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aetherarf · 3 years

Text

For Crow Anon!

[[ Crow Hybrid!Reader, Summary: You didn't want to hide your own features, but... Well, those who were wholly human ended up judging you over it. At least you could pass as human most of the time, but it got harder to hide it... especially when you had a partner. You just wanted to toy and play with your countless shiny trinkets, with no shame, only to get caught...

Total Word Count: 2'227

Scaramouche Word Count: 1'317

Zhongli Word Count: 910 ]]

Scaramouche

"Where in the world...?"

He had been looking for you, you hadn't come home, worst of all, he even got you that pretty, expensive necklace that you insisted you didn't want, but you stared at with wide eyes every single time you walked by the display holding it, and he wanted to bring you out to dinner and offer it to you then... But you just didn't come home.

Would he admit that he was scared something happened to you and he would raise rip both the Abyss and Celestia to shreds than to let something happen to you?

No, but he absolutely would do it.

So, following the hear-say of people who had seen you, until he had been walking amongst several ice-covered hills, having been said that you went in that direction--alone shockingly.

He was shaking from the bitter cold, bundled up--most wouldn't recognize him as the Sixth Harbinger right now, he almost looked like a cold child wandering around alone in the cold. He felt ridiculous, but it was worth the shame to ensure you're safety.

He saw... some light. A hole in the side of the icy hills. If nothing else, he was going to hide from the bitter chill for a few moments if you weren't in there.

He walked in, and...

He stared.

He marveled.

It opened up, quickly, after the initial entrance, and were it not for the light from inside, he would have passed by it. There was... countless things piled around, he distantly thought of a dragon and its hoard. He crouched down, looking at one of the few piled--Shiny mora, of which many seemed freshly minted, or freshly shined. Some were just shiny stones that were quite nice to look at, if he was honest, some jewelry, some of which had dulled metals but fine gems, or dull gems and fine metal...

He stood back up, looking around.

It felt... silly? Oh, someone could easily invest all of this, but it felt like a child's wonderland, where they would store all their treasures.

But it wasn't a child's wonderland, he discovered, upon hearing you gasp, and he turned to look at you, and he...

Again, he marveled.

You were very much you, but countless features pointed that you were no longer human, or at least, you didn't look the part. Fluffy feathers that shone with iridescent colors in the right light, hands darker with nails that looked more like claws...

he took a step closer,

"What," he said, softly, "What happened? You look--"

"Different, I know," you cut him off, terrified of his response, "Freakish, monstrous, horrifying... I... I didn't want you to see." You admitted, not wanting to hear what insults he'd throw at you.

But there were no insults, he just... blinked, shocked.

"You didn't want me to see? What, do you think I'd suddenly stop caring about you if you looked... like this?" He said, venom on his tone, but it was only defensiveness, and perhaps concern. "That doesn't answer... well, anything. Why do you look like that?" He asked, nearly demanding.

"This is..." you hesitating, "What I normally look like. I... I just hid it from you."

"Why?" He asked, "Why would you hide it from me?" Scaramouche was more insulted than anything--yes, he didn't have the nicest voice and he was oftentimes harsh and insulting...

But he did try to be kind and loving. Even if he was snappy, with you it meant nothing, and he was bad with words, but ...was his displays of affection not enough?

"I just," you fumbled out, looking for your words, "No... Wait, I... I'm not making something up, I'm-I'm just panicking," you blubbered out, tearing up... And be sighed, walking closer to you-

And he just cupped your jaw with his hands, using his thumb to wipe away a few tears that trickled down your cheek.

"You're afraid of being insulted or mistreated, blah blah... I get it, and..." He hesitated, "I'm hurt you didn't tell me, but I can't say it changed... What I think about you."

'How I love you', the words went unspoken.

He let one hand fall to your shoulder, and his other hand gestured to the massive trove of shiny treasures, "However ... What the fuck is this?!" He asked, baffled, even now, at the scene before him.

Your feathers fluffed up, and for a moment, you managed to be taken aback by your own collection, "I've collected all this!" You gestured, dramatically... But remembered the shock in his voice, and almost curled in on yourself, making yourself look small .. afraid.

"I," you said, slowly, "I just... Didn't want you to deal with it, so ... I keep it pretty far from everyone."

To that, he sighed softly, looking over the scene of your treasures once again.

"And here I was," he began, pulling a small box out of his pocket, "Hunting you down because I thought you were hurt." He tossed the small box onto one of the many piles, "And you were just having fun."

You all but scrambled over to the box, struggling to open it with your claws, until...

Oh.

He got...

It was a necklace. The one you looked at over and over. It was expensive, but so beautiful and... Shiny.

"You," you said, softly, "You got me the necklace."

He just... Shrugged. "It's nothing compared to this," he huffed, almost a laugh as he looked down at his feet, "You just... Seemed interested."

You struggled more than you'd like to admit to get it out of its casing, temporarily abandoning the box as you got it out.

"I am! I am... Oh, it's so pretty..." You dangled it before your own face, mesmerized...

"You don't have to act dramatic," there was a degree of scorn in his voice, "It's just a trinket."

"No, no, it's not! I--Look, this is all money or... Shiny things, like-" you reached down and grabbed a gem from the ground, a quartz that was almost like a weapon, "I can't bring a lot with me, and I feel so... Discomforted, without something to toy with," you set down the gem, and your gaze, returned to the necklace, "But this.. oh... It's wonderful... And people wouldn't look twice, they wouldn't look at me like a freak for having this!" You cried out, blissfully, "I love it, I do, it's my favorite treasure..." You held it to your chest... And he sighed.

"Dramatic," he sighed, lovingly, "Alright... I don't like you going so far from everyone, it's not... Safe." He looked at the cave, "How about I get something in place so you can have your little hoard... Near our home?" He asked, and you were... Shocked. But a good shocked.

"Really?" You asked, "You're... Okay with this?"

"Of course," he said, "Everyone has a vice, something that gets them through the day, Tartaglia has violence, Signora has her vanity, I have my general rage and knitting..."

"Wait, you knit?"

He stared at you, with a completely unreadable expression for a few seconds.

"no. As I was saying, we have something. You have this, and... Well, I don't want you to feel like you have to hide it from me. I don't want you to hide from me, either," He examined your form, in all its... Unique beauty.

"... Thank you, Scara." You said, softly.

"... Right," he looked away, unsure how to respond, "For now, let's go home. I'm cold." He complained, bitterly.

"Can we bring some of this home?" You looked to your hoard, "I've always been so scared of losing it..." You admitted.

"... Alright. We can come back tomorrow, too. I don't think the spare room is big enough for all of it, but it should be good until I can figure something else out..."

He was already planning the best solution to letting you save every little mora you've stowed away...

Zhongli

Jueyun Karst wasn't exactly the best location--Under the mountain, of which plants that rooted deeply and seeped a honey-colored liquid that could encase full people within a matter of minutes, but it was safe. No one came out this far, and long walk from the Harbor was a pain, but...

You sighed, relieved as you looked upon the piles of objects, from coins to gems to honestly just random objects most would have abandoned and forgotten, but you wanted to keep, if only because you knew they would be alone in the world, but undeserving of being forgotten with its subtle beauty...

...

Maybe you were projecting a little, but you figured it was alright. Not like anyone would see you like this, save for those who were truly desperate or brave to seek out the adepti.

You wondered if you, yourself, were simply desperate or brave, hiding everything so far from the human world, to have your own safety, as you lie within the piles of shiny objects, lifting one hand and a handful of objects, watching as they fell back to the ground, some between your fingers, some off to the sides...

it felt good to let go, to no longer refine your body to what appeared most human. Not that it hurt, but... it was like not bending your knees when you walked, capable, but it felt awkward and odd and after awhile it ached, and you wanted nothing more than to rest...

"... Love?"

You jerked up, eyes wide open as you saw a figure standing at the entrance to your little, hidden abode, shadow casting over you as the sunlight hit its back.

"Zhon-Zhongli," you stammered out, trying to force away your feathers, your claws, but in your frazzled state, it didn't work, you wanting to sob as you failed, "You-Why are you here?" You asked, trying to do anything to distract from the situation as you barely managed to stand.

He looked around the area curiously--nothing beyond simple curiosity.

"I wanted to see the state of Jueyun Karst. You said you were leaving on a trip, so I thought it'd be a good time." He said, without a concern as he examined the area, "This... reminds me when I was young," he said, idly, crouching down and grabbing a small, blue gem, "May I ask why you're here?"

You were... confused. He seemed so lax about the situation, as though nothing was amiss.

"I..." You watched as he examined the stone, and then turned that gaze--as petrifying as it felt in this moment--back to you. "... I just, i like shiny things," You admitted, childishly, "This is a... I didn't want anyone to know, about that or about," you looked down to your chest, and gestured, "Or about me."

Zhongli nodded, "I see. Many who exist in a human world and do not exist as a human feel similarly... However, why would you hide," He gestured to the area around him, "All of this? It doesn't seem to be greed, for not everything here has... well, monetary value."

"I said," you sighed, "I just like shiny things. Have you... Never seen a bird steal a gem or a shiny pebble, just because it looked pretty?" You asked.

"Ah, so you have some avian tendencies." One second, he looked normal, the next, intricate, golden horns were set atop his head, "I am not quite human either, my dear," He said, "Only I think my existence is a little more insidious than your own." He admitted, with a painful amount of truth.

"... I suppose you do. But you were--you are loved by the people of Liyue. I'm..." You looked down at your hands, the claws that tipped your fingers, "I'm just me."

"That is where we differ, my dear," he grabbed your hand, "You say you're just you. But that's everything, you're you. Perhaps-" There was a moment of silence, "Perhaps there were those who taught you to hate yourself, either from envy or a simple lack of understanding, but there is no other you..."

You didn't really have much response, "You don't have to comfort me, you know. You wanted to live a human life," you ceased for a moment... panicking, just a little, "And I'm, uh, not a very human person to have in your life. You can just go."

You could start back from the beginning. You've done it once, you can do it again.

Zhongli stared at you, the gaze in his eyes wild and dark, as though you had both personally harmed and upset him.

"When did I say I did not wish to have you in my life?" He asked, harshly... He then cleared his throat upon realizing your discomfort, "I have many years to live, and none of them have truly been human. You bring joy to my life, and that is all I care for."

He moved forth, tilting your chin gently to press a kiss to your lips... and you sniffled.

"Do you wish to go home," he looked around him, "And bring some of this with us? It must be exhausting to keep coming back all this way."

You looked at the area around you.

"Could... could we actually?" You asked, perking up, and he just smiled sweetly.

"Of course... What better way to make my little crow happy, than to make sure they can have their hoard safe at home?"

"... Thank you, ah'Li."

"Thank you for trusting me."

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castiel-kline · 3 years

Note

cas and balthazar meet again post finale

This one really got away from me, and it got really long. I promise it does answer the prompt but I also made it super plotty for some reason. I hope you don’t mind!

Being taken by the Empty didn’t feel like dying.

Of course, that’s what was happening to him, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt cold, and painful, and vengeful. Lonely and miserable and laced with glittering knives of regret.

It was his damnation. Not the traditional sense of the word, but true nonetheless.

But if facing it meant he’d save his family? Save Jack from being subject to the same fate? He’d damn himself to this a thousand times over, without a single shred of hesitation.

The Empty had him entirely covered in its goo, tendrils snaking under his skin and into his body from every angle. In through the eyes, the nose, snaking down his throat. Under the fingernails, into the ears, scraping through the tattered remnants of his grace and pressing down around his true form.

It was agony.

Eventually it subsided, and some of the inky tendrils retracted, leaving him gasping for air that neither existed in this realm nor was truly necessary. He collapsed in a heap, the Empty bubbling around him. He spared a glance up, wondering if the Shadow were nearby to gloat before sending them both into slumber. What he saw… well. Unexpected didn’t quite cover it.

“Jack?”

“Hmm. Guess again, Castiel.”

“No.” Don’t you dare look like him.

“Oh, yes. Because it hurts you to look at him, doesn’t it?” The Shadow leaned down, condescension clear as day in its every move. So wrong on Jack’s face that it twisted something deep within him. It stared him down, watching him squirm, mania-painted smirk stretching wider. “Good. I want you to suffer, so that’s what you’re going to do.”

“I thought you wanted your peace and quiet,” Cas managed, as more tendrils snaked out over his wrists and ankles. Dragging him a little bit further down, completely at the Empty’s mercy. Somehow he suspected that was the point.

The Shadow straightened, looking down Jack’s nose at him.

“Of course I do,” It said, emulating Jack’s earnestness. Liar. “But I can’t!”

“What?”

“Wonderboy-” the Shadow gesticulated wildly in the direction of its facsimile body “-woke everybody up when he exploded all over me. So I don’t get to sleep, no, and if I don’t get to sleep then you definitely don’t get to sleep. None at all.”

Quicker than a blink, the Shadow had fisted Castiel’s collar in its hands, bringing their faces inches apart.

“At least,” It whispered, eyes wild with an energy Jack had never, and would never, possess. “I get to make you suffer like you’ve made me suffer. So I want you to look at this face, Castiel. Look at it, and know that it’s contorted in tears right now because Papa Bear abandoned him.”

The Shadow threw him down, the goo swallowing him right back up. Submerged in the dark, he scarcely felt its weight. He was too busy drowning in a fresh cascade of guilt.

It yanked him back up, tendrils leaving him suspended in the middle of nothing. Some of them twisted at his feathers, pulling them just enough to be excruciating but not enough to rip them free. He screamed.

“Be quiet!” The Empty released him, and Cas fell back down, every fibre of his being crying out in pain.

The Shadow cackled, everything about it from the pitch to the cadence to the intention screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You’re never going to regret this, are you?”

Cas glared at it, mustering up as much defiance as he could.

“No,” he croaked. “Because saving my family? That’s worth dying a thousand deaths.”

The Shadow doubled over laughing again. Then, quick as a blink, kicked him across the face, sending him reeling backwards.

“‘Die a thousand deaths’? Please. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Castiel pushed himself back up, following the Shadow’s pacing with his eyes. It walked with one arm tucked behind its back, the other gesticulating as it spoke.

“Death isn’t going to be enough for you, hmm. Oh, you know what you’ve never been able to take?” It spun back around, grinning down at him. “You can’t stand seeing the pain you’ve caused. And since you can’t see what’s left of your precious little family- not that they even care that you died, by the way- how would you feel about seeing the angels again?”

No. He must have looked visibly afraid, because the Shadow only smiled wider.

“Not so pleasant a thought, hmm? Seeing as you killed most of them.” It laughed again, clapping its hands in an expression of glee that would have been endearing coming from Jack, but now simply served to be disturbing. “Oh, yes. It’ll be just like throwing a scrap of meat to a pack of starving dogs.”

Cas shook his head, but the Empty pressed on. It waved its hand, and Castiel was thrown some immeasurable distance away. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and watched in horror as the ground bubbled around him, and his brothers and sisters began to crawl their way out.

He recognized them, of course, because he’d taken care to never forget a single name. He saw Hael first, then Bartholomew, then Jonah and Efram and Ambriel and Samandriel. He saw Raphael, Uriel, Anna, Jophiel. He scrambled to his feet, unable to do anything but watch and wait for their wrath to undoubtedly descend upon him.

Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled, running and dragging Castiel with them. He didn’t fight it, figuring that whoever had him was going to inflict a world of pain and there wasn’t a thing to do but accept it. They’d gone a fair distance, if there was such a thing as distance in nothing, before they stopped and Cas turned to face who had taken him.

“Balthazar?” His voice came out strangled, as scarcely more than a whisper.

“Cas,” Balthazar said, staring at him with something unreadable in his eyes. “Your wings…”

“Balthazar,” Cas repeated, finding himself unable to say anything else, mind swirling in an inescapable vortex of grief and guilt and pain. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m so sorry.”

“What, for killing me? You weren’t yourself.”

“I was. That’s the problem.”

Balthazar just shook his head. “It’s going to take more than a stab in the back to get rid of me. You do know that, right?”

“If we weren’t already dead I’d offer you my blade to kill me. I deserve nothing more.”

“Castiel.” Cas forced himself to meet Balthazar’s eyes directly. “I know you, and so I forgive you. As I’ve told you before- nothing’s changed.”

Cas smiled bitterly. “Except me.”

“What happened to you?” Balthazar’s fingers traced the air where Castiel’s wings lay mangled and twisted in another dimension. “You look like you’ve been clawed apart by feral house cats.”

“I destroyed everything, Balthazar. So many times.” And he felt like he was being crushed under the weight of all his mistakes. Perhaps this was the torture the Empty preferred for him- giving him back a lost friend, giving him forgiveness- and then ripping it away again. Surely even someone as loyal as Balthazar wouldn’t want to associate with him after learning of the things he’d done.

“You, Cassie? I’ve only ever known you to do what’s right.”

“How can you say that when you saw me make one of my biggest mistakes? When I killed you because of it?”

Balthazar scoffed. “Mistake? Cas, you were trying to stop our control freak of an older brother from letting the other ones out to destroy the world. What about that is a mistake? Sure, Crowley was a bit of a snake, but come on. It can’t have been so long that you’ve forgotten your good intentions.”

Cas didn’t say a word, and Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “How long has it been, Cas?”

Cas sighed. “Nine years.”

“Nine years.” Balthazar’s eyebrows had shot all the way up. “Wow. Not long at all. So what could… no. Tell me you weren’t.”

Castiel frowned. “Weren’t what?”

“Weren’t still kissing the Winchesters’ asses for the whole nine years.”

“They’re my friends, Balthazar.”

“Oh, really?” Balthazar crossed his arms. “If they’re your friends, why did they treat you like one of the guns they keep in the trunk of their wretched car?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it, Cas?” Balthazar sighed, backing down a little. Nine years of death wouldn’t stop them from bickering, it seemed, though he did put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. An uncharacteristic attempt to show solidarity through the sarcasm.

“Look,” Balthazar continued. “What you do is your business, but… just tell me there was something good in those years. That it wasn’t just you running around trying to prove yourself to them.”

There was something, in fact, something he’d never expected. Something beautiful.

“I had a son,” he admitted. He’d often wondered what Jack would be like meeting angels that weren’t hell-bent on killing him. He’d imagined Jack meeting Balthazar, or Hannah, or Rachel or Samandriel, but it would never come to fruition. The best he would get was telling them about him, assuming he would be able to escape being choked and stretched and drowned by the depths of the Empty for all eternity.

“Why, Cassie, I’m impressed,” Balthazar said wryly. Oh no. Before Cas could interject and explain, Balthazar continued. “Looks like you really did get that stick out of your ass. And you put it right up-”

“Balthazar! He’s not mine, not like that. He chose me, and his mother was a friend. That’s all.”

Balthazar seemed to enjoy how flustered he was, but his tone was serious. “You adopted a human child?”

“No, he’s a nephilim.”

“Ah,” Balthazar said. “So they changed the rules regarding them in the past nine years, then?”

“No,” Cas said again, getting frustrated. He’d forgotten how much Balthazar loved to hear himself speak. Even if he had missed it, it was still mildly insufferable.

“Well, you rebel Cas, you. But, ah- who was the sire?”

Cas winced. “Lucifer.”

“Oh, my. That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah. Jack’s nothing like him, though. He’s… he’s very much like his mother. And I like to think he’s a little bit like me, too.”

Balthazar looked at him, somehow still reading him like a book after all this time.

“You spoil the poor child, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do not,” Cas huffed.

“Oh, yes you do. You’ve always been soft, but now you’re practically a down pillow.”

Cas’ smile was sadder, again. “I told you I’ve changed.”

“Maybe so. But we haven’t.”

“Thank you.”

Balthazar smiled. “I do have one question though, Cas.”

“Of course.”

“How did you die?”

Well. He supposed it would have had to be asked eventually. Unfortunately his hesitation gave Balthazar another opportunity to talk over him.

“Please don’t tell me it was for the Winchesters.”

“I love them.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. And unfortunately I love that about you. Well, go on. Tell me a story.”

Cas shrugged. “I made a deal with the Empty. My life for Jack’s, which- it wasn’t even a question. It said that when I was finally happy, it would take me.”

Balthazar frowned. “What did you in?”

“You know, I’m not really sure. But I managed to save Dean, and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, Cas,” Balthazar muttered, sounding deeply sad. “Well, at least you were clearly a better father than our dear old absent God. That much is clear.”

Cas’ heart sank. He couldn’t not tell him, though he didn’t necessarily want to break the news.

“Balthazar.”

“What?”

“Um. A lot has happened since I’ve last seen you, and there’s a lot you need to know, but God- God was never on our side.”

--------

They walked aimlessly through the Empty, keeping aware for signs of their siblings or the Shadow, but oddly finding none.

“Well then,” Balthazar said, flippant as ever. Cas was nearly sure he was deflecting.

“That’s all you have to say? You’re not angry?”

“Nope.” Forced cheerfulness. “Never liked him anyway. Frankly, I’m surprised you even met the man.”

Cas paused and stopped moving, feeling something tugging at his grace.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Balthazar had stopped too, hovering closer.

A pocket of the nothingness in front of them seemed to pull itself inward, caving in like a black hole and then cracking open just a bit. Was this what it looked like when someone died and came to the Empty?

Hopefully not, because the distortion cleared and Jack was standing there. And it was painfully, obviously Jack, clearly indicated by everything from his posture to the grace Cas could feel reaching for his own.

Balthazar stiffened, preparing for a fight, but the minute Jack caught sight of Castiel the angel found himself with an armful of nephilim. He held on tight, feeling Jack trembling slightly.

Having connected the dots, Balthazar caught his eye over Jack’s shoulder and mouthed “down pillow.” Cas shook his head slightly, but turned his attention back to his son.

“Jack? Are you-”

“I’m getting you out, Cas,” Jack said, pulling back. “We’re both getting out of here.”

Balthazar’s stricken expression tugged at Cas’ heart.

“Just me?” Cas asked.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The other angels are awake, Jack. Can you…”

“I… maybe. But, Cas, I don’t… I don’t know them. Why…”

“It’s alright if you can’t,” Cas assured. “But if we can help them somehow, be that bringing them back or putting them to sleep… I need to try to make things right.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll try to help.”

Cas smiled at him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you. And thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course. I missed you,” Jack said, eyes wide. Cas felt something else inside him twisting.

Balthazar cleared his throat, and Cas gently turned Jack around to face the third member of their party.

“Jack, this is Balthazar. He’s a good friend.”

Jack and Balthazar looked at each other, Jack frowning and Balthazar smirking in a horribly misguided attempt to be friendly. The silence stretched on, utterly deafening. Jack broke it first.

“I… I met an alternate universe version of you that was not very nice.”

Balthazar didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, you know what they say. Don’t judge an angel by their alternate universe counterparts, right?”

That got a bit of a smile out of Jack, though he was still wary. Cas couldn’t blame him, so he kept in contact to keep him at ease.

“We need to find the Shadow. Make an arrangement so that we can take a few angels with us and the Empty goes back to peace and quiet,” Jack said. The self-assuredness was clearly a front, but somehow Cas felt as if he’d have time to help Jack through it.

“Okay,” he said, nodding at Jack. Jack nodded back, and the three of them started walking. Into what, they didn’t know.

But Castiel had the strangest feeling that it was all going to turn out alright.

#castiel #balthazar #spn #asks #prompts #napsterofficial #winchester critical #<bc of balthazar lmao #other prompts I am getting to y’all soon I promise!!#kitkat writes

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 4 years

Text

Knot In Love - Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader

A/N: Part Twelve is back. Again, where it’s a daily thing? I am not tagging anyone new. 3pm is the magical time, usually. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy one of my favorites <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Series Warnings: Forced mating. Knotting. Alpha/Omega dynamics. Witchcraft (more based on real craft than Hollywood). Angst. Etc. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: Roughly 3,700

“Y/N!” Jack tried to be gentle. Attempted to still your clawing hands. He couldn't break through the screaming. Wasn't able reach any part of your mind as you unsuccessfully moved to tear at the raw and bleeding mark that Dean had left. No words left your lips. There was nothing left inside of you that would allow for such a thing. Only agonized cries that covered the noise coming from the forgotten phone. “Please...Please, just stop!” Tears ran down your face. Your feet kicked out as your arms were pinned down to your chest. “I need you to stop!” Jack's voice caught in his throat. “Please...don't make me hurt you.”

“Alpha!” You finally managed a single word that had morphed into more of a wail. Louder than anything a banshee could conjure up. Your body arching as you fought to rip away the broken bond. The body's way of trying to save itself.

Jack's head turned back to the device he'd abandoned. Something had gone wrong on the other end. Instinctively, he loosened his grip. Prepared to go. Demand to know what was happening over there. The moment you could move, your hands dug through the exposed meat. Shredding it further. As if it would take away your pain.

“I don't know what's going on,” Jack re-pinned your arms. Guilt ridden liquid beginning to fill his eyes. “But, you're going to be okay, Y/N. Okay?” His eyes glowed gold when they met yours. “I promise...you're going to be fine.” Slowly, your struggles lessened. The E/C gaze that had been wide open with instinctual fury began to close. You fell asleep, whispering Dean's name. Jack left you once he was sure that it was safe to; moving to grab the cell phone. “Sam? What's going on?”

“Dean!” Sam was still trying to call to his brother. Jack listened in. His head turning to face your listless body. Not sure on what he could do in that moment.

Worry for all those he loved filled him to the brink; sending the lamp's glass scattering through the room as it exploded. “Will someone just give me answers? I don't know what to do!” The phone was whipped across the space between him and the wall. It was in tiny pieces as he stared at what he'd done. “I don't know what to do,” He whispered that time.

The boy's body slid down the door. His hands covered his face; completely unphased by the blood present. Too terrified that he could be about to lose another mother.

“And,” The drawn out word covered Sam's pleas for Dean to wake mixing with thunder. “That's enough of that,” The reaper ordered, pausing time to silence the scene playing out in front of them using her hand to let the energy free. Her scythe in her spare hand. The hook standing well above her.

“No,” Dean turned away from his body and brother, back to the woman who stood so patiently. “I saw Cas kill you.”

“How's that working out for him?” The older Winchester closed his mouth at the little chuckle that left the red lined lips. His expression morphing into the infamous bitch face. “It's funny to hear a Winchester talk about the finality of dying.” Sarcasm was heavy in the air at that one. “This reality...it has rules, Dean. So many rules.” He didn't make a sound. “And one of them,” She continued. “Kill one incarnation of death, like you did...the next reaper to die takes his place.” Her hand left the scythe. Antagonizing the hunter while pulling off the leather gloves, “So...When Castiel stabbed me in the back?” Black nail polish came into view. “Turns out, I got a promotion,” The familiar white topped ring adorned her finger as she re-gripped the scythe. “New job. New gear.”

“So you died to become death,” Dean pieced it together. Feeling as if they'd been played. In a way, they had. Again.

“This universe can be so many things...and sometimes, it is so poetic.” She answered, more than a little smug. She'd earned the right, after all. She'd come out on top of everything. “That's why we need to talk.”

Billie turned away, and instantly Dean found himself in a different place, “The hell?”

“Welcome to my reading room,” Billie stated, leading the way to her desk. Dean's eyes looked over the giant, black rows of cases. Each one filled to the brim with books. All were labeled 'W' in that particular section.

“Know not to leave this lying around near you. Don't we?” She referenced the previous death's end easily as the scythe was put away. Mocking it. Mocking Dean.

“So...” Dean began warily. Attempting to piece together exactly what was happening. “Am I dead?”

“You killed yourself,” The dark trench coat was pulled off of her shoulders as she moved to her waiting seat. Not even slightly intimidated by the man who'd managed to change the world more times than anyone could count.

“No.” He countered, making sure she understood his true intention behind the question. “Are you keeping me dead?” His inquiry was almost hopeful in nature. Life had been cruel. Especially to anyone with his last name attached. It would be a relief to not have to fight the good fight for a second more.

“Now, that depends on you,” The coat was draped over the back of her chair. Looking at him as if he would know exactly how to take that.

“Okay. Uh...” He clearly had no clue. “Well, congrats on your promotion.” The falsely chipper was so very Dean Winchester. A twisted little side smile tugged at his tense features. “Uh, but I got a house full of ghosts waiting on me and my brother to get back to.” He pointed backwards, fully prepared to retrace his steps. “So, if it's up to me-”

“I didn't say it was up to you.” She leaned forward a hint as she talked. His eyes stared blankly at her face. “I said it depends on you.” He needed clarification, so she continued. “Word on the interdimensional street is you've been slipping between worlds, Dean.” Her intensity never lowered. “I wanna know how you did it. Now.”

“Well,” His eyes squinted ever so slightly. Finding his upper hand. Ready to wield it as needed. “I thought Death knew everything.” She took a steadying breath as the tables turned in his favor. Just a hint, but it was more than Billie cared for. That much was obvious.

“Then you can imagine how much this one little blind spot is really bothering me.” The smile on her face was far from friendly.

“What's in it for me?” The infamous Winchester demand came forth. His head tilted to the side as he waited. Giving her the same energy she'd offered.

Her arms crossed as she opened her mouth to speak, “What do you want?”

He didn't have to think it over for too long, “Free the ghosts.”

“Excuse me?” Her response said she expected something more personal. Expected him to try and gain something for the world. Change something in his past that had left him feeling wronged. All demands he'd have in the good ole days.

“Free the ghosts at the Meadows house.” He stated again, more clear this time around. “Let them move on, and I'll tell you whatever you wanna know.” He should have asked her to remove the marks that bound him to you. Should have asked for a million things different. Yet, in that moment, none of them crossed his mind. He was too set on his mission. On the most recent feeling of regret tied to Shawn. He'd promised the boy, after all.

Billie was wide eyed with surprise, but she didn't take long to agree. When a Winchester offered something so simple, monsters took it without hesitation. “Deal.” Eye contact remained enforced for what was far too long to be comfortable. “It's done.”

The red haired reaper, Jessica, had made quick work of it. The souls all long past their time. Eager to go.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don't.” The honest answer didn't take any time to slip out. She dropped her arms, moving away from her desk once again. “But, then again... I'm not the one breaking cosmic bargains left and right.” Her fingers brushed against the table as the other hand held her throat in emphasis. Reminding him of their last meeting. “Now am I?”

A small chuckle left Dean as he stared her down, unflinchingly, “Yeah, it's not like you hold a grudge.” He turned his face away.

“Don't I?” Her hands moved back to cross over her front. “So...spill.”A little head bob that said that he didn't have much choice followed before he spoke.

“Lucifer's son. Jack.” He sold the boy out without remorse. His brows lifting a bit as he said the name. Almost sarcastic. Residual jealousy filling the air. The boy had things in his life that Dean had craved. Including you. “When he was born, it created a little rip.”

“A little rip?” Billie didn't sound as if she bought it. He only bothered to make a sound at the back of his throat. A little noise to say that she could parrot properly. “Into another world?” Suddenly, she was on the prowl again. “And you went there?”

Another little noise with a small eye roll followed, “Yeah. I'll just say it's, uh, it's not candy land.” The snarky gaze with the words would have infuriated lesser beings. Had in the past.

“I'll bet.” Was all he got from the newest Death.

“Why do you care?” He was back on the defense. Not trusting a thing happening in that moment.

“Because I do,” It was an easy answer. She stepped forward once again. “Because...this whole multi-versal quantum construct we live in, it's like a house of cards. And the last thing I need is some big, dumb Winchester knocking it all down.”

A little hum left his lips as he nodded, “That does sound like us.” A tiny, wry grin lifted his cheeks. Patronizing as always. Only, it wasn't her he was mocking. No, it was himself. Her dark eyes trailed over him as she decided how to respond.

“You've changed,” She finally settled on. He didn't make a sound. Simply watched her, waiting for the next words. “When you bargained with me just now, you could've asked to go back. To live. Could have asked to end your mating.”

“How did you-” He cut himself off. Knowing that she would only point out her new status. Her raised brows said as much. “Well, I figure with you in charge,” He changed tactics, “there's no getting back for me.”

“That doesn't sound like the Dean Winchester I know and love,” She purred, moving around him. Her hands behind her back as she waltzed into the section of books. “The man who's been dead so many times, but it never seemed to stick.” His eyes and body twisted around to follow her. “Maybe you're not that guy, anymore. The guy who saves the world. The guy who always thinks he'll win, no matter what.” Not a sound left him. “You have changed.” His eyes refused to meet hers. “And, you tell people it's not a big deal.” She was on a roll, with no desire to stop twisting the knife. “You tell people you'll work through it, but you know you won't. You can't. And that scares the hell out of you.” Your face crossed his mind, then. All smiley and sparkly eyed. The only thing that could have given him that chance. And he was trying to throw it away. He didn't have a choice if he wanted you to stay that way. “Or...” Billie had caught the gleam in his eye. “Am I wrong?”

“What do you want me to say?” Dean nodded a little as he spoke. “Doesn't matter. I don't matter.” The world had shown him that time and time again.

“Don't you?” He tried to remain stoic, but there was the slightest bit of longing present on his face. He wanted to believe her words. He just couldn't afford to.

“I couldn't save mom.” He started listing off his most recent failures. “I couldn't save Cas. I can't even save a scared little kid.” The self hatred poured out of his very soul. “My mate? She chooses the devil's kid over me. Time and time again.” He wasn't done. Not even close. “Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down.” A deep breath left him as he realized just saying the words took some of the edge off. “So, I'm not gonna beg.” His shoulders tightened back up as he met her eyes. “Okay? If it's my time, it's my time.”

“You really believe that.” He didn't say a word. Looking away for only a moment as his eyes watered. Blinking them away as he turned back. “You wanna die.” He simply stared at her, bringing his barriers back in place. Waiting for it to be the end. He was so damn close. “Dean...” She turned away, eyeing up the shelf to her side. “Every notebook on this particular shelf tells a version of how you die.” He didn't blink. Shaking ever so slightly in place. “You specifically.” Her hand closed over a book. “Heart attack, burned by a red haired witch, stabbed by a ghoul in a graveyard, and on and on.” Her hand touched a new book with each step. With each word. His eyes followed the movement before moving up. Looking at just how many were present. He couldn't even count them all. He breathed in deeply, looking at all the possibilities. He'd always known they were there. It had never felt more real until that moment. “But, which one's right?” She didn't wait for an answer. “That depends on you. On the choices you make.”

“Well,” Dean spoke up. Stubborn as always. “I guess I made my choice.” He was okay with it. Even if it meant not getting to say goodbye.

“But,” She lifted her hands away from the books, “unfortunately... none of these books say you die today.”

“Come again?” That was the last thing that he'd been expecting.

“Since I got this... new job, I stand witness to a much larger picture.” She moved forward, once again. Not giving Dean room to ignore what she had to say. It was too important. “Do you know what I see?” His head shook in the barest of ways. “You. And your brother...even your mate. You're important.”

“Why?” He didn't like that you were brought into it. That you'd become a pawn in the game that was the universe rather than a regular person.

“You have work to do.” With that, she walked away. Past him without pause. “That's all you need to know.” He turned as she got back to her desk. “And trust me, having my eyes opened to the necessities of any humans, especially Winchesters, is not a thrill.” Her tone fit her words. She would much rather hold him hostage in either heaven or hell. “So...you wanna die, but I say...keep living.”

A little hum left his lips before he clicked his tongue; deciding to ask, “I need to know. My mom-” Billy didn't even give him a chance to open his eyes back up in the room. He woke up surging upwards and gasping for air.

“Hey!” Sam was brushing over his hair. Helping him sit up, “You're okay.”

“Yeah,” Dean managed, looking around for any sign of the newly promoted reaper. She was long gone.

“Yeah,” Sam leaned back against the wall, whispering more to himself than anyone, “you're okay.” His hand went up to rest against his head. Then, he remembered. “But, Y/N...”

Dean's head jerked to his brother, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You just died, Dean.” Sam's voice gained a bit of steel to it. Anger rising to the surface. “You just died, while mated.”

“Where's the phone?” His body screamed. The lack of blood flow leaving him tingly. His chest throbbing. But none of that prevented him from sitting up enough to search for the technology. Sam passed it to him. “Shit.”

“Jack called.” The terror flooded his chest at that. Only to grow worse when the other line went straight to voicemail. “It didn't sound good...” Sam was honest in a way to try and breakthrough to his brother.

“Let's wrap this up...get home.” He started collecting the items he'd tossed from the bag. Groaning all the while. “It was only a few minutes,” Dean tried to tell himself. “She's probably in heat, or somethin'. I can fix it.” His brother didn't look so convinced.

The sun was starting to rise. They had to take care of the bodies before they left. It was going to be a long day...

“Y/N!” Jack's voice penetrated the fog as you blinked awake. It burned. That was all you could think at first. Your entire body ached. But, your neck was on fire.

“Jack?” You forced yourself to sit up. Your fingers brushing against the crude gauze job that was done over your mating mark. He'd tried, at least. “What happened?”

“I...I don't know,” He answered honestly. Too relieved at the shift to slow down his answer. “I tried calling Sam, but then...” You knew what he was remembering. Wincing as you recalled it. “I had to try and calm you down.” The pain had been unbelievable. As if your soul had ripped from your body. You'd just wanted it to stop.

“Dean...” You touched the damaged mark again, wincing at the pressure. “It was Dean...Something happened during the hunt.” You understood all too well what the clawing was about. Your aunt had scars from the same thing. Your mate had died. Yet, somehow, you were okay mere hours later. “Did you get a hold of Sam?”

“Not yet,” He looked a little ashamed at that one. “I broke the phone.”

“It's not your fault,” Your hand brushed over his. Refusing to let him take any blame. “How bad is the damage?”

Blood and dried out flesh lined the underside of your nails when you looked down. It covered your clothes. You'd been damn lucky you'd missed the vitals running through the area.

“Pretty bad,” The lack of filter on him was refreshing. Most humans lost it before they even reached double digits. “I would have tried to heal it, but-”

“Jack,” A little squeeze made his eyes reach yours. “You did just fine. You knocked me out. Covered it up.” It was more than most would have thought of, giving the circumstances. “You saved me.”

“I put some witch hazel on it, too.” He had remembered that it could be used to help bleeding. Promote healing by taking out inflammation. It was also good at helping prevent infection. Nothing else had felt safe after he'd carefully cleaned the area. It had been meant for minor bleeding, but his mind had figured that it would at least give you a boost.

“You remembered,” A small chuckle left you at that. “It should help.” With a groan, you tugged yourself upwards. “Thank you, Jack.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his forehead. “I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here.”

“You should rest,” He insisted, forcing you to lay back down. He didn't want to think about it himself. “Whatever you need, just ask. I'll help.”

“Jack...I really need to pee,” You finally confessed, earning a small blush. Trying gently to give him the boot.

“I can walk with you...just in case.” His cheeks were dotted pink, but he was bent on his mission. Terrified that there'd be a repeat performance. With a nod, you gave in.

In the end, it was for the best. You were amazed at just how weak you truly were. Your body still reacting to the trauma of losing a mate the night before. Your soul still exhausted from the impact it had taken. Once again, your mind wandered to Dean. Wondering just what the hell had happened.

Dean didn't like to see grieving families. Liked opening up to Sam about what had happened even less. Having to explain Billie and the entire scenario wasted time. Forced him to admit he wasn't okay. That part had hurt him the most. Especially when they should have been on the road.

Calling wouldn't be good enough, even if the other side magically managed to answer. He needed to see his mate and he needed to see her immediately. So, when they got in the car? He'd hit the gas. Hard.

Sam had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. The familiar music was playing. Yet, that twitchy feeling never did fade.

He told himself over and over that it had only been three minutes. That wasn't time for you to react. Some omegas didn't feel it for hours. Before he could make the mental convictions stick, his phone rang; waking Sam up in the process.

“Yeah.” He answered without his usual perk. Waiting to be chewed out. He hadn't checked the name, but there was only one person he'd thought of. You. His subconscious wouldn't let the idea go. When the voice came across, though, you were forgotten for the first time.

A detour was made. It was a necessary evil. Tacking on an extra couple of hours.

As they pulled up to the pay phone, the deeply missed trench coat was standing there, encasing a form neither man thought that they'd ever see again. Both brothers approached, not saying a word. They didn't need to. The second he turned around, there was no doubt. Castiel. He was back...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @surmya1907

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe

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charg3e · 4 years

Text

Siege-o-ween Day 6!

‘She’s an angel’,Yumiko thought the first time she laid eyes on her. Her. Nienke Meijer, the newest engineer that arrived at Rainbow.

Looking back, she should have noticed it a lot sooner. The way Nienke had talked about the existence of God, the likeness of her and Mark when it came to the doings of Him, the arguments she had with the devout Olivier. She talked about it as if she had been there, seen the actions He had taken, the curses and blessings He had thrown upon humanity.

The way she got along with the explorer, Sanaa, explaining the histories and cultures of far off lands despite, on her travel records, never travelling there in the first place. The ways she had looked at the sky in distaste and longing when she first asked Yumiko to join her on the rooftop.

With a tempting smile on her lips as she chose to explain the constellations instead of whatever had haunted her living among them.

The mission that she barely survived and yet, Nienke came out of it injured yet recovered nonetheless. A horrible mission that no human would have survived, discounting Zofia of course, even then one would not have come out of it without career ending injuries.

_________________________________________________________________

The cool suburban winds made Yumiko shiver even in her jacket, as she made her way to the back trench of the building. The sleek building towering over her was darkened, blending in with its surrounding of dim lights and various abandoned family owned businesses. If it weren’t for the intel provided by the one and only Aria de Luca, ‘infiltrator extraordinaire” according to Nienke.

The admiration and relationship between Aria and Nienke made her jealous sometimes, the easygoing way they talked to each other and their ‘secret’ language that Yumiko didn’t understand. It was Latin, as she later heard from Adriano.

Shaking the personal emotions away, Hibana put her gun on low alert and checked the window, jumping in when her partner gave her the all clear to jump in. Her partner, Maxim “Kapkan” Basuda had been holding the small site with his Entry Denial Devices and gave her a gruff, “About time you got here.” as she vaulted in.

No more time for quips however, she had to hot drop to the basement, clear it, and disable the security cameras for the other attacker who would infiltrate the top floor on the north side.

“Dropping in!”

She landed on the cold white tiles, or, at least that was what she expected.

She landed on a pile of skeletons, time to panic as she realised quickly that they were made of plastic. She could tell from the clacking sound of the bones, hollow and not only that, smooth to the touch.

The sound made from her abrupt fall as well as the hissing of the X-kairos quickly bought the attention of the festive terrorists. Dressed as frankenstein (the doctor) was one wearing a gas mask, who seemed to have the highest ranking. With one fell swoop of his hand and a shout of

“Surround her!”

The terrorists, each wearing what seemed to be the reverse bear traps from SAW, sprinted around the SAT operative. All seemed to be in the opposition’s favour, until an impact round was heard from above and they all looked up. Taking this chance, Hibana shot at the doctor, downing him and proceeding to lob a bullet in the others head. Her Type-89 quickly ran out of shots with its measly 21 bullet magazine. As she quick swapped to her Bearing-9, she turned the her final enemy behind, whipping it out and aiming for their chest-

Click

“...kuso”

The moment of painful regret of forgetting to reload her machine pistol was quickly forgotten, as Maxim jumped down and landed a knife on the target’s head. The terrorist stared with rage, but quickly started to panic, his screams were muffled as he pulled out the knife from his, now-missing, eye.

“No, no, nonononono-”

The whirring of a loaded spring was made more evident with each pull, the tick tock sound emanating from the hoodie wearing being getting louder, and like a jack in the box.

The skin on his face opened up, jaw slamming up and snapping grotesquely. The body fell to the floor and the shaking of the body had Maxim shooting it with the SASG-12 to put the poor boy out of his misery.

“What a cruel way to go. Is it not?”

The Doctor rose up behind them, despite wearing a blood soaked shirt and Hibana being very certain that she had hit them on the side of the neck, they seemed perfectly fine.

“That one was a failed experiment if a Russian got to him”

The intonation made Kapkan seeth,

“Do not insult us.”

The bullet from his PMM sidearm barely pierced the skin of the Doctor’s trachea, as they pulled it out of their skin. Their eyes contained mirth and a sense of wonderful curiosity when they turned and raised both their arms in the air,

“If you two are here, that must mean that the third party is upstairs yes? Oh I certainly hope it's Iana, I haven’t seen her in centuries!”

That struck a chord within Yumiko’s heart,

They knew.

“She has escaped from me so many times… the bird should have her wings clipped. No, perhaps I shall remove them entirely, rip them into shreds like I did with her last family. Maybe I’ll go after Iona after. Yes. That is what I shall do.” The Doctor clenched his fists in conviction , turning to look back at them.

“Worry not, my only target is her. Feel free to leave before I clip her wings and we die in a fiery explosion together.”

Maxim was very much done with the Doctor’s talk, but the bullets dealt no damage. Tactical retreat was a term to exist no?

“Hibana, call the operative, we will be leaving”

“But the mission-”

“Live to fight another day, no one lives nearby anyways”

The Doctor laughed.

“Live, live to tell the tale of how you escaped Kaelan. The Hunter of Angels and Doctor of the deranged.”

The duo from the basement left through the tunnel, but when they got out and tried to contact Nienke, the third operative of the mission.

Connection lost.

___________________________________________________________________________

The beeping of the phone was not a good sign, not with Iana still on the top floor of the building with no way to get down. Hibana was worried, Iana was stuck in there, with a psychopathic unkillable creature that was hunting her.

Now that she had time to think to herself, maybe she could sort this out in her head.

‘So, there is a being that is unkillable, hunts angels, puts people in freaking death traps and proclaims themself as a doctor. They’re hunting Iana, or what they know as Iana, as well as an “Iona”. So this means Iana is an angel? In a literal sense? We need to find this “Iona” and put whoever they are in our custody for their protection. What in the world did this turn out to be-”

Before she could complete her train of thought with the profanity, an explosion that sent the smell of smoke through the tunnel into her nostrils knocked her out of it. Kapkan stood beside her, holding up a blue phone that defenders had when detonating C4. The smile under his mask couldn’t be seen, his hands pushing the device back into his coat as he dusted himself off with the other.

The crackling of Hibana’s phone had her pausing in her silent scream at Kapkan, Iana’s slightly panicky voice could be heard through the speakers,

“What was that explosion? Where are you all, I can’t find you on the radar, are you both outside now?”

“Yes, there was someone inside telling us to leave, They’re going after you Iana, get out immediately. There might be explosives planted-”

“This is unfortunate but, I am surrounded with explosives and it appears they have all been armed to detonate in 3 minutes. I suppose this is where we say our goodbyes.”

That was the last thing Yumiko had expected Nienke to say, the word goodbye was not something that she wanted to say, not yet. She had so many questions that were yet to be answered, but only one was truly tickling at the back of her mind.

“Nienke, are you an angel?”

“Because I look like I fell from the heavens? You’ve used that before Yumi, and I don’t think now is the time for pick up lines.”

“I meant, legitimately.”

“I’ve told you yes every time you asked Yumi, you just never took it in a literal sense.”

A blast could be heard from the east wing of the building, the rustling of Iana’s shirt could be heard as she flew up the stairs.

“Sorry Yumi, I’m going to have to cut this one short.”

“Wait-”

The flatline beep of the hung up call sent dread into Yumiko’s heart. Maxim took notice of her heading back down the tunnel and rushed to pull her back.

“Are you crazy? This place is about to explode, calm down. She will hopefully find a way out by herself. You may be shocked but if that clouds your judgement what good are you.”

“Excuse me. I just found out my best friend and love of my life isn’t human and you’re criticizing me for being shocked?!”

“Well yes, I just specified that.”

Kapkan had to carry the thrashing SAT operator over his shoulder as he ran to their emergency transport vehicle, leaving Iana alone on the rooftop to fight.

____________________________________________________________________________

The rooftop was chilly, but Nienke never cared much for temperatures. The Doctor jumped up the hatch she opened for med-vac, a smile plastered in his eyes as he whipped out an engraved knife and pointed it at her.

“Angel Iana, I’m not going to kill you today. I’ll just take what I need and be on my merry way.”

“Oh gee thanks Kaelan, you’re not going to get it that easy.”

“Show me those wings, and I’ll show you my claws. A fair fight is all I ask for.”

Naivety.

A word that could be used to describe Iana at this moment. She kneeled to the ground as her body contorted, bone sprouting from her back as blood pooled around her shoulder blades, the liquid coating her feathers and turning them black.

She was so naive, she had thought she would be given a chance to turn, a chance for fair fight with the hunter.

She was wrong.

____________________________________________________________________________

The knife went in deep, crimson blood spilling over as Nienke fell to the ground, unable to move from the excruciating pain.

“You honestly thought I was going to fight fair. Ha, you never learn.”

The blood they collected with the knife was sucked into a test tube using a mechanism. Kaelan giggled in glee at the sight of it, squealing and jumping around on the roof.

“That was your blood, Angel. I still require your wings for my project.”

The knife shifted as they sliced back down her back, and she fought the pain in a burst of rage. Jumping onto them and ripping the vial out of their hands and kicking them to the side,

“I’ll never allow you to find a way back to heaven, Kaelan.”

The excited giggles from Kaelan ceased, they looked at her with rage and despair.

“I have lost so much because of you. I am stuck here because of YOU.”

Kaelan let out wings of their own, gray and torn apart, yet still able to fly for short distances.

“This is your fault.”

____________________________________________________________________________

The fight was anticlimactic, as there was little to no fight at all. Iana sidestepped when Kaelan threw a punch at her, jumping off the roof and letting her wings spread. She tried maintaining her focus as she aimed for the vehicle, but her eyes and wings were weakened from the bloodloss. Kaelan has chased after her, but as they went to celebrate an early victory, having dug a fire poker into her back, they were struck down with a kick as Iana flew up and dropped down on them.

“Goodbye.”

Nienke could fester no more energy as she glided towards the moving vehicle, barely able to land on top of it as the building exploded in the distance. Hibana and Kapkan had heard the drop, and as Maxim hit the brakes and Yumiko turned around. Nienke pulled out the fire poker through her chest, holding it up in a way one would admire a spear, wings dark yet contrasting the starry night.

“How’s that for a halloween night?”

The smirk fell alongside her body and the jaws of the other two operators as she collapsed onto the back of the truck.

#r6s #iana/hibana #Siege-o-ween 2020 #i dont know how to tag im sorry #chargfics #spooktober #8)#iana #hibana

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moodycastiel-writes · 5 years

Text

level-headed

requested by anonymous: i have a Castiel x Reader request! :) Reader had snuck off on a hunt that Cas had warned her to not go on, and she gets injured bad during the hunt, and since she’s super scared, she prays to Gabriel to help her since they’re friends. And when they get back to the bunker, Cas freaks out when he finds the reader unconscious in Gabriel’s arms, and Gabriel tells him what happened and Cas lectures reader as to why he didnt want her to go (he loves her too much to lose her).

summary: you’re hot-headed and cocky, too cocky for your own good. when you catch wind of hikers going missing up in the Colorado mountains, you take the case for yourself. castiel catches you while you’re packing and argues that you can’t go, especially not alone, which leads to an argument between the two of you where you storm off and end up going anyways. What you thought was one wendigo turned out to be a pack of them, and you’re in way over your head.

warnings: angst, some strong language, depictions of blood and gore teeny tiny bit of season 13 spoilers

pairing & characters: castiel x reader, gabriel, winchesters(mentioned)

You typed away furiously at your computer, you pen scribbling onto your notepad, taking notes on an upcoming case. Five hikers gone missing in the span of five weeks, none of the bodies had been found. Each of the campsites had been torn to shreds, and there were no tracks to indicate what did it. You, being the smart hunter you are, knew it was immediately a wendigo. You took out several wendigo over the past several years that you’ve been a hunter, so this should be a piece of cake.

You slammed your laptop shut and shoved it, along with your notes, into your backpack down by your feet and quickly stood up, excited to get out and get on a hunt by yourself again. You loved Sam and Dean Winchester, you really did, but they always put you in the back seat when it came to hunts. You were a good hunter, better than the Winchesters, but they were too cautious when it came to you. A solo hunt was something you needed to blow off some steam, especially something that would take skill and concentration, instead of a simple salt-and-burn.

Just as you were about to head to the armory, the door to the bunker opened, and in walked Castiel.

“[Y/N], hello,” he greeted you as he walked down the large staircase.

“Castiel,” you greet, acknowledging his presence.

“Where are you off to,” he asked, noticing you were alone in the bunker, Sam and Dean off looking for a lead on finding a way to open the door to the apocalypse world.

“I’m going on a hunt. Don’t wait up,” you responded, brushing past him. You didn’t get far, as a gentle grip on your upper arm held you in place.

“Wait, [Y/N], maybe you should wait for Sam and Dean to get back and you guys can go together,” he offered, releasing his grip on your arm. You gave in an incredulous look and scoffed at him.

“I’d rather not. People dying, y’know,” you told him, and iciness laced through your voice. “It’s no big deal, I can handle it.”

“[Y/N],” he sighed, “please.”

“Please what, Castiel? I’m a damn good hunter, I can take care of a stupid case on my own,” you shot back, your voice beginning to raise.

“Yes, [Y/N], know that, but–” he started, but you had already cut him off.

“There is no ‘but’. I’m not some damsel in distress. I’m a hunter.”

Castiel looked at you through squinted eyes. He could feel the heat your temper was radiating, and was trying to diffuse your anger before you erupted.

“[Y/N], just listen to me. Please, I–” but you had already heard enough, ripping your arm from his grip and sending him an ice-cold look that brought chills even to him.

“Fuck off, Cas. I can handle this myself.”

Before he could get another word in, you had already stormed off, your temper at its boiling point. You stomped and grumbled your way down to the armory, throwing all the weapons and medical supplies you needed that could fit in your bag and you were out door in no time. You jammed your keys into the ignition of your ‘78 red Mustang and sped off to Colorado, dreading the long drive.

—

When you arrived at the motel in Colorado the next night, you wasted no time in unpacking everything and opening your laptop again, going over your notes ten, twenty more times. By the time all the information was burned into your mind, the sun was already rising. You had about fifty missed calls from Castiel, and ignored all of them, still angry with how little of faith he had in you. You were going to prove to the angel that you were a good hunter, and you deserved to be treated like one.

You grabbed your backpack off the ground by the foot of the bed and rummaged through it, making sure you had everything you needed.

Medkit? Check. Flare guns? Check. Shotgun? Check.

You grabbed your car keys and made your way to the door, eyes lingering on your phone that lay abandoned on the glass end table. There was a voice in the back of your head scolding you, telling you to apologize to the angel for having such a thick skull, but decided against it, leaving the phone long forgotten on the table as you headed out the door.

It took only a couple minutes of driving to get to the edge of the reservation and you were out of the car and started your trek through the forest. You pulled a map of the reservation out of your back pocket and opened it up, finding where you needed to go easily. Each hiker that had gone missing had set up camp in a five mile radius of each other, and right in the middle of all the disappearances, there was a massive cave, hidden to the common, everyday average-joe type of guy. You knew the cave was the perfect place for a wendigo to hide out, especially since the area was major in camping and hiking. You were less than five miles away from the first campsite, so you figured you were roughly ten miles from the cave. If you went fast enough, you should be in and out before nightfall. With a triumphant grunt, you folded the map in your pocket and headed onward, pulling the strings on your backpack tight against your body.

—

By hour three, you had finally made it to the first campsite, or what was left of it, anyways. Most of it was still blocked off due to police investigation, but with no officer on duty to block off the area, you were able to sneak through the site and continue on.

“God, this is taking forever,” you grumbled to yourself as your boots sloshed through the mud for the umteempth time, forcing your aching legs to push on. You could see the mouth of the cave in the near distance and picked up your pace, speeding up to a light jog. You reached around to the mouth of your backpack and grabbed the flare gun, holding it tightly in your left hand as you used the right to put more flares into the pockets of your jacket, just incase.

As you approached the cave opening, you stood on guard as you raised the gun, walking further into the damp cave. The further you walked, the darker and colder it got, sending a chill coursing down your spine. The sudden pungent stench of what could only be described as death filled your nostrils, and you knew you were getting close.

You slowed your pace down to a complete stop, listening to see if the wendigo was anywhere near you. Wendigo’s were good hunters, but you were better. A low growl pierced through the silence, the hair on your neck standing up straight. You turned just in time to dodge the claws of the beast, ducking down and rolling out of the way. You stood back up quicker than the wendigo could recompose itself and shot the flare directly into the creatures chest.

You didn’t wait to see it go up in flames, instead you reloaded the gun and pressed on, determined to find survivors in the cave.

As you continued, you saw a break of light straight ahead, and jogged to the opening in the cave. To your delight, five bodies were suspended from the ceiling of the cave, only one of them appearing to be conscious.

“Help me,” the hiker groaned out as you approached him, “please.”

“Hey, you’re going to be okay. It’s dead,” you reassured him, cutting the man down with the knife you kept stashed in your jacket.

“All of them?” he questioned as you helped him to the ground.

“There’s more than one?” you asked, your voice shaking ever so slightly.

“There’s at least five of them.”

“Mother—”

A force strong enough to knock down a building came flying at you, sending your body crashing against the cave wall. You groaned in pain as your head slammed against the damp ground, the flare gun falling just out of arm's reach.

Two more wendigos came out of hiding, joining the one that had just attacked you. Regaining your composure as quickly as you could, you rolled over to the right and grabbed your gun, shooting a flare into another wendigo, it’s body going up in flames.

The other two let out a scream, one of them lunging towards you faster than you could even imagine. It brought its hand down, swiping its claws down your left arm. You screamed in pain, kicking your legs out to throw the creature off of you.

Blood pooled from the new wound, enticing the second wendigo to lunge at you, as well. You barely had time to register its attack before it was on top of you, grabbing you by the neck, lifting you in the air.

Your gun dropped to the ground with a clatter as it was getting harder to breathe. You flailed against the tight grip of the wendigo, trying to break from its grip. Finally, it threw you down to the ground, the feeling of your ribs breaking under the pressure of you overwhelming you. You rolled into your stomach, trying your best to reach for the gun when a third wendigo entered your line of sight.

As your fingers gripped the handle of the gun, claws raked down your back, digging harshly into your flesh. Another scream tore its way through your already sore throat at the feeling of your torn flesh. You pulled the trigger on your gun, sending another flare out into one of the wendigo, taking another one down. You rolled over onto your back, your body screaming in protest as you quickly reloaded the flare gun again and took down another wendigo.

When you went to reach into your pocket to grab another flare, you came out empty.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cursed, out of flares. One more wendigo remained, and you had no way of killing it, just a pistol and a knife, which would only piss it off more.

The remaining wendigo lunged at you, sending you back down to the ground, your head smashing against the cement ground. White spots danced across your vision, and the last thing you saw before total darkness was the wendigos face above yours, it’s white eyes staring deep into your soul.

—

When you woke again, your first thought was that you wish you didn’t. Your entire body was screaming in pain, and you could feel your body shutting down. Your tongue sat uncomfortably in your mouth as the metallic taste of blood was all you could focus on. Warm blood trickled down your face, landing in the pool of blood underneath your suspended body.

You tried to wiggle your way out of the ropes keeping you tied to the ceiling, but every movement made the brink of unconsciousness loom over you. You turned your head to the side, the body of the hiker torn to shreds over to the edge of the cave opening. Fuck. You wanted to cry, your efforts to save at least one person in vain.

You heard the growl of the last wendigo as it approached you, and you felt it lick a stripe up your leg where your pants were torn, lapping up the dried blood. You cringed at the feeling, trying to kick it away.

The wendigo ran its claws down the back of your left calf, breaking the skin there while it crushed the bones in your right. You tried to scream, but your mouth was too dry to even let out a noise.

The pain turned white hot, and you felt yourself beginning to pass out again, and you prayed that you wouldn’t wake again.

—

Halfway across the world, a certain archangel in hiding was enjoying his day hidden out in a run-down motel, trying his hardest to regenerate his grace, when he felt the familiar tug of someone praying to him. Usually, he ignored any and all prayers, seeing as most of the time they came from the Winchester duo, but for some reason, he actually listened to this one.

Gabriel, please help me.

Gabriel’s eyebrows furrowed at the sound of your voice as he continued to listen. I screwed up, bad. I need help. Please, Gabriel. God, please be hearing this.

Gabriel knew you, you were hunting with the Winchesters when you guys first encountered him at that college where he was giving those douchebags their ‘just desserts.’ You were hotheaded and arrogant, and he knew you were going to grow to be a damn good hunter. He knew the last thing you would ever do was pray to him, or any angel for the matter.

He followed the tug of your prayer, and in an instant he was by your side in what looked like to be a cave. He looked up at your unconscious body suspended from the ceiling and his blood turned cold. Using as much grace as he could, he cut you down from your bindings and held you tightly in his arms. You groaned at the contact of your raw skin on his.

With a flutter of his wings, no longer were the two of you in the cave, but you were in the warmth of the bunker.

“Hello?” Gabriel called out, hoping someone was home to help you so he could leave. He couldn’t be here, not now while the Winchesters and Castiel were depending on his help to save their friends, or whoever they needed to save.

“Gabriel?” a voice called out, the figure of Castiel coming into view. His confused expression morphed into one of immediate worry at the sight of your body in his brothers arms, the only sign of you living were your shallow breaths rising and falling unevenly.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, his voice shaking as he was beside Gabriel in an instant.

“I don’t know. I heard her praying to me, and when I found her, she was already unconscious.”

Gabriel lied you down on one of the couches in the room on your back, your blood leaving a stain on his clothes.

“Help me heal her,” Castiel ordered, his hand already on your forehead, his grace flowing through you. Gabriel complied with no arguments, his hand resting gently on your arm as his grace mixed with his brother’s.

Soon, all your open wounds were stitched closed, the only sign of your past hunt being the scars left behind. Your breaths were coming out more even now, and the pain in your body subsided.

“I’m going to take her to her room,” Castiel whispered, a forlorn expression on his face.

“I should go,” Gabriel responded. “Helping her used up a lot of my grace. I need to recuperate.”

Castiel nodded absentmindedly as he scooped your body into his arms, taking you to your room. He heard the flutter of Gabriel’s wings as he left the room, your body held tightly in his arms as he walked to your room. Once inside, he placed you gently on your bed, making sure your pillow was tucked safely under your head, trying to provide you with as much comfort as he could. He pulled your desk chair over to the edge of your bed and sat down, waiting for you to stir, his hand gripping yours tightly.

—

When you woke again, you expected to see the fiery pits of Hell; your bedroom was the last place you expected to be. You let out a groan from your body being so stiff, but otherwise felt no pain. A hand was gripping your own, and you gave whoever the person was a gently squeeze to that hand.

“[Y/N],” you heard a voice gasp from beside you, the sudden contact lossed.

“Cas?” you groaned, blinking your eyes open, adjusting to the harsh light.

“Yeah, [Y/N], it’s me. I’m so happy you’re okay,” he said, relief flooding over him. He helped you sit up, your back resting against the wooden headboard of your bed, a pillow bracing your lower back.

“What happened? How did I get out?” you questioned. The last thing you remembered was being dinner for that ugly son of a bitch.

“Gabriel heard your prayers.”

“Gabriel?” you asked. “I didn’t even know I was praying to him.”

Castiel nodded his head. “He said you were unconscious when he arrived, you must have been dreaming.” A silence settled over the two of you, and your argument from the other day was all you could think about.

“Cas,” you whispered, grabbing his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Never in your thirty-five years of being alive have you ever spoken those words. You never apologized, regardless if you were in the wrong or not. “I was in way over my head. You were right.”

Castiel said nothing, his eyes trained on your hand in his. “I should have more faith in you, [Y/N]. But I should never have let you leave this bunker.”

You sighed, using your other hand to guide Castiel’s face to look at you. You rubbed your thumb gently on his cheek before dropping your hand. “Cas, please listen to me. I have one hell of a thick head, and I would not have listened to you no matter the circumstances. I thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t. That doesn’t mean I’m not a good hunter”

“You’re a great hunter, [Y/N], I know that, I know that better than anyone else, and I know that you have this part of you that needs to prove you’re the best, which means you refuse to ask for help on anything, but you need to understand how dangerous that is,” Castiel spoke gently, not wanting to cause another argument. “You don’t need to be so competitive all the time. It’s okay to need others once and a while.”

You winced at his words, guilt washing over you like a tidal wave. You knew he was right, how self-destructive your tendencies were, but you couldn’t just change over night. You didn’t know if you could change at all. You were raised in the hunter life, and your father made damn sure you were the greatest hunter out there. The constant tests he laid out for you, and how he reprimanded you if you failed… You shuddered at the thought.

“Cas, please,” you pleaded, but for what? You weren’t even sure.

“You matter, [Y/N]. You matter to a lot of people. You matter to me. You need to know that, you have to.”

An overwhelming feel of different emotions settled over you, all of them too powerful for you to begin to say anything to Castiel. Instead, you tugged him to you and wrapped your arms around his center, resting your head against him. “I’m sorry,” was all you could muster up. You expected Castiel to stiffen underneath you, for him not to reciprocate your actions, so it surprised you when you felt his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer to him.

“You have to be more careful,” he muttered, finally breaking away from your embrace. You nodded your head slightly, a small smile coming up on your face.

“Thank you,” you whispered. A sudden wave of fatigue settled over your body, and you stifled out a yawn.

Castiel helped you back down the bed, grabbing a fluffy blanket from your desk and covering your body until just your head peaked out. Your eyes fluttered shut as you snuggled into the warmth of the blanket, and as you were just on the brink of unconsciousness, you could have sworn you felt lips against your temple.

Castiel watched your sleeping form from the doorway, contentment settling over him. He flicked the light off in your room and smiled softly at you. “You’re welcome.”

#supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural imagine #supernaturalimagine #supernatural x reader #castiel #castiel x reader #gabriel

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themysteriouswriter675 · 5 years

Text

Empty Frustration

Hello world. Although I’m sure almost no one’s reading this. The handful of followers whose attention I might have captured have probably lost me in the tsunami knows as Tumblr. Today I’ll try to revive myself, bang open the nails from one of the countless coffins Tumblr’s algorithm puts its millions of inactive users in, if you may. I’m a changed person from when I previously used to write- no longer invested heavily in changing the world, but rather scrambling to hold together the broken pieces within. I guess as my younger self sought to change society, to change norms, to shatter systems, and break glass ceilings, it forgot to take a peek inside itself and see that......there was nothing. Nothing but a fiery ego fueled for years by undeserved praise, nothing but a lazy feaster who does nothing besides waiting for the food to come to the table, without moving an inch towards it. And it was possible before. One might as well have forgotten there was anything to contend on the inside to begin with. One of the biggest shams ever sold to young people, was that your life, down the road, would be guided by what happens on the outside- outside events, outside obligations, outside people- that you would drown in your surroundings so much, that you didn’t have to contend with anything in your homeland. Of course, that’s only a torn half of the full page- no one warns the innocent of the real Goliath they have to slay. The real war that no one stocks up for hits them when they least expect it. One day they wake up and look at the mirror, and see more than they ever expected to. The highlights of one’s face brings visions that cannot be penned down, but yet their mind seems to retain even the slightest detail of, the tiniest speck at the most remote corner.

I’ve clearly become a far less skilled writer. But I feel more satisfaction writing this down than I ever did writing even my most brilliant stories. I’ve learnt a lot over the years, and one of the things I’ve learnt is that a machine will rip a human off into shreds when it comes to writing the most accurate, to-the-point piece one can. The chronology of the bulletproof, immaculate paragraphs of an algorithm almost seem to have been constructed, if I may, by decimal-precise instruments whose sole job is to not miss a single detail. And if that is what people set to imitate, then these words become strings of letters- writing loses meaning. I know that now. My previous self would hate the fact that I’ve interrupted my initial musings to go on a completely unrelated tangent. But I don’t deal in paragraphs anymore. Language points and content synchronization is no longer the lens through which I view my writings. I now deal in thoughts. In emotions. In stories. In conversations with voices from the inside. This writing won’t win prizes. But I’m at least able to write messages to the second person that has grown inside me. This person listens. This person responds. This person looks at the world and guides me based on what it gathers. This person isn’t me. This person isn’t someone else either. But this person exists, and will even drive you to a gun, or a bottle of sleeping pills, if it is provoked to. As we grow, this person becomes us. And I’m writing this to pen down what this person thinks of me.

Our days slowly morph, from the daily operations of an input-output algorithm, from a series of orders, from sports discussions, from childhood tiffin politics, from fretting over results, from mischievous giggles, from escaping relatives, from trying to fit ourselves into the grilles of our balcony, into something more morbid and harrowing. It turns into panic attacks, into anxiety, into stacks of unread books, into clinging onto friends who sometimes don’t cling back as much, into periods of time when the only two things you know are that you are looking at yourself and that tears are flowing out of your eyes, into week-long spans of running out of things to pat yourself on the back for. It is primarily that. The very idea that we can think for hours about what would happen if we die without flinching at the very idea in an instant amidst an unfaltering affection for reality should not be normal, but it is.

There can only be moments of digging upwards, reaching topsoil, and devouring the trees and the air before the dirt beneath the ground slides apart like quicksand. How long those moments are depends on how hard one can whip themselves into pulling themselves up by the bootstraps. Crafting that whip takes an extraordinary amount of religious dedication towards self-positivity and optimism manufacturing. It requires us to rip the ends of our receptors into oblivion till we are blind to the suffering that pulls us back again, howling, whimpering. The heart becomes heavy, our movements become more erratic during sudden moments to voluminous regret and frustration flowing through our cursed veins. We expect texts from people who, ultimately, don’t text. We expect people to notice us, feel our absence. It is all a fairy-tale. No one cares enough. At least the people you want to do not. You feel like abandoning people. But people do not need you. You need them. It takes a moment to wrap our heads around it. But one day, we look at ourselves, and realize, that the only well that quenches our thirst is contaminated with cyanide. There is no escaping the poisoning, the pain, because the alternative is utter destruction. Sometimes, the cyanide is purely fictitious, a figment of the imagination. But it is all the same. You feel a burning rage towards your friends. You call them scum of the earth, even though all they are doing is failing to live up to the sky-high expectations that the person inside you set.

But then again, all of this is before one opens the lid and look inside. All of these are simple iron pellets, shot at your body in preparation for the missile to come. You open yourself. Skin the flesh from the bone, rip the bone in half, and inside, there’s only Calcium. No feelings, no emotions, a person without a droplet of empathy. This is the body that you’ve been living inside for years. And imagine realizing that while you are alone, one day, when your life flashes by before your eyes, and the only thing you ever remember doing is hurting others. Hurting yourself. Thinking you are the best in the world. Building the lazy feaster whose body you would occupy one day. Imagine you distinctly remember the day it happened. Imagine that you cried for 4 hours straight. Imagine that the person you spent your whole life building is one that has personality dysphoria every night. A person that has developed the instinct to sit around and wait for things to happen. A person that cannot create order from the chaos he is given, and instead bathes in it, suffering in willingness, in complete submission to his self-annihilating nature. A person, who, in order to be forced to do something, has to be given the opportunity cost of severe physical or social penalties. One can only imagine it. Only those who have gone through it sit in front of a laptop at 1 a.m. and type it for the rest of the world to see.

One would think this is saddening. It is not. There is a part inside. Like a mother that screams to her child that exams are in 10 days. That part sees the fire that is coming to burn the trees. It sees the eerie calm before the storm. But I have become numb to my sheer incompetence. It is a sort of expressionless torture. It is the stick you grab to beat yourself that you care you do not have the energy to put to use. It is the fire that you light to burn yourself to make yourself feel the weight to your wasted years that you do not even feel like jumping to. I would say I feel like a robot. But a robot is programmed to do what it is told. I don’t even do that either.

The rotting mascot of a human being I made myself was stripped naked and put up on a humiliating exhibition. I decided that I can talk, and decided to open a page of my life that I want to burn with a lighter, rip slowly with my own fingers, as if to have the illusion that I’m causing it pain, drown it in cold, unforgiving water, and throw away in a lonely, isolated trash-bag. I decided to join debating. I don’t want to talk much about this part of my life(which still continues to this day though), because I know it way too well, and I feel like talking about it does no service to this exercise of self-therapy.

I didn’t plan an end to this excerpt. This was a photograph of my journey to being the pathetic human I am. Happiness, purpose, drive, love, inclusion- I am tired of being told that these things will come to me. I am not that long-haired sweetheart with a stable relationship and a thousand-page manual on social dexterity. I am not that sweet, wholesome person that everyone ascribes a positive contribution to their lives onto. I am not a sailor with a map. I’m a warrior that does not know how to wield a sword. A “nerd” who doesn’t study. A debater who doesn’t practice. A person that has manufactured a personality that I’m forgetting how to keep up. I’m nothing. There is nothing inside. A defunct car that has been pitched as a speed beast by salesmen who do not know the inside. This isn’t a story. An excerpt. This is a diagnosis. A periscope view. Of my inside. A pathetic, void-consumed, meaningless inside. I thought I would feel better after writing this. Turns out my emptiness has just been replaced by more of it.

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theinsouciantscribbler · 5 years

Text

Not another Vampire Romance: Chapter 1: “Stiletto Heels are not for Running.”

“I’ll pick some up when the market opens in a few weeks.” The voice was like velvet.

I only saw a bright, lipstick red pair of shoes fade away before the ache in my head drowned out every other sense. I reached for another swig of, ah, well I couldn’t remember what I was drinking. The glass was warm, but I lifted it to my lips to partake when even craning all the way back left my mouth dry, I slammed the small glass down. I think the bartender may have said something about cutting me off in that moment, but a flash of memory whipped past my view. A field of wheat under the glamour of the autumn sun, the scent of plums wafting off from the orchard during harvest.

I had to rub my eyes to see my memory transform into a flaxen locked dream. Her hair swayed just like the wheat, the perfume that fell behind her was sweet, fruity and crisp, but faint and fading with time. I couldn’t help but follow behind, tossing a chunk of bills down on the counter before I went.

Guided by the glory of what couldn’t possibly be real, and shoes that matched a darker memory completely, I staggered far behind but enough to imagine all the ways she could have found her way to that time at that bar.

I smelled him before he came.

It was foul, rotten, stagnant.

“Saecula.” I growled. I reached for the bulb of my cane, ready to withdraw my weapon when I saw a man in shadow saunter up to her side and yank her into the pocket alley. My heart thumping from a sudden frenzy I had repressed for what seemed like a lifetime now, I swept through the night. From one breath to the next, I was at the mouth of the alley and had my sword unsheathed from my cane.

The villain chuckled when he heard my footsteps.

“A sword will do you no good here.” He cackled, twisting just enough towards the dim light of the street lamp to illuminate his monstrous face.

“You’ll regret underestimating me, beast.” I warned him right before I dove in to slay this evil creature.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perhaps I was inviting death, walking down the poorly lit street that night. I even greeted it, when the prickling on my skin warned me of what was coming and I didn’t dare raise my voice when it grabbed me. I can’t remember if I smiled at death when I stared it straight in the face, embracing it as it’s human facade torn to shreds like tissue paper and revealed a most vile abomination that not even my most darkest imaginations could have conjured.

The shadows made it larger than it was, my fear gave it greater strength. Or at least, it would have, were I afraid. Instead, my heart didn’t change it’s pace from one moment to next. My gut didn’t twist in pain from panic, and my mind wasn’t franticly searching for different avenues of escape. Instead, I stood there, listening as it promised a vicious ending to my mortal coil and all I could think about was the lonesome man at the counter of the ‘Blue Goose’. He seemed miserable to be alive, in pain to just be awake, to breathe. I hadn’t seen much of him, just enough to see his eyes were blood shot from both the staggering train of drinks consumed and loss of sleep.

I found myself wondering, just moments before my capture, who he was and what had happened to him. He seemed far too young to be so aged and worn with sorrow. Perhaps I only thought I saw such things in his eyes, and they were nothing more than a reflection.

When the creature craned his neck to look at a mysterious figure cloaked in shadow but outline illuminated like an angel from the light of the street lamp, I felt my heart leap. I could see nothing of him, knew nothing of him, yet saw him as a dark knight coming to my rescue.

The creature spoke in tongues, and the dark knight replied in kind. Pushed up against a corner, the monster let his hold of me go and focused on my rescuer. I watched my only view to the world take place, my eyes flickering from one to the other and hoping my knight was faster, stronger even, than this beast.

A bright flash of light twinkled intermittently. It was his sword catching the light from the street, a gleam of hope to follow with it as it struck the creatures arm. It let out a shrill cry, but it didn’t deter it from battle. With ferocity and anger, I could see it become enraged and fight with a reckless abandon. It had been going easy on the Knight up till this point.

Like the crack of lightening, the monster slammed its fist into the knights chest and sent him flying back into the wall I was tucked in to. I crawled quickly over to his side to asses his injuries. I palmed over his chest and face, looked for any sign of life or death but saw neither. Cupping his cheek, his eyes closed and face hardly visible in this light, I begged him to wake.

“I didn’t think you were the sort that gave up this easily.” I whispered. Besides the flicker of eyes and slight groan, it had no effect.

“Now then,” Came the monsters voice. The sound pricked and crawled up and down my skin like insects. My wrist was seized by its lone hand, the fingers longer than my forearm, thin like sticks and claws like the talons of an eagle. It yanked me towards it, its mouth agape and drooling with black sludge. Teeth like spindles lined its jaw in rows, and eyes jet black once again began to promise my inevitable death. “I’ve worked up quite the appetite.”

Before, I feared it not. Before, I would have kept my eyes open when it would bring its murder down upon my flesh, watched with a painful and sick fascination of what I was about to greet.

Yet now I felt the frigid grip of fear, the twist of panic like a noose around my neck and pulling at my innards. Blood pumping and entire body trembling, I shut my eyes tight as I awaited the pain with the first bite.

My shoulder became instantly enflamed but that was all I felt before I was being pulled backwards. My eyes shot open and I saw the creature gutted by my dark knight. His sword pierced its flesh through so great that the handle met with his skin. I saw the black eyes of the beast grow wide before its monstrous shape contorted back into its human casing. He was a monster, but died like any other man; fearing the death he foolishly thought would never come to him.

With a swift yank, my knight ripped his sword clean of his kill and wiping the blade on some tissue, he sheathed the blade.

“They will come for you… for the both of you.” I heard the beast cough up.

“Back to hell with you.” The knight spat as the corpse turned to nothing but ash.

Momentarily, I had forgotten the gut wrenching pain that emanated from my shoulder as I was lost in the way the milky moon light washed over my knight when it finally dared to come out.

He twisted his head and looked at me with his eyes that felt like a hand go over me entirely. When they landed at my shoulder, I met the place and saw the deep gashes that exposed the ivory bones of my shoulder and collar bone. I felt the gash trailing down to my back and thought that my shoulder blade may be peeking out to the world too; it didn’t want to be left out of the party.

“You’re hurt.” He spoke gruffly, yet his movements spoke to a swift nature. He was at my side instantly, looking at the wound.

“Not too bad i’m sure.” I made light of what was surely a terrible wound. “Just a flesh wound.”

He shot a dark look up at me, unimpressed with my humor.

“I can heal you, but you mustn’t speak of this night to anyone.” He waited for my answer.

“Of… Of course.” I agreed.

“Good. Seems you’ve some sense in that empty head of yours yet.”

I almost thanked him for his help when the insult hit me.

“Come, take my hand, I can’t do it here.” Without asking, he lifted me to my feet.

With a sly grin, he added, “You may feel slightly queasy.”

“I don’t understand-“ I began, but the world began to melt away into a haze, shifting from the alley to a dark realm of nothing but black and a spotlight where we stood. Then, like curtains raising up from the floor, the world changed again into a dank, small apartment with only a tiny window letting in the nights natural light.

When everything stopped moving, my knees went weak and my head spun.

“Whoa,” He was quick to catch me and lead me over to a steel chair that was ice cold. “Sit here a moment.”

I tried to calm the ache in my head while I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he rummaged through the cabinets.

“Aw, here we are.” I heard him murmur. With the thumps of his boots to the wood floor, I felt him come over like each one a hit to the head.

“The first passage is always the worst.” He tried to comfort me, but it did little to help.

“As is the last.” I grumbled, vowing to never do that again as the headache finally began to wane.

“This will be excruciating, so I need you to bite down on this.” He handed me a stick. Where he had gotten a stick, was far beyond any questions I needed answered first.

I took it and bit down while I watched him uncork a vile of black ooze. It looked eerily similar to the ooze that dripped out of that creatures mouth. He must have caught the hesitation in my eyes and chuckled.

“This is not made from the venom of that creature, if that is what you are thinking.” He promised.

“That thing has venom?” I asked, thinking that the monster I had seen tonight was no snake.

“Indeed, it does. If I was to let this wound fester, instead of clean it, it would end up killing you even if the beast didn’t.” He explained.

“Does that ‘beast’ have a name?”

“Of course they do.”

“There are more of them?” I felt my gut roll from the fact.

“Of course… You didn’t think you had such bad luck to come across the only one, did you?” He laughed.

“Well… I have a penchant for bad luck.” I sighed.

“Maybe.” He agreed, smirking. I tried to meet his smile, but a scream came bursting out instead through my gritted teeth. My entire side felt like it was being torn into a million shreds of flesh, like my skin was melting off and bones cracking. Flames hotter than a forest fire ran over my muscles, and made every inch of my body tremor before I couldn’t handle a moment more and met the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, damn.” I muttered when I saw her give in to what I knew to be an unbearable experience. I took two fingers and checked her vitals in her neck, and still feeling a pulse, albeit weak, I continued washing the wound with the concoction I had procured several years prior from a swamp land witch. With great interest each time I used it, I watched as the flesh began sewing itself back up like new, the scrapes in bone mending, and only scars and the memory of what happened would remain.

Washing the residue off, I couldn’t help but study the face of this woman. She was like a memory that had walked straight out of my dreams, an exact replica it seemed, even down to the freckle behind her ear.

I had to admit to reality and in actuality that this wasn’t the exact woman. That would have been impossible, since she died so far long ago that I couldn’t dare try to count the years. Yet, here she was. I wondered, knowing that it was a complete impossibility, if she shared the same name.

“Certainly not.” I decided out loud.

Turning away from her, I decided to clean myself up. I had gotten that vermin’s blood splattered all over my clothing and face, and didn’t fancy wearing it a moment longer.

In the bathroom, which had a terrible florescent bulb that flickered so bad it would have given anyone a headache, I looked into the splotchy mirror and felt a moment of shock overcome me.

‘How did she not cower away?’ I asked myself. I wasn’t just splattered with blood, or covered in small chunks of the Saecula’s flesh. My contacts had become dislodged and fallen away in the battle, something I didn’t notice till now, and my eyes shined a bright, velvety cerise. Any sane human should have known something was wrong with me, with eyes like these.

“Perhaps she didn’t notice… not likely though.” I murmured before stripping down to my bare flesh and stepping into the steaming shower that enjoyed shooting me with occasional spurts of freezing water.

#Writing Fantasy Romance Horror Chapter1

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chuuteau · 7 years

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The Bonds that Break Us ~ Dazai Osamu & Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Did someone ask for angst? No. Yet here it is, spewing out of me like a fucking geyser. Feel like this had a lot of layers??Have I finally turned my stories into onions?? It's 2:08 and I haven't slept in three weeks. Might make a second part or a full story, idk, probably not because I suck. Spoiler most of the other stuff I have planned out is fucking angsty as hell too although it has happy endings, kinda sorta maybe.

Everything was so cold. You could feel the temperature drop and the shivers wracking your body. You couldn't tell why you were shaking. Cold, fear, rage, sorrow, shock, or some disgusting mix of all of them. The hair on the back of your neck was standing on end, and the silence that rang through your ears was deafening.

Fyodor stood there, the cold enough to make his bones ache, but he stood unwaveringly and without a single sign of vulnerability.

When Dazai had approached the empty alleys in the abandoned area of Yokohama, he was expecting it to just be him and Fyodor, as well as whoever the man set up to trap Dazai. It was going to be their final battle of wits, the defining moment to settle this war between them. Dazai didn't account for you showing up.

You were a beautiful Port Mafia agent, known for your powerful ability and closed off heart. You were ruthless and saw others as either beneficial or irrelevant. Iron walls surrounded you, and you carried out all of your tasks without a shred of emotion. But Dazai was the famous demon prodigy, and your walls were paper thin in his all seeing eyes.

His words charmed you, to say the least, his silver tongue caught you off-guard. But you were never one to easily accept someone, and the gleam in his eyes made you wary. He wooed you, weaseled his way into your routine and life until his presence had almost become part of your identity.

The two of you weren't lovers, the two of you had never put a label on your interactions, although sometimes you wondered. When his skin grazed against yours, even for simple things like grabbing a pen, you felt as if you were on fire. When you leaned against him after he invited himself into your home without permission, you could have sworn you heard his breath hitch in his throat.

It broke your heart when he felt the Port Mafia, and the only sense of familiarity was pulled out from under you, sending you crashing down. The barriers he had craftily passed through became more solid than ever, and the blood that stained your hands only accumulated as you threw yourself into your assignments.

The tenderness he had given you in his looks had to be forgotten, instead you just had to remember was the expressions of hatred and blood lust your targets gave you.

Your ability would no longer be beautiful like he said it was, it must go back to being nothing more than a tool to slaughter.

When Dazai left you behind, it was like he took the human part of you with him. If you had known how much he wanted to take you with him, you would have cried. You never spoke to each other again, and there were only brief glimpses on the street.

You heard he had defected to the Armed Detective Agency, and that he had changed into a different person. You tried so hard not to listen. The less you knew the better, and if that made you an ignorant fool, you were more than willing to take on that label.

Fyodor had heard rumors of you floating around, and when he finally looked into your records, he was intrigued. The files were vague, you were almost a ghost. All he had to go on was an impressive kill count and a few blurry pictures of your ability picked up on traffic cameras. You were a valuable asset to him, and he wanted you to play right into his hands.

He meticulously planned out everything, this moment where he would finally have everyone exactly where he wanted them. The genius had crafted this series of events so he could break you apart, and when you were completely exposed, put you back together in a way where you would never be able to recover from his influence.

When Dazai entered that ally, he knew there would be a trap waiting for him. He wasn't surprised when he sensed another presence above him. 'A sniper. If he hits me, I'll just make sure it's in a non-vital spot,' he thought to himself, unconcerned by the assassins presence. Fyodor stood ahead of him, his eyes unreadable, but Dazai could sense an air of confidence.

This was truly the ultimate battle, two prodigies ahead of their time going head to head, all other things were irrelevant. No words had been spoken between the two men, the thick silence said everything they needed to know.

His spine stiffened when he heard footsteps tapping down the ally behind him, he could easily recognize your distinct walking pattern.

The same feet that would patter down his apartment hall in the middle of the night for a glass of water after he managed to convince you to spend the night with him.

The footsteps that hesitated by the edge of his bed when you returned as you wondered if this was really normal like he had said.

The slippers you would kick off onto the floor as he cajoled you into crawling back between the sheets.

The legs that tangled with his when he pretended to be asleep and wrapped his arms around you like it was nothing more than something any acquaintance would do.

When Fyodor sent him a smile, casual but terrifying, Dazai whipped around to face you. Your face was as closed off as when he first met you, but the second your eyes locked, there was something there. Your (e/c) orbs displayed how you crumbled at the sight of him, and what Dazai hope was affection.

The gleam of the barrel was in the corner of his eye, and he put his body in front of yours, moving on instinct. He wanted to protect you. His survival and safety were number one. But when it came to you, priorities just didn't seem to work they way they used to.

The bullet tore through his chest. The flesh and bone that was ripped apart in the path of the unforgiving metal were in agony. He tilted forward, and you reached out to catch him.

His breathing was labored, and blood leaked from his gasping mouth. Dazai could feel the fluids building up in his punctured lung, and breathing felt like a challenge he wasn't sure he wanted to undertake.

As your arms steadied him, and your eyes grew wild with panic, another shot rang out. The sniper was a professional and didn't let the chance escape from him to take out the vulnerable bandaged man.

The air had already started to get colder as another bullet tore through one of his arteries, lodging near the organ he wished he had admitted long ago belonged to you.

You sank to your knees, supporting him on your lap. The temperature of the atmosphere kept dropping as you pressed your hands against his cheeks, looking into his chocolate pools that you used to drown in.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to take you with me," Dazai said with an apologetic smile.

You know what he was really trying to tell you when he said that. He knew that you knew, as a wave of emotion surged on to your face. He had never really been one for sentiments, and this was the closest thing to a confession that you'd ever receive from the elusive man.

His eyes slid shut, the galaxies you saw in them dying out as his ragged breathing no longer reached your ears.

The air was frigid, and ice had already started to coat the ground around your hunched body. It crept out along the paved street, crawling up the sides of buildings, coating the area in a white sheen.

You clung to Dazai, tears starting to drip down onto his face as you stared at him. You were experiencing more emotions swirling around inside of you now than you had felt in your entire lifetime.

The silence was the most oppressive things you had ever felt, and you felt as though you were suffering. Your breath created small clouds, and you felt your body start to go numb.

Fyodor stepped back, out of range as you let out a wail. All of your feelings had died out, and the only thing you had now was raw despair coursing through you. As you screamed out, sharp, jagged crystals erupted from the frost you had emitted. They coated the area, shielding you and the barely warm body you clung on to like a lifeline.

Razor sharp geysers protected you from the rest of the world, but what else was there left for you to protect? Your own well being was far from your mind.

The sniper was gone, his body torn apart by your outburst. Fyodor had one thing scratch on his arm, blood trickling down the appendage and falling from his fingertips. He was smiling nonchalantly as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The only possible man who could rival him had been wiped off this plane of existence, and a powerful ally was waiting for him to rip apart like a piece of prey.

He couldn't lie to himself in thinking he was just interested in your ability. He couldn't deceive himself into thinking that he didn't see something in you besides potential.

The stoic mask you usually wore irritated him. Seeing it crumble sent a jolt of exhilaration through his body. He looked forward to seeing the other faces you would make whole he had you wrapped around his finger.

Since he discovered your existence, your fates had been inescapably intertwined. The red strings that were your lives had been tied into a knot, and he was planning on choking you with your own thread.

Fyodor's hands were warm against your face, and you let your arms fall to your sides, your empty eyes looking to him. He could practically taste the desperation, and he used his thumb to wipe away a stray tear.

You were spent, you were tired. Like an animal caught in a noose, you had exhausted yourself and no longer had the energy to fight what was about to happen. You couldn't resist it, so you embraced it.

You lifted your hands to cover his, gripping onto his warmth as the one in your lap faded.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray sogs #dazai osamu #fyodor dosteyevsky #reader insert #xreader #angst #ANGST FUCK DAMN

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taeguiary-blog · 7 years

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Never Too Late

Min Yoongi, Kim Taehyung, and a gun that has to decide who to shoot.

A couple of weeks had passed since Taehyung and Yoongi ran from the organization. Each day they ran farther away from their new found enemy, but each day that passed, the organization were getting closer and better at tracking the illusive duo down.

And last night, they found a new lead that would lead straight to the two rogues staying in an old, abandoned building. But before they came for Yoongi or Taehyung, the older had to make sure that Taehyung was safe from them. After all, they all thought Yoongi was the problem to begin with.

"Listen to me carefully, Taehyung. Very carefully. Do not screw this up," Yoongi pulls his gun from his waste band and cocked it. He held out the gun to Taehyung as his eyes grew wide. "Tae it and shoot me."

Taehyung shook his head frantically, pushing back Yoongi's hand, still clamping to the gun. "Yoon- I c-can't," he choked, tears beginning to form in his pink stained eyes trying to grasp the situation he was in with Yoongi.

"Tae, you have to. If I am dead, they will let you go. Say that I kidnapped you as leverage so if I got caught and go back to them . They will take you back. And say you didn't kill my father. tell them I did it instead. They already think it was me. You have a shot, take it,"

"But, I did, Yoongi. I stabbed him. I am the one they should want dead. he was coming after you, I had to and-"

Yoongi leaned into Taehyung slowly. "Take a breath for me, baby," Yoongi softly whispered in his ear. "Calm down and forget about everything. It's just you and me. Here in this room. Together," He continued, rubbing circles into Taehyung's hips with his thumbs. His voice itself beginning to calm the younger boy down. It was impossible for him to understand how Yoongi could remain so level-headed and calm throughout the whole situation they have both immersed themselves into for the past few weeks.

Taehyung could barely see the older's face through the film of tears covering his pupils, blocking his vision. Taehyung's breath started to become unsteady when the silver haired boy started to back away from him. Nodding slowly, as he outstretched the gun to him a second time.

Yoongi knew that there was nothing he could do to escape this time, without getting Taehyung captured, or worse killed. He couldn't afford to be so reckless with him in their crossfire. He knew that there was nowhere to look but into his lover's eyes. He couldn't soften the blow no more, than to just be able to walk Taehyung through it, despite the sight ripping his heart into shreds. "Take the gun, Taehyung," Yoongi ordered, firmly, masking the tears trying to escpae his eyes. He noticed the hesitance on Taehyung's face, shaking his head profusely again.

"Yoongi, I can't. Not you. Please,"

"Yes, you can," he said, clasping his hand around the other's, putting the gun in his hands. "Just count to three, pull the trigger, and it will all be over," He instructed the blond boy. Taehyung let out a noise of defeat, his hand shaking as he held the cool metal in his fingers. It contrasted with his body temperature, sewat soaking his bangs and his shirt, but he couldn't tell what was what anymore with the tears starting to fall, mixing together. Taehyung moves slowly towards Yoongi, aiming the barrel to his chest He can't do this to Yoongi. But the older wouldn't let him get away with it. He would push Taehyung until he broke, like he was trained to do to anyone else back at the organization. "Don't make me, Taehyung," Yoongi wiped the sweat off of his forehead, "Please. I don't want to do that to you."

One.

Two..

Three...

Taehyung pulled the trigger with a yell. How he wished he could've just killed him right then, right there. But he couldn't aim to kill. Not at Yoongi. He shook with panic, not wanting to look at the wound from the bullet he blasted into his boyfriend's chest. Looking at Yoongi with pain and regret in his eyes, he expected him to be able to think of something and land them a clean getaway. sadly, neither them could rewind time. And Yoongi couldn't escape a trained sniper and hit-man's perfect aim. Yoongi's eyes impotent, lightly smiled at the boy, blood slowly streaming from his mouth. "Close your eyes. Sometimes you said it helps you,"

"I can't kill you. I won't,"

"You have to! This is just like any other job you would be issued by my father! You shoot so many people a day, I bet you have already long forgotten the body count! You think I don't know that shot you just fired into my chest won't kill me? My father's men know that too, Taehyung. I am asking you for my sake and especially yours. Please."

He couldn't close his eyes. This was different from all the other jobs he was hired to complete. This was Yoongi. The only person he had ever been there for him since the first day he was forced to join the organization. He was the only one that Taehyung had ever loved.

"Taehyung-ah," Yoongi called,and when Taehyung glanced up into his eyes, tears finally began to stream down Yoongi's face. "I love you- more than anyone I have ever loved in my life," Yoongi's voice trembled as Taehyung cocked the gun and placed the cold barrel against his temple, brushing away the silver strands swiftly. "I wanted to give you the world. That's why we ran away. I wanted to make you truly happy. And we were for a few weeks, right? I wanted you to live a happy life. And even though you had me, a screwed up boyfriend with daddy issues for a travel partner, we wouldn't trade it for the world right? And I though you were free, but you aren't. Not with me lie this, Tae. So now I am giving you a happy shot at life. You are going to shoot me. Thy will let you go. And you will start over and never look back, you hear me?"

Taehyung gulped as he placed his index finger softly on the trigger. "Yoongi, I love you too," and he pulled the trigger.

984...

#bts taegi #taegi #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts drabble #bts scenarios #bts oneshot #bts au #bts fic #bts taehyung #bts v #bts suga #bts yoongi #taehyung and yoongi

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houseofglass · 7 years

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ABO Virus: Pack Life Chapter 19 - Sick

Yep, AO3 found here.

The pack fell into their old routine with only a slight hesitation. Sam stayed on high alert to make sure Dean wasn't being pushed into anything while Cas slowly expected his pack to follow his orders again. Dean had no problems with any of it, the routine Cas set up was comforting, and Sam doting on him was not entirely awful.

As soon as Cas saw Dean was adjusting well again, he returned to work at the store full time rather than continue going in part time. Many nights he'd stay a bit late as well, helping Charlie and Gilda get the store running well. He absolutely loved his new job. Everything from how the supply and demand flowed to how the finances worked, even though he didn't completely understand them, was wonderful to him. As well, he loved how his two partners seemed to want his help and guidance. Charlie and Gilda had been doing all right with the store, but somewhere along the line they became overwhelmed and were grateful for Cas' help.

Sam also went back to teaching full time, something he also enjoyed. Watching his students learn gave him a great sense of pride. Knowing a lot of the information he taught was from first hand experience in dealing with the evils of the world was an added bonus.

Dean waited until both his mates were solidly at work before going into the garage to really look at Baby. What he saw made him cry...but so did many things these days. There was blood on the seat from his miscarriage, and that made him cry until he was dehydrated. Without checking with his pack, he began the repairs on the car. It was nothing he hadn't done before, and it felt good to do it, but he knew Cas would object the second he saw the never ending stream of tears on Dean's face as he did it. So when he wasn't puttering around the garden they'd planted, he was working on his car.

Dean was under no illusions here, his pack knew he was working on the car. They could see the evidence in the garage and hear him thinking about what he was going to do next or where to go to get the parts. Neither mate brought up the subject, so he didn't volunteer any information. One day he was so wrapped up in getting the final touches ready for the new body parts that he was a bit startled by Cas coming home, thinking he still had more time alone.

“Dean,” Cas bit off the second he sensed the sadness. “What are you doing?” Cas abandoned his bicycle and drew Dean into a hug. Dean had been handling the repairs reasonably well and hadn't seemed too stressed about it. Until right now. It was only in this moment that Cas realized Dean must have stopped working on the car a few hours before he was due home each day. Otherwise he would have felt the intensity of Dean's emotions before now.

“Fixing my car,” he said as Cas squeezed the daylights out of him.

“You're upset, come inside,” Cas ordered, beginning to lead Dean away from Baby.

“Hold on, just a sec.” Dean pried himself loose and finished what he was doing. “New parts will be here tomorrow, just wanna make sure everything is ready.” Normally he had much more time to work through his tears before Cas got home. Not that he minded getting a hug, that was awesome as always, but he really wanted to just get these little things done today.

Cas called on the single shred of patience he had and waited for Dean to finish. All day he'd been short-tempered with Charlie and Gilda, having to apologize so much he eventually gave them a blanket apology for any future rudeness. He wanted his Omega to not be upset. He wanted his dinner. He wanted a nap of all things. And most of all, he wanted to stop feeling like everything had been moved over a single inch without his consent, in addition to his skin being one size too small, as well as feeling like his brain was floating in molasses.

“You all right Cas,” Dean asked absently as he put his tools away. Cas scented differently but he didn't know why.

“Yes. No. I don't know. I've been off all day.” Cas shifted impatiently. Dinner wasn't even started yet. Dean should know better.

Dean picked up on Cas' irritability and hurried up. The second he was done he turned to smile at Cas but faltered at the sight of his pallid skin and massive dark circles under his eyes, which were slightly puffy, bloodshot, and a bit glassy. “You are not ok,” Dean decided, leading Cas to the kitchen. He'd lost track of time and hadn't started dinner. Cas' schedule said it was spaghetti and meatballs with salad and garlic toast. Dean was relieved it was easy to assemble and got right to it after making sure Cas sat down. “Do you want some Tylenol or something?”

“No,” Cas growled somewhat rudely. “I'm hungry. I want my dinner.”

“Getting it done now Cas, it won't be long.” Dean worked faster than normal. Usually, he liked to take his time assembling the ingredients and watching the meal come together. Today he whipped through it, using the fewest number of steps to get it done. Sam arrived as Dean was testing the spaghetti to see if it was done.

“Hey guys,” Sam greeted, setting his bag down. From how fast Dean was working, Sam guessed he'd not timed things well. Cas could be cranky lately with all the extra hours at the store, Sam was a bit surprised Dean would have forgotten. There was a new scent in the air, it took a minute to notice it was Cas. “Are you ok?” he asked just as he noticed that no, Cas was not doing well. “How do you feel?” he asked without waiting for Cas to answer the previous question.

“Fine. Tired. Hungry.” The overhead light lanced through his eyeballs, making it difficult to look up at Sam. He moved his gritty eyes back to his Omega. “Dean's priorities are not in order. Dinner should have been ready but he decided working on his car was more important than feeding his pack,” Cas grumped to Sam in a dark voice.

Dean felt the tears come and he fought them back. Cas wasn't feeling well, he didn't mean it, probably. He frantically tore lettuce for the salad even though the tears made it hard to see.

Sam flicked a glance between them, deciding on dealing with Cas first. “That was rude,” Sam told him sternly. He saw Cas about to rear up and start shouting. Instead of allowing that, Sam sat beside him and faced him, putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “You're sick, but that's no reason to be mean. Dinner's almost done,” he told him firmly like he would a child.

Cas struggled. The Alpha part of him did not like Sam speaking to him like this. Oh no, not at all. The human part of Cas understood that he was actually mean to the person he loved. Before he could apologize, he started sneezing......a lot.

Sam produced a packet of tissues and slid them over to Cas as he got up. Cas could sneeze without his supervision, and besides, Dean needed him.

“Hey,” he said softly in Dean's ear as he slid his arms around his waist. “It's ok. Do you need help?”

“No,” Dean sniffed, “I got it. You sit. Be ready in a minute.”

Sam wanted very much to rip Dean away from the counter and cuddle him, but dinner was actually almost done, and Sam suspected the Omega in Dean was desperate to show his Alpha that he was doing well. “I'll set the table,” he offered instead, leaving no room for argument. Cas could just deal with things being different for a meal. He gave Dean a final squeeze before getting the dishes.

Cas was blowing his nose, using almost all the tissues in the process. He was about to snark out a comment about Dean not being able to even get the plates on the table when he caught Sam's bitchface and wisely shut himself up.

The meal was quiet, Sam keeping one hand on Dean's leg the entire time, making eating awkward but not impossible. Dean looked to be struggling not to cry and Cas looked to be struggling to keep a lid on the nastiness. When dinner was done, Sam cleared the dishes for Dean and decided that even though it wasn't on the menu, Dean was getting a slice of pie.

Sam brought it to the table, almost daring Cas through the channel to start a fight about it. “Here, I warmed it for you. Do you want me to feed you,” he offered to a very grateful looking brother.

“Thanks,” Dean smiled. “I can do it.” He really would have preferred someone else feeding him, maybe with him wrapped in that person's arms. But he could do it.

Sam plunked two Tylenols down in front of Cas and refilled his water glass. “Take them Cas. You have a cold. This won't cure it but you'll feel better. Go change out of your work clothes. We'll meet you on the couch,” Sam dismissed him.

Cas was incredulous. Nobody dismissed him. <em>Nobody</em>. “Sam,” he started.

Sam caught the dangerous look in Cas' eye and changed his plans slightly, disregarding the jangled feeling of his insides. Speaking to an Alpha like he had was wrong on many levels, but in this instance, Dean came first. And Sam believed that if he let Cas speak this way it would be the first step down a very bad path. So, calling up every bit of Winchester stubbornness he could muster, he took a breath and continued. “We can argue later,” Sam said with finality. Picking up Dean's pie plate, he also took Dean's hand. “Come with me,” he said softly and led him out of the room. He took Dean to the couch where he settled in the corner and indicated Dean was to sit across his lap.

Dean thought he was much too big to be sitting on Sam's lap, but he did as he was told, and it was wonderful. Sam had him put his butt in the vee of his legs so his back was resting against Sam's leg and the couch arm. He threw his legs over Sam's other leg and slid an arm behind Sam.

Once again, Sam was grateful for his long limbs. He waited until Dean settled in his lap before drawing his arm around Dean's back. That arm had the hand with the pie plate, which he held around Dean's ribs. He cut off a bit of pie and held it to his brother's mouth. Dean got about halfway through the pie before bursting into tears, surprising Sam who thought he'd have been crying by now. He set the plate down on the couch and just held Dean and let him cry it out, flooding him with scents of safety and comfort.

Dean tried to hold it together. Cas didn't mean it. It was only one little comment. He was just sick, that was all. He should have had dinner ready like he always did. He knew he should have stopped working sooner so he could have started dinner earlier. He knew his own emotions were running high from fixing the car and being reminded of the events that led up to the accident. Before he could stop himself he was turning to bury his face in Sam's shoulder to cry.

Cas took his time changing. He was rude, he could see that now. What he said was mean and uncalled for. He felt awful, both for his treatment of Dean and for his body symptoms. When he was done he went to the couch and was heartbroken at the sight of Dean shuffling in Sam's neck. Rather than try to hide his feelings, he let himself broadcast them to his mates.

“Cas,” Sam started in a dangerously dark tone, “I can feel that you are apologetic, but know this, you are not ever to speak to Dean or I like that again. Not ever. Have I made myself clear?” Sam collected every threatening feeling he had and hurtled it through the channel at Cas while clinging to Dean.

“Yes,” Cas agreed immediately. “I was terribly mean. Dean?” He waited until Dean was looking at him. He edged over to the couch and sat down gingerly so as not to disturb the pie, and reached out to put a hand on Dean's leg. “I was rude to you. I don't feel well, and that's no excuse, but I'm aware now that I'm ill. I wasn't aware of it when I left work, I thought I was having a bad day and I took it out on you, which was wrong of me regardless of my health. Dean, I'm sorry. I won't ever speak to you like that again.”

“It's ok Cas,” Dean hitched.

“No. Dean it is not ok. You can accept his apology but it is not ok that he said what he did. For Chuck's sake it's only dinner,” Sam clarified.

Dean looked from Sam to Cas. Sam had a point. “I accept your apology,” he whispered to his sick mate.

“Thank you,” Cas bowed his head at Dean. “May I feed you the rest of your pie?” he asked tentatively.

Dean thought about it. “As long as I don't have to move,” he agreed. Sam was incredibly comfortable.

Cas smiled a little and nodded. He picked up the plate and moved a bit closer, after asking Sam if that was all right. He managed to feed Dean the remainder while Sam dropped kisses on Dean's head. Dean was barely finished eating when Cas broke out into wracking coughing, shaking his whole body.

“Ok Dean, you gotta move,” Sam instructed, shifting so he was doing most of the moving while Dean stayed on the warm spot on the couch. Sam took the plate from Cas before he dropped it and set it on the coffee table. He grabbed a blanket from his storage under the couch and wrapped Cas up while he coughed. “You're gonna be ok Cas, it's all right,” he murmured as he tucked the blanket around him. He checked Cas' forehead and found a fever there, but not a significant one. The Tylenol would cut the fever when it took effect. Sam reached for the tissue box and set it next to him, then retrieved the garbage pail and set it at Cas' feet before taking the pie plate to the kitchen. While he was in there, he made some soothing green tea for Cas, sweetened with honey, and brought it to him. Dean had already turned the TV on to Netflix and found some nature show in Cas' profile.

Dean watched Sam go into Mother Hen Mode as he retrieved another blanket and tossed it over Cas' legs. It's like Sam genuinely enjoyed taking care of people, which surprised Dean a little, even though it shouldn't. They Mother Henned each other during hunting, and Sam was amazing during his and Cas' presentation. But it was downright adorable to watch him tend to Cas.

Sam noticed Dean had added the blanket, and a pillow behind Cas' head, and was tucking another pillow under his forearm and against his leg like a little armrest.

When Cas was reasonably sure his coughing was done, he accepted the tea with a grateful smile. He felt Dean creep up to him and press against his side, adding some much needed physical contact through the blankets. Sam sat on the other side, poised to take the mug if Cas started coughing again. “Thank you,” Cas rasped to both of them. “I'm sure I'll be fine in a day or two.”

#spn #supernatural fanfiction #fanfic #ABO Virus #alpha!Cas #Beta!Sam #Omega!Dean #sick cas #cas is nasty when ill #but he's tying really hard

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