales and stretches back against the covers. “Sometimes, but I don’t have much privacy for anything elaborate.”

Dean guessed as much.

“How do you like it?” Dean asks as he reaches for Cas’ dick, just a gentle tug as if he’s gripping his shoulder in passing.

“Harder,” Cas sighs, eyes cautious.

Dean stops himself from rolling his eyes and squeezes as he starts to pump, leaning on his side as he watches Cas relax into his touch. He stops and licks his palm and over the pads of his fingers, easing the slide against Cas’ thickness.

Cas groans at the wetness. “Faster, Dean.”

Dean speeds up, dropping his free hand on Cas’ flat stomach and down to the ridge of his pelvis poking out. He keeps Cas’ face in his periphery but focuses his attention on the gorgeous body before him and the fat cock in his hand.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” Dean says, mesmerized by the straining muscles and the throbbing heat. “Wanna get you there, Cas. Let me?”

Cas moans Dean’s name over the sound of CCR’s steady opening to Proud Mary.

Dean kisses Cas’ chest and reaches down to cup his balls, stroking faster, careful to swipe the tip for a more natural glide. Dean looks over his shoulder and sees Cas watching him.

“Like this?” Dean asks, voice as wrecked as Cas looks. Cas whimpers and bends in half around Dean’s hold, coming hot and hard all over Dean’s bed and hands.

“Shit!”

Dean almost giggles because Cas never swears. He strokes Cas through it, easing until Cas is whining from the contact. Dean kisses Cas’ shoulder and tugs the comforter out from under them, careful to avoid the mess and wipe his hands off at the same time.

With just the sheets left on the bed, Dean falls beside Cas. Cradling him into the curve of his body, Dean tries to avoid direct ass-to-dick contact. He doesn’t want Cas to panic again.

“You have incredibly strong hands,” Cas mutters into the pillows.

Dean looks down and flexes his fingers. He’s never thought about his hands much, but he guesses Cas must be right. Years of working molded him into a very different animal from Cas, whose life is all Bible studies and textbooks.

“You’re welcome,” Dean teases.

Cas laughs, breathy and tender.

Dean kisses his temple, gripping his chest and pulling him closer. They lay in the comfort of each other’s arms, letting the mixtape run out as they spoon and joke, eventually twisting beneath the top sheet.

“When do you need to be home,” Dean asks against Cas’ chest, too content to even raise his head.

“Don’t remind me,” Cas replies, reaching off the bed for his phone all the same. “Ugh! Probably should leave soon.”

“How soon is soon?” Dean asks, sitting up while keeping the sheet bunched around his half-hard cock.

“Seventeen minutes,” Cas replies offhandedly until he glances apologetically to Dean and starts to crawl out of bed.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?! I still get your naked ass in my bed for at least another ten minutes.” Dean grabs Cas’ elbow and drags him down on top of him.

Cas smirks at Dean’s determination and shakes his head, snuggling closer. Then his hips slot against Dean’s poorly hidden erection.

Dean hums noncommittally.

Cas grinds down again, and Dean whines as he feels Cas’ growing interest.

“Fuck! We really don’t have much time, man,” Dean warns, rocking against Cas. Cas yanks the sheet away, leaving Dean bare beneath him.

“Next time,” Dean promises. “We’ll do more than the surface stuff, alright? Now I just want to feel you.”

Cas nods, mouthing up Dean’s neck as they grip each other and stroke in incongruous rhythms.

“I’m going to have to sit through dinner still smelling you on my skin,” Cas thinks out loud.

“Good! Want you thinking about me while those assholes play house. Want you knowing I’ll be thinking about you— your mouth— your dick in my hands— in me— however you want, Cas.”

Castiel gasps, but his hand moves faster on Dean’s shaft. “You want to take me?”

“Cas!” Dean warns, too strung out after hours of build-up.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice drops like a reprimand and Dean comes all over both of their stomachs.

Too blissed out to keep jacking Cas off, Dean groans and then wiggles down to mouth at Cas’ dick. Half wild and desperate, Dean sucks Cas into the back of his throat.

Cas, who is dumbfounded by Dean’s actions, keens at the new sensation of mouth and tongue and then comes again within moments. Dean doesn’t know if Cas is aware of how hungry he still is for him until he feels Cas tense when Dean catches Cas watching him lick his own spendings off Cas’ stomach.

Cas twitches and moans a warbly, “oh, Lord!” They both freeze at his blasphemy.

Dean looks up at him through heavy lashes, and Cas simply stares back. Dean kisses just below Cas’ navel and sits up, knees framing Cas’ thighs.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Dean rockets off the bed and throws a towel around his hips. But he realizes he’s still a mess, so he tugs it up around his chest. He opens the door and quickly ducks out, closing it tight behind him.

He rushes to grab an extra towel and a washcloth from the bathroom between his and Sam’s rooms. Dean’s gone less than three minutes, but in the moments they’re apart, he starts to worry that it was too much too soon.

Dean doesn’t know if he can go back from this now. If he can keep it strictly PG since he’s gotten to truly worship Cas’ body. Now that he knows how it feels to just be in his presence, the connection, the comfort. Dean misses him already.

He wipes off his belly and rinses out the cloth and adds some hand soap for good measure. He clutches the fresh towel to his chest and rushes back to his door, knocking.

“It’s me,” he says and slips inside.

Honey tell me how your love runs true

And how I can always count on you

To be there when the bullets fly

I'd run across the river just to hold you tonight

Dean sits in the impala, anxious. Cas is coming to dinner. And not just at the trailer with Sammy. He’s been personally invited to Seder by Uncle Rufus. And well, to say that’s a big deal is an understatement.

Bobby and Rufus have been a thing as long as Dean can remember. From what he gathers, since the mid-80s after Bobby’s wife, Karen, passed and they met at a grief support group. The way the men always bickered, it took Dean into his teen years to realize how and how deeply they loved one another.

Their home was probably the safest place for Dean to come to terms with his own varying sexuality. And after John disappeared for good, they were the only family he and Sam had left.

The months with Cas start to fly by, between their ever-increasing class loads and the necessity of sneaking around, it’s spring before either of them realize it. Actual spring, not whatever the school tries to pass for it giving its spring break in mid-March, either.

Dean knows Cas is curious about Rufus’ faith, among other things. He just hopes Cas’ blunt inquisitiveness isn’t met with mockery. He exhales and counts down the minutes until Cas is out of his last class of the day. He wonders what excuse Cas gave his parents for missing dinner with the family.

He hates having to be a secret.

With Cas’ family being so prominent and his father’s business at stake, Cas knows he has to lay low until he’s done with school. Because he’s on a scholarship for one thing, and another he doesn’t want to hurt his siblings or bring further scrutiny on them. Anna especially has had many struggles with mental illness that she’s had to fight without professional help because their parents insist it's a matter of faith and devotion, not brain chemistry.

Dean has to bite his tongue so often that he’s gotten used to the taste of his own blood. But this is not his battle to fight. He’s there as backup only. He lets Cas lead the way, which he always does with compassion. Even when Cas is asked to pray at services Dean’s attended or the occasional family meal, Cas always prays for the lost or the less fortunate. He believes in the love of God in a way his parents and their judgment never could.

He’d probably make a good priest, or pastor, whatever. Dean wonders which churches even let gay people be ordained. He bets there are some out there. He wants that for Cas, for him to find true community someday. Something like the crotchety old guys who wouldn’t pass for queer until they’re caught kissing in the toolshed. The type of safety and home Dean’s had the better half of his life.

But he’ll do it and keep doing it as long as it keeps Cas safe. Cas told him about what happens when queer people are exposed within his family’s circle of friends, or anyone, really not willing to fully conform. Either the kids, because they’re usually too young to be able to fend for themselves, are sent to those awful camps. Or the entire family is blacklisted. Jobs are lost and all sources of charity or socializing suddenly dry up. Then they have to start over, somewhere else.

Faith is something too commercial and too big for Dean to grasp most days. But he likes the ritual of it all, the tradition and the history. He knows Cas will love Rufus’ Seder. He just hopes Rufus and Bobby like Cas, too.

“Hello, Dean,” comes Cas’ standard greeting as he pries open the door.

“Heya, handsome. How was class?” Dawn checks his mirror and waits for the parking lot to clear as Cas tells him about his day. They hold hands across the bench seat because it’s dark enough for it to be hidden from any passersby.

It’s a long drive this time of night, rush hour pushing them past sundown, which Dean knows will earn him a reprimand. But he’s not worried about himself. Sam was with Bobby helping out at the garage for some part-time money, so Dean knows at least they’ll be on time for dinner.

Rufus will just have to deal with them crashing in.

When they pull up to the well-worn bungalow, Dean takes his hand back to kill the engine and wipe his palms off on his thighs.

“So, uh, this is Rufus and Bobby’s place. Dinner’s probably already started— so we’ll just go in quietly, especially if they’re singing. Neither of the bastards can carry a tune— but it’s tradition, so.”

“Understandable, as you know, I’m not one to judge someone’s singing voice,” Cas even self-deprecates with empathy.

“Okay, but, before we head in, can I?” Dean leans in and kisses his boyfriend without waiting for an answer. Cas slides closer across the seat and enters Dean’s mouth, thoroughly agreeing with the further delay.

Dean breaks the kiss to breathe, resting his forehead against Cas’ as they both regain their composure.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“We should go inside.”

“Yeah, I know— I just—.” Dean squeezes Cas’ forearm and searches his eyes in the darkness of the car.

“I missed you, too,” Cas says softly, eyes big and hand warm against Dean’s cheek.

They kiss once more for good measure and head inside.

All things considered, it was a good night. Cas’ cheeks are flushed from the wine, and he’s grinning as Sam and Bobby regale him with the story of Dean’s last significant other to make it long enough to attend a family gathering, Cassie.

Except Cassie hadn’t been invited to Sam’s birthday dinner, she just showed up.

“So get this— we’re grilling out back— about to start a game of two-hand touch with a bunch of middle school guys and —,” Sam sets the scene.

And Bobby cuts in gesturing wildly, “a flipping diva. Hair out to here, walks in.”

“She had more makeup on than I’ve seen on professional drag queens,” Rufus adds as he clears their dishes.

“Okay, let’s be nice,” Dean interjects. “It was bad timing— I’ll give you that.”

“It was weird, Dean! It was my party. I was twelve!” Sam argues.

Cas chuckles and watches Dean as he shrugs, Dean ducks his head and tries to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“Anyway, this is better, right? See!” Dean asks everyone with insistent eyes. ‘Don’t embarrass him like you’re dragging her,’ he silently begs.

“Much,” Sam agrees. “But I already know Cas– more or less.”

“What is it you’re going to school for again?” Bobby asks carefully, popping some leftover matza into his mouth. Dean only eats the stuff when he has to, but Bobby doesn’t let any go to waste. The conversation flows easily and before long Cas needs to get home.

“Thank you so much Mr. Turner for having me— I hope the second night goes just as well for you all.” Castiel shakes Rufus’ hand.

Rufus preens under all the attention, earring sparkling in the glow from the front porch light. “I’m sorry you can’t make it, but there’s always next year, am I right?”

Cas, clearly surprised, smiles all the same. Dean scratches the back of his neck and waits for the goodbyes to be over.

“Alright, young man, drive safe,” Rufus says to Dean. He can’t remember Rufus ever using his actual name. He’s always ‘hey you’, ‘punk’, or if he’s been on his best behavior, ‘young man’.

Dean shakes Rufus’ hand and leans in for a quick hug. Sam follows behind shaking hands and nodding his gratitude.

Dean glances at Sam to sit in the backseat as they make their way down the driveway. Sam pretends to think about it, the sacrifice of giving up shotgun is a pretty big deal when it comes to being sixteen in your brother’s legacy car.

But before it gets too noticeable that they are silently arguing, Sam relents and lets Cas have the cherished spot. Dean isn’t impressed, but he mouths a ‘thank you’, though it could be interpreted another way. He slides into the driver’s seat and grins over at Cas. Cas smiles knowingly back, and Dean cranks the volume.

They don’t kiss goodnight, and not just for Sam’s sake either. It’s just too rushed, and Cas has to transform back into the stoic machine he is around his family. Dean hates these moments the most. Not just parting with Cas but watching him bury so much of himself.

“Thanks for the ride,” Cas says sadly before ducking out of the open passenger side door. He nods to Sam and marches dutifully up his front steps. Dean ignores Sam when he turns down the music and settles into the front seat. Something pulls at Dean’s insides, but he stays put watching Cas. Then Cas turns around, waves, and opens the door to return to that damned prison.

Dean slowly blinks back to reality and puts the car into gear. He drives home on autopilot and Sam’s smart enough to leave him to his thoughts. When he gets home, Dean reworks some details on a design for his automation class. Then tries to get ahead on some reading for a seminar he’s taking. Nothing sticks, but maybe it will come back when he needs it.

Guess he’s an optimist now.

A week later, Dean chances a phone call when he knows Cas will still be on campus, but out of the obligation of any classroom.

“Hey— this is stupid—- but I was wondering if you— maybe— like this summer— when the semester is over, and classes aren’t so crazy—- I talked to Sam and he’s cool with it if you help out. But like— no pressure or anything—- and only if you wanted to. It would be awesome. So, do you think—- maybe— you’d like to move in with me? I mean with us?” Dean hadn’t rambled this long since he tried to talk their way out of a parking ticket for a passed-out John, in middle school.

He must have lost oxygen to his brain because when he hears Cas on the other end of the line, it’s only a thready plea of his name.

“No, listen, I know you’ve got your scholarship shit, but you can get grants and a job at the student aid office or tutor for money or something. They can’t stop you from finishing school—- they can only make it a little bit worse. But everything else can be better, Cas, I swear.” Dean wasn’t supposed to be so desperate about this, but he really wants Cas to be happy. Well, safe and out and happy, but still.

“Dean—- we’ve only been dating for a few months,” Cas sighs. “They’re my family forever.”

“They don’t have to be,” Dean says without thinking. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then rubs his forehead with the back of the hand that’s holding the phone. “Not like you have to cut ties with them or anything— but, uh— well, Bobby’s always said family don’t end in blood. So, you know— you’ve got options.”

The seconds of silence coming from Cas’ side of the call last into the next century.

“And what happens if we break up, Dean?’ Cas doesn’t sound upset, but he still isn’t sold on anything.

Dean wasn’t expecting to go down that particular trail of possibility, and he flounders for a response. Both hurt and worried that Cas would think so little of him, of them.

Dean looks around the trailer’s living/dining/kitchen area and wonders what this could look like to Castiel’s eyes. He thought it was freedom, but maybe it’s just a trash hole to him like it was to the wrestling team and half of Dean’s exes.

“We’re both really young to be making such decisions,” Cas adds lightly.

“Look— I just want you to be happy. Are you happy, Cas?” Dean lays it out.

Cas exhales and shifts on the line, Dean can practically hear the gears in his head whirling a mile a minute. When he doesn’t answer, Dean presses on.

“Do you think you could be happy with me?”

“That’s not fair,” Cas counters. “You know this isn’t just about me. Would you leave Sam behind if it meant you could be happy?”

Dean locks his jaw, bitter and righteous. “No, but–”

“I may not be responsible for my siblings the way you are for Sam, but I do love them, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean feels it all slipping away from him. He doesn’t know what to say or do to make it better. He wishes he could take the entire conversation back.

“For what it’s worth—- when I’m with you—- that’s the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Dean pinches the tears out of his eyes and bleats out something like a chuckle. “Yeah, well, that’s great.”

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Do you work tonight?” It’s such an innocent question it throws Dean for a loop.

He looks at the clock on the microwave and sighs. “Uh, yeah, got like an hour before Sam’ll be home and then I’ll head in after we eat.”

“What are you making?” Cas’ voice is soothing, and Dean hates him for being able to distract him like this because it’s fucking working.

“Uh, just hotdogs and beans—- didn’t want to make a huge mess.”

“Because it’s on Sam to clean up and he’s probably got homework,” Cas concludes.

“Didn’t want him to leave it for me in the morning is all,” Dean reasons.

“Of course,” Cas agrees, knowing Dean’s thought process better than Dean would like.

“How late is the library open?” Dean turns the curiosity back on Cas.

“Ten, you know that: why?”

Dean shrugs though Cas can’t see him. “Was hoping to see you, maybe, if you’ll still be there when my shift starts.”

“Okay.”

Castiel is waiting for Dean in the parking lot closest to the Macleod Library. He walks him to the maintenance staff office so Dean’s not late for his shift. They shake hands and pat each other on the back goodnight. Just guys being bros.

Dean doesn’t mention the sheet of folded-up paper Cas passes him. It’s just a time and place, but it brightens Dean’s mood better than any placation or even kiss probably could at that moment.

His shift has never been longer.

Just before dawn, Dean finds Cas right where he had said he’d be. On one of the stone benches lining the small pond on Cas’ department’s side of campus.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Got your note— a bit cryptic— but I chose to interpret it like a middle school note— do you like me? Check yes or no.” Dean saunters closer, his hands fit around Cas’ hips beneath where his hands are wedged into his pockets.

“What are you checking?”

Dean kisses him because they are alone and because it’s his answer. Cas hums and pulls back. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the lame joke, but kisses him again, deeper and more forceful until they both have to pull apart for air, grinning and giddy.

“How was work?” Cas presents one of his hands for Dean to thread their fingers together.

“Work— but I managed to get through. Might have been a little distracted.”

“Sorry about that,” Cas smiles mischievously.

“No, you’re not,” Dean murmurs against his temple, kissing him softly. “What’s up?”

Dean is dead on his feet, but he won’t be able to sleep until Cas tells him what all this build-up was for. Cas goes still, but he stays close.

“I wanted to tell you something—- and ask you for a favor,” Cas explains carefully, not making eye contact.

Dean watches the side of his face but aims for casualness. “Okay, a little dramatic, but shoot.”

Cas does face him then, eyes bright and brows high in hope or apology, Dean’s not sure. “It’s about your offer— sort of.”

Dean waits, but his palm is getting sweaty underneath Cas’ insistent grip.

“I want to be with you. I do. But since I can’t—- fully— until I graduate and Samandriel is an adult—- I want to promise to be true to you until we can both be our real selves.”

Dean squints and looks at Cas.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Cas glares. “You are an idiot. Are you seriously so tired right now that you interpreted me pledging myself to you as me breaking up with you?!”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he puts on his best adorable apology face, essentially saying ‘I’m dumb but pretty.’

Cas rolls his eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

Dean reaches up to hold Cas’ face with both hands. “That’s already where I’ve been, Cas. That’s all relationships are— loyalty and devotion.”

Cas leans into Dean’s touch. “No, Dean. Maybe it’s not common in the secular world. But promising ourselves to each other is kind of a big deal with the people of my church.”

Dean drops his hands and steps back. “Are you proposing?”

“No-o,” Cas says it like it’s a question.

Dean grabs his hair and has a mini freak-out. But turns back and looks Cas in the eye even though he’s terrified. “Holy shit, you’re proposing.”

“Dean, I’m not proposing,” Cas says more sternly.

“And you were freaking out about me asking you to move in together.”

“To be fair, moving in together doesn’t happen in my experience until after marriage.”

“Yeah, but like half the people you know don’t even kiss before marriage,” Dean snarks.

Cas grimaces, but nods. Dean leans back in. “We’ve done a helluva lot more than kiss.”

“Your point?” Cas asks with a fragile sort of firmness.

Dean laces his hands behind Cas’ neck. “You are proposing.”

Cas, once again, rolls his eyes and tugs Dean closer by one of his front pockets. “Call it a pre-engagement if you must, but only if you swear to it, too.”

All the teasing leaves Dean’s body. Instead, he breathes deep and stares into Cas’ hesitant eyes. “I love you, you know that right? I mean— we don’t say it, but you know that about me.”

Cas softens in Dean’s arms, nodding as tears start to build in the corners of his gorgeous eyes.

“I’m yours, Cas. As long as it takes, okay?”

Cas swallows thickly and grins. “Okay.”

Dean looks down at Cas’ hands and between their bodies. “I feel unprepared for this.”

Cas cocks his head. “What are you talking about?”

Dean flexes his fingers and spots his solution. “I feel like I should be giving you something.”

“Dean, it’s not like I brought you anything.”

But Dean’s already untying one of his necklaces. It’s made of rough leather with a few beads knotted onto it. He bought it because he thought it was the right colors for the bisexual flag, but there’s a green one that throws off his reasoning.

“Here,” Dean insists, taking his mother’s ring off his right hand and threading it down the twine. “That should work— long enough to hide it, but still with you at all times.”

Cas doesn’t speak, just swallows and nods, turning so Dean can tie it on. Cas cradles the metal loop against his chest like he’s making the pledge all over again.

Dean beams at him, never realizing how satisfying it’d be to call Cas his. To have a claim on him, and his heart.

“Looks good on ya.”

“Thank you, Dean. I’ll— I’ll think of something to give you. Okay?”

Dean nods, hugging Cas close and whispering in his ear, “we’ve got plenty of time for that, okay?”

“We do, don’t we?” Cas grins his nose-scrunching grin and kisses Dean with more teeth than tongue.

Six years later

The arena is packed with people, families and friends filling the lower levels for the first round of afternoon graduations. Dean scans the crowd looking for Bobby and Rufus because, frankly, he’s sick of telling people the seats on either side of him are taken.

Then there’s the guy one chair over who won’t stop announcing that his cousin is getting his doctorate and how cute it is that Dean’s kid brother is only getting his bachelor’s. Dean isn’t going to let him bate him, it’s neither the time nor the place. But he clenches his fist anyway, just for something to pass the time.

Finally, Dean spots Rufus stiff-arming his way through the masses. He doesn’t say, “move, I’m gay.” But Dean imagines he is. Once they’re within earshot, he realizes Rufus is playing another card entirely.

“Senior citizens coming through!”

Dean picks up his coat and stands up to shake his uncles’ hands.

“Have trouble finding the place?” Dean teases.

“Don’t get him started,” Bobby warns, sitting in the now open middle seat. Leaving the far seat for Rufus, right next to Mr. Obnoxious himself.

Rufus settles into his seat and does a double take. “Don’t I know you?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and acts offended. “Yeah, you do, Gramps. Forget your readers at home, huh?”

Dean tries to stifle his laugh, muttering, “he’s your problem now.”

The ceremony begins with a quick introduction and only two reasonably long speeches. The graduate students are announced first, but Cas is in the last row. It feels like Dean has been waiting for this moment as long as Cas has. He’s certainly put in the hours of research beside him. Fed and watered and supported them while Cas TA'd, wrote, and argued his thesis.

Dean shoves down the nervousness and focuses on the pride. There were only six doctoral candidates, and five made it across the stage that day. Dean couldn’t help but scream his head off when they announced, “Doctor Castiel Milton-Winchester.”

Everyone in the row beside him joined in, from a very pregnant Anna and her husband to Samandriel and Jess, Sam’s girlfriend whose nursing school graduation was in two and a half hours. Their tribe went hard.

Then they all had to wait for Sam’s turn near the end of the undergrads.

Dean doesn’t think it’s possible to be any prouder than he is at that moment. Seeing Sam’s floppy hair tucked underneath his square cap brings tears to his eyes. His brother was gonna be a lawyer someday, and not too far in the future Dean and Cas will be at another one of these robe parades.

Who knows, maybe Jess will still be around for it, too.

Dean grins and sniffles, because, yeah, Sam is graduating, but Dean helped get him there, damn it.

Not bad for two trailer park kids.

After the official time for applause, once the final name is called, the crowd returns to chaos. Dean bides his time, knowing Cas and Sam will find each other and meet up with him at the impala, sooner or later.

He watches his extended family gather their belongings and trudge outside into the spring sunshine. Rufus is loudly impatient the whole way. While Anna is almost to the point of waddling. Dean can’t wait to meet their niece already. Life is starting to slow down it seems.

Maybe they’ll finally be able to take the honeymoon they’ve been putting off for the past two years.

From somewhere behind Dean, Cas drawls a pathetic, “hey there, cowboy.”

Dean spins on the spot, smirking. “What’s up, Doc?”

“Really, Dean?! Bugs Bunny?!” Sam admonishes.

“Shut your face, Sammy,” Dean snips, not breaking eye contact with his husband.

Sam groans and turns to find Jessica. Dean’ll properly congratulate him later with the new juicer Sam’s been talking about, none too subtly, since the air fryer Dean got him for his birthday.

“Ready to celebrate your momentous accomplishment?” Dean asks, sliding in close and slipping his hands inside the now open sides of Cas’ faux satin gown.

“Please tell me there’ll be food. I woke up late and was too distracted to have breakfast,” Cas grumbles on Dean’s shoulder, shuffling his feet as if they’re dancing.

“Okay, but you never eat breakfast,” Dean argues since he was the source of the distraction in the first place.

“Because I eat between classes at like ten, Dean!” Cas bellyaches.

Dean sighs and gives him an unimpressed grimace. “Yes, there’ll be food, Christ. I’m not a sadist.”

They walk hand-in-hand to the car, Sam and Jess trailing behind them.

“Okay, quick lunch, and then back for round two?” Dean asks as everyone finds their respective doors. They all nod in agreement and Dean ducks into the car.

A memory of Cas’ first ride in the impala pops into Dean’s head. Having Sam in the backseat with Jess, it’s like looking in a funhouse mirror of that night. Sober and Garth-less, Dean chuckles.

“What?” Cas asks, amused.

Dean shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Just funny how everything works out in the end.”

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Cas agrees.

“Yeah, tell me about it. I got you, didn’t I?” Dean revs the engine and pulls into the line of traffic making their way out of the parking garage.

Destiel Tags: @dolphincliffs, @lastactiontricia

Tell me what you think?

#supernatural fanfiction #destiel #dean/cas #destiel fanfic #college au #hea #drunken hook up leads to fluff #homophobia #bisexual dean winchester #closeted gay castiel #bobby/rufus #first time

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fandomscraziness22 · 1 year

Text

Julie and the Phantoms fics

dreams are sweet (until they’re not)

There’s a kind of hidden desperation in each of their encounters, like this might be the last time they see each other. The chance of discovery, the reality that every day that passes means Julie’s one day older, the knowledge that this relationship can’t even exist outside of this building—it creeps into the back of their minds, bleeds over into their conversations, spills into their kisses and loving touches.

This can’t last, so we have to make the most of what we have, they tell each other. Because getting a small slice of happiness with each other is worth the inevitable pain.

or, Luke works at the HGC and starts a secret relationship with Julie, with all the danger that entails

share your dreams with me

Band practice is forgotten for a moment as Luke takes in the scene. His friends, all together for a purpose they all believe in. For a sound, for lyrics, for music they all create together. * * just some fluff about how much Luke loves his friends and his dream

one moment is all it takes

Julie smiles again, love for her mom and for this ghost with her overwhelming the grief for a moment. “And she sent me you, the best part of my life. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Luke.”

The couple grins in unison, as they do so often. Julie allows herself a moment to look away from the road to stare at her musical soulmate.

But one moment is all it takes.

time after time

Julie’s mind whirls. “An earlier point in time, you mean?” she says, disbelief evident in her voice.

Agent Taylor clarifies. “What he means is, Mr. Wilson invented a time machine, and chose not to tell the government about it until it was stolen by terrorists.”

or, the timeless au no one asked for but i wanted to write

let go of the world you know

he can feel them slipping his life from before they’re still there but just barely like one strong wind could blow them away into the dust, forever

or, Caleb takes Luke's memories, and it's not pleasant

i’m hold onto pieces of us that i just can’t let go

Reggie hasn’t stopped crying for seven days straight. Or at least, it feels like it. Alex was crying for what felt like an hour and it had been twenty five years, so Reggie's not sure on how time works for ghosts sometimes. All he knows is the bright ball of light that was Julie Molina has been snuffed out and it feels like the world has stopped and is holding its breath. .... And suddenly, a new thought occurs to him. Reggie bolts upright, hope exploding in his chest.

“What if she’s a ghost?”

can’t kill the fire i feel inside

“It's called the Pull.” The words that spell doom for Luke are some of the simplest ones he’s ever heard.

“The Pull?” he questions.

Willie nods. “It’s a weird thing that happens with some ghosts. An all-consuming need to be with someone, a deeper instinct than normal attraction or love. It doesn’t happen often, but always between two ghosts, and it’s part of their unfinished business."

alone together

through him (through them) she finds

music passion hope creativity life once more

friendship quickly blossoms into shared time, shared thoughts, shared

souls

learn to live with the unimaginable

Ray had thought he was done with it all. The tests, the scans, the anxious drives to and from the hospital, the endless waiting, the hopeless horror. But he was wrong. ~~~ Having a brother is all fun and games until

until your mom dies.

then, having a brother is a necessity.

let’s be crazy

Julie chalked up, getting ready to try her new dismount from the uneven bars when she looked over to see Luke jumping on the floor. She smiled slightly at his antics.

“What do they make this springy floor out of?” Luke asked.

“Springs,” Julie deadpanned.

or, i started watching make it or break it and made it Juke

if it’s only a game you lost me

“You’re different,” Willie concludes.

“Different, bad?”

“Bad for me.” Alex’s heart drops at that. “I didn’t want to think about you,” Willie continues. His face is earnest, and his tone isn’t harsh, just sincere. “I wanted to stay focused. And then I saw you…after you got shot. Fighting for your life.” His voice grows softer, drawing Alex’s eyes back to his face. And then it shutters closed again as Willie says, “But you’re right. I’m kevlar, you’re not.”

“You don’t have to be.”

i feel something around me now

Luke Patterson, the bastard of the barrel, limped his way into the chapel.

It was the last place someone like him should be, considering what he had done in the past to earn the nickname "Dirtyhands," but the Inferni chasing him left him with few options. He hoped Julie wouldn't run into any trouble, since the Inferni was only following him. Julie could take care of herself, but he couldn't stop the single thread of anxiety from snaking down his back at the thought of her being in danger.

i miss the days when

The door slams open and Luke shoots to his feet, an admonishment on the tip of his tongue. It dies the second he sees Rose burst through the door, a wild and panicked look in her eyes. “Luke, come with me.” She runs to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the exit.

“Rose, what?” Luke tries to pull away, but damn this woman is strong. “I have a show–”

“They’re hurt,” she throws over her shoulder, still yanking him out of the building. “Mi hermana found your boys, and it’s not good.”

past the curses and cries

She jolts upright, looking around for the others. Alex and Reggie are sprawled a short distance away, and Luke is only two feet to her right.

But Luke’s wheezing in pain, and there’s a huge red stain on the suit jacket he stole for his disguise. Julie’s breath leaves her in a gasp as she hurries to him.

prompt fill set in an HP au because why not!

i’ll watch

the thing about being a wordsmith is you have so many (almost too many) words to express yourself

and yet they aren't enough

the irony is cruel on his tongue.

he watches her get older without him.

running with fire, i live like a liar

The man stops moving and says in a raspy voice, “Hey sweetheart.”

Julie’s so shocked it takes a moment to even realize that he’s talking to her. She blinks at him, but he just shoots her the same smirk he gave her when she first picked him out from the crowd. He keeps his voice low and says, “You shoulda told me our honeymoon was going to be this much fun.”

Julie stares at his blue-green eyes, now perfectly clear and full of mirth. He squeezes her hand once, then lets go and moves his legs under him so he can crouch beside her. “Let’s go slow, while they’re distracted,” he breathes in her ear. A shiver runs down her spine as she nods. Even though she doesn’t know this boy, they’re in this together now.

Full of Love, Full of Light

Julie keeps talking. “Reggie, I’m so glad you’re here with me, and I love you. Thank you for being a part of my family.”

Reggie’s definitely not crying now; those aren't tears welling in his eyes, nope, not at all. He sniffles and whispers, “Thanks Julie. I love you too.”

or, 3 times Reggie feels like a part of the Molina family

i stumble through the wreckage, rusted from the rain (there’s nothing left to salvage, no one left to blame)

It's been a very long time since Alex has kept a secret this big from the people he loves. One that can change everything. One that's so big, so monumental, life will never be the same once he shares it.

And he can say with certainty that he hasn't missed the anxiousness that comes with keeping a secret like this. The way his mind whirls in circles, coming up with every possible scenario of what could happen when he tells them. How his stomach rolls, and his insides turn to jelly at the thought of revealing it. How the fear keeps his fingers locked, and his breath short.

How much danger there is in telling the truth. ... “We’re getting out of here. Tonight. There’s a ghost who can free our souls from Caleb.”

nothing broken (just our minds)

The quiet of the studio is broken by saxophones playing a very familiar tune. The sound comes from everywhere, and yet nowhere, all at once. Luke jolts upright, guitar almost falling off of his lap. He clutches it tightly as the sax continues, a drumbeat adding to the sound now.

This can’t be possible. Caleb’s gone; they got rid of the stamps. Luke checks the inside of his wrist, panicked that somehow the purple seal will stain his skin. But there’s nothing there.

or, Caleb sends a song to torture the boys

in a world i can’t fix (with a hammer in my fist)

“Connection. That’s why you play, why your passion is music. You long for the special connection between performer and watcher, between singer and listener.”

Luke’s not sure how Caleb knew that. Maybe he had been paying attention during all those rant sessions Luke had in his office (before the jolts came, of course).

“I…” Luke can’t find any words, so Caleb fills the space with a wave of his hand. “We need people like that in the Hollywood Ghost Club, Lucas. But to have that connection, you need audience members. And that is exactly what we are here to do today.”

don’t tell me that it wasn’t black and white

“Well, I suppose a name would make things easier, Detective,” August continued, and Julie was glad he seemed to have missed her confusion. “A word -- a signifier to your senses. Something that means a smell, a feeling, a taste…” He trailed off, eyes flicking to her lips once again. Julie’s heart gave a traitorous jump.

In the distant future, Private Investigator Julie Molina finds herself with a case that leads to an annoying yet attractive agent helping her, and maybe....the hint of something more?

i can’t change the past but i can fight to change today

“It’s a song about a girl named Emily?” Julie says, and the woman’s eyes dart between the paper and Mitch. “I’m Emily,” she whispers. Julie nods solemnly and holds out the paper. “Then I think your son may have written this song for you.” Emily takes the song as Mitch puts his hands on her shoulders, leaning to read it as she unfolds it. Julie’s fully prepared to stand here and watch them read it, but then the boy behind her begins to sing.

Julie can hear Luke sing Unsaid Emily. It's... a lot

my mind is a home i’m trapped in

Alex loves being able to use his drums as an extension of himself. Sometimes he pretends his anxieties are laid out on each piece of the set. The thoughts of being dead? Clang, the symbols go. The hidden fear that his friends will turn on him for liking boys? Thump, his foot hits the pedal of the bass drum. He whacks the high and medium toms, pretending he’s beating back the questions of why and how and who and where. Those questions are different depending on the days, but he places them all onto the drums, letting himself get lost in the rhythms he creates. The anxiety backs down, the fear recedes, and he finds the enjoyment in keeping tempo for his friends.

It’s all going great, until they reach the bridge.

hold you in my arms and i won’t let go

Everyone else is broken, so Alex can’t be. Someone needs to step up, and he volunteers himself for the task.

He knows, of course, that if he said this in so many words, everyone would be quick to take the burden from him. His anxiety aside, he knows that doing things alone isn’t the Molina style. Or Julie and the Phantoms’ style either. A small part of him knows that if Julie could see him, she would give him a soft smile and remind him that they are a family, and families don’t shoulder these heavy burdens alone.

But Alex shoves imaginary Julie to the back of his mind. He has to do this, because he doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t.

wide awake in the middle of your nightmare

It happens so fast.

One minute, Luke’s watching Julie as she sings her heart out on stage. Completely mesmerized by her talent and her beauty.

Looking back later, Luke thinks that’s what the problem was. He’s always been too enamoured by Julie--too amazed by her to realize she wasn’t indestructible. She wasn’t permanent. She was fragile, even; more so than he was, because he was already dead. She never seemed breakable; the wrecking ball of talent was the one doing the destruction, breaking hearts with tragic songs and blowing minds with her incredible voice. He forgot that Julie, no matter how tough she seemed, still needed to be protected.

Accidents could still happen.

everything has got a price

But maybe the little that does is enough. Maybe, maybe, but maybe not--

Luke and Julie vanish into thin air, leaving the Orpheum Theater behind them.

~~~

It’s not enough.

They reappear into the worst place in the club, the room Luke hates the most: Caleb’s office. Nothing good ever happens in this cursed area. Luke shakes off memories of Alex clutching his chest, breath coming in short gasps, and Reggie with tears in his eyes as Luke begs for another chance, just stop hurting them.

trade my joy for her protection

“Julie, we have to have this out.”

“No, Luke, we--”

He cuts her off. “Julie, yes we do. We need to talk about it.”

don’t say goodbye

Bobby has to keep him talking so he knows his friend is still there. If Luke falls unconscious again... “Where did you get the street dogs from?”

Luke whimpers as another spasm hits him, then answers, “Sam’N’Ellas. They were close by and they were cheap.”

If the situation were different, Bobby would laugh at Luke for convincing Alex and Reggie to eat from the sketchy couple selling hot dogs out of their car. The bandmates had walked by them two weeks ago when they got the call they could play their showcase at the Orpheum, and Alex had insisted they go check out the theater.

But there’s nothing funny about watching Luke writhe in pain on the ground. ... or, Bobby finds the boys after the hotdogs and has to watch what happens next

music is the only place i can go to speak to you

If Julie could put a relationship status for herself and music, it would be “it’s complicated.”

Julie’s mom and music were so intertwined in her life. Her mom was music.

But that’s the key word, isn’t it? Was.

or, Julie thinks about music and her mom

you are alive.

Julie’s fingers still as she says, “Your hair’s getting longer. We should trim it.”

Luke doesn’t think ghosts’ hair can grow, but it’s not a big deal, so he doesn’t bother asking Willie about it.

or, the boys come back to life slowly

Watch You Breathe In

The scream rips from Julie’s throat, terror coursing through her. Not Carlos, please don’t let him die. He’s only ten.

She watches as Caleb jerks his knife out of Carlos’ stomach, her brother crumpling up and falling to the ground.

Her feet are moving instantly, rushing towards the small form lying way too still for someone with so much energy.

Please let him be okay.

you were an angel in the shape of my mom

Those plants cannot die.

That wouldn't be fair to Mom, because she loved those plants almost as much as she loved music, or her family, or those little dancing Santas the stores would have at Christmastime (which Carlos also loved, because they always made him laugh, and his mom had the best laugh which made him laugh even harder).

Carlos wrestles with grief, and takes care of some plants

it is for family that he plays

But now, Reggie can tell his friends are split in the worst of ways, and he doesn’t know what he is supposed to do.

Taking Caleb’s offer was off the table when it was simply choosing between playing for him or playing with Julie. Reggie had everything he needed with his new band — with Julie (including a family of lifers that didn’t know about him yet but he enjoyed their company nonetheless).

Rejecting Caleb’s offer had been easy.

The circumstances, however, had changed.

reggie's pov of Nothing to Lose

it is for dreams that he drums

Alex’s arms kept moving as his mind whirled. Luke was fully under Caleb’s spell now, facing the crowd beside the magician. Alex tried to stop playing, but his hands didn’t belong to him anymore. They moved to Caleb’s rhythm, keeping the tempo for the rest of the band, backing Caleb’s vocals as he continued to sing. He had given up looking for Willie, and focused on trying to get out of the club. ... Alex couldn’t let himself focus on the loss of control for too long, because he didn’t have time to spiral now. Escape first, panic later.

alex's pov during Nothing to Lose

it is only for love that he sings

This isn’t how music works. This isn’t how it should work, anyway. But it’s happening, without his permission. .... Luke knows music. And this is a perversion of everything he’s ever desired.

it's basically just luke's pov of the end of Nothing to Lose i saw imène's post and spiraled

right this way

Julie, meanwhile, is once again struck by the similarities between Luke and Donny. “Flying Solo” had turned out amazing, and they had written so many songs together since then. She had opened her dream box and used some of her other lyrics and poems she had written in the year after her mom died to create new songs with Luke, changing them around, combining them, adding his ideas to her words. And Donny had done the exact same thing for Julia; taken her words and put them to music to touch people in a new way.

or, the band watches a movie for Julie's homework and get more than they bargained for.

The Last Night

Reggie comes late to band practice one day and the boys have a revelation

Based on some lines from "The Last Night" by Skillet

dying takes longer (the second time around)

What if the jolts had lasted a little longer before Julie could give her boys the magic hug? Takes place during 1x09, starting right after the Orpheum performance Alex, Luke and Reggie's pov

Written for JATP Appreciation Week Day 7: write something set in canon-verse (mine's a little canon-divergent, sorrynotsorry)

watching is worse (the second time around)

What if the jolts had lasted a little longer before Julie could give her boys the magic hug? Takes place during 1x09 after the Orpheum performance, Julie's pov

Written for JATP Appreciation Week Day 7: write something set in canon-verse (mine's a little canon divergent, sorrynotsorry)

Butterflies and Glitter

Julie takes a second to notice the boy's outfits after their magical hug

Written for JATP Appreciation Week Day 4: found family Also written using prompt 74 from this list by @niamaggie on tumblr: https://niamaggie.tumblr.com/post/633529458786238464/100-julie-and-the-phantoms

Road Work?

Julie enjoys (somewhat) teaching the boys about modern slang. But Flynn is the master, so when she yeets a paper, the boys are confused. Vine references abound.

Written for JATP Week Day 4: write a fic including pop culture/memes

Music is Gone

Julie's thoughts as she runs away from music class and talks with Flynn during ep 1, including the deleted scene

Written for day 1 of JATP week: favorite character

16 notes · View notes

winchestersworld4 · 2 years

Text

My Only Sunshine (Chapter 4)

(Y/N) tossed and turned. Restless as she tried to sleep.

She woke immediately as Dean opened the door during his perimeter check before going to bed himself. Jumping in the bed, she prompted a hushed apology from him which she only nodded to before lying back down to face away from him.

She had dozed in and out of sleep, but had yet to truly find rest.

Every time she closed her eyes all she could think about was a car coming up the driveway.

Guns.

Benny running towards them.

Dean standing between them and her.

None of it being enough… dying only minutes after they would.

Letting Sam down.

Letting down all of the families of those girls.

So instead she tossed and turned some more before finally looking over to the clock.

4 am.

She decided this was enough and threw the blankets off of her before exiting the bedroom, finding a woman standing in the kitchen, cooking.

“Hi.” She mumbled. A little surprised at the sight and delicious smell in front of her.

“Hi, you must be (Y/N).” The woman smiled as she wiped her hands on a towel and walked around the counter with one of them stretched out towards her. (Y/N) shook her hand politely and nodded.

“Yes ma’am. Does that make you the famous Jody?”

“It does.” She chuckled. “Although I reserve the right to deny any and everything you’ve heard from the mouths of these guys.”

“All good things.” (Y/N) promised as she stepped forward following Jody back towards the stove. “Anything I can help with?”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No.” She sighed. “Figured I might as well get up at this point. I’ll take a nap later or something.”

“I’m sorry I scared you earlier. With zero comms we can’t really call ahead that we’re coming.”

“It’s okay, I’m just glad it was you.”

“I’ve finished the gumbo. Got a pot of vegetable soup on now. There is a casserole in the fridge that just needs to be put in the oven for an hour anytime you guys need, it’s good for the next few days. Freeze whatever’s left and it’ll be good for a few weeks or so.”

“Wow, Jody. That’s so nice of you… here I thought Benny was above and beyond with his famous tea.”

“That boy...” Jody shook her head. “He’s a good one. They all are really. The brother’s though, they take up a special little corner in my heart.”

“Yeah. They are.” She agreed. “Sam seems like a really amazing person. He was the only one who gave me a chance. Who believed me. I don’t even wanna think about where I’d be without him.”

“Sam has the people skills. Dean has the instincts. I mean they both can read people, but Sam just KNOWS people. If he calls it, I’ll never go against him.” Jody nods.

“I haven’t heard from him since we got here, do you know if he’s made any progress with the case?”

“Dean hasn’t talked to you about it?”

“Asked me some questions yesterday. Said it wasn’t an interrogation, but that the answers could be helpful.”

“That’s true.” Jody sighed.

“He’s not telling me something, huh?”

Jody leaned back against the counter and tossed the towel over her shoulder as her eyes narrowed in slightly on the young woman. She chewed on her lip as she thought about how she wanted to answer the question she knew she probably shouldn’t.

“He’s worried that we don’t have enough to make the impact Sam want’s.” Jody admitted quietly.

“What? Why not?” (Y/N) asked confused. “I gave him everything from the dinners, all the photos.”

“Yes, but photos don’t prove much other than they had dinner.”

“Shit.” (Y/N) sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I thought he had evidence to go to trial.”

“He does, but a good lawyer could wiggle outta this one. Dean doesn’t wanna let this go to trial until we’re sure it’s bulletproof.”

“So what can I do?”

“Just… do what he asks.” Jody shrugs. “He’ll tell you if he needs something. Sam too. They’re smart. They’ll figure it out.”

“You really love them huh?”

“I do.” Jody smiled as she turned back to the counter where she had been tinkering on and off, then she turned back and put a small bowl of soup in front of (Y/N). “It’ll help with the restless nerves. Promise.”

“You’re a mom, huh?” (Y/N) smiled softly as she picked up the spoon.

Jody smiled back sadly before looking down at her feet.

“I was.”

“Oh.. Jody. I’m so sor-“

“It was a long time ago. The boys got me through some tough times, let me mother them from time to time when I just really needed it… they lost their mom at a really young age. Sometimes I think we just needed each other.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah… lost their dad about 5 years ago. He was on the job. SWAT hostage situation went south, John went in for the hostage, and they both were lost.”

“Dean. That’s why he wanted to do SWAT, huh?”

“He always wanted to make John proud, John was hard on him… ya know? And I- I don’t know why I keep rambling. Must be the long night. It’s been a while since I’ve done night rotations.” Jody giggled. “I get all chatty when I get with a woman being surrounded by all these men all the damn time. Besides. They seem to like you.”

“Sam maybe.” (Y/N) raised her eyebrows as she sipped at her soup.

“Dean’s a different kind of creature. Trust me, if he didn’t like you. You’d know it.”

“I’m pretty sure we got off on the wrong foot, he seems like a first impressions kinda guy. Not much I can do to change that now. I guess as long as he doesn’t hate me I’ll be happy with that.”

Jody giggled to herself, a knowing glint in her eye that (Y/N) seemed to be oblivious to. It was obvious to her the way Dean rushed to check on the girl when she arrived, and the disappointment he had after seeing how afraid she had been… he cared.

The way he spoke about her safety, and the concerns he had. She knew then that this was more than just a typical assignment for Dean… sure. Maybe she could chalk that up to it being such a personal case and it being so important to Sam but she knew the look on his face was one she had seen only once before.

Lisa.

Rotten woman.

“Well, finish up, and make yourself comfortable on the couch. If you doze off then take a nap and if not then the TV is all yours. I’m gonna start on breakfast soon.”

“Jody…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it, the soup… the talk… you being here to protect me, help me. All of it.”

“Anytime, that’s my job.” Jody winked as she patted the gun on her hip and turned back to the stove.

…..

Dean woke to the aroma of coffee and something sweet… cinnamon maybe? Maple? Either way he looked over at the clock and realized it was an hour and a half past time for his perimeter rounds.

“Shit.” He grumbled jumping up out of bed and rushing for the door.

He threw it open and the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

(Y/N) was asleep on the couch, covered by a soft blanket. Jody was standing in the kitchen, wide eyed taking in the sight of him in a t-shirt and boxers with frazzled hair and sleep still plastered on his face as he tried to adjust to the bright lights coming in through the window. He looked between (Y/N) and the kitchen once more as he realized there was French toast, bacon, fresh coffee, and eggs laid out on the table waiting for them.

“Uhh… you gonna get dressed first or what? Cause that’s kinda awkward.” Jody gave him a raised eyebrow. Dean instantly looked down to his morning wood and moved to cover it before retreating to his room. He quickly ran to the bathroom and rushed his already brief morning routine before stepping back out now dressed with his weapon holstered in the back of his jeans.

“What the hell happened to my alarms?”

“I turned them off.” Jody smiled as she set a cup of coffee down in the chair he moved to sit in.

“Why?!”

“Because I had everything under control, she was awake and in the living room with me, and you needed the rest.”

“Dammit Jody… we needed to do a perimeter check.”

“I did. I walked it. She stayed here with you, the doors were locked. She knew to wake you if I wasn’t back in exactly 4 minutes.”

“So she just so happened to be up and cheery at 5:15 this morning?” Dean asked skeptically looking over to her.

“She got up a little before 4:30… well she got out of bed. She hadn’t really slept all night. She finally fell asleep about 20 minutes ago, so I’d rather not wake her if you don’t mind.”

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stared at the couch where she slept soundly. Her hair was pulled up in a sloppy knot on the top of her head, and her sweater hung off her shoulder. Her legs were drawn up and her entire body leaned against the side of the couch. He knew she couldn’t be that comfortable and would be stiff if she slept there for too long… how could she sleep with the noise of people in and out? She’d be better off in her quiet room where she could actually rest.

“We oughta carry her to bed, Jody. That can’t be comfortable.”

“I think she couldn’t sleep because she didn’t want to be alone, Dean.” Jody told him with a knowing glare. “Leave her there, she’s fine.”

“She needs to eat something.”

“She ate soup.”

“At 430?” Dean deadpanned.

“It’s never a bad time for my soup, you know this.” Jody teased him. He rolled his eyes but could push the playful smile off his face. “She’s a sweet girl, really. It’s a shame she’s in a mess like this. You’re right… she has no idea what’s after her, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean sighed heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“She’s asking questions too. She wants to talk to Sam soon.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame her. She’s not gotten many answers… just more questions.”

“She’s not stupid.”

“How could she not have seen it then, Jody?” Dean shook his head. It was the single most perplexing thing about her in his mind. She obviously wasn’t a stupid woman. She was bright. She was charismatic. He was sensing she had ambition and a stubborn streak too. It just didn’t settle with him that she couldn’t have known… so could she still be lying to them?

No.

There’s not a hint of a lie on her face when he speaks to her.

“I have a couple of theories. Overtime maybe we’ll find out more and we’ll understand as we get to know her better.” Jody assured him.

“What time is Bobby coming?”

“I told him last night to come around lunch, I’d have a plate ready for him.”

“I’m sure he loved that.” Dean snorted as he admired the breakfast he lifted onto his fork and shoveled towards his mouth, a slight moan of satisfaction before another bite.

“Yes, well as I told her, there’s a few things in the fridge that are ready to heat and eat. Directions are on the fridge.”

“Thank you.” Dean grinned.

“So what do we need to dig up to get Sam his trial, and get this girl her life back?”

“A miracle.”

…..

(Y/N) began to stir as footsteps moved past her. She nuzzled herself farther into the side of the couch and fought not to give into her brain pulling her out of her slumber, wanting to sleep a little longer. A chill ran down her exposed legs to between her shorts and low cut socks. She pulled her blanket around her tighter and pushed her feet against something warm, sliding them underneath the source and humming contently.

A chuckle caught her attention.

Suddenly she was more awake, her eyes shooting open and landing on Dean who sat on the other end of the couch where she had been sleeping. He wore an amused grin, and she swore that if she had a thought on her mind, it would have left her at that exact moment due to the sheer beauty in that grin.

It was bright and playful as he licked his bottom lip slightly.

“You just like sleeping on my couches?” He teased her.

Before she responded she slightly curled her toes and realized they were buried under his heavy and warm thigh, causing her to swallow the words that were fixing to leave her mouth. He didn’t move to stand or push them away… so she left them as her eyes pulled back up to his. Something bold overtaking her in the midst of her hazy mind.

“I would have picked your bed, but you look like a cover hog.” She shot back with a sleepy grin.

“Says the girl who just buried her cold feet under my leg.” He challenged with the ghost of a smile still pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Instead of responding she chuckled as she wiggled her toes and pushed them a little further and turned her body inwards towards the couch more to snuggle against it for warmth.

“Are you cold?” He asked at a low volume, his eyes still on her as she looked over to him once more. She nodded; afraid words would stutter as she lost herself in his stare. She expected him to stand and throw a blanket her way, or maybe suggest she quit being lazy and get dressed… she almost couldn’t stop her lips from parting slightly as his hand reached out and slid up the bottom of the blanket where her legs were partially exposed.

He rubbed his hand up and down her calves, providing friction with the intention of giving her warmth.

It warmed her… but not from the friction.

Her body instantly warmed under his touch.

“Thanks.” She whispered looking up to him, but his gaze was back on the TV where he was now watching some movie or show she had never seen. Not responding to her verbally, but continuing to move his hand up and down, leaving her feet buried under his thick and heavy leg where heat radiated off of him.

(Y/N) noted he was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and some jeans. He left his hand on her leg, even after it stilled… but he never once turned his gaze back on her or pushed for more conversation.

He baffled her.

So cold, and then giving the warmest of sensations before returning to his rather chilled behaviors. While they weren’t exactly rude, they were certainly professional at most, and she would even go as far as to call him standoff-ish.

Yet, she found herself willing to lay on this couch all day if it meant he’d keep his hand against her.

“Lunch will be up in 30 minutes.”

Jody’s voice pulled both of their attention, and Dean’s hand, from where it was resting. (Y/N) finally pulled herself to sit up and stretched her arms forward, rolling her neck side to side before standing.

Dean tried to force himself not to watch as she stood and twisted her body from side to side to pull her stiff muscles loose again, but his efforts were clearly in vain. He couldn’t stop his eye from training themselves on the black shorts riding up her thighs, and hugging in all the right ways from where she stood in front of him… almost as if she knew what she was doing.

“I guess I should get up and get dressed.” She mumbled before stepping forward. Dean watched her walk away, but she paused as she hit the hallway and stopped to look at him. He was quick to make sure his eyes were drawn upwards to meet hers. “Thanks again, for the body heat.”

“Sure.” He nodded casually with a small grin.

Jody shook her head and chuckled to herself… turning and finding Dean glaring at her over the back of the couch. She held her hands up in defense before turning back to the stove and biting her lip to hold back the other half of her laughter.

As (Y/N) made her way back out to the living room and kitchen Jody was laying food out on the table, and Dean was watching an old truck pull up down the drive way.

“Well I’ll be damned… look he dragged up.” Dean mumbled. (Y/N) Looked up curiously as Dean walked over to the front door and leaned against the open doorway. She expected a man to enter and greet Dean, but what she didn’t expect was to see Sam right behind that man as he greeted Dean with a hug, then moved to do the same for Jody before moving in and smiling at her.

“Hey (Y/N), you doing okay?”

“Hey Sam!” She grinned genuinely happy to see him “I’m good, thank you. How are you?”

“Busy, but… wanted to come out and check on things. I figured if I had to make a visit I might as well do it while grumpy was here.” He grinned over to the older man (Y/N) was assuming must be Bobby, who she had heard them mention earlier.

“Oh shut up ya idjits.” The man grumbled before greeting Jody with a hug and kiss to the cheek, then he moved to pull a spare chair up to the table.

“Sit down boys, lunch is ready.” Jody called out. (Y/N) watched as Sam and Dean pushed each other around slightly before making their way to their seats, one on each side of her, Jody and Bobby across from them. She had to admit she felt slightly nervous at having both of them so close to her, Jody seemed to notice and sent her a sly wink while the boys were busy scooping food onto their plates.

“So how’s the property?” Bobby asked.

“Quiet so far.” Dean mumbled. “Benny did an indepth scout, mapped it out and pinned it above the desk over there. Hunters cabin nearby. Oh, and there seems to be a bear or two.”

“What!” (Y/N)’s eyes shot open and she turned to face him in shock. “You never said anything about bears!”

“Oh, don’t worry about them, they’re good actually. Keeps people from wandering too close to us and you probably won’t see them unless you’re out there at night or leave a bunch of food out. They’re not used to people.” Dean explained like it was so normal for him.

“Bears… you couldn’t have told me that before I went wandering around the trails?” She deadpanned at him once again.

“Just more of a reason for you to never go out of the house alone.” He challenged scooping some food into his mouth. She rolled her eyes slightly. Sam chuckled at them.

“Well I’m sure with the pond being a water source for the smaller critters and stock pile for the fish… they’ve been by once or twice and you just didn’t notice. Probably sneak in and out while you sleep. No reason to worry.” Bobby assured her.

“Thanks… I’m (Y/N) by the way.” She said extending her hand across the table, Bobby accepting it.

“Bobby Singer.” He nodded.

“Card shark. Moonshine drunk. Grade A asshole…” Dean mumbled as Bobby kicked him under the table. Sam laughed once more.

“(Y/N) I’m sorry.” Sam said suddenly catching everyone’s attention. She froze and looked up to him. “I forgot how much of a pain in the ass it is to live with Dean. I should have warned you.”

Everyone began to laugh.

“Yeah yeah yeah, shut up.” Dean grumbled through his mouth full of food.

“He has a comfy couch at least.” She teased as she smiled at him, he grinned but never looked up to meet her eyes.

“Well. I do have to apologize for real this time. I have an ulterior motive for coming… I have to ask something.” Sam then said setting down his fork and taking a drink.

(Y/N)’s stomach began to knot, feeling her hands start to shake slightly. She doesn’t know why… she likes Sam. She trusts him, but surely whatever he has to ask her must not be a good thing or he would have just asked over the phone, what would have caused him to come all the way out here and ask her in person?

“What’s wrong?” She finally voiced when he looked to her with heavy eyes.

“Brian got out on bail…”

“What?” She asked confused. “How?”

“His friends. High places. Money. Lawyers… you name it. But he came looking for you.”

She looked down at her hands.

“What about… what about the trial, and the photos. I mean how can they just let him out after all that?”

“This is why I need to ask you for your help again.”

“What can I do?” She asked after the silence became to heavy for her. She noticed no one else was speaking. Dean beside her was stiff, watching Sam carefully. Jody and Bobby both watching between them carefully.

“I need you to talk to him. I need to see what you can get out of him… see if he’ll cave on something.”

“What?!” Dean said before she could answer. “Zero comms. This is what we agreed on. That was the only way, we can’t go back… we altered her look. We can’t come back on the grid after pulling the disappearing act and give them a trail to follow, Sam.”

“I know what we agreed on, Dean. But this opportunity just kinda fell into my lap. Okay?! You told me we had to get something bulletproof! You said we needed more, and that we had to wait until it came along, and then it came along. He is looking for her. He wants to see her, desperately… I think it could work.”

Dean stood up and shoved his chair at the table.

“This could compromise the entire team.” He mumbled as he paced back and forth beside the table.

“Where does he think I am?”

“He thinks you went back home.”

“Dammit…” Her shoulders slumped. “Is… Is that where we have to go to meet with him?”

Sam watched her reaction carefully, as did Dean. They met eyes as her shoulder sank and her own eyes closed, her fingers pinched against them at the mention of going home.

She didn’t want to go home… why?

What had they missed.

What didn’t they know.

Dean suddenly spun his mind for more than one reason, what had he overlooked… what had he not dug deep enough on?

“Yes.” Sam said before coughing to clear his throat. “I promise you, (Y/N). You will be safe. We will not leave your side. We won’t bring your family into this, we won’t put them in danger.”

She laughed and shook her head back and forth as she continued to stare down at a spot on the table, as if the spot had personally offended her in some way.

“It’s fine. When…” She finally said after a minute of uncomfortable silence between them all.

“Tomorrow?”

She shook her head up and down.

“Okay, well… what do I need to do?”

“Blonde wig. Baseball cap. I’ll have it picked up and delivered tonight.” Dean mumbled angrily. “You cannot give him any reason to believe you’ve changed your appearance. He has to believe you went home. He has to believe you’re still blonde. That you left him on your own.”

“He’s gonna know I didn’t go home.”

“Why?”

“He just will.”

“Why?” Dean pushed again.

“He just will, Dean.” She pushed back, crossing her arms defensively. “The only person I would even speak to in that fucking town is an old boyfriend, so the only thing he MIGHT buy is that I went back to Hayes because I didn’t know where else to go… that’s it.”

“FINE.” Dean growled. “Then that’s the story we go with.”

“Promise me, we won’t pull him into this.” She then turned and said to Sam.

“I promise.” He nodded. “(Y/N) I’m so sorry. I know the plan was that you’d never have to see him again unless it was in that courtroom… I’m sorry I couldn’t hold up my end on that.”

“It’s okay, Sam. It’s not your fault.” She tried to give him a smile as she stood.

“Sweetheart, you should eat, you haven’t had anything since you had soup.” Jody said softly.

“Thanks, but I’m just not that hungry Jody. It tastes amazing though… thanks for cooking Jody. It was nice to meet you, Bobby.”

With that she turned and quickly disappeared down the hall, shutting her bedroom door behind her roughly. Dean slightly flinched at the noise, then he let out a long sigh with his eyes closed before turning them towards Sam.

“What the hell dude… you couldn’t have given me the heads up?”

“It wasn’t up to you, Dean. I had to ask her. It was her choice.” Sam said honestly.

“Well that went swell.”

The statement dripped sarcasm, and Dean continued his pacing.

“Sit down ya idjit or your gonna wear holes in the floor.” Bobby grumbled to him as they returned to their meal.

“Well, I don’t know what’s going on there… but let me know what the plan is and where we need to be for tomorrow.”

“I need you guys here. I need someone on the house tomorrow while we’re gone to make sure no one comes while we’re gone.” Dean said quickly.

“Who’s going with you?” Sam asked.

“I’ll have Cas and Benny on site, one ahead of us, one tail us, both on site for the meet.”

“Okay, well. Jody sounds like you and I got ourselves a night of poker… you better hit the ATM.” Bobby winked to her.

…..

(Y/N) Sat in the floor, her head leaned back against the bed… where she had sat since she entered her room. So much swimming in her head, that she wasn’t sure where to start trying to sort it out.

Brian.

Home.

It was so much at once…

She didn’t want to talk to him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the truth from his mouth… from his lips. Wanted it confirmed right to her face that she was such an idiot for so fucking long.

On top of that she had to go back to that God-forsaken town… back to the shit hole that watched her suffer and did nothing to help her. The shit hole full of people who could give two shits about what’s right.

If it wasn’t for Hayes, she wouldn’t have ever made it out.

She owed him her life in more ways than one, and she would never allow him to be drawn into such a mess, especially not for her. He deserved more… deserved better.

Yet, so did she.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Come in.” She said without looking up, wondering if Jody was coming to say goodbye before leaving.

“Hey… mind if I sit with you?”

Sam’s voice cut through the room like honey. It was soft and smooth, and she found comfort in it. She looked up to him and simply nodded her head up and down. He moved to come and sit beside her, his legs were much longer, and they almost pushed against the doorway of the bathroom not far from where they were sitting.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” He mumbled once more.

“Its okay, Sam. We have to do whatever it takes to take these assholes out, right?” She tried to push on a smile. Sam noted her efforts and it melted his heart that she wanted so desperately to try.

“Yeah… but I know this isn’t easy on you. I’m not sure what happened, back home. I would have said something else if I had known. I’m sorry for that too.”

“THAT…” She paused. “That one, is definitely not your fault, Sam. That one’s not on you or Brian or anyone in this mess. That one’s just… part of who I am now I guess.”

“Whatever it is, you came out on the other end. You’ll come out on the other end of this thing too.”

“I hope so.” She smiled up to him.

“Hey… I think there might be someone who wants to talk to you.” He smiled as he pulled out his phone. (Y/N)’s eyebrow’s knitted together with confusion as she watched his smirk grow into a complete boyish grin as he began to face-time someone named Jess.

After only 2 rings a beautiful blonde woman answered.

“Hey baby.” She smiled up to him.

“Hey Jess… is he there?” Sam smiled, (Y/N) could see the love Sam had for her painted all over his face. His eyes lit up like lights as soon as they landed on her.

“Oh, you mean this handsome fella?” Jess asked as she leaned over and suddenly over her shoulder was a familiar furry face that nearly knocked (Y/N)’s breath right out of her chest as she gasped and sat up, leaning directly over Sam’s shoulder to get a closer look.

“Sam…” She whispered as tears filled her eyes and made it hard for her to focus on the small screen. There was a familiar bark and soft whines as her best friend recognized her too.

“Hey bud, there’s my boy!” She cried against Sam’s shoulder, not even ashamed at the way she was on the verge of sobbing and her voice continued to break. The barking continued and Jess giggled.

“He has been so good since we picked him up, he has snuggled in bed with me every day after Sam goes to work. He loves to go on walks and Sam lets him run the bases at the ball park at night after the local schools finish their games sometimes. He’s adjusted really well, but he definitely misses his momma.” Jess smiled through the phone at her as she loved on the dog and scratched behind his ear.

“Thank you… I-I…I can’t… Just. Thank y-you!” (Y/N) shamelessly sobbed on Sam’s shoulder at this point. Feeling her emotions completely overwhelm her.

“I’ll call you back, Jess.” Sam blew her a kiss before putting the phone down and moving to drape an arm over the woman beside him. He rubbed his hand up and down her back as she cried into him, the noise catching Dean’s attention and causing him to come and stand silently in the doorway.

“Thank you so much, Sam…” She finally was able to sniffle the sentence after several minutes. “You don’t know what that mean’s to me. What he means to me.”

“I could tell when you left the office the other day that he was important. I had him picked up, and even though he did have to do a 24 hour quarantine with animal control Jess and I agreed that we couldn’t leave him there or with anyone who might hurt him. So, we brought him home with us until you can get your life settled again, we’ll take care of him. I promise.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him as tightly as she could, and he chuckled as he reciprocated. Dean still stood very quietly, making sure to keep his presence unnoticed but he did allow the smile to creep across his face.

“I’ll do anything, Sam. Anything you need.” She sniffled once more as she pulled away.

“I know you would… because it’s the right thing to do. Not because of this. That’s why I asked first, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.”

“… Why do you believe in me? Everyone else seems to think I had to be a bad person to be with Brian.”

“I think that you wanted Brian to be a good person so much, that you missed the bad. I believe in you because I know it’s the right choice. I just… do.”

“I won’t let you down, Sam. I promise.” She whispered.

“We won’t let you down either, okay? We’ve got you. You’re going to be safe. We’re gonna nail these assholes and you’re gonna get your life back… even if it takes a while. We’re gonna get them. I know it.”

…..

(Y/N) came out as the sun began to set, a sweater hanging off one shoulder and a simple pair of jeans with a hole in the knee.

“Hey, where’s Bobby?” She asked as she approached Dean who was flipping through some files at the table again. He closed them as she approached, giving her an uncomfortable feeling.

“Doing a perimeter check. Should be back in a few minutes.”

“Are you hungry or anything? I could heat up one of Jody’s meals for you guys?” She offered.

“I’m fine. You’re the one who missed two meals already today… you should eat.”

“Yeah.” She sighed as she tapped her foot against the ground nervously.

“(Y/N). What ever it is you want to ask me that you’re not asking me… just ask.”

“Could… Could you take me outside for a while? Its, uh. It’s golden hour, and I want to try and get a few shots before the sun settles.”

Dean looked her up and down.

“One condition.”

“… Okay.” She nodded nervously.

He immediately stood and walked into the kitchen, opening a cabinet and reaching in. he grabbed what looked to be a granola bar of some sort and walked back towards her.

“Eat something, and we’ll have dinner when we get back. Deal?”

Instead of taking the granola bar out of his hands she got a devious look in her eye, then she simply tore the edge of the wrapper, ripping it open and bending over, biting off a large chunk while he continued to hold the rest of the bar in his hand.

Her gaze pulled back up to him with amusement; he fought hard not to break out a 1000 watt smile, but his lips twitched slightly and (Y/N) didn’t miss it.

“All of it.” He challenged with eyebrows raised.

She should have just reached for the bar… she should take it from him and eat it like a normal fucking person. But she just couldn’t.

No, she chuckled and licked her bottom lip before leaning back down and pulling the rest of the bar out of the wrapper with her teeth and working the entire thing into her mouth. While it wasn’t large by any means, the notion of pulling it all the way past her lips without the use of her hands was still a bit of challenge.

Dean’s eyes might as well have held fire behind the green irises. They were slightly dilated and not once did he blink. (Y/N) chewed slowly and intently, making sure that never tore her gaze from his. Finally with a loud and throaty sound, she swallowed. Sticking out her tongue to show she had finished eating it as he requested.

“Good girl.”

It came out almost as a growl, deep and guttural.

He walked past her, rubbing his shoulder against hers as he went. She wondered if she should change her panties before they left, because they were definitely no longer dry. The words… the words did something to her, and she had to ask herself if he knew the impact they had on her.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Was he playing with matches, just like she was? Trying to see if there was a fire to be lit.

Either way, he was pulling on his jacket and she moved to grab her camera and then walked out past the door he held open for her. She led them off the porch and to the edge of the pond, hoping to catch something fluttering across the top of the water, or maybe the tree line in the reflection.

Just as they approached, she noted a crane in the water not far from them. She paused, slowly sinking down to squat on one knee as she lifted the camera to find the best position. She snapped a few pictures, and realized the light was in the wrong spot… but if she moved too fast, too soon. He’d fly away.

So instead she laid on her belly and army crawled across the grass slowly until the sunlight in the sky was directly behind him, then she lifted her camera once again and grinned as she snapped a few shots in the perfect light.

Once she was happy, she stood and of course as she predicted he moved to get away. This was fine however because she was now looking for her next subject to capture.

Dean watched close but still at a distance as she carefully and slowly pushed her way closer and closer to the bird, unafraid of dirt or lying on the ground close to bugs. He followed as she continued to hunt for things to photograph. He wondered what it is exactly she was looking for.

Whatever it was, she must have found it.

She had stopped suddenly, raising her camera in her hand and pointing it towards the tree line behind the house…

Deer.

A mother and a yearling. Still a few spots along its back. He watched as she knelt down once more, and then moved from side to side before standing and attempting to get shots at different angles. A sound nearby spooked the deer and they too disappeared.

She sighed as she made her way back towards him.

“I don’t suppose you’re up for a hike?” She asked.

“It’ll be dark in 20 minutes and Bobby is still finishing his checks, we need to say close to the house.”

“Okay, no problem.” She said as she spun and continued to hunt for something that catches her eye.

“Hey… (Y/N).”

“Yeah?”

“I need to ask you a question, and I need you to answer it.”

“Okay?” She answered puzzled.

“Why don’t you want to go home? What don’t I know?”

“Dean.” She sighed. “Can we just not. I just don’t wanna go back… I worked really had to get the hell out of a town that had nothing to offer me, okay?”

“You’re lying.”

“Ughhhh… Dean. I just. I don’t want to!”

“Why.” He crossed his arms.

“Because I don’t.”

“… (Y/N) Don’t play with me. I’ll find whatever it is your hiding.”

His tone and his words caught her off guard.

_”Wow… I’ve been on your bullshit cartel America’s Most Wanted List ONCE and now all of a sudden I’m a fucking criminal.” She laughed slightly throwing her hands up.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m asking you a question.”

“The question your asking is fucking personal, Dean. Okay? I’m sure you have other ways of finding the answers… you think I know you aren’t already digging? You closed that folder mighty fast earlier. Just look into my family. See what you find. I’m sure you can piece together the puzzle from there.”

She turned to stalk off back towards the house.

“(Y/N) stop… wait!” Dean called after her seeing that she was obviously upset. He grumbled and pulled his hand down his face, weighing out his options. He was angry, why couldn’t she just fucking tell him? Why did she have to make it so difficult?

He did the one thing he didn’t want to do.

He pulled out his phone, switching it over to satellite and dialing the number he memorized years ago.

“Dean. I heard you were off grid, everything okay?”

Charlie’s worried voice caused him to grin slightly.

“Yeah, I’m good. I need a favor.”

“Ohhh… do tell. I always like it when a Winchester owes me a favor.” She chuckled, causing him to grin as he stared pensively at the house in front of him.

“I need to know everything. Dig deep… full work up. All the skeletons, even the small shit. Whole family.”

“Send me what you got, and I’ll start today.”

“When you get it, just text me about the tires. Okay?”

“You got it.”

Dean hung up the phone and tapped it against his forehead a couple of times. He knows its risky to pull in someone from outside the team, someone off the force, but he knows Charlie. He trusts Charlie. She would never betray him, and honestly she’s more efficient than any police force he’s ever worked with… If anyone can get him the answers he needs, it’s her. He just hopes that opening up a communications line doesn’t come back to bite him later.

“You know that phone works better if you put it to your ear instead of your face.” Bobby chided as he approached from the side.

“Thanks.” Dean scoffed as he slid it back in his pocket and turned to face the older man.

“What’s got you spinning your wheels, kid?”

“From day 1 I knew I was missing something… it didn’t add up. SHE didn’t add up, Bobby. I just can’t shake it. Sometimes I think maybe I overreacted b-“

“Who you? Never…” Bobby teased, earning a glare from Dean. J

“I’m serious, Bobby. I kept thinking I was missing something about this case. About her ties to the cartel. Maybe its got nothing to do with that… maybe it’s whatever she’s got tucked away in her closet from before. I need to know what it is.”

“So ask her.”

“I did… didn’t exactly go well.”

“Did you ask her, or did you accuse her?”

“I asked!”

“… Boy. Watch your tone with me. If you asked her anything like the way you just answered me then was it really asking? I mean we all saw her reaction to even the mention of having to go back there. Something happened. You’re right… We probably should know about it incase it’s important or relevant to something in the case.”

“Thank you!” Dean sighed exasperated as he threw up his hands and shuffled on his feet again.

“But that don’t mean you can force her to tell you. Whatever happened hurt her, Dean. Bad. Surely you can see that. She probably hasn’t gone back to that place, mentally or physically in a really long time. She can’t just re-open those wounds simply because you asked.”

“Well then what the hell do I do?”

“Explain it to her, stop being an ass and tell her why it’s important. Take what she gives you, and if you’d give her some time to build that trust with you then I have a feeling she’ll tell you anything you need to know. She wants to help. Hasn’t she proved that?”

Dean chewed on his lip as if he was chewing on Bobby’s words.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

…..

Dean stood outside of her door. Debating on knocking like he has for the last ten minutes going back and forth between her door and the kitchen. Finally, he bit the bullet. Grabbed her plate, and forced his knuckles to knock against the wooden door.

No response.

“(Y/N) come on. You have to eat. We had a deal.” He said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Soft footsteps made their way to the door, and then it opened slowly. She looked between him and the plate he was holding. It had a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of Jody’s soup, a water bottle wedged in the crook of his arm beside it.

“Thank you.” She said reaching out and accepting the plate, not meeting his gaze. He handed over the water and she quickly moved to shut the door, but dean’s foot in the doorway stopped the movement and caused her to finally look up to him.

“Can I come in, please?” He asked with a steady voice.

“Why?”

“Because I asked nicely.” He said with raised eyebrows. Her own eyebrows shot upwards in a similar fashion. She scoffed and shook her head as she shoved the door open again and moved to walk back inside. She set the plate down on the bedside table before sitting on the bed against the headboard, her knees pulled up slightly. Her eyes solely focused on the blanket at her feet.

“(Y/N)” Dean sighed as he stepped forward and crossed his arms from where he stood beside the bed. “I. I’’m- I’m sorry… okay? I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“Geez. It physically pains you doesn’t it…”

“What?”

“To have to apologize to me.” She finally looked up to him again.

“Yeah well. I don’t say it often, so. Don’t get used to it.” He tried to give her a playful smile, she gave small laugh in return, but Dean couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not.

“What do you want, Dean? Really…”

He looked at her with confusion.

“If you just wanted to apologize you would have choked out the words and then disappeared, but you’re still standing here. Uncomfortably, might I add. So… what do you want?”

Dean nodded his head up and down before turning and taking a seat on the side of her bed. He stared at the wall, debating on what to say next. His hands twisted back and forth.

“Sammy was just a baby… when our Mom died. Dad raised us and did the best he could. But he grieved her his entire life. He never let it go… never stopped chasing what killed her, or who. Sam’s wellbeing has been my top priority most of my life… when he found Jess. He became a lawyer. He became a husband. He became his own person with his own life, but to me he will always be Sammy, and I will always take care of him.”

He looked up to her, and her face had softened significantly. She had leaned forward and was not resting her chin on her folded arms that laid on her knees. Watching him intently as he spoke, taking in the words he was speaking as if her life depended on it… which to be fair maybe in her mind they did.

“Jess had a sister. She was beautiful, always looking for the next big adventure in life… but sometimes that just got her in trouble. Somehow, she got mixed up with this crew, Brian’s crew.”

(Y/N)’s stomach sank and her eyes began to water.

“We didn’t know until it was too late, she had gone missing… was gone for weeks until we found her body. Sam has been hunting them ever since. As much as he resented our father for never being able to let go of the past, he’s just like him.” Dean chuckled. “He’s doing it for Jess, because he loves her… and there is nothing I won’t do to help him give her the closure and peace she deserves. The justice that they deserve.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” (Y/N) finally whispered. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know about any of them. If I had known. I would have never, I- I would have helped them.”

“Sam believes you can help us, and I just don’t want him to be blindsided if something hits the fan.”

“You think I’m going to blindside him.” She mumbled.

“I think I have to be prepared for anything when it comes to protecting Sam, and protecting you. (Y/N) even if I don’t make it obvious, I really am on your side here. But you have to help me be on your side… you’ve got to tell me things so that I can prepare us for anything that may come up. Especially going into a situation like the one we’re gonna be in tomorrow… one where there is obviously some history I don’t know about.”

“It’s not that simple, Dean.”

Her hands fidget back and forth as she pulls and twists at loose strings. As a heavy hand lands on hers, she freezes. Here eyes move back up to meet his.

“I know that, and I know it’s not easy either… but it could be important.”

“I don’t wanna go back there.” She whispers, her eyes never breaking free from his. He searched her gaze for anything angry or withdrawn, but all he found was something small and vulnerable.

“I’ll stay with you the whole time, you won’t be there alone.”

“They all knew about it, Dean… they knew about it and they did nothing.” She said as a tear slid down her cheek, she dipped her face against her knee to wipe it away.

“Knew about what?”

“They knew… they knew he was drinking. They knew he was hurting her.”

Her words were small and tight. They didn’t give details, but Dean pushed his mind to pull details out of her file for context… he knew her mother too had died when she was 16. He knew that she had a younger brother. He knew that her father was a judge in their hometown, but that he too had died about 4 years afterwards… drowning accident.

Her mother’s death had been a car accident, unfortunate yet something that happened every day. Nothing about it struck him as out of the ordinary.

He doesn’t know what possessed his hand to move, because it certainly wasn’t his brain… perhaps his hand formed its own damn brain and started making decisions without his permission. All he knew is that before he could decide his hand had moved off of hers and found its way to her face, sliding against the edge of her cheek before his fingers slid into her hair and his thumb grazed against her cheek bone, wiping away the tear she missed.

But he didn’t pull it away.

She didn’t pull away.

She stayed, leaned against his hand as his finger tips moved ever so slightly against her scalp.

“He killed her… he would have killed me. Hayes, got me out. He made me promise never to come back. But, I didn’t listen. I wanted to go back for James, my brother.”

“T-there was an incident… at the lake house.” She swallowed around the dry lump in her throat. She chewed on her cheek and pulled her eye away from his.

“Okay… that’s enough for now.” Dean sighed. “Is there anyone there that knows the truth, about what happened to your mom? Anyone who might want to keep you quiet or might not want you making waves in town while we’re there?”

“Everyone.” She whispered looking back up at him.

“Okay.” He sighed deeply as he nodded up and down. “Is your bother still there?”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Is there more that I need to know?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged.

Dean stared at her, looking more defeated and sunken in on herself than she had since the day he met her… something in him couldn’t push. Couldn’t ask for more. He could wait… Charlie would fill in the gaps and hopefully he knew enough to keep them safe tomorrow.

“Okay, well… that’s enough for tonight. Thank you. For telling me the truth.”

“I’m sorry… that I can’t tell you more right now.”

“Maybe later, huh?” He offered with half a grin.

“Maybe.” She nodded as she laid against his hand, slightly nuzzling herself against his warm palm.

“You really need to eat something, we’re gonna leave at 5, drive most of the day. Meet Brian tomorrow evening. Then immediately start making our way back. It’s gonna be a long one.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

The nickname caught him off guard almost as much as it caught her off guard, but he hid it much better than she did; simply waiting for her to speak again with a relaxed posture and easy eyes.

“Brian… what- what do I say to him?”

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow. We have plenty of time to prep in the car, okay?”

She nodded, her movements still slightly constricted by his hand weaved into her hair.

“Benny and Cas will be close too, okay? Sam too. We will protect you. The moment things don’t feel right, we’ll pull you out. I promise.”

“I know you will.” She gave him a small smile.

“Eat.” He nodded to her plate once more before he withdrew his hand and stood from the side of her bed. She instantly missed his touch and the warmth it brought her.

“Yes sir.” She smirked before picking up half of the grilled cheese and lifting it to her lips for a bite, chewing with mischief in her eyes. Dean chuckled and shook his head as his hands found his hips and he turned towards the door.

“Hey Dean…” She called out before he could leave the room. He turned to face her, but didn’t speak.

“Thank you… for telling me the truth. About your family, and Jess’s sister. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help her.”

“You’re helping her now, that’s what matters.”

#spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean au #sam winchester #jody mills #bobby singer #supernatural #fanfic #spnfic #slow burn #angst #fluff #spn family #series

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

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9 & 13 for the writer asks, please :)

bobbie, hi ! lovely to see you here, my friend <3 hope you're having a great start to your weekend :) thanks so much for submitting these ones !

and thanks to @lordoftherazzles for creating this tag game 💌

9. have you ever made yourself laugh with something you've written?

short answer: yes.

long answer: usually when i'm writing some intentionally awkward flirting between steddie, i won't be satisfied UNLESS it makes me personally smile or giggle (that's like my litmus test for if it gets included in the final draft).

also, whenever i get to write ensemble scenes with the whole gang (bonus points: if it's steddie 'parenting; the kids), i find myself laughing. i recently wrote these few lines for it's rotten work and they make me smile:

“Uh, no. That’s okay. Thanks, though,” Steve’s mom-brain is running at the speed of light as he tries to do the math on how to accommodate everyone, explain everything, and deal with the potential fallout–all while getting the kids to go to bed at a reasonable hour, “Why’d you guys come here, anyway?”

“To drink alcohol and kiss our boyfriends–at least that’s what Max said earlier,” she says in a distorted imitation of a regular teen–one who hasn’t lived through years of unethical lab experimentation, multiple apocalyptic events, and attained telekinesis.

“Do you and your boyfriend kiss with alcohol, Steve?” she wonders aloud and he stammers around trying to generate an acceptable, PG-13 answer.

“Well, you know. I don’t–I think that it’s best–”

“Oh, they’ve definitely kissed,” Dustin jogs over and Mike tags along on lanky legs.

“Definitely,” Mike confirms, like he might be able to apply the scientific method to prove it, “Just look at the hickeys on Steve’s neck! Either a vampire attacked him in the woods or he and Eddie have been having sex in Hopper’s cabin–which ew–”

“Oh gross!” Lucas exclaims from his perch across the room, “I bet there’s dude jizz all over the cabin. I’m probably sitting in some right now, aren’t I? Actually don’t answer that–”

“Okayyyy. Sounds like mama bear needs some help getting her ducklings back in line. That’s my cue, Red,” Eddie ties off the intricate braid he’s weaved into Max’s strawberry colored hair and leaves her giggling with an unintelligible comment he whispers into her ear.

13. multichapter fics or one shots?

ahh don't make me choose ! jk, jk.

as a reader, i have a slight preference for multichapter fics.

i'm def one of those people that gravitates towards works with over 100k words (or even 200k tbh) and some seriously fucked up tags (what can i say? i like the dark stuff. the more fucked up/toxic and crazy the better sometimes lol in fiction at least). like the fact that each installment of @azrielgreen's fics tends to be over 20k words is the best to me lol. I live for it ! also I just live for her writing in general, wow.

but tbh if it's steddie, i'll read anything under the sun. and bc i'm constantly writing and working on my own wips, one shots do bode well for me due to time constraints !

and as a writer, i have a HUGE preference for multichapter fics. bc if i'm obsessed with a pairing (and steddie is seriously my otp forever) i want to stay immersed in that universe for as long as possible. and bc I like to torture myself with writing slowburns and/or angst with a happy ending, i find that the multipchapter/giant word count format works best for plot and character development.

to me, it's rotten work and i wore his jacket are both heavily character driven. it's rotten work was born out of the idea that i wanted to explore steve's trauma in the whumpiest/brutal way possible. eventually, that transformed into addressing and exploring eddie's trauma, as well. and in order for a fic like that to work and to see any real healing take place, i think the story needs time to breathe and develop for it to be believable/feel realistic enough for the reader.

anyways !! sorry that was a way too long answer but I had too many thoughts in my brain on the topic. if you read that all, I seriously adore you <3

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Series Masterlist - Never Say Goodbye

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. **(18+ only) | [Soulmate AU]

Series Tags/Warnings: Soulmate AU set in season 1 & 2, romance and fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, smut, and more chapter-specific tags. Could be considered a "fix it" fic (you'll see).

Part 1 - Proximity

Part 2 - Connection

Part 3 - Contact

Part 4 - Guessing Game

Part 5 - Self Defense

Part 6 - Trust Building

Part 7 - First Touch

Part 8 - Long Distance

Part 9 - Intensive Care

Part 10 - Worthy

Part 11 - Soul Bond

Part 12 - Home

Epilogue

Series is complete!

Bonus Tracks:

(3-Part Sequel)

#1: Disturbing the Peace

#2: One Last Hunt

#3: To Be Loved

Side B Tracks:

(Bonus One-Shots)

The Old-Fashioned Way You and Dean are having trouble trying to start a family. What happens when you turn to a spell for a possible solution?

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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oneforthemunny · 5 months

Text

break the ice |hockey!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: a scheduling mishap leads you and eddie to meet. or how you and hockey!eddie's story begins lol.

contains: eddie au. fluff. that's it. happy one year!

The hiss of the puck gliding over the ice, skittering into the goal, skates whizzing to a stop. It was comforting to Eddie. He’d never really known what people meant when they’d say “get in the zone” growing up, until he started playing again, playing for real this time. It was easy to focus on the sounds, silence your brain by tricking it to listen to the claps of the stick on the ice, the pop of the puck soaring, the-

“Skidamarink a dink, a dink. Skidamarink a doo.”

A clean miss, startled by the sudden blaring of music from behind him. Skates wobbling, knees locking into place. Eddie turned, squinting towards the other end of the rink.

“Hey, hey!” Eddie skated, shouting over the music- horrendous at that, what was this song?

“Excuse me,” You looked up, adjusting the volume on your boom box. “Hey, uh, sorry this is a closed practice.” Eddie skated to you, hockey stick waving exaggeratedly behind him.

“Yeah it is.” You nodded, head tilting to the side slightly. “Are you… here to drop off?”

“What? No, no, I-” Eddie paused, brows furrowed at you lightly. “I- this is my practice.”

“Your practice?” You repeated, pointing at the ice below you.

“Yeah.”

“You’re here for the Snowflakes?”

“No, I play for-” Eddie shakes his head, hand running over his face. “Snowflakes? What-”

“-The three to four year old class?” You press, brow raised, face contorted in what Eddie could only assume was your best judgment masking, though by the scrunch in your nose, it wasn’t working very well. “For ice skating lessons?”

“Lessons? Sweetheart, c’mon, does it look like I need lessons?” Eddie grins, smug and sweet. His heart skips when you bite back a smile, lips twitching. “I’m- I rent out the time to practice.”

“Oh,” You frown slightly. “I, uh, I did too.”

“You know what, let me- let me just go ask Max.” Eddie flashes you a dazzling smile. “I’ll get it sorted out.”

“You’re both right.” Max droned behind the desk, flipping through a magazine lazily. “Both of you have the slot for today.”

“What? Why-Why would Bobby book up both spots?” Eddie frowned. “That makes no fuckin’ sense. I’m here every Thursday-”

Max huffed, snatching the scheduling paper off the back wall, slapping it on the desk. “Eddie Munson. Five to six-thirty. Left.” Her blue eyes raised in boredom. “That means, you’re on the left side.”

“Left? This is- That’s fuckin’ ridiculous, Max, c’mon-”

“-It’s Bobby.” Max rolled her eyes. “He’s trying to double book, make more money during the dead season. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“So I have to practice with a bunch of fuckin’ kids running around?” Eddie huffs. “How the hell am I gonna do that? Huh? Do you hear the shit they’re playing in there?” Eddie throws a hand out towards the rink. “I’m already about to lose my mind.”

“So get some ear plugs, Eddie, I don’t know.” Max huffed, throwing her hands up. “You know I can’t refund you, so either leave, or suck it up. I honestly don’t care, Munson, up to you.”

Eddie’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek, rolling furiously. Bunch of kids skating all around him, screaming and shit, he’d never get anything done.

Still, Eddie’s eyes wandered back to you. In your matching tracksuit, a powdery blue that seemed to shine even under the fluorescents of the rink. He supposed there could be worse people to share the ice with. He faced Tommy Raider again next season, and he’d rather be with a bunch of screaming toddlers anyday over him anyday.

Besides, the kids weren’t so bad. The occasional screech or laughter when you’d have them do something silly. It was cute, honestly, Eddie decided, seeing these little kids wobble around on skates while you cooed enthusiastically at them.

“Ok, my little flurries,” You grinned, cheeks aching from the amount of feigned enthusiasm you had to muster. “Next week we’re going to really work on our glide.” You pushed off dramatically, soaring a few spaces then stopping.

It was so exaggerated, over the top and made the kids giggle; Eddie was sure he was in love.

“So be sure to be practicing holding your arms way, way out!” You extended your arms, beaming at the few who mimicked you. “And I’ll see you all next week!”

Eddie had spent the majority of the time practicing what he’d say to you, how he’d ask you out. A classic chat up line always worked at the bar, always helped him score. Still, his knees wobbled, tight and a little unsure as he skated over to you.

You were waving goodbye to a student, stepping off to the bleachers to undo your own skates. “Hey,” Eddie’s voice cracked, wobbly and unsure in his throat, teeth clenching in a grimace.

You looked up, a tiny half smile in greeting. “Hi. Hope we didn’t bother you too much.”

“What? No. No, no, no. No, you didn’t-” Eddie took a breath, heart hammering in his chest, ringing in his ears. “It was… Yeah, that was really fun to watch actually. The, uh, seeing the kids in their skates and shit. You’re-You’re really good with them, and, uh…” The fuck is that Munson? The fuck are you doing? Eddie’s mind raced, furiously.

“Thanks.” You grinned, a wicked little smile that had Eddie’s cheeks flushing. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Felt like he was back in middle school, swooning any time Connie Donohue would swish her hair over her shoulder, letting it land on his desk and brush his hand.

“They’re a fun age. Super sweet. Not like the asshole eight year olds.” Your finger curled under the untied laces, shimmying them loose.

“Oh? Eight year olds, they're the asshole group?” Eddie grinned, leaning against the rink’s surface. He hoped you couldn’t tell how he was flexing, muscles protruding under the tight, black material of his shirt.

“Total assholes. I had them last year, and that’s why I switched-”

“-Excuse me?” A tiny squeak of a voice came from behind you. You turned, expecting one of your kids who had forgotten a mitten or jacket.

“Are-Are you Eddie Munson?” The small boy with wide eyes gaped at Eddie.

Eddie flushed, swallowing, eyes flickering to you. Your brows creasing, looking at the tiny boy then back at Eddie. “Yeah, yeah that’s me.” Eddie forced a smile, gripping the rink as he stepped onto the bleachers, settling on the ones across from you.

“What’s your name, little man?” Eddie grinned.

“Samuel.” The boy grinned, a little shyly.

“Samuel, that’s a cool name. How old are you?”

“Eight.” The boy beamed.

Eddie’s eyes cut over to yours, lips twisting, fighting back a grin. You blushed, turning away from his glances, cheeks burning with heat you hoped he didn’t see. “Eight? That’s a… that’s a cool age, right?”

“Right.” Samuel nodded. “I-I watch you all the time with my dad and my mom.” Samuel babbled in true kid fashion. “You’re my favorite hockey player.”

“Me? No way, c’mon.” Eddie shook his head playfully.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re from Hawkins too.” Samuel nodded, matter of factly. “They said that on-on the TV one time when I was watching.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Eddie nodded. “Used to practice here when I was your age.” He nodded over towards the rink behind him.

“We went one time to a game, and… and you lost a tooth!” Samuel giggled in true, eight year old asshole form. “The other guy knocked it out when-when you were fighting!”

Eddie laughed, a howling of a cackle that bounced off the walls of the rink, over the hum of the electricity and heat in the stands.

You watched carefully, interest piqued. You knew he was good, you’d watched him practice, it was obvious he had skill. And the name did sound familiar, plastered across headlines and the local news, one of Hawkins’ very own made it big.

Eddie signed Samuel’s jersey, left him scampering back to his awaiting parents with a triumphant grin. “What are the odds of that?” Eddie beamed, grinning ear to ear when he looked over at you.

You laughed, knotting your own skates together, reaching for your snow boots. “I, uh, I didn’t realize you-you played for the… Played hockey.”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged, inked hand running down his arm. You tried not to stare. “It’s alright, really. Not bad benefits, but work hours are a little crazy.”

“Yeah?” You laughed lightly. “I would say so. Pretty demanding.”

“Oh yeah. And you lose a tooth or two sometimes.” Eddie’s eyes cut to yours playfully, a dimpled grin that had your heart shooting with heat.

“Yikes.” You sucked in a breath dramatically. “That seems brutal.”

“You ever been?” Eddie asked, untying his own skates, letting the blade rest on the cement barrier in front of him.

“To… what? A game?”

“Yeah.”

“No.” You shook your head. “Not, like, a real hockey game. Not… Not one of yours.” Your knee bounced nervously, a little unsure even in your own answer.

“You should come.” Eddie shrugged cooly, hoping you couldn’t see the way his hands shook with adrenaline. “Come to the opener in a few weeks. I’ll get you tickets.”

“What?” You laughed lightly. “You- No, you don’t even know my name, and you’re gonna get me tickets? Yeah, right.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“Well, I was hoping I could get your name, maybe your number too.” Eddie’s lips pursed lightly. “Get to know you before the game. Can give you those tickets next time I see you. What do you think? You free Friday night? Saturday?”

You blushed, looking down at your boots, fiddling with the laces to avoid his gaze. “Saturday. I don’t have to work.” You looked back at him.

“Saturday it is.” Eddie beamed.

You scrawled your name and number on the torn corner piece of the schedule. Eddie had snatched it and a pen from behind the desk, ignoring Max’s huffs of annoyance. He’d clutched it the whole way home, paper a little soft from the dampness of his sweaty hands. The tiny slip of paper was taped to his landline, staying there long after Eddie had memorized the number. In your pretty, loopy handwriting for Eddie to see each time he called you.

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starrvsn · 4 months

Text

` ִ ꔫ ۫ ⊹ D.HUME ࣪ ˖ HEART AND MIND.

﹙ MOVIE/FANDOM ⠆THE BOYS IN THE BOAT ﹚

READ PART TWO HERE !

PAIRING ⠆don hume x fem!reader.

WORD COUNT ⠆1,064

CATEGORIES ⠆angsty, minor fluff, comfort, long-distance-relationship!au, roger and bobby being nosy, will there be a second fic of a reunion..? who knows, maybe :p. (i'm not super sure how old they are but lets just assume they're 20.)

𝟒𝟏𝟏. roger and bobby are nosy and want to know where he got all his fancy jewelry from.

don was a private man, he kept things to himself and only choose some aspects of his life to be known. however, now that he has people in his corner he could trust, he was more willing to share. one of those things being his love life, they never asked so he never said anything; even when they would tease about him not being able to talk to girls. not knowing his heart was taken. it was late and the boys were relaxing in their dorm when roger spoke his thoughts:

“y’know, i always wondered where you got your ring and bracelet from.” roger points at the two pieces of jewelry on dons bedside from his bed across dons, his tone curious and lighthearted.

“oh well-“ don starts, he didn’t expect such a comment but it wasn’t unwelcome. “it’s okay don you don’t have to tell us.” bobby interjects, giving roger a pointed look from his desk seat. he knows how private don could be and didn’t want roger overstepping to not make it awkward.

“oh no, it’s okay.” don assures, waving a dismissive hand. “my bracelet and ring are my girlfriend.” he responded, a smile playing on his lips at the thought of you– a new piece of his life being uncovered, there probably wasn’t going to be a right time to mention it so he guesses that time was now. don didn’t think it was too much of a big deal but he didn’t want to tell anyone for your sake and the teasing he would get if he told them in a group setting. the two boys nod in understanding.

“she gifted me the bracelet on my birthday” don continues, his eyes fixated on the chain sitting on his bedside. his friends paying close attention to his words

it was a simple gesture, nothing to extravagant– he told you once that he hadn’t gotten a gift for his birthday since he was a child so for his 18th birthday you got him a bracelet, a simple chunky silver chain. you had saved up your allowance to buy it for him, you were nervous that he wouldn’t like it. but you couldn’t have been more wrong, he love it! in fact he didn’t want to except it at first, such a fine piece of jewelry. he felt bad because he never gave you gift as grand as this. he wore it everyday since you gifted it to him, even making the effort to upkeep it when a piece broke or the clasp was faulty.

“and my ring she gave before she left.” silence falls, roger and bobby unsure what to say. bobby and roger exchange glances, both thinking the same thing, they weren’t sure what he meant by left, if you had passed or moved away. don senses the hesitance in the air and immediately adds “she moved for college, she goes to cal.” their faces softening at his words. you going to one of their biggest rival schools in rowing, don wasn’t affected as much by the thought of it but he could tell his friends, who were probably having a frenzy of thoughts, mostly on the fact you went to a rivaling school.

you leaving was bittersweet. he was happy that you were going to the school of your dreams but the fact you’d be so far from him made his heart sink. he remembers so vividly when it happened, you gotten into an argument about the school’s you applied to— his emotions got the better of him and he made an offhanded comment about it being better off broken up if you decided to go to a school that far. which lead into a whole heated argument on if he even trusted you, it got so out of hand you left without saying another word to him, then when you were accepted into cal you told him. it was your dream school and there wasn’t anything that was going to stop you from going… don included. you found out your acceptance two days after your argument. you went to see him after receiving the news. he knew he couldn’t lose you apart of his life and you being so far without him was going to be a tough pill to swallow but you promised each other you’d make it work. the day you were set to leave you surprised with with a gold ring with your initial engraved on it telling him “something to remember me by” and he has a surprise of his own, out from his pocket a small box with a locket inside, heart shaped with a photo of the two of you. you broke down in tears at the sight of it— he remembers it so fondly, the good and the bad of it all.

“when was the last time you saw her?” roger blurted, asking before he could even realized what he said. they raise concerning glares, unsure if they overstepped. they knew just because don confined in them doesn’t mean they could ask whatever and it would be okay.

“uh probably a year, maybe more— we write to each other ever so often. i actually just sent off my letter to her few days ago.” don hummed, it was nice to talk about you— he’s kept you in his thoughts for so long that if they asked anything about you he could talk all night.

“what did you put in the letter— if you don’t mind me asking.”

“well i just wrote about trying out for the team and that i made it.” he didn’t include that he told you how much he missed you and responses to some things you said in your letter. a comfortable silence falls over them, bobby and roger taking in the new information about you and don lost in thought about his memories with you. they boys also wondered what you looked like, trying hard to imagine the girl that captured their strokes heart.

“you think she’ll be at the race against cal next week?”

he would love to see you again, don knew how busy you were with school and as much as he think you would, how he wishes you would. be in your arms again but it probably wasn’t possible, though the thought was nice— falling asleep with you in his dreams, like you are every night.

read part two here !

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

#i probably will be writing a reunion fic even if no one asks for it LOL #(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠) the boys in the boat #don hume imagines #don hume #don hume x reader #the boys in the boat imagines #the boys in the boat fanfiction #fanfiction #x reader #jack mulhern #don hume fanfiction

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vhstown · 10 months

Text

time out (part 2)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, hurt/comfort, fluff, description of (boxing) injuries, briefly implied death, gtranslate spanish

word count: 5.3k

a/n: editing this was actual torture. kind of becomes a song fic? song is dreamer by bobby bland if you wanna listen before u read lmao entirely not necessary tho. part 2 of 2 but i might write this au again in the future !

← PART 1 / THE AU

Boxing — you tried to be as well versed in it as possible, learning as many terms and moves and whatever else you could pick up from Aaron when he was helping Miles train for all those weeks. What you weren’t sure of, though, was if a “time out”, or a break, had to be this awkward. What you also weren’t sure of was what on Earth your boyfriend was thinking doing here at midnight training (or splitting his knuckles open, though you didn’t quite know the difference anymore,) right after his tournament had finished.

Regardless, there was nothing you could do about it. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t just leave and “give him space” as you might’ve done before. The weather didn’t look like it was going to clear up anytime soon, and you had no signal or money; it wasn't like Miles would call a car for himself anyway — stubborn.

Miles was sat on the floor against a set of shelves with various things that belonged to Aaron, and you were on an unbearably stiff bench press seat, legs close together so you wouldn’t fall off and your jacket hung around the weight. Cold, uncomfortable, dead silent — the perfect atmosphere for a productive conversation, of course.

Truthfully, you had no idea what to say. Yeah, you’d just talked big game to your boyfriend and scolded him like his mother probably would’ve if she knew what the hell he was up to, but you hadn’t planned anything after that. Miles wasn’t a talker — not by any means. Right now, he was sat on the floor with his legs crossed, stretching uncomfortably on his elbows with his hands in awkward positions to try and not strain them too much. He hadn’t said anything, so you hadn’t said anything either, and now you were stuck without any words and too many thoughts.

It was a lot of unmet glances and quiet shivers, and you tried your best to kill the urge to just... lean over and hug him. As much as you missed him and wanted to let out everything you’d been feeling for the past couple of weeks, now wasn’t the best time — Miles probably couldn’t even hug you with those gnarly injuries anyway.

Miles’ eyes were dull and tired, fixed on the ground or maybe somewhere you couldn’t see. As usual, you couldn’t gauge anything from his expression besides mild annoyance. It was like a constant guessing game. First, why your texts weren’t going through, secondly, where the hell he was, and now you had to figure out why on Earth he was so frustrated. Your luck had ran out with those first two guesses, and his silence certainly didn’t help — again, not a talker. Not even a looker; he wasn’t stealing glances of you anymore, like he was thinking about something. If only you knew what.

The most you could guess was that this was about not winning — but it couldn’t just be that simple. Miles was stupid sometimes, but he wasn’t delusional — he knew that he probably couldn’t beat every single person in that championship when he was just starting to go professional. This wasn’t some kiddish, lofty dream Miles had either — he was serious from the day Aaron got him those gloves, which were now crumpled up in the corner next to you. He wouldn’t throw a fit over nothing.

It wasn’t right to force it out of him though, and you could still sense the stubbornness lingering in the crease between his brows. You resisted the urge to smooth it out with your thumb, instead just killing it with every other thought you deemed “selfish”. Apparently, waiting was just as much of a competitive sport at boxing.

The door rattled as icy drafts bit at your ankles and fingertips. It sounded like the sky was going to collapse from how intense the storm was growing. Miles was just in a tank top, his hoodie abandoned on the bar behind you. You figured he could get it himself; any sort of help always seemed pitying to him anyway.

“I’m training with uncle Aaron tonight — stay home.”

“I can handle myself. How else you think I got this far?”

“You ain’t comin’ to Vegas with me.”

You found yourself reaching for the hoodie anyway. Miles didn’t notice, of course, but you could see the goose bumps on skin even from this far away.

“Hey,” you muttered, making him look up. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or sulk some more?”

His mouth opened, but only to let out a breath, before silence fell between you again.

“Fine, I don’t… get it, or whatever.” You continued, fingers trailing into the sleeves of the hoodie. “But I don’t get how I’m supposed to when you’re not talking to me.”

“There’s nothing to get.” It was like you had Vegas between you two again — like he wasn’t even here.

The fabric of the hoodie was warm, and a part of you didn’t feel like letting go of it — if only your boyfriend was in the hoodie too.

“I don’t get why you’d box without wraps, for one.”

“I’m just… frustrated,” he yielded, albeit unhelpfully. “‘S nothing serious, promise.”

Serious enough to have your fingers hanging on by a thread. You noticed his thumb nursing the blackened skin around his knuckles, and his expression seemed even more distant than it was before. It was always some impossible game, and you hadn’t lost, but were drained and out of words for now.

Maybe he’d figure it out for himself; you weren’t too convinced of that. Despite that, it was getting annoying to hear the constant howling of wind and rain outside. Walking over to the shelf, you dropped the hoodie in Miles’ lap. You doubted he had even looked at you, but you didn’t need him to. Right now, you needed something to fill this boring, cold and wordless room.

Looking through the shelves behind Miles, you noticed a picture: a much younger Aaron wearing boxing gloves, a medal around his neck and standing next to someone you assumed to be Miles' dad. You'd never looked at any of the pictures close up, but you noticed there were a lot of old pictures like that, before finding Aaron's collection of records.

Taking the first one out, you put it into the player and carefully set the needle, glancing at the name of the song. His taste in music wasn’t exactly popular, but you’d rather listen to “DREAMER” than “inconveniently timed Brooklyn storm” right now.

Letting out a sigh of your own, you slumped down next to him as he pulled the hoodie over his head, arms going back to being crossed.

"~Dreamer... dreamer... Like a fool, I thought that it could be..." Of course it was a sad song. Blues? The haunting melody made you feel blue. It made the cold feel more numbing than biting on your skin. It made you feel, in general — what, you couldn’t really place.

“…Are we okay?” you muttered without much thought. The urge to talk had come back, and you hadn’t decided if you regretted speaking yet.

"~Dream on... dream on... surely someone, will understand me..."

Miles let out a breath, and it felt like you were exchanging more sighs than words. “Yeah. I just… ‘S not you.”

No “promise”, though. Did that make it more or less honest?

"~What do I say, when I've, oh, said too much? I think by now, I'm wastin' time..."

“...I love you, y’know?” you continued, hating how out of place it sounded. It was as useless as that text you tried to send, but you were tired, and missed your boyfriend, and wished he would give you even a glance.

“~I'm going… oh Lord I'm gone…”

“Love you too,” he mumbled in reply. It wasn’t very reassuring, and it didn’t seem like it to him either, because he reached out to brush your hand against his. You took his hand first — gently, and his thumb pressed into your palm in a sort of silent apology.

You hated how futile it was, and how much you craved it again. You hated you couldn’t be even a little mad at him, and how you were defending him to yourself. Maybe you were both in the wrong. No — you weren’t wrong, you were trying to be understanding.

You weren’t wrong for feeling this way, were you?

“~You are the absence, of my mind…”

You hated how much you missed that boy from all those months ago — even though he was right in front of you. It didn’t feel like Miles Morales was yours anymore, he was theirs — whoever “they” were. His competitors, his managers, the media… It was like there was no trace of the Miles you knew before. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t deny it anymore: that Miles had a dream, and you probably weren’t in it. You hated how you took it so personally.

And you hated how you reached out to hug him, despite all of that.

It was just you for a moment, and you were about to pull away before his arms wrapped loosely around the small of your back.

You hated how you hid your face over his shoulder, and how nice it felt. You hated how warm he was, and how the room was freezing.

You hated how familiar this was.

“~Lord, dreamer… dreamer…”

“Sorry, cariño. Didn’t mean to be an asshole.” Miles’ fingertips dragged uselessly over your back, and you shamelessly tightened your arms around him as he pressed his cheek into yours. You might’ve shed a tear, if it weren't for how heavy your eyes were already with the late hour. Neither of you could go home yet, though you weren’t sure if you wanted to right now.

“~Like a fool… I thought, well, that it could be…”

The long sigh you let out was followed by Miles’ own quiet one before he kissed you on the cheek. His breath warmed your frigid face and brushed at your heart, as he always did. You wished you could be upset, overreact, scream at his face, tell him how you felt all this time. It just always had to end with forgiveness, because now, you couldn’t even remember what you had felt.

And you hated it — not as much as you’d like.

Closing your eyes, you buried your head into his hoodie while the music, the storm and the sound of your own breathing blurred together in your mind. All you were left with were your own thoughts.

This boxing thing didn’t involve you — it never did. He didn’t want you there to see him, or even tell you he was home from Vegas, and now it felt like he was just putting up with you here. It felt like you and him were on opposite sides of the pavement, only walking together to share the same umbrella. He just didn’t want you to get soaked — or hurt.

“I told you not to come today… I’m walkin’ you home.”

He didn’t want you to expect too much.

“Nah, you don’t need to see me train. It’s borin’ as hell.”

He didn’t want you to give up on him.

“I’ll make it big — promise.”

He wanted his dream — did he still want you?

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

Patient, huh? If only you could be like Rio. It felt like you were just as bad as Miles. Maybe you were — both just as bad as each other.

“Why didn’t you text me? …At all?” Muffled against his hoodie, you hoped your voice didn’t waver. It felt a little manipulative, even if it wasn’t in the slightest, but you couldn’t keep telling yourself things were all good. Miles had been avoiding you, whether that was intentional or not. You were just being open — trying to be open. You hope he’d try too.

The boy in question was silent, before he pulled away, hands lingering at your sides.

“I was…” Miles took in a breath, voice dying out for a moment. “Look, I…”

“~Down the wrong way, on a one way street…”

“I can’t be a boxer anymore.”

It felt like the rain had gone quiet. There was no need for an umbrella between you two anymore. It felt like you’d closed it yourself, walking to the opposite side of the pavement again, watching him and the dull, empty sky from afar.

You were the one that asked him — you wanted him to speak to you, and now you weren’t even sure what to say.

“~You'd think by now, I would have learned…”

“What do you mean…?”

“My contract got terminated.” His voice sounded forced, strangely robotic. Was that what you so wanted to get from him?

“Can’t you just… get signed by somebody else?”

“There is nobody else. I had a contract with Norman Osborn — he basically owns boxing.”

“~I saw a little, but I learned even less…”

Your heart dropped a little — you wouldn’t let it drop any more than that. It made sense why Miles was so excited back then if he got signed by someone like that. Now, that excitement meant nothing. All you could think of was that video, that interview…

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

So he’d just… given up? Miles had given up? Was that it? The end of it?

Boxer or not, you suddenly had the urge to punch him — maybe even punch yourself. It didn’t even matter who was right and who was wrong anymore, because you didn’t even know who was in front of you. It was almost uncanny to see Miles like this, so dejected; that’s what he’d been feeling all this time. As much as it seemed like he was mad at you, or was avoiding you, or lying to you, it was never really about you.

Miles was refusing to let go of his dream — of himself — until right now.

And you didn’t know what overcame you at that moment. Maybe it was Rio’s words, or the fact that Aaron wasn’t here, or the fact that you felt like you’d lost your boyfriend — if he wasn’t going to be stubborn about it anymore, you sure as hell were.

“So you’re telling me nobody else is gonna sign you? At all? You haven’t even looked?”

“You don’t get it, ‘s more complicated than—”

“Baby, look at me for a sec.” Your hand was on his shoulder with more confidence than common sense, eyes were square with his avoidant, dull, hopeless gaze. You haven’t ever seen Miles hopeless before. You couldn’t let him be if it was the last thing you did. “You, Miles Gonzalo Morales—”

“Aight, you don’t need the full name.”

“I do need it, because my whole ass boyfriend changed boxing history.” Frankly, you had no idea what you were saying; it felt like you were shooting in the dark, but you didn’t care if you sounded a little stupid, or over-the-top, because if that’s what it took to get your boyfriend to crack even a little… “His 'legendary left jab'—”

“Babe, where the hell did you get that from?” The look he was giving you was probably more of a “jab” than anything.

“…The news.” The corner of your mouth quirked up despite your best efforts, face pricking with heat as you remembered reading through that Bugle article like it was divine revelation. A little stupid, a little over-the-top, sure, but it was true.

Miles’ lips pressed together, and your face heated more trying to decipher his expression. You didn’t have to, because the snicker that escaped his throat was enough make all the rain and thunder and lighting, and even the song insignificant.

“~I only learn to regret…”

“Miles, I’m serious,” you muttered, rather unseriously, brows furrowing as you tried to smooth out the meekness on your face.

“Legendary?” There was a hint of his usual mirth in his tone, and you tried not to be bothered by it. Anything was better than seeing Miles like that: ridiculous, over-the-top, unserious, but not hopeless.

“Look, it was the Bugle, okay? Some millennial wrote that — like, some lady called Mary.”

“Why do you even remember that?” Anything that could come to mind, you’d tell him. No more silence. Just be yourself. Keep talking.

“I read it, like, a lot, okay? I was really proud of you and I just…”

The smirk fell fast from Miles’ face, and you held back any words you might’ve had. The rain eased back in as a constant patter against the windows — the silence had come back despite your efforts. Your heart started to sink a little again, but all you could offer was an awkward smile.

“You’re proud?” he asked, like you’d just lied to his face.

“Yeah…? I always am, but seeing you make it so far…” It was something you didn’t say enough, you realised. The words echoed in your mind as you found the confidence to look at him.

“…Miles Morales made it, right?”

Another tiny breath left Miles, his eyes closing for a moment as you waited for him to speak. You wanted to backtrack, maybe hope the rain would die down soon so you two could leave — you had sort of snuck out… That wasn’t the point, though. You weren’t sure what the point was right now, and you weren’t sure what he was thinking, as always — again.

His lips pressed to your forehead, and then your forehead was against his chest — somehow.

You still had no idea what he was thinking. Now you had no idea what he was feeling — or what you were feeling.

The room was freezing, but you were sure you were slowly setting on fire. Traces of the awkward smile you had were stuck on your face as your cheek pressed into the fabric of his hoodie, and suddenly every little thing you’d thought about saying to him had disappeared in its entirety.

“Dios (God), am I a dumbass…” he murmured to himself. With no clue what to do, you could only focus on the hesitance in the way he held you close, because of his injuries, you weren’t sure. His fingers were cold, like the air was. You didn’t hate the warmth this time.

The silence returned again, and instead of your heart sinking, it was fluttering wildly. You so wanted to take it in your hands and hold it still, but you couldn’t even hold Miles back.

He did this sort of thing often — used to do this often, when he was stressed for whatever reason. He wouldn’t say if he was, but you could always tell. Sometimes he’d ask, and right now, he didn’t, but it wasn’t like you ever refused; it was nice, safe, and away from the storm — close.

"~Surely someone, will understand me..."

He kissed the top of your head, like he was hoping you’d understand.

If only you could. If only you could understand why your boyfriend couldn’t see it — see how far he’d come, how much he’d achieved, how proud he should be of himself, how neither of you should be here right now.

If only Rio was here to tell him how proud she was. Or Aaron. Or his dad.

You never really knew his dad. You knew he’d be proud, at least. He'd probably be beaming seeing how far his son Miles had come, like he did in those pictures with Aaron.

You were proud too. Did that count for anything? Would that change anything? It wouldn’t get him another contract.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, but that was a stupid idea considering the state of it. A lot of your ideas felt stupid as of late. None of them would get him another contract.

It felt like a lot more than just the contract, though; maybe that's why it was so hard. If only he’d tell you.

But waiting wasn’t a game, or a competitive sport. It was nothing like boxing; there was no winner. Waiting was a choice — a promise, that you’d be there when he was ready.

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

You wondered if he’d ever be ready.

"~Dream on, baby."

You wrapped your arms around him, finally. At the very least, you promised to hold him, if not before, then now. He tightened his grip too, just mariginally.

“I’m sorry, mi cielo.” he started, voice barely audible. “I swear, I didn’t know you actually…” Miles trailed off, resting his chin on the top of your head instead.

“Cared?” you suggested, wondering if he could hear you. “It’s a lot more than that.”

You felt his chest fall as he let out a sigh. “I know.”

“I want you to know.”

“I do, I just… I’m being real dumb and—” You squeezed your arms around him before he could finish his sentence; no more avoidance. What you were going to say after, you didn’t know.

“…What?” His voice was suddenly soft, controlled. It was like he could hear what was going on in your head.

“You ever…" You moved your head away from his chest slightly, so he could hear better. "You ever had a stage name in mind?”

It was the only thing you could think to ask, though you didn’t ask it with much thought at all. Still, things weren't going to go anywhere if you kept dodging the subject.

Miles was silent for more than just a moment — it was enough to guess he did have one. “...Why?”

“Cause… when you get back in the ring, people gotta know you right?” It wasn’t just blind optimism — you decided that you did really believe in him. They weren’t going to see the end of someone like him, not by a long shot — or a legendary left jab. Your boyfriend was one hell of a boxer; it wouldn't just stop here — no way.

“I mean, '17-year-old from NYC' isn’t exactly catchy,” you continued, despite his silence.

Just one loss before so many wins. At his age, a win, against a “long-time champion” no less, was worth a million times more than that Norman guy’s contract, no matter how much of a big-shot he was.

“You think I’m gettin’ signed?” They’d be stupid not to.

“I know you’re getting signed.” Rio's words came back to you, and despite your hesitance, you found yourself saying: “If not, I’ll sign you and go to Vegas myself.”

Patient — like his mom, but also with that fighting spirit. You realised you had to be on his level too — match his energy, his enthusiasm. He’d spent long enough being on his own.

“...Fine, fine,” he shrugged. The edge in his tone seemed to fade as he thought for a moment. “If you’re signin’ me, you’re signin’… The Prowler.”

Miles loved boxing? Screw it, you loved boxing too. You loved boxing more than him, in fact — because it was a part of him. And even when he didn’t love his dream so much, you’d be there to love it for him. He loved all of you, and you loved all of him. That was still true now, even if he was going through something not so lovely.

And soon, you’d have something else to love too. Something new.

“The Prowler,” you repeated, a smile of your own creeping up on your face. “…You sure?” The groan Miles let out was enough to curb your need to annoy him… with love.

“Cariño…" he mumbled. "You ask just to make fun of me?” Miles shook his head, and you just squeezed him around the waist again.

“No, no way. I wanna welcome you to the team, Prowler.” A few firm pats on his back got him to laugh again, and though it was barely, that moment felt worth all those weeks.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m a hundred percent serious. You and your 'legendary left jab' and all.”

“You…” The hint of a smile was in his voice, and his good hand came to pull you closer, pressing the two of you flush against each other.

“Me…?” Your voice was muffled as you rested against the hollow of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

“Can’t believe you’re still here.” It sounded more like he was talking to himself, speaking under his breath. The way it came out, it seemed like something he'd wanted to say for a while.

“Why would I leave?” Why would you ever leave?

“No clue.”

His good hand found your face, and you turned your head a bit so it wouldn't be so awkward to reach it.

“Don't know why I ever thought that.”

You felt his thumb run across your cheek, before pulling away and tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

“Damn, you're beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head down to bump your nose with his, stoic expression and all. You were just about able to keep your composure.

“You trying to make it up to me with flattery?” It wasn’t like he had much to make up for — in your eyes, at least. The tease made his eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile was on his lips.

“I can make it up to you a hell of a lot better than that.”

“Morales,” you warned, thought it didn't come out much like a warning. Especially not with how quietly you said it, your face so close to his.

“What?” It was his turn to be annoying. “Lo imaginé…” (I thought so…) You weren't sure you minded it.

It was nice to be joking, and flirting, and close again. There was no need to protest right now — no reason to pretend to be mad. His arm shifted to search for your hand, and you unconsciously laced your fingers together as your faces drew closer. You were already squeezing his hand before—

“Aye…!” Miles hissed, slipping his hand away as you both remembered the nasty, loud bruise that was spreading across his hand. His left hand, you realised, was the one he’d injured — it wasn’t exactly legendary now.

“Sorry…” you muttered, lips pressing together tightly as you took in the sight again. “But that was your fault."

Miles frowned at you almost incredulously as he held his own hand. “Nuh-uh.”

“Time out, Morales.” You couldn’t help it. Or help the smile on your face.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You kissed his cheek to really rub it in. No more words from him, it looked like.

After a moment more of silence, and watching Miles nurse his own hand, you spoke up again. “…Are you gonna go back? To boxing?” Miles looked back at you, before nodding.

“Yeah. Eventually, I guess...” He let out a sigh, but it seemed like one of fatigue rather than frustration. You blinked away your own tiredness that was creeping back. "As the Prowler.”

“Got a lot of… prowling to do, then.” He pursed his lips at you in contempt, and you gave him a meek look in return. As much as you made fun of the name, it was pretty cool. “When are you thinking?”

“I’ll wait a little. ‘S too soon." Miles put his less-brutalised hand on your knee, looking at you a bit more earnestly. "Gotta make it up to you, first.”

“Obvio.” (Obviously) You tried hiding your smirk this time, but he caught it anyway.

“Driving me crazy for no reason,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. The few times you did speak Spanish, it usually wasn't to be sweet.

“A good crazy?” you tried, hoping he'd humour you a little. Maybe he could find it sweet?

“Ni hablar.” (No way.)

Sweet enough to kiss you, anyway. With his better hand, he held the side of your face by his fingertips, pressing a short, chaste kiss to your lips. The feeling was warmer than anything, and you were left with a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as he pulled away.

“Te amo (I love you),” he whispered with his own shred of a smile. You caught a glint in his eye before his expression faded into that same serious look. “I'll fix up, I promise.”

“No need to promise." With your thumb, you finally smoothed the crease between his brows — an old, shared habit. It made his expression soften a little. "Cause you will, and you’ll make it even further next time.”

“Right,” he agreed, hand still lingering by your jaw. “I will. Gimme a time out if I don’t.” A laugh escaped your mouth at that.

"Sure." You met him with your own chaste kiss, your heart swelling as you felt him smile a little against your lips. “I love you too, by the way.”

The record had stopped playing, ages ago, you noticed, and there was another stretch of silence. Total silence, actually — it had stopped raining entirely.

“We should probably head back,” Miles stated as he looked out the window with you, before getting up with a bit of a groan. The two of you needed rest, especially him.

“Yeah,” you murmured, reaching for your jacket. “I mean, I sort of… snuck out.”

His silence made you turn back, only to be met with an unamused look. You tried not to laugh again. “So you’re sayin’ we’re both dead.”

“Pretty much.” He rolled his eyes at your sheepish smile, but you caught the corner of his mouth lift up as he turned to the door. It wasn't like the two of you hadn’t snuck out before — this was just like all those other times, just more… unplanned.

The night time air was strangely cool and breathable as you left the warehouse. Though the concrete was slippery, and you and Miles had to hold onto each other to not fall, Brooklyn was glimmering almost ethereally by the moonlight, the sky clear with any lingering clouds now gone. You hooked your arm in Miles' arm, his hands loosely tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He’d have some explaining to do to his mom about his hands, and you’d have to creep back into your apartment as quietly as possible — but right now, in the silence hum of the city, you felt that things would be okay. Maybe they weren’t excellent, or ideal right now, but okay was a good start. The Prowler was a thing of the future, albeit near future. Right now, it was just you and Miles Morales, going home together past your curfews.

Ping! Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping—

Way past your curfews.

At the same time, the two of you pulled your phones out, only to be bombarded with notifications of missed calls and texts. You were a short distance away from the warehouse now, and your phones had only just gotten signal. It was 1:02am, and you had walls of texts asking you where the hell you were and to "get your ass home right now" on your lock screen. Miles gritted his teeth, and you didn't want to think about what Rio had to say.

As the pinging died down, your eyes met, the both of you thinking the exact same thing:

“We’re so dead.”

You shot a quick message back and mental prayer, Miles doing the same before hastily linking arms with you again. He returned your sheepish look with his own as the two of you kept walking, trying not to slip in the puddles. It had already been a long night, and it was about to get way longer, but at least you could have each other’s company.

"~All my life, been a dreamer..."

"~Dream on... dream on..."

After all, you could guess that a lot more than just a “time out” was waiting for you at home.

"~Maybe somewhere... maybe somewhere..."

🕸️🔭👾

↑ the song! bobby bland 🔛🔝

felt a bit empty without a message hi this is vee it is midnight and i have to go to school in less than 8 hours ! thriving !!!! also if you're interested i have a post about just the au itself here <3

taglist (ppl who asked anyway 😭): @iissza

reblogs appreciated (like so much i literally melt and die) catch the rest of my atsv stuff here!

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