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apocalypseornaw · 3 years

Text

Always be Yours-9

Word Count: 4,901

Story Summary: Follows Dean and the reader through season 9 into season 10

Chapter Summary: With no other choice Crowley is enlisted to free Sam of the angel's grasp

Warnings: cursing, fights, blood,death the usual

When Cas made it to the bunker you weren’t sure if Dean had even told him everything that had happened. When he walked into the library where you and Dean were currently gathering what weapons you’d need it confirmed he in fact had no idea what all had gone down when he asked “What happened?”

You stopped mid movement and cut your eyes at Dean who took a deep breath before saying “We need to catch you up on a lot Cas” you saw the look of confusion on Cas’ face so you motioned to the chairs “Let’s sit down” Cas took a seat so you sat next to him and Dean sat across the table. Dean’s eyes were cast downward and you could only imagine what he was saying to himself in that movement, the horror that was his own mind working against him half the time. You could only guess that little voice inside of his head telling him he wasn’t good enough. You hated that little voice and would give anything to make Dean never listen to it again.

“I made a mistake Cas” he started but you quickly cut in “We made the mistake Dean..We” Cas looked between the two of you so you elaborated “After the trials, when Sam collapsed Dean called me. By the time I got to their sides Sam was dying and Dean had already put a call out to any angel for help. I came in to Dean being attacked and the angel who introduced himself as Ezekiel intervening. He was hurt in the fall so he couldn’t heal Sam..Cas honey we had a lot of pissed off angels coming down on our asses looking for you so we had to make a quick decision. Let Sam die or let the angel in”

“Whoever the angel was he..he hijacked Sam then he killed Kevin and took the angel tablet” you added not meeting Dean’s eyes. “Sammy was dying and he said it was the only way. I believed him and now Sam’s gone..Kevin’s” his voice trailed off at the end so you looked up towards Cas as he said “Dean I’m sorry” “Sorry doesn’t pay the bills, does it?” Dean replied and you let out a harsh breath as he pushed away from the table and stood turning his back to you and Cas before adding “It sure as hell ain’t gonna bring Kevin back..We got to find the son of a bitch”

Cas looked at you to ask “If the angel possessing Sam isn’t Ezekiel than who is it?” “A dead man walking” Dean replied, turning back around. “You’re gonna destroy him? You kill an angel it’s vessel dies too” Cas asked. Your entire body felt like it’d been dipped into ice. There had to be a different way. You couldn't kill the angel not while he was inside of Sam and you wouldn’t let anyone else. “There’s got to be a different way” you met Dean’s eyes as you said it. You refused to give up on him or Sam. It wasn’t in you.

He walked back over to the table and leaned down before saying “Sweetheart if we don’t end it and that halo burns him out..god damn I was so stupid” You looked to Cas silently begging him for help. He stood up as he said “You were stupid for the right reasons” “Yeah like that matters” Dean argued so you stood up next to Cas and said “It does” “Sometimes that’s all that matters” Cas added.

You nodded then said “Cas, Sam is strong if he knew somehow that an angel was possessing him he could fight couldn’t he?” “He could cast the angel out” he agreed.

Dean shook his head at both of you “Maybe but he’s in the dark. How the hell would we clue him in?” You could see a thought occur to Cas before he asked Dean “Do you remember Alfie?”

You looked towards Dean as he said “The kid angel, yeah why?” “Before he died he told me the demons were able to dig into his mind, access his coding. We might be able to do that here. Might be able to bypass the angel and talk directly to Sam” “You think that would work?” you asked hopeful and Cas shrugged “I don’t know but I think we owe it to Sam to try, don't you?”

At an actual plan being formed Dean nodded slowly “Well where do we start?” “Do you still have Crowley locked up here?” Cas questioned so you nodded “He’s in the armory locked up tight” “Then we should start there”

------

You watched Dean draw a syringe of blood out his own arm. Once he was through you held a rag out to wipe the blood away. “Thanks” you nodded checking to ensure it’d stopped bleeding. He laid his hand over yours when you started to pull away “I mean for a lot more than that”

You walked into the armory behind Cas after Dean turned the light on. Crowley blinked a time or two then smiled “Hello boys” when he spotted you he added “And hello sweets” Cas stepped back over to block you from his vision and you half smiled at the protectiveness. Dean pulled the syringe out his pocket “Ok, here’s the deal. You’re gonna tell us how to hack an angel and I’m gonna give you some of the good stuff. Human blood, fresh from the tap.Word is you’re jonesing for it” Crowley shook his head “Please. I’ll pass”

“What do you want then?” Cas asked. Crowley looked between the three of you then said “Well for starters a massage between the sitting and the shackles a body gets a little stiff” “Yeah I ain’t rubbing you and Y/N damn sure isn’t” Dean quickly shut him down but he replied “Didn’t want you or sweets. Get Kevin, his tiny fists can really work wonders” “Kevin’s dead” you bit out and actually saw Crowley’s face fall just slightly “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that”

Cas pushed you towards Dean before walking over to the table “Don’t pretend you care, you tried to kill him” Crowley was undeterred “I told him this was gonna happen. I was the only person who tried to warn him. I told him to run” “From what?” you asked and Crowley cut his eyes at you “From your boyfriend sweets” You saw that haunted look pass through Dean’s eyes again as Crowley looked his way “How many times am I gonna have to say this? People in your general vicinity don’t have much in the way of a life-span” Cas threw a look your way and you knew he was thinking along the same lines as you were but there was no time for that now considering Crowley continued “Now I can’t teach you how to crack open an angel. It’s more art than science. But I can do it for you. All I ask in return is a little field trip, dying for some fresh air” then held up his hands and added “Chains on naturally”

“No,” Dean said, then turned to walk out grabbing your hand but stopped when Crowley said “No? Of course not because if I’m plan a I’m sure you have a totally viable much better plan b. That’s why your angel and your girl is still paying any attention to me”

Dean stopped and motioned Cas over. You stepped to the side to let Cas get close enough to you both. “You can’t be considering this” he said but you knew Dean was. Hell you were if it got Sam back. “With the chains on he can’t do anything” Dean tried but Cas did have a point when he argued “It’s Crowley. He can always do something” “Looks like we need a tie breaker. Sweets you want to vote or you want to go grab moose” You shot a glare at him and he smiled “Unless of course you can’t. That explains why you’re all here and why you and squirrel are up for letting me out. The poor giant baby’s in trouble again isn’t he” You wanted nothing more than to knock that damn smirk off his face but you felt Cas grab your arm as if he knew so you remained in place while Dean walked towards Crowley “Are you done?”

“Depends, do we have a deal?” Crowley asked and Dean looked back to you and Cas. You sighed and nodded so he told Crowley yeah. “Excellent, when do we leave?” “Want to take the jeep?” you asked and he shook his head “I don’t want him in your jeep” Cas spoke up and said “I have a vehicle. It stopped a few miles from here inexplicably” Dean nodded “Ok” then looked at Crowley “We’ll be back to grab you”

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A few questions about how the car was acting before it died confirmed it probably just ran out of gas so you grabbed the spare can from the garage while Dean grabbed Crowley and the bag of weapons.

You walked next to Cas because him and Dean had Crowley between them. You had silver bullets in your gun and an angel blade in your jacket along with all the supplies Dean had despite the fact that the four of you walking down the road was probably a little strange looking to any passerby you made it to the tan lincoln without issue.

Crowley looked at the car then back at Cas “Really? Are you a pimp?” you rolled your eyes at him “There’s nothing wrong with your car Cas” Cas smiled at you “Thank you Y/N. I like it” Dean walked to the open driver’s window and tried the ignition “Yeah it’s out of gas” he moved to put the gas in the car and you noticed Cas once again put himself between you and Crowley. “Riddle me this boy wonder why do you need the wheels?” Crowley asked looking around him at you as he spoke.

Cas took a half step towards him “When you betray us, I’ll be the one to carve your heart out” you felt your eyes widen at that. “Cas, what a flirt” Crowley smiled and you shook your head. Jesus angels and demons were so far from what you’d originally thought hunting was. Dean stood up after the car had gas in it “Alright, let’s go”

“Shotgun” Crowley called out but Dean pointed his finger at him “No, you’re in the back” You shrugged but Dean added “Cas, ride back there with him. I don’t want him that close to Y/N”

You watched the two of them climb in the backseat then cut your eyes at Dean before climbing in. “Watch the leg” Cas growled to which Crowley grumbled “You’re on my side!” “CHILDREN! COOL IT!” you hollered and they both stopped. Crowley grinned “Or what sweets?” you narrowed your eyes at him “I care about Cas but you? I’ll gladly stab you in the face” his grin only got bigger at that “I see just why squirrel likes you”

Dean glared at Crowley in the mirror then cranked the car up. When the music started you had the mental image of Cas listening to the station and it was amusing. You saw Dean cut his eyes at you and if it wasn’t for the angel and demon in the backseat you probably would’ve reached for his hand but instead you simply assured him “I’m good”

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Crowley gave Dean the directions to Waldroff Financial. When he parked and all of you climbed out the car Cas quickly put himself between you and Crowley again. You followed the three of them across the parking lot and into the building. “Your source is here?” Dean asked Crowley who replied “And she can track anything, even our little lost Samantha” Dean pulled you over to sit next to him while the four of you waited. His hand came to rest on your knee which you’d found was more of a comfort thing to him than anything while Crowley explained that the building you were currently in was a front for an N.S.A. listening post. “What are the listening for?” Cas asked and Crowley shrugged “Everything, The U.S. government is quite the voyeur these days so I planted one of my best and let her go to work”

A security guard walked over and addressed Crowley “Mr Crowley she’ll see you now” all of you stood but he shook his head “Just Mr Crowley” before Crowley walked off Cas reminded him “I’ll be listening to every word you say”

You sat back down to wait this time between Cas and Dean. A few minutes passed then Dean checked his watch and asked Cas “Hear anything?” “No” Cas replied so you guessed “The room’s warded isn’t it?” he nodded. “Awesome, that’s frickin awesome” Dean grumbled, rubbing your knee slightly. You put your hand over his to stop any further movements and he glanced up at your face so you mouthed “Breathe baby” he nodded slowly turning his hand to lace his fingers with yours. You used your free hand to touch Cas’ arm “Just give him a few minutes. If he acts up I’ll hand you the blade to carve his heart out”

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Twenty long minutes passed before Crowley walked back down the stairs. All of you stood to meet him and he held out a photo of baby from a traffic cam “Your phallus on wheels just ran a red light in Somerset Pennsylvania ten minutes ago” “Let’s go” you urged and Crowley nodded towards you “What sweets said”

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When you made it to Somerset Dean cut his eyes at you as he parked “If I asked you to stay here?” “I’d tell you to bite me and not mean it sexually” you replied and he sighed “Thought so”

You followed him and Cas down the road to where baby was parked and ran a hand along her side as you walked past her. You knew the drill, stay out the way mainly because they were worried this angel may pinpoint you as a bargaining chip not only for the two of them but for Sam as well.

You followed Dean into the door and nudged his arm then pointed to what was clearly blood. The two of you followed it into the living room to find a body with his throat slashed then heard water running from the kitchen. He reached one hand to be able to touch you as both of you followed the sound.

The angel wearing Sam’s face stood at the sink with his back towards you washing his hands. He turned the water off before saying “Dean, you and Y/N should not have come here” then turned to face the two of you. “You killed our friend then took Sam and you think I’m gonna let that stand?” “I allowed you to live, I allowed her to live” The angel replied motioning towards you Dean shrugged “Mistake letting me live”

The angel flung you both backwards and you landed in a heap but as he walked towards the two of you Cas walked in behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, when he turned Cas hit him once and he went down. “Damn” you breathed as Dean helped you to your feet. You glanced down at Sam’s still then back to Dean “What now?” “We get him up and get somewhere to hack his ass” you picked up the discarded angel blades you and Dean dropped then looked from him to Cas “Well I’ll leave carrying the giant to the two of you”

------

You drove Cas’ car while Dean loaded the angel wearing Sam, Cas and Crowley into baby. You followed him a few miles out of town until he pulled off at a warehouse near the water so you parked behind him then climbed out and walked up beside the impala. Cas glanced your way when Crowley questioned “Why couldn’t I ride with sweets?” and said “Because Dean nor I want you alone with her” you shot Cas a small smile then watched as he helped Dean carry Sam’s still form inside.

You followed them inside and stood back while they went about chaining Sam’s form down to a chair. Cas reached a hand out so you gladly let him push you behind him. He had grace back flowing through him so even with clipped wings he was in a lot better shape than you were to face an angel.

Cas had already done an initial check of Sam’s injuries so when the angel started stirring Dean walked into his line of vision “Welcome to the party pal” then nodded to Cas “How we looking?” you glanced towards Cas for the answer and let out a relieved breath when the answer was “Most of Sam’s internal burns have healed. I should be able to fix the rest” he looked from Dean to you before addressing the angel in Sam “What’s your name? I thought I knew every angel in heaven, but I’ve never seen you”

The angel glared at the three of you and it made a shiver of horror run up your spine at just how little he sounded like Sam in that moment “Why would I tell you anything?” Dean took a step towards the angel as he said “Well I don’t give a damn who you are. You need to get out now!” “And if I don’t?” the angel challenged to which Crowley actually spoke up and said “Then you and I will have a lovely little playdate”

The angel set his eyes on you when he said “Even bound I can rip this body apart. Tell them Castiel.” “You do, you die” Dean growled but the angel was undeterred “You want this to end? Go ahead and put a blade through your brother’s heart” you felt your chest clench at that very thought and at the look on Dean’s face. You cared too much about both brothers to see that happen, if it came down to it you wouldn’t let Dean.

The angel looked up at Dean “If it makes you feel better, I have Sam locked away in a dream. As far as he knows you, him and Y/N are working a case right now. Something with ghouls and cheerleaders” Dean turned away from him and caught your eye for just a moment before asking him “Why are you doing this? We fought together and I trusted you. You saved Sam and Y/N. I thought you were one of the good guys!” When that actually seemed to affect the angel that made you curious. It seemed to hurt him when Dean said he thought he was one of the good guys. “I am doing what I have to do” he argued so you shrugged “So are we”

You nodded to Dean so he looked to Crowley who slowly stood up and grabbed one of the large needles that were laid out onto the table. “So am I” he repeated before digging the first needle into Sam’s skull. The scream the angel let out was pure pain. Cas turned his head away but Dean looked straight on, you knew he was punishing himself for the fact that he still blamed himself for what the angel did. You swallowed hard to keep the bile down that was threatening to come up your throat. Possessed or not that was your best friend in that chair and seeing Dean in pain on top of that? It was almost too much for you to bear.

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By the time Crowley got the third needle in you couldn’t handle it anymore. You stood from where you’d been sitting “Dean, I’m sorry baby but I can’t” and quickly walked out the room they were in. You felt too hot, like your jacket was choking you despite the cool night. You couldn’t help none of them like this, damn you felt weak.

You sat there on the damp floor trying to catch your breath before you heard footsteps.You didn’t have to glance up to know it was Dean and Cas. You glanced up and Dean shook his head “I couldn’t do it anymore either”

“It’s not Sam but it’s still Sam” Cas reasoned and you nodded from where you sat. You flinched every time the angel screamed. Cas held a hand out so you let him pull you up to your feet. You glanced at Dean then asked Cas “How are you doing?”

Cas looked confused for a second as he looked between both of you “You want to talk about me? Now?” “I want to talk about anything that’s not a demon sticking needles into my brother’s brain and I know Y/N feels the same” when Dean’s voice cracked you reached for his arm and he pulled you into his side before he begged “Please humor us Cas, how ya doing?”

“Um, I’m ok” Cas finally said so you pulled away from Dean and pulled him into a hug. He seemed shocked for a moment then hugged you back. When you pulled away you explained “That’s for not protecting you better when you were human. Cas you’re my family you mean just as much to me as they do” “Yeah man I’m sorry for kicking you out of the bunker, for not telling you about Sam” Dean added.

Cas simply said “You thought his life was at stake” “Yeah I got played” Dean replied so Cas reminded him “I thought I was saving heaven, I got played too” Dean scoffed “So you’re saying we’re both dumbasses” “You both wanted to trust someone. Someone who portrayed themselves as something they weren’t. Not dumb or ass” you cut in and they both gave you a small smile before Crowley called out “Laverne! Shirley! Sweets! All three of you get in here!”

------

You followed Dean and Cas back into the room. What Crowley wanted to show was that he’d dug around enough to get the angel’s true identity. Gadreel. The angel who had let Lucifer into the garden and doomed all of mankind.

Cas rightfully had some built up anger at Gadreel but Dean pulled him back and reminded him to chill. Cas shoved his hand off but let your hand remain. “I will for Sam” you nodded a thank you before pulling your hand away.

------

With no other option you stood next to Dean and watched as Crowley’s smoke form left his vessel and flowed into Sam. Cas couldn’t get in without permission so since Sam wouldn't be fast to trust Crowley Dean told him the go word which was poughkeepsie. It meant drop everything and run. It was a system they’d come up with in their early twenties and had worked thus far.

Your eyes were on Sam’s body imagining the fight going on inside his head. You felt Dean’s hand on your lower back and leaned into his touch for comfort. You didn’t want to give voice to the thought inside your head and a part of you was relieved when Cas was the one to say “If this doesn’t work” “It’ll work” Dean cut him off before leaving a light kiss on your temple then walked across the room.

You took a deep breath while you watched Sam’s face for any indication as to what was happening.

------

“Dean!” you called his name a half second before the blinding white light of Gadreel’s essence flowing out of Sam lit up the room. Cas moved to shield your eyes from the light so you turned into his arm. Crowley’s smoke formed followed, flowing back into his vessel. “Sam!” you called moving to help Dean unchain him while Cas worked the remove the needles left behind.

“Sam are you ok?” Cas asked and you could see the confusion on Sam’s face but a vehicle pulling up broke any sort of relief that moment gave. Cas walked over to a window then glanced back “It’s Abaddon!” “Go. The back door. I’ll handle this” Crowley told Dean with a nod.

“Thanks Boris. Don’t die” you muttered while Cas and Dean supported Sam between them. You got in front of them with an angel blade in hand as a precaution.

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All of you got far enough away that you could stop for Cas to heal the holes in Sam’s head left by the needles. You stood back watching with your stomach in knots. Would he hate Dean for it? Would he hate you?

After Cas had healed Sam Dean walked over to join the two of them. Cas took a few steps away but you stayed where you were, close enough to hear and intervene if need be but not interfere if unneeded.

“Ok, let me hear it” Dean stated. Sam shrugged “What do you want me to say? That I’m pissed?” Dean nodded so he admitted “Ok, I am. I’m pissed. You lied to me. You got Y/N to lie to me” “He didn’t get me to do anything Sam! I agreed to lie because we didn’t have a choice at the time” you cut in but Sam wouldn’t even look your way before scoffing softly “I was ready to die! “We weren’t ready to let you” you argued and there were tears in Sam’s eyes when he did look your way “So my brother and best friend tricked me into being possessed by some psycho angel?” “He saved your life” Dean spoke and Sam shook his head “I was willing to die..and now Kevin” he trailed off and you felt your heart twist.

“No. That is not on you. Kevin’s blood is on my hands” Dean argued and you started to open your mouth but he shook his head and added “That ain’t ever getting clean” god why did he always have to take the world on his shoulder. “It’s on neither of you! It’s on Gadreel! He killed Kevin!” you stated not backing down from either of them.

“I’m going after Gadreel alone” Dean said after a moment and Sam cut his eyes at you before asking “What does that mean?” Dean tilted his head “Sammy, Y/N...People who get close to me get killed or worse. I can’t lose either of you”

“Go. I’m not going to stop you” Sam told him and you swallowed your words to let the brothers have a moment. Dean stepped away from Sam but stopped when Sam said “But don’t go thinking that’s the problem cause it’s not” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean questioned but Sam wouldn’t elaborate “Just go!”

You’d never felt more torn than standing between the two of them, watching one walk away and one stand in place. “Sam” you started but he nodded once “Go with him. He needs you more than I do right now” “Do you hate me?” you whispered and he shook his head “Never” you stepped close enough to press a kiss to his cheek then hurried to catch up to Dean before he climbed into baby.

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When you grabbed Dean’s arm he froze and looked down at your hand “Y/N what are you doing?” you met his eyes and said “Either I go with you now or I go home and get my jeep and track you. Sam has Cas to help him, I’m not leaving you alone not now anyways” you could see the muscle clenching in his jaw and expected him to argue but he took a deep breath then said “I meant that I can’t lose you sweetheart if something happened to you because of me..” he trailed off but you didn’t need him to finish the thought to know what he meant. “Well then it’s a good thing I’ll be at your side. I know if I die next to you that you did everything you could to keep me alive”

“Get in then” he finally said so you looked back at Sam and Cas before walking around to climb into the passenger seat. You weren’t choosing him over Sam you were just making the choice that felt the most right at the moment and letting Dean drive away alone? You couldn’t do that.

Tags: @facadeformyrealblog @akshi8278

#spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #always be yours

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laughincryintumblinmumblin · 3 years

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Hey could you maybe do a headcanon what it would be like to date charlie/ what a realationship with charlie would look like?

love your Blog by the way♡♡

Omg hi! Thank you so much! I’ve never done an imagine, but today’s a great time to start!

Dating Charlie would include:

Your petname for him is Nuwanda

He just makes up random ones for you on the spot.

“What do you want for dinner, effulgent goddess?”

Him trying to braid your hair, it ends up in a big knot every time.

Him sneaking onto your campus to hang with you during lunch.

He draws on your arm with lipstick when he’s bored.

He plays little jingles he writes for you on his sax.

During the first time you ✨got freaky✨, he opened his shirt to reveal the red lightning bolt symbol painted on his chest.

Him keeping you up all night with his 3 am thoughts.

“If Shrek were attracted to two or more genders, would he be bishreksual?” “Charlie I swear to god, if you don’t shut up, I will punch you as hard as you punch Cameron”

You two tagging each other in TikTok comments of the most out of context videos.

Him dragging you to dps meetings to show you off.

The boys think you’re cool, but Cameron bitches about your presence.

You help Charlie with Latin.

He helps you with English.

Him sharing insane theories that don’t make sense.

“Bill Gates DID murder Abraham Lincoln tho”

Every time he shows pda, Knox is sitting there like 😏.

One time, you two tried to attempt Julia Child’s cooking and ended up accidentally creating chlorine gas.

Lmao that’s all I can think of at the moment.

#charlie dalton #dead poets society #nuwanda #gale hansen #dps headcannons #imagine #dps

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agoddamn · 3 years

Text

I’m also a little ??? at this whole ‘30’s reel announcer intro thing. It’s very…distinct, but it feels weird to just throw me past a bunch of interesting stuff, like the actual discovery of the signal. This is much more a taste-based complaint than my other remark about story structure, I admit. Just…it makes it feel very clear that the writing priorities are Flashy Action above story.

Another episode of the Clone Wars with no clone content.

WE EVANGELION NOW

I’ve read a lot of fic about Mortis and nobody mentioned that it was an octahedron

So Obi-Wan has that Open Circle logo on his vambrace, but Anakin doesn’t

why does this feel so much like a Star Trek TOS episode

“landed on a mystery planet and there’s a bunch of gods here I guess, whattup Abraham Lincoln”

oddity: she introduces herself as “Daughter” , no article, but the others are “The Father”/”The Son”

If I were in Anakin’s position I would have assumed that she’s immune to rocks tbh. Bitch is glowing, reality is running in fast-forward. I assume she’d be able to handle rocks

Is this the first we’ve seen of Ahsoka dual-wielding or is my memory bad?

smh Ahsoka, short sabers are a massive DPS loss that aren’t worth the additional to-hit bonus. It’s so much easier to get additional to-hit buffs via gear or feats than it is to get additional damage, girl!

“Whoever I’m looking for is in that monastery”

this is such an “I read the script” line lmao he knows nothing about this planet except that its physical features do not adhere to the standard definition of reality, why would a tall building be more relevant than anything else? I mean, it’s an assumption that’s very IC for Anakin, I’m not criticizing that. Just. It’s funny.

i put on my robe and wizard hat.jpg

this mf straight out of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice

…are this guy’s theatrics even necessary? Aside from like, one Mace Windu line I don’t think anyone’s vocally doubted Anakin being the Chosen One

>Obi-Wan straight going 'bullshit’ and drawing his saber on ghost Qui-Gon

that’s my man

I like how Qui-Gon is rendered here (NOSE.jpg) but his voice feels…off. Which is funny, cos I believe this is actually Liam Neeson? lol

holy SHIT, they rendered a blanket. Really breaking the budget for Anakin here

I dunno man, it just feels bizarre and unnecessary to me to represent the Force, something that has specifically never been gendered or anthropomorphized as a single person, as three white people. You can split hairs about how they’re not technically the Force and “only” super-powerful Force beings, but come on. Narratively you are supposed to be taking them as Force Avatars, not a bunch of random assholes high on power. They sure feel like a bunch of random assholes to me, but I’m a mean person

Do you get it. Do you get the joke. Do you get that he’s The Father because Anakin has no father. That is the joke.

GIANT MONTRALS

Do Shaak Ti’s lekku do that awkward thing in profile of dangling over her boobs like this older Ahsoka here? If they do, I don’t recall. Maybe it just looks less odd on her because she’s wearing robes

I really can’t divine the intent, the purpose of this writing, why these people are here, their goals. Narratively or in-universe.

Like, this guy says that he can only CONTROL his children on this planet, and…what does that mean. Are they not sentient? Are they sentient and he just doesn’t believe that? Anakin doesn’t even question the need to control his children (which is, again, very Anakin, but useless to us from an information perspective)

There’s a couple beats of the Imperial March around this guy’s “and a prison” line

Ah yes, so this is where we get that headass “balance is dark AND light” take. I would like to mulishly submit that these are just random, pretentious assholes buying their own bullshit.

“when news reached me that the Chosen One had been found…”

Hang on hang on hang on

You get, like…physical news? I thought you were connected to the Force or some shit. You leech space wi-fi? You steal the neighbor’s papers? Because you’re about ten years late on the whole “Chosen One found” thing and if you’re so hax powerful connected to reality whatever, it’s very weird to me that you’re this dated in your news. I guess this could be a “we perceive time differently because we’re a million years old” thing, but it’s just odd

So far Mortis is a bizarre blend of literal and metaphorical/symbolic in a way that I’m having trouble parsing. Like, The Son’s big fancy plan was just dumping rocks on a bitch on this reality-bending octahedron

LITERALLY if you’re some kind of Force spirit why don’t you just fucking know whether or not Anakin is the Chosen One. Tick of evidence in my “just random pretentious assholes” column

Obi-Wan calls this planet “herself”

stupid-ass fucking regular yin-yang in goddamn incomprehensible space aliens God I hate this so much

“release the guilt and free yourself by choosing [who lives and who dies]”

That…seems like complete gibberish and another tick in my “pretentious asshole” column but whatever, I’ll buy that you believe it

Is it that impressive to lift creatures that already fly?

“it’s symbolic (caw)” note: yin-yang is now completely black

Looks like there’s…constellations in the ring above the arena? There’s a crane in the low-angle shot of Obi-Wan

“It has been foretold that the Chosen One will keep my children in balance!”

By who? When? Is this dude supposed to be so delusional and drunk on power that he’s convinced himself that he IS the Force and that’s why nothing here lines up with greater Force lore?

I really think this guy is just a delusional asshole

#boots watches tcw

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when-are-you-coming-back-steve · 3 years

Text

Presidents Day

@unlawful-lawyers-chaos @little-chaos-bitch @parker-shut-up @annytheseal @lookingforromansconfidence @psychedelicships-chaos

TW: vehicular manslaughter, murder, hit and run, trump

Was this illegal? Absolutely. But when the opportunity to have an impromptu road trip comes up you have to take it. Besides Green got shotgun so we can use faer lawyer powers to get us off the hook. Speaking of passengers, Ash was right behind Mochi, Niko was behind Green, Anny in the middle, and...Well, Kaylen and Parker were in the trunk. Driving down a highway heading towards the district capital, probably to commit a bit of arson, Green was playing an absurd amount of Halloween music for it being the middle of February.

“Green, we can’t listen to ‘This is Halloween’ for the fifteenth time, it's only been an hour.” Anny was maybe getting a little frustrated with their road trip conditions.

“Yes, we do. It's a wonderful song. Besides Mochi wouldn’t put me in the passenger seat if they didn’t like it right?”

“Mochi,” Anny whined, “tell faer to play any other song.”

Niko chimed in, “Let’s maybe not distract the driver with squabbles about songs?”

“They know what they're doing, they can do two things at once.”

“Didn’t they just get their permit?”

“Yeah but I’m sure they’ve been practicing and we are all good to go. Right Mochi?”

Mochi hesitated for a second, “Yeah, totally.”

“...why did you hesitate. Mochi why did you hesitate?”

“I mean I’ve been practicing. I just haven’t really done some things like drive over 60 miles yet.”

Ash gripped the seat, “Mochi, we are going 85!”

“I KNOW!”

“We are all going to die.” A voice piped up from the back.

“Gee thanks for the confidence Kaylen.”

“Listen we’re the ones sitting in the trunk of a jeep without a seatbelt going 85, we get to be worried.”

Mochi rolled their eyes and also unplugged Green’s aux cord, drawing an indignant squawk from the right-hand. The radio immediately popped on to the last station it was on. The group had already made it to Maryland. The traffic slowed as they got closer to the city until it was a slow crawl.

“We are going to be here forever with this traffic.” Apparently Green wanted to start the ‘are we there yet’ complaints.

“We are literally 200 yards from the Abraham Lincoln Memorial, of course, we have to deal with traffic, don’t complain.”

Ash decided to pop om, “But is there no way to get there faster, I’m hungry and you promised arson.” “I did not /promise/ arson. The other option was the metro and walking but /someone/ didn’t want to...but actually there is a place a little while away that no one uses. Probably super illegal though.”

“Family lawyer right here. This is already illegal as hell, let’s just do it.”

They were tired already, why not. They turned into a few alleys before getting to a long stretch of road near the White House. A flash of orange seems to appear in Mochi’s vision but they ignore it for a loud bang in the back of the car. Head turned around to ask what they’re doing on an empty street when the car bumps up with a loud “thump”.

The two kids that were thrown in the trunk curse at the jump.

“Did you hit something? What was that?”

“I don’t know hold on lemme park.”

Mochi parked the car and got out to see what it was, they couldn’t find anything until they saw an orange face and a suit. They stood in shock for a moment before being snapped out by a sudden noise. A group of secret service was running that way probably to find the /person Mochi just ran over/. They jumped in the car starting and hitting the gas hard. Yells from the passengers of the car rung around Mochi until they settled down enough for Mochi to hear a question.

“What happened?” Who asked, they could not tell you, but they answered.

“We ran over Donald trump.” The silence that followed for a few seconds was the calm before the storm as the passengers started yelling again.

“Everyone, be quiet! I’m trying to pull off a hit and run here!”

Green just looked back towards the bump, they had killed the former U.S president on Presidents Day. No arson was done that day, but when they saw the news later, they all knew it was a great day full of crime.

#murder #hit and run #manslaughter #crack fic #enjoy :)

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txemrn · 4 years

Text

Catalyst

a Prequel to the Nanny Affair

Chapter 2: Covalence

Need to catch up? Chapter 1: Acquiesce

Rating: 18+ (Mature Audiences only)

Word count: 3255(+/-)

Warning: language; sexually suggestive language; mention of physical abuse, drug abuse, assault and adoption

"Alright, Pine Shadow family, here are your finalists!" Principal Larson's voice booms over the gym speakers. One would think he's announcing a night of rough and rumble with the WWE rather than announcing the award winners for a middle school science fair. Regardless, his enthusiasm is contagious much to the science departments delight. "Let's give them a big Wildcat round of applause for all of their hard work!"

As the audience abrupts into cheers, there she sits, melting into her chair as her knees bounce feverishly in fear. Her French-braided hair accompanies a denim headband, keeping the stray strands of brilliant wheat out of her gray eyes. Against her mother's disgust, she picks at the rubberbands attached to the hardware in her mouth. In her young 12-year-old mind, the audience seems to be doubling--no, tripling in size.

She worries if her hard work will payoff with a shiny blue ribbon--if any ribbon at all. Mrs. Ferguson and Coach Kincaid gave her nods of approval when she created elemental silver from the glucose mixture and Tollen's reagent-- who wouldn't be impressed with a 6th grader with an advanced passion for chemistry? But still, she worries.

"And," the principal continues, "our first place winner is--" The anticipation thickens the air as every movement seems to propel through space in slow motion. Like a dramatic montage of Rudy sacking the Georgia Tech quarterback to clutch the W for Notre Dame, or an injured Danny LaRusso crane-kicking Johnny Lawrence to become the All-Valley Karate Champion: this was her field; this was her stadium; this was her Hail Mary. All of the hours of research at the library; all of the frantic trips to the hobby store; the redundant presentation practices; the late evenings followed by the early mornings accompanied with the inevitable break downs. It all came down to this.

"Our first place winner is… Brynn Schuyler!" The applause is defeaning as time seems to stop. Did she hear the principal correctly? The name sounded very familiar--like her own name!

"Brynn Schuyler!" Did she really just win the coveted first place ribbon at the science fair? She froze, her tiny little body unable to process the abundance of emotion she was encountering all at once.

"Where is Brynn?" Outside of being gifted her hamster and her mom letting her wear clear lipgloss, this is the most incredible day of her life--

She feels a tap on her shoulder. "Ma'am?" The veiled-look from her eyes washes away; the clouds around her head vanish. Reality hits. "Are you Brynn Schuyler?" She feels the warmth of rose flood over her fair complexion as the barista interrupts her morning ritual: reminiscing.

"Uh--yes," as she brushes her fingers over her brow, as if to create a shield to her embarrassment.

Smooth. Real smooth, Brynn.

She quickly brightens, extending her hands, "I'm sorry. That's--"

"Iced venti white mocha latte with a blueberry muffin… and two mini cinnamon maple scones?"

I don't know what would be nicer: reading out my order for everyone to hear or calling me a 'fatass'.

"--me. Yes, thank you," she whispers with gnashed teeth behind a courtesy grin. As she slithers back down into her seat at the local coffee house, Brynn hides the pastries in her backpack, keeping them well within her reach as she continues to work: scouring the wanted ads.

Next Tuesday makes four months of no job and no steady income. She has been on seven 'promising' interviews with no avail. She is able to keep her bill collector's away with her savings account, but even that was beginning to dwindle like her existence.

Brynn is a scientists, a chemist to be exact--or at least she was. Her love for science led her from the suburbs of 'the City of Brotherly Love' to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst where she studied education. Her dream was to impose the wonders of science on young minds as they experienced the physical world around them. But, after her personal observation of the devastation of Alzheimer's disease with her grandmother, she took an unexpected internship with the Massachusetts's Alzheimer's Disease Research Center. She realized she didn't want to just teach science; she wanted to do science. One Master's degree in Chemistry later, she was well on way to making a real difference in the world. Or so she thought.

'Benson's BBQ: Host needed'--maybe. 'Browning Steel: Welder with experience'--no. 'Bus Depot: driver wanted, great benefits'--no. 'Cutshall Clearance Store--stalker needed'-- surely they don't mean 'stalker', but they may need an ad editor.

She had scored the chance of a lifetime when she was hired on as one of the first female level I Chemists at the Lincoln Laboratory at MIT. She quickly graduated from fetching coffee, dry cleaning and business lunches for her superiors--also known as a research assistance--to finally being a project manager of her very own, very first multi-million dollar research study. But after twenty-months with no success, the funding was pulled on the project, the wind knocked out of her sails. The punches didn't stop there: her team of men threw her under the metaphorical bus and it was 'off with her head,' her moment of glory now over. She often feels foolish that she thought she could actually make a difference in the world; even worse, she felt agonizing guilt for being a woman that couldn't hang in a man's world, feeling as if she was responsible for a sudden shift backwards in equality.

'Danny's Barber Shop: receptionist'--maybe. 'Danny's Cake Decorating: baker'--no. 'Danny's XXX videos: call for details'-- uh, Mr. Danny has his dick in one too many pies.

Bzzt.

Saved by the text.

She giggles to herself in seeing she has a message from her roommate Jenny. Knowing that this is about to become a full-on text conversation, probably more suitable for an actual phone call, Brynn folds up her marked-up paper, and stretches her legs. She grabs her second scone, placing it into her mouth to hold as she piles her greasy hair into messy bun on top of her head, secured with a pen.

She swipes across her spider-cracked screen; the message: 'Turn around whore! ;-P'

"Brynny!" Brynn ducks as if she is about to be hit. "I thought that was your Corolla parked outside!"

"Jenny! You scared me!" She exhales loudly. "What are you doing awake? It's--" Brynn looks at her phone, "holy shit! Is it really almost noon?" She has no place to be; she just hates the feeling of time slipping by unnoticed, especially with her not being an active participant in life these days.

"I'm sorry, girl--"as she sits her coffee cup down at Brynn's commandeered table, "And you're right--I should probably still be asleep." She stifles a yawn, "I had a very busy night--"

"At the bar?" Brynn raises an eyebrow, "Or with Xavier?" her lips curling into a knowing grin.

Xavier is the first intact penis Jenny had ever been with--and she was loving it. It had been the topic of conversation during their 3AM chats this week, but when Jenny didn't come home from her shift at the bar last night, Brynn automatically knew Jenny must be exploring the new uncharted territory at his place.

"I didn't--I mean--" Jenny let's out a scoff. "Fine. Both."

A giddy Brynn scoots her chair closer. "Ooooo do tell."

"I--" Jenny pauses for dramatic effect, "happen to have a very--"

"Insatiable appetite? Ferocious needs?" Brynn giggles as she wraps her delicate fingers around her straw, gradually sliding them up and down its length.

Jenny clears her throat, straightening out her overall posture. "I was going to say, 'healthy sex life,' but since you have to be a thirsty bitch about it--" she leans in closely to Brynn, grabbing the remains of her scone. She flanges her lips around the breakfast pastry, fluttering her eyes closed, finally letting out a soft moan when she takes a nibble. "Oh honey, he was ferocious." She draws a sip from her hot coffee before lowering her voice. "And he satiated my appetite very… very… well."

Brynn jokingly sticks her fingers in her ears, pretending to be disgusted, yet squealing in excitement. Jenny playfully hits her arm as the two women uncontrollably giggle as they continue to enjoy each other's company.

Jenny Browder and Brynn Schuyler were a very unlikely pair. They met in undergrad in a entry-level sociology course during their first semester freshmen year. Of the two, Brynn was mature and focused, especially when it came to her education. Often times, she had to be the voice of reason with a newly uncaged and untamed Jenny who was more concerned with socializing and drinking.

Jenny was brought up in a strict, Fundamentalist household, the kind that saw dancing and playing cards as evil. She somehow convinced her parents that God was calling her to attend UMass after a life-long career of being homeschooled. It was 'Goodbye, long dresses,' and, 'Hello, Bombshell Bra.'

She never returned back home. Even when she failed out after Sophomore year, she packed up her guitar and headed for Nashville to become a star. The two friends had quickly turned back into strangers.

Brynn will never forget they day Jenny stumbled back into her life. In the midst of grad school, Brynn had volunteered at a free/low-cost community health clinic offered to lower-socioeconomic families. Jenny was waiting outside the facility, chain-smoking her last four cigarettes. Brynn was unloading testing equipment when she recognized a very familiar purple butterfly tattoo.

"Jenny?" Hearing her name, she instantly responded. She looked so different--older even, weathered. Her once-lustrous auburn hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush--or soap, for that matter-- in weeks. Her eyes had lost their glow, surrounded by gray bags. Even though she kept her arms crossed in an attempt to hide it, her stretched-tight shirt boasted a growing bump. But, perhaps the most bothersome was the severely picked scabs, scratches, and bruises, littering her entire body.

They made cordial small talk until Greg, her alcoholic and abusive fiancé, honked his horn from his rusty Ford Ranger, notifying Jenny it was time to leave. Before she could run out on her again, Brynn quickly dug a pen and Post-It pad from her white coat, and wrote down her cell number. Truth be told, she never expected her to call.

Two o'clock in the morning about 3 months later, Jenny called. In his usual anger fueled by Wild Turkey, Greg had beaten her and forced himself on her until he passed out from the exhaustion of his stuper. But, something was different this night; something snapped in Jenny's brain. Enough. Her body was frail and bleeding; but her spirit was kindled, coming alive with courage, telling her she was not broken, telling her to fight. Fueled with what could easily be described as courage--or insanity--she stole $12 from his wallet and packed an old duffle bag with a change of clothes and a water-stained Post-It note.

At a gas station outside of Boston, Brynn picked up a very pregnant Jenny. They sat in the darkness, the cabin filled with silence and stillness; but the conversation was loud and clear: Jenny was terrified. Terrified to talk, terrified to act, terrified of her past and terrified to even imagine a future. Brynn reached over and grabbed Jenny's hand as they both quietly sobbed. They weren't freshmen anymore.

All of a sudden in the quietness of the car amongst all of the chaos, a baby began to dance. Waves and ripples fluttered across Jenny's abdomen; flips and tumbles quickly ensued, becoming stronger and stronger. They took her breath away for a moment, but quickly returned in the form of tiny giggles. Brynn's eyes sparkle with wonder as she gently places her hand on her friend's belly, gently rubbing circles with her thumb and fingers. Jenny places both her hands on Brynn's, guiding her around her bump, occasionally pressing deeply until finally they are greeted with a kick.

For the first time in a long time, Jenny wasn't terrified. Her head wasn't pounding from an incessant ache, a craving for just one more hit. Her body was breathing, healing in between the throws. For the first time in a long time, Jenny had clarity. And she was ready to talk.

Jenny got the necessary help she needed. She spent time at a battered women's shelter where she was safe and protected; she was able to receive prenatal care and some deeply therapeutic counseling. She even painfully detoxed from her methamphetamine addiction. But her biggest victory: she was beginning to forgive herself, allowing herself to heal.

Six weeks later, a very round and overdue Jenny gave birth to a beautiful red-headed, 9 pound 8 ounce boy. Her heart swelled with love--a love she had never experienced before--as they placed him right on her bare chest. Overcome with joy and tears, the new mom kept him safe and sound, snuggled in a blue receiving blanket in her healing arms. She had already missed so much--she didn't want to miss another moment: she wanted to remember how his chunky cheeks felt against her lips as she kissed him. She wanted to remember the gentle smell he had after his first bath. She wanted to remember that tiny, fierce grip around her finger, a grip that would extend past her finger and right around her heart. A grip that would never let go, even well-after she laid him into his new mother's arms.

Jenny Browder is the strongest woman Brynn knows--and probably will every know. Even while she was still rummaging through the train-wreck that was her former life, Jenny had the selfless spirit of a saint and the bravery of the finest medieval warrior. She had nothing of value to her name except for her battered heart; but being the mother of all mother's, she gave her last possession away. She knew that in order to give her son the world, she had to place him in a new world.

Jenny celebrated five years of sobriety last month, and has empowered many women throughout the New England area with her story, speaking at meetings and volunteering part-time at a crisis center. She reconnected with her cousin Sean and his husband Charlie a few years back; feeling a pull to be near family, she moved to Newark, a few blocks away from the happy couple. She now has a home--an apartment--of her own, a car, and a steady income, bartending at a local, lively bar called Annex. As an added benefit, she also gets to perform twice a month with the house band. Going back to school might even be in her future; but for now, she is happy to be living life again--even if that meant hosting a squatter on her couch in the form of her best friend.

"Any luck on the job front?"

Brynn blows a raspberry with pressed lips in her exacerbation. "Well, today's options include wearing daisy duke's at a BBQ joint, or becoming a baker--possible porn star--with a man named Danny--"

Jenny laughs, "Ewww, gross. Do I even want to--"

Brynn waves her hand in front of her face, erasing the air of the horrid idea, even if it was a joke.

"Well, the perfect job is out there."

Yeah, yeah, yeah…

Brynn sighs, "Oh, Jen, you have to say that--"

Before she can hang her head down, Jenny interrupts the pity party, grabbing the remains of massacred muffin from Brynn's hand. "No, I don't. And believe me--" She stares warmly into Brynn's stormy eyes, "You are a catch. You are one in a million--"

"Are we still talking about jobs, or--"

"The perfect job is out there for you--trust me! We are one day closer to it." Not missing a beat, "Speaking of which--" Jenny rocks back and forth in excitement as her heart-shaped lips spread into a smile.

Oh, God…

"What are you doing tonight?" The words almost slur together like a waterfall crashing out of her mouth.

Don't invite me out. Don't invite me out.

"I think I'm gonna--you know--stay in, order out. Look for more jobs--"

"And feel sorry for yourself?"

Damnit, she's good.

Brynn sighs deeply as she lays her head down on her crossed arms.

"Well, it's a good thing we're not going out. You are just--" she lies, "accompanying me to work--"

"Jenny!"

"Brynny," Jenny fires back as both women compete in a staring--moreso glaring contest. She gives in first to the silly gesture, her look warming with affection. "Look, I-I know things have been have sucked recently--"

That's an understatement.

"You need this. It's time to join the world again. You can't just stay cooped up in the apartment all the time--"

"Um," Brynn clears her throat. "I do believe I am in a coffee shop right now." She smirks while delicately fanning her arms out in the air, as if she was showcasing a brand new car on a game show.

"C'mon, girl," Jenny whines, "You know what I mean. Just come up to the bar. Sit and talk with me. Keep me company. Meet some of my regulars. You will feel so much better about yourself--"

"You know I have nothing to wear."

12 pounds, fucking 12 pounds, and my entire wardrobe seems to have shrunk overnight.

"We'll figure something out--I promise! C'mon!" Jenny quickly bounds to the door with a sluggish Brynn in tow. "Besides," Jenny whirls around to continue, "You have a lot of miles left in this thing--" spanking Brynn's butt. Reflexively, Brynn immediately shields her pained bottom, her mouth gaping open. Jenny continues. "I've gotch'ya with shots all night. At least come window shop--it's Thursday night, which means the corporate hotties are shopping for some young ass--"

"Oh, yes. Because a one-night-stand and a raging case of chlamydia will cure my problems--"

"Hey, a shot in the ass, and you're good as new," Jenny jokes, making her apprehensive bestie crack a smile. "That's why I said, 'window shop.' Plus they're rich and love flaunting that they are rich. So--" Jenny shrugs her shoulders, "More free drinks for you!"

Brynn folds her arms across her chest, averting her gaze into the bustling traffic. She starts chewing on the sides of her mouth while letting out a long-winded sigh, clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea. The fact is she was embarrassed of herself, of what had become of her life. There she was, merely existing, living on her best friend's couch with no prospects--job-wise and love-wise. And now that her former-slender body sprung unwelcomed curves, she feels more comfortable in hiding--from the world, and from herself.

Jenny steps back out of her black sedan. She pushes her sunglasses back into her short hair, the sunshine illuminating her scarlet layers. She places her hands on her hips as she silently challenges her friend to a battle of wills.

Brynn feels her piercing gaze, but she can't bring her self to match it. Jenny never pushes her to do anything--and now, all she wants to do is help pull her depressed house-guest out of her mucky misery. And Brynn knows that she will be grateful for the night, especially tomorrow morning. She just needed the little shove.

Brynn breaks their silence with a long, drawn out sigh. "Okay."

"Yes, yes, yes!" squeals Jenny. She slides back into the driver's seat, adjusts her sunglasses and bellows across the parking lot: "Get in loser! We're going shopping!"

Brynn could only hope it was for a new life.

@choicesficwriterscreations

#the nanny affair #choices #choices stories you play #choices tna #pixelberry #tna sofia #tna mc #tna jenny #tna sam #tna robin

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angelsandacceptance · 3 years

Text

Yellow Fever

The coroner opens a body bag.

“Agents, meet Frank O’Brien,” The coroner said.

“He died of a heart attack, right?” Chase asked.

“Three days ago.”

“But O'Brien was 44 years old and, according to this, a marathon runner.” Sam added.

“Everybody drops dead sooner or later. It's why I got job security.”

“Yeah, but Frank kicked it here. Now, just yesterday, two perfectly healthy men bit it in Maumee. All heart attacks, you don't think that's strange?” Dean asks.

“Sounds like Maumee's problem to me. Why's the FBI give a damn, anyway?”

“Look, we just want to see the autopsy results,” Harley says with a fake smile.

“What autopsy?”

“The one you are going to do.”

***

The coroner cuts open Frank O’Brien’s body, “First dead body?”

“Far from it,” Dean says.

“My mum, she used to make us watch autopsies during dinner when we were little.” Harley says smiling fondly down at the dead body, “For a while I actually wanted to be a coroner.”

“Fascinating,” The coroner says, slight hesitation in his voice, “Hand me the rib cutters, would you?”

“Sure,” Harley says, handing him the tool.

Sam looks uncomfortable, shifting on the heels of his feet, glancing at the others. Chase notices, but simply ignores his discomfort.

“Is that from a wedding ring? I didn't think Frank was married,” Chase says pointing at Frank’s left hand.

“Ain’t my department,” The coroner responds.

“Any idea how he got these?” Sam asks, picking up Frank’s left arm.

It was covered in red scratches.

“You know what? When you drop dead, you actually tend to drop. Body probably got scraped up when it hit the ground.” He pauses, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Huh.”

“What?” Chase asks, looking closer at what he’s looking at.

“I-I can't find any blockages in any of the major arteries,” The coroner says, taking the heart out of the body.

Dean gags, looking ready to vomit, noticed easily by Harley, who rolls her eyes.

“Heart looks pretty damn healthy,” The coroner says, handing the heart to Dean, “Hold that a second, would you?”

Sam smirks. Chase has to stifle a laugh, pretending to clear her throat.

The coroner cuts the spleen and it splashes all over Sam’s face causing Dean to smirk, and earning a small smile from Harley.

“Oh, sorry. Spleen juice,” The coroner says.

***

Sam, Dean, Chase, and Harley all sit waiting outside of the Sheriff’s office. The deputy smiles at Dean and the Sheriff opens his door.

“Hell's bells, Linus, have you seen my.... Who are they?” The Sheriff asks upon seeing the Winchesters plus one.

The group stands finally done waiting.

“Federal agents. I, uh....” Linus, the deputy, trails off.

“And you kept them waiting?” The Sheriff asks.

“You, you said not to disturb.”

“Come on back,” The Sheriff says, directed towards the fake feds.

The gang began to head to the door, but were stopped at it.

“Shoes off,” The Sheriff directed.

The hunters complied, but not before Harley rolled her eyes, and entered the office.

Chase shoots a confused look to Harley, slipping her boots off carefully, so that her knife isn’t seen.

Motioning them into the office, the Sheriff gestures to a few seats. “Al Britton,” he introduces himself. “Nice to meet you all.”

“You too,” Chase says.

Al shakes each of their hands before sitting down. He grabs hand sanitizer and begins to rub a lot onto his hands. Chase recoils at the strong smell, as does Harley.

“Okay, so, what can I do for Uncle Sam?” the Sheriff asks.

Ironically, Sam is the one to answer. “Well, we’re looking into the death of Frank O’Brien. We understand some of your men found his body.”

“They did. Me and Frank, we were friends. Hell, we were gamecocks.”

Dean laughs the tiniest bit under his breath, but silences himself with an elbow from both Chase and Harley, who sit on either side of him, and a stern look from the Sheriff.

“That's our softball team's name,” The Sheriff explains, “They're majestic animals. I knew Frank since high school. To be honest, I just this morning got up the strength to go see him. Frank was...He was a good man.”

“Yeah, big heart,” Dean comments.

Harley has to stifle a laugh receiving another look from the Sheriff and one from her best friend.

“Before he died, did you notice Frank acting strange? Maybe scared of something?” Chase asks.

“Oh hell, yeah. Real jumpy.” The Sheriff says.

“You know what scared him?” Sam asks.

“No. Wouldn't answer his phone. Finally, I sent some of my boys over to check on him, and well, you know the rest,” The Sheriff pours copious amounts of hand sanitizer into his hand and rubs it in.

The Winchesters all look at each other while Harley facepalms.

“So, why the Feds give a crap? You don't really think there's a case here?” The Sheriff asks.

“No, no. It's probably nothing. Just a heart attack,” Dean answers.

***

“No way that was a heart attack,” Dean says as the group walks to the cars.

“No way in hell, three guys going from freaked to terrified to dead with the same red scratches. Too improbable,” Harley says.

“Something scared them to death?”

“Okay, what can do that?” Chase asks.

“What can't? Ghosts, vampires, chupacabra? It could be a hundred things.”

“Yeah. So, we make a list and start crossing things off,” Sam suggests.

“Alright, who's the last person to see Frank O'Brien alive?” Harley asks.

“Uh, his neighbour, Mark Hutchins.”

Dean was looking ahead at teenagers by the cars, “Hang on, hang on.”

“What?”

“I don't like the looks of those teenagers down there.”

“Dean, we fight monsters. I think we can handle a few teenagers,” Harley laughs.

Still Dean crosses the street and everyone else followed, “Let's walk this way.”

Chase and Harley shoot each other a look.

***

“Tyler, Perry, Kramer, and Crespo. Just like Aerosmith,” Frank’s neighbor, Mark, noted.

“Yeah,” Sam says, looking around the room, “Small world. So, the last time you saw Frank O’Brien.”

Dean backs away quickly from a large lizard staring at him through a glass case, bumping into Harley.

Chase raises a brow at him, but turns back to Mark Hutchins.

“Monday, he was watching me from his window. I waved at him, but he just closed the curtains.”

“Did you talk to him recently?” Chase asks. “Did he seem different? Uh, scared?”

“Oh, totally. He was freaking out.”

Chase notices that Dean looks a little freaked and has since earlier that day. She frowns.

“Do you know what he was scared of perchance?” Harley asks.

“Well, yeah, witches.”

The gang all exchange glances.

“Witches?” Sam asks, “Like...?”

“Well, "Wizard of Oz" was on tv the other night, right? And he said that green bitch was totally out to get him.”

“Did anything else spook him?” Harley inquires.

“Everything else scared him. Al-Qaeda, ferrets, artificial sweetener. Those pez dispensers with their dead little eyes. Lots of stuff.”

Dean casts another glance towards the fish tank.

“So, tell me. What was Frank like?” Sam asks.

“I mean, he’s dead, you know? I don’t wanna hammer him, but he got better,” Hutchins says hesitantly.

“Got better how?” Chase asks.

“Well, in high school, he was a. Well, he was a dick.”

“A dick?” Harley asks.

“Like a bully,” he explains. “I mean, he probably taped half the town’s butt cheeks together.”

Chase wrinkles her nose at the thought. Dean snickers.

Hutchins continues, “Including mine.”

At this Dean stops, looking abashed, while Chase’s eyebrows shoot up in second hand embarrassment.

“So he pissed off a lot of people,” Dean says. “You think anyone might want to get revenge?”

Hutchins looks at them all, confused. “Well, I- Frank had a heart attack, right?”

“Just answer the question, sir,” Harley says.

“No, I don't think so. Like I said, he got better. And after what happened to his wife.”

Dean perks up a bit at the last statement, “His wife? So he was married.”

“She died about 20 years ago. Frank was really broken up about it.”

Harley notices Dean eyeing the snake around Mark’s neck and shoots him a confused look. Apparently Hutchins noticed too.

“Don't be scared of Donny. He's a sweetheart. It's Marie you got to look out for,” he says nodding to the couch the four were sat on, “She smells fear.”

An albino burmese python began to crawl up from behind the couch as if on cue. Harley pet it’s head. Dean gasps and stays uncomfortably still as Marie crawls across his lap. Chase smiles in delight, reaching out to run a hand down the length of her scales.

***

The girls were in the Lincoln ahead of the Impala headed to the motel, Sam and Dean on speakerphone.

“Frank's wife, Jessie, was a manic-depressive. She went off her meds back in '88 and vanished. They found her two weeks later, three towns over. Strung up in her motel room, suicide,” Dean says.

“Any chance Frank helped her along?” Harley asks.

“No, Frank was working the swing shift when she disappeared. Airtight alibi.”

“How was Frank’s pad?” Dean asks.

Sam’s voice comes through the speaker clearly, “Clean. Searched it top to bottom. No EMF, no hex bags, no sulfur.”

“So probably no ghosts,” Chase says.

“No witches,” Harley continues.

“And no demons,” Chase finishes, her grip on the steering wheel tightening.

“3 down and 97 to go,” Harley laughs.

“Dude, you’re going twenty,” Sam says.

“And?” Dean asks, his voice irritated, obvious despite the phone static. Chase raises a brow.

“That’s the speed limit,” Harley notes as they turn onto a different road. “We’re way past you guys. Almost back at the motel.”

“What? So safety’s a crime now?”

“Dude,” Sam exclaims, causing both girls to wince and cast a wary glance towards the phone. “What’re you doing? That was our motel!”

“Sam, I’m not going to make a left turn into oncoming traffic. I’m not suicidal.”

Harley and Chase simultaneously scoff at this.

“Did I just say that?” Dean asks.

“You did, indeedy,” Chase says.

“That was weird,” Harley says as Chase parks near their room.

An odd high pitched whine comes through the phone.

“What’s that guys?” Chase asks.

“Is that the EMF meter?”

The other line stays silent, before Dean suddenly exclaims, “Am I haunted? Am I haunted?”

The line goes dead, Chase and Harley shooting each other worried looks.

“What the fuck?” Chase asks.

***

Sam is on the phone talking to Bobby, while the girls read from various books of ghost lore. Music suddenly starts and the three look over and head over to see Dean lying in the Impala playing the air drums. Eye of the Tiger blasts from the radio and Chase and Harley smile.

Dean sits up, noticing the three. “Guys, look at this!” He pulls his sleeve back enough to show red scratches on his forearms. Chase and Harley frown and look to each other, worried. Sam nods.

“I just got done talking to Bobby,” Sam says.

“And?” Harley asks.

“Um, well y’all aren’t gonna like it.”

“What?” Dean asks.

“It’s ghost sickness.”

“Ghost sickness?”

Chase scoffs. “Sounds 100% made up.”

“It’s not. And Dean has it,” Sam says, shooting Chase a look.

“God, no,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Dean says, his eyes widening in panic. Chase snorts out a laugh, shaking her head at the absurdity of the situation.

“Okay. Some cultures believe that certain spirits can infect the living with a disease, which is why they stopped displaying bodies in houses and started taking them off to funeral homes.”

“Lovely,” Harley comments, “So how’s it work?”

“Symptoms are you get anxious,” Sam starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“Yeah,” Dean confirms.

“Then scared, then really scared, then your heart gives out. Sound familiar?”

“Yeah, but, we haven't seen a ghost in weeks,” Dean counters.

“Pretty sure we were around a body that had it though,” Harley points out.

“Right. Now, Frank O'Brien was the first to die, which means he was probably the first infected. Patient zero,” Sams explains.

“Our very own outbreak monkey,” Chase says.

“Right. Get this. Frank was in Maumee over the weekend. Softball tournament. Which is where he must have infected the other two victims.”

“Were they gamecocks?” Dean asks, making fun of the name.

Sam gives him a stern look. “Cornjerkers.”

“So, ghosts infected Frank and he gave it to the other guys and I got it from his corpse?”

“Right.”

“So now what, I have forty eight hours before I go insane and my heart stops?” Dean demands.

“More like 24,” Harley points out.

Dean looks at her blankly. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she replies cheerily.

He rolls his eyes. “So why only me? Why not you guys? Sam, you’re the one that got hit with spleen juice.”

Sam looks uncomfortable for a mere second. “Yeah, um, you see Bobby and I have a theory about that too. Turns out all three victims shared a certain, uh, personality type. Frank was a bully. The other two victims, one was a vice principal, the other was a bouncer.”

“Okay.”

“Basically, they were all dicks.”

Chase winces. “Wow, straight for the kill, man.”

“So you’re saying I’m a dick?” Dean asks.

“It’s okay, Dean, you’re my favourite dick...That sounded better in my head,” Harley says, trying to cheer Dean up.

“No, thanks, really. That helped bucketloads,” Dean says sarcastically.

Chase is fighting a smile, but gestures for Sam to continue.

“Well, it’s not just that. All three victims used fear as a weapon, and now this disease is just returning the favor.”

“I don’t scare people,” Dean says.

“Uh, I hate to break it to you man, but all we do with our lives is scare people,” Chase points out.

“Okay, well then you’re dicks too.”

“Apparently not,” Sam says.

“I don’t know. Harley can be a dick sometimes,” Chase teases, elbowing her friend.

“This is true,” Harley agrees.

“Whatever,” Dean says with an eye roll. “How do we stop it?”

“We gank the ghost that started all this. We do that, the disease should clear up.”

“I’ve always hated the word should,” Chase sighs.

“Are we thinking Frank’s wife?”

“We never did learn why she killed herself.”

“Hey,” Sam says frowning, “What’re you doing out here waiting anyway?”

“Our room’s on the fourth floor,” Dean says hesitantly.

Chase fights another laugh. Sam sighs.

“It’s high,” Dean adds.

“I'll see if I can move us down to the first.” Sam says.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

***

Sam, Chase, and Harley entered the boys’ room to see a broken clock on the floor and Dean on the couch, a beer in hand.

“Uh, is everything okay?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, just peachy.”

“What did it do to you?” Chase asks, gesturing to the clock.

“Made me angry.”

Raising her eyebrows, Chase nods slowly. “Uh huh, okay.”

“Find anything?”

“Yeah, Jessie O'Brien's body was cremated, so I'm pretty sure she is not our ghost,” Sam says.

“Quit picking at that. How are you feeling?” Harley asks.

“Awesome. It’s nice to have my head on the chopping block. I almost forgot what it feels like.”

“Yeah,” Harley sighs.

“It’s freaking delightful.”

“We’ll keep looking,” Chase promises.

Dean starts coughing violently.

“You okay? Hey!” Sam asks, worried, “Dean.”

He starts to choke and rushes to the sink gagging until he spits a wood chip out.

“We've been completely ignoring the biggest clue we have, you.” Sam says.

“I don’t want to be a clue,” Dean complains.

“The abrasions, this disease, it’s trying to tell us something,” Sam points out.

“Tell us what?” Dean demands. “Wood chips?”

“Exactly.”

***

The group arrives at a nearby lumber mill. Exiting their cars, they look around at each other in hesitance. The mill is large, broken down, with ‘keep out’ signs on the front.

Dean looks at the mill, and shakes his head, “I'm not going in there.”

“You’re going in, Dean,” Sam says.

“C’mon scaredy cat, you got this. Bravery isn’t not being scared, it’s running towards what scares you,” Harley says, encouraging him.

Dean takes a large gulp of whiskey from a flask, “Let's do this. It is a little spooky, isn't it?”

“Yes Dean, it’s very spooky,” Chase sighs as Sam hands Dean his gun.

“Oh, I'm not carrying that. It could go off. I'll man the flashlight,” Dean says refusing the gun causing Harley to roll her eyes. He grabs the flashlight tightly with an anxious smile on his face.

“You do that,” Sam says.

***

The EMF meter goes off in Sam’s pocket, causing them all to jump and look towards him in surprise.

“EMF's not gonna work with me around, is it?” Dean asks.

“You don’t say,” Chase says sarcastically. “Come on,” Sam replies before crouching down in front of what looks like a dirty tissue, “Wait,” He pulls a golden wedding band out from underneath it.

Dean crouches down with the flashlight so Sam could read the engraving on it.

“‘To Frank, Love, Jessie’ Frank O’Brien’s ring,” Sam says, getting up.

“So Frank was definitely here.” Harley says.

“But what the hell was he doing here?” Dean asks.

Chase shrugs. “Who knows. Let’s just find this ghost.”

They continue on into another room, dust lining everything, from the small tables in the corner to the lockers lining the far wall. Cobwebs hang in every corner, causing Chase to stand in the very middle of the room while Sam and Dean go over to the lockers.

Sam opens a locker slowly, just for a cat to jump out. Dean, startled, shrieks loudly, jumping about wildly, flailing his arms. This action causes Chase to also scream out in surprise. She immediately notices the cat, however, and calms herself down, turning a glare to her older brother.

“That was scary,” Dean says matter-of-factly. Sam rolls his eyes and starts to walk away. “Wait!”

Ignoring the three others for a second, Chase runs after the cat, managing to catch it. She cradles it and walks back over to the group. Harley raises an eyebrow at her.

‘What?’ Chase mouths.

Harley shrugs, and reaches a hand out to stroke the cat’s head, then sneezes. Dean jumps slightly, whirling around to cast a cautious glance at Harley, then notices the cat in Chase’s arms. He backs away a step. Once Dean turns around Harley sneaks up behind him and digs her fingers into his sides causing Dean to scream and shoot her a nasty glare while Chase and Harley laugh their asses off.

Sam reaches down and picks a card off the table, only to pass it to Dean, saying, “Luther Garland.”

Dean, now backed away to the other table, points to a drawing. “Hey, this is uh. This is Frank’s wife.”

Chase lets out a low whistle. “The plot thickens.”

“Yeah, but into what?” Sam asks.

Dean suddenly bolts past the three, out of the mill. Chase starts to run after him. “Dean!”

Harley whirls around and notices a ghost behind Sam. “Sam, get down!”

Sam turns and ducks quickly as Harley shoots the ghost, causing it to vanish.

Sam turns to Harley and nods a thanks as they both head out to the Impala. Chase is gently placing the brown cat in the back of the Lincoln. Dean is drinking a copious amount of alcohol.

“Guess we got the right place,” Sam states.

***

“Dean, it’s just a small cat. You’re not even allergic!” Chase reprimands, holding the cat against her chest. It meows indignantly at Dean, who frowns at it.

“I might develop an allergy though!”

“Dean, I’m allergic, and even I know it’s fine to be around the cat, much less be around Chase just because she’s held one recently.”

Chase points at Harley, a look on her face screaming, ‘Exactly!’

Dean shakes his head, taking a stubbornly defiant step back. Sam sighs, rubbing his forehead, and exasperated look on his face.

“Guys, you’ve both held the cat. And since Dean,” Sam gives an annoyed look to Dean upon saying his name - Dean looks at him in indignation and scoffs, “And that means you guys aren’t much help right now. Just go to the motel and figure out a shelter nearby to get rid of it, take a shower, and join us later. Okay?”

Chase rolls her eyes, scoffing, in sync with Dean. They both sigh and nod. Harley laughs at the two.

“Yeah, Sam, that works,” Harley says.

Chase grumbles but agrees nonetheless.

Back in the motel room, Harley and Chase sit on the floor, the cat between them, trying to come up with ways to get the cat to a safe place.

“We could give him to Cas?” Harley suggests.

“I mean, I guess.” Chase frowns, jerking her hand away from the cat’s claws. His now clean fur bristles as he - Chase had drawn the short straw and washed him, and checked - turned away from her, wandering straight to Harley, whom he seemed to favor despite her allergies. “Cas is a no show recently, though, so I don’t really think he’d come down for this.”

“Yeah, but there aren’t any shelters nearby. So what else can we do?”

“Nothing else, I guess. I definitely don’t want to just put him back in that mill. Do you think he’d answer if you or I prayed to him?”

“I think it’s worth a shot.”

“Okay, do you want me to or do you want the honors?” Chase pauses. “We could say we found a seal?”

“Or we could just say it’s of dire importance, I mean we don’t have to lie to the guy. Just not tell him everything.”

Chase looks down at the cat, who stares at her from between Harley’s crossed legs. She sighs dramatically and leans back against the bed. “Fine, I’ll do it. But only for you,” Chase says, pointing at the cat. She then frowns. “You-you- cat. We need to name him first. Then I’ll do it.”

“Catiel.”

Chase gives Harley a side look. “How long have you been sitting on that one?”

“Since I thought about looping Cas in.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t be Harley if you didn’t make some form of pun or bad joke. Not that it’s bad. The cat fits the name. Doesn’t like me much, that is.” Chase scoffs to herself, before sighing. “I guess I’ll pray now.” Chase ignores Harley, who begins to just laugh about the name “Catiel”, while playing with the cat himself. She sighs again.

“Oh, uh, Cas. Hi, me. Chase Winchester. Look, Harley and I need you down here for something…” No response. Chase glances around the room, and frowns. “Please, Cas it’s really important to me and we kinda need your help. It’s an emergency.”

“What’s wrong?” A male voice suddenly asks. The girls jump and turn to Castiel, who looks at them with narrowed eyes.

Catiel, who’d somehow immediately jumped to be by Castiel’s side, rubbing along his legs, somehow unnoticed by Cas, meows up at him. Castiel slowly looks down, only to freeze, look up at the girls, then back down.

“What is this?”

“A cat. His name is Catiel,” Harley says proudly.

Castiel sighs. “Well, yes I know it is a cat but- Wait. You have named him Catiel? Like…”

“Like after you, yeah,” Harley says, with a tone of ‘duh’ in her voice.

“Why am I here?” Castiel asks, his eyes going to Chase. She blinks at the sudden attention and stutters when trying to answer.

“We need help with Catiel. He needs to be brought to a shelter, but there aren’t any near here. And you can just poof everywhere.”

Cas looks as though he wants to comment on several parts of that statement, but resigns himself to ignoring both the cat’s name and the ‘poofing’ comment once more. “I am a heavenly soldier of the Lord and you think I’m available to you as your errand boy?” he asks in a commanding tone.

Chase raises a brow at this. “Wow, but when you needed something done, you had no problem coming to us and asking us to help you. And Harley even named the poor thing after you, how horrible of you.”

Cas’ eyes narrow further. “You said it was an emergency.”

“This is an emergency!”

“I thought you might’ve been hurt. Or there was a seal. Or something actually worth my time.”

“Castiel, take this cat to a shelter or else,” Chase demands. She looks at Cas, all five feet four inches, sitting criss-crossed on the floor, a stuffed animal discarded to her right, glaring up at an angel, demandingly. He blinks.

“Fine.” His voice is gruff and he seems hesitant, but doesn’t argue any further.

“Thanks, Cas,” Harley says grinning, “Now we can get to the list.” “List?”

Chase smiles. “Yes. List. Now, Catiel has to go to a no-kill shelter. Can not be vegan run. Preferably not an SPCA organization, since those usually pool money for themselves. Maybe one with no adoption fees, maybe vaccinations included. Spaying is probably important. Harley, am I missing anything?”

“Purina food. Only the best for our little Catiel,” Harley adds.

Castiel gives Harley a blank stare. “Of course. Is there anything else?”

“Yeah.”

Cas looks to Chase again, the look on his face quickly becoming devoid of any patience. “What?”

“You have to pick him up,” Chase smiles.

“What?”

“You have to pick him up to poof him around, Cas,” Harley repeats.

“Please, Castiel,” Chase says, bringing out the puppy eyes, a trait she shares with her younger brother, Sam. “This is really important to me. I’d keep Catiel if I could, so would Harley. We just want to make sure he stays safe.”

Castiel’s face softens reluctantly as he groans, his head tilting back as his eyes flick to the ceiling for a moment, as though praying. “Alright. Alright. Catiel will be fine,” Cas says, hesitating at the name, but seeming to warm up to the idea, if only slightly. He bends over to pick up Catiel, and lifts him awkwardly into the air, holding him away from his body, as though Catiel could cause some kind of damage.

“I mean, that isn’t how you hold a cat, but, it’s better than nothing,” Chase sighs.

“I’ll miss you, Catiel.” Harley says oh so dramatically.

***

Sam calls Chase and she puts him on speakerphone. “Dean’s gone,” Sam says through the speaker.

“What?” Chase and Harley question at the same time.

“Dean’s gone. He ran off and I can’t find him.”

“We’ll find him, Sammy, don’t worry,” Chase says, reassuring her brother.

“Did he say anything before he left?” Harley asked.

“He thinks we’re crazy, that he’s done with hunting.” Sam says.

“Dean Winchester done with hunting? Never thought I’d hear that in my lifetime.” Harley says, “If he’s done hunting he’s probably heading back to the motel or to a bar.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not like him,” Chase adds. “Sammy, what made him leave? Did he say anything before he left?”

“Just that he was done with hunting. I think he was having a hallucination, but whatever it is, it scared the hell out of him.”

***

Harley was waiting in the boys’ room for Dean to come back while Chase and Sam are out looking for him. Dean enters the room out of breath and terrified.

“Dean! You can’t just disappear like that. Do you have any idea how worried we were? You’re not exactly in the best state of mind right now,” Harley goes off.

“I know, I know,” Dean says. “I just. I’m done with all of this.”

Once she calms down she texts Sam and Chase letting them know Dean was back at the motel.

“You might be done for now, but will you be when we cure you? Because honestly I doubt you will.”

“I don’t know, okay?” Dean exclaims. “How are you so sure you’ll cure me, huh? Cause it doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen!”

“Because I’m not letting you die of some stupid ghost sickness and neither are Chase and Sam. We care too much about you and we will find a way. We have to.”

Dean sighs, sitting himself down on the bed. “Okay.”

“Well that was easier than usual. This ghost sickness must really be getting to ya,” Harley jokes nudging Dean in the side.

Dean laughs slightly, but jumps at the sudden opening of the door. Harley and Dean turn to see Sam and Chase looking at them.

“What the Hell, Dean?” Chase demands, stomping over to him. He flinches slightly, and she softens her movements, but not her expression. “We looked everywhere for you! I was worried sick, Dean.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How did you get here?” Sam asks, worry lacing his tone.

“I ran,” Dean shrugs. “So, what do we do now? I’ve got less than four hours on the clock. I’m gonna die, Sammy.”

“No, Dean. We aren’t going to let that happen.”

“Back?” Dean asks, suddenly looking confused. The three others share a glance.

“Dean, are you okay?” Chase asks, stepping closer.

“No! Stay away from me!” Chase puts her hands up and takes a large step back.

“Dean, it’s okay.”

Harley, still next to Dean on the bed, puts a hand on his shoulder. Dean flinches away and lets out a yell, scrambling back.

“You get out of her! You get out of all of them!”

“Dean, what’s going on, what’re you talking about?” Chase asks, rushing back over to him. Sam and Harley do the same.

Sam shakes Dean by the shoulders, trying to capture his attention. “Dean! Hey, hey, hey. Dean. Dean, c’mon, Dean!”

Dean comes to, it seems, as he takes a few shuddering deep breaths, looking at the three in panic. Harley, Sam, and Chase all exchange worried glances before their attention lands on Dean again.

***

Sam and Chase lean against the Impala as Bobby’s car drives up.

“Howdy, Sam, Chase.” Bobby says as he exits his vehicle.

“Hey, Bobby. Thanks for coming so quick.” Sam says.

“Where's Dean and Harley?”

“Harley’s babysitting Dean,” Chase says.

“So, have his hallucinations started yet then?”

Chase nods. “Few hours ago.”

“How we doing on time?” Bobby asks.

Sam sighs. “We saw the coroner about eight AM, Monday morning, so, uh.”

“Just under two hours,” Chase sighs. “What about you? Find anything?”

“This, uh, encyclopedia of spirits dates back to the Edo period.” Bobby hands Sam a text in Japanese.

“You can read Japanese?” Sam asks, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Kimi ga umareru zutto mae kara dayo,” Bobby answers.

“Guess so, show off,” Sam mutters.

“Samu, kuso. Kono atari de osharena hon o manade iru no wa anata dakede wa arimasen.”

Sam turns to Chase in shock. “Bobby, I can understand. You?”

Chase scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I know five languages Sam. Grow up. Is it really that surprising?”

Sam shrugs. “A little, yeah.”

“Anyway,” Bobby interrupts, “this book lists a kind of ghost that could be our guy. It, uh, infects people with fear. It’s called the Buru Buru.”

“Well, does this say how to kill it?” Sam asks.

“Same as usual, burn the remains.”

“So, uh, is there a plan B?” Chase asks, her eyes scanning the text.

“Well, the Buru Buru is a creature of fear. Hell, it is fear. So, the lore says you can kill it with fear.”

“We’re scaring a ghost to death?” Chase asks, her eyebrows raising in question.

“Pretty much.”

“How the hell are we gonna do that?” Sam asks.

***

Dean and Harley are sitting on the bed, watching Gumby on TV. Pokey is lassoed and dragged by a car while Dean scratches his arm.

“Oh, this isn't helping,” Dean quickly switches it off.

“Stop it,” Harley says, referring to his arm.

“Stop what?”

“Scratching.” Harley says as her phone rings, “It’s Sam.” She answers the phone, “Hey, what’s up?”

“We got a plan,” Sam says.

“What is it?”

“Just a really good plan.”

“Sam.”

“We're going to scare the ghost to death.”

“Should I come with y’all?”

“No, someone needs to watch Dean.”

“Got it,” Harley says hanging up.

“What’s going on?” Dean asks.

“They got a plan.”

“What is it?”

“Just a good plan.”

“Are you going with them?”

“No.”

“Good. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re never alone as long as I’m around….Besides you’ve got Sam and Chase. You don’t even really need me.”

“I’ll always need you, sweetheart.” Dean almost whispers.

“I’ll always need you too.” She says resting her head on his shoulder.

***

Chase, Sam, and Bobby arrived at the lumber mill.

“This is a terrible plan,” Bobby mentions.

“Well it’s the only plan we got,” Chase says.

“I know I said, scare the ghost to death but this?” Bobby says, cocking a shotgun.

“Hey, you got a better idea, I'm listening,” Sam says before he and Chase enter the mill.

“Any luck?” Bobby asks over the walkie talkie.

“I don't know what's wrong, Bobby. Last time he came right at us. It's almost like he's, uh...like he's scared.”

Chase continues forward down the hall, met with no ghosts, resistance, or danger of any kind. She turns back to Sam, confused. “Where the hell is he?”

“So now what?” Bobby’s voice asks.

“I guess we got to make him angry.” Sam says. He walks towards a table covered with Luther’s drawings, and begins to rip them up. The machinery of the mill starts up. “Come on, Luther! Where the hell are you? What are you waiting for?”

“Sam!” Chase shouts, pointing behind Sam. “He’s there!”

***

Dean and Harley hear a bang come from the motel room door. A dog barks and the door comes off its hinges revealing the Sheriff with a gun in hand.

“Sheriff?” Dean says unsure of what’s happening.

“What ‘cha doing?” Harley asks, weary of getting shot.

“Why are you looking into Luther Garland's death?” The Sheriff asks.

Harley and Dean notice the blood now visible on his forearm.

“Hey, hey, you're - you're sick. You're sick. You're sick, all right? Just -- just like me, okay? You got to relax.” Dean says.

The Sheriff ignores Dean and punches him in the face. Harley is quick to get between the two men.

“Frank O'Brien was my friend. So he made a mistake. So I didn't bust him. So what? And you're gonna bring me down over that?! No, sir.” The Sheriff attempts to point the gun at Dean, but Harley swats it out of his hand.

A fight breaks out between the Sheriff and Harley while Dean watches too afraid to help. The Sheriff ends the fight, staring into the distance petrified. He starts hyperventilating and slowly backs away.

“Get away from me!” The Sheriff shouts before collapsing.

“Well that was eventful. You know you could have helped Dean.” Harley says tuning around to face the hunter in question. He’s scratching his arm again. “Will you quit it. You’re only gonna make your arm worse.”

A few minutes pass and the damn dog starts barking again. Dean leans down to pick up nothing. That was Harley’s first clue something was wrong. The second was when Dean jumped slightly.

“You – you are not real!” Dean shouts at the air to his right. He clutches his chest in fear. “You are not real.”

“Dean? You okay?” Harley asks, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Why me? Why'd I get infected?” He asks.

Harley walks over to him and shakes him slightly trying to break his trance.

“Whu...?” Dean asks, scooting away from whatever he saw until he was on the floor freaking out.

Harley didn’t know what to do so she took a page out of her previous dog’s book and layed on Dean’s chest attempting to slow down his heart rate. Eventually he’s pulled out of his trance.

“Why are you on my chest?” Dean asks, having no clue what’s going on.

“My dog used to lay on people’s chests to get their heart rates to slow down. I hoped the same principle would apply to humans.”

***

Chase shoots at Luther, but misses, her shots not as precise out of fear of shooting Sam, who is in a close range fight with the ghost.

“Chase!” Sam shouts, “Grab the chains!”

Chase remembers the chains and sees them on the ground near Sam, having been dropped when Chase grabbed her gun. She’d been in charge of keeping track of them.

Chase rushes over, grabbing the spelled chains off the ground. She gets Sam away from the ghost and the two take off, Luther in hot pursuit of them.

Once outside, close enough to Baby for her comfort, she turns suddenly, wrapping the chains around Luther’s neck. Luther struggles, but is unable to do anything at that moment about them. Chase, still holding onto them, gets into the Impala quickly.

“Step on it, Bobby!” Sam shouts.

Bobby slams on the gas pedal and the three watch as Luther is dragged behind the car by the chains. Luther gradually begins to disappear, until he is completely gone. Bobby slows down, pulling off to the side of the road so that Chase can pull in the chain, each of them allowing their breathing to go back to normal.

***

“So you guys road-hauled a ghost with a chain?” Dean asks skeptically.

“Iron chain,” Sam says.

“Probably helped that it was etched with spellwork,” Chase adds.

“Probably,” Harley laughs.

Chase cracks a smile. “Probably.”

“Hmm, that’s a new one,” Dean hums.

“It’s what he was most afraid of,” Sam says. “Pretty brutal, though.”

“On the upside, I’m still alive,” Dean laughs, “So, uh, go team!”

“Yeah. How are you feeling?” Chase asks.

“Fine.”

“You sure, Dean? 'Cause this line of work can get awful scary,” Bobby says.

“I'm fine. You want to go hunting? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything.”

“Awwww, he's adorable. I got to get out of here. You guys drive safe,” Bobby says getting in his car.

“You too, Bobby. Hey, thanks,” Sam says as Bobby drives off, “So uh...so, what did you see? Near the end, I mean.”

“Oh, besides a cop beating Harley’s ass?” Dean says.

“I was winning,” Harley says, swatting Dean on the arm.

“Seriously, Dean, what did you see?” Chase asks.

“Howler monkeys. Whole roomful of them. Those things creep the hell out of me.” Dean answers.

“Right.”

“No, just the usual stuff. Nothing I can’t handle.”

#supernatural #Supernatural season four #castiel #dean #winchester

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cagestark · 5 years

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Hi! Im not sure if you are taking prompts, but if not pls just ignore this (I LOVE YOUR STUFF ANYWAY UR GREAT ❤️❤️❤️) What about a PrisonInmate!Tony, PrisonInmate!Steve and PrisonInmate!Bucky all trying to get their hands on freshly employed Officer!Peter who was just trying to do his job. Smut? Shenanigans? Lots of good/bad/cheesy flirting? Anything would make me so happy!!!

Hope this works for what you wanted. I had a lot of fun, feel free to hop in my inbox and let me know if you’re satisfied. I tried working Steve in but :( still not very good at writing him. Bucky is a stretch for me, too. Did what I could though! Especially considering I scrapped what I had, wrote this in 10 hours, and didn’t even glance it over skskskks sorry for errors.

Warnings: some violence, smut, drugs. 7.5k. Peter is 22!

Read here on AO3!

The first time Tony meets Officer Parker, Tony is shackled at the waist and ankles to eleven other inmates from Lincoln Correctional Facility. He reaches up with bound wrists to scrub at his facial hair hoping that he isn’t as scruffy as he feels, eyeing the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed little twink who would be driving them twenty minutes to a nearby park There they would be giving restitution to society by picking up plastic soda bottles, cigarette butts, and used condoms from under the dugout benches at the baseball diamond. Thinking of the millions of dollars he stole from his father’s company (plenty of which was still offshore and safe), Tony figures that a week of this and his debt will be repaid. He and society can call it even.

“He’s green,” Bucky mutters from beside him. He tracks the younger man’s pale eyes to Officer Twink. “No question about it.”

“Hey Fury,” Tony says when the black officer goes by, doing a head count. He motions with his bound hands to Parker. “I didn’t know it was bring-your-white-child-to-work-day. Are his legs long enough to reach the pedals in the van? Does he have his permit? Where did you leave his Hot Wheels battery-powered jeep? Will we all fit in the back, because—”

“Pushing your luck,” mutters Steve from Tony’s other side, goody-fucking-two-shoes that he is.

Fury stops walking, actually doubles back to stand in front of him. “You want me to drag you out of line, Stark? You can spend the rest of your day inside washing dishes. Or in solitary, if you feel like being an asshole like usual. Don’t fucking test me,” Fury says. He’s a real hard-ass. Tony likes him well enough.

Beyond them, Officer Parker is blushing to beat the band having heard Tony’s criticism of him. “I’m twenty-two,” he mutters, and Tony nearly groans. Beside him, Bucky does groan. This kid is so, so fucking green. What kind of dummy correctional officer just spills personal information in front of convicted felons?

The harder inmates are going to eat him alive.

If Tony doesn’t eat him first.

“Twenty-two huh? When’s your birthday, sweetheart?” Tony calls. “I’ll drop a postcard in the mail for you—"

He hears the slide of chrome on leather as Fury draws his baton. Tony has just enough time to be thankful it’s not his taser before it is jabbing him in the chest. With his feet and wrists shackled, he has no real way to keep himself upright. He ends up sprawled ass first in the dirt. Steve and Bucky have to adjust to avoid falling themselves and likely taking the whole line down with them.

“Did you just threaten Officer Parker, Stark?” Fury asks, bending over him.

Tony squints up against the sun. “If my heartfelt affection is threatening, then—”

“One more word and you’re spending the week on D Block.” D Block is solitary confinement, and if there is anything more painful to Tony, he doesn’t know what it is. Being alone with his thoughts, no one there to fill the silence, walls so thick he can’t even hear the shouts from other inmates around him—it’s enough to drive him to the edge. He folds.

“Parker,” Fury barks. “Give me your keys. Stark isn’t coming on the field trip.”

“How else am I going to repay society?” Tony asks, holding up his wrists so Fury can unchain him out of the line. Fury doesn’t dignify him with an answer, and it’s probably for the best. Words tend to pour out of Tony’s mouth without thought even at the best of times. And he really isn’t looking for spending the first week of Officer Parker’s employment up on D Block getting his trays through the slot in the door.

While Fury undoes the locks with practiced ease, Parker stands back practically wringing his hands. He looks distraught, downright upset to be honest. When he catches Tony looking, the kid turns red and looks away. God. Fucking adorable.

Tony glances up at Bucky who is looking straight ahead with the smuggest fucking smirk. He winks at Parker and the kid literally has to turn away, probably before he has a stroke, because Bucky is a good-looking guy. And he’s going to spend the entire week, eight hours a day picking up trash while being supervised by Officer Twink.

“You lucky bastard,” Tony says to him.

“Bucky’s probably got him bent on all fours in one of the dugout’s right now,” Tony mutters unhappily around an unlit cigarette. They aren’t supposed to smoke inside—it’s against the rules, actually, not just frowned upon—but in times of anxiety, he likes the familiarity of it between his lips. He picks up his dealt cards from the table and glances at them: a straight. Not bad.

“Should have kept your mouth shut,” Toomes says from across the table. His joy at Tony’s dismay is poorly disguised behind his own hand. “That’d be you, right now. Picking up trash in Manhattan. The highlight of your day getting your dick sucked in a dugout littered with caramel corn and old wads of chewing gum. God, how the mighty fall.”

“Could be you right now, too,” Tony offers genially. “But those domestic violence charges mean you don’t even get the chance to go on field trips, huh?”

“Not to mention,” Rhodes says from beside him, a dark-skinned man with a generally unhappy face, and serious disposition. He was one of the only people on the block that Tony genuinely trusted—that sort of trust was hard earned. They’d even exchanged addresses so they could communicate after one or the other gets processed out. “No guard would risk their job for a suck job with you, Toomes.”

“Brutal,” Tony says, holding out his hand to shake Rhodes’s. “True, but absolutely brutal.”

“Thanks,” Rhodey says dryly. “Is someone going to call, or what?”

Toomes ends up storming off, leaving his hand flat on the table. When Tony flips it over, he only had one pair. Unfortunate bastard.

“He’s going to give you problems, Tony,” Rhodey says. His dark eyes are still tracking Toomes who is sulking across the floor back to his cell, where he stands in the doorway, scanning the room. “He’s not showing you respect, and he’s not meshing well with the block. It’s going to come to a head soon.”

“Is this foreshadowing?” Tony asks lazily.

Rhodey just stares.

Tony is dozing in his cell when a large form takes up the doorway. He slits his eyes open to see Bucky there, fresh from a shower with his jumpsuit half-undone and tied around his waist. The white wifebeater he wears shows off his arms, including the gnarly scars on his left shoulder from his last tour overseas. It clings to skin that is still a little wet, and Tony licks his lips.

“Hey snowflake,” he says, voice raspy. “Come to rub it in?”

Bucky sits cross-legged on the floor, back against the concrete wall. “His name is Peter. He graduated from the academy last May. This is his first job—if you don’t count the food joint he worked at as a kid. And his birthday is August tenth.”

Tony scoffs. “What, you didn’t get his social security number too? I’m disappointed. And I don’t believe you.”

Bucky holds up a scarred hand, solemn. “Swear on my tags.”

“How the hell could you have found out so much about the kid in a handful of hours? With Fury marching around no less.”

The smile that slides over Bucky’s face is so fucking handsome. Downright sensual. “Fury didn’t come. He was just there for headcount. It was Coulson escorting us with the kid. He spent the whole time sitting in the van with the AC and radio on, chainsmoking. You’re going to shit yourself, Tony. This kid is so fucking sincere and sweet—” Bucky throws his voice into what must be a poor impression of Peter’s trembling voice. “—thanks Mister Barnes, you’ve been so friendly. I’m glad my first day was spent with you.”

“Aww fuck. Goddamnit. Son of a bitch.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t worry, you’re going to get your chance. He told me today was just to break him in. Tomorrow? He’s on the block. And don’t worry, I put in a good word for you. My friend Tony, I said, he’s one of the most solid guys I know. Arrogant as fuck, but a sweetheart underneath the ten different layers of ego and narcicism.”

Tony’s eyes shut. His hands come together in a prayer position over his chest. “Oh thank you, sweet Jesus.”

“Thank me,” Bucky says, wiggling his eyebrows.

In the back of the cell is a curtain that can be drawn shut while an inmate uses the facilities. It’s where most sex happens during the daytime, when anyone is liable to walk by and glance into a cell. Tony jerks a thumb at it. “You want to see what lies behind curtain number one, Buck?”

“Sure. I’m feeling lucky.”

Showers open at dawn, and Tony is one of the first inmates there. He takes extra time soaping himself up in the lukewarm water. By the time trays are brought in, he is dressed with his hair combed. The tank top he wears is white as is required for all clothes that aren’t jumpsuits, and it looks good against his tanned skin. Tony looks fucking good for his age—which is somewhere past thirty and before fifty, thanks, don’t worry about it.

He’s halfway through a tray of biscuits and gravy with more-than-decent hash-browns when Officer Parker comes in, the door of the block screeching open. He’s escorted again by Coulson. They tend to keep senior officers with green ones, because it’s so easy for the new guys to fall prey to inmates, whether by manipulation, intimidation, or sheer manpower. Tony has seen it happen. Tony has caused it, himself. He didn’t end up as the top guy in the block by shaking hands and kissing ass.

Coulson points out things around the block: the cells (obvious), the showers, the cameras. Tony isn’t close enough to hear what’s being said, but he can imagine. Guards come in every hour during the day and every two hours at night to stroll around the block peaking into cells. Even when they aren’t a physical presence on the floor, they are always watching behind the cameras. That will be Peter’s job today: walking the floor. Every sixty minutes, he’ll walk right by Tony in his cute little dress blues. They look too clingy to be at all efficient, especially on Peter’s lithe little form, narrow hips barely able to support the holster on his waist.

Peter turns around and Tony gets a nice glimpse of his ass—God, he wants to bite it.

Bucky looks less enthusiastic today, hair pulled back into a wet bun, dark circles under his eyes. They’d slept in the same bunk last night, but when he’d awoken in the morning, Bucky had been gone. Nightmares, probably. “Now who’s the lucky bastard?” he mumbles around his fork.

Tony. Tony is the lucky bastard.

When Coulson and Peter go by, Tony calls out, face wearing a winning smile. “Good morning, officers.”

“Good morning,” Peter says sweetly. When he notices that it is Tony who spoke, his eyes double in size. Obviously, Tony has already made an impression. He plants his chin on his palm, elbow resting on the table, and lets his eyes rove over the green boy. Unashamed is his middle name.

“Inmate number one to watch out for, Parker,” Coulson says. But Tony thinks there’s a little affection underneath the vacant expression. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

“I’m hurt, Phil,” Tony says. “Really hurt.”

“Stark is here for fraud, and he’s a master manipulator.”

“That’s better—stroke my ego, Phil. I love it. Go on.”

Coulson looks unimpressed. “Give him a wide berth.”

Peter nods obediently. His eyes trail over to Bucky and he lights up, squinting with a smile liable to outshine the sun. “Good morning Bucky! How are you?”

Coulson looks liable to have a fucking stroke. Lips twitching, Bucky salutes. “Doing great, sweet thing, how about yourself?”

“Can’t complain,” Peter says, blushing prettily.

Coulson ends up having to drag him off. Tony can’t imagine the dressing down he’s going to be receiving once they’re in private. Actually, he can, and it’s an image he cherishes. It wouldn’t hurt for the sweet kid to have some sense knocked into him by the other guards—before one of the inmates knocks it into him for them. The thought makes Tony’s fist clench around his fork. If anybody is knocking anything into Peter, it will be him. And Bucky. Preferably at the same time.

“You can hold him down,” Tony says lowly to Bucky across the table. “I’d like to see your thick arms wrapped around him. He looks like a squirmer, so sensitive. You can keep him still with nowhere to go, sitting on your cock, and I’ll suck him off. I bet he cries.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, eyes half-lidded. He makes a stabbing motion with his plastic fork. “Or I’ll end up in the bathroom at the park beating off.”

“I like the thought of that.”

“Yeah, well I don’t.”

The next time Peter comes around, he is alone. Tony, Toomes, and some of the other guys are sitting around the table playing poker.

“Afternoon gentlemen,” Peter says cordially. Tony is immediately smitten—the kid is trying so hard to be a Big Boy. It’s so fucking endearing. All Tony wants to do is drag the kid by the belt to the nearest cell and suck him off.

“Afternoon, handsome,” Tony says.

“I hope there’s no gambling going on,” Peter says, his arms cross across his chest. Jesus, his arms are skinny but fucking built, muscles straining beneath the cuffs of his shirt. There’s strength there. He’s reminded suddenly that this kid did pass the academy, so he does have some training under his belt.

“Gambling is against the rules, officer,” Tony says brightly. He takes the cigarette from behind his ear, hands desperate for something to do, and tucks it between his lips. “Do we look like rule breakers to you?”

Peter shakes the hand of each man around the table. Tony would have to be blind not to see the looks he’s garnering: incredulity, attraction, calculation. Toomes looks like he’s about to cream his jumpsuit when his rough hand wraps around Peter’s soft, tiny one. The look he shoots Tony is smug.

“Do I get a handshake, Officer?” Tony asks sweetly as the kid is trying to make his escape.

He looks at Tony’s hand like it is a trap. Tony softens.

“I’m sorry if I came on too strong before,” he says gently. “I just want to say, Welcome to LCF.”

Peter takes his hand. It is just as soft and smooth as it looks, but the grip is strong and firm, and Tony feels irrational pride—look at this little boy standing up to him, so fucking fearless. He makes sure to keep the handshake simple and wholesome, even though it hurts to let go. Judging by the look on Peter’s face, he agrees.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” the kid breaths and fuck. That goes right to his cock.

“You’re quite welcome,” he purrs.

The guards work 2-2-3’s, predictably. That means that Peter will have two day shifts, two days off, three night shifts, two days off, two day shifts, three days off, so on and so forth. The next two days with no Peter to look forward to and Bucky spending the 9 to 5 picking up trash are some of the dullest he’s ever had. Rhodey is the only consolation. They spend a lot of their time watching television together or playing chess.

And nights are spent with Bucky. They take turns topping, pressing each other into the mattress and muttering a litany of dirty prose in each other’s ears. Peter makes a lot of appearances in their repertoire, and some of the best orgasms Tony’s had in ages come from imagining him walking into his cell someday to find Bucky sucking off Officer Parker, or the other way around.

Sometimes, Tony has to go behind the curtain in his cell and pretend he’s taking a shit, when in reality he is jerking off to the thought. Popping a boner during poker isn’t exactly welcome.

The night shifts aren’t ideal. From 6 pm to 6 am, Peter will come in to walk the floor, shining light into cells to make sure everything is up to code. There isn’t as much time for conversation, but Tony figures he’ll be happy to spend the night awake in his buck just for the glimpses of Peter he’ll get. God, he’s fucking worked up over this kid. Mr. Stark, he called him. Jesus.

When Peter comes in at six, it is to general greeting suffused with catcalls. His face turns red as a tomato, but he smiles, looking pleased by the comradery.

“Hey doll,” Bucky says when he strolls by. Trays came in a few minutes prior, so they are eating. Salisbury steak tonight, disgusting—but the gravy isn’t half bad. Peter waves, coming over.

“Hi Mr. Barnes. Hi Mr. Stark.”

“It’s Tony, sweetheart,” Tony says. “Even Coulson calls us by our first names. You can do it too.”

“T-Tony,” Peter stutters.

“Say it again,” Tony purrs. “You need to get your practice in now.”

Bucky kicks him under the table. “You’re going to give him an aneurysm. Sorry Pete—Tony is a bit of a horn dog. He’s what the kids call thirsty.”

Peter laughs, hiding his smile behind his hand. “Yeah, I could have guessed. Is he like this with everybody?”

Tony goes to open his mouth, but is stopped by the increased pressure on the arch of his foot by Bucky’s boot under the table. When he glances over, Bucky looks earnest, serious. He puts a scarred hand over his heart. “No sir. Swear on my service tags. You’ve got us all smitten.”

Peter melts. He bites his lip, casting Tony a shy but warm glance. “I—you guys are so nice. I better get back to—yeah—”

They both watch Peter’s ass as he walks away.

“You smooth motherfucker. I need to start taking a page out of your book,” Tony mutters. He rubs his ankle softly against Bucky’s. It’s the most affection they’re willing to give each other out on the floor. Affection is weakness here, and as the guy who runs the floor, Tony knows he has a big target on his chest. He’d rather not make it any bigger. For him, or for Bucky.

It’s nearing ten PM. Lights go out at 9:30, and while not everyone is asleep, the raucous gatherings are contained to individual cells.

Like Tony’s. He is biting his knuckles, panting as Bucky sucks him off. They’ve spent the last hour cuddling in the bunk, running their hands over each other, muttering dirty things between them. He’s been hard for the better part of that hour, and it’s only now that Bucky has shown mercy on him, tugging him up to sit on the edge of the bunk, knees spread wide. He rucks up Tony’s wifebeater over his abs and chest to rub a thumb at one of his nipples, causing his cock to jump.

“Let’s give a show, baby, huh?” Bucky whispers before swallowing him down. Tony jolts, barely managing to cut off the groan that builds up in his throat.

Bucky gives head with enthusiasm and without shame, probably because he looks so fucking hot without his inhibitions, and he knows it. Eyes closed like Tony’s cock is the tastiest thing he’s ever had in his mouth, Bucky drools and chokes himself, sometimes pressing Tony’s cock up so that he can mouth at the older man’s balls, taking them into his mouth one at a time.

Tony holds off his orgasm for as long as he can. He loves this, loves how aroused Bucky gets from sucking cock, whining around it, one hand reaching between his own legs to jerk himself off.

Then comes the light. It blinds Tony whose eyes are accustomed to the darkness. He gasps, jerking backwards in horror at being caught, but Bucky’s hands grab his hips and wrench him forwards, taking him deeper.

There comes a gasp, high and effeminate.

Peter.

The flashlight fumbles and clicks off, but Tony doesn’t hear the footsteps move away. His eyes readjust to the darkness, and he sees Peter’s form standing in the doorway, one hand up to press against his mouth.

Bucky chokes himself, swallowing around the head of Tony’s cock, and something about being watched—being watched by Peter—has Tony gasping, fisting Bucky’s long hair and fucking into his throat as he cums. He barely manages to keep his eyes open through the pleasure, because now he can just make out the dim form of features on Peter’s face, eyes half-closed, and knuckles clutched between his teeth.

He likes what he sees.

“Jesus, baby,” Tony whispers, stroking Bucky’s hair. The man stands up, pants slung to his ankles, fisting his naked cock furiously. The low cots mean that when he cums with a groan, he stripes Tony’s chest with it, and he loves it, fucking loves marking and being marked by Bucky. “You wanted to give Peter a show, huh?”

The sound Peter makes is tortured. He turns and nearly sprints away, perfunctorily walking down the rest of the cells, glancing in to make sure no one is smoking or hoarding blankets or any other thing.

They sit side by side on the bunk, panting.

“All part of the plan, handsome,” Bucky mutters, pressing a tender kiss to Tony’s forehead.

“Petey came to my cell last night,” Toomes says the next day. The guard on duty is in Tony’s palm, so Tony smokes unabashedly and without fear of repercussions, flicking his ash in a neat pile next to him, because littering isn’t cool.

He isn’t sure what his facial expression says, but he hopes its as stony and unbelieving as he feels. “Good for you, Toomes. Did you finally get that suck job you wanted?”

The other man scoffs, waving away Tony’s accusations. “He’s too skittish for that. But he saw me reading. Frankenstein. Did you know he’s a big reader, Tony?”

Tony didn’t know. He tries not to let it show how rankled it makes him, that there is any part of Peter that this vulture has picked off before Tony or Bucky.

“Maybe you can start a book club,” Tony suggests.

Beside him, Rhodey snorts into his cards.

“He’s full of shit, Tony. You know that,” Bucky soothes. He’s sitting on Tony’s cot, freshly showered, watching Tony pace, cigarette clutched between his lips. The younger man is getting a tan from his time spent out in the sun picking up trash. For a fair skinned, fair eyed man, he tans surprisingly well. Tony certainly appreciates the aesthetic.

“He’s not. Not about this, at least,” Tony mutters. “Peter waved to him tonight at dinner when you were getting your tray. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to look at Toomes with a pleasant expression. I can’t unsee it.”

“You poor thing,” Bucky says, sounding not at all sympathetic. “Look, the kid’s worked here for three days. This is his fourth fucking shift. Seduction takes time. You always do this—if something you want doesn’t fall into your lap right away, you get mopey. Where’s the Tony you always talk about, the one who had patience, who worked hard to reap rewards?”

“Worked real hard to reap my dad’s money, you’ve got that right,” Tony mutters. “You suck at pep talks, snowflake.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Then how about I just console you?”

Tony takes the cigarette from his mouth and points it at him. “Now you’re talking.”

It’s nearing two in the morning. Peter has been by a handful of times, face red when he glances into their cell. Bucky and Tony jerked each other off hours ago—shame he missed it—and have spent the rest of the evening sitting on the cot talking. Bucky does push-ups. Tony admires the view.

“I’m out of smokes,” Bucky says. He means pot—Tony doesn’t partake, but on night when Bucky does, sleeps easier and wakes more rested. “I need more papers.”

“I got ‘em baby.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

Tony can get anything into prison. It’s about greasing the guards—and he makes sure to know which ones squeak and which ones don’t. Then he keeps them well, well lubricated. Whenever someone needs something (matches, drugs, porn, other contraband), Tony is the guy who gets it. But he’s not dumb enough to be the guy who keeps it. That’s on the straw men Tony keeps around the block. One houses the rolling papers. Another has the pot. There’s a cellphone in the cell beside Tony. And if there are shakedowns with guards Tony doesn’t have under his thumb, those men agree to take the fall, and Tony agrees to make it up to them.

It’s late and dark, most people actually asleep now. Tony feels his way down to the cells to the guy who’s housing the papers for joints. The guy snores to wake the dead, but Tony doesn’t care, letting himself in and going to the designated location.

It’s on his way back that he hears the noise.

Voices.

He’d ignore them—some guys will stay up all night talking—but one of those voices is too high.

It’s panicked, too.

Breathing heavier, he takes care to muffle his steps. He isn’t wearing shoes, and that makes him vulnerable in a fight, but he’s held his own in worse situations. The element of surprise will be instrumental in coming out on top—if he needs to. Keeping his breaths quiet, he follows the sounds to the showers, empty but still smelling damp and faintly of soap.

It’s definitely Peter’s voice.

There are windows here that let in the moonlight. Tony stands in the shadow of the doorway, watching and listening.

“Come on, Adrian, quit—”

“You come on, Petey. I’ll make it good for you. It’s got to be tough, being around all the men on the block, being flirted with all the time. Gets a kid hot and bothered I bet, huh? You’re a hot little thing. I saw the way you looked at me last night. I’m here for you, honey. You can use me—”

“I don’t want to. I could lose my job.”

“I’ll take it to the grave, Pete, I swear.”

Peter is pressed against the tiled wall between two showerheads. Adrian is pinning him there with his body, and the size difference is drastic. Peter is so fucking tiny and frail looking, eyes huge and frightened, hands clenching and unclenching even though he has a fucking weapon, come on Pete, pull your baton, your taser, your fucking gun—

Adrian’s hand drifts from where it’s caressing Peter’s jaw. It presses against his chest, fingering the buttons down Peter’s dress blues, and then palms the young man’s cock.

Tony sees red. He wishes he had the shiv he keeps hidden on the floor, but there’s no time to search for it in the dark, and he can make do without it anyway. Get Adrian down and then pull Peter’s baton, beat Toomes again and again and again until the man eats his meals through a straw or not at all.

“I said no, Toomes.” Peter grabs the man’s wrist and twists it expertly. With a strength Tony didn’t know could be contained in such a tiny form, he switches their positions to press Toomes’s face into the wall, grinding it against the tiles. The man struggles but Peter is holding strong, lithe little muscles bulging as he kicks the man’s legs apart so he can’t get proper leverage to push him away. Then he grabs his cuffs, and in a heartbeat, the larger man is subdued. “I tried to be nice, didn’t I? No means no, asshole.”

He wrenches Toomes away from the wall and they both turn to see Tony standing there. They all look at each other, mouths open. Then Tony lifts his hands and brings them together softly, a standing ovation.

“I’m not going to lie,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little hard right now.”

Peter scowls. “Not now, Tony. Go press the button to let the other guards know I need help.”

“No can do, sweet thing. But it looks like you’ve got it covered for yourself.”

Peter does, frog marching Toomes across the floor and out of the Block. Tony watches it all with an incredulous expression. And a chub. Even after they’re gone, he stands on the quiet, dark floor, pondering what he’s seen. When Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, Tony nearly jumps out of his own skin.

“What happened?” he asks. “Was that Peter I heard?”

“Oh Buck. You won’t believe this yarn I’m going to spin you.”

Toomes doesn’t return to the block. More than likely, he is shifted to another block with more violent offenders. They tend to group inmates based on the charges against them and their charge history. Tony wonders what exactly he’ll be charged with now. Attempted assault of a police officer? It sounds delicious. Whatever the punishment, it will be too good for him.

Bucky is torn up. Coming home from war has left him sensitive to certain aggressions, and he often feels things too keenly. Takes things too personally. “No means no,” he says, voice thick, faced press into Tony’s neck as he holds him. “Why don’t people listen? No means no.”

“We know that. They know that too. They just don’t care, baby. We’ll see Pete tomorrow and find out how he’s doing.”

Bucky lifts his head. His eyes are cloudy and distant “Tell me again how he roughed up Toomes.”

“With pleasure,” Tony purrs. “He’s so goddamn petite, but his hiding some serious muscles under that uniform. God, it had me worked up, the way he knocked Toomes’s legs apart. The snap of the cuffs. When we get out of here, snowflake, we need to invest in a pair of those.”

Bucky snorts, but he looks pleased.

Part of Tony worried that Peter wouldn’t come in for his shift. He wouldn’t blame the kid; he’d almost been assaulted on the job. The guards had it tough. If it wasn’t sexual harassment, it was physical intimidation—the latter of which Tony himself had been guilty of. But he shouldn’t have underestimated their boy.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Peter says shyly. He’s got his hands on his narrow hips, but Tony knows that those fingers are long enough to wrap all the way around a man’s wrist, wrenching it back.

“How are you?” Bucky asks when Peter comes by.

Peter smiles, soft and gentle. “I’m okay, Bucky. How are you?”

“Better, now that I’ve seen your handsome face.”

Peter blushes, so susceptible to Bucky’s lines. Then he turns his eyes to Tony, and they grow colder. He barely nods recognition before strutting away. Tony can’t even appreciate the way the tight pants hug his ass, because he’s too busy with his mouth agape, jerking a thumb at the boy’s back and asking Bucky, “What did I do?”

That night they are waiting up for Peter the first time he makes his rounds. They decide to sit on the floor so as to be as non-threatening as possible (Peter went through a fucking ordeal yesterday, and they aren’t looking to add to his stress), Tony with his back against the edge of the cot and Bucky propped up against the wall, one foot flat on the floor and the other tickling Tony’s thighs. Yes, the bunks are that small.

As soon as Peter’s light shines in, Bucky calls for him gently.

Carefully, he steps into the room, shining the light towards the ceiling to cast a glow over all of them. His face is somber, but he smiles.

“Hey Bucky. What do you need?”

Bucky doesn’t beat around the bush. “We want to know if you’re really okay. Tony told me about Toomes. That guy’s a fucking piece of work. Hope some guys up on B Block crack his skull in—won’t be no skin off society’s nose.”

Peter shakes his head. “That’s not a good way to talk. That’s not justice. I’m doing fine—Toomes wasn’t hard to subdue.”

“You handled him like a pro,” Tony adds.

Peter’s look frosts over. “Like a police officer, yes. No thanks to you.”

Tony groans. “Is that why you’re mad at me? Because I wouldn’t go press the button for you, baby?”

“Don’t call me that. And yes. I thought we were—” Peter doesn’t finish. He blushes, obviously knowing how silly that sentence sounds: a CO being friends with an inmate. But it cuts Tony all the same, and Bucky’s look across the room is murderous.

“You didn’t try to get help? What the fuck, Tony.” His foot lashes out and catches Tony in the shin, and fuck that stings!

“I’m not a snitch,” Tony snaps.

“Look, I’ll leave you both to this—”

“I was going to handle it if Peter couldn’t—I was going to kill that son of a bitch. That’s how things work in here, you know that Bucky. This isn’t the military. There’s no honor or morals. There’s just rules, and the number one rule is no snitching. If there’s a problem, we handle it this way.”

Peter swallows. “Tony—you can’t just say that. I can’t—I’ve got to tell somebody that you said that, I think.”

“This place doesn’t have honor, but we do,” Bucky growls. “Or at least, I thought you did.”

“You know I’d have killed for him,” Tony says through his teeth. “Just like how I’d kill for you—”

“Would you fucking stop it?” Peter hisses. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over them to hear him curse. His grip has gone white on his flashlight he’s so tense, lips pressed into a thin, furious line. “Why are you two doing this? Is it—is this just to, to fuck with me? I don’t get it, I—”

All the anger seeps out of him. He looks lost, tortured. Both of the angry men in front of him soften. What is it about this boy that melts them like wax under flame? Bucky shuffles up onto his knees, looking with his long hair like some knight from an old medieval story, begging for forgiveness of his fair lady.

“Pete, we didn’t mean to come on so strong. Please—will you sit for a bit?”

Peter glances back at the floor. It is dark and mostly quiet, some laughter coming from a cell further down the line. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “I need to do my job.”

“We won’t keep you here, if you want to leave. We aren’t like Toomes. But if you’re willing, we’d like to talk. Work this out.”

Looking torn, Peter sits. Tony and Bucky flank him, but the boy doesn’t look threatened in the slightest, just hunches himself over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Okay. Go ahead and talk,” he says.

“Bucky and I are together.”

Peter snorts. “I got that when I saw him sucking you off.”

Tony blinks. “Oh. Well that happens in here every now and again—some men will do anything in here for company, even if they don’t really swing that way on the outside. But Bucky and I—we’re pretty in love.”

“Yeah,” says Bucky. “He’s dumb. But I love him.”

Peter laughs a little. “Okay. Yeah. So you two are together.”

“We’re polyamorous,” Tony admits. “That means we have a lot of love to give and aren’t unopposed to giving it to multiple people at once. Bucky here, he’s got a boyfriend down the line, Steve—you know Steve?”

“I know Mr. Rogers. He seems nice.”

“He’s real nice,” Bucky smirks. “Our point here is that up until now, we’ve had passing flings with other people, but we’ve never shared anyone. We’ve never wanted to share anyone—until you. And now it’s like our stupidity has squared itself, because we both are falling over ourselves to try to attract you.”

He’s glad he’s letting Bucky take the lead. Tony might have a way with words, but Bucky absolutely has tact and softness that Tony can’t muster up in his wildest dreams. Peter is sitting between them looking red-faced but thoughtful. “So, what? You guys both want to date me?”

“We can’t exactly set up a table with a cloth and wine and dine you, princess,” Tony says. He tries to stay soft and honest, because his mother always used to say that honesty is the best policy. Peter looks like the kind of kid who would appreciate that. “As unfortunate as that is. I’ve got five months left on my sentence, and Bucky has almost double that. And as—what is it Bucky? Thirsty?—as thirsty as we both are, we understand that you wouldn’t want to put your job in jeopardy.”

Peter looks relieved by their admission. “I don’t really know how I feel, to be honest. You’re both—wow, you’re both really hot. Duh. But I don’t know you. Maybe I could get to know you? A little at a time? And once you’re out Tony, if I’m not seeing anyone, we could go out? There’s…” Peter swallows. “There’s definitely chemistry here.”

“Yeah, kid, I feel that,” Tony says.

“We don’t want to pressure you,” Bucky emphasizes, shooting Tony a look overhead that says keep it in your pants. They’ve been seeing each other in here long enough to have reached the telepathic portion of their relationship, thanks. “You’re already promising more than we could have hoped for. And we really appreciate you sitting down and talking things out with us. That’s never easy, doll.”

The younger man blushes prettily, shrugging. He stands. “I really should get back to work.”

“Okay, kid. Whatever you need to do,” Tony agrees. He shifts, hard in his sweatpants, the proximity to his lover and his maybe, possibly, someday lover has sweat beading at the nape of his neck and his imagination running wild. Peter’s eyes track his movements and then fall to his lap.

He licks his lips.

Honest to god.

“I—wait for me. Just—” Peter disappears, flashlight bobbing as he continues down the line. They can hear him popping his head in to a cell further down and telling the guys to please be respectful of the other inmates, thanks!

“Buck,” Tony groans. They smash together with no finesse, both of them stressed and horny from their confrontation with Peter. They taste like mint toothpaste they used before lights out, and Tony licks into the younger man’s mouth unabashedly, sucking on his tongue, licking at his teeth. “God, I need you,” he whispers.

“Take me,” Bucky urges. “Come on, baby. Take me.”

They shed clothes like they’re on fire. Tony folds Bucky’s legs up—for a large guy, he’s surprisingly nimble—and lowers his mouth to Bucky’s ass, licking a hot stripe over his hole and to his balls. He hears the hiss above him, the groan muffled by a fist in his mouth. Not for the first time, Tony hates prison. He hates that they have to be quiet, that they can’t let themselves go and love each other properly, just hushed romps like this in the middle of the night.

“What do you think he meant?” Bucky pants, fingers clenching on Tony’s hair. “Wait for me?”

There is a whispered groan from the doorway. They both turn to see Peter there, leaning against the bars, eyes heavy. “I meant wait, but I get it. God, I get it. You’re both so, wow, god.”

“He’s eloquent,” Tony says. They shift on instinct, turning so as to give Peter a better view. He turns off his flashlight and it takes time for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Peter stands with his back to the wall, hands clasped behind his back like he’s in handcuffs.

“I can’t—I can’t do anything,” Peter pants. “But I could watch. If you wanted me to.”

“Do you want to?” Bucky asks.

“God yes,” Peter breaths, voice high. One hand palms at his crotch. His uniform has him blending in to the darkness, but they can guess what he’s doing, and fuck that turns Tony on, like there’s fire in his blood. He goes back to eating Bucky’s ass, pressing a thumb against the rim to hold him open so he can slip his tongue inside.

“Jesus, Tony,” Bucky says. “Fuck me. Just fuck me, come on.”

Tony is in full agreement. It’s too much; they’re all too worked up. The sounds from Bucky, the sounds from Peter, the taste of his lover in his mouth—his cock feels fit to burst as he pulls it from his sweats. He doesn’t dare pump it for fear of blowing his load right away. God this isn’t going to be the best performance to share with their new love, but he hopes that Peter can forgive him if he comes off as a three-pump-chump.

He presses in slow. Bucky is still soft and pliant from their fucking the night before, and there’s no discomfort on his lover’s face even when he bottoms out. Bucky’s legs wrap around him and he urges Tony forward with his heels and voice: “Come on, baby. Fuck me. Give it to me. Put on a show.”

Tony knows just how Bucky likes it. There’s no holding back, just the brutal thrusting of his hips that has Bucky giving off choked noises, one hand pressed firmly over his mouth and the other scrabbling at the sheet on the cot. It only takes a moment for Tony to glance over and see Peter, hand flashing in the darkness as he jerks his own cock through his dress blues, and Tony is mounting the crest, balls contracting, stomach tensing.

Bucky blows first, untouched. Tony barely gets a fist around him when he realizes what’s happening, pumping furiously to help his lover through it. Then he is there himself, grip maybe too tight around Bucky’s cock, hips snapping desperately while he blows his load. It feels like it lasts forever. Was over so, so quick.

Even when they’re done, panting, sandwiched together, they hear Peter: breathy little whines from across the room. He stops jerking himself off when they stop lazily and lovingly grinding their hips together, but it’s obvious by the unconscious swaying of his hips that he didn’t cum.

“Take care of him,” Bucky mutters, pressing a kiss to Tony’s sweaty temple. “Get on your knees for him.”

“Yes,” Tony gasps. His cock slips free of Bucky, still tingling pleasantly. He walks on his knees the few feet it takes to be at Peter’s feet, staring up at his tortured expression.

“I can’t,” Peter gasps. “I can’t do anything. That’d be wrong—”

“Then don’t do anything, Officer,” Tony purrs. He reaches a hand up and rubs at Peter’s cock. The kid keens softly, thrusting his hips out even as he grips uselessly at the wall. He’s desperate for relief, desperate to get away. Tony bats his eyes, though no one can see in the dark. “Let me do the work, sir. Please?”

Peter swallows hard. He nods frantically, and that’s all Tony needs to undo Peter’s belt, wrench down his dress slacks and boxers. He doesn’t even get a good look at the kid’s cock, just swallows him down. It’s a nice mouthful, and he has to work to get the last inch or so, taking the head just into his throat. “I’m—I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter gasps.

Tony swallows.

Peter cums. Tony barely manages to pull back, desperate to taste him on his tongue. One hand comes up to work at Peter’s twitching cock, the other cradling his balls to help prolong his pleasure. The kid sounds like he’s never cum before in his life, hands gripping at the concrete wall, giving tiny aborted thrusts, mouth open and panting.

“Thank you, Officer,” Tony says, voice a little distorted from deep-throating. Peter slumps down the wall, knees shaking, until they’re kneeling across from each other. Tony can’t help it, he laughs a little. “You didn’t need to be worried about hurting me, baby. That wasn’t my first blowjob.”

It’s Peter’s turn to chuckle. “I did have good reason to be worried.” He cuts himself off, like there was more he was going to say, but stopped himself.

“What is it, doll?” Bucky asks. He’s lounging on the bed, watching them with lazy, sated eyes. He’s so fucking handsome, Tony crawls across the floor to kiss him and press the last of Peter’s cum into his mouth. The other man moans appreciatively.

“It’s kind of a crazy story,” Peter admits.

“We know a thing or two about crazy,” Tony says. “Try us.”

Peter’s clenches his hands together tightly. “It’s weird, actually. It has to do with a spider.”

Bucky and Tony share a glance, equal parts confused and amused. Tony settles in, leaning his head to rest on the cot beside Bucky. “Go on then,” he says. “We’re listening.”

Tag list: @crown-filth

#winterironspider #starker #winteriron #prison #drugs #violence #cagewrites

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