#he said his estimation of Charlie just shot way up because even hours later he was still taking his time with each fan that came up

[deanstop13billyjoeltraxx]

Superposition

a deancas college roommate au :)

Chapter 8 is up on AO3! Chapter-by-chapter masterlist here. 

CW: mentions of verbal abuse, homophobia, alcoholism, jail time. instances of smoking. 

some notes: I usually go through and italicize as necessary when I’m posting on tumblr because it doesn’t copy over from my og text, but this chapter is like 6200 words and i’m just not gonna do that. recommend reading on AO3 for the best experience!!

An Exercise in Futility

Three Years Earlier

Castiel was convinced that his life was one massive, cosmic joke.

He’d been considering the possibility for some time. Being the gay son of a homophobic pastor does that to a person. When he discovered, sometime around the age of twelve, that the girls in his Sunday school class were far less interesting than the boys, he could practically feel God laughing at him. Then there was high school, where the religious prattling was replaced by what felt like endless torment at the hands of his peers. 

He felt like college was quickly becoming the third punchline.

Not that things were bad. Things were good, actually, better than they’d been in years. He was learning about things he cared about. He passed his midterms with flying colors. He even had friends. He spent a weekend watching all of the Lord of the Rings with Charlie. He had switched seats in accounting to sit next to Meg.

And, of course, there was Dean. Dean, who dragged Cas to a football game and didn’t drink a sip of alcohol the whole time in solidarity; Dean, who, after Tombstone, insisted on movie night every Tuesday; Dean, who, demanded that Cas print out a copy of one of his short stories and sign it (“When you’re a famous douchebag, this is gonna be worth so much money”).

It seemed that, on all fronts, Castiel had finally capitalized on the collegiate promise of a second chance. 

But by his own estimation, he was doomed.

Because sometimes, his palms started sweating when Dean stood too close. Sometimes, his heartbeat skipped when Dean threw an arm across Cas’s shoulders. Sometimes, Cas woke up from a dream so vivid, he was disappointed to find himself alone in his bunk bed.

He could see how easy it would be to fall in love with Dean Winchester, what with the blond hair and green eyes, bright smiles and southern lilt, funny jokes and considerate actions. The prospect was utterly terrifying, and Castiel was doing everything in his power to stop dwelling on it.

He’d been down the “falling in love with your straight best friend” road before. AP biology class brought Cas a lab partner in Ben Wright. Soccer team captain, A-student, all around nice guy. Maybe Ben didn’t do anything to stop the constant verbal torment, but he never took part in it. At first, being around him was exhilarating. Sharing looks, catching smiles, trading inside jokes; Cas was intoxicated. He was so high on first love that he made the mistake of confiding in Bartholomew. Cas had always considered him to be a role model, friend and brother at the same time. But that night, when Cas came out, Bartholomew looked at him like one might look at spoiled food. He’d agreed not to tell their father, on the condition that Cas never speak about the matter again, that he figure out some way to “cleanse himself.” They hadn’t spoken since that night.

And so the feelings that once propelled Castiel to school with anticipation suddenly made him dread it. Not only did baring his soul to a brother get him a one-way ticket to estrangement, but Ben started dating someone else, a girl from his English class. Now every shared look was painful, smiles were false, inside jokes stopped being funny.

It was somehow worse, knowing Ben could never feel the same way. It certainly didn’t help the feelings of guilt and shame brought by his family.

Cas would do anything not to feel that way again. 

He started by insisting that Dean invite Benny and Charlie to more of their nightly dinners. And while he honestly liked the both of them, he would be lying if he didn’t admit that their presence was, first and foremost, a distraction from Dean. He took up running again, as a way to get himself out of the dorm when Dean decided to stay in. He spent more time studying with Meg.

Meg was shockingly easy to befriend. She wasn’t nice — Cas had watched in shock when, once, she dumped a hot coffee on a skateboarder who had knocked her down on accident — but she never said a mean thing to Castiel. She was like him: a black sheep, the child everyone wished they could forget. Only, where Cas had become an agnostic and gone to college, Meg had become a Satanist and gone to jail for arson.

But this was her new leaf, she told him. Maybe it didn’t matter why someone needed a second chance, only that they were willing to take one.

They had been working for an hour when she threw her pen at his head and said, “Cas, you should come with me to Sig Ep’s Halloween party tomorrow. Be my date.”

Cas took a moment to process the meaning of party + date + with Meg. “Uh, I don’t — well, um, parties aren’t really —”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re allowed to say no, hun.”

Cas panicked. Meg was looking at him expectantly, her resigned smile making it clear she was prepared for rejection.

“Well, I… It’s not because of you — you’re very beautiful, and smart. Actually, you’re one of the most wonderful people I’ve met here.” She grinned at that. “It’s just, I don’t really… Go on dates. With girls.”

She studied him a moment before understanding lit up her face. “Oh.”

Castiel fidgeted with his pencil, refusing to meet her eyes. He’d only ever done this once, and it hadn’t gone well. But he liked having a friend, and more than that, he liked having Meg as a friend. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t interested because of any fault of her own.

“Cas,” she said. When he didn’t respond, she poked him in the arm. “Castiel.” He raised his eyes. “It’s cool. It’s not like you can just choose to like girls when a pretty one asks you on a date.”

“I… Understand, if you would rather not be friends,” Cas said, cautiously.

“What?” Meg’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? Why would I not want to be friends?” She laughed a little. “That would be super ironic, considering I told you I went to juvie and you didn’t bat an eye.”

“Because I’m gay,” Cas said quietly, looking down again.

Meg grabbed both his hands. “Cas, hun, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

He looked up again, eyes wide. “What? I mean, I know that, I just… Not everyone does.”

Meg smiled sadly at him and gripped his hands a little tighter. “Well, I do. No biggie. We’re going to be iconic together, you and I. Sexiest gay-straight alliance of all time.”

Cas smiled weakly, relief flooding his entire body. “Thank you, Meg. I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make any judgements on your character. It’s just… This,” he motioned at the air between them, “has never gone well for me.”

Meg shook her head. “That’s a shame,” she said. “I haven’t known you that long. But I think I can tell that you — all the parts of you — are awesome.”

“You can still come to the party,” she added after a moment.

Cas shook his head, capping and uncapping his pen repeatedly. “Parties… They’re not really my scene.”

“All right. You know who to call if you change your mind.”

                   On Halloween, Castiel returned from his nightly run to find Dean pulling on a flannel. He checked his watch — he had barely made it. 6:57 pm.

“Right on time,” Dean said. “I was about to leave without you.”

“I would have never forgiven you if you did,” Cas joked. Then, “Are Charlie and Benny coming?”

“Nah, they’re both busy tonight. Halloween parties, you know.”

“Oh.” Castiel took a large sip of his water. “You’re not attending a Halloween party?”

Dean shrugged. “Wasn’t really feeling it tonight. Plus, I have a feeling you’ve never seen The Exorcist?” When Cas shook his head, Dean rubbed his hands together. “Oh man, we are totally watching it tonight. Unless you’re busy,” he added, raising his eyebrows at Cas.

“I’m not,” Cas replied. Dean knew this already, of course, otherwise Cas might have made something up. The waters in which he tread got more dangerous each day. He couldn’t escape the warm feeling flooding his chest at the idea of Dean ditching the parties for a movie night.

It was precisely that feeling that caused him to hurriedly ask, “Would you mind if I invited Meg to dinner?”

“Who?” Dean asked, lacing up his boots.

“Meg Masters. She’s the friend from accounting that I told you about.”

“Ah,” Dean said. “Right. What, just me isn’t good enough anymore?” Cas thought he was joking, but it seemed forced.

“Dean —”

“I’m kidding, man,” Dean said with a short laugh. “Sure, she can come.”

Castiel hurriedly splashed his face with cold water and shed his sweaty t-shirt in favor of a hoodie. Dean feigned a sniff in his direction and made a face, to which Cas replied with an eye-roll. As they left their dorm, Cas sent a text to Meg.

CN (7:02 pm)

Would you like to get dinner with Dean and me?

CN (7:02 pm)

Unless you’re already at your party, in which case, be safe.

MM (7:03 pm)

Party not til later. hot roommate dean?

CN (7:04 pm)

...Is that a yes?

MM (7:04 pm)

Yes please ;) shocker dining?

CN (7:05 pm)

Yes. We’ll meet you there.

Dean grabbed a burger and an inordinate amount of fries while Castiel loaded his plate with spaghetti and a salad. Meg walked into the dining room just after he and Dean sat down, and Cas waved her over.

“Meg,” he said, offering her the seat next to his, “this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Meg Masters.” Dean smiled at her with a mouthful of french fries. Cas dropped his head in exasperation.

“Pleasure,” Meg said with a half-cocked smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dean shrugged. “I am pretty awesome. Can’t say the same about you, though.”

Cas went bright red. He shot Dean a glare, then turned to Meg. “He’s joking —”

Meg’s grin only widened, and she giggled. “It’s all right, Cas, I’m not very interesting.” She raised an eyebrow at him. He became extremely intent upon eating his dinner.

Dean stared at her for a moment, chewing a bite of burger. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You know Cas from accounting?”

“That’s right,” Meg said brightly.

“So he’s your tutor or somethin’?”

Cas interjected. “Actually, Meg is far more capable than I am. She essentially taught me everything about liabilities.”

“Adorable,” Dean grumbled.

“Isn’t it?” Meg asked sweetly. “And you’re his roommate.”

“Yep.”

“Lucky you.” She gave him a wink. Dean choked on his diet Coke, and Castiel prayed to whomever was listening that he might cease to exist.

“Meg,” he said, giving her a pointed look, “did you finish the homework?”

She pulled her eyes away from Dean. “Yeah, I did.” She dropped her voice. “Did you want to go over it? At my place?” She winked at Cas, who stared at her in horror. Why was she acting like this? “You know,” Meg continued, “We can do other things too. Besides accounting.”

Dean cleared his throat loudly. “I’m gonna go grab some more fries. Do y’all want anything?” 

Cas and Meg shook their heads. When Dean had left the table, Cas gave Meg a death stare.

“What’s wrong with you?” He hissed. “I thought we covered this —”

“Yes, Cas, hun, I know you’re extraordinarily gay,” Meg said with an eyeroll. “I’m not actually interested. I’m just conducting an experiment.” 

Cas narrowed his eyes. “What ‘experiment’—”

He closed his mouth abruptly and leaned away from Meg when he saw Dean returning from the buffet line. He returned to his seat, looking between Cas and Meg suspiciously. Cas downed his water in one swift action.

“So, Dean,” Meg said after taking a bite of her pizza. “I hear you’re educating our friend here on pop culture.”

Dean didn’t bother to look up at her while he swirled a fry in ketchup. “Guess so.” 

Cas cleared his throat to interject. This direction of conversation was much better. “Meg asked what my favorite movie was,” he explained to Dean, who still hadn’t looked up from his plate. “I told her about how much I liked Back to the Future when we watched it last week.” 

Dean gave him a small smile. “Yeah, that movie’s friggin’ awesome.”

Cas turned to Meg. “We’re watching The Exorcist tonight.” 

Meg gasped dramatically. “So that’s why you blew off our date?”

Dean sputtered into his drink. “Date?” He said through a cough.

Cas looked helplessly at Meg, who unhelpfully smiled back. He was going to have words with her after this. 

“I asked him to come to the SigEp party, but he said he was busy,” Meg said, feigning a pout. “But I get it, parties aren’t really Cas’s thing, anyway.”

Dean’s eyes flickered quickly between Cas and Meg. “All right, am I missing something?” He asked. His leg was bouncing against the table leg, hard enough that Cas’s plate was vibrating. 

Cas looked at him, panicked, and stuttered out, “I don’t —”

“Like what?” Meg asked, sipping on her water.

“You his girlfriend or somethin’?”

This question delighted Meg. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Dean turned to Cas with an exasperated look. “Well?” He prodded.

Cas was sure he was about three different shades of red at this point. “What — I — no,” he sputtered.

Dean seemed to relax a little. Meg was still grinning like a madman. “There you go,” she said.

Castiel could not formulate a single coherent thought. He was confused as to how they even ended up here. The silence between the three of them was thick and awkward. Meg paid it no mind, just popped a strawberry in her mouth and gave Dean a sickly sweet smile. Dean excused himself to use the restroom, hitting his leg on the table and nearly tripping over his chair. Once he had left, Meg turned to Cas, her eyes sparkling.

“You are so in,” she said.

“What the hell was that?” He asked her. “What just happened?”

“He thinks I’m into you,” she explained. She took a bite of her pizza, then continued, “And he thinks you might be into me. And he hates that.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Cas scoffed.

Meg laughed, throwing her head back. When Cas fixed her with a glare, her eyes widened. “You really don’t see it?”

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing to ‘see’. I already told you.”

“Yeah, right. Whatever, you’ll thank me later.”

“For creating what is perhaps the most awkward dinner I’ve ever had in my life?”

She waved him off. “Don’t be such a baby, it wasn’t that bad.”

Cas gave her a look that suggested otherwise. She sighed.

“Look, the way you talk about him…” Meg grabbed Cas's hand when he rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. You like him, and now you know he likes you too.” She sat up proudly. “I just did all the heavy lifting for you.”

“Right,” Cas said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Obviously, this interaction points to an inevitable romantic encounter. Except, and I think this is important, Dean is not gay.”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Well, the way he looks at you, he’s not straight either. Plus, he apparently still thinks you’re straight, so you two haven’t had that conversation yet. He could be flamingly bisexual and you would never know.”

“This conversation is exhausting.” Cas felt like he was watching a Disney Channel Original Movie, and Meg was a fifteen-year-old matchmaker.

Meg laughed. “I’m sure you’ll survive. By the way, did you actually want to go over the homework this weekend?”

“Yes,” he said, relieved at the change in subject.

Dean returned then. “Are y’all done?” He asked, pointing to their plates. Cas and Meg both nodded, offering “thank you’s” as Dean took their plates to the dish rack. They followed him to the exit, the crisp air sending a chill through Castiel.

“Did you want me to walk back with you, Meg?” Cas offered.

She beamed at him. “You’re so sweet, but no. I’m getting an Uber to Sig Ep, anyway.” She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out something small and black. “Plus, if anyone tries anything, they’ll find themselves electrocuted. Just a little bit.”

Cas grinned. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“See you on Monday, Cas,” Meg said, giving him a hug that lasted just a touch too long. “It was good to meet you, Dean.”

“You too,” Dean muttered.

They watched her walk away for a moment. Cas wanted to avoid looking at Dean for as long as humanly possible. He had no idea how he was supposed to explain the previous interaction.

“So,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “She’s… Nice.”

“She is,” Castiel agreed earnestly. “Dean, I’m sorry, Meg can be a bit…” He struggled to find an adequate descriptor. “I think she enjoys others’ discomfort a bit too much, sometimes,” he finished.

Dean let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. It’s not a big deal, man.”

They stood in silence, Dean looking at the ground intently, Cas tugging on the strings of his hoodie. Dean kicked a rock, then sighed. “You, uh, you ready to head back?”

“Yes,” Cas replied.

The walk back to their dorm was quiet. Castiel couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought Dean looked bothered. He felt bad — he had honestly expected for Meg and Dean to get along. He had thought them to be similar in their confident and boisterous personalities. Now, he wondered if that was precisely the problem. Too much personality at the same dinner table. He winced internally at his own poor judgement. Meg obviously took no issue with the encounter, but he worried that Dean might hold it against him.

Dean let them into their room, then wrinkled his nose at Cas once more. “Dude, seriously, go take a shower. You’re gross.”

“Actually, I enjoy the feeling of my sweat drying all over my skin. I was thinking of going straight to bed like this. It’s not as if I didn’t take a shower because of your constant insistence upon eating meals at the same time every day”

Dean made a gagging motion. “Hey, we had an appointment, and you were almost late. How is that my fault?”

Cas just rolled his eyes and gathered his things to head to the showers. He let out a muttered, “Crap” when he realized nearly all of his laundry was dirty. He’d been busy this week, and running every day tended to render his clothes unwearable after a single use. He made a mental note to do laundry first thing in the morning. He was able to find an old pair of gym shorts, but not a single t-shirt remained in his closet. Cas groaned inwardly. So he would simply have to sit next to Dean for approximately two-and-a-half hours, shirtless. Fantastic.

When he returned from his shower, Cas found Dean cooking two bags of popcorn, the title menu of The Exorcist already on screen. Dean stood up from the microwave when Cas entered, and was halfway into a thumbs-up when he did a double take.

“Uh… We goin’ shirtless tonight, Baywatch?” He said, tugging at his collar.

Castiel tilted his head. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean said with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, dude.”

Cas sighed as he sat on their beanbag. “I have a lot of laundry to do tomorrow,” he said by way of an explanation.

Dean didn’t respond, but made his way to his own closet. He ruffled through it for a moment before Cas was hit in the face by a t-shirt.

“Here, just wear one of mine,” Dean said. He coughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “‘S kinda cold in here, anyway.”

Cas held up the shirt. It was a Led Zeppelin graphic tee, vintage, from their tour in 1977. Cas raised his eyebrows at Dean.

“It’s pretty awesome right?” Cas donned the t-shirt. “Sammy got it for me from a Goodwill a couple years ago. Another of my prized possessions.” He looked at Cas with feigned scrutiny. “Looks good on you,” he said.

Cas played with the hem as he said, “Thank you.” Dean coughed again and walked back to the microwave to retrieve their popcorn. The air was palpable with awkwardness.

Dean turned out the lights. They settled onto the beanbag, as had become custom in the last few weeks. 

Not even thirty minutes in, Dean’s phone began to ring. “Hey, my brother’s callin’, can you pause it?” Dean said.

Cas obliged, and Dean stood as he said, “Hey, Sammy, how’s it goin’?”

Cas sat awkwardly with his hands in his lap, doing his best not to eavesdrop on Dean’s conversation. Though, he supposed if it was private, Dean could have moved to the hallway. Instead, he leaned against the door, twisting the beaded bracelet on his left hand. 

“He did what?” Dean suddenly yelled, and Cas jumped. Dean shot him a quick apologetic look. “

“Sammy, calm down, it’s okay,” Dean said, and Cas couldn’t pretend to not listen anymore. He looked at Dean with a silent question, but Dean was staring hard at the wall, his free hand balled into a fist. 

“Put him on the phone,” Dean said in a low voice. A pause. “What, so now he’s allowed to treat you like shit whenever he wants?” Another pause. A slow exhale from Dean. “No, you’re right. I don’t… I won’t make it worse.” Pause. “Do you want me to come down there? Because I will, you know I will.” 

Dean was silent for a long moment before asking, “Are you sure?” He sighed at whatever his brother said on the other line. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything, I guess. And Sam? I’m really fucking sorry. I should’ve stayed, I don’t…” He trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I know. Yeah. Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” 

Dean lowered the phone from his ear. He stood silently for a moment, angry gaze directed at the floor. Then, causing Cas to jump once more, he turned and hurled his fist at the door. 

There was a loud thud upon impact, and then Dean was yelling “Fuck! Goddammit!” as he cradled his hand. Cas stood abruptly, but had no idea what to do. He walked toward Dean, cautiously.

Dean’s eyes were closed, and he was heaving deep breaths. Cas put a hand on his shoulder. “Dean?” He ventured.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, still not looking at Cas. “I just — Fuck, that was so stupid,” he said, shaking out his affected hand. “Sorry,” he repeated to the wall. 

“It’s fine,” Cas said, even though he thought it definitely wasn’t. “What happened?” 

Dean just shook his head. Cas’s hand remained on his shoulder. He tightened his grip, a little nervous that Dean might shove him off. “Dean,” he persisted. “You can tell me.” 

Finally, Dean looked at him, and Cas thought if that level of rage was ever directed at him, he would promptly die. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right?” 

“No,” Dean growled. “I gotta — I don’t know, I need to calm down. I don’t actually want to break something,” he said, motioning to the door. “I’m gonna go for a smoke.” 

Cas dropped his hand and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll go with you.” 

“Cas —” Dean started, but Cas silenced him with a look. He grabbed one of Dean’s flannels from his desk chair and threw it at him. Dean caught it with a cross between surprise and irritation. Cas grabbed his own windbreaker and put it on, looking expectantly at Dean. 

“Are we going?” He asked. 

Dean looked at him as if he was trying to decide whether arguing was worth it. A sigh confirmed that it wasn’t. He silently pulled on his flannel and opened the door, ushering Cas through before exiting himself. 

They walked in silence, despite the fervor of Cas’s concern and curiosity at Dean’s outburst. Dean’s jaw was set, and he took a long, slow breath when they hit the crisp fall air. When they reached the Impala, Cas silently moved to lean on the hood while Dean retrieved his lighter and a cigarette. 

Dean joined Cas as he took a long draw. He exhaled the smoke upwards, his eyes closed. His face was still turned to the sky when he asked, “This really doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

Dean brandished his cigarette in answer, turning to raise an eyebrow at Cas. 

Cas shrugged. “It’s not particularly comforting. But, there are worse things.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up thoughtfully. “Besides, you’ve been smoking for years. If anyone could convince you to quit, your random college roommate isn’t the most likely option.” 

Dean gave him a strange look before exhaling another plume of smoke. He coughed a little. “I think you have long passed the line between ‘random roommate’ and ‘new best friend.’”

Cas gave a little chuckle. “That’s good to hear.” Inside, his world was falling down and rebuilding itself anew. Dean thought of Cas as his best friend. Cas had never known that feeling, to have someone care about him like that. Cas wondered if that could be enough, being Dean’s best friend.  

He didn’t say anything more, though, just let Dean finish his cigarette. After throwing the butt on the pavement and stomping on it, he heaved a sigh. 

“My dad…” He started, but paused. “He, uh, he said some stuff to Sam. My brother.” 

Cas nodded, doing his best to keep his face neutral. Talking things through wasn’t Dean’s strong suit, and Cas didn’t want dramatics to make it more difficult. 

“What did he say?”

Dean shifted and rubbed his hands together. “Bunch of bullshit. ‘It’s your fault your Mom’s dead, it should have been you instead of her.’” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I mean, he used to say that to me. He gets into these moods when he drinks, says a bunch of shit he doesn’t mean.” 

Dean shoved himself off the hood and began to pace in front of Cas. “But I could take it, you know? Sammy’s just a kid. He doesn’t need to hear that.” 

“Your father says things like this often?” Cas asked, a tinge of horror in his voice. 

“He used to. But only to me. Never to Sam.” 

Cas took a deep breath, trying to discern how best to proceed. “Dean,” he said slowly, “he shouldn’t say those things. Ever. Not to Sam, and not to you.” 

“I’m just confused,” Dean said. “And pissed. Sam and him are usually okay. I mean, they’re not buddies or anything, but Dad leaves him alone for the most part.”

“I don’t want to overstep,” Cas said, “But it seems like your father used you as an outlet for misplaced rage. A punching bag, if you will. And now you’re gone, so Sam is the next best thing.” 

Dean met Cas'seyes with a horrified look. “God. I didn’t… You’re right. Shit, this is my fault, I can’t believe I —”

“No, Dean,” Cas growled. He stood and grabbed Dean by both shoulders. “This is your father’s fault. Not yours.”

“But I left Sam, alone, with him,” Dean said, and Cas could see panic rising in his eyes. “How could I do that, why —” Cas interrupted him again. “Why did you decide to attend college, Dean? What’s the real reason?”

“What?” Dean gave him an incredulous look. “I don’t know.” 

Cas tilted his head down, skeptical. 

Dean let out a long sigh. “Okay, all right. I went because Sam is smart, and he needs to go. But we don’t have any money. So I figured if I came and got a degree or some shit, I could make enough to throw him some cash while he goes to school. Get some summer internships and save up for his college fund. He’d probably still have to take out loans and stuff, but if I got a good job, I could help him pay them off.” 

Cas wasn’t sure what answer he had expected, but it wasn’t that one. He felt his heart break for the man standing in front of him, who did everything he could and more for the people he cared about and never felt like it was enough. 

“Would Sam ever hold that against you?” When Dean didn’t respond, Cas continued. “I know I wouldn’t. I have four older siblings, and not a single one of them has ever done something like that for me.”

“But—”

“You’re making yourself miserable over something that isn’t your fault,” Cas said. “Did you have anyone protecting you when your father went on a tirade?” 

“No, but—”

“Is Sam incapable of handling himself?”

“No, but Cas—”

“He’ll be alright, Dean,” Cas insisted. “You can’t live your whole life as his shield. You’ll break yourself trying.” 

Dean was silent, and wouldn’t  meet Cas's eyes. Cas dropped his hands and leaned back against the Impala. “Did you ever think that Sam might have wanted you to go to school simply so you could get yourself out? Did you ever think that Sam hates the way your father treated you as much as you hate what he did to Sam tonight?” 

Dean pursed his lips together, but his jaw relaxed slightly. Finally, he muttered, “I guess I never thought about it like that.” 

Cas felt relief wash over him. He’d never seen Dean like this — angry and frantic. Cas wondered if Dean always did this, shouldered the blame for every bad thing his brother had to endure. The thought made his chest hurt. 

Dean’s hands were hanging limply at his side. He looked exhausted. Against his better judgement, Cas grabbed Dean by the forearm and pulled him into a hug. Dean was still for a moment, but then sighed and rested his head on Cas's shoulder. 

“Sorry, man,” he said. “I didn’t mean to act like that, punching things and shit. I just get so angry, and I don’t know what to do with it.” 

Cas was trying very hard to form a coherent thought. “There’s no need for apologies. I understand.” 

A chuckle escaped Dean’s lips. “You must think I’m a complete nutjob, huh?” 

Cas tilted his head in consideration. Dean’s hair tickled his cheek. “No. I think your father spent years verbally abusing you, and you’re doing your best in spite of that.” 

Dean broke the hug abruptly. The sudden space between them felt criminal. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s abuse…” He started, but, at Cas's look, he trailed off. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks, Cas,” he said quietly. “Honestly, dude, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” 

Cas's cheeks warmed, and he shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.” 

Dean gave him a small smile. Cas’s heart nearly broke with relief. “I’m beat,” he said. “Bed?” 

Cas nodded eagerly. “Bed.” 

When they reached the stairs, Dean broke the heavy silence.

“So…” He began. There was a false brightness in his voice; he was obviously searching for levity. “You hanging out with your girlfriend tomorrow?” 

“If you’re referring to Meg, she’s still not my girlfriend,” Cas replied vacantly. “And yes.” He suddenly felt exhausted. First the mortifying dinner with Meg, then the heavy conversation with Dean. He hardly had it in him to field jokes about Meg being his girlfriend.

“She’s not your girlfriend yet,” Dean amended, giving Cas a smirk that didn’t meet his eyes. 

And what was Cas supposed to say to that? Meg was funny and smart and beautiful. She and Cas studied together on the regular. There was absolutely no reason he shouldn’t be interested in Meg from Dean’s perspective. 

Of course, if Dean knew he was gay… 

Cas didn’t know if he could face the consequences of coming out to Dean. Would he be upset that Cas hadn’t told him earlier? Would he be uncomfortable with a gay man as his roommate? As his friend? Cas may have expanded his social circle, but he still couldn’t bear to lose Dean. 

But, then again, Dean had defended him once already, without knowing whether or not he was gay. He’d sounded indifferent to the possibility then. And just tonight, he’d called Cas his best friend. Dean cared more deeply for his friends and family than anyone Cas had ever met. Cas was in that group. Dean wouldn’t shove him out of it because of who he loved.

Right?

As they reached the entrance to their hall, Dean poked Cas in the shoulder. “Hey, Earth to Major Tom,” he said. “You okay over there?” 

Cas realized he hadn’t said a word since they started their ascent up the stairs. He sighed heavily.

Perhaps this was as good a time as any. 

“Dean,” he said, but closed his mouth. He should just say it. He had nothing to worry about. This wasn’t Bartholomew. He knew that, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

“What?” Dean said, eyebrows raised. “Cas,” he prodded, waving a hand in front of Cas’s face. 

“I’m not…” Cas swallowed. “I will never date Meg,” he finished, with a pointed look. 

Dean side-eyed him as they walked to their door. “What, she’s not your type?” 

Cas gave him a lopsided smile. “You could say that.” 

“I dunno, man, maybe you should reconsider, you two are pretty adorable, in a gross way —”

“Dean.” Cas was about to rip his hair out. He wasn’t taking the hint. “She’s not my type. She’s a girl.”

Realization dawned on Dean’s face. “Oh,” he said.

“I apologize for not telling you sooner,” Cas said, bracing for the worst. “If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand —”

“What?” Dean practically shouted. At Cas’s look of surprise, he lowered his voice. “No, Cas, are you kidding? I thought I told you, after all that shit with Cole. It’s not a big deal.”

“Knowing your roommate might possibly be gay and knowing he is, indeed, gay are two very different things.”

Dean looked at Cas like he had just made the worst joke in the world. “I’m not gonna, like, try to move out.” As they approached their room, Cas stared resolutely ahead, walking with purpose. But Dean jumped out in front of him, a hand on Cas’s chest to stop him in his tracks. 

“Dude, it’s gonna take more than that to get rid of me. I lost my shit and punched a door, like, an hour ago, and you barely even blinked.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

Cas met Dean’s eyes and found unparalleled sincerity.

“I don’t… You’re not the least bit upset?” Cas asked, slightly incredulous. 

Dean shrugged. “You’re my best friend, Cas,” he said as he straightened. “Nothing’s gonna change that.” He pulled on his bracelet. “I do feel bad though, for making you feel like you couldn’t tell me. Not that you had to, or anything,” he added in a rush.  

Cas shook his head vigorously. “It has nothing to do with you, Dean. I’m… I’m new at this,” Cas explained. “The first time, with Bartholomew… I believe he was, as you would say, a dick about it.” 

Dean’s eyes turned stormy. “Bastard,” he said. “I’m sorry, Cas. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” 

Cas nodded. “You’re right. It was rather unfortunate. I haven’t spoken to him since the night I told him I was gay.” 

Dean moved back to Cas’s side and slung an arm around his shoulders. “His loss,” he said. “You’re friggin’ awesome, dude.” 

Cas smiled. Dean patted him on the back and let the two of them into their room. 

Cas brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. Dean returned minutes later from a shower, and he flipped off the lights as he made his way to his own bunk. 

Cas pulled off Dean’s shirt and threw it across the room. Dean’s head caught it, and he yelped.

“Thank you for the loan,” Cas said, smiling. 

An odd expression crossed Dean’s face before he threw the Zeppelin shirt back to Cas. “Keep it,” he said. When Cas gave him a confused look, he put a hand on the back of his neck. “I meant what I said. Looks good on you.” 

---------

tagging @nguyenxtrang :)))

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #spn

[hereidinathoreauwrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV), Come From Away - Sankoff & Hein Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Joan Characters: Zoey Clarke, Joan (Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist), Annette (Come From Away), Beulah Davis, Beverley Bass, Claude Elliott Additional Tags: Crossover, Angst and Tragedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, two people end up stuck together somewhere and oops they're in love, Developing Relationship, mentions of 9/11, the author is clearly just mashing together two things they very much enjoy and seeing what happens, Zoey and Joan are closer in age, college!Zoey, Gander (Come From Away), References to Come From Away Summary:

For Zoey, it was a return home from a study abroad program, back for her final semester at San Francisco State. For Joan, it was a business trip meant to fix her marriage from imminent destruction.

But when history crashed across the world on that fateful day, their lives were thrown together as they took refuge in Newfoundland and tried to cope with tragedies personal and global.

ZEP and Come From Away crossover. Because I said so.

She just wanted to get home.

Zoey Clarke tripped on her way to her seat, nearly smacking an angry-looking dark-haired first-class woman in the face. Mumbling an apology for the near-mishap, Zoey darted towards Economy, face burning.

It had been six months. Six glorious months of baguettes, and croissants, and the view across the Seine, and coding with her French classmates in two languages until the early hours of the morning. But she was finally going back home to California.

Zoey finally settled into her seat (an aisle seat) and threw her backpack into the overhead. She carefully tucked her computer case under the seat in front of her.

She’d barely settled herself before the cabin address began.

 “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome aboard this American Airlines flight 846 nonstop service from Paris to Los Angeles. My name is Captain Bass. We have an estimated flight time today of roughly 11 and a half hours and we are due to arrive in LA at 2pm local time on Tuesday, September 11th. Please sit back and enjoy your flight.”

Zoey closed her eyes as they taxied; nervous but a small part of her relieved.

She’d be home soon.

***

Meet you in LA.

Joan Bennett scowled at the SMS on her phone screen. That’s it. That was all he’d been able to muster up. Skipping out on their anniversary in Paris entirely for some stupid reason. He hadn’t even called.

She sat back in her seat as the cabin address came on, eyes already closing as the standard pre-flight information was given.

LA was his last chance. If Charlie couldn’t buck up and actually give a damn about their marriage this time she was going to…

Joan pursed her lips, resolve faltering. You’d be all alone. Despite his many, many shortcomings, Charlie was still a warm body alongside hers (on the nights he was actually home). He was still a partner in this unfriendly world. And the thought of being without him…

She drifted into an uneasy sleep as they took off towards America. Towards the man she didn’t know how to love.

 “L…ladies and g…gentlemen…p..please, please fasten your seatbelts and put your tray tables up…we are preparing to land.”

Zoey blinked awake, confused. Were they in LA already?

Glancing around, she saw several others looking just as confused as she was. Zoey glanced at her watch. It had barely been five hours since they’d left Paris.

“What’s happening?” She asked the man next to her.

He just shook his head.

Zoey tightened her seatbelt and sat back, heart racing as the plane began a slow descent. She glanced over her neighbors and saw a tiny strip of land surrounded by vast ocean.

They weren’t falling. But something about this just didn’t quite feel right.

***

The plane touched down and Joan stared out the window. This wasn’t LAX. It was some rundown airport surrounded by trees.

“Where the hell are we?” She demanded.

“Newfoundland.” The flight attendant informed her, seeming distracted. “Nothing to worry about madam.”

“Any idea when we’ll be on our way?”

But the woman didn’t answer her. She vanished into the cockpit.

Joan heard hushed voices and some kind of chatter on the pilot’s radio.

She frowned and pulled out her cell phone.

As she dialed a number, she glanced out the window again.

It was then that she registered the dozens of other planes lined up in haphazard rows. And the long line of cars beyond the airport, stretching out along the winding country road.

What was going on?

***

Seven hours later, Zoey felt like she was losing her mind. She’d tried to ask the flight attendants questions or chat with her neighbor but no one seemed to know anything or be willing to share if they did. No one around her had a phone so she couldn’t even call her parents to let them know about the delay.

Her unease had only grown when the captain announced that complimentary drinks were going to be provided. Alcoholic drinks.

In Zoey’s limited experience, businesses only gave alcohol away on holidays and during the shittiest of circumstances. She doubted it was a holiday in…wherever-they-were Newfoundland.

As her fellow passengers got drunker, they got louder. And the plane only got hotter and more stifling.

An hour after the drinks, someone finally cracked open the airplane door. It did little overall but something was better than nothing at this rate.

Zoey couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to move. She needed to plug herself into her code and block out all this madness.

Her neighbor had joined the drunken revelry at the back a half hour ago. Scooping up her computer, Zoey wriggled out of her seat and made her way towards first class. There might be more leg room up there at least. And it was further from the drunk singing.

***

Joan wanted to kill somebody. They’d been sitting on the ground for over seven hours by this point, not including the five hour flight beforehand. And still, no one was telling them what was going on.

At least the free vodka was taking some of the edge off. But if she didn’t get off this plane soon, she was going to lose her mind. Or strangle a flight attendant.

“Excuse me…?”

Joan turned and saw the klutzy redhead from earlier pointing at the empty seat beside her. “Do…do you mind if I sit here? I need to get some work done and the back of the plane is filled with a lot of singing drunk people.”

Joan eyed the stranger, seizing her up. She was younger than Joan by maybe a decade and looked even younger in her bright shirt. An even brighter cardigan was tied around her waist. Her smile was soft and hesitant, like she was afraid to offend or even exist.

Joan shrugged. “No, of course not.” She was way past the point of caring. They were stuck in a plane in the middle of nowhere. Not like things could get much worse.

The woman took Charlie’s empty seat, giving Joan a soft smile.

“I’m Zoey.” She was clutching a laptop like it was a lifeline. That was the only reason Joan engaged with her.

“Joan.” She replied.

“H…how are you doing?” Zoey asked, her face pinching in concern.

Joan sighed. “Wish I knew what was happening.” She bit her lip and swigged the rest of her vodka miniature. “And worried about someone who was flying today…I wish I could tell him I’m in…Iceland!”

“Newfoundland.” Zoey’s face immediately fell as Joan rounded on her at the correction. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to correct you!” The young woman gave a sheepish smile. “I’m hoping you’re one of those people who laugh when awkward people say stupid things.”

Joan couldn’t help but smile. “It’s fine. Don’t mind me, I’m just frustrated.”

Zoey nodded and Joan had to admire her empathy, especially under these circumstances. “Where were you coming from?” Zoey inquired.

“London.”

Zoey tilted her head, interest apparently piqued. “Really? You dont have an accent!”

Joan laughed. “I’m not from there…I’m…just working there. I haven’t developed the accent yet.” She gestured at the laptop. “How about you? What are you working on?” She normally wasn’t one for small talk, especially with strangers. But there was literally nothing else to do at this point so why not? Besides, Zoey wasn’t the worst option on the plane. Not by a long shot.

Zoey blushed and placed her laptop on the tray-table. It was a fairly expensive model but a few years old and clearly well-loved. “I’m actually a student.” She admitted. “Senior at San Fran State. I was coming back from a semester abroad in Paris. I’m studying computer science with a minor in languages.”

“Really?” Joan found herself turning towards the young woman, actually interested. What were the odds? “What are you going to do with that?”

Zoey gestured at the computer. “I’m working on my thesis: a piece of software for instant translations on emails and instant messages. I’m starting with English to French but hopefully I’ll be able to expand it.”

Joan was intrigued. “Well…this may be your lucky day…” She smiled. “I work for Google.”

Zoey’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

The next two hours flew by. They talked about everything: job prospects at Google, the finer coding points of Zoey’s software, life in London, and dog breeds. For a time, they were both able to put aside the trepidation and frustration of the long wait inside the plane.

They only stopped when the captain turned on the intercom and the voice of the president filtered through the plane.

 “My fellow Americans…”

They listened in confusion at his words: talk of victims and brave Americans rescuing their fellow citizens. Joan bit her lip, worry starting to creep in. What had happened? From the sound of it, some kind of natural disaster or explosion. But there was no way to get information while they were stuck here. Her phone was dead and anyway, there was…no one to call.

Joan turned to Zoey and was startled to see the younger woman trembling.

“Hey…” She gently touched Zoey’s shoulder, unsure if the action was welcome. “Hey, you okay?”

The younger woman smiled in gratitude but it seemed forced. “Joan…I know we just met…but…” She swallowed hard, seeming like she was looking for words. “I just…I’m all alone and I dont know what’s happening and…”

Joan touched her shoulder once more. “It’s fine.” She assured her. “I’m…alone too. You can stick with me until we figure things out.”

Zoey seemed relieved.

***

Joan briefly lost track of Zoey during the madness of disembarkation. The younger woman had slipped back to her seat as they heard they were leaving, needing to grab her bag. For all the long hours they’d been stuck, once word came down that they were finally getting off, leaving took very little time.

Joan was ushered down the aisle before Zoey reappeared. They finally left their plane and were herded through the darkness into the airport.

Joan swore it was older than she was - probably a relic from the Cold War…or World War II. Thankfully, they didn’t spend long inside.

The local soldiers guided them towards a line of school buses; keeping some flights together and splitting others up indiscriminately.

Joan glanced around as she shuffled along, wondering where Zoey had gotten to. Wondering if the vibrant young coder had fallen out of her life already. It was a shame if she had…Joan had rather liked her.

She followed other passengers from her flight onto a bus and claimed a seat about halfway down. It was cramped and squeaky. But at least it wasn’t a plane. She sat there for 20 minutes, one hand on the other half of the seat in a halfhearted attempt to save it.

But just as every other seat on the bus filled up, a familiar redhead climbed aboard. Joan’s heart jumped.

“Zoey!” She stood and waved to her, guiding her towards the empty seat. “I thought we’d lost you.” She was very glad she hadn’t.

Zoey shook her head, clutching her bag in one hand and her laptop case in the other. “No…No I just needed to get an emergency prescription filled….” Her eyes widened and she shook her hands. “N…nothing serious! It’s not like…I’m going to go crazy because I…I’m off my meds…” The younger woman deflated slightly. “I…I’ll stop talking now…”

Joan chuckled. “It’s fine.” It was…kind of endearing actually.

Zoey settled next to her. “Did you find out about your husband?” She asked. “Was he flying today?”

Joan stiffened. “Do you mind if we just dont talk about that?” She had called Charlie moments after they first landed. The conversation had barely lasted a minute before her battery died. He was safe. And he didn’t seem to care about…whatever had happened or wherever she was. But Joan was more concerned with her utter lack of relief about that revelation. Maybe once she knew just what the hell was going on, she would actually feel glad that he was safe. But right now…

“How about you?” She asked Zoey, finding she was genuinely interested in her companion’s state. “Did you manage to get through to your family? In San Francisco?”

Zoey’s face fell. “No. The pay phones were all out of order…and no one had a cell phone…I just…I just wish we knew what was happening!”

Joan was filled with a resolve so intense that it erased all thoughts of her husband. “I know. I’m sorry.” She squeezed Zoey’s shoulder, utterly unconcerned at how quickly that action had become commonplace for them. “I’ll help you find a phone as soon as we get…” She glanced up, out the bus windows and into the darkness surrounding them. “Wherever we’re going…”

Zoey smiled in thanks. They didn’t say much for the rest of the bus ride. But neither did anyone else.

***

The bus took them to a school gymnasium. Hundreds of gym mats, air mattresses, and army cots had been laid out in long rows along the floor. Some had pillows or blankets but most did not. Joan was glad she’d grabbed her airplane blanket but this still looked terrible. Were they really going to be staying here overnight? Surely they could find a better hotel. She’d gladly share with Zoey if it got them both out of here.

A woman greeted them as they ambled in, identifying herself in a thick accent as Beulah, a staff member of the school. She directed them to grab a spot for themselves and that once they were settled, they could come back into the cafeteria and watch the news on several old television sets.

As eager as she was to know just why the hell they were here, Joan decided she’d rather have first pick of the beds.

Through it all, Zoey clung to Joan’s side. She took the air mattress next to Joan’s, tucking her computer between their beds. Joan waited for her while she carefully covered the case with her blanket.

Then they went into the cafeteria.

It seemed like everyone from their flight and beyond was there, crammed into the space, trying to get a glimpse.

Joan managed to push her way through to the front, Zoey trailing behind her.

Then they finally saw.

They all stood there in front of the TVs, taking it all in in stunned silence.

Smoke, steel, dust. A plane appearing out of nowhere and…

Joan couldn’t look away. She felt…lost, untethered. Any sense of safety she’d had the privilege of ignorance about was shattered forever.

The same footage was on an endless loop, like some kind of cruel flipbook. It should have been a movie. But it wasn’t.

When the first tower fell, a collective gasp went up around the room.

Without thinking, Joan reached for Zoey’s hand. The younger woman was pale and trembling but she gripped Joan’s hand so tightly she felt her tendons re-arrange. In that moment, Joan was so glad the coder had chosen to take Charlie’s seat.

This was a history-defining moment. And all they could do was assure the other that in this moment when they could do nothing, when they were stranded thousands of miles away from all the chaos and death, they were not alone.

Some time later, after someone had turned the news off in frustration, Zoey finally let go of Joan’s hand. She turned away and pushed her way out of the crowd, towards the hallway.

“Zoey?” Joan followed her, unwilling to let her out of her sight again.

She found her collapsed against the wall. The young woman looked shaken, like her world was crumbling.

Joan kneeled beside her and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Zoey, what is it?” She asked, as gently as she could.

Zoey shook her head and swallowed. “My…my brother, David…is in law school in Manhattan…” She looked up, face pale. “What…what if he was there?”

Joan didn’t have an answer for her.

Zoey looked down. She wasn’t crying, it was more like…helplessness. Or a despair so deep it had rendered her unable to move.

Watching her, Joan felt the true weight of their situation settle heavily on her shoulders. They were stuck here in wherever Newfoundland, while there…people were dead, people were dying, the wreckage was burning.

It could have been any of them.

She could have been in the towers, visiting on business like she had been a year ago. The terrorists could have hijacked their flight and flown it off-course. Zoey could have been in Manhattan, visiting her brother. Zoey’s brother could have been on the ground.

They couldn’t do anything…couldn’t call people, couldn’t go home, couldn’t seek revenge, or help the wounded.

Zoey gave a tiny sound, something like a gasp but fainter, more vulnerable.

Joan fixated on it. It was something. Something she could do.

Maybe if she could just help this poor girl find out about her brother, everything would somehow be okay.

***

Zoey barely slept.

It felt like every time she closed her eyes, she was seeing smoke engulfing New York City streets she had walked a mere year before. The sounds of people screaming and sirens blaring echoed in her head. The creaking of her air mattress sounded too similar to the crunch of concrete.

Finally, she gave up. Wrapping herself in Joan’s airplane blanket, she staggered towards the gym doors and forced one open. A blast of cool Canadian air whipped past her, bringing her body back here, back to this strange place. Far away from there. Far away from David.

Wherever he was.

Her lip trembled as she thought of him. When was the last time she’d called? The last time she’d said she loved him? When had she last heard him laugh? Why hadn’t she cherished those moments?

The cold had stopped helping.

Now it was inside her. It was consuming her.

***

As dawn broke, a woman named Annette brought Zoey a cup of coffee. She was sitting in a chair by the edge of the room, exhausted and still lost in horrible thoughts about David. Joan was nowhere in sight, having slipped out early in the morning for unknown reasons. Zoey missed her.

“Mornin’ hun.” Annette greeted, “you hungry? We got breakfast down in the cafeteria.”

Zoey shook her head. Her stomach was empty but the thought of food nauseated her. And the televisions were still on in the cafeteria.

“Well then, do you need to change?” Annette asked, “I can get you some clean clothes if you want.”

Zoey almost refused but then she realized that these were the same clothes she’d put on the day before yesterday, underwear and all. Suddenly, it felt like they were melding into her skin. She nodded and Annette patted her on the hand before getting up to grab her a change of clothes.

It was a relief she hadn’t known she needed. But at the same time, the strangeness of it just made her miss home even more. And think about how far away she was from David and from San Francisco.

Zoey had just finished putting on the fresh underwear, slightly too big jeans, and was pulling on a plaid shirt that clashed horribly with her hair when Joan finally returned.

The older woman cocked her head at the outfit but all she said was: “Is your hair different? You look good.”

Zoey chuckled, fingering the hasty ponytail. “Thanks. It’s just super unwashed…” She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling like a different person. “Are we leaving?”

Joan shrugged. “No one seems to know.” She was still wearing the same clothes from the plane and she was fiddling with something in her pocket. Her hair was also pulled back but into a severe bun that Zoey immediately envied. Zoey opened her mouth to tell her about the free clothes but Joan seemed preoccupied. She jerked her head towards the door Zoey had stood in front of the night before. “Zoey, come with me…”

Joan led her outside the building, one hand in her pocket, the other clutching Zoey’s tightly. Zoey followed, silent but alert.

As they stood in the chilly air, Joan finally pulled out her other hand.

A cell phone. A fancy, expensive, international phone.

Zoey gasped, eyes sliding from the device to Joan’s face.

“I finally got a chance to charge it.” Joan said, sounding apologetic. “I…I wanted to make sure you got to use it first, before I offer it to the others.” She held it out to Zoey. “Go on, check on your family. I’ll be just inside if you need me.”

Hands shaking, Zoey took the phone. Her stomach was in knots.

“Wait,” She called as Joan turned to go inside. “Stay? Please?”

Joan nodded. She took a few steps back, far enough to give Zoey some privacy but never letting her out of her sight.

Her heart thrumming, Zoey dialed the number.

***

Joan watched intently as the coder used her phone. Her eyes traced Zoey’s path as she spoke rapidly with someone on the other end. She folded her arms tightly as Zoey stopped pacing and her face pinched with sympathy as she saw the young woman place a hand over her chest.

After a few moments, Zoey hung up and made her way back to Joan.

She braced herself.

“He’s…he’s okay…” Zoey let out a shaky breath. “David he…he’s with my parents in San Francisco…he wasn’t in New York when it…” Her lip trembled, a single tear dripping down her face.

Unsure what else to do, Joan only held out her arms.

Zoey fell into her embrace, her small form shaking with relief as she sobbed.

***

The next two days were torturous.

There was nothing to do. Nothing but wait. Wait for a phone to be available in the hallway. Wait for the news to show the clips again. Wait for the word that they were leaving.

While knowing that her family was safe had taken some of the edge off, Zoey still found herself anxious, jumpy and unable to sleep. She stuck by Joan like a barnacle.

Joan seemed to notice and would try to distract her. On the second morning, after finally managing to stomach some food, they risked going outside for a walk and explored the town together. Joan had finally caved and accepted a gift of clothing from Annette. She was bundled up in a sweater that was far too large for her and jeans she constantly complained about. They talked more about Zoey’s thesis, about Joan’s favorite parts of London. Anything but the dark cloud hanging over the world.

For a brief moment, Zoey convinced her to open up about her husband and learned the sad truth: after 6 years of marriage, Joan was getting divorced.

Joan didn’t seem sad about it.

Some of the local kids invited them into a yard they passed and spent an hour playing with Zoey’s hair, putting her messy locks into braids and plaits. The youngest of them eventually convinced Joan to sit and receive a single sloppy braid. Zoey had to laugh at the ridiculous hairstyle. Joan did not take the braid out.

As they walked back to the school in the quickly dwindling sunlight, Zoey reached for Joan’s hand again. Joan took it without a second thought, her thumb rubbing Zoey’s hand soothingly.

It was a simple gesture. But to Zoey, it grounded her here.

She barely knew this woman. But she was here. And she was amazing. She’d spent all day just talking to her, distracting her from the horrible state of the world and the remote location they were stranded in.

Zoey hated to think that Joan would tire of her and leave her all alone again. She desperately tried to think of ways to pay the woman back for her attention and came up blank.

She didn’t want to be alone. And she didn’t want Joan to be alone.

But was that enough?

***

The following night, (after another day spent walking with Zoey, this time along the coast) Beulah invited them all down to the local Legion building for “some drinking and some fun.” Which was probably a good call: there had been several loud arguments over phones that day and even a brief fight between several of the passengers. Everyone was on edge and stuck in place. A little drinking could only help at this rate.

Joan wasn’t going to go; it didn’t feel right with everything that was happening. She didn’t want to celebrate: she’d finally decided that her marriage (it it had ever really been that) was over. She’d be going back to London alone if all this ever ended - to an empty flat and a demanding job and a cold bed. It felt wrong to be upset or even happy over such a thing when the world was still reeling from Tuesday.

But then Zoey piped up and said: “I’m only going if Joan is going!” and just like that, she was slipping on her borrowed shoes (heels only got a woman so far in this place) and following the crowd down towards the Legion building. As soon as she stepped inside, Joan knew it had been the right choice.

The night was insanity in the best way. Over 400 people from all over the world were celebrating together: drinking, dancing, even swimming in the river! And then the instruments came out.

Joan had never particularly cared for fiddles or accordions. But after two beers, she forgot that.

Lost with Zoey among the strangers from around the world, Joan forgot all about her aversion to dancing and her image: she tore up the dance floor with jig after mindless jig. Of course, the fact that Zoey was pulling her along and laughing and holding her hands certainly helped with that.

It was a new feeling for Joan: enjoying spending time with someone. And having someone enjoy spending time with her. Charlie had never seemed to care for their date nights, he more put up with them for the promise of sex.

But Zoey clearly enjoyed being here. And more importantly, she enjoyed being her with her. So Joan let loose.

As the night went on, the locals decided it was time for a ceremony.

“We needs a couple of volunteers!” Mayor Claude declared, “Who wants to be Newfoundlanders?”

Zoey snatched Joan’s arm and dragged her forward, not giving Joan enough time to bring her drink along. “Us!” Zoey cried, “we wanna be Newfoundlanders!!”

Joan, already a little tipsy and way too engaged in Zoey’s enthusiasm could only nod along.

Claude beamed at them. “Where are you two from?” He asked.

“California!” Zoey shouted, drowning out Joan’s murmured answer.

“What part of California are you from, ma’am?” Claude asked Joan.

“No! No!” Zoey waved her hands. “I’m from California.” She pointed at Joan. “She’s in England!”

Claude chuckled, “wait…now how does that work?”

“How does…what work?” Joan asked.

“Well how does your marriage work?” Claude inquired, “with one of you in California and the other in England?”

Zoey and Joan exchanged a quick glance, both of their faces red. Joan only just realized how close together they were standing. And in borrowed clothes and no makeup, the age difference between them seemed invisible to onlooking strangers.

“Uhhh...we’re, we’re not married…” Zoey told him. Joan was having trouble forming words.

Claude laughed again. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I thought you were…” He regarded them, seeming to read something in their embarrassed silence. “Well…” He raised an eyebrow at them, “would you like to be?”

Zoey’s face lit up. “Well why not?!” She cried. She seized Joan’s hand and lifted it up into the air. “Whoooooo!!!”

Logically, Joan knew it was the alcohol talking. Zoey herself had said earlier that she’d never had more than one beer at a time before and yet she’d watched the woman down two beers in quick succession that night.

Nevertheless, Joan, her face on fire and a stupid grin that she couldn’t justify on her face, went and got the woman two more beers.

The actual ceremony of becoming a Newfoundlander was a bizarre mix of local culture and sorority hazing.

Joan stuck by Zoey’s side as they sang a long upbeat song, tasted local food, and knocked back a horrific rum that burned her sinuses clean off.

But then came the cod.

It was a large, slimy thing that stared at them with big, dead eyes. Two local men were needed to hold it up.

And to Joan’s horror, the final part of becoming a Newfoundlander was kissing this dead fish.

“I’m not kissing a fish!” She declared.

“I will if you will!” Zoey promised, her face a pleasant shade of red from the alcohol. It was hard to dismiss that face. Joan eyed the thing distastefully as another volunteer puckered their lips and kissed the scales.

But they’d come this far…and it couldn’t be worse than kissing Charlie after sushi night, could it?

“Oh my god…” Closing her eyes, Joan pursed her lips and leaned forward. She pecked as soon as she felt something cool and slimy and darted back, retching.

It was worse. But only barely.

But when her turn came, Zoey balked. “I can’t do it!” She exclaimed, covering her face with her hands.

“Come on, I did it!” Joan protested, elbowing her forward. “Pucker up!”

“You gotta kiss a cod, it’s a vital part of the ceremony!” Claude insisted.

But Zoey backed off again, shaking her head and giggling. “I can’t do it!”

Claude chuckled. “Okay, I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.” He pointed to the cod. “Either you kiss this fish…” His finger slid to Joan. “Or you kiss this English-woman that you’re ‘not married to’.”

Zoey didn’t even hesitate. In a single motion, she launched herself at the taller woman and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Startled, Joan could only catch her. Since she wasn’t wearing heels, their faces were mere inches apart. Zoey pressed forward. Their lips met and held in a glorious kiss. All around them, the room erupted in yips and cheers.

Zoey broke away after a second, grinning stupidly and completely red in the face. Then, as if nothing had happened, she grabbed Joan’s hand and pulled her back into the crowd of dancers.

Joan couldn’t stop looking at her the rest of the night.

***

The word finally came down early on Saturday: the FAA was going to open the airspace back up.

Captain Bass got in contact with their flight and informed them that they’d be leaving as soon as it was possible so they shouldn’t travel too far from their shelters.

Zoey managed to convince Joan to take one last walk with her. She’d heard about a nearby geologic marvel called the Dover Fault from Annette and thought it might be the perfect last hurrah.

They clambered up what felt like several thousand stairs carved into the cliff, panting and assuring the other that they were okay.

Finally, they crested the edge and gazed out from the overlook. The ocean crashed into the rocky inlet, scouring the ancient rocks.

“This is incredible!” Zoey called. She beckoned Joan forward. “Look! I can’t believe we’re here!” But as she stared at the gorgeous view, Zoey felt her smile start to slip away.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving…” She lamented. It all felt like a dream that was drawing to a close.

“…I don’t want to go…” Joan murmured.

Zoey turned back to her, “What did you say?”

Joan shook her head, smiling. “Oh nothing…I’m going to uh…” she held up her disposable camera that she’d purchased in town. “…to take some pictures.”

Zoey nodded. “O…okay.” She stood aside to give Joan a better shot.

She was a bit of a light-weight but Zoey remembered the night at the Legion in snatches: lively dances, delicious rum, and shouting that she wanted to be married to Joan. She remembered launching herself at Joan out of desperation to not kiss a slimy sea creature. She remembered her stomach and chest filling with fire as their lips met.

But Joan hadn’t said a word about it. Hadn’t even indicated that she remembered any of it. They continued with their walks and their discussions of technology and little things.

They didn’t talk about the kiss.

Zoey realized Joan was still pointing the camera towards her and took another step back. “No…stay where you are!” Joan called, eye still in her camera.

“Really? I’m blocking your shot!”

Joan smiled at her. “It’s perfect.”

The shutter clicked, capturing the moment in time.

Zoey felt like she should say something; tease Joan about her taking her photo or ask her if she had really meant what she’d said.

Staying here…it was a ridiculous idea. They were only here because of…because of the tragedy. They had lives of their own to get back to. But the more she thought about it, standing there on the chilly edge of a cliff on the edge of the Atlantic, going back to her life in California felt…empty.

Logically, she knew that once she was back she wouldn’t feel that way. Her family was there, and her friends, and her thesis that needed completion. There were things she loved and fulfilling work to occupy her time.

But Joan wouldn’t be there.

Zoey stared as Joan slowly lowered her camera, the device whirring to indicate it was out of film.

Joan would return to her incredible job in London, working long hours and finalizing her divorce. As the days returned to normal, she’d forget all about the redheaded college coder she’d briefly known in this place. Zoey knew she was unremarkable; a mere blip in Joan’s life. A chance encounter.

They stared at each other, standing on the edge of this chasm that marked a time when tectonic plates had unexpectedly crashed together and then separated forever.

Zoey never wanted this moment to end. If the world had stopped spinning right then and there, she would be happy.

***

They barely made it out before the hurricane made landfall. Pack-up was hasty and haphazard, with no one sure if they should keep the borrowed clothes and no one knowing how to thank the people of Gander for their incredible compassion and hospitality.

Joan and Zoey scribbled a hasty thank you across the wall closest to where their air mattresses had been. They wrote it in three languages: English, French, and binary code. Then it was back onto the buses and back to the ancient airport.

The winds were picking up and it had begun to rain as Captain Bass taxied the plane down the runway.

No one had cared about assigned seats for the flight back. Joan’s feet had followed Zoey into the Economy class and they had taken two seats in a row near the back. No one joined them in their row. Despite the utter lack of anything resembling personal space, Joan couldn’t have cared less. It was where Zoey was. And that was the only place she wanted to be.

As they picked up speed, Joan reached for Zoey’s hand but recoiled a second before she grabbed it. What was she doing? Trying to hold onto this moment? Trying to stop them from leaving?

It was too late now.

They were leaving. And she was going to return to a newly-empty life a continent and an ocean away from Zoey’s warmth and light.

The first hour of the flight was silent. Zoey kept opening her mouth like she wanted to say something but she never did. Joan didn’t know what to say. Or if she should say anything at all. Every possible thing she could say felt inadequate.

But as Captain Bass gleefully announced over the intercom that they had crossed back into US airspace, Joan glanced over at her companion. Zoey was crying, silently and intensely, as if she just couldn’t stop.

Joan immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in, aiming for Zoey’s forehead to give her a comforting kiss.

But the plane jostled at the exact moment Zoey turned towards her.

Joan’s lips grazed the corner of Zoey’s mouth instead of her forehead.

Zoey gazed up at her, eyes wide and hopeful.

Her heart leaping, Joan shifted the angle of her mouth.

Their lips met again. And this time, they simply didn’t stop.

They kissed and canoodled for hours at the back of the plane. All around them, Joan was aware of cabin addresses and their fellow passengers drinking and sharing stories of their stay. But all she cared about was Zoey. Wrapping her arms around Zoey, playing with Zoey’s hair, kissing Zoey as often as she could. Zoey was real. These feelings were real. And like the Dover Fault, she would remain real no matter how long it was after they parted ways.

At one point, not long after Captain Bass had announced that they were now flying over California, a flight attendant paused alongside their seats, tongs ready to hand out hot towels.

“Cold towel?” She asked, smirking.

Blushing, Zoey hid her face in Joan’s neck. Joan couldn’t stop smiling.

***

But of course, they had to part ways.

There was a measure of relief among all of them as they safely touched down in LAX. If she was being honest, Zoey had been carrying a tiny knot of fear in her chest the whole flight home, a small part of her convinced their journey would end the same way as all that footage on the news.

But as soon as they were safely on the ground, that knot of fear became a hard ball of dread.

“So…” She faced Joan at the baggage claim, laptop clutched in one hand, the other hand clasped tightly in Joan’s. Zoey knew her family was anxiously waiting outside and that Joan had a connection to send her back across the Atlantic to London leaving soon.

But neither of them wanted to move.

“So…” Joan echoed, trying to smile but failing.

“So, you’ll call?” Zoey asked.

Joan squeezed her hand. “As soon as I get back.”

She leaned forward and pecked Zoey on the lips. Despite the hours of frantic making out they’d done on the plane and the drunken kiss at the Legion, it felt like their first kiss.

Joan smiled one last time and let go of Zoey’s hand.

And then Zoey was all alone.

***

Joan’s flight back to London passed like a dream. Since she’d been hastily rescheduled onto this flight (having missed her original days ago), she was stuck in Economy. And despite the fact that there were literally only six other people on the plane, she still was not permitted to move up to first class. But she hardly cared.

When she finally opened the door to her flat, she swore it had all been a dream.

Her belongings were still exactly as she’d left them, barely any dust to mark the passage of time.

So far away from New York, London bustled about as normal below her window, the fear still internal and existential for now.

But as she unpacked, Joan found the camera.

She dropped everything and ran out to find a 24-hour photo developer.

Within two hours, she held living proof that it wasn’t a dream.

Zoey, standing on the edge of the Dover Fault, her red hair flying in the ocean wind, her smile soft but fondly directed towards the lens.

Joan stroked the print, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

The flat was so empty.

***

“Hi.”

“Hey”

“How are you?”

“Good…my advisor says if I can finish my report by the end of November, I can graduate as planned.”

“That’s great!”

Zoey paused, unsure what else to say. She would call just before bed, knowing that it was about the time Joan woke up. But life got in the way and the calls had dwindled from a few per week to one per week when they were lucky. And even then, their conversations, which had flowed so effortlessly in person, barely lasted an hour before one of them had to go.

Zoey had found it increasingly difficult to remain optimistic the past few months. Everyone was just so afraid all the time. David had transferred from Manhattan to a California law school, not wanting to be so far away anymore. He’d refused to fly and instead carpooled across the country with his girlfriend Emily. Her parents spoke in hushed voices when they thought she couldn’t hear and her father increasingly watched the news over anything else.

Zoey found herself crying more often and thinking increasingly about how lucky she’d been. But that was always quickly followed by guilt. How dare she celebrate finding Joan and a small bit of happiness in the chaos when so many people were dead?

And while she didn’t feel alone, Zoey still felt unsettled. She’d told her parents about Joan but they still didn’t seem to get it. They hadn’t been in Gander. They hadn’t known the feeling of being stranded and yet feeling at peace amid all the horrors.

“Zoey?” She hadn’t spoken in awhile.

“I…I miss you.” Zoey admitted, her voice small. “I miss Newfoundland. And I know…I know we cant go back but…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. She couldn’t tell Joan how some nights she slipped out of her dorm room and walked to the pier just so she could close her eyes and imagine she was back in Gander, Joan’s hand in hers as they looked out over the ocean. She couldn’t say just how much she needed Joan here - as she had been at the beginning of this terrifying new world - to be at her side and talk to her, hold her hand and provide comfort in the darkness.

Joan listened intently, unsure if Zoey was crying or just at a loss for words. She wanted so badly to be there. Her life since Gander had been nothing but work. Endless hours at Google and a few spare hours with her lawyer. Her flat was starting to feel stifling.

She dreamed of Gander, of long walks with Zoey, of crashing continents and salty air. She longed for a warm embrace, for soft lips on hers. Her thoughts formed dangerous plans that had her terrified. Suddenly nothing of her old life made sense…and she cared nothing for it.

“J…Joan?”

Joan sighed down the line.

They couldn’t do this. It wasn’t going to work if they were a continent apart.

“Zoey…I’m going to move to San Francisco.” She said it softly, giving those dangerous plans more leverage.

Zoey’s breath caught. “Joan…”

She barreled on. “I applied for a transfer to the main Google office…don’t try to change my mind.” Joan beseeched her, knowing Zoey was about to protest. “The divorce papers are signed, my bags can be packed in a week. I’m coming to you. If you’ll have me.” Her voice was heavy with meaning. The kind of meaning that expected an answer.

Zoey let out a shaky exhale, clutching the phone cord tightly in her hand. “Yes. Yes Joan.”

***

 One year later

Joan gazed out over the bands of ancient rock. Now that she was really looking, she could see the bits and pieces that stood out: parts of another that had been left behind during an intimate collision.

“Remember the last time we were here?”

Joan turned to the voice, smiling. “Of course…” She wrapped her arm around the shorter woman, pulling her close as they stared over the Dover Fault. “I never wanted that moment to end.”

Zoey took her hand, finger rubbing the smooth plane of the brand new golden band around Joan’s finger.

“It didn’t.”

Because like the continents, when the world had crashed together in a moment of upheaval, they had found some small, beautiful thing to cherish from the chaos.

#zoey x joan #zoey's extraordinary playlist #come from away #crossover #angst and tragedy #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #the crossover no one asked for #the author is clearly just mashing together two things they very much enjoy and seeing what happens

[ardentmuse]

At All Costs (Charlie Weasley x Reader) - Epilogue

Harry Potter - Charlie Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

A/N: No warnings, just a few months later. And just know that just because this series is done doesn’t mean we’re done with Charlie. I WILL NEVER BE DONE WITH CHARLIE. k, you may proceed

Sunlight shone through the window panes, casting streaks of light across the down comforter under which you and Charlie still laid intertwined, clinging to each other and avoiding the inevitable start of yet another day. As the sun grew higher in the sky, the shafts of light crept closer and closer to your eyes, closed in false sleep. The light was catching at Charlie’s hair, illuminating the tiny space between your bodies with a kaleidoscope of reds, yellows and bronzes, like fireworks for your pillows. You felt your hand come up to brush at the hairs before you even knew you were doing it.

“G’mornin’,” Charlie mumbled at the feel of your fingers. It was hard to make out the words with how quickly he tugged on your waist to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

You lifted your head to look around Charlie’s small cabin. You recalled another time, almost exactly a year ago, when you were reclined in bed like this, with Charlie’s head against your chest and the sun informing you of your need to leave. It was the darkest day of your life in some ways, leaving Charlie behind to dive towards likely death. But today, as you looked at the empty bookshelves and the stacks of boxes all marked for delivery to your new homes, you found yourself smiling; one last day enjoying the feel of your husband in this secluded place, the place where you learned to love him so deeply, the place that hurt so much to leave because you were never sure when you would return to his side again, a place that was Charlie’s alone, no matter how much he opened his life and his heart to you. You were only a little sad to see it go.

“We have to go soon, Charlie,” you said into his hair when you estimated the sun had reached its peak in the sky.

“Just one more hour,” he whined, wrapping his legs around you in a grip so tight you couldn’t leave if you wanted to, his muscular thighs securing you in a way that you wouldn’t have minded had he intended something more with it.

You sighed and fell back against the pillows as Charlie peppered your collarbone with kisses. You let out a huff as his lips moved towards the hollow of your neck. With you next breath, Charlie flipped himself on top of you, now truly caging you in his embrace.

“I promise I’ll make it worth your time, love,” he whispered before capturing your lips. You shut your eyes to feel him fully, the gentle pressure his mouth applied, the warm soft curve of his flesh and the sweet taste he gave you each time he moved against you. Somehow each kiss was still magic, no matter how many you shared or how frequently. Soul bound, you thought to yourself, two individuals each their own but made their best together. Charlie was it for you, and the fact that you thought you could just walk away even for such a noble cause as the one you did was laughable in moments like this.

“Scotland is a long trip,” you managed between breaths once Charlie pulled away.

Charlie’s face lit in the most beautiful smile he had ever sent your way. “We aren’t just going to Scotland, love,” he said as he ran a hand across your forehead to cup your jaw. “We’re going home.”

He kissed you once more, deep and passionate, like the thought itself consumed him with passion.

Home. Your home together. Ten years now, ten years of living apart, of sharing stolen weekends and holidays, all of which had to come to an end. Home. Your heart swelled at the word and at the thought of coming home to Charlie each and every day, of seeing his smiling face and eating the meal he prepared you, of kissing his lips each night as you drank your tea by the fire, of holding his hand and feeling his body against you as you slept, of being together the way you had always wanted to be.

You kissed him so deeply, putting all the love and passion you felt for him in your lips. You felt the tears rolling down your cheeks as Charlie’s hands hold your hips. His skin is softer than you had ever felt it, despite the scars and burns that still litter his hands and forearms. A week off work had indeed done a world of good for him.

A loud pounding on the door pulled you both from your embrace. You yelped and tightened the blankets around yourself. No one would stumble upon your cabin so deep in the Romanian wilderness randomly. But for some reason Charlie was smiling.

“Oy, Charles,” George called from the other side of the door, “You better be dressed in there because I am giving you ten seconds before I --”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Charlie yelled at the door, jumping out of bed and pulling on his jeans in a stumbled walk towards the door. “I’ll distract them while you dress, yeah?” Charlie said you way before he opened the door and slipped outside.

“Them?” you said but Charlie was already outside with his brother. You shook yourself from your daze and popped out of bed, throwing on the only pair of jeans and shirt that still sat outside the trunks. But as you looked around at the luggage you had filled, you only now realized that you had never discussed how you were actually getting everything across the continent.

You shook your head. Those Weasleys.

Just as you were throwing on your socks, George entered, followed by Ginny. Charlie stood at the door shaking his head. The rest of the Weasley clan, including Fleur, Hermione, and Harry, came in, each taking a trunk as Molly commanded them. By the time you pulled on your shoes, the entire cottage was empty.

“Efficient family, you got there,” you said to your husband as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder to lead  you out to the portkey.

“Yep, we do,” Charlie said with a smile as he watched his family gather in the woods to help you journey back to the UK. “If only they’d help us unpack all this stuff in our new house in Hogsmeade, too.”

As you crunched through the leaves, Hermione turned to you as said, “Ready to leave this place behind, Y/N?”

Before you could answer, Ginny interrupted her with a giggle, “It’s Professor Weasley to you now, ‘Mione.”

Hermione smiled. “Finally someone competent to teach us Defense against the Dark Arts.”

“And family,” Ginny added. You were smiling at the praise, leaning even harder into Charlie’s arms, feeling the warmth of the family you shared, the family that loved you so, the family that was helping to bring you home.

As you all stood around the shovel that denoted the first leg of your journey, Charlie leaned down to give you a kiss, a simple peck upon your lips. You watched his eyes roam back to the cottage and with a sigh, he took your hand in his.

“You know, it’s okay to be sad,” you assured him. He simply ran his fingers across your knuckles. “This was your life for so long.”

“I know,’ he confirmed with a chuckle, “But you’re my life now. And soon those feisty Hebridean Blacks will be too.”

You found yourself laughing at the idea that Charlie was somehow excited to be working with something even bigger and more dangerous. He was worse than you sometimes, but Godric did you love this man, warts and all.

“To a new chapter?” he asked with a breath, breaking you from your thoughts as he reached for the portkey.

“To a new adventure,” you confirmed, grabbing at the portkey and watching the cabin, the woods, and the whole of the world you had known together, disappear in a swirl of color and chaos.

A/N: thank you all for coming on this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it. If you liked this story, please check out my masterlist for more one shots and series. But also keep an eye out for my next series, starting in just three weeks and starring a different lovely Weasley sibling by the name of George. Cheers! 

At All Costs tags: @trentadepresso, @pollytypes, @tatlikar, @semicharmedkindofali, @sly-vixen-up2nogood, @cucumberinmyass, @sugarrusheb, @kaitlynnn27, @soosahya, @sugerquill, @allonsymexgirl, @fuckboylukey, @dooriha, @igotmadskills, @thatlittlered, @rupard7, @awkwardcora, @tessimagines, @ineeduhnap, @caramiriel, @starryrevelations, @otherthingsinhead, @reallykosborne, @anarchtayreads. @agirlwhoneedalittlelovingtonight, @humblemei, @littlegeekwonder, @owlsarebirdstoo, @kriegsmelone, @oboewan-kenobi, @jayrart, @bees-love-books, @theboywhocriedlupin, @earthwaterfall, @amberisnotcrazy, @jesslovesfandom, @justducky0423, @bananafosters-and-books, @stellar-amo, @indicisive-af, @yhound, @batgirl-87, @tellmyselflies, @graymountaingal, @blxxdy-hell, @missihart23, @one-stately-raven, @lonikje, @thatswhatmakesyoumiserable, @lady-efriyeet, @i-padfootblack-things, @diamondgirl1111, @hypotheticalforest, @lunarinne, @b0rkk, @fandoms-allovertheplace, @cinnamoncam, @cutie-bug, @bloodangelballerina, @maralisa124, @arthurianbisexual, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @basically-hayley, @weasleyismyking540, @bethanystan, @fandomfindings , @sassyvetstudent, @that-new-york-girl. @dancing-in-embers, @eh-ilikestuff, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @deannaraquel, @goldenbabby, @mybabys-gunsnroses,  @broken-pieces, @fearlessmaxima, @quinnzel-emillee-moore, @hogwarts-is-home-gryffindor, @br00dy-elf, @wnygirl2012, @firekissedwitchbitch, @mythicalamphitrite, @steph-fowlie, @kneazlesgetitdone

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98

#charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp #hp imagine #hphm #hphm imagine #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery imagine #hp hogwarts mystery #hp hogwarts mystery imagine #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x you #reader insert #x reader #at all cost

[gossipnetwork-blog]

Charles Manson: Erik Hedegaard on Meeting Murderer, Cult Leader

New Post has been published on http://gossip.network/charles-manson-erik-hedegaard-on-meeting-murderer-cult-leader/

Charles Manson: Erik Hedegaard on Meeting Murderer, Cult Leader

Take one thing with another, you really haven’t lived until in the middle of a cocktail party your phone lights up and you angle the phone so everyone can see who is calling and tonight’s caller happens to be Charlie Manson, the hippy-Svengali, buckskin-fringe-wearing mass murderer who is serving seven life sentences for his part in the peace-and-love-era-ending Tate-La Bianca murders of August, 1969, has been called the face of evil second only to Hitler for countless decades, and has whiled away the past 47 years in various of California’s maximum security prisons. It’s a great call to get. It makes you the life of the party. 

But I won’t be getting those calls anymore, because Manson has finally, at the age of 83, gone and done what most people thought would never happen. He’s died, taken by the vagaries of a common case of old age, the swastika carved low into his forehead never to be seen pulsing between his bristling madman’s eyebrows again.

Charles Manson Dead at 83

Career criminal, cult leader and enigmatic pop culture figure upended Sixties with series of killings

Certainly, lots of people cheered his demise, but I’ve found it hard to be among them, if only because in certain ways he changed my life, and he changed it for the better.

This happened about four years ago, when I became the last member of the so-called establishment media to see Manson in the flesh, at his last home, Corcoran State Prison, in California. It took over a year to set the meeting up, with Manson calling me collect whenever the urge struck him. He’d typically start by saying no way would he ever agree to a visit.

“You’re a stooge, man,” he’d growl. “A flunky. I only meet people like you when I’m going to rob them. I’ll take you. Put you in the grave. What’re you going to do about that, jitterbug?”

Sometimes he’d slam the phone down on me, then ring me right back and say, “Now was I mad at you or was you mad at me?” Then he’d go on to call me “sweetheart,” and “honey” and say stuff like, “Yeah, man, you didn’t know you was my wife? Hey, I recognize you.” And then, finally, often as not, he’d start ranting about the environment and how we’re running out of oxygen and how the only way to conserve oxygen is by killing off our fellow air breathers. “Whoever gets killed, that’s the will of God. Without killing, we got no chance.” Pause. “You might want to say to yourself, ‘How can that work for me?'” After which, he’d start calling me “soldier,” like I was a soldier in his army and he wanted me to go out and kill on his behalf, just as Leslie Van Houton, Susan Atkins, Patricia Krenwinkle, and Tex Watson did back in 1969, which ended with all of them going to prison for life.

By now, the horror of the murders themselves has largely faded from view, the 169 stab wounds inflicted on the seven victims as seen in photographs displayed during the trial replaced by images of crazy-eyed Charlie as featured on t-shirts and in TV shows like South Park, turning him into some kind of twisted semi-cool cult icon and fairly benign cultural reference point. Manson himself has basically stayed occluded since 1994, when the state of California banned the use of recording devices during prisoner interviews, meaning Manson could no longer dance his kooky jagged kung-fu dance for the cameras, which is the only reason he granted many interviews in the first place. And he was determined not to see me, either, until I came to town to talk to his then girlfriend, Afton Burton, 29, who goes by the Manson-given name of Star, and during my last day, with him on the phone, I suggested he act his age, man up and quit being so petulant.

Silence, then: “OK, you can come with Star tomorrow.”

Charles Manson at age 77 in his prison mugshot. AP

And so I did. He arrived in the visiting room pushing a wheel chair in front of him, looking frail, but it was all an act. He was soon hopping around and dancing his dance just like he did in the old days. Plus, right at the start, he bounced a finger off my nose, leaned into me, and said, “If I can touch you, I can kill you.” I glanced over at the guards. They were watching TV on a raised platform too far away to do me any good should Manson suddenly turn murderous. I smiled at Manson. He smiled at me. I shrugged. He shrugged. He asked if I wanted to have my picture taken with him. I declined, probably the first person to ever do so, and he looked mildly shocked. But then he smiled and shrugged and started looking for other ways to get one up on me.

We talked about the murders, with Manson bellowing: “I never killed anyone!” And about prosecuting attorney Vincent Bugliosi’s theory that Manson ordered the murders to start a race war to be known as Helter Skelter, after the Beatles’ song. “Man, that doesn’t even make insane sense. Helter Skelter didn’t exist in anyone’s mind but Bugliosi’s.” Same for the idea that Manson called his drug-and-sex addled crew the Family. “Man, Bug just made that up!” In brief, Manson saw himself as an innocent felled by an overreaching attorney and a bunch of crazy pals who went on a murder spree for reasons having nothing to do with him, more or less. “The reasons was all kinds of different things that were happening [in] all of our minds together, and there’s a lot of different discrepancies in there that don’t correlate to be straight. It was a collective idea. It was an episode. A psychotic episode, and you want to blame me for that?”

In Bugliosi’s estimation, somebody had to take the blame and why not a career loser like Manson, who since the age of 10 had spent most of his life in institutions anyway? Also, as Bug seemed to realize, Manson wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted roaming around free, guilty or not. “He had a quality about him that one thousandth of one percent of people have,” he told me a few years before his death in 2015, at the age of 80, cancer. “An aura. ‘Vibes,’ the kids called it in the Sixties. Wherever he went, kids gravitated toward him. This is not normal.”

And so my hours with Manson drifted on. He’s a compulsive blabbermouth, so he did most of the talking, while I just sat there scribbling notes with a pen and wondering if Manson ever thought about grabbing that pen and shoving it into my neck. I doubted it. For whatever reason, he and I seemed to get along just fine. Later, when my story about him came out, he called to tell me he liked it, that I did a good job. “Yeah, man,” he said, “you got it about right.”

But here’s the thing about Manson and me and the two of us sitting in that visitors’ room, me in my civilian clothes, him in his prison blues. As a rule, due to various snags in my childhood, I’ve never liked being touched by anybody, man or woman, under any circumstances. It makes my skin ache. But then, at one point, Manson put his hand on my bare arm and began to rub it up and down. I flinched like I normally do, but I didn’t pull away. I let him do whatever it was he was doing and for the first time in a long time. I felt no pain. It was the oddest thing. His hand seemed to be leaking the most pleasant kind of warmth. It had a slightly sexual tinge to it, as well, probably because we were talking about the groovy free-love sex scene back at the ranch but maybe not. Maybe I was feeling exactly what everyone else felt when he put his fingers upon them, and I did like it, and I didn’t want him to take them away.

But then he withdrew, as he does, with another notion worming its way into his brain and soon he was yelling about how he was “an outlaw, a gangster, a rebel, a desperado, and I don’t fire no warning shots,” which might have made folks quake back in the day but sounded comical now and reduced the immediate effect of his aura. Even so, four years later, I still don’t mind being touched as much as I did before Manson did the touching and brought me around to where it sometimes even feels good. I owe him for that. But I also have to agree with Bugliosi’s assessment. His vibe is not normal. Plus, he’s too easy to gravitate toward, even when you know exactly how bad a man he is.

At the end of our tenth hour together, we hugged for a brief moment, then Manson got behind his wheelchair again and shuffled off through a door, down a corridor and out of sight.

“Too much freedom is detrimental to the soul,” he once said. “I should not have been out there.”

No, he shouldn’t have been. And now, at long last, he’s not anywhere at all.

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Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion

On April 10, 2003, Pepsi announced a contest called “The Pepsi Billion Dollar Sweepstakes”. It was scheduled to run for 5 months starting from May in the same year.

For the contest, Pepsi printed one billion special codes which could be redeemed either on their website or via postal mail. According to Pepsi’s estimate, about 200-300 million of these codes were redeemed. Out of these, 100 codes were chosen in a random draw to appear in a two-hour live gameshow-style television special. Each of these 100 people were assigned a random 6-digit number, and a chimpanzee (to ensure a truly random number and of course to rule out any monkey business) backstage rolled dice to determine the grand prize number. This number was kept secret and the 10 players whose numbers were closest to it were chosen for the final elimination. On the evening of September 14, the final day of the contest, the event, titled Play for a Billion, was aired live. If a player’s number matched the grand prize number, he would win US$ 1 billion. (Source: Wikipedia)

Given the scenario, it was highly unlikely that anyone would win a billion dollar. The chances were literally 1 in a billion. In spite of that, Pepsi was unwilling to bear the risk of the possible billion-dollar prize. So they arranged for an insurance company to insure the event. They paid US$ 10 million to Berkshire Hathaway to assume the risk. Yes, Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway. The same guy who is famous for his two iron rules –

1. Never lose money 2. Don’t forget rule number 1.

Then why would Buffett expose his company to such a big risk for a relatively paltry premium of US$ 10 million? Isn’t this akin to playing Russian roulette?

Remember Russian roulette? Here’s how a Russian roulette is played –

Imagine you are offered US$ 10 million to put a revolver, containing only one bullet in the six available chambers, to your head and pull the trigger. If you survive you win the US$ 10 million prize. The odds of winning are more than 80 percent. The upside is huge i.e. US$ 10 million. The downside – loss of life i.e., death – is even bigger.

Should you play this game? What if the prize money is US$ 1 billion and the revolver has thousand chambers instead of just 6 with a single bullet i.e., a minuscule probability of death and an enormous upside?

Warren Buffett once wrote that he would never play this kind of game, where the downside is unacceptable to him, no matter how low the probability of the outcome. Then why is he risking his US$1 billion?

Isn’t Buffett contradicting himself?

In his 2003 letter to shareholders, he wrote –

Ajit [Jain] writes some very unusual policies. Last year, for example, PepsiCo promoted a drawing that offered participants a chance to win a $ 1 billion prize. Understandably, Pepsi wished to lay off this risk, and we were the logical party to assume it. So we wrote a $ 1 billion policy, retaining the risk entirely for our own account. Because the prize, if won, was payable over time, our exposure in present-value terms was $ 250 million. (I helpfully suggested that any winner be paid $ 1 a year for a billion years, but that proposal didn’t fly.) The drawing was held on September 14. Ajit and I held our breath, as did the finalist in the contest, and we left happier than he. PepsiCo has renewed for a repeat contest in 2004.

These kind of cases are quite rare for most insurance operations. For one, unlike say the auto insurance business, here we don’t have sufficient past data to make reasonable calculations about odds of win/loss. We also don’t have the option to spread the risk of loss among millions of premium-paying customers, or the time between receiving the premium and paying the loss to invest the float.

Instead, here there are only two possible outcomes. Either Berkshire earns the US$ 10 million that will have absolutely no meaningful effect on Berkshire’s bottom line or Berkshire will lose the net present value of US$ 1 billion paid out over 40 years. That amount is still small but certainly not insignificant.

One clear benefit of Buffett’s willingness to make such a bet is that it establishes Berkshire’s reputation as an insurer which can cover such events. So the contest proved a publicity bonanza not only for Pepsi but also for Warren Buffett. I am sure there are many other companies (like Pepsi) who would love to exploit the publicity created by announcing such contests and delegating the risk to Berkshire. That creates another unique source of revenue for Buffett.

Still, the question remains –why would Buffett make such a bet when the upside is insignificant?

We all know that Buffett is super-smart. There’s something which he knows and understands about Risk that a common investor doesn’t. When he underwrites these unusual and risky looking policies, he is essentially willing to look foolish but not be foolish.

In other words, Buffett is not loss averse. He is risk averse. To understand this statement, we need to understand the difference between risk aversion and loss aversion.

Loss Aversion is Human Nature

We, humans, have a natural tendency to be loss averse. What do I mean by that?

Let me take an example from Jason Zweig’s book Your Money and Your Brain. He writes –

Imagine that you can choose between winning $3,000 for sure, on the one hand, or a gamble with an 80% chance of winning $4,000 and a 20% chance of winning nothing. If you’re like most people, you will pick the sure thing.

Next, imagine that you can choose between losing $3,000 for sure, or a gamble with 80% odds of losing $4,000 and 20% odds of losing nothing. What would you do now? In this case, people reject the sure thing and take the gamble 92% of the time.

You would be better off taking the gamble in the first example and the sure thing in the second one–the opposite of what you probably chose. On average, an 80% chance of winning $4,000 is worth $ 3,200 (.80 x 4,000 = 3,200). So, in the first example, the gamble has an “expected value” $200 higher than the sure thing. By the same rule, an 80% chance of losing $4,000 leaves you $3,200 poorer. And in the second case, you logically should favour the sure loss of $3,000; on average, it will leave you with $200 more. But it’s hard to be strictly logical in these choices because the idea of losing money triggers potential regret in your emotional brain. If you take the 80% gamble of winning $4,000 and win nothing instead, you will kick yourself for missing out on the $3,000 sure thing. And a 100% chance of losing everything feels a lot worse than the risk of an even bigger loss coupled with a small shot at losing nothing. Doing anything – or even thinking about doing anything– that could lead to an inescapable loss is extremely painful.

In simpler words, or rather in Charlie Munger’s words, “The quantity of a man’s pleasure from a ten-dollar gain does not exactly match the quantity of his displeasure from a ten-dollar loss.” And this is the foundation of Daniel Kahneman’s work on Prospect Theory.

Prospect Theory (Image Source: Thinking, Fast and Slow )

A typical outcome of loss aversion is the propensity to sell our stocks as soon as the price drops. This tendency results in most investors buying the stock when the market is rising and selling out when the prices collapse. It’s nothing but a severe distaste for possibility of loss. While there may be a persuasive evolutionary explanation for loss aversion, as we’ll see later, it is not good for money management.

What majority of the investors fail to realise is that possibility of loss doesn’t always translate to risk. To wrap our heads around this subtle distinction, let’s explore what exactly is a risk.

What is Risk?

The real risk associated with any stock (or for that matter, any investment) is the risk of ‘permanent loss of capital’. A permanent loss of capital occurs when a stock goes down because of worsening business operations and stays down for a very long time or even forever. For example, if a company goes bankrupt, or its earnings power drops permanently, then shareholder value will also become permanently diminished.

Risk is a perception in each investor’s mind that results from analysis of the probability and amount of potential loss from an investment, writes legendary investor Seth Klarman, “If an exploratory oil well proves to be a dry hole, it is called risky. If a bond defaults or a stock plunges in price, they are called risky.”

Another way to understand risk is to invert the question and see what is not a risk. Contrary to popular belief, volatility isn’t necessarily a risk. Many investors consider price fluctuations to be a significant risk i.e., if the price goes down, the investment is seen as risky regardless of the fundamentals.

Are short-term price movements really a risk? Perhaps yes but only for certain investors under specific conditions. So if you’re using debt (margins) to buy stocks, volatility is certainly a risk for you. Volatility alone isn’t a risk. However, debt plus volatility is a risk.

We just said that price volatility isn’t a source of risk. But there is one situation where price becomes a factor in risk. Not the market price, but the price at which an asset/stock is acquired. In fact, all other things being equal, the price of an asset is the principal determinant of its riskiness. In simpler words, overpaying for an asset increases the risk.

Howard Marks, in his 2013 letter to investors, wrote –

No asset is so good that it can’t be bid up to the point where it’s overpriced and thus dangerous. And few assets are so bad that they can’t become under-priced and thus safe (not to mention potentially lucrative).

An investor who doesn’t use leverage has enormous staying power because markets can stay irrational longer than one can stay solvent (and sane). So avoiding debt is one way to ensure that you don’t incur a permanent loss of capital because of margin calls or debtors forcing you to sell your positions.

Martin Whitman, in his book The Aggressive Conservative Investor, writes –

Macro data such as predictions about general stock market averages, interest rates, the economy, consumer spending, and so on are unimportant for safe and cheap investors as long as the environment is characterized by relative political stability and an absence of violence in the streets.

The concept of risk is meaningless unless it is preceded by a modifying adjective. There exist market risk, investment risk, credit risk, failure-to-match-maturities risk, commodity risk, terrorism risk, and many more types of risk. The idea of general risk is not helpful in a safe and cheap analysis. When financial academics and sell-side analysts refer to risk they almost always mean only market risk and usually very short-run market risk.

In fact, the most basic definition of risk is – not knowing what you’re getting into. You need to understand the business whose stock you are buying. Always remember, risk comes from not knowing what you are doing, in life and in stock market investing. Because when you don’t know what you are doing, you can lose it all…permanently.

Loss is Not Risk

Unlike the notion of loss, risk can’t be reduced to a single idea. Buffett’s rules of investing – “Don’t lose money,” and “Never forget the first rule.” – confuses a lot of new investors. After all, the surest way of not losing money is to put it in fixed deposits. Right?

While it’s true that shunning loss should be the primary goal of every investor, the dictum is incorrectly interpreted that one should never incur any loss at all. This is a sign of a typical loss averse mindset which, as we have seen above, is a behavioural bias.

“Don’t lose money” means that over several years an investment portfolio should not be exposed to appreciable loss of principal. It also means that any loss in your portfolio shouldn’t set you back so severely that you can’t continue investing.

In fact, being extremely loss-averse can increase the risk.

How? An extremely loss-averse investor would prefer putting all his money in safe bank deposits which over long term lose its value because of taxation and inflation. An apple that cost Rs 100 today will cost you Rs 108 next year because of an inflation rate of 8 percent. However, a bank deposit will fetch you only Rs 106 (after tax) in one year. Which means putting money in the bank for one year took away your ability to buy an apple.

What looks safe in short term is far riskier in the longer term.

Refer to the example from Jason Zweig’s book. By reframing the problem from a “gain frame” to “loss frame”, we nudged you from sure shot (conservative) option towards the riskier option (gambling). Loss aversion made you a risk-seeking person.

“As an investor,” writes Prof. Bakshi in his insightful post, “you should seek businesses which are risk averse but not loss averse. You should avoid businesses who don’t want to even experiment a bit because they are petrified of losses should the experiments fail.”

Another Billion Dollar Bet

Charlie Munger once wrote –

We will never play financial Russian roulette with the funds you’ve entrusted to us, even if the metaphorical gun has 100 chambers and only one bullet. In our view, it is madness to risk losing what you need in pursuing what you simply desire.

Notice the last sentence which I have highlighted. Risk is betting what you need in hope of getting what you desire. That’s what makes Warren Buffett’s billion-dollar bet not risky for him. He can afford to lose a billion dollar because a billion dollar is less than 1% of Berkshire’s net worth. Buffett is risking a large amount of money, but in terms of his expected loss, he’s not risking a whole lot. If $1 billion were going to ruin him, he wouldn’t. But it’s not going put Warren Buffett out of business. Not many insurance companies have the kind of financial strength Berkshire has. Berkshire’s bets would be very risky for other mom and pop insurance operations and that’s why the likes of Pepsi turn to Buffett, time and again.

Precisely because there aren’t many insurance companies willing to insure such events, Buffett is happy to take more such bets. Moreover, he’s getting paid disproportionately for the risk he’s assuming. The expected value of his bet is far-far less than US$ 10 million (the probability of someone winning the Pepsi’s challenge multiplied by prize money). If you calculate, it would probably be less than 100 dollars. So US$ 10 million is a pretty awesome deal for Buffett. I am sure he wouldn’t shy away from insuring a couple of dozens more such events.

No wonder Buffett goes out of his way to not just find but create such deals for Berkshire. After Pepsi event, Buffett suggested the US$ 1 billion contest to Quicken Loans founder Dan Gilbert in 2014. Gilbert and Buffett announced a billion dollar prize for anyone who could pick a perfect bracket in the annual men’s NCAA basketball tournament known as March Madness. According to one estimate, the odds of picking every winner correctly in a 64-team bracket are less than 1 in 9 quintillion. The odds of Buffett having to pay out reach about 1 in 10,000 in the Quicken Loans contest if all 10 million entrants have basketball knowledge. The odds of correctly forecasting 67 games are extraordinarily thin. (Source: Warren Buffett will pay you US $1-billion…)

Even a skilled handicapper would have about a 1-in-1-billion chance of completing a perfect bracket. “Millions of people play brackets every March, so why not take a shot at becoming $1 billion richer for doing so,” Buffett said in the statement. “While there is no simple path to success, it sure doesn’t get much easier than filling out a bracket online.”

And it’s not that Buffett will silently watch the winner take away his billion dollars. At any point, if he feels that odds are turning against him, he would make a move. “If you get to the Final Four with a perfect bracket, I may buy you out of your position,” Buffett said. “I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.” He’s ready to bear the losses but he’s also vigilant if the risk increases at any point, he’s ready to curb that risk.

And that’s another important lesson that every investor needs to learn from Warren Buffett. Be risk averse but don’t be afraid to make mistakes or take an occasional loss.

Conclusion

Every great investor intuitively understands this distinction between loss aversion and risk aversion. Seth Klarman says –

To maintain a truly long-term view, investors must be willing to experience significant short-term losses; without the possibility of near-term pain, there can be no long-term gain.

Great investors recognize another uncomfortable reality about probability, writes Michael Mauboussin, “the frequency of correctness does not really matter, what matters is how much money you make when you are right versus how much money you lose when you are wrong.”

In other words, we like to be right a lot more than to be wrong. This concept is very difficult to put into operation because of loss aversion.

Volatility is a friend of risk-averse investor and an enemy of loss averse investor. Someone who hasn’t made peace with short term notional losses, who hasn’t learnt to deal with daily price fluctuations because of market sentiments, is going to have an extremely tough time investing his or her money in stock market.

People who are risk averse get benefitted from people who are only loss averse.

Risk in investing, thus, comes not from the companies, institutions, or securities involved. It comes from the behaviour of investors. Their tendency to let the emotions of greed and fear control their actions.

The post Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion appeared first on Safal Niveshak.

Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion published first on http://ift.tt/2sCRXMW

[heliosfinance]

Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion

On April 10, 2003, Pepsi announced a contest called “The Pepsi Billion Dollar Sweepstakes”. It was scheduled to run for 5 months starting from May in the same year.

For the contest, Pepsi printed one billion special codes which could be redeemed either on their website or via postal mail. According to Pepsi’s estimate, about 200-300 million of these codes were redeemed. Out of these, 100 codes were chosen in a random draw to appear in a two-hour live gameshow-style television special. Each of these 100 people were assigned a random 6-digit number, and a chimpanzee (to ensure a truly random number and of course to rule out any monkey business) backstage rolled dice to determine the grand prize number. This number was kept secret and the 10 players whose numbers were closest to it were chosen for the final elimination. On the evening of September 14, the final day of the contest, the event, titled Play for a Billion, was aired live. If a player’s number matched the grand prize number, he would win US$ 1 billion. (Source: Wikipedia)

Given the scenario, it was highly unlikely that anyone would win a billion dollar. The chances were literally 1 in a billion. In spite of that, Pepsi was unwilling to bear the risk of the possible billion-dollar prize. So they arranged for an insurance company to insure the event. They paid US$ 10 million to Berkshire Hathaway to assume the risk. Yes, Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway. The same guy who is famous for his two iron rules –

1. Never lose money 2. Don’t forget rule number 1.

Then why would Buffett expose his company to such a big risk for a relatively paltry premium of US$ 10 million? Isn’t this akin to playing Russian roulette?

Remember Russian roulette? Here’s how a Russian roulette is played –

Imagine you are offered US$ 10 million to put a revolver, containing only one bullet in the six available chambers, to your head and pull the trigger. If you survive you win the US$ 10 million prize. The odds of winning are more than 80 percent. The upside is huge i.e. US$ 10 million. The downside – loss of life i.e., death – is even bigger.

Should you play this game? What if the prize money is US$ 1 billion and the revolver has thousand chambers instead of just 6 with a single bullet i.e., a minuscule probability of death and an enormous upside?

Warren Buffett once wrote that he would never play this kind of game, where the downside is unacceptable to him, no matter how low the probability of the outcome. Then why is he risking his US$1 billion?

Isn’t Buffett contradicting himself?

In his 2003 letter to shareholders, he wrote –

Ajit [Jain] writes some very unusual policies. Last year, for example, PepsiCo promoted a drawing that offered participants a chance to win a $ 1 billion prize. Understandably, Pepsi wished to lay off this risk, and we were the logical party to assume it. So we wrote a $ 1 billion policy, retaining the risk entirely for our own account. Because the prize, if won, was payable over time, our exposure in present-value terms was $ 250 million. (I helpfully suggested that any winner be paid $ 1 a year for a billion years, but that proposal didn’t fly.) The drawing was held on September 14. Ajit and I held our breath, as did the finalist in the contest, and we left happier than he. PepsiCo has renewed for a repeat contest in 2004.

These kind of cases are quite rare for most insurance operations. For one, unlike say the auto insurance business, here we don’t have sufficient past data to make reasonable calculations about odds of win/loss. We also don’t have the option to spread the risk of loss among millions of premium-paying customers, or the time between receiving the premium and paying the loss to invest the float.

Instead, here there are only two possible outcomes. Either Berkshire earns the US$ 10 million that will have absolutely no meaningful effect on Berkshire’s bottom line or Berkshire will lose the net present value of US$ 1 billion paid out over 40 years. That amount is still small but certainly not insignificant.

One clear benefit of Buffett’s willingness to make such a bet is that it establishes Berkshire’s reputation as an insurer which can cover such events. So the contest proved a publicity bonanza not only for Pepsi but also for Warren Buffett. I am sure there are many other companies (like Pepsi) who would love to exploit the publicity created by announcing such contests and delegating the risk to Berkshire. That creates another unique source of revenue for Buffett.

Still, the question remains –why would Buffett make such a bet when the upside is insignificant?

We all know that Buffett is super-smart. There’s something which he knows and understands about Risk that a common investor doesn’t. When he underwrites these unusual and risky looking policies, he is essentially willing to look foolish but not be foolish.

In other words, Buffett is not loss averse. He is risk averse. To understand this statement, we need to understand the difference between risk aversion and loss aversion.

Loss Aversion is Human Nature

We, humans, have a natural tendency to be loss averse. What do I mean by that?

Let me take an example from Jason Zweig’s book Your Money and Your Brain. He writes –

Imagine that you can choose between winning $3,000 for sure, on the one hand, or a gamble with an 80% chance of winning $4,000 and a 20% chance of winning nothing. If you’re like most people, you will pick the sure thing.

Next, imagine that you can choose between losing $3,000 for sure, or a gamble with 80% odds of losing $4,000 and 20% odds of losing nothing. What would you do now? In this case, people reject the sure thing and take the gamble 92% of the time.

You would be better off taking the gamble in the first example and the sure thing in the second one–the opposite of what you probably chose. On average, an 80% chance of winning $4,000 is worth $ 3,200 (.80 x 4,000 = 3,200). So, in the first example, the gamble has an “expected value” $200 higher than the sure thing. By the same rule, an 80% chance of losing $4,000 leaves you $3,200 poorer. And in the second case, you logically should favour the sure loss of $3,000; on average, it will leave you with $200 more. But it’s hard to be strictly logical in these choices because the idea of losing money triggers potential regret in your emotional brain. If you take the 80% gamble of winning $4,000 and win nothing instead, you will kick yourself for missing out on the $3,000 sure thing. And a 100% chance of losing everything feels a lot worse than the risk of an even bigger loss coupled with a small shot at losing nothing. Doing anything – or even thinking about doing anything– that could lead to an inescapable loss is extremely painful.

In simpler words, or rather in Charlie Munger’s words, “The quantity of a man’s pleasure from a ten-dollar gain does not exactly match the quantity of his displeasure from a ten-dollar loss.” And this is the foundation of Daniel Kahneman’s work on Prospect Theory.

Prospect Theory (Image Source: Thinking, Fast and Slow )

A typical outcome of loss aversion is the propensity to sell our stocks as soon as the price drops. This tendency results in most investors buying the stock when the market is rising and selling out when the prices collapse. It’s nothing but a severe distaste for possibility of loss. While there may be a persuasive evolutionary explanation for loss aversion, as we’ll see later, it is not good for money management.

What majority of the investors fail to realise is that possibility of loss doesn’t always translate to risk. To wrap our heads around this subtle distinction, let’s explore what exactly is a risk.

What is Risk?

The real risk associated with any stock (or for that matter, any investment) is the risk of ‘permanent loss of capital’. A permanent loss of capital occurs when a stock goes down because of worsening business operations and stays down for a very long time or even forever. For example, if a company goes bankrupt, or its earnings power drops permanently, then shareholder value will also become permanently diminished.

Risk is a perception in each investor’s mind that results from analysis of the probability and amount of potential loss from an investment, writes legendary investor Seth Klarman, “If an exploratory oil well proves to be a dry hole, it is called risky. If a bond defaults or a stock plunges in price, they are called risky.”

Another way to understand risk is to invert the question and see what is not a risk. Contrary to popular belief, volatility isn’t necessarily a risk. Many investors consider price fluctuations to be a significant risk i.e., if the price goes down, the investment is seen as risky regardless of the fundamentals.

Are short-term price movements really a risk? Perhaps yes but only for certain investors under specific conditions. So if you’re using debt (margins) to buy stocks, volatility is certainly a risk for you. Volatility alone isn’t a risk. However, debt plus volatility is a risk.

We just said that price volatility isn’t a source of risk. But there is one situation where price becomes a factor in risk. Not the market price, but the price at which an asset/stock is acquired. In fact, all other things being equal, the price of an asset is the principal determinant of its riskiness. In simpler words, overpaying for an asset increases the risk.

Howard Marks, in his 2013 letter to investors, wrote –

No asset is so good that it can’t be bid up to the point where it’s overpriced and thus dangerous. And few assets are so bad that they can’t become under-priced and thus safe (not to mention potentially lucrative).

An investor who doesn’t use leverage has enormous staying power because markets can stay irrational longer than one can stay solvent (and sane). So avoiding debt is one way to ensure that you don’t incur a permanent loss of capital because of margin calls or debtors forcing you to sell your positions.

Martin Whitman, in his book The Aggressive Conservative Investor, writes –

Macro data such as predictions about general stock market averages, interest rates, the economy, consumer spending, and so on are unimportant for safe and cheap investors as long as the environment is characterized by relative political stability and an absence of violence in the streets.

The concept of risk is meaningless unless it is preceded by a modifying adjective. There exist market risk, investment risk, credit risk, failure-to-match-maturities risk, commodity risk, terrorism risk, and many more types of risk. The idea of general risk is not helpful in a safe and cheap analysis. When financial academics and sell-side analysts refer to risk they almost always mean only market risk and usually very short-run market risk.

In fact, the most basic definition of risk is – not knowing what you’re getting into. You need to understand the business whose stock you are buying. Always remember, risk comes from not knowing what you are doing, in life and in stock market investing. Because when you don’t know what you are doing, you can lose it all…permanently.

Loss is Not Risk

Unlike the notion of loss, risk can’t be reduced to a single idea. Buffett’s rules of investing – “Don’t lose money,” and “Never forget the first rule.” – confuses a lot of new investors. After all, the surest way of not losing money is to put it in fixed deposits. Right?

While it’s true that shunning loss should be the primary goal of every investor, the dictum is incorrectly interpreted that one should never incur any loss at all. This is a sign of a typical loss averse mindset which, as we have seen above, is a behavioural bias.

“Don’t lose money” means that over several years an investment portfolio should not be exposed to appreciable loss of principal. It also means that any loss in your portfolio shouldn’t set you back so severely that you can’t continue investing.

In fact, being extremely loss-averse can increase the risk.

How? An extremely loss-averse investor would prefer putting all his money in safe bank deposits which over long term lose its value because of taxation and inflation. An apple that cost Rs 100 today will cost you Rs 108 next year because of an inflation rate of 8 percent. However, a bank deposit will fetch you only Rs 106 (after tax) in one year. Which means putting money in the bank for one year took away your ability to buy an apple.

What looks safe in short term is far riskier in the longer term.

Refer to the example from Jason Zweig’s book. By reframing the problem from a “gain frame” to “loss frame”, we nudged you from sure shot (conservative) option towards the riskier option (gambling). Loss aversion made you a risk-seeking person.

“As an investor,” writes Prof. Bakshi in his insightful post, “you should seek businesses which are risk averse but not loss averse. You should avoid businesses who don’t want to even experiment a bit because they are petrified of losses should the experiments fail.”

Another Billion Dollar Bet

Charlie Munger once wrote –

We will never play financial Russian roulette with the funds you’ve entrusted to us, even if the metaphorical gun has 100 chambers and only one bullet. In our view, it is madness to risk losing what you need in pursuing what you simply desire.

Notice the last sentence which I have highlighted. Risk is betting what you need in hope of getting what you desire. That’s what makes Warren Buffett’s billion-dollar bet not risky for him. He can afford to lose a billion dollar because a billion dollar is less than 1% of Berkshire’s net worth. Buffett is risking a large amount of money, but in terms of his expected loss, he’s not risking a whole lot. If $1 billion were going to ruin him, he wouldn’t. But it’s not going put Warren Buffett out of business. Not many insurance companies have the kind of financial strength Berkshire has. Berkshire’s bets would be very risky for other mom and pop insurance operations and that’s why the likes of Pepsi turn to Buffett, time and again.

Precisely because there aren’t many insurance companies willing to insure such events, Buffett is happy to take more such bets. Moreover, he’s getting paid disproportionately for the risk he’s assuming. The expected value of his bet is far-far less than US$ 10 million (the probability of someone winning the Pepsi’s challenge multiplied by prize money). If you calculate, it would probably be less than 100 dollars. So US$ 10 million is a pretty awesome deal for Buffett. I am sure he wouldn’t shy away from insuring a couple of dozens more such events.

No wonder Buffett goes out of his way to not just find but create such deals for Berkshire. After Pepsi event, Buffett suggested the US$ 1 billion contest to Quicken Loans founder Dan Gilbert in 2014. Gilbert and Buffett announced a billion dollar prize for anyone who could pick a perfect bracket in the annual men’s NCAA basketball tournament known as March Madness. According to one estimate, the odds of picking every winner correctly in a 64-team bracket are less than 1 in 9 quintillion. The odds of Buffett having to pay out reach about 1 in 10,000 in the Quicken Loans contest if all 10 million entrants have basketball knowledge. The odds of correctly forecasting 67 games are extraordinarily thin. (Source: Warren Buffett will pay you US $1-billion…)

Even a skilled handicapper would have about a 1-in-1-billion chance of completing a perfect bracket. “Millions of people play brackets every March, so why not take a shot at becoming $1 billion richer for doing so,” Buffett said in the statement. “While there is no simple path to success, it sure doesn’t get much easier than filling out a bracket online.”

And it’s not that Buffett will silently watch the winner take away his billion dollars. At any point, if he feels that odds are turning against him, he would make a move. “If you get to the Final Four with a perfect bracket, I may buy you out of your position,” Buffett said. “I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.” He’s ready to bear the losses but he’s also vigilant if the risk increases at any point, he’s ready to curb that risk.

And that’s another important lesson that every investor needs to learn from Warren Buffett. Be risk averse but don’t be afraid to make mistakes or take an occasional loss.

Conclusion

Every great investor intuitively understands this distinction between loss aversion and risk aversion. Seth Klarman says –

To maintain a truly long-term view, investors must be willing to experience significant short-term losses; without the possibility of near-term pain, there can be no long-term gain.

Great investors recognize another uncomfortable reality about probability, writes Michael Mauboussin, “the frequency of correctness does not really matter, what matters is how much money you make when you are right versus how much money you lose when you are wrong.”

In other words, we like to be right a lot more than to be wrong. This concept is very difficult to put into operation because of loss aversion.

Volatility is a friend of risk-averse investor and an enemy of loss averse investor. Someone who hasn’t made peace with short term notional losses, who hasn’t learnt to deal with daily price fluctuations because of market sentiments, is going to have an extremely tough time investing his or her money in stock market.

People who are risk averse get benefitted from people who are only loss averse.

Risk in investing, thus, comes not from the companies, institutions, or securities involved. It comes from the behaviour of investors. Their tendency to let the emotions of greed and fear control their actions.

The post Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion appeared first on Safal Niveshak.

Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion published first on http://ift.tt/2ljLF4B

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Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion

On April 10, 2003, Pepsi announced a contest called “The Pepsi Billion Dollar Sweepstakes”. It was scheduled to run for 5 months starting from May in the same year.

For the contest, Pepsi printed one billion special codes which could be redeemed either on their website or via postal mail. According to Pepsi’s estimate, about 200-300 million of these codes were redeemed. Out of these, 100 codes were chosen in a random draw to appear in a two-hour live gameshow-style television special. Each of these 100 people were assigned a random 6-digit number, and a chimpanzee (to ensure a truly random number and of course to rule out any monkey business) backstage rolled dice to determine the grand prize number. This number was kept secret and the 10 players whose numbers were closest to it were chosen for the final elimination. On the evening of September 14, the final day of the contest, the event, titled Play for a Billion, was aired live. If a player’s number matched the grand prize number, he would win US$ 1 billion. (Source: Wikipedia)

Given the scenario, it was highly unlikely that anyone would win a billion dollar. The chances were literally 1 in a billion. In spite of that, Pepsi was unwilling to bear the risk of the possible billion-dollar prize. So they arranged for an insurance company to insure the event. They paid US$ 10 million to Berkshire Hathaway to assume the risk. Yes, Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway. The same guy who is famous for his two iron rules –

1. Never lose money 2. Don’t forget rule number 1.

Then why would Buffett expose his company to such a big risk for a relatively paltry premium of US$ 10 million? Isn’t this akin to playing Russian roulette?

Remember Russian roulette? Here’s how a Russian roulette is played –

Imagine you are offered US$ 10 million to put a revolver, containing only one bullet in the six available chambers, to your head and pull the trigger. If you survive you win the US$ 10 million prize. The odds of winning are more than 80 percent. The upside is huge i.e. US$ 10 million. The downside – loss of life i.e., death – is even bigger.

Should you play this game? What if the prize money is US$ 1 billion and the revolver has thousand chambers instead of just 6 with a single bullet i.e., a minuscule probability of death and an enormous upside?

Warren Buffett once wrote that he would never play this kind of game, where the downside is unacceptable to him, no matter how low the probability of the outcome. Then why is he risking his US$1 billion?

Isn’t Buffett contradicting himself?

In his 2003 letter to shareholders, he wrote –

Ajit [Jain] writes some very unusual policies. Last year, for example, PepsiCo promoted a drawing that offered participants a chance to win a $ 1 billion prize. Understandably, Pepsi wished to lay off this risk, and we were the logical party to assume it. So we wrote a $ 1 billion policy, retaining the risk entirely for our own account. Because the prize, if won, was payable over time, our exposure in present-value terms was $ 250 million. (I helpfully suggested that any winner be paid $ 1 a year for a billion years, but that proposal didn’t fly.) The drawing was held on September 14. Ajit and I held our breath, as did the finalist in the contest, and we left happier than he. PepsiCo has renewed for a repeat contest in 2004.

These kind of cases are quite rare for most insurance operations. For one, unlike say the auto insurance business, here we don’t have sufficient past data to make reasonable calculations about odds of win/loss. We also don’t have the option to spread the risk of loss among millions of premium-paying customers, or the time between receiving the premium and paying the loss to invest the float.

Instead, here there are only two possible outcomes. Either Berkshire earns the US$ 10 million that will have absolutely no meaningful effect on Berkshire’s bottom line or Berkshire will lose the net present value of US$ 1 billion paid out over 40 years. That amount is still small but certainly not insignificant.

One clear benefit of Buffett’s willingness to make such a bet is that it establishes Berkshire’s reputation as an insurer which can cover such events. So the contest proved a publicity bonanza not only for Pepsi but also for Warren Buffett. I am sure there are many other companies (like Pepsi) who would love to exploit the publicity created by announcing such contests and delegating the risk to Berkshire. That creates another unique source of revenue for Buffett.

Still, the question remains –why would Buffett make such a bet when the upside is insignificant?

We all know that Buffett is super-smart. There’s something which he knows and understands about Risk that a common investor doesn’t. When he underwrites these unusual and risky looking policies, he is essentially willing to look foolish but not be foolish.

In other words, Buffett is not loss averse. He is risk averse. To understand this statement, we need to understand the difference between risk aversion and loss aversion.

Loss Aversion is Human Nature

We, humans, have a natural tendency to be loss averse. What do I mean by that?

Let me take an example from Jason Zweig’s book Your Money and Your Brain. He writes –

Imagine that you can choose between winning $3,000 for sure, on the one hand, or a gamble with an 80% chance of winning $4,000 and a 20% chance of winning nothing. If you’re like most people, you will pick the sure thing.

Next, imagine that you can choose between losing $3,000 for sure, or a gamble with 80% odds of losing $4,000 and 20% odds of losing nothing. What would you do now? In this case, people reject the sure thing and take the gamble 92% of the time.

You would be better off taking the gamble in the first example and the sure thing in the second one–the opposite of what you probably chose. On average, an 80% chance of winning $4,000 is worth $ 3,200 (.80 x 4,000 = 3,200). So, in the first example, the gamble has an “expected value” $200 higher than the sure thing. By the same rule, an 80% chance of losing $4,000 leaves you $3,200 poorer. And in the second case, you logically should favour the sure loss of $3,000; on average, it will leave you with $200 more. But it’s hard to be strictly logical in these choices because the idea of losing money triggers potential regret in your emotional brain. If you take the 80% gamble of winning $4,000 and win nothing instead, you will kick yourself for missing out on the $3,000 sure thing. And a 100% chance of losing everything feels a lot worse than the risk of an even bigger loss coupled with a small shot at losing nothing. Doing anything – or even thinking about doing anything– that could lead to an inescapable loss is extremely painful.

In simpler words, or rather in Charlie Munger’s words, “The quantity of a man’s pleasure from a ten-dollar gain does not exactly match the quantity of his displeasure from a ten-dollar loss.” And this is the foundation of Daniel Kahneman’s work on Prospect Theory.

Prospect Theory (Image Source: Thinking, Fast and Slow )

A typical outcome of loss aversion is the propensity to sell our stocks as soon as the price drops. This tendency results in most investors buying the stock when the market is rising and selling out when the prices collapse. It’s nothing but a severe distaste for possibility of loss. While there may be a persuasive evolutionary explanation for loss aversion, as we’ll see later, it is not good for money management.

What majority of the investors fail to realise is that possibility of loss doesn’t always translate to risk. To wrap our heads around this subtle distinction, let’s explore what exactly is a risk.

What is Risk?

The real risk associated with any stock (or for that matter, any investment) is the risk of ‘permanent loss of capital’. A permanent loss of capital occurs when a stock goes down because of worsening business operations and stays down for a very long time or even forever. For example, if a company goes bankrupt, or its earnings power drops permanently, then shareholder value will also become permanently diminished.

Risk is a perception in each investor’s mind that results from analysis of the probability and amount of potential loss from an investment, writes legendary investor Seth Klarman, “If an exploratory oil well proves to be a dry hole, it is called risky. If a bond defaults or a stock plunges in price, they are called risky.”

Another way to understand risk is to invert the question and see what is not a risk. Contrary to popular belief, volatility isn’t necessarily a risk. Many investors consider price fluctuations to be a significant risk i.e., if the price goes down, the investment is seen as risky regardless of the fundamentals.

Are short-term price movements really a risk? Perhaps yes but only for certain investors under specific conditions. So if you’re using debt (margins) to buy stocks, volatility is certainly a risk for you. Volatility alone isn’t a risk. However, debt plus volatility is a risk.

We just said that price volatility isn’t a source of risk. But there is one situation where price becomes a factor in risk. Not the market price, but the price at which an asset/stock is acquired. In fact, all other things being equal, the price of an asset is the principal determinant of its riskiness. In simpler words, overpaying for an asset increases the risk.

Howard Marks, in his 2013 letter to investors, wrote –

No asset is so good that it can’t be bid up to the point where it’s overpriced and thus dangerous. And few assets are so bad that they can’t become under-priced and thus safe (not to mention potentially lucrative).

An investor who doesn’t use leverage has enormous staying power because markets can stay irrational longer than one can stay solvent (and sane). So avoiding debt is one way to ensure that you don’t incur a permanent loss of capital because of margin calls or debtors forcing you to sell your positions.

Martin Whitman, in his book The Aggressive Conservative Investor, writes –

Macro data such as predictions about general stock market averages, interest rates, the economy, consumer spending, and so on are unimportant for safe and cheap investors as long as the environment is characterized by relative political stability and an absence of violence in the streets.

The concept of risk is meaningless unless it is preceded by a modifying adjective. There exist market risk, investment risk, credit risk, failure-to-match-maturities risk, commodity risk, terrorism risk, and many more types of risk. The idea of general risk is not helpful in a safe and cheap analysis. When financial academics and sell-side analysts refer to risk they almost always mean only market risk and usually very short-run market risk.

In fact, the most basic definition of risk is – not knowing what you’re getting into. You need to understand the business whose stock you are buying. Always remember, risk comes from not knowing what you are doing, in life and in stock market investing. Because when you don’t know what you are doing, you can lose it all…permanently.

Loss is Not Risk

Unlike the notion of loss, risk can’t be reduced to a single idea. Buffett’s rules of investing – “Don’t lose money,” and “Never forget the first rule.” – confuses a lot of new investors. After all, the surest way of not losing money is to put it in fixed deposits. Right?

While it’s true that shunning loss should be the primary goal of every investor, the dictum is incorrectly interpreted that one should never incur any loss at all. This is a sign of a typical loss averse mindset which, as we have seen above, is a behavioural bias.

“Don’t lose money” means that over several years an investment portfolio should not be exposed to appreciable loss of principal. It also means that any loss in your portfolio shouldn’t set you back so severely that you can’t continue investing.

In fact, being extremely loss-averse can increase the risk.

How? An extremely loss-averse investor would prefer putting all his money in safe bank deposits which over long term lose its value because of taxation and inflation. An apple that cost Rs 100 today will cost you Rs 108 next year because of an inflation rate of 8 percent. However, a bank deposit will fetch you only Rs 106 (after tax) in one year. Which means putting money in the bank for one year took away your ability to buy an apple.

What looks safe in short term is far riskier in the longer term.

Refer to the example from Jason Zweig’s book. By reframing the problem from a “gain frame” to “loss frame”, we nudged you from sure shot (conservative) option towards the riskier option (gambling). Loss aversion made you a risk-seeking person.

“As an investor,” writes Prof. Bakshi in his insightful post, “you should seek businesses which are risk averse but not loss averse. You should avoid businesses who don’t want to even experiment a bit because they are petrified of losses should the experiments fail.”

Another Billion Dollar Bet

Charlie Munger once wrote –

We will never play financial Russian roulette with the funds you’ve entrusted to us, even if the metaphorical gun has 100 chambers and only one bullet. In our view, it is madness to risk losing what you need in pursuing what you simply desire.

Notice the last sentence which I have highlighted. Risk is betting what you need in hope of getting what you desire. That’s what makes Warren Buffett’s billion-dollar bet not risky for him. He can afford to lose a billion dollar because a billion dollar is less than 1% of Berkshire’s net worth. Buffett is risking a large amount of money, but in terms of his expected loss, he’s not risking a whole lot. If $1 billion were going to ruin him, he wouldn’t. But it’s not going put Warren Buffett out of business. Not many insurance companies have the kind of financial strength Berkshire has. Berkshire’s bets would be very risky for other mom and pop insurance operations and that’s why the likes of Pepsi turn to Buffett, time and again.

Precisely because there aren’t many insurance companies willing to insure such events, Buffett is happy to take more such bets. Moreover, he’s getting paid disproportionately for the risk he’s assuming. The expected value of his bet is far-far less than US$ 10 million (the probability of someone winning the Pepsi’s challenge multiplied by prize money). If you calculate, it would probably be less than 100 dollars. So US$ 10 million is a pretty awesome deal for Buffett. I am sure he wouldn’t shy away from insuring a couple of dozens more such events.

No wonder Buffett goes out of his way to not just find but create such deals for Berkshire. After Pepsi event, Buffett suggested the US$ 1 billion contest to Quicken Loans founder Dan Gilbert in 2014. Gilbert and Buffett announced a billion dollar prize for anyone who could pick a perfect bracket in the annual men’s NCAA basketball tournament known as March Madness. According to one estimate, the odds of picking every winner correctly in a 64-team bracket are less than 1 in 9 quintillion. The odds of Buffett having to pay out reach about 1 in 10,000 in the Quicken Loans contest if all 10 million entrants have basketball knowledge. The odds of correctly forecasting 67 games are extraordinarily thin. (Source: Warren Buffett will pay you US $1-billion…)

Even a skilled handicapper would have about a 1-in-1-billion chance of completing a perfect bracket. “Millions of people play brackets every March, so why not take a shot at becoming $1 billion richer for doing so,” Buffett said in the statement. “While there is no simple path to success, it sure doesn’t get much easier than filling out a bracket online.”

And it’s not that Buffett will silently watch the winner take away his billion dollars. At any point, if he feels that odds are turning against him, he would make a move. “If you get to the Final Four with a perfect bracket, I may buy you out of your position,” Buffett said. “I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.” He’s ready to bear the losses but he’s also vigilant if the risk increases at any point, he’s ready to curb that risk.

And that’s another important lesson that every investor needs to learn from Warren Buffett. Be risk averse but don’t be afraid to make mistakes or take an occasional loss.

Conclusion

Every great investor intuitively understands this distinction between loss aversion and risk aversion. Seth Klarman says –

To maintain a truly long-term view, investors must be willing to experience significant short-term losses; without the possibility of near-term pain, there can be no long-term gain.

Great investors recognize another uncomfortable reality about probability, writes Michael Mauboussin, “the frequency of correctness does not really matter, what matters is how much money you make when you are right versus how much money you lose when you are wrong.”

In other words, we like to be right a lot more than to be wrong. This concept is very difficult to put into operation because of loss aversion.

Volatility is a friend of risk-averse investor and an enemy of loss averse investor. Someone who hasn’t made peace with short term notional losses, who hasn’t learnt to deal with daily price fluctuations because of market sentiments, is going to have an extremely tough time investing his or her money in stock market.

People who are risk averse get benefitted from people who are only loss averse.

Risk in investing, thus, comes not from the companies, institutions, or securities involved. It comes from the behaviour of investors. Their tendency to let the emotions of greed and fear control their actions.

The post Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion appeared first on Safal Niveshak.

Latticework of Mental Models: Risk Aversion Vs Loss Aversion published first on http://ift.tt/2sCRXMW