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mca-attack21 · 4 years

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The Impossible

This is my first Sherlock Holmes imagine, I hope you enjoy it. It takes place after the season four finale.

Sherlock Holmes, the first consultant detective and the last man anyone expected to be getting married. To be fair, he was not the same man he used to be. He had been changed by the people who loved him. The helped him evolve from a great man into a good one. Every person he met, every case he took, it all prepared him to allow love into his life. To allow you into his life. It was not easy, it was more than a simple deduction that he was used to. But after meeting you he knew that his greatest case ever would be figuring out how to be a man you could love.

The beginning was simple, you were hired to watch Rosie on a regular basis. This led to a friendship with John and frequent interactions with Sherlock. Instead of being put off by his composure and intelligence you were in awe of it. Over time Sherlock would go out of his way to make sure the two of you would cross paths. Seeing you with Rosie, watching your face light up as he spoke, and hearing your laugh made him feel something that he didn’t understand.

On a particular dull afternoon, Sherlock had made the mistake of asking about you. It didn’t take John long at all to figure out what was happening.

“You have a thing for my nanny,” he laughed.

“I certainly do not. High Functioning Sociopath remember. I don’t do love.” Sherlock replied.

“Keep telling yourself that Sherlock” John replied.

“I’m serious!”

“I’m sure you think that you are,”

“John!”

“You should ask her out,”

“You are acting like a twelve-year-old” Sherlock shot back. It wasn’t like he hadn’t entertained the idea, but why would someone like you ever want to go out with a man like him.

It would take three weeks for John to convince Sherlock to ask you out. He had to get coaching from both John and Mrs. Hudson and even then the entire concept seemed so foreign to him. That night he had met you at John’s house while you were babysitting Rosie. The two of you talked about his latest case. You knew that something was off and asked him about it. Eventually, with much rambling, he made it through his request. He stood silently over-analyzing every second before you had agreed.

From there, things were interesting, to say the least. Sherlock had no idea how to be a boyfriend and it was very obvious. Luckily, you were patient and low maintenance. You would help him with cases when John was otherwise occupied. He would also stop in when you were watching Rosie. While your relationship was far from traditional, it worked. He may not have always picked up on your emotional needs, but he was there for you in ways that only he could be. His blunt and harsh words dimmed as he learned what it meant to love someone in a romantic way. He loved you in his own way, but it was precisely what you needed and you couldn’t imagine your life with anyone else.

The next step in your relationship was moving into 221 B Baker St. with Sherlock. He explained that it was convenient and cost-effective, especially since the two of you already spent so much time there. You laughed at his applied logic and agreed, excited to take the next step.

There was never a dull moment living with him between his experiments, cases, and friends. The longer you were with him, the more you realized he was like a grown puppy in constant need of attention and excitement. Whether it was a good day or a bad day, you were both always there for each other.

Mrs. Hudson was the first one to ask Sherlock if he was ever going to purpose to you. She had shipped the two of you since the first time she had seen you interact. She joked that Sherlock would not meet anyone else who adored his brain and was willing to put up with it so he’d better marry you or John and get it over with. He initially brushed off this comment, but it got him thinking. The two of you had never really talked about marriage or kids, that just wasn’t Sherlock and you understood that. Marriage was just a social construct, he found it pointless, at least he used to. Before John and Mary’s wedding.

He asked John his opinion on the matter which caught him completely off guard. He couldn’t believe that his best friend was actually considering getting married. He was so happy and helped him plan everything out.

The proposal, like the rest of your relationship, was nontraditional. You, John, and Sherlock were on a case together and it proved to be more unpredictable than Sherlock had anticipated. After momentarily escaping imminent danger, the three of you were trying to figure out your next move and he just let it slip.

“Y/f/n Y/l/n, if we make it out of this alive would you want to marry me?” he asked nonchalantly.

Before you could answer John spoke up, “Now?! We were just being shot at and you think now is the time to propose?”

“I’m sorry, is it not a good time? Would you rather me wait until after we get shot?” he directed to his friend.

“Sherlock-” John started.

“Yes,” you answered staring adoringly at the scene in front of you. This was your family and your life and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Yes, what?” John asked.

“Sherlock asked me a question, that is my answer. Yes.” you clarified.

“Really?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, now can we figure out how to get out of here alive?” you added.

“Oh right, I have a plan,” Sherlock explained.

“Of course you do,” John sighed not believing what he just witnessed.

That night ended with everyone making it out unscathed, the criminals in custody, and celebration of the engagement. When you made it back to 221 B Baker street Sherlock revealed the ring he had made for you. The two of you spent the next couple of months planning your wedding in-between cases, Sherlock was unexpectantly invested and excited.

It was a relatively small gathering. You didn’t have much family and weren’t in contact with them. At the end of the day, it was John and Mycroft who was Sherlock’s co-best men, Rosie who was the cutest flower girl ever, Mrs. Hudson, the rest of the Holmes family, Molly, Detective Lestrade, and a few other close friends. Because you didn’t really have anyone else, you asked John to walk you down the aisle which he was honored to do. He later made a joke that you and Sherlock might as well had asked him to officiate the ceremony too.

You had both decided to write your own vows which were interesting. Sherlock went first pulling out his notes from his pocket and then deciding not to use them and speak freely instead.

“I used to not believe in love. If you told me that I would be getting married I would have laughed at the ridiculous notion. I was logical and avoided emotions that would interfere with that. I never wanted the distraction that was love, furthermore, I didn’t believe I was capable of loving someone in a romantic way. But then I met you. I’m not going to lie and say that it was love at first sight or that I knew that we would end up together because it was not that simple. But over time I came to realize that I wanted to experience love and you. No matter how illogical, you had made an impact on my life and I wanted to explore that. Y/f/n Y/l/n you make me happy and complete in ways I can’t even comprehend. You make me want to be a better man, to be more like the man you believe that I am. So today in front of the people we love most, I vow to spend the rest of my with you, no matter where it takes us. The game is on.” he smiled.

“Oh my, how am I supposed to follow that?” you joked earning laughs from the others in attendance.

“Okay, here it goes. Sherlock Holmes, you are one of the most brilliant and astonishing people I have ever met in my life. My life changed the moment I met you. You brought adventure, uncertainty, and excitement into my life. I know that there will never be a dull moment with the two of us. By marrying you, I realize that I am marrying science experiments in the kitchen, solving cases, and ending any chance that I had at a normal life which is perfect. I acknowledge that you are not perfect nor am I, but we are perfect for each other and that is what matters. You are everything that I never knew I needed and I love the person I am when I am with you. So today, I vow to spend the rest of my life reminding you who you are. I vow to be there for you at 2 am when the world doesn’t make sense and at 2 pm when it does. I vow to help you annoy Mycroft and to look after John and Rosie. I vow to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter where it takes us. The game is on.” you smiled reciting his last two lines.

The two of you exchanged rings and were directed to kiss which earned cheers from your friends and family. You quickly signed the papers and took the photos before adjourning to the reception that John had planned. It was nice and intimate. Your and Sherlock’s first dance was something that you would never forget. You had never realized that Sherlock could dance like that. The rest of the night was what you’d expect for a reception. You made it to the point of speeches and everyone took their turn. Mycroft’s was short and simple, he explained how he was proud of his brother for becoming the man he was and wished you luck as Sherlock was your problem now. The mood changed as it became John’s turn. His speech was so sincere and touching that it brought people to tears. When he completed, both you and Sherlock nearly tackled him in a hug.

As the night finished out, you and Sherlock prepared to leave on your honeymoon which was planned and paid for by Mycroft. You thanked everyone for coming and were on your way, knowing that John would see that everything was taken care of. You looked up at Sherlock dazed with how happy you were. This was easily the best night of your life. You couldn’t wait to see what lies in store for the two of you. After all, the game is on.

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #sherlock benedict cumberbatch #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #sherlock wedding #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #john watson #john watson imagine

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ms-rampage · 3 years

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Eden’s Gate: Left Behind Chapter 18 - Carry On

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Angels and Demons.

Word count: 3k

Summary: In the penultimate chapter Kate tells all of her friends that she has to leave Hope County due to a family emergency across the country. She has a hard time telling John because of how close they’ve gotten.

Guest OCs: Paige Winchester, Sarah Dunham, Alissa Connors, Layla Michaels, Becky Taylor, Ashley Saunders, Ivan and Isaiah Wren, Ryan Cho, Dylan Paulson and Kevin Baker.

Guest characters: Lilith, Archangel Gabriel, (Supernatural, in a dream), Sam, and Dean Winchester, Castiel [mentioned], Eli Palmer, Wheaty, Mary May, Nick Rye, Grace Armstrong, Pastor Jerome, Raphael, Michael and Lucifer [mentioned].

Note: This chapter is a clusterfuck. SMGDFH.

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Kate and Morgan are on their way to the Wolf’s Den. They’re planning on telling all of their friends, everyone they’ve come to know during their time living in Hope County.

They’re leaving, they don’t know for how long, not sure if they’ll ever come back especially with the Cult running around, and destroying shit.

They make it to the Wolf’s Den, parking the car by the grassy area, and they make their way up the small mountain.

“So what are you gonna tell Wheaty?!” Morgan asks, trying to keep herself from slipping down the grassy hill.

Kate sighs, “I don’t know. Probably “Hey I’m gonna be leaving Hope County, I’m not sure how long I’m gonna be gone, it’s a family emergency and they need me, and Morgan because she’s family as well”. I don’t know something like that, or along the lines”.

“Aww you see me as family?!?” Morgan says in a sarcastic but also heartful kind of way.

Kate rolls her eyes, “Well duh, I’ve known you for over 10 years. We’ve traveled together”.

They go down the stair of the Wolf’s Den, the Whitetails being the first on their list to say their goodbyes even though they still have two months to do so.

They get to the bottom of the steps, and Kate almost walks into Wheaty.

“Hey!!” he says loudly, startled by their unexpected visitors.

“Hey Wheaty” Kate greets him with a smile.

“Morgan, Kate. How are you two doing?” he asks, in an awkward tone.

“We're doing great, but we unfortunately have some bad news” Morgan says, walking past him, and sits down on a chair.

“What’s the bad news?” he asks, looking back and forth at them.

Morgan raises her eyebrows at Kate, telling her to explain to him why they have bad news.

Kate clears her throat, “We uh. Unfortunately, we have to leave Hope County”.

Eli walks in as she says this.

“Leave Hope County?!?!” the bearded man asks loudly.

“Yeah, I got a call from my uncle, and there’s a family emergency, and they need mine, and Morgan’s help” Kate explains to them.

“What kind of emergency?” Eli asks, “If you don’t mind me asking”.

“It’s just my great aunt, she got into some trouble with some sketchy people. She made a few deals, and we have to help her out of it” Kate further explains.

“We’re gonna be leaving in a few months. Because that’s when the “deadline” expires, and we have to help her hold off it” Morgan adds.

They’re both great liars. No one. Not a single soul can know of the evil monsters in this world.

Vampires, Demons, Werewolves, Ghosts, Ghouls. That shit will only freak people out, and only a small handful of people can know, and hunt these monsters.

The people in Hope County will never know, or understand what Kate and Morgan do for a living.

What their families have been doing for generations. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.

It was a close one with John getting possessed, Kate was glad Castiel worked his angel magic, and wiped his memory of the whole thing.

One of the perks on being besties with an Angel of the Lord.

Kate clears her throat again, “November 2nd. That’s when we’re leaving for Jackson, then we’re going to Pennsylvania because that’s where she lives”.

Eli, and Wheaty look back and forth at the two huntresses.

“As much as we don’t want to leave, especially with the Cult terrorizing everyone” Morgan says.

“A lot of shit going on” Kate adds.

They stayed at the Wolf’s Den for another half an hour, and they moved on to all their other friends.

Luckily Nick Rye, Grace, Pastor Jerome and Mary May were all at the Spread Eagle.

You can cut the tension with a knife, after what happened several months early with the whole atonement bullshit, and Saleos.

Mary pretty much glared at Kate the whole time, Nick and Grace didn’t even look back to look at her, and Pastor Jerome just looked like he didn’t want to talk about what happened that day.

“Hey” Kate says, greeting the Holland Valley business owners, and residents.

“Hey” Mary says with a hint of anger in her voice.

Morgan takes the lead with this since none of them want to hear Kate out on this.

“Listen” she starts off, “Kate and I are leaving Hope County in a few months. Family emergency, we’re telling you guys because we don’t want you guys to think we just, up and left Montana out of selfishness”.

As Mary cleans glasses, “So after everything that has happened. You’re just gonna leave like the fucking Cult is gonna let you?!”.

Morgan and Kate both look at each other, then back at Mary.

“Oh wait. That’s right you can because you’re fucking dating John Seed” she yells angrily towards Kate.

Kate snaps back, “Okay first of all I didn’t even fucking know he was involved with that shit!!”.

“Bullshit!!!” Mary snaps, almost breaking a glass “You seriously didn’t even know about the Cult, or the atonements?. Or any of that shit?”.

“What John did to me was un-fucking-forgiveable” Nick says, “I’m surpised you defended him, and was still dating him after all that. Hell I don’t know why you even got with him in the first place”.

Nick doesn’t even look back at them when he says this, not even turning his head in the slightest.

“I broke things off with John shortly after that. I never spoke to him after all of that” she defends herself but it wasn’t good enough.

“That still doesn’t make things any better Kate!!” Mary adds, “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just stupid for defending that man. After what him and his family have done to all of us, and you still justify his actions”.

“I’m starting to think you two leaving is for your own selfishness” Grace says, not looking back at them.

Pastor Jerome turns to them, and says “Some of us can forgive you, but we won’t forget. We won’t forget the pain the Seeds have done to us all. The wrath, pain and sorrow they put on all of us will be justified”.

Kate and Morgan turn around, and are about to leave the bar. Kate’s surprised Jeorme didn’t bring up her citing an exorcism during her atonement.

Mary mutters as she’s cleaning glasses, “I thought you would be like your mother when I first met her. But turns out you're both the same”.

Kate stops, and turns to her, “What did you say?!?. My mother?!?”.

She walks up to the counter, “What do you mean “I would be like my mother?”.”

“Mandy, or should I say Mother Amanda. She was a part of the Cult, she was The Mother, Joseph picked her. They were the Mother and Father of Eden’s Gate” Mary says, “That was 6-7 years ago”.

“Bullshit!!” Kate yells, Morgan tries to hold her back, “My mother would never be a part of a fucking Cult. Be a goddamn peggie?!. Fuck no!!”.

Mary scoffs, “She betrayed us, she betrayed the Cult, and look what happened to her. Joseph had some of his followers kill her”.

Kate's voice starts to tremble, and takes a deep breath “Lies. all fucking lies!!!. She wouldn’t let a bunch of inbred hillbilly motherfuckers kill her”.

Morgan practically drags Kate out of the bar, and back to their car.

“Kate, you have to calm down!!!” Morgan tells her.

Pacing, aggressively scratching her head, “That’s all bullshit. My mom would never join the fucking Cult. I know she’s not dead, I know it. My uncle Brent said he needed her help as well with the whole thing with Aunt Flora”.

“Okay. Kate you need to relax. Let’s go home, and you can sleep for a bit. Then we can tell the others later”.

Morgan puts Kate in the passenger side, and drives them home.

Kate goes into her room, and tries to sleep for a bit.

1:30 in the afternoon, and she still has a lot more people to tell about her departure in a few months.

Tossing and turning in her midday nap. She had a very eerie about an old enemy demon that at one time needed to harvest her soul because she was, or she still is the true vessel to this particular demon.

Lilith the first demon to be created by Lucifer himself.

That bitch demon that her cousin Sam had killed several years earlier, she was resurrected by Crowley, or Alister, or Asmodeus one of them demon fuckers brought her back, along with Abaddon.

-The dream-

Unable to sleep even her own dream, or should I say nightmare, Kate has a hard time sleeping.

“Hello Katella” a female voice says.

Kate wakes up, sitting up in her bed, and sees Lilith.

“What do you want?!?” she asks, angrily. Narrowing her eyes at the demon.

“You already know what I want” she says, walking towards her, and sitting at the edge of her bed.

“And you already know the answer” she replies, “It will always be no”.

“I will get you to say yes” she replies in a threatening tone.

Kate scoffs, rolling her eyes “I won’t let you harvest my soul, my body. I won’t let you. No matter what you do”.

Lilith stands up, walking in front of the bed, and says.

“I know how much you love your sister. Paige. Her and Abaddon are basically counterparts, just like how Sam and Lucifer, Dean and Michael. You and I”.

Kate stands up from her bed, “Paige will never let Abaddon harvest her soul, and I won’t let you. The whole thing with Sam, Dean, Lucifer and Michael was a different story”.

Lilith’s eyes turn white, “I will harvest your soul. No matter what. You’re my other half, my true vessel.”

“You need my consent to harvest my soul. You can stay in that meatsuit of yours”.

Lilith scoffs, walking towards her “I don’t need your consent. I can just harvest your soul. Just like any other demon”.

“Not while I’m around” a male voice says, “Stay away from my human”.

Lilith stops, and turns around. Sees Archangel Gabriel.

She groans in annoyance, rolling her eyes “Of course. One of Heaven’s feathery boys”.

Even though this is all a dream, Kate is relieved that her Trickster Archangel best friend is here.

He narrows his eyes at the demon, “As Kate’s guardian Angel. I won’t let you anywhere near her pure, good soul”.

Lilith laughs softly, “And what are you gonna do about it?!?. By the way how was being tortured by Asmodeus?”.

She smirks, and that was a huge mistake the first demon ever to be created has ever said.

“He fed off of my grace for years!!” he yells, his eyes turning purplish white.

He banishes Lilith away with a bright light. Kate covers her eyes from the blinding light of the Archangel.

Turning back to face the Archangel, he stares at her with those whiskey color eyes.

They stare at each other, “Gabriel?” she whispers.

He slowly approaches her, placing his hand on her cheek. Kate practically melts to his touch.

Sighing softly, closing her eyes. The heat radiating off this angel is very comforting.

Gabriel slowly pulls her closer to him, and-

-end of dream-

Kate wakes up from her very good dream, she’s been having it for a couple weeks now.

It always ends the same way. Gabriel banishing Lilith to Hell probably, caresses her cheek, and pulls her in closer to him.

Probably to kiss her, because Gabe is her guardian Angel, Michael being Paige’s and her mothers is unknown probably Raphael.

That dream is probably telling her something, a sign or some kind of foreshadowing.

Later that day, her and Morgan leave to hang out with their group of friends. 3:30pm.

They all go to the campsite they went to several months earlier when Kate first met Wheaty.

“You guys are leaving?!?” Sarah asks.

Kate and Morgan nod their heads, “Yeah, we are”.

“How are you guys gonna get out?!” Ivan asks.

“We’re not sure yet” Morgan answers.

“We’re driving out. Obviously” Kate says.

They all sit around an unlit bonfire, chatting. Going over their two friends that are leaving. As they're talking, a Cult truck stops near their campsite.

4 peggies come out, all male, rifles in hands. They approach the group of young adults.

“Kate Winchester!!” one of them calls out.

The group of friends turn to Kate, except Morgan her eyes are locked on the 4 peggies.

“What do you want?!?” she asks.

“John wants you to go by the church. Now” another peggie answers.

Kate and Morgan turn to each other.

She gets up, and they guide her to their truck, climbing into the backseat, and they drive out of the Whitetails, and back to Holland Valley.

Dropping her off in front of Falls End church.

Unsure what John wants, or what he wants to talk about.

She walks inside, and sees John with his back to her, standing in front of the panel.

Having flashbacks to 5 in half months ago, when all that shit happened.

“Hey John” she says, her voice echoing.

He turns around, a huge smile on his face.

“Hello Katie” he says, with enthusiasm, and excitement in his voice.

She walks towards him, swinging her hands at her sides, clapping them.

“Soo” she says, “Why did you call me here?”.

He sighs loudly, echoing throughout the church.

“It’s a surprise” he says with a hint of malice in his voice.

Kate raises her eyebrows at him, “Really?. Am I gonna like it?!?”.

John chuckles at her cuteness, the innocence in her voice. How cute, naive and innocent she sounds.

“You’re gonna love it” he says with emphasis on the word love.

“Well I look forward to seeing it” she replies, stepping closer to him.

He stares at her with a smirk, “Well to give you a few hints, it might ring a bell, and it’s gonna be very engaging”.

Kate awkwardly chuckles at him, and John notices something is off about her.

“Darlin’. What’s wrong?” he asks, moving her hair away from her face.

Stammering over her words, trying to hold back tears.

“Its-It’s nothing” she lies, John catches on.

“Don’t lie to me sweetheart. What’s wrong?” he places his hand on the back of her head.

She looks down at the ground, and before she could tell him. Her phone rings, she pulls it out, and sees her sister's name.

Her eyes widened at her phone screen, she looks up at John.

“I’m sorry I really need to take this” she tells him. He nods his head.

She steps away, standing near the front door of the Falls End church, and answers her phone.

“Hey!” she says into her phone.

Paige on the other end, sounding like she just woke up.

“You called, and gave me a very lecural voicemail” she says in a groggily voice, “What’s so important?”.

“Uncle Brent called me. Him, aunt Laura, our cousins, and Barbara need our help” she explains to her older sister.

“For what?!” she asks, voice still groggily.

“Our great aunt Flora made a deal with a demon, and she needs our help” she whispers, so that John can’t hear her.

“Okay. So we head back to Jackson, and leave when?” she asks.

“November 2nd. That’s when we leave to Philly” she whispers to her.

Paige sighs, “Okay. I’ll call Brent, and get more details. But we’re gonna talk out our issues, and you’re gonna have to leave school”.

“Well I graduated, and have my Master of Science degree in Psychology” she tells her, “So me leaving school won’t be necessary”.

They hang up, and Kate turns back to John who is leaning against the panel. His head tilted to the side. Smirk on his face.

“Sorry that was my sister” she tells him.

He can still see the sadness, and worried in her eyes.

“Katie, darlin’. Answer my questions, what’s wrong?.

She sighs, looking down at the floor, “I have to leave Hope County”.

The expression on his face changes from happy to sadness mixed with anger.

“No. No you can’t leave me” he tells her, his voice getting upset, “Why are you leaving me?!?”.

“I don’t want to. My family needs me” she further explains to him, “They need my help. A family member is in deep trouble with some sketchy people”.

John shakes his head, tears starting to form in his eyes, “You can’t leave. I love you, I need you” his voice going hoarse.

“You mean a lot to me. You changed me Kate. I love you, I need you here with me”.

Kate starts to cry, her eyes going red. “I love you too. I can’t leave my family hanging. I’ll come back when we return from Pennsylvania. I have never loved, or cared for anyone before. You’re my first real boyfriend, you took my virginity. Everything we’ve done and been through was all real”.

John tries to smile through his tears. He loves Kate, he really does love her.

He never wanted her to go through any pain. He wants her to stay in Hope County with him.

But he knows how family oriented she is, and that’s why he loves her. He wants to have a family with her. Grow old together in the ranch house, or maybe move to the West Coast, and start their family.

The possibilities are endless for them, but he unfortunately has to accept that she has to leave in a few months, and he wants to spend every moment with her.

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 years

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Getting away with it (2/?)

Summary: August Walker was dead. At least that’s what people believed for almost 2 years. When the CIA found reason to believe that he was alive they made it their top priority to find him. Including sending one of their best female agents to recruit his twin brother. Walter Marshall.

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (Walker) + Walter Marshall x Reader (Walker)

Warnings: none yet

Wordcount: 2.457

A/N: We’re slowly getting started with the plot. Hope you like it :)

Masterlist

Part 1

Taglist:

@ladyreapermc / @theolsdalova / @greenmanalishi / @itsmydreamlifethings / @palaiasaurus64 / @celestial-vomit / @penwieldingdreamer/ @notyourtypicalrose / @babypink224221 / @fanficsrusz / @solariumss / @starlite13 / @ly–canthrope / @mytbel0st / @oddsnendsfanfics / @ravenpuff02 / @sofiebstar / @chamomilebottom / @keiva1000 / @agniavateira / @peaceinourtime82 / @dearlybelovedluke / @vania-marie / @wildwavehc / @fcgrizi / @mary-ann84 / @ayamenimthiriel / @radaofrivia / @ohjules/ @omgkatinka / @xceafh / @diehadess / @watermeloncavill

@its-jb86 / @singeramg / @mrrightismrreeves / @mis-lil-red (I can’t tag you guys. Sorry)

Cemetery, Langley, Virginia, 2 years ago

It was a rainy day. The skies hang dark, the rain pouring down. A typical day for a funeral. But then again it really wasn’t a funeral in the least. August watched the few people that were standing around an empty grave from his hiding spot behind a tree. He could see the silhouette of his wife who was holding Evie close. He couldn’t see her face, and knowing her she wouldn’t be shedding a tear for him.

She didn’t understand why he had to do, what he was still planning on doing. Making the world a better place for the next generation. His daughters generation.

Ever since he knew he would be a father August did everything with his daughters best interest in mind. Even if it meant lying to Walker about it. Knowing her she would be furious at him for his lies. He knew her like the back of his hand, she would blame herself for everything that happened before she would finally blame him.

But who really was to blame was the world. Their corrupt leaders. The politics. The weak people who didn’t stand up for themselves. That was why he wanted to steal those plutonium cores. So only the strong survived. Like him. His wife. His daughter.

Evie would make a great leader one day, he was sure of it.

“We have to go.” A voice whispered behind him, making his head snap over his shoulder, glaring at one of his remaining members.

“I’ll find you at the drop point.” August nearly growled.

“Yes Sir.” The man stammered, walking away immediately.

August didn’t know when or if he would see his family ever again. So he watched them for a couple minutes more as they were standing around the empty grave, silently saying goodbye, before he turned around and left them for good.

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

“You tell me, Agent Walker, that you didn’t know your husband was the leader of a terrorist group? And you call yourself CIA…” The older Agent mocked.

“Like I told you the last 15 times. I haven’t seen August in almost 3 months before he died. Yes I recognized that his behaviour changed, that he stayed out longer, that he changed the passwords of his devices. But honestly? I was thinking he was having an affair. I would have prefered if he had an affair. What would you think if your wife suddenly stayed out longer? Would your first thought be that she must surely be leading a terrorist group?” Walker asked. The older Agent crossed his arms in front of his chest as he looked down at her. It was her fourth constant day of being interrogated. And she didn’t have any answers. She knew this was frustrating for the CIA, but it was even more frustrating for her.

She had been allowed a week for herself after news broke of the attack. She had brought Evie over to her Mom’s place and had spent the whole night drinking in front of the TV watching the news. She kept looking down at her wedding ring. Remembering the day she agreed to be his wife so detailed, she wanted to drink until she forgot it. Forgot what happened.

Walker knew August had been hiding something. It was in the year Evie was born that he had started to change. He kept being on the phone instead of talking to her. The only time he really was present was when he was taking care of Evie. He was a good father. That probably was the reason she kept her mouth shut, when he snapped at her. She could see how sorry he was after he yelled at her after every single time.

“I’m doing all I’m doing for your and Evie. I want you to live your life in safety.”

The sentence kept repeating in her head. It was what he always said when they had another argument. When his arms were wrapped around her and he was kissing her head. After they had sex and he was pressed against her back, his leg over hers, his hand beneath her head. She always felt safe in his arms. She would probably even forgive him if he had a simple affair. But when three weeks ago the CIA was contacted with the real identity of John Lark, and she was sent to London to get through to him…

She would never forget the look in his eyes. How he looked right through her as she talked to him.

“August please. You know this will end with you dead. You know that. There is no way you can escape the CIA. There will be no place on this planet they won’t search for you.” Walker pleaded, standing across from him. August breathed in deep, his whole posture on edge.

“Please leave now.” August growled.

“What should I tell Evie, hm? When she asks about her father? Should I tell her he’s a insane terrorist who wants to kill a third of the world's population?” Walker asked.

“I’m doing this for her.”

“Yeah… You keep saying that, but do you believe it?” Walker reached for her gun.

“You really think you can shoot me?” August mocked.

“Someone has to.” Walker breathed.

“How will you tell Evie that you murdered her Father?” He asked.

“I will make sure that she won’t remember you.”

An explosion had interrupted their argument, giving August the perfect chance for his escape. Walker had met with Ethan after she had gotten out, telling him everything that could help him to take August down. With which he had apparently succeeded. Or so he thought.

“You will be helping us to get every detail of his life. We need to be prepared for what’s coming.” The older Agent said.

“I already told you everything I know.”

“You have to tell us about your daughter.”

“Absolutely not.” Walker shook her head.

“There is no room for argument her, Agent Walker.”

“You will leave my two year old daughter, who just lost her father out of this. Me you can have. I don’t care what you do with me. But Evie? No way.”

Minneapolis, Minnesota, now

“She’s not going to bite my finger?” Evie asked concerned, looking up at Walker. Grinning Walker knelt down next to ther.

“She’s not going to bite your finger. Look at her. She just wants that yummy lettuce you are holding.” Walker explained, earning a sigh from her Daughter. They had spend the whole day at the zoo and Evie had been so excited to feed the giraffe. Until she was standing in front of it.

“Hmm…. ‘kay.” Evie said. Walker chuckled as she got back on her feet again, Evie clutched her hand as she slowly walked towards the giraffe. Walker nodded thankful at the keeper. Holding out the lettuce in front of her, Evie stepped closer to the giraffe who immediately spotted her snack and bend closer, her big tongue grabbing the lettuce from Evie, making her giggle.

“That… tickles.” The little girl giggled excited.

“See? And all your fingers are still there.” Walker smiled, making Evie breathe out relieved.

“Can we do that again?” She asked.

“Next time. If I remember correctly we have a date with the water slide at the hotel…”

“YAY!” Evie jumped

However these plans were interrupted when Walker got back to the space she parked her rental car in, finding it nowhere to be seen. She remembered exactly where she parked the car.

“Motherf….” She cursed, stopping as she looked at Evie.

“Where is our car?” Evie asked confused.

“I’ve been just asking myself the same question, Buttercup.” Walker sighed. She was already reaching for her phone, calling 911. After a quick call to the local police station Walker had to come clear that her rental car had been stolen. Calling an Uber to the police station she waited while Evie was collecting Daisies on the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” Walker asked. There was no point in getting upset over the stolen car. That was what insurances were for. It’s not like she couldn’t change it.

“Making you a Daisy crown.” Evie laughed.

With a bag full of collected daisies they stepped inside the police station. Evie was holding her mother's hand in a tight grasp, being intimidated by all these big men walking around her. Evie only really knew her grandfather and Uncle Miller, how she called Agent Miller. Ever since August died Walker hadn’t been involved with anyone. Too afraid of getting hurt again. Walker was just about to tell the police man in front of her why she was here, when she heard her name being called. A shiver ran through her body when she heard that voice. How could she have forgotten that he could be here. Looking down at Evie who was hugging her leg, she thought of what to do when Marshall made his way over to her.

“What brings you here?” Marshall asked, nodding to the other police officer who excused himself.

“It looks like my rental car has been stolen. We came here straight from the zoo.” She smiled uncomfortably, her hand coming down on top of Evie’s head. Evie was looking up at Marshall with a frown. Like she was trying to figure out where she knew him from.

“Well that su…” Marshall looked down at Evie, clearing his throat. “That’s not good.” He continued making Walker nod her head, sucking in her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing.

“Yeah. We had a date with a water slide, didn’t we Evie?” Walker asked. Evie nodded. Marshall got down on his knees to look at Evie. Walker held her breath, trying to control the numerous feelings inside her body as she watched the two of them. It seemed so familiar, yet so different. Even if August and Marshall were twins, the way Marshall smiled at Evie, holding out his hand which Evie took hesitantly to shake. Marshall looked up at Walker, his hair a wild mess on top of his head, a small smile on his face. Swallowing she sighed.

“You have the same hair as I do. Mommy always says I got them from my Daddy.” Evie said, her hand hesitantly reaching out towards Marshall but not really touching him.

“Really?” Marshall asked. Evie nodded.

“He died when I was littleler.” Evie shrugged, hugging Walkers leg closer.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Marshall said to her, then looking up at Walker.She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. He got up from his knees, his musky smell with a hint of aftershave getting to Walkers nose. When she opened her eyes and looked up at him she could see the sympathy in his. For a little moment she let herself get lost in his eyes, recognizing the many things that were different from August, finding so much sadness in them that seemed to mirror her own she had to shake her head after a while to look away from him.

“Let’s see if we can find your car.” Marshall said quietly.

Sitting in his office Walker knew he was about to find out who she really was, and possibly who she had been married to. Chances were that he already knew who August was. His face had been spread over the news for weeks after the incident. Thankfully her name and Evie’s were never brought up.

“You wanna draw something while we do this grown up stuff, Evie?” Marshall asked. Evie nodded excited as she sat in the chair next to Walker, already reaching for the pencil Marshall handed her, getting right into drawing, oh wonder, a bunny. Chuckling Walker looked from her to Marshall.

“She’s obsessed with bunnies.” She said, making Marshall smile a little.

“I remember Faye being obsessed with bunnies too when she was that age.”

“You have a daughter too?”

“Yeah. She’s living with her mother.” Marshall swallowed, looking away from Walker to type into his computer.

“Now… I need your full name and address.” He said.

“You sure you have time for this? How long has it been since you last filed a robbery report?” Walker asked.

“A while. And yes, I’m sure.” He looked up at her with the hint of a smirk.

“Okay. Then let me make this easier…” Walker sighed, reaching for her badge in her purse, sliding it over the table. Marshall looked down from the badge, up to her face, a line forming between his eyes as he typed her badge number into the computer.

The silence that spread that was only interrupted from the pencil running over the paper where Evie was drawing. Sucking in her bottom lip, a thing Walker only did when she was nervous, she waited if Marshall would connect the dots right away. She heard his calm breathing as he typed and clicked, before he pushed the badge back to her, his eyes still on the computer screen in front of him.

Seconds stretched into minutes before Marshall finally looked up at her. His eyes confused and cold.

“You were married to…” He looked down at Evie, not finishing the sentence.

“I saw the news back then. It was like looking into a mirror. I tried to find out more, but everything was classified.” He said quietly. Walker breathed in deep.

“I think I can answer most of your questions. But… not here.” She motioned to Evie who was still drawing. Marshall looked at her a little longer before his eyes were on Walkers again.

“Okay. Then let’s just file that report first.” He nodded.

It only took 15 minutes to file the report she needed to get to the rental car service and her insurance company. Evie had drawn a whole army of bunnies when they were finished, gifting Marshall one of her drawings, which made him smile.

“I’ll be at your hotel at 9pm, like we discussed.” He said as he escorted Walker and Evie outside.

“Just go straight up to our room. I don’t want to leave her alone.” Walker agreed, seeing him nod.

“Thank you for your help today, Marshall.” She said honestly.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded.

“Thank you Mr. Policeman.” Evie smiled up at him. Marshall chuckled.

“You are more than welcome Evie.” He said, holding out his hand which Evie shook wildly, making the adults laugh.Walker took Evie’s hand to walk away when Marshall looked at her.

“Was he my brother?” Marshall asked quietly. Walker stepped closer to him.

“He is your brother.” She said, her eyes not leaving his, before she nodded and turned around to take Evie back to the hotel.

#fanfiction #fanfic #august walker #august walker x reader #walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #henry cavill #getting away with it

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moonmeg · 4 years

Note

what are the hamilwives like?

Oh! Good question! The answer here are my own headcanons so don't take it as historical accuracy. I doubt it is hahah

Long text ahead!!

Mary Morris Hamilton (25th December 1790-24th May 1869) is a very kind and generous person. Benevolent and charming. She has a good relationship with her parents and her seven siblings and she is quite close to her grandparents. Her two years older sister Julia and she also are very close. They can tell each other everything and act like best friends even after both married. When Mary met James, for example, Julia was the first one to find out. When James had asked her to marry him, Julia read Mary like a book and noticed there's something up with her little sister and was the first one in Mary's family to find out Mary said 'yes'.

She loves her husband and her five children, Elizabeth, Frances, Alexander, Mary and Angelica, with all her heart and is a very affectionate mother and wife. She thinks it's amusing to get attention from other men, just to mess with James and his jealousy a little, but she is absolutely devoted to James and could never be as intimate with someone else than with him. As a couple, they lay priority on honesty, loyalty (especially James, since he experienced the aftermath of affairs himself as a child) and communication. They talk to each other about everything and are both upset when the other one lied about something.

When they fight, she's the one to keep the fight rather calm, telling James to be quieter when she thinks he's too loud or telling him to calm down a little in general. She can't stay mad at people for long. Especially not people that she loves, so after every fight she has with her husband, she tries to solve things quietly again and it ends in "I love you"-s and either an embrace, a kiss or... well you can think your part here.

Mary is intelligent and humorous. She is social and supportive.

(TW// next section contains mentions of child death)

Maria Eliza van den Heuvel Hamilton (4th January 1795-13th September 1873) too, is a caring and devoted mother and wife. She's a joyous person for most of her life and her laughter is the most contagious and the loudest. She's proud of her Dutch heritage and is glad to have found a Dutch speaking "friend" in Betsey.

Her children are the dearest thing to her, she'd do anything for them and will never truly accept they're grown adults that go their own path of life. She's quite talented musically wise but would never admit it. She's fragile. The deaths of two of her children in childhood break her. Especially baby James' death about a year after his birth makes her blame herself that she wasn't a good enough and caring enough mother. The morning she notices he isn't alive anymore she wakes John in hectic and in panic and collapses in his arms, full of tears. Ever since she grew more and more caring and almost overprotective of her other children and especially of the newborns she'd have afterwards.

John and Maria have a v e r y intimate relationship and are always by the other's side. To comfort the other one an embrace is not necessary; holding hands tightly is enough. They get each other gifts whenever they can, especially John does and Maria always meets him with a genuine smile and gratitude. When they fight, and she believes she is in the right, she ruthlessly gives him the cold shoulder and won't give him attention anymore until he apologized. She stands for her beliefs and it's hard to break them from her. Sometimes, when neither wants to give in, they both give each other the cold shoulder and John purposely is even harder to soften because he doesn't like it that he always to make the move to forget the fight and apologize. He's basically making Maria take a taste of her own medicine.

She grows attached to people quickly and sees the wives of her brothers-in-law like sisters. When other men flirt with her, she accepts but complaints about it to John later how much she actually hates it.

Eliza P. Knox Hamilton (?? ?? ????-21st July 1873) is a literarl sunshine. She always wears a smile on her face and is sure to have found her one true love in Alexander Jr.. She doesn't mind the age gap at all. She loves him and that's enough for her. She's an astonishing dancer and very active. If she could, she would travel the world. She always drags Alex away from his study, desk and law cases just to take a walk with him or have a snowball fight in winter. She loves teasing her husband and messing around with him. Putting or shoving snow on his neck or into his coat, reorganize his desk and entire study so he just stands in front of his desk and groans her name in annoyance with a little smile on his lips. Her rather childish behavior is what he loves about her. It makes him feel like a child again and remember the carefree days. They balance each other out.

She gets sick quickly and adores it when Alex nurses her, although she doesn't like to admit it. She has a wish for children but with a heavy heart gives up hope more and more with the years as it just doesn't work out for some reason. To compensate that she doesn't have her own children, she likes to spend extra time with her nephews and nieces. They are like her own children to her and she gladly watches them or takes care of them when the exhausted parents need a break and a little time for themselves again. She doesn't spoil them, however.

Alex and Eliza don't exactly "fight". They talk about it in a calm but mad tone and if it doesn't come to an agreement or they don't find a midway, they continue their days as if never having married each other, which upsets both but both also are too stubborn to make the first move.

(TW// next section contains mentions of death)

Rebecca McLane Hamilton (?? ?? 1813-1st April 1893) just seeks for an equal in her life. Someone who understands her, supports her and loves her for herself. In Little Phil she found her equal. They are both pretty much similar personality wise. They both have a heart of gold and only seek for the best. She's rather quiet and passive when around others. In a circle of ladies, she just stands or sits uninterested in the conversation, but if it's a topic she is passionate about, she gladly participates in the conversation. She cares about fashion and always wears and shines in what is currently in. When she noticed Phil took a liking in her, and she in him and she felt like there'll be more than just an acquaintance or a friendship, she amused herself with playing hard to get. Although she played hard to get, she also was the one to make the first advanced step with an affectionate kiss to the cheek.

She loves her two sons more than anything in the world and is indescribably proud of both and unbelievably heart broken when she gets the report of her firstborn Louis having fallen in the Civil War at only 24. After that she was extremely caring of her second son Allan, who was 20 at that time.

She doesn't like to cry and always tries to hold her tears back. The only place she feels comfortable with crying is in her husband's arms. Phil and her barely fight. And if they do, it's easily and almost immediately forgiven.

When Phil died, she grieved and mourned for the rest of her life. It felt to her like a part of her died.

She, like Mary, has a very good relationship with her parents and her siblings and is always a very adored person.

#hamilwives #mary morris hamilton #maria eliza van den heuvel hamilton #eliza knox hamilton #rebecca mclane hamilton #headcanons

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sakuwriteshere · 4 years

Text

Pretty Little Liar: Chapter 7 - FIN

General warnings (for the whole story): Fluff, comedy, angst, sexual innuedos, roommates AU, Ketch is a douche

Beta reader: Rosaline 💖 I can’t thank you enough for your help and great ideas!!

Words count: 5633 words

PLL Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: So this is it! The final chapter! I’m so sad to have to let this story go, it was fun working on it. I want to thank all of you who liked, commented and/or rebbloged this series. It means the WORLD to me, trully. And a very special thank you to Rosaline, who did a wonderful job as a beta. Thank you so much for your help and the very interesting remarks and advice. <3

Well... I hope you’ll enjoy this last chapter ;3 Thanks for keeping with it until the end! <3 <3 <3

Chapter 7:

The kind of tone Mary’s using suddenly surprises and worries Dean. Mary is a lovely mother, a very kind and understanding person but she can be very scary when she’s angry and Dean had heard that disappointed voice a few times in his life and it was never a good thing. The fact that John is strangely silent isn’t helping Dean to feel better as well. Just like he had feared, telling his family the truth doesn’t make things right, on the contrary, he knows he has disappointed them. Is he going to lose his family just like he had lost Y/N? Dean doesn’t think he can live with that though. Fortunately, Sam coming back into the living room with Mary’s purse is putting an end to Dean’s own torment. As the white and grey purse comes into his range vision, Dean chances a look at his little brother who has his lips pursed firmly.

With the purse resting securely on her lap, Mary opens it, taking out a few bills and parts what she had in her hand in two. She gives one part to Sam and the other one to John as Dean watches the strange scene occurring in front of his eyes without understanding anything. A chuckle finally breaks the tense silence and John stands up, cheering loudly before high fiving Sam.

“John, your son is hurting.” Mary reminds him, rolling her eyes at her husband's childish behavior.

“Yeah, hm, sorry son.” John calms down but can’t help and pumps his fist as a victory sign.

“What’s going on?” Dean asks, completely lost and a bit embarrassed.

“We knew you were lying from the beginning so Mom, Dad and I bet on when you were going to tell us the truth or not. Mom thought you were going to get out of it easily while dad and I thought you wouldn’t.” Sam explains, counting the few bills in his hands before putting it in his pants back pocket.

“Wait a second. You knew?” Dean repeats, completely baffled. “So since the beginning you knew and you watched me stupidly trying to make it work for nothing?”

Mary raises her hand, motioning for Dean to not start a tantrum. “You’re the one who started it, Dean.” She reminds him in an authoritative motherly tone. “Be thankful that making fun of you is the only result you get.”

Dean shuts his mouth right away, he knows his mother is right but can’t help feeling angry and stupid. “How did you know?”

Mary smiles softly and looks at Dean knowingly. “You’re my son, sweety and a very bad liar.” She fumbles with Dean’s hair jokingly, the latter swatting her hand away weakly. “I have to admit that I had my doubts when you told me you proposed to her. For a second I thought you two were legit.”

Dean hides his face in his hands, groaning lowly as he remembers that particular night. If only he knew his parents suspected something he would have told them the truth right away and maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

“I don’t get why Y/N is so upset.” John thinks out loud. “She accepted to play a part in your little scheme at first and now, if I understand what you told us, she’s angry at you for lying. Isn’t she overreacting a bit?”

“That’s because she cares,” Jess explains, surprising the three men at the same time. “Mary, Y/N told you she loved Dean when you met her at the coffee shop, right?”

Mary nods, confirming Jessica’s explanations. “She did.”

“If she loved me, why didn't she say it so when I admitted my feelings earlier?”

“Would you believe a liar?” Jessica asks Dean, her question completely genuine and void of any reproach.

“I’m not a liar,” Dean grumbles, hating this more and more.

“Right. The last time Dean lied to us, Sam wasn’t even born, but, Y/N doesn’t know that” Mary ponders.

Dean gives his mother a sad look and after taking a deep breath, stands on his feet. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Everything is over.”

The Winchesters family members watch the oldest son sadly, it’s pretty evident to see how down Dean is. Not liking the overbearing attention, Dean excuses himself, opting for hiding in his bedroom.

“You really love her, don’t you?” John asks his son, feeling a bit out of his comfort zone.

Dean stops between the doorframe of his bedroom and doesn’t even look back at his family. “As I said, it doesn’t matter anymore.” That being said, Dean closes the door behind him, leaving his family to do whatever they want in his living room.

The Winchesters watch the closed-door helplessly. It is very rare for Dean to forfeit, the man is well known for being stubborn and getting what he wants, so seeing him giving up so easily is a sign that all these lies have affected him a lot.

“I think it’s about time that I have a little talk with Y/N.” Mary announces, John giving his wife a warning look and silently telling her to stay out of their son’s love problems. “Don’t look at me like that. My baby is hurting and those two idiots clearly love each other, they just need someone to give them a little push.”

“What are you going to tell her?” Sam asks his mother, knowing how stubborn she can be when she has decided something.

“What Y/N wants,” Mary states, a powerful glint of determination in her eyes. “The truth.”

***

Her argument with Dean the day before is still swirling inside her head. While she had hoped that giving back that stupid tee-shirt would end the whole story, it has, in fact, made it more complicated. Now, because of Dean, Y/N is even less confident about her choices than before. Is it really a simple fake crush? Does he really love her? Is she making a mistake by trying to forget Dean with Ketch? Y/N is not expecting to live a wonderful love story with Ketch, on the contrary, that’s because she knows there’s nothing to expect from him that she’s trying. It’s safer that way. Not caring means you won’t get hurt in the end.

The line on the other side of the counter is getting bigger and bigger and Y/N tries to work as fast as possible. Charlie had to leave earlier because her girlfriend, Dorothy, had a (fortunately) minor motorbike accident and went to the hospital. At first Charlie didn’t want to leave Y/N on her own but she was visibly distress and wasn’t helping Y/N a bit, her anxious attitude made it harder for Y/N to work, so after Y/N had assured Charlie that she would be fine, the redhead finally agreed to leave. And that’s exactly the moment people suddenly decided to buy some coffee. Now Y/N is facing a very long queue that keeps on growing. At least working means she doesn’t have to think about her problems.

“Hello, I’m sorry for the wait. What can I serve you today?” Y/N asks without looking at the next customer as she's already busy filling the coffee machine with coffee beans.

“I can’t decide,” The woman customer announces and Y/N stops what she’s doing as she recognizes Mary’s voice. “There’s so many choices, it’s hard to choose.”

“Mrs. Winchester.” Y/N turns around and pronounces Mary’s name in a whisper.

“So we’re back to family names?” Mary smiles sadly.

Y/N lowers her gaze, feeling uncomfortable with Mary’s presence. She’s scared that the Winchester mother will make a big fuss in the shop and Y/N is really not ready to face such a problem. There are fewer people in the shop now but there’s still a few of them and Y/N doesn’t know how she’s going to cope with it.

“Just take other customers’ orders first, I’ll still check the menu. Don’t worry, take your time, I’m not in a rush.” Mary reassures gently and steps on the side, giving room to the next customer. Despite all Mary’s efforts, Y/N is still not at ease and becomes particularly quiet as she serves the remaining customers.

Thirty minutes later, the queue is finally gone and only a few customers are sitting in the coffee shop, enjoying their treats. At some point, Mary took a seat in a secluded corner of the shop as she waited for Y/N to be free. Y/N took a deep breath, preparing herself to face Mary and once she felt that she can’t be more ready than what she was, she headed for Mary’s table.

“Have you made your choice yet?” Y/N asks, trying to control the waves of nervousness in her voice.

Mary lowers the menu and tilts her head on the side, giving Y/N another gentle smile. “I don’t know, did you?”

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her pen and pad of notes. She perfectly understands what Mary is hinting at and she knows she’s not ready to talk about that topic, particularly with Mary, so instead, Y/N chooses to feign she doesn’t get Mary’s point.

“I can recommend you our new chaï tea with a cinnamon roll, the tastes are mixing wonderfully and some of our regulars even told us it tastes like heaven.”

Mary nods her head and hands back the menu. “I’ll take that then.” She follows Y/N’s lead, not wanting to frighten the poor girl more than she already is but can’t help and adds a second order before Y/N has time to leave. “And make it two. I think you deserve a break.”

With that being said, Y/N knows there’s no escape anymore. Mary’s determined to have a talk with her whatever it takes. Until the very last second, Y/N prayed for a new customer to come in but as she finally sits on the opposite chair from Mary, she knows the talk is inevitable anymore.

“So how have you been?” Casual talk, Y/N thinks as she watches Mary pouring some sugar in her tea.

“I’ve been good.” Y/N answers, picking at her cinnamon roll and avoiding Mary’s eyes.

Even if Mary doesn’t believe her she doesn’t show it and keeps on a neutral face. “I’ve heard you’re staying at a friend’s place. It must hurt sleeping on a couch.”

“The couch is comfy enough.”

“But after a moment you’ll get uncomfortable,” Mary argues.

“It’s just temporary,” Y/N counters right away.

“Is it really?”

The two women are now staring at each other. Y/N’s body is tense and on the defensive while Mary is relaxed.

“Y/N, relax please. I’m not your enemy here.”

“Mrs. Winchester-” Y/N starts but Mary cuts her short, asking of her to keep on calling her Mary instead. “Mary, why are you here?”

“I just want to help you and Dean. You’re both hurting and I don’t like seeing you like this.” Mary says genuinely and tries to hold Y/N’s hand while saying so but the young woman quickly pulls back her hands from the table and rests them on her lap instead.

“There’s nothing you can help for. De-Dean and I...it’s over.” Y/N says, keeping with the lie.

“How is something that never existed can be already over?” Mary asks her, surprising Y/N in the process. Seeing that Y/N is stunned by the sudden revelation, Mary knows it is better to tell her everything.

“Before you ask, yes I know the truth.” Mary starts her explanation and stops to take a sip from her tea. “Dean recently told me the truth but honestly, I knew from the beginning. Am I angry at him for lying to me? Not at all, I actually feel responsible. If my son felt the need to pretend he was dating someone to please me, then it means that I have somewhat said or done something to pressure him into lying, which means that I failed at being a caring mom.”

Y/N is at a loss for words. She doesn’t know what fact is the most important. The one about Mary and the whole Winchester family knowing Dean and Y/N little plan from the beginning and being played, or Mary’s vision about the whole thing and her responsibility in all of this. No wonder that Dean wanted to please his mother, she’s truly a wonderful person and very caring. She’s indeed someone you don’t want to disappoint.

Feeling that Y/N isn’t going to reply soon, Mary keeps on pressing. “What I want to know is now that this thing has been cleared, what other excuse will you find for running away?”

Y/N’s mouth opens but no sound comes out and she just looks like a fish out of the water. If she thought that she was lost before, then she just entered a new level of uncertainty.

“Y/N,” Mary joins her hands on top of the table and leans on, speaking softly. “I’m not here to push you into my son’s arms if that’s not what you want.” She reassures the young woman once again. “But I’ve seen you and Dean then and now. I know you feel something for him and believe me, he does too. I’ve never seen him in such a state. I understand it’s hard for you to trust him after what both of you did but as a piece of friendly advice: stop lying to yourself.”

A tear slips down Y/N’s face and she doesn’t know why she’s crying in the first place. Is it from relief or because she’s scared? Naturally, Mary brings her hand closer to Y/N’s face, brushing the tear away with her thumb.

“Y/N, sweety, I became fond of you. You’re a nice person and even if I don’t know you very well, I couldn’t hope for a better person for my eldest son. Whatever you decide you can count me as a friend, alright?” That being said, Mary stands up, knowing she has told Y/N what she wanted, now the ball is in her camp.

“Take all the time you need, sweety.” Mary said in a loving tone. “But let me be a selfish mother for a second please; don’t wait too long. I don’t think Dean can bear it anymore and neither do you.”

When she woke up this morning, Y/N didn’t know it would be such a horrible day. Never did she think that she would feel so lost and if she knew it, she would still be curled into Charlie’s couch. However she can’t lie to herself anymore. Mary is right. For fuck sake even Charlie and Dean told her so, she just wouldn’t listen to them. She’s scared as hell. Scared of living something great one second before it slips through her fingers the next second but by running away isn’t she letting something great slipping away as well? What is worse? Losing something great or living with regrets and days full of ‘if’?

In that right moment, Y/N knew what she wanted. She can’t live with regrets. Maybe it’s already too late and everything is broken, but she’ll reach the end of this story and live it to its fullest, without any more ‘what if’. She’s going to go to Dean’s apartment and make things clear between them. She’ll try to give him her side of the story and explain why she acted that way and Dean will be the one to decide. She has to give them a chance at least. She never did until now but it’s time for her to stop pretending. She loves Dean. She loves every fucking second she had spent with him since that weekend at the Winchesters. So what if she loses it? Every second is worth it. She never gave them a chance before but things are going to change. Right now.

Well, maybe not right, right now. She’s still responsible for the shop since Charlie left and she has to stay until the closing time. Her sudden confidence is slowly leaving her and she needs to keep herself busy so she won’t think about it anymore and change her mind again.

***

She couldn’t run fast enough, as soon as she had closed the room from the coffee shop, Y/N rushed towards Dean’s apartment and only stopped, breathless once she’s standing in front of the door. She doesn’t even wait for her breath to slow down and knocks frantically. It never occurred to her that maybe Dean isn’t at home. What if he’s not there? Maybe he had already forgotten about her and went to one of his previous conquests’ arms? They are way more beautiful than Y/N after all. Why would Dean bother with someone like her? She’s stupid for thinking that maybe she had a chance with him. He’s way out of her league. Maybe the reason she ran away is because she secretly knows she’s not worth it? Maybe, maybe, maybe…

The door opens suddenly, revealing one flushed Dean, drenched from head to toe.

“Y-Y/N?”

“Hi, um, is it a wrong time?” She asks, noticing Dean’s state.

“No, of course not. Never.” He quickly answers her before a huge noise disturbs them. The sound of something heavy falling, followed by glass crashing makes them jump. “Argh, damn it!”

Without wasting another second, Dean rushes into the kitchen, leaving the door wide open for Y/N to enter. The young woman steps inside carefully, wondering what all the fuss is about and closes the door behind her.

“Dean?” She calls from the doorstep, not daring to enter more than what she has already. “I can come another day if you’re busy right now.”

“No, no, it’s fine! Ah, damn it! Stop! You stay right here! No!” Dean yells from the kitchen, heavy footsteps resonating and Y/N doesn’t know if he’s talking to her or not.

When a thudding noise makes her jump, Y/N has no other choice than to check for herself if Dean’s alright. She doesn’t know what she expects to see once she’s inside the kitchen but she definitely isn’t expecting such a scene. Dean’s laying on his stomach, crawling under the kitchen table, leaving a wet mess behind him.

“Dean?” Y/N tilts her head on the side, wondering if her roommate has lost his mind.

“Stop moving you, son of a-” The man struggles under the table and hits the top of his head as he jumps back suddenly. “Biting? How dare you!”

Before Y/N has time to ask him what’s going on she hears tiny barkings and even a low growl. Slowly she sits on her knees and takes a look under the table. The first thing she sees is Dean sitting underneath and rubbing some sensible spot on the top of his head. The next thing is a ball of black fur, curled up against the wall and as far as possible from Dean.

“Oh? What do we have here?” She asks in a soft voice, crawling a bit closer to take a better look.

“Be careful, that thing is wild,” Dean warns her, crawling out from under the table.

“I think it’s mostly scared. Where did you find it?” She asks again, holding out her hand for the little puppy to sniff it. It takes some time for the scared animal to trust her enough but after a few minutes of comfortable silence, the little puppy finally approaches her with careful steps. Y/N can’t help herself and smile when she feels the cold, wet nose against her palm. Gently, she tries to pet the top of its head and she’s delighted when she sees that the little dog doesn’t run away.

“I found it on my way home tonight. Someone abandoned him in a dirty box a few streets from here.” Dean explains as he watches the puppy curling onto Y/N’s laps. The easy contact this girl has with animals is always surprising him.

“And you took it with you?” Y/N keeps on asking him, the astonishment clearly present in her voice.

“I heard it might be raining tonight.” Dean shrugs his shoulders and steps back as Y/N crawls out from under the table, the puppy securely wrapped in her arms. “I’m not heartless, I couldn’t leave it alone under the rain.”

They both went into the bathroom, and Y/N can finally understand why Dean is drenched from head to toe once she sees the mess in and around the bathtub.

“Don’t tell me you tried to give it a bath?” She deduces, her eyes wide opened as she takes in the mess all around them.

“It stinks!” Dean defends himself, grabbing a towel to dry his hair. “And it can move really fast.” He adds in a whisper.

Y/N rolls her eyes at Dean’s stupidity. “You scared him, idiot!” She reproaches as she takes a good look at the puppy and realizes that the dog is a male. Now that she can look at it easily, Y/N recognizes the kind of dog she’s holding. It’s a black Finnish Lapphund with two hypnotizing piercing blue eyes.

“We can call him Shadow. It suits him, don’t you think?” She smiles turning around to look at Dean and pressing the puppy’s head against her cheek. She will never admit it but Dean is right, the poor thing stinks.

“Do you always think about dogs’ names so easily?” Dean chuckles, softened by such a cute scene.

“It’s a gift.” Y/N announces proudly before turning on her heels again and walking towards the bathtub. Now that Shadow isn’t scared anymore, she can try to give him a proper bath.

Dean and her spend the next fifteen minutes in the bathroom, giving Shadow a bath in completely but comfortable silence. Once the dog is finally clean, she takes him from the water and asks Dean to bring her hairdryer from her room, the young man not losing a second and obliges. They both laugh when they see how much Shadow enjoys the hot hair being blown over his fur, and laugh even more at the way he’s sticking up his little butt when Y/N tries to dry the area around his fluffy tail.

Once Dean and Shadow are totally dry and the bathroom clean again, they both sit on the couch, Shadow curled up on Y/N’s lap and slowly drifts to sleep thanks to Y/N’s gentle pets. Dean will never say it out loud but he’s glad to have some normalcy back. The tension between them had completely disappeared as if the few previous days never happened. He would give anything to stay like this, alone with Y/N, sitting on their couch, their knees almost touching but he also knows that he has to say something.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” He asks in a whisper, half hoping she doesn’t hear him so they could stay like this and ignore the rest of the world.

The soft smile she has on her lips falls as Y/N, herself realizes that the peaceful moment had to be broken. “Your mom came into the shop today.”

Dean closes his eyes and sighs before giving Y/N an apology. “I’m sorry. I have no idea she would come to bother you, I-” An index finger pressed against his lips shushes him.

“Calm down, it’s alright.” She reassures him, the smile back on her face. “To be honest, I needed it. She’s really a wonderful woman, you’re lucky to have her as your mom.”

Dean simply nods, strangely happy to know that Y/N appreciates his mother.

“You told your family the truth? Why?” She asks him, her eyes fixed on his and her voice not above a whisper.

“I’ve lost you already. There was nothing more to lose.” Dean admits, using the same tone.

“You never had me, Dean.” Y/N’s sentence is like a slap in his face. So Mary and Jessica were wrong when they told him Y/N was in love with him, she was just a very good actor, that was it.

“You never had me because I was too scared to believe I could have you.” She adds, knowing how easily Dean could misinterpret her previous statement.

Dean’s head snaps as soon as the words left her lips. “You had me the day you came through those doors, Sweetheart.”

It’s Y/N’s turn to not get Dean’s point. Seeing how hard she’s trying to comprehend what he’s telling her, Dean keeps going.

“I never needed a roommate, I was just looking for some easy company, you do remember the ad, right?” Dean smirks, remembering exactly each word: ‘Non-smoking women, only.’ “But then you came in and agreed to stay as long as nothing happened between us and I agreed. I thought I could make you change your mind but you resisted and frankly, after a while, I just pretended that I wasn’t attracted to you anymore but now I realize that I was lying to myself.”

The more Dean explains himself, the more they become closer without even realizing it. As Dean keeps on explaining, he leans a bit more comfortable on the couch, one lazy arm draped on top of it, just behind Y/N’s head.

“I don’t know why I lied to my mom that day. When she asked me if I was going to the party alone, I thought about you right away. Don’t ask me why I don’t have the answer. I just thought about you. And I thought I would be fine then but you had to charm me that weekend, without forcing yourself and then I just knew. I knew you would be the one, and damn it believe me when I say I tried to fight it and then-”

“Are you going to kiss me? Because I have enough of your ramblings already.” She whispers, her cheeks a deep red despite the confident voice she can muster. Honestly, she’s scared because it’s exactly what she dreamt of hearing but she couldn’t believe it, she must be daydreaming. She is proud of herself for not having run away already and knows that the only reason she’s still here is because of the ball of fur sleeping on her lap.

Surprised at first by her sharp tongue, Dean doesn’t let go of this occasion. He’s been dreaming of kissing her for so long, there’s no way he will let that chance slip. Gently, he brings his body closer, their knees now touching while his hand cups her cheek. Dean can’t help and smirks when he notices the way she’s softly biting on her lower lip, her body buzzing under his fingertips, so he doesn’t wait any longer and ends the torturous wait by pressing his lips against her. He wants to keep the kiss chaste and gentle but that was without counting on Y/N to be the greedier one. Once the first surprise at the contact has passed, she’s responding to his kiss eagerly, her tongue licking his lower lip, seeking a way inside. Dean, being proud to please his women grants her wish, happily. His other hand cups the other side of her face, tilting their heads in the movement, giving them more room to deepen their kiss. They’re not in a rush, they just want to enjoy this unique moment, their very first kiss, after several failed attempts and it’s sweet as fuck. Their tongues are fighting each other, curious and greedy. The only reason they part is that they need to breathe, so, ruefully, Dean breaks the embrace, his lips missing the soft touch of her already.

“Dean, I have to tell you, I’m sorry I-” Y/N starts to apologize, still breathless and flushed but this time it’s Dean’s turn to shush her.

“It’s getting late. Why don’t we apologize tomorrow, hm?” He pleaded, his forehead pressed against her. “Would you stay the night? Please?”

“Would you let me stay more than one night?” She asks instead of answering him and a slight grin adorns Dean’s lips as he kisses her forehead.

“You can stay as long as you want, Sweetheart. Is forever long enough for you?” He jokes between kisses.

The bright smile she’s giving him is enough of an answer. Slowly they stand up, Y/N careful with her movements so she doesn’t wake up Shadow who is happily snoring into her arms. She heads for her bedroom and Dean opens her door for her. She can feel her heart sore when she notices Dean’s old tee-shirt on the top of her bed.

“Good night, Sweetheart. See you tomorrow.” Dean wishes her goodnight, kissing her again as he can’t get enough. Now that he knows how she tastes, he just needs more. She’s really addicting.

“By the way,” he asks suddenly as he was going to close her door and leave her alone. “Are you staying for me or the dog?” He jokes, knowing perfectly the answer but any excuse is enough to keep her in his sight.

“Both?” She answers sheepishly before laughing when Dean’s face falls, he wasn’t expecting that kind of answer.

***

A few days later, Y/N is whistling in the kitchen, preparing Dean and her breakfast. After a very long day full of talking they’re back to their usual routine. They both were honest to each other and agreed to never lie to themselves anymore. If one of them has something to say, then they’ll say it, no matter how hard or scary it could be. They haven’t put a label on their relationship yet.

“Stop it!” She warns Dean, her back turned towards him as she’s flipping the pancakes in the pan. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”

Dean freezes his movement, a bit of bacon dangling from his fingertips as he gives Shadow an apologetic look.

“Sorry buddy, I swear she has eyes in the back of her head.” He whispers to the puppy who’s waiting for the piece of bacon to magically fall on the ground. “Sweetheart, your phone is ringing a lot this morning.” Dean comments, hearing the stupid device ringing on the coffee table.

“I wonder who it is.” She ponders, whipping her hands with a towel as she walks into the living room but the ringing stops before she has time to take the call. That’s the moment she notices she has missed 35 calls and has 52 messages left. “Oh shit!”

“What?” Dean asks, curious to know what’s going on.

“Ketch! I completely forgot I was supposed to go out with him yesterday.” She answers without thinking, too focused on reading the angry messages the British man left her.

“Ketch?” Dean exclaimed and to Shadow’s delight a piece of bacon finally falls on the ground, miraculously. “Seriously?”

Dean doesn’t care about the deathly glare she’s throwing at him for feeding Shadow with bacon, the Ketch topic being more important at the moment.

“I was a bit confused and made a mistake.” She admits and rolls her eyes, knowing how sensitive that particular topic is.

Dean comes into the living room and manhandles Y/N, forcing her to turn around and look at him. “No, no, no.” Dean disagrees, pressing his forehead against her. “Having sex in the shower is a mistake. Forgetting my mom’s birthday is a mistake. Dating Ketch is simply the dumbest move. You should thank me for saving you from his claws, you deserve better.” He finally says, kissing her deeply.

With a soft tap on his arms that are wrapped around her waist, she breaks their embrace, an amused smile on her lips. “Because you’re better?”

“Damn right, I am.” Dean grins proudly.

“Damn right you are.” She concedes, kissing him back. “Oh, speaking of which! Mary called yesterday, she asked me to remind you that your Uncle Bobby’s birthday party is next weekend.” She remembers suddenly. “She didn’t seem surprised to have me over the phone. Did you tell your mom that we’re together?”

Dean shakes his head no, a fond smile on her lips, and wraps his arms around her once again, bringing their body closer. “Not yet,” Dean admits and smiles a bit more, picturing how his family will react when he’ll come with Y/N at his sides.

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t asked you something.” He starts, unwrapping his arms from her waist and taking both of her hands in his before becoming suddenly serious. “Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time.” He asks, his eyes plunged into her.

As she loses herself into the deepest green eyes she has ever seen, Y/N knows there is only one answer to that question. Their relationship started the day this man pronounced one little white lie and none of them knew how it would turn. That day she thought she was helping one pretty, little liar and the story would be over by the end of the weekend. However, after some stupid complication they didn’t need, Y/N finally knows that Dean Winchester is and always will be her pretty little liar. So instead of answering him with a plain and obvious answer, Y/N gives him the most passionate kiss she can provide.

“Friendly advice,” she says as they broke the kiss, their lips still touching. “Next time you propose to me, bring the ring with you or your mom will kill you.”

FIN

Pour Toujours tags: @drakelover78, @akshi8278

PLL tags: @eliwinchester99, @paiswhite, @vicmc624, @metalfangirl, @londoncallingbutiwontpickup

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #female!reader #roommates au #spn fanfiction #series #PLL Series #fake dating

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blissfulalchemist · 4 years

Note

"Did you expect this to turn out better?" for Cat angst!

Okay let’s start out this angst Friday strong! Uhm trigger warnings for mentions of death. It’s angst and gets deep. So uh yeah. Sorry.

Their footsteps are slow, steady...hollow as they bounce off the wood of this hallowed ground. His hair is still soft as she runs her fingers through it, head cradled in her lap as the steps move closer to her. The chains clink as they hold the empty bird cages above her, tears falling in time silently, the sobs having passed long ago. This isn’t real. It can’t be real, her eyes can’t focus on his features as they are, bloodied, bruised...pale. All she can see is the brown eyes that shined when he smiled at the world, his hair a mess when he woke in the morning after having slept with it wet, the lean muscle that held her close or teased her when they found themselves in the kitchen together.

How did they end up here? How did she end up here all alone? The plan was fool proof everything went as planned….and then….it didn’t. The Saint was the first to fall when reinforcements no one anticipated came at them from all sides. She was never meant to run into the battle but she did, watching him stumble to the ground, a hope that if she made it fast enough he could live. Misplaced hope as she had seen the three bullets hit him in places that one could never survive even if he made it to a hospital in time. The distance she made him walk didn’t grant him any more time with her either.

The edge of the battle field was met with words of comfort and reassurance while trying to stop the inevitable. Bandage after bandage was wrapped around him, her hands still working on placing more when she heard a commotion in the middle of the field. She looked up, there in the center was the Sinner, arms held behind his back by three men. He trashed against them his gold earrings flashing in the afternoon sun, dragged to his fate, forced to join like she was. Even after John’s death, one everyone blamed him for, it was still Joseph’s will to bring him into the fold, a fate worse than death for him. Mercy, swift, given as a falsely loyal follower took it upon themselves to shoot him….point blank.

Hesitation rooting her to the ground, eyes wide, as his captors half threw him to the side to yell at their fellow member, her scream silent to her ears, rough and rattling her vocal cords. Her heart pulled to bring him back home like he would have done, overpowering any voice to stay with the love of her life. Lungs burning she made it to him, avoiding the blank gaze his hazel eyes held for the sky, she pulled, lifting him to her back. “I’m here. I got you,” repeated like a prayer as gravity from the hill helped her bring the two of them together once more.

The three of them needed safety and only one place close enough to offer them that. Stretcher attached to her back with Wes lying on it and Rafael clinging to her, his steps faltering holding more of his weight, she walked, leading them to the church.

Back to where it all began.

That same church she sits in now, clinging to the last memory of him, the words he spoke softly, his thumb still trying to wipe her tears when it was obvious the two were going to part. “Tenerte y amarte significa que mi corazón está en paz. Nunca fuimos destinados a igualar las historias que adoramos porque somos nuestro propio romance épico,” his last words to her. The first declaration of love he spoke that she had understood fully after months of only ever putting pieces together. A tear in her chest with each word he spoke, breathing slowing down, heart in shreds. Clinging to him, rocking him, she waited until his last breath to scream out. Deafening in the empty church.

She only let go of him long enough to try and fight off those that came to drag Wes’ body from her. He was to become a display. A warning. She put up a fight, best she could keeping Wes as close as possible, but when it was five against one, she was easily tossed to the side. Her friend, best friend, the older brother she never had, and wanted back, “You just be careful out there. Can’t stand to see you lose.” “Always careful, Cat.” She couldn’t remember if she reminded him that he was loved by her as he had been taken, stolen, to be desecrated.

Alone.

Left to cry and apologize to deaf ears. Back at square one sitting in silence until those footsteps joined her. He finally stood in front of her, tattoos and scars on full display, hair tied back, and yellow glasses that turned his blue eyes green. She pulled Rafael closer to her, gripping as tightly as she could as he kneeled down to meet her eyes. “You can’t have him too,” she whispered, “You’ve already got the one you wanted.”

His breathing was even, she knew his face would have sympathy on it, the same look he gave Catlina when she first found herself in the middle of Montana lost and alone. “My child,” he reached out to her, she pulled back from his touch, his hand falling. “Did you expect this to turn out better?” Yes, “After everything that’s happened to you.”

“It’s not fair,” her voice is soft.

“I know,” she looked up slowly meeting his eyes briefly, “This world has been unfair to you. To us both.” His words were calming, drifting to her ears with a summer breeze guiding them. “Come with me. We can make this world a better place.”

She shook her head, fingers tracing her love’s features, “I’d rather die,” she brushed his curls from his face, “I think I just might.”

“You’re not destined to die yet,” the flame that sparked when he spoke of her destiny, her fate, remained cold now, embers fading. “How many times have you defied death in your life,” she kept her mouth closed, throat closing in on her, “Four times now?”

Catlina was twenty-two the first time, her mother left her behind, admitting that if she couldn’t be cured then she was no longer capable of loving her. Then again three years later, neighbors found her lying on the floor of her living room clutching the picture of her husband, pill bottles tossed to the side. Finally, months ago when she found there was no way out of Eden’s Gate, Catlina threw herself from the bridge. Each time someone was there in just the knick of time, saving her, granting her another chance at life. A life she no longer wanted, if she ever really did.

“This last time, God spoke to me,” I don’t believe in a god, “Showed you running to your friend through the gunfire. So many bullets you missed, knives grazing your clothes and not your skin.” She wanted to cover her ears, stop his false prophecies from reaching her brain. Too late though, her soul tired and saddened let his words sink in, little by little. “And then an image of you below the cross cradling the Saint,” Rafael, her savior. The one she placed all her faith in.

“I don’t want a purpose anymore,” she mumbled under her breath, sobs that had started to form, dissipating.

“I compassionate thee,” a sermon, a prayer, “sorrowing Mary, for that martyrdom which thy generous heart sustained,” she’d been to many services, “in being present with thine agonizing Jesus.” Never once had Joseph quoted this. There was never anything about Mary ever said. Not since she baptised before being married off. The change of her name and her first purpose given to her, “O dear Mother, by thy heart undergoing so severe a martyrdom,” this wasn’t the Mary she knew though, “obtain for me the virtue of temperance, and the gift of counsel.”

Tears fell silently looking up to Joseph curiously, “What are you talking about? You never speak of Mary.”

He held out a scorched thin paper out to her, she took it gingerly looking it over, “Because I misunderstood her purpose.” There was only one line that was complete, “35 so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” “Luke two, thirty five.”

Catlina shook her head handing it back, “I don’t want this life. I never did.” She looked at Raf’s face, she’d be joining him soon, “Please,” she tried to plead again, “just leave me be.”

“You want to die,” his hand brought her face up to meet his eyes, “and I can help you with that.”

Her chest felt so hollow, and yet….something spoke to her, “How?”

“We bury you with him,” she searched his face for any indication of lies or ill intent. Nothing. “And once he’s been laid to rest next to you, we give you a new life. One where all this pain makes sense, has meaning.” Metaphorical death, that’s all he could offer her. Another fake life, one where she was open to the pain of being hurt again. Catlina was tired of living….tired of being. “You’d never be alone ever again. You’d never live a life feeling lost. Catlina could be free from that life.”

Catlina….that’s who held all this pain. She was the one that was forever destined to end up alone. Always lost. Catlina was the one that wanted to die.

Did she want to die?

“You promise I can give Rafael a proper burial?” Joseph nodded, her mind straying to the horrors that awaited her brother. “I want to bury Wes too,” her eyes met Joseph’s with determination, “He deserves to leave this world loved and cared for.”

There was no hesitation, “Yes,” relief creeping in her chest, “Mary was always a symbol of love and compassion for all people. We should follow suit.”

“I want to oversee it all with my own eyes,” or no deal.

He gave a slow nod, “Of course.” He stood holding his hand out to her, “Come. We must prepare them.” She looked longingly at her heart committing his face to memory, etching it onto her soul. When it finally cemented she inhaled deeply.

Mary gently laid Rafael’s head on the floor, her blue sweater softening the wood below him. She closed her eyes, placing a kiss gently on his forehead, “Till we meet again, amor de mi vida,” she whispered, letting go. Mary looked up to Joseph, placing her hand in his standing, the setting sun silhouetting her frame in golden light. Giving him a small nod Mary followed him out of the church to recover Wes and lay the three of them to rest.

#tw death #tw mention of suicide #I am so sorry this hurts my heart too #I just must have been in a mood a bit #idk but any way #x: top chefs #brotp: red brooks bros #yeah okay I'm glad this is something I'm q'ing so i'll be sleeping while you read it #brains and disaster

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micahrodney · 3 years

Text

Thread; Chapter 4 - Through The Looking Glass

The following is a commission for Matthew Caveat Zealot. The morning of the memorial service was especially bitter and cold. A slight drizzle had started which threatened to turn into lake-effect snow at a moment's notice. Kevin made his kids pack up everything just in case they couldn't make it back to the hotel, and the trunk had a fully stocked emergency kit. It was something of a Brown family tradition to prepare for the worst, but this quality had been more pronounced since the accident.

“How's this?” Neil asked, fiddling with the knot on his tie.

“I don't suppose you'd consider a clip-on?” Travis teased, moving in to correct the full-hearted but half-studied attempt at a Windsor knot.

“Can't tie a tie, little bro,” Dawn said, waggling a mock judgmental finger. “They aren't teaching you anything at that school.”

“You're just upset that I'm not in the psych ward,” Neil shot back, running a comb through his hair while Travis fiddled with his tie.

“Injustice of the century,” she smirked.

Kevin, Kim, and Rocky were already downstairs eating the continental breakfast and no doubt having “adult” conversation. Travis was still in the kid's group but only by virtue of sharing a room with Neil. Dawn had been dressed since 7 AM, but only because Kim woke her up by loudly dropping her make-up kit on the bathroom floor a half-hour prior.

She looked quite nice in a simple black dress with matching leggings, though Neil wondered what their mother would have said about the heeled boots that she wore with them. Combined with her unique hair coloration, the whole effect was very “Bride of Frankenstein”. But then Dawn had always been avant-garde in her fashion sense.

Travis was wearing a chocolate brown suit with a charcoal tie. It didn't quite match but then Travis didn't own much in the way of suits. Not that Neil could talk, he had only ever owned the black suit that his father bought for him for the funeral three years prior. Wearing it to every memorial service since probably did not help the mounting anxiety and grief. It was as though a bubble was forming in the pit of his stomach that threatened to consume him the moment he let his guard down. There was the choking sensation followed by the slight urge to vomit.

“There you go. Dad will be proud,” Travis announced, completing the adjustment to Neil's tie.

“Cool. Can you tell him I did it?” Neil joked, his stand-by for keeping the nerves in check.

“If you think he'll believe it,” Travis replied with a weak chuckle.

A moment followed, where the three youngest Brown children sat in uncomfortable silence. They knew what happened next and each was dealing with it in their own way. Dawn was aloof as she always was, but she wasn't drowning her senses in her electronics. There was a stillness to her mind that was a precursor to the waves of emotion that would inevitably hit her around the halfway point of the service. She had notably forgone mascara today, the easier to pretend she wasn't crying.

Travis felt compelled to “big brother” more, and Neil's clumsiness with his tie was a perfect opportunity to let him express that. He wanted to reclaim some of the control he felt he had lost in his life after their mother's death. This was especially potent considering his past addictions. Travis had been balancing on a tightrope across a chasm of chaos for so long, and this day was the hardest one of the year for him.

Neil was unsure how Kim was coping. She was the oldest, he was the youngest and their age gap meant she had been out of the house for most of his life. He had gained a portrait of his older sister in the family meetings and stories from Travis and their father. Still, it was fascinating how incomplete these recountings were. Humans were complicated but at least when you lived with somebody for a time you got to understand how they behaved. Without this context, everything else in their life was as shrouded in mystery as if they were a stranger, and carefully curated stories never did them justice. Sometimes it baffled him how little he really knew about somebody so close to him.

As for Neil, jokes, pointed asides, flippancy: these were his allies. It was not that he was going to try and avoid feeling sad. The pain would come and he would fully experience it, making no attempt to hide his tears when the time came. He just didn't want to cross the bridge yet. Things had to go according to a schedule. If he could contain the emotion, then he was in control of his emotions. Perhaps he and Travis were not so different.

“So,” Travis said, breaking the silence. “Breakfast?”

---

Saint Mary's was Colleen Brown's church as a child. It was just a few blocks from the river and had a rich history to it, about which Colleen could recite paragraphs at a moment's notice. It was founded in 1850 and much of the original foundation was still intact. While clearly weathered, the chapel was remarkably beautiful.

The centerpiece was, as always, Christ the Redeemer upon the cross just above the dais. He was flanked by John the Baptist and St. Peter. Further out on the walls adjacent to the stage were the Virgin Mother on the left and Joseph carrying a depiction of the baby Jesus on the right. As far as Catholic churches went, it was a fairly humble affair. There was just something inherently wholesome about the building which Neil found comforting.

The only people in attendance at this quiet ceremony were the Brown family, Rocky, and a couple of Colleen's friends about whom Neil knew very little. All in all, there were roughly ten people including the priest.

Father Dwight McMahon was a person who Neil had come to know, at least somewhat. He was a family friend long before he took to the cloth. Their mother had described him as an “inspiring young man”, though how they had initially met was unclear. However both Kevin and Colleen had taken a liking to the young man as though he were a foster son, and he had often attended any family occasion of note, at least for the past six years. It seemed only right that he, having joined the clergy around the time Colleen passed away, preside over the ceremony.

“Let us pray,” the Father began, as was his custom.

The attending lowered their heads respectfully and clasped their hands together.

“Most Holy and Gracious God. We meet before your sight this day in remembrance of your daughter Colleen Angelica Brown, who departed three years ago. We seek your guidance and comfort as we honor her memory and uphold the traditions of her family. We thank you for your blessings and tender mercy, for surely you are the light and the way. In humble gratitude, we pray. May our lives please you, oh Lord. Into your embrace, we offer ourselves. For what lies on the journey ahead, God only knows. Amen.”

Dawn swallowed hard. Travis's head was lowered. Their father could barely keep his eyes open. Kim was already openly weeping, and leaning on Rocky for support. As for Neil, he just felt empty. There was a pit where his heart should be. It was the same as every year. A horrible reminder of what he had lost. Neil forced himself to look up at the Reverend, to try and connect with the man who had begun reading off the life story of his mother.

He let out an audible gasp, perhaps mistaken as a sob for how Travis put a consoling arm around him. But it was not grief that overcame Neil, but terror.

McMahon had been wearing the standard black cassock, but now stood draped in off-color robes with a wide-brimmed hood. In that instant, the nightmares he had forgotten about came screaming back into his mind. The deep pit, the darkness, the pool of suffering, and the frozen temple in which gathered a black mass of robed skeletal figures.

“We all want to go home,” McMahon said, his voice now hollow and raspy. “We can never go home.”

“We just want to go home,” came a pale imitation of Dawn's voice from behind him.

“End our suffering,” Travis uttered, his bony hand now clasping itself around the back of Neil's neck.

Neil wanted to scream. He wanted to react in some manner, but it was as though every joint in his body had locked up.

“This is a nightmare,” Neil said to himself. “I've fallen asleep and this is sleep paralysis. That's all it is.”

Hail began to pelt against the windows of the chapel. A ferocious wind burst open the doors, wood crashing into brick with a loud crack.

“You cannot go home,” came a stern and familiar voice. “Because your home no longer exists.”

At once, Neil stood up, suddenly free of the grasp of terror that had consumed him. He turned to the figure who now stood in the doorway; purple translucent lines containing a field of glowing stars.

“Rem,” he choked. “Is that you?”

“It is us,” Rem replied simply. “The thread of this one is broken, difficult to follow. But we have finally found you. You must come with us. The Dreamer awaits.”

“Go where?” Neil asked, still processing the new reality. “I'm in the middle of my mother's memorial.”

“Are you? You are here. Your body's location is ultimately irrelevant for our purposes,” Rem explained.

“Am I... asleep?” Neil asked, desperate for more information.

“Approximately,” Rem replied, his voice growing sterner. “There are complications to that term, but it is perhaps the closest understanding you will grasp. At first.”

“Go home,” the phantom priest bellowed.

“Want home!” screamed the nightmare Dawn.

“Your thread is broken,” Rem explained again. “But you still exist. Were you any different, you would be as they. Lost in time and space, a shadow of your former self.”

The shades moved closer to Rem, their movements foul mimicry. It was as though they were marionettes with a few cut strings.

“Home!”

“We want to go home!”

Rem raised his hand. “Your homes are no more. You return to the Dreamer now.”

With a wave, the chapel and all of its inhabitants vanished. The fabric of reality melted away, revealing a field of stars in which the two now floated. The great planet on which Neil had spent several eventful hours in the prior dreams was directly beneath them, as was the iridescent star.

“You have seen this world as it once was. I will show you what has become of those who once dwelt upon it. Soon, you will understand, Neil Brown,” Rem announced.

Without warning, Rem placed his hand on Neil's forehead, covering his eyes in bright pulsing light from the stars within. His retinas burned, his head throbbed, and soon he felt nothing as the light overtook him.

---

Neil shook himself awake and leaned forward, gasping in shock as the sleep paralysis wore off. The dream had been especially vivid, and utterly horrible. But at last, it was over and Neil was in the safety of...

“Where the hell am I?” He exclaimed.

The young man was surrounded by stars, safely observed through translucent panes held in place by a silvery steel framework. He had been lying on one of several identical beds, though he appeared to be the only occupant, each raised high off the ground the better to appreciate the cosmic light show. The air was crisp and manufactured, the low hum of some alien technology thrummed somewhere beneath him.

This was not a dream.

“You are awake, Binder,” came Rem's rigid voice from just behind.

Neil turned to greet the figure once more, though he noticed that his would-be savior was now wearing a silvery robe which seemed far more opaque than the rest of him. His footsteps were a musical chime on the metallic floor.

“What is this place?” Neil asked, repeating his concern now that a supposedly sympathetic ear was present.

“We refer to it as The Cradle,” Rem explained. “Throne of the Dreamer and safe haven for the Somni.”

Neil tilted his head slightly. “I mean... could you start from the beginning?”

“Nox will give you a more thorough explanation. I am to take this one to her,” Rem replied. “Please accompany me.”

Rem gestured towards the center of the room, where a railed circular platform hovered a foot or two off the ground. Just above it was a tunnel through the ceiling which went up quite a ways. The lift could hold perhaps three of these Somni at once, but Neil barely took up a tenth of the space.

With a slight jolt, the lift began to rise. Neil almost lost his footing at the sudden momentum but was able to steady himself. After the initial shock, the rise was smooth and swift, rocketing the two of them up several hundred feet. The lift tunnel was illuminated by pure white rings of the light in even intervals. The effect was almost hypnotic, not that Neil felt any desire to sleep.

The lift finally reached its destination, placing the two of them on the rear wall of – there was no other term for it – a space station. The room was massive, at least ten times the circumference of the galactic dormitory they had just departed. The silvery steel framework branched out around the room creating a dome-like structure, offering a mostly unobstructed view of the cosmos. At ground level, a variety of holographic panels were erected, forming a semi-circle opposite the lift. Indecipherable glyphs relayed incomprehensible data at lightning speed, observed by a host of these Somni.

In the dead center of the room was one particularly large well-like structure, above which hovered a glowing cerulean orb, bound up in crisscrossing threads of white light. At varying intersections of the impossibly dense thread were tiny golden spheres. A horrible sense of deja vu overtook Neil as he beheld the gentle turning of this web.

“You behold the Threads of Fate,” said Nox, moving out from behind one of the holographic terminals on Neils' left.

She was adorned in a cerulean robe with golden pauldrons. There was a royal aura about her, and given the uniform attire of all the other Somni in attendance, it was clear that she was the one in charge.

“I,” Neil began, but words failed him. So much was happening so quickly. He had no idea where he was, what he was doing there, and what his family must be going through with him suddenly gone.

“This must be quite troubling for you,” Nox offered, grasping his shoulder in a comforting yet strangely hollow grip. It was as though he was being touched by a ghost.

“This is just so confusing,” Neil explained.

“Perhaps we should start from the beginning then,” Nox said.

She gestured to Rem who busied himself at the central well. With a few flourishes from him, the scene changed, and the cerulean gem in the center took on the appearance of a planet.

“Millions of years ago,” Nox began. “We Somni lived as you do. Mortals upon the blessed planet of Somnus. Ours was a paradise, and from our bountiful came a wealth of technology and hoarded knowledge. In time, we began to become aware of not only the existence of other planets throughout the universe which sustained life but entire planes of reality apart from our own.”

The planet's image changed slowly, with a number of the continents now covered in sheets of ice, while others succumbed to wildfires and volcanic eruptions.

“However this knowledge came at a terrible price. We suffered calamity after calamity, which we later discovered to be deliberate attempts to destroy us. The Somni had grown too powerful, and we were becoming a threat.”

“A threat to who?” Neil asked.

The image shifted once more, a black cloud now consuming the entire planet.

“We came to call it Kosmaro: the Nightmare. It is an entity as old as time itself, in constant combat with the Dreamer. One creates, the other destroys. As the final catastrophe rent our world asunder, the Dreamer reached out to a select few of us and granted us with these forms.”

Nox gestured to the room at large. Neil only noticed then that several of the Somni had gathered round to witness this retelling, starry gazes twinkling gently in the dim light.

“So,” Neil interjected delicately. “Why am I here?”

Nox let out an approving noise; a musical hum exhaled from her like a sigh. “For you are a Binder.”

“I've heard that term a lot lately,” Neil replied. “But I have no idea what it is.”

Nox turned her attention back to the well. “It comes down to the Threads of Fate. The history of our universe is one full of opportunity and choice. Yet several events are preordained and must occur according to the whim of the Dreamer. Their dream, their plan. Yet the incidental day-to-day interactions upon which new realities may come to exist are immaterial to them. No matter how many threads are created, all will eventually converge upon a Crossroad.”

Nox pointed to the bright golden stars floating around the threads. Neil could now notice in greater clarity that thousands of these strands all seemed to converge around every one of these points.

“This is a multiverse then,” Neil offered.

“This one is familiar with the theory,” Rem said almost approvingly, before returning to his usual stoicism. “Though their kind has barely begun to scratch the surface of the implications.”

“With a Binder in their midst, perhaps they will learn more,” Nox chastised. She then elaborated. “You see, Neil. Kosmaro has been attacking these Crossroads. And when a Crossroad is destroyed...”

With a wave of her sleeved arm, a single golden star flickered out of existence. The white strands that connected to it floated about aimlessly for a moment, connecting to nothing and seemingly adrift in the void. Another wave and a second Crossroad vanished. Now those few threads which had been connected at both points faded from existence.

Neil swallowed hard, as he remembered the desperate cries of those phantoms.

We want to go home.

And what had Rem said?

You can't.

“My family,” Neil sputtered. “Are they dead?”

Rem, frank as ever, immediately responded. “A few thousand variations of this one's family have been lost to the phenomena, but they number among several quintillion lives. It is of little consequence one way or the other as far as you are concerned.”

“Rem,” Nox warned, her tone approaching annoyed while still retaining its ethereal quality. “The thread from which you originate has not been lost. However, it and many other adjacent threads remain in jeopardy. It is fortunate that we discovered you when we did.”

The image above the well zoomed in on a small section of the web, Two Crossroads were now enlarged, with the threads between them more easily distinguishable. What Neil had once taken for a few hundred were in fact several thousand.

“Binders are Somni who are able to traverse the Threads of Fate to repair the damage done. Kosmaro is as old as time itself, and thus the strain on our universe is an inevitable part of it. Some day in the future, Kosmaro shall, eventually, win the battle. But Binders do their part to delay that unhappy hour as long as possible,” Nox explained.

One of the golden lights dimmed into a dull grey, and the threads were once again floating about in tatters, loosely connected to the other. It looked like a badly frayed knot.

“And to do that, Binders must enter these Crossroads and set the actions right. Things must play out according to the will of the Dreamer. If they are successful,” Nox touched the dimmed Crossroad once more and its light returned, setting the strands right again. “Balance is restored.”

Neil was doing all he could to keep his head straight. In summary, there was a multiverse full of temporal weak points, and these strange alien beings were saying he was one of a select few capable of repairing it.

“How?” Neil spluttered out finally. “How am I supposed to fix those? I've never seen anything like this before.”

“It is better to show you rather than tell you,” Nox said. “But for now, you should return to the world from whence you came. Rem shall be in contact with you, and will come for you when the time is right.”

“Rem?” Neil asked nervously. The stern specter had not done much in their brief interactions to inspire a sense of camaraderie in him. “Can't it be you?”

“Nox is the Voice of the Dreamer. She has matters well beyond the scope of managing this one,” Rem sighed. “I shall serve as overseer and – if the need arises – protector.”

“Take heart, Neil,” Nox said soothingly. “It is a long road you have ahead of you, but we shall be your allies every step of the way.”

With a popping sound, all the lights on the station dimmed. The room slipped away to darkness, and Neil Brown felt himself falling once more into nothingness.

#writing #cosmichorror #commissionwriting #shortfic

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boffeeceans2 · 3 years

Text

Change Your Life

Chapter Seven

Ao3

The meeting with Colm turned out to be a whole lot of nothing, all Colm did was talk bullshit and aggravate Dutch. And then he just left, leaving Arthur, Dutch and Micah dumbfounded. 'What the hell was that about?' Arthur thought as they rode back to camp. It could have gone a lot worse, they could have gotten stuck in a shoot-out, or dead.

Arthur half expected an ambush on the way to camp, but it never came.

When they arrived back at camp Arthur wanted to talk to Beatrice for a bit, maybe try and get her to tell him what the hell was going on between her and John. Knowing John it probably wasn't anything good. But he noticed that Dynamite was gone so that was out the window. He spotted John and contemplated asking him where she went but figured that he wouldn't know and he probably also wouldn't tell him what was going on. Instead, he decided on asking one of the girls.

Mary-Beth sat peacefully in the shade with her nose buried in a book.

"Hey Mary-Beth," Arthur said.

She looked up from her book and smiled when she saw him, "Oh, hey Arthur."

"Do you know where Beatrice is?"

"I saw her leavin' a little while after you guys,'' She said, "Though she didn't look too happy. Maybe she went out hunting to clear her head?"

She did seem to do that often, the gang hasn't been this well-fed in a while. "You're probably right, Thanks Mary-Beth."

She smiled again and continued reading.

Arthur waited for her to come back all day and started to get worried when the sun went down and there still was no sign of her. Hosea calmed his nerves by telling him that a hunting trip can take a few days and that she'll be back.

The next day came around and she still wasn't back. And the day after that there was still no sign of her. Until late in the evening when Dynamite came running into camp without a rider. Arthur couldn't ignore it any longer, he had to go looking for her. To his surprise, John joined him. He would argue but didn't have the time. He had to find her and fast.

They rode out without a trail to follow or any idea where she might have gone. No one in town had seen her, no one that they passed on the road had seen her. No one had seen her. They had been looking for almost two hours now, but every trail ran cold.

"What did you do, anyway?" Arthur asked John, voice gruff and sounding agitated. worry was taking over him and he needed answers.

"Why do you always think I did it?" John said, also agitated and worried.

"Did you?"

John huffed and looked back to the road. He did do something and he would blame himself if anything happened to Beatrice, but telling Arthur wouldn't result in anything good. Stupid, that's how he felt. Stupid for kissing her, stupid for feeling the way that he does, just stupid in general. He steered Old Boy in a direction they haven't been to yet, "We should try this way."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something but got interrupted.

"Arthur!" Charles came towards them at full speed, "She's back."

Relief washed over both Arthur and John, "Is she alright?" John asked, beating Arthur to it.

Charles didn't have to say anything, the look in his eyes was enough. Arthur didn't hesitate and turned Gwendolyn in the direction of camp, making her go as fast as she could, with Charles and John following close behind.

---

Arthur sat on a chair in his tent, listening to Beatrice’s heavy breathing that filled the air around him. He couldn’t help but think that he could’ve prevented this whole thing from happening if he had just paid more attention. The thought of losing her like he lost Isaac and Eliza wouldn’t leave his mind, He wouldn’t be able to go through that again.

He looked down where her hand was in his, it was small compared to his, but just as calloused. He thought about how many times she picked up a gun; taken someone’s life. She was too young to know what that’s like, too young to live the way they do.

“Dad?”

Arthur could barely hear her and he wasn’t sure if he heard her right. She gave his hand a light squeeze and he looked up to meet her eyes, half-lidded and tired.

“Did you-”

“No…, I didn’t say anything.”

Arthur chuckled and decided to drop it for now, “How you feelin’,” He asked.

“Like shit,” Beatrice said and tried to shit up, “but I’ll be fine.”

Arthur helped her up, knowing that there was no point in arguing with her. He’s quiet. Thinking. He knows he should tell her at some point, and now might be the best time.

Beatrice noticed that he was struggling to say something, so she decided to just ask.

“What’s on your mind?”

Arthur moved from the chair to sit next to her and takes her hand in his again.

“I had a son,” He said, “His name was Isaac. His mother was a waitress I met, Eliza.”

Beatrice didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that. She didn’t know what to say. Arthur continued. He told her that Isaac was a good kid and that he loved him, Eliza too, he supposed. And that they were robbed and killed for all but ten dollars.

“I thought I lost you like I lost them and I can’t go through that again.”

“You ain’t losin’ me,” Beatrice said, “I was distracted and not thinkin’ right. Something like this won’t ever happen again.”

“I just want you to be careful.”

“I will be, from now on if I'm goin’ somewhere I’ll… tell somebody, or I’ll take someone with me, alright?”

“Alright.”

Beatrice rested her head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

Arthur wrapped his arm around her, careful not to hurt her shoulder, “It’s alright, I’m just happy that you’re back.”

“Me too,” Beatrice said, trying her best to stay awake, “How’s Elijah?”

“I uh… Don’t know. Haven’t seen him.”

Beatrice sighed, “Of course, try looking up.”

And Artur did. He looked up, confused.

Beatrice laughed, followed by a small groan, “Not here, dumbass. Outside. In the trees.”

“Right,” Arthur chuckled.

They just sat in silence for a while, with Beatrice dozing off again. Arthur tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed the top of her head.

“You should get some sleep,” He said.

Beatrice nodded and Arthur moved so that she could lie down again. He was about to leave the tent but then Beatrice spoke.

“Hey,” She said and Arthur turned around to face her, “You know you didn’t have to tell me, right?”

“I did, and if not for you then for me.”

She smiled, “Thank you. Good night, dad.”

He smiled back at her, “Goodnight, Peach,” He said and exited his tent. He stood there and could hear her giggle to herself, it was like he could finally breathe again.

He could see Hosea approaching from the corner of his eye and turned to face him

“How is she?” Hosea asked.

“Surprisingly well,” Arthur said and smiled to himself, “She’s strong… like her mother. You uh, heard of Elijah yet?”

“No, I haven’t. Beatrice told you anything?”

“Yeah, I think I might know where he is.”

“Good luck,” Hosea said and patted him on the shoulder.

Arthur nodded and started walking towards the trees. He passed John, who immediately looked away and got himself busy. They hadn’t talked ever since they got back. Arthur was too busy worrying over Beatrice, and John. Well, John probably wouldn’t say anything he wanted to hear anyway.

He stopped walking when he reached the only tree around camp that was big and strong enough to sit in. He looked up and saw the faint light of a lit cigarette.

“Elijah?”

“Get lost.”

Well, going great so far.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“You got here, didn’t you?” Elijah said, “Using your legs I’m assuming, so you can use those legs of yours to, y’know, get lost.”

So great. This was not how Arthur expected it to go, but then again he wasn’t really expecting anything. He needed to say something. Something that would get Elijah down from that tree.

“She woke up,” Arthur said, hoping it would work.

Elijah didn’t say anything at first, he just cleared his throat and shuffled a bit.

“Good…”

God. Arthur was hoping this could’ve gone as easy as it did with Beatrice, but clearly, that wasn’t an option. He didn’t know what to say or what to do except waiting. So that’s what he did. He sat down with his back against the tree and waited. And waited, fell asleep for a bit, and waited some more until Elijah finally decided to come down from the tree.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Elijah asked.

“Waitin’ for you,” Arthur said and got on his feet.

“Well, I’m here, what do ya want?”

Arthur didn’t think this far. He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck and gave Elijah a once-over. He was covered in blood, it was in his shirt, in his hair, just everywhere.

Elijah scoffed, “It ain’t mine.”

“I guessed that,” Arthur said, “come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Fine,” Elijah said after just staring at Arthur for a moment.

They walked back to camp, the morning sun washing a soft glow over everything. Elijah was uneasy, walking through this new place with new people. God knows what Beatrice told them about him, truth or lies, neither would work in his favor if he knew her at least a little bit.

Arthur brought him to a barrel filled with water and told him to use that to wash up while he got him some clean clothes. Elijah gripped the sides of the barrel and looked at his reflection. ‘Take care of your sister. Keep her safe.’ His mother’s voice echoed through his head.

He failed them; his mother, his sister, himself, too. He had been acting like a fool and Beatrice got to pay for it. It was time for him to clean up his act, go back to how he used to be.

He took a deep breath and dunked his head into the water, raising back above it after a few seconds. He watched as the mixture of blood and water dripped from his face and back into the barrel.

“You must be Elijah.”

“Elijah looked up and was met with someone who he guessed was around his age, “That me, and you are?”

“I’m Lenny, I got you some clean clothes,” Lenny said and handed him a shirt and a pair of pants, “Think they should fit.”

“Thanks,” Elijah said and took the clothes.

“Of course, just holler if you need anything else.” Elijah gave him a nod and Lenny walked to the campfire.

Elijah sighed and undressed, he got as much blood and dirt off himself as he could and put on the clean clothes He looked around for Arthur and found him sitting at a table by himself. Elijah approached him and took a seat, “I uh… I’m sorry, for being such an asshole.”

Arthur looked at him from the corner of his eye and shrugged, “She did warn me.”

“Really?” It didn’t surprise him, they hadn’t been getting along at all the few months before he left, but it still hurt a little, “What she say?”

Arthur turned his head to fully look at Elijah, “That you’re an asshole.” He decided to spare Elijah the ‘I wouldn’t care if he was dead’ part.

Elijah chuckled, “Sounds like her… She gonna be alright?”

Arthur nodded, “Yeah, I think so,” He sighed before asking, “What happened anyway?”

“I already told Dutch, I don’t know. Don’t know why or how she ended up there,” He said, “Just know that I have half a mind to go back there and kill every single one of them.” Not that going back would do anyone any good. The chance that they were still there was slim, and if they were and he did decide to go, he’d be dead.

---

“Bea-”

“No.”

“I-”

“No.”

“But-”

"No.”

Beatrice watched as Elijah left with a defeated sigh. She was still and refused to talk to him or listen to what he had to say. Sure, he saved her life, but that doesn’t make them even.

On the upside, she was doing good. No infection. No fever. Just exhaustion and pain. Healing was a process that Beatrice did not like going through, it meant sitting still and having nothing to do other than reading and thinking. All she wanted was to get away from camp and go for a ride or something.

“Still not talking to him, huh?”

Beatrice scoffed, “Can you blame me?”

“Beatrice,” Arthur said, “It’s been three days.”

“So what? He’s the one that left…”

“But he’s back now, just give him a chance to explain himself.”

“I guess…” Arthur was right, but she didn’t want to. Being mad was easier than feeling sorry. However, there was one person that she wanted to talk to, “Hey, can you uh, get John in here?”

“John?” Beatrice nodded, “Why?”

“I told you I’d fix whatever's goin’ on, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“What is it that’s goin’ on between you two?” Arthur asked.

“Nothin’ important.” Kind of important, especially after that kiss, “Just get him in here.”

Artur thought for a moment, he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but not getting John probably wasn’t the right thing either, “Alright.”

While Arthur got John, Beatrice got some more time to think. She had no idea what to say after… that. Oh, this was a bad idea. What if he thought the kiss was a mistake? What if he and Abigail were still together? What if she was going to have to live the rest of her life knowing she couldn’t get the only guy she really wanted…

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Oh shit, “I-'' Say something. Anything. “Yeah!” Too loud… “Just,” She patted the spot next to her, “Sit.”

Beatrice fidgeted with the blanket and thought about what to say while John sat down, but he beat her to it, “Me and Abigail are done, have been for a while.”

“Alright,” She said as a simple smile graced her lips, she couldn’t help it. Never had anyone made her feel the way John made her feel and the feeling only grew when he gently placed his hand on her cheek. He moved closer but stopped when his face was only inches away from hers. He looked her in the eyes and said, “You’re not gonna run this time?”

Beatrice’s smile grew and she replied, “I wouldn’t even if I could.”

And then he kissed her, and she kissed him back. Once again found herself in heaven and she didn’t want to leave, but she had to. She slowly pulled away and darted her tongue across her lips, still smiling. There was something she needed to know, well, didn’t need to, but wanted to.

“When… when did you realize that you uh, liked me?” As soon as she said it she regretted it. And the look of confusion and surprise in John’s eyes did not help, “Y’know what, forget I said anything, that was stupid-”

“No,” He said and cleared his throat, “I think I knew when I looked into your eyes before we left Horseshoe Overlook. But I know it started before that.” His eyes didn’t leave hers while he spoke and Beatrice clung to his every word, “What about you?”

“Uh… I knew when I asked about your scars and you laughed at how I stumbled over my words,” She said, “Back then I thought I would get over it, but you looked right into my eyes and I knew I was too far gone.” Beatrice reached out and brushed her thumb over his scars, “They suit you, by the way.”

---

Watching John enter that tent the past few days and stay there for hours without knowing what the hell they were doing was driving Elijah crazy. He couldn’t stand it that Beatrice would talk to John, but not him. From what he understood the two of them hadn’t been getting along lately.

He thought of something that might get her to talk to him again though. Something that he hasn’t done in almost a year, he wasn’t sure if he could even do it, but he would try if it meant that his sister would at least look at him.

Elijah stood in front of the tent, the tight grip he had on the neck of his guitar turned his knuckles white. He entered, grabbing Beatrice's attention and causing her to look up from her book. She scoffed as soon as she saw him and looked back down, “Still don’t wanna talk,” She said.

“You don’t need to talk, you just need to listen.”

He sat down on the chair and propped the guitar on his leg, he glanced up to Beatrice. She didn’t spare him or glance or say anything, but she let him stay which was an improvement. He cleared his throat and placed his fingers chords and after a deep breath he started, “Sing, Sparrow, Sing. Hide under here.”

The song he sang had always been a comfort for both of them. Their mother would sing it to them if they couldn’t sleep, were scared, or had a fight. Ever since she died Elijah hated that song, hated the sound of the guitar and singing in general. He didn’t want to remember her. Remembering her was like drowning. He was drowning at that moment, with that stupid song and stupid guitar and Beatrice, who wouldn’t even look at him for longer than two seconds.

At the end, he could barely get the words out right and he kept playing the wrong chords. He stopped and a silence filled the air between them. what broke it was the sounds of tears hitting the guitar’s body. Beatrice took the object from his hands and placed it on the ground so it could lean against the table. She took his hand in hers and pulled a little, indicating that she wanted him to stand. And he did, but this time he was the one that didn’t look at her, his eyes stayed fixed on the ground. She wiped the tears from his cheeks and sighed before pulling him into a hug.

Elijah wrapped his arms around her and rested his head in the crook of her neck, “I missed you,” He mumbled.

“I missed you too.”

#red dead fanfic #rdr2 writing #rdr2 oc #Arthur Morgan #John Marston #red dead redemption 2 #CYL

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 5 years

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Hi. I need ur help. Is Dean mad at Cas, at God for making Cas "responsible for a failed mission that ended with a sad brother/kind of kid to Dean, bc he questions reality and his love for Cas ... or rather both? I'm a little bit confused after having read so much meta all at once.

Hi! I think you are confused because... it’s everything at once! I think Dean is feeling many things right now, and not all of those things have a good outlet or way to be dealt with, so they are directed somewhere else and become messy.

Dean is, at any given moment of his life since he was a child, angry at himself. That’s the inevitable result of a father that made him feel inadequate, by dropping responsibilities on his little shoulders that were too big for him and inevitably he couldn’t live up to. He has made important steps to deal with those issues--that’s the point of the scene with him saying that it wasn’t fair that he had to be mother and father to Sam--but a lifetime of being made feel inadequate don’t disappear with a snap of your fingers. Especially because it wasn’t just his father dropping huge responsibility after huge responsibility on him (remember when he literally dropped the responsibility of possibly having to kill Sam, the kid he raised as his own child, and then died?) but it was a much bigger game. God dropped the responsibility of the entire world on him over and over. Apocalypse after apocalypse, Lucifer, Eve, Leviathan, Michael, soulless Jack, but also the regular monsters, a never-ending string of situations where the responsibility for the lives of many other people, strangers and loved ones both (in fact sometimes it’s a Sophie’s choice!).

It’s not surprising that he developed feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing so big you can see them from space. The poor guy feels that he’s not good enough for anything, especially not good enough to be loved, not good enough for someone to stay with him. He feels that everyone will inevitably abandon him because why would they stick around? He’s trash. Even worse, he’s poison, he ruins everything he touches, everyone he gets close to.

The intensity of these feelings vary depending on how hard the circumstances are on his mental state, sometimes it’s better sometimes it’s worse. I think some fans expect him to “get better” in a linear fashion, but mental health does not work as a straight line; there are ups and downs, and when sometimes renews your trauma, you just fall back in the mechanisms of your trauma. It’s unreasonable to say things like “he should have learnt by now”--that’s not how trauma works. You get better when you are not actively exposed to trauma. Renewed trauma means going back.

So we have identified the first thing Dean is angry at, himself. Of course, hating yourself is very vexing on your mental health, and it is in fact healthier to transfer the anger and disappointment from yourself to someone else, as it prevent you from being crushed under the weight of self-loathing and guilt.

Then there’s the figures in position of power that have dropped the various responsibilities on Dean’s shoulders. First, John and Mary. Mary is a particular case because of course Dean never actually blamed her for dying, and even when he learnt about her deal with Azazel he knew that she was just a pawn in a cosmic-level game, and of course it’s not like she decided to make the deal and die for fun. But when Mary returned and her behavior shattered Dean’s life-long image of her, feeding his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing because it felt like he wasn’t even worth for his own mother to stay with him, that fused together with an irrational sense of abandonment that came with the loss and forever left a mark in his little four-year-old brain.

I think the scene where Dean confronted Mary at the end of the season was about this: a need to outsource the blame and self-hatred, and Mary was the figure that catalyzed so many emotions since his early childhood, love and loss and joy that was robbed away from him and such profound pain that came with her disappearance from his life, to the point that when she returned and shattered his image of her, he found himself with so many extreme emotions about her.

And now John. Alright, I’m digressing big time so I’ll keep John short, everyone and their grandmother have written essays on Dean’s relationship with John and it’s not particularly relevant here, save for the fact that John is dead and Dean has never really had the chance to confront him. Even when he temporarily came back thanks to the magic pearl, circumstances were... suspiciously too apt for Dean to approach the father figure in a positive way (I’m convinced that it was all a very precise machination by Chuck to make Dean well-disposed towards him, basically). Dean was in a high, and he was in a mental state where he did not need to make that emotional outsourcing on John. Mary and John met again, then trouble happened, that they had to say goodbye and it was highly emotional and obviously left no space for emotional outsourcing. Result, Dean has no way to really bounce all that negative stuff back on John. John was just a ghost from the past, really, and ghosts from the past don’t really serve any substantial purpose.

And now to the juicy part--Chuck. Dean started out his journey believing that God didn’t exist. His reasoning was a classic argument of atheism: a lot of terrible evil exists, and if God exists he either isn’t omnipotent (then what kind of God is he??) or doesn’t care, or he’s malevolent, and those options don’t go well with the idea of God Dean would have been exposed to as a person growing in a primarily Christian environment like the US.

Then he learns that God exists, but he doesn’t care. He’s left, and now everyone else--angels, humans, demons--is supposedly left dealing with a godless world. That doesn’t really come as a shock to Dean; for Cas it’s shocking, because he believed that God cared. For Dean, the jump is just from a non-existing God to an absent God, and that doesn’t change much for him. Furthermore, he’s not exactly foreign to the concept of shitty father figures who dump you on your own in a shitty world.

The shock comes now. For Cas, ironically, there’s no shock now, because he experienced that shock of being angry and disappointed towards God years ago. Now he makes the jump from a shitty disappointing God to... a shitty disappointing God, just in a different way.

Dean goes from a God that isn’t around, that leaves you alone dealing with the shittiness of the world... to a God that has been there all along, manipulating everything. Dean could deal with a God that is what Chuck pretended to be when he reappeared in season 11, when Chuck gave him the speech about leaving his creatures find their own way, parenting-versus-enabling; that was a painful perspective but it made sense, and Dean could accept it. But when Chuck revealed himself to be the mastermind behind everything, an actual capricious author who uses them as pawns for his entertainment... that’s a blow. A very, very big blow.

Chuck had played a very specific game on Dean. He presented himself as a father who did the right thing for his “baby”, albeit the difficult one. He explained that he realized that a hands-off parenting was healthier for his creatures, that being present in their lives wasn’t parenting but enabling... He sold Dean a picture where being an absent father does the child good. (And later had Dean briefly meet John again to feed him a romanticized impression of his figure and his relationship with his family... talk about yikes!)

Dean had fought tooth-and-nail to affirm his free will against the machinations of angels, he strongly believed in that against the idea of destiny. And Chuck presented himself as the good guy, who gave them their free will, while his bad, bad sister Amara wanted to take that away from them. And now the truth comes out. Chuck was never the hands-off parent that distanced himself for the good of his creatures. He was an author (authors lie...) who just played with them for his selfish reasons.

Dean’s own sense of what reality is has shattered. That is generally not good on a person’s mental health. So, yeah, Dean is not in a good mental place.

So Dean now is angry at God. Rightly so. But God, by definition, is not there to confront. (Dean thought he had confronted him once and God just fed him manipulative lies, so it’s not like he hopes to have a nice honest chat with him). Furthermore, Dean, Sam and Cas currently believe that Chuck has actually left the building this time. They think that Chuck’s “welcome to the end” meant that he just slapped an ending on this iteration of the story and fucked off to write another one, create another universe. They are convinced that they are actually living in a post-Chuck world, like the apocalyptic wasteland universe.

I also think that Dean hasn’t realized that Chuck’s ending isn’t really the ghostpocalypse, but also, and especially, ruining their relationships, and their mental health basically. The ghostpocalypse is just the smokescreen (c’mon, like the Winchesters would perish against a bunch of ghosts and demons from hell, been there done that) and the true ending he’s orchestrated out of pettiness and spite is breaking them, breaking their relationships. Sam loses Rowena; Jack’s death and all that jazz definitively drives Cas and Dean apart.

But let’s go back to Dean’s anger and shock and frustration. He could drive it all towards himself, and just get crushed under the weight of it all; he can’t drive it all at God, because he bailed; so he directs it towards the one person closest to him that he truly feels like an equal.

Dean has been directing anger towards Cas since Mary’s death, in my opinion, because Cas is the safest outlet for the horrifying vortex of guilt, self-loathing and abysmal self-worth that something as traumatic as losing Mary (again--remember what I said about renewed trauma not being something you learn to deal with but something that reopens wounds and possibly makes them worse?) and seeing Jack no longer himself, essentially losing him to an even more terrifying destiny than mere death, must have caused.

It’s like Dean trusts Cas so much that he subconsciously feels safe using him as an emotional outlet/scapegoat... and now that safety gets shattered again because Cas rightly puts some distance between them (as I believe it’s a healthy choice given the situation, although not dictated by the right motivations in Cas--I guess it’s something like using the wrong formula but getting the right result, because right now staying together is not healthy... like, the healthiest thing would be getting a fuckton of therapy, but that’s not in the cards I guess) but Dean’s traumatized psyche will register it as a confirmation of that lifetime-long conviction that he’s not worth to be loved, that he’s not worth for anyone to stay.

Cas’ biggest fear is that Dean won’t ask him to stay with him, Dean’s biggest fear is that Cas will leave him--ta-da, their worst fears just became true! Of course, Dean doesn’t insist Cas stays not because he doesn’t care but basically because he cares too much, and Cas leaves because he thinks Dean doesn’t care...

But let’s get back on track. Is Dean angry at Cas? Yes. Is Dean really angry at Cas? Eh. What is this anger really? It’s a defense mechanism. It’s pretty much the alternative to just shatter. It’s a survival mechanism, shattering would be really bad for his survival perspectives. So he uses a trusted, close figure as a scapegoat for what is a huge mess of emotions. (Not Sam, he goes into parental mode with Sam, it’s known, it’s safe, it works.)

Rowena’s death just adds more meat to the fire, because she meant something to Dean himself and also because Sam is truly heartbroken about it. I don’t think that Dean doesn’t understand the circumstances of Cas’ choices, but rationality here has very little grip. It’s been just a few days since Mary’s death, and not really much longer since Michael escaped and Jack sacrificed his soul, and let’s not forget that Dean has basically been in a state of severe ongoing trauma ever since Michael possessed him, tricked him into believing he was free (Chuck mirror alert!) and violated his mind repeatedly, completely manipulated his perceptions, and then pretty much destroyed his family.

Dean’s mind has been tortured by Michael and immediately next, with zero time to breathe, tortured again by Chuck’s manipulations and revelation that shattered Dean’s sense of reality--a sense of reality that had already been shaken because of Michael’s tricks, and now he just finds out that the reality he anchored himself to... is also a manipulation. There’s no reality he can anchor himself to, or at least that is how he feels right now. His psyche has suffered some heavy blows, and no speech from Cas about them being “real” can currently heal the damage. For Dean, this isn’t a matter of what Chuck has done or not; it’s just an aggravation of a state of attack his mind was already in.

This post has gotten a bit long XD I hope it could help you get a better idea of Dean’s mental state (granted that this is merely the way I see what the show is doing, no one is forced to agree with me!) and feel free to ask for any further clarification or argument!

#my spn thoughts #spn meta #dean and trauma #dean and anger #dean and god #dean and mary #dean and john #destiel #dean and michael #spn 15x02 #spn 15x03 #spn #anon

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janeofcakes · 4 years

Text

Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Ten Feet from the Pack: Chapter 4

Hey, y’all! This chapter was a fun one for me to write and I hope it brings you all as much joy as it has me, especially in this crazy time. I hope this whole story brings you all pleasure and a way to escape for a bit. Love you all.

***

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight. Just a touch of the fire burning so bright and I don't want to mess this thing up. I don't want to push too far. Just a shot in the dark that you just might be the one I've been waiting for my whole life. So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight.

--Lady Antebellum, Just a Kiss

The keys of his laptop click away as John types some notes on Witch Hazel, or Anthea, as her parents call her. She had sprained her toe just after the day’s practice. It is John’s fourth week with the team and the ladies are gearing up for the first bout of the season. Hits are harder, skates roll faster, and the chance for injury is growing. Although, and much to her chagrin, Anthea’s injury is not the result of skating. Sherlock had called practice, gathered everyone for the post-practice huddle and then sent them off to clean up. Anthea had the misfortune of slamming her foot into one of the stadium seats. When she kicked it. She was pissed off about something and chose to express herself in an usual and unwise way, as it turned out. In fact, it was the first time John had seen her express any emotion. She typically has her nose buried in her mobile and gives one word answers to every question.

John finishes the last of his notes when there is a knock on his door. He grants entrance as he types the last few words and closes the file. He stands as Bloody Mary Morsten walks in, closing the door behind.

“Hello, Mary,” John walks around the desk to face her properly. “What can I do for you?”

“Quite a bit, I’m sure,” she replies, eyes quickly roving over his body. “I need you.”

She pauses a little too long before continuing and John instantly begins to feel leery. This is not the first time she has flirted with him since they met. She takes a step closer and John wishes there was nothing at his back so he could inch away.

“I think I may have hurt myself during practice.”

“Oh?” John switches to doctor mode, immediately forgetting his unease. “What happened?”

Mary takes another step closer and pulls open the jacket she had held tightly closed up until this point. Not a stitch lies beneath. John does step back, what little he can, startled and trying desperately not to show it. Judging from the small smile on Mary’s blood red lips and the amused gleam in her eyes, he is failing.

“Would you take a look?” she sways her hips and her breasts move with them. She continues in a low, sultry voice. “You can...touch them if you want. In fact, I think you’d better give me a full body examination.”

She steps forward, undressing him with a fiery look. When her focus returns to his eyes, she is pleased to see they are focused on her bosom, but soon realizes they are looking at something lower.

“Hm, I’m more concerned about this,” he bends to look closer at a dark bruise on her ribs just under her left breast.

“What?” she steps back to give him more room, completely thrown off by his remark. Mary peers down to see what he is referring to. “Oh, that’s nothing. Happened a few days ago in practice. What I’m more concerned about…”

“Does this hurt?” he presses gently.

“Jesus Christ!” Mary clamors for her ribs, one hand covering his.

“You have a bruised rib.”

“Oh,” she gasps, but the warmth of his hand under hers and on the cool skin under her breast reminds her why she paid this visit in the first place. She narrows her eyes to look at him hungrily. “You can make me feel better, Doctor. With one deep injection.”

She begins slowly sliding his hand upward, but he immediately pulls it away and takes the barest of steps back before bumping into his own desk.

“Never gonna happen,” he says in a flat tone. “You know the policy as well as I do.”

“Fuck the policy,” she growls, closing the gap and grabbing his waist to hold him steady as she crashes her body against his.

At that moment, the door to John’s office opens as someone knocks on it sharply and Sherlock Holmes walks into the room.

“Sorry to barge in, but Greg wants…” Sherlock stops dead and stares. His eyes dart from John to Mary, who jumped away to glare at him. Her jacket is wrapped tightly around her torso again, but there can be no question in Sherlock’s mind as to what was going on.

“The doctor was just looking at something for me,” Mary supplies angrily.

“I know exactly at what,” he says in a low and dangerous voice. “What the hell are you doing?”

John’s eyes widen. He had expected the coach’s question and ire to be directed at him, but he is staring pointedly at Mary instead.

“He’s cute. I just couldn’t resist,” she shrugs, unapologetically.

“See that you do,” Sherlock commands in a steady voice. Mary nods, glances at John one last time and then slinks out of the room. Sherlock turns his furious gaze from the now closed door to John.

“Let me guess,” Sherlock says as John opens his mouth.

“I know how this must look,” John interrupts, but the seething man cuts him off.

“She entered under the guise of some injury.”

“She does have a bruised rib,” John interjects in an unassuming tone. He is not about to get defensive about this, something he is not responsible for.

“And once inside, she exposed herself.”

“I’m putting her on IR for six weeks.”

“Six weeks?!” Sherlock bellows. John squares his shoulders and prepares for a fight, ready to defend his position to the end. But Sherlock surprises him, his expression becoming less angry and more thoughtful.

“Fine,” he says in a calm voice that is almost unsettling. “May I remind you of our position on fraternizing with the skaters? Yours is a position of authority.”

“And may I remind you that I would never put any patient in that situation,” John replies hotly. “None of that was my doing. Although, you seem to know that.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock admits after a beat. “Mary is one of our more aggressive players and not exclusively on the track. I’ve been expecting it.”

“Yeah? Well, you could’ve told me. Given me a little warning maybe,” John ‘s voice is rising in volume even as his mind says shit shit shit.

“I didn’t think it necessary,” Sherlock bites out.

“Oh, you didn’t, did you? But you’re more than willing to throw it in my face when it finally comes to a head. Fucking hypocrite.”

“I beg your pardon,” the coach is somewhere between fury and incredulity.

“I said you’re one to talk with the way you and Molly carry on,” John remarks in a loud voice, temper flaring.

Sherlock’s misty grey eyes turn to stone and his jaw sets like iron. He doesn’t move a muscle and yet, he suddenly seems about ten feet tall and towering over John. Still, the compact doctor does not back down, straightening to his full height as well. Sherlock has a good six inches on him, but John still cuts an imposing figure.

“Get out,” Sherlock growls. His voice is so low John can scarcely hear him and when he does, those two words tip the scale. John bends forward slightly cupping his ear.

“What? I didn’t catch that,” he straightens again and glares at the taller man. “Oh, are you angry because I had the balls to call you out? I don’t know how the others can ignore it like they do. Are you so important to the team that it doesn’t matter?”

John stares for a beat, giving the man the opportunity to defend himself. When he says nothing, John shakes his head and sneers in disgust.

“You are a coward and a hypocrite. You hold others fast to the rules while you break them as it suits you. You are pathetic, Mr. Holmes, and I’m going to put a stop to it.”

John pushes past Sherlock roughly and has his hand on the doorknob before he stops cold. He spins around quickly with an accusatory finger pointing right in Sherlock’s face. If the man wasn’t furious before, he is now. Sherlock glares down at John with a scowl on his face that sends ice shooting through John’s veins.

“This is my office,” John nearly shouts. “ You get out.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

They continue to stare at one another, neither moving an inch. Sherlock finally rolls his eyes and huffs, shifting his feet impatiently.

“You’re in the way,” he says petulantly.

John doesn’t move. His gaze is focused on those soft grey eyes. Soft now in spite of the raised voices and insults. He can see so many emotions within them and he is intrigued. He can’t stop himself from looking and seeing, just seeing. Anger, regret, curiosity, respect, friendliness and interest, and lingering behind it all, panic? And just like that, John’s mood, the air in the room, everything changes. Lifts. The anger leaks out of John’s body and pools on the floor around his feet.

Sherlock, on the other hand, now seems to be annoyed in addition to furious. He rolls his eyes again while John stands fixed to the spot and studies him. Clearly frustrated, Sherlock steps forward and tries to muscle his way to the door, but John has none of it. After another try to no avail, the coach backs up with a long and angry sigh, and glares at John with his hands on his hips.

“You’re really starting to piss me off now.”

“Sherlock,” John says in a calm voice that even surprises him.

“What?” he answers in a clipped tone.

John looks at the man standing before him and suddenly it occurs to him that he has never actually seen Sherlock like this before. Even in a month of time here, he has always seen him in the gym shorts, tees and bandanas from practice. No one in meetings minds what he is wearing because he usually has afternoon practice post-meeting anyway. Why change?

But now he is wearing sleek black trousers and a bespoke, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, like some sort of well-dressed scientist about to begin an experiment. All he needs are goggles. And speaking of eyes, dark brown curls fall artfully around them, setting off pale skin and sharp cheekbones. John blinks once at this sight he has never before seen. He had not even considered what Sherlock’s hair might look like, always hidden under black, blue or dark purple bandanas. Never in his life would he have imagined what stands before him now and that is the precise moment that John realizes how little he knows about this man. Where did he come from? How did he get here? What exactly is his connection to Molly Hooper? Mrs. Hudson told him a lot during the conference, but it still seems like so little now when he suddenly wants to know everything about Sherlock Holmes.

“You see,” John finally answers almost playfully, “I don’t know you.”

“What?” Sherlock’s brow furrows, creating a small wrinkle right across the bridge of his nose. John’s brows and the corners of his mouth rise in tandem. That was clearly not what the coach expected to hear and John finds it incredibly amusing. And oddly endearing.

“I’ve gotten to know all of the ladies a bit in the last month, had lunches with Greg and Mike and other staffers, but I know virtually nothing about you.”

The wrinkle between Sherlock’s eyes deepens as he studies John. The corners of his mouth turn down as he searches John’s face and cocks a brow.

“I rather thought Mrs. Hudson already covered that,” he replies with some bitterness.

“She told me about your time with Rock City and about hiring you, what she saw in you and how she feels about you. She didn’t say anything else. I’d like to know you and hear it from you,” John tells him emphatically. “And I can tell you about myself too.”

“I already know everything about you,” Sherlock says haughtily.

“Oh, I’m quite sure you don’t.” John chuckles

“I seriously doubt that,” Sherlock retorts smugly.

“Yeah, right, I know. You read people, but it’ll be my voice and my perspective. There’s value in that that your method ignores.”

Sherlock looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, considering his words carefully. John can practically hear the cogs turning. The light in the man’s eyes changes with his decision and even sparkles with intrigue just a little. The prospect of a new puzzle to work out, perhaps?

“All right,” he acquiesces.

“Okay. So...dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Let’s have dinner.”

“What? Tonight?”

“Yes,” but then John back peddles, “unless you have plans.”

“No,” Sherlock rushes to say before trying for a more casual tone. “I mean, nothing specific.”

“Good. We could leave from here around six?”

“I can do that.”

“Great. I’ll drive and you pick the place. I don’t know enough about the city yet to find something suitable.

Sherlock chuckles good-naturedly and almost slyly too.

“I know the perfect place”

***

Sherlock sits at his desk, his eyes wide and focused on the screen of his laptop. He is making notes on a new play, but his fingers have inexplicably stopped moving. He stares right at the words, the cursor blinking behind the last one and yet, he sees nothing. His mind, that should be filled with skaters on the track dodging this way and that, bringing his plan to life in his thoughts, is awash with John Watson instead.

He presses his lips together in a thin line and glances at the clock on the wall. He’s nervous. Why the hell is he nervous? It’s not like it’s a date. It’s nothing. It’s just two colleagues having dinner to chat and get to know one another. Never mind Sherlock has been avoiding John as much as possible for the specific purpose of not getting to know him. After all, the less John knows about him the better, and vice versa. Mrs. Hudson has already told him enough. Sherlock rolls his eyes. She means well, but she does meddle.

Sherlock raps his fingers on the desk one by one in a distinct pattern. He glances at his notes. At the clock. Back to his notes. Goddammit. It’s nothing. Nothing! John merely made a suggestion and Sherlock agreed. He did not ask him out. Just because Sherlock is going to his favorite restaurant with a gorgeous man does not mean… Oh, fuck. Sherlock drops his face into his hands and sighs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His head snaps up at the light tap on his door as it opens. Sherlock’s eyes are wide again and he swallows audibly as John steps in with a warm smile on his face.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late. I was finishing up some notes,” he pauses to take in Sherlock’s appearance and tilts his head slightly. “You okay?”

“Fine,” the coach clears his throat. “I’m fine. Just doing the same.”

“Oh. Are you finished?” John gestures out to the hall. “I can wait if you need more time. You could just give me a call.”

“No, no,” Sherlock says quickly, suddenly on his feet and yanking the suit jacket from his chair, “it’s a good stopping point.”

He pulls on his jacket and closes the office door after they are both through. The two men walk side by side down the hall. Having regained his typical ease and confidence, Sherlock looks sideways at John with a smirk on his lips.

“I hope Italian is all right. Now’s your last chance to protest.”

“Sounds delicious,” the doctor replies with a grin.

***

The car ride to Angelo’s is comfortable and has Sherlock feeling as though he has known John for much longer than he actually has. There is no insipid small-talk, only easy silence interrupted by Sherlock’s directions and occasional tidbits about the neighborhoods they pass through. He does tell John that Angelo is an old friend and that they met almost as soon as Sherlock moved back to Detroit. It has been a long day at the stadium and Sherlock was starving. He had gotten in his car and just started driving. It was late enough that the staff had gone, but Angelo let him in and the two had talked for two hours while Sherlock ate an enormous bowl of pasta.

John laughs at the story and Sherlock’s stomach does a flip.

Angelo catches sight of the tall coach and his doctor as soon as they enter the little restaurant. The robust man is at Sherlock’s side in an instant, throwing his arms around him like he would a son.

“Sherlock, my boy, why have you been away so long?” he laughs. “I thought this was the off-season, yeah?”

“Skating doesn’t stop because there aren’t any bouts,” Sherlock chuckles.

“Neither does eating,” Angelo reminds knowingly. Is it Sherlock’s imagination or did John just glance at his slender frame? Probably thinks he is too thin like everyone else, Sherlock thinks as he shakes it off.

Angelo takes a few steps back to look the two men over and then he’s shaking John’s hand.

“But now you think of old Angelo and bring your date to the best restaurant in all of Detroit,” he winks obviously at Sherlock.

“He’s not my date,” Sherlock says quickly in a clipped tone, feeling his cheeks growing hot and hoping they aren’t as pink as they feel.

“Oh, sure. Of course he isn’t,” Angelo winks at John conspiratorially. “Come. I’ll take you to his table.”

Angelo pulls John along as they introduce themselves to one another. Sherlock follows in silence. He rolls his eyes once John’s back is turned and brings a hand to his face, pinching lightly between his eyebrow and cheekbone. He drops the hand quickly and grins, trying to look nonchalant when John looks back at him suddenly. Angelo presents them with a candle and bottle of wine after they are seated at a quiet table in the corner. John has a wide grin on his face while the man fusses over them and Sherlock becomes the focus of that smile once Angelo has gone.

Another flip.

“He’s quite the character, isn’t he?” John laughs, waving a hand toward the candle.

“He is very boisterous, yes,” Sherlock replies mildly, wondering how to defuse the situation, but John surprises him and not for the first time.

“It’s delightful,” he smiles. He might have said more, but their server interrupts to give them menus and tell them about the specials. A moment later finds Sherlock studying John rather unabashedly as the doctor scans the menu. He would stop, but John does not seem to notice.

“The ravioli al forno is very good,” Sherlock offers. John’s eyes rise from the menu to gaze at him. “The alfredo sauce is legendary.”

“Legendary?” John laughs. “How do you figure that?”

“Angelo has won more awards locally and nation-wide than any other.”

“Well, that is legendary, isn’t it?” John replies from behind his water glass. “I think that’s made my choice for me. And you?”

“Cheese and spinach ravioli. Can’t do without it.”

John opens his mouth to speak, but the server is back with bread and olive oil. The young man makes lame conversation as he prepares the oil, mixing in fresh black pepper and parmesan. By the time he has finished and taken their orders, Sherlock is ready to tell him to piss off. John must sense the tension because he remains silent, merely studying Sherlock while he sips his wine as if he is giving Sherlock a chance to cool down.

After a minute or so, John places the glass on the table and leans back in his chair casually. Sherlock cannot explain it, but he feels totally at ease with this man. He narrows his eyes and leans back in his own chair to suss out why.

“You said you met Angelo when you came back to Detroit,” John begins, “so you lived here before.”

Sherlock’s eyes pop open wide and he doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. Most people would need a fact like that to be pointed out and not draw the conclusion from just ordinary conversation.

“Oh, Doctor,” a smile spreads slowly across Sherlock’s lips, “you not only see, you observe.”

“I learned to watch and listen to everything over my years in medicine,” John shrugs, ducking his head at the praise.

Once again, their intrepid server appears to derail the conversation. Fortunately, more of his other tables are full now and he gives them their salads relatively quickly. They each unroll utensils from napkins and begin to eat. As Sherlock closes his mouth around a honey mustard-laden tomato, John looks at him again with the barest hint of a smile.

“So?” he rests his elbows on the table and brings his hands together, fork still in the fingers of his left hand. Sherlock brings a cloth napkin to his lips and blots away a bit of salad dressing. He takes a deep breath in and straightens his spine. Into the breach.

“I was born here,” he says simply. “In a suburb. Our house was on a cul de sac. It was one of those storybook neighborhoods. Everyone knew each other, the schools were close, we skated to the playground.”

“Skated? You skated even back then?”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock answers. He watches John eat a bite of his salad and decides to push his luck. If John is asking him about his past, he may as well do the same. It may not be the best move, but he is willing to take the risk of revealing more of his deductions to learn even more about John Watson. “You’re an only child.”

John stops chewing and locks eyes with him. For a moment, Sherlock is afraid he has overstepped and his heart stops as he waits for John’s expression to turn into a scowl. But John just starts chewing again and flashes that brilliant smile after he swallows.

“How could you possibly know that?” he shakes his head with a laugh.

“Behavior,” Sherlock tells him. “You are very independent and driven. You may work well with others, but have set ways of doing things. You speak of your parents fondly, but not of siblings.” He pauses, the corners of his mouth turning up and a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I’m not wrong.”

“No, you’re not,” John supplies. “My parents would’ve liked another child. They thought I needed a playmate, but I did fine on my own. I had a lot of friends.”

“Mine too. It just never worked out for them,” Sherlock admits grimly, remembering how he used to ask his mother when he would have a brother. He was too young to understand at the time. Sherlock turns his gaze back to John and continues. “Then the Hoopers moved in next door. I was six and Molly was five. We were instant friends. We did everything together. Neither of us really had any family. Grandparents dead and the like, so we spent holidays together. We would have one at my house and the next at hers.”

Sherlock pauses to sip from his wine glass. John is looking at him with rapt attention like he is the most interesting person on the planet. Sherlock tries not to dwell on this and also tries desperately to ignore the flip in his belly.

“At Christmas, when I was eight, our parents gave us skates. We couldn’t wait until spring,” he smiles at the memory. “We’d put them on sometimes just to feel the weight of them on our feet and that pull at our legs. We would stand in our bedrooms and balance on one foot, then the other. We’d walk around the room on our toe stops,” he looks at John and leans forward over his salad as though telling a secret. “We had to do it quietly so our parents wouldn’t find out we had them on inside the house. It really was a great way to master footwork without even realizing.”

Their server suddenly appears, earning him a glare from Sherlock. But he bites his tongue and hands the young man his picked-over salad. Sherlock finds himself excited to continue, which is odd because he doesn’t usually offer information about himself to others. This whole conversation is odd. It is like talking to Molly, only different somehow. He cannot quite put his finger on it. It is certainly just as comfortable as talking to her.

“Molly and I used to walk to the library in the snow after school to look at journals and magazines,” Sherlock says after the server has gone. He pops a ravioli into his mouth, his eyes sparkling. “We learned all about bearings and wheels and the tools we would need to make adjustments. Then Molly came up with shoveling driveways and using the profits to buy what we needed to be real professionals. Or, at least, what the minds children thought professionals would need. We weren’t far off though.”

“You did all this when you were seven and eight?” John asks in disbelief.

“It was the late 80s,” Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t know what it was like in London, but things were pretty lax and the suburb was like a small town where nothing bad happens. They all knew us and we just went around the cul de sac and up the street, not far at all. Our parents knew it was safe and that we could be trusted. Mom used to say I was an adult at five.”

Sherlock smiles at the memory almost wistfully. When he meets John’s eyes again, the doctor wears the same expression. John swallows a bite and props his elbow on the table to rest his chin on one hand.

“So when did you and Molly get into derby?” he asks with interest.

“We saw a match on TV once.”

“The bouts are televised?”

“On local channels. Nation-wide during the championship,” Sherlock chuckles at John’s wrinkled brow. “Don’t worry if you’ve never noticed. It’s rather eclipsed by the Stanley Cup playoffs, but it pulls in decent viewership.”

“I’ll have to look for that this year,” John smiles.

“You’ll be front and center this year,” Sherlock smiles back.

“So the bout you saw,” John shifts in his seat to move closer to the table, closer to Sherlock. He can see the excitement in the man’s eyes. Another flip. “How old were you then?”

“Nine and ten,” Sherlock answers, silently cursing his damn stomach. “From then on we started blocking each other. Sometimes we got other kids in the neighborhood to block while we jammed.”

“They just stood there and let you slam into them on roller skates?” John’s mouth hangs open in disbelief.

“We were kids,” Sherlock shrugs again. “We were invincible.”

“Oh, god. That’s fantastic,” he covers his mouth and leans back in his chair. He is back to the table again in seconds and seems like he is leaning even further over his plate. “Did you ever get in trouble?”

“No, not really. We all had some good scrapes, but never anything serious,” Sherlock drinks some wine, replaces his glass and waves his hand as a means of transition. “We kept at it for years. We started learning everything - rules, techniques, strategies - everything. We were going to be championship skaters together.”

He pauses and lets his gaze fall to the candle, staring almost unseeing.

“And then when I was a freshman in high school, the P.E. teacher told me derby was a sport exclusively for women.”

John sits back in his chair and his shoulders drop. His expression full of pain and empathy, he waits for Sherlock to continue. He looks exactly how Sherlock imagines he did when Coach Jones broke the news.

“I was devastated. And I felt incredibly stupid.”

“Stupid?” John’s voice is hushed. “Oh no.”

“Somehow, in all the bouts we’d watched, I never deduced that all female teams meant it was a women’s only sport,” Sherlock pauses thoughtfully and marvels at how caught up John is. He has never had such an attentive audience and his damn stomach flips again. “I told Molly as soon as I got home.”

“What did she do?”

“What could she do? She thought it was unfair and hated seeing my dreams crushed. She was angry as hell, but she couldn’t change it. Neither could I.”

John leans in again, elbows on the table and hands together in between, his fingers entwined. His face is so open and sincere. Another flip.

Shit.

“What did you do?”

“I started training with Molly even more so she could be the best skater derby had ever seen,” Sherlock replies resolutely. “I gave her advice and told her about the strategies I’d been dreaming up.”

“You coached her.”

“I suppose so,” he reflects, “but I would never have called it that at the time. Molly joined the derby class when she started high school. Coach Jones offered it after school, unofficially, of course. I think he only did it because Detroit has two teams, and because he liked it. Midway through the year, and at Molly’s urgence, he let me join in coaching. I took a year of community college for Molly’s senior year so we could keep training.”

“You put off university for Molly,” John restates in what looks like awe. Sherlock simply nods and John shakes his head with a quiet laugh. “You’re amazing.”

Sherlock’s fork stops half way to his mouth and he raises his eyes to meet John’s. The moment hovers thickly in the air between them. Sherlock cannot tear his eyes from his colleague’s face. The doctor looks content and relaxed, his eyes full of admiration. Sherlock clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders.

“We both went our separate ways once she graduated. Molly to Iowa because there was a derby program in athletics, not to mention the Old Capitol City team outside of the U, and I went to Wisconsin,” Sherlock pauses a moment to chew the bite waiting on his fork. John just sips his wine patiently. “She was recruited right out of school, as you know, and then negotiated her way back to Detroit, with Mrs. Hudson’s help.”

“Yes, Martha told me about that. All sounds like a damn nuisance,” John remarks.

“It is,” Sherlock rolls his eyes and takes a drink.

“So Molly started living her dream. What did you do?”

“I...got married.”

John nearly spits a mouthful of wine across the table, swallowing quickly and rushing the glass to his lips to catch any drips. His eyes blink wide.

“Does that surprise you? Do I not seem the marrying kind?”

“No. I mean,” he clears his throat with a little cough. “It’s certainly not what I expected.”

“Molly stayed in the midwest. Well, Ohio before heading back to Detroit and I followed Victor to California for grad school. I hadn’t intended on studying, but I was bored with my job within five minutes and Victor thought I’d enjoy school. Molly and my parents did too, for that matter.”

“And what did you study?”

“Physics.”

“Ah,” John grins cheekily, “makes sense with all the strategies, cuts and turns, and all those jumps.”

“So you have been paying attention in practice,” Sherlock smirks.

“Couldn’t help it, could I?” John says, puffing out a breathy chuckle. Sherlock hesitates a moment and then presses on. He might as well finish the story.

“We both finished in two years and got jobs. I started teaching at Stanford and Victor joined the family business practicing law,” Sherlock sighs in resignation at the memories. “He was expected to attend a lot of formal functions and parties, and needed someone attractive and poised on his arm. I fit the bill, but he wanted someone with no life of his own and nothing to do but help him look good. What Victor wanted was a trophy wife and I did not fit that bill. To make matters worse, he never understood my relationship with Molly and hated our marathon phone calls once a week. We divorced a year after graduation.”

“He was a fool,” John all but whispers, shaking his head. His expression is soft and his eyes look almost sad. Sherlock’s stomach flips again and much more dramatically than usual. He only just hides his astonishment from the doctor. To that end, he rushes on before John has a chance to notice and before Sherlock can think much about what it could all mean.

“My life was in tatters and I wasn’t happy teaching. I still had friends, but felt so alone. That’s when Molly convinced me to try and find a coaching position on a derby team,” he laughs to himself. “I was sure I wouldn’t even get any interviews, but they were actually anxious to meet with me. Turned out I had a reputation for being the man who trained Molly Hooper.”

“Ha-ha! Way to go, Molly,” John laughs. “So you coached for a bit somewhere else and then Mrs. Hudson hired you?”

“Something like that. I was an assistant coach because I hadn’t coached formally before, and I was so young. No one was about to give me my own team,” Sherlock corrects. “Mrs. Hudson took a big chance making me head coach at 28.”

“She told me that too,” John grins.

“I’m sure she did,” Sherlock snickers.

“And how you brought the team back from ruin. Very admirable.”

“Mrs. Hudson exaggerates.”

“No, I don’t think she does,” John replies with a knowing look. “You forget I’ve met with all the staffers. Paul Dimmock, Daniel and Craig, Greg - they all say it.”

“What about you?” Sherlock asks suddenly, eager to change the subject.

“What about me?” John counters.

“Did you grow up in London?”

“I did, yeah. There weren’t a lot of kids in my neighborhood, so I spent most of my time on my own. That’s how my parents discovered my aptitude for knowledge,” John dabs at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Sherlock licks his own lips and his eyes fall to John’s for just a moment. The barest hint of a moment is all he allows himself and his damn stomach flips again. He sighs quietly.

Sherlock is in trouble.

“They found me in what doubled as a library and office when I was four. There I was, under the desk with a book in my lap. They thought it odd because it was decidedly not a picture book. It wasn’t until I started talking to them about the events described in that book, and others, that they realized I was reading them. And quickly too,” John puffs out a breath and looks away, out into the restaurant at other patrons as if in disbelief at his own memories. “They had been teaching me letters, sounds and colors, things of that nature, for a week or so. There weren’t any nursery schools close enough to our house and they’d taken it upon themselves to teach me the basics. Meanwhile, I used what they had imparted upon me and taught myself how to read.”

Sherlock watches John in fascination. There is absolutely no sense of superiority or condescension in his tone or manner. If anything, John seems almost dumbfounded by his own intelligence. It is both charming and odd. He is in a position to have become an incredible asshole and yet, he is friendly and unassuming. Sherlock wonders at how John’s parents kept him grounded. They must have been good people indeed.

“Did they test your IQ or send you to boarding school or…” Sherlock trails off. He feels like a nosy idiot. John must think him a fool, especially since he already said his parents didn’t enroll him in nursery school - is that preschool, he wonders - based on geography. They couldn’t have had the funds for such things if they needed a school nearby. As if reading his mind, John shakes his head slightly, taking a drink of water.

“We weren’t a wealthy family,” he begins, “but what my parents were rich in was connections. My mum’s best friend was a tutor, so she came to work with me in the evenings. When I was old enough, dad got me into an upscale public school. He coached the entire board at cricket in the summer. They even talked my way into uni and medical school. My marks and accomplishments helped too, but it was mostly them. They knew everyone and everyone thought the world of them.”

John wears a fond smile and has a far away look in his eyes. He clearly shares the opinion and loves them dearly. But suddenly he sobers and the wistfulness vanishes.

“My dad was diagnosed with cancer my last year of medical school and died just after I graduated. With mum it was an auto accident,” he looks at Sherlock and smiles again. “That, and boredom eventually drove me to America and hockey. Anything else you want to know? Or do you know it all now between Mrs. Hudson and your deductions, which I still find amazing, by the way. You have to tell me how you do it.”

Sherlock’s lips quirk up at the corners. He looks down again at the candle flickering on the table between them.

“Maybe another time,” he says coyly. Oh, god. What is he doing? He raises his eyes to meet John’s. “Have you ever married?”

What is he doing? What the fuck is he doing? He is not flirting with John Watson. He is absolutely not flirting. He is simply engaging him in perfectly normal conversation.

Right.

Fuck.

“Eh, no,” John answers slowly, mild confusion on his face. He is probably trying to figure out what the hell Sherlock is playing at. Sherlock glances toward the restroom. Maybe he should excuse himself, slip into the shadows and hope the moment has passed by the time he returns. Or maybe he could climb through the small window by the sinks.

“I’ve had the odd relationship over the years, but have never been anywhere close to marriage,” John says, distracting Sherlock from his escape plans. Strangely, John appears to be completely at ease again as though Sherlock hadn’t said anything so idiotic at all and the coach is thankful for it. “Didn’t even bother dating in California, which worked out since I didn’t stay long. But now…”

John stops short. He stares at Sherlock a moment with wide eyes, his muscles tense. He looks as though he has either given himself away or been caught in the cookie jar. What had he been about to say?

“But now?” Sherlock prompts him. He shouldn’t, but cannot help himself. John is the most interesting man he has ever met.

“I didn’t miss much,” John amends and takes a quick drink of water. His eyes are shifty and he looks away pointedly. That is absolutely not what he was going to say and Sherlock knows it. And John knows he knows it.

Sherlock’s lips curl into a knowing smirk, but he does not have the chance to speak because Angelo is suddenly at their table. He asks about dinner and if they would like dessert or more wine. Both give him their compliments and turn down both offers. John goes on a bit about the alfredo and Sherlock can’t blame him. It is amazing.

In the end, John suggests coffee and Angelo is more than happy to oblige. Once the cups are delivered to the table and the restaurant’s proprietor gone, the two men talk and laugh together. They share stories they haven’t in years and even ones they have told no one before. Sherlock, for one, cannot believe the evening is real. He has never experienced anything quite like it. Molly is the only person he can talk to this freely. It does not make any sense, but he feels he has known John Watson for just as long and can trust him just as much. There is one very important difference, however. He has never wondered if Molly’s hair is as soft as it looks. Nor has he wondered the same about her lips.

That is exactly why Sherlock has avoided John since that first day they met. He knew this would happen and he will not allow entanglements. John has attended nearly every practice and Sherlock has all but run from the track each time to keep from talking to the doctor and risking a conversation just like this one. Now he is trapped. He could not escape John’s gaze if he wanted to and he cannot keep himself from glancing at John’s mouth or wishing he could touch him.

Sherlock sighs. His resolution to steer clear of romantic entanglements is in tatters. It faded before his eyes the moment he met John Watson and his heart did it whole-heartedly without even consulting him. Sherlock knows he should be furious with himself, but instead he feels delighted and almost refreshed. Happier than he has felt in some time, if he is honest. He is just as mystified by that and he is by John himself.

“Shit,” John mutters, glancing around the restaurant. “There’s no one here. What time is it?”

Sherlock looks around while John checks his watch. The dining room is empty. Sherlock wouldn’t be surprised if Angelo is the only other person there.

“Shit,” John repeats. “It’s after midnight. We should get out of here.”

As if on cue, Angelo reappears and insists they owe him nothing when they try to pay. The three men debate it all the way to the door, which Angelo unlocks to let them out. John and Sherlock finally concede and say goodnight as they step out onto the sidewalk. Soon they are walking to John’s car in a comfortable silence.

“Shall I take you back to the stadium?” John asks, breaking through the quiet spell in the air around them. “Did you drive in this morning?”

“No,” Sherlock answers, looking sideways at John. “Greg wanted to talk and we were both booked up all day. I hitched a ride in so we could talk on the way.”

“Well,” John nods, “I could take you to your flat, if you want.”

“My what?”

“Sorry. Your apartment,” John sneers the word and then laughs. “I’ll never get used to that word no matter how long I live here.”

Sherlock chuckles with him and opens the passenger door when they reach the car.

“You certainly don’t have to use it on my account,” he looks across the car roof with a bright smile. “I believe the proper term for my home is condo.”

John laughs jovially as they climb in.

“Thanks so much for that,” he replies sarcastically.

Sherlock gives John directions as they go and before long, they are parked outside his building. He turns to face John, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Once again, it feels like the end of a date where neither party can decide if he should kiss the other. God, how Sherlock wants to this time. Just the thought makes his stomach flip. Again. It is really starting to piss him off and yet, he hopes the feeling never stops.

“Thank you for driving me,” Sherlock says softly, “and for suggesting dinner. I enjoyed it very much.”

“Yeah, me too,” John smiles. “We should do it again.”

“I’d love to.”

The words are out of Sherlock’s mouth before he can stop them. He closes his eyes slowly, scolding himself. He has no idea how to explain that one away and just hopes John does not interpret it the way it sounded. Against his better judgement, Sherlock chances a look at the doctor. Instead of anger or utter confusion, John wears a brilliant smile without a hint of guile.

“Great. Let’s do it soon, and often,” he replies pleasantly. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

“Of course, John. I’ll see you there,” Sherlock says with a silent sigh of relief.

***

First of all, STEP OFF MARY. WTF. Stay away from MY doctor, says Sherlock. Am I right? They may not be an item in any way, shape or form at this point, but you can’t tell me Sherlock wasn’t jealous and not just ticked off at the policy violation. Aside from that, our boys move ever closer to one another. They have trusted one another with their pasts and started making a real connection. If Angelo has any say in that, they’re boyfriends already. Haha!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, everyone. Stay safe and keep your stick on the ice. We’re all in this together. (*sigh* I miss hockey)

@zentris @toooldforthissh-stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @thetranslucentwallaby @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock au #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #sherlock roller derby

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queenmaracasandlove · 4 years

Text

You’re My Best (Sex) Friend - Roger Taylor x F!Reader - Part VIII

Word Count: +/- 3100

In the last part: Linda revealed to Y/N that she had asked Roger to stop talking to her as she suspected he was in love with her even though she had argued the contrary for months.

Warnings: Mention of depression

A/N: We’re coming very close to the end. I would love to know what you think about it !

PART I PART II PART III PART V PART VI PART VII

MASTERLIST

Taglists:

- Permanent: @reedusteinrambles

- YMB(S)F: @ixchel-9275 ; @the-galaxy-witch

Photo found on @debdarkpetal ‘s blog

The weeks had passed and things had been eventful for Y/N. At the same time, she had been able to find a new peace. Revelations provided by Linda had been hard to accept. First she had to deal with the fact that she had been lied to but also with the fact that her girlfriend had gone behind her back. At first she had wanted to forget, because she was overwhelmed by guilt. Y/N was still convinced that she had a part of responsibility in what had happened, that she had been unfair to Linda from the beginning. But trust had been lost and nothing could be done about that anymore.

She also had to come to terms with the fact that Roger might be in love with her. Linda confessed that, in reality, she had always suspected it and that all the doubts had turned to facts when they had met for the first time. Y/N could not be sure that what Linda was claiming was true. Even though Roger stopping any contact with her might have been a admission of it as a truth, she was too tired. Tired of it all. She had decided to put everything behind her, and that included her potential relationship with the singer. She still cared about him as a friend but she needed time for herself.

Y/N also had to deal with the fact that she was going through a bad time from a mental health perspective and she had decided to give herself time to heal and recover. She needed to be better, to be good to herself and to deal with what was going on. She had resigned from her job in the London production and thanks to having stayed at Roger’s for a bit she had been able to find a place just right for herself. She had had time for a two-week break before starting the rehearsal for the tour, a job she had eventually decided to accept and was greatly thankful for.

And so here she was, feeling more alive than she had for months. She realised how toxic the situation had been for her. She was happy to perform a lead role and she was finding a new confidence. She had new colleagues and loved tour life. Every city was different and each performance full of surprises. She contacted some old friends and made new ones. After some time she called Freddie, Brian and John again. All were happy to hear about her. Freddie was the only one who asked about Roger and for the first time in a while, Y/N was able to say his name without feeling any kind of pain. She would call him, once she would be ready, as a friend.

And by this fine morning of the end of July, she felt like she was. It was Roger’s birthday and she would always wish him a good one, although most of the time it was face to face at a birthday party. She was performing in Portsmouth on that week and had enjoyed a little walk on the beach in the morning, even went for a little swim. After taking a shower, she sat on the bed and put the telephone on her legs before dialing Roger’s number. She had thought about was she was going to tell him, how he would react. She wanted to get things straight.

To be perfectly honest, there was still one thing that was worrying her, the possibility of losing him, for good. As a dear friend more than anything else. Still, she would accept it and embrace all that life would have to offer. She wanted to come clear, apologize and in any case, forge ahead. She heard sounds on the line and was waiting to hear the raspy voice she admittedly missed.

‘Hello’

It was a feminine voice and Y/N was taken aback. It was not something she had expected.

‘Sorry, wrong number’

And she hung up. She closed her eyes for a second and smiled. It was for the best. He was happy and so was she. And it was all that mattered.

----------

The Summer tour had ended earlier than expected for Y/N, and not for a bad reason. A producer had come to see her and wanted her for the West End premiere of A Chorus Line, a new show from Broadway. This was a major opportunity and after making sure that it would not be a problem for the production that she had signed with she had moved back to London. She felt wonderful in this new show, in fact, she had never felt better. And this is why she had agreed to come to Queen’s concert that night. To be honest it was the kind of event she would not have missed for the world.

She had managed to get that evening free and was enjoying the warm breeze of indian Summer. She could not believe how many people were present in Hyde Park to attend her friends’ free concert. Freddie had given her VIP tickets months ago, when she was still with Linda and life was a lot different. At first she wanted to go with the rest of the crowd as any other fan, but Brian had convinced her to come and say hello from the side.

Although Freddie had been especially supportive, he was more about distracting yourself from what was wrong than facing them. Brian on the other side had called Y/N several times after her panic attack, wanting to make sure everything was fine. All he cared about was her being alright and he never asked questions that made her uncomfortable. When he felt that she was doing well enough, he insisted that they all see each other again at the concert.

It was the first time she was seeing them on stage since the Christmas Eve concert and she was all so excited. She loved to see them on stage and it was still hard to believe that this group of young lads had become this incredibly successful band. She watched the beginning of the show inside the crowd, as she had planned first. It was electrifying from there. And when the people around her started singing along with Freddie she could not help but cry a little. She felt incredibly happy and proud. After a few songs she came closer to the stage’s sides and after showing her pass was given access to a more private area.

‘Y/N’ a voice shouted

She turned and saw Christine waving at her. She was Brian’s fiancée and she had met her when the guitarist had brought her to see her new show. Next to her was Marie who even though was not in a romantic relationship with Freddie anymore stayed supportive. They greeted each other quickly before focusing back on the concert. Y/N discovered a few new songs and was entirely captured by the moment.

Too soon for her own taste, the show came to an end. She kept shouting, still in the euphoria of the moment. She did not hear Marie talking to her before her hand fell on her shoulder and she saw that most people had left the area.

‘Are you coming with us’ she asked ‘We’re meeting them backstage’

‘Of course’

The only thing that she wanted right now was to congratulate them for the amazing show, tell them how great they were. She was almost jumping as she followed the little group behind the enormous stage that had been built in the heart of London. As the crowd was scattering, she could still hear some of them singing and she could not help but smile. Everybody seemed to have something to do behind the massive stage and she was so mesmerised by the structure that she did not see John and Brian coming in their direction. It’s only when she sensed the little excitation around her that she looked behind her.

Y/N stayed where she was. She did not feel out of place but she knew she was not as close as she used to be. They all had their lives now. She suddenly realised how they all had changed, her included. How lucky they were, all living their dreams. They were not so much young adults now. John was a dad and Brian was getting married. It felt so surreal. Suddenly she realised that somebody was looking at her and she was taken away from her daydreams. She had seen him before but could not remember his name.

‘Who are you? Do you have permission to be here?’

She recognised an Irish accent and a tone that she did not appreciate very much.

‘I’m with the band’ she said

‘I don’t think so’ he replied, one of his eyebrow raised

‘Really?’ she sighed

She was now looking in her bag to fetch the VIP pass but much to her surprise, could not find them. She was still looking when she felt the hand of the Irish guy grabbing her arm.

‘You little groupies really have no shame’ he said

‘What the fuck’ was all Y/N could say as she was pushed away

She started to protest and asked him to remove his hand but he did not listen to her. Technicians where all over the place and she feared nobody she knew would notice what was happening. But as the conversation -if you could call it that way- became heated, the man was stopped by someone calling him. He finally let go of her and found Roger next to them.

‘May I know what you think you’re doing Prenter?’ he demanded, his jaw tensed

‘This little twat managed to get backstage’

‘How did you just call me’ Y/N screamed

She was about to slap him but before she could do so Roger uttered her name and she froze. The drummer indicated to the so-called Prenter to clear off before it was too late and looked at Y/N, surprised.

‘Thank you’ she said ‘I was about to beat the shit out of him’

‘You’re welcome, I don’t doubt that you would have’ he added, smirking

‘Who’s this piece of shit?’ you declared, too angry to watch your language

‘Paul Prenter, part of Freddie’s team unfortunately’

‘I swear I was about to rearrange his teeth before you arrived’ she insisted

‘I would have loved to see that, sincerely’ he joked ‘But then I would have had to see you go away in a police car when I haven’t got a chance to see you in so long’

Y/N smiled timidly. He did not seem angry at her and she finally relaxed. Roger too had changed over the past few months but he still had the same gaze that could unsettle you in a blink of an eye, literally. They both stay silent, it did not last long in reality but for the both of them it was an eternity.

‘So, what are you doing here?’ he asked as if the answer was not obvious

‘Just wanted to see the greatest band on the planet’

‘Might call Prenter back, you do sound like a groupie’

‘Shut up’ she laughed before adding, ‘Freddie invited me, I hope….’

And before she could finish her sentence he hugged her. It was a little cautious at first but they both gave in. It felt so natural and so good, as if their bodies never forgot how it felt and the warmth that it provided to them. It did not last long but it was enough.

‘I missed you, love’ he simply said

‘I missed you too, Rog’ she smiled

There was so much she wanted to say. So many things she wanted to apologize for, but something in Roger’s eyes prevented her from doing so. He seemed so happy to see her, to be here with her that she did not want to do anything that could change things. If this was the last nice moment they could spend together then she would make the most of it. Anyway, it was the band’s big moment and the last thing she wanted was to tarnish it with her stupid choices. However, this made it harder to know what to say.

‘I have yet to congratulate the rest of the band’ was what first came to her mind

‘Of course’ he softly smiled

They both walked back towards where the group was standing. Paul was staying a little behind them and although she was still angry, Y/N’s lip corner moved upward at the idea that maybe he felt frightened by her. Only Brian noticed that they both arrived at the same time and gently smiled at the young woman. She suddenly felt all the excitement coming back and could not stop talking about how great the show was and how in love she was with the new songs.

Unfortunately it was quite late and soon enough it was time for everybody to leave. It was the last date of their little Summer tour and soon they would be promoting their new album. Now was time to enjoy a few weeks of well deserved rest. Y/N did not want to be in the way and decided to leave quickly after they were told to do so. Once again, she congratulated the whole band and thanked them profusely for the invitation.

‘You can wait and I’ll drop you’ Roger said as she started walking away

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I know your going to take ages and I’m knackered. But thanks Roger, I appreciate it’

She truly did. But the night had been amazing and she did not wanted to play with the odds of it turning bad in the end. Roger did not protest. She looked worried, as if she was still waiting for him to be angry at her, but nothing in his behaviour seemed to be going in this direction. And so she went.

--------

Two weeks had passed since the concert and Y/N was back to her normal life. It had not been simple to come back done to the rush from that night. For a few hours everything had been so perfect and she had felt so good with her friend, but she had to go back to the usual life and she was fine with it too. The show was going strong and it was rumoured that they might be nominated for the first edition of an award that was supposed to mirror the Americain Tonys.

Obviously she was thinking about Roger from time to time. Still, she wanted to stay true to her decision and leave the ideal of a love relationship behind. Regarding their friendship, she would wait until he made the first move if he wanted to, she did not want to push him. She wondered if he would go as far as looking for her number but she was surprised when, arriving at the theatre the next Wednesday, she found a flower bouquet in her dressing room. Freddie had sent her once after he came to see her but she doubted it would be from him. She looked at the note and her hand immediately covered her mouth as she let out a little gasp.

Dear Y/N,

You were shining on that stage yesterday. You always shine.

Congratulations.

Love, Roger

P.S: Please call me here xxxxxxxxxx

He had used a neat handwriting and suddenly she was overwhelmed by the amazing scent coming from the flowers. Why did he have come without telling her? His words were so nice, the attention so nice. She pressed the little card to her heart as she smiled for an instant. She looked and the number, it was not the one from the flat. She bit her lips before considering what to do. She was early to the theatre and there was a phone downstairs. She hesitated but agreed with herself that she would her heartbeat -which rhythm had drastically increased- would not calm down until she had called.

She used the phone, wondering if he would be home and smiling to all the people that walked in the corridor. It was not the most intimate place for a phone call but she did not really have a choice.

‘Hello’ she tried ‘Is Roger Taylor here?’

‘Y/N!’ he exclaimed on the other side of the line

‘Roger. Thank you so much for the flower. You did not have to.’

‘You deserve it. You were amazing’

‘So… You wanted me to call?’ she went on, discomfited by the compliments

‘Yes!’ he said before staying silent again

‘And what for..?’ Y/N asked

‘Well… I wanted to ask you something.’

‘Rog’ spit it please. I don’t have all day’ she said, a little annoyed

‘Would you come to Brian’s wedding with me?’

It was Y/N’s turn to stay silent. This was unexpected to say the least. She knew Brian was getting married at the end of the month but she had not been invited. She understood. Brian was quite private and even though they were friends, she did not feel they were as close as for her to be invited in a intimate ceremony. Why would Roger invite her? What was this all about?

‘Y/N’ she heard him say softly

‘I haven’t been invited Roger’

‘I know. I am inviting you’

‘What do you mean?’

‘As in, my plus one’

Y/N was taken aback. Was it supposed to be… a date? She sighed. This is not exactly how she had expected things to turn out. Everything was going so well for her now. The last thing she wanted was to throw it all away by falling for Roger all over again.

‘Why me?’ she dared ask

‘I… I don’t want to go with a random girl and I don’t feel like going alone either’

So was it just going to be like before? Did he think that their relationship could start the way it was before? Hooking up when they were both single and needed affection. She was not into this anymore.

‘And I want to spend time with you. I want you to come with me. Please’

She could almost hear a whimper in the last word. She hesitated, closed her eyes for a second, tightened her grip receiver. Right now it was time to listen to her head and say goodbye to her deepest wish forever or listen to her heart and give it one last chance.

#queenmaracasandlove #You're my best (sex) friend #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fiction #queen fiction #ben!roger x reader

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squirrel-moose-winchester · 5 years

Text

Falling for the Holidays Ch. 25

Title: Falling for the Holidays Ch. 25

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 2223

Summary: With October ending and the holidays underway, that only meant one thing for Dean Winchester. It meant returning to his childhood home and spending time with his family. It meant listening to his parents, especially his mom, ramble on and on about when he was going to find himself a nice girl, bring her home for the holidays, and then eventually get married and have children. However, Dean wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, so in order to get his family off his back, he comes up with an elaborate scheme! But like the saying goes, “sometimes lies become truths.”

Warnings: Angst, Gun, Usage of Gun, Unsafe Gun Handling, Angst, Endangerment to a young child, Fear, Wounded, and Angst.

A/N: Dudettes! Get this… once I finished this chapter, I giggled to myself and then proceeded to say, “ooh, Eileen! You fucking bitch!” But like in a good way. Haha. I am so excited for you guys to read this chapter! I will admit, it was a little tough because I didn’t know how to word it, and I’m worried that it might be a little confusing to comprehend what I was trying to get across… but I hope I’m wrong and that you guys will like it! I can’t wait to read all your reactions! So please, feedback would be amazing! I’d love to know what you all thought of this chapter and the series! Thanks again for reading! You guys are beautiful! xx

On his way to the Winchester’s home, Rufus had called in a crime scene back at the diner. Things had just dropped into some deep shit. As he pulled into the drive way, John was already opening the door and stepping out to greet him.

“Rufus, what’s wrong?” John asked, allowing the sheriff into his home.

“Things just got serious, and I know you wanted to keep this on the down low, but I had to call my men to take care of things back at the diner,” he informed, taking a seat at the dining table where Mary and Jess were already waiting. “Mary’s car is still there, and I might have, literally, stumbled over some important evidence.”

“What kind of evidence?” John asked, his stomach churning.

“I don’t want to alarm anyone, but I think I found a possible weapon. There was blood on a large rock next to the car, and I’m sure your boys probably found it too. We don’t know who’s blood it is yet, but my men are on it,” Rufus assured.

Mary’s hands covered her mouth with fear in her eyes. Jess wrapped her arms around Mary tightly, burying her face into the older woman’s shoulder. “How long would it take until we find out who’s blood it is?” Mary asked.

“We’re working as fast as we can. I’d say four hours at the least, could be more. But our forensic team is one of the best, so rest assured. We’re gonna figure it out.”

Mary nodded while John just gave Rufus an understanding glare. “So what do we do now?” John asked.

“We need to find your boys ASAP. Ketch… he’s a real bad guy. I knew the name was familiar. To be honest, I’m surprised the boy wasn’t walking around with an alias. Probably thought since it’s been a long time, no one would notice. Especially around here.”

“What are you talking about, Rufus. Details. I need details,” John encouraged.

“I was getting there. Just hold your horses,” he sassed, earning a pointed look from the worried father bear in front of him. “Look, his full name is Arthur Ketch. He is in a line of work that can get many people hurt. He’s what you can call a collector,” Rufus placed the witness sketch on the table, revealing a pretty honest drawing of the felon. He looked a little different. His face was slimmer, hair a little longer and shaggier, but it was still easy to tell it was him.

“He collects things and sells them in the International Underground Black Market. Sometimes they get clients who reach out to them to obtain a certain object, or objects, in exchange for a hefty sum. People like him will do anything to get what they want. And I mean anything. We caught scent of him a few years back. Almost got him, but the kid was fast. Young, scrawny, and could get through all sorts of spaces. Eventually, the case was out of our hands because the Bureau figured he’d moved on. One thing is for sure, men like Ketch never stay in one place for too long. I don’t know what he would be doing back here.”

“Because he’s a stalker. Probably followed Y/N here, using that family bullshit as an excuse,” the words flowed out of Jess’s lips without a care of filter.

“Stalkers aren’t right in the head. And not only that, this man is a practically a serial killer. He’s left body all over the world. Didn’t even bother to clean up his messes, and he didn’t have to. No one could ever trace him.”

“It’s almost Christmas and all this is happening,” Mary started to sob. “My boys are in danger and Y/N could be dead.”

“How did you get this drawing of him?” John interceded the direction of the conversation.

“Remember Pastor Jim? That break in at the church? Ketch was after an old goblet that was claimed to be used for demonic rituals. An ancient relic used to communicate with the devil. Pastor Jim had it locked away in a safe under the church. Ketch managed to steal it and left Jim for dead, but thankfully the medics got to him on time.”

“But didn’t Pastor Jim pass away?” Mary questioned.

“That he did, but before that, he was able to give a description.”

“Why didn’t we hear anything about this?” John inquired.

“This case was classified by the FBI. They have been tracking these Collectors all over the world, but it’s difficult. You see, there is no pattern. There is never a witness. And if there was, someone came back to get rid of any loose ends, just like they did Jim. These Collectors, they’ve got friends in low and high places. It almost seems impossible,” Rufus sighed. “I don’t know how the FBI is dealing with it, but all I know is that they are.”

John sat back in his seat, running his hands down his face, trying to absorb all the information he’s been given. How could something go from zero to a hundred so fast?

“If this man is as dangerous as you say, and he’s stalking Y/N, then my boys are in danger. They all are. They all could already be dead,” Mary cried.

The room was tense at Mary’s words. It was possible. It very well may be, but they needed to be hopeful. They needed to think positive. They needed to find them.

“Don’t be like that Mary. We don’t know nothin’ yet. We need to find your boys first. Jody said that when Y/N went to get her purse at the diner, Lisa and Ketch were having lunch. That they seemed to know each other. So I’m gonna go pay Lisa a little visit. It’s possible that Lisa is also in danger.”

“Or maybe Lisa’s in with that Ketch guy,” Jess hissed, Lisa and Ketch’s name leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

“None sense. Lisa maybe crazy, but she’s still a good girl. She wouldn’t do something like that. She wouldn’t put Dean, or any of my boys in trouble. She wouldn’t bring such a dangerous man near Ben.”

“We’re gonna find out,” Rufus added.

“And I’m coming with you,” John insisted.

“I’m sorry John, but I can’t let you do that. This is a job for the police. Besides, you’ve got two frightened women here at home that needs you. Also, I need you here in case Sam, Dean, or Y/N comes back. Give me a call if they do, alright?” Rufus stood up from his seat as John nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry, everything is going to be alright.”

The sound of tires screeching against the pavement drew Ketch, Lisa, and Bela’s attention. Thinking quick on his feet, Ketch put his hands behind his head and fell to his knees beside your unconscious body. Lisa and Bela gave him with a confused look, the gun still pointed at him.

The door burst open, splinters flying through the air from the force of Dean’s foot. When Sam and Dean came into view, Lisa and Bela went wide eyes, while Ketch’s stoic expression turned into that of fear. “What the hell is going on here?” Dean barked, taking in the sight before him.

“H-help me, please!” Ketch shouted, his voice shaking with terror.

“Bela drop the gun,” Sam said calmly, arms out to show that he wasn’t going to try anything.

“No. This guy is a psychopath!” The tall brunette spat.

Dean’s eyes landed on your motionless body on the couch, next to where Ketch was on his knees. “Y/N!” Dean yelped, rushing over to her. “What the happened to her?” Dean shot Ketch a deadly glare, sitting beside her at the edge of the couch.

“I’ll tell you anything you want. I’m innocent, I swear,” Ketch blurted. “It’s true. You’re not Ben’s father. I am,” Ketch revealed, Lisa’s eyes going wide.

Dean sent Ketch a surprised look before quickly turning his head to glare at Lisa, his eyes hard and accusing. “Is that true? Ketch is the father?” Lisa was at a loss for words. She didn’t know what to say. When her lips parted to speak, Dean cute her off. “And this time, don’t you dare lie to me!”

“H-he’s lying,” Lisa continued her deceptions.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Ketch jumped in. “Years ago, I met the two of them at a party. We were all a little drunk, and they both came on to me. I was young back then. How was I supposed to pass up that kind of opportunity? Months later, Lisa contacted me, telling me about the baby.”

“Shut up Ketch!” Lisa barked.

Ketch caster her a wary glance, thinking if he should continue, but he took the chance anyway. “I couldn’t be a father, and I know that makes me a terrible man, but I had my dream job waiting for me back in London. I was young and had a bright future. A baby was the last thing on my mind. But I told her I’d pay the child support, and I have been since, but she wanted more. She wanted Ben to have a father. A good father that would be there for him. So she came up with this elaborate scheme to make you believe that Ben was yours. She told me that if I helped her get back with you, I would no longer have to pay the child support and that she’d leave me alone forever. The only thing that was in the way was Y/N. And by coincidence, the last time I was in Lawrence, Y/N and I ended up on the same flight heading over to Dallas, and having the seats next to each other.”

“Lies! You’re a liar!” Lisa shouted, snatching the gun from Bela’s hand and pointing it back at Ketch. “Shut up.” If Lisa wanted anyone to believe her, she was doing a shit job. Every word she said, every move she made, all of it only made her look guilty.

“Lisa!” Bela was startled. Bela never had any intentions of hurting Ketch. She wasn’t about to get blood on her hands. But when Lisa took the gun from her, she knew how unstable Lisa was. How desperate she was.

“Whoa,” Sam raised his hands up out of instincts.

Ketch watched Lisa, and Dean could see the hesitation in his eyes. Dean didn’t want to believe it, but he felt like he could believe Ketch more than he could Lisa.

“Lisa, put the gun down,” Dean said calmly, despite his anger stirring inside of him.

“No,” she spat, pointing the gun at Ketch. She’s never held a gun before. One slip and she could shoot anyone… kill any one.

“Lisa…” Dean warned.

The room was silent before Ketch took a chance and spoke again. If worse came to worse, he could use Dean as a shield.

“Like I said…” Ketch started, “Y/N caught us talking about it and ran off. Lisa got impatient and panicked and chased after her. She hit her over the head with a rock. Y/N’s been out ever since. We brought her back here and I patched her up.”

“Why not call the police, or bring her to the hospital?” Sam asked.

“I thought she would be okay, that I could patch her up and she’d wake up soon, but when she did, I suggested we go to the hospital, but Lisa refused. And when I mentioned the police, they freaked out and pulled a gun out on me. And that’s when you and your brother showed up.”

“Liar!” Lisa shouted, her grip on the gun tightening.

“Mom! Look what I made!” Ben shouted, trampling down the stairs, interrupting the intensity of the current situation and startling his mother.

BANG! Her finger slipped.

Ben jumped, his scream piercing through the house! Lisa dropped the gun and it fired a second time. Everyone cowered at the sound. Sam noticed the gun and quickly grabbed it to ensure it didn’t get into the wrong hands. Bela was the first person to reach Ben, the young boy curling into her arms crying. Ketch closed in on himself a little, his hands still up where they could see it, but he was fine.

“Any one hurt?” Sam asked, scanning the room.

“Sammy?” Dean choked, a dark spot spreading in the middle of his gray shirt as blood dribbled down the side of his lips.

“Dean!” Sam shouted. “Someone call 9-1-1!”

Dean watched Sam approach him, sliding the gun in the back of his pants under his shirt. He could see Sam talking but all he could hear was a high pitched ringing sound. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He saw Ben and Bela wrapped up in each other, he saw Lisa staring at him with wide eyes, and he could see Ketch getting up.

“S-Sam—” Dean gurgled.

“Dean! Dean! Hang in there! Please! Dean! Someone! Call 9-1-1! Ketch, please!” Sam begged, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Ketch got up, dialing 9-1-1 on his phone. As Ketch made the call, Sam leaned his brother against the couch on the floor. Dean turned his head to face you, still out cold.

“Y-Y/N…” he called, and then everything went dark.

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Say Something Nice Here!

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metaphoricallyroger · 5 years

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When I’m Sixty Four [R.T.]

Summary: You and Roger have been married for what seems a lifetime. You share memories through photographs with the main cast of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Words: 3,280

Warning: Swearing.

Note: Title taken from The Beatles song of the same name. Also, I feel like the flow of reading this is a bit off? But I hope you still enjoy!

Request: For @rrrogah-tayluhh .

At the completion of filming Bohemian Rhapsody, Roger and Brian thought it would be a good idea to have the main cast over for a dinner party.

You, having become something akin to a part of the props on set considering you went to watch the filming whenever you could, also think it is a good idea. Perhaps now would be a good time to finally share some of the safe-for-work questions the cast have been asking you for months now that you’ve gotten to know them better.

After dinner, the drinks began to flow, so naturally, the promised stories of the heydays have begun and your numerous photo albums collected over the years have been pulled off the bookshelf in the lounge room.

“The first time I saw him I thought he was a woman.”

“Did you really? Is that how you two met?” Ben looks between you and Roger, trying to figure out if you’re joking or not.

“I thought a girl had dropped her study notes so I chased after her to give them back, and turns out, that lovely ladies name was Roger.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling this story,” Roger groans.

“Shush, you were cute. Look!” You hold up a blurry looking polaroid, “got the photo here to go with the moment and everything.”

“Miss, excuse me, Miss! You’ve dropped your papers!” The person who turned around certainly wasn’t a woman, but a very attractive man with a cigarette stuck to the dryness of his lips.

“Did you just call me miss?”

“I apologise, but we’ve got the same coat on and your hair it’s, well …” You gestured towards the blonde mane on his head and tried to ignore the fact that you both wore the same fur coat.

“It’s what?”

“Sorry, I- Um, it’s very nice, that’s all.” You were slightly intimidated by the man in front of you.

The flash of the camera that hung from your shoulder interrupted whatever the man was going to say next.

“Do I have a personal photographer now?”

“I am so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to take a photo of you, I was just running my finger over the button which I do when I get nervous. Sorry, again. For you know.” He bent down and grabbed the polaroid where it lay discarded on the floor.

“You also talk a lot when you’re nervous?”

“Guess so.” He handed the photo back which had developed during your rant to show only the subjects midsection and thighs, which could have been passed off as your own photograph with the same coat you both wore.

“What’s your name?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“So I can find where you live, obviously,” you rolled your eyes, “I’d like to write it under the photo. Memories and all.” You raised your eyebrows.

“It’s Roger Taylor,” he grinned, and seemingly took pleasure at your newfound bravado.

“I didn’t see Roger for a couple of years after that. I was friends with John. That’s how I met him for the second time.”

“Did you go to one of their gigs?” Gwilym enquiries.

“I introduced John to the band because I knew Roger’s girlfriend at the time and she told me that he needed a bass player. I had to practically drag him to their rehearsal one day,” you smile fondly at the memory of John, hoping he also looks back on the time as a period of happiness.

“What do you study?” You looked up from your textbook to see the drummer you’d accidentally taken a photograph of however long ago, which you still had, buried in a box underneath your bed. You sometimes took the castaway polaroid out and looked at it, wondering whether the sandy-haired man still had the coat, much like you kept yours.

“I’m becoming a nurse, what about you?”

“Biology, but I studied to become a dentist, for a while.”

You chuckled and Roger squinted at you, eyebrows drawn together.

“Sorry,” you paused, “I just can’t picture you pulling someone’s teeth out.”

“Me neither. Music’s where it’s at for me.”

“I can picture that,” you smiled timidly.

The silence that hung itself over your heads was comfortable, and Roger smiled down at his splayed fingers.

“So,” he broke the silence, “what pictures did you take of me this time, my personal photographer?”

“This one’s my favourite.” You show him the one where he was looking over to Brian, lips pursed, ready to sing into the microphone next to him, his left hand hit the snare whilst his right was poised, ready to hit the smaller tom-tom.

Roger ended up keeping the photo after you reluctantly handed it over. It would come back to you at a later date, hidden amongst Roger’s tchotchke-filled cardboard boxes after you moved in together.

“How drunk are you guys in this photo?” Joe, whose sense of humour never fails to make you laugh grins as he holds up a very specific photo of a very specific night you no longer can remember.

“Oh, we might’ve been flying at that point,” Brian chuckles reaching up to rub his chin with a hint of embarrassment.

“We’re going places, Baby!” You grinned at the very drunk Roger in front of you with his wild hair and glassy eyes that almost spilled over with happiness.

Drinks and all other sorts of substances flowed amongst the partygoers after the New Orleans concert of Queen’s Jazz tour, fans, strangers and family all united under the one cause if only for one night. Tomorrow, you’d go your separate ways, only to do it all over again the next tour.

The room had become hazy with copious amounts of cigarette smoke as Roger dragged you, half stumbling, half running to the middle of the room to get you to take a photo of the band.

“You’re not all going to fit!” You called, quite drunk yourself, as the four men tried to squeeze themselves together on the smallest lounge in the room.

“Hold on! I’ve got an idea.”

John took it upon himself and attempted to rearrange the limbs of the other members so that they all ended up piled on top of one another. They had laughed boisterously at their ‘Queen Pretzel’ they’d made, but they eventually fit themselves into the frame.

“Stay there. John that’s perfect,” you called, and took the photo that was distributed to all four band members after it collectively became their ‘favourite photo ever’.

“Darling, do you want more?” Roger nods his head towards the glass of wine you’d been sipping the entire night. You don’t particularly enjoy the drink, much preferring G&T’s if you are going to drink so you decline, choosing to focus on Brian who’s begun talking about the script changes that had been made after the first draft.

“I didn’t know that he called you Darling that young, Y/N.”

“He only started to call me Darling once he got his first grey hair.” You run your fingers through Roger’s now silver locks and he grumbles as he pulls your hand from his hair and intertwines your fingers.

“I don’t recall that.”

“Okay,” you faux agree, “we all believe you.”

The high pitched screech you heard from the bathroom sent you up the stairs, worried your daughter had hurt herself.

“What’s wrong?” You burst inside, only to find Roger, who stared pitifully at himself in the mirror, almost nose-to-nose with his reflection.

“I’m going grey!”

“So?”

“‘So?’ What do you mean ‘so?’ I’m Roger Taylor, I can’t just be going grey Darling!”

“Oh, good Lord.” You dug your fingernails into the bridge of your nose.

You watched as he continued to go through his hair, almost inspecting every strand before you perked up and remembered the camera on the table outside the door.

When you returned, you tried to be discreet about taking the photo, but the mirror, unfortunately, alerted Roger to your presence.

“No, no, absolutely not.”

“Hold still!” You cried, trying to get Roger in the corner to be able to document the moment. Backed into the corner, Roger pouted and allowed you to take the photo.

The photo came out blurry and to Roger’s joy, you could not see a trace of grey hair.

“Do you have any funny pictures of you two when you were younger?” Joe’s eyes light up when you pull out the album you saw Brian discreetly trying to hide when the photos began to be passed from person to person.

“Actually-”

“No!” Roger interrupts, “she doesn’t.”

Brian, thinking he’s spared from being the butt of a joke laughs at his friends face as Roger gets a good look at it.

“I thought you got rid of that album?” Roger’s eyebrows furrow as you begin flicking through the album, trying to find one of the better photos.

You smirk and shrug.

“I lied. But don’t worry, you aren’t going to be alone in your humiliation. Should we talk about the time Roger and Brian spilt cake batter all over their pants and Freddie made them walk home in their underwear because he didn’t want them to ruin his clothes?”

“Please do!” Lucy grins.

“So, we all went round to Freddie and Mary’s flat …”

“This is ridiculous. Why couldn’t we have bought a cake from a bakery instead of having to make it here?” Roger had not stopped his complaints since the idea had come to fruition the week prior.

“I think that’s the whole idea behind a baking evening, Roger. You know, to bake.”

“C’mon Rog, you don’t want to be able to cook for your missus here?” You glanced at Brian whose eyes widened when he saw the look you gave him. You didn’t have high hopes for Roger’s baking skills, especially when he couldn’t work out how to help Freddie boil an egg.

“We aren’t married.”

“Not yet anyway,” you heard Roger mumble under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing. Are we going in?” He seemed eager to get inside after Brian brought up marriage and almost tripped over the doorway when Mary opened the door in an effort to get away from the conversation.

“I can’t believe he’s done this. This is so embarrassing! What if someone we know sees us?” Roger stomped, in your opinion, like a spoilt toddler down the street, even to the point where his lower lip stuck out in a petulant pout. It didn’t help that his shirt was covered with the remnants of what was supposed to be a cake, crusted into the fine stitching.

“I’m fine. I’m not the one who seems to be wearing women’s underwear,” Brian goads.

The two men walked ahead of you as you trailed behind, and tried not to let the noise of you opening your camera bag alert them to your motive.

“This is a Kodak moment! Move your little arses so I can take a picture of you both.”

“This isn’t funny, Y/N,” Roger grumbled. But still, the men walked on and attempted to look unaffected by the cool breeze that had begun to permeate the air despite the warmth Spring had provided earlier in the day.

“No, you’re right, it’s freaking hilarious,” you cackle.

“Was this a fancy dress?” Rami looks slightly mortified if the wide, blinking of his eyes is anything to go by.

When you look at the photo his index finger rests on, you understand, creased brow relaxing.

“That was our wedding day. God,” you laugh, “it was a disaster.”

“That’s your wedding day?”

“Doesn’t look like it, does it?” The corner of your mouth quirks up at his attempt of trying to hide his shock. If asked in the few years following your wedding to Roger, you would have at least wanted to fix a few things, but these days, the memory doesn’t do anything but make you smile.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what you wear or who gets drunk and does what with the celebrant but the person you vow to spend the rest of your life with.

“We aren’t supposed to see each other! It’s a tradition!” Everything that could have possibly gone wrong the day of your wedding happened. Things that you meticulously had plans X, Y, and Z for were thrown out the window and to top it off, the groom kept trying to break into your room.

“Babe, we’ve already got a kid together, I think we’re a bit far past traditional at the moment.”

Roger waited for the sound of the door to unlock before he opened the door to the bedroom.

“Oh, Y/N,” he whispered.

Your lower lip trembled and your eyes stung as you tried to keep your tears at bay. What little makeup you had put on was streaked from tears, your hair and veil askew and Roger thought he’d never seen a bride more beautiful.

“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” you snivelled and pulled the veil from your head, tossing it to the bed. You plonked yourself on the bed, head in your hands.

The bed creaked as Roger sat next to you, resting a comforting hand against your back, which helped release some of the tension in your shoulders.

“You look handsome.” You glanced up at Roger in his suit and almost started crying again when you think about your wedding dress too destroyed to try to fix moments before the ceremony.

“Are we going to get married or what? I’ve been waiting to marry you since you called me a girl, let’s go,” he tugged on your arm gently after a heavy silence fell over the room.

“Married? Like this?”

“Why not?”

“Uh, because I don’t have a dress and look like a right bellend whilst you look handsome and like you actually belong in a wedding party.” You had no other formal-wear with you, only the tracksuit and shirt you wore (which was Roger’s), your suitcase for the honeymoon sat in your own bedroom, hours away from the venue you were going to get married at.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you be the only one to get married in tracksuit bottoms? I want to be comfortable too, Babe, it’s only fair.”

As the pair of you walked into the after party, Roger swept you into his arms, one under your knees, the other behind your back as the photographer stood before you.

The pair of you grinned at the camera, content that you had finally gotten to marry each other, and once the initial panic of having to get married in your veil, tracksuit bottoms and Converse ebbed, you found that nothing could bring your mood down.

“I think I’m a bit too old for you, sorry bud,” you smile as your daughter fends off Ben’s innocent flirting. The pair sits shoulder-to-shoulder over the album that features another chapter of your lives when the kids came along.

“Oh, I remember this one, look how cute we were!” Maia uncovers the photo and pulls it out to show you and Roger, and it’s true, brother and sister were very cute, still are, despite them both being grown adults. They are your babies, no matter how old they get.

“‘Were?’ You still are, Pumpkin.”

“Dad, stop,” she laughs, shaking him off, “you’re embarrassing me.”

“Hey, I am nowhere near as embarrassing as I could be. I haven’t brought out the ones of you with your fingers up your nose yet.”

“No! No more baby pictures.”

You stroke your hand down Maia’s hair to calm her down, trying not to chuckle at her flushing cheeks.

“Who says they’re of you when you’re a baby,” Roger says with a raise of an eyebrow.

“Could we just get to talking about this picture please?” She huffs, sounding so much like her father you can’t help but roll your eyes, ever the dramatic.

“Look at Mummy, Finn!”

Roger had both kids balanced on either knee and whilst five-year-old Maia was eager to pose for the camera, one-year-old Finn was more interested in what the drumstick tasted of.

Roger controlled the bass drum pedal and the opening and closing of the hi-hat and grinned whenever Finn or Maia hit one of the drums, even if it hadn’t worked with what he did.

The noise the kids made was less a rhythmic fill but a ruckus of noise as they attempted to emulate what they’d seen their father do.

“Finn, look here!” You clicked your fingers, and the blonde toddler looked up at you with a grin that curved around the tip of the stick.

The click of the camera sounded in the momentarily silent room and the moment was frozen in time and memory. Roger would carry that around with him on tours in years to come, still to the day he carried around a new copy so the original stayed, worn and creased from tender touches of love inside the album.

“You’ve got a lot of pictures, do you have a favourite? Of just you two?” Rami wonders as his eyes flit eagerly across the album he’s reopened. He seems drawn to the earlier photos, the ones taken candidly before Queen shot to fame which feature some of the greatest times you’ve all had. Even the bad memories, when things didn’t go right, are looked back upon with fondness.

“Oh, yes, there’s one that Freddie took of us, but it’s starting to fade now so I don’t look at it as much. Here,” you flip to the beginning of the album, “this one.”

“I love that shirt Roger’s wearing!” Lucy adds as she sees mirth glow in your eyes.

“That’s actually my shirt.”

“How cute,” she coos, “when was this one taken?”

“Right when we first got together, if I recall.” Roger’s nose and upper lip crinkle as he remembers your early romance reverently.

“That’s right,” you nod.

You pressed against each other, Roger sat on the curb, an arm wrapped around the curve of your thigh and his head rested on your hip where you stood next to him. The stifling heat inside the venue meant you sat far apart in the dressing room, but the coolness of the nighttime air meant you were as close to each other as possible.

You didn’t pay attention to anyone but one another, lost under the haze of new romance. It wasn’t like you to believe in romance clichés, but everything truly seemed to slow down whenever you looked into Roger’s ridiculously blue eyes.

The sound of Brian’s complaints that the van was getting too small with the entourage they’d begun to pick up fell on deaf ears, John and Freddie were too busy looking at the pair of you, all loved up.

The flash of the camera didn’t even halt your hushed murmurs to each other, only Freddie’s excited yell elicited any reaction.

“Darlings, come look at this photo I took of you! Isn’t it wonderful?”

You both inspected the photo once Freddie stopped waving it around. It developed to show you from the torso down and Roger, cuddled up to your legs, with a reserved smile that made him look sleepy and content, which was exactly the pace of the night.

“It’s very nice, Fred,” he grabbed the photo and gently rubbed his finger across your torso, also mimicking the motions on the photo.

He passed the photo off to you and you placed it in your blazer pocket and held your hand out to him.

“You ready to go?”

“Ready for anything.”

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine

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