#like EYE wanna talk about how it's weird that we all collectively rallied around a book that was used to justify our enslavement

[fukurodaze]

dump shot

pairing: third year!shirabu kenjirou x first year manager!reader (female) genre/s: PURE FLUFF, meet cute type beat! word count: 2.9k taken from this request by anonymous <3: “Shirabu x Manager! reader where reader is Karasuno's manager and she's seen pining over him and later the two end up in an accident outside the gym (before or after the games) where they find themselves locked somewhere”

for reference, this is set when hinata and the first years are in their second year, so ennoshita is karasuno’s captain. shirabu’s also the captain of the shiratorizawa vbc!

lowercase intended!

when shirabu kenjirou throws a dump shot, he is the coolest person in the room. it’s two words that come out of your mouth, groans of frustration coming from your team, and a faint smirk on the almond haired boy. 

“so cool...” you mutter under your breath, watching the practice match between your team and shiratorizawa at their gym. you get goosebumps.

it’s not your first time seeing the third year. you had watched shiratorizawa’s match with karasuno in the prefectural spring high finals, and though your eyes were glued onto the then first-year setter, kageyama, you would, at times, find your eyes stopping at the magenta number 10 jersey. you would later find out his name was shirabu kenjirou, and that you would come to develop an almost baseless crush on him, hopeless at best.

another rally starts, this time with shiratorizawa on match point, an already dragged out 32-31 on the scoreboard. it’s the third set on a friday night, yet the match is already scraping past seven pm and you don’t know if your body can take any more of the anticipation. 

and when the magenta jerseys spike a mean straight shot, your hands ball up with whitened knuckles at the bitter taste of a lost game. you run up to the boys with yachi, handing them drinks and towels, telling the second years “you did well” and the third years “that was a good one.” you glance at the first years, some of your friends, and give them a soft smile, as if telling them that you’re going to have to get used to this feeling, because it will happen. lots.

but loss is as temporary as victory when you see the boys mingle with each other, friendliness growing as the new first years dissolve tensions between teams. you even see kageyama bump into hinata and goshiki’s conversation, the sight of it new and endearing. 

yachi taps you on the shoulder, “i’m going to be picking up the bibs, can you collect the balls and put them in storage?”

shiratorizawa’s storage room looks more like a shed. it’s also much further than you think, and even darker than you knew storage rooms to be. it looks like an entire sports supply factory outlet rather than a high school unit. 

the large basket of volleyballs rolls weirdly on its wheels, knocking left and right as you try to drive it through the doorway. it makes a bit of a fussy sound when you bump into the basket of footballs, and as the footballs begin to fall out of their containers, you close the door in an attempt to keep them inside. 

"here they are,” you hear from the corner of the room, behind shelves upon shelves of equipment. your body freezes up dramatically, as if dreading the awkward interaction with the unknown person. hurriedly, you pick up the scattered soccer balls, attempting to take up to five at once to no avail, only causing more sounds of balls hitting wooden floors. 

“hello?”

you hesitate to answer. you only continue to put back all the footballs in their place and park the basket of volleyballs in some random corner of the shed before reaching for the door, only to find it doesn’t budge.

“aren’t you karasuno’s manager?”

you turn around to find the one person you wouldn’t want to see you like this. like every high school cliché, shirabu kenjirou is standing right behind you when you turn back, a pair of training shoes hanging off of his left hand. you nod and bow slightly, unsure what to do.

“i, uh, wanted to put the balls back here.”

“but why are you here in the shed?” his voice is softer, you notice, probably because he realises he’s talking to a girl, but his words remind you of how he’d talk to his team during the match.

“i just wanted to help clean up and stuff, like, uh, a token... of appreciation for this practice match?” god, your palms sure are getting sweaty. 

“this shed isn’t the place we put our frequently used equipment. we usually put our volleyballs in the room in the gym. it’s the one with the double doors. how come you came so far here?”

you shrug slowly, feeling nice and stupid for not noticing the actual storage room’s large double doors and instead wandering off to carry a basket of volleyballs past three other gyms and a few questioning looks from the shiratorizawa basketball team to this single-doored, large building. 

“i’ll just bring them back to the gym now-” you come back to the basket of volleyballs you had just left against a random wall as shirabu pushes on the door’s nonexistent handle. you think it’s all about to end until a muttered curse falls out of the third year’s lips. you look to him in confusion.

then he curses again, this time stopping himself midway as your gaze meets his, voice getting softer again. “did you close the door?”

“yes...?” 

“it’s not supposed to be closed,” shirabu sighs, “there’s a little metal rod that falls into a hole in the ground on the other side, and it falls in pretty easily if we close the door, so we can’t really get out right now.”

oh shit.

“i’ll just call- oh my god, i forgot my phone.” your tone is fast and apologetic, considering you had closed the door in the first place. “i’m sorry-”

“don’t be, you didn’t know before.” shirabu sits on a pile of thick and colourful gym mats, elbows on knees. the shoes he was holding are now behind him. “this school might be big, but it’s also damn old.”

shirabu has no idea what situation he’s in right now. frankly, he’s kind of panicking. but he tells himself not to panic, especially when karasuno’s new manager is right there (and she’s pretty cute, not gonna lie - is she a second year?). shirabu would probably be shouting and pushing the door by now until his voice ran hoarse, but surely, there is no use for that. 

“so, uh, how are we going to get out?” you shove your hands into your tracksuit jacket, stepping in front of the boy. you’re guessing it’s going to be a bit before you two can get out, so you might as well try to talk to him without a three meter gap in between him and you.

shirabu shrugs, and a look at you tells you that you can sit next to him on the pile of gym mats. “i think we’re just going to have to hope someone notices we’re gone.”

“i think they have to,” you chuckle, “you’re captain. would be kinda crazy if they didn’t notice you were gone.”

the conversation dissolves into awkward silence as the stranger you once pined over is literally right next to you, dried sweat and all, a light laugh leaving his lips.

“what’s your name?” the question is simple, obligatory, even, for introductions, but you swear you feel your heart skip a beat.

“l/n f/n,” you reply, and he says his name in return. you want to say you know, as you’ve already referred to him as captain of the volleyball club, but you settle with silence and a smile. he seems to like it.

“you’re karasuno’s manager, right?” 

“yeah. i’m a first year, but i have a brother in karasuno.”

“oh really? is he in the volleyball team?”

you shake your head, “no. he’s in the basketball team, actually, but he’s friends with some of the third years in the team. he’s the reason i got dragged to the spring high prefectural finals last year, actually.”

you hold your hands together, clasping them to evaporate your nervousness. shit, this is shirabu kenjirou you’re talking to, don’t mess it up!

shirabu leans back on his arms, looking up in reminiscence. he sighs, “spring high, huh? you probably saw my tosses back then.”

you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, the excitement of getting to talk to the third year getting to you, “i remember you from that game the most.”

“damn, then you’d probably also remember how my toss was bad enough for even ushijima-san to get blocked-”

“i think you were really cool, actually.”

shirabu stops in his vocal tracks. there’s no way she means that, he thinks.

“you’re just saying that.”

“well, of course i’m saying it. you wouldn’t hear it otherwise.” your feet kick themselves against the soft pile of gym mats, “but trust me, coming from a karasuno student, you were really cool. your entire team was, too, but, you know.”

at this point, you think you’re just embarrassing yourself. what if he thinks you’re some kind of weird fan? a naive first year? some wannabe manager who didn’t quite understand volleyball to its core? it seems like the conversation loves to come back to silence, and you don’t know how to break the ice.

“thanks,” shirabu mentions, tone higher, as he stands up and off of the gym mats. you feel a weight lift beside you, and in your floor-focused eyes, you see his shoes walk to the basket of volleyballs. 

shirabu bounces the ball once, and then once again, before you see his shoes in front of yours. you look up. 

“we have time. wanna toss?”

“i’m not that good at overhead passes...” you resist, knowing all too well from pe classes that your fingers don’t have the same kind of magic shirabu’s or kageyama’s have - or anyone in the men’s volleyball club, really.

shirabu only shrugs, “it’s fine, y/n-san. it’s just me. i don’t think you can even be that bad anyways.”

okay, maybe hearing him say your name was enough to persuade you. but still, the possibility of losing your pride in front of shirabu keeps you glued onto the gym mats. 

you purse your lips, trying to hide the overwhelming grin spreading on your face. you try to say a word, but you can’t seem to make anything out when teeth and raised cheeks do nothing but make you feel like this hopeless crush isn’t so hopeless after all. and so you nod.

he stands a few feet away from you, tossing the ball at what seemed like the perfect angle for your height only for you to miss it every two good tries.

“see? you’re not bad.” you think he’s lying through his teeth at best.

“i drop, like, every toss you give. this is not not bad.” you slouch, catching the ball this time instead of attempting to toss it. 

“well, that’s because you’re just doing it wrong. you hit the ball with the top of your palm every time. of course it’s going to come flying down.”

“okay, captain of the shiratorizawa volleyball club...” you tease, and you think it’s all fun and games until he comes to stand right in front of you, taking the ball. 

“put your hands up.”

you do as he asks.

“they should be about this far from your head,” he puts down the ball to adjust your arms, and then your hands, “it’s supposed to feel like there’s a nice place for the ball to rest in your hands.”

his hands are cold and rough when they lightly press on yours, shaping your hands and your elbows the way he does it on court, “your elbows and hands should make a triangle.”

he lets go of your arms, and you keep your arms the way he left them. he tosses the ball to you, and the only thing you feel is the sturdy feeling of fingertips on fabric.

shirabu catches the ball when you toss it back, “see? not bad.”

he doesn’t miss it when your eyes light up at his praise, and he makes a mental note to himself to not get distracted next time shiratorizawa has a game with karasuno. or maybe he will; who knows - maybe seeing you might make him look at his job with more vigour and passion.

“how do you do it?” you stare, “i mean, not that i haven’t seen, but-”

your words are cut off when he sets the ball onto the wall and back in one quick motion, his hands like cradling the ball with care on every push and touch. maybe it isn’t backed by an ace spiker or a team of five, but there’s a quiet power in what he does.

volleyball might be a team sport, but you’ve only been focused on this one setter all afternoon. even worse, he’s from the opposite team. 

he holds the ball and bounces it as he looks back at you, “when i got into shiratorizawa, you have no idea how much time i spent doing this.”

he exhales, like a weight has been pulled off his chest, feeling quite nice at your visible reactions. he throws the ball at you, exclaiming “toss!” only for you to catch it square above your head. you whine. then he laughs, and you laugh too, because you've never seen him laugh. 

“it paid off, then,” you say, coming to sit back down on the pile of mattresses. he sits next to you again, but closer this time. it’s like your stomach performs a somersault, and you absolutely love it.

"i guess,” he mutters, “maybe next time i’ll show you the dump shot you seemed to like so much.”

you can only bury your face in your hands, remembering the way you exclaimed ‘so cool...’ at his actions about an hour ago. you mumble, “was i too loud?”

he laughs again. you like the sound of it. “no, it was good.”

“it was nice to know one of karasuno’s managers looked at me more than kageyama,” his tone is stagnant, but you can hear him grinning, “that wouldn’t be considered betrayal, would it?”

you take it upon yourself to look him in the eye, and you tell him, with a small voice, “maybe it’s just something about you.”

you hide your face in your hands again, and you hear the setter laugh once more. you wonder if he laughs this much with his teammates. 

just as your embarrassment starts to settle, there’s a knock on the wooden door, “y/n? are you here?”

you recognise it as the second year, yamaguchi’s, voice, and you call back out, “yeah?”

“alright, wait up, i’ll just unlock the door...” his voice turns from muffled to surprise after the door opens, seeing you sitting so close to none other than shiratorizawa’s setter.

“i’m so sorry it took this long for us to realise you were, uh, gone,” yamaguchi scratches the back of his head, “but at least you had some company.”

yamaguchi gives the setter a prompt bow, and shirabu does the same.

“anyways, y/n, the bus is waiting,” the boy motions, and you nod, looking at shirabu. 

you wave at shirabu and start to leave the shed when he grips the sleeve of your tracksuit jacket. 

“are you free on sunday?”

you stop in your tracks, “yeah, i am.”

“i can show you my dump shot then. and there’s also a cute café nearby campus, i heard, so, we can go there after?”

you swear your heart melts at his words, “that sounds good.”

you can feel yamaguchi’s curious stare at both of you, but you don’t mind. “i’ll give you my number, then?”

you search through your pockets for something to take note with, “i don’t have a pen and paper... or my phone...”

shirabu sighs, “me neither, uhm...”

“oh, well. just tell me your number and i’ll memorise it.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah,” you smile, knowing that you’re not that good at memorising things but you know you’d keep his number dialed in your head. as he says out his string of numbers, you make sure to remember it all by the time you get to your bag. 

“see you sunday, then.” he waves once more.

“i’ll text you!” you’re left to ponder what the hell you’re going to wear in two days to your date with shirabu kenjirou. 

first date with shirabu kenjirou. is it a date? maybe you’ll know it on sunday. 

when you step out of the shed, yamaguchi only grins as he walks you back to the bus, amused at witnessing one of his underclassmen set up a date with shiratorizawa’s third year setter and captain. 

“on monday, tell us some of shiratorizawa’s secrets,” yamaguchi jokes as you two walk across campus. you glare at your upperclassman, and he only follows it up with a shake of the head and “no, no, just kidding! just have fun on sunday.”

“thank you,” you say quietly as you two approach the bus, “and thank you for unlocking that door at the shed back there.”

“no problem,” yamaguchi replies.

after announcing a small apology to the rest of the team when you enter the bus, you almost run to yachi when she shouts from the back that she’s already got your bag, with you practically grabbing it to take out your phone.

“woah, y/n! are you alright? do you have your stuff?”

you don’t answer, only putting down the numbers you drilled into your head five minutes ago, naming the contact “dump shot” and sending him a quick hello in text.

yachi asks again, “y/n?”

now you snap out of it, and nod before thanking her for bringing your bag. you can’t stop the uncontrollable smile on your face.

yachi stretches her arms out and smiles back, glad that her underclassman seems enthusiastic about this volleyball thing too. “i’m so ready for the weekend. i’m just going to sleep in and rest all day.”

you nod, slouching lazily into the bus yet with unknown excitement in your veins at the thought of spending a day with the boy you’ve only ever seen from afar until tonight. 

“i’m so ready for this weekend too.”

#hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu scenarios #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjirou #shirabu kenjirō x reader #hq shirabu #shirabu fluff #shirabu imagines #shiratorizawa x reader #shiratorizawa fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! fluff #hq fluff #hq imagines #haikyuu imagines #shirabu scenarios #shirabu fic #haikyuu fic #shiratorizawa #shiratorizawa fic

[spn-safeandsound]

03. Hero Gets the Girl

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 1x03; Dead in the Water

Word Count: 8,106

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence and gore

Author’s Note: More like ‘Dean in the Water’, am I right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlist in Profile Description!

Julia's nose practically touched the pages of her bible as she bent over it, reading a passage from First Corinthians. She only picked at the fries on her plate as she silently read her mother's favorite verse over and over. The page was almost worn, as it had been for years, and the verse was highlighted in blue so it stuck out. She had it memorized—it was only four words, after all—but something about seeing the words on the page calmed her down.

Do everything in love.

It was such a simple verse but her mom recited every day—sometimes more than a few times a day, depending on the situation. Naomi loved helping people until the day she died, running the philanthropy department of Petersen Sports Co. until she could no longer keep up. She was as saint like as you could get without actually being a saint but she never preached needlessly at you and she didn't push her beliefs on anyone.

She was Naomi...and Julia missed her so much.

November thirtieth was always hard on Julia, no matter what. Usually she barricaded herself in her room and watched her mom's favorite movie—which, ironically, was Dirty Dancing—and ate chocolate chip cookies but she didn't have the time or proper setting to do that. She was on the road with the Winchester brothers so that was doing a little bit to help her feel better.

Sam sat at her left and watched her carefully, looking at the melancholy expression on her face. "Did you call Beth yet?"

"She called me," she informed him, smiling softly at the thought of her oldest sister. "and she let me talk to Lizzie. She's such a talker these days."

Sam chuckled. "Well, she is Beth's kid."

"Yeah, that's true," Julia agreed; Dean may have thought that she talked too much but she didn't compare to Bethany. Her oldest sister's voice was probably the most recognizable sound to her because of her endless talking. "I called Abby."

"What's she up to?"

"A hunt down in Texas. She said something about a spirit. Levi's in meetings all day but we're gonna talk tonight."

"And your dad?"

Julia sighed heavily, looking down at her bible as her eyes started to sting. "Haven't heard from him."

Sam frowned in sympathy, watching as she practically curled into herself. She went back to reading her bible, her index finger trailing softly over the highlighted verse.

It was then that Dean walked over to them, a pile of newspapers in his hands so he could start looking for their next case. He sat in the stool on Julia's right side and stole a fry from her plate.

"You okay, shortcake?"

"Dean..." Sam gave him a warning look.

Sam knew how depressed Julia got on the last day of November. She didn't need his brother bothering her when the loss of her mom was still so fresh. Still, if anyone could understand her pain, it would be Dean. He was old enough to remember their mother and her death, so they had kindred experiences.

Dean immediately understood the look Sam gave him. He grimaced and softly patted Julia on the shoulder and Sam swore he saw his thumb rub soothing circles into the fabric of her shirt but he could just be imaging things. Either way, that was the closest he had seen Dean comfort a girl in his life.

Julia gave him a soft smile and pushed her plate of fries toward him. Sam watched in slight awe as Dean accepted the fries with a large smile; Julia never shared her fries with anyone. Sam couldn't count the amount of times his hand had been slapped away from her plate because he was trying to steal one—they were her ultimate favorite food.

Dean went to work on looking through the obituaries in the newspapers he collected, circling deaths that seemed suspicious. Sam pulled out his phone and started checking his emails, helplessly hoping that maybe his dad would have sent him one. Julia turned to Revelations and started studying for her New Testament final that she would be taking online.

"Can I get you anything else?" a pretty blonde waitress walked over to them, dropping a flirty smile at Dean.

Dean looked up, pen resting against his lips, and grinned.

Sam cleared his throat. "Just the check, please."

"Okay," the waitress sent Sam a smile and then turned to walk to the register on the other side of the bar.

Dean groaned in displeasure and glared at Sam over Julia's head. "You know, Sam, we are allowed to have fun once in a while," he gestured toward the waitress, who was dressed for tips. "That is fun."

Sam gave Dean an unimpressed look, making the older brother sigh.

"Here, take a look at this," he slid the newspaper he was looking down the bar to him. "I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week, Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water, nothing."

"Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year," Dean continued. "None of the bodies were found, either."

Julia frowned and pulled the paper over to her, quickly reading through the obituary. "She was the swim team captain at her school?"

"Yep," Dean confirmed. "None of the other bodies were found, either. They had a funeral two days ago."

Sam looked over at him, his eyebrows raised. "A funeral?"

"Yeah, it's weird, they buried an empty coffin," Dean shrugged. "For, uh, closure of whatever."

Julia was all for whatever helped people cope with their grief but she didn't really understand why the family just didn't have a memorial for the poor girl. Then again, it certainly wasn't her business.

"Closure," Sam scoffed sourly. "What closure? People don't just disappear, Dean. Other people just stop looking for them."

Dean turned in his stool to face Sam, sensing his displeasure. Truthfully, he'd picked on up the fact that Sam was irritated they weren't actively trying to find Dad for a few days now. "Something you want to say to me?"

Dean was an upfront guy; he didn't like passive aggressive bullshit.

Sam inhaled deeply. "The trail for Dad—it's getting colder every day."

"Exactly," Dean pointed out. "So, what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know. Something. Anything."

"You know what, I'm sick of your attitude," Dean's eyes narrowed in irritation as his voice lowered in anger. "You don't think I wanna find Dad as much as you do?"

"Yeah, I know you do, it's just—"

"I'm the one who's been with him every day for the past four years while you've been off to college going to pep rallies," Dean cut Sam off coldly. "We will find Dad but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there, okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes heavily, making Dean bristle. Sensing that their argument was going to stumble out of control—like they sometimes did with brothers who both had the famous Winchester temper—Julia spoke up.

"Please stop, all right?" she looked between them, her eyes wide and sad; Dean and Sam almost immediately melted—her puppy-eyed look was almost lethal compared to Sam's. "Please."

"All right," Sam sighed, giving in. "Lake Manitoc. How far?"

Dean grinned at him and grabbed the check when the waitress delivered it, a phone number at the bottom.

-

They reached Lake Manitoc within a couple of hours, having already been in Minnesota for a small spirit case that had Julia torching her first corpse. They decided to head to the victim's family first before they went to the police station to question the sheriff about the recent drownings and missing bodies.

The Carlton residence was a basic cabin, right on Lake Manitoc. It was a cute little home with dark green shutters that made Julia smile sadly. The house looked well loved and she felt horrible that the family was going through this kind of grief.

Grief from a family member dying was one thing. When that person died of something that couldn't easily be explained? That was worse—much, much worse.

Dean knocked on the front door of the cabin; a man around his age opened the door, giving them a questioning look.

"Will Carlton?" Dean asked him; the man nodded. "I'm Agent Ford, this is Agent Hamill and junior Agent Fisher. We're with the US Wildlife Service."

Behind his back, Julia gave him an unimpressed look. Did he think he was being slick using the most notable stars of the popular Star Wars franchise? And he had to quit with this junior agent and intern stuff—she wasn't that much younger than him and Sam and she wasn't a kid by any means.

"More questions?" Will sighed.

Julia gave him a sad smile. "Sorry, but it's for our investigation."

Will nodded and walked out onto the porch. He led them closer to the lake, his eyes on the closest dock. There was an older man sitting on it, looking out at the lake with depressed eyes.

"First off, we'd like to give you our condolences," Sam said softly as came to a stop. "We've heard great things about Sophie."

Will gave him a half-hearted smile that spoke volumes with just how sad he was. Julia's heart ached with sympathy.

Sam and Dean started asking him questions, hoping to get a better insight on the circumstances surrounding Sophie's death. They were careful not to offend the man while also trying to get as much information as they could.

"She was about a hundred yards out," Will nodded at the lake, answering Sam's question about where he last saw Sophie. "That's where she was dragged down."

"And you're sure she didn't just drown?" Dean prodded.

"Yeah," Will scoffed and smiled fondly. "She was a varsity swimmer. She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as she was in her own bathtub."

"So, no splashing? No signs of distress?"

"No, that's what I'm telling you."

"Did you see any shadows in the water?" Sam followed up. "Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?"

"No," Will shook his head. "Again, she was really far out there."

"You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?" Dean spoke up.

"No, never. Why?" Will stiffened, looking paranoid. "Why, what do you think is out there?"

"We'll let you know as soon as we do," Julia assured him kindly. "Thanks for your time, Mr. Carlton."

"What about your father?" Sam asked Will as Julia and Dean started back toward the Impala; they paused to listen to Will's answer. "Can we talk to him?"

Will looked over to the dock; his dad was in the same position, looking down at the dark water below him. "Look, if you don't mind, I mean," he said hesitantly. "he didn't see anything and he's kind of been through a lot."

Sam nodded and gave him a small smile. "We understand. Thanks again."

Julia, Dean, and Sam got into the Impala and drove off. As they headed to the police station to ask the sheriff for more details about the case, it was almost too quiet. It unnerved Julia because usually Dean had some of his music playing and although she wasn't the biggest fan of mullet rock—as Sam put it—she preferred it to silence.

"Why isn't there any snow?" she spoke up, looking out her window. "Shouldn't there be snow?"

She had lived in Chicago all of her life up until she left for college in California and there was usually some snow that fell around this time of year. And Chicago was much more south than Lake Manitoc. Bethany had told her just that morning that they had a few inches of snow already at home.

"Global warming's a bitch," Dean answered.

Julia laughed lightly in agreement before picking up the local newspaper she bought when they got to town. She had been interested in the front headline, which was giving the town's residence more details about the nearby dam that was falling apart. When they arrived at the police station, she had read the whole article and discovered that the government had decided not fund any repairs.

"Now, I'm sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?" the sheriff, who introduced himself as Jake, asked them as he led them to his office.

"You sure it's accidental?" Sam raised his eyebrows at him. "Will Carlton saw something grab his sister."

"Like what? Here, sit please," Jake gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk; Dean let Julia and Sam sit in them. "There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake. There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person unless it was the Loch Ness Monster."

"Yeah," Dean chuckled awkwardly. "Right."

"Will Carlton was traumatized and sometimes the mind plays tricks," Jake went on as he sat in his own seat. "Sill, we dragged that lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there."

"That's weird, though," Dean commented. "I mean, that's the third missing body this year."

"I know," Jake agreed sadly and a little defensively. "These are my people from my town. These are people I care about."

"I know."

"Anyway," Jake sighed and leaned back in his chair. "All this won't be a problem much longer."

Dean gave him a curious look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the dam, of course."

"It's falling apart," Julia spoke up, knowing that their aliases probably should have known about something that would so drastically affect the town's wildlife; Sam and Dean gave her questioning looks while Jake nodded solemnly.

"And the Feds won't give us the grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway," Jake added; Dean and Sam were impressed with Julia's sudden knowledge of the town that saved their asses. "In another six months, there won't be much of a lake. There won't be much of a town, either."

Dean gave the sheriff a weak smile and went to speak but wasn't able to. An attractive woman around his age had knocked on the door, getting the man's attention.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" the woman asked sheepishly. "I can come back later."

Jake stood up; Julia and Sam followed his lead. "This is my daughter."

Dean grinned at her. "Pleasure to meet you," he shook her hand. "I'm Dean."

"Andrea Barr," the woman introduced herself. "Hi."

"Hi."

"They're from the Wildlife Service," Jake informed Andrea pointedly. "About the lake."

Andrea's face visibly fell. "Oh."

A little boy with a bored and depressed expression on his face walked into the room after her. Julia gave him a small smile; she loved kids and had always wanted to be a mother but, unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards for her.

"Oh, hey there," Dean spotted the boy too. "What's your name?"

The boy seemed very shy; he hurried away from them to go sit at a table outside of the office. Andrea gave them an apologetic look and followed after him, taking out crayons and some paper to give him.

"His name is Lucas," Jake informed them, watching his grandson with a sad smile.

Julia perked up at the name. She felt like it was a sign from her guardian angel that she happened to be working a case on the anniversary of her mom's death that involved a boy with her father's name. He hadn't contacted her at all today, so she felt like the angels were assuring her that she'd be okay.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked, watching the little boy take the crayons from his mother and start to draw on the construction paper in front of him.

"My grandson's been through a lot. We all have," Jake sighed as he walked toward his office door. "Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know."

"Thank you for your help," Julia smiled at the sheriff gratefully as they left his office.

"You know," Dean turned back to Jake and Andrea halfway out of the station, though he was speaking mostly to Andrea. "now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?"

"Lakefront Motel," Andrea informed him. "Go around the corner. It's about two blocks up."

"Two—" Dean scratched his head, acting confused. "Would you mind showing us?"

Andrea chuckled, amused. "You want me to walk you two blocks?"

Dean smiled sheepishly. "Not if it's any trouble."

"I'm headed that way anyway," Andrea turned to her dad. "I'll be back to pick up Lucas at three," she kissed her son's head and promised, "We'll go to the park, okay, sweetie?"

"Thanks again," Sam told Jake before he and Julia followed Dean and Andrea out of the station.

As they walked through the bustling town square, Julia squinted around. It was pretty much December and it wasn't cold and there was no sign of winter weather. Andrea was wearing a t-shirt and skirt for crying out loud and no one that they passed was wearing any sort of coat. The only sign that it had been fall was the bare trees and dead leaves blowing around in the slight breeze.

"So," Dean cleared his throat to get Andrea's attention. "cute kid."

"Thanks," Andrea smiled before leading them across a street.

"Kids are the best, huh?" he laughed.

Andrea gave him a clearly amused look but didn't answer as they walked closer to the motel. They stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building and Andrea turned to Dean with a smirk.

"There it is," she gestured to the motel. "Like I said, two blocks."

Julia laughed lightly, amused at the woman's spunk. She liked that she wasn't falling at Dean's feet like most women would. She was smart and knew that he was trying to get on her good side. "Thanks."

Andrea grinned at her before looking back at Dean. "Must be hard with your sense of direction," she commented, her tone sarcastic. "never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line."

Julia gaped at her, a laugh escaping her throat before she could stop it. Andrea left with a satisfied smirk on her face, calling back to them, "Enjoy your stay!"

Dean was at a loss for words but he did manage to send Julia an annoyed look. Julia controlled her laughter but she was beaming at him, her cheeks red with mirth and her dimple out.

Sam grinned at Dean, just as amused as Julia. "Kids are the best?" he repeated Dean's earlier line. "You don't even like kids."

"I love kids!" Dean defended himself.

"Name three children that you even know," Sam dared him.

"Lizzie," Dean said immediately, naming Julia's five-year-old niece.

"Okay, that's one," Julia commented. "How about two more?"

Dean pressed his lips together and pulled his hands out of his pockets to count on his fingers. He took too long to say another name, since he didn't know any other children, and Sam got bored. He started toward the motel's front off with Julia on his trail.

"I'm thinking!" Dean called after them, scratching his head.

-

Since Julia was paying for this motel stay—she, Sam, and Dean agreed that she would pay for every-other motel they had to stop at—she splurged for an extra room like usual. When the Winchester were paying, she had to share the bed with Sam but she enjoyed a room to herself, especially since Sam was a giant and took up eighty-five percent of the bed. The only thing was that the rooms had to be connected; Dean was adamant about that, especially since she was in training and he was worried if something would happen.

Dean's concern was sweet but sometimes Julia liked her privacy. Especially since she spent all of her time with two grown men.

She laid on the bed in her room on her stomach, her feet swaying in the air above her as she typed the class discussion that was due that night for her Archaic Latin class. The connecting door to Sam and Dean's room was open and she could hear Sam typing away but other than that, it was pretty quiet other than her quiet humming that helped her concentrate on her work.

She looked up from her laptop as Dean entered her room.

"You saved our asses back there at the station, you know."

She gave him a confused look, having already forgotten what he was talking about. "What do you mean?"

"What you said about the dam," he reminded her. "If you hadn't of said something, I'm pretty sure our cover would have been blown."

"Oh," Julia smiled like she did whenever she received praise and looked back at her screen. "It was just luck. I saw an article about it on the newspaper I picked up at the gas station when we got to town."

"Well, either way," Dean shrugged. "You did good," he sat down at the end of the bed, just behind her computer. "Whatcha doing?"

"Class discussion," her eyes were back on him, unable to focus now.

"Class?"

Julia nodded at the confused look on his face. "It's the last week before finals."

"What class?"

"Classes," she elaborated, sharing her class schedule. "New Testament, Archaic Latin, Aramaic, Islam, and French."

Dean gave her an impressed look. "You're doing all of that online?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed. "I had an internship at Stanford so I was able to do my classes online."

"What about next semester?"

"Already registered and they're all online again," she assured him.

"And then you graduate?"

Julia nodded proudly; she had worked so hard on her education all her life, even skipping a few grades so they she could attend college with Sam. "Double major in religion and linguistics."

"That's great, I'm really proud of you, Julia," Dean said with an impressed smile; Julia beamed at him. "Don't tell Sam but I kinda wished I went to college, too."

Julia gave him a surprised look. She had never heard Dean say anything about his want for higher education, especially since he dropped out of high school. "Really?" she asked. "What would you major in?"

"Mechanical engineering, I think," Dean answered her. "I like making things and working with my hands."

"You're great at that," Julia agreed, knowing that he would had been great at his job if he had gone down that road. "Remember when you built that barbie house for me?"

Dean grinned at the memory, his cheeks slightly flushing. "That's not quite the same, Junior."

"I know that, I'm just saying," Julia rolled her eyes playfully. "You're a genius with that kind of stuff."

Dean smiled, secretly pleased with what she was saying. Sam was the smart brother and he had always been but Dean had some tricks up his sleeve, too. It was nice to have someone acknowledge that side of him. Over the years he had picked up skills and making things was one of his favorites. He had made an EMF device out of a Walkman once, which he was particularly proud of and still used.

"Guys!" Sam called from the other room, breaking Julia and Dean out of their little world. "Come here, I found more information."

Dean got up and walked back into his room, Julia rolling out of bed to follow him. Sam was at the table, his laptop in front of him. He had been on the thing for an hour or so, so she wasn't surprised to see that he had discovered something.

"So, there's the three drowning victims this year," Sam stated, bringing up the information he complied.

"Any before that?" Dean asked quickly.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Six more spread out over the past thirty-five years. Those bodies were never recovered, either. If there's something out there, it's picking up its pace."

"Maybe it's picking up the pace because the lake's being drained," Julia spoke up thoughtfully.

"Might be," Sam agreed.

"So, we got a lake monster on a binge, huh," Dean said dryly, going over to sit on his bed.

Sam shook his head in disagreement. "This whole lake monster theory bugs me," he declared. He explained when Julia gave him a questioning look, "Loch Ness, Lake Champlain, there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts. But here? Almost nothing."

"So, whatever's out there, no one's living to talk about it," Julia assumed.

Dean hummed in agreement and walked back over to the table, hovering over Sam to read over his shoulder. "Barr," he muttered, reading the latest drowning victim before Sophie Carlton. "Christopher Barr. Where have I heard that name before?"

"Christopher Barr, the victim in May," Sam took a closer look at the article, scrolling further down the page. There was a picture of Lucas in the middle of the writing, bundled up in a large towel with soaked hair. "Oh, Christopher Barr was Andrea's husband and Lucas' father. Apparently he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating platform when Chris drowned; it was two hours before the kid got rescued."

Julia sighed sadly. "Poor little guy."

"Maybe we have an eyewitness after all," Sam scratched his head.

"No wonder that kid was so freaked out," Dean said quietly, getting Julia and Sam's attention. "Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over."

The knowing, faraway look in Dean's eyes made Julia's heart ache. Dean never talked about his mom or if he saw what actually happened to her. Julia assumed that he did, by his comment. It was hard for her to witness her mom die when she was a teenager and her mom died of something human. She couldn't imagine when Dean went through at four years old, watching his mom die because of a supernatural creature.

He was too young. No kid should have to go through something that traumatic.

-

Knowing that Andrea was picking up Lucas from her dad around three, Julia, Sam, and Dean headed to the park around the same time. They wanted to see if they could get anything out of Lucas without traumatizing him further and Dean had volunteered to talk to the kid while Sam and Julia spoke with his mom.

The three of them walked through the park, spotting Andrea sitting at a bench just outside of the play area. She was watching Lucas, who didn't seem like he wanted to join in on the rambunctious activities by the jungle gym. He was perfectly content to sit at a bench and color.

"Can we join you?" Julia asked Andrea as they approached the bench she was sitting on.

Andrea looked up, smiling slightly when she saw them there. "I'm here with my son."

"Oh, mind if I say hi?" Dean wondered, walking away toward Lucas before Andrea could agree to his request. Andrea didn't seem all that bothered by it, turning to Julia as she sat next to her.

"You should tell your friend that this whole Jerry Maguire thing is not gonna work on me," she said, amused, as they all watched Dean greet Lucas.

"I don't think that's what this is about," Sam spoke up, watching Dean thoughtfully.

"We heard about your husband," Julia said apologetically; Andrea frowned sadly. "Dean went through something similar as Lucas when he was a kid."

"Really?" Andrea looked relieved that he wasn't just talking to her son to get in her good graces.

Sam nodded. "Our mom," he explained. "I don't remember much but Dean—well, from what I heard, he didn't speak for a long while afterwards."

"I know the feeling," Andrea sighed sadly, glancing back at Lucas and Dean. "Lucas hasn't said a word, not even to me. Not since his dad's accident."

"I'm sorry," Julia grabbed her hand and squeezed comfortingly as Dean started walking back over. "What are the doctors saying?"

"That's it's some kind of post-traumatic stress."

"That can't be easy," Sam said sympathetically; Dean coming to stand next to him. "for either of you."

"We moved in with my dad," Andrea smiled slightly. "He helps out a lot. It's just...when I think about what Lucas went though, what he saw..."

"Kids are strong," Dean said when she trailed off. "You'd be surprised what they can deal with."

"You know, he used to have such life," Andrea smiled back at Lucas as he left his bench; Julia grinned, thinking of her niece who was as crazy as little girls get. "He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now, he just sits there, drawing those pictures and playing with those army men. I just wish—" she abruptly changed the subject as Lucas came up to them. "Hey, sweetie."

Lucas' eyes were on the ground but he held out a picture he drew for Dean. The picture was of a cabin and it was pretty good for kid his age.

"Thanks," Dean looked at with a smile. "Thanks, Lucas."

Lucas just slouched off, going back to his bench to color.

-

-

The next morning, Dean and Julia were eating the breakfast he had picked up when Sam walked back into the room. He slammed the door shut behind him and took a seat next to Dean on his bed.

"So, I think it's safe to say we can rule out Nessie," he said dryly.

Dean gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"I just drove past the Carlton house," Sam informed them. "There was an ambulance there. Will Carlton is dead."

Julia stiffened, horrified. "Did he drown?"

"Yep, in the sink."

"What the fuck?" Dean took the last bite of his breakfast sandwich. "So, you were right, this isn't a creature. We're dealing with something else."

"What could it be?" Julia wondered.

"I don't know," Dean shrugged. "Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon? I mean, something that controls water...water that comes from the same source."

"The lake," she stated; it seemed like her assumption the day before was correct. Whatever this thing was, it wanted to get its agenda done before the lake was completely drained.

"You were right, J," Sam commented. "It explains why it's upping the body count. It's running out of time."

"And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere," Dean added, standing up and crumpling his wrapper. "This is gonna happen again soon."

"And we do know one thing for sure," Sam sighed. "This has got something to do with Bill Carlton."

"It took both of his kids," Julia hummed.

"And I've been asking around," Sam added. "Lucas' dad, Chris? He was Bill Carlton's godson."

Dean sighed and pulled on his boots. "Well, let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit."

-

Julia stayed in the car while Dean and Sam questioned Mr. Carlton, and talked to her brother, Levi, since they hadn't gotten to talk the day before. It was a nice conversation but a little awkward since they weren't the closest of siblings.

Levi and Abby were kind of loners growing up and now that Levi was an adult, he was quiet unless he was pitching meetings to the company or selling big item products. Still, Julia loved him and she was glad they got in touch. He was a little worried about her on the road and was more than a little skeptical about Dean and Sam training her as opposed to Abby or their dad but he liked the brothers so it didn't come from a bad place.

After Sam and Dean talked to Mr. Carlton—tried to talk, anyway, since the poor man didn't feel like talking—they discovered that the drawing Lucas gave Dean at the park was actually the cabin the Carltons lived. They went to Andrea's house next so Dean could talk to him and he was presented with another drawing, this time of a yellow two-story house near a church with a little stick-figure boy and a red bike.

"Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died," Dean informed Julia and Sam as they rode around town, searching for the yellow house in the drawing.

Honestly, this case was hitting close to home for all of them—but mostly for Dean and Julia. For Dean, he could see himself in the little boy; his parent died and he stopped speaking out of grief. For Julia, besides the fact that Lucas shared her dad's name, it was he that knew things that other people wouldn't always know.

Julia knew how that felt; all her life she knew of things that would just randomly pop into her head and, of course, she had the bad feelings she got once in a while, like with Dean and Sam. It would scare her in the beginning, to see her family look at her in confusion—like how she stated the day before the news broke about President Clinton that he was going to be on trial—but she never thought of herself as a freak. To her knowledge, her family didn't, either.

"There are cases—" Sam sighed doubtfully. "going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies..."

"Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?" Dean asked; Sam made an uncommitted sound that made him stiffen. "I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please."

"It wouldn't hurt, Sam," Julia spoke up. "You know that sometimes these things happen."

"All right," Sam gave into the pressure Dean and Julia were putting on him. "we got another house to find."

"The only problem is there's about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone," Dean grumbled.

Julia hummed and leaned forward, studying the drawing on Sam's lap. "What about the church?"

"True," Sam agreed. "I bet there's less than a thousand of those around here."

"Ooh, college kids," Dean teased them playfully. "you think you're so smaht, huh?"

Sam laughed and Julia joined in, pushing Dean's shoulder before sitting back in her seat.

They drove around the town, looking for the churches in the area. They had already looked at four of them when they came across a white church, almost identical to the drawing Lucas gave Dean. Right across the street happened to be a yellow two-story.

Dean and Sam nodded at each other before the three of them walked up to the house and knocked on the door. An old woman answered the door, looking at them in confusion. She let them in without a word—and introduced herself as Helen Sweeney—so apparently they passed her silent test. Or she was just a sweet lady who didn't think any harm would come to her in a small town like Manitoc Lake.

"We're sorry to bother, ma'am, but does a little boy live here, by chance?" Dean asked her politely. "He might wear a blue ball cap, has a red bicycle."

"No, sir," Mrs. Sweeney said sadly. "Not for a very long time. Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now," she glanced at an old picture of an adolescent boy sitting on the nearest table. "The police never—I never had any idea of what happened. He just disappeared."

Julia pressed her lips together sadly and looked around Mrs. Sweeney's home. It looked like a shrine to her lost son. There were a bunch of pictures, toys, balls, and even some small green army men just like the ones they saw Lucas playing with.

"Losing him," Mrs. Sweeney shook her head slowly. "you know, it's...it's worse than dying."

Dean and Sam gave each other a pointed look—that was the exact phrase that Bill Carlton had used when talking about his recently-deceased children.

"Mrs. Sweeney," Julia gave her a gentle smile, keeping her voice soft. "Did Peter disappear from the house?"

Mrs. Sweeney shook her head. "He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school but he never showed up."

Julia gave her a sympathetic smile and helped her sit down before offering to get her a glass of water. As she disappeared into the kitchen, Mrs. Sweeney allowed Sam and Dean to look around.

Dean spotted a picture of Peter and another little boy in a mirror hung on the way. He studied it and then turned it over to read the writing on the back.

"Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, nineteen-seventy," he muttered.

With the realization that the whole situation with Peter Sweeney going missing and being somehow connected to Bill Carlton, the three of them left shortly after Julia came back into the room with a glass of water for Mrs. Sweeney.

Sam, Julia, and Dean theorized that Bill must have killed Peter when he was a little boy and was now going after Bill Carlton. First, he killed Bill's children so that he would know the pain his mother went through when he went missing and then he'd take Bill for himself. As they raced to Bill Carlton's house, they knew Peter had gotten his revenge.

Bill had gone out onto the lake with his small motorized boat and in the middle of it; the boat flipped over on a very small wave that came out of nowhere and Bill plunged into the lake. He didn't resurface.

Julia, Dean, and Sam were led into the police station by Jake for questioning about Bill's death. It was suspicious to the sheriff that they just so happened to be at Bill's cabin at the same time as his boat flipped over.

Andrea and Lucas were waiting for Jake with a bucket of fried chicken when they walked into the building. She looked up in surprise when she saw them trailing behind her father.

"Sam, Dean, Julia," she furrowed her eyebrows and stood up. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"So, now you're on a first-name basis?" Jake asked her. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you dinner."

"Sorry, sweetheart," Jake apologized. "I don't really have the time."

Andrea glanced at Julia, Dean, and Sam before looking back at her father. "I heard about Bill Carlton," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Is it true? Is something going on with the lake?"

"Right now, we don't know what the truth is but I think it might be better if you and Lucas went home," Jake advised.

Lucas looked absolutely panicked at the thought of leaving the station. He jumped out of his chair and ran to Dean. He whimpered as he frantically clutched Dean's arm, tugging at him.

"Lucas, hey, what is it?" Dean asked worriedly.

"Lucas?" Andrea asked uncertainly.

"Lucas, it's okay," Dean comforted the little boy, making Julia's heart ache and melt at the sight—he was damn good with kids. "It's okay, Lucas. It's okay."

Andrea pulled Lucas away from Dean and Lucas let go with a reluctant and stricken face. Andrea silently led him out of the station, giving her dad as hesitant look as they went. Lucas looked back at Dean with fear the whole time he walked away.

Uncomfortable, Jake slipped off his jacket and threw it onto the chair at the front desk. He walked into his office and the others followed him, knowing that they were going to be questioned now.

"Okay, just so I'm clear," Jake sighed heavily, sinking into his chair. "you see...something attack Bill's boat, sending Bill—who is a very good swimmer, by the way—into the water and you never see him again?

Dean glanced at Julia and Sam before looking back at him. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

"And I'm supposed to believe this even though I've already sonar-swept the entire lake?" Jake asked skeptically. "And what you're describing is impossible? And the fact that you're not really Wildlife Service?"

Julia's face fell in surprise. It wouldn't be far out to think that Dean and Sam felt the same way.

"That's right," Jake observed their expressions. "I checked. The department's never heard of you three."

Dean hastily started to make an excuse. "See, now, we can explain that."

"Enough," Jake snapped. "The only reason you're breathing free air is one of Bill's neighbors saw him steering out that boat just before you did. So, we have a couple of options here."

Julia pressed her lips together; she really didn't like this guy.

"I can arrest you for impersonating government officials and hold you as a material witness to Bill's Carlton's disappearance," Jake listed, pointing a finger in their faces. "Or, we can chalk this all up to a bad day, you get in your car, you put this town in your rearview mirror, and you don't ever darken my doorstep again."

Sam spoke up before Dean's temper and Julia's indignance got them into more trouble. "Door number two sounds good."

"That's the one I'd pick," Jake nodded harshly.

Julia, Sam, and Dean quickly took their leave, making a quick pit stop back at the motel to grab their things and check out. Dean was quiet as they loaded up the Impala and got some gas and when they pulled up to a red light that would lead them out of town and toward Milwaukee, he didn't move when the light turned green.

"Green," Sam drawled, getting Dean's attention.

"What?"

"The light's green."

Dean waited a few seconds before pressing the gas. He turned right, pulling onto the road that would bring them back into town.

"Uh, the interstate's the other way," Sam pointed out flatly.

"I know," Dean didn't seem to care.

Julia was glad that they were going back. They may have thought that only Bill Carlton and his family were connected to this but Lucas was so scared when his grandfather told him and his mom to leave the station. He had practically anchored himself to Dean before Andrea got him to let go. He was terrified and with all the correct signs he'd given them before, why wouldn't they believe him now?

"Dean, I think this job is over," Sam tried to get Dean to act rationally.

Dean shook his head firmly. "I'm not so sure."

"If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed," Sam pointed out. "The spirit should be at rest."

"All right, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done?" Dean asked him. "You know, what if we've missing something? What if more people get hurt?"

Sam gave him a weird look. "Why would you think that?"

Dean pressed his lips together and Julia spoke up in his defense. "Sam, Lucas looked really scared..."

Sam glanced back at her and, when she subtly nodded in Dean's direction, he looked back at his brother with wide eyes. "That's what this is about?"

"I just don't want to leave this town until I know the kid's okay," Dean declared firmly.

"Who are you?" Sam scoffed in amusement. "and what have you done with my brother?"

Dean glared at him. "Shut up."

"Dean, just admit you like kids," Julia rolled her eyes playfully.

"You shut up, too."

It was a good thing that Dean was so stubborn about going back to check on Lucas because, when they got to the Barr residence, Andrea was being drowned by Peter's spirit in the bathtub. Julia and Sam pulled her to safety while Dean held Lucas back from harm but it was still scary for the both of them.

It was when Dean discovered that Jake had been friends with Peter Sweeney and Bill Carlton that Lucas ran out of their house and pointed to a patch of dirt out by the lake. When Sam and Dean dug up Peter's red bicycle, Jake had arrived and threatened them with a gun.

It went quickly after that; Dean had confronted Jake about helping Bill Carlton kill Peter Sweeney and Jake admitted that it was an accident and they left the body go in the lake. Lucas was lured into the lake by Peter and Jake surrendered to the spirit in order to save his grandson.

Despite losing Jake, they were able to save Lucas and Andrea.

-

Dean was melancholy all morning the day after, still sulking about the fact that Jake had been killed by Peter. Julia was sad to see him so down on himself when he was the main person who kept Lucas and Andrea safe—he believed in Lucas and he made sure they stayed in town to protect them.

Sam noticed the same thing as Julia. "Look," he sighed as he slung his and Julia's bags into the trunk. "we're not gonna save everybody."

Dean nodded. "I know."

"Turn that frown upside-down, Bean," Julia used her childhood nickname for him and reached up, playfully poking his chin. The corners of his lips lifted even though he swatted her hand away from his face. "You guys saved Andrea and Lucas. That's what matters."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

"Sam, Dean, Julia!" Andrea called as she and Lucas ran up to them.

"Hey," Dean grinned at her.

"We're glad we caught you," Andrea declared. "We just, uh, we made you lunch for the road. Lucas insisted on making the sandwiches for himself."

"That's super sweet of you, Lucas," Julia gave him a sweet smile.

Lucas smiled sheepishly and looked up at his mom. "Can I give it to them now?"

Julia's eyes widened when she heard Lucas speak and let out a small huff of relief. She could tell by the look in Andrea's eyes that she was so relieved to see her son back to his old self.

"Of course," Andrea kissed his head.

"Come on, Lucas, let's load this into the car," Dean gestured the kid over to the Impala.

When they were out of hearing range, Sam turned to Andrea. "How are you holding up?"

"It's gonna take a long time to sort through everything, you know?" Andrea smiled sadly.

Sam sighed apologetically. "Andrea, I'm sorry."

Andrea shook her head. "You saved my son. I can't ask for more than that. Dad loved me and he loved Lucas. No matter what he did, I just have to hold onto that."

Julia grinned at her. "You're very wise, you know? You remind me of my mom."

Sam gave his best friend a sad smile and wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulder. Andrea gave her a grateful look and Julia was surprised when she pulled both her and Sam into a hug. If it had been a different life, she could really see herself being friends with Andrea.

The three of them walked over to the Impala, where Dean was sitting in the backseat so he was down at Lucas' level.

"All right," they overheard him say to Lucas. "if you're gonna be talking now, this is a very important phrase. So, I want you to repeat it one more time."

"Zeppelin rules!" Lucas exclaimed.

"That's right!" Dean grinned and held up his hand for a high-five. "Up high."

Lucas slapped his hand against Dean's. It was all very cute.

"You take care of your mom, okay?" Dean told Lucas seriously.

Lucas nodded. "All right."

Dean stood up when he noticed that Julia, Sam, and Andrea were watching them. Surprisingly, Andrea pulled Dean into a short kiss to show her thanks that had Sam and Julia raising their eyebrows at each other in amusement.

"Thank you," Andrea whispered as she pulled away from him.

Dean stared at her for a second before awkwardly scratching his head. "Sam, Jules, move your asses," he told Sam and Julia as he walked around to the driver's side. "We're gonna run out of daylight before we hit the road."

He was being dramatic since it was ten in the morning but Sam and Julia indulged him. It was clear that he was feeling uncharacteristically awkward from the kiss Andrea gave him and it was all kinds of endearing.

Julia gave Andrea and Lucas a final smile. "You two be safe."

What was left of the Barr family agreed as she slipped into the backseat. They waved as Dean drove off, his music blasting loudly.

"Hero gets the girl," Julia sighed, leaning her chin on the front seat. "and the other two get ham sandwiches and bananas."

Sam chuckled while Dean rolled his eyes in amusement.

"I'll eat your sandwiches if you don't shut up."

"Touch them and die, bitch."

(Gif is not mine)

#supernatural rewrite #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x original character

[varietydisco]

Catch of the Day

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Kieran Duffy Rating: Teen and Up Tags: Mutual Pining, Crushes, First Kiss, Both of them being mildly touch-starved, Kieran rubbing down Arthur “butterball” Morgan with aloe vera Word count: 4500

Description: Arthur and Kieran let their minds wander on an unsuccessful fishing trip, and Arthur gets a sunburn.

Arthur felt his presence before Kieran even had the chance to say a word.

Kieran walked quietly, as if he were afraid to make too much noise or to assert himself into his surroundings. He seemed to slink around camp, shoulders slumped and head down, despite being surprisingly tall and just as lanky. He had an air about him, though, that was impossible to miss; sitting alone at the table scribbling in his journal, it made the hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck stand up when he felt Kieran looking at him.

Kieran seemed to do a lot of looking these days, though that could have just been a coincidence.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder.

Sure enough, Kieran was standing a few feet off, all gangly limbs and strange uncertainty about himself. He held a fishing pole and a bucket in both his hands, with a worried expression. When Arthur looked at him, Kieran seemed to jolt, as if he weren’t expecting this development, and a little like he was ready to take off and run.

Arthur gave Kieran a second to speak, and when he didn’t, Arthur took the lead into the conversation.

“Mornin’.” He greeted, despite it being closer to noon by then. He flipped his journal shut and twisted around in his seat. “Whaddya need?”

“N— nothin’,” Kieran replied almost instantly, tripping over his words.

“Well, obviously there’s somethin’,” Arthur said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be ooglin’ me.”

Kieran’s cheeks flushed hot. His eyes dropped to the ground and the words sounded as though they were tumbling out of his mouth.

“I— I wasn’t ooglin’ ya! I was just… Well…”

A lot of people commented on how much more confident Kieran had gotten since they let him loose from the tree. He still had that damn stutter, but he was slowly getting less afraid to talk to people and speak his mind. Awful with looking people in the eye yet, which was something that bothered Dutch to no end (but really, what did he expect from a glorified ex-O’Driscoll-whipping-boy?). Otherwise, he was getting better, according to the others.

Arthur didn’t seem to get that from Kieran; he got an awkward man with a secret on his mind that was eating him inside out. If Arthur were better at reading people, he might try to figure out what Kieran was hiding, but he just wasn’t, so he stayed weary of the other man best he could.

“I’m tryin’ to rally my nerves, is all.” Kieran finally finished.

“So, you do want a favour.”

“No, not exactly. I— Well…”

“You’re wastin’ my goddamn time, O’Driscoll.”

Kieran’s freckled cheeks flared red. Despite the nerves which still wracked his voice and held his shoulders, he managed to sound more assertive.

“I told yous a million times over— I ain’t no O’Driscoll. I hate when y’all call me that. I’m… I’m more van der Linde than I ever was O’Driscoll.”

Arthur sort of half-shrugged his shoulders, before settling back and crossing his arms. Quickly, he scraped his eyes over Kieran’s lanky body. There was nothing in particular to note, except that when he got defensive and annoyed he stood a little straighter and a little taller, almost enough that it made him look good. Or at least better.

Arthur didn’t want to approach where that thought came from, so he quickly pushed it right back down.

“Just tell me what you want an’ be done with it. No sense runnin’ circles.”

“I’m only— I was wonderin’ if you’d wanna go fishin’ with me.” Kieran finally said. For emphasis, he shook the bucket in his left hand; it rattled presumably with extra hooks and bait.

Arthur looked at the bucket, then Kieran, then to the rest of the camp beyond him.

As the afternoon heat started settling in, most of the people had drifted away from their work towards whatever shady spots they could find instead. Either laid-up under tents to sleep away the heat or tucked under outcroppings from the waggons while they chatted quietly among themselves, the entire camp had fallen into a peaceful hush. There was no loud talking, or nagging, and most surprisingly of all, no arguing. Usually the heat brought out the worst in people, but for some reason, not today.

A secret little part of Arthur loved the thought of getting away from camp today. If he waited too long, Dutch or Pearson or one of the girls or someone would come wandering around, asking him for this or that. An errand to run in town, a trinket to go find, a harebrained scheme that would promise them big pay for a little elbow grease. Frankly, Arthur wasn’t in the mood for any of it. A day of peace might do him good.

Arthur turned his eyes back to Kieran and narrowed them. Being skeptical was always in his best interest.

“Why?” Arthur inquired. “I thought the fish didn’t bite this time of day… Somethin’ about the sun, or the bugs on the water.”

Under his intense gaze, Kieran acted funny. He wet his lips, shifted his feet, and dropped his eyes. His shoulders slumped forward again, as if what little confidence he had before was sucked out of him.

“Well, you’re— you’re the nicest person here to me. We did good the last time we went fishin’, too.” Kieran admitted. “And I figured you— well, I figured you needed some rest. You’re always runnin’ around for the others an’ I ain’t ever— p- pardon me sayin’, but I ain’t ever seen you sit your ass down anywhere for long. An’ fishin’, it’s just…”

The words were falling quick and nervous out of Kieran’s mouth. “It’s just sittin’ on your ass. Relaxin’.”

Arthur tilted his head back a little bit. Despite himself, he cocked his brow and smirked with the corner of his lips.

“Spend a lot of time thinkin’ about my ass an’ what I do with it, O’Driscoll?”

Kieran’s eyes bugged.

“That ain’t what I said at all!”

Admittedly, his reaction made Arthur laugh. Deep and quiet, Arthur settled back in his chair as he chuckled.

Kieran’s face went red up to his ears as he shook his own head. He chewed his lip and went to turn on his heels.

“Nevermind my askin’. M’ sorry to bother you.”

Arthur scoffed as soon as Kieran started to walk away. He uncrossed his arms, sat forward and waved his hand.

“Come on, now. I’m only teasin’.” Arthur said. He waited until Kieran looked back at him to keep talking, carefully. “I never said I wouldn’t come. I reckon it’d be nice… Relaxin’, an’ whatnot.”

Kieran perked up. Despite his nerves and doubts and every other weird, squirming feeling inside of him at the sight of Arthur’s bright blue eyes that he’d rather ignore, Kieran couldn’t help himself being drawn in. He smiled, a small quirk in his lips that quickly broke into something more excited.

For a second, the sight of it made Arthur forget what he was going to say.

Kieran didn’t seem to smile a lot, but then again, why would he? Not a lot to make you smile when you were the butt of everybody’s jokes.

But he had a great smile, Arthur had to admit, whether he wanted to or not.

Arthur cleared his throat and rose to his feet. As he went, he grabbed his journal and tucked it firmly under his arm.

“I ain’t much of a fisherman, though.” Arthur warned. “You know that.”

“Don’t matter. Most of the fun’s in the company, anyhow.”

Arthur pursed his lips. He couldn’t help but notice how Kieran’s eyes flickered to his mouth.

“Hold yourself in pretty good esteem?”

Even though Kieran still had that same nervous look to him, he kept smiling.

“Not hardly. I just think… We get along good, is all.”

Something about Kieran’s genuine smile made Arthur’s heart ache. He pushed it down, forced away his own smile, and only offered a nod in reply.

“…Yeah, you’re alright.”

—30—

By the time they got to their private nook on Flat Iron Lake, the sun was high in the sky and impossibly hot and stifling. Sweat rolled liberally down the sides of Arthur’s jaw and collected in his stubble, sticky and uncomfortable. There was hardly any shade for them, so the sun beat down awful vicious. Arthur felt the burn of his shirt against his shoulders.

But, for some reason, the peace was nice. All things considered.

Kieran talked, mostly about nothing and mostly just to fill the silence. His voice regained some of that confidence people were always commenting on. While they casted their lines and slowly reeled in, Kieran’s words floated up into the hot summer air and kept Arthur entertained.

“You know I— I heard once that there’s catfish in some lakes that’ve gotten so big they could eat a man,” Kieran said. His eyes were trained on the water, as he sat on the sandy bank and reeled his rod. “Heard that’s why in some places, they… They don’t eat the catfish. ‘Cause they’ve fed on humans.”

Their conversation was following a train of thought, constantly shifting topic and moving this way and that. Considering how quiet he normally was, Arthur just appreciated that there was someone to take the lead in the conversation.

“So, if we catch a real fat one,” Arthur mused. He reached up to wipe his forehead on his arm. “We ought to assume Pearson fell in the lake and got made dinner?”

Kieran laughed, short and surprised. Arthur glanced to the side in time to see it happen, and almost wished he hadn’t.

Seeing Kieran smile and watching his eyes crinkle as he laughed made Arthur’s heart ache again. There were so many implications to it that Arthur didn’t want to think about, much less dwell on or try to dissect.

He didn’t want to think about how Kieran’s presence made him feel, or the way the hairs on his arms and neck rose when he felt Kieran looking at him. And the last thing Arthur needed to be thinking about was how Kieran looked then, and how he wished he could have immortalized the scene in a drawing, with Kieran’s straw hat pulled low to his eyes, his body pitching forward slightly as he laughed, the quirk in his thin lips and the way his eyes crinkled at the edges. Arthur didn’t need to think about how much warmth and light Kieran managed to hide in that nervous face of his.

Maybe Kieran felt Arthur staring at him, because as his laughter died he looked to the side. His smile kind of dipped, shifted towards uncertainty.

“S— somethin’ wrong?” Kieran asked. His own heart thundered so loud in his chest, he prayed that Arthur couldn’t hear it.

Arthur never had a way with words. He had them all in his head, but never the means to express them proper. Instead of answering truthfully, Arthur shook his head, turned his eyes down, and drawled out a, “Naw. It’s nothin’.”

—30—

They didn’t catch a lot, and most of what they did were too small to keep. Even though their bucket was mostly empty, it was still in good fun; the peace and the quiet was better than anything else. For a few hours, at least, Kieran was glad to be away from the loud voices at camp mocking or teasing him.

Arthur was great company, all things considered. While they fished, and after their conversation had tapered off into sparse silence, Kieran kept stealing little glances at the other man.

Progressively, over the course of their fishing trip, Arthur had been undoing buttons from his shirt, trying to invite the weak breeze onto his skin. He had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and all the buttons undone on his front. His shirt basically hung off his shoulders, presenting all the soft, hairy rolls underneath.

Even though he was an outlaw on the run, he was still pudgy and heavy-set. Kieran knew better than to stare, lest he be caught and teased or chastised for it, but it felt impossible to look away. The sight made Kieran smile, and a collection of feelings and thoughts rush through his mind.

Arthur’s line snagged and immediately he jumped into action. He jerked the rod, and started to reel, though quickly the line went slack again.

As frustration crossed his face, Kieran laughed gently.

“You ain’t caught a single thing, just about.” Kieran pointed out with a grin. “You’ve just been feedin’ the fish all day.”

“I told’ja, I ain’t no fisherman.” Arthur replied, trying to mask his annoyance.

He reeled in his line quickly, shook his head at the empty hook when he examined it, and then baited it up with another worm.

Kieran watched Arthur’s hands work, impossibly big and rough, yet still deft and delicate in their movements.

“It’s all in how you reel,” Kieran eventually said, after Arthur casted his line again. “I could show ya.”

Arthur held his rod out to the side. “By all means.”

Kieran took the chance to scoot in closer to Arthur. The sandy beach shifted, hot and imposing under his legs; somehow, though, when his shoulder brushed with Arthur’s, it felt even hotter.

“You’ve got a good cast,” Kieran explained, keeping his eyes down on their hands. “But when you feel a bite, y’ gotta give it a hard, quick yank. Make sure that sucker stays on…”

Kieran placed his hand over Arthur’s and adjusted it. Arthur fell completely silent, settled instead on watching Kieran.

His eyes flicked between Kieran’s face and their hands, his heart starting to race. Maybe it was because people’s hands on Arthur usually had the intent to hurt, and that’s why it felt so hot and odd. Not exactly unfamiliar, just… Different. Good, in a way. Too good. Arthur’s mouth felt kind of dry.

Then, just as soon as Kieran’s hands were there, they were gone again; taken back quick and wrapped around his own fishing rod again, as though it had been a mistake to make contact at all.

“Then you just gotta… Keep reelin’.” Kieran finished. He wet his lips and glanced towards the water, away from Arthur. Feeling awkward and strange himself, with the lingering sensation of Kieran’s hands on his own, Arthur did the same. “If you pull the line too much, it’ll… It’ll dislodge the hook. Then the fish gets away with the bait.”

Arthur nodded. Under the brim of his hat, his shaded cheeks felt hot.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“No problem.” Kieran replied just as weakly.

Silence overcame them, aside from Arthur clearing his throat and them quietly reeling in or casting out. It took a few seconds, but Arthur soon realized that Kieran never moved back to his spot. They stayed together, shoulders barely touching.

“You’re awful close,” Arthur pointed out, maybe because he felt an obligation to. It didn’t feel quite right to admit that he liked it.

Kieran glanced to him.

“Oh. I guess I am.” There was something uncertain in his expression as Kieran smiled with the corner of his mouth. “Do you mind it?”

Arthur didn’t know what to say right off, so he mumbled, “Not especially.”

Kieran didn’t look away immediately and neither did Arthur. They kind of gazed at each other for a long moment and it left Arthur unsure and nervous, because sitting this close he noticed how pretty Kieran’s eyes were, and that was something he would rather have not to think about.

“This is nice, don’tcha think?” Kieran asked. “Nothin’ to worry about, nobody wantin’ anythin’ outta ya.”

“It’s different.” Arthur admitted. He couldn’t be sure if he were referring to Kieran’s statement or his own feelings.

“We ought to do this more often. At least for your sake.” Kieran laughed weakly. He turned back towards the water. “What, with the way they’s run you ragged at camp…”

“How many times can you see my ugly mug before you get sick of it?” Arthur inquired. “Or do you just enjoy bein’ the most competent man in the area?”

“What? No! ‘Course not.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked with a smile.

“Oh, sure.”

“Honest and true,” Kieran insisted. “Its like I said, I— I just enjoy your company.”

“Nobody just ‘enjoys my company’ unless they want somethin’ or they’re sick in the head.” Arthur said it as a joke, in his own gruff way, but Kieran didn’t laugh or smile. Instead, Kieran paused, kind of furrowed his brows together in worry.

“You don’t really think like that, do ya?”

Arthur’s stomach twisted and he quietly faltered. It took him a second to shake off the comment.

“Come on, I don’t need pity from an O’Driscoll. It’s just a joke, is all.”

“Well, alright…” Kieran’s voice trailed off, and even as they both looked back to the water, he stole glances at Arthur through the corner of his eye. “…I don’t think it’s true, though. I think you’re fine company to keep.”

“You don’t know me very well, apparently.” Arthur felt a tug on his line, so he jerked the rod and did as Kieran showed him. “Or you’ve got a terrible judge of character. I kept you chained to a tree.”

“We all done things we ain’t proud of,” Kieran said. He let his own line lay to waste as he watched Arthur reel.

Arthur grunted with effort. “Who says I ain’t proud of it?”

“I like to think I know you better’n that.”

“You barely know me at all.”

Arthur tugged and reeled, and then stood up to get a better grip. Whatever was on the end of his line put up an awful fight.

Kieran’s eyes quickly looked over Arthur’s form, before they settled on his face.

“If that’s what you think, then I…” Kieran hesitated a second. “…I’d like to get to know you better, Mister Arthur.”

Arthur casted a quick glance to Kieran, part flustered and confused and unsure what to think, then pulled his catch out of the water with a great yank.

—30—

Arthur caught their biggest catch of the day because of course he did. As with all things, even though he put himself down, he excelled in the end.

Kieran didn’t have it in him to be jealous or angry about it, though. If anything, he was impressed, enthralled; starstruck, maybe, if it didn’t sound so cheesy to admit. When they came strolling back into camp that afternoon and Arthur handed his catch off to Pearson to be gutted and cleaned, people gawked and congratulated him and commented on how the fish had to be as big as Jack. Per usual, Kieran hung to the background, mostly forgotten and unnoticed. He didn’t mind.

He spent the whole day with Arthur, and that was more than he could have asked for. Except at one point, while a few people admired his catch, Kieran caught Arthur glancing over at him and giving him a small, crooked smile.

It made Kieran’s heart leap, his knees feel weak.

The smile only lasted a second, because quickly Arthur had to return to his scowl, lest people know that he wasn’t as rough, tough, and mean that he tried to sell himself as. Kieran didn’t mind, not really; he savoured the thought of Arthur smiling at him, then went about his work. He offered to help clean the fish for Pearson while the excitement around camp died down, and after that was done Kieran slunk back towards his own station by the horses. Back to the routine he knew.

Except he couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur. From his small smile to the power in his body when he rose up and reeled his fish in— it all stuck with Kieran, made him feel antsy and flustered like a teenager.

It also made him pause as he passed by Arthur’s tent, and note that the door of such was wide open.

Kieran didn’t try to be sneaky as he looked in. Struck with curiosity, Kieran openly peaked inside.

Arthur was sat on the cot, shirtless, as he rubbed ointment up and down his strong arms. His expression was stern and set. It twisted a little here and there as he rubbed himself down, no doubt dealing with the on-set sunburn from the afternoon. He applied more ointment to his hand, then reached behind himself to get at his shoulders.

Arthur didn’t look up, but his voice rang out, deep and commanding, “Kieran Duffy, quit that starin’. What d’you need?”

Kieran jolted and was suddenly overcame with the desire to run. He felt shame swell in his chest, like he was a peeping tom that had been caught in the act.

“I— I don’t need nothin’,” Kieran replied. He shifted towards the open front of Arthur’s tent. “How come you keep thinkin’ I do…?”

“Remember what we talked about? With you wastin’ my time?” Arthur twisted his body to try and reach his back with the ointment, but seemingly he had little success.

Flustered, Kieran looked at the ground.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. His eyes trailed back up to Arthur, quickly scanning over his heavy-set and half-naked body.

Watching Arthur struggle to apply his ointment was comparable to watching a seal try to wriggle back into the sea. It was like a disaster you couldn’t look away from.

After a moment of Arthur pretending that he didn’t notice Kieran was still there, and that he wasn’t getting embarrassed, Kieran spoke up.

“I could help you with that, mister Arthur.” The words felt heavy and laden with unspoken thoughts. Kieran swallowed, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Or I could… Grab one of the girls to help ya…”

Arthur gave up trying to rub himself down and motioned his hand with a scoff. He didn’t look Kieran in the eye.

“Just get in here. Close the door behind you.”

Kieran didn’t need to be asked twice. He didn’t want to see who might be watching them, so Kieran ducked inside and tied the tent door shut with his eyes set forward. It was warm and a little stuffy in the tent, as the remainder of the hot afternoon sun burned off, but it was shady, at least.

Arthur twisted himself around, to put his back to Kieran, and held out the tub of ointment. As Kieran slid down onto the edge of the bed, he took the tub.

“You look pretty worse for wear, mister Arthur,” Kieran commented. As he dug into the container, he eyed Arthur’s bright red and painful looking back and shoulders.

“Ain’t gotta tell me.” Arthur grunted. His voice tapered off and went silent a moment. “…Just call me Arthur. No sense in formalities.”

“Okay… You got it.”

Kieran hesitated a second, the ointment in his palm and his hand awkwardly held in front of him. It took more courage than it should have to actually lay his hand across Arthur’s back.

It was in part because of the tension he felt in his chest. Kieran felt almost lightheaded at the thought that he was getting to touch Arthur beyond a slap on the shoulder or a handshake or something like that. But it was also the uncertainty that it was Arthur Morgan he was touching— a man who, in the past, had shown he wasn’t to be trifled with.

They were both silent, deep in their own similar thoughts.

Kieran’s heart slammed. His eyes groped along Arthur’s naked back, as he tried to keep his mind clear. Similarly, Arthur did everything in his power not to think about Kieran— not the way he touched him, and how it was the gentlest anyone had treated him in a long while.

There was an undeniable stirring excitement between them, like a low rumble. Kieran slid his hands across Arthur’s broad shoulders and then down his shoulder blades, following the dip of his spine to the slight rolls at his hips.  Arthur shifted, grimacing and sighing, as he gripped the pantleg of his jeans to keep himself focused.

Briefly, they parted as Kieran dug more ointment from the tin and Arthur let go of a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Sorry if I’m hurtin’ you any,” Kieran mumbled.

“You ain’t, don’t worry. Been through worse than this.”

“An’ it ain’t… Weird, or nothin’?” Kieran treaded carefully. He slid his hands over Arthur’s lower back and he thought he could melt. “It bein’ me doin’ this for ya? ‘Cause I ain’t one of the girls, or, well…”

A shiver shot down Arthur’s spine.

“I don’t mind. Wouldn’t be my first choice havin’ one of them rubbin’ me down, anyway.”

“Really?” Kieran flushed and smiled a bit. His hands slid down to Arthur’s sides. “I figured you an’ Mary-Beth, just on how she looks at ya—”

Arthur couldn’t take much more. Despite the pain in his burnt shoulders which ebbed through him, Arthur twisted around. Kieran faltered himself, voice trailing off as Arthur stared him down.

“Trust me, Duffy, I’m sure.”

All the tension and emotions that had built up inside of Arthur were catalysed by Kieran’s touch. So, against his better judgement, Arthur grabbed Kieran by the cheeks and kissed him full on the lips, hard and uncoordinated.

Kieran’s eyes shot open with shock first. Arthur’s weight leaned into his skinny body and Kieran realized then that this was real; Arthur Morgan was kissing him.

So, Kieran took it in stride. He threw his hands into Arthur’s hair, pulled him in, and kissed him just as hard.

They kind of fell together like they were meant to fit against one another. Though weary at first, quickly Kieran fell into rhythm with Arthur’s moving lips and gained his own confidence. Arthur tilted Kieran’s head back and kissed more into his mouth, earning a soft moan from the latter. Ultimately, when Arthur leaned back, Kieran fell in on top of him.

Kieran’s heart raced and the extent it all hit him a second later. He realized then that he was mostly laid down on top of Arthur. With shaking arms, Kieran planted his hands on the cot beside Arthur’s head and pulled himself up, breaking their kiss.

“Uh,” Kieran started, only to be cut off by Arthur who shook his head. He sounded a breathless, and his lips looked incredibly inviting.

“Don’t say nothin’,” he warned.

But Kieran spoke anyway, with a slow smile and curious voice.

“How… How long’ve you been waitin’ to do that?”

A strange expression crossed Arthur’s face that was equal parts confused and shocked with his own actions. It settled after a second, when his eyes focused in on Kieran again. It made the latter’s heart race.

Arthur shook his head.

“Too damn long,” he replied, and then he kissed Kieran again.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #kieran duffy #arthur/kieran #people go on abt ship names n shit but tbh i... dont know any of them #aside from like. two #my fic #sorry its gay and long?? #kierthur

[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 22

(gif by @vanessacarlysle)

All my perpetual fretting over Tia’s reaction to the news of my reconciliation with Colton was all for…well…. It was all 100% necessary. She yelled phrases such as “if you wanna let the asshole back in your bed, you can clean up the mess he’s gonna make,” and “what did the dickhead do to convince you?” Both valid, however brutally honest they may have seemed. I made up my mind not to push it on her just yet, but to tip-toe through the tulips, if you will, until she warmed up to him. The two of them were quite similar in more ways than one, so they were bound to fall into at least a civil relationship sooner or later. Or, there unpredictable, combusting similarities would eventually just explode like the boom of a nuke. 

As for progression on the Ritter/Elliott home front, things were moving along nicely. We were back to our morning coffee routine at The Grind, and our running schedule had been carefully decided for Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. One of those particular Sunday workouts had navigated us to the new home Colton had purchased as of late, so he could give me the tour. He’d met me at my apartment that morning, carless, but I hadn’t considered where he’d began his run from.

He’d moved in a little over 5 months ago, and judging at first glances the deposit was heavy for a place like this. The brick front, two story structure must have been newly built on the street because the miniscule grassy path he did have in his side yard, was just ever so slightly sprouting from the clumpy, muddy surface. He led me up a black painted front porch through the front door, seemingly eager to show off his purchase from a successful years earnings.

“Home sweet home. Here we are!” He remarked before breaking the plain into his den. “Whatddya think?”

I thought it wasn’t the place I pictured him in, for starters. Not in pessimistic manner or anything, the space was merely more modern, and suburban for what I imagined his quarters to be like. The cabinets of a kitchen just to the right of the main entrance, were bright white, and stealthy black appliances accentuated more bleach white on the walls. Upon trailing deeper into the area, we entered a hardwood floor living room, where the navy of his leather couch shined under the natural light blazing in from a large window.

“It’s super nice, Colt! You keep it so… clean.” Seriously, there wasn’t a stich of the rug out of place. No molding take-out boxes on his countertops, or discarded shoes strung wildly about.

“Give it time,” he pointed at me with a wide smile. “I ain’t been here long enough to destroy it yet.”

“Don’t expect me to come over and clean the place, mister. This girl is no maid,” I said overlapping my arms in a forewarning.

“You could be. Hey, we could get you one of those little outfits and everything,” Colton said wagging his eyebrows in suggestion. “I’m gonna go shower real quick, then we’ll take the bike back to your apartment. Just hang out here, and give me 20. Unless of course, you’d like the tour of my shower too..”

Okay, yes please! I need to get a good luck at the tub. Inspect the plumbing, and the drains or whatever..

“I don’t have a change of clean clothes, silly. But, you get all squeaky clean, then I’ll take you on the tour of my new place. The bedroom is to die for...” He dropped his head back in a cantankerous huff as if I was torturing him for my own pleasure.

While he left me unsupervised, fidgeting on the couch, I decided some friendly, not at all psychotic girlfriend snooping would be harmless. Wandering aimlessly in my sock feet about the sitting area and kitchenette, something in particular sparked my interest plastered on the double doors of his refrigerator. In carefully executed newspaper snippets, were all of my published works from the last three years held up on display by small, coinlike magnets. One piece I’d written on an injured All-American local boy who had withdrawn his commitment to Pitt due to apparent substance issues. Various tidbits from the usual Steelers coverage, and my article from his fight with Mendez.

Thin, chalky newspaper nearly covered the entire spread of the left side freezer door. He appeared to have saved nearly every published work that had my name attached to it. What made the gesture even more monumentally romantic, was that The Pilot wasn’t available for subscription, nor a newsprint you could grab at any local convenient store on your morning milk run. It was only available for purchase at two outdoor newsstands in the city, one being a small cart on the sidewalk at the front entrance of our main office. The other was easily a 20-minute commute from any of the local businesses he frequented. Neither spot being one he’d cross by coincidence on his morning jog through downtown, or even the closest grocery store, or Mac’s. Meaning the man had made a specific trip, every Thursday morning to spend $3.75 on a paper that he could’ve searched the internet for. I sketched a feathery finger over the printed words, hearing a single dolloped tear drip below at my feet to the crisp tile of his kitchen floor. He really had never sincerely left me, just like he said only a handful of days ago.

“There’s more in an old cardboard box on the rack under the coffee table.” His stealthy, barefoot approach behind me was completely undetected, or I had just been so preoccupied with my discovery that any background noise was hushed.

I faced him, startled, carelessly forgetting to wipe the still running stream of tears, and hiccupped to repress audibly weeping.

“Oh, woah. Woah, baby. Hey, what’s wrong?” Colt stepped once to reach me, and cloaked me into the embrace of his grey tee, blotched with undried remnants of his shower. He placed both hands to my cheeks, leaving my face trapped between his scuffed, worked palms. Eyes searching over my face, like he was looking for the reason of my tears written somewhere across my forehead.

“I’m fine, seriously. It’s nothing.” I nearly snorted to sniff the running of my nose. Yeah, that was convincing. He’ll be right off your back now.

“Talk to me, Livvy. What’s goin’ on, huh? I know tears when I see ‘em. Especially yours.”

“You did this? You kept them? All, of them?”

A hesitant, “U” shape danced over his lips at my question. “Of course I did, babe. Well, I almost missed one week, but I told the guy at the stand I’d give him 20 bucks if he could get me a copy.”

It drew a laugh from both of us, mine still mixed with some joyful tears.

“It’s got your name on it, Liv. Hell, I woulda paid all the money in my wallet if you had written the alphabet down and had it published. I told you once I was proud a’ ya’, and I meant it.”

“I just didn’t… I never thought… I didn’t know you cared this much. I’m surprised you went through that trouble, especially since we weren’t even together for over half of these.” I looked back for the tenth time over the collection marked with my signature.

“I think that’s when I started to care so much. When we weren’t together, I mean. Because y’know, that’s the weird, twisted fucker I am,” he said rolling his eyes.

His hands departed from my face, and one was now pinching the bridge of his masculine nose in frustrated contemplation. I didn’t see the normal abundance of equanimity in his eyes now that normally dwelled there, and I was well aware that he was struggling for the words he sought. “I’m a head case, Liv. I find the love of my life, and talk to her like dog shit, because that’s obviously what a sensible man would do? God… What fuckin’ sense does that make?”

“Honest? It makes perfect sense, actually.” I comforted him, trying to distinguish the fires of aggravation, and self-loathing I could see kindling behind his eyes. “It’s the typical reaction of a man who’s never been in love before, and doesn’t have a damn clue how to handle all the things his feeling all of a sudden.”

“I know exactly how t’ handle it now though.” Colton said snatching me like a flimsy sack of potatoes into his grips, and reaching for a sly kiss.

When his arms outreached though, one of the tattoo additions I had been suspicious of when we bumped into each other at the Temple that fateful day, revealed itself like a shiny penny catching the beams of the sun.  Carefully placed on the tender, hairless skin of the underside of his bicep amongst his dedication to the Andy Warhol bridge, and a Latin phrase “Fortis Passioni deditus” translating to “strong willed”, was a small 21 needled in varsity print.

I immediately locked a grip around the evidence in question, raising it further into the light to investigate whether my eyes had been viciously deceiving me. He didn’t dispute, either from downright perplexity, or for the simple fact that he knew exactly what had won my attention and wanted me to snoop it out a little more closely.

Once I had wiped sternly over the numbers with a thumb, seeing they were indeed permanently etched onto his smooth skin, I looked intently upward to his waiting face. I wanted to smile in cheesy satisfaction, I wanted to cry in earnest adoration, and I wanted to claw the very ink out of his skin as backlash for his silly, erratic decision. But no, not really. The sensible, rational Liv rallied admirably to find a way to veto what he had done and hammer him with venomous disapproval. Thankfully, my fanatical love for the man eclipsed the once “safe” nature I carried, and all I wanted to do was fall at his feet.

“Took ya’ long enough, 2-1.” He smiled barely showing a top row of teeth.

“Wh..when?” I tripped over my tongue.

“Few months after the Mendez fight, I think. Was gonna put it on my chest, next to ma’s date of remission. But my guy down at the parlor said here looked better.” The man explained so coolly as if a shrine to my basketball number, and his pet name for me drawn onto his flesh was just something people did so commonly. Seriously, it sounded as if he was just reading off the lottery numbers in the Sunday paper.

“A few months? So, you did this after you dumped me? We weren’t even together and you got this tattoo?”

“Are you mad? Like…seriously upset with me, Liv? I mean, yeah, it was a little reckless, but that shoudn’t surprise you, baby,” he snickered. “But I knew I’d get you back, Livvy. Or I was gonna damn die tryin’. The way I saw it, it would either end up being something meaningful to our story that we could tell our babies in 10 years. Or, if I didn’t win you back, I’d have to look at it every fuckin’ day and think of the colossal mistake I made.”

10 years? Babies? DON’T FAINT. DO NOT.

“Lucky for you then, huh? Your plan played out for the better, I suppose.” I stretched on my small toes to pat my nose to his.

“So, you like it then?”

I didn’t bother to reward him with praise, instead just sucked a hearty kiss from the thin part in his opened mouth, humming sensually.

“Colton?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Take me to bed. Now.”

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935 @littleluna98 @mollybegger-blog

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfiction #tommy conlon #elizabeth olsen #thegrind

[jackblankhsh]

Why I Quit:  Home Improvement Store -- Selling Tiki Torches

"So I put the gun in mouth, and was about to squeeze the trigger when the radio -- I don't even remember putting it on -- the radio starts playing a Mötley Crüe song.  And I thought, 'Oh hell no.  The last thing I'm going to hear is not going to be goddamn Mötley Crüe.'  Anyway, long story short, searching for a song to fit the moment, I lost the desire to kill myself."

 The old veterinarian winked at me, "But it'll come back. It always does.  You can only euthanize so many kittens..."

 As she trailed off I handed her a tray of sterilized instruments, "Okay.  On that note, I quit."

 Seeing how the veterinary profession possessed a higher suicide rate than one would expect, I decided not to risk the odds.  Being an assistant might've been safer, but still, I've been known to get deeply depressed doing the dishes.  The endless nature of it... and just knowing that a family is bringing in a beloved pet too sick to... three months later the bender ended.  

 I woke up naked with a bed sheet stuck to my face, glued in place by a puddle of blood spilled from my nose.  Wrapping it around me like a toga I kicked my way through a grove of bottles in search of my clothes.  Glancing back, I saw a curvy women with the contented smile of the well-fucked soundly sleeping.  Her SS Edmund Fitzgerald tattoo made me curious for the details lost in the blackout days behind me.  

 Pulling my jeans out of a bathroom sink, I realized I didn't recognize this place.  Turning on my phone I asked it for directions to my place.  The map app sprang to life indicating I now stood in Virginia.  Consulting another informative application I discovered a terminally malnourished bank account.  Inside my wallet a single twenty dollar bill with a note written across it in my handwriting:

 "Get out before she wakes up.  She's going to stab you."

 I've pulled such blackout related pranks on myself before, leaving cryptic notes warning me of various dangers, and gaffs -- insulting cult leaders, obscene calls to the CIA, and unpaid pizza orders -- however, I didn't feel like taking a chance.  So, making the mistake of trusting myself, I fled the scene.  

 It took a few days to get things in order.  Sure, I starved for the first few days, and maybe I didn't need to rob that waffle house, or the church picnic, but by the end of the week I procured a room at a nearby hotel, and a job at a home improvement store. I didn't expect it to be too long before I could purchase a bus ticket back to Chicago.

 Home improvement shops are essentially giant hardware warehouses.  They're utilitarian in design with shelves rising ridiculously out of reach; capacious buildings scented with a

a unique blend of sawdust, paint, and metal.  Through canyonesque aisles patrons from all walks of life shuffle, body language telegraphing their own personal degree of knowledge:  a burly man tanned into leathery jerky assesses screws by eye, knowing the needed size at a glance; a diminutive blonde housewife navigates her confused husband through electrical supplies, explaining to him what they need to wire a sconce; an old man eyes a toilet skeptically.  And of course, the myriad customers who would use a hammer to put in screws.  

 Mainly due to that last type, employees of such establishments are often practitioners of ninjutsu, particularly the skills known as Shinobi-iri and Intonjutsu.  A befuddled customer approaches an apron clad employee.  The glazed cow eyes of the witless signal to the ninja an idiotic question is fast approaching.  Deftly a smoke bomb is deployed, and the employee vanishes from sight.  The more skilled might simply slip over to the next aisle, disappearing the same way spies are known to dissolve from view when a bus passes by.  

 I never got the hang of such tactics, so instead chose a means of hiding in plain sight.  I spent most of my shifts hanging around a middle aged employee named Gus.  Having retired after several years as a successful contractor, but not yet ready to stop working entirely, Gus worked part time. If a question revolved around home improvement, Gus knew the answer.  Friendly to a degree some might call a fault, he assisted customers before they even finished asking anything.  All I needed to do was stand near him, pause as if considering what to say, and he would answer for me.  That said, I wouldn't be surprised if he suspected my own ineptitude, and merely wanted to keep me from embarrassing myself.

 "I heard the manager ain't too happy with you," Gus said.

 I shrugged, "Hey, I get why, but I thought it would help."

 Gus replied, "You started barbequing in the patio display."

 "I thought it would help sell patio furniture, and let's be clear.  I was grilling, not barbequing.  Don't tell me there isn't a difference."

 Gus held up his hands in surrender, "No argument with that."

 I said, "I also thought the smoke might help with the birds."

 Birds occasionally slipped into the colossal store.  The massive entrance to the open air gardening section allowed them to fly right into the building.  Whole flocks eventually started gathering in the rafters requiring a teenager in a cherry picker to ascend, and battle them with a broom, shooing the birds to the exit.  Sometimes the birds fought back.  The teens didn't always win because some battles can't be fought stoned.

 Gus said, "Never you mind about them birds. They ain't bothering nobody."

 "Sometimes they shit on people."

 "Somebody's always shitting on ya you pay attention." He smiled.  So did I.  You've got to admire that kind of resigned pessimism.  If something bad is inevitable it seems like one can only accept it.  

 "Excuse me?" a young man in khakis and a polo shirt stepped up to me.  

 I said, "Yes sir.  How may I help you?"

 He replied, "I'm looking for tiki torches."

 "Aisle six."  Gus pointed.  The man ignored him.  He seemed determined to wait for me to answer.

 I pointed where Gus had, "Aisle six."

 "Thank you."  The man smiled, losing his grin when he looked at Gus, then walked off.

 "Was that weird?" I asked.

 "Nope.  You're paranoid," Gus said.

 "Doesn't mean it wasn't weird."  But I dropped it, focusing instead on helping Gus inventory plumbing supplies.  

 Minutes later a thirty-something brunette woman in a khaki skirt and white blouse asked, "Hi, I'm wondering about tiki torches."

 "Aisle six, ma'am," Gus said.

 "Is he right?" she asked, leaning towards me, away from Gus.

 "Like he said, 'Aisle six'."

 She lightly touched my shoulder, "Thank you so much."

 Cocking an eyebrow I glanced at Gus.

 He nodded, "Okay.  That was a bit odd."

 Three men walked by, all in khakis and polo shirts.  As they passed us one said, "Hey bro, you know where the tiki torches are?"

 "Aisle six," I said.

 "Good to see one of us in charge."  He pointed at me.  

 Now, I have never been mistaken for an authority figure in my life.  So I felt compelled to suggest to Gus we check out aisle six.  He agreed, and we headed over.  

 When we arrived the aisle seemed to have been taken over by a docile mob of khaki clad white folks.  They happily interacted with one another like long lost friends at an inadvertent reunion.  However few seemed to actually know one another.  Their convivial nature stemmed from the fact they all kept talking about the same thing:  

 "You goin' to the rally tonight?"

 "Course I'm going.  Why you think I'm buying torches?"

 A part of me really started hoping Frankenstein's monster had been spotted somewhere in Charlottesville, and these poster children for white suburbia simply were organizing a mob to go after him.  That would explain the several men milling around in full tactical gear carrying assault rifles.  Each eyed the area as if anxiously awaiting the start of their own private action movie.    

 A man wearing a black t-shirt with a swastika on it asked, "This where the torches at?"

 Seeing how we stood not ten feet from a horde of folks already carrying torches, he displayed exactly the extent of observational skill one expects from someone openly wearing Nazis paraphernalia.  

 So I said, "Nope."

 Gus said, "Customer is always right."

 "No kidding," I said.

 Gus said, "Don't be rude."

 "Listen to the n*****," the Nazis said walking away.

 "You wanna know where the rope is too?" I asked.

 Gus whispered to me, "Don't piss them off.  They are looking for an excuse to do something evil. So how about you shut the fuck up?"

 In the three weeks I worked with him I never heard Gus swear. I figured he possessed too much class for such language.  So when he swore at me the gravity of the situation pulled me back hard.  Plus, it seemed safe to suppose that if I spit enough venom at these fools they would use it as an excuse to not only pound me into paste, but to go after Gus, even if he stayed silent the whole time.  Yet, that didn't mean I had to do nothing.

 I headed for the manager's office.  

 A fat man flanked by two riflemen breathlessly asked me, "We're looking for torches."

 "Aisle seventeen.  All the way the other side of the store."  I misdirected him, and kept on walking.  I hurried into the manager's office.  Paul sat behind his desk filling out paperwork.  

 Looking up he said, "What's up?"

 "There are Nazis buying torches."

 Paul leaned back bemused, "Nazis?"

 "Honest to god swastika wearing Nazis."

 "But they are paying for them."

 I folded my arms across my chest, "Yeah.  So what?"

 Paul shrugged, "If they cause any trouble then throw them out, but hey, sales've been down.  This could put us solidly in the black."  Perhaps noticing the look on my face he added, "Don't do anything stupid."

 "Define stupid."  But before Paul could answer I ducked out, slamming the door behind me.

 I hurried around the store collecting road flares, duct tape, and lighter fluid.  I tied flares to the lighter fluid, opened the container, and poised to ignite the flare, planning to hurl the slopping flaming bomb right into the horde of bigots (I wasn't hundred percent certain it would work, but still wanted to try) -- Gus stood at the edge of the crowd helping a bearded fellow in Klan robes choose a cheaper torch fuel.  I couldn't hear their exchange, but it seemed cordial enough.  The Klansman's wife even laughed along with Gus when he made some joke. After helping them, Gus then took a torch off the shelf, and placed it in the hands of an elderly man in a motorized wheelchair, a small Confederate flag flying over the chair.  

 "Who else needs help?" Gus asked.  Several ignored him, others simply glared, but a few asked him questions he answered readily.  With ready steady polite service he soon cleared the aisle quietly.

 Two teenagers wearing Confederate flag shirts stepped over to me.  One asked, "Whatcha got there?"

 I held up the makeshift flame-grenade, "Most badass way to light your cigarette."

 "For real?"

 "Yeah, here.  Go nuts," I handed it to him, "No charge."

 "Thanks man."  He slapped his buddy on the chest, and the two went outside.  

 Gus walked over, "You know that've gone quicker if you helped me out."

 I nodded, "I don't always do the right thing."

 "You're young.  You got time to fix what's wrong."  He glanced at his watch, "Hey, if we get to it we can finish inventory."

 "Let's do that."  And we did.  It's odd how calming counting pipe fittings can be.  

 Inventory didn't take long.  Then I decided to punch out early.  Walking by the smoldering corpses of two teenagers burnt to a crisp, I lit a cigarette wondering where the rally intended to take place.  I wanted to watch them rage and holler, waving the torches a kind man, whom they despised, helped them purchase.  Too ignorant to be reasoned with, I suspected the delicious irony of the situation would be entirely lost on them.  Someone should be there to appreciate it.  But listening to my mp3 player on the walk back to my hotel a song I couldn't remember downloading came on.  

 Norma Tanega singing "You're Dead".  The opening lyrics hit me like golf ball hail, "They have no use for your song.  You're dead, you're dead, you're dead, you're dead and outta this world."  The song went on in such a black sun tone -- "Now your hope and compassion is gone.  You've sold out your dream to the world.  Stay dead, stay dead, stay dead, you're dead and outta this world." -- and I listened to it fourteen or fifteen times before I got home.

 Cracking open a bottle of whiskey I turned on the TV.  Reports of the rally soon dominated the local news. People throwing up Nazis salutes, chanting Nazis slogans about "blood and soil", and all around looking like a golf resort turned up for a midnight torch parade.  I saw faces I recognized not only from earlier, but regulars I thought I knew.  This wasn't some outsider mob of unfamiliar people, a bigoted other intruding from an alternate reality.  I would see them again, probably tomorrow, casually investigating lighting fixtures, purchasing power tools, in need of putty, paint, and tiles for the kids' bathroom; I would see them again because they were ordinary citizens, a sinister part of the community, unnoticed or actively ignored -- "Will Smithers is a decent neighbor, keeps to himself mostly, but be careful what you say around him, he's not, uh, fond of Jews."

 Somewhere around one in the morning, unable to sleep, I collected my things.  Partly drunk, to a degree somnambulant, I went to the bus station.  There I purchased a late night ticket.  Dawn cracking I left Charlottesville behind.  It felt like running from a fight.  Never mind the umbrella concept of America -- we're all united (E pluribus unum) -- it's hard to fight for a place that isn't your home; and those same white supremacist fools exist in Chicago.  There would be opportunity enough to resist them on home turf, where I knew them on sight better than in Virginia.  Or maybe I just like to think I do... the illusory safety of home.  But mostly I think I just needed to get back to somewhere things at least seemed to make sense, surrounded by familiar madness.  

 Glancing at the time I recalled Gus once told me he got up at five every morning, a routine from his days as a contractor that he never lost.  Knowing he'd be up I called him.

 "Who's calling my phone?" he said playfully.

 "It's me."

 "Seems early for you."

 "I just wanted to let you know I won't be coming in today. Tell Paul, okay?  Tell him I quit."

 "I got a sneaking suspicion he won't mind you being gone."

 "I may have sold a few power tools off the books." I heard him chuckle.  It felt good knowing some folks are still laughing.

#writing #fiction #short story #satire #honestyisnotcontagious #whyiquit #comedy #darkcomedy #humor writing #writer #tikitorches