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“Captain Rogers seems rather restless because of your dramatic actions. You should hurry before he tears down the door,” he heard Strange, muffled by the door, but still clear as a day as if it wasn't just a ghost.
“It's not like I don't like him, especially around you, but I can't help but wonder why is he suddenly all over the Compound and especially all over…” Steve couldn't hold it in one evening when he and Tony were taking some midnight snacks before going to sleep. For Steve that meant a glass of water, for Tony a glass of wine. It used to be scotch, but hey - progress is progress.
The question, despite being so quiet and gentle, hit Tony like a bullet. He sucked in a sharp breath and jerked, freeing his chin from Steve's fingers. Steve had to grip an edge of a bathtub to prevent falling. Stabilised again, Steve sighed with a small smile adorning his lips. “Wow, I am sorry love, should we-”
“Right. F.R.I.D.A.Y., fly me over here. Mr. Parker, you're going to play a drown fish for a little while for the cover. Mr. Rogers, what about you take the poor Ms. Maximoff and buy us a little more time?”
Instead of legs, Tony had a tail. A beautiful, lean and sleek tail, slightly longer than Tony's legs, ending in big, sharp-ended double fin. The colors of the tail were marvelous - rather matt velvet red scales were mixed with shiny golden and bronze scales, and together they created the gorgeous collage of colors and light. The weak tide in the lagoon slowly rocked the fin, and with the movement, it almost looked like scales were shifting between those colors in an endless optical play. Tony was sitting on the heightened rock, leaving only half of the tail dipped in water.
“Actually, Wanda was. Vision only helped,” Steve cleared, a smile creeping on his lips. Tony nodded and turned his head to Peter. “Dissolve the fastest you can, before Clint and Sam eat everything again.”
So, that's exactly what Steve did. He took out an earpiece and listened to his favorite voice on the world, that was still echoing from behind the stone reef.
Tony woke up in his bed, in naked human form, curled into the duvet, with no solid body of the super soldier pressed against his own.
Three days from Tony's arrival from Australia, Strange walked into their living room in the middle of the movie night, and with his eyes fixed on Tony, he scoffed: “So, it's true.”
The excited science sparkle was back in Tony's eyes as he talked about this, and that lifted Steve's spirits again. “And what about those powers you were talking about?”
“Steve Grant Rogers, you have a lover with uncomfortably tight pants on your bed, and you hesitate. Does that tent I can see from here make you barbaric? I can think of multiple ways how to avail that better.”
“Peter Benjamin Parker, if I hear you say that name once again, I'll take the suit and launch you into the atmosphere in Veronica, and you'll be grounded there until…”
Strange had left after that, and when Steve asked Tony about it later, he just dismissed the question like: “Something magical went off in his head and he assumed things. Asshole.”
Steve quickly turned back on Peter. “Get him out of that thing!” Peter, still looking panicked, nodded and scrambled to the table. He almost slipped on a water puddle, and then retrieved a big spray bottle marked 'WEB DISSOLVER'.
Steve was nowhere to be found on Tony's way to a kitchen, but he did find nice company there - Peter sat on the barstool behind the kitchen island, slowly munching on his cinnamon cereal. Young spider's eyes were firmly fixated on Bruce, who prepared eggs and nonchalantly hummed. There was nothing wrong with it - Peter practically worshipped the ground Bruce walked on (no, Tony wasn't jealous at all, there was no reason, Peter still loved him more) - but Peter forgot to even blink. Tony frowned and came closer, landing his palm on Peter's shoulder. The teen didn't acknowledge him, not even with a flinch. Bruce heard a slap of Tony's palm and turned with an unusually wide smile on his lips.
“I say yes, we should,” Steve smirked and tugged Tony's hand. World's two most powerful superheroes ran away to their bedroom like a pair of giggling teenagers and left Happy to cringe in the doorway and deal with luggage on his own.
“It doesn't bother you?” Tony could feel his inner walls crumbling, once again because of Steve. How many times has that already happened? The bubble of wrath, despair, and insecurity became too big for his resolve to keep in, and suddenly Tony was bursting, just because he balanced on the edge for too long and with Steve, he had always felt incredibly safe and vulnerable at the same time. He let go, let himself fall, not completely, just with the one little thing, just with this one little life-changing secret. One human being, however broken it might be, can only have as much of those.
It was Tony. Anthony Edward Stark, Iron Man, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and Steve's boyfriend, not necessarily in this order. He laid leaned against the reef, his head down, one hand enclosed on the telepresence glasses. Steve couldn't see Tony's face, and he probably had an expression of a deep focus, as he was controlling the suit in full fight. But, what he could see underneath Tony took Steve's breath away.
Steve wasn't sure if Tony learned those puppy eyes from Peter, or if he always had them in him and just yet didn't find anyone who would submit to them. Well, there was. He gently kissed Tony's cheek, not caring in the slightest that Strange watched them, not from his own body again, with a judging look on his face. “Of course, love.”
Tony didn't even look up from the StarkPad. “Umm, no thanks dear, I'd pass. I really need to finish these graphs for Pepper before we go to sleep.”
Tony sprinted into the closest door, pulled it open, slipped inside and shut them. When Steve got to the door and pulled at the handle, they were locked. “Tony! Tony, open up! What happened? Did I do something? I am really sorry, honey, please open up,” Steve gently knocked on the door at first, but then he heard a loud bang from inside and his knocking merged into banging. “Tony! Did you just fall? Are you hurt? Open the damn door!”
Steve pulled the kiddie pool from under Tony, and Peter climbed on the ceiling. “I hope you'll catch me, Prince Charming,” Tony said and Steve smirked, pressing a kiss on Tony's forehead (they were in the exact same height now).
Hydro-man appeared on the shores of the Long Island Sound, and in the gigantic man-made-of-seawater form walked around the beaches. He destroyed a big amount of woods, some villages, some summer camp, and now he was terrorizing Montauk.
But no one knew that. No one could know that, so he shoved all of his struggles behind the mask of a narcissistic sarcastic egoist, as he did many times before. He was successful. No one knew (well, except Strange, who obviously had to stick his long nose into Tony's things), that meant no one would abandon him. He let himself go only two times, with the people he was most certain would never misunderstand his curse.
Steve coughed, and the scenery broke. Dum-E, U, and Cloak froze, Tony violently jerked and Strange let go of his magic and all of the water poured down on the floor. Strange turned on Steve and completely seriously said: “We have a magic lesson here.”
They quickly executed Tony's plan, which included another magic - Tony raised a hand over his tail and slowly started to grip his fist. All of the water drops evaporated from his body with a loud hiss, and then he turned back into the human, stepped into the suit and took Peter into the arms.
Steve turned around and left, confused beyond his lines. Strange could do what he wanted, and if he wanted to use his powers for changing the temperature of ice cream, he could. It was maybe a little odd, but incredibly useful.
“I am coming straight from the gym because I thought my beautiful boyfriend would like to join me in the shower. What do you think?”
“Oh, well, I just fell into a sparkly lake and let me tell you, I would definitely recommend. Best decision of my life, absolutely not regretting this…” Tony abruptly stopped when he picked up on Steve's confused face. A long, worn out sigh escaped him, and he curled onto himself, burying his face in palms.
“So… It happened in Australia?” Steve asked, just to confirm his theory. Tony gave him a nod, avoiding eye contact. “And… Who else knows?”
“What you told me yesterday… I had the whole night to think about everything. And I need you to listen to me right now.”
Tony did a swift turn in the air and flew after Peter. Without hesitation, he breached the water surface, and it closed above the Iron Man suit.
He landed on the stone floor, water splashing around. He was mid-thigh deep in it, and as he came closer to his boyfriend, he noticed their height difference - only a few inches bigger than it usually was. His eyes scanned Tony once again, picking on the light reflected in Tony's tail, and the way his skin seemed to be unusually glowing and ethereal. He couldn't help it. “You're… You're beautiful Tony.”
“Strange somehow found out on his own. He explained it as some movements in the magical field around the Compound, so he researched and found out. Then, I told Bruce… I had to, I was going crazy from the scientific absurdity of this thing. And Peter… Found out on an accident. Found me like this once. Funny story. I'll tell you someday. But I really could use him - he is the only one from the gang able to lift me, except maybe you. This thing…” he moved with the tail, and fin splashed, “...is incredibly heavy.”
“You're being ridiculous. Look at me,” a gentle hand touched Tony's chin. Merman tensed up, but let Steve slowly turn his head, until their eyes met.
No, Peter was climbing the reef with a wide smile plastered on his uncovered face. Tony closed his eyes and frowned his eyebrows. “Put your mask on and lower your voice, or tomorrow there will be the photos of your face and my fin with the headline 'The true nature of Avengers revealed! Spiderman's baby fish and Tony Stark is the mama fish!' all over the news.”
Steve chewed at his lip. It worried him for a while, but they really had no idea as for how to defeat Hydro-man. They defeated an alien army, but couldn't do this?
“I am!” Tony snarled. Then, an odd hissing sound came, and Steve would've sworn the steam came from under the door.
As the toughest hangovers or migraines are, he eventually crawled out of the bed to get some coffee. And to find Steve. Well, at least to attempt a search for his boyfriend, and to get some chance to talk to him. Or just a big hug, sweet kiss and hours of cuddles, apologies, and explanations.
He had no idea how to address the issue - Tony never denied all other sorts of sex. In their bed, kitchen, workshop, they even banged in a gym couple times during those two months. He had seen his boyfriend naked almost every day - but never in the shower. Was it even an issue? Maybe it was unintentional, and Steve was just imagining bigger meanings. If there weren't for other things, he would almost let it go.
“Umm, no,” Bruce answered, his attention back on the stove, “Not entirely. He comes and goes. Full timetable with setting up the Asgardian colony in Norway. Did he contact you?”
The web was letting out generous amounts of steam as it dissolved, and Steve looked at Peter. “I hope this smoke isn't poisonous Peter,” Steve said, trying to break the thick silence.
“Rhodey, Vis, let's try and cut off douchebag's head. It would maybe just piss him off, but I kind of want to piss him off,” it was definitely Tony. But how? Well, Steve, of course, knows that Tony's suits can be remotely controlled by headsets and glasses, but why would Tony not be in the suit right now? Had he injured himself? If that's the case, why didn't he say something, or alert them? Since when he is hiding here? So many questions, so little answers.
So, Steve now dated a merman. Interesting discovery. And really delightful one. There was surely more to this fact, and he still had a million questions for Tony, but one thing was for sure - he would be there for Tony for every other step of the way he chooses to take.
Buried deep inside his own head, Tony didn't notice himself emitting symptoms of the panic attack, but Steve did. Captain's gentle, worried voice didn't get through the powerful white noise in Tony's ears. Tony curled onto himself tighter and tighter, and by his subconscious charms, water in the bathtub became hotter and hotter. Steve tried to calm his boyfriend down, caressing his head, shoulders, arms, whispering gentle loving words, as how none of that was true, that he would never abandon Tony like that, how he is beautiful and valid and his tail is ethereally breathtaking, but nothing seemed to work. Steve had to climb out of the bath and crouch next to it instead, to avoid water burning through his skin. The water couldn't hurt Tony, but his own mind could do that. However, Steve knew better than to do anything against Tony's wishes when the genius was in this state.
He walked into the workshop the other day and was greeted by an adorable sight - Dum-E and U playing a catch with the Cloak of Levitation, and Tony watching how Strange pulled water from the multiple buckets with his magic and created various patterns with it in the air. The weird thing was - Strange sat on the couch with his hands in his lap, while Tony's hands were outstretched as if he wanted to touch the floating blobs of water.
Tony sat comfortably on the bed, working on the StarkPad when Steve entered their bedroom. Steve was very happy with the fact that Tony's sleep schedule improved when they got together. It wasn't perfect, but most of the nights they were able to go to sleep together at the same time.
“Peter? Are you alright? What are you doing there?” Steve asked and knocked on the locked door, concerned when he heard Peter's voice from Bruce's chemical lab. He didn't hear Bruce, so he thought Peter was talking to F.R.I.D.A.Y. or his own AI. Peter usually made his web-fluid in Tony's workshop, because it wasn't that difficult and he liked the company. A thought of a teenager locked in the fully advanced chemical lab wasn't pretty, no matter how smart the teen was.
“Oh my…” Bruce screeched, flashed his eyes on Peter, then on Tony, and then found his reflection in the nearest spoon. “What a moron, I told him not to, no wonder the kid's completely out of himself, I am going to-”
But that didn't change the fact that Strange started to come to the Compound much more often after this incident. In fact, when Peter wasn't around, it was more likely that Steve would find Tony in the company of the Stephen than not. He didn't like it in the slightest.
Steve's lips curled into the soft smirk that Tony loved so much. “You're an idiot. Why would anything change because of this? You can't bear every burden alone, love. As you said before - as Bruce helps you with research, and Peter guards you - more people knowing can only help you. Myself included,” another kiss, this time proper. Tony's inner walls came down for the second time in two days, but not so violently as before. They melted from love and warmth Steve provided.
That's why Tony was the last person that Steve would expect to refuse sex with him. Well, he never did refuse explicitly, but Steve couldn't help but wonder why.
“Well, you should come out. Vision said the dinner is ready, and I haven't seen any of you all day long. Now I know where you were, but I still have no idea why.”
“Oh, you are. You are so jealous I can see the steam pouring out of your ears. But you work yourself up over nothing - there is nothing between me and Strange besides old, good, healthy burning hatred. And a respect. Solely from his side. Obviously.”
“So what? Maybe it is true,” Steve said, his caressing hand now moving to Tony's chest, belly, and the base of the tail.
“Oh come on, Spider-Baby, afraid of the storm? Thor would be scandalized! Paintball in the real woods and rain, there's nothing better!” Clint teased Peter once. The teen was curled up in Tony's lap and a blanket, slightly trembling in the warm living room.
“Don't pull an elementary school teacher quotes on me, I consider that a dick move. I panicked. I am telling you that. Let's just… Go to bed. Alright? Please?”
But then, it happened again, and again, and again. As if Tony suddenly turned on his workaholic mode - all of his assignments were on time without the need of Steve's or Rhodey's or Pepper's scolding. And Steve went two months without the shower sex.
When every piece of ice settled, Hydro-man was gone, and Tony let out the breath of relief. He rolled on his back, and let out the bitter laugh. “Holy shit… I've never done anything… This big.”
Before Tony was able to answer, a loud crash interrupted them. Tony scrambled to put glasses back on his face and then cursed. “Watery son of a bitch,” he looked seriously at Steve. “He sent Sam into Clint's explosive arrow. Bit of a mess. F.R.I.D.A.Y., how much power do we have left?”
Glass didn't break, which was a miracle, but all of the water poured over Tony's face and shirt. The glass clattered on the ground, and Tony looked up, his eyes as wide as the antelope in headlights. Steve quickly reached for him, not comprehending Tony's utter panic that radiated off him in waves.
“My powers… I can move water, boil it, freeze…” Tony muttered, clearly focusing on his glasses for now, but then abruptly stopped. “Holy shit,” he cursed, looking Steve in the eye. “You think you can lift me so I can see over the reef, Prince Charming?”
A moment later (Steve would've sworn he had seen the whipped cream thickening at express speed right in front of his eyes) Bruce was the one to check out the vanilla section. “Now it is too cold, my brain is freezing,” scientist complained. Strange rolled his eyes and Tony groaned. Then, the whipped cream unfroze again (and Steve still couldn't believe that he was able to actually see it).
And thanks to that, Tony saw the reason for Peter's bewilderment - the huge purple love bite on Bruce's neck. Tony pursed his lips. “Yeah, sure, why not,” abandoning quiet Peter's side, he walked around the kitchen island to pour himself some fresh coffee. Just after he downed the first cup at one go, he was able to continue. “Thor's back?”
“Alright, alright, calm down, I was joking, it's fine,” Tony quickly intervened and massaged Bruce's shoulders as he heard scientist's voice slightly deepen. Thor's smuggled hickey definitely wasn't something Bruce should hulk out over. Bruce relaxed under Tony's hands, mumbled some more curses, and leaned over his eggs again. Peter snorted first, and Tony couldn't help but laugh too.
And after that, the first sob clawed its way out of Tony's throat, and overwhelming silence took over. Tony had so much more to say, so much more to pour out, and was unable to because of heavy breaths and sobs - it would all answer Steve's question much better than tears. The paralysing fear of others finding out and abandoning him along with Steve because they always were and always would be more loyal to him, the loneliness and misunderstandings forcing him to go into the hiding without his tech and armors, the public somehow finding out and someone powerful hunting him down in the same way Ross did with Bruce ages ago, and caging him somewhere for the nasty experimentation for the rest of his life.
Bruce was sitting behind the table in his lab coat and glasses, and his smile was twitching. Steve didn't know if it was because of laughter or nervosity, but he really hoped for the former. The tables from the middle of the room were gone, pushed against the wall, and in the freed space there was an Iron Man themed kiddie pool full of water. However, water was poured all over the floor in generous puddles, and Bruce's and Peter's clothes were also wet. But the weirdest thing was hanging from the ceiling straight above the kiddie pool - Tony. Upside down, with a huge thick web cocoon wrapped around his body.
“Alright love,” Steve whispered, and warm lips touched Tony's damp forehead. “I'm so sorry Tony… I didn't want to do this to you… I would check on you soon.”
“Perfect example of the coursebook answer, Captain. It seems I should take care of it myself,” and with those words, he closed his eyes and what seemed like his ghost flew out of his body, now help upward only by the Cloak. The ghost came through the door absolutely effortlessly, and the next thing Steve heard was Tony's: “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“As if I wasn't fucked up enough before, another wonder happened to me, and now on the top of everything I am a fish. Freaking half fish on the bad side of forty full of as much trauma and daddy issues as is humanly possible! But no, it's completely fine, because that clearly doesn't bother you, even though I can't figure out why, that's not by far the worst thing. I just couldn't tell you, how could I? I never planned to do so, it was a stupid accident! Your reaction was quite different as it should be, but I don't feel relieved, I can't afford that, because eventually, you will realize that I'm a freak that's not worth it, too much trouble, so far from what you really deserve-”
“I doubt so, Underoos,” Tony panted. Steve has been watching his boyfriend for a while - instead of choosing a steady position and only making a move when dodging the big water arms (like Rhodey did), Tony was constantly moving, shooting unexpectedly, and expertly dodging every drop of water. Steve didn't know why he did it - all of them were completely soaked wet by now, even Vision. But Iron Man’s armor had next to none water on its surface. The constant movement clearly exhausted Tony, and now, when they were stripped of their successful members, he had to multiply his efforts.
“Hey honey,” Steve kissed Tony's cheek as the billionaire slipped straight into his arms after entering the Compound. He was the only member of the ‘Welcome home’ committee because Vision was busy with preparing another culinary catastrophe, Peter was at school and everyone else insisted their paintball training game was too important to pause. Or maybe they just didn't know the exact time Tony would arrive - Steve forgot to tell them. Intentionally. Because he wanted his boyfriend all for himself for a few hours. Who could blame him?
Peter dipped his spoon into the chocolate section (maybe even chocolate coconut, little spider's favorite), and took the spoon out full of ice cream into his mouth. “Maybe a little colder.”
Steve smiled gently and caressed Tony's cheek. “They say that when you kiss a mermaid, you'll be able to breathe underwater.”
It took another while, but ice covered Hydro-man's arms too, and then his head. He stopped every movement, and then all Steve could hear was the loud cracking of the growing ice inside him, as the monster froze through and through.
Steve moved his leg to stand up, confused beyond anything. He seriously needed to take a breath. His enhanced metabolism, in fact, disabled any basic drugs from taking effect on him, so everything he had just seen was true, not just a hallucination or a dream. This was something he couldn't imagine even in the wildest dreams! He needed to take a break, climb down, check on Peter and Wanda, and maybe then climb back and check if it really isn't some sort of delusion.
But the strangest thing happened the second week after Tony's arrival from Australia. Bruce happened to come back two days ago, and he immediately went along really great with Peter. They hang out together in Bruce's lab majority of the time, Peter's well of questions for his favorite scientist never drying.
“Bruce corrupting the youth? That's the last thing I would've expected,” Tony's favorite voice suddenly resounded, and his eyes met Steve's. Captain looked like he hasn't slept much, which caused a pained jab in Tony's chest, but his smile was genuine and wide.
Steve quietly climbed the reef and peeked over the highest rock on the other side. There was a little lagoon, surrounded by jagged rocks of a reef, with one opening leading into the sea on the other side. The reef around the lagoon wasn't very high, but it did a good job at hiding its contents A few small fishes swam lazily in the clear lagoon, and one big, colorful fish…
A jumble of sounds came out of the lab - shuffling, whispering, even a strangely familiar clicking sound. Then, the door opened to reveal Peter with a suspiciously wide smile. There was a hint of panic in his eyes, that Steve immediately picked up on.
When he was at the Compound, Peter was inseparable from Tony. The rest of the team thought it was adorable, how the two functioned together. They worked in the workshop, watched movies, talked, argued, prepared food, developed a ton of inside jokes, and generally radiated the “Father and Son” aura. Peter had always adored Tony, even from the times before his own superhero ambitions, and Tony… simply loved Peter. There was no other way to say it. It was hilarious and cute and damn, fatherhood looked really good on Tony.
“...All over me?” Tony smiled as he sipped the wine, and Steve abruptly stopped, a little scandalized by his boyfriend's amusement.
“So, what do you say we begin with a shower to freshen you up after the flight?” Steve murmured in between kisses as he locked their door behind them. Tony hummed, and Steve took it as a yes, so he nudged Tony in the direction of their bathroom. To his surprise, Tony stood his ground and instead moved to the bed.
“Oof, of course not, Cap! It doesn't usually smoke this much, but since this is a lot of webbing, I suppose it is because of it… But we are safe, as safe as we can ever be!” Peter let out a flood of the ramble.
“Of all people… Even in my wildest visions I never would've imagined that karma would catch the King of Douchebags like this, you finally got what you deserved Stark, this is so hilarious,” and then he was laughing, and Tony was springing forward, grabbing Strange's shoulder and pulling him from the living room.
Tony loved sex. More importantly, he loved sex with Steve. He loved to subtly hint at it in front of the team (of course never when they had Peter over), until Clint's comments became really gross and Steve couldn't help but blush. Then, Tony patiently waited until they were alone, and then pounced on Steve. When they weren't on a mission, or none important lab work burdened the genius, Tony and Steve were able to repeat this scenario multiple times a day. By now, it was as easy as breathing - Tony held a master degree in arousing his partner, and Steve loved to submit to Tony's powerful siren aura. After all, his boyfriend was one of the sexiest men alive.
“I may be an idiot but I'm your idiot,” Tony whispered into Steve's lips and pressed another kiss in.
It was mostly dark in the room, with only the TV screen radiating the light, but Steve could pick up at how Tony's face paled. He stood up, facing Strange, successfully ignoring the curious glances of others. A little smile appeared on Strange's face and then he chuckled.
As the majority of the issues in their little Avengers household does, this problem also got sorted out on the battlefield.
Steve pulled Peter's mask from his face and teen immediately woke up, flipped on his stomach like a dead fish and coughed up a whole bucket of water. Steve smiled, patted his back reassuringly and then went back to Wanda.
Like the time Tony prepared the morning coffee and in his sleepy clumsiness poured water over the counter and his hands. Out of nowhere, Peter appeared in the kitchen, caused Steve to almost jump out of his skin (Exactly for how long was Peter hiding somewhere around? Holy shit, they just made out on the counter!), only to hand Tony the towel and disappear again.
Or the times when Peter got a cough or a sensory overload, so he couldn't go to the training or some team bonding activity, and Tony stayed with him in the workshop or his room as the right mother hen.
“NO!” the collective answer rang through comms, and Peter huffed. “Where's Deadpool when the spider needs him.”
Ever since had Tony come back from the AI related conference in Australia, he acted oddly. It wasn't easy to pinpoint exactly what was wrong, there just wasn't any clear sense to it, but Steve knew. He wasn't sure if he could discuss this with anyone from the team, because the problem included some of the rather personal stuff, and Steve would hate to embarrass Tony. If someone else noticed cracks in Tony's behavior, they haven't brought it up, so Steve couldn't be sure. But he wasn't sure how to bring it up in front of Tony either so… He was just worried.
A chaos erupted. Clint shot about a dozen arrows at once into Hydro-man's legs, making him stumble as his legs fell apart for a minute. Natasha then hopped up into a piece of tree trunk sticking out of Hydro-man's hip and pushed both of her electric batons into him. His whole posture shifted, and Steve was pretty sure that if it could, it would roar.
They have been doing everything they could - but how do you fight a man-shaped tsunami? Steve himself wasn't very useful, all he could do was to throw rocks and help occasional civillians. Clint with his explosive arrows did some damage, but explosions simply weren't strong enough to affect Hydro-man for long. The same problem was with Natasha's widow bites - effective, but weak against the mass of water. Sam's wings and weapons also weren't much of a use. Bruce stayed at the compound - they all decided that Hydro-man did enough damage even without Hulk joining the rodeo.
"he's probably asleep, son. you should be, too. i'll walk you back to your room," a teacher said, but peter had never met him. he was a new freshman teacher, so peter had no idea why they accepted his request to come along, but here he was. "okay, thank you," peter said, a little suspicious. the teacher opened the door, and peter thanked him again.
Steve folded his hands in front of him and nodded, considering the team around him before speaking. The
Steve might have been out of breath, but it didn’t do anything to diminish the righteous anger that was controlling him. “Lucy Carlisle and Susan Gleeson stopped by our apartment tonight. Lucy seems to think you put your hands on her without her permission.”
The silence in the room was enough of an answer for him. Steve nodded towards Bucky and turned on Natasha’s comm unit. “Nat, fall back. It’s the Winter Soldier’s turn. I want them to know exactly who they are dealing with.”
He helped Tony in with an offered arm, guiding him to a chair rather than the bed, for which Tony was grateful. “Okay, hit me.”
He couldn’t hold back the yawn that snuck up on him, and Natasha ran her fingers through his hair. “Go ahead and get some rest. Either us or Clint and Bruce will be here when you wake up.”
“What? Why?” Tony asked, completely thrown off by Steve’s sudden change in demeanor. He threw on his jeans before stuffing his feet into the boots that were strewn across the room. Tony couldn’t put a finger on exactly what had changed. But this Steve was more...army-like? Commanding? If Tony was anyone else, he would have followed along blindly. “Where the hell are you going?”
Tony’s brain was filled with the same fear-induced incessant buzzing that clouded his mind after Hydra caused his car accident. His father, the man who willingly gave his son more emotional and physical scars than any child should ever have to endure, and Obadiah Stane, the godfather who sat back and watched it all happen with a smile on his face, towered over him in a way even Thor never could.
The older man took another step closer, and Tony could feel the heat radiating off of his body. He blinked, suddenly feeling dizzy at the nearness. “Let me do this, please? I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I knew you were out there in this weather.”
Sam had called for him, shouting his name and he fought to get the seat belt off where it had him trapped. But nobody stopped, they just kept dragging him to the truck. The second he screamed for help, screamed for
The hand skimming Rogers’ chest traveled upwards to grip the taller man’s shoulder, squeezing as his pleasure rose higher in waves, each passing crest leaving him desperate and aching.
goodbye makeout session with Steve (holy heaven on EARTH than man knows how to use his tongue), he slumped against the frame and sighed in complete and utter bliss.
Natasha shrugged her shoulders in agreement, “We shouldn’t have lied to him, we knew how dangerous he was, heard rumors about how he operated. Once we came clean, it seemed to be enough for him, and he drove us to the emergency room. Paid for all of our medical bills, too.” She knocked against him with a dazzling smile. “That’s why we follow him. He’s a good man, Tony, his heart is in the right place. Works outside of the law, sure, but him and Bucky save a lot of people doing what they’re doing. We just wanted a piece of that. You could say I wanted to make some moves towards wiping my ledger clean.”
She took a look at his chart hanging off the foot of the bed and grimaced. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but the primary on the insurance has a note to block any pain medications after the initial dose. If you want another one, the insurance won’t pay for it.”
“I’ve already given Sam this speech about not needing to apologize, do I have to give it to you too?”
He shrugged, and she sighed before setting the ice cream down onto the nightstand and putting her arm around him. Tony snuggled into her touch, like always. “Talk to me.”
Steve was looking at him with an odd expression, some kind of cross between amused and fond, something Tony couldn’t really understand. “It’s good to see you too. Did the second shot of espresso get you through your class today?”
“We are alone,” Pietro agreed, silent tears running down his face. “Our parents were killed in their homes. We only just got away. They will send us back to die.”
Apparently, that was enough of an explanation for his friends. They all gave “oh’s, and ah’s,” before finally shutting up and settling in to watch television.
Natasha thought for a moment, then tilted her head towards the alley. “This one, I suppose. Two of the victims, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, twin sixteen year olds, are here illegally. They refused to go to the hospital because once the police questioned them, they would be deported back to Sokovia. Apparently their home life isn’t much better than what they’ve experienced here.” She closed her eyes for a moment before continuing. “Clint and Sam didn’t want to compromise the Avengers, so they brought the kids here and Bruce is looking after them now. Everyone has a mask on in case they later need to identify us.”
“Do you think Coulson and his agent friends are looking into my kidnapping? I know that Fury guy questioned me, but I haven’t heard anything since then. Would they have any leads on who at SI told Hydra to go after me?”
The prodding continued until it somehow managed to get tangled into the back of his thin hoodie, so that when the bot rolled backwards, it took Tony with it. He landed on the floor with a harsh thud, spitting out curses wildly and pushing himself back onto his feet. Tony shot Dum-E a look of pure disdain, muttering promises to sell him to a community college, before checking his watch. Just past six, excellent. That meant that the money was finally deposited into his account, and he could buy some actual groceries at the store.
. They were the ones who rescued you from Hydra, and I know they just dismantled Baron Zemo’s operation last night.”
“Since I’m officially on the team and everything, I want you to start calling me by alias when we’re on a mission. So, try again.”
more. His vision was brought to light by his own son, Joseph, who integrated the use of assassins into the gang’s repertoire. After years of building, training, and executing an elite team, the Commandos were officially the gang to turn to if a hit was needed. Simply no one else on the Eastern Seaboard could execute a hit as flawlessly as Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Montgomery Falsworth, Jim Morita, and Jacques Dernier. Despite their reputation and imperceptible signatures, the police were never able to find enough evidence to convict the Howling Commandos on any charges, whether they be murder or any of their drug related crimes.
Tony’s answering moan sent shockwaves of gooseflesh down Steve’s arms, and he instinctively snaked his hands down and around to Tony’s ass and spread his fingers wide to massage his cheeks through his jeans. Tony bucked against him and flung his arms over Steve’s shoulders and crawled upwards so that he could lock his legs around Steve’s waist and grind down. The friction was so damn good, but not nearly enough.
He blinked at the man’s sleeping form as he paused at the edge of the bed. Rogers really thought he could just slip into bed beside Tony and everything would be fine? What the fuck? Sure, Tony was grateful for his phone and laptop, but it didn’t mean that he was comfortable with Rogers taking over his space. Especially his fucking bed.
Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek and stuffed the piece of circuitry back into his pocket. “I-You didn’t have to get me anything to eat. The coffee is more than enough.”
Thinking about Steve’s crystal blue eyes, closed in ecstatic pleasure as he grunted into the back of Tony’s neck, his large hands splayed across Tony’s stomach and chest as he held him place. The hand on his cock tightened and sped up desperately as he thought about what it would be like to have Steve recklessly pounding into him with utter abandon and...
The archer used the lock pick to slide open the cell doors, the creak and moan of the door echoing within the thin corridor. Unsurprisingly, Wanda didn’t move from her spot. Clint reached out and offered her a hand. “You want to find your brother, don’t you? I promise I’ll get both of you out of here.”
Their target clutched at his neck and tried to squirm away, but the Soldier caught the back of Zemo’s hair with a sharp yank in his metal grip, tight and unescapable.
Feeling confident, Steve leaned forward, capturing Tony’s mouth with his own and slotting himself in between his legs. It was tentative at first, but Tony’s lips molded to his own immediately, and his hands snakes up and around Steve’s neck and entangled themselves into his hair.
Steve turned his bright, crystal blue eyes on him, and Tony relaxed at the sight of them. No one had ever looked at him like that before. With so much...love.
“Of course,” The voice sounded warm and enthused, and Steve didn’t think it was just his imagination. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Rogers. In the untimely event of Sir’s demise, I am only to answer to you and First Lieutenant Rhodes.”
Tony wormed his way out of Steve’s grasp and went to stand by the door, careful not to let himself get caught up in lust, he had shit to do today. “Well, he does, and he’s very excited to meet you. Now come on!”
"sei mio," tony growled, kissing and biting with ferocity on bucky's neck, aggressive all of the sudden. "what does that mean?" bucky panted.
at the very end of the main hallway, there were two people talking, in what seemed like a frantic way. "dr. banner?" peter called, and the duo paused. the taller one leaned down for what looked like a kiss and then ran off through what peter knew was the domestic entrance. bruce then came walking towards them.
"let's go to bed, you guys. it's getting late and we have another module tomorrow," ned said, starting to get up from the table. all three groups stood up and headed to their dorms without a word.
"anytime, doll," he kissed tony softly. steve wanted to say something, but knew he would be punished again if he did. bucky turned around, sympathetically reaching out to touch his cheek. "you can say something, if you want," he offered.
"oh, you're fucking serious? let's do it," peter laughed, getting up. mj followed him, leaving ned with wade on the couch watching tv. "why are you coming?" vincent asked. "i wanna see falcon, duh."
he started to walk downstairs, checking tony's labs, then his office, and then tony's "bachelor pad" floor, which is where all of their parties are held. lastly, peter started to check the living quarters, and found tony pressed up against the pantry cabinet by captain america himself. "oh my god, really?" he shouted, covering his eyes.
"your house is so cool. your family is so cool," ned said, closing peter's door behind him. "yeah, most people think so. being a normal human being in house with them can be the worst," peter said, sitting at his desk.
steve moaned, carefully watching them quietly. bucky started to stretch tony. the only sounds in the elevator were steve and tony's moans and groans. bucky basked in the glory of what he was doing to these boys.
"there was a teacher, and then he wasn't a teacher, and he knew my name and i've never met him, and he chased me here," peter panted. "thor said he needed you to help him to get the guy to fury."
bucky came not long after, pulling out but still holding tony. their lips brushed lightly, making the both of them smile and put their heads together.
steve shook his head. "no, but thank you, peter. i was just wondering if dum-e was supposed to be doing things to the suit or not," he said. "for future reference, bruce and i are also heads of the lab and we can answer all of your questions," peter smiled, taking another bite of his apple. "o-oh, okay," steve said, walking out of the kitchen and into his room.
steve stood up, only a little bit shorter than bucky, who had to lean way down to kiss tony. "i don't see why not," he shrugged, kissing bucky hungrily. he left no room for exploration- everything was done beforehand.
peter slid in to the front seat, smiling. "hi, happy," he said, buckling up. "you're late," happy grumbled, taking off down the wooded path to the main road. all of the sudden, peter got an amazing idea and he gasped.
"we have to- steve has to- fuck, again," tony stammered. "all in good time, doll. let's get us cleaned up first, hm?" bucky smiled, reaching for his underwear. he cleaned tony up, throwing his underwear in a corner to grab tony's clothes.
a previously invisible door opened, showing off an elusively shiny hallway, which led to the labs. "c'mon, it's this way," peter said, gesturing for his group to follow him again. "goddamn, peter. this is way too complicated," wade said, touching the aluminum alloy walls.
"first, we'll be doing punches. it's very simple, hit the pads on our hands as hard as you can. when you punch, keep your thumb on the outside of your fist and a little bit out of the way. let's begin."
"i love you too, dad. and i don't put up with your shit so much as live through it," peter said, laughing. "bye, peter," tony said, trying to fight off a smile. peter hugged him tightly, walking over to his door and opened it slightly. "bye, dad," he said, before rushing down the stairs to happy, his ride.
steve pulled away quickly, going to stand against a counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. "peter!" tony said sternly, and peter uncovered his eyes. "i could've been getting a snack!"
he got up, moving over to peter. he grabbed the boy's thighs, pulling him up around his waist and pressed him against the door. "you over think so fucking much. we can reschedule for another day, okay?" bucky said, his face close to peter's. peter pressed their foreheads together and sighed.
peter shook his head, wiping away tears and trying to steady his voice. "please let me finish my whole thought, or this isn't going to make any sense," he begged, and tony nodded softly. "of course, peter."
they were ready by 6:30, so they decided to head to the labs early. from the looks of it, people were just now waking up, getting breakfast, or even still sleeping. peter guided his group past the rest of their class to the compound.
after a few hours of working, peter felt successful with his language studies and bid wanda farewell. before she left, she kissed peter's cheek, and told him,"
the module lasted about two hours, and a few people were asleep by the end of it. those who weren't, though, had pages upon pages of notes of new knowledge.
"quantum physics is when you can't relate minuscule things to a definite point. classical mechanics is how things move at everyday sizes and definable points, which uses all of newton's law," she said, going back to doodling. "that was the only fully correct answer we've gotten today. please come see me before you leave," hope said, letting hank start on the next part- the lecturing and demonstrating on scott.
there was a picture of the two of them on the ellis island ferry, hugging each other as their faces were smushed together. the next one was bucky kissing peter's cheek, and then peter on the lips. the next one was bucky staring out over new york from the top of the empire state buidling, and then one of him smiling back at peter. another was a candid picture of peter at one of their picnics in central park that he didn't know existed until now. the last one, and the one that was peter's lock screen, was them at the statue of liberty, bucky picking peter up as they kissed without care.
"ignore them," peter said, waving in their direction. "they're just a little stupid. in love, but stupid," he said, mostly to hope and scott, who were shocked, but hank had a knowing smile on his face.
"if you want," bucky smiled charmingly at steve, his voice husky. "yes," tony answered, his response cut short by him pulling bucky's head to face him again, kissing bucky deeply.
by the time he got downstairs, everyone was at the table, and an already made plate was sat in front of where he would normally sit. he noticed thor had arrived, and wondered if that would interfere with the trip.
"we can't just reschedule... we'll never find time. tell you what- i'll just sneak out after dark and we can go then. is ten o'clock an okay time to eat dinner?" peter asked. bucky placed a long kiss on his jaw. "no, that's very late, doll. you'll have already eaten dinner and i'll have already made dinner for everyone else, even if i haven't eaten. i'll just pull you away from some things, make you mine, et cetera. deal?"
the next morning, peter woke up way earlier than he should’ve, in his own room. sleepily, he rubbed his eyes before noticing he wasn’t in the dorm and he jolted awake.
peter didn't usually mind school, unless it involved his family. the accords, the captain america videos, and most everything people talked about was his family. come to think of it, peter hated school.
since the presentations went in alphabetical order by last name, it took a while to get to peter's name. flash (nuclear bombing of japan and it's long lasting effects), mj (the fight for equal rights for women of color), and ned (how computers so easily became pocket sized in such a short time) all went before peter did. "parker, peter?" the teacher called. peter stood up with a deep breath and a flash drive in hand.
they walked in silence for few seconds until mr. davis grabbed peter's arm. "are you really an intern for stark? really?" he asked, and a sense of dread ran over peter. "sir, i really don't think this is appropriate," he said, turning around to walk back to the compound. the teacher stomped over and grabbed peter's arm again, harder this time.
"who's she?" mj asked, standing in front of them, book bag in hand. "you're late," peter, said, watching as she sat down behind them. "traffic," she shrugged, pulling out a coffee and a mcdonald's bag, packed full of food the three of them were definitely going to eat, despite the rules.
i’m so sorry this is so short! i was on vacation and i bridged as much as possible! ❤️ TWO DAYS UNTIL THE FIELD TRIP.
it kind of shocked peter that wade was going on the trip. he had bad marks, smoked pot in school with reckless abandon, and very obviously switched out his water for vodka. he turned around to shake everyone's hand, and peter noticed light scarring from a burn on his arm, but he pulled away too quick for peter to get a good look.
happy picked peter up in the usual spot, confused as to why peter couldn’t’ve just stayed at the compound. “hey, happy,” peter said, climbing in to the passenger seat with his bag at his feet. “hey, kid. how was your weekend?”
the teachers were in awe as they loaded the teens up on the buses, ready to go home. everyone was talking about how amazing tony was and how cool it was that even after having a private expo for them, he offered to pay all of their school expenses.
tony cut him short. "you're not gonna do anything. barnes, with me. now," he said, pointing to bucky, and then out of the door before he started to leave himself.
after school, peter invited ned and mj over to work on their big history project, and so that they could get a better look at all of the compound. tony had already said it was okay, but just to keep in mind that he had to remind them that they couldn't say anything about their family situation.
"well, i might have an idea," steve said, and bucky turned around. "what should we do?" he asked, excited to be doing something.
instead, he climbed over to straddle bucky’s lap, kissing him deeply. there was a sharp knock on the door before tony, steve, and fury walked in. “you have got to quit doing this, peter!”
they made their way inside through the living quarter's door, opening up to what looked like a normal home. it was an open floor plan kitchen, dining and living room with a hall to the left that lead off to the bathroom and all of the bedrooms. on the right, there was a glass door that lead to the expansive gym. ned and mj looked around in awe.
"hello, i'm peter parker, and today i'll be talking about lgbtq people during the 1940s and how it effects us today."
"your father," bucky grunted, keeping a little ways away from tony to gauge his reaction. tony's eyes just went wide. "that's hot. fuck, you're my dad's age. fuck. i feel so young," tony panted, kissing bucky deeper.
peter, ned, and mj brought all their stuff down and set in the back like everybody else, but lingered by the door alone. “this really was one of the coolest things i’ve ever done,” ned said, hand in hand with mj. “i can’t believe i got an internship with dr. hope and dr. hank. and it’s paid, which is almost unheard of,” mj said, smiling slightly.
“shh, shh, come back to sleep,” bucky whined from behind him. peter kissed him softly, but nudged his arm off gently. “sorry, buck. i need to shower and get back to the dorms before we go to the modules,” he explained, grabbing some clothes from his dresser. “do you really have to go?” bucky asked, reaching his hand out. peter noticed he was shirtless, and it took a lot of effort not to stare.
the two of them strolled through the compound greens, coming to a drop off point. there were large stones jutting out, just big enough to hold peter and tony. a fast-current estuary had carved out the rocks, but had lowered over the years so that now, it only came up a few hundred feet instead of thousands. the both took a seat on the same, easily-accessible rock.
“you’re so amazing with them,” peter mumbled, leaning down to kiss bucky, who was slumped on the couch. “no better than you are,” bucky smiled, kissing him deeper. “ew, papa!” their daughter shrieked, running to jump on top of bucky. their son jumped up in between him and peter, all of them laughing as the puppy tried to get up on the couch.
"this is why people think we're dating!" peter exclaimed. mj and ned laughed, high fiving. "is that a bad thing?" mj smirked, running a hand along peter's jaw. "ha-ha, very funny. you can't do this anymore at my house," he replied, swatting her hand away. "ooh, why?" ned asked, leaning forward. "i might be seeing someone," peter shrugged.
"Nice to see you, too, Pepper." Tony barely managed to get the words out because of how tightly she was hugging him. He wrapped his arms around her before the two of them let go. "Steve, this is Pepper. Pepper, this is Steve. She's an old friend of mine," the brunet explained.
How would he even manage to do it? Those charity galas were full of people just waiting to hear something that interested them enough to gossip about. Getting rejected in the middle of one called for disaster. But the blond had to admit that Bucky was right. Telling him sooner than later meant an answer rather than long nights of speculation. Even if that answer meant rejection.
He gulped, and loudly too. Steve knew who that voice belonged to without even having to look at him. Tony Stark: the school's richest and most popular playboy. Everyone knew who Tony was. What was his business snooping around in empty hallways and eavesdropping on private conversations? The blond couldn't help but be annoyed that Tony was just here openly teasing him about it. There was no point to it either. Why tease the failing football player when you could be off for vacation on a private island with no consequences whatsoever? He huffed in annoyance.
Steve leaned down and whispered in his ear as they were walking. "Is it okay to be nervous? People are looking at us."
Steve's eyebrows furrowed. Tony specially ordered a suit for him? He internally shook his head. Without a fitted suit, he would be the clown at the gala, the joke among all the rich old women and men. Of course Tony specially ordered it. He didn't want to show up with an idiot in a too tight-fitting or baggy suit. Nothing else other than that.
During the day it had begun to rain, which of course didn't cancel practice. It only made it worse. Steve was in his regular clothing from earlier that day, but the rest of his body was covered in a layer of dirt, mud, and sweat.
He and Sam both had made many attempts to try and get him to function on normal hours, like everyone else. But it just… didn’t work. It was almost like Bucky was born to be a nightowl.
"Definitely," his friend responded, his attention not even directed to him. He was texting Sam. But it didn't exactly matter to Steve at the moment, he would dry it anyways. "Also, Sam is coming over later with some Italian food. Will you be back in time for that?"
The movie was some romcom that Bucky had decided would be good to watch. Steve had arrived after it started playing, but it didn't really matter. It was about some girl in New York City who had wanted to become famous but met a guy who taught her that fame didn't matter and love did. Currently, the girl and this boy were on their first date at a park. Steve could basically predict the ending from there: after the first date, there would be some sort of conflict. The two wouldn't talk for a while before they both decided to see each other one last time. When they talk, they realize it was all a big misunderstanding and that they both love each other. He was dying to see if he was right or not.
Howard continued to speak. "This man you're about to meet, he used to help me when I was younger. Just starting out in the big world as a young man! It's crazy how far he and I go back, and now he's helping Tony. Beautiful, isn't it? Friendships can last a long time if you play your cards--"
." Steve had sworn he saw a red on his face, but Tony looked away before he could make sure of it. "Thanks. I think."
He directed his attention to the waiter. "No thank you," he told them with a curt nod. They walked off without another word. "I don't drink, Mr. Stark," Steve explained to him.
to tell him.” Bucky plopped his head back down, closing his eyes. “Now let me sleep, I have to facetime Sam later.”
"Oh. Well, thanks for the compliment, I guess. My art... it's kind of messy. I'm glad you like it." Steve rubbed the back of the neck with his hand, looking down at the floor. He looked like a mess. His blond hair was probably everywhere, paint stains on his clothing and his hands. Most likely his face too. His art wasn't that good, either. He wouldn't have cared if it was anyone else seeing him like this, or even saw his art. So why did he care about it around Tony?
The door to the library opened, and a disheveled looking Tony walked through, scanning the room. Girl's heads turned as he walked in, but he paid them no attention. Steve raised his hand at him and waved, and he came over immediately.
"I apologize for the mix-up. I am afraid Tony doesn't tell me much. I'm Howard Stark, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers."
There is a lot of girls on the cheerleading team that match that exact description, please be more specific.
"Aw, I'm happy to see you, too, Stevie." Tony joked, before looking at him more seriously. "But yeah, he's an asshole with his suffocating incorrect remarks."
"Did you seriously just say heck?" Tony shook his head, smiling at the blond. "Anyways, catch up, Rogers. I'm a genius. I'll never tell my secrets."
The crowd around them stared, even when they left the dance floor. The blond knew how self conscious he was because of this. They were all, in one way or another, judging the both of them silently. But this time, Steve learned to ignore it, a little bit at the least. All that mattered was Tony. The way he moved so graciously, helping Steve follow his movements without stumbling.
“I’m expecting you to do what's best for Tony. I see how you look at him. I know you care for him. And Tony deserves someone who does. But not you. He needs someone who is adapted to this. He needs someone… what's the word?”
As Steve grows more and more desperate with the absence of Tony, he goes to Mrs. Carter for her advice.
Tony leaned up on his tip toes, his lips right next to Steve's ear. "Do you want to leave?" He whispered.
It became quite obvious to Steve that Maria and Carol were Coach Fury's sources of happiness. He loved his daughters more than anything in the world. Not to mention that it was absolute hell for the team when they left after the holiday seasons. The welcome was the best part for everyone, the goodbye being the one thing that was dreaded. Fury would start to return to his old routine: more yelling, mood swinging from left to right in moments. This cycle had continued for the two years that Steve had been at college playing football.
"Name?" A man at the front door asked them. He held a clipboard so tightly in one of his shaking hands that his knuckles were white. On the other hand, he held a blue fountain pen, with a feather at the top that was nearly falling apart.
I have a game on Sunday, so Bucky will probably be there. Just knock and stay at the door, okay? He has a fear of bombs being in packages.
The blond put his frustration out onto the canvas, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't know what he was painting, but did it matter? Strokes and dabs of paint here and there, maybe a cloud in the left corner. It was okay to express freedom in the world of art. Soon enough, his hands were littered with different shades of paint, his shirt stained with them too. He didn't really mind, though.
"Did... did you um, get my... gift ?" Tony asked him, biting the edge of his lips. Steve found himself staring at them, before forcing himself to divert his eyes to somewhere else on his face. "I was hoping I didn't get the wrong place. That would've been weird."
The blond sat at that table waiting patiently for Tony to arrive. His head would pop up expectantly when the door opened with a sudden gust of air, only to see that it was just another face of another student that he didn't know. The minutes seemed to pass by ever so slowly, and Steve had never been so bored. He ended up giving some of the floor tiles names and even created fake storylines for the people that sat around him. The girl with an afro across the room, which he had named Amelia, was from Poland and had a strong accent. A boy who was looking at the books in the nonfiction section had been named Jamie, who came to college wanting to be a book author.
Five fifty-five had suddenly turned into seven o'clock. Had Tony really stood him up to a tutoring session? With no notice beforehand?
"He brought a car of his own in, asking specifically for me to fix it. But the car was a piece of shit, it couldn't even be fixed. He stood there for hours while I tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with it. It took all night only for me to fail. He told my employer that I was a bad mechanic, that I needed to be fired immediately. And though he appreciated my work and how much I had helped the shop, he had to fire me. My father did that to embarrass me, to teach me some sort of fucked up lesson. All I learned that night was how to be more secretive around him and my mother."
"He had obviously been eavesdropping and gave me some stupid offer. He told me that he would tutor me in whatever class I needed it for, only if I agreed to show up to some charity event to impress his dad. Tony even said he would get the suit for me!" He let out a long breath, running his hands through his hair for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. The whole situation made him nervous. "It's just... weird. I don't know how to explain it in a way that makes sense."
Best Bet is almost at 1000 reads! That's absolutely crazy. Thank you all. For that, some of this chapter will be in Tony's point of view.
The hallway leading up to Steve's dorm was dark and empty. The two of them walked side by side, shoulders constantly bumping into each other because of the small width of the area. Every touch sent tingles through Steve's arm. When they arrived, both of them seemed to know exactly where the door was. Steve, because that was where he slept and ate most of the time. And Tony, because he was the one to drop the suit off yesterday night.
Tony had mentioned Obadiah Stane on the ride here. He was one of his father’s old friends, who had helped with Stark Industries on its rise to fame. Steve had heard Howard talk about Obadiah before, but at the time he just didn’t know the man’s name. Was that the man that Howard was so intent on meeting Steve?
"But... why-- why can't you bring someone else to those galas? I'm nothing... special. You're around much more special people."
"Hi, hi, sorry I'm late and all that. Lab emergency." His shirt had a coffee stain on it and the rest of his clothes looked wrinkled. Tony's hair was everywhere, as he tried to tame it by running his hands through his hair.
Bucky and Sam were all he needed as far as friends went. Dating wasn't something he wanted to get into.
Her absence at events also brought on the attention of many rich snobs who only wanted something to gossip to one another about.
"Do you want to... dance?" Steve rubbed the back of his neck, his face flushing. "Do you-- would you like to... Tony Stark, would you want to--"
"It's because they're homophobic assholes. A man and a man showing up together for an event, oh, how taboo," Tony mocked, flinging his hands up in the air. "Don't let them get to you. Shoulders back, hold your chin up high." Steve held his head up, and Tony smiled widely. "Not that high, Rogers. Laugh, right now. Like I just told you something funny."
At the sound of an engine, Steve turned his head. A sleek black car had pulled up along the sidewalk, the passenger window rolled all the way down. The man sitting at the driver's seat was no other than Tony, his brown hair messy and falling around his face. A smile made its way onto Steve's face. "You going to get in, Rogers?" Tony questioned, popping the car door open.
"Of-- of course, Mr. Stark," the boy stammered, practically rushing over towards Tony. "We will, um, talk soon."
Howard walked right next to Steve's side, always attempting to make straight eye contact with him. The blond knew this must be some sort of stupid intimidation tactic, and it was working. He pretended like he was entranced by the activities going on around them instead. Oh, how interesting! A waiter with a plate full of shrimp in his hands! A woman that was focused intently on fixing the nail on her index finger. How amazing.
“I am very sorry to interrupt,” Jarvis disrupted the two. “Mr. Stark, your father requires your immediate presence,” the man explained, throwing an apologetic glance Steve’s way. Steve nodded to him, lips in a tight line. It was his way of saying that it was alright.
My school is closed due to COVID-19, so expect some more updates soon! (Wash your hands, y'all, don't be nasty.)
Steve looked around the hallway and determined that it was only about 11. If they were still at that event, people would still be donating how ever much money they wanted to prove their wealth. He was glad that Tony had proposed the offer to leave. It was about to become unbearable. The only regret the blond had was not taking some food with him on the way out, the shrimp being served could've fed him and Bucky for days.
His thoughts mindlessly wandered to Tony earlier that day in the art classroom. He didn't know how Tony knew he was in there, or where his dorm even was for goodness sake, but the blond was glad to have seen him. The smile on Tony's lips, the genuine compliments that he had given him. Steve knew he couldn't have been developing a crush. Of course, he couldn't be. Tony Stark wasn't gay, and never would be. There would be no point in developing feelings, it would only end in hurt.
Tony smiled, looking out into the classroom. "Good. I'll be going, I wouldn't want to interrupt your class."
"Tell me about yourself, Steve," Howard told him. It sounded more like a demand than it did anything else. A short silence followed, and the older man let out a laugh. "There is no need to be shy. I don't bite."
"Well, you make sure to tell me when you find out." She walked off to her desk without another word.
"No." Steve successfully grabbed the box quickly out of his hands, gripping it tightly in his grasp. "Your definition of a date is much different than mine."
A nervous Steve tells Bucky about Tony's deal, and ultimately decides to show up for help in his classes. Needless to say, Tony is late, and Steve is a bit annoyed. Some words are exchanged between the two. (Also known as: Tony and Steve are oblivious to the fact that they both like each other.)
Tony left, walking away with Jarvis at his side. Which only left Steve alone in a mostly crowded room, filled with mindless chatter. He grabbed a water from a table nearby, chugging it down.
"That expression! It's your Steve is being stubborn for no reason face." Steve saw that face coming from Bucky almost always.
The two backed away immediately in the presence of Bucky, both of their eyes wide. The sight was suspicious, but Steve hoped Bucky was too tired from sleeping to even notice. Or care.
The blond didn't know it, but every once in awhile, Tony would look over and smile at this boy being such a dork about being able to have the window rolled down in the car.
Howard and Tony had always been known not only for their brilliance and their good looks, but for their ability to get practically anyone they wanted, and anything that they wanted. They were the masters of it.
. Steve was trying to see a way that this wasn’t his fault. What kind of psychopath would blackmail a college student?
The room was dark and dusty, the blinds drawn in to block the natural sunlight from coming into the room. The shelves were left empty, and the big desk that sat in the front of the blond was clear of anything that had once been there. The carpets were bland, the walls a boring shade of beige. No student or teacher liked to be in here, which only spoke for itself. It seemed like no one had ever occupied the office in the first place, seeming at first just another place of wasted space on campus.
"I'm... not exactly sure yet. I have two years to figure it all out," Steve responded with a shrug. In two years, he did not see himself ever wanting to join the NFL. Nothing even related to sports. But he wasn't willing to tell Howard that he had a degree in art education, and was planning on getting a job as an elementary school teacher. Howard probably knew that about him already, anyway. "There's a lot of options for me out there, sometimes it's just hard to pick and choose."
Before their argument turned into a food fight, Steve stood up and went to their small kitchen to get some water. The fridge was three feet tall and the sink sometimes didn't work. At least they had a kitchen, to begin with. Since it was an open floor plan, Steve could still hear every word Sam and Bucky were saying to each other. They always had little meaningless arguments like this. But they did both love each other a lot. The two were just very stubborn. Very.
“A pink tie?” Bucky mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. The blond had just woken him up (from probably the second nap of the day) to show him his new suit from Tony.
"I used to babysit my neighbor's cat when I was a kid," Steve began. "That cat hated my guts. It would scratch up my arms if I didn't feed it on time, and if it was disinterested in its toys it would try and destroy furniture around the house. Eventually, the neighbor was like, Steve, we love you, but you can't do this anymore for us. I got fired without even being told that I was being fired. My mother wasn't even mad at me for it. Later that week I had found a job for the local newspaper, except all I did was ride my bike around and throw it into people's yards. I got fired from that, too."
Steve fumbled around in his pocket, his fingers finally touching a crumpled up note. He retrieved it and flattened it out with his thumbs. Tony's number was indeed on the slip of paper. "Wow. Okay. I'll give you credit for that one."
Jesus, the two chapters I've posted need some serious editing. I'm sorry y'all had to read some of this I'm tired.
"And the boy has manners!" Howard said to himself in surprise, gripping his hand and shaking it vigorously. Steve furrowed his eyebrows. "I see that Tony can pick out his dates rather well. Why don't we step right over there to have a nice little chat?" He had his hand pointed over to a corner in the room, which automatically made the blond's hands start to sweat.
The blond felt a light tap on his shoulder, and he turned around to see an older man with a full head of white hair. "Are you... Stephen Rogers? Steven?"
With a quick look at the clock, Steve saw that there was only fifteen minutes before class actually started. Other classmates would start to file in soon. He picked up all his brushes and walked to the sink to rinse them off. He would leave his painting out to dry in the class overnight, and pick it up in the morning. Maybe he could give it to Mrs. Carter as a gift, as he did with most of his pieces if he didn't keep them or give them to someone else for a Christmas or birthday gift.
Steve knew way too many people. It was one of the things that came with being a star football player. In classes, people would walk up to him randomly and start a conversation. Most times it was someone he couldn't even put a name to. All of the art classes had a different crowd. He didn't fit in with them, that much was true, but it was nice to not be so known. They would give him one look and it was over. Steve Rogers wasn't Steve Rogers, the popular boy. Steve Rogers was Steve Rogers, the boy who liked to paint and draw portraits.
More heads seemed to turn to look at Steve and Tony as they walked by. A woman suddenly approached the two of them. She was undeniably pretty, with sleek orange hair and bright blue eyes. The dark blue dress that she wore was alluring. The blond began to wonder if these were the type of women that Tony often brought along to these events. "Tony!" The girl gushed, reaching in for a hug. "I thought you might not show up.
"--so being on the football team is the only thing keeping me enrolled. I really need to get the best grades I can."
Steve's heart fluttered at the prospect that Tony cared. Because, God, did Steve care about Tony. More than he would like to admit.
Bad grades, no football team. No football team, no college. No college, then what? A lifetime of working from store to store, paycheck to paycheck? Nowadays, no good jobs were available without a degree. Unless he became a model or an actor, which those two options were definitely already out of the picture. He was definitely too awkward in film and stiff on camera.
“Well. To Tony, to Mrs. and Mr. Stark, and to Mr. Jarvis, I’m fine. I’m not sure what to tell you since who Tony dates doesn't concern you or your work for the family--”
The man looked up immediately from his clipboard, red covering his cheeks. His shaking only seemed to worsen. "Oh, I apologize Mr. Stark. Go right in."
to feel about the package that showed up in front of his door last night with no sign of Tony. But he knew he should have expected for something to show up at his door, anyway. During his short time of knowing the millionaire -- and knowing very little about him -- Steve knew with no doubt that he liked to be dramatic. To make an entrance everywhere he went. Tony could show up anywhere and anytime wearing the most ridiculous of outfits and nobody would question him on it. Because that was Tony Stark. The package showing up with his name written on it and a brief note was nothing out of the ordinary for the brunet to do.
"I might have or might have not hit a woman in the face with one of the papers one afternoon. She was furious. This woman called it in and reported me and everything, even though I had apologized many times." Steve let out a small laugh. "The people there were like, really Steve? They didn't want to let me go because I was the only one willing to go around on my bike for such a low pay rate, but they didn't want to deal with her again."
“Mr. Rogers!” A man called out from across the room, approaching the blond. Howard had probably mentioned Steve to Obadiah already, there was no need to be paranoid.
Steve put the blue one back on its hanger and back into the closet and tugged his shirt off over his head. He threw the shirt on his bed, telling himself that he would pick it up later. (Which was definitely not going to happen.) Fitting his arms through the sleeves and pulling it over his chest, Steve realized again for the thousandth time exactly how comfortable this sweater was. Bucky seemed to hate every sweater he had ever owned in his lifetime, though. If only his friend knew about the amazing benefits it came with.
I will be adding more to this chapter! (It's only 873 words, needless to say I am ashamed) Thank you for reading.
The library was quiet as usual when Steve arrived there five minutes later. Only a couple of students occupied some tables by themselves, studying for upcoming tests or scrolling mindlessly through their phones. After looking around, Steve spotted a table on the far left corner with a window view of he school garden and made his way to sit over there before anyone else could take the spot. Not like they would, anyway. Hopefully Tony wouldn't mind this spot too much, Steve just had an everlasting love for pretty gardens.
He blushed, trying to discreetly hide his face beneath his hands. Did Tony really think that he had a pretty face? "Whatever," he spat out. "Can we do Stats now?"
Why wouldn't I? Steve couldn't believe the words that came out of Tony Stark's mouth. He would've never expected it.
"You get to go on a date with Tony Stark!" He exclaimed, smiling as he looked over at Steve. "So tell me, and tell me the truth, did you agree?"
"Did you try it on? I had to contact your damn football coach to get your measurements," he explained with a laugh.
Perhaps that was one of the main differences between the two boys. One was a football player that had come from a poor lifestyle in his hometown with dreams of becoming an art teacher. The other was simply a pretty little playboy from a rich powerful family, who probably didn't even know what his ambitions were. Steve sighed, trying to get these thoughts out of his head. He couldn't discriminate just because Tony had been more fortunate than him. Sometimes he wondered if he was rich, would he and Tony be friends at the current moment? But wondering wasn't reality, he had to realize that.
"Are you listening to me, boy?" Fury questioned, reaching out and snapping his fingers in front of the blonds face. As he was forced out of his head space, he could feel the red rising up his neck and onto his face. He only hoped that Coach wouldn't be able to see it in the dark lighting of the room.
Steve jumped, before turning around with a tint of red on his cheeks. It was from Tony. Of course, it was Tony, looking good as always. He wore his lab coat over his t-shirt and high waisted jeans. In his hands was Steve's abstract art, a smirk on his lips as he stared at it before putting it back down. "You're kind of creepy when you scare me like that, you know," Steve told him. "I didn't know you had an art class."
From what Steve had heard about the brunet from the many girls on campus, he didn't think twice about most things. He didn't want to believe their gossip now. Tony had proved himself to be a good person, maybe not to all people, but at least him.
Steve skimmed through his closet in a hurry, eyes scanning around in hopes of finding an acceptable outfit to wear to his tutoring session with Tony. It wasn't even like the brunet care about what he looked like, but the blond nonetheless wanted to look presentable. All of his t-shirts and collared shirts were definitely out of the picture, which only left his small collection of sweaters. He grabbed his two favorites off of their hangers and held them up to show to Bucky, who sat across the room texting someone furiously on his phone. One was an off-white color but very comfortable, and the other was light blue, but not as comfortable. He loved them both dearly.
“I think that these matching ties are quite the hit,” Steve whispered into Tony’s ear, glancing around at all the people around them. Judgement filled their eyes as they whispered to others, pointing to the two discreetly -- or at least, their way of being discreet. Which wasn’t subtle at all. “Aren’t you glad that I said something about it?”
“So you just expect me to leave him?” His heart burned at the thought of it. “You’re not threatening me?”
Obadiah leaned closer, running his fingers over the pink tie that Steve wore. He wanted to back away, but found himself frozen in place. “I hope you do what's right, Rogers. No hard feelings.”
To tell the truth, it didn't represent anything in particular. Perhaps it was his feelings painted out onto a canvas, but he wasn't even sure of how to explain that. His feelings were confusing lately, all jumbled up into one big mess that he couldn't unravel.
the blond responded in a whisper. "Look, it's not that big of a deal. Tony will probably ditch me halfway through anyway, you know how it is with people like him. Obsess about it all you want, but I'm going to bed."
He walked around in the area awkwardly for a bit, leaning his head this way and that way in a search for any man that even looked similar to Howard Stark. Steve didn't even know if the man had a mustache or not. He had seen glimpses of him from news articles online and on television, but they typically used younger pictures of the billionaire. Who knew what he looked like at the current moment?
"Can... can I roll the window down?" Despite the heat outside, he just wanted to feel the wind on his face. Tony only responded to that with a nod of his head.
The brunet opened the car door, stepping out as Steve followed. The two walked together through the parking lot, as the area became more and more crowded as they got nearer.
Tony led Steve away, but he could still feel Howard's eyes burning holes into his back from afar. Steve had the urging suspicion that maybe Howard didn't even like him at all.
After Steve's position on the football team is threatened because of his poor grades, Tony decides to step in.
This is the last chapter! Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this and joining me on this journey. I will be writing another story soon.
practice," the older man added, shaking his head in disappointment. "What is going on with you lately, Rogers? This team needs you, you know this team needs you. But what do I get? Another cocky college boy blowing off his chances just like
"Do you have to attend every single one of these events?" Steve asked, his eyes wandering around. It was mostly old men and women who gathered around the entrance, the occasional young woman or man here and there. They all wore their fanciest outfits, with their posture perfect and steps that almost seemed fake. Steve pulled his shoulders back immediately.
This chapter is going to be shorter than usual! Thank you all for reading, even with my very inconsistent updates.
Their faces seemed to inch closer with every second that passed by, and Steve could feel the heat running up his neck and into his face. The fast beat of his heat was undeniable, along with the foggy haze in his mind. His eyes flickered down from Tony's eyes to his lips, trying in some way to figure out if he was feeling these emotions too. Tony looked beautiful in those moments. Deep brown eyes and a smile made of gold.
“Oh, I definitely am,” Obadiah corrected. “All I have to do is pull some strings and you’re off the football team and out of school.”
The blond remembered the start of this like it was yesterday. Bucky had come back after class one day, going on about some stupid boy in his journalism class. Apparently the two of them had been teamed up for a project, but didn't agree on how to do it. With the personalities that Sam and Bucky had, a fight was only waiting to happen.
"This is officially goodbye for now?" Steve asked, looking at his dorm door in sadness. The thought of leaving Tony so early in the night made part of him upset. He had made a good friend, why did their night have to be over so suddenly?
"I don't know, but you probably did something," Bucky said jokingly, pointing to the bathroom as he pinched his nose. "Please just go take a shower."
"Oh, you think so?" Tony asked, bringing his face closer to Steve's, smiling. "Who should I have brought then?"
After cleaning up he got out of the shower as fast as he could. "Hey, Buck?" Steve called out from the bathroom door, "Could you get me the box that's on my bed?"
"I wasn't getting worked up," he responded hastily. Tony wasn't a fuckboy. Steve wouldn't call him a fuckboy. But Bucky didn't see it that way. Tony had a heart, too. He sighed, "I'm sorry. I know you're worried, but... he and I aren't dating. We aren't going on dates and we don't like each other."
"Steve," Mrs. Carter said in amazement from behind him, a smile coming upon her red-tinted lips, "That's absolutely beautiful."
There was only two things that were slightly bearable about the room. The fact that it smelled like vanilla cookies, and the photograph hanging on the wall in a dark corner. The photo was bright, happy. A white light in the dark.
It hurt Steve to hear those words coming out of his mouth. Art education majors were just as smart as anybody else. Just as capable as anybody else. The only difference was that they chose to teach in a subject that they loved to do, not go out and chase money for their entire lives.
The thought of quickly taking out his phone and snapping a picture for his friend occurred in his mind, but he pushed that idea away almost instantly. If Steve wanted to blend in, he knew he could walk around acting like a tourist.
"Oh, I knew that already," Howard told the blond, seeming as if he was already bored of the conversation. Steve found himself raising an eyebrow at the man in question. Did Tony tell him that, or did this man do some research on his own? Howard gave an innocent shrug, "It's easy to look someone up online, you know. You're a star player. Slightly impressive."
The picture showed Coach Fury and his two adopted daughters, Maria and Carol. The three of them stood smiling, arms wrapped around each other at a fair. In his hands, Fury was holding a teddy bear that he had won from one of the many game booths. A smile adorned his features, making the man look seemingly younger. Fury was always happier when the two girls came around for the holidays, the workouts easier on the tea, and his mood always brightened. The team loved it when they came around.
Steve smiled fondly at the memory. That day, Bucky had beaten his bullies to a pulp. No fatal injuries to any of them, but it was enough that told them to back off. Everyone in the school afterward suddenly knew a new piece of information: don't mess with little Steve Rogers, or else you'll get it from James Barnes. Bucky had always provided Steve with protection and friendship, which Steve's mother had adored Bucky for. If she was still alive, the blond was sure that she would still have him come to dinner every month or so and go watch a movie. He missed that more than anything.
“Smart answer. But… I gotta admit, Rogers, something was bothering me. Something has been for the last two galas.”
Howard turned both of them around, hand still resting on the blond's hip. Tony's eyes flickered down at his father's hand in disgust, before making his face with an emotion that was unrecognizable to Steve. Howard looked harshly at his soon, before looking up at Steve to give him a smile. "I expect to be talking to you later, Mr. Rogers." His hand dropped.
But he couldn't deny the way his heart started to beat a little faster when he talked with him. Or the way he blushed so easily with his words. It wasn't a crush. It couldn't be.
"It was no one, Buck. It's just... I might be kicked off the football team. My grades suck and even Coach is getting onto me for it," Steve explained, Bucky listening intently to his words. "I was just outside of his office in the hallway when Tony freaking Stark walks up to me." Steve closed his eyes, laying his head back on his pillow. He remembered those exact moments vividly. The stupid smirk on Tony's face, the smile on his lips when he had said yes. Except for one thing: Steve didn't regret it yet, which was surprising.
"How did you get fired?" Tony asked. His head was leaned against the back of his car seat, his eyes shut closed.
To say that Steve had a bullying problem in his childhood was a major understatement. The boys in his school -- who were always bigger, better and stronger -- always thought it would be funny to follow him on his way back home and beat him up in alleyways. In the hallways after classes, they would knock his art supplies right out of his hands, steal his shoes, even sometimes going to the extent of taking his backpack for the week before returning it. They never got in trouble for the things that they did to Steve, so he told his mother he didn't want to go to school anymore. That was when Bucky found out about it, and
The brown haired boy rolled his eyes. “The cuffed jeans. His daddy issues. Him being an absolute mess. Those three ingredients call for a bisexual.”
Tony flipped open the mirror that was attached to the car ceiling, putting locks of his hair here and there to fix it. Steve did the same, realizing that somehow the wind had made his look a lot better than he had tried to make it look.
Steve looked over at Tony with a frown. "Your parents treated you that way? Why?" Steve's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
" I don't have a boyfriend, I'm not going on a date," the blond reminded him. "It's the charity event I told you about, and that is the suit he said he would get for me to wear. Rich people are snobby about what people wear, you know."
Bucky only laughed at him, before lifting up the covers and laying down in his bed once again. "You're a punk."
"Two years can go by fast." Howard put a hand on Steve's shoulder and the blond tense upon contact. "Why don't you come on over here? I have a friend of mine that I want you to meet." Mr. Stark led the way, lightly wrapping his hand around the boy's waist as he led both of them to another room. Steve found himself to be immensely uncomfortable and was desperately searching around for any sign of Tony. Steve pulled lightly against his grip, but Howard tightened it slightly.
College football was not a thing that Steve enjoyed. He would rather spend his time and focus on his art education degree, not on lifting weights and trying to make it into the NFL. But, he was never as naturally good in academic subjects that other students around him excelled in. Mid-high school, Steve tried out for the football team to make up for it. Senior year, when the college football scouts started to come in to pick boys out, Steve was chosen. They offered him a full ride scholarship just to have him play on the team and attend. He couldn't just say no to the gracious offer.
If anyone had told Steve maybe five months ago that he would have a chance at passing his math class, he would've laughed right in their face.
“An arrogant, idealistic, football player firmly set in the liberal agenda? Gotta admit it, kid, I don’t think we can coexist with the Starks,” Obadiah explained, concealing his hate with a fake face of innocence.
Steve knew that he couldn’t trust his own conscience at times. He didn’t even have any regard for his own safety. But he had a sudden suspicion, that hey, maybe he should tell Tony now. In the middle of all this. Better now than later, right?
"My bun had absolutely nothing to do with the conversation at hand. And I think my bun is rather cute, so if you would back off--"
“What is it?” The smaller boy questioned him, looking up into the blonds eyes with furrowed eyebrows.
While the brunet had said many good things, there was one thing about Obadiah that stuck out. He was a snake, slithering into everybody's business and threatening to ruin their lives to get his way. The blond wondered if that's how he was friends with Howard Stark now.
agree?" He persisted. "I would've said yes in a heartbeat, honestly. Imagine it, Stevie. You get to go on a
"You mean after five months of hatred, a month of spiteful friendship and two months of ridiculous pining?"
"Should I dry my hair?" Steve asked, scrunching his nose. After football practice had ended for the day, Steve had gotten caught up talking to some teammates. He got to his shared dorm later than expected and showered in a hurry. The library was a short walk from where he was, but he still wanted to be a little early. Who knew what time Tony would arrive? He didn't know if the brunet was a late or early type of guy.
“Mhm, nice,” the brown hair boy agreed, laying his head down on the surface closest to him. Bucky closed his eyes, about to fall asleep. Again.
Horrible. Repulsive. Vile. Horrid. Words couldn't begin to explain how Steve felt about Howard Stark.
The blond stayed quiet for a minute, tilting his head in confusion. Before he suddenly got it. “Am… am I the problem, Mr. Stane?”
He lifted his head up from the car seat, narrowing his eyes at the blond. "I must say I'm surprised. But fine, I'll tell you something anyway." He looked out the window. "I never had to have a job like you when I was younger. My father had enough money to support the family for the rest of our lives. But, some part of me just wanted to be normal, you know? So I went out and got a job myself, never told my employer my real name and always wore a beanie over my hair. I worked in an auto shop, fixing people's cars in my free time. My father noticed how busy I had suddenly become and decided that he would follow me out one day to where I worked."
"I didn't know you had a little secret boyfriend! Why didn't you tell me?" Bucky laughed. "So secretive. Picnic in the park? Flying around in one of his private planes?"
"Then you have two more of those fancy parties to tell him and get you hands on that rich ass before someone smarter does."
"I tutor you and you go to three stuffy charity galas with me," Tony explained, waving his hands in the air as he looked up at Steve. Before any questions could be asked, he continued. "I'll provide the suits -- no one wants your physique in an unfitting rental."
"What is it, Steve?" Bucky questioned, pushing Sam away from him. "Sam! I swear to god-- stop! -- Sam! The pasta is
"I think this is a pretty big deal," he responded with a smirk on his face, holding the package in his hands. It relieved Steve to see that the note wasn't attached, and was still in the pockets on his pants from yesterday.
An awkward silence fell between the two. They stared at each other, smiling like idiots. Something had changed, that was for sure.
Tony, ever since they had first met each other in that hallway, had always had Steve’s eye. Always in his thoughts, in his words.
As they continued to walk towards the entrance, Steve noticed how calm Tony seemed. It might not be either of their scenes or their crowds, but Tony was obviously accustomed to fitting into this lifestyle. Tony had dealt with this from a young age, and he felt a pang of sympathy in his heart for him.
Tony opened one of his eyes to give Steve a look, a small smile on his lips. "You could look all of that up, Rogers."
"I had a lot of jobs after those. I used to pump gas at the gas station until I spilled it on someone's shoes. I walked dogs until one of the bigger ones tried to bite me. I also tried a local grocery store but I wasn't tall enough at the time to stock some of the shelves and I wasn't good at putting food in bags. I was fired literally every single time for some small reason but I didn't really care. There were always other jobs open for me to try out. Like lawn mowing, I was okay at that."
Instead of dealing with his thoughts, Steve showed up early to his art class instead. It was one of the only places that he felt he could truly be honest with himself. No cheerleaders, no football buddies that wanted to hang out for underage drinking. It was peaceful.
Tony smiled. "Six o'clock tomorrow, library. Bring your books. Don't be late, blue eyes." And with that, he walked off towards the exit door, a newly founded confidence in his step.
Tony got fed up, which was why he was here. Also maybe because he had happened to have a liking towards the football player, but that was beside the point.
"It's Tony." Steve looked down at his phone, the screen telling him that it was already five-fifty. "I have to go, I'll see you and Sam later tonight."
"Funny." Tony was a bit hurt by the comment, but it was true. He could pay his way out of college if he wanted to.
After his mother died, Steve found himself stuck in financial issues during high school. He was almost put in an orphanage, before Mrs. Barnes decided to swoop in and take him under her wing. A scholarship opportunity like this was the only thing that would be able to pay for college. (And he definitely wasn't going to ask Mrs. Barnes, he would live with that guilt forever.) The school had a known reputation not only for its great sports team, but also for its art program. He had to accept if it wanted a chance.
Having a position on the football team practically meant everything. No football team, no tuition payment.
“I don’t know, Tony…” He started, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Steve seemed really worried. If he thinks you’ll be safe here, then I don’t think we should leave.”
, but he was on his own for everything else. Tony had begged the dean of engineering to let him teach one of the undergrad classes, throwing out the fact that his last name on the administration list and his continued work for the department would look great for the University. The only catch was that between teaching the class, his actual degree course load, and his various projects strewn across his lab at the university and random places throughout his apartment, there wasn’t any time to pick up another job.
Pepper was silent on the other end. After a full forty-five seconds ticked by, Tony started to get nervous. “Pep?”
Steve breathed out through his nose in a short huff. “Guess the warning we gave him twelve years ago didn’t quite stick.”
Thor gave him a serious nod and stepped back. “I shall alert our dear Captain of this new development. No doubt he will wish to retrieve you from campus.”
The moment he stepped inside the room, Steve watched the two seasoned Hydra members blanch. The blood drained from their faces, and they immediately began squirming in their seat. The third, the one that was too green for a cyanide pill, looked confused at his buddies’ reactions. Steve clicked on the intercom, puffing out his chest and using his best “Captain” voice.
.” He drew himself up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now can we have a rational conversation about this without you going all macho-possessive douchebag?”
Steve stood up slowly, walking towards his false wall and pressing on a loose panel. It opened to his touch, revealing the perfectly round shield that carried him through his days at the Captain of the Howling Commandos. Once he slotted it along his back, letting it click into place, he turned to his team, eyes blazing with determination and purpose.
Tony groaned incoherently as the skinny metal arm poked and prodded at his side. He blinked awake, shooing away his bot’s claw. “Sleepin’, Dum-E.”
“You heard me. It’s a place a few veterans hang out, nothing fancy. Steve happened to sit next to me at the bar, and we hit it off. Next thing I know, some little shit comes in with his frat buddies, running his mouth about a bunch of nonsense he doesn’t really understand. Everyone tried their best to ignore them, but they got into the face of one of the older guys, and well, someone threw the first punch.”
The mob boss pursed his lips and tilted his head, cerulean blue eyes tinged with a hint of sadness. “I’m not the monster you think I am, Tony.”
...distributor is being watched by the authorities, so we thought we would go straight to the source.”
A man limped into the room, his black uniform caked with fresh blood. His face looked like it had come in contact with an anvil. The moment he stepped through the threshold, he stumbled onto his knees. “It’s them, sir.” He rasped.
Tony ended the call and just stared at the mirror above him. He felt...better. Knowing that he could call his friends whenever he wanted made this whole kidnapping situation easier. Rogers must have put a certain amount of trust in him to not alert the authorities, and Tony didn’t quite know what to do with that.
He could feel the heat of Tony’s gaze, knowing the younger man was watching his face for any sort of reaction. In truth, Steve
“So, what do you actually do?” He asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his right knee over his left. “Besides drug trafficking, of course.”
When Tony awoke again, the pain had eased somewhat. The walls around him were a rusted grey with honest to god lampposts hanging every few feet. The warm blaze was easier on his eyes than the fluorescent lights. His brain was unfocused and muddled.
Without a second thought, Tony burst out of his seat onto his feet, throwing his hands up in the air. To everyone’s great pleasure, he didn’t so much as wince in pain at the movement. “Yes!
Tony rolled his eyes, hard, but looped his own arm through Clint’s anyway. “I’m actually going to have to get used to you being around all the time, aren’t I?”
Howard was the worst, no surprise there. He was jealous of Tony’s exceptional mind, for his prowess in engineering, computers, and robotics. At the age of four, Tony had already built a completely functioning circuit board. When he excitedly rushed to show his father on Christmas morning, Howard sneered, wrenched the device from his hands and threw it into the roaring fireplace along with the slowly burning logs. Howard watched as Tony’s eyes filled with tears at the act of cruelty, and chastised him for being weak by putting his cigarette out on Tony’s arm.
He distantly remembers seeing people hop out of the truck, their feet taking their sweet time as they walked over to help. Tony’s voice was hoarse as he screamed, fumbling hard with his own seat belt as he took stock of his injuries. Glass had left horrendous cuts down his forearm, the skin and blood showing straight through the fabric of his clothes. But his chest. His chest. Shards of glasses were embedded near his sternum, and Tony choked on his screams, choked on the blood. It was
A flutter of motion, and Stane had grabbed a stack of folders from Tony’s side, and began throwing him down on the table in front of him. “This is why.”
Tony’s brow furrowed, and the churning in his stomach grew into an uncomfortable pit. “Maybe. No. I don’t know. He
“Not that it isn’t really great to finally meet you guys, but…” He turned to Steve, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Can you tell me what the hell is going on now?”
He wasn’t the same skinny, broke, depressed kid who Steve rescued from the coffee shop that day. Tony had filled out from training with the Avengers and his skin had returned to its natural, healthy, glowing tan. Clint still refused to let anyone else cut Tony’s hair, even if he was a billionaire now, and Tony was perfectly fine with that.
Both of his friends laid their hands on him, pushing the damp hair out of his face and cupping his cheek. Pepper gave him a small smile. “You had a panic attack. The doctor said that it’s a symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, something that is very likely given what you’ve been through.”
All at once, they all sprung out of their chairs and hurried over, completely surrounding Tony. They all introduced themselves, even though Tony could have picked them all out just by how often Steve talked about them. Bucky, Sam, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce all shook his hand and greeted him enthusiastically. Apparently Thor was back in Norway dealing with some drama with his brother. The only thing that seemed out of place was Bucky’s metal arm. Steve told him that he had lost it during a raid back in Afghanistan, and that he was having problems with his prosthetic. But that arm...it
The powerful men in the room shouted at one another, making the migraine between Tony’s temples throb unpleasantly. He didn’t think he could last much longer. This demonstration was supposed to be his swan song, but now he wasn’t even sure if he could get through it.
He grinned devilishly, bumping their shoulders together. “Hard, rough, and desperate. Like he damn well missed me.”
It was their first date, and Steve never wanted to take his hands off of him. But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
So Tony told her about their two chance meetings, about Steve’s broad shoulders, his thin waist, what Tony guessed he looked like underneath those layers of clothing. “I’m not joking here, Pep. I honest to God believe that he’s got abs of steel. Ones that I wouldn’t hesitate licking this ice cream here off of.”
“Your father’s had a change of heart, son.” Obie remarked with an air of forced sympathy. “Cutting you off was a heat of the moment decision, and we all know that the company needs to stay in the family.”
I'd love to hear what y'all thought of this chapter! It was pretty fun to write, and I love introducing new characters. Plus, I want to see Bucky and Tony be friends as much as y'all do...it'll probably take some time though.
“Excuse me!” Tony practically shouted, startling them both. “Please, I’ve been kidnapped! I need help!”
“I don’t...I don’t know what to say.” Steve muttered, the heels of his hands digging across his face. Tony pulled them away and sunk back down into the bed, exhaustion taking over again. Steve maneuvered them around so that he was under the covers, Tony resting in the crook between his outstretched arm and his chest. “I love you too, Tony Stark.” Steve kissed his temple and ran his fingers along Tony’s curls. “Sleep now.”
Y'all have been wonderful. Please enjoy this update. The last chapter will be posted tomorrow, and the epilogue on Friday.
Bucky grunted, but followed a delighted Tony back through the doors and down the hall to the space the Avengers carved out for his makeshift lab. Tony gestured to a chair next to a table with all of the necessary tools, and Bucky took a seat.
my own person, I can very well make my own decisions.” Tony snapped back, harsher than he anticipated. He took a breath to calm himself down and leaned back against the leather. “I stopped working for Stark Industries because the weapons I was making were hurting innocent people. Hydra was somehow getting ahold of them and using them in their gang wars.” His tone softened. “But the Avengers are different. You want to make Boston safer, like the Howling Commandos did with New York. I want to help with that. Plus…” he trailed, giving a slightly sheepish cough. “I want to make the bastards who hurt me pay. The Avengers can’t do that unless you’ve got the right tools.”
The Black Widow was known for being quick, efficient, and without any fanfare when it came to her kills. It was said that she could use almost anything around her as a weapon, that if you saw the black spider mask in your line of vision, you were just as likely to be shot down with whatever weapon was in her possession as you were to be strangled to death by a thread of string hanging loose from your curtains. She wasn’t picky when deciding how her mark might meet their untimely death, as long as it was over swiftly.
Thor gave him a soft smile and pushed to his feet. He followed Bucky out the door and moved to turn off the light. “You, Anthony Stark, are not safe until the villains behind your kidnapping are behind bars or rotting in the ground. I trust my Captain, and I gave my oath to come to his aid whenever I am needed. As long as Friend Steven, the Avengers, or you, Anthony, need me, I shall remain here.”
When he opened his eyes, muted rays of sunlight flitted through the high arched windows, illuminating the rest of the bedroom. Tony shifted to stretch out, then froze when his leg pressed up against something solid.
having Tony so close. Tony’s hands slid over his hair, gripping tightly and yanking Steve’s head back. His normally cerulean blue eyes were completely blown and glazed over, and Tony knew his own had to match in turn. “Clothes-“ Tony choked out and ground down again to increase the pressure against his cock. “They need to be off, like,
Steve couldn’t fight back his pleased smile. “Excellent. Then Tony, why don’t you show us all what you have prepared for the team, then Clint and Nat can brief us on the mission. I want details of his latest movements, and then we can discuss how to proceed and what time frame we are aiming for.”
“You did the right thing, Nat.” Steve praised softly. “Let’s go talk to them, and if I like their story, we’ll bring them back to the warehouse.”
Steve gave him a small smile and stepped into the room, carrying a medicine capsule and a glass of water. “It’s actually around seven at night, how are you feeling?”
And then Tony got it, and had to close his eyes to bite back on his frustration. Before he had learned that Steve was the
Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Already did. He called on his way, Thor is taking him. We’ll fill him in on everything once he’s finished.” He checked that everyone was in their seats before clearing his throat and reassuming his Captain persona. “Alright, let’s take it from the top, shall we? Clint, Sam, you start. Then Wanda and Pietro-”
But he stayed quiet instead. Tony simply nodded, eyes narrowing at Steve as he put on his shoes, just like Steve asked. Tony was a genius, and he was smart enough to know that Steve was hiding something, and if he pressed now, Tony wouldn’t get anything out of him. No, he would bide his time. Take in all the information and variables, then gather enough evidence to shove it back into Steve’s face so that he would be forced to answer his questions.
Bucky’s terrible sleep schedule. His roommate was up during the day just for enough time to attend his classes, but as soon as he got back to their dorm -- he was out like a light. It only resulted in the brown haired boy staying up at night, repeating the same process from the day before.
Tony wasn’t an idiot, and knew exactly what Bucky was feeling right now, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him from trying to help. “The wiring’s been interrupted. I noticed it before, but the battle at the Hydra based messed with it even more. This is
Natasha fucking loved her new toys. She didn’t know how Tony figured her out, but she wasn’t about to complain. The electricity coursing through the last mark was cut off as she removed the baton from the man’s neck, leaving a scorched, bloody imprint. She made a note to thank the young genius later by taking him out for cheeseburgers. Tony loved his goddamn cheeseburgers.
His eyes snapped open, and he winced at the light. Then winced again as his body throbbed in a deep rooted ache. Tony tried swallowing, but found that his mouth was dry and caked with the taste of metal. Of blood.
...won’t try something like this again, but I do need you to be safe, Tony. I know you’ll be an asset to Bruce on the mission, but can we at least set some sort of time frame? I won’t be able to concentrate knowing an Avengers operation might jeopardize your future and your safety.”
Tony shook his head, the stunning grin still plastered across his face. “No please, the ride was enough. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’m in apartment three-B, if you uh, want to pick me up there.”
Bucky shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning against the bay walls. “I was a sniper in the army. It was my job.”
. One of the brightest minds of their time, and the best weapons designer in the entire fucking world. Sure, his pops was in charge, but an SI bomb had taken Bucky’s arm in a Hydra base, so he took it upon himself to learn everything about that business inside and out. Including who was the real brains behind SI’s most dangerous weapons. Turns out, Tony designed the damn thing when he was only twelve years old. Then one day he goes off to college and poof, he just happens to disappear.
Apparently once Steve was satisfied that he had piled enough clothes into the bag, he moved into the bathroom to grab the toiletries. “Steve!”
Tony grinned and sorted through the unopened box, picking up a piece with pepperoni on it. “I’m in.”
If possible, Steve’s mood darkened further. “Tony isn’t a part of this, Buck. I don’t want him anywhere near Avengers business.”
He furrowed his brow, not wanting to be interrupted before getting a chance to tell Steve what he found, but Clint seemed insistent.
A lot of commotion happened the following week. Zemo went to the cops, accusing Steve and Bucky of beating the shit out of him and his crew, but as he was the only one who actually got a look at his attackers, plus his less than stellar reputation, no one seemed to believe him. Plus, Lucy and Susan provided a rock solid alibi, telling the police that the boys had been with them the entire night, keeping them company after what Zemo did to Lucy.
“Maybe a little,” Tony admitted. “But honestly I don’t mind all that much,” he shrugged, the smirk never leaving his lips. “I’m into it.”
Sam snorted across the living room, careful to keep his voice down for the ones sleeping on the couch. The Avengers were scattered around in various positions and states of consciousness with empty pizza boxes lining the coffee table. Bucky and Natasha were draped across one another in the loveseat, while Sam sat alone in his laz-e-boy chair. Thor, Steve, Tony, Pepper, and Peter were curled together on the couch, snuggling into the comfortable leather while Bruce, Clint, Wanda, and Pietro leaned against their legs on the floor.
to be alone. Being alone meant that Hydra could come back to get him...wait, not Hydra, Hydra was dead. Fucking blown up, his own doing.
Tony blinked, wide in faux confusion, still staring at Steve’s alias. He narrowed his eyes and returned his gaze to Stane. “Why do you care about the Avengers?”
He spun around, eyes wide in disbelief as he watched the ex-army Captain America look alike from this morning, the subject of his shower fantasy, walk towards him. “Steve?”
And would you look at that? Anger dissipated. He gave her an easy smile and shook it. “I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you.”
Dear fucking God, yes, Tony wanted to touch it. He just barely held back a whimper, but couldn’t stop his hand from reaching down and giving his own cock a slight pull. The relief was instantaneous, so he gripped himself tighter, just the way he liked it. Rogers moved forward slowly, keeping his darkened gaze on Tony. When he was close enough to touch, something feral and needy in the back of Tony’s mind demanded that he feel the wet skin, so he didn’t bother trying to keep his hands off Rogers. The mob boss sucked in a pleased hiss when Tony’s fingers skimmed across his abs, then pressed closer to give him more room to work with.
It was Steve’s turn to cut him off, but this time by pressing his lips against Tony’s, sucking the breath right out of him. “Sweetheart, I’m not sure if you remember this, but I didn’t even know your last name was actually Stark until the night before the attack. But,” he added hurriedly, seeing Tony’s shoulders slump in defeat, “Even if I did, it wouldn’t have changed how I feel about you.”
. He was the one working with Hydra. He was the one who sold me out. He-” Tony’s voice cut off in choked sob. “My
Tension swirled around in the room, and Bucky watched him with darkened eyes. He didn’t say anything for a few long moments, and when he did, the soldier crouched down in front of Tony so that they were at eye level. “We will protect you, Stark, and find whoever brought your name to Hydra. You don’t need to worry about that.” Bucky hesitated for a moment. “But everything you’re feeling right now? That anger and heartache? It’s only going to hurt you. Your parents are shitty people, and they hurt you in a way no parent should ever hurt a child. But that bitterness is going to hold you back from living your life, from moving forward.”
He shook his head, flexing his hands by his sides. “Tony is...good. I want him to stay out of this.” And he did. Tony was incredible. A light.
Bruce pursed his lips while Clint sniggered. “I suppose not. I wanted to try though. Steve…” he sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Steve still blames us, I think.”
He shrugged, leaning back into the cushion and picking up the remote control. “I have this feeling, is all.”
His ‘host’ didn’t seem to appreciate the implication that he’d off his chef for such a silly matter, but Tony wasn’t about to let himself feel guilty for the quip. If Rogers wanted Tony around, then he was going to have to get used to his sense of humor.
The signal came at exactly 3:45. The bartender, a burly, tattooed man with a black goatee followed the last pedestrian out and watched him drive off. He checked the streets to his left and right a few times, eyes not bothering to linger on the small black car that had been parked there for a few hours, before going back inside and locking the door. Steve and Bucky could see about fifteen people still inside, and they gave it another twenty minutes to let Zemo and his associates fall into a false sense of security.
They had only been ten minutes away from campus when the truck slammed into them, flipping the car three a total of times until it landed on its roof. Tony remembered coming to upside down, sobs escaping his throat as he frantically called out for help. Oh God, he had been so scared. Everything hurt. He couldn’t breathe. Bruce was completely unconscious...or, or
In hindsight, that little piece of information should have made the bigger picture clearer, but he was too caught up in the fact that his mouth was watering at the idea of getting in there to check out the wiring.
. He didn’t pull his hand away, so Steve grabbed it with his own and intertwined their fingers, pressing a light kiss to his date’s knuckles. “I’ve had a really nice time tonight, Tony. May I take you out again?”
Tony couldn’t help but laugh at that, for some reason he just couldn’t see Steve flying off the handle at all, much less because he missed out on his eggs and bacon. “I’m inclined to agree with you. I normally prioritize coffee over food though, I’ve learned that I can’t live without it, despite what science tells me.”
Tony’s hand sped up and down his own length, twisting on every pass over his head. His other hand traced along the expanse of Rogers’ chest, ghosting across his nipples and splaying his palm out across the mob boss’ stomach. Tony wanted to lean forward and lick the water droplets off of Rogers, but managed to keep his tongue to himself, if only just barely.
“Oh, you know.” Tony shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the praise. He moved on, tossing Bruce a USB drive. “Brucie-bear, plug that bad boy into your personal computer, and it will start all of my personal upgrades. You won’t find better software anywhere else in the world because, you know, I made it.”
Steve released a breath of relief as he squirmed in his seat inside the black Nissan. “Copy, thanks Bruce.” He switched over to the Avenger’s line and checked in on his team. “Report.”
And now, Bucky was enjoying one of the three dozen donuts and kolaches Sam had been roped into buying. The teenagers were shown to the locker rooms where the showers were located, and Nat had even let Wanda use her special shampoo. They looked astronomically better clean with fresh clothes, and although they still had their guard up, both Wanda and Pietro had relaxed a little.
“We were...tipped off, by an old colleague of yours. It seems as though your particular set of skills are quite valuable to us, Mr. Stark.”
Both men stopped in their tracks, raising an expectant eyebrow at the young man. “Uh, why would you want to go there?” Sam asked.
Clint was practically vibrating in his seat by the time Tony finished, and didn’t hesitate to leap across the room and tackle him in a hug. Steve let out a possessive growl, and the archer backed away quickly, taking his new bow and quiver with him.
Once Tony woke up in the hospital, Steve struggled keeping his hands to himself. Half of the time, he wanted to lightly run his lips along every bruise, scar, and stitch so that Tony knew he was still beautiful. So that he knew Steve still wanted him,
. It was the best word Bucky could think of to describe it. Instead of the scrappy, easy-going, polite kid who spent a little too much time charming nurses from a hospital bed, Steve had become harsher. Colder. Instead of lighting up a room, he froze it out. People looked at him, his height, his bulk, the way he held himself, and instinctively
“Yeah,” he frowned. When the papers reported Hydra had taken credit for a recent bombing, he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Especially considering that the gang had somehow gotten hold of SI weapons when they were back in New York. “Hydra’s back, and I’ve been hearing a few rumors that they’re in a gang war with this group called the Avengers.” It was times like these when he missed the Captain and his Commandos. Tony had practically worshiped them when he still lived in Manhattan. | [
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Heat splinters down John’s spine, driving down to lodge in his cock, which throbs with intent. The outline of his growing arousal is clear through the fabric of his jeans.
“Getting out of our own way, as it were.” Ellen smiled warmly, her eyes moving from Sherlock to John and then back again.
“You cut yourself.” He dips a flannel into the bowl of hot water and wrings it out, before pressing it to John’s toes and gently rubbing.
“You’re angry about what that means. About what you’ve missed out on. It makes you second guess yourself and the relationships you’ve had. With Major Sholto for instance.”
It’s a mark of how unsettled John is that minutes have passed before he realizes that Sherlock must be there for this conversation. Setting the tumbler down on the glass coffee table he excuses himself and walks to the bedroom.
John turns onto his side as Sherlock slips back beneath the covers. Says, “You.” Sherlock’s skin is cold and he burrows into John’s heat. His leg sliding between John’s, his arm winding around his waist, his nose nudging just below John's ear.
He thinks about the intimacy of being able to brush your teeth in the nude while your lover uses the loo.
Sherlock waves his hand as if he’s annoyed by this proverb. “That assumes that the quality of something is inherently tied to the quantity of it.”
“You run all around London,” John says, voice low. “Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective.” Sherlock twitches, fingers flexing against the sheets. Staring up into John’s eyes, pupils blasted wide open, all of him blown wide open. John braces one hand against the bed and reaches with the other. “Everyone keeps their distance. The great mind, the genius, the giant unsociable dick.” John smiles as he says it, erasing any rancor, and Sherlock’s mouth ticks up, his eyes nicking shut as John skates two wet fingers over his entrance.
“It’s not entirely absurd. You, better than anyone, know how I am. I'm likely to bollocks this up within the week.”
“Stop." The word choked out, Sherlock’s hands pulling, tugging at John’s shoulders as John pops off.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to lay something to rest before we continue,” John says. Sherlock nods, his brow drawing down and in. “How do you define submission, Sherlock?”
Sherlock was out of his seat before he could talk himself out of it. He knelt on the floor in front of John and looked up at him.
Charlotte scrunched up her nose again in disgust. “So bees make honey with their throw-up?” she said, gagging a bit at this unfortunates news.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” John gasps as Sherlock glances over the top of John’s cock and continues down between his thighs.
He’s sweating. His vest is sticking to him, to his chest and underneath his arms. It’s cold in the car. When his sweat dries tiny chills begin to tremor beneath his skin.
Sherlock simply nods and follows as John turns on the ball of his foot and walks in front of him, the back of his neck burning.
“I care about you, Sherlock. I know it’s only been a few days, but it would be deceitful of me to pretend I’m not falling for you. What this is between us, it happens sometimes in situations like ours. Not always, rarely even, but the truth is that sometimes it’s impossible to be this intimate with someone without deeper feelings also developing. I’m experiencing that with you.
Please subscribe to that fic (there will be 8 chapters in all) as I won't be adding new chapters here each time to let you know when a new chapter posts over there.
Sherlock is spread out below him in a debauched sprawl. His chest and neck and cheeks are tinted in a deep shade of pink, his nipples hard and peeking out from the tangle of auburn curls on his chest. He’s looking up at John in an uncharacteristically open manner, vulnerable and a bit frantic, and John feels something hot burst behind his breastbone when he speculates on why that is. He wonders, not for the first time, how bad it gets inside Sherlock’s head. He knows he’ll never be able to fully grasp it, but considering that it drives Sherlock to seek out drugs and sex and grisly crime scenes as alternatives to being locked inside it, John knows it’s no picnic.
, I felt the itch to write something sexy, so this will be what it says on the box: a smutty librarian romp (with lots of feeeeelings of course, because it's me). Not sure if I'll be able to keep this up (I'm job searching), but I wanted to see if I could try and post a new chapter each week on Saturdays to give myself a bit of a deadline. I've never written fic that way before, so we'll see what happens, also it's summer, so kids are home, vacations etc. etc.
“So you were touching your cock…” he said, his lips stained from the wine; they were the color of crushed berries, and I wanted desperately to suck on them, but I stayed still, as I felt him tug on the tab of my zipper.
He huffs that low laugh again and he tucks his thumbs up into your rolled shirtsleeves and strokes over the smooth skin of your biceps and that’s not going to help you stop shaking at all is it? No, it’s not, but you don’t want him to stop, you don’t ever want him to stop touching you.
There was no way to control it, he thought, looking out over the stream and the magenta clutch of asters on the far green bank.
and when Sherlock starts to come inside him a moment later John gathers him in and holds him fast while they shake and shake and shake.
This time John paints a lines of droplets across both of Sherlock’s cheeks and opens his mouth, smearing his lips across them before sucking gently at the sticky sweet mess he has made.
Sherlock looks at him for a beat and then nods. Turning to hang up the towel, the ring glows, limpid, and John’s throat tightens. Aches. His mouth tugs up, and his cheek muscles twinge. Sherlock says, “I thought we could go out.”
John doesn’t touch him. Doesn’t want to coerce him. He lets his confession be enough. It’s up to Sherlock now.
“Right, shall we?” Sherlock said, turning and extending his arm in the direction of the hives. Charlie nodded eagerly, her brown eyes sweeping up to meet Sherlock’s, wide and bright. Sherlock felt an answering tremor of excitement ripple up his spine as they walked. The girl was dressed in pyjama bottoms festooned with an animated character Sherlock didn’t recognise and a pink mackintosh. The yellow boots were again in residence, her short hair held back by a headband with two bobbing ladybug antennae sprouting out the top, and there was milk crust clinging to the corners of her mouth from her breakfast.
His whole body gleams in the lamplight, shiny sleek with sweat. His hair is sticking up in tufts where he’s been gripping it, going out of his damned mind for the massive cock currently buried balls deep inside his body. His lower back is bowed, arse tipped wantonly up, his cock hanging thick and flushed dark with blood below his stomach.
I could not force the word past my lips, but John saw, he saw, as he always sees. He was always watching me and he saw the word screaming through my eyes and he drew his hand back and out and wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly to him, murmuring something in my ear.
“All right, all right,” John said, “obviously you’ve had a grand time, but grandma’s not feeling well and I’m afraid we’re going to have to call it a day.”
Sherlock hums and presses closer, bags rustling in his hands at John’s sides. “That’s because it was a stupid question,” murmured against John’s lips before he’s turning and hailing a cab.
It had started to rain lightly. Droplets caught in John’s fringe as he stepped outside. The beech trees behind him glowed in the white light from the low-hanging clouds, their gold and green leaves shimmering in the wind, glossy and wet. “Great. What time?”
“Jesus.” John might have a legitimate heart attack. He licks his lips. “The lube. Is it still in the bedroom?”
“Well, you’re not alone anymore,” Zoe said with finality, as if she had finally made her mind up about John. “We’re your community now. Blue’ll give you our numbers and you can ring us anytime. Charlotte has a standing invitation to come to ours and muck about in our barn.”
John cuts him off. “Don’t you dare fucking apologise.” Sherlock’s mouth twitches and John asks, “You all right?” To which Sherlock nods, cheeks pink. John points to the headboard. “Good. Then get on your hands and knees. My other cock needs sucking.”
“John, before you go, would you be a dove and make sure I’m signed out of this bloody thing?” Mrs. Patterson asks sweetly. “Peter was doing god knows what and some bloke was out hacking around and now it takes over our search screen every time we turn the thing on. I don’t want to have to change my password again.”
When Sherlock’s head drops back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, John flickers his tongue over the same spot.
Sherlock’s eyes are still closed in revelment. “So good.” His cat-like eyes slit open, his voice deep and gravelly. He opens his arms and, when John steps closer, encloses John in the pocket of warmth he has created with just his body and the eiderdown. John wraps his arms around Sherlock’s waist, tucking his face into Sherlock’s throat, breathing in the salt sharp scent of his skin.
“Yes. Yes.” Sherlock runs a hand through his hair, gripping and tugging. “Please. Yes. Right here. Let’s start. God, please. I can’t think straight.”
The thoughts became so intruding that Sherlock finally gave up trying to outrun them, set down the book he was trying and failing to focus on, and closed his eyes. He stretched his legs out in front of him, his socked feet thrust into a warm pool of sunlight pouring in through the window above him. He crossed his arms across his chest and burrowed his shoulders into the armchair.
“She worked and ran the house, ran the marriage, ran the parenting. I was a willing participant, engaged when necessary, but I never took the lead on any of it. She held it all. The doctors and dentist appointments, the social calendar, childcare, the cleaning, the cooking. I guess I figured since she only worked part time that that was a fair split. I took care of my stuff, did my laundry and the occasional washing up, paid the bills and did the taxes, maintenanced the cars.”
John tries to breathe, but he can’t. All he can feel is hot battering waves coursing through him, moving out from where Sherlock is touching him.
“We should go to Sussex for New Years,” John suggests, as Sherlock peppers wet kisses over his hips. Sherlock hums and it feels like butterflies rustling across his skin.
John goes. He’s brushing his teeth with one of the extra toothbrushes that Sherlock keeps stored underneath the sink—apparently he buys in bulk, which John finds oddly endearing—when Sherlock stumbles through the en suite door.
John just had enough time to say thank you before he disappeared through the doorway and outside. Sherlock watched them race across the lawn to the barn.
. John squares his shoulders, settling his weight into his hips, hands sliding behind his back. At rest. “What?”
Sweat beads between them, the air under the heavy duvet growing humid and warm. John pulls back to shuck it off. The cold air floods over them. John’s back rounds up. Below him Sherlock’s pale skin is growing pink in the spill of white light coming in through the window. His gaze is dark and hazy, heavy lidded. His lips are red and swollen. There is a thin film of sweat shining on his chest. John bends and licks at the slick hollow of Sherlock’s flushing throat, tasting salt and skin. Opens his mouth and drags it up. The tendons flex and taughten beneath his tongue. Sherlock’s pulse thudding against his lips.
you that. You had become a part of my purpose for living, but I didn’t think I could ever matter that much to anyone else. I believed I was unlovable. And everything I did only sustained that reality. So I died. And I truly didn’t think I would ever come back. I would never have done that, in front of you, if I thought I would survive what came next."
“That’ll be your confirmation email,” John says, starting to sidle along the row of desks as he spots a patron waiting at the front of the library. He recognizes her, a regular, dressed in the bright red uniform of the Royal Mail. Ian, the front desk clerk, is nowhere to be seen.
What if this is it? What if this is the moment? Does John want to throw it away? They can still turn back. Right now. They could. John could say no. Nothing would have to change. He could go to Harry’s. Get himself sorted. He could come back. And they could go on as they always have.
On the tube ride home he prays that Sherlock will be out. He focuses his entire consciousness on it.
Downstairs John preheats the oven and pulls a baking sheet’s worth of unbaked frozen croissants from the freezer. After brushing them quickly with an egg wash he fills and plugs in the kettle. The clock reads 3:43 am. As he waits for it to boil he goes into the sitting room to lay a fire. The air is unseasonably cool, the storm bringing a chill with it from the north.
“How many of these has he had?” Sherlock asks, his gaze sliding up to Angel who stands on the other side of the bar watching and Angel’s face breaks apart into a wide smile which shines in his handsome dark face.
“Ugh, you’re all wet!” Zoe exclaimed in disgust, wriggling away from Sherlock and plucking exaggeratedly at the back of her shirt. On her way out of the kitchen she grabbed one of the open bottles of wine from the table.
He was cleaning out the flower beds in his front yard on Friday morning, tearing out the annuals, now dead, along with any weeds that had gone too long unchecked, and cleaning up the perennials which would come back next year, when he saw John at the end of their driveways putting Charlotte onto the bus. Sherlock paused, leaning on his shovel, and raised his hand in greeting when John caught sight of him. Sherlock watched as John looked down at something in his hand and moments later felt his mobile buzz in his pocket.
is the difference between you and Trevor and I’m afraid you’ll never be able to bridge it. Not with how you’ve been behaving these last three months.”
“Anyone want a coffee?” Ellen asked as they left out the back door, standing and beginning to gather plates. John rose to help, offering to wash up. Sherlock focused on his breathing as the attention finally shifted off of him and excused himself to the loo.
Sherlock’s mid-giggle when John pins him, his cheeks rosy pink, his chins pleated, his curls spilling over the pillow, wet with morning light.
“Send them to me. The pictures.” You ramble your address off before you can stop yourself. “It’s 42d Montague Street. Sherlock Holmes. Bloomsbury.”
He continued in the same fashion for I don’t know how long, tracing the veins that began to grow rigid along the dorsal side of my cock and paying devotion to the vee of my frenulum with firm pressure. At last I reached full hardness and I had to feed my cock to him, guiding it into the tight, hot circle of his lips as he began to take me deeper into his mouth. All the while the tide continued to rise, until I was brimming, and dangerously close to running over.
John nodded. “Exactly. There’s no purpose to it. I just enjoy it. I think you’ve enjoyed writing, yes?”
“Was it a game?” John asks, following his thumb with his lips. Sherlock’s fond of games and puzzles. “To see how long you could last? Before—“ John kisses down the taut column of his neck. “Before you had to get a hand on yourself?”
I fell to my knees, unable to hold my weight any longer, and kissed him, upside down as he was, tasting the musky bitterness of my come.
He kisses you deeper, deeper, his tongue in your mouth, exploring, and you get hard. Again. Can’t help it. All your blood rushing south to pound in your thighs, to knot in your navel. You slide your knees forward and he’s hard too. You didn’t let him come, you didn’t. It’s a miracle really, you with your tongue shoved as deep as it would go and him paring slivers of butter off into the pan making desperate sounds above you.
John’s body jerks involuntarily. A part of him had expected Sherlock to deny him. A much larger part than John had wanted to admit.
“I don’t care what the bloody buggering plan was, just get back here and fuck me. Please. I need you.”
John licking the empty air beside Sherlock’s straining cock, the seething wave of sparks washing over his most sensitive skin.
“So, you’re a bit soppy, then,” Sherlock teases, not unkindly, smiling tentatively. Maybe a little afraid. They’re still feeling their way around one another, touching each other’s edges and asking,
“Only you could be thinking of Sussex at a time like this. And why in God’s name do you still have your clothes on?”
He can’t see you. Can’t look into you with those eyes, can’t shatter you further. You’re safe and he’s the one making embarrassing sounds now, listen to him, he’s practically sobbing, pushing himself back, just shoving himself back against you as you make a sloppy mess of him, as you lick him so good, so good he’s reduced to whining. Listen, listen, can they hear him? Can all those Thursday people out in the ordinary world hear him keening for your tongue? Can the buzzing yearning crickets and the green cut grass and the river wind rushing through the trees and the many petaled folds of the roses wet with dew three floors down hear the harsh way he breathes for it, the way he shivers and shivers for it, the way he spreads his legs wider, wider, pressing back, wanting more, his cock so hot and big in your hand as you tug at it, as you lick him, lick him, as you knead that tight muscle, as you worry at it, flicker at it, lap at it, as it softens, softens like wax under a flame, softens for you, softens softens supples and lets you, lets you, lets you tuck right in.
John pushes a hand through his hair, disarranging it. “God, he must have done a number on you. I didn’t think it was this bad, but—“
Sherlock wrapped his hands around the steering wheel and shook the car, screaming until he was hoarse. Until his throat burned and the breath in his lungs ran out. He screamed and he shook his car until it bled out of him. The energy to seek out tools for numbing his life away ebbing as he eventually fell back into his seat exhausted, tears running down his cheeks, his blackened hands aching, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs.
Inside, John is shoved up against the mirrored wall almost instantly. With a thigh pressed between his legs and caged in by two strong arms, he’s pinned.
John draws his finger out and Sherlock whimpers, shuddering all over with need. John doesn’t tease him, just slicks them up and adds a second. Thrusting them deep together to resume their incessant circling.
Dropping Carrot onto the ground unceremoniously she turned and shouted, “Dad, I’m here! Carrot ran away!”
He shifts, redistributing his weight across your legs; you can feel him straighten, spine bristling with uncertainty.
Desire like the bite of a needle and the euphoria that unfurls through your veins after a hit, he’s all of these things and more. He's a calm placid pool with untold fathoms stretching beneath. He's commanding in a quiet way that makes you stand up straighter and take notice. He's reined in and on parade and yet you catch tantalising glimpses through the veneer he's painted. Glimpses of the heart of him. He’s soft jumpers the colour of marshmallow and biscuits with milk tea and that place called home you’ve never really known.
, which was always sinking or getting blown up. There were three or four different ones I think. Redbeard had dastardly luck. He had an adopted son, a French nobleman’s orphan, named Eric LeRouge, and a sidekick named Tripod, on account of his wooden leg.” Sherlock shakes against John, giggling a bit. “He was a surgeon who kept weapons and other odds and ends hidden in his hollow leg. He was incredibly useful in a tight spot. Actually, he was quite a lot like you, John,” but John socks Sherlock hard on the shoulder so that he shuts up, his chest still vibrating under John’s cheek as he chuckles silently to himself.
“You eat them at night while you’re watching telly. Sometimes when you’re reading the papers in the afternoon. Sometimes you grab one on your way out to the clinic in the morning. I don’t think you’re even aware of it.”
“It was tragic,” Ellen said, her brown eyes looking at Sherlock with a mix of pity and compassion. She shook her head. “A damn shame. Have you decided whether you’ll start up new ones in the spring? I understand if you need time.”
“Then we’ll camp out on the floor,” John says, running the tip of his nose along Sherlock’s jaw before tipping his head back to meet Sherlock’s gaze. “Were you planning on us keeping your mum’s things?”
I let it suffuse me. Let the waves wash through me, awakening sensations lain dormant, but not gone.
As the DI digs through a box sitting precariously perched atop a listing tower of its fellows, John sits in the only seat available: Lestrade’s swivel desk chair. The sofa is only partially full of stacked picture frames wrapped in brown packing paper, but Sherlock doesn’t sit. He stands before a bank of windows to John’s left, looking out into the dark. The rain streams down the glass, making the city lights melt and run.
It seemed to Sherlock that John had been thrust into a role usually reserved for women; that of caretaker. And he was very obviously floundering, but also, Sherlock observed, trying very, very hard.
“You had better put that plug in now,” he says, his voice a rock-rough purr, “because sometimes you get impatient,” sliding his fingers out of his arse and pushing up to kneeling, “sometimes you just can’t wait for me to ride your cock and you tell me to stop…” gathering another handful of lube, “…to forget about the vibrator, and just, climb on.”
John kisses him softly, without the frenzy of before. Strokes his open hand down Sherlock’s waist and rests it there, unhurried.
It was like something inside him revealed itself to me in that moment. It was a look of pure need, pure yearning, pure gratitude. He did not raise his eyes to mine, he simply raised his hands and ran them gently down my body. Into the slight dip of my waist and over the jut of my hips, clothed in the lace. He lingered a bit at the hems, stroking the edges before molding his palms down the outside of my thighs. He did this several times before he seemed to come out of a daze and only then did he palm me, squeezing my cock in his fingers. I closed my eyes and simply experienced it. The way I filled his hand and the way the lace brushed my foreskin, sending waves of heat surging up my spine.
“Never,” Sherlock said resolutely, shaking his head in mock-horror, but also immensely happy and relieved to be Blue again.
How long has it been since he’s snuck a cigarette, John wonders. He tries to do the math and comes up empty.
“You know there’s no difference between drumsticks for a right handed person and a left handed person, right?”
I'm realizing that I'm terrible at keeping to a schedule. I've been ill and injured and in a dark mental health space that has made it difficult for me to post when I planned to, not to mention I had to re-write this scene quite a few times to get it where I wanted it. So I'm letting the every Saturday thing go. I'll try and post on the weekends when I'm able. Thanks for being here and for your understanding. I hope you and yours are well, sending love your way <3
“Sherlock,” he was using his army voice on me. His hands were pressed to my shoulders and he was pushing me away from him. “Sherlock, look at me right now.”
“I want only to make you happy,” I said, marvelling at my inadequacy in accomplishing that one simple task, “and yet I make a very poor job of it, I’m afraid.”
That’s about the time that he notices the pink vibrator buzzing happily away an inch or two below the main spectacle.
“I’m an addict,” he says next, making John wish he hadn’t asked. Making him wish he could take it back. “But after that spot of trouble, I stayed clean, until. Well.” Until Reichenbach he means. His cheeks grow red when he says, “Mostly through socially acceptable addictions like cigarettes and coffee and procuring a police scanner that I then used to irritate Lestrade with my presence at crime scenes to no end.”
He sounds, bless him, genuinely curious, so John nods, physically incapable of speech, and Sherlock smiles, the satisfied smile he reserves for the end of a case, when the mystery has unraveled. His fingers curl against John’s scalp, knuckles scratching lightly.
“It’s called after care, John. We’ve just been through a rather harrowing ordeal. I find I’m in need of your doctorly concern.” Lips quirked as he pulls back the covers and clambers in.
John stares out the window for a minute, collecting his thoughts. They’re almost to the gala and a bridge between them would need to be constructed quickly.
“Thank you. These are things I would have asked you yesterday and I’m sorry I acted without knowing the answers to them. I understand that you were in an overwhelmed mental and emotional state yesterday. As I understand it, you were in shock and felt unable to answer the phone. What can we do next time you feel unable to speak in a moment of crisis that could avert the situation that unfolded on Sunday?”
He took the bottle of oil from his pocket and wet his fingers. When he returned them to my body he slicked them up and down the crack of my arse and circled my aching rim before pushing them once more inside. The friction of the lace against my cock combined with the feeling of being stretched and filled was overwhelming.
Sherlock presses a button on the remote and then lays in it down. Just as the first ringing note of his violin sings out from the speakers he reaches down and turns the dildo on.
“I’m not like Moriarty, Sherlock. Yes, I know who you belonged to before. And I’m not one of those daddies the boys at your club go with, Sherlock. I don’t want a toddler who tantrums, who is helpless, who needs their nappies changed. I won’t force you or hurt you. I won’t do anything to you or for you unless it is your express wish.
feeling is just beginning to unfurl, so close to where, if he could just, could just reach it, you would blossom completely, all protections gone. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. “Sherlock. Lube. Where?”
“Sherlock,” they say, smiling warmly and stepping aside to let Sherlock and John into the foyer. John tries not to look too taken aback at the uncharacteristically friendly interchange, but Sherlock catches him at it anyway. He furrows his brow at John, but John shakes his head, rubbing his fingertips over his lips to hide his smile.
“I have no need to check the website for clients or start a new experiment or text Lestrade. It’s completely
“What’s going on with you?” Sherlock asks, looking personally offended, as John sidles further down the counter, until he’s safely around the corner, putting some space between him and Sherlock so that he can breathe, breathe.
He parked at the top of the hill, a twinging pang wracking him as he walked past the bare strip of land where his hives once sat.
“Yes,” Sherlock said, glad of a place to start. “It is true that honey bees die after they lose their stinger, however, you shouldn’t feel too badly because they were just doing their job of protecting the hive.
“No,” John says, more firmly this time, taking Sherlock’s head between his hands. “I love you is all. I’m just really bloody gone on you and it scares the shite out of me sometimes. I don’t want to mess this up. I can’t lose you again.”
“Won’t work. You’re cute when you’re cross too. Enjoy the sushi!” Sherlock calls over his shoulder as he opens the door and swirls through, disappearing into the hallway.
The room was dark around him, his house set too far back from the road for streetlights to reach his windows. He could hear the wind moving in the trees and Sherlock rose and went out into it, fetching his satchel from the car and an armful of logs for the fire.
Sherlock woke to a splitting headache. Although he much preferred oblivion to the gut punch of guilt that met him upon waking, the pain had become too insistent for him to ignore. With a groan he rolled onto his back and blinked his eyes up at the ceiling.
John stands back from him and shrugs out of his fitted navy-blue suit jacket. Hanging it on the back of his chair as he watches Sherlock struggle with his cuffs. Coming forward John takes Sherlock’s mouth in his and undoes them for him, stepping away so that Sherlock can remove it and start on his trousers. Sherlock’s fingers are thick and pounding with blood. They make him clumsy and slow. John pulls two chairs away from the table as Sherlock strips off his pants and socks and finally stands naked before him.
He ignores, successfully for the most part, the hot ember of shame that flares to life every now and then.
Sherlock smooths his hands over his curls as he turns, then wriggles his fingers through them, fluffing them up. They fall, like magic, into place. “See you later.”
Just then John comes again and Sherlock, surprised, manages to tighten his hole to milk the last few throbs of come from the tentacle before it slips free.
Back at home there was Mozart for drowning out memories and fried rice with shrimp for supper. Outside his kitchen window the clarion fall light faded into a pale gold before being subsumed by night. The long summer days were behind them, it was 6:30pm when darkness fell.
“That was an impressive array of…er…gifts…that you bought for me. Have a lot of experience in this area do you?” John teases, feeling awkward and off balance and like he needs to fill the silence.
“Everything,” he says, slightly frustrated. “I like to be taken care of. I crave that feeling when I can stop thinking so much and have someone else take over. Someone who can make me feel instead of think. I get the same pay off when I’m giving pleasure, turning my attention to their needs, taking care of someone else.”
You can’t bear it. He can’t either. His hand wrapped around the back of his neck, fingertips dug into the straining muscle. All of him pulled tight, like a chord.
John rolls over, the hair on his legs peeling apart in painful strips. He slips his knee between Sherlock’s and presses himself against Sherlock chest to chest. Their arms wrap around each other, tight, tight, tight.
“I was hard all night,” you whispered as I molded my hands to your hips, your sheer white pajama bottoms, indecent, hanging on by a thread. One tug and I could have had them down to puddle around your ankles. “Watching her touch you.”
John softens and reaches out to gather him into his arms. John reminds himself what Sherlock is coming from.
“That’s it,” Sherlock says, against John’s throat, as John ruts mindlessly into Sherlock’s big fist. “That’s it, John, come for me.”
So much for having the night to himself. John can’t help but feel a tad resentful and has to remind himself of the nine corpses currently rotting in the morgue.
The scent is green, sharp and sweet, like summer grass. John can’t see the bottle’s label, it’s one of Sherlock's collection of expensive black, matte bottles he orders from God knows where, but it evokes something inside him.
The words are a warm skirr of breath against John’s throat. The blue-black hair at the nape of Sherlock’s neck slips between his fingers, threads of night-dark silk. John’s skin will smell of clove and spice and decadent night blooming flowers for hours after. Somewhere in the distance, a horn blares. The rain falls and falls, sheets of silver pouring down the glass.
John shifts down until they’re lying face to face again. He nudges his lips against Sherlock’s reluctant ones.
John ignores his own body. Focuses all his attention on Sherlock. He can feel it building inside Sherlock in a way he can never really pay attention to when he’s chasing his own pleasure.
“Thank you. Thank you for taking this risk on us. It has to feel terrifying and overwhelming and strange. If it helps, tomorrow after our morning meeting we’ll fly home. We can work on what our next steps will be then. We’ll need to coordinate with DI Lestrade once we’re back in London and Bill might have some useful information by then as well. Does that make sense to you? Anything you want to add? You know Moriarty and how he works best.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, Mr. Holmes, would you please call me Charlotte?” the girl asked, politely enough, as she passed the towel across the table to him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her as he dabbed at his shirtfront. “My dad calls me Charlie because that used to be my name when I was a boy. But now it’s not anymore and I’d rather you call me Charlotte.”
“For what exactly?” John asked, sounding angry. “Because if you say you are sorry because you didn’t like it, then I will probably have to come up with some kind of outlandish chore for you to complete for me today, like scrubbing out the bath or scraping the bug carcasses off the Morris’ windshield. So think very carefully about what you are sorry for because you know I have a knack for this sort of thing.”
“May I undress you, sir?” Sherlock asks and waits for John’s acquiescence before he kneels and begins to remove John’s shoes. Socks next, his hands curling warm around John’s ankles. He stands and works on John’s cuffs, his long fingers slipping inside to touch John’s wrists. John can smell him, the subtle woodsy notes of his cologne, the sweet scent of his shampoo, and the smell that is all his own. As John stands in front of Sherlock, his eyes closed, he can feel his body respond to that intimate scent that he has come to know so well. Arousal fires instinctively, an ember of heat pulsing out through him. It has the strange effect of steadying him, fixing him in the moment, anchoring him inside his body.
John checks the hall and living room closets, but finds no duvet, only a scratchy afghan. He wonders where else Mrs. Hudson could have stashed it. Returning to the kitchen he finds Sherlock standing at the counter, the toaster’s tines glowing bright red in front of him, staring out the window. It’s started to rain again, water tracking down the glass in thin rivulets.
“Sherlock, you were ill. You’ve barely eaten in three days. You haven’t had a case in over a month. I understand why—”
“I’d actually prefer not to talk about it,” Sherlock said curtly, his cheeks hot. Ellen blinked and sat back in her chair, surprised at his bitter tone. “You can Google the case if you’d like.”
"Are you going to tell me how you figured it out?" John asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's bottom lip. It catches. Sherlock's tongue darts out, slicking the way, and when his lips part, John slides it inside.
John was bothered by how much this reminded him of Sherlock, but was also somewhat pleased to know that Jim trusted him enough, or at least his medical opinion, to do what he said. John gave him three more days in bed, partially because he needed them, but partially so Jim was out of his hair, and Jim begrudgingly obliged.
“Since when did you care about breaking the law?” John asked. “We’ll play it by ear. I’m not suggesting—“ he lowered his voice, glancing at a security guard watching them curiously. “That was have
“You said you wanted to prove that I was in love with you. I couldn’t let you know…I was positive you didn’t feel that way.”
Sherlock ran a hand up John’s neck to the back of his head, holding it against him, missing the feel of John, missing his smell, his smile, his touch—everything. Finally he whispered softly, “You look even more changed than Hamish does.”
They continued down the sidewalk, stumbling a bit from their shaking, uncontrollable laughter. When they finally did regain their breaths enough to hail a cab, Sherlock was dialing Mycroft.
He didn’t get farther than a few steps before Jim leaped up and delivered a fast, unexpected blow to John’s stomach that sent him staggering backwards, doubled over. John gasped in pain and shock as Jim’s voice washed over him. “He’s right where he should be, being watched by
John shook his head at him. “You never have to compete for me. It’s like I said, you have me, all of me, whether you want it or not. I’ll think of something to tell Mary. I promise.”
As John undressed, Jim removed his tie, waistcoat, socks, and shoes, then unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang open. Once John was fully undressed, he stood in front of Jim, awaiting orders, but Jim had an eyebrow raised and was looking expectant, and John realized Jim wanted him to initiate.
The next night, John called Harry, who asked lots of questions, accusing him of being very vague. It frustrated him that he couldn’t get more specific, but he’d had to leave it as it was.
“Being in a haze all day and night doesn’t instill fear in anyone. Wouldn’t want to lose your reputation,” John pointed out. “Promise me you’ll lay off the drugs.”
John reddened. The first thing that came into his mind, of course, was everyone’s assumption or sometimes, insistence, that he was gay. It annoyed John to no end, and it annoyed him even more that every time someone assumed that he and Sherlock were a couple, he felt a deep relunctance to correct them.
Sherlock looked up, frowning up at him. “That’s ridiculous, John, I don’t need anything, and we haven’t the money for anything.”
John found himself hardening, disgusted at how readily his body reacted to someone as loathsome as Jim. He shuddered and pressed his back up against Jim almost involuntarily.
John gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted was Jim to have any alone time with his son, feeding him poisoned lies, teaching him how to manipulate or kill or acquire. He would do the job as quickly as he could.
Jim's face contorted into a furious, threatening smile, then he frowned, pursed his lips, disbelieving. “'Bumped into him,' did you? Hm. That’s interesting.”
“This isn’t some man from a story. He is not only a danger to John and Hamish, but to you and Arthur as well, and will risk others’ lives without a second thought if he thinks it will help him get to me. If he comes to the door and no one is here, or even they
Sherlock spread his legs and let his muscles relax, his breathing starting to slow and even out. John grabbed something from the bed stand, a small vial of oil. At least being with Jim had taught him
John tensed up at the sound of his name on this strange man’s lips and picked up his pace, aiming for the thicker cluster of people ahead. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, mate,” he muttered and pushed into the crowd, hoping to lose him.
John looked at himself in the mirror, shocked at how worn and weary he looked. He pulled a fresh shirt on, double-checked the mirror to make sure the gauze was keeping the blood at bay, then hurried to the kitchen to see Hamish, who rushed into his arms for a hug.
John shook his head. No, this was too much. He shifted uncomfortably. “Sherlock—“ he said softly, his voice half-pleading.
“No. We’re leaving London to live somewhere else.” John didn’t want to admit that he had no idea where. “Come on.” He helped Hamish to his feet, then stood up himself. He looked down at the small boy. He was so young. Too young for everything he’d already felt and lost in life. He knew it would be worse to tell Hamish the truth and watch him die, but at the moment it was hard to imagine anything worse than breaking his son’s heart.
Mary shuddered, stepping away from him. She kept her head down, too terrified to look him in the eyes. “N-no, sir. He’s upstairs, sir.”
John considered this dilemma as he stepped into the kitchen. Gone was the fridge full of convenient if slightly off food, and the electric stove was replaced by an intimidating coal stove. Without a microwave and an electric kettle John was at a complete loss on what to do.
John gasped and pressed against him, then laughed, still finding laughter such a surprising thing, then growled into Sherlock’s mouth, “That’s not funny.” He pushed Sherlock’s shirt off his shoulders, rolling him over slightly to the left and then to the right so he could pull the arms free, then sats up, looking at Sherlock and running his hands up Sherlock’s arms from his wrists down to his chest and stomach, then back up to cup his face. He smiled.
Sherlock forced himself to stand still, watching John as he hesitantly stepped forward on the terrace, staring Magnussen down defiantly. It was a small reconciliation; whatever Charles Augustus Magnussen did to John now, John would bear it with dignity. And Sherlock was quite positive that he knew everything that Magnussen had on John’s file already. There was nothing that this despicable man could bring up that would cause John Watson to break down.
Sherlock held him to his chest, resting his chin on John’s head, not knowing what to say. That kiss had told him so much more than he wanted to know about what had happened here. John’s hesitation and tensing paired with the slightly raw skin around his wrists, spoke volumes, volumes that should never have been written, and he held John tighter.
“We just found out today that….we’re your parents,” John said. “We didn’t know before because, well, it’s impossible for two men to have a son.” He reddened and cleared his throat. “As you know. But I’m John, and this is Sherlock, and….and it’s…it’s really nice to meet you, Hamish. Hello.”
London still? But the cab curtains were drawn, so he sat back in the seat and looked at Jim, keeping his sorrow hidden behind a neutral mask.
“I kind of like it when you’re an arrogant dick,” he murmured into Sherlock’s ear, then kissed behind his ear as Sherlock began tuning his violin.
“You must trust me, Sherlock. Otherwise all of this ceases to exist, and you, along with everything you know, will disappear, a lost pocket of history with you trapped inside. You have one of the greatest minds on the planet and you choose to use it to help people. I know what you would give to save the life of a friend. I also know you won’t condemn millions to cease existing for selfish reasons.”
John stepped toward him and wrapped his arms around him. “You didn’t lose me.” He sighed into Sherlock’s shoulder. He was exhausted. He felt like he hadn’t slept in days, and the fatigue of paranoia felt much worse now that that blissful moment of temporary relief had vanished. “Will this ever be over? I’m so tired of running.”
John inhaled sharply at the sting of Sherlock’s nails and opened his eyes, staring widely into Sherlock’s. Sherlock shuddered, about to climax. “
Sherlock sat back in his chair, pursing his lips in annoyance. “Jim Moriarty. An old acquaintance. He’s a professor at Hamish’s old school.” He proceeded to give her a brief but detailed description of his appearance. Mary was taken aback when Sherlock continued with great earnestness, “Mary, if this man comes to the door, you are not, under any circumstances, to let him in. Do you understand me? The only exception is if
“Not at all. We’re still growing used to the idea ourselves,” Sherlock said, putting some convincing emotion into his voice. “We’re all Hamish has now, and it’s difficult to make ends meet.”
Later that night, after Jane had cleared up the dinner table and had gone home for the evening, Jim was writing a letter at his desk and John was reading. He had taken to reading much more in his free time, eager for any sort of fictional escape. A knock on the front door echoed through the room, and they turned to look at each other. Jim raised his eyebrows and turned back to his writing, leaving John to answer it.
“You’re not obliged to hang around me, John, if you find me so ‘freakish,’” Sherlock said, his voice like acid.
"Don't be silly, sweetheart!" Elton opened the door to an apparently empty room. There was a square of concrete propped up against the window, which didn't look unusual in the least until Elton picked it up and turned it around to reveal a living human face stuck inside. "Meet Ursula!"
Jim headed into the kitchen to get a bite to eat. Jane, who was standing over the stove making porridge, glanced at her shirtless boss and blushed, averting her eyes to the floor.
A preoccupied, blonde-haired man opened the door. “Mary, I told you, no callers, not while I’m writing.”
John could see the knife handle poking out beneath Jim’s pillow, but even so, he was able to roll over and fall asleep much faster than he had the night before.
“Sorry about this, John,” Sherlock said, then punched John in the stomach, not hard, but hard enough to illicit a loud groan, doubling him over. Sherlock quickly mussed his hair with his hands, untucked his shirt, pinched his cheeks to redden them, then smacked John’s arse, hissing, “
to solve,” Sherlock said. “I need something that the police can’t figure out. I need to create a reputation for being smarter than them so they’ll start calling me in to consult on cases.” The thing Sherlock missed the most from the 21
Sherlock scanned the crowed, deconstructing the posh, upper class men and women strolling about, and John wondered if Hamish was making friends his own age; he was so tight-lipped about his social life.
John swallowed. “Yes.” He paused. “I wasn’t going to tell you until after I found a place for sure, but I…I can’t do this anymore. What is mean is, maybe we need our own space. Between my job and my army pension, I should be able to afford a small place on my own. So. I think we’ll both be better off.”
John couldn’t do this. He couldn’t think of saying last words to Sherlock. He finally fumbled out, “Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him…that I’ll see him soon.” He struggled to look up at Jim as defiantly as he could.
“Goodbye, Jim,” Sherlock said cold, then turned away, spinning John with him and towing how toward the door, where Hamish was waiting.
After dinner, Sherlock and John returned upstairs, Sherlock grabbing his coat, pacing with excitement. “I’ll be going to Belgravia on foot due to our tight funds, unless I can sneak a ride on some passing cart, so I might be a bit late.”
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist as they watched their son concentrate. Both men were so engrossed in the playing that they failed to hear Mary’s footsteps and only just managed to jump away from each other when she opened the door.
Sherlock smiled and pulled off John’s bowler hat, tossing it into the one of the chairs, then ran his hands down John’s chest, unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Somehow, I think we’ll manage,” Sherlock said.
“How do I explain this? Picture a clothesline--no, it’s nothing like that, forget the clothes line. In fact, forget the whole thing. You
Sherlock closed his eyes as John’s lips brushed against his chin. Was this what it felt like to be adored? It was entirely engrossing. He would have to be careful, or it could consume him. He’d kept away from love for that very reason. Now, however, he was beginning to think the risk was worth the feeling of happiness that bubbled up inside him whenever John was near.
“Yes, of course I’m alien. If you were in Italy I’d sound Italian. The TARDIS does a marvelous job translating,” the Doctor said absently, pacing. “Why are you here?
Sherlock stopped walking and stared at him. “I don’t sit around conjuring up slurs and abusive behaviors. Not only would that be a waste of time, it would be utterly boring.”
"Hey, cheer up, handsome." Jack patted John on he shoulder as he rose. "The doctor has a habit of showing up to those who need them. Have a little faith."
John stopped over to the dresser and yanked out his pyjamas. He turned to leave, stopped, then turned back to Sherlock. “Sherlock, be honest- are you
A young woman stepped into the room, looked up and nearly dropped the tea tray she was holding, gasping loudly.
John glanced sideways at Sherlock. As annoyed as Sherlock was pretending to be, John knew he was thrilled. Finally, a
The Doctor walked to the door, touched the handle, then stopped. “I have a hunch. …Want to take the first look, Sherlock?”
Jim looked down at himself as if seeing the blood for the first time. His lip curled in disgust. “No…” He ran a finger across on one of the stains, which hadn’t dried, then looked at his red hand. “I
“Not all, but the end result was the same,” John said, working off his shirt with some difficulty. He didn’t want to undress in front of Jim, but redressing so he could see his son had taken higher priority.
John frowned at the idea. He hadn’t the slightest notion of how homosexuality was viewed in Victorian England. Was it even legal? He doubted it was at all acceptable. “But—she might quit. She might be so uncomfortable that she quits working for Arthur. She could spread gossip about it on the street and ruin your name. No more clients. Is that what you want?”
“This way, doc.” The man grabbed the back of John’s neck and began steering him through a labyrinth of rooms, small spaces crammed with pillowed sofas and low chairs, most of them occupied by glassy-eyed people clutching at hookahs.
“By all means, continue your dinner,” Sherlock said, then disappeared into his and John’s room, knowing John wouldn’t follow him while Mary was around. Irritated and somewhat injured, he buried himself in some case accounts he was re-writing, all the while listening to John’s and Mary’s conversation. John was being his usual charming self, perhaps not meaning to be flirtatious but coming off that way anyway. It felt like ages before the sounds of dinner plates being stacked and cleared filled the next room and the door to the flat finally opened and closed.
“Spooky stone angels?” Sherlock asked Lestrade dully. Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock cut him off. “Woman named Charlotte Hayle left me three voicemails. My question is, is the police force so incompetent that they don’t investigate the strange appearance of large statues that are causing someone sincere distress?”
“Oh, but you were never able to deduce how I felt about you from all the insights you gathered from that tie index you made?” John asked sarcastically.
In lieu of an answer, Sherlock kissed John again, pulling John closer to him, one hand at the small of his back, the other wrapping under John’s ear and pulling at the back of his neck.
The two stood, looking at each other for a brief moment, then it was as if a switch was flipped. The two men hurled themselves at each other and slammed into each other, desperately grabbing the other to make sure the other really was, in fact, there.
“What on earth d’you—I don’t date dull women! None of them is ever going to live up to the Glorious Intellect of Sherlock Holmes, you know. One genius is more than enough to deal with.” Sherlock smiled a bit at this.
Sherlock smiled, resisting the urge to kiss him, and Hamish clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggling.
A portly, confused-looking man opened the door at the address Hamish and given them. A toddler was at his heels.
“Pocket universe, remember?” The Doctor said amiably. “You have to meet the angels before you get sent back in time. And you
John already felt lightheaded from the smoke, but he didn’t waste time in stalking up to Moriarty and yanking him to his feet by his lapels. “Where is he?
He moved his arms up to brace his body against the headboard in front of him, becoming overwhelmed as Jim pushed into him deeply, coming with a groan inside of John.
John was doubled over, clutching his stomach and trying to breathe. When he regained an ounce of breath, he clouded over with rage. “You want me to fight back?! Is that an
John wasn't prepared for the fist to his stomach, which sent him doubling over, gasping. Jim wandered behind him, slowly trailing a finger from one of John's bare shoulders to the other, then without warning grabbed John's neck, forcing him upright.
“I’ve been saving up,” John said, glowing with pride as he watched Sherlock pull out the bow. Sherlock looked down its length before tightening it and running the rosin over the horsehairs before bringing the violin to his shoulder and lovingly drawing out a few notes, his eyes closed.
John’s instinct was to leave Jim to rant until he felt better, but it occurred to him that perhaps Jim wanted to voice his complaints to someone. And John was the only one he could complain to. John sighed and sank into a wing-backed chair facing the sofa.
century was the reputation he’d built up over the years. It had taken a long time building up the connections with the Yard, getting the privilege to enter crime scenes, to give his opinions and look at evidence. It was driving him mad, being a nobody in the detective world.
Sherlock gave him a sad smile. “Right.” He cleared his coat pockets of his keys, wallet, and phone, which would be useless in 1895, and stashed his magnifying glass, whatever food would fit in his pockets, and an antique telescope he might be able to hawk for some money.
John mumbled something. He didn’t know a single thing about Coptic art other than what Hamish had just told him. He’d just been looking for another likely-empty room so he and Sherlock could continue their snog. He considered shooing Hamish off—despite what the boy said, the school group was bound to notice him missing eventually, and the teachers would likely frown on him hanging around with two strange men.
By the time Jim awoke, John had laid him on his bed, and it took him some time to remember what had happened. The pain in his shoulder was a convenient reminder, especially when he took deep breaths and the skin pulled at the wound, worsening the pain.
The Doctor’s face looked grave, those deep-set eyes in his young face looking very old. “I can’t tell you. I really very sorry. Stay together when the angels come. And—never thought I’d say this—make sure you blink!”
“We could run,” Sherlock said. “Hail a cab, keep our eyes on it until we’re well away. Not a permanent solution, of course.” But it was the only one he could think of at the moment.
Sherlock glanced at the clock mantel. He had let the time slip away. John and Hamish both should have been back at least an hour ago. He clenched his jaw briefly. “Obvious.” He muttered under his breath. “Stupid…you want me in exchange for them.” It was a tired ploy, but he’d fallen for it all the same. Sherlock berated himself as he grabbed his coat. What a fool he’d been. Moriarty out on the loose, and he’d completely neglected John and Hamish. “Well, I won’t disappoint.”
“Of course, I’ll tell the kitchen.” He left the room and returned a moment later. “They’ll start dinner preparations at once. John—a word?”
Mary timidly entered the room a moment later, keeping close to the doorway. “Mr. Holmes…?” she ventured.
When Jim lunged forward to swing at John again, John ducked and swung his legs out to trip him, sending him sprawling to the floor. John was on top of him before he could get up, pinning his wrists to the floor. “Friendly word of advice, boss, don’t pick fights with your hit men!”
John and Sherlock gave the flat a final sweep with their eyes, and they tramped downstairs. “Mrs. Hudson, if we don’t come back up, don’t come looking for us, just call the police,” Sherlock called into Mrs. Hudson’s flat.
The Doctor sat across from him and John leaned his back on the mantel, arms folded. “I said before that you two didn’t make sense, that your lives were in the wrong time. I was wrong—sort of. This place that we are now, it’s sort of a pocket in the universe.” Apparently unable to sit, the Doctor rose and began pacing, rattling off, “Like a secret pocket full of histories about to be rewritten. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey, and all that.”
When John rang his phone only minutes later, he answered in a panic, knowing it took John longer to cool down, and that he wouldn’t call while angry unless there was an emergency. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
If it had been on behalf of anyone else, John would’ve walked away and left her in peace, but this was
On their first meeting, the Doctor said, he had lifted a hair off Sherlock’s coat and had attempted to create a DNA replication in the TARDIS.
John coughed at the fumes, finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes focused. He struggled to stay alert. “Where is my son, and what do you want?”
John pulled away and muttered a string of obscenities after him. “Well, so much for tolerance,” he grumbled, then sighed and caught Sherlock’s eye. “Anywhere else you want to go?”
John and Sherlock looked at each other, and Craig rose and picked up Alfie, apparently sensing that they needed to talk. “I’ll just be in the kitchen if you need me,” he said, then disappeared.
John came, panting and biting down on his gag. Magnussen was right. He hadn’t even needed a touch. The mere thought of Sherlock knowing that he fantasized about him was humiliating enough to send John over the edge. He could feel the dampness in his trousers and was nearly on the edge of tears, panting and seething through the gag.
Sherlock was perched in his chair, grimacing at the fireplace. “Mmm, I wish there was. Let me know if there’s anything in the paper worth mentioning. And by that, I mean at
Jim pressed his hips against John, his fist clenched in his hair to keep him close. John’s eyes widened as he felt the beginning of Jim’s erection against him.
“Go on then.” John’s eyes are closed, but he can feel Sherlock smile against his throat. He can’t resist the opportunity to show off.
There in the feather soft darkness with the birds out the window, singing crystal notes out into the rising August heat, your tongues softly meet. A block away the tourists will have already started lining up to get into the museum and tyres on the hot pavement make a sibilant hissing sound from the open windows down the hall.
“I love you John,” Sherlock whispered, then leaned back onto the bed, pulling John on top of him, still kissing.
Sherlock stepped in. “Will you please get your hands off him? This is entirely our fault—we got to talking him and proved a distraction. We’ll escort him.”
“It said so on your identity card. That’s one of the reasons we match.” He pushed a stack of clothes back into the suitcase. “Why’s
Hamish broke into sobs and Sherlock hugged them both, together for the first time in almost fourteen months, pressing his cheek against Hamish's head. “We're here, we're here now.”
Sherlock looked over to John, then turned around to face the cellar door. Hamish kept a tight grip on his fathers’ hands as they climbed the stairs and stepped into what used to be—or what
"It's not. This is all me. It's not such a bad existence, you'd be surprised." She looked adoringly at Elton. "And I have him."
"If anyone would know something about some secretive government branch that deals with time-traveling alien doctors, it would be my dear brother," he muttered to John as he waited for Mycroft to answer.
The more he thought about it, though, the more flustered he became, and found that he couldn’t retain any words he was reading in the paper.
John’s heart went out to the soft-spoken housekeeper, who was just as trapped as John was. He reached out to touch her face with one hand, his voice gentle. “Jane, please, I’ll take care of it.” When he removed his hand he was horrified to see that he’d left a smear of blood on her cheek. He wiped it off with a dishrag, muttering apologies, then took the mop and quickly scrubbed up, disgusted with himself. He ruefully thought of Lady Macbeth, obsessively washing her hands, trying to get rid of the unseen bloodstains. John could relate. He would never be able to scrub out all the blood, even if he scoured the entire house and himself spotless.
John could feel Jim’s eyes on him as he examined the bloodstains in the shirt. “How bad is my back?”
Sherlock pulled away long enough to raise an eyebrow down at John. “Is that so? Take off your belt.” He clamped his mouth against John’s, arching his back away from him so John could obey.
As soon as Mrs. Hudson was gone, Hamish burst out, taking a croissant. “An animal? Do you think it’s a fox? Can I come look?”
Sherlock restrained John as he lunged forward again, then smirked at Jim. “We’ll be keeping a close eye on
Sherlock wondered where this rant from John was coming from. Had he been bottling this all up for a long time? Sherlock had several suspicions about John, but he’d never brought them to light for long, in fear that it would put a strain on their friendship, which he deeply valued.
“Don’t be foolish—you’ll be admitted right along with me!” He tossed John his coat. “Come on John! There are aliens to catch!”
“How was this possible? He’s nine and a half and John and I have only known each other for two years. Even taking time travel into account, it’s simply
The interviewer was well impressed with John’s medical background, which he’d been mostly truthful with, changing a few dates and details to fit the time period.
John blinked at him sorrowfully. He wanted desperately to sleep, to wake up and have this all melt away as a strange, terrible dream. “Will I get to say goodbye?” he repeated.
John rolled his eyes. “Great logic, boss.” Jim was too drug-addled to do anything to him at the moment. He settled onto the floor.
John dropped his hands, startled at how fucked-up his whole situation with Moriarty had been. The worst thing was that he’d gotten used to it; being an object for Jim had become second nature. “Sherlock, I…what if I’ve forgotten how to do this? How to be normal? When I walk down the street I still…I still catch myself looking at target points instead of people. What do I do?” John looked up at him desperately.
Sherlock finally stopped pacing. "Too early to say." He disappeared to his room, murmuring to himself.
“We’re recently been enlightened in our view of how time works as well,” Sherlock pointed out. “But even if our DNA
Hamish sniffed and nodded, wiping his nose off on his sleeve. “Are—are we going to live here now? Is this…Professor Moriarty’s house?”
John hefted the rug and body through the back door. He had already arranged for accomplices to dispose of the body. He met them in the alleyway, paid them their sum, then returned to the kitchen.
John leaned down to give Hamish a tight hug. “That professor Moriarty? I don’t care how nice he seems.
After they’d disappeared out the door, Mary went to the window to watch the consulting detective and the doctor stride down Baker Street with the inspector, ready for every crime and every adventure.
“Glad my assumption was correct.” He swallowed and flicked his eyes sideways to Jim. “Is there—is there something that I haven’t been doing that would make you happy, boss?”
John suppressed a shiver. Jim Moriarty had the singular talent of making his every move and word terrifying. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to convince such a twisted man that he even somewhat liked him. “Do you need anything from me, Jim?”
John’s mouth was dry as he examined the bullet wounds. It wasn’t a lethal shot by any means, but Jim had lost a great deal of blood. What if he couldn’t save him? Would Jim’s men ever believe him? There wasn’t an exit wound for either bullet, so he carefully extracted the second bullet, then cleaned, disinfected, and tidily patched up the wounds with some neat stitches.
a character from a book, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t real. But the stories about you got so famous that you became stuff of legend. Worthy of a museum, and so much more.”
The man was still grinning obscenely at him. John wanted to punch him, but he merely spat out, “Lead on, you stupid wretch.”
They bid Elton goodbye, still stunned by the woman in the concrete slab. John suggested they walk a bit before catching a cab. He most certainly needed air. "Sherlock. Just…what are we dealing with here? Because I just saw something impossible back there and now we're chasing a time-traveling alien."
You like the way it feels in your mouth, the friction of your breath forming the single syllable. The way your lips form the slightest kiss when you say it.
The book slots into place and he picks up another from the cart (he’ll have to go back later and fix them, but that’s a problem for future John), remembering: the man in his arms. John could have cut himself on the sluice of his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw. Ran his lips over them to try, like a knife along a whetstone, the desire inside him sharpening to a pin-point ache. The man tasted of sweat, of cologne, of something saccharinely sweet. John had sucked it from his tongue, whatever the man had been drinking, peach and lime and rum, and licked the salt from his throat. One hand on the man’s waist, one hand wound up in his hair, the black curls slipping like silky threads through his fingers, as he brought the man’s mouth down to his own.
“I don’t want to stay in a bed and breakfast,” Sherlock bites out. “I want to stay here, in our home, and I—“
This time Sherlock meets him with his tongue, and John groans, opening his mouth and leaning in until their bodies are flush against each other, John resting in between Sherlock’s legs, his back bowed as Sherlock arches over him. Sherlock’s mouth is hot and wet, his tongue silky and insistent against John’s own. He tastes of figs and milk tea; sweetly sharp. John threads his hands into Sherlock’s hair. Holds on. The soft skin of Sherlock’s cheeks juxtaposed against the sandpaper strafe of the stubble along his jaw is sending tiny thrills scintillating along John’s nerve endings. It’s new. Different. And more than a little exhilarating.
He wraps his hand around you, swiping his thumb over the sensitive head, and you cry out. Pleasure coils deep in your navel, radiating out down your thighs. The heat of his fist and the tight slick clutch of his hand and the way he’s pushing into you, his fat velvety crown hitting your prostate over and over, it takes one stroke, two, and then you’re spilling over his fingers, painting the headboard in your come, the walls ringing with your shout.
Who knows what he would have said if we had not be interrupted. I still wonder about it years later. If fate had not intervened in that moment would I have finally gotten what I wanted? For him to grow as tired of me as I was of myself and leave me finally and for good? It was exhausting trying to be the man he believed me to be. It was one of the most tiresome parts of marriage surely. That you are constantly forced to confront yourself. When I lived alone I could be as human as I pleased. A malcontent. A misanthropic narcissist. Now, married ten years, I had to constantly reform myself, to compromise and collaborate and control my bad habits. At times it seemed an impossible task. But I tried for him. For him I would do anything required. It did not mean that I didn’t consummately fail at it it at times.
He turns around and picks up the bag at his feet. He holds it open, staring in incomprehension at it’s jumbled contents.
“That’s really kind of you, but I wouldn’t want—” John said, his eyes darting between Sherlock and Zoe.
Or about that day in Bart’s with Stamford your unwitting ally, giving you one last chance. And over the months that followed, you wooing him with thrill and danger and trust and reminding him reminding him reminding him who he was? Will he tell her about the morning in July when he came down the stairs at Baker Street and kissed you, so so softly, hello?
It is the softest kiss of Sherlock’s life and it completely and utterly destroys him. Shatters and levels him, remakes him. There is the man he was before this moment, alone, and there is the man he is now. All of his armour is stripped away, he is utterly vulnerable, he is taking the biggest risk of his life and yet he has never felt more secure. Whatever comes they’ll face it together. Whatever comes they’ll meet it united. And if the worst was to happen they will die knowing they did everything they could.
The man in the mirror is muttering incoherent nonsense, “God, yes, just like that. Oh fuck, Sherlo—ck, fuck me. Harder. Yes. Harder. Oh, God, oh please, please.”
Sherlock spreads his feet wider and bends at the waist, hands braced once more against the window pane. John watches as his cheeks part and there, nestled between them, is the matte black plug that John has inserted inside him that morning before they’d left for work.
Sherlock flinches, just a brief twitch at the corners of his eyes, but it tells John all he needs to know.
The only thing that came to mind was Mycroft’s birthday six, seven years ago. The Opera. Which one? He couldn’t even recall. A Bellini perhaps. A Rossini. Italian, that was all he could be sure of.
I looked over at you then. You were pale in the pearl gray light, your eyes holding mine without artifice. I saw then, what you were really saying to me. Fear sluiced through me, hard and bright.
“It was, in fact, not I who rang the authorities,” Mycroft said. “Your therapist was concerned when you weren’t answering your phone.”
“Well?” John says, after a bit. After Sherlock has slipped out of him, flaccid, unspent, after he has curled up next to John, wrapped himself all around him, his ear pressed to John’s heart. “Any better?”
“I accept that. And, just to be clear, you want to continue to have a physical relationship with me, with the understanding that at any time, my protection is available without it?”
John’s mouth is soft when he brushes it against Sherlock’s. His beard skimming beneath Sherlock’s nose and across his chin, raising sparks to the surface of his skin.
“Sherlock, I want you.” He’s panting. The words are forced out through clenched teeth. “Please. I want your cock inside me. Now.”
The orchestra was reaching the end of the allegro, the music was frantic and matched the racing of my heart.
Your name in the dark and the quiet, in the shushed intimate whisper of his voice, it startles you. Your mind stutters to a halt.
John was in the sitting room reading, socked feet sticking out from under an afghan, a cold cup of tea balanced on the armrest beside him, his reading glasses perched low on his nose. They were tortoiseshell and he looked positively devastating in them, but I had other things on my mind just then and so I ignored the urge to have him there on the sofa, and went to crouch before our empty hearth.
John pushes the cock inside, pulling back a little, but keeping one hand anchored around the back of Sherlock’s neck, just far enough to allow for the angle and watches as the bow of Sherlock’s lips stretches into a pink heart around John’s girth.
Now John tells him as often as he can. And if this is the last time, well, then Sherlock won’t ever have to wonder how John felt about him.
“Something happened at the surgery,” I said, my eyes flicking up and down his body. “Something to make it shut down suddenly. Power outage, chemical spill…”
John takes a moment to look around the room, anywhere but at Sherlock, nodding politely, as Molly tells him about her new boyfriend. The room is uncharacteristically full of people. Med students from the look of them, harried and feral. There are about ten of them, all bent over identical microscopes, all jotting down notes as they go.
The most spectacular shag of John Watson’s life. In the flesh. Looking stunning, looking posh, looking ten thousand kilometers out of John's league. The elegant length of him poured into slim-fitted gray trousers, a tight white tee-shirt, and a black leather bomber jacket. Looking just as cool and untouchable as when John had first seen him leaning against the bar the night before.
“Don’t be sorry,” Sherlock whispers, turning to push the length of his warm body into John’s. “I loved it.”
John pushes himself away and takes two steps back. “Oh, and I’m going to need to take a long bath in your mum’s ridiculously gigantic tub when I get home. I feel like you’re still inside me and it’s bloody disconcerting. I keep wanting to look over my shoulder to see if you’ve snuck up and stuck your cock in me or something.”
John was wearing a thick, tan, canvas coat and red plaid pyjama trousers, a blue scarf wound a few times haphazardly around his neck. The cold air had reddened his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “I’m ok. I was thinking about tonight and was wondering if we should switch things up a bit.”
“Yes, well I am not a fool,” I said. “When I meet the most extraordinary man I’ve ever laid eyes on, one who is intelligent and brave and kind and capable and devastatingly handsome, I do not let him go. It is only logical you see.”
On the drive home Sherlock rolled down the window and let the scent of the rain soaked fields wash over him. He focused on the small gifts of the day: the way Mozart sung so brightly through his body, biscuits and tea with a friend, the fact that he hadn’t torn down a man who’s granddaughter was dying.
, and repocketed his phone. Laying aside his shovel, he went to sit on his front porch steps as John made his way up the drive.
“I trust you,” Sherlock says, sure now, of maybe only this, choosing this, this one simple thing. It feels paltry, it feels infinitesimal, compared to what John is giving him, but it makes John’s mouth go crooked, in a disbelieving sort of smile, a grateful sort of smile, a purely happy smile.
“It’s a nocturne,” Sherlock explains softly, something like self-consciousness etched in the lines around his eyes. “Entirely derivative of Sarasate, I admit, but with my own touches here and there.”
This thing he was asking of me, this promise, had seemed silly and unnecessary only a moment ago, but the question of my own moral turpitude still lingered, and so I said, “I promise. I promise.”
“I’ll fetch Charlotte,” John said, his hand dropping down by his side. “She’ll probably be ready for her bed too.”
“It’s a lot for anyone to handle, John. Go easy on yourself. Give yourself some time to figure out what you want.”
Sherlock, freshly showered, dressed casually but with precision—shirt pressed and a shade of blue which he knew paired quite spectacularly with his eyes—waited three beats before he rose from the kitchen table and opened the door.
“No, this is good,” John says, preferring the way Sherlock has done it, with John’s arms bracketing his ears and his hands above his head. It mitigates how exposed John feels.
“That I won’t leave. It feels like— he says I love you, alright? Every night, right before we fall asleep. He says it like he’s ticking it off a list. I know, I know, he means it. But, he’s said hasn’t he? He’s said that he doesn’t know how to go about it, the love bit. And it feels like insecurity, yeah? Like he’s uncertain of me. Or, of us. Like he feels like if he doesn’t say it, it won’t be real. I want him to know it’s real.”
The temperature had already risen a few degrees celsius by the time he went back outside. His fleece vest and flannel shirt would be enough to resist what chill still lingered. After placing his satchel containing his lunch, water bottle, last year’s bee journal in addition to a fresh one, pens, a copy of Langstroth’s
I moaned and arched reflexively into the touch, my hand settling on the back of your head, pushing you down into the wet curls, as she would have pushed my head down into the soft thatch of black hair, coiling against the tip of my nose as I nuzzled at her.
John feels all the blood in his body flood up, biting hot in his chest and face. He grits his teeth. “Sherlock.”
His eyes are thick with pupil when you pull away, dreamy and unfocused. You brush his brow with your mouth. Run it over his eyelids. His lashes. His temples. His cheeks. You take away all evidence of his tears.
The head, his head, the head of his cock, gets caught on the rim, on the rim, on the entrance to, to Sherlock, and
I shivered as John’s warm breath tickled my skin. I cast my eyes down into my lap where John’s hand was resting on my thigh, his fingers drawing small, tantalizing circles higher and higher up my leg.
They lie together for a moment, just breathing. The air is sweet with the resin of the fir tree. It burns, like a cinder, in the back of John’s nose. He’s not sure why it matters so much, Sherlock setting up this whole thing, but it does somehow. He pictures it in his mind. Sherlock leaving the surgery. Picking out a tree. Buying lights and ornaments. Decorating. It makes John’s chest feel too small to contain the feeling swelling inside him. Gratitude and love. The backs of his eyes grow hot and sting. No one’s ever done something so simple, and so kind, and so thoughtful for him before. John hadn’t expected it. Least of all from Sherlock.
John, who has been waiting for the prat for the better part of an hour, slides his hands inside Sherlock’s suit coat, the silk lining slick against the backs of his hands, and fists them in his shirt, dragging him in to snog him deep and wet and thorough.
Madhur Jaffry’s famous cookbook from the 1970’s, sits open in his lap, the recipe for samosas with mint chutney offering itself up for perusal, but the words don’t land, John’s thoughts on the events of the previous day.
“John,” you say, a bare exhale, wracked by feeling. It cracks through you, fault lines you didn’t know were there, splitting, opening you up for him. You wonder if he can see it in your eyes. You wonder if you should hide it, if you even could.
“Ah,” he says, as if this makes perfect sense. And then, teasing, fond, “You’re one of the mad ones aren’t you?”
John settles down between Sherlock’s legs, mirroring what Sherlock had done before, being careful not to get too close to any of his limbs.
“Kneel on the bed for me,” John says, quiet, but firm. He watches as Sherlock, eyes pupil-black, lips ruby-red, and legs rubber-kneed, does as he is told.
Two fingers up to the second knuckle stretching him, impossibly, wider. Around the beads and further still.
Sherlock stood in line at the Tesco lost in thought. He alternated between righteous indignation and self-awareness alarmingly quickly. It was making his head spin and his body feel dysregulated. He was in the grip of shame and reactive anger and trying desperately to process the two.
If there had been any mention of foulbrood at the last meeting he would have treated his hives with terramycin after he had removed the last of his supers in August instead of waiting for the fall. It baffled Sherlock that there was no trace of foulbrood in the area. Where had it come from? Had a swarm from another beekeeper’s hives turned feral been infected and spread it to his hives through robbing? But then why hadn’t it been mentioned at the meeting? Had one of his foragers picked it up from an infected hive and brought it home? But upon inspecting his notes he found no evidence for this. He regularly checked the woods surrounding the Edicott farm for swarms. There had been none present on his walkthrough in September and Oliver had reported the same for his surrounding area.
Sherlock looked into John’s eyes. “I missed you.” He sat up himself, John straddling his thighs, and kissed him again, pulling him close. John pushed into the kiss, gripping Sherlock’s back, relishing the feel of his spine and shoulder blades.
my dear! As much as I could go on about how amusing that is, I really must be off. We wouldn’t want my men to think you’d done something nasty to me and prematurely slit John’s throat, would we? How embarrassing!”
Sherlock gave a short, annoyed sigh. “I haven’t got a favorite dish. Eating for enjoyment expends energy that could be spent on more productive things. It’s transport. Fuel. Nothing more.
“Doctor, don’t say things like that, or his head will get too big for the flat. That’s what Dad says all the time.”
When Sherlock called the number of Jack Harkness, it took several tries before a boisterous American voice answered. "Y-ello?"
It was a good while before John could collect himself enough to draw back, wiping his own tears and then wiping off Hamish’s. “This isn’t the time for crying now, son. We need to be brave together, like soldiers. Can you be brave for me, Hamish?”
Jim kept his hand tightened at John’s throat as he began pumping, the roughness from the lack of lube creating a mixture of pain and pleasure.
Sherlock muttered, darkly picking up the tiny metal revolver. “Real crimes haven’t got stupid rules like this.”
PREPARE FOR A CHAPTER DUMP!! Imma finish posting this TONIGHT. have the whole fic. RIGHT NOW. That's right.
"What, with that device on your arm? Let me see that." Sherlock seized his arm and began to examine the manipulator. He'd never seen anything else like it. "How on earth does a 'time vortex manipulator' even work? How do you know this Doctor in the first place? How do you contact him?"
He was entirely and completely in love with Sherlock. It seemed so obvious a statement now, but the kiss had sealed it. The only kiss he would ever have with him. This thought haunted John until dawn.
Magnussen gave a light giggle. “See, I love this. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, and he is wrestling with how he feels about it. You can see, can’t you? How his little brain is struggling with it all?”
John gave Sherlock a sideways look. Sherlok kept his face stoic as he asked, "Of course. Where from?"
Sherlock slowly pushed open the door and gaped at the Baker Street before him, which was milling with horse-drawn carriages, people in Victorian clothing, urchins, and carts heaped with produce or coal. The air was thick and foul, but it was definitely Baker Street.
Jim groaned louder, then seized the hair at the sides of John’s hair and yanked his head back and forth, fucking John’s mouth, then shoved John away, shuddering as he came over John’s shoulder.
In addition to the paranoia, Sherlock was getting bored. Aside from the angels, there had been few cases, and now more than ever he needed some good crime to stimulate his mind.
“Until the money from my job starts coming in, we’re going to be in a tight spot,” John said, looking up at Sherlock. “Pick-pocketing might have to do us for a while, unless you happen to catch a criminal and collect a reward.”
It was only a couple minutes’ walk to the café, but by the time Sherlock arrived, Jack was already at a table with a coffee. Sherlock couldn’t help coveting a time vortex manipulator of his own.
you!” Sherlock clawed his hands greedily down John’s back, wanting to touch every part of him at once.
When he left the flat with a long kiss, it was mutually understood that he would be back with boxes of his things.
"11-year-old boy, scared witless in a war zone and running for his life? Unlikely," Sherlock muttered.
“Craig and Sophie? You lived with them?” The Doctor knelt on the cobblestones to look Hamish over, touching his shoulder.
your friend. You can’t trust him. He’s going to try to be a father to you, and maybe it will be best if you put a trusting attitude on around him, but
Sherlock frowned. “I knowingly put myself in dangerous situations, John. You don’t have to try to protect me.”
John slid his hand up Sherlock’s shirt and tentatively touched the top button, then began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, moving his lips up to gently kiss Sherlock’s closed eyelids. “I love you too,” he murmured. The words felt so good, and he’d gone so long without saying them that he said it again. “I love you.”
John pulled and twisted at his wrists, but Sherlock held them fast. He writhed under the man, his heart racing. He’d never wanted Sherlock more. He craned his head up to try to catch his lips with his own, but Sherlock leaned back, not allowing John to make contact.
“Where shall we go? The park?” John said, trying to be cheerful. It was a gorgeous spring day, and John was trying hard to shove back the constant fear of being tossed into the past in the blink of an eye. He wanted to enjoy a beautiful day in 2012 London while he could.
Sherlock layered one forearm over the other, keeping the ushiro takatekote posture steady by gripping John's elbows and holding them in place.
Watson didn't even question how Sherlock knew, or that he did, just shook his head and got into the cab. Sherlock followed after him, sliding in a bit closer than propriety typically allowed, and laid a hand on his thigh. "221B Baker Street."
John was silent for a moment, the shift in his muscles denoting his deliberation, before he nodded his head. "Yes, Sherlock."
"John," Watson said suddenly, and Sherlock looked up at him from his crouch. He knew the picture he painted: the flush of his own cheeks, the colour of his eyes surrounded by his makeup, the plumpness of his lips, so close to Watson's erection. He smiled and Watson's breath hitched.
John nodded his head emphatically as Sherlock rolled the condom on and placed the tip of his cock against the stretched hole, but all of John's pretty words had apparently turned back into half-sobs. Sherlock reached through the ropes to fist a hand in John's hair and pull his head up to make eye contact.
His own body felt like it was vibrating, the low, buzzing frequency of his arousal rising in a fever pitch to a discordant impatience at the base of his spine. Sensation after sensation piled upon one another, leaving Sherlock in a frazzled state that chipped away at his mind, leaving him only with the matter. The matter of needing to come, of needing to feel John come around him.
John reached over to pick up his small jug of oil and tipped some over his cock, slicking the way for the roughness of his hand. "Then come over here and strip," he commanded, beckoning.
"What do you want to do first?" John asked him with that warm smile of his that made Sherlock's heart do something peculiar.
"Such a good boy you are for me, Sherlock," John said, finally pulling away and leaving Sherlock shaking on the bed, fingers curling in the sheets to keep from closing his arms against John's ministrations. "The perfect patient." His face flushed hot from the praise, but he didn't have time to formulate a response, if he could have. John was dripping lubrication onto his fingers. "Let's get you prepared for the big boy thermometer."
"You've seen me fight?" John asked, pushing his finger in and demanding the muscles to yield to his will.
"Arms behind your back," Sherlock commanded, speaking for the first time in long minutes. It made his voice stand out in the quiet of the room, and it made John shiver. But he did as he was told.
As the next two months progressed, Sherlock learned through his Irregulars as well as his own shadowing that the man's name was Dr John Watson, he lived alone in a bedsit he had a hard time paying for, had breakfast with his alcoholic sister every other Sunday, was having poor luck finding a permanent position at a GP's, was a bit suicidal, and a lot attracted to crime scenes. Sherlock spotted him on the fringes of an active scene no less than five additional times, though he didn't see him at Bart's after the first time. Despite the added notes to his mental file, Sherlock was frustrated that he was no closer to solving the puzzle that was Dr Watson.
Harsh breaths stirred the air and Sherlock's sweat-damp curls as John luxuriated in the fading ecstasy of his orgasm and the easing ripples of the muscles around his cock. His release left him feeling pleased and relaxed, but with a growing awareness that his position, suspended over the youth's trembling body, was not conducive to true relaxation. Without so much as a grunt of effort normally required by the maneuver as done with older lovers, John easily kept the boy on his cock as he brought Sherlock's scant weight with him when he rocked backwards onto his heels, keeping his momentum until he fell against the wall.
Surprised into silence, John sat back on his heels, blinking. "I thought you a child of Diana but it would seem you're might be a child of Apollo," he murmured, the boy's high speech suddenly making more sense as a vision from the gods.
"You really are a godsend, John." There was a small quiver in her voice that made Sherlock uncomfortable but he didn't know why.
Sherlock!"s John was chanting. But his patience had evaporated with the incoming tide of his orgasm, and suddenly he needed to come and he needed to come
Master, being the master, turned his head freely to look, head tilting as if taking in the boy whose hair was so dark and skin so pale as to be a child of Diana. "You there!" he called, and though none of the servants were 'looking', they all knew who their master meant.
John sobered, but his breaths remained heavy bursts of air that wafted across the length of Sherlock's arm through the mesh. His soldier took a long, steady breath, visibly trying to pull himself together, and then nodded slowly, once. "Yes, Sherlock."
Sherlock jerked and whimpered at the sensation, but John didn't stop that time either. He didn't stop when Sherlock did the same thing on the next pull out-push in, or the one after that. He just kept smiling that soft smile, the one that meant that he was pleased with Sherlock, and Sherlock hung onto that image even when he began to feel weird. So weird that he tried to pull himself away from the feeling, tried to push John off, to completely disengage his penis. But John just smiled even more warmly and carefully settled his weight over Sherlock to keep him pinned.
The crime scene was an average six, but for once, it wasn't the lack of interesting components that kept pulling at Sherlock's attention.
The first touch to his penis, a simple brush of the callous on John's thumb, from tree climbing, Sherlock had long ago deduced, made Sherlock shiver intensely. He couldn't help the way he curled in on himself, the touch still new and familiar, even though this wasn't the first time John had practiced doctoring on him. He didn't wait for John to raise his eyebrow at him before he forced his arms and legs back down to the bed, and he got a kiss to his lips in reward.
"Are you nervous?" John asked, reclining naked on his cot - it sometimes felt more natural to be without clothes than with, being that he spent most of his time training or fighting, and all of that in a loincloth at most. In opposition, his catamite stood across the room still dressed, eyes downcast as if avoiding the way John was slowly stroking his cock to life. Not that it needed the help, with how excited he was, but the touch was pleasant either way, the stroke of his callouses against the delicate skin.
Slowly, Sherlock mouthed his way down Watson's neck, pleased when the man tilted his head to give him more room. He kept his lips to the tanned skin as he began to unbutton the stiff shirt, his lips and tongue soft, his teeth barely a whisper of pressure. With every disc that slid through its fastening, the looser the collar got, until it was falling off Watson's shoulders. And with every centimeter of shoulder revealed, the heavier Watson became, the more weight he delivered into Sherlock's hold, trusting Sherlock to keep him upright. The simple act of removing a shirt had become something sensual, intimate, and it made Sherlock's heart thrum in his chest.
"What a successful checkup. Good job, Sherlock," he said, ruffling Sherlock's hair. "And now, my payment." Sherlock's smile made it hard to purse his lips, but he finally did it, and John leaned forward to press a kiss to them. "Good boy. And what do you say?"
Sherlock crouched to pull Watson's pants down slowly, revealing bit-by-bit the thick erection that had been tenting the soft fabric. It was only the thought of his plan that kept him from putting his mouth on it. Hopefully, he would have a chance later. When, at last, pants and socks joined trousers and shirt, John was completely bare, without so much as his dog tags to shield any bit of himself from Sherlock.
"Are you ready to get your temperature checked?" John asked, something strange to his smile, like always.
"How- how so, Sherlock?"he gasped, managing to remember his manners even when nearly-overcome with pleasure.
Sherlock smiled back and slowly walked John backwards with a gentle pressure against his chest until they stood beneath the suspension rigging. Suspension was a delicate procedure, even without a previously-injured party to consider, and Sherlock took care to be excruciatingly precise in the lay of ropes and in weight distribution. It took longer than he would have liked, long enough that John's erection had wilted just a little, and Sherlock's quite a bit, thankfully relieving some of the pressure in the front of his trousers, but at last, John was hanging at the perfect height, halfway between lying horizontally in the ropes and reclining in them.
"That's right," John said, sitting in the bathtub with Sherlock in his lap, situating him just right before leaning forward to turn the taps. "Patient confidentiality."
"Fuck," John growled, leaving behind the imprint of his mouth in the soft, pale skin as all the heat of Vesuvius flooded his being. His release was primed and he just needed-
"It's alright, Mrs. Holmes," John assured with a warm smile that never failed to make Sherlock blink. "You go look after your mum. Mine doesn't have a problem letting me stay the night and taking Sherlock to school in the morning."
"Yes, Sherlock." John had begun to tremble minutely, little shakes moving up his spine and across his shoulders, raising the light hairs on his skin. His posture, however, remained impeccable.
The soldier rocked back on his heels, hostility, surprisingly, melting into surprise. "Then I want to know why. I have no money, no possessions, nothing you could want from me…"
He spotted the man limping slowly along the sidewalk, eyeing the wares and delivering smile after declining smile as his limp got worse and the tension ratcheted in the lines of his body. Sherlock had the cabbie drop him off around the corner, out of sight, and he slunk silently and unnoticeably through the shadows to the end of the line, so to speak. He found himself smirking as Watson moved slowly but steadily closer, and he leaned against the brick to wait. He didn't have to wait long.
His doctor slowed when he spotted Sherlock, the last rent boy on the sidewalk, and frowned, confusion clear on his face. Sherlock belatedly realized that it was possible Watson might recognize him, but nothing for it now. It might even help.
John's incoherent babbling suddenly took shape. Or perhaps it had had shape all along and Sherlock was only noticing now. Had his patience been what it had been when he started, perhaps Sherlock would have pressed for a proper answer, something more than the repeated "
"Thank you, Sherlock," John said immediately, and Sherlock ran the pad of his thumb over the curve of thin skin his flick had reddened.
He left Lestrade and Scotland Yard's finest scratching their head and archived the man as he caught a cab back to Baker Street.
Obediently, he raised his arms out to the side, sliding them across his bedspread, like he was making a snow angel like John had taught him last winter.
Sherlock's smirk morphed into a smile. Even if the man was as likely blind as the rest of the world, he appeared to have moments of astuteness. Perfectly lovely. "And if I was?"
"What a good boy, Sherlock," John was murmuring, big hands stroking through Sherlock's hair. "My perfect patient. You take my co- my thermometer better and better every time we practice. My perfect boy."
"It's as if you've been blessed by Mars himself!" Master greeted him jubiously. John bowed his head in both acknowledgement and thanks, but remained silent. His master could be a rather temperamental man, prone to mood shifts too fast to track, and John had no desire to be the cause of a swing to the negative. "Or perhaps Fortuna herself, with all the winnings you have gained me. Well, I did promise a great reward if you managed to win ten contests. Do you desire to become a freedman?"
crime scenes, I'd suspect that it was you doing the following, Doctor," Sherlock replied, evading answering the truth with his own accusation, unfounded though it was. Not that the captain would know.
ed and easily tugged him back down, lazily fucking up into the downward motion and making the boy whimper. "What-?" his little lover slurred, eyes still glazed like he'd been hard at the wine.
Sherlock stared at him as he hooked the fingers of one hand in the ropes over John's belly, and wrapped the other hand around the base of John's cock, ignoring the strangled sound that John produced at the touch. Without breaking eye contact, he tugged John towards him at the same time as he thrust forward.
"No," but this time the boy smiled in return, expression almost smug, teasing John back. But then, to John's slight surprise, he kept talking. "Your knuckles are scarred from the plates, and all your other scars are defensive. Except for this one." Small, thin fingers, touch the gnarled scars on John's shoulder, the middle of the three thicker than the two on either side. "You were distracted - a trident caught your shoulder."
Being bounced on a cock was sure to confuse any catamite, but eventually, John's meaning sunk in and a look of dawning horror and understanding came to light on Sherlock's face. It was enough to send a savage glee through John's heart and a savage grin across his face. His pleasure made him forget himself for a moment and he fucked up harder than he had been, hard enough to make Not Words fall from Sherlock's lips again.
"Let's check your prostate before we check your temperature," John said with a grin, and then proceeded to work Sherlock open with the sort of patience that made it easy to see how he'd made rugby captain.
"How do you feel, John?" Sherlock asked as he pulled a condom and a bottle of lube from his nightstand and dropped the condom onto the small cradle of John's belly. The lube he uncapped and poured into his palm before the bottle joined the foil wrapper.
Sherlock's heart beat hard in his throat but he still nodded and reached up and back to tightly fist his pillow.
Watson blinked a few times, and then his mouth fell open. "Ohhh," he breathed, eyes darkening. "You want-
When at last the only bind left to perform was the futomomo, something that would be best done when John was already suspended, Sherlock stood. He kept a guiding finger under John's bottom forearm and John followed to his feet with the wordless command, the motion smooth and graceful. Sherlock rounded the front of him and felt his breath go unsteady for a moment at the sight of John's chest lined with his diamonds, his cock and balls framed just so with the last diamond in the chain. The explosive size of the scar on his shoulder that screamed 'shot from behind'.
Even though it made his face hot, to spread his legs and expose himself like this, he did as John had asked
"Thank you for my checkup, Dr. John," he said obediently, and he got a warm smile in turn that made him smile even wider.
Sherlock, conversely, had lost the miniscule tremors in his body as he'd sunk deeper into his role. He knelt tall behind John, looking over the man's shoulder as he wrapped John in his arms in a embrace made false by the fact that his fingers were too busy knotting the rope in even spaced segments to make it true. When a line of knotted rope halved John's chest, Sherlock gently eased John's knees, and thighs, apart, until he was satisfied. When Sherlock passed the rope through John's legs, the edge of his hand brushed John's heavy scrotum, and John let out a soft moan that made Sherlock's ignored erection twitch in his trousers.
"You let a complete stranger, one who's admitted to stalking you, take you home and tie you up." John's hole was loosening around his finger, and Sherlock worked in a second one, slowly, carefully, taking care to stretch, to not tear. To not brush the sensitive gland just inside. "You let said stranger tie you up until you were completely immobile. You have no escape routes. I could do anything I wanted to you," Sherlock said lightly, thrusting slowly with each word. He leaned in and dropped his head, breathing a slow, steady,
He didn't even pause to take in the sight before he was binding John's calves to his thighs in the frog tie, and by the time he was tying John's legs apart with more ropes leading up to the suspension, John's cock had filled out once more. It only took Sherlock one look at the picture John made, bound and spread, hole exposed to his gaze, for Sherlock's cock to stiffen once more. The whole tableau was only made more arousing when a flush spread down John's chest under Sherlock's watchful eyes.
John shoved a second finger into the boy, who yelped, short and high, at the stretch. "I thought you said you hadn't seen any of my matches," he said lightly, interested by the boy's near-lordly speech patterns but annoyed that the boy was trying to lie to him.
John smiled, surprised and pleased by the boy's verve, and nodded in concession. "Perhaps not, but I can still rip it off," John said, sitting up and snagging the rough wool of the boy's clothes, making him gasp. John raised an eyebrow and the boy finally acquiesced, hurriedly stripping. It had been some time since John had had a eunuch, and he curiously traced the scar below the boy's small cock, barely larger than John's thumb, even lightly plumped as it was. "Can you sing?"
He'd barely touched the tip of his fingers to Sherlock's tiny cock before the eunuch's arse spasmed tightly around John's cock, pulling his orgasm from his testicles as surely as if John had stripped his cock himself. Unable to help himself, John sank his teeth back into that sweet flesh as pleasure swept through him, his hips rocking and pushing harshly forward to encourage those soft wet muscles to drain him of all his seed.
Sherlock opened his mouth, but when John jerked his hips back and then forward, the sounds that came out were distinctively Not Words, and he almost complimented the eunuch's singing. Instead, John's own mouth was occupied with a vicious grin as he pulled hard on the boy's ankles, bringing his round arse onto John's knees. With the next thrust, Sherlock arched his back into the air, sounds disappeared into a silent, wide-eyed scream.
"Oh? And where do you want it?" Sherlock asked, feigning obliviousness. He finally used his free hand to unbutton and unzip his leather trousers, and he nearly breathed a sigh of relief at the sensation of pulling his erect cock out from the hot, confining fabric and into the cool air of the flat. The tip was wet, like John's, and Sherlock smeared it across the back of one of John's thighs. "Here?" he asked, and John shook his head. "Perhaps here then?" he said next, rutting once into the crease of John's thigh.
Sherlock nodded, but John was no longer looking at him. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the lube he was pouring onto his fingers, working between them to warm up the cold liquid. Still, Sherlock jumped when John's wet fingers traced his sphincter, massaging the muscle until the tip of John's finger sunk in.
He wasn't, but John needed to finish his exam, he got antsy when it took too long, so he nodded. "Yes, Dr. John," he managed, though his voice was a little weak.
There was a man standing on the fringes of the crowd gathered outside the police tape and though everything about him - his face, his hair, his clothes - screamed 'average', his posture was military-perfect and his face was tanned an unusual shade for a London-native. Something about that combination, normal and ex-military, suited the man and simultaneously piqued Sherlock's interest at the incomplete picture he was too far away from to make clear. He nearly pushed through the crowd to get to the stranger, but Lestrade, inopportune as always, chose that moment to grow impatient.
Sherlock made a confused sound at the swell of flesh inside him, small hands planting on John's shoulders, body lifting as if he was going to get off John's cock. John
Sherlock collapsed bonelessly, expression almost shocked, against John's chest, hair tickling John's chest and breath tickling John's nipple as John's hand settled at Sherlock's crack, John's middle finger just long enough to feel where his cock was still piercing the boy. He lazily played with the muscle, tugging at Sherlock's rim, amused by the way it eagerly grabbed at his cock when he let go, as if it couldn't bear the thought of not being plugged up and stuffed with seed and cock. Sherlock's own release was wet and slippery between them and John swept his free fingers through the mess. He painted the seed over a tight pink nipple with calloused fingertips, grinning and shivering from overstimulation when the boy spasmed on his cock, pulling the muscle from the hook of John's finger. Which only encouraged him to do it again and again until his cock started to grow hard again.
John stared at him for a long moment before he finally spoke again. "Tell you what. I'm still coming out of subspace, which is the worst time to ask me anything, so why don't we head to sleep and you can ask me in the morning?"
John's answer was a deep moan, closed eyes, and a full-body shudder that sorely tempted Sherlock's resolve not to touch. But Sherlock was a master of mind over matter, and he wouldn't let that fail him now.
"You really are exquisite in blue, John," he praised, hooking his finger over a knot over John's sternum. "You should wear it more often."
"Good. Now, have you ever been tied up?" he asked as he stepped over to his bed, eyeing both his ropes and the suspension. Suspending John would allow Sherlock to even out their height differences, making fucking him easier, but his shoulder required special consideration.
Sherlock traced one wet finger around John's hole, massaged the muscle with soft but firm intent, letting the tip of his finger slip sporadically inside briefly before withdrawing it again. For the moment, he just wanted to gentle John's too-tense body into cooperation. "You're a junkie, John. That's what happens when you feed your addiction." He finally pressed the whole length of his finger inside, and the muscles in John's stomach clenched almost rhythmically in place of arching or writhing.
Suddenly, Sherlock remembered the six Lestrade had given him three weeks ago and the man at the edge of the crowd that had piqued his interest. He was up and off his stool in a flash and striding to the door, opening it silently to stick his head out into the hall. Blond hair, tan jacket, tanned hands, limp and cane. It was the same man. Sherlock quickly snapped a picture of the man's back and sent a text to one of his Irregulars that tended to sleep near Bart's with instructions to shadow the man once he left. He'd do it himself if his experiment, and the case, weren't time sensitive, but he'd get his information regardless. Despite what his brother and Lestrade tended to think, he could be patient when the situation called for it. He'd have what he wanted soon enough.
"Do you want to come, John?" he panted, sweat pouring beading at his temples and under his clothes. "Do you want to come for me?"
Even though the thought of another touching his prize sent jealousy spiralling through John's chest, the fact that the boy he'd had his eyes on for years was finally his made an uncontrollable grin split his face. "Then I must never lose," John said, and bowed.
"Well, Sherlock," John drawled, licking his lips and settling his weight onto his heels and into his thighs as he luxuriated in the sensation the youth wrapped so tightly around him, "my blessings from Mars are well documented, but it's time to show you how Venus has blessed me as well."
The man looked positively dazed and relaxed, and the expression kept even as Sherlock slowly released him from his bindings in reverse order. When he finally had John sitting, cleaned, at the edge of his bed, wet cloth and dirty ropes flung into one corner, and condom in the bin, Sherlock crouched in front of him and didn't bother stopping himself from reverently tracing the rope marks his bindings had left behind.
The boy obediently hurried over, head bowed even when he came to a standstill. Their Master circled him, squeezing his arms, tilting his chin up, and finally lifting up the boy's tunic to eye where he'd once had testicles and now only had a scar - the sign of a eunuch. It was a little unexpected, but with a face like that, John was hardly surprised. And it wasn't as if it made a difference to John's purposes. At last, Master nodded and looked back to John.
," the boy said, voice tightening when John pressed his thumb to the tight ring of muscles, massaging it, opening it. The thickness of his thumb was almost wider than the boy's hole and he licked his lips at the thought of forcing his cock into it.
There was a honk of a horn from outside and Mummy glanced out the door where Father was already waiting in the car. Then her gazed turned towards him and Sherlock nodded his head. She smiled at him, then again at John, and then she was out the door. John stood in the doorway for a long time, staring into the falling darkness as the red glow of the tail lights faded, and Sherlock crept down the stairs to stand behind him. When John finally stepped back and closed and locked the door, he first turned to look up the stairs where Sherlock had been, and then down, where Sherlock was.
"Is that the only other word you know how to say?" John asked, amused, and in a good enough mood to tease.
"No," the boy, finally answered, but he didn't look up and he didn't move. Even from across John's small room, he was still closer to the boy than he'd ever been and this close, he looked even younger than John had originally guessed. A handful of years at the most. Still, all slaves, no matter their ages, knew that their masters and mistresses could use their bodies at any time they wished. It just wasn't often that they were used by other slaves.
His legs looked even smaller on the either side of John's thick waist, thinner than his arms, and he wondered if he was ever going to catch up. John wasn't done growing yet, but Sherlock had barely started.
"Thanks again for doing this on such short notice, John," Mummy was saying in the atrium as she tugged on her coat. Even from his spot at the top of the stairs, watching from between the balustrade, Sherlock could see the signs of stress on her. He didn't mind though. He'd be worried too if someone called to tell him that his mum was in the hospital. "Mycroft is still away at boarding school and won't be back till spring otherwise we'd have him-"
," John begged, as Sherlock continued to finger him slow and steady. Not once did his pace waver, not once did he deviate.
"How long has it been since someone has taken control, Officer?" he said when the man was close enough. His doctor stilled, his attention caught, but Sherlock needed the man's actual title. "Lieutenant? Sergeant? Captain?" That one. A quick inhale of breath and a minor pupil dilation. "Captain, then." His heart started to pound in his chest, but now was the moment of truth. "Or would you prefer 'Doctor'?"
"John, John," Sherlock panted, tossing his head from side to side, feeling physically and mentally confused.
"Good," Sherlock praised as he tugged another coil of rope off the duvet and bound John tight into the box-tie. He wouldn't normally make it two separate ties, but he didn't want John's injury to be any part of the suspension rigging. Sherlock already planned on keeping a close eye on his soldier's microexpressions to ensure he wasn't feeling pain that Sherlock wasn't causing himself.
Bart's was blessedly silent in and around Sherlock's laboratory, leaving him alone to conduct his experiment. Lestrade had managed to find him an eight earlier in the night and now the hour was late, too late for the staff and students to be causing their normal disruptive commotion. And yet, there were two pairs of footsteps echoing in the hallway, the pace too mellow to be business. There was an odd, heavy but hollow thump accompanying every other step that tugged at something in Sherlock's memory, and he looked up as the footsteps neared. Mike Stamford passed by the door, visible through the small window, as was a stranger. A stranger who walked with a limp.
It had been months since Sherlock had last visited the club - he hadn't felt the urge, but now, knowing that his doctor was looking for company, his body started to heat and he flew to his room to get ready. An indecent pair of leather pants, a shirt that was more messed sleeves and slashed vest, and a helping of black eyeliner and hair product later, Sherlock was in a cab and headed towards Dr Watson.
John folded without question and without hesitation, simply knelt right there in front of Sherlock, balancing his arse on his heels, his thighs tight with his balanced weight. He kept his chin and shoulders down but his back straight, a perfect posture, and then, without prompting, put his arms behind his back as well, grasping one wrist with the opposite hand. Sherlock hummed in surprise and pleasure, and combed his fingers through the short, blond strands. "Mm, very good job, John."
. My name. My name is John," he panted, eyes already glazed when Sherlock pulled back, temporarily satisfied.
"After I'm done ensuring you can't move, I'm going to finger you until you're begging for my cock. And then when you're begging for it, when you can't stand me not fucking you any longer, I will, but I won't let you come until I'm satisfied. How does that sound?"
"Deal," Sherlock agreed with a grin, and stood up to kiss John. It wasn't until he was bearing the man, his soldier, down onto the duvet that he realized it was the first time they'd kissed that evening.
After he'd returned home, had been cleaned and massaged by his caretakers, and dressed in a tunic, his master called for him, as he'd promised.
The crowd cheered and screamed as John stood tall and proud in the center of the coliseum, his opponents all laid out unconscious around him. He lifted his face to the sun, feeling it beat down on his bare skin, drying the blood trickling down his chest and shoulder blade and leg. It had been his tenth battle. And his tenth victory.
"Good boy," John murmured. And then again. And again and again and again, a soft litany in Sherlock's ear until John pushed forward so hard that it hurt and Sherlock tensed, a full-body cringe that made John groan and curl tight around him. "So so good, Sherlock."
"Good boy," John praised, sliding his hands down the length of Sherlock's arms. The callouses made Sherlock's arms feel funny, but he knew he wasn't supposed to move, so he shook off the shiver they gave him. It was a little harder to do when the hands went back up his arms, and then down his body, over his bare belly and down his bare legs.
Watson glanced sharply around and then moved quickly forward into Sherlock's space, the limp apparently forgotten, confirming his original hypothesis of 'psychosomatic'. Sherlock's smirk widened.
Sherlock grinned, wide and triumphant, and he stepped into Watson's space, leaving little room between them, but just enough to be teasing as he dropped his chin to keep eye contact. "Excellent."
you?" he sniped, temper shorted by too little sleep and too much subpar coffee over the last three days, judging by the state of his tie.
John grinned at the denial and wrapped his hands around the boy's ankles, spreading his legs. "Oh? And what did Wanda call you, if not blessed?"
He moved his feet as far apart as they would go on the bed, until he was lying like a starfish, naked and stretched out, on top of his sheets. The duvet had already been pushed to the floor, "to keep from getting dirty," John had reminded him.
Sherlock could only tremble and nod, his penis hard between his legs, as he tried to adjust to the thick length in him. It was getting easier, but it was still such a strange thing that he still didn't know how to handle it.
The sound that left John was more strangled than anything else as he came, streaks of white crossing tan skin and blue rope. His muscles rippled spastically around Sherlock's own cock and Sherlock groaned as he came, his hands on John's hips tightening when his knees buckled under the onslaught of endorphins. He locked his joints until it passed, relishing the chemical flood in his brain and his body until it faded, and he blinked until John's face came back into focus.
"Arms out," John said, voice soft and warm, his smile even warmer, and his hands even warmer than that when their calloused palms pressed to the bare skin of Sherlock's ribs.
"You may keep him until you die or lose a contest," Master declared imperiously. "If you lose but live, you shall watch your successor win your catamite instead."
He stepped away just as Watson started to lean into him, and strode to the sidewalk, hailing one of the cabs lingering down the block. Watson looked dazed and wrong-footed when he finally turned around to look at Sherlock while the cab pulled up behind him. He opened the door and gestured inside. "Mine's closer."
Grunts of hot air pressed against his throat with each thrust, and with each thrust, a whimper was forced out of Sherlock's mouth. He couldn't help it. He'd tried to stop, both now and before, but he couldn't help the strange little noise, like he'd become a dog toy. He didn't like it, but he thought John did, because the louder he got, the gruntier John got, the more John's chest against Sherlock's vibrated with low, deep moans.
Something changed in John's smile, and Sherlock shivered. "Of course," he said with a nod. He held out his hands and Sherlock raised his arms to be picked up - he didn't normally like to be carried, he was too old for that now, but John was warm and solid from his rugby games, and Sherlock liked the feel of him a different way than he like the feel of his mum and dad. "Let's get our patient ready."
posture straightened suddenly once again, like a man preparing to go into battle. His chin raised and he looked Sherlock dead in the eye. "Not at all."
"Did you need to do your doctor practice?" Sherlock asked him, eyes already scanning down John's body, searching for the little things only he and Mycroft seemed to be able to see.
breath over the head of John's purpling prick. "And I plan to," he said over the sound of John's short cry.
John's eyes were glazed from his arousal and his submission, but a small, pleased smile still crossed his lips. "Thank you, Sherlock."
Watson didn't reply for a moment, and then he seemed to realize either what Sherlock meant or where his eyes were trained, or both. "Oh." The word was soft and surprised, and Sherlock raised his eyes again. "Really?"
Sherlock updated his file on the stranger to add 'doctor' alongside 'retired soldier wounded in Afghanistan or Iraq', and returned to his seat and his experiment.
Once back at his full height, he stepped close until Watson's skin was brushing against his clothes, and then ducked his head to suck a mark into the unblemished skin of the tanned throat. He wanted to cover this man in his marks, make him remember Sherlock if he decided not to stay. Most of the marks would be from Sherlock's ropes, but he wanted to leave at least one with his mouth, with his teeth. Something high, something that sat above even a fully buttoned collar; something dark, noticeable to anyone who might encounter his doctor over the next week. An unavoidable truth that John Watson had belonged to him, even if just for a night.
Jim gave John a disgusted look before rolling forward and getting to his feet, breathing hard. He dropped onto one of the sofas and glared across the room, arms crossed over his chest, then clawed his fingers through his hair, mussing it from its slicked-back style. “This century is
John smiled at the postscript, then carefully folded the letter away. When he returned to the townhouse, he hid it with his other letters, which were rolled up inside a hollowed-out leg of the bedside table. Their correspondence had been going on successfully for several months now; there were weeks between letters, and the waiting was agonizing, but each brief, scribbled note was worth it.
growing used to him. If he despised him, why was he being so adamant about keeping Jim off the drugs? He could see no benefit for John in doing so. What was his angle? Unsure of how he felt about the army doctor in front of him, Jim said nothing more. He capped his ink bottle and put away his pen, raising his eyebrows at John before walking upstairs to go to bed, wondering if John would follow him.
There was another possibility of course, one that John dreaded to think about. “I will slit your son’s throat,” Jim had growled in John’s ear. He shuddered. His sleep had been plagued by nightmares about Hamish. The dreams were mostly all the same. John would hear Hamish scream, and he’d run through what felt like glue to get to him. Sometimes the location varied. The ending never did. He always arrived too late, finding Hamish dead and bloody on the ground.
Blood pooled across the Persian rug, staining it, but John knew Jim never cared for it anyway, so he rolled O’Seanassy’s body up in it and dragged it out through the kitchen. He had thought that Jane had gone out to run errands, but she was still there, chopping potatoes. She watched with wide eyes as John silently dragged the rolled rug through the room, but said nothing. She was all too aware of the consequences of Jim’s work, and she must have heard the gunshot minutes before.
, going by his dress, stature, name, and the way he looked around our untidy flat in distaste, do you remember?" Sherlock paced back and forth. "And he wouldn't come to me if he'd seen someone who simply reminded him of the man he saw during the Blitz.
“I didn’t see, sir. It was dropped through the mail slot with the other letters, and I assumed it was some sort of calling card. Who’s ‘JM’?”
“That’s not good enough!” Jim barked, grabbing John and punching him again in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. “FIGHT ME BACK! FIGHT ME BACK, YOU FUCKING
Mycroft smiled and the brothers finally caught each other’s eyes. Mycroft cleared his throat and stood up straight, remembering himself. “There’s so much left I never got to say. My brother—“ He cleared his throat, cutting himself off. “Well, perhaps if it’s best if I don’t say it.”
Mycroft set his glass of scotch on a small table beside him, not bothering to look up from his book. “Glad to see you alive. Thank you
“Are you suggesting I might have to restrain you?” Sherlock flicked his eyes to their cast-off belts on the bed. “I will I have to.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John, his voice still level. “Will throwing a fit save us? Will worrying change the outcome at all?”
The Doctor blinked mildly, although wisely stayed on the other side of the angels, out of Sherlock’s reach. “Why are
John, used to fading to the background when Sherlock was being praised was shocked when the Doctor turned to him. “And John Watson, the most human human, the bravest—“ he grabbed John’s hand and shook it as John stared at him, dumbfounded. “It’s such an honor. From the bottom of my hearts.”
Hamish had brought back an invitation that “cordially invited” parents to attend the school over the coming weekend.
John pulled his hands from behind his coat, revealing a black case. “I don’t know much about violins, but…I think it’s a good one.”
“Mm, I lucked out, then,” John said, stretching. He felt exhausted. Too much had happened in the last 48 hours.
them…you see.” He ran his hand over his jaw, then his mouth curled into a wicked grin at Sherlock’s dumbfounded expression.
convinced him without a doubt that this was the same man he'd seen sixty years ago. No, John, there's something to this."
Jim breathed in through his nose. “To live,” he said. He opened his eyes and rolled them dramatically. “And to tutor bright young lads. Like Hamish.
much better than the ones at school!” The fridge—“Are those…fingers? JAM!”, the angels—“Why’re they wearing silly hats?”. He grabbed the deerstalker off one of them. “Dad! You’re that detective, the one who fake-died! Put it on!”
Sherlock pulled back, making an annoyed sound. He grabbed the belts from the bed, looping each one around John’s wrists and stretching them apart, tying them around opposite bedposts so that John’s arms were immobile.
John felt Sherlock’s erection pressing against him and couldn’t bear it anymore. He moved his hands down Sherlock’s chest and torso, then began yanking off his trousers, grabbing at his cock, then slid down and grabbed the base, licking a circle around the head.
Jim considered this, as if he hadn’t already thought about it. “Mmm, no, I don’t think that’s true at all. I rarely get tired of prizes. Just knowing that
“Yeah, but their friend who gave me to them says my dads’ll come back for me some day soon. It’s all a load of rubbish, of course. People can’t have two
He sat back, straddling John’s thighs, and shrugged off his own shirt, carefully tossing it aside, then began caressing his hands through John’s hair as John slid his trousers down his hips and kicked them off.
“As intriguing as it is, I fail to see the issue,” Sherlock said. “Who cares if he doesn’t publish a book of stories? It’s not as if people will know what they’re missing, and I hardly impact the world for the worse. You’ve been to 2012, you’ve
Sherlock's touch elicited some girlish laughter from the slab before Ursula scolded, "Watch it! That tickles."
The Doctor grinned, clapped him on the shoulder, then disappeared up the steps, calling, “I think I last saw the book in the squash courts, or possibly the reptile enclosure! Back in a mo’!” His voice faded deep into the TARDIS.
John came back with some cocoa and laughed aloud at what a perfect mimic Hamish was doing. He set the cocoa down and set about making himself some tea, humming without realizing he was doing so. He felt comfortable in a way he hadn’t before, even with the ominous stone angels in their flat.
Sherlock came out a minute later, fully dressed, and stepped over to give John a little kiss while Hamish’s back was turned.
John pushed his fingers further inside, carefully, then let them rest there for a moment. “Are you all right? We don’t have to do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
John began to suspect that something had happened to Sherlock. He hated that he had no way of knowing. Not for the first time he wished he had any sort of technology. He felt entirely disconnected from London, other than scraps of general news. Sherlock could be dead, for all he knew.
Magnussen held out his hand toward Sherlock and snapped his fingers once, then pointed at Sherlock’s scarf. Sherlock’s hands shook as he slowly moved them up to his coat, sliding the scarf from his neck and handing it over. Oh, he was most definitely going to kill this man. The second he got a chance.
“We ought to sleep fully dressed,” he said. “If the angels come, we don’t want to get sent back in nothing but our skin.”
Craig raised his eyesbrows and stepped back, allowing Sherlock and John to come inside. “Yeah, come in. Excuse the mess. I’ve been the at-home dad lately, and things’ve been—“
Hamish huffily straightened his school blazer and led the march out of the room. Sherlock and John trailed behind.
“Sorry, I haven’t got a string of lovers like you with your ‘ladykiller charm’ and army-doctor-captain-rank-pulling..” he floundered for a word. “Sexiness.”
the magical man in the funny blue box created for you? Honestly, it’s so sweet I’m going diabetic just
John nodded and joined the three men as Jim listed off the men he wanted taken care of and the people who needed to be threatened. As always, Jim wanted the job done quickly, demanding their return in a week. This gave them a scanty two days in London, but it would be enough time for John.
“I hear you’re the best, which is why I came to you. You’re going to tell me I’m crazy…but I swear I’m not.”
John opened his eyes groggily and found himself slumped over in the seat of a hansom cab. Moriarty watched him from the seat across. “Welcome to the beginning of a whole new life, Johnny,” Jim said, brushing his knees against John’s.
John gives him another kiss, lingering, almost reverent, before sliding his lips down and brushing them over Sherlock’s skin as he crawled down the bed toward Sherlock’s cock, his lips finally meeting it to slowly lick up its length.
The man gave another disgusting grin and shoved a folded piece of paper into John’s hands. John unfolded it:
“Did you see the box at all that night of the Blitz?” John asked. As absurd as the story was, he found himself becoming engrossed.
“Why do you hate her so much? She’s genuinely trying to make your life more comfortable, and you sulk around like a child. It’s embarrassing.”
He smiled and tilted his face up to kiss John before shifting over and settling next to him on the bed. He was staring at the ceiling, thinking, and his smile faded.
is why I like receiving texts—because you can notify someone when you are running late. You would think that someone who makes their living in…time…would be able to
Jim paused for a moment, thinking. “Remember the last time we had a little rendezvous? Back at the pool?”
Once they were halfway decent again, John rolled to face Sherlock, his hand tracing along Sherlock’s ribs and around to his back, tracing the spine with his fingertips. It was relaxing to watch Sherlock’s body unwind once more, and his eyes slowly droop as he picked up John’s free wrist and kissed it.
“Two,” Sherlock said into John’s mouth. “If we slide two inches to the left—“ he sidled over, pulling John with him. “We’re in the blind spot.” He clawed at John’s shoulder blades through his coat.
It was a very sulky ride back to Baker Street. Hamish was angry and glum the rest of the week. John and Sherlock pulled him out of the school and enrolled him in a less prestigious school closer to Westminster, where he could come home every day.
He finally withdrew John from his mouth very slowly, leaving John sweating and writhing and straining at the belts hold him back. He watched as Sherlock peeled off his own trousers and pants, then Sherlock met his eyes.
John tore a sheet of paper from his notebook and passed over, then watched as the old man sketched out a creature with tusks and flat, glassy eyes. It was a good drawing, but the creature looked like some fantastical monster. As Duncan drew, he explained, “It was eight feet tall, more or less? The skin, here and around here, was grayish, with blue patches here…there was a sort of sheen to the skin.”
“It’s absurd, but John, it all fits.” Sherlock was perched in his chair, tapping his fingers together. He snorted. “Can you imagine actually
John moaned a bit louder, hungry for more. He pulled down the zipper to Sherlock’s trousers, then slid his hands over Sherlock’s slender back and into his trousers, grabbing at his bare skin. Sherlock felt delicious, but he jerked away from John’s touch, reaching behind him and grabbing John’s wrists, slamming them up against the bed above John’s head.
When the boy returned empty-handed a half-hour later, out of breath and with the answer “steak and kidney pie,” John smiled and relinquished his guinea, knowing the note had fallen into the right hands.
Sherlock had reached Duncan’s ansaphone. “Duncan Reynolds, it’s Sherlock Holmes. The Doctor is currently standing in my flat. Please phone back.” He hung up and watched the Doctor circle him, annoyed at the Doctor’s strange interest in him. “Would you be referring to the case in which I retrieved the Reichenbach
“Jim, I went to the school. He’s missing, and I know you did something. And I know you did something to Sherlock too.
Mary blushed at his touch and gives a quick nod. “I should go...but I’ll do as you say. Of course.”
A month went by and John made minimal progress. He was beginning to realize that Jim's web was a lot more complex than he had ever thought, but he never understood how complex until he found himself talking with a man named Dougherty, who alluded to strings of other men devoted to carrying out Jim's word. Scores of men, spread across the British Empire, a far-reaching web. After his talk with Dougherty, John came home discouraged, and tromped upstairs to get ready for bed.
John circled the bodies as well, then took out a notepad and jotted down notes as Sherlock rattled off his observations to the astonished Gregson. John also noted that Sherlock was being more of an ass than usual, calling Gregson and idiot multiple times.
He moved slowly, not only to torture John, but to give his muscles time to relax around John. He leaned forward as he grew used to the feeling of John inside him, supporting himself by balancing his palms on John’s chest. He gasped as he angled himself so that John was pressing up against his prostate. It was an entirely new feeling, and his mouth fell open as he hit the spot again, beginning to move a bit faster.
It only took an overlay of the two brain scans and a rescan to create a fairly passable new scan that made it look like Sherlock had a prominent aneurysm. “That should fool Mycroft,” John said as they hurried out the hospital doors and into the busy London street. “I hope you’re happy. Now everyone here is going to think I’m a big gay slut,” John muttered as he handed the finished scan to Sherlock.
John moved out a couple weeks later and settled into a tiny flat in Islington, feeling much as he did when he came home from the war: alone and alienated. He abandoned his blog and picked up any extra shifts he could at the clinic, beginning to work fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week, despite the fact that he didn’t really care about the extra money. He checked his phone every day, just in case Sherlock needed him for a case, but there was never any terse message signed “SH” in his inbox.
This meant that Jim was relatively harmless, but in his current state, John was never going to be assigned to London. And, just because Jim was listless didn’t mean his hired men were. John knew several of them kept close tabs on him, whether he went out or stayed in.
tried to kiss me. And failed I might add,” John muttered, then dipped his head down to drag out Sherlock’s lower lip with his teeth, giving it a quick suck.
Jim's eyes went dark and he took a step close to John so that they were nearly touching. His voice dangerously low, Jim said, “Yes or no. | [
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“Don’t be nervous kid, everything will be fine,” Dean reassured. “Just remember they are like demonic dogs. Anything that would kill a demon should kill them too. Just give them one good jab by an angel blade and they’ll be down for the count. Try not to smite them right away, it’s good for you to practice without hulking out. You are only allowed to use your powers if it’s a life-or-death situation. I’d rather you be discovered than mauled to death. Capiche?”
On the drive back to the Bunker, Jack tried to come up with ways he could distract Dean, but he came up with nothing.
“It’ll hold. My mind, my rules.” He reassured Sam and Cas who stared at the door cautiously. They could hear they archangel yelling and pounding on the door from the otherside of it. “I got him. I’m the Cage.”
“There’s my special little man!” He heard the voice of his mother say from another room. The sound of it triggered a memory from deep into his childhood. A time when his life had been different and safe and normal.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Jack said honestly. Sean didn’t scare him for a second, he knew the man was too big of a coward to ever actually hurt him. Even if he did succeed it would’ve been the last thing he ever did. Jack knew he could stop him with a blink of an eye if necessary and either way the Winchesters and Castiel could easily kick his ass.
“Haha nice try,” Claire said sarcastically. “Except, I already gathered the materials for the summoning and inside of the box is a picture of me not you. Which means, I get to summon the demon.”
On the ride to the motel, Castiel texted him asking how everything was going. Jack wasn’t going to answer. He was too worried that this conversation would lead to Cas finding out that they had left Jody’s. Then he realized that if he didn’t answer, the angel would assume something had happened. So he replied:
“Yeah, I had done some digging around the house on my first day here.” Dean tried to recall any questions he had. “What happened with my Dad? He seems like a sore topic around here.”
“There’s Patience, she’s a psychic; there’s Alex, she was raised by vampires; and there’s Claire, she -“ Dean interrupted his brother.
“Cas, please just tell me. I need to know. This is my brother were talking about.” Sam practically pleaded.
“Your really think I need powers to beat you.” Michael rolled his eyes. “I destroy worlds, I can crush you with my bare hands.”
Then everything came to a halt yesterday when a hunter who had been working the same case turned up dead. He was young, in his early 30s. Jody said she’d only met him a few times, but she could tell he was a good guy. Of course that was all it took for Jody to freak out and they’ve stopped research ever since.
Jack nodded. “Yes Daddy. I’ll be a good big brother. I promise.” Dean nearly chuckled at the serious look the kid had on his face. It was the same serious gaze older Jack had, but he was sure both Jack’s copied the look from Cas.
Claire sighed in defeat. She knew Jody was right and she was only fighting to be petty. No matter how much she loved the dorks, living with the Winchester’s would be a nightmare. Jody and Alex were bad enough, but having Castiel constantly over her shoulder with his dumb puppy dog eyes would be worse. The corny Dad jokes and bottled up emotions would make her feel like she was suffocating.
“Why are you looking through my coat?” Jack turned around to see that Dean and Cas had already come back and quickly pulled his hand out. The angel didn’t sound angry with him, only curious, giving him a bit of relief.
“Hey Dean!” She greeted him cheerfully giving Dean a hug that he returned, holding on for a little longer than appropriate for a casual family greeting.
“Fine. Then I’ll walk back over there, tell the Winchesters that you hired me, then they can pay me the money themselves.” The idea that Sean would sell him out and ruin their plan made Jack’s stomach feel uneasy, but he refused to show his nerves.
Jack knew that Sam was implying that Dean wouldn’t come home with them because he’d be staying with the girl. He’s seen it before. They would leave in the Impala while Dean stayed and they wouldn't see him again until late the next morning. He’d stumbled into the kitchen with a big grin on his face wearing the same wrinkled clothes from the night before and they were all conditioned to not question it.
“I can’t say too much about John’s perspective on the matter, but I can say my own. I have to admit I was cautious about your father before I even met him properly. From what you’ve told me, he sounded strict and like he was too hard on you growing up. When I expressed my concerns, you quickly came to his defense saying that he had strong moral code and that deep down he was a family man. So, I believed you, I mean I had no proof to show otherwise.
The rest of the album was more photos from Jack’s childhood. They all showed the life the kid had with Dean and Cas as his dad’s and an occasional photo with his Uncle Sam.
Castiel rolled his eyes irritably, but before he could comment a voice from behind Sean spoke up. “I’m pretty sure he told you no,” Dean said calmly, “so scram.” He moved past the guy, placing the pitcher of beer and basket of fries on the table.
“I would have been a lot nicer to him if I knew more than Patience’s freaky vision where he had glowing eyes,” Claire pointed out. She felt kinda bad about it too. The Winchesters brought the nephilim along for a social experience and all he got was Claire giving him a hard time for being naive. Welcome to the real world… I guess.
“Do you even know which angel would trap you in a dream like this? And if we do manage to summon him, how do you expect us to fight it? We don’t have access to any weapons.” Dean thought about it. He tried to think of which angel would do this, but came up with nothing. There were very few angels left, most of them he didn’t know. There was Sister Jo, but he couldn’t think of a motive, she seemed to do anything to keep herself alive. Messing with a Winchester was like signing your death certificate. Then there was Naomi, who was an evil bitch, but these days she seemed mellow, especially with the extinction of angels nigh. Besides that, the only other angel he knew was Cas, which he ruled out for obvious reasons. He felt like there was another angel that he was missing, but when he tried to remember his brain went fuzzy. Even trying to dig deeper gave him a headache.
“Look Baby, we’ve gone domestic.” The last time he remembered seeing a booster seat in the Impala was when Sam needed it. Not that they used it for very long after their mother’s death. They got rid of it as soon as Sam was able to use a seatbelt.
His brother rolled his eyes. “No. I’m saying that you were never meant to be Mike Brady. I think you need someone who’s a little weird. Someone that will keep you on your toes. Otherwise, you would get bored pretty quickly.”
“Unless, of course, you think this is a dream brought on by the djinn and you plan to use that knife on yourself.” Dean was in shock. It didn’t make sense that this Cas knew exactly what a djinn was. In his previous fantasy world the supernatural didn’t exist and everyone thought Dean was crazy.
“Papa usually reads to me from a book, but you make up stories.” Dean sighed. He would have trouble thinking up a story that was also PG.
The sheriff gave her a sympathetic look, “I don’t know if this makes it better or worse, but they’re bringing Castiel.”
“Dean this is isn’t real. Michael is keeping you locked in some… weird fantasy world.” Sam explained quickly. Both him and Cas looked out of breath like they were in a hurry to leave.
“Look, we can buy you a box of Legos tomorrow.” Dean brushed off Jack’s comment with a joke. No use dwelling on what they didn’t have.
“No, he’s too innocent. Besides it’s an 80s movie, Sam will show him when he’s ready,” Claire rebutled.
He definitely took Dean’s attention away from her and put it on himself. It took Jack an hour to convince Sam, Dean, and Castiel that he wasn’t dying again. He tried telling them that he just drank water too quickly but apparently his excuse wasn’t convincing.They all kept a close eye on him the rest of the night, but at least Dean didn’t try flirting with the waitress again.
“No, she’s right. We should talk about the case.” Sam quickly pulled his tablet from his bag. He ignored Dean, who muttered “nerd”, as he pulled up his notes page that he had been typing during the car ride. “So, hellhounds usually only attack people who made a demon deal when their time is up. So, it’s unusual for this many attacks to happen in the same area and this close together. It’s also odd that a hunter was attacked, especially since he was working the same case which means there’s no way he could’ve made a deal.
Jack was completely entranced by every word Castiel was saying. It made him feel a wonderful warmth growing from inside his chest. Although that didn’t prevent him from noticing the way Castiel’s eyes seemed glazed over as he spoke and he immediately knew that the angel wouldn’t be this open about his feelings if it weren’t for the spell. The angel seemed to be speaking from a faraway haze as his eyes were looking directly down at the table in front of where he was sitting. Which is why neither of them were prepared for the voice that rang out from behind them.
“I told you that you should have asked Sam cause I knew whatever I’d say would be crappy. His speech would be better and he’d be able to say it without blowing up.” Dean gave him a half smile to show that he wasn’t mad at him. Jack wasn’t afraid of Dean anymore, but he knew the hunter still felt guilty about the time when he was. “Listen, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me because of anything you heard me say right now. I am fine. Seriously. People make it seem like you have to have this big romance in order to be happy, but I want you to know that’s not true. I am content with not having that type of relationship.
By the time 11:00 rang and they were headed to the bar, Jack had nearly forgotten about the plan entirely, his mind too busy replaying the night's events.
“I think it’s… sweet.” There was a long silence that followed Castiel’s answer. Jack had to fight the urge to open his eyes and see the look on their faces. However, he knew that he couldn’t let them know that he was awake or else the moment would be ruined.
The album started off with pictures of him and Cas during, what he guessed, was the early stages in their relationship. Cas looked younger, like when he first met the angel’s vessel Jimmy Novak. Dean appeared to be younger too, only a reminder to how much he’s aged in what felt like a short amount of time. He reached a page that showed him, Cas, and Sammy. His little brother still had remnants of his bangs that didn’t last very long past his Stanford years.
Jack called her only to replay the entire story to her, Alex, and Patience who were listening in on speaker phone. They all sounded very disappointed by their failure although they didn’t blame Jack for it.
“You’re right. I’ve been a total bitch,” the blonde said honestly, “I really am sorry. I’ve been told that I’m a little guarded when it comes to new people.”
“Oh please, as if he could have known that you would react that way,” Castiel sounded as if he thought Dean was being ridiculous.
“Oh, I’m so sorry Samantha that you guys don’t know how to have fun without me,” Dean said sarcastically.
“Relax. Sam said it was ‘nearly’ impossible, but not impossible. We clearly have enough manpower, but we just need to do a little groundwork first. Tonight we settle in and we’ll start first thing tomorrow morning,” Dean said, clapping his hands.
Jack gave him a guilty grin with his cheeks puffed out from the creamy filling. He swallowed the bite in one big gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving behind smudged streaks of white frosting.
Claire sighed. Her initial instinct was to go straight to the Winchester’s motel and confront Jack head on, but Jody’s voice inside her head told her to be rational. One, she didn’t know what he was and exposing him straight on could end badly. Two, Patience visions never revealed the entire story. Maybe the demon they’re hunting possessed the poor boy and that’s why his eyes glowed. In that case informing everyone of Patience’s vision would be a good idea. Three, Jack had been living with the Winchester’s for over a year, there was no way the world’s greatest hunters never realized that he was not human. If that was true, they wouldn’t have brought him here if they thought he was dangerous.
“You should go back to sleep and get more rest. I’ll explain everything in the morning.” Dean could have fought him and demanded him to tell him now, but then he realized how tired he felt. A few more hours could actually do him some good considering how terribly he ached.
The nephilim looked down at his phone with a pinched expression that quickly melted into a big grin. “It worked! He says he’s coming home soon.”
At this point he was only half listening to the conversation Jack and Cas where having. Jack was talking about some kid in his preschool class that was always picking on him and pushing him down during play time. Then on Friday, the kid stole the extra cookie Cas had packed Jack for lunch.
“Well… it was just on the table… a-and it kept going off… it could’ve been an emergency… and…. and who the hell is Patrick?!” Dean looked like he was struggling to get his words out. He was caught between shame, embarrassment, and anger.
“Damn that kid has been a cockblock lately. That’s like the third time I tried hooking up with a girl and he interrupted. You don’t think he’s doing it on purpose?” he heard Dean ask, sounding irritated. Jack held his breath. If Dean was already onto him before their plan even began then he was screwed. How was he going to follow through with the rest of the plan if Dean already had an eye on him?
He knew that he was being childish. That the Mary Winchester from his childhood was the same as the one brought back. His vision of her had been impaired by a childlike innocence and years of grief over her and what his life could have been and warped her into a being that was perfect and free from flaw. It just wasn’t a realistic expectation for anyone to live up to. But, that didn’t stop him from feeling like his relationship with her was strained. Sure, he’d forgiven her for that Men of Letters crap from a few years ago, but it still felt like things between them could never go back to the way they were.
“We should probably pick up Jack.” Dean realized, feeling bad for leaving the little guy all this time. Especially after his tearful goodbye.
“Yes, but he is not a ‘buddy’. In fact I kinda hate Patrick. I thought he died a long time ago,” Castiel informed. He was still staring at the screen in puzzlement. “I’ll tell him to stop sending me inappropriate messages.” Jack cringed. This was going terribly and he was almost glad he couldn’t read whatever Claire had been sending.
“It’s safer for it to be me because the demon can’t kill me, or at least they won’t kill me,” Jack chose his words carefully. “Just about every demon knows who I am because I live with the Winchesters. No demon would miss the opportunity to screw with them. They’ll want me alive. Demons don’t know who you are, they could kill you before I get the chance to sneak up on them. It’s better this way, trust me.”
“Okay…” Dean said cautiously. He figured he was going to have to say yes to whatever Cas thought of. It wasn’t like he could tell him the truth. But, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.
“I’m not saying this is entirely your fault. It’s Jack’s fault too. I’m just saying that you should take some responsibility.” Alex said calmly, trying her best not to piss off the young Novak.
“You’ll get a baby brother or sister someday Jack, just not right now. Until then, you gotta show us that you can be a good big brother by looking after Sammy’s kid. Do you think you can do that?”
“Are you sure this isn’t overkill?” he heard Sam ask Dean. “I mean, I know it’s a demon, but we usually only bring Cas and Jack for the big boss fights.”
“N-nothing.” Dean quickly answered. “Just you don’t mind if we go slow. I mean as much as I love doing this-” He gestured between the two of them. “It’s just a lot to wrap my mind around. I mean even though your Cas, your not…”
She was also like Dean in the way she made Jack question whether she liked him or not. Of course he knew the eldest Winchester liked him now, but in the beginning it was less clear. But Claire couldn’t be more ambiguous. He could tell that she was trying to avoid talking to him as much as possible and when he did talk she always gave him funny looks. The only time she ever cracked a smile was when she was being sarcastic or lying. And everytime he turned his back he could feel that the girl’s eyes were on him. Jack hated it.
“I-I j-just…” Dean stammered. He decided to just go for what he really wanted to say. “I just really love you Cas.” Since this was the time to say things he thought about, but would never admit in real life, he figured why the hell not?
“Yes!” Alex nodded. “At this point, they’re clearly not going to do it themselves, they need a little push in the right direction.”
“Yeah, I do,” Jack admitted with a slight blush. “I’d eat it all the time if I could. But, Sam and Dean made me promise to only eat it on special occasions or else they would stop buying it. I think you spending the night is special enough.” With that last thought, Jack decided to grab one more and tucked it away in his pocket.
“What the hell are you talking about Dean? Of course this is real and you for real screwed up and got plowed by a car.” Sam said with a hint of attitude, clearly he thought Dean was crazy.
That was the wake up call he needed to grasp the reality of the situation. This was his fault. All of it. He was the one to spike their drinks, he was the one who made Cas open up, it was all him. He was the one who got his father into this mess and needed to be the one to get him out. He needed to make this right the only way he knew how.
Dean sighed. How could he explained what happened without sounding like a total sap? “Michael wanted me to stop fighting him. So, he gave me what I really wanted: my family safe and happy.” In some ways he got off easy. Michael could have subjected him with endless hours of torture, but he didn’t. He gave him a perfect fantasy world and Dean reacted exactly as he wanted him to. If it weren’t for Sam and Cas invading his head, he could have been stuck there forever. At least until Michael bit the dust or decided to let him die. It was still an unsettling thought.
“I don’t know what you should do about Dean and Cas, but I think they need to work things out for themselves. You should try talking to Jack,” Alex told her with a sigh. Claire didn’t respond. She didn’t see the point in pointing out the obvious fact that Jack didn’t want to talk to her. “Hey, you said this movie was what got you into this mess, maybe it’ll give you an idea about how to get out,” Alex joked while turning up the volume with the remote.
“Hey Sammy. What’s up?” He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. He just wanted to see if his brother had anymore answers.
Claire couldn't stop herself from laughing at the genuine concern on the boy’s face. “I don't know how to cook either. Don’t flip, I’ll figure something out. Besides, the food is the least important part.” If they really had no clue they could always order food from a restaurant, put it on a plate, and call it a day. Although, Claire also enjoyed the thought of making Dean eat whatever horrendous meal the pair came up with. She had no doubt that Castiel would force him to pretend that it tasted good.
He was walking through the Bunker hallways as he thought about this when he ran into Sam, quite literally.
“No. I mean if I have to stare at this screen for another second I will actually blow my brains out.”
“Oh right,” Jack smiled before launching into his explanation. “Sam’s number one rule is that you must always hunt with a buddy. No matter your skill level. Even Castiel takes a buddy and he has powers,” Jack refrained from saying that he had powers too and even he would prefer not to go alone.
“Hold up Jack,” he was stopped by Sam grabbing his shoulder. “Look, I know you don’t want to tell me what’s going on and I’ll respect that. But you gotta know that Dean isn’t looking for a relationship right now. I mean yes he’s in a good place and I want more than anything to see him happy one day, but you can’t force this kind of thing. Dean is happy with the way things are and he’s not looking to change that. If one day he changes his mind, then that’s his decision. I know I might be way off here, but if I’m even a little bit right, then I’m telling you to let this go.”
“Ooh, I’m sorry lads I wish I could, but I’m in Reno right now. It would take me over a day to reach you. By then I’ll just be wasting my time,” she said in a fake sympathetic voice. “I would tell you the countercurse but I’m afraid the ingredients aren’t easily accessible. Even if you did manage to get them the level of expertise the spell would require, I’m afraid none of you possess. If Samuel were there I’d feel comfortable passing the information to him knowing he’d stand a chance, but unfortunately he’s not.”
After that Jack rushed to his bedroom so that he could think of what he would say to Dean. He already knew Jack couldn’t be as straightforward as he was with Castiel. Naturally Dean just wasn’t as willing to open up about his feelings. Jack was also nervous because if he slipped up then it could potentially end with Dean getting angry and Jack would prefer to avoid that at all costs.
“Cas? What the hell is going on? What is this?” He asked feeling relieved when he saw his friend. He had been almost certain it was going to be a demon or some other shitty monster-of-the-week.
“I’m sorry!” he said quickly. He felt his face turn red as he scrambled for a safe response. “I-I was going to give it back, but when I checked your room you weren’t there, so I thought that I would hold onto it.”
“W-we were having a nice time and I knew that if you left with that lady then it would end. You guys are always so busy we rarely spend time together when we’re not hunting. I just didn’t want you to leave me alone.” It was partially true. The Winchesters were busy and they often left Jack by himself in the Bunker while they went on hunts. Also, the eldest Winchester probably spent time with Jack the least and that made him sad, but he understood. Besides, he kind of enjoyed staying home when no one else was there. It was nice to have time to himself especially when Sam, Dean, and Castiel were virtually the only people he ever talked to.
“I know I’ve never said it, or shown it, but I love you kid. I really do.” Even though he knew that was something that was meant to be said to his Jack rather than the sleeping child, it still felt nice to get it off his chest. He softly stroked the boy’s head before turning off the bedroom light and leaving.
When Dean woke up he found himself sitting in the Bunker library wearing Michael’s stiff, scratchy suit. He had no clue why the archangel was so attached to it considering how uncomfortable it was. It was constricting and claustrophobic and he felt like he could barely breathe. Eerily, the outfit made him feel like he was stuck wearing somebody else’s body, instead of them wearing his. It made his skin crawl. He decided that the first thing he needed to do was change as soon as possible.
“I feel a little bit nervous, but mostly excited,” Jack replied with a grin. He always liked hunting. Not for killing monsters, but for helping people. He was proud that their work made the world a better place. Hunting was what his family did and for that reason, Jack wanted to do it too. It reassured him that he was on the path to being a good person, given the way he could have turned out. He knew his father was probably rolling in his grave knowing the lifestyle his son led and Jack was unashamed to admit that the image made him pleased.
“No, it doesn’t ‘suck.’ I like living at the Bunker,” Jack said honestly. He was aware that their lifestyle was far from normal, but that didn’t mean he disliked it.
“B-but, like Dean said, his mother was half human and she was an amazing person and Jack has shown no signs of being anything like Lucifer. He is good. I swear, we wouldn’t have taken him in unless we were absolutely certain.”
“Don’t do this. We’re just trying to have a good time.” Dean gave him one last attempt at a peaceful resolution. “Go harass someone else, but not us and not him. I mean, his kid is watching. He doesn’t want to hear you say gross shit about his dad.”
Jack actually related a lot to the main character. She also had never attended a real school and didn’t understand what was happening. Although the way the other characters were treating her made Jack feel glad he never had to go to high school. The other girls were mean to her and even when people acted nice they didn’t really mean it. It was all very confusing.
Sean put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’m backing off.” Then he finally walked away from their table. Jack let out a breath of air that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He followed Sam and Dean’s lead and sat back down in their original spots.
Dean went quiet after that and Jack felt disappointed. This conversation was not going as well as he had hoped and he knew Dean was reaching his breaking point. If he toed the line any further Dean might get angry with him, but he had to. He owed it to Castiel to try harder.
The woman who answered the door had short brown hair and a kind face. Jack noticed the hard look in her eye when she first stuck her head out, but it slowly melted away once she saw who was on her doorstep. Jack could already tell that he would like her.
“Doubt it,” Dean scoffed. “This is Cas’ personal phone not his business one. I could probably count every contact here on my fingers. He only ever talks to you, me, or Sam.”
Sam and Jack walked out of the men’s bathroom, both identically stopping in their tracks when they saw the unfamiliar man standing at their table. “Who is that?” Sam asked, confused.
“It’s fine,” Claire kinda felt bad for the big lug. He clearly had a lot to get off his chest. She had no doubt that it was a build up from being stuck in a house full of people that’ve been mopey and quiet for the past week. Claire must be the first person actually willing to talk to him in a while. “There’s a lot more action here than Jody’s. Probably because you guys spend more time together. Although, I’m starting to see that it’s probably for the best that we don’t.”
Jack followed behind as they walked into the bar and took a seat at a booth in the back corner. He automatically took a seat next to Castiel and checked his phone when he felt it vibrate. It was Claire telling him to try and get Cas by himself. He felt his anxiety levels raising as he wondered how he would accomplish that. Part of him wanted to back out of the plan right then, the leftover stress from the hunt and now this was starting to get to him. He knew that if he told Dean he wanted to go back to the motel they would take him in a second, but a part of him preferred doing this now instead of holding it off for another week.
He crept down the stairs and out the front door as quietly as he could in order to not alert Castiel. Once he got outside, he turned his cellphone in his pocket off, in case Cas tried tracking it. Next, he just needed to find where to do it, as dark as that seemed. It didn’t take him long to find how. He left their neighborhood and continued to walk until he found a street that was fairly busy. He would just wait until a car was about to pass him then he would step in front of it. Timing would be key, he needed to wait until a vehicle came close enough to where they couldn’t stop once they saw him. The impact didn’t even need to be hard enough to kill him, he just needed to be on the brink of death.
Normally, Jack would have found the sentiment kind of sweet. The idea that Dean cared enough about his well being to not make him witness something potentially upsetting. It would be kind, if it weren’t irrelevant from the truth. Because Jack wished he listened to Dean’s advice. He wished that he didn’t listen. Blissful ignorance was looking far better than the heart wrenching reality. Sure he would have been confused, but at least he wouldn’t have this black hole of anger and guilt eating him from the inside.
“I’m not Sam,” Claire winced. “I’m way too short and far less nerdy,” she added as an attempt at a joke.
Dean put the back of his hand to Jack’s forehead and pulled his hand back like it burned him. “Shit kid, you’re burning up. I should probably take you home,” he looked back and forth between Jack and the cashier as if he was conflicted. With an eye roll and a sigh he turned back to the woman. “Look, I’m really sorry. My kid is sick and I gotta take him home…” he apologized.
Watching the next movie, Jack decided that he liked it a lot better than the first. Although he did not understand what it had to do with Dean and Cas. Jack and Claire weren’t twins and he was pretty someone would notice if they switched places.
Between the long drive and the lack of conversation, Jack really had time to sit with his thoughts. What started off as feeling sadness and guilt slowly morphed into anger. He couldn’t even pinpoint who he was angry with, it was like his rage was pointed in every direction.
“Thank you,” Castiel let out a relieved breath. “Now, I know what djinn is because I’m a mythology professor at the university. It’s my job to be an expert on mythological creatures like a djinn. Of course, you should know that already.”
There was another long silence that followed. Every second that past made Jack’s anxiety double as he dreaded Dean’s response.
“It was. We were living the normal life we’ve always wanted. Me, Sammy, Mom, Cas, and you.” He added once he realized that Jack didn’t include himself.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Alex quickly added. “None of us like talking about our past.”
“I know you and Jack may not have gotten along at first, but you do now. I see the way he looks up to you. The way he’s always trying to follow your footsteps. You’re his hero. And I know that you care about him in return. I see it on your face and it only makes me love you more.”
Although Jack was thankful that his part in the plan was very small and it didn’t involve acting, he still had concerns. Who was this guy and where was Claire getting him from? Was he a hunter? Could they trust him? Jack couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness for his father figure and the idea of purposely letting a strange guy come on to him rubbed him the wrong way.
“What makes this kid so special? Don’t the Winchesters usually drop wayward kids off here. We better watch out, they might be planning on leaving him here forever.” Claire knew she was being difficult, but she was still upset about Jody calling back up.
Sam gave him a look, “Seriously? You could have at least gone for the beef jerky. A little bit of protein is better than just straight sugar.”
Dean shook his head. “No. You and I both know that there’s a big difference between in here and out there. Colossal difference, really.” That was the first time Dean started feeling self conscious from his brother and best friend being inside of his head. It meant that they had both seen his big secret. He had a feeling Sam had already known before, but it was a little embarrassing knowing Cas saw it too. Now, nothing between them could ever be as it was before.
“Yeah me too.” Sam said with watery eyes. “Does that mean you picture yourself with Cas, when you think of having a normal life?”
The rest of movie night went smoothly after that. The tension that had been in the air from the moment Claire walked into the Bunker was now gone. In its place was the usual homey atmosphere that she normally associated with the Winchesters home. Sam even convinced Dean to let Claire pick the movie since she was their guest. She decided to ignore Sam’s egging to play a “chick-flick” to annoy Dean even though she would normally be all for it. After hearing about his fight with Cas she would rather not upset him and potentially Jack.
“You know what?” Dean interrupted, saving Claire from another lecture from Jody. “It’s been a long day, it’s cold out here, and I promised celebratory beer and pizza.”
This Cas was a better kisser than he imagined his Cas being. Even though according to Meg his Cas had learned a lot from the pizza man, Dean still imagined him being more hesitant and slow. This Cas clearly has a lot of practice in the kissing department, more specifically, he had more practice kissing Dean. He didn’t seem at all nervous, proving that to this Castiel, he was just kissing his husband.
Jack flung the door wide open. Both Dean and Cas turned towards him, practically jumping out of their skins. Dean looked like he was seconds from forcibly making Jack leave, so he held up his phone as if it was a white flag. “Um… it’s been three hours,” he told them with a gulp.
“That bitch Angela cast a truth spell on us, so we need you to get your ass down here and fix it!” Dean barked angrily into the phone.
Not wanting to make Dean more upset, he stood up taking his cue to leave. “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he mumbled before turning and heading for the exit.
“Yeah but, doesn't it get kind of annoying?” Claire asked. She understood where he was coming from, but it was odd how easily he accepted it.
“Actually, we have you and Cas to thank for helping us make that decision.” Jessica spoke up, “If it weren’t for us babysitting Jack for the past few years, we probably wouldn’t have been this eager to go through with it.”
“No? That’s all you can say for yourself?” Sam continued to bitch on. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was real. Sam yelling at him wasn’t exactly proof that this was the dream world. Sam ragged on him all of the time. Although, his mom’s watery eyes put up a red flag. He’s had injuries far worse than a bump on his head and nobody really cared. Usually Cas would fix him up and he’d be good to go. “Your not in your twenties anymore Dean! You can’t just get drunk at a bar and start wandering the streets! You have responsibilities! You have a frickin’ family dude!” Family. That was it. One of the biggest discrepancies between his world and the dream world was Jack. He was a toddler in one and practically an adult in the other. He was also the only member of his little family that was missing from this room.
“Are you in love with anyone?” Jack asked as innocently as he could. He knew it wasn’t much better than what he asked Cas, but he didn’t have any other ideas.
She said she wanted to use the “make Dean jealous” strategy again since she liked the reaction they got last time which Jack didn’t understand. All they seemed to do last time was make Dean upset and put Jack into an awkward situation.
“That’s alright Sam. You were feeling emotional. I understand. Sometimes when Dean is overwhelmed with emotions he expresses it through anger. It must be a Winchester trait.”
“Don’t worry, it’s totally safe. We’ll summon you. I figure if I’m right, this could go one of two ways. Either the real Castiel will come and hopefully he’ll take me out of here, or you’re the real Cas and you just don’t realize it. If that’s true this might snap you out of it.”
“Let me try. Please,” Jack said, determined. “Can you keep watch?” he waited until Claire turned her back reluctantly. Jack jiggled the door handle so it would sound like he was struggling to open the door. Then he pushed the door open with ease. He managed to snap the door lock like a toothpick.
“He sure acts like it…” Alex mumbled and Claire had to restrain herself from attacking her foster sister. Claire wasn’t exactly open about the details of her past and she wasn’t sure how much of it Alex actually knew. This place basically had a don’t ask don’t tell when it came to backstory. They could only assume that each girl had an equally tragic story that led them to Jody’s doorstep. Even the sheriff had a story that she didn’t like to talk about.
She quickly shoved her stuff back into her backpack and headed out the door. She needed to leave now if she was going to make it to Lebanon, Kansas before it was too late.
“I just grabbed the ID that says I’m 21. Dean only made it so that they can take me to bars, but they rarely ask and most of the time I order water.” Jack neglected to mention the times when they automatically brought him water, not believing that the ID was real.
Jack nodded. “Yes, sir.” Dean felt relieved that Jack believed their explanation. If only Sam was that easy to convince.
They were probably worried sick trying to find a way to save him. In fact, every dumbass moment spent here was another moment lost in real life. He could be putting his family in danger by lingering around here to long.
“Can you do this?” Jack asked, referring to the rock that was hovering moments ago. He knew Castiel had powers and he knew that they were not as powerful as his own, but he never knew the extent of what his father figure could do. Cas usually refrained from using his powers unless it was absolutely necessary.
Sorry that this story took a long hiatus. Finals and a migraine kept me from updating, but now that I'm on summer break we should be back on track. To make up for it I give you a long chapter!
“Um… yeah. You mentioned Jack’s real parents, who are they? I mean I know Kelly is still his mom here, but who was she?” Dean asked. He just wonder how different the story was. It seemed similar, but yet different.
“I read Jody’s texts when she wasn’t looking,” Alex said with a smirk. The three girls simultaneously laughed while Jack pretended to chuckle.
“Yeah, of course. I think I can convince him to join,” Sam said eagerly getting up from his chair. “I’ll go get him. You two can get started on the popcorn.”
“Yes!” Jody snapped back. She let out a breath of air and collected herself. “Look, I promise that there will be no case talk while you're gone.”
He hugged each family member a little tighter than normal. He had to swallow down any tears that threatened to come when hugged Jessica. At least, everyone else he would see again, even if it may be a different version, but this would be last time he’d see her.
“At least you told me the truth,” Jack attempted to joke, but it fell flat. “Maybe you can tell me about something else. Like…” he thought about it for a moment, “Tell me more about your dad Dean!”
Which led to Claire staring into her plate of her spaghetti only taking a few bites cause her stomach felt like shit. It was the typical feeling of hunter’s guilt. The mindset that every minute she sat here doing nothing, was another minute wasted. It meant another innocent person would die when she could be doing something.
Unfortunately, Jody was less helpful than Claire had hoped. She was useful when it came to making rational decisions and revealing confidential information the police kept, but her range of supernatural knowledge only extended slightly further than Claire’s. They tossed around the idea of it being a Wendigo, but the conditions weren’t right. Wendigo preferred the cold winters over the warm early October air. Also, Wendigo’s usually stayed in the forest close to their hibernation cave and one of the bodies had been found in the middle of a park next to a residential neighborhood.
“Because acting like the shittiest Dad in the world is not going to get me laid,” Dean said flatly, “and now I can’t even go back because it’ll look like I left you in your hour of need.” Jack laughed anyway knowing what he really meant by saying that.
“He’s our son, Jack.” He lowered his voice a little. “I know you were drinking last night, but seriously Dean?” He only heard that last part of what Cas said because he was too busy staring at the young boy. The longer he looked the more he noticed the resemblance between the Jack he knew and the one sitting in front of him doodling with a crayon. Was this what the kid should really look like? He couldn’t even imagine this little kid going through the crap his Jack went through. That he put him through. It was so easy for him to forget the kid’s real age due to his appearance.
“I just finished working a ten hour shift at the hospital. I get to watch whatever I want,” Alex said, clearly not caring about her feelings.
“Yeah, okay I’ll be nice,” Claire gave in, “I mean we’re all a little weird and have baggage. What can go wrong?”
The following weeks Jack stayed on alert for his part of the plan, which proved to be harder than he anticipated. The next few hunts Sam and Dean went on they left Jack and Castiel behind. During that time, the angel took Jack on a road trip of their own to restock the Bunker’s supply of ingredients used commonly in spells and summoning rituals. Once both pairs returned, it took another week for them to rest up and find a new case.
“Anyway, something in you snapped and you stood up to him. I think you released years of pent up anger on him. After that incident, you stopped talking to him. It only lasted until six months later, when your Dad had a heart attack and was put in the hospital. The doctors knew that he didn’t have much time left. You visited him in the hospital everyday until he died. Jack and I joined you a few times. That’s when your father finally turned around. He apologized for the incident with Jack, everything he put me through, your childhood, all of it. Thankfully, I think the John Winchester in the hospital will be there one Jack remembers when he’s older.”
“I guess you’re right,” Claire sighed. “Being overprotective is their nature... shit!” She cursed the moment she heard the creaky sound of the Impala pulling up. Claire couldn’t hold back the eyeroll she gave when Jack waved at the car with a big dorky smile on his face.
“Wow that sounds so exciting,” she said sarcastically. “You said it was quiet, is no one else home?” As much as she enjoyed Sam’s company, her plan was for nothing if Jack wasn’t even there.
“What?” Claire shot her head up. She hadn’t been expecting Jody to talk and especially not about the case.
“Can we stop soon? I don’t think I like this game,” Jack admitted after what felt like the hundreth question. At this point he’d rather go back to watching the movie about the mean popular girls.
“Call Rowena. Break the spell. Kill the witches,” Dean gritted out, purposely keeping his sentences short.
“Only some days,” Cas shrugged. “He’s usually more compliant, especially when we take him to Sam’s house. I think yesterday’s events made him more clingy today, but he’ll calm down eventually.” In that moment Dean was thankful that the Jack from his world didn’t pop out as a baby. There was no way they’d be able to handle a crying baby and hunting. Their short experience with Bobby John was proof enough. Dean suddenly earned a lot more respect for his Dad for making it work.
“Then I’m prepared to wait that long.” Cas said honestly. Then with a flirtatious look in his eyes he scooted considerably closer to Dean. “Although, something tells me that won’t be the case.”
Jack turned around and groaned. “Dean, you don’t need to lecture me. Cas already made it perfectly clear-” Dean rolled his eyes and cut off his sentence by pulling him into a hug. After a few seconds he finally returned it and wrapped his arms around him. Dean nearly chuckled at how similar it felt to hugging Cas.
“Please. He’s just a kid,” Sam voice wavered, with what Jack recognized as fake fear. Still, the trio complied and slowly placed their weapons on the ground.
The rest of the night was filled with congratulating the new parents and asking them questions about the new baby. The all laughed as Jack tried to feel the baby through Jess despite the fact that her stomach was still flat. He claimed that he could hear it and he already knew it was a boy, even when they tried to explain to him that the fetus didn’t have a gender yet.
That didn’t stop Jack from feeling concerned, but he nodded and did as he was told. However, his mind wasn’t fully focused on the screen. He was busy wracking his brain for ways to get his surrogate parents to start talking. This was a delicate situation that required subtlety, which unfortunately was not the nephilim’s strong suit. The second episode was starting and he was starting to feel frustrated as he still had no ideas. He considered texting Claire, but he was afraid that she wouldn’t answer in time.
“Hi my name is Jack,” he stepped forward offering his hand. When she didn’t shake it he awkwardly put his hand down. “I’m Dean’s son.”
He carefully nodded in agreement. He still didn’t think there was anything romantic between his two adopted parents and he knew that Sam’s response would be the same, but a part of Jack also wanted the girls to be right. Castiel deserved to be happy, especially after everything he had done for him, and if Dean would make him happy then Jack would do everything he could to give him that. Also, selfishly Jack always wanted to have two parents that were in a relationship. It would give him some semblance of a normal life.
“Hello Dean.” The angel replied with a smile that was enough to make Dean feel nervous. It was weird, he’d known Cas for ten years and this was the first time he lacked his usual confidence while talking to him. It was one thing expressing his feelings in the heat of the moment, but something about sitting face to face in the now quiet bunker was nerve wracking.
“No, because it’s dangerous,” Jack took a deep breath before revealing the next part. “And I know you’re not really getting something from the car because I saw you put your knife in your pocket when we first arrived.”
“Really?” Jack lit up. “You would let me help?” Dean never let Jack anywhere near him when he was working on the Impala. Dean said he wasn’t ready and that Sam had to wait 24 years before he taught him how to work on the car.
“I really love you too Dean,” It warmed his heart hearing Cas say it back, although he knew it wasn’t true. Well aside from Cas’, I love all of you confession which proved to only disappoint him further. He had sworn that Cas’ initial I love you, was said directly to him and him only. Of course, he was wrong.
Disappointed and feeling like crap, she drove back to Jody’s wondering if there was anything she could do to make her feel better. Once she got home she immediately plopped down on the couch next to where Alex was watching TV.
“You’re such a freak,” she teased, with no real bite behind her words. Jack must’ve understood because he merely smiled before turning back to the popcorn.
“That’s exactly what I think! There’s no rule book which means I have free reign to collect my fee whenever I feel like it. As long as I collect souls, no one cares how I do it.” She smiled at him, “Look kid, I’m not doing anything wrong. The humans make their deal, I collect, it’s the circle of life. It’s how this system works.”
“Thanks a lot Cas! Your seriously going to pin this all on me - son of bitch!” He was interrupted by someone opening up the front door and of course it was Sam.
“Yeah kid, your social skills kinda suck and I entirely blame that on Cas,” Dean quipped, ignoring the glare Castiel was giving him. Jack moved to follow Claire, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He leaned down and spoke in a low voice so only Jack could hear. “Look, I know everyone here is a hunter and all, but try not to mention the whole son of Lucifer/nephilim thing. It doesn’t go well in most circles.”
“No. Giving someone their dream life doesn’t sound like the trickster’s MO.” They usually went after people who had it coming to them. Not that he didn’t, but nothing about this seemed vengeful.
Sam sighed. “No Dean, I’m sorry for going off on you like that. Talking about Dad has always been a sensitive topic.”
Dean rolled his eyes and smiled. “Come on.” He grabbed Castiel’s hand and intertwined their fingers and pulled him in the direction of his bedroom.
Jack pouted then slumped back into his seat. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Claire telling her that he won’t be able to call her until the morning. Then he obediently curled up against the car door and closed his eyes. He didn’t have a lot of room to put his feet on the seat with Sam sprawled out next to him.
She gave up on calling him after the last time her phone gave her an electric shock before going to voicemail. It didn’t really hurt, but it was enough to make her throw her phone in surprise. She had a feeling that it wasn’t a coincidence.
“I’m sorry Sammy.” He apologized, but it was hard to feel bad for something he didn’t do. No. Cross that. It was exactly what he did. In his reality he always looked up to his father. No matter how many days he’d be gone, no matter how many times they struggled to find food, no matter how many times he came back drunk, Dean always stood up for him. He always tried justifying his father’s actions and it irritated Sam to no end.
Once it was time for them to all retire to their separate rooms, Sam pulled Claire to the side and thanked her. When Claire went to sleep that night she was pleased to find that her lump of guilt had finally gone away.
Jack obediently took the remote and moved to sit at the end of the bed not occupied by Dean. He flipped the channel to the first cartoon he found that wasn’t for babies or adults. He decided to accept defeat for now. He was on a time crunch, but he figured he could afford wasting an hour while he thought of a new way for them to talk.
“The one on Bradley and Finch?” Claire asked. “We already found it. We also found out who the next victim will be.”
After that incident she tried just accepting that she would never get a hold of him and move on. Except Claire was a girl of action, which meant that doing nothing only made her guilty lump feel worse. She had hoped that going on a hunt and killing something would be enough to make it go away. But by the time the hunt was over and she was wiping the vampire blood from her machete, she found that the feeling was still there.
“Honestly living with all men in general sounds awful,” Alex spoke. “Just thinking about the smell is disgusting.”
It was at this point Jack decided to “wake up.” It didn’t make sense for him to keep pretending anyway. If Dean and Cas were being loud enough to wake up Sam logically the same noise would wake Jack up too. He wasn’t exactly a light sleeper. “What’s going on?” Jack asked eagerly, sitting up straight.
“Because he hates Mondays,” Claire answered with a smirk. Jack felt confused because it was a Saturday evening and why would a stuffed cat hate a weekday? He didn’t get the chance to ask because a girl with long straight black hair was walking towards him.
“I’m as good as and whatever was holding you back in your world is gone now. The end of the world danger doesn’t exist here. If you feared your family finding out, they already know here and they still love accept you. If you worried about your feelings not being reciprocated, I can assure you that isn’t true.” Dean could feel himself buying into every word dream!Cas was saying and he hated it. His brain was warning him to not be a dumbass and fall for it, but since when did he ever listen to his head?
“It’s pretty clear that we’re very different people with different personalities and I can tell that you don’t like me very much,” he could see Claire begin to protest but he didn’t let her. “Which is okay, not a lot of people do. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to prove myself.”
“You heard me. Go wait in the car. You shouldn’t hear this.” Dean repeated, this time with more bite.
“Who’s Jody again?” Jack asked from the backseat. All they told him was that she was a good friend and the sheriff of Sioux Falls. Which didn’t make sense to him because Sam and Dean usually didn’t get along with law enforcement.
The four boys arrived on their doorstep early the next morning just as promised. Sam and Dean came wearing their usual fake FBI get up, which meant that today would be a long day of going over information on the case that she already knew, but of course they wanted to start from scratch. Sometimes Claire wished they could just skip to the part where they fight the monster already.
Dean smirked. “That’s pretty much the same as my world. There was dubious consent issues and Jack’s father is actually the Devil. Seriously, he’s Lucifer. Kelly also knew ahead of time that she would die during labor, so she choose you to raise him. So, my Jack is half angel, half human.”
“Then I guess it’s not your business if I want to talk to your hot friend,” he fired back. Sam, Cas, and Jack all seemed to be frozen, anxiously watching to see what Dean would do.
Jack looked down at his phone, “It’s been an hour and forty five minutes since we left the coffee shop. So at least another hour left.”
Also, how was he going to distract Dean? Jack was not a good actor and he knew that the older hunter was aware. In fact, he could usually pick out when Jack was lying. How would he be able to successfully pull off a believable performance?
“Kid, you do realize that it’s a truth spell not an answer-to-anything-you-ask spell,” Dean told him as he unlocked their motel room.
I think there's only one more chapter after this. And I apologize now for not knowing how to write fight scenes lol.
“Claire can be… difficult. Especially when it comes to hunting,” Castiel said as he walked in the room and sat down on the couch beside Dean. “She often mistakes our protectiveness for distrust.”
It was also odd knowing that her he could touch Cas whenever he felt the urge without it being awkward. Earlier the back of his hand brushed up against Cas’ while they were sitting next to each other on the couch. If this was his universe, they would’ve kept that subtle contact until the angel would move his hand a millimeter closer and then Dean would cowardly recoil his hand away. In this world it was different. This Cas just gave him a look before instinctively lacing their fingers together with a satisfied look on his face. It made him wonder if things could ever be this easy in real life.
He flipped the page and was surprised to see a photo of his father. It seemed like the only picture of John Winchester in the entire photo album. The only person standing next to him was Dean. Cas and Sam were standing next to him and Mary was to the far opposite end. Both his parents had awkward smiles on their faces that seemed forced. He knew there was a story behind it. Too bad he won’t be sticking around long enough to find out. He flipped forward a few pages and stopped when he saw more pictures of Kelly. This time her stomach was twice as big, like she was ready to pop any day. He deducted from the pictures that Cas had thrown her a baby shower. It seemed like in this universe, the two of them were close friends.
“Yeah, of course you can,” she could practically hear the smile on his face. “It’s pretty quiet over here tonight. I’ve been having a thrilling time of reorganizing the Men of Letters files. I swear their filing system makes absolutely no sense to me,” the nerd let out an embarrassed chuckle.
Once the full moon cycle ended and more bodies continued to pop up, she put an axe through her werewolf theory. Eventually she turned to Jody for help, despite her pride screaming that she could do it herself. She was working on burying that part of her and opening herself up to help from others. Claire was so used to being on her own that it was still a foreign feeling that she was trying to get used to.
“I have an idea,” Claire said to him gently. “I’ll ask Sam if he thinks there is anything between them and if he says yes, then will you help us? You have to trust Sam’s opinion, he knows the two of them better than anyone else.” Jack thought about it. He did trust Sam’s opinion the most, especially when it comes to his brother.
“It’s not like that. We have a great relationship, right Jack? Anyway he was just leaving,” Dean looked at him expectantly.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” he growled as he shakily stood up and lunged towards Jack. Before he could react, Castiel swiftly stepped in front of him and put two fingers to Sean’s forehead. The hunter's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he immediately collapsed to the ground.
“Now? I don’t have anything going on now - carburetor,” Dean said shortly, holding out his hand towards Jack. The nephilim had to think for a moment before he remembered what he was doing. He carefully picked up the part and placed it in his hand. Dean went back to hiding his face under the hood of the car before he continued. “The most recent experience I had was with this girl named Lisa. We were together, but that was nearly a decade ago. I think I was in love with her at the time. I was living with her and her son Ben for a while. I thought I had lost everything, Sam was in the cage with Lucifer and Cas was busy ruling heaven. She was all I had… but that relationship was destined for disaster the moment I showed up on her doorstep.”
“Eh. Not exactly.” Dean shrugged. “Not all angels are good. In fact, most of them are stuck-up, dicks with wings, but you’re one of the good ones Cas. Actually, you’re the only good one, if you ask me.” Castiel smiled.
He followed the sound to the next room over and the scene that caused it made him nearly choke up. It was his mother picking up Jack up into her arms and squeezing him tight. She held his head close to her chest and pressed a kiss against the boy’s forehead.
That thought only lasted so long before he shook himself out of it. That was exactly what the djinn wanted. They wanted to give you a perfect life while in reality they sucked out your life source while keeping you happily oblivious from it.
“Fine. If you don’t like it then we can drop you off at the library on the way to the morgue,” Dean said, pretending like he didn’t know what she really meant.
Cas gave him a sympathetic look. “Can you tell me more of where your from? Your world?” He chuckled. “So that I know this is more than you having brain damage.”
that they could never be together doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel the same. He has low self esteem, he probably thinks he doesn’t deserve Cas.” Claire swore she saw a flash of hope in Jack’s eyes.
It didn’t take long before the phone beeped again. “This is Castiel’s number right?” Dean read out loud. “Who the hell does this guy think he is? No wonder Cas doesn’t answer this douche.” Jack internally debated what to say. They wanted Dean to be jealous, so he needed to convince him that this was a guy Cas was friends with and not a random number. However, he also didn’t want to get caught so he needed to act oblivious.
The sound of Jody laughing cut off the brother’s argument, “Sorry don’t mind me, it’s just strange hearing you boys having domestic arguments.” Then her face turned soft, “Bobby would’ve been so proud of you.”
The big question was whether the Winchesters were aware of it or not. If they were, she knew that they wouldn’t have brought him over unless he was trustworthy. However, if Jack really was this powerful being, then maybe it was possible for him to slip under the Winchesters radar and past the Bunkers warding.
“Jack, you don’t want to know our past. Maybe one day we’ll tell you the good parts, but the bad parts I’d prefer it if I never told you at all,” the angel sucked in a breath. It seemed like the truth spell betrayed him as well.
“It isn’t always,” his face suddenly turned somber. The angel plastered on a smile, “Don’t worry about me. Go back to your cartoon about the biologically inaccurate sea sponge.”
“You didn’t even tell us that you were leaving! For all we knew you could have been killed or kidnapped!”
“Well it’s been a long day, so if that’s all you wanted to talk to me about, I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Really?” the woman asked, making a face. When Jack eagerly nodded she turned back to Dean. “He’s yours?”
“It wasn’t me. It was the old married couple up front,” the younger Winchester murmured from his sleeping position with his eyes still shut.
late, but I agree we should get going. Especially if I’m driving, I’d rather get ahead of Friday night traffic.” He pulled out his wallet and tossed a couple bills on the table. “We should watch a movie when we get home. Finally we can pick a movie we actually want to see instead of rewatching
“Alright fellas, let’s roll out,” Dean announced, slinging his army green duffel bag on his shoulder. “If everything goes right, we’ll get a celebratory beer and pizza after. Until then, eat this to fuel your energy,” he tossed Jack a package of beef jerky and a Twinkie. The nephilim shrugged and opened up the sponge cake and took a big bite.
Claire followed Jack into the kitchen and watched him put a bag of popcorn into the microwave. She hopped on top of the counter and swung her legs absentmindedly.
Noticing the way Castiel began to open his mouth - probably to ask about Jack’s well being again - he decided to interrupt. “I have to pee,” he said suddenly.
“It’s pretty similar to the other hunter’s plan, but it works a lot better with two people. So, I’m kind of glad you’re here,” Claire explained. “It’s simple, I’ll summon the demon and keep him distracted. Then you’ll kill him from behind when he least expects it. I know, it’s not exactly foolproof, but running into situations half-cocked is my usual style of hunting.”
She searched the internet and the few books Sam and Dean had given her for about an hour until she reached a dead end. The only humanoid supernatural being with eyes that matched Patience’s description were yellow eyed demons known as the Princes of hell. It seemed like the closest match even after they determined that in the vision, Jack had been stabbed with an angel blade. Eliminating any possibility of him being an angel. Yellow eyed demons were one of the few creatures that couldn’t be killed by them.
He woke up with a gasp. He tried to hold on to the memory of the dream. It felt like an important clue to his predicament, but he felt it slowly fade from his mind until it was gone.
Dean took a quick glance at him before going back to the car. “Jack, we already had this conversation a while back and I’d rather not repeat it.”
“I realized something,” Dean begun. “This is my dream world, right? Then, how bad could it be to be stuck here. I mean here I have everything I ever wanted.”
“How many fucking times do I have to tell you I don’t have feelings for anybody?!” Dean flared, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what Jack? You can leave, I’m almost done here anyway.”
Jack was kicking dirt with the side of his shoe burying the edges of the box that was still peeking out from the ground. Claire was currently hiding in the bushes, angel blade at the ready, waiting for the demon to arrive. Once the box was covered the nephilim carefully stepped outside of their slapdash attempt at painting a devil’s trap. It definitely lacked the precision that was present in Sam’s and Jack only hoped it would be enough to trap the demon. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and rocked on the heel of his foot.
“No. Our home in Lebanon, Kansas is the Bunker. Not whatever this place is.” Seriously what the hell is going on? He thought.
“I guess it hasn’t been very long, but it feels like my whole life,” Jack chose his words carefully.
The walk back to Jody’s car was long and awkward. Instead of walking next to Jack, Claire walked directly behind him, eyes firmly staring at the back of his head in case he tried to pull anything. She decided that she mostly trusted the boy. He hadn’t given her any reason not to, besides the whole nephilim thing. The look in his eyes as he told his story made Claire believe that he was telling the truth. Regardless if he was or not, she couldn't help but remain cautious. A lifetime of getting screwed over will do that to a person.
“Try again,” Claire said, still pointing her gun directly at the boy. “If they all knew then why wouldn’t they just tell me. We’re all hunters, it’s not like it would have been a big shock.” It didn’t sound like Jody to let her work alone with Jack and not let her in on this crucial bit of information. On the other hand, it sounded exactly like Jody. They’ve been keeping her away from this whole case, of course they would keep this away from her too. Regardless, she still wanted to hear Jack’s explanation.
Jack weakly struggled against his hold to keep up appearances, while he waited for his cue. “Yeah whatever, start heading towards the door!” he barked, not releasing his hold on Jack.
Basically, Jack really didn’t know a lot about this case. He figured he didn’t need to since the Winchesters usually put him on research duty while they did the field work. Apparently, he looked too young to be an FBI agent and he was a “terrible actor.” Regardless, he found Claire’s notes to be fascinating and he admired the tactical organization that shone through her hard work.
Except with Jack he thought things would be different. She had known him from the moment he was born. There were no gaps, no long periods of time she’d missed, nothing to catch up on.
“We don’t leave because we don’t know how to have fun without you. We leave because we don’t want to watch you sucking face with some random girl. It makes us all feel uncomfortable. It’s not your fault but… I’m your little brother, Jack sees you as like a father, Cas is… I don’t know. We’re your family and we don’t want to watch you doing that. It's weird dude, but that’s not the point.” Sam’s raised voice made Jack wince. He didn’t mean to start an argument between the brothers. Sam and Dean arguing was a common occurrence as long as the conversation didn’t escalate they should be over it in a few minutes.
As soon as Jack and Claire were out of the room, Jody turned to them with her arms crossed. “Alright, so what’s his story? Don’t tell me there isn’t one because I know there is. I gave you a break on the phone, but you gotta fill me in.”
Claire narrowed her eyes at him. Either he had to confess or he would make up an excuse for knowing that information. “How do you know that?” she pressed, feeling desperate to learn the truth.
“I suppose not…” Cas trailed off looking at him oddly. “Are you trying to ask me to pick between the two of you.”
It was a relief the moment the Bunker’s rusty front entrance came into view. The moment the gear shift was switched to park, Castiel fled the car and retreated into the Bunker. Jack had been expecting Dean to do the same thing, but instead the hunter lingered in the car for a second.
“Okay, well just let me know. If you change your mind, our kitchen is free. There isn’t much in it, but help yourself,” Sam looked apologetic and unsure about what to do next. “Sorry, you didn’t come on a better night. Everyone’s been keeping to themselves today, so there’s not much excitement. There’s a TV in the “Dean Cave” that you can watch if you get bored. Dean will probably give me an earful for it, but it’s the best TV we have. It has cable and Netflix. You should use Dean’s account, he gets really touchy when people mess with his algorithm. Sometimes I like to go on there and play trashy Rom-coms just to screw with him,” Sam laughed.
Dean suddenly woke up with a gasp that quickly turned into a groan. The movement was so abrupt Jack was startled out of his thoughts.
“Hit my-?” He touched his forehead where he felt a big bandage wrapped around it. “What the hell?” He felt extremely befuddled. If he was attacked by a djinn, shouldn’t he just be experiencing blood loss? Unless he put up a pretty big fight before he was captured, which would make a little sense, but it didn’t explain why Sam looked pissed.
“Oh no, I find it very annoying,” Claire snorted with laughter from the honesty in his voice. “But Mary Winchester told me that it’s a parent thing and that I just have to get used to it. She said that one day they will lighten up, but it will always exist in some capacity. Just like how Dean gets overprotective of Sam even though Sam is one of the best hunters in the world.”
“Bullshit,” Claire interrupted him. “It’s obvious why he left. He just confessed his love to his best friend and was rejected. He probably feels embarrassed, and now he’s avoiding Dean at all costs. Once he sees your text he’ll feel guilty and come back. He knows he’ll inevitably have to face Dean and besides, he’ll do anything for his little boy,” Claire pinched his cheek as she said it. Jack wrinkled his nose and swatted her hand away. “Trust me, it’ll work.”
“Daddy? Can I have a baby brother? Please?” Jack put on his best good boy smile and looked at Dean and Cas with pleading eyes.
“No, but he kept asking if he was back home. Whatever that means…” Cas’ eyes locked onto his and he knew he failed at pretending to be asleep. Everyone else followed Cas’ gaze and suddenly he had three pairs of eyes on him.
Jack picked up a pair of dark rimmed glasses and fiddled them through his fingers. He was excited for his first hellhound hunt. Even if he wasn’t the one to kill the mutt, he still wanted to know what they looked like. Sam and Dean would probably make him wear the glasses regardless if he could see them or not. They didn’t want Jody and Claire to get suspicious if he was the only one not wearing them (besides Castiel). Still, if he could manage it, he wanted to try and get a peek without the glasses. So that he would know for future hunts.
“No dumbass,” Claire rolled her eyes. “We mean like are they in love? Like are they in a secret relationship?”
Jack looked down at the phone with his face still scrunched. “Are you coming home soon? I miss you,” he read out loud. “Why did you put that?”
“Thank you, Jessica and Sam. That’s very flattering and we promise to return the favor when he or she is born.” Cas said with a warm smile.
“That’s fine. I would’ve told you guys from the beginning if Dean hadn’t stopped me. Also, thanks for being cool about that. Most people wouldn’t want to be my friend after hearing that.” Jack said sincerely.
“Thanks. He’s probably just dehydrated, you know kids,” Dean gave her a weak smile and led Jack out of the diner.
“We know Jody. His whole life has been monsters, so it’s easy to forget to teach him the “real world” stuff,” Sam explained. “Which is why we thought introducing him to you and the girls would be the best place to start.”
Sam looked up from his book startled, until his eyes landed on Jack and his whole face lit up. “Jack!” Sam exclaimed, ignoring Claire’s question. “H-how are you doing? I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”
He let Sam lead the way to the men’s bathroom as he slowly trailed behind. He had no idea how much time he needed to waste, so he would try to drag this out as long as he could. Also, he prefered not to be there when it happened, since he knew it might make him feel guilty.
Since Jack was only three years old, the Winchesters and Castiel were used to him asking weird questions. The nephilim hoped that if he screwed this up he could hide behind that cover and Cas was the most likely to be forgiving.
“It’s not Dean I’m worried about,” he mumbled. Jack knew firsthand just how scary the hunter could be when he was angry and the hunter was not afraid of causing a scene.
“Did he say anything about what happened?” Claire asked curiously, wondering if he knew any details.
Patience sighed. “Fine, but don’t read too far into it because it could mean anything. B-but I think there’s something weird going on with Jack.”
“Okay. Hold on, because my brain is still trying to process this. How the hell did you figure that out?” He hand was pressed against his already aching brain.
“You’re getting closer, but that movie isn’t edgy enough. We’re supposed to corrupt him a little bit.” Claire said ignoring Cas’ warning from earlier.
“He did say that he didn’t understand why Cas would like someone like him,” Jack had his brow furrowed as if he was thinking it over.
Dean was stunned. It was freaky how exact Cas’ story matched with his. “A-actually, yeah. That’s exactly what happened.”
“We’re not dumb Patience,” Claire pushed. “We know you had a vision when you touched that kid’s hand.”
“And you realize that back in my world, Cas and I are nothing more than best friends. And any romantic feels I have for him have been shoved so far down inside of me for over a decade that it may be a long time before I feel comfortable with showing affection. And I mean a long time. Years even.” Dean tried to emphasize just how long he meant. He needed this Cas to know just how emotionally stunted and fucked up he was.
“Alright. Fine.” Dean grumbled. “But I’m only doing this for the kid. We’re leaving the second we got him.”
“He’s not my Dad,” Claire hissed. Honestly, she had no idea how to explain her complicated relationship with the fallen angel. Yes, he was a fatherly figure to her, but a part of her felt weird calling him that considering he wore the face of her dead father.
Once Sam and Jody got back, Jack noticed that Claire subtly slipped away to her room again. He decided that he would let her have her space. The nephilim was certain that he was the last person she would want to see right now.
The bunker was in full commotion, everyone seemed to be too busy at the moment to even notice his brief absence. The apocalypse world hunters were cleaning up the bodies of Michael’s minions, while giving nervous glances towards Dean as if they thought that he would snap at any moment and reveal himself to be Michael. Another reason for him to change immediately. Sam had pulled Maggie to the side, mostly likely to ask her what happened in his absence. Dean always enjoyed watching the pride on his brother’s face when he talked to the younger hunter. On the other side of the room Cas was dragging Jack into the kitchen. The angel had a “concerned father” look on his face and the nephilim looked like a guilty child. Yep. No one would notice him disappearing for a few minutes.
“How so?” Jack pressed, feeling like he was sitting on the edge of his seat. He already was aware about everything Castiel said about him and Sam. Dean was the one he really wanted to hear him explain.
Sam laughed. “All of that is hard enough, but imagine that on top of his powers? One burp and he’d blow up the Bunker.”
“We don’t want to overwhelm her folks, so Sam, Jody, and I will go in first. Cas, Jack, and Claire will stay out here and be the lookout. We’ll call you in once we finish explaining the situation.”
“Dean!” Jack exclaimed once he caught sight of the eldest Winchester. “How are you?” Jack repeated the question that Sam had asked him earlier.
“Yeah I kinda figure Claire had something to do with it,” Sam smiled. “I’m just glad to see that you’re okay. I was starting to get worried.”
“So, what’s your deal anyway?” Claire asked, clearly eager to break the tension that filled the room.
“Wow you really have been living with them awhile if you’re already spewing the company line,” Alex laughed, but he didn’t detect any mocking from her tone.
He flipped a page only for a loose paper to fall out. He turned it over and let out a groan, “oh no…” The paper had picture of Kelly on it and in big cursive letters said “In Loving Memory Of”. Dean noted that the date of death was a day after Jack’s birthday. It looked like she faced the same fate as the Kelly Kline from his universe.
Jack had been worried that Dean would be mad at him. The hunter tried giving him the cold shoulder during the ride home, but one glare from Cas and he stayed quiet.
“The point is, we really appreciate this Jody.” Sam said quickly to avoid starting an argument between Dean and Cas. “The poor kid hasn’t eaten a home cooked meal in his life.”
He waited until Dean’s breathing evened out to talk. “What do you think he’s dreaming about?” he asked Cas.
“No, Dean it’s only been a day. Michael has manipulated your memories as a way to keep you here.” Cas and Sam had matching expressions of empathy and Dean hated it. He started shaking his head in disbelief.
“Cas, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I know I overstepped, especially when I brought in Jack. That was a dick move on my part.”
Jody laughed, “Because they’re new parents and we already know that this was your idea and not his.” The sheriff leaned in, giving her a warm hug,“But believe me that I am relieved to know that you're okay.” Claire couldn’t help but smile as she hugged her back. Jody raised her voice after pulling back from the embrace, “Besides, Jack is not off the hook, right boys?”
“It’s nothing…” He mumbled to Cas and continued to drive. Cas was staring at him with a concerned look of disbelief, but he ignored it. Whoever Michael was, he was the one behind all of this. Dean knew it, but he couldn’t risk telling Cas and alerting Michael that he was on to him. It’s not like this was the real Cas anyway.
The hunt took a total of three days, and Jack’s mind was way too preoccupied to put too much thought into his and Claire’s scheme. He only gave her short update responses the few times he noticed her messages. On the evening of the third day while they were preparing to raid the nest, Jack sent out a short text to Claire telling her that it will probably be tonight as long as everything goes well. The Winchesters were big believers in buying victory beer, or at least Dean was.
“Do you hear yourself right now Cas? Cause to me it sounds freakin’ hysterical.” He ignored the flash of hurt on Cas’ face. “Don’t you get it? I like you and you like me. But none of it matters you dumb son of a bitch! It’s not like we can just ride off into the freakin sun set! Screw what we feel! It can never happen.”
“I’m not possessive and that was not flirting. We all wanted him gone and it’s not like you were going to say anything to him. When I got here all three of you looked like deer caught in headlights.”
He froze when he saw that Sam and Castiel were watching him. He knew right away that they were the real thing and not the fantasy version.
“We can’t force Dean and Cas to talk to each other, they have to realize it on their own,” Claire explained, already forming a plan in her head.
“What?” Dean asked feeling confused. The way Cas asked about the djinn didn’t sound like he thought Dean was crazy. It sounded like he knew what djinn was.
“Yes, I do love him,” Castiel answered softly without hesitation. Jack felt his heart soar. “As I said I would die for him without thinking twice about it and I would follow him to the end of the earth. He is one of the most important people in my entire existence. I love him just as I love you.” Okay, that also wasn’t what he was looking for. He knew Castiel didn’t love the two of them in the exact same way. Cas loved Jack like a son and he was sure he didn’t see Dean that way. No, Cas loved Dean like a… well that’s what he was trying to figure out.
“No, I got this Sam,” Dean held up his hand while his eyes never broke contact from Sean. “We’re the freakin’ Winchesters. The same guys who started and stopped the apocalypse. That have defeated the devil and death multiple times. Who have looked into the eyes of God himself and told him to shove it.”
“No,” Jack said firmly. He was feeling more confident now that Claire was almost at the edge of the devil’s trap. “Because you’re still a demon. If I let you go you’ll just get a new hellhound and pull the same trick in another town and I can’t let you do that.” The demon smiled.
They stepped inside and looked around the hunter’s cluttered motel room. Claire immediately made her way over to the desk filled with paper and books while Jack began searching the inside of the duffle bag lying on the bed. Underneath a rolled up wad of unwashed flannels and underwear, he found more crumpled up papers, a flask of holy water and a silver knife. He carefully smoothed out one of the papers to read the content. They were lines and lines of what seemed to be poetry. Many were crossed out and rewritten, while some were scribbled out entirely. This was clearly a failed draft of his, but Jack still took a moment to appreciate the effort that had been put onto the wrinkled page. “He was a writer,” the nephilim said aloud with a soft smile.
The strange voice that didn’t sound like himself did have a point. Somehow everyone being here made him feel less like he was abandoning them. Maybe this was the universe giving him a second chance. He deserved it more than anyone. Maybe Chuck was finally taking pity on him. Or maybe he was dead and in heaven. Either way there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “That’s right Dean. This is your second chance. Just relax and enjoy it.”
“Fine. Do it,” Jack said calmly with a hint of a smirk. “I’ll just lie and deny everything you say. Let’s see who they believe. Some random scumbag they met in a bar who is asking them for money. Or the young boy they raised and consider to be like a son. Sure, I’m willing to take that bet.”
“It’s not an act… and what’s wrong with liking chocolate milk?” he asked innocently. His face scrunched up as if he was trying to decide whether or not he had been offended.
“If he didn’t want me to fight him then he shouldn’t have walked up to our table in the first place,” Dean grunted.
“Now, the last time we worked a rogue hellhound case, it was going after a girl who struck it with an axe after it attacked her boyfriend. So, it is possible that he may have been protecting someone, got a hit in, and the hellhound was feeling vengeful.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. You can’t actually want to stay here with these guys.” Sean gestured towards him and Sam.
“Dude dial back on the possessiveness. He was just flirting, that’s what people do at bars. It’s not like he was actually trying to hurt him.”
“Why not? I don’t even mean all of this not hunting - apple pie - white picket fence crap. I mean why can’t we ever be happy for five freaking minutes!” Hell, all he ever asked for most of the time was a vacation, but no. The universe could never allow him a small break from hunting. It could never allow him to have a fraction of what true happiness was. Every time he felt happy, even if it was for a short moment, he was just waiting for the other shoe it drop. And it always did. Every. Damn. Time.
“Come here, Jack.” Cas said leaning down and taking Jack into his arms. Cas held the kid close and rubbed the back of his head. “I love you so much and we would never leave you.
Claire gave him an odd look he couldn’t decipher before continuing. “Yeah well, you can hang out here while I get the other two losers. Just-” she hesitated, “don’t touch anything.”
Cas breathed out a sigh of relief, “Thank god. If I was incorrect this may have been extremely awkward.”
“Can you tell me more about Jack? How he’ll be like when he grows up?” Dean smirked thinking about the snot nosed kid from earlier and the young man he left behind.
Dean laughed at the scene, “And who says he’s not really my kid?” Sam dramatically rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the fond look he gave his brother. Defeated, Sam snatched the package of beef jerky for himself, while Jack took another bite from his sugary treat as they followed Dean out the door.
The next time movie night came around Jack kept a close eye on the coat waiting for an opportunity when Cas would leave its side. That opportunity came when Dean asked Cas to help him carry the popcorn and beers while Sam tried to fix the TV. Jack subtly scooted towards the trench and dug his hand into the first pocket. What Jack didn’t anticipate was that Castiel kept a lot of stuff in his pockets. He found his wallet, three chocolate bars, a cassette tape, and a bag of honey, but he did not find his phone. Assuming it was in his other pocket Jack flipped the trenchcoat over and dug his hand into the other pocket.
“The four Princes of hell?” She turned around to see that Jack had noticed a book she accidently left laying open on the page she last looked at. She silently cursed herself. If Jack truly was a demon she had no doubt that he would be on to her after this. It was too big of a coincidence that Claire randomly was searching for the same type of demon that he was. “You think our demon is a Prince of Hell?” She let out a breath of relief. Maybe if she went along with the false story that she was looking for this demon instead of the one sitting in front of her; maybe she could escape his suspicions.
“No, I’ve definitely had enough of this for today,” Sam said, while closing the book. “I think a movie night is exactly what I need.”
“Mom and Dad were divorced?” He asked shocked. John and Mary were supposed to be the perfect couple. A match made from heaven, literally. Without being hunters their lives should have been perfect. From the last djinn dream, he remembered that there was always a catch. One flaw in a seemingly perfect universe, because the truth of the matter was that nothing can be perfect.
“It can’t be that bad,” Jack wondered out loud. “In my experience, lying always leads to problems. Maybe it’s a good thing.”
He acted like he was following Dean’s orders up until he was on the other side of the door, because there was no way he was missing this conversation. The second he closed the door he pressed his ear up against it hoping that his powers gave him the advantage of enhanced hearing. He closed his eyes and held his breath trying to concentrate solely on listening. After a moment of silence he was about to give up when he finally heard Dean’s voice.
That was until he saw Dean’s face and he realized that the elder Winchester looked equally as terrified as Cas. He even swore he saw a hint of anger.
“Hey Cas,” Jack perked up when he heard Dean speak from the front seat. “I’m sorry for implying that you can’t take care of yourself and I’m sorry for saying that you let people walk all over you. That was a dick move.”
Normally, Jack would shrug off Claire’s comment, without question. However, something in her eyes made him feel like she wasn’t telling the truth. “Okay. I’ll come with you,” he offered as kindly as he could.
Claire watched helplessly as Patience’s dream was unfurling out before her. The boy with the sweet smile who liked PB&J sandwiches was gone and replaced by a merciless powerful being. The sadistic smile on his face as he effortlessly raised the demon in the air was unrecognizable.
More clattering from the next room snapped Dean out of his thoughts and back into reality. He quietly crept into the kitchen, trying to get a view of who was in it. He was surprised to find Cas standing there trying to flip an egg in a frying pan.
Claire agreed that she didn’t know if that was better or worse. On one hand, she was starting to miss the dork. The Winchesters hardly ever brought him along, especially for these so called “minor” hunts that they usually went on with Jody. On the other hand, she knew once he was here that the angel would go full on overprotective dad mode and not let Claire anywhere near the hunt. The case that she found and had been working on for over a week. As if Dean wasn’t already enough to deal with.
“If I had to live off nothing but burgers, beer, and pie, I’d puke.” Claire said with a grossed out look.
Before walking out the door the angel warned them “to be careful” and asked Claire to not “corrupt” Jack. He looked like he wanted to say more but was stopped by Dean pulling him away by the sleeve of his trench coat. “Wouldn’t dream of it!” Claire called out with a mischievous smirk before pulling the door shut and clicking the lock.
Jack immediately got an idea and started searching through the bag faster. He dug through the side pockets and a mountain of dirty socks only to find nothing. He looked under all of the pillows only to find a small handgun. Next he stuck his hand under the mattress until his hand touched a hard object. He pulled out a thick, leather back journal. He scanned through the first couple pages to confirm that it was about hunting and he flipped to the last entry.
“What’s this boy’s name, Jack?” Cas growled. He was clearly angered at the thought of anyone messing with his son.
Jack’s mood improved once he had food in front of him; it turns out that Jody’s pot roast was just as delicious as Sam and Dean described. It was one of the best meals he’d eaten in his entire life. His two years of eating take out and Winchester surprise paled in comparison to Jody’s cooking. The rich flavors of the meat, carrots, and potatoes left a pleasant warm feeling flowing through his body. It left him feeling so nice that he couldn’t even bother to care about the judgmental looks all four women gave as Sam, Dean, and Jack simultaneously moaned around each bite of food. He felt bad for Castiel who just watched them all eat with a fond look while taking small sips from his bottle of beer. He silently thanked his mother for the bit of humanity that allowed him to enjoy the taste of food.
“Like I said there’s not much. Jack just likes spending time with you and if you get mad at him for that then you're the asshole. All you can do is wait for a time when he’s not with you. He doesn’t come on every hunt with us and you can slip out whenever you want, but until an opportunity like that comes you’re just going to have to wait.”
“At least if he slips up here, he won’t get arrested,” Dean quipped. “And believe me, that kid slips up a lot.”
“I felt suspicious about you from the moment you woke up, something about you just felt… different. After that I just paid close attention to every weird question you asked throughout the day. Then I made up my theory by connecting all of my clues together. I mean it isn’t rocket science. I didn’t pull the djinn out of nowhere, you were the one to bring it up first.” Cas said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Jack and Claire had been going back and forth on this for the past hour. It was a big change from the excitement he felt when he started this conversation. That all disappeared when Claire told him her genius plan.
The worst part was, she couldn’t figure out what she did wrong. She replayed that last phone call with Jack over and over in her mind and everytime she concluded that she was innocent.
The photo could have been entirely possible except for one person that caught Dean’s eye from the beginning. Standing next to Sam was the love of his brother’s life, Jessica Moore, alive and safe with a big smile on her face. The bottom of the picture frame said “Our Family” printed in cursive and he felt his heart ache wishing that this was real.
“Cause you kinda sounded like you were trying to say… B-but you couldn’t possibly mean that…” Dean sounded like he was about to freak out and Jack couldn’t understand why. Castiel’s words had made him feel all warm and excited, but Dean’s face looked like he was feeling anything but that.
“Why not?” Dean asked feeling as if there was a story behind this. The idea of Sam and his Dad not getting along in this world didn’t come as a shock to him. Although without hunting, Dean couldn’t imagine what they would have to fight about.
Sam chuckled. “Yeah I can see what you mean. Here, we’re all each other has. I mean when it’s good, it’s really great. But when it’s bad - “
“Okay. That does sound pleasant.” Castiel stood up from his chair, but hesitated instead of walking towards Dean. He realized that the angel was feeling nervous and he was relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one.
“Goodnight Dean.” The angel remained firmly seated in his chair clearly not getting the hint. Dean groaned. He had no idea why he expected Cas to understand that, as if he wasn’t aware that he had a history of misinterpreting social cues.
Jack felt his stomach unclench when they managed to make it back to the house before the Winchesters, Castiel, and the sheriff. They sat back at the table and opened their computers to make it look like they had actually done research.
“Hey!” Jack protested, recognizing the insult for what it was. He was getting tired of people assuming that he was naive because of his age. He knew that there was a lot about the world he didn’t know, but that didn’t mean he knew nothing. He wasn’t a child that knew nothing outside of sunshine and rainbows.
The hunter rolled his eyes. “Sorry buddy, but if your cat gifs to Sam are so private then you shouldn’t leave your phone in the middle of the table for everyone to see.”
There was a long silence that rang out, neither of them daring to speak. Jack was feeling nervous, this conversation was not going how he expected it to.
The conversation was interrupted by Sam walking into the room and dropping a pile of glasses in front of them, “Alright. Here are five pairs of glasses that I ran through holy fire. The fifth pair is for Jack. You probably won’t need it, but since we don’t know for sure if you can see hellhounds, you should have them just in case.”
“Can you change it to literally anything else?” she whined. This was the last thing she needed to be watching. It was the movie that got her into this mess.
“Look, I’m sorry that we didn’t tell you where we were going, but I didn’t think Claire’s plan was stupid,” Jack defended, rubbing where Dean had hit him. “The deaths wouldn’t have stopped unless the demon was dead. Also, it’s smarter to attack her before we killed her hellhound. If we waited until after she would have been on to us and left.”
“Son of a bitch…” Dean cursed before pulling Cas in for a kiss. This wasn’t the first time he was kissing this Cas, but before it had felt like he was just playing the character of domestic Dean. Something about Cas knowing the truth made this one feel more real. It was dream Cas kissing real Dean. It was nice, there was a passion on both receiving ends that wasn’t there before.
“I can stay awake with you Dean,” Jack offered. “I’m half angel which means I only need half the sleep.”
“Oh look we’re here,” Dean said abruptly pulling the car into park and practically flying out the door.
“I did whatever dumb shit you wanted me to. Now it’s time to pay up.” Jack’s eyes widened, Claire never mentioned that he was supposed to pay him. He didn’t have any money and even if he did he didn’t know the amount she promised him.
“Jack wait,” Dean sighed, stopping Jack as he was reaching for the handle. “I’m sorry for getting mad at you like that. I feel like an asshole. It's a sensitive subject for me, but that is not your fault.”
“Of course kiddo, now get some sleep.” Dean smiled and kiss the boy on the forehead. He listened to Jack’s soft breathing until he was sure the child was asleep.
“If it helps, I’ll let you get final say on the guy I pick,” Claire suggested kindly and Jack agreed.
Dean continues to find a way out of the dream world, but only gets sucked further into it. Cas grows suspicious of Dean's weird behavior.
“Laying it on a little thick Dean,” Sam muttered under his breath low enough that only Jack heard it.
Jack went to check his phone, knowing that this argument could last for hours. He saw a text from Claire telling him to call her when it was done. Wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else he realized that calling Claire was the perfect excuse for him to leave.
“Uhh. I hate to break up your guys’ moment, but the doctor’s going to come in and check Dean over so he can clear him to go home.” Sam told them.
He quickly opened his eyes at the sound of somebody calling his name. He was sitting in the same position he had fallen asleep in with dream Jack and Cas glued to his side. The TV had turned to a soft static, the movie had ended hours ago. He felt a chill on the back of his neck and felt as if he was being watched. He carefully stood up from his place on the couch and turned around.
“Your in a hospital, so no your not home technically.” Dean rolled his eyes at the angel’s bluntness.
“It was… enlightening,” Jack gritted out the last part as he thought back to the text Sam sent Claire. He wasn’t necessarily mad at Sam, since he never actually lied to him and it wasn’t like the subject was life threatening. But he also couldn’t help but feel bitter about the fact that Sam asked Claire not to tell him specifically. He didn’t mean to give a petty response to Sam’s innocent question, it just came out naturally.
“Well it’s good to know everyone agrees with me for once,” Dean groaned. “What about you Jack? Are you okay?” Dean glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
“I’m Jack Winchester and my Daddy is Dean Winchester and my Papa is Cast… Cas Winchester.” The little kid stated. Castiel ruffled the kid’s hair a little.
“We’ll see…” Dean looked at the ground. The more he thought about the situation, the more he realized that there might not be a way out. At least not for him. He could try expelling him out of his body, except Michael had gotten one thing right, he wasn’t sure he wanted him gone. Obviously he wanted him dead and he absolutely hated being an archangel condom. But what would expelling him really solve? All that would happen is Michael would possess another innocent person and continue to wreak havoc on this world. Dean couldn’t let another person suffer for his sake. He’d rather die. And he had a feeling that it might come down to that.
“What else were we supposed to do Jody? You guys were so focused on killing that stupid hellhound, even though killing it solves nothing as long as the demon is still alive. We knew going after the demon was more helpful than sitting around playing backup for you guys,” Claire argued.
Dean closed his eyes feeling a sense of safety and serenity that he hadn’t felt in years. The road ahead of them looked darker and dimmer by each passing day, but in this moment he could pretend that everything would turn out okay.The feeling of a solid warm body next to him was enough to keep him grounded and reassured him that this was indeed real life.
“Are you guys done yet?” he heard a voice say. “So we can actually talk about the case.” A girl walked into the room with long wavy blonde hair that brushed over her red flannel shirt. She was wearing a lot of eyeliner and an old shirt from a band Jack never heard of.
It's only been a week and I already miss Supernatural oof. Anyways, I hope everyone is doing well and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
“I don’t think so,” Jack started slowly, “I confronted her about it and since then she’s been a lot nicer.”
“You guys know a lot about me, but I don’t know that much about you. You’ve known each other for nine years longer than I have and you’ve barely told me anything that happened,” Jack said honestly. He really did want to know more about their past. They would only tell them a bullet point version. Cas raised Dean from hell, the Winchester’s started and stopped the apocalypse twice, God came back then left again, then Jack was born. He had a gut feeling that there was a lot they were leaving out.
Hello everyone! I hope you've been having a good 2021! So, this chapter and the next chapter were originally supposed to be one chapter, but it was getting to be too long so I decided to split it up. So hopefully the next chapter should be up soon since it is almost finished.
“No, the people aren’t this bad. A lot of it is overdramatized,” she told him, picking up another slice of pepperoni pizza.
Dean glanced over to where the angel was sitting awkwardly at the library table, clearly unsure of what he should do, and he chuckled. “I don’t think any life with Cas could be considered normal.”
“That’s ok. If she doesn’t want to watch Star Wars we can watch Sleeping Beauty. I like that one too.”
While Bobby gave Sam a pat on the back, saying “I’m proud of you son,” Dean noticed Cas whispering something into Jack’s ear. Whatever it was, it made the kid grin and nod his head enthusiastically. After, that he hopped off Dean’s lap and walked over to Jess. He motioned for her to lean down to his height, then he gave her a big kiss on the cheek.
She gave him a sad smile, “Word of advice: next time you want to get laid, don’t bring your entire family with you. It scares off girls like me,” then she walked away.
“Not much. He seemed rather disoriented. He said he felt “like crap”, then he asked for you, and then he asked what happened to him.” Cas answered.
The second the door opened Claire whipped around and stared at him in shock. Jack gave a satisfied smile back.
“Jack might be new, but he’s smart. He’s done it with us enough times that he knows what to look for,” Dean defended the boy, who was currently staring at his shoes like they were the most interesting thing in the world. “Just trust our process kid, we have a pretty good success rate.”
The girls continued to raid him with random questions about Sam, Dean, and Castiel. They ranged from really strange to personal information that not even Jack would know the answer to.
If the Winchester’s wanted her to do research, then she would do research. Although she wouldn’t be researching the case. Instead, she researched creatures with glowing yellow eyes.
“It’s okay I totally understand. I have two sons of my own and they get sick all of the time.” She smiled and touched Dean’s hand. Jack considered throwing up on the floor to get them out of here quicker, but his better judgement decided against it.
Dean looked at Cas and could tell he was trying to come up with an answer. It wasn’t like he could tell Sam the truth, he wouldn’t get it.
“How?” Alex asked, staring at her like she was crazy, but Claire didn’t care, her mind was already far away.
“You seriously killed a Prince of Hell? By yourself?” She was almost impressed and a little confused.
“Of course I know what a djinn is.” Castiel studied him for a second. “I’ll tell you exactly how I know if you promise to put the knife down.” Son of a bitch. Why the hell was this Cas so damn smart?
“Is dad coming?” Dean asked. He knew his dad was probably dead. If he was alive he would’ve been in the photo and his mom wouldn’t be with Bobby. He had to ask anyway. If Jess was alive who knows who else could be.
The next morning, Jack found Dean in the Bunker’s garage working underneath the hood of the Impala. Jack slowly walked over to him. “Hello!” He said cheerfully, he needed to make sure the hunter was in a good mood.
“Thank you Sam. I appreciate your concern, but I think I would like to stay,” he gave Sam an honest smile. He really did appreciate his worry and he might have even taken him up on the offer if it weren’t for Claire’s plan. Bars were noisy and filled with inebriated people, going back to the motel for a quiet night in with just the four of them was preferable. “It helps to take my mind off things,” he lied, wishing he was anywhere else.
“So, are you in for the movie or are you just going to cry into your books all night?” Claire teased, going back to her question.
“So, that’s it? We’re just going to sit back and do nothing?” said Claire, clearly annoyed by the Winchesters.
“Woah buddy, slow down. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the whole ‘we’re dating’ situation. Also, I wasn’t kidding when I said that I need to sleep. I was just hoping that you would sleep with me...literally.”
“Fine. But, you two have to stay here.” Castiel said firmly. “The second you see any sign of the hellhound run inside and warn us. Do not try to fight it by yourself. You are not it’s target, so it will not come after you unless it senses that you’re a threat.”
Castiel smiled. “I understand. I am still trying to grasp the topic myself. Feelings are still very new to me and I’m still trying to come to terms with my own. What they mean and why I feel a certain way.” That seemed rather vague to him, but he nodded for the angel to continue. “I suppose the way I feel about you is different from the way I feel about Dean and that’s different from the way I feel about Sam. Although I know that I love you all very much. The way I feel about you is similar to the way a father loves his son. I’ve watched you grow from the moment you were born and I feel an overwhelming urge to protect you from any harm.
“We’re having a sleepover, we have all night to do that. Besides, you dumbasses really need my help fixing things around here,” she said assertively.
Which is why, instead of giving Dean a proper answer, he gave him a small smile and nod of understanding before hurrying inside the Bunker. He headed straight to his room and closed the door. Jack paced back and forth, trying to get his feelings in order. He needed to let out this slowly building mass of emotions in a safe matter and that usually meant curling into a ball and crying. But the angry part of him didn’t want to cry. He already felt enough shame today and crying would only make it worse. He only stopped pacing once he noticed the light bulb above his head was beginning to rapidly flicker. He took a deep breath, the last thing he wanted was to lose control. He didn’t think he could accidentally hurt someone from inside his room, but an exploding light bulb would be hard to explain.
“Woah, uh no. First off, you’re not real. This is all just some weird fantasy my mind made up. Secondly, you’re human and Cas is an angel. Angels can’t…” Dean suddenly stopped. A realization had suddenly struck his mind. “Angels… that’s it!”
“Yeah I am.” Dean smiled. There was a part of him that was still itching to find another way back, but reason tamed that part by reminding him that Sam and Cas would come for him eventually. They always did.
“Yes,” the blonde pressed. “We can’t exactly get him with Castiel if he’s sleeping with other people.” Jack sighed already knowing this would be a losing battle.
“Based on past experience, when Sam and Dean tell people they’re in danger, it usually leads to a lot of follow up questions.” Cas shrugged.
“I said that I think you’re right. Killing the hellhound might save Casey, but it doesn’t stop anything. We will have to kill the demon at some point and the sooner we do it, the less chance he has of killing anyone else. Besides, Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Jody are skilled hunters and they don’t need us to stop one hellhound. We’re helping more people if we do this now,” Jack explained. He still didn’t like the idea of going behind the Winchester’s backs and ignoring Castiel’s request, but he couldn’t let Claire do this alone. Going solo is what got the last hunter killed after all. “Also, I thought that we were hunting buddies.”
The drive to Sam’s house was quiet while Cas would sneak worried glances in Dean’s direction. He had made things worse when he asked Cas to put Sam’s address into the GPS on his phone since he had no clue where Sam lived. He reasoned that he was hoping the GPS would give him the fastest route. He thought it was a normal request until Cas argued that Sam lived close enough that it would be pointless. Luckily for him Castiel eventually gave in, but he could tell it only made his fake husband more suspicious.
“Um…” He thought about it. “I’m not sure. He does have his own bottle that he keeps in his room and no one else is allowed to use it.” Jack answered, not fully understanding the purpose of this game. Was the point to share useless facts about the people he lives with?
“Dean, if you knew what was going on out there-“ Sam started, but Dean cut him off looking his brother in the eyes for the first time.
The next morning the Bunker was quiet, everyone was keeping to themselves in their own corners, and Jack figured it was a good time to try out his plan. He found Castiel lying in his bed watching cat videos on Sam’s laptop softly giggling to himself.
Jack lifted his head from where it was leaning against the window as he felt the Impala roll to a stop. He stretched out the ache in his neck from the uncomfortable position he’d been in for the past hour. By now he’d been on many long and boring road trips with the Winchester’s, this one being far from the worst; and he still had not found a comfortable way to rest in a car. He asked Sam for advice, but all he enclosed was that the last good sleep he had in a car was when he was five. He warned that, “It never gets better, you just get more tired.” Jack was starting to see his point.
“I didn’t need your help. I can take care of myself.” Castiel finally spoke up and he did not sound happy.
“I can always grab one of my ID’s from inside of the Impala,” Jack suggested. “I have a bunch and none of them are real anyway.”
“What was the point of all this anyway?” Dean gestured around the room. “Giving me a happy life, making me think there was a djinn, what kind of sick game are you playing?”
“Stop it!” He said suddenly, when he realized that he finally had their attention he continued. “First of all, I don’t understand why everyone is so concerned with what I eat? I eat fine. Sure I eat like that when I’m with Dean, but Sam makes me eat healthy on occasion. He also doesn’t let me eat a lot of sugar, although Castiel does when he’s not around. S-second, Dean makes sure the Bunker is super clean. One time, it was my turn to do the dishes and I forgot. Then when Dean came home from a hunt and saw the dirty dishes he got mad and told me I was ‘grounded.’ Although, I’m still not sure what that means.” He stopped talking once he realized he was rambling at this point. He felt his face heat up when he saw all three girls giving him odd looks.
“I can’t say that I have any experience with relationships, but I do know that humans tend to make things more complicated than necessary.” Dean laughed at Cas’ comment because despite the angel’s bluntness, it was extremely accurate. “I like you and you like me. Isn’t that all that truly matters? We’ll figure the rest out from there.”
He looked around the house at all the family pictures. They were mainly pictures of Jack at different ages, looking like he had a proper childhood. There were photos of him playing at the park, covered in dirt, with chocolate stains smudged around his mouth. He had scabs on his knees and a big grin that showcased his missing teeth. Everything that Jack Kline had missed out on.
He casually sat down near the elder Winchester and set Cas phone towards the center of the table. Then he pulled out a book and innocently pretended to be reading it.
“I mean I don’t want to sit on my ass all day doing research. I’ve been researching this case for weeks! I want to actually do something.”
“I suppose that’s true. Although I don’t know why you…” Cas paused once he noticed the phone in Dean’s hand. “Why do you have my phone?”
Why would Sam not want Claire to tell him? The thought made him feel a twinge of irritation towards the younger Winchester. He hated when they kept information from him as if he was too fragile to handle it. Sam was usually the most forthcoming with Jack and always said he deserved to know the full truth. Then here he was treating him like a baby and it caused Jack to feel a hint of betrayal. He was pulled from his thoughts by Claire speaking up.
“Don’t worry Jack, I’ll rescue you from these monsters,” Dean sounded serious to Jack, but when he heard the sound of the girls laughing behind him, he figured he must have been joking. When they reached the hallway, Dean lowered his voice, “But seriously kid, are you okay? You looked a little spooked back there.”
“Oh yeah. Dean thinks he keeps his feelings locked away, but he’s usually pretty obvious. At least to me he is,” Sam answered with a fond look in his eye.
“Still aches a little, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Jack eyed the bandage on Dean’s head sadly.
“Um…” Jack thought about how he should reply. He knew he couldn’t tell the truth, but he didn’t want to make up a total lie. “Why not?” he shrugged trying to buy himself extra time.
“I wouldn’t have left you,” Dean said softly. “I would have taken you home and came back when her shift ended,” he added with a playful smirk. Jack didn’t mind. He was used to Dean adding a crude joke to prevent the conversation from becoming too emotional.
“Yeah, but you don’t know all of it,” Dean mumbled. “Look,” he continued only louder, “when I was a kid, around four years old, my parents used to fight all of the time. They didn’t give a damn about if I was there or not. They probably assumed I was too young to understand it, but I wasn’t. I knew they were fighting; and that memory has stayed with me since. It’s one of the few memories I have of my parents being together and I hate it. I hate that it’s what I think of, but it is. Looking back on it I can’t help but think that maybe if I wasn’t there, I would have a better memory in its place.
“I guess his plan was to summon the demon on the day Casey’s deal was up. He must have thought that he could take on a demon and a hellhound by himself, but obviously he couldn’t,” Jack said with a sigh. It always made him sad when he thought too hard about the victims. It made him wonder if the hunter had a family and if they would ever get a chance to read his poems. Did they even know he was a hunter? Would they ever find out what happened to him? “Here. He wrote down the crossroads that he summoned the demon,” he showed Claire the book, she knew this area better than he did.
Jack loudly started to cough into the crook of his elbow. He tried to make it sound as realistic as he could without actually gagging. He coughed until “Cindy” walked away with a grossed out expression.
Instead of answering her question he sighed, “Look, I know you think I’m new and I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m not useless. I know how to hunt and I think I’m good at it. Sam and Dean have taught me a lot.”
“Before we left you said something about winning a bet, what was that about?” Sam asked him. Jack internally cursed himself for not being more careful. He was less prepared to answer this, but he still came up with a believable story.
“What the hell was that Dean?” Sam said as soon as they sat down. “You were acting kinda over aggressive.”
Cas took a few steps closer to him until he was practically invading Dean’s personal space. “Unless you’re talking about Jack being full grown, then no there really isn’t.” This time Dean took a step backwards shaking his head.
“Yeah well, I guess whenever I picture you living the good life, I imagine you with her.” Which was true. The closest Sam ever had to a normal life was when he was at Stanford and Dean knew how happy she made his brother.
“Don’t worry. With both of us looking I’m sure we’ll find something soon,” Jack gave her an encouraging smile that only made her more irritated.
“Yeah, like that’ll be easy. His whole personality is off.” Alex quipped with an eye roll as she went back to her room.
And despite being a Preschooler, he was into a lot of stuff Dean liked. He could only assume it stemmed from his own influence. His favorite movie was Star Wars, his favorite superhero was Batman, and he even shared his love of cowboys. Although, Jack’s favorite was Woody instead of Clint Eastwood. When Jack got bored of playing with toys, all Dean had to do was tune the television to old Scooby Doo reruns and Jack was entertain for another hour. Soon enough, Cas came into the room and told him it was almost time to go to Sam’s house. | [
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“I’m not going to just sit here and not say anything. We’re all thinking it.” Ms Hawkins waved her hand around the table as she leaned back in her chair.
Holmes shook his head before making his entrance. For some reason he hopped over the chair that was a between himself and Ms Adler.
Stamford refilled his drink for the third time as he finished telling Holmes the story of that dreadful day. Watson had moved over to the couch, leaving the desk chair to Stamford. Lestrade was sitting on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, still angry at Holmes.
Watson pulled out the pages he had written a few nights ago and started reading, rubbing his leg absent mindedly. What was most surprising to Watson was how different this new story was. He had been writing romantic scripts for so long that it felt odd, unfamiliar, but Watson couldn’t deny the slight thrill he felt when he immersed himself, slowly discovered this new universe. It didn’t take long until he loaded a blank page into the typewriter.
Holmes knew that voice, he knew that he knew that voice, but it was different. How was it different? It was, it was… Irish? A confused look painted itself across Holmes face when the Irish voice spoke again.
He had been at the Warehouse computer for half an hour already, muttering to himself. John had acquainted himself with the few facilities the Warehouse offered. A small fridge that looked like it predated WW2. A toaster, kettle and microwave were all he had to work with. He should have guessed there wasn’t any milk. Grunting loudly, he sat in the twin of the chair he had claimed as his own in 221b, looking over the file as he sipped his tea. The pawn shop owner who had stabbed John was named Tim Cridley. He had been in debt because of a gambling problem and had gone looking for a high paying side job, quick money for some possible shady work. He had started asking around and one evening, someone had slipped a phone into his pocket. The call he had gotten told him that they had heard he had some dept they could help him with. They had agreed to meet in a coffee shop two blocks from his shop. John frowned when he read that that was all the man remembered. Next thing he’d known, he had had an envelope in his pockets with a burner phone and a pair of latex gloves. There had also been strict instructions to go to King’s Cross to collect objects in a locker with those gloves. Then he had to take back whatever he would find to sell in his shop with a promise that money was going to be transferred directly into his account. It had been going on for the past two years. John was surprised it hadn’t been on Sherlock’s radar before. Then again, Mycroft had said he had been looking into it personally.
They stepped back inside and found Ms Hooper and Ms Hawkins at the table talking animatedly. They turned when Stamford and Holmes came in.
“Enjoying seeing you falling flat on your face you mean?” Lestrade chuckled. “Nah, but I really enjoy seeing Morgan lose it over a little bit of blood. He’s so dramatic, he should be on The Guiding Light.”
John looked confused, a deep blush spread across her cheeks and neck. “I… I thought you were going to ask for a sample.”
“Well,” John started, unsure what to say after the day’s events and considering they were heading into more danger soon. “That was an interesting case.”
Watson enjoyed hearing Ms Adler laugh at that. “But Edward is too caught up in his head to see what’s obvious to the audience, that Jane does feel the same way.” Watson paused, fighting against the lump in his throat. “Edward misunderstands Jane, again, and tries to fix things.” Watson cleared his throat and continued singing.
They arrived at the bottom of the steps and Lestrade turned right. It was a long straight stretch to the studio door, where they could see no one waiting for them, and the studio door was ajar.
“The point is,” Sherlock continued, trying not to focus on why John was smiling at him like that. “Meeting you... meeting you is been best thing that ever happened to me. Even though I am inexperienced in intimate relationships, I promise you that I will do everything I can to do better. To be better. A better man. If it means you’ll stay.”
“Lestrade probably found it during his round and brought it upstairs,” Watson said, and they continued tracing their steps all the way back to the infirmary.
“Who are you and what have you done with Watson?” Murray asked, making the group laugh. “I’m serious. What happened to the guy who stormed into rehearsal because of script notes?”
Sherlock wasn’t surprised to see John had given him most of the leftover sauce. “Thank you.” He made a show of his first bite for John’s benefit and hummed. “Delicious.”
Moriarty must have staged everything from the last movie getting bad reviews, to getting word around about Jimmy Morgan’s brilliant up and coming career as a director so Stamford would be interested in hiring him. This must have taken months to set up. Sherlock had to admit it was a good plan. Not good enough to fool him completely, but still commendable.
Rather than dealing with his erection, Sherlock headed for his computer as soon as he got home. He had research to do.
“Long story. Don’t ask Mrs. Hudson about it, she gets cranky at me for days after.” John smiled at the idea of Sherlock messing up enough to have such a lovely lady pissed at him.
“It’s called The Eclipse.” Sherlock explained, opening the lock just as they heard the door leading to the shop open. “Come on.” He added as he pushed the door open wider to let John out before grabbing the Eclipse and slipping out, closing the exit door quietly behind him.
“You came in yesterday, tried a few paddles, then bought three hundred pounds worth of lingerie for your friend. The next day you came back, talked me into the investigation, then bought more lingerie. So is she really just a friend, or do you have a lingerie fetish?”
“It wouldn’t matter if it was horse manure. The investigation led here, so here we are. Now go shop.” Sherlock manoeuvred her further into the shop. “And take your time,” he added quietly.
“Because It’s boooring.” Morgan sung. “Let me guess, they end up together in the end? Sooo predictable.” Enunciating each syllable mockingly.
“It has come to my attention that the GPS has been tampered with.” Irene explained patiently. This got an instant reaction from Sherlock; he stood from his chair and silently walked to the door leading to the elevator. Halfway there he pointed to it, his back to the rest of the room.
During lunch break, Holmes went through his notes from the night before and transcribed some of them into the script he borrowed from Dimmock.
Holmes paused and frowned. “But you’re currently helping the boss of a drug cartel expand into manufacturing and distributing LSD.”
“Right.” The soldier hesitated a second before taking his knee off him. He knew the man was right. He couldn’t say why exactly, but he knew. Watson stood back, his weapon ready, as the man twisted around, struggling to sit up. “So either you answer me now, or you wait until you’re in a locked room. So I’m going to ask one last time. Who are you and what were you planning on doing?” His voice was almost pleasant, friendly even. But the commanding undertone was present. The man stared at Watson. Watson stared back. When he was about to lose patience and head back to the team, the door they came in opened and in walked two guards. Without thinking, the soldier grabbed the man and pulled them to cover behind one of the work stations before bullets rained on them.
“You keep forgetting where you work.” Sherlock reproached, but John didn’t bite and waited for him to continue. “You already know about Bronzing.”
Cursing at the cold floor, John stood and dressed quickly. Still pulling on his oatmeal coloured jumper, he hurried down the stairs. He was greeted by an impatient looking Sherlock who shoved his coat into his arms.
Wiggins’s eyes met Dimmock’s in the mirror, stunned by Holmes’s first try. Then they both turned to him.
The agent frowned as he looked over his shoulder. He didn’t stop running but explained. “The jade elephant has the ability to absorb and project electrical energy. We’re going use it to absorb the excess tangential energy the artifacts are generating and discharge it onto the metal plate to store it into the battery you’re wearing. Hopefully, we can stop it from spreading, repair the neutralizing system before the dark vault’s backup system fails and get rid of that bloody GPS. This way.”
Anderson’s eyes followed her inside before his feet did. Neither Anderson nor Ms Riley noticed the rest of the crew watching as they worked.
. When she was home she had her hands down her pants more often than not. Imagining what Sherlock would look like on her knees with thighs wrapped around her head. How her hair would look with John’s fingers buried in her curls as she tugged lightly, or not so lightly. How John would sound as she orgasmed…
Watson scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, that sort of… happens sometimes. So, I thought I’d play- oh!”
John yawned and stretched his legs as best he could in the small space. “Either way, I didn’t really have a social life before I became an agent, so not much change there.”
This time Sherlock didn’t have to wait. It was so sudden he almost gasped in surprise as the length of the paddle struck the width of his arse. The sensation was completely different. Barely any sound, just a dull thud as the hardwood hit his clothed flesh. But the impact was much harder than the leather ones, making the initial pain intense at first, the area throbbing before decreasing in waves, like a stone in still water.
I wish I could have given Irene more time in this one. She will be back, but only briefly, which saddens me because I went a bit crazy and did this HUGE back story that will not make it into the story.
John chuckled softly. It was as much of an admission as he was going to get. “According to my new friend Doris, Barnabas is buying an elephant on the 4
The contact of John’s lips and her threatening voice in her ear made Sherlock a bit light-headed. She could feel a blush spreading up her neck and colouring her cheeks and it had nothing to do with the pain shooting up her arm. She closed her eyes, pressed her forehead against the wall and focused on that.
John looked up as he was snapped out of his train of thought. He looked at her a moment and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry we’ve bothered you so late, if it wasn’t important-” John cursed inwardly and glimpsed at his partner who at least seemed as uncomfortable as he was. “Mrs. Carson, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but-”
Holmes nodded and started walking around again. Once he felt he had found Edward’s walk once more, he spoke.
Although, that was after they had broken into a drug cartel’s money laundering business together. And ran off after having knocked out the boss. Watson didn’t try to fight the smile that came with the memory. It wasn’t the first time Watson had helped Holmes with the investigation. And Holmes had said he was trying to recruit him…
As he followed Sherlock, John’s eye caught the white arch that had appeared over their fireplace. He noticed it when they came home last night, and Sherlock had offered little explanation as to why the flat had suddenly started changing after all this time, and why it would choose to add a bulky white arch of all things.
The window frame was wheeled in on a dolly and propped onto a few wooden crates to get the right height for the camera. Wilder let Watson look through the camera lens. The effect was even better than he had imagined.
Judging by the strain in John’s abdominal muscles, he had thrown his head back to curse loudly. Sherlock swirled his tongue around the tip, tasting the bitter pre-cum before starting a slow slide. He shifted his position, the new angle allowing John deeper into his mouth.
"My, no, before that artifact, before... It used to be lovely in here.” She summed, her eyes looking around the room. “Anyway, he was getting so out of hand that Mycroft insisted I go to my sister’s. It took the better part of three weeks until I could come back. And when I came up to see him, the flat had turned into the office.”
John pulled his eyes away from the mirror and looked at Lestrade, as if daring him to ask what talent he showcased. Sherlock oscillated between hoping Lestrade would, and that he wouldn’t. This needed to end soon, or he would lose control of his fantasies, and he wasn’t about to walk out of here with an erection.
They were greeted by a woman in her fifties, hair pulled back in a tight bun, smiling warmly at them. Molly was wide-eyed and taking it all in. The small shop was so narrow it would have felt like a cramped closet if it weren’t for the high ceilings. Every inch of the right-hand wall was covered with delicates. Brassieres, panties, garter belts, and corsets in every color, shape and size. The left-hand side was for accessories and the cash register. The dressing rooms were at the far end, hidden behind plush dark purple velour drapes.
“You were studying it. What better way to learn then to experience it first hand?” She said as she tightened her grip again, bringing Sherlock to his knees. As much as John was curious to see where this could go, he shook his head; he couldn’t let this go on. He had already waited too long and was probably going to regret it.
Swiftly, John twisted around and aimed his Tesla at the open door, directly at Sherlock lying on the couch with his eyes closed in a pose that suggested he was in his mind palace.
“Mycroft has a peculiar recruiting technique.” Sherlock mocked. Watson turned to look at him, and felt his brain bombard him with questions about how he disappeared in Qatar, but this job offer was the more pressing matter.
Before he could figure it out, Sherlock found himself standing in the center of the new room and slowly turning to look at everything. The previous room was tame compared to this one. It was almost like a historical exhibit of torture tools. The walls were covered with ornamented knives, daggers, metal restraints, even what looked like a medieval torture chamber that could be suspended to the ceiling. There was a pommel horse in one corner and a polished wooden chair with a hole in the seat in the other.
“And now it’s scowling.” He completed, crouching once again to look at the scowling face. “Interesting. Come on, bag it.” He said as he stood up and held out the bag. John took the clock and dropped it in; only nothing happened. They both turned to look into the bag, then at each other. "We need to go back to the Warehouse.” Sherlock said hurriedly.
“For God’s sake.” John said suddenly filled with adrenaline and barely stopped himself from striking Mycroft. His instinct was the only thing stopping his trained reflexes. “If you’re going to appear out of nowhere, at least do it where you’re not in striking distance of me because I swear one day you’ll regret it.”
“That’s a noir name if I ever heard one.” John commented, grasping at the chance to change the mood.
Ms Hooper called the end of the rehearsal and as everyone prepared to leave, Watson nodded to Holmes.
Watson was grateful to finally get the rehearsal studio back. He liked working in Stamford’s office, but it didn’t have a piano, which was rather useful when working on a song. He spent the first half hour just playing, doing scales and basic exercises to warm up his fingers. He then moved on to a few of his favourite pieces before settling down and working on the finale.
? This entire movie is wrong!” He walked onto the sound stage, pulling the scarf around his neck. “I’m trying my best to create something beautiful, something that will blow everyone away, and it’s all
“Yes, it is. Angry or frightened people give more information because they are so concentrated on their emotions they don’t think about what they’re saying.”
“What?” The new agent said without thinking. He turned towards his partner just in time to see a surprised look flash across his face.
“Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut!” The director, Jimmy Morgan, threw his script onto the concrete floor. “I told you this scene isn’t about the words, it’s about your colours coming together.”
. With a last look, he turned and ran. Once he got there, every light on the wall was blinking angrily.
Watson could feel his blood boil. That man had brought the studio to the edge of bankruptcy, almost lost everyone in the room their jobs. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to shoot Moriarty during his speech in the tunnels.
Only Holmes wasn’t paying much attention to the Press Conference anymore. Because if he didn’t know better, Morgan had just given himself away.
Really Sherlock? A deduction two seconds after getting released? If you want to spend the night in jail so badly, just say so.
Morgan shook himself like a dog. “Ugh, forget it, doesn’t matter. At least we’ve got something to work with now.” He walked back to the table and opened his script. “Might as well do a read-through. If we have time left, we’ll work on stage directions.”
John quirked an eyebrow. “Right.” Well, can’t really blame her for being mad at him, he added to himself. “Call us if anything happens.”
As Watson worked, Holmes found himself relaxing. Being taken care of was oddly… soothing. It felt like there was more to it, only Holmes couldn’t quite say what.
“Over here, dear.” Mrs. Hudson called back, her voice close to him. He walked down two more rows when he finally saw her a few feet down, purple gloves contrasting with her yellow apron.
“Of course.” John answered sarcastically. He was beginning to suspect there was an artifact for everything. “Isn’t there a way to undo it?”
Watson was starved when he got into his flat and started working on some pasta. He poured himself a drink and let the events of the night replay in his mind. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. It felt surreal, as if taken out of a movie. He had seen horrible things in his army days, enough to understand that sometimes reality surpassed fiction in indescribable ways, but tonight had felt different. As if his time in Holmes’s world had opened his eyes to what really lay under the dark corners of the city. It unveiled just how curious Watson was to see what else there was to find when you knew where to look.
“I-” The dark haired man was at a loss for words when the door leading out into the book shop rattled. They both turned towards it and back to each other. “This way.” Sherlock whispered as he silently moved towards the far side of the back store as whoever was at the door started knocking. John picked up his shirt and coat and slid them on as he followed.
“Working for the Warehouse.” Sherlock explained. John looked down at his food even though he could still feel him staring.
“Oh.” John said. He didn’t need much imagination to picture scenes of exploding limbs. “But isn’t there a way to control it?”
With radiant smiles, the leading couple bowed once more. Holmes eyes found Watson’s in the process, making him look away and find it odd that the studio was so warm.
“The pleasure is all mine, agent Watson.” Her voice was playful as she shook John’s hand briefly. “I’m glad you’ve finally found someone, Sherlock.” She commented, but she kept her eyes on John’s, amusement shinning bright in her eyes.
That was when John remembered he had an appointment with a man he hoped never to have anything to do with after this.
“Why? B-because…” She paused, and after a moment smiled at Holmes. “Could you, um, give me a minute? Just, um, do some voice exercises or something, I’ll be right back.” Ms Hawkins stepped out.
“No. It’s been a long day; we know it’ll still be there in the morning. And I’m not breaking into any place without it being absolutely necessary; you aren’t using the same trick on me twice.”
“When it will stop annoying you.” Sherlock retorted. He knew he was being childish and couldn’t care less, especially where his brother was concerned.
There’s a long silence. Amy is wide-eyed, face half hidden by her coat collar. Jake is frowning, hands on his hips, shifting from one foot to the other. Lestrade and Boyle are pacing in the background.
With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock turns around and raises his hands. John does the same, minus the eye roll. Jake moves closer.
The stairs led to what looked like the break area, but at the far end was a storage space, filled with filling boxes, but there was also a stack of twelve brown boxes next to the racks.
Something inside Sherlock stirred at the knowledge that his partner was more concerned by his health than the work.
But this. This was something else. As much as he was sure it was all a joke or a dream, he couldn’t help feeling that there was a reason he was here.
And here was Holmes, who had somehow found a way to embody the character in three days. His quirks, his essence, how he moved; it was all there. The story that Watson had been struggling to write for so long was suddenly clear in his head.
The red light over the studio door was on when Watson arrived at the bottom of the stairs. In case someone appeared, he limped his way down the corridor, and was grateful so see the light turn off when he arrived.
Watson took a deep breath. “Ms Hooper is right, as always. Let’s cut this short. You’re saying this time the plan is
Ms Hawkins raised an eyebrow. She turned Ms Hooper, who looked embarrassed but gave her a small nod. Ms Hawkins looked around the table; no one seemed to have any objections, besides Watson, but he wasn’t voicing them.
“Coordinates accepted.” They heard as the numbers appeared onscreen. “Confirm mission?” The computerised voice asked. Confirm/Cancel could be read on the screen.
John couldn’t help it; he had a point. What could they do besides look at it? And even if they somehow figured out a way to get a perimeter around it, they would most likely get thrown out of the market for it. But they still couldn’t risk leaving it there without supervision.
“Anything, anything you want, tell me.” Stamford took out his cheque book. “I will pay you double the fee you normally charge for a case as private detect-”
Jones chewed the inside of his cheek a moment before he carried on. “You then discovered that Anderson’s death was part of an elaborate plan for the Hudson cartel to expand into drug manufacturing. They needed Stamford Productions because it has a hidden trap door that leads to prohibition tunnels, where they set up the LSD lab we’re currently in the process of dismantling.”
“About a week ago, right after he came back from his last trip. He barely dropped his luggage; he was already picking them up to leave with her.”
Once the glass was put aside, John sat back, hands on the armrests, and stared down at Sherlock. Within the blink of an eye, Captain Watson was back.
Holmes spotted the sign. “Thanks.” He gave her a nervous smile and quickly made his way through the crowd, doing his best to avert his gaze in case someone wanted to speak with him.
He made it look like the words were coming out the top of his head, danced around like he wasn’t even trying. The song ended with Holmes walking off stage whistling the chorus.
John gently placed his hands on either side of Sherlock’s head, and angled it to look at the wound. All Sherlock could focus on was the look on John’s face. Once it stopped being blurry. It echoed the same concern as the day before, but instead of being fuelled by arousal, it seemed… fond.
Slowly, Molly’s shaking hand made it’s way down John’s arm, past her elbow, catching up to where John was rolling her own nipple between her fingers. John’s breath caught when Molly’s fingers intertwined with hers, leaning into her touch, directing her, pulling her closer. Before she knew it, Molly was behind John, pressed against her back, her other hand sneaking around and cupping her other breast. John arched her back, her head falling backwards and landing onto Molly’s shoulder, breath puffing against her cheek. She looked down, saw John’s full breasts in her hands, her brain still trying to understand what was happening. It stopped working when her eyes met Sherlock’s, the only part of her face that wasn’t buried between John’s legs.
Bumping against an older woman as he grabbed a new tin of steel cut oats, he shivered, a chill running up his spine. “Sorry,” he murmured. She recoiled as he spoke, looking up at him with a glare, and moved on. He frowned back, watching her, then froze.
I packed my pipe and set off, traversing the road that I had arrived by until I found the place where the edge of town met the first dark trees of the forest. As I entered the wood, I was surprised at the sudden change in sound. The trees seemed to drop around me, blanketing the air and keeping the typical noises of the forest dulled as if underwater. No bird calls, or wind, or rustling in the underbrush that I’ve grown accustomed to hearing in the countryside surrounding London. My footsteps were quiet, even, dampened by the plush earth beneath my feet. I walked for nearly a mile when I came across a wooden sign tacked to a birch tree. Carved into the wood were the words for
” the creature asked, drawing out the words. The only part of him that moved was his mouth, the rest of him frozen.
Grieving, angry, devastated and betrayed John sat alone in his awful and boring flat across London, drinking himself to oblivion and writing down every word of hurt and pain that came into his head as a way to
about me. I take in the minute details of his appearance, and the truth is revealed: new, fine tension lines between his eyebrows and around his mouth. Fingers stained from increased cigarette smoking, twitching from too much nicotine and caffeine. Suit wrinkled at the hips and knees, indicating agitated pacing. Eyes bloodshot from little to no sleep. And the tremble in his chin...it’s the most damning piece of evidence on him.
My lips curl at the statement, the beginnings of a small laugh of relief shaking my core. “Oh?” I ask, a hint of humor in my tone. I let my hand fall to my side, leaving the piles in their places on the table.
“Arsehole!” Sherlock slammed his phone down on the desk, taking out more frustration than his brother was worth. It was ridiculous, really, that his parents expected him to exist in such an infuriating environment. There is no reason they could not afford a single room. Perhaps Mycroft convinced them he ought to share for
Bewitched, John stared up into the man’s chalky eyes and swallowed. “Ah dunnae kinn anythin’,” he argued, heart pounding in his ears.
Suddenly all I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My vision goes blurry, then black, and I reach out to steady myself on the wall, hand slipping clumsily with sweat. My knees buckle, forcing me to slump. I’m vaguely aware of concerned voices, but I wave them off.
between us. I--I know what I want but I can’t seem to make my desires clear to you. I’m completely ineffectual.” Shame colors his cheekbones a dusky rose at the admission.
it,” he reasserts, his voice losing its usual warmth. He yanks his robe out of my hands and stands quickly, a single eyebrow raised as he stares down his nose at me.
of what I feel in this moment. To know the pain I have, know the relief and anxiety and excitement and anger and hurt, the millions of emotions that are swirling and colliding in my brain. They encompass my entire being and throb with my pulse, filling my cells until I feel like I might burst.
At this, John’s rage overtook him and he whipped his head to the side, glaring. The wild eyed, curly-haired man was crouched next to him, his head again cocked as he stared, unblinking. His eyes shone blue-white like thick, frozen ice on a waterfall--opaque and milky.
Watson moved to stand between me and his cabin, blocking the line of sight, and snorted to himself. “Anderson was an idiot,” he finally said. “He got what he deserved,” he added under his breath.
helpful having the cane for the stairs. John certainly could have assisted me again, but I suppose not relying
He paused long enough to glare at me, then growled, “Leave Germany, Sherlock, and never return. Leave before you get hurt.”
It’s gutting me, hearing him talk like this, choking on his anguish. In my effort to get him contained, I hadn’t noticed Mycroft leave the room. The quiet
“Hello, John.” The kettle whistles in the other room and I move to get it, quickly pouring our respective cups and carrying them over to the living room. He’s already seated in his armchair, fingers toying absentmindedly with a loose thread at the edge of the arm. There’s a quiet
“Yes, or no?” John asks me, an irritated expression on his face. His hand is still on my arm, eyes wide. I can feel the familiar threads of annoyance rolling off of him, twisting in the air between us. It tries to settle between my shoulder blades and deep in my belly, but it’s easy enough to fight off in lieu of my intense hyperfocus on the case. That’s all that matters at the moment. Emotions are fleeting with enough persistence. “
It is amazing how a shower seems to wash even the thickest weariness from my bones, leaving me feeling renewed and relaxed. As promised, there's a new mug of fresh coffee on the side table by my chair, the steam drifting lazily in the sunbeams illuminating the room. Sherlock is a statue, fingers steepled in front of his lips, in his chair. There's some quiet violin music playing in the flat, something I don't recognize. Plopping down, I pick up my mug and meet Sherlock's gaze.
how you taste,” Sherlock crooned, licking his way down the man’s nude stomach. He paused to press kisses to John’s hipbone, his long-fingered hands sweeping up and down his thighs while kneading his muscles.
“Hm,” I respond, waving my free hand at a cab driving by. Seeing it, John puts space between us, yanking the bottom of his jacket down and straightening his shoulders. We climb into the cab, give the driver the address, and settle into the leather of the backseat together.
. It was a nearly silent whimpering just under the dead air of the line, barely noticeable. John’s scalp tingled, face burning and body like ice.
“It hurts, Sherlock!” John would finally shout, the anger at his companion’s disinterest clearing the haze from his mind. He felt as if he was breaking the surface of the water, gasping for air as the rage and pain settled in his joints.
Grumbling, he brought his knees to his chest and reached out of the cocoon of warmth, shocked at how cold the air felt. He glanced around his bedroom, hoping to see some clothing nearby. His typical trousers and jumper were folded neatly on the chair near the door, with his boots tucked underneath. Steeling himself, he whipped the blankets off and dashed over, yanking everything on as fast as he could without stumbling.
,” Sherlock reminded, his head cocked to the side. He stalked closer to John, white eyes unblinking as he watched the man.
the suit injustice. It barely scratched the surface of how these two items complimented each other, seemed to
Sorry it's taking me a bit of extra time in between updates--each chapter is encompassing so much ground and they are increasing a bit in size to accommodate all of the story stuff that needs to happen. Thanks for your patience and continued support!! <3
. We live in a technologically advanced society. New Scotland Yard should really consider catching up.” Looking him over, I know it’s duty alone that is pushing his harassment-- he’s just as tired and burnt out as everyone else here. He needs to go home. He’ll appreciate my petulance in the morning.
Meeting John’s terrified gaze, I reach out to touch the back of his hand. He whips it away, the color draining from his face. A quick shake of the head and he’s off the couch, fleeing to the bathroom. The door slams behind him and I hear the muffled sound of retching seconds later from down the hall.
He kept a small garden off to the side of his house in the solitary patch of sunlit land in this part of the forest, and it was chock full of overgrown tomato plants teeming with ripe, sun-warmed orbs. The smell of the leaves was comforting and distinctive, wafting towards me as I circled the structure looking for a means inside. An open window at the back of the house was easy access into his bedroom, and I traversed it deftly.
His blood covers us both, ruining my Belstaff, and his skin turns ashen as he dies in my arms over and over while Moriarty whispers in my ear, “You’re not real to him, Sherlock, you never were. Not real,
“What?” John finally asks quietly, his voice tight as he lifts his head off the pillow to stare at me. His eyes darken substantially, face growing weary as he shuts down, closing himself off. The vulnerability he offered me before is withdrawn with the hard set of his jaw and the clench of his teeth.
--with a head full of dark curls and eyes as white as snow, winding his body around John’s like a boa constrictor, suffocating him while whispering deadly secrets and incantations in his ear. The breath on his skin felt real,
The tears threatening to spill over onto his cheekbones glisten in the harsh hospital room lighting, creating the illusion of sparkles around his eyes. It would be beautiful--
The door to the room swings open suddenly, interrupting my musings and pulling my attention away from John. Mycroft sweeps in, twirling his umbrella with a veiled expression of surprise on his face as he surveys the scene in front of him. The warmth in my chest dissipates as I stare at my brother, blinking slowly while he determines how best to proceed. He was never good at hiding his thought processes from me.
The coffee here is surprisingly decent, considering. As I swirl the dregs, there’s an uptick in John’s heart monitor.
I’m the sociopath. I’m the one who hurts people, not John. He may be an adrenaline addict, but he doesn’t need…
Morgan rolled his eyes. “Fine, just do it more like you’re being parachuted in the Himalayas during a rainy fall afternoon. Now let’s make some magic!”
John’s brow wrinkled, clenching his jaw as he considered Sherlock’s words. Whatever sexual tension there might have been had dissipated. But it did nothing to relieve the tension in the room.
“Step, step, sidestep, sidestep, kick ball change, kick ball change, double spin, and pose. Got that? Together then: Five, six, seven, eight.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Stamford nodded, clasping his hands in front of him, but looked uncomfortable. “To be quite honest, I’m rather starting to wonder if hiring him was a good idea. I know it’s your first time working with him as well, and I was expecting… well, not this. I swear, every time he pulls something like this I wonder if he’s trying to tank this movie on purpose.”
“Thanks again for your help with the audition.” Holmes, no longer talking with his American accent, bent down to kiss her on the cheek.
“Lestrade, what is this charade?” Stamford’s voice echoed loudly in the empty corridor. “Breaking into an active crime scene. If the police get word of this-”
Well, he did, he had a very specific idea. One that was becoming more and more detailed with every minute spent with John. This was as good a time as any to say something. If he didn’t do it now, he probably never would.
He layed back down heavily, cursing his partner for waking him up this way. The clock displayed 7h30 in bright red. At least it wasn’t the middle of the night like last week. He rubbed his face as he heard the cause of his sudden wakening walk up the stairs.
Walking to the couch with his tea cup, he pushed the remains from last night onto the floor and sat heavily.
“Hum?”John wasn’t sure what she was referring to, because he was fairly certain she wasn’t asking about Irene Adler whispering naughty things in his ear.
John liked watching him work; he mostly tried to guess what the brilliant man was working on, which was surprisingly difficult sometimes. John was use to standard science, which doesn’t apply here. The tools Sherlock used were also an added difficulty to the guessing game because most of them were artifacts. And who could blame him for using them to study other artifacts, not to mention that John was eager to use Rosalind Franklin’s original DNA Sequencer.
God, I can’t wait for those two to get their heads out of their asses and kiss already. But it’s no use.
The receptionist doesn’t move. Rosa lays a hand flat on the counter and leans closer to the receptionist with a death glare.
John’s anger had started as somewhat of a distraction to Sherlock, quickly learning the different ways to trigger and disarm it. Sometimes pushing things a bit too far... But John was supposed to become boring like everyone else. Like everyone except... Somehow Sherlock had grown to find John’s anger and many other things that define him... endearing. But the anger he was seeing at this moment was new and he couldn’t grasp what it was no matter how hard he looked. The more he looked, the more he wanted to understand what was making John so... whatever he was at the moment, so Sherlock could never do it again and never see that look again.
The director sighed, crossed his legs, and crossed them the other way, before suddenly springing out of his chair and walking towards them. Holmes clasped his hands behind his back and waited for his critique. Only Morgan didn’t talk, he just… stared at a fixed point between his shoulder and Ms Adler’s head.
John didn’t care about his partner’s reaction. He couldn’t believe it, he was not only holding the title page, he was actually in the novel, he was going to get a chance to live the story that the author had never...
John’s expression turned from confusion to surprise, rapidly followed by concern when he saw at the empty table.
an expert shooter and trained in close combat. He held the front in search and rescue. Gote was responsible of electronics, that woman could hack into anything. Opened safes for fun. Andrews spoke 8 languages fluently, had a Masters in psychology and was a human lie detector. Fighting wasn’t his forte, but he could hold his own.”
With a huff, Stamford turned to Watson, and together they laughed and hugged each other. Stamford then turned to Lestrade to hug him too, making Lestrade laugh and pat his back.
Holmes turned to Stamford. “I thought we were also going to the press conference?” Waving between himself and Ms Adler.
Ms Adler watched him a moment before turning to Lestrade, who nodded at her politely before continuing to watch the room. She sipped her drink and turned back to Holmes. “Ms Monroe could possibly make an appearance tonight.”
This must be why John asked if he was shopping with his partner. He’d been worried about Sherlock’s aftercare. It made his cock twitch at the memory. He had been hoping his erection would wilt, but it seemed his research topic was keeping it interested.
John, a few seconds behind, watched as his partner turned left again at the end of the row, just as a blinding flash of blue light lit the opposing shelves.
Watson felt out of place. This was so fancy, and everyone seem to already know each other. Stamford was right, Watson needed to go out more. Thankfully, Ms Hooper was nice enough to hold his arm as they walked along with the rest of the cast and crew to their booths.
Sherlock and Amy drive into the parking lot. As they approach Rosa’s car, they see Rosa and John laughing together.
“You wished to go back to the Special Forces, didn’t you?” It was true, but John was distracted by the ferret sniffing his hand. “Impossible wishes, wishes that can never be granted, they produce a ferret. Don’t ask me why.” He added when he saw John’s mouth open. “My first week here it took me 3 ferrets to accept the situation.” Sherlock put on purple latex gloves before taking the kettle from John, handing him the ferret and putting the kettle into the purple goo.
I’ll make sure to get checked out when this is over. And so will you. If you need to. Hopefully you won’t. Can we go catch a criminal now?
Watson blushed at Holmes open flirting. They knew this was a safe space for them to act freely as a couple, but Watson still had some getting used to.
Ms Adler was already in her chair next to the camera, Ms Kate at her side, when Holmes stepped out of his dressing room.
“What then? It’s not like we have any openings besides…” Stamford looked stricken before he slowly eyed Holmes. “Say, have you ever-?”
“If it’s that dangerous, why didn’t you just bid big to make sure you got it?” John asked as he moved back into the kitchen to silence the boiling kettle.
He was starting to get Sherlock’s frustration towards the GPS; they were stuck chasing an artifact that had
“Yes. You are.” John said as he worked. “You ignored an officer of the law, then ran off alone after Hank without saying a thing.”
Moriarty chuckled. “Please, if you can’t stomach working for Queen & Country, do you really think I can?”
Anderson’s eyebrow rose and after a beat he looked up into her eyes. “Right, of course. Come on in.” He stepped aside, holding the door open for her.
Ms Adler stepped out of her dressing room, but it seemed more accurate to describe it as an entrance on set; the dress fitted to her body as if it were painted on, the fabric falling loosely around her hips, flowing to the floor. Every sequin catching in the light. The overall effect made such an impression that the room fell silent.
“That’s sweet of you, but don’t worry, it isn’t my first time dealing with that beautiful creature. I know he likes me, he just has his own way of showing it.” She leaned in to whisper into John’s ear, ignoring Sherlock’s scoff. Her cheek against his, her eyes on his partner who was feigning to ignore them, but she could tell his attention was on them. “Has anyone ever told you you’re sexy when you’re angry?” She pulled back enough to kiss his cheek lightly, smiling as she saw the sulking agent flinch at the noise. “Farewell.” She spoke before walking out of the office.
“I want lots of things, but right now, do you know what I really want?” Manning asked the soldier, his eyes spiteful. The man chuckled before whispering into Watson’s ear. “I want you to watch your partner die.” His head moved back and he watched John gasp for air. “Him and everybody else in here.” He added before backing away and loosening his hold on the riding crop. Sherlock’s grip on John’s neck released, his body screaming for oxygen.
Sherlock spent Sunday cleaning. Every time he thought about sitting down, he noticed something else to clean, or put away, or throw away. A lot of throwing away. Sherlock had to go down to the bins twice. By five o’clock, he forced himself to stop scrubbing the cupboards and go shower. At ten to six he walked into the sitting room freshly shaven, wearing a black suit and shirt, with his hair perfectly done.
Sherlock turned, only now noticing John had already put down his bag and hung his coat. He was wearing jeans, and a plaid shirt with a black jumper. Not really what Sherlock had pictured. Not after his visit to the shop, and certainly not after having done research on the subject. Perhaps John had planned to change here. What was that look in his eye? Was he waiting for Sherlock do something? Was there a special greeting? Should he make tea? Or kneel?
Sherlock cursed the tremble in her voice. John blinked slowly, and seemed like she wanted to respond, but only a small breathy sound came out. It managed to twist Sherlock’s insides even more, which made the next words even more difficult to speak.
But the only thing Sherlock was focused on was John’s thigh brushing against his own as he stood next to him. He was proceeding with professionalism, his movements steady, clearly repeated thousands of times, but that didn’t stop Sherlock’s body from being hyper aware of every touch. “How much longer is this going to take? I told you, I’m fine.”
“Then do it!” Sherlock ordered, without thinking. Had he known John was about to take off his latex glove and touch the tattoo, he would have stopped him, but as it was, he had his back turned. All he felt was a cool hand covering his shoulder blade and the pain and fever leave him suddenly. “What did you do!?” Sherlock cried out as he turned to see the image disappear under John’s cuff, clearly growing unsteady on his feet. “You idiot!”
I think with a deep ache of anxiety in my chest. I don’t want to argue with him right now. The idea of slamming my bedroom door in his face and retreating to the solitude of my bed is the only option that makes sense at the moment. I stand up too quickly and the sudden shift in position causes blood to rush from my head, vision clouding with black spots. Before I know it, I’m swaying dangerously forward. My hand slips and I scrabble to stop the inevitable fall, dropping my cloth with a splat. I land on the floor of the tub with a thump, smacking my shoulder against the faucet hard enough to break the skin.
Something behind his eyes softens, barely. His head dips slightly, his cheeks relax, and suddenly the exhaustion he’s been fighting is evident. A deeper sigh from him this time, and he reaches up to run his thumb and index finger along the sides of his nose. “So be it. While you’re here you ought to have your injuries treated. You have at least two broken ribs and there’s a high likelihood of internal trauma and possible bleeding. And...you’re in no state to see Sherlock, nor him you. If this is the way he sees you when he wakes, he’ll be devastated and angry that you neglected to seek medical care. I am sure that you, being a doctor, understand the immediacy of treating such acute--”
The Wood, with it's birch, aspen, and pine trees that swayed in the wind, branches crackling as they rubbed against each other. Inky black crows, their iridescent feathers shining in the anemic winter sun, calling to each other as they took off. Air so silent and thick it felt like cotton in his ears and water in his lungs. He drifted further and further into the forest in his mind, following the whispers of an all too familiar voice as it beckoned him back.
. Nothing compares to you, and I can’t marry Mary knowing that I’m choosing a life of grey when there’s a world of color on the other side of the door.”
His face is set with determination, serious and calm. No evidence of his earlier uncertainty--in this moment, he is absolutely sure of what he wants. My heart pounds, breath caught in my lungs. My chest feels painfully tight, squeezed in a vice of mingling fear and anticipation. Our eyes meet and the barest hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
“Well, I was drugged. And drunk, and...not myself. I don’t remember much,” I reply, disappointed. “He was large, blonde, and brutal. He seemed to delight in the pain he was causing me. A brute, probably has been a grunt for someone much smarter for most of his life. Different from Moran. Moran was…” My brain takes me back to that night, in the damp warehouse, my pants filthy and torn, soaked through at the knees. The room dark, lit by a few odd bulbs hanging on wires, swinging wildly as my captors moved nearby. Charles, laughing; no,
Catching on, I frown and cross my arms. “Hm. Right. You’re so sure you can do this by yourself, are you?”
those mortals who knew and refused to believe. Those mortals who whispered behind his back and told stories around the fire of the man who returned from the Wood.
entirely. John seemed to think they needed to eat together as their next step. Sherlock didn’t understand how it was such a milestone, as normal people eat every day, but he could feel it in John whenever he mentioned it.
Leaving my hand firmly planted on the pile, I blink and nod once at him. He glances down, nostrils flaring as he breathes slow and deep, his jaw working and pulse pounding in his forehead. He’s clearly still nervous about this, his amygdala flooding his central nervous system with adrenaline. I wish I could tell him how important these letters are to me, how essential to our relationship it is, without sounding like an imbecilic romantic. There are no words that can accurately express the swirl of emotions and thoughts in my head.
knew about it except us. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, the great London detectives who didn’t even notice how much they wanted to get off with one another.” As he finishes, he dissolves into giggles, his shoulders shaking as he looks down at his feet. We laugh together for a few moments before our gaze meets again, both of us grinning like fools.
I am not a dog off his lead, and you are not my handler. I will return when I do. Do not, under any circumstances, bring Mrs. Hudson into this petty feud.
“And you don’t know how to dance with any semblance of skill outside of whatever one might find at an overcrowded university pub,” I finish with a false grin. When he doesn’t immediately argue, I drain the last of my tea and lean back in my chair.
Turning my attention back to John, I ask, “Did you go through any other areas before entering the main part of the warehouse?”
“Hm,” his captor mused, the sound escaping his throat on the tails of a deep exhalation. “Nothing but
Compelled by my own hunger and curiosity, I grabbed at his arms again and pulled him to me. “Call me Sherlock, please. I am no stranger,” was my plea. “I shall keep your secret, if you shall keep mine.” I brought his enormous hand down between us, instantly relieved at his touch.
,” John bites out through gritted teeth. Sherlock’s only reaction is a dismissive wave of his hand as he stares at me, awaiting my response. His toes are tapping restlessly on the floor, the only clear indication of his ratcheting impatience.
As I watch him rant, I slowly raise our joined hands towards me, pausing to disentangle our fingers and take hold of his wrist. He stops his monologue abruptly, staring at me while I bring my lips down to the pulse point beneath his palm and kiss it gently, the softest brush of contact. Goosebumps bloom along his forearm as he gasps almost silently in shock. Adjusting my grasp I spread his fingers and place another barely-there kiss to the middle of his palm, inhaling his scent as though it were the finest cologne known to man. His eyelids flutter shut as his breathing deepens, steeling himself against the sensations.
For several minutes, we’re just two blokes smoking, avoiding each others’ eyes and keeping painfully quiet. The crackle of the tobacco as it burns on each inhale fills the space between us, electric. My thoughts are circular, sticking to my concern for John.
A flash of our earlier conversation pops into my head--47 minutes until Mycroft arrives. Which was easily 20 minutes ago.
John contemplates the ceiling for a moment before dropping his head down onto his shoulder, breathing deeply through his nose while we lock eyes. He looks exhausted, and just
“John, tell me what you remember about the room you were kept in,” I demand loudly, silencing everyone else in the room. Seems they were discussing a plan of sorts for the (imagined) apprehension they intend to carry out?
Mike nodded, tipping an imaginary hat at John just as their professor started plopping down exam booklets on the first seat of each row with a
I spent the walk back to the village deep in thought, replaying our interaction and dissecting it. Watson is clearly from this area of Germany given his skin tone, bone structure, and general stature, though he is not from this village. He has no ties to the people here, and seems to be a bit of a mystery to them. It is likely that he had a traumatic or shameful event occur in the last place he lived, probably his hometown, and so he needed to cut all semblance of relation from his life in order to continue on. No one need know of him or his secret past, whatever that may be. It is intriguing, to say the least, and puts him at the top of my list of potential suspects for the disappearance of the sportsman.
--and I wish we could escape the reality that’s threatening to drown us. The moment we found some peace together, some level of comfort...it was ruined. We need more time. There is too much left unsaid,
Bringing his face down mere centimetres away from the Scotsman, the creature licked his lips and smiled, revealing sharp canines amidst his gleaming white teeth. John stared up at him, entranced, and felt his body curve up towards the invitation, bending like a sapling in the wind. The man brought his porcelain nose down to brush against John’s cheek, and had John not been so trapped he would have shrank away. Instead, he released his shaky breath through an open mouth and let his eyes slide shut.
When they could take it no more, he let his eyes shut, and when he opened them, the man was gone. He blinked again, uncertain of himself. It wasn’t the first time he had seen such an apparition since his return, though it was the first time it had happened out in the open. He was used to this ghostly visitor in the dead of night when he awoke, sweat slick skin sliding around in his sheets while his heart pounded out of his chest. But not here, not now. Not in this place, full to the brim and bursting with
, as they dart around the room to observe as much as possible before they land on mine. A chill runs down my spin, shaking me to my core while we stare at one another in a vain attempt to communicate telepathically. He stumbles forward, nearly falling to his knees but saved at the last moment by a yank on his wrists by Charles. Sherlock’s face contorts into a grimace as his shoulders are wrenched unnaturally, his knees buckling beneath him in pain.
“Tomorrow night?” John called after him, hating how hopeful he sounded. Sherlock didn’t reply, though he waved a
“There is no threat of danger here. If I fall--unlikely--I can call you. The sooner I get what I need, the sooner we leave,” I insist, peering down at him. “There are over a dozen people here. Even if Moran
I am an impossible man with impossible standards and impossible habits and impossible vices and I am absolutely unloveable, unwantable for these reasons. I don’t blame him, really. I know my truth, know how it burns me from the inside and how it halts me in the night when I desire nothing more than to go to his bed to splay my fingers across his bare stomach, relishing in the warm rise and fall of his breath. Feeling him
Not a day passes that I don’t consider how my actions have led us to this point, my stomach churning with what
“I--” I start, feeling guilty about how little trust I placed in him this morning. He’s being so thoughtful, so...
PTSD symptoms of: increased startle, panic, irritability, possible flashback or intrusive memory alluded to
Pinching the bridge of my nose with one hand, I sit fully upright, clutching the phone tightly in my other one. John stares at the ceiling, fists pressed down onto the tops of his thighs and breath whistling noisily in and out of his nose. I watch his chest rise and fall sharply, discomfort pooling low in my gut as I realize he’s fighting off a sympathetic nervous system reaction to my outburst. Channeling my anger outward, I command harshly, “
.” As the soap runs down my stomach and trails along my inner thigh, it works itself under the bandage. The sharp sting causes me to gasp, another muttered curse escaping my lips.
“I remember...” Holmes appeared to run out of energy very suddenly. He was near the mantle again and he leaned against it. I wished he would lean on me instead and so got a little closer to give him the option. He turned his face away and fixed his gaze to the wall. “You spoke of our agreement. You told me to forget it.”
His eyes fluttered briefly. “Besides the wound itself, I admit that after it was inflicted I experienced a great burst of energy when I thought I might shortly die. The men in question have all been arrested now, at any rate. Are you sure you would not prefer to hear how I dealt with them? No? Well. Another time. In the aftermath I felt rather as if my body had caught fire. And my arm...” His voice cracked very slightly. “I saw your worry, you know. For a while I too wondered if I might lose the use of it. And...”
When he was gone, I sat back in my chair. “That was a stroke of luck,” I said. “Though of course, once these men
I lifted my head and looked at him openly. “So I am.” I rose, stiff and sore from my night in the chair, and crossed to him with hands out. “Let me see what you’ve done to my stitches.”
I finished my stitches. I cleaned the wound again and covered it. All this I performed with perfectly steady hands, as if the battle calm had come over me at last. I am not sure if the opponent in my mind was Sherlock Holmes or I myself. I think it must have been me, for it was truly a battle to keep back ideas which it would really kill me to entertain and be wrong.
At first I did not quite understand. Then I remembered. Crocker had told us he said those words to the lady when the pain of loving her so without speaking of it became too much for him.
In answer I turned his hand in my grip and, as his sleeve slipped down, kissed the inside of his wrist, just above the bandage I had wrapped around the injury which gave us this chance. I inhaled the precious smell of his skin- all tobacco smoke, hours-old chemistry experiments, and pine resin- and he made a soft, intensely sweet, sound. It was not just that reserve I had described, by turns, in admiring and frustrated detail over the years, that was disintegrating. It was his belief, I prayed now never too strong, that I did not love him every bit as much as he did me.
. When I caught his lips again he kissed me back with all he could without otherwise moving a muscle. And so I kissed him until he calmed and softened completely against me. And then I kissed him until the shape of his lips and the taste of his mouth and the heat of his tongue were things as familiar to me as every other part of him I made a study of over the years. And then, as he grew drowsier and more pliant still, I kissed him until he slept.
“So, what was causing so many takes?” Holmes looked from one to the other and noted the obvious discomfort his question was causing.
John was concerned with his partner’s excitement. Anything sent via an artifact did not have a pleasant
Dimmock turned to Wiggins, who turned to Watson. “Well, first off we wouldn’t have made it to the end.”
It took a moment for Sherlock to register John’s words. He was about to nod when his head throbbed. “Fine. Maybe a concussion.”
started. They danced around one another, coming close and moving away just before they touched. After the second chorus, they stopped singing and held hands, which turned into couples dancing, until they broke apart, interrupted by closing time. They repeated the chorus as they walked out. On the last line, their hands joined once more.
He had walked from his small flat to the studio, knowing he wouldn’t get a cab at four in the morning. Watson considered trying to write to clear his mind or heading to the rehearsal studio to take it out on the piano but ended up moping on the couch with a bottle of Stamford’s scotch.
John raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Living off an army pension and a store clerk’s wages?”
Sherlock was stunned by the goofiness of the situation, the ease with which they had slipped into a friendly banter. He wasn’t sure what had changed between them, but he was glad it had. He took in the sight of John attempting to catch his breath, his neck and cheeks flushed, one hand on his chest, the other holding the side of the desk and placed it safely in John’s section of his mind palace.
“He’s gone. I don’t understand, he was right next to me, a moment ago, I looked back to see if you were coming as I was talking into the coms, then when I looked back he was gone and he took the artefact. How the hell did he take it without me seeing him? When did he even have the time? I don’t, it doesn’t make any sense!” Watson was looking around for something he had missed.
Watson stood there, staring at the closed door, fighting the nausea, fighting the urge to break something. He turned, hand on his forehead, looking around, unsure what he was looking for.
Watson shook his head and tried not to smile. “Certainly is.” He climbed out of the car. “Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow.”
“Oh, her. Terrible liar, how could any decent detective not see through her game? Really John, why do you even bother?”
That got Sherlock to grimace before explaining further. “It was in the south of Moscow when we started tracing it. Then it moved to London. Those are the only tangible facts we have. There are two possible explanations; someone just so happened to touch it soon after we had traced it and it just so happened to move to London.”He tried to keep his voice low while they made their way back around to the booth so John could try spotting it again.
He raised his right leg to wrap it around John’s waist, distracting him enough to lay his foot on the mattress and use it as leverage to flip them over. John fell onto his back with a small
With a sharp swallow, I nod and guide him forward, taking the next step with him. He follows suit, allowing his weight to rest against me. After a few more excruciatingly slow steps, we pause so he can catch his breath.
His stomach growled again, so he grabbed a bowl from the dish drainer, set it on the table, and dumped the remaining oats into it. The steam from the kettle rose in front of his face as he poured out the boiling water, covering the oats. A few floated to the top, swirling around the bowl as the water began seeping into them. His chair scraped across the wooden floor as he scooted himself closer to the table, inhaling the familiar scent of the cooking cereal.
“For God’s sake, John!” I shout, startling him. He glares at me, head tilted and eyes narrowed. “Out with it!” The demand fills the space, then dies away just as suddenly, and we are caught staring at one another. I dare not blink, lest the intensity of the moment be lost.
John blinked and looked around him, disoriented and confused. The sunlight had gone out, the trees had disappeared, and--
He stepped up onto the bus and followed Sherlock to a seat near the back, knowing the ride was going to take some time. As he looked up at his boyfriend beaming next to him, John knew he had made the right choice, even if it did make him late for his next exam.
, as he doubled the pressure on Greg’s stomach, eyes darting as he searched around him for something to jam into the wound.
I snatched out my notebook and searched my desk for a pen, throwing the materials down and plopping into my too hard chair.
It took him much less time to cross the distance than I expect it would take most men, his confidence and knowledge of the area a clear advantage. I watched him until he was merely a darkened shadow amongst the trees, barely discernible, then turned away to head back to the path.
She never fails to impress and simultaneously shock me, and my cheeks hurt from the absurd grin I’m flashing her. “Just, be careful, okay?” I ask, snatching a final piece of bread. “And thank you.” I stand, leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Best loaf you’ve made.”
“I--you--,” John started, irritation mounting. Sherlock’s eyes widened, the edge of hurt creeping into his expression.
Naturally, I was startled by the sudden presence of the short, blonde man I had seen in the marketplace. He had the same piercing stare that I had witnessed previously, though upon closer inspection I determined that his intensity was merely due to the brightness in his eyes and the steel set of his jaw. There was a gruff demeanor about him, something just shy of wild that I attribute to his living arrangements and near constant isolation. It seems he isn’t quite comfortable conversing with other humans, preferring solitude and the beasts of the forest as his companions. As he glared at me, his left hand caressed a worn leather strap hanging from his belt, something that was clearly decades old and held great value for the man. I bit back my tongue, for it burned to ask him about it, and instead leaned towards cordiality.
,” he heard from the corner of the cave. Sherlock’s rich baritone filled the room, clawing its way into his chest and shaking his core.
He drew the Punnett Square, thinking about the genetics that were at play to produce his brilliant, angular boyfriend. He wondered what Sherlock’s parents were like. He knew that he had an older brother, who Sherlock was careful to describe as
“Only when it matters, brother mine,” I reply coolly before he slams the door and does his best to stride away despite his obvious limp, coat flapping dramatically in the wind behind him. As they reach the doorway, John stretches to hand his cane to Sherlock, who keeps his own hands thrust into his coat pockets and glares back. John insists, and finally Sherlock relents and takes it before making his way awkwardly up the steps to the flat while his companion grabs the post from the next to the door and heads up behind him, no doubt positioned to catch my brother should he fall.
. When I last wrote, I detailed my travel by train, my arrival to the village, and the beginnings of my investigation into the disappearance of the local sportsman. Since then, I have some curious updates to share with you.
Yet, I saw the way he licked his lips as his eyes roved over my face, settling on my mouth. His pupils nearly eclipsed the deep blue of his irises. His jugular was pulsing, staccato, under the thin skin of his throat. I couldn’t have imagined that. It
,” he breathes onto my trapezius, resting his forehead on my neck. “You have no idea what you do to me…” John molds himself to me, rubbing his rigid erection against my arse and groaning at the contact. His hands find their way to my hips again to hold me steady while he grinds into me, breath coming in needy gasps. My own hand trails down my abdomen until I reach the edge of my trousers and pinch open the button, then slide down the zipper. Shimmying my hips, I begin pushing my bottoms over my arse and down my thighs, moaning as the cool air kisses my exposed skin, increasing my sensitivity.
“Found it!” Sherlock said triumphantly, his hands still typing on the keyboard. “Here: Beethoven’s clock. It was a present from a piano teacher when he was young. A clock of most exquisite decor it says here. Yes, that’s what I thought.” Sherlock said as a picture of the clock showed up on one of the computer screens in the office. “The bust is missing.” He added as he pointed to the sculpture of Aphrodite sitting atop the clock. “That’s why we couldn’t neutralise it. We need both pieces for the effects to stop.”
John rolled his eyes even though Sherlock was right and tried another approach. “We’re...” He hesitated as his mind searched for the appropriate term. “Friends, right?” And yet that didn’t quite cover it. The work was the foundation of their relationship; if it hadn’t been for the Warehouse, they never would have met, let alone become partners and flatmates. There’s only so many times you can save someone’s life and still try to convince yourself you don’t care about them. And there are only so many times you can wank and try not to think of someone when you come and still consider that someone
John struggles and tries to shake away the hand that is taking off his headset. Suddenly John is released. He turns around, ready to fight, and sees Sherlock smashing the headset.
“Of course it was a good plan. Until you came along.” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. John looked at him to see if he was serious. Probably not the joking type.
When she came out, Sherlock cornered her under the stove lamp to get a look at the result. She held John in place with her body while her fingers combed her hair and singled out individual strands to look at under the artificial light.
John hadn’t noticed Sherlock move until he felt his hand covering his own over his chest. The sensation interrupted John’s words as he looked from their joint hands to Sherlock and stared at him as he felt a soft squeeze. With a shaking breath, John twisted his hand and squeezed back, acknowledging the mirroring of the scene on the bridge. Sherlock eyes smiled softly before closing, his hand going limp in John’s.
“That’s not-” Holmes started to protest before cutting himself off. “The important thing is, I gained her trust.”
Watson could feel himself tense at the thought. Writer’s block was something he was used to dealing with, but not when his failure to provide a complete script meant he’ll need to find a new job. And he doubted anyone would accommodate his writing methods as much as Stamford had. Just the prospect of writing exclusively at his apartment again was horrid, reminding Watson of his first months after being discharged.
Not only did they have a nice evening for the first time since their first case, but they had laughed. Not the whole time, but still. They had actually laughed together. Not because they were high on adrenaline but because they were enjoying each other’s company. John still wasn’t sure what exactly had triggered it, but they seemed to have finally arrived at some sort of middle ground.
There was a brief pause when Small saw them, eyes wide, before he turned to walk away. Without a word, Holmes and Watson followed him.
“Can we just go look at the locker?” He said pushing aside his half empty coffee. Sherlock looked past him, a small smile on his lips. “Look, we could be here on stakeout all week, but we’re going to have to check if there’s anything dangerous in there eventually and I think that with what I’ve seen so far, sooner is probably better.” The soldier hid his discomfort when Sherlock started staring with narrowed eyes. It’s as if he were looking for something he didn’t seem to be able to find. His eyes flicked back towards their destination.
Sherlock bit back a sharp intake of breath. Intrigued, she hunched over John’s thigh, her bony hip digging into the armrest as she gently brushed her fingers through the coarse hair. She hummed, fascinated by how vivid the color was on the dark hair and quickly reached for her flashlight for a closer examination. It was then she noticed the colour was only on the upper region, confirming John had been careful not to affect her vagina’s natural bacteria.
“That’s it.” Sherlock whispered to himself, his eyes wide, scanning something only he could see. “That must be it, there’s no other way.”
John was surprised to see the man walk out instead of disappearing. Sherlock simply mimicked his brother silently. Watson's mind went through the details he had learned, seeing how this could be a trap. He didn’t notice the woman stand and walk around the office, slowly making her way towards him on the by the experiment table.
“If you could manage to pull your head out of your arse and give her some bloody direction,” Watson taunted, accompanied by the sound of his cane hitting the floor harder than necessary. “She could act out whatever shit idea you have.”
“Huh?” John was startled out of his thoughts. Did he just... feel an artifact? He couldn’t explain why, but he just knew that this artifact was miserable here. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Okay,” Stamford paused. “Could you talk to her first, before shouting at her in front of the whole crew?”
Sherlock followed him down the ladder to the alley, where he easily caught up. He tackled Hank next to a skip full of broken furniture, a bit too close to a wooden chair leg. Sherlock barely saw the hit coming, and certainly wasn’t expecting Hank to hit so hard. The explosive pain in his skull made him release his grip on Hank’s legs and scramble away, anticipating a second blow that never came.
“Depends on where it leads us.” Even though Sherlock knew that nothing good could possibly come of this, he was itching with anticipation, secretly hoping this was going to be worth his trouble. He was thankful the chase for the GPS hadn’t lasted long. He should probably thank John since it was his babbling that had triggered the idea. Later, he thought as he took out the printed pages of instructions and pulled his chair closer to the table.
There was a lump in Sherlock’s throat. This was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done, or was about to do, and it had the potential to ruin things between the two of them, yet she could not turn away, could never turn away, not anymore, not after seeing John like this. Unless John told her to stop, which, at this moment, did not seem to be the case.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard spoken by John; her name wrapped in a breathless moan.
“Do you really think that could stop me from doing it anyway?” John wasn’t sure if he should separate them or leave them alone. He figured they must have some sort of history together. That would explain Sherlock’s present disdain of her. So, he is human, John told himself. He was wondering if he would be able to separate them without using the crop when the computer caught his attention.
“Hum?” Sherlock said, looking up. “Wait, we haven’t checked that.” He added when the man started to run; taking the bust out and throwing the box he was holding at Sherlock.
A flash of insult appeared on Holmes’s face before he could school his features. “Is there a reason you’ve poisoned me and tied me to a chair other than to insult me?”
John took a sip of wine and leaned back in his chair with a grave look. “Well, Lestrade noticed you were missing about an hour after the day was wrapped. We searched the studio, and I ended up in the infirmary again. And then… I don’t know why, but I remembered your comment about the horrible carpet. I mean, it’s a storage room, what is a carpet doing there?”
“Have you had any work done to the house in the last six months?” He asked as he looked around the room.
“So you just sing and dance and act like that with no prior experience,” Wiggins continued, staring at Holmes, who looked amused as well.
Amy and Jake come out of the building and look around. There are squad cars everywhere and a few pedestrians on the sidewalk. Amy sighs in frustration.
As he finished his plate and Holmes started his, Watson took a step back to contemplate the situation. Everything surrounding Holmes, especially tonight, felt surreal. Yet here they were, eating together in Watson’s flat as if it were the most normal thing in the world. As if they hadn’t just spent the evening breaking into a money laundering business for the biggest drug cartel in the East Coast and knocked out Frank Hudson with a telephone. Watson was almost disappointed there wasn’t anything special about how Holmes ate. Or maybe the fact that he was eating was odd, if what he said earlier was anything to go by.
Mrs Hudson’s hoover woke Sherlock the next morning, the irritating sound hitting a nerve. Why the hell was she cleaning this early in the morning?
“You knocked out a bloody cartel boss.” Watson wheezed as quietly as he could manage. “That was incredible.”
“Damn rubbish computer!” Sherlock swore loudly, making John stumble back, breaking the contact between them and bumping into the table behind him and sitting heavily on it. “I keep asking for maintenance but it always gets pushed back. If we didn’t have so much security clearance required it would be fixed already. Locating the artifact is going to take a moment.” The agent finished explaining as he rustled around his desk, seemingly looking for something that could help speed things up.
Watson frowned as he trailed off. There was something about those words, the way they sounded. Ms Adler had said them earlier.
He could’ve, if he hadn’t been focused on John’s warm calloused hand pressed against his chest instead of deducing Doris’ answers.
The truck was half full of wooden crates filled with large glass containers that Holmes was currently inspecting.
Sherlock held his breath, long enough to give John a moment to take the pictures, before releasing it slowly through his nose.
The Indigo Club was filled with elegantly dressed guests dancing, talking, and overall seeming to enjoy themselves. The lighting was different from earlier. It was dimmer, softer, giving the room a more intimate ambiance. There was a live band playing, tables with long white cloths around the room with a candle on each of them.
Mixed with the new information concerning John’s emotional investment in their partnership, Sherlock’s inability to continue the discussion made him highly uncomfortable, which resulted in babbling.
“What does an Irish immigrant starting a fire in 1879 have to do with the great London fire in 1666?” The man straightened his cuffs smugly before answering.
Sherlock took a deep breath, fighting to keep his focus. He spotted the riding crops, the only familiar items in the room from his brief time horseback riding.
“It’s important that you stay still so I don’t hurt you. The pain won’t be so bad since you’re dressed, but during a scene, it can be very painful, and not in the good way. So don’t move, okay?”
The tone disappeared and sound rushed back in. It felt a bit like getting hit by a bus in your ears.
Sherlock had two simultaneous reactions by two completely different parts of his brain. His amygdala, which got wrapped up in the idea of John being his friend, and his frontal lobe, running different scenarios of what the hesitation in John’s delivery could imply.
“I saw him using his phone to open the door. If he worked there, he should have used his key card. He was after something.”
“What’s stored here exactly?” He asked as he followed him to what he could only describe as the oddest golf kart he had ever seen. It looked as if it had merged with a roller coaster cart with the ramp that would normally be used to hold them in place, only now it just went from one side to the other like a dashboard. Only the dashboard was a 3’’ copper tube.
Only Anderson seemed to be struggling up the steps, looking distracted. They made it to the top, but faltered on the last step. He recuperated quickly, making it seem like it was part of the act, but two beats later he tripped. His arms flew out, hands trying to grab hold of anything around him. He tethered around, trying to find his balance, and ended up against the balcony ramp. His face relaxed, letting out a breath of relief, when the next moment he toppled back and over the ramp, falling sixteen feet to the concrete floor.
I went to the chair across from him, where his clients- our clients, as he always insisted on calling them, even when I had about as much involvement in the case as the chair itself- often sat. He regarded me with a strange expression, such that I could not tell if he was glad to have me there for his perusal, or if he wished I would take myself off somewhere else- to the other side of the world, perhaps. It was possible that he could not tell either.
I swallowed. I knew we had understood each other, and that if I said so aloud he would as I had suggested never speak of it again. “Yes,” I whispered.
. In all that time I had myself convinced I only admired him, I should still have cheerfully have given him any physical demonstration of that devotion he would care to ask for. My problem, I realized now, was not in thinking these thoughts- it was in not carrying them to their inevitable conclusion. Even with his great powers of observation and his- perhaps even greater- sympathy with me he had missed the truth of my feelings, but he had not missed
It was indeed enough. When I believed him dead, I thought a thousand times over that I would give anything to have him back. A few sleepless nights and restless days were nothing. The dull ache I felt knowing it would bring him no comfort if instead of pressing his hands I pressed his lips instead was less than nothing. The affection, however distant, in his eyes as he pressed my hand in turn was an embarrassment of riches.
His other hand was in my reach as I stilled, so I pressed it. I was more hesitant of touching him than he was of me because I knew that he would do nothing more or less than he was comfortable with- and that was as much because I knew he did not always care to have his thoughts broken into thusly as because I feared he would be imposed upon by any baser feelings I might have in me. But when I did, he always seemed to welcome it, and me.
In that moment, I fancied things which at the time seemed to me beyond the pale. That all this- from the moment Holmes took the burden of Crocker's secret upon himself onward- had been for my benefit. So that I might watch someone I must surely see some kinship with enjoy the ending I myself could not.
He looked a little startled, and he surprised me in turn by swallowing heavily before he lifted his glass for me, allowing me to sip without touching it. My lips were over his as I drank. He must have noticed. He was watching me too closely to do otherwise.
Holmes, I knew, would not take it further. If lying to the police, even by omission, was difficult for him however noble the cause, then to push Hopkins in a direction he knew to be wrong would be much worse. I said, “If it had been some other housebreakers- these new men or others not yet known to the Yard- at the Abbey Grange that night, it would explain why that crime was committed so close to an earlier one.”
As I watched Holmes, that new flare of light in his eyes sharpened into something bright and reckless, and he leaned closer still- closer and closer until the table between us seemed but empty air, no protection whatever from that keen gaze and the effect it all too often had on me. “Let us ignore what later transpired for a moment. Let us say he
John nods and turns to look at the nearly bare living room, then nods again and takes a step forward, then stops. (Oscillation. Curious.) “What...how do you…,” he trails off, gesturing towards the empty space without looking at me.
John blanches briefly before replying, “That’s surprising. I thought I made it clear how I felt about him when I put a bullet in his kneecap.”
Apologies for the delay on this chapter. I had a very busy weekend celebrating Beta_Jawn's birthday! Also, these two were giving me some trouble. I did not expect this to be...what it is. But I'm pleased with it. I hope you are too!
As I approach the door, Lestrade comes into view, his hand clutching his torso tightly as if attempting to hold his chest together. He tests out a deep breath and winces, confirming his internal hypothesis of at least 2 broken ribs. He sees John and I and raises his free hand, trying to stop us. “Wait, I need statements…,” he says with considerable effort. His voice is hoarse, and the beginning bloom of broken blood vessels peppers his throat in the pattern of fingertips.
dead to him for many months? Once we return to Baker street, will he find me irritating once more, barely putting up with me out of a sense of duty? I don’t believe my feelings towards him are a distortion; I have had them for much longer than we were apart. What about him? He never seemed...
Before I can finish, John plants his feet and bends my entire torso over his forearm. It catches me entirely off guard, eliciting a gasp of surprise as my perspective of the living room is upended. He bows over me, chest heaving into my stomach as he remains steady. I know he won’t drop me, so I allow myself the moment to bask in such an intimate gesture from the man I have given my world to. | [
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But he could handle pain, could handle a lot of pain, and the only thing that Tony had ever done that had
Fuck, why was Steve here? Tony had been doing quite well not thinking about him, could go weeks without remembering how he’d looked when he’d been glaring at Tony for one reason or another, or beating his demons into submission in the gym. What gave him the right to walk back into his life now?
It’d be a lie, though. Steve wouldn’t say he’s particularly noisy when he comes, but even with his hand stuffed halfway in his mouth, there’s no mistaking just how much he enjoys what Dr. Stark is doing to him, his moans guttural and all too loud as humiliation and pleasure roar through him.
you to safeword if you need to. I won’t be angry or disappointed. We’ll just change things around before finishing your punishment, alright?”
Steve squeezed his cock so tightly that each slide of his hand hurt, and he bowed off the bed as he came, teeth gritted, his whole body shaking again and again.
“That’s okay,” Tony said, still looking hopefully at him. “I don’t think they believed me when I said I eloped and got married by Elvis anyway. What if we just say we’re engaged?”
“Thank you,” Steve whispered hurriedly and nearly sighed in relief as Tony touched him again, bringing his thumb into play and pinching the head gently, more fluid bubbling up between the two digits. It made things low in his stomach clench to see them on him, to know that Tony could have him this on edge so quickly from so little.
They’d barely stepped into the penthouse when Tony turned towards him, ready at last to reveal whatever he’d been gearing up for.
He squeezed his hand one more time as a reminder before lifting it off Steve and grabbing the shower head.
, it was fast and brutal, and Steve had just a second to think about Dr. Strange’s warning that Tony could rely more on instinct than thought, but then it was impossible to focus on anything other than the cock pounding into him.
And Steve knows that’s a ridiculous thought—it’s not like he’s ever gotten his mouth on any part of Tony’s anatomy, no matter how much he might’ve wished otherwise—but it’s true nonetheless, and he just wants more and more, until he’s had enough to make up for having none up until this point.
“Damn you and your tree trunk thighs,” Tony muttered a few seconds later when it didn’t work, said thighs almost framing his face, and seriously, how had he forgotten how homoerotic wrestling was?
“Good, then your punishment is going to be you acting as my puppy for the next three days.” Tony squeezed his hands, and Steve felt pitifully grateful for it. “Let me explain what that means exactly.”
Steve and Tony like to play Destiny (the video game). Destiny 1, not 2, because I don't like 2 half as much as I liked 1.
“Sit,” Tony said, frowning down at him until he seemed certain Steve would remain where he was. “Alright, if you’re sure. There’s no reason to have the two of us knocking into each other, though. I’ll take care of it.”
Five more minutes. He wasn’t a sometimes-masochist for nothing. He could suffer for five more minutes.
He had to rest his hands on Steve’s back as the room suddenly tilted and take several long breaths. It wasn’t a full-blown panic attack, but he could feel how it could become one. Tony normally avoided thinking about his feelings at all cost, clamping down on those thoughts whenever they threatened to rear up, but the day had whittled down his defenses without him noticing.
And Steve couldn’t control the hitch in his chest as he said, “You were-you were getting ready to-to leave me.”
But all he did was smile gently and say, “Thank you,” and it was far from everything he wanted to say or do to show his gratitude for Steve’s submission, but it was all they had the time for, his hands skimming over Steve’s arms, his neck, cupping his jaw as Steve got into place.
He listened as Tony take a deep breath, then another. “Clean this place up,” Tony said levelly. “You can come upstairs when you’re done.”
Not intentionally exactly. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone if things had been different, but he couldn’t say that for sure. He’d been so messed up back then—and he was far from perfect now, he knew, but it felt much more manageable now.
. I was put to shame. And yet you still weren’t getting drunk, which was making you depressed and causing you to drink
“There’s something I’ve wanted to try with you for a while now,” Tony said, and Steve wished desperately to pay attention, to not think beyond what Tony was saying, but it was so hard.
Still. He glanced at his watch, estimating he had anywhere between twenty to thirty minutes before a very not-happy Fury himself came to kick him out. Tony would have to do something big to make amends in order to keep from being tasered and left in a puddle of drool on the sidewalk outside. He’d have to beef up SHIELD's firewalls for them, reveal how exactly he’d rigged all the cameras, maybe throw in a couple of million dollars’ worth of tech, who knew what, but it’d be so worth it.
“So I hear you decided to settle down in New York, Steve,” Clint said after wiping his face. “Couldn’t stay away from the Big Apple, huh?”
“It’s alright,” Dr. Stark says, because of course it’s Dr. Stark. Of course it’s the doctor who recently joined the practice and who Steve had seen in passing and who he might’ve looked up on the website, because he’s never been so viscerally attracted to someone before in his entire life. “I heard about the accident on the freeway and assumed you’d probably gotten stuck in it. I’m Tony Stark by the way. I’ll be standing in for Dr. Edwards.” He walks forward, extending his hand.
“I just wish Dr. Strange had told us you coming back was a possibility,” Peter said from his place right next to Tony, and Steve agreed. “I get that he didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up and that there were more timelines where you didn’t make it than where you did, but he could’ve at least hinted that there was a
bedroom had the same, and if it turned out that this stretch of horizon didn’t work for him, he just had to choose one that did.
To make things one hundred percent worse, while there are still moments of excruciating sensitivity, it’s starting to feel good again, and Steve knows it’s because he’s so turned on. He realizes Dr. Stark isn’t overstimulating him on purpose—or at least, he’s only doing it because it’s medically necessary—but being at the mercy of his doctor as he makes Steve come over and over again is one of his go-to fantasies, and reality is both better and worse than anything he’s imagined.
Not all omegas can, though. Some omegas can’t handle their heats without someone there with them. Others can’t stand to be touched at all. He’s heard of omegas that run fevers that can barely be brought down or conversely, can’t seem to get warm and shake from the cold the whole time. There’s a myriad of things that can and do go wrong, and Steve knows he’s lucky.
“Well?” he asked, when Steve continued to be silent, running his tongue over the back of Steve’s balls. He didn’t think he’d heard Steve make that sound before.
“Well, it definitely looks like you need help taking care of something, soldier, and I am more than happy to volunteer my services,” he said, pushing into the room, because it looked like Captain America was trying to hide a missile in his shorts and not doing a very good of it at that.
“No, really,” she insisted when he didn’t say anything. “You didn’t notice, but this morning at breakfast, he looked at you when Happy started fawning all over him and another time just as we were leaving.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, even as the body in his arms starting to convulse. “I’ve got you.”
“Yeah, really, just ...” Steve waves his hand, as if that explains anything, and keeps his gaze firmly on Tony’s face and away from his bare arms. And his unfairly firm jawline, which is looking really appealing right now. And his warm brown eyes, which Steve suspects turn nearly black with lust, just to be safe. He needs to calm down. It feels like his boxers are damp but not soaking, and as long as he keeps his thoughts out of the gutter, he can still salvage this.
He hadn’t expected Tony to want him on his knees, but he was glad that Tony had put him there for their first kiss. It’d made it feel more significant, made him think that Tony had thought it was just as important as he did, that Tony honestly
“So uh, hey, I’m not sure if you’d be interested, but I could actually lend you a pair of scrubs, if you felt like changing into dry clothes. We’ve got a few sets lying around for emergencies, and you could just bring them back whenever you got the chance … .”
Or thighs like that. Or a shoulder to waist ratio like that either. Tony would liken him to a piece of art, but while some of the Greek classics came close, he’s really never seen the guy’s body proportions except in porn, so.
“No,” Steve said, absolute, and they both went quiet. “You’re right, Clint, I don’t think Tony would knowingly hurt someone, even now, but he’s not comfortable in his body, and there’s too much risk of him accidentally injuring someone.”
Tony was gorgeous as he came, back arching as he rolled his hips, fucking into Steve’s grip and searching for that last bit of pressure against his prostate, his hands clutching him for support. Steve wanted to look at him forever.
I can’t believe I just wrote that, but since crossing it out will make the words even more obvious and since I don’t have an eraser of any kind, I guess I’ll leave it there.
“Hey, sorry about this, but I’m in the process of moving across the hall, and I have no idea where they packed my flashlight,” the guy said as soon as Steve opened the door. “Do you mind if I borrow a candle or something?”
did all the work,” Natasha said, raising an eyebrow. “And by work, you mean standing around and looking pretty to keep the target occupied.”
He didn’t stop, and he didn’t stop, his breath coming in small, wet hitches that made Tony want to flinch with each one, and rationally, Tony knew that Steve would calm down on his own, probably even needed the outlet after everything that had happened.
“I … realized … that I’d forgotten. Not that it was your first time being punished by a Dom. But how it felt the first time you were punished by a Dom. Yesterday was a lot harder for you than you let on, wasn’t it?” Tony asked, and Steve could feel the prick of tears at how gentle his voice was.
And how had Tony noticed Dr. Reynolds in the first place? Out of all of them, he was the one who needed an exam the most. He couldn’t possibly be finished already, could he?
somehow without his clothes, and Steve found himself licking his lips absently, his eyes going to Tony’s cock, as if he hadn’t just had in his mouth not that long ago.
“Funny you should ask me that question,” Tony said, and this was the very reason he’d opted for a voice-only call. It wasn’t that he felt more comfortable telling her when he didn’t have to see her reaction; just slightly less
But that was for later, because he could almost hear the tick of the clock in his head, so he slowly drew his hand down, lightly pulling at Steve’s lip as he leaned forward, and he returned the favor, licking once against plump skin before tilting his head to join their mouths together.
What was even the purpose of the drape, Steve wondered, as it tore for the third time, the crumpled paper ratcheted back to reveal rents of naked skin. He forced himself to let go of the drape so the damage wouldn’t get even worse, and he stared straight ahead, not twitching when the doctor pressed on any of the bruises that littered his body, even if the feel of his fingers made him want to cringe. He didn’t like being touched, but he could damn well put up with it.
8/9/14 - I sincerely apologize to everyone who's waiting for me to update Nostalgia. I haven't forgotten it! Nor do I plan to abandon it. I just suffered a bout of insanity and signed up for Avengers RBB and the Cap_Ironman BB, so I'm writing a bunch, just not this. >_> But! As soon as I'm done with those, I will update this first thing! So please be patient with me, and I'll be back as soon as I can.
“A little busy right now, Steve,” Tony said as he walked briskly past the counter where Steve was sitting, eating lunch. He was careful to steer a wide berth around Steve’s seat so there was no danger of hearing anything he didn’t want to hear, although he did catch a glimpse of Steve’s half-eaten sandwich, making Tony’s stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, let alone lunch. Or dinner from yesterday, come to think of it. Or lunch from yesterday for that matter. No wonder he was starving.
Steve didn’t know how he felt about that or about all the time and energy Stark had already devoted to him, everything he’d learned and experienced the previous night seeming almost unreal in the cold light of day.
It was that thought that gave him the fortitude to pull back, his breath hissing out between his teeth as Steve tried to follow, sucking hard on the tip of his cock as if to pull him back inside.
Steve’s getting ready to go on a run, and Tony steps away to get a new bottle of cleaning solution right as Steve’s walking by, and the afternoon sun shines on the ring just right for him to see there’s something engraved on the metal.
He hissed as he finally managed to recline all the way back, his muscles untensing in fits and spurts once they grasped he wasn’t going to move anymore.
“You mean like throwing him into a completely new situation that he didn’t want in the first place and then abandoning him the first chance you get?”
When Tony had thought about kissing Steve, and he had, many times, it’d been with a certain detachment, because his focus had always been on Steve, the noises he’d make, the reactions Tony would elicit, his fingers and lips moving over Steve with the mastery of a virtuoso with a violin and bow.
He panted against the ottoman, fucking himself hard and fast, no more teasing, everything loud and slick and aching. He’d thought he was safe from arousal, but he’d been wrong, his body thrumming and already shamefully desperate, the vibrations making everything more intense, and no matter how he tried to punish himself with the vibrator, it still felt good. There was just something about knowing Tony was watching—because he had to be, Steve still hadn’t heard any kind of noise behind him that indicated Tony was doing anything else—and even as Steve tried to block out the sensations, he couldn’t block out the awareness of Tony being pleased with him for something.
“I think we should get married,” Tony announced as he let himself into Steve’s apartment, plopping next to him on the couch.
Tony had seemed to appreciate that Steve had asked for a kiss, however, and maybe . . . maybe that was what Tony was waiting for? To see Steve take the initiative—to
He’d been prepared to throw himself into the three-ring circus, but so far, it hadn’t happened. He and Tony had never actually discussed it before, but Tony didn’t push for them to go out, even though he was much more social than Steve was. When they did venture outside together, it was to remote areas where there was little chance of them being seen, let alone recognized. Tony went out of his way to make sure they had the time and space to just be together, out of the limelight, and it was another kindness on top of a mountain of them already.
Steve nodded jerkily, the ears swinging, and he steeled himself as best as he could. Tony had moved next to Steve’s shoulder in order to put the ears on, so he had yet to see what Steve looked like. While Steve would’ve preferred to keep it that way indefinitely, he wasn’t going to be able to hide his face from Tony forever, so when Tony finished his adjustment and shifted back to the space in front of him, Steve didn’t lower his head but met Tony’s eyes squarely.
Steve cried out, trying to thrust down onto Tony’s fingers, but Tony refused to give him even that much relief, pulling them away and then rolling Steve’s knees up until they pressed against his shoulders.
“Hello?” he calls out, barely a foot inside in case he is actually too late and they’re in the middle of shutting everything down.
“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely, accepting the chocolate and blinking back the burning in his eyes, and then before he could convince himself he shouldn’t, he broke off a chunk for himself and held the rest out to Tony. “You should have some too,” he said when Tony didn’t immediately reach for it.
Tony whined, his tongue wriggling against Steve’s abdomen as he tried to get further inside, and Steve did laugh then, a shocked gasp that was probably more from giddiness than sensation.
would actually call it a problem), was that when Tony had designed it, he hadn’t exactly had comfort in mind.
The slide of the elevator doors opening caught him by surprise, and he straightened hastily. He’d already asked JARVIS to not tell Tony he was back, but it wouldn’t be a very welcome surprise if Tony’s first sight of him was of him being melancholy. He took a quick breath and cleared his expression, stepping inside the penthouse.
, portable shield that was able to keep him safe from ninety-nine percent of hand-held weapons and emitted a strong electrical shock to anyone that tried to touch him when it was activated.
,” she said, clasping both her hands around his. “And who better to be his first than someone who already loves him?”
Steve didn’t know how that fact could’ve slipped his mind since he would’ve sworn he’d been tired but not
It took a second for him to understand what was happening, but when he did, Steve pressed back into the chair as he shook his head, again and again.
“The situation isn’t ideal, sure, but you can’t tell me you think Tony would hurt anyone, even as a wolf. And there are honestly people who would
Tony—so damn much. And if this got him closer to having him back, it’d be worth it. If Tony forgave him, even a little, it’d be worth anything.
“Philanthropic, yes, but no one’s ever accused me of being compassionate, Fury. I give hundreds of millions of dollars every year to charities, including ones to support veterans coming back from war, and furthermore, guilt trips have never been known to work with me. Give me a reason I can get behind, because all I’m thinking about right now is how it’s a drain on my resources and time during one of the busiest months of the year for Stark Industries, how he and I haven’t even met and might not be compatible, how it sounds like a glorified baby-sitting job, and really? I think there are a lot of people out there who’d be better suited to this than me.”
Steve searches Dr. Stark’s face, but he doesn’t look like a man who’s trying to avoid breathing, nor does it appear that he’s smeared anything on his upper lip to mask Steve’s smell. Apparently, he really had gone out in order to be helpful, and Steve’s doubts scatter in a rush of flustered pleasure. Dr. Stark had brought him blankets. He’s not in heat, so it’s not a nesting present or anything, but still. The consideration means a lot to Steve, and he blushes the whole time he’s thanking Dr. Stark and settling down.
“Steve,” Tony purred as soon as saw him, and Steve didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the heat in Tony’s voice and the slow drag of his gaze as it traveled down Steve’s body were better than anything he would’ve anticipated.
Even DUM-E hadn’t moved the entire time Steve had been cleaning, not even when he’d touched it hesitantly, the only sign of life a blinking light to show that at least there was still power flowing through it. Tony hadn’t said anything about it, but Steve knew he had a soft spot for DUM-E, knew that it was more than a robotic arm that Tony directed when needed, and Steve couldn’t figure out why Tony had left DUM-E the way he had. For a second, Steve had panicked that JARVIS had also been shut down or taken away, but then he remembered speaking to him on more than one occasion since he’d gotten back, and that worry, at least, had been quieted. But everything else …
“But because I wanted you to have the freedom to choose. Whether that was me, or being by yourself, or finding someone else, I wanted you to be able to decide for yourself.”
Were those kind of exams normal now? Did every Sub visit his or her doctor after signing a contract? Steve didn’t know if it was a good or bad idea, because he’d seen Subs who looked terrible after getting a Dom, and he could see why it might be necessary in some cases. But in his?
Steve kept waiting for the alarm to sound, but apparently, neither they nor the guards they’d taken down had been missed yet. Stark was able to keep them away from the main tunnels, and Steve took care of the few guards they did encounter, allowing him to arm himself in the process.
He hadn’t realized how much energy Stark brought to the room until it was gone, and he didn’t know what to do with its absence.
He thought about the last time he had cause to be examined, and he grimaced, turning away from the memory, more for what had happened at the end than the beginning. It had been a turning point for him, when he’d first started thinking he might be able to trust Tony.
do … he hadn’t known. Oh, he’d imagined plenty, and truth be told, he’d hoped for a lot, but Tony was more creative than he’d ever been. And Tony was
“Can we go upstairs, please?” he asked, his voice coming out rough and barely recognizable. He wasn’t sure how Tony would react to him suddenly acting like he fucking cared for once in their relationship, so he made the request selfish. “I’d like to sit down, if that’s alright.”
, Tony. I know I don’t deserve it, but if you can’t believe anything else I’ve said, then please at least believe that I never meant to hurt you like that.”
He inhales deeply, and fuck. It should be against the Geneva Convention to be this hard, it hurts so much.
, and when the universe had decided it wasn’t done playing with him, it had then demanded he live with the aftermath.
“To—” And then Tony’s cock finally found its mark, and Steve cried out as Tony immediately started thrusting wildly.
He froze mid-bite when he realized he was actually thinking about their previous tense quasi-relationship with a sense of nostalgia, and seriously, what was his life?
“What just happened?” Steve asks as he stares at the black kitten sitting in the spot where Tony used to be, the armor lying in pieces around it. SHIELD agents are running around, shouting about where Loki just disappeared to, but he has more important things to worry about.
Captain America had said the “sir” that had done it, grudging and unimpressed, and damn it, Tony had always had a thing for the mean ones. Pepper claimed it was because he had a masochistic streak a mile wide, but whatever. He was proud of his kinks. They made him the man he was.
Anyone who was anyone (or at the very least was a person who could hack into SHIELD’s servers through a backdoor he’d created the last time he’d been in headquarters, but whatever) knew about Captain America. How he’d been discovered in the arctic and revived, how SHIELD had been keeping him hidden from the world while he got acclimated to the future, how they’d been sending him out on simple solo missions to see how he’d do.
"You're used to following orders, right?" Tony asks, tongue peeking out between his lips to catch a stray drop of water, and that isn't distracting at all.
“For what?” he asks and wonders if he could play the “recuperating from a near-fatal bullet wound card” and pretend to fall asleep. “You were just doing your—”
Gradually, however, as he’d paced his room and first one hour had gone by and then another with no sight of Stark, he’d come to a few conclusions. Yes, nothing was as it should be, and yes, he’d been given to someone he didn’t even know, but three months—which had seemed like an eternity when it’d been dark and he’d been trying to adjust to everything that had happened—was really no time at all. He hated the idea of it, but he could put up with anything for six months even, and Stark hadn’t wanted him anymore than Steve had wanted Stark. Maybe he could use that to his own advantage.
Tony had made a promise. Steve’s first Dom. He’d done a shit job of it for the past few days, too mired in his own feelings to act rationally and respond the way he should’ve. Tony owed him more than that, and he swore to himself that he’d figure out a way to provide it. It’d destroy something in him if he turned out to be something Steve regretted.
He honestly doesn’t know if it’d be better or worse to have Dr. Stark move his robe to the side—both, it’d be both—so Steve does it himself, tugging the robe so his chest is bare, his nipples tight and tingling.
“I’d hope so. From all the stories I’ve heard, he’s supposed to know how to keep a smile on a Sub’s face. What?” Clint asked, when Natasha smacked his arm. “I’m just saying he’s the type of guy to spoil his Subs with presents. What did
It’s almost too easy to understand. Ever since meeting Steve, it feels as if he has to touch him, like the world is darker somehow when they aren’t connected.
“What, really?” Tony asked, and Steve didn’t understand how he could look so surprised. “Even when you were a teenager? You never locked yourself in your room and kept at it until you just couldn’t anymore?”
"Go try these on," Tony says imperiously, dropping four garment bags next to Steve on the couch, and Steve doesn't need to see Natasha's eyebrows to go up like that when he unzips one of them to realize that the suit inside is worth a lot of money. Like, a lot of money.
No, no, that was impossible. They had all seen him die, had buried him in Arlington, and had mourned him for the past ten years. There was no way that-that
"It's . . . it's indecent, Tony," Steve says, and his face is so red that part of Tony worries he's going to give himself a headache. The larger part, however, is thinking,
He manages to mouth a “yes” by some miracle and then lets his head drop onto the table, wishing he were anywhere but there, wishing he never had to leave and that Dr. Stark would touch him and never stop.
“I would imagine so since he misinformed you about the state of your contract in the first place, which lead to your refusal.”
He’s dimly aware of Tony leaving and coming back, but it seems distant and unimportant, even when Tony starts wiping him with a warm washcloth. The world only comes back into focus when Tony’s hands stroke his thighs, and then Steve shudders, his knees coming up automatically and spreading wide, slick dripping down his ass.
Steve shifted on the examination table, the plastic crinkling loudly underneath him, and he glanced at Stark before he could stop himself.
“Okay, you’ve been very patient, so why don’t we sit down, and I’ll tell you what you can expect over the next three days.”
But is it too much to ask that Tony get a little flushed? Or that his eyes wander every so quickly over Steve’s body? Or that he look like he can’t wait get his hands on Steve as soon as possible?
“I’ll get Dr. Martin,” he said, checking his watch. They still had sixteen minutes until Brock started blowing things up.
So what did that mean? Steve didn’t plan on turning his back on SHIELD or on Nick, still believed there was a cause worth fighting for. Nick needed him now as the voice of reason more than ever, needed to see that there were better ways to keep the world safe than Project Insight.
Tony made a small disbelieving noise, and Steve paused in case he wanted to say something, cheeks heating up, because he knew that he had a tendency to get passionate about things, to say what he felt when he felt it without always thinking past that knee-jerk reaction. But Tony didn’t comment, and eventually, Steve continued.
turned on (he might be a little more excited than entirely appropriate right now—those damn thighs—but it’s nowhere near his previous levels), and it’s nice. More than nice.
He didn’t, but he did try, and he found a few people he spent some time with, but he never got serious about any of them. He’d had the love of his life, maybe even more than once, and who else got to say that? He was in a good place with people he loved who loved him back, and he was lucky, he realized as he blinked at the display of colored pencils in front of him. He was putting together an art kit for Morgan’s birthday, and the fact that he could, that this was normal for him, made him pause.
Tony hadn’t thought much about either instance at the time. Seeing them from a third-party perspective, however, made him wonder if Pepper was right. And if so, what that meant for them.
Most of him, however, felt horrified and guilty for even thinking that, and it was just one more sign of how wrong he was for Steve, how selfish. How he couldn’t be the Dom Steve deserved.
“It’s really him?” he dimly heard Peter ask, his voice cracking like he was a teenager again, and the hope in his words was heartbreaking. “It’s really you?” he asked the—
The noise Tony made was even ruder this time around. “I think someone had a little too much champagne in her mimosa.”
Many, many, many thanks to the awesome, wonderful MetaAllu for beta'ing this chapter! *blows kisses* It's the only chapter that's beta'd right now. >_>
It’s with something like despair that he gets a mental image of Dr. Stark’s whole hand sliding into him, and a second later, Steve swears he can feel the gush of slick even around Dr. Stark’s fingers. He hadn’t thought the wet, thick sounds of Dr. Stark rubbing and reaching inside of him could become even more obscene, but he’d been wrong.
It burned going in, but nowhere near as much as he would’ve thought considering the circumstances and how tense he was, and even though there was pain, it didn’t exactly … hurt.
“Or you can come inside instead,” he blurts out, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing he should show an ounce of self-control and let Tony leave so they can have a second first date and get to know each other better like they’d intended, but he can’t. He’s always been weak when it comes to Tony, and with every second he spends with him, his condition just gets worse.
“However, we realize that would put you in the position of having to find a second Dom in an extremely short period of time. Since you didn’t want a Dom in the first place, I argued, and the President agreed, that due to the circumstances, as long as you meet with a SHIELD-approved therapist once every two weeks, you don’t have to take another Dom.”
“Everything alright?” Tony asked, enough concern in his voice that Steve suspected he needed to work on his acting skills. He’d never been good about hiding that he was upset.
“Ha! Bruce owes me five bucks!” Tony said triumphantly. Unfortunately, Bruce was in his lab, working with a team of SHIELD scientists to see how to fix them, but Tony would collect later. Bruce had been out of town, so he was the only one of them that hadn’t woken up in the wrong body that morning. SHIELD had subsequently flown him back in, but considering he’d spent years learning how to keep the Hulk under some semblance of control—knowledge that anyone suddenly dropping into his body would lack—Tony couldn’t be sorry about the time wasted in-transit.
Maybe he should … give Tony a tour? Before he drags him to the bedroom? That’s probably only polite.
A shower was hardly the place for having penetrative sex for the first time together, however, so Tony ignored his growing erection and focused on the delightful way Steve squirmed under his hand instead as he teased. He never exerted enough pressure to actually push in, although he hinted at it more than once, Steve arching unconsciously into Tony’s fingers, his hole flexing as if it were trying to suck him in. It was tempting, though, so very, very tempting, so Tony switched to his thumb and concentrated on sliding his fingers along Steve’s perineum instead, occasionally brushing against his balls as he rubbed against Steve’s prostate from the outside, something Steve rather enjoyed if the way his breathing turned ragged was any indication.
“I don’t think he did it on purpose,” she conceded, “but it’s a start, right? Maybe he doesn’t trust you yet, but you’re becoming familiar enough that he’s beginning to rely on you.”
Fandral referred to Loki as his “Blue Boy,” which, considering how long they’ve been at war with Jotunheim, was far kinder than Thor had any reason to expect.
what it was like before, and there’s a part of him that just can’t believe that someone like Tony—handsome, funny,
Would he be able to be still and just accept it, or would he thrash around, gripping the bed so he didn’t accidentally push Tony away? Or maybe Tony wouldn’t want to take his air away so much as restrict it, putting just enough pressure that he had to struggle for it. How long would he keep Steve on the edge, desperate to beg for release but unable to find the breath for it?
so much, who’d welcome Dr. Stark with open arms and even more open legs, who’d let Dr. Stark knot him over and over again, until he was too fucked out to even—
“It’s okay,” Tony whispered, over and over again, as if saying it would make it true, as if the proof of how wrong he was wasn’t coming apart in his arms. “Shh, shh, don’t cry. I’m—”
“Okay. Okay,” Tony says, muffled against Steve’s mouth, and he pulls his fingers out, making Steve jerk with the loss, even though he hadn’t wanted them anyway. He’s just so desperate to be filled with Tony that he can’t stand it.
Surely Tony wouldn’t have asked if he weren’t at least somewhat interested. Not when he could order Steve to go to his room and take care of himself if it were just because of his body’s needs. The fact that Tony wanted to see—even if he didn’t participate—it had to mean that he still wanted Steve. Even after everything.
Although it’s not his tentacles which shove and bully their way inside of Steve, but his hectocotyli, one right after the other, and Tony doesn’t understand what Steve shouts then, the words in his own tongue rather than English, but he clings to Tony’s neck and does more of that rolling of his hips, and there’s a burst of flavor around the tentacle in Steve’s cock that Tony would do anything to get more of.
Steve was so caught up in the story that when the first crack of thunder sounded, he startled, almost losing his place. Seconds later, the lights went out, and he huffed, putting his book down carefully on the patio table and standing up in order to get his flashlight. It ‘d be a waste of batteries, but it wasn’t like thunderstorms came through every day.
“I will,” Steve promised, taking in the view of Tony with his tousled hair and red lips for later, and then he got going.
The ride back to New York was much more relaxed then the morning one had been, helped probably by the way they’d sometimes look at each other and start snickering. He wasn’t the only one with paint streaks, and he’d even managed to get his handprint on Tony’s mask. In pink.
Tony likes to put Steve on his knees, not as a voluntary act--although, of course, that’s always pretty too--but an involuntary one.
“I watched the ball come down on television.” He glanced away. “There was one on Stark Tower this year—bigger, of course, than the one in Times Square. Tony did always like to put on a show.”
him to have it. They were probably still a long way from that point, but that was alright. For all the weeks that they’d spent together, they didn’t really know that much about one another, and he was happy to give them the time they needed. He wasn’t in love with Tony, not yet—although he knew himself, and it wouldn’t take much more for him to take the fall. Of course, Tony wasn’t in love with him either, and hopefully that would change one day, but until then . . .
“Yeah, but Tony doesn’t know that,” which is a fair point and so not relevant to anything he should be discussing.
“Uh huh.” He finally took his sunglasses off again and nibbled on one of the earpieces as he considered. “What about the contract?”
Had Howard been this wealthy? There’d been too much going on for Steve to ever have the chance to do more than talk to him in passing, and truth be told, he’d avoided him for a while when he’d thought Howard and Peggy were together. He’d known that Howard was exceptionally intelligent and liked to crack jokes and was confident around women, but they hadn’t ever discussed his life outside the war, and then, of course, it’d been too late.
He felt ... not numb exactly, but detached. Drained. It was a struggle to stay where he was instead of finding somewhere safe to curl up and lick his wounds, let alone take care of Steve.
A part of him couldn’t help but focus on the fact that he was doing something wrong again, on why he couldn’t just be good for Tony, just once, just one fucking time.
One, the vibrations didn’t slow down as soon as Steve relaxed. There was a slight delay, and the longer Steve tensed, the longer until the toy went back to its original speed.
Steve can’t quite put his finger on what they remind him of, but there’s an underlying earthy scent that’s remarkably soothing with traces of cologne that cause Steve’s head to swirl and the occasional bright, almost metallic note. He wouldn’t have expected a doctor’s office to have something like this that isn’t aggressively neutral, but he guesses a lot of omegas feel better with—
“It’s hard to look this good all the time, Nat,” Clint said unperturbed. “You wouldn’t understand, considering your unfortunate lack of looks,” he said, shaking his head sadly, “but for the rest of us, it’s a constant battle to stay this sexy.” He took a big bite of his sandwich, his cheeks bulging out.
The whole shitshow was Tony’s fault, and while he appreciated Steve’s apology, more than he could say honestly, he knew he didn’t deserve it.
They moved to the living room, and Steve would’ve sat in one of the chairs facing the couch, but Tony took his hand and arranged them so they were sitting on the couch, facing each other, both of Steve’s hands in his.
“Okay,” he said, using the back of his hand to slap Steve’s ass and wincing at the resulting throb in his fingers. “See? That’s how it’s done.”
Besides, after all of this was over, Steve would appreciate not having put the rest of his life on hold just to be with Tony.
touching him, cool and kind of slimy things that felt incredibly strange as they glided over his skin, and while the one in front was simply resting against his soft penis, the one in back was wriggling and starting to—
“You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Steve says exasperatedly, and Bucky laughs and laughs.
without his lab coat on, and the sight is actually a little strange. Tony and lab coat always go together in his head, though, and it’s not like he didn’t know Tony had an actual body, but he’s honestly never thought about it much.
“Sure,” Tony said, moving away from the window where he’d been staring outside toward the sitting area, awkwardly gesturing for Steve to sit down in one of the armchairs.
thicker than Steve’s ever given him credit for, which is crazy, because he’s imagined Tony choking him with his cock many times. In several different positions.
He wanted to tell Steve that he didn’t need his apologies anymore, but he knew there was a point where it was less about one person’s desire to receive an apology and more about the other person’s need to give it. It wasn’t as if he were so different after all in that regard.
He always knew his relationship with Bucky was going to be temporary. Bucky was a year older and had already accepted a job in Spain with the company he’d interned with over the summer. He had dark brown eyes and tried to teach Steve Spanish when they weren’t studying or messing around. Even with the end in sight, Steve didn’t freak out when Lisa’s scars got smaller overnight it seemed. He wasn’t looking forward to the damage Bucky would leave when they broke up, but he wasn’t going to waste the time either, not when Bucky was right there, and Steve could see Bucky’s scars fading, too.
or whatever it is they’re calling him, and then the agents leave. They just get up and go, saying you’ve been absolved of any crime, and still, not one single damn word from you to explain what’s going on? I had to call
“I should’ve just told you then, but I thought you knew how much I cared about you. You’ve always made sure I felt cared for, and I thought … I thought—”
He hesitated, his heart racing, knowing it was going to come off as an accusation; that it was one. “Tony, I—”
. It was like playing the same video game over and over again, but there were no bosses to fight, and the only points were the ones he gave himself.
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” he said and took a few whacks at the training dummy since it was there.
“Of course. I’m happy to do whatever I can to make this better for you,” Dr. Stark says, and Steve has to swallow back the first five responses that immediately come to mind. “Let me just wash my hands one more time, and then we’ll be ready to go.”
“JARVIS,” he said, clinging on to hope for as long as he could. He had to swallow a few times to get enough saliva to talk. “Who taped up my back?”
“Do I have a choice?” he asked, and it was a sincere question, even though Nick frowned at it. He was contracted to Tony. If Tony agreed, then Steve was obligated to go with him. Or at least, Steve assumed so. Contracted couples in the military were always kept together, but Tony wasn’t exactly a SHIELD employee. Still, Nick wanted them both in the Avengers, so as his Dom, Tony would have final say.
“They need me in DC for a few days,” he said, wishing once again that he could be more open with Tony about missions. He would’ve liked the opportunity to talk about the last few days, including discovering that Nat’s objective hadn’t been the same as his own ... would’ve also liked to discuss Project Insight and whatever Tony might know about it. Duty kept him silent, though. “Things didn’t go quite as smoothly as they were supposed to, so there are a few loose ends I need to take care of.”
“I wouldn’t want it to be said that I don’t care of the needs of my Subs, even during punishment. Stay right there,” Tony said, walking away, and Steve could feel the sound that wanted to escape building in his throat. Tony wasn’t supposed to leave.
“Yes, but I’m prettier than you are,” Tony said, and Steve glanced up in time to see him bat his eyelashes. “It would be a crime against nature if I were to pass away right now. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for allowing such a horrible travesty to occur, now would you, Steve?”
He nearly flinched when Tony’s hand turned, worried he’d been found out and that Tony would be upset as a result.
“When we sparred,” he said quickly. “I mean, obviously he hit me some. It is fighting after all. But most it was all open palms, and Steve would stop a few inches away, and it was weird, Pep, weird.”
“Preemptive strike. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? Taking people out before they become a problem.”
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I’ll be honest and say that I’m still on the fence about finishing this story. After not writing for almost two months, it was really hard getting back into the swing of things. I kind of thought I was done writing fanfiction altogether, but I started really missing it, so we’ll see. I’ll admit that the more kudos and comments I get, the more I want to write, but I have no idea if any of you are still following this since it’s been like 10 months since I first started it—ugh, I am so sorry—so do with that what you will. I won’t blame any of you for having lost interest.
Not that Steve’s current response is normal. He’s starting to get a waft of his own scent coming up from all the slicks he’s leaking, and he has to close his eyes for a moment as his cheeks burn.
“Yes.” He met Tony’s eyes. “Honor,” he said, because it took honor for Tony to offer one to Steve, to respect it—and Tony would; Steve believed him—and Steve wanted to acknowledge that. “It’s ‘honor.’”
Actually, no, he had no idea how to be the supportive but left-behind Dom, because that was not generally a position he’d ever found himself in. Still, he could at least say, “Be safe,” and pull Steve forward in to a real hug, bodies touching from their heads down almost to their feet. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
Ten minutes later, Tony was dying. It was worse than working out, than sparring with Steve without the suit, then going ten rounds against a zillion Doom Bots. The harder he massaged Steve, the more Steve liked it, the kinky bastard, and Tony was exhausted.
Everything happened in a rush after that, and he didn’t have the opportunity to focus on anything except the upcoming battle, except then—
, Steve thought as the shield was pelted, but none of them hit his body, which meant the round hadn’t ended yet. Tony was near enough that he was going to have to wait until the last second to extend his legs in order to land and roll out of the way, but if he could get behind another tree, he might still have a chance.
His eyes strayed without his permission when she coughed, however, and even though he looked away immediately, it’d still been enough time to register that the cover had a picture of Tony on it.
Finally, I just have to say I'm so impressed with myself for how much I've been writing recently. I've posted probably 12-15K in the last few weeks, which is awesome. More impressive, however, is how so many of you guys have stuck with me and this fic through the feast and the famine. Thank you.
It was different, though, being the one to dish it out versus being the one it was being dished out to, especially when Captain America was the one saying it.
“You didn’t do anything. Not the way you’re thinking about it anyway. You just …” Tony let out another sigh, gripping his hair in obvious frustration. “I don’t want to hurt you, not like that, not even during a punishment, and when you … when you don’t …” His arms fell at his sides. “I don’t think you know how to say no, Steve. To me. Not in this kind of situation.”
He tilted his head down so he could look at Fury over the sunglasses. “You didn’t want me to be part of the Avengers.”
He raised his hand, letting it hover in the air for a second before touching his lips, feeling the weight of his fingers and wishing they were Tony’s.
needs to stop. There’s a time and a place for inappropriately lusting after someone, and it’s in the privacy of his own bedroom, not when he’s lying on his back with his legs spread during a doctor’s exam!
to argue, but he didn’t feel like he had the right. He was a bad Sub. He deserved whatever Tony said or did to him. “Yes, that was Nick’s plan, but—”
It wasn’t until it was all over, when he was alone on his bed in an apartment that was no longer a home, when he was exhausted physically and mentally and just wanted to wrap himself in Tony’s arms and lie there for hours, that he realized he hadn’t talked to Tony even once in the past three days.
Still, it wasn’t enough to withstand a blow from the shield, and a quick but somewhat satisfying backhand later, there were four men on the ground.
He found himself glancing at the nightstand clock, a quick dart of his eyes, there and away. There were still several hours before takeoff.
“Try. Me,” Stark said, and Steve would’ve given almost anything to see what expression he had on his face now to make Dr. Reynolds falter like that.
Steve glanced at the clock—5:47 am—and got out of bed. He’d get breakfast ready, be able to put it in front of Tony within minutes of him waking up, and then Tony would tell him his punishment, and Steve would do it, whatever it was.
Now, however, the question was how long would he have to stay in this room before Tony would allow him in his again?
Tony frowned when he heard the muted hum of the elevators. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and JARVIS hadn’t announced anyone coming up.
“I won’t, though; shh, I won’t,” Tony promised, leaning forward so they could kiss, grinding down with his hips so their cocks rubbed against each other, making Steve gasp and shudder.
He rolled his head to the side to stare at the empty space next to him in the bed. Steve hadn’t bothered to stay. Although maybe . . .
“You can tell just from looking at them how strong their relationship is. They haven’t stopped touching since the moment they saw each other, and they’re giving each other comfort, and more importantly, accepting it. They’re not going to let this drive them apart.”
“Do you want to clean up your mess for me, Puppy?” Tony whispered teasingly, lifting his hand higher until it was level with Steve’s chin, his come thick and shiny in the daylight, and Steve didn’t think. He just reached up to cradle Tony’s arm and leaned forward, licking at his release through the gaps in the muzzle.
“I thought I’d get the chance to tell you after my punishment was over, after I proved myself so that you’d know how sorry I was.” He could hear Steve swallow. “We both know how well that turned out.”
He shoves everything out of his mind and focuses on work like he’s supposed to. Tony is … he’s just out of Steve’s reach, and that’s all there is to it. The sooner he gets that through his head, the better.
“Tony?” Steve asked, glancing uncertainly over his shoulder at him, and Tony somehow found a smile for him.
“Yeah, I was studying electrical and mechanical engineering in college, and my best friend Rhodey bet me that I couldn’t handle a soft science class.” Tony laughs. “He initially wanted me to take a class on Chaucer, but I said he’d have to take the class with me so we could see who did better, and he switched it to biology instead. Turned out that I loved it, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“I downloaded the building’s plans while they were still trying to figure out how to get suit off and memorized them.”
It was harder to stay still as he waited once again, his hands clenched at his sides so as not to give in to the urge to cover himself. Tony wanted to see him, and Steve wouldn’t deny him that,
“It is,” she assured him. “But since it’s your first time in after being contracted, the doctor thought it’d be a good idea to check for any scarring or tearing.”
Also, it was just my birthday, so please keep the angry comments to a minimum. *cough* Feel free to leave nice comments, however, and all the kudos! On all my fics, really. >_>
, especially not by the likes of you,” he said, and he was staring right into furious blue eyes from inches away, and he didn’t even remember when that had happened. “Or maybe after spending five minutes in your charming company, they just didn’t want
Steve hunches down slightly and has to resist the urge to pull the sheet up higher. There’s literally no one else in the office.
He presses kisses against Steve’s fingers to ward off the horror of what could’ve happened. If Tony hadn’t gone to the surface, if he hadn’t decided to sunbathe on a whim …
“Steve,” Tony said, tugging gently at him, but Steve shook his head and held on tighter. He still had so much to say, but he needed a minute before he could go on, and he just wanted to spend that time at Tony’s feet.
It felt … strange. Unfinished. That was it? Tony didn’t have anything else to say? Steve knew that punishment was hanging in the distance, that maybe Tony wanted the time to sort out his thoughts before picking up where they’d left off tomorrow, but for Tony to just get up and leave …
“May I touch you?” Steve asked quickly, not ready to be dismissed, not wanting to lose the press of Tony’s hands and mouth when he’d just gotten them. “I want to touch you,” he said, changing his request, because he’d never realized how powerful the words “I want” could be until Tony had taught him.
At the time, he hadn’t thought to question whether his mother spoke those words as reassurance or as prophecy, but he wondered now what she had seen of their life together. He had asked years later, but as with all her visions, she had held the knowledge tight to her bosom and refused to answer.
He didn’t know why, but he’d assumed it’d be over with quickly, that a wolf would try to come as soon as it could in the wild. But Tony didn’t stop, he didn’t stop, and he didn’t stop, and Steve couldn’t say when he started moaning from the large cock roughly hammering into him, but he knew he was getting louder and louder. Tony kept rubbing against his prostate with each thrust, the feeling much more intense than it’d ever been with the handful of partners who’d fucked him before. He wondered if it was because of how thick Tony was, or if the bone inside just made it that much more noticeable, but it felt like Tony never missed, and the wide stretch of his hole combined with the sharp, almost punishing jolts of pleasure were making him lightheaded.
eyes flickered over to Fury—Steve, because as far as Tony was concerned, he’d lost the respect that came with the title—but Tony wasn’t going to let Fury to step in, not when he had the advantage and was dying to use it.
By the time he was done, the room gleamed, all bare workspaces and open floor, the damage hidden, even though it didn’t make the reality any more bearable.
“Sit up now, on your knees,” Tony said, and Steve pushed himself up on unsteady legs, grateful when Tony encouraged him to lean back against his warmth. “You really needed that, didn’t you?” Tony murmured into ear, making Steve shiver, and Tony huffed a little laugh. “Of course you did. Just look at how much you came,” he said, lifting his hand, which was covered in Steve’s release.
There was a short pause before Steve cleared his throat and said, “Honor.” Tony knew that checking in could break the mood for some Subs, but he couldn’t regret asking. Steve was so inexperienced that he felt he had to remind him his safeword was there if he needed it. Not that Tony thought he would, but just in case.
And yes, that’s true, but Tony already knows how much Steve gets … caught up in his doctor visits, and he doesn’t want to give him the impression he only asked him out for his medical degree. He genuinely likes Tony, more than he should probably at this point, but he has no plans to try to stop.
He immediately turned so he was facing the bed, although he didn’t know that it was better exactly, considering how close they were. While he’d intended to wake up Tony, he hadn’t imagined embarrassing himself as much as possible in the process.
Anyway, I have no idea if I'll continue it, so anyone who hates WIPs for exactly this reason, feel free to back away now. I completely understand.
The whole point of a sex toy was to help someone orgasm, so when Steve tightened up around it, Tony had programmed the vibrations to go faster and concentrate around his prostate. All well and good, except for two … okay, two-and-a-half things.
So maybe that was what he should do when he got back, keep asking for things that mattered until Tony believed him, believed
So the events of this chapter probably come as a bit of a surprise, but I've been planning to incorporate the Avengers movie into this fic from day 1, and it's necessary for plot progression. Next chapter should cover the movie, and then we move on. I think. Not more than two chapters, definitely. Next update will probably take a bit longer since I'm going to busy all next week, but then I'll be back.
Steve feels so good that it’s not long before all of Tony’s tentacles are in a frenzy as he gets closer to orgasm. The two on Steve’s chest are almost slapping against his skin as they pull on and off, his nipples bright red and swollen. The one in his cock is going twice as fast as Tony’s hectocotyli, the movement much smaller and more precise, but Tony can feel how large Steve’s cock has become, burning hot and filled with blood. The three tentacles keeping them afloat are churning the water around them madly, and the last two are nudging against Steve’s opening and thrashing around in frustration, so much so that they actually spank Steve accidentally, but Steve just groans wetly and tightens so much around Tony that he does it again.
when you want to go out, when you need something, or want me to do something for you—and I doubt you’ll have a problem with this part—or when something isn’t working for you. I’m not psychic, and I have a tendency to get caught up in my own projects, so if you don’t say something, I won’t know. Speaking of which, I doubt Fury told you about groups like the National Association for Submissives’ Rights, but if you feel you’re being mistreated, you get in touch with these guys,” he said, and it was like throwing down a gauntlet.
When Nick had told him about the rule for Subs who’d been in combat, Steve had turned down the first five potential Doms. It wasn’t something that had been in place in his day. People had still be
“The time machine is set for two hours, and it’s going to take me back whether I’m ready or not.” Joe smiled, but there was something fragile about it. “I just wanted a chance to see you before . . .”
He looked at Steve, taking in the shadows under his eyes and the tense line of his jaw, present even in sleep. He supposed he should be grateful that Steve was sleeping at all since, according to JARVIS, Steve had barely closed his eyes for the past two nights. Steve might’ve allowed himself to be guided to Tony’s bed, but he’d been acting like an unwanted guest there ever since, keeping to the very edge of the mattress and staying glued in place throughout the night, watching Tony, almost always watching him, but making no move to touch him or lay closer.
That had lead to Stark yelling at JARVIS that they had an emergency and using floating images to explain what a computer was. At length. He’d then bragged about how much better JARVIS was than anything else out there and had demanded Steve take him for a spin and go wild, although not Girls-Gone-Wild-wild, because Fury would kill him.
He frowned at the thought of Stark lying to him, but then again, who was to say that he had? She might have liked him as a person but still had reservations about their contract, and what if she convinced Stark to let him go?
—in the first place, the one that kept insisting Tony couldn’t possibly be the Dom that Steve needed, and look where that had gotten him?)
“There is something you can do for me, though,” he said, and what the hell was he doing? This was a stupid idea.
“Rule six?” He raised his eyebrows, because he remembered exactly what rule six was. “That was a long time ago—”
“I’m not—are you even listening to yourself?” he asked, slapping his hand down on the table. “‘He was overzealous. He won’t be in the same room as Steve.’
Nope, he was definitely not ready for that serious of a tone, and he ignored him in favor of going behind the counter. What to drink; what to drink?
“You told me you loved me, and at the time, I didn’t handle it well,” Tony said, looking away in shame when he had nothing to be ashamed about, and no. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not like this. “But now—”
“At least, before you explained. I thought you were still angry with me. I know how much I screwed everything up, Tony. I know some of it’s unforgivable.” He could feel the tears welling up again, and fuck. He just wanted to get through this.
He shivers as Dr. Stark’s hands slide down his neck, presumably to check there’s no swelling in his glands, but it doesn’t feel clinical; it feels like he’s caressing him.
Steve shifted his weight, although he was careful to not dislodge Tony. He had the absurd impulse to cross his legs or hide his erection somehow, as if Tony couldn’t already see it for himself.
Tony hadn’t thought he’d had any more childhood illusions of his one-time hero for Steve to shatter. Apparently he’d been wrong, and he couldn’t even hate him for it this time, pity piercing him like a knife and leaving just as gaping a wound in his defenses.
“Yes,” Steve said, but he couldn’t imagine wanting Tony to stop. It was all he could do not to ask him to hurry, his breath already coming faster, even though they hadn’t done anything yet.
He watched as Steve got into position, taking one last look at Tony before facing the wall. Tony glanced at his shoulders, and yeah, there was a line of tension there, although they weren’t stiff enough to make him concerned. It was always nerve wracking to put your bare back to someone for the first time, not knowing what exactly they’d do and unable to see them in order to prepare yourself for when they did it. That was alright, though. He planned on making sure that Steve only associated good things with being this vulnerable for Tony.
They’d never done much of anything together in public that hadn’t involved Avengers business. That had been for his benefit, Steve knew, Tony’s way of keeping the press away from him. Not that Tony had tried to hide him. Steve had free rein into and out of the Tower, knew the security guards and the people at the front desk by name. When he came in through the ground level instead of the parking garage, he used Tony’s private elevator. To anyone who was around to pay attention, it was obvious there was something going on between them.
, Steve thought, steeling himself, and then he quickly shoved the vibrator as deep as it could go, swallowing the grunt of pain and making sure to pull his cheek open so Tony could see how much he’d taken.
Tony’s fingers started lightly carding through his hair, and Steve tried to burn the moment into his memory, the feel of the carpet under his legs, the subtle scent of Tony’s cologne, the almost ticklish press of his fingers, wanting to keep them all for long after he was gone.
“I’m not marrying you,” he said, ignoring the way his heart twinged in protest, because he’d been half in love with Tony for almost a year now, and he would never have dreamed he’d be saying those words right now.
He made sure to clean up after himself, and then he went to stand by Tony’s doorway again, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Yeah, so that’s another thing,” Tony said, and where was something to tighten when he needed it? “Steve’s been really polite recently.”
Tony wasn’t even surprised to hear Steve hadn’t wanted to be left alone. Steve had always blossomed under attention. Of course the opposite would be true, especially considering it was Steve’s first experience with discipline.
“Paintballs instead of bullets, water canon instead of laser canon, flash missiles instead of real ones, and high-pressured smoke instead of repulsors. Not that smoke is the greatest substitute for repulsors, but I can’t carry too many tanks without giving up maneuverability and having to change them makes me a sitting duck. I do have one or two surprises up my sleeves, however,” Tony said, and Steve could hear the smile, although his mask was down, “to keep you on your toes.”
A surge of affection replaced the amusement Steve had been feeling. It had taken a long time to believe Tony when he said things like that, but now, it just made Steve fall for Tony all that much more. Sure, they were still stumbling around each other, but Steve was so glad that he’d come back to New York, that Tony still cared for him, and he opened his mouth to say as much—
, is peering up along his body, past his obnoxiously obvious cock, past his heaving chest, is looking him directly in the eyes, and it’s amazing Steve maintains his erection with how much blood floods his face just then.
“There’s a condition, a pretty serious one actually, that causes omegas to false lactate. If we catch it early enough, it’s not a problem, but if we don’t …” Dr. Stark frowns. “I think the best course of action here would be for me to massage your breasts and nipples in order to see if you secrete any liquid. Considering how sensitive you are, it might hurt a little, but I highly recommend you allow me to try.”
Steve got hard almost humiliatingly fast. He honestly had assumed he wouldn’t enjoy any of the actual sex, and he still had doubts about the penetration itself, but this? He should’ve known Tony would be a generous lover.
Tony deserved the benefit of the doubt, deserved, in fact, Steve’s faith, and Steve wanted desperately to give it to him … but how well did he really know Tony when it came to something like this?
She sighed, folding her hands into her lap. “Alright. Happy and I were talking, and you realize you’re going to have to top Steve, right?”
Training with Steve had been one of the worst ideas of his entire life, Tony decided as he lay on the ground, his body one big aching mass.
Tony hummed thoughtfully. “Was all of this for me?” He smoothed down Steve’s shirt with his free hand.
As for Tony, though … Steve just didn’t know. If he were willing to still talk and work with Nick, he should be willing to do the same with Tony, but …
“You say that, Pepper, but you’re not the one who has to live with him. Maybe what’s he’s actually doing is trying to lull me into a false sense of security, so that he can turn around and steal the schematics for the suit, sell them to the highest bidder, and then live out the rest of his life on his own private island surrounded by beautiful Doms eager to cater to his every whim!”
“I really am so sorry about being late,” Steve says again as he follows Dr. Stark, because they’d probably be finished by now if Steve had been on time. He wipes at a few drops of water running down his forehead and tries not to think about what Dr. Stark had said about how meeting someone highly compatible could affect his heats. Yes, Steve had been in for his semi-annual exam a few weeks ago, and yes, he’d brushed against Dr. Stark once as they’d been going in opposite directions down the hallway, and
“Yeah?” Tony asked, obliging him, and Steve grunted at the little bursts of pain, clenching his thighs restlessly.
He’d been shaking by the time he’d let the body drop to the ground, and he’d fumbled the knife, his hands covered in blood, so much fucking blood. He’d started crying at some point, when he didn’t know, maybe when he’d slid the knife in, or maybe when his victim had taken his last breath, but what did it matter really, and he’d had to use the back of his wrist to wipe at his nose, snot and blood smearing across the cuff of his five thousand dollar suit.
Steve tugged at Stark’s hold, but even though it was loose enough that he should’ve been able to shake Stark off without trouble, he still couldn’t seem to get free.
"Fiddlesticks, it's nothing." Which it very well might be as far as Tony's concerned, but that doesn't change Steve's mind.
“Considering it shouldn’t get much colder than fifty degrees tonight, and you have a sleeping bag that’s rated for below freezing conditions, I don’t think I’m too worried.”
She slid from her seat, settling onto her knees, graceful and confident and so lovely that he felt a pang once again that things hadn’t worked out between them. If nothing else, he wouldn’t be in his current situation if they were still together.
He squeezes his thighs together and bites down on his lower lip, but it doesn’t help, it doesn’t help at all, and he feels like a whole minute goes by of Dr. Stark watching him squirm as he tugs and tugs and tugs, but he knows it’s just the humiliation warping his sense of time.
Steve wasn’t hard anymore, filled with too many regrets and worries to maintain a state of arousal, but he didn’t care. Tony hadn’t abandoned him. Tony wanted him to put on a show.
“You look good, that’s good, the colors look nice on you. What about me? Is this better? I took the tie off but I think—”
But what it boils down to is that there is a teenage version of himself from an alternate reality running around, and he spends about eighty percent of his time hitting on Tony.
Tony cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’re hoping we start your discipline right away, but I’d like the chance to think it over and decide what the most appropriate punishment would be. Will you be alright if we wait until tomorrow?”
He finally goes to shower and get ready, putting on the outfit he’d wisely chosen the night before. Except.
Eventually, however, Tony had dotted all his i’s and crossed all his t’s, and it’d been time to get started.
And maybe, if Tony took his pound of flesh and forgave him, then … then maybe Steve could finally allow himself to listen to the words Tony had been about to say.
No, Bruce had been in full-costume, and Dick had been in full-costume, and they’d been working on something important, and Dick still hadn’t been able to stop himself from fanboying all over Superman and embarrassing not only himself and all his descendants to come with his hero worship.
“So instead you stoke the fires of alien body snatchers and/or necromancers, the Second Coming, government conspiracies, and that’s just what’s trending at the moment. Who knows what other theories they’ll have in a few more hours?” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You never make it easy for me, do you, Stark?”
that that wasn’t Tony’s fault, that he’d brought himself to this point, and it wasn’t like he’d actually been waiting for that long. He’d had his orgasm, and then he’d taken a nap. And eaten dinner. But.
No. No, no, no, no, no. He just had to believe in Tony, stop doubting him every chance he could get. This was exactly what Tony said it was: a punishment and a way to help Steve be good for him. It was something that wouldn’t hurt anything but Steve’s ego, with set rules that he could follow and a hard but obvious path to success, and something that wouldn’t tax Tony’s body as he recovered.
“I’m sorry,” Tony rasped out, squeezing his eyes closed and pulling Steve tighter to him, fighting tooth and nail to keep his own tears back, because Steve needed him. Steve needed him, and Tony couldn’t fail Steve this last time too. “Steve—”
What was more surprising was the image that followed on the coattails of that thought. For a brief moment, he could see it himself, and he panicked, scrambling to erase the image, but only succeeded in altering it enough so he was no longer in the picture. It was just Stark beneath some faceless stranger.
, virtually throwing his pheromones around, his body doing everything it can to entice Dr. Stark and screaming “receptive” and “fertile” in the basest, most conspicuous way possible. If Dr. Stark were a lesser man, Steve would be getting fucked to within an inch of life by an alpha in full rut.
Steve finds himself shifting in his chair, his boxer briefs sticking to him a lot more than they were a minute ago—
Except Stark hadn’t asked if he wanted to go down today, and when Steve had suggested it, Stark had seemed anything but enthused by the idea.
He hadn’t wanted this bonding. And yes, being with a Dom hadn’t turned out to be as horrible as he’d thought it would, but that was due more to luck than anything else.
Unfortunately, that meant he couldn’t see her professionally anymore. She didn’t think it’d be good for him to continue being her patient if she couldn’t meet with him regularly, and she’d given him the names of two of her counterparts in New York that she personally recommended, but he hadn’t contacted either of them yet. It’d taken a long time to feel comfortable with Dr. Saunders, and it was daunting to think he’d have to start the whole process over again.
Dear, Anon. Dear, sweet, Anon. I know you asked for fluff, and I think I gave you some, but...I also gave you a hell of a lot of angst that you didn’t ask for, and for that I apologize. I did write bottom!Tony, however, so I hope that helps a little bit.
Tony’s tongue slid under the elastic band of his shorts in response, and Steve nearly jackknifed off the ground.
“No, it’s fine. It’s my fault for forgetting my umbrella.” Dr. Stark makes a good point. He’s not going to be here long enough for his shirt to dry, and he
!” Steve rasped, his voice barely recognizable, and Tony froze, then whined and slowly, oh so slowly, thank goodness, began sinking down as Steve shook and carefully settled back into place.
of being that exposed to the doctor made him want to break something, and not for Stark or his opportunity at freedom would he—
Tony liked getting his ego stroked just as much as the next guy, and if he had to be labeled, it was nice to be labeled the right way. But that hadn’t been what had gotten him to raise his eyebrows. It’d been the
He turned his head, kissing Tony softly on his cheek, just a brush of his lips, and then he sank down, freeing Tony from his underwear as his face was almost level with Tony’s groin. There was no time to look his fill, so he opened his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he took Tony in.
He hadn’t even thought about the oversensitivity, but as Dr. Stark strokes his prostate, Steve’s hips jump each and every time. There’s nothing he can do to stop them. It’s too much, not even pleasure but a barrage of sensation, and Dr. Stark
“Although I don’t think it would take that long. I like to cheat after all,” Tony said, winking, immediately making Steve wonder what Tony would do. How did you cheat with a machine like that?
But if he could just get through the next two days of punishment … if he could finally do just one damn thing right when it came to the people who mattered the most—
“Yeah?” he said, his voice becoming softer, and damn it, they could work whatever this was out. Couldn’t they? If Tony knew about Project Insight or not, Steve could talk to him, could
Here, though, he only had the sound of his own breathing to keep him company, and he found himself breathing louder in order to give himself something worth listening
At least it had been. All the changes in behavior were leading Steve to one conclusion: Stark didn’t want him around anymore.
It was a huge relief when Tony walked into the living room, so much so that Steve had to steady himself, pressing the fingers of one hand against the wall behind his back. Tony was fine; he looked good even. Resting and showering had done him wonders, and while his hair was still wet, he’d styled it and touched up his goatee. He hadn’t needed Steve after all, and Steve had managed to do what Tony had wanted.
Tony laughed. "Think of it as just one more first time that we got to experience together. Besides, they didn’t really kick us out, just suggested that if we were finished shopping that we should enjoy the beautiful day outside.”
Wow. Okay, sure, Tony had been avoiding Fury for the past month, but he hadn’t known that was going to result in getting carted off to SHIELD headquarters in chains like some kind of prisoner. Of course, if he’d known who his detaining officer was going to be, he might have done it sooner. Tall, blond and gorgeous could rock a pair of fitted pants like no one’s business.
I don’t know if you’ve written. We haven’t gotten any supplies from the Compound in over a week because of the rains. Have you guys figured out why changes in the weather affect Them so much? I’ve never seen them be so crazy before, or so mindless. I killed a few that had settled down to eat. They didn’t look up, even when I cut them down.
He ran into the forest, switching direction as soon as he was far enough in that Tony had lost sight of him, switched again just to be sure. He kept the count in his head as he took stock of his surroundings. The trees were close together, so that he shouldn’t be too visible through the leaves, even with the blue uniform, and the trunks were thick, making him hopeful that some upper branches would be able to support his weight so that he could get higher than Tony would be able fly.
But he didn’t, squeezed his eyelids together instead as he took a deep breath and then lifted his head and did what Tony had asked, squinting slightly at how bright it was in the room after the blindfold.
“What did I say about you worrying so much, Steve?” Dr. Stark says, the gently chiding tone of his voice making Steve’s chest tight, and he has to bite his lip to contain the gasp of relief. “Not even in the running for first place, remember? Now, do you think you can keep going? Or do you need to take a break?”
"Well, there are occasions when you have to think outside the box," Steve begins, but Tony's already waving his hand.
“Let me try one last thing and then we can move on,” Dr. Stark says, and Steve doesn’t even have a chance to breathe a sigh of relief when Dr. Stark lets go before he takes both of Steve’s nipples and rolls them between his fingers.
Although Tony was his first Dom, and Steve had been in one traumatic situation after another. Maybe he would’ve done anything to keep even a small sense of security.
“—and then Nick dissolved our contract, and you know the rest,” Steve said, and he had tried to keep his tone as dispassionate as possible, but he hadn’t done as well as he would’ve liked. It was the first time he’d ever told anyone about his time with Tony, and it’d been both harder and easier than he would’ve thought. Easier because he’d wanted to tell someone the story, and harder because even if he hadn’t said everything explicitly, it was painful remembering all the things he’d done wrong.
He found a likely area with seventeen seconds to spare and quickened his steps, jumping up and immediately pushing off with one foot as soon as he landed so he could leap from trunk to trunk. He managed to grab a branch and pulled himself up, going as high as he dared before crouching down with the shield in front of him and the tree against his back, between him and the direction he thought Tony would be approaching.
Stark was very courteously absorbed in his phone, though, just like he’d been ever since they’d entered the room, and it didn’t change when someone knocked on the door perfunctorily and then walked in.
“No, I have a bit of a wandering streak. What about you, Steve? Where are you headed to?” he asked, holding the keys up, flashing the Hertz logo back at him.
It took Steve over three hours to finish. Tony hadn’t given him any direction on what to do with the damaged items, so he tried to sort those that seemed salvageable into one area and those that looked irreparably damaged into another. It was mostly guesswork, but he didn’t have anyone to ask, so he did the best he could with hands that weren’t quite steady and a chest that had seemed to crack open further with every item he cleared away.
By the time Tony finally came out, Steve felt like he would rip apart at the seams if he didn’t do something, and he nearly ran to grab the bags of drinks and snacks from Tony’s hands. Tony opened his mouth, no doubt to object, but then took one look at his face and let him have them.
He heard and felt Loki’s sigh, his hand coming up to slowly stroke his hair. “Yes. Yes, and that, too.”
“Sorry, I … I didn’t hear you,” Steve says, trying to speak normally, and it feels like he’s going to combust with how much he’s blushing. It should be illegal for doctors to have conversations with their patients when they’ve got something inside of them. Maybe someone who doesn’t get the way he does during exams could do it, but how’s Steve supposed to pretend it’s not everything he’s ever wanted?
By the time they got to the door with Tim and Damian behind them, Clark and his mother had already been let in by Alfred.
Tony had let it go on at first, because he’d been exhausted and in too much pain to do more, sleeping and eating and doing his own watching honestly, marvelling that Steve was mostly within arm’s reach and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Steve had chosen him, that Steve loved—
It reminded him all too acutely of growing up and being told no Dom would ever choose someone like him, weak and scrawny, someone who was sick all the time and a burden to everyone around him. What good was a Sub who was so fragile, who couldn’t even be properly dominated?
It would, but really, Steve knew he was going to do it just because he wanted to, and he was just trying to rationalize his decision.
Maybe he was just hesitant because of how exposed it’d leave him, with nowhere to hide his face and all of Tony’s attention on him.
interested, asked questions because he wanted to know the answers. He didn’t flirt unless he meant it. And even if he
He’d promised himself that if it didn’t go away or if he couldn’t figure anything out within a week, he’d tell Fury. But that still gave him four more days.
Look where his pride had gotten him, though. Maybe if Steve had used his safeword then, not to stop completely but to ask for reassurance, something Tony had always freely given, then Tony would’ve trusted him when he said he didn’t need to use it later.
But then came all the questions, and Steve moved away, let Tony slip from between his fingers, and he knew it was the right thing to do, but it hurt more than he would’ve thought possible.
“It really doesn’t bother me,” Dr. Stark says kindly, although that can’t be true, not when the scent of Steve’s slick is hanging heavy in the air and Dr. Stark can no doubt feel the racing of his heart under his hands. “Okay, I’m going to move on to the next part now. Ready?”
If Steve were stronger, he’d pull away. If he were a better man, he’d refuse to take advantage of Tony’s forgiving nature and would suffer through all the discomfort his body caused him.
“I’m—” Tony swayed, his hand falling down against his side and curling into a white-knuckled fist as he heaved for breath. “I’m fine,” he gasped and crumpled to the ground.
Steve had never realized how strong tongues were before, how flexible and mutable. He’d been rimmed in the past, once, but his partner hadn’t been even a fraction as enthusiastic as Tony was, and it’d been nice but not something he’d thought of much since. He’d never imagined how soft and wet and needy he could feel from it, and now that he knew, he didn’t know how he was expected to ever forget.
his trust, with the only possible exception being that he didn’t do anything to break it, every day that passed by without incident proving that Tony’s faith was deserved.
But then Steve sighs and says, “Alright, Tony. But just this once. And I don’t want you to mention it to
“Is everything a joke to you?” Steve asked, probably going for antagonistic but just coming off as tired.
Steve headed for the couch but Tony didn’t follow, kept going towards the kitchen, so he hurried to catch up. He’d planned on getting Tony to rest, preferably by lying down but willing to settle for him just getting off his feet, and then bring him something to eat and drink afterwards, but if Tony wanted it now—
“Pepper,” he said at last, almost pleading with her, but she didn’t relent, and he didn’t know what else to try, already feeling the mantle of responsibility settle on his shoulders, trying to crush him with its weight.
He opened his mouth to say something, but . . . he really didn’t know how to respond to that. It made so much Tony-sense that Steve couldn’t even berate him.
“Don’t want?” Tony asked, and he could feel the mocking grin settling on his face, as comfortably as any mask he’d worn.
What made it even better was that Stark was surprisingly good at this. Steve still had to be careful, but it was obvious that Stark knew how to fight, his moves a mixture of boxing and some other technique that depended on quick strikes from the centerline of the body. If Steve had thought about it, he would’ve assumed that with all of his wealth and intelligence, Stark would’ve relied on other people or his technology to protect him, but he was glad that he would’ve been wrong. Steve didn’t
Steve didn’t know about JARVIS, had interrupted Tony before he could announce his presence. Steve wouldn’t realize there were cameras in every room, although Tony only ever accessed the public ones. Steve had believed in the privacy that Tony’s departure had offered, and Tony felt guilt writhe through him that he had somehow broken a trust that wasn’t even there.
He’s already come once, but he wants to do it again, wants Dr. Stark to fuck him with the speculum, to force him as wide as he can go and leave him like that until he’s begging for mercy.
Inventing? There was nothing in the world to compare with envisioning new designs and making them into reality, and Tony would sooner die than have that ability taken away from him. But if it had been able to fill the void, he wouldn’t be where he was today.
They flew for a long time, long enough for Steve’s fingers and toes to get numb, even with all the extra layers. He kept waiting for Stark to turn back, to say he was bored or he’d had enough, but Stark’s voice didn’t tire as he acted as tour guide, and his arms never faltered, not once giving any hint of letting go. Any nervousness Steve might have felt when they’d first blasted off into the sky had all but disappeared, and he felt safe, he realized. Secure.
. I promise you are.” Tony ran one hand up and down Steve’s back, trying to comfort him, but Steve remained tense, and Tony could almost feel the misery radiating off of him. “I’ll help you,” he said at last, anything to make Steve feel better, and Steve jerked back just enough to look into Tony’s face. Whatever he saw there had him let out a shuddering breath, and he nodded, his eyes alight with hope.
I opened up prompts on my tumblr and got this: “This might be cheating on my part but might as well try XD how about a coda or just a small glimpse a few months or years down the road with steve and tony in
“It was an alien! Some really tall, freaky, yellow alien with four arms, and I’m pretty certain I heard it say Dr. Doom’s name, but the rest was all gibberish. What is
He didn’t know how long he spent on his knees, but he knew it was less time than he would’ve liked. Tony was still tired, though, and couldn’t be comfortable standing there, and what if he tried to join Steve on the floor like the last time? So Steve forced himself to get up, but he missed it almost immediately, the muscles in his legs flexing as they registered how wrong it felt to be standing.
"You're going to begrudge a man who's gone without sleep for over forty hours one measly cup of coffee?"
It wasn’t like Tony was blameless. He’d done … so many things wrong. Had hurt Steve past the point he could bear and kept on going.
It was so easy to sink to his knees, to rest his hands flat on the ground; so much easier than standing and facing Tony.
Tony’s fingers traced each curve and dip as he washed Steve’s right arm and then the left, lingering over Steve’s hands, digging into his palms and squeezing each finger. It felt amazing, and Steve wouldn’t have thought a massage would make him start getting hard, but then, he was naked, and Tony was naked, and Tony was touching him. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised he was getting hard, even though he'd just had an orgasm; maybe he should be surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.
But Tony didn’t, didn’t do anything except go back to his work, and from this position, Steve couldn’t even watch him, couldn’t even tell if Tony were watching
even, his whole body feeling like he was going to burn to ash with mortification. He’d thought there wouldn’t be any danger of coming after being stuffed so full, that he’d do it just so Tony could see some of the lengths he’d go to to earn Tony’s forgiveness, but now Steve was starting to think there wouldn’t be a chance that he
“I think we should check to make sure all the plumbing’s still working,” Tony said after he’d dragged Steve back to his room. He waggled his eyebrows just to make sure Steve understood what he meant.
The possibility that Tony might make him wait until he had no choice but to fail slithered through his mind for a second, and he immediately felt disgusted with himself, his stomach twisting. What was wrong with him? Tony hadn’t asked him to do anything he couldn’t handle yet, had
Maybe after he’d well and truly earned his place at Tony’s feet, with pain and tears instead of through Tony’s forgiving nature, he could ask if he could spend the day—
“I was going to call!” It was too little, too late, but he had to try. “I meant to, but Nick told me about Project Insight. About your role in it,” Steve said, blurting it out, and shit, he knew he wasn’t explaining himself well, but he had to say something before he lost his chance. “He said—”
And all the stories he’d heard from his dad, all the clips where Captain America had smiled bashfully or stared stoically off into the horizon, all the comics where he’d single-handedly fought forty Nazis and won, they’d all painted the same picture about a hero and a champion of justice and an all-around good guy who helped little ladies cross the street and who would’ve smiled at Tony and been proud of him for all the things he’d accomplished for the sake of his father and himself and the whole damn world.
“None of that excuses me ignoring you, though,” he said, leather creaking under his grip, keeping his eyes down. Tony had spent the whole conversation avoiding looking at him, but now that Steve had his attention, Steve couldn’t face him. “No one’s worried about me like that for a long time, and I didn’t think about what you’d be going through. I just—I didn’t
No, he thought, shame keeping his eyes closed as his cock reacted to having something inside of him, nevermind that it was something cold and foreign, the thing pushing steadily deeper before finally stopping. It didn’t hurt at all.
“Mr. Stark, I’ve been ordered by Director Fury to bring you in for a meeting,” the guy said, calm and apparently unflappable. He obviously didn’t know Tony that well. “The restraints are to ensure your cooperation and will be taken off when we reach Director Fury’s office.”
He was going to make it up to Tony, he was, even if he didn’t know how yet, but Tony was still willing to give him a chance, and Steve wanted—
The arm moves, reaching for something, Steve doesn’t notice what, and he can’t help but think it looks really strong. Capable. Like it could hold an omega down and keep him right where Dr. Stark wants him. However he wants him. So he can do whatever needs to be done for the omega’s own good.
“We had a good run. I’ve been honored to be your Dom,” Tony said, his voice easy but his eyes shuttered, and he was … he was leaving him. Or asking Steve to leave. Either way, Tony was ending their relationship without any kind of warning, and Steve knew that he hadn’t called, but it’d only been for three days, and out of all things he’d imagined would happen when he got back, this hadn’t even been a glimmer on the horizon. “I assumed you probably didn’t want to get back on a plane right away, so I had JARVIS make a reservation for tonight, and my jet will take you back to DC tomorrow whenever you’re ready—”
“They want to automate … pap smears?” Steve asks, confused, because that seems cold and somewhat dehumanizing, and he can’t imagine how anyone would think that’d be a good idea.
“I did,” Steve said, and he hadn’t gotten the greeting he’d been hoping for on the plane, but Tony’s disappointment went a long way to making up for it. “You were busy, though, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Do you guys remember how 4 chapter ago, I said there were less than 4 chapters to go? *Sigh* Yeah, I remember that too.
“Right behind you,” Tony says, and they make their way over. “I’d hardly call it exciting, but I’ve got a dinner to go to on Friday night. Boring small-talk, mediocre food, not enough alcohol, yeah, I’m not really looking forward to it. Nice shot.”
Tony had said something similar earlier when he’d brought up safewords, right before Steve had humiliated himself: it wasn’t like he wouldn’t respect a stop if Steve had said it. He’d obviously felt the need to be clear about it now, though.
in bed with Steve, exactly, because he had taken his pleasure and enjoyed each and every depraved thing he’d done to Steve. But he’d … tailored things to what he’d thought Steve would like the most, and it’d always been there in the back of Tony’s mind that he was fulfilling a role for Steve, that he had a job to do, no matter how much satisfaction he took in it.
“That was really loud,” Tony said, sounding amused, and the shame pulsed inside of Steve. “What if someone hears you, Steve? What if someone
He started with light kisses, soft but quick, along the edges of Steve’s mouth, against parted lips that tried to chase him as he went, and he finally had to grip the hair at the back of Steve’s head to keep him still—something Steve obviously appreciated if the shuddery gasp he gave were anything to go by. But it was when Tony covered Steve’s neck with his other hand, forcing his jaw up, that Steve outright moaned, and Tony gave up the teasing and got serious, relishing the way Steve’s jaw moved against his fingers as their tongues slid together.
“Well, congrats, man! I thought something might’ve been going on, since you looked a lot happier than the last time I saw you.”
“Good morning,” Tony said softly, and Steve met his eyes without meaning to. “Hey, so, depending on how you feel, I was thinking we might go to the coffee shop downstairs and get some deserts masquerading as breakfast food. What do you think? We’ve been cooped up in here for so long; it might be nice to stretch our legs a bit, get some fresh air.”
“Yes,” he said, setting down his drink, which he’d been nursing just to give his hands something to do. “You?”
had been cautious about just how he wrestled with Stark, but Stark had seemed oblivious to the change.
He swallowed, and it took him an embarrassing amount of time to say, “You don’t know me,” a thread of hoarseness running through his voice. It was ridiculous how affected he was by what she’d said.
Somehow, he’s developed a little bit of a crush on an escort, and isn’t that the biggest laugh in the world?
He curled into Tony even more, wishing he could catch more than just a trace of Tony’s cologne, but the tears made that impossible.
It took everything in him to not let a tear fall, but Steve clawed and scraped at his control, and he managed somehow. He couldn’t stop the shakiness of his breathing, however, no matter how much he grit his teeth or tried to take deep breaths, and there was no hiding it from Tony, when he was that close.
He was finally ready, however, to let people see what he and Tony were to each other, what they could be. And he wanted Tony to know that.
“Good,” Nick said. “Then let’s get going. We don’t have much time. Grab whatever you need, and I’ll meet you two on the roof,” he said and headed toward the elevator.
“He didn’t—” Steve tried to smile. “I wondered if he’d make an appearance, but he never did. Not once all night long.”
He heard Tony’s sharp inhale, watched as Tony went completely still, and the knowledge that Tony was as affected as he was helped ease some of the nervousness inside of him.
“Hello, Steve,” Tony said from where he was sitting in an armchair. He set down his tablet on the table next to him and smiled.
“Really, we should’ve picked one right away, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t going to respect a ‘stop,’ so I didn’t think it was necessary at first. This way, you can let me know when you’re feeling uncomfortable or when you just can’t or won’t do something—”
"What the hell were you thinking?" Pepper demanded, managing to smack him on the arm even as he was trying to dodge away.
that it turned everything smooth and slick, liquid heat coating Steve’s thighs and sliding down his hips and between his cheeks, Tony’s hot huffs of air making it feel even better. When Tony curled his tongue around Steve’s cock at the same time as he licked, Steve shouted and arched off the floor, even with Tony holding him down.
For as odd as the seat looked, it was surprisingly comfortable, all the parts that touched his skin padded and covered in soft cloth, with the headrest and armrests placed perfectly. Steve would’ve been more grateful if he weren’t so on edge, but it was hard to drum up any appreciation when he felt so exposed.
“Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re telling yourself right now, I meant it when I said it’s not a failure to use your safeword.”
“Okay.” Tony starts to take a deep breath and then visibly stops himself, leaning back in his seat. “Okay. You need to go?”
Nonetheless, it’d taken a lot of courage for him to come to him, and Tony hadn’t once tried to reach out to Steve.
“As I was saying earlier, I don’t know how you’ve handled things with your previous Doms, but when I—”
For those of you who might be worried we've taken a step back, I promise that the next chapter is going to have sweet moments between these two. (Or if not, then the chapter after that, because these things have a mind of their own ugh.) I mean, we're going to get a little kinky again, but sweet moments too.
“I’m not saying I should build you a fucking machine or anything,” Tony said, and Steve’s jaw dropped a little, all his thoughts scattering. “Although that is a possibility. Would you like that, Steve?” Tony asked, tilting his head to the side. “If I built something like that for you?”
“Steve,” Tony said seconds later, lifting his finger and ignoring Steve’s raspy, “Tony, please.” He could see a strand of precome cling from his cock to Tony’s finger. “Thank me.”
“Ma, you know Bruce, of course, and these are his sons. This is Dick, Tim, and Damian, and I think Jason said he’d be arriving late.”
Steve waited, but Tony didn’t come in, didn’t even say anything to him through the door, and what? Did he think Steve hadn’t heard them?
He moaned at the thought, the sound coming out thick and garbled by saliva, and Tony stuttered, saying, “Yeah, keep doing that,” as his thrusts came a little faster.
. He’s allowed to now. He can have as much of Tony as he wants, and the idea of it makes him feel crazy, makes him shudder and arch up towards Tony, a whine building in his throat.
He should’ve read Steve better. Paid more attention. Should’ve cared more about Steve than his own damn feelings, especially since he’d known Steve was already having a hard time. But for the past day and a half, he’d been too fixated on doing this one last thing for Steve, on fulfilling his final duty as Steve’s first Dom and putting him through different types of punishment so he could figure out what did or didn’t work for him before he moved on.
mind as a matter of fact, and he had better things to do than put it on hibernation mode for nearly a week at a time. (That was what alcohol was for, and then at least, he got to pick and choose when he binged.) Never mind that the fucking itself normally only lasted three to four days. Everyone knew that Alphas regressed to Neanderthal levels right before and after their Omega went into heat, grunting and pounding their chests and ready to attack anyone that came close to their chosen mate during a fertile period.
He took a deep breath before switching over, slapping on his most annoying grin as the screen filling with Fury’s face. “Well, if it isn’t the Commander of SHIELD himself. What can I do for you, Fury?”
Maybe so, but when had he ever given up on something he wanted so easily? He should’ve tried harder with Steve.
At this point, it just seemed like something he had to be good enough for, something he had to earn, a reward, he supposed, and while Tony had fucked him with his fingers, his tongue, had even brought out a few toys that made Steve rub his thighs together in remembrance, Tony still hadn’t gone all the way.
. He is very, very sore in places he hasn’t been this sore in since he lost his virginity. Either they were
“Why,” Tony said, finding the energy somehow to wipe at the bit of drool at the corner of his mouth, “giving up so soon?”
For the prompts “shopping for curtains” (Avengers_Tables) and “kink: rushed sex” (Cap_Ironman Bingo).
He blocked Stark’s next strike, and the next, and the next after that, the two of them shuffling across the floor as they each tried to find an opening. He eventually managed to catch Stark’s hand, twisting it and shoving it against Stark’s other arm so it was pinned to his chest, consequently leaving his side vulnerable. Steve landed a quick tap before Stark could get free. Stark nodded in recognition of the hit.
He didn't quite know how to finish that sentence, but Tony saw it for the victory it was and smiled widely before finally helping to set up the camp in relative silence—for Tony anyway—willing to be good now that he knew he’d get what he wanted later.
Steve tears at Tony’s shirt with his free hand, something Tony would normally be down with, but what with having just been shot and all—
He could feel the prickle of tears behind his eyes, and he bowed his head, blinking rapidly, refusing to let them fall. He would never have used his safeword if he’d honestly known what else to do, but he wasn’t going to manipulate Tony further by crying in front of him, no matter how genuine the emotion behind it.
What Tony did know was that out of all of them, he was probably having the easiest time with the whole awkward discussion having been in the public eye his whole life, so he was used to having people know all sorts of crazy, supposedly private things about him. And when push came to shove, he could walk away, because he didn’t need to waste his time getting a recalcitrant Sub to bend knee when he could snap his fingers and have a willing one licking his boots in about ten seconds flat.
He’d thought he’d been getting better, but the idea that Steve had left—again—that Tony would be coming back to an empty apartment, had filled him with panic. He’d made himself wait for as long as he could, but once he’d given himself permission to head back, he’d all but run to get here and hadn’t even asked JARVIS if Steve was still around, because he’d needed that deniability for just a little longer.
“It’s alright. I know, I know,” he said, as he put Steve on his knees on the bench for the next part, his ass about waist level to him. Even though he wasn’t actually saying anything of meaning, the tone seemed to reassure Steve, enough that Tony could take a step back and spill half of the lube getting his fingers coated, but whatever, he could buy more. He rested his left hand on the back of Steve’s neck, not for Steve for once, but for himself, needing the contact, the illusion of control, and then he pushed two fingers into Steve, closing his eyes at the sensation.
“Open up,” Tony said after he’d finally given himself permission to move back in front of him, and Steve stared up at Tony with eyes blind with lust, right before he took him in greedily.
Maybe it was time to go back. Nick had said they could use him at SHIELD. He wouldn’t be wanted there, not like—not like before, but he’d be needed, and maybe that’d be enough.
“But you’re his first Dom, Tony,” she said, ignoring him, and he’d known that telling her that fact had been a mistake. He wouldn't have if he hadn't been tired and frustrated and feeling cooped up; he couldn’t very well leave Steve in the penthouse to fend for himself, but he wasn’t used to staying indoors for so long unless he was caught up in a fit of genius. So yeah, maybe he’d had a few drinks last night and complained to Pepper about worrying he was going to screw things up, because it’d be so easy to do. But really, it was unfair that she was holding his maudlin thoughts against him.
Tony sat behind Steve and got his fingers as wet as he could with just saliva before leaning forward to rest his teeth where he wanted them, a perfect round mouthful of the inner, bottom curve of Steve’s ass. He paused for a second there, two fingers resting against Steve’s hole, so Steve would know exactly what he was planning and so the tension could ratchet up a bit—and then he started to bite down while simultaneously pushing into Steve.
“What do you mean?” Steve asked, finally lifting his head as he tried to make sense of Tony’s question. Was Tony asking if he was thinking about him instead of just himself now?
On the plane ride to New York, he’d finally decided what he was going to ask Tony for next: a date. Somewhere public, where everyone could see the two of them together, and someplace romantic, so no one could mistake
“You’re right, though,” Tony said, closing his eyes. “I should’ve asked you,” he said roughly, and then he was gone.
When Tony had suggested fighting against the Iron Man suit, Steve had assumed it’d be in the gym, where they normally trained. Sure, it would’ve restricted Tony’s movements, but considering Iron Man had projectile weapons and could fly, Steve hadn’t been concerned it would give him an undue advantage.
“You know, you said something to me a few days ago. Something I never really responded to the way I wanted.”
“When are you coming back?” he asked, which, considering why he’d called in the first place, was an unfair question. He knew that it’d probably been a last minute decision on Tony’s part, but it was strange to think of Tony choosing to be so far away. Tony had always just been
He didn’t move as he heard Tony draw closer, not even when Tony seemed to hover in one spot and the temptation to look started welling up. Nerves could be a soldier’s worst enemy, but they didn’t belong here. It was hardly a life-threatening situation, no matter what the adrenaline coursing through his body told him, and he doubted the paintballs could hurt that much if he got shot.
Why is this happening to him? This isn’t normal, not even for him, and there are some days during his heat when he gets wet watching medical dramas. Fuck.
He sat outside on the balcony in order to be as close to the storm as possible without actually being in it. It was mostly covered, and as long as he kept his chair angled close the wall, he shouldn’t get wet. He brought along a copy of
”I’m going to go ahead and check your prostate now,” Dr. Stark says, putting words to action, pressing down and rubbing, and Steve doesn’t mean to do it, never means to do it, but he’s been on the edge for so long, and the way Dr. Stark touches him …
the base without accompaniment, and is that what you really want? To have to request in writing a chaperone every time you want to leave? Not to mention the fact that you’d have to apply days in advance so we could put it on someone’s schedule, in addition to the very real possibility that you could be turned down due to lack of availability or because someone decides your request isn’t important enough to permit.”
“I don’t,” Steve said, and Tony could hear the way he was trying to dredge up the anger from before. He finally looked over at him to see that Steve was standing now instead of hunched in on himself on the couch, shoulders squared back as he geared himself up for battle, and Tony acknowledged the relief that no matter how many cracks Steve had, he wasn’t quite broken.
He didn’t need a watcher! He’d always looked after himself, and while yes, he’d wanted Tony to take care of him, that hadn’t meant he needed Tony to go easy on him. That he couldn’t handle earning Tony’s forgiveness on his own.
“I still want a punishment,” Steve said, and if anything, he sounded more determined than he had before.
“Thanks, but I’m okay,” Steve says in a blatant lie and throws a weak smile in Dr. Stark’s direction without meeting his eyes, because he might explode in mortification if he does.
He’d gotten undressed in front of doctors in the past. Completely undressed even. This wasn’t so different from any time before.
He nodded slowly, realizing Tony was waiting for a response. Alright. Okay. He’d make sure to do a thorough job.
He knew Tony wouldn’t be happy after he got off the phone, but Steve was right there. Tony could take his anger out on him. He would’ve gratefully accepted any further punishment Tony wanted to dish out in order to stay beside him.
He was limp and slightly disoriented afterwards, and it took a while for him to get his bearings, to realize Tony was rubbing his back and humming a song under his breath.
Steve let out the tiniest grunt as the back of his thighs met the tops of Tony’s, and this was a very sexual position, wasn’t it, he thought, staring into Tony’s eyes, the warmth of his body seeping through Steve’s clothes. He didn’t remember putting them there, but one hand was on an armrest, and the other one was braced against Tony’s chest. His fingers twitched.
He lifts his shirt and covers his face, breathing through his mouth shallowly, but it really doesn’t help. It doesn’t help at all actually, and he imagines that he can almost taste it on his tongue, Steve’s scent, his desire.
“Tony,” Steve says, a hint of admonishment in his voice and the lightest of blushes tinting his cheeks. But he lies there, hands fidgeting as Tony watches him through the screen, and Tony feels such a rush of fondness for him that his chest aches.
, Steve thought, because it felt like their positions were reversed. He should be the one rubbing the shampoo into Tony’s hair; it should be his hands carefully tilting Tony’s head back as he started to rinse him off. Steve didn’t think of himself as an old-fashioned Sub, but it felt wrong to just sit there while Tony was doing all the work.
Couldn’t he have today? Just today. He’d loved Steve for so long. Surely he deserved one day to let himself love him as much as he wanted.
Other than the speed of things anyway. Here he’d been fixating on hugs, but after last night, well, he obviously didn’t need to worry that Steve didn’t have enough sexual experience. It was just submitting that he didn’t know much about. So fine. Tony would help him figure out what he liked. No problem.
thing Steve should hear was that Tony didn’t know what to do, was barely holding himself together because he was such a horrible Dom that he couldn’t even get this one thing right, couldn’t take care of the one person who—
The first bite was at the base of Steve’s neck, near his shoulder. Steve was so muscular that Tony’s teeth couldn’t sink in very far, but he enjoyed the heavy weight of him in his mouth, the tang of skin and sweat on his tongue. Steve gasped into the pillow, his shoulders tensing and then relaxing as he tilted his head to the side in order to give Tony more room.
Steve should’ve said something then, had wanted to, had been tempted to lie and claim he’d already known that Stark would never use him like that. He rarely lied to himself, however, and he never lied to anyone else with the exception of the enemy, and Stark kept trying to prove over and over again that he didn’t belong in that category.
He makes sure he’s standing in front of Steve when Steve’s legs finally give out, is there to catch him and lower him gently to the floor, all the while telling him how gorgeous he is and how proud Tony is of him.
He took a shuddering breath instead, nearly sitting down where he was, exhausted in a way that made no sense for how little he’d actually done, but he couldn’t be weak, refused to do anything that would keep Tony from continuing his punishment. So he stood there instead, taking deep, heaving gasps of air as he flexed and shifted his arms, trying to get rid of the pain while keeping his movements small.
“I’ve never built a fucking machine before. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it once or twice, but it didn’t seem worth the effort. I mean, they sound good in theory, but it’s one of those things you'd only pull out in a blue moon. No one
It should’ve made the urgency worse, but the longer Tony stared at Steve’s flawless body, the more he felt the need to lay some kind of claim to Steve, to leave his mark in any way he could, and it pushed the desire back enough for him to concentrate.
Steve’s mouth parted, but there was no way he’d misheard. Tony had definitely said what he thought he’d said. It looked like he wasn’t going to have to wait after all.
Their plane back to the states wasn’t scheduled to leave until close to ten in the morning, so Steve went back to his room in order to try and sleep for a few hours.
“Two, you’re aware of the history, and while you’re impulsive and arrogant and all too frequently a pain in my ass—”
But whatever the circumstances that had led them there, Tony had accepted responsibility for Steve, and it was time he faced up to that fact. Steve was his now. And the vague plans he’d had of pretty much ignoring him and letting him do what he wanted until their contract was over were no longer feasible. He didn’t know what he
Thanos was gone, and the world was safe, and … and hadn’t he earned the chance to grab a little bit of happiness for himself? He’d sacrificed so much,
When Tony invited all of them to his mansion for a party next to the pool and asked him if he swam, he rubbed his hand over his upper arm, feeling the changes in texture under his shirt, and gave him some weak excuse before walking away. He’d used to enjoy swimming before his body came to resemble a battlefield, but he was doing everyone a favor by keeping his clothes on.
We were attacked by a huge number of Them today. I wasn’t hurt. No scratches or bites. Yes, I’m sure. We look each other over pretty carefully after every fight, with the same level of meticulous care you used on me countless times before we reached the Compound if without the wandering hands.
Tony waves, and Steve lifts his hand in response, his head ducking without his permission, and he knows that the smile he’s wearing right now is embarrassing, it’s so wide, but he can’t regret it, because Tony’s smiling too.
No. He’d already tried to stay away from Tony once, and he’d spent the whole year unable to forget him, filled with regret. Steve could do it again, but he didn’t want to, didn’t want to find out how much worse it’d be when he’d fallen … when he felt … when there wasn’t even the hope that Tony would take him back at the end of it.
For the prompts "It was a dark and stormy night..." (avengers_tables) and "Writing format: docments" (cap_ironman bingo). I actually wasn't quite certain what the prompt Writing Format: Documents meant, so I just winged it. Hope this counts. >_>
How could Tony not know, when Steve had come back because he couldn’t stand to be away, when he fell apart at a touch, at a glance from Tony? When he did things for Tony that he’d never done for anyone else and did them gratefully and aching for more?
Maybe it would’ve been kinder if Tony had put him on his knees or on his back, tied him down so Steve had something physical to fight against when the desperation became much. But Tony wanted to be able to see every flex of muscle, every shiver of arousal, wanted to be able to touch and tease and hurt Steve as much as he could bear. He wanted to drive Steve past the edge of self-control until he was nearly mad from the barrage of sensations, and how could he do that if half of Steve’s body was unavailable to him?
?” repeated Tony. “What do you think this whole thing was about?” he asked, his voice getting louder.
“But . . . I mean, even if we don’t have a contract, the rules are still in place, aren’t they?” Steve asked, looking worried, and Tony knew how important rules could be, especially for new Subs, so while he hadn’t actually intended to revisit their old rules, he found himself nodding in agreement anyway.
“I’m me again!” Tony said, checking to make sure all his parts were in place. Being a woman had been disorienting to say the least, what with the different center of gravity, the change in height and voice, and the lack of dick. “Hallelujah!”
Really, there’d only ever been a handful of occasions that’d he’d gone up against someone without either of them getting beaten black and blue. The first few times had been with Bucky when he’d tried to teach Steve to defend himself because he’d refused to let Bucky fight his fight battles for him. The last had been during Boot Camp when everyone had been expected to learn how engage in one-on-one combat.
“Attractive and smart. How did I get to be so lucky?” she asked, and Steve found himself smiling at their easy banter.
He tensed when Tony started washing his nipples, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers, Steve’s breath becoming unsteady the longer Tony focused on them. Just when he started arching into Tony’s touch, unable to keep still, Tony finally moved, sliding his hands back up to the curve between Steve’s neck and shoulders. Steve’s eyes fluttered as he looked up at Tony.
“That can't be right! Sorry, there seems to be some kind of interference with my audio. Must've been that last pass when I got knocked into the wall. I couldn't make out what you said, over."
“Yeah,” Tony said, adding another finger and rubbing against Steve’s prostate mercilessly. “Yeah, show me how much you like being fucked, sweetheart,” he said tenderly, taking his hand off Steve’s neck in order to reach around and finally touched Steve’s cock, although only to cup the head a little so it’d brush against his palm each time Steve rocked forward, and Steve made a sound like Tony was killing him.
“No. With me.” Stark stood up. “C’mon. We’ve been cooped up here for days, and I for one am going stir-crazy. I’m surprised you haven’t started bouncing off the walls to be honest.”
Stark muttered to himself and JARVIS at first, calibrating and adjusting and who knew what else, and Steve used the time to take in all the things that had changed. Everything that had changed.
Another short chapter, but maybe short chapters are the way I need to roll, guys. It gets me writing. Happy holidays, everyone!
Tony dives out of the chair at the same time as he hears the muffled shot, and he lets out a pained gasp at the sudden intense burn in his shoulder, rolling as far away as he can, knowing his chances of getting out of this with just a scar to impress the ladies are slim to none.
“You are a great Dom, Tony,” she said, smiling up at him, offering not her submission but comfort, and he let out a huff of breath, wishing he wasn’t so grateful for it. “It’s going to be okay; you’ll see.”
hadn’t worked either, Tony had said fuck it, and that was how he found himself in his current situation.
“Not as much as I missed you,” he told him, the only bit of truth he could give him because if Tony knew just how much Steve meant it, he wouldn’t let him get half that close.
Although the pool might have been on the roof; he vaguely remembered Stark mentioning a glass ceiling so he could look at the sky while he was swimming laps. He hadn’t been paying attention, too jittery, wanting to work off some steam but not knowing how to when everything looked so clean and untouched. He could just imagine Stark’s gym being the same, the leather polished, the weights shining, and he couldn’t picture himself breaking punching bag after punching bag, the sand spilling like blood over the floor. He’d given Stark a stilted goodnight soon after and retreated to his room.
“No can do, I’m afraid. The passenger-side seat belt isn’t working, and I’m waiting for parts,” he said, not even feeling bad for lying, because the last thing he needed was to sit next to Mr. Cute But Creepy for any length of time.
Tony waved his hand dismissively. “Are you kidding? Me and Clint? Alone? For a whole weekend? We’d kill each other. Besides, my parents would never buy it.”
“Good,” Tony said again, tired all of the sudden, exhausted really. And maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was another reason that Steve was acting so oddly, and maybe he wasn’t sitting there thinking all sorts of terrible things about Tony like he had the first day. Maybe they’d moved past that into something resembling trust.
He couldn’t deny, however, that the worry that Stark was getting ready to terminate their contract had faded significantly by the time he turned off the computer. It wasn’t completely gone, but Steve was more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Welcome to Jackson, Steve!” he said to cover his reaction, which no matter his gift for gab, he wouldn’t have been able to explain for the life of him. “I’m guessing you’ve already seen most of the sights, but in case you haven’t, don’t blink as you’re walking down Main, otherwise you’ll miss all that the town has to offer. There’s a diner about four blocks south of here that I’d personally recommend if you’re in the mood for burnt coffee and excellent chocolate cake. It’s nothing fancy, and do
He preferred to not think. Not remember. And that worked for the most part, except for when it didn’t, and those days, he’d stay in his motel room and let the memories rush over him until he was strong enough to stuff them back into the lockbox in his mind.
“Shh,” Tony said again, and it made a shiver run down Steve’s spine. “Mmm, gorgeous,” Tony said when he pushed Steve’s clothes out of the way. He spent a moment looking, just looking, and Steve’s cock—dark red and already so, so wet—slapped humiliatingly against his stomach in reaction. Steve squeezed his eyes closed, but they snapped back open quickly when Tony touched the head of his cock with one finger, putting his other hand on Steve’s hip, keeping him in place. “You want it so very, very much,” Tony said as Steve shuddered, and there was no way he could deny it. “You should thank me for giving it to you,” Tony said, as he circled the tip, making Steve grunt, his hips jerking.
It was a weak excuse. He knew it even as he thought it. Yes, he’d been trying to keep Tony safe, but he hadn’t even made an effort to let Tony know he was okay, that he was
on the tenth anniversary of Thanos’ defeat. Something was happening, and Steve couldn’t let himself be blinded. It was just a distraction, a ploy of some kind, and he had to keep a clear head and not let the thing’s face confuse him. He wasn’t going to be swayed by the tests, no matter what the results said, and he knew that Peter wouldn’t either, that if nothing else, the two of them would stay strong.
“I said I remember, Pepper!” He immediately regretted being short with her. She had every right to remind him. She’d been the one to pick up the pieces after all.
“Tony,” Steve said, and there’d been a time when Tony would’ve paid any amount of money to hear that much emotion in his voice.
for example). Tony Stark had impulse problems, which okay, yeah, but this was different! Captain fucking America was two elevators, seven hallways, and fifteen doors away from him, and if he had to wait one more day, just one more, he’d go batshit insane, would pull a Bruce Banner on them, would—would—he didn’t know what he’d do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.
“I missed you,” Steve gasped in between kisses, the truth was too immense to be locked within his chest, otherwise he never would’ve been able to tear himself away from Tony’s mouth.
Stark was in no condition to handle a weapon, the drugs making him sweat and babble, and Steve had to support him with one arm as Stark’s coordination deteriorated. He continued to tell Steve where to go, however, and Steve kept following his directions, putting his faith in Stark to get them out as quickly as possible.
He yelps when Steve’s door starts to open—shit, shit, what the ever-loving hell—and does the only thing he can think of, charging forward.
For now, though, Tony adjusted the shower heads again so they wouldn’t wash away the soap too quickly but still provided enough water to make everything slick and re-lathered his hands. Then, wanting to give Steve warning but also wanting to make him relax a little, he said, “I think I’m in love with your ass,” ignoring the voice in his heart that said,
He wanted to help, but he desperately didn’t want to do anything to make it worse, and he didn’t understand why Tony was doing as poorly as he was. Yes, the scene had been incredibly rough, and fuck, Steve shouldn’t have lost his temper, should’ve noticed Tony wasn’t doing well right away, shouldn’t have added more emotion to what was already a storm of misunderstood feelings … but Tony was walking like every step was an effort, and Steve didn’t know what to do.
“Exactly,” Tony said, wincing slightly, as if he were thinking about it too. “I mean, it won’t,” he said quickly, and as Steve looked up at him, just for a second, one heartbreaking second, it was like the old Tony again, his expression earnest and reassuring. “I’ve programmed it to just shut down if anything unexpected happens. But why risk it?”
“It’s all right. I’ve got you,” Tony said, and then he felt him pulling at the curve of one buttock, and Steve blushed furiously as he was spread apart right before Tony’s finger started rubbing smoothly against his hole.
Tony blinked slowly. “Of course, Steve.” He gestured for Steve to go first, so Steve walked towards the stairs, wishing he could turn around to watch Tony and make sure he was alright, but knowing he couldn’t without giving himself away.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to touch them again,” Dr. Stark says, and yup, there it is. “More than just touch them, I’m afraid.”
It was just as good as he remembered, better, and he sighed into Tony’s mouth when Tony’s hand slid up the nape of his neck, hoping Tony would—
He took Steve to bed not long after, even though it was hours before either of them slept, edging Steve until he was a pleading, sobbing mess.
“Key’s in my pocket,” Stark gasped, knees crumbling until the only thing keeping him upright was Steve’s desperate hold. “Pickpocketed the guard. Didn’t want you to leave me behind,” he explained weakly, as if Steve would’ve abandoned him even if they hadn’t been handcuffed together.
He wet a washcloth with cold water and wiped at his face. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d faced down enemy soldiers with more composure than this.
sure. Our projects always turn out, Pops, but I had to finish it by myself since—” He shrugged, looking away.
Steve stepped forward, picking up his things off the floor to unpack in his room, every brush of fabric and muffled footfall unnaturally loud in the quiet apartment.
“Stop, oh, fuck, stop!” Steve gasped, hunching forward, and it wasn’t his safeword, so Tony just followed with his fingers, rubbing against Steve’s prostate even faster. “I’m going to come, please—”
(Look, I did say that there'd be at least one more chapter of angst. I did. So like, NEXT chapter should start the healing. Or if not, DEFINITELY the chapter after that. *cough* Yeah.)
Steve shifted on the bed, the sheets gliding like water over his exposed skin, and he grimaced, his shoulders clenching reflexively. They were just too . . . too white, too long, too soft. Everything in Stark’s home was
?” he asked again, slamming down the bottle, hard enough that a few drops of scotch came flying onto his hand. What the hell kind of game had Steve and Fury concocted? He would never have thought Steve would stoop to emotionally manipulating someone to gain the upper hand, but he’d obviously been wrong. “What does SHIELD want now?”
He can hear Dr. Stark pull out two gloves from the box on the wall, and he doesn’t look, he doesn’t look, because looking is going to be the end of him. Steve knows what comes next, and even with how embarrassed he is, it’s all he can do to keep from squirming in anticipation.
But … what if Tony had wanted to? What if he got tired of all of Steve’s apologies? What if, even after punishing Steve, Tony decided he couldn’t forgive him?
For the most part, he didn’t mind, because it never hurt to have people misjudge him, and he liked switching it up from time to time anyway, so it’d led to some rather . . . vigorous encounters that he still thought back on with a smile. And of course, he hadn’t minded proving his orientation to a few specific people afterwards, in a rather more private setting where they could make it up to him, but whatever. That was beside the point.
The words didn’t make his anger disappear, but it was hard to maintain the same degree of combativeness when Fury was being so reasonable all the sudden—which was rather suspicious, if he did say so himself, but they were arguing over Captain America after all instead of their normal subject, i.e. Tony, so maybe that made all the difference.
The pandemonium that broke out then drowned out the rest of his words, but it still wasn’t louder than the roar of blood in Steve’s ears.
Maybe he’d counted himself in the clear too soon. Maybe he hadn’t been the only one thinking about what had happened. At the time, Stark had mistaken his reaction for disgust, and what if he’d kept on assuming that was how Steve felt? How much did Steve really know about him after all? Could he say he knew what was normal for Stark? He’d thought he’d denied whatever accusations Stark had been making, but what if he hadn’t believed him?
And yet Steve could feel himself calming down, the nervous agitation of minutes before settling into something less hectic and all-consuming.
He turned back around in time to catch the flicker of misery on Steve’s face before it was wiped off, and well, shit. The car ride over had been bad enough with neither of them talking or even looking at each other, but Steve Rogers made a remarkably pathetic figure standing outside Tony’s door with only a duffel bag to his name, and Tony couldn’t help but feel a spike of pity. The last thing the guy needed to be reminded of was that his “home” wasn’t one he wanted and that the only reason he had it was on Tony’s sufferance. Pepper was right. He had the sensitivity of a gnat. | [
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Chester Phillips/Fidelis is an ex-gladiator and the doctores retiarii (trainer of the retiarius gladiator) of the ludus, who trains Stefanus and Bacchus.
Because this is how you own a man: You take away his reason for fighting, murder his image of himself and twist it into something that doesn’t even want to come out of the fog. Even if Stark could find the mental fortitude to resist him (unlikely), he won’t be able to look at himself the same way, knowing he betrayed his friend, knowing he wanted to in the first place. They’ll never be what they once were, and better yet, Stark won’t even try. Not anymore.
“Helloooo Miss July,” Dum Dum whistles appreciatively, turning the centerfold on its side to better appreciate the lady’s assets. “Hey Stevie, get a load of this; why don’t you?”
“Now that’s something I understand,” Tony gives him a pat on the back then turns away, giving the man a slight wave over his shoulder as he walks away. “See you in a couple hours, winghead.”
It’s not a certainty, he is well aware. Presently, they are hurtling towards Tython, towards possible allies and an uncertain future. They could use what time they have left mourning what could have been, worried about what is to come and what will be, or–
“Then show me,” he points to his tin mug balanced on a fallen tree across from them. “Bring me that cup with your special Jedi mind powers.”
“Back in my day, a man was careful with his words. Using language like that is what’s tearing apart the moral fabric of this country.” Then again, getting a quickie marriage followed shortly after by an annulment isn’t exactly peak morality either, and yet here they are.
“So, let me get this straight: We are traveling across the Atlantic by ship to reach Egypt, where we will meet up with your contact, hire a bunch of locals for the actual digging, and then break into the final resting place of their king to retrieve…” Mr. Rogers – or Steve as he had insisted on being called – pauses to look at the diagram of the artifact originally found inscribed on the walls of the tomb of their target’s father, Pharaoh Ramesses III, “his golden dildo.”
Steve seems to hesitate, then: “Just… good luck at MIT. Study, but don’t forget to have fun, okay?” he says, a touch awkwardly. He never was a fan of goodbyes.
Steve knows his boyfriend is nervous for tonight – he is too – but it’s starting to border on ridiculous. An outside observer would think Tony himself is the one meeting Steve’s parents instead of vice versa.
He's almost gotten the hang of it, of slipping back into that headspace when suddenly there’s a cloth draped over his groin and a familiar voice telling him to “Get dressed and get out.”
It escalates from there with Tiberius touching Antony for longer than he ought and describing his own sexual conquests in graphic detail under the guise of male bonding, until Tiberius abandons pretense altogether and kisses him under an cypress tree in the garden of his family’s villa.
Stefanus can tell Fidelis already regrets his choice in the training swap. Erasmus likely received a retiarius he could use to train his secutores in the finer points of combat, and here Fidelis was stuck with a distracted secutor who lost to all but the greenest of retiarii.
Clint protests, “That doesn’t count. You need to pick someone. Look, I’m a reasonable guy. I’ll let you review tabloids from the last couple months to make your selection.”
“No, it’s not Rhodey,” Tony calls out weakly, trying to sit up and failing. He plops back on the pillows of the hospital bed. “Goddamn it, don’t drag him in here! I swear, Cap, you’ll be the death of me.”
And so he saunters past. “Pearls before swine,” he states before racing Steve to the door. Tony reaches the handle first, but Steve nearly lifts him up, removing Tony bodily so he can cross the threshold before him.
But Steve is still shaken, his fear transforming to anger as he pushes away from Tony, declaring, “I can’t believe we’re going to die over a glorified sex toy!”
Tony’s body melted into the bed as he felt light and soft. He floated away, unaware that Steve had pulled all the way out until he slammed himself back in.
At sunset, they arrived at a wooden cabin, which Tony understood to be some sort of rebel outpost. It was beside a lake, which they jumped in, eager to wash the dirt and grime off their bodies. Tony took his time, enjoying the view as Steve busied himself with chores - breaking logs, spearing fish and kindling a fire.
He can see Antony thinking back to his visit to the ludus as he tries to identify the gladiator in question. “Is it that gladiator with the long hair? Your training partner, the one you were sparring with when I came to see you at the ludus?”
They reach the garden center, a vulnerable fenced in area to the right of the building. It’s a touch rusted, but the fence has held. Inside are rows of dead plants, split bags of potting soil spilled over cracked cement and covered in weeds, as well as faded signs advertising sales, some hanging by one end on broken chains. The draped netting and plastic serving as a roof is ragged and torn, large swaths of it having fallen in to cover the rotted wooden pallets. The entrance into the building proper is similarly boarded up from the inside. Steve supposes that in the early days, the survivors foraged what they could from the garden center to build what he had scoped out on the rooftop, before they had to seal it off entirely to prevent being overrun by undead hordes.
“Most men don’t want me like you do, not in the same fashion, and the women? They want me to pay for it, and I never really had the extra money lying around, so… so this is different.”
“Is that a crack about my beard?” Steve strokes his facial hair. He had long forgone his daily shaving routine, choosing to trim periodically as a practical matter. “It does interfere with my jawline.”
“You know when Roosevelt said ‘speak softly and carry a big stick,’ I don’t think he meant in your ass.”
Dracula takes the interruption in stride. “It relates to my father’s accomplishments, and I’d rather not rest on his laurels, not when I have other names I earned in my day,” he tells him before turning to Steve. “You may call me The Impaler.”
“So instead you aim to trade the possibility of Bacchus’s death at your hand for the certainty of your death at his?” Antony knows it is cruel, that it is manipulative, but in that moment, he cares not. “Should you lose, Hadrianus as editor will signal your death, and Bacchus must kill you, but if you win… if you win, Bacchus at least has a chance of reprieve should he fight well enough for the crowd to demand it. Hadrianus does not know of your connection, and– and he is not senselessly barbaric in his proclivities. He will not risk angering the constituency over an unpopular call,” he reasons. “I implore you to consider your situation. Could you really do that to Bacchus then? Force him to fell you in the arena should you fail to fight to the best of your ability?”
However, against expectation, the guy falls silent on the line, so much so that Tony thinks the call might have dropped. “Hey winghead, you still there?”
“Jedi can employ this persuasion technique to compel others to do something or convince them of… of alternative realities,” Steve explains, “but I’ve never been very good at it and never with more than one person at a time.” That was the downside of always solving his problems with his fists, the gentle art of persuasion (or mind-fuckery as some of the other Initiates would call it) is almost completely lost on him.
He puffs away at the smoldering stick. “Honestly?” He inhales with a wheeze. “Not really, but not much I can do about that.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Antony asks him when Rabirius had kindly introduced himself. “I’m persona non grata in these parts.”
“Or the tooth fairy,” Tony continues, undeterred. “That’s a good one. What the fuck is she doing with all those teeth, huh? And we’re not supposed to be terrified of some lady who breaks into our homes to steal our excess bones?”
Then again, his only crime had been trying to take the mission seriously while Tony was treating the entire venture as a goddamn holiday. Why should Steve be the one left out to suffer? Worked up over the injustice of it all, he stomps back inside, ready to give Tony a piece of his mind then force him to sleep on the floor where he can roll around to his heart’s content. He doesn’t even knock as he throws open the door.
,” Hadrianus points out, before his voice goes deathly quiet, almost conspiratorial. “The gladiator will not be a problem for much longer anyhow.”
“If you can’t get it up, I could always get Bruce in here. The Hulk could probably get the job done right.” Tony is blasé, cultivating a nonchalance calculated to piss off the man.
as a full-fledged citizen. Anyone possessing even a passing familiarity with your earlier indiscretion can tell.”
“Seems like it would be an impediment during… more intimate activities,” Steve comes over to sit on the fallen log across from Stark.
“The King is dead,” Tony interjects. Howard had wasted forty-six years of his life, had sacrificed his wife and his relationship with his son on the altar of this pointless all-consuming obsession. No way in hell is Tony about to continue his folly.
Clint is about to crack another joke, something about Steve’s losing on purpose to get back at Stark, who would be the one footing the bill for his ruined furniture, when Stark limps into the kitchen and gingerly slides into an open seat across from him, his face screwed up in pain as he settles in.
“The ‘public’ includes members of your own family as well, Priscus.” Antony knows Priscus is liable to sell his own mother downriver should the price prove high enough, but it doesn’t hurt to clarify the extent of discretion he expects.
Steve coughs, clearing his throat. “Well, you know what they say about getting a good night’s rest.”
“Anyone hungry?” Clint asks absently from the chair adjacent to Nat. His thumbs sweep across the screen of his phone, clearing indicating he is deeply invested in some mobile game.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone. Brock’s a bully. He was picking on the new kid whose mom just died of sweating sickness. Said it was syphilis on account of her being a… um… an H – O – R,” he whispers, demonstrating both his knowledge of social niceties as well as his impressive grasp of letters. “Pinky’s littler than the rest of us, and Brock was mean to him for no reason. He made him cry,” Steven says, stating bluntly, “I don’t like bullies.”
Tony rolls his eyes as he draws a finger down the condensation gathering on the outside of his glass. “Oh please. Aren’t you supposed to be my big strong man on this little trip?”
Stark is still for a long moment. Steve is uncertain whether he’s mulling it over or just mulishly standing his ground – it’s so hard to tell when all he can see is an impassive mask – but his plea must work because the Mandalorian steps aside.
Tony reflexively draws up his legs, clutching his pillow like a crab, before relenting. “You are inhuman,” he complains. “This is a violation of the Geneva Convention.”
“It wasn’t real,” Steve points out, and now Tony’s jaw tightens, his hands clenched into fists ready to brawl, “on her side. I know you loved her, and it was real for you.”
“Oh really? Captain America might have bought her thirty-five years, but you let her die while searching for his corpse. You always prioritized him over us, never able to accept the truth. Well, here it is: Captain America’s dead; do you hear me? He’s dead! And yet finding him was still more important to you than Mom’s life. What would the good captain have had to say about that, huh?”
Steve crosses his arms. “I don’t know what your problem is. Hawaiian pizza is good. It’s sweet and a little salty.”
“Well then, I guess that means you’re out of luck. Besides, you look like you’ve aged four years in four months.” He uses his thumb and forefinger to mirror the shape of Tony’s goatee on his own face.
Antony cuts his hair, grows out what little facial hair he can, and returns to eating full meals. And when Tiberius takes up with another boy soon after – one he had expressly told Antony was just a friend in the waning days of their relationship – Antony tries not to care, but the rejection, the heartache still stings.
For his part, Stark takes a deep breath, but he holds steady, as if steeling himself for the next blow he knows must be coming.
So Steve simply sighs, his eyes steady on the road. “Of course I did,” he replies evenly. “You reminded me fifteen times and saw me load up Billy.”
Upon entering the living room, he had grabbed a beer to give himself something to hold, and then another when he had drained the first out of nervousness and lack of anything better to do. The alcohol loosens something inside him; whether it’s a psychological or physical effect of the social lubricant is hard to say, but halfway through his third, Tony is speaking a mile a minute to an enthralled audience of fellow co-eds, discussing the ethical considerations of emerging artificial intelligence technology.
“Tony!” Steve cries out again, his hand now on his dick, sliding his foreskin up and down over his shaft. “Tony, I’m– I’m so close.”
Antony says nothing, but his face darkens, grows cold and furious. Stefanus should wait, but there is more he must ask, and he’d rather do it all at once than piecemeal, lest Antony think him dishonest or greedy.
Priscus drops all pretense of ignorance, baldly stating, “Tiberius may be blood, but this is business. My lips are sealed.”
“Yeah,” Steve concurs, his fingers swiping long strokes as if scrolling through a list. “I think we should eat each other out tonight. What are you guys thinking? Chinese?”
“Listen here, Tony. I–” he stops, the scene before him giving him pause, because there is Tony, keeled over and hugging the white porcelain of the toilet, heaving into the basin.
There’s nothing Steve can say that will make him change his mind, so he only looks down at the growing pile in his arms. “It’s nothing.”
He breaks their kiss, his forehead resting on the other man’s. “Antony,” he murmurs into their shared breath. His hands slip into his toga, roaming from his hip then lower, trailing along the rise of his ass as his cock thickens against his thigh. “Antony, do you want… can I…”
Tony gives her ten minutes to walk downstairs before he follows after, putting his ear to the door of the study in an attempt to hear the muffled argument. The walls are thick, and he can’t quite make out any words, but the anger he does hear makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and when footsteps stomp towards the door, Tony runs to the guest bathroom opposite the study and hides.
“First, I am going to repair my ship,” Stark replies, returning to the engine to hunt for more replacement parts. “Second, I’m going to return you to Tython as agreed.” He pulls out a piece, handing it to Steve. “And then… well, I’ll figure out something.”
“White roses? God, that’s just so… so basic. So cliché. You’d think my body could at least come up with a better flower if it was going to up and die on me,” Tony says to no one in particular.
On an excursion to Pax, Master Erskine and Master Phillips stumble across a force-sensitive child. Master Phillips thinks the boy too angry to be trained in the ways of the Jedi.
They make the trek back in silence, each stewing in their righteous indignation over the other’s behavior. And when they make it back to the room, Tony goes into the en suite bathroom while Steve walks through the sliding doors to their pool deck.
Steve knows he’s being selfish. He is well aware of the Mandalorian code. He knows the helmet stays on no matter what, but: “Can– can I kiss you?” he asks softly, a touch hesitant. Stark goes rigid beside him. “It’s just… I’ve never – that is to say, I haven’t… um. Well–”
Dracula pushes his chair back, allowing himself room to stand should the occasion call for it. “And what if it is?”
. His advisors probably got it for him so he’d be less uptight and go easy on the capital punishment. I cannot be the only one who sees it.”
Before Tony knows it, he’s lying supine on the couch, his hands gesticulating wildly, talking about all sorts of things, about Mom and Howard, and Steve and MIT, about having to grow up too fast to fit in. Their time is up, but he comes back week after week, divulging more and more of his inner turmoil, his doubts and feelings. It’s freeing in a way, to share all his intimate thoughts and experiences with a stranger, a professional. It really cuts the weight of it all in half, helps him come full circle. It’s what is making him sick, and this allows him to release the pressure valve every once in a while, to process and overcome his personal traumas…
“Gosh, you’re so tight. Such a good, good fuck,” Steve groaned. “Just lie there and let me love on you. No touching,” he said, and smacked Tony’s hand away from his throbbing cock.
It was an obsession. Like a long line of great leaders before him, besotted with a pretty face. And his was indeed beautiful, with his soft hair, wet eyes and pink lips, swollen from biting down on them in an attempt to remain silent while his well-muscled body struggled in his binds.
It was something his father was fond of saying, convinced that embracing change was the only way forward. It was just as Tony remembered then - Howard was going to sign the accords with those same pens when he was killed. And if Zemo had them…
I’m so sorry for posting this so late. I had a draft ready for the second chapter when I posted the first one and I thought I could edit it in three days. But the plot bunnies didn't leave me alone and it's swelled to three times its length.
“I don’t know,” Steve said, plucking at the blades of grass. “I guess it would have been easier if I hated you. Like I was supposed to. You took away my parents, my home, everything I ever cared about. You stood in the way of our freedom. I wanted so badly to hate you back then.”
“Yeah,” Tony said brightly. “Poor neglected hole. Sure explains why you’ve been acting up. A thorough thrashing will remind you of your place, won’t it?”
It didn’t take long for the belt to do its work, turning Steve into a sputtering mess. He found it increasingly hard to hold his position, often twisting away from the pain.
“No one else has had this tight cunt?” he asked, raising a brow as he breached the tight ring with an oiled finger.
“Don’t move,” Steve ordered, as he climbed onto the bed and positioned himself in front of Tony and lined his wet tip with Tony’s entrance. He slid inside in one slow move, which drew a loud moan from Tony.
He thought of Steve often, keeping tabs on his career, happy to hear of his meteoric rise through the ranks, to
Tony made a sound of approval, sliding his other hand down his body so he could fondle the firm balls and take hold of the young man’s cock. Humming appreciatively, he gave it a few slow strokes until Steve thrusted forward in an attempt to fuck his hand. Tony squeezed Steve's cock in warning, as he withdrew his finger, smacking his naughty hole several times to calm him down. “Patience, love. There’s a lot we need to talk about.”
By the time Tony was done, his young lover had begun to drift into a deep sleep, so he left the room, taking a stroll to clear his head.
The real question was whether he could forgive himself. It took a while but he found the courage to survey the damage, to come to terms with what he had done. He returned to his place between long, slim legs, sickened at the sight of the angry strokes that covered the lovely white canvas, now a mess of pinks.
“Yeah, I um… I got sober, and uh… you told me to call you when that happened. Three months. Haven’t touched a drop.”
“He is tall and fair and bears a striking resemblance to a certain patrician, the source of your original shame. You gallivant around the city like a fawning woman on his arm,” Hadrianus grits out accusingly. “And with the exception of today, he never leaves before dawn. Do not presume it has gone unnoticed.”
“You’re getting too old for this,” Tiberius says, his tone cruelly casual as he crushes Antony’s still-beating heart. “Your ass has started to sprout hair. I tried to ignore it because I care for you, but it’s unseemly and rather perverse should we continue.”
Tony almost chokes on his smoothie. He coughs and pounds his chest to clear the burn in his windpipe before mumbling, “I told him to use the back entrance.”
“No,” Master Erskine replies, having chosen to answer only his second inquiry. Steven is visibly disappointed. “I am a Jedi. My name is Master Erskine.”
Steve nearly fumbles the remote while Pinky loudly complains, “Hey dickheads, swap spit on your own time. The game is starting!”
”No,” Steve says, holding up his hand palm out to silence him. He exhales slow, collecting himself. “Now you listen, Tony, and you listen good. This is what’s going to happen: You are going to tell me who you’re in love with, and then we are going to make a plan to bag you the man or woman of your dreams. Because you are not going to die, and if I have to be your wingman to make that happen, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Priscus holds up a hand to assure him. “Fear not, Staius. I do not disclose the identity of any who come seeking…
Steve knows it doesn’t matter. Tony is single; he can do what(–or who–)ever he wants. So what if he made the beasts with two backs with someone else? Virginity is a social construct in that no one’s dick or vagina is important enough to change any aspect of another person’s identity. Tony is still Tony; he’s still the guy Steve had been sweet on for the past year…
Cap waffles for a moment longer and then exits the lab. Tony slows, puts down his tools, pushes back from the Iron Man armor, and massages his forehead with both hands. He breathes out slow and steady.
Master Phillips positions himself in front of Steve, trying to give him cover for escape. “You must!”
Captain America is above reproach, the patriotic embodiment of their great country, but Steve Rogers is just a shell of a man, weak and flawed and ultimately unable to live up to that lofty mantle.
refusals, Tony had massaged his forehead and sucked in a steadying breath. “…Are you kidding me right now? What’s the problem this time? Are they too flirty? Too available? What’s your deal?”
It takes a while for Steve to adapt, but with Bucky vouching for him, the other boys eventually warm up to Steve, including him in their games and studies. He becomes a little less isolated, a little less lonely, and even though he never truly overcomes his confrontational nature when pressed, he gets better at suppressing it. In time, he even passes the Jedi Initiate Trials and is quickly chosen by Master Erskine as his padawan.
Stefanus would never deny Bacchus his delights considering the man had won his fight, but he had other plans. “Perhaps another day I will join you, my friend.”
Cap tries to get the meeting back on track. “Right. So, if we could move on from the topic of Stark’s sex life…”
Tony places a hand over Steve’s and drops his voice low, his tone almost sultry. “I can think of a different arrangement.”
And now Stefanus looks surprised as he touches Antony as well, his fingers pressing over Antony’s own, threatening to penetrate him dry.
“I’m afraid I do not understand… Antony. Have I displeased you in some way?” Priscus will have his hide if Antony returns him untouched with demands for a refund.
With a roar, Steve grabs the retreating stick, snapping it in half before he tackles Stark to the ground. Stark uses his momentum to flip him over, but Steve knees him then rolls him off. However, before Steve can pummel the Mandalorian, Stark is on him yet again. They tussle across the forest floor until Stark uses his superior weight to pin Steve to the ground, his knees pressing into Steve’s thighs with his legs locking around his calves, his arms holding Steve’s own up over his head and his helmet inches from Steve’s face. Steve can see his reflection, angry as he struggles. His breath is ragged and rapid as it gently fogs up the shiny metal. And then he feels it. A growing hardness in Stark’s groin pressed flush against his own.
(If asked later why he had chosen to engage with Antony, perhaps Tiberius would have said he wanted to see how the plebian (though equally rich) half lived, to slum it a little so to speak, or perhaps he was simply bored and Antony had been convenient.)
Tony had gotten as far as dialing the first six numbers, but he always hung up before the seventh. He doesn’t even know what he’d say: that he’s sorry, that he wants Steve back in any capacity he is willing to give him… that he’d like to know if Steve still loves him?
Before he can complete his task, Antony asks him, “I’ve heard you have a rather talented tongue. I was curious as to the veracity of such a tale.”
“Or carnal lust, not as the object of such but as the lover himself,” Bacchus amends. “Livia is very good; she does this thing with her tongue that can strike a man dumb.”
Antony’s fingers slip along the crack of his ass as if he wants to hurt Stefanus like Stefanus is hurting him. When that inspires no reaction, Antony presses a blunt thumb against his hole until it gives. Stefanus’s body goes taut. He sucks in a breath, shakes his head no. His body is too tight, his muscles tense as he takes the abuse.
He pushes down quickly, efficiently, sheathing the sword through Aemilius’s neck downwards, spearing his heart. Aemilius chokes, shudders, and falls to the side, his body spasming and twitching, blood spilling from his mouth and neck as his eyes unfocus and roll back.
Tony curls reflexively, his knees drawn up and hands cupping his sex. “Fucking A, Cap! It’s freezing!”
She smiles, perching her chin delicately on the curled fingers of her raised hand to frame her face. “And still drinking all by your lonesome?”
Out of fury or perhaps borne of a certain helpless vulnerability of being alone and pinned, Steve reflexively, desperately pushes out with his mind. Stark goes flying, slamming into a tree and bouncing off, landing unceremoniously on his back with a grunt of pain.
“Oh… Oh God, Tony,” Steve audibly smacks his lips. His eyes are half-lidded with sweat dripping off his forehead and glistening on his bright red chest. His fingers grasp the sheets as his body tenses up, his toes curling and back arching over the bed. “Jesus, God Damn!”
Tony is frowning, his expression thoroughly annoyed. He doesn’t mince words. “No offense, Director Fury, but this might be your most harebrained scheme yet. I may have a brain tumor, but no one’s going to believe I’d be crazy enough to abscond with a random blond I just met.”
“You are strong and were able to avoid my bite,” Dracula says, observing how Steve’s bruises are already healing on their own.
“I want to go to school for art,” Steve says over a lunch of burgers. “I’m probably not going to make enough money to pay you back for a fancy education.”
One of the upsides of having had sex with Captain America (besides the obvious) is that the man is more reserved around Tony. When Tony talks back to him at the next team meeting, instead of flying off the handle at the thought of an omega challenging his authority, Cap tries harder to be civil, even if Tony can see him practically bite his tongue off with the effort. Hell, if he had known sex was all it took to clip the man’s metaphorical wings, Tony would have fucked him months ago.
into consideration. Now, I’ve got work to do, and not a lot of time for chit chat.” He pointedly turns around and grabs his soldering gun, pulling a portion of the chest piece closer.
Stefanus wonders whether they will still bury Bacchus all the same or if he had earned a more ignoble end with his last act. If he is to be discarded, forgotten… who will provide the coin over his eyes to pay Charon for passage on the River Styx? Who will ensure a proper burial and engraving for a born slave, much less tend to his grave, clearing the weeds and leaving offerings for the nourishment of the dead? Stefanus has money enough to bribe the gravediggers and hire a stone mason to do his work. If he has to do it alone without Priscus, without the collegia retiarii, then so be it.
They lead him to the main house to a private bedroom with walls decorated in erotic scenes either painted or inlaid directly into the stone. Suibne blushes at a particularly explicit mosaic featuring three men in a rather compromising position.
It is a pragmatic solution to a whole host of issues, one that would tie Stefanus to Antony for the near future, if not for life.
“This what you want, huh?” Steve whispers into his ear, his tongue sliding over the shell. He pushes down Tony’s pants to his knees then unfastens his own. He pulls a slim packet of lube from his pocket and tears it open with his teeth to smear it over his erection.
And so it is that by the third day, Steve has had it. Between the traveling and Tony’s nightly wriggling, he hasn’t had a good quality sleep in days. He’s cranky, tired, and Tony continues to tax his limited patience while offering no respite from his presence. Steve’s normal avenue of stress relief – he looks a touch too hard at a gaggle of sun-kissed tourists – is unavailable to him. He’s
She relaxes, and Steve wonders if she would have had the strength and resolve to do what needed to be done. If not her, would Bucky…
“A: I have not been in love with him for years. Shut up. And B: I can like more than one guy at a time,” he spells out, digging into a particularly large reservoir of hot fudge. “So this guy, he’s been off limits because… um. Because…”
“I suppose so, even comely ones such as he,” Romulus allows, even as his manner remains uneasy. “I’m sure he will guard your body closely, my friend.”
Master Erskine smiles down at Steve gently then pats him on his upper back to subtly push him forward. “Go on. Up into the ship with you, alright? I need to talk to Master Phillips.”
With Quinquatria soon upon them, Antony looks into Ignatius, the retiarius Stefanus is destined to fight in the arena. The man is a seasoned gladiator, a veteran of good record as Hadrianus had reported, having lost his second bout and been reprieved only to win the next fourteen. Antony can easily deduce why this may be the case. Ignatius is skilled, true, but he also has an edge, something Stefanus and many a secutor would be unprepared for…
Steve is crouched low in the tree line just outside enemy base. He peers at the building where his new buddy Sergei had said they were keeping Tony. He had even drawn him a poorly-rendered map in exchange for keeping his right hand mostly intact. He had then knocked him out and kept him and his unconscious buddies securely tied up and stowed away in the bathroom of their pool villa for safekeeping, leaving a do-not-disturb sign on the door handle to prevent housekeeping from finding and freeing their guests.
“You work on getting better, prove you’re ready, and then ask him out again,” Rhodey replies, as if it really is that easy or fast.
Steve lights up, the ember at the end burning a bright red to ashen grey even as he coughs through the smoke. “I have to breathe it in deep. Doc says the cough is how I know it’s working.”
“Come on, Rogers. Why don’t you loosen up a bit? Prohibition has been over for six years already, and even if it wasn’t, international waters. Arbitrary American laws hold no sway here,” Tony gently cajoles him as he takes a sip of his first scotch. “Anything you’d like. On me. I started a tab, and I aim to make the most of it.”
Rogers gasps, his grip loosens, and Tony thinks he’s won their little game of Gay Chicken when he feels it: the man’s growing erection pressed against his thigh. Tony pulls away in surprise before he can think better of it, and Rogers covers the offending member with his hands, his expression bereft and slightly horrified.
The only thing that will make him feel better is for Tony to suddenly become a different person entirely.
“It’s a little more complicated than that, patatino mio,” she replies, sweeping her hand across the blanket to smooth it out. “Your father will do what he thinks is right.”
“You beg so pretty,” Tony says, giving him a stroke, causing Steve to shudder and clench around his buried fingers. “And your hole is so tight. I’d love to take it for a spin.” Steve groans at the thought. “Maybe next time,” Tony adds with some regret. The way Steve’s ass is rippling around his fingers would feel amazing on his dick. “But I think I promised you something else, hm?”
Stefanus is wary of Antony’s intentions when the man quietly negotiates with Priscus for exclusive privileges to his “bodyguarding” services. Though Stefanus has little say in how Antony chooses to use him, Antony tries to win him over anyway, showering him with compliments and gifts.
Tony cups his hands around his mouth to project his voice. “Anyone home?” Clint nudges his shoulder to silence him, while Tony turns to face him, completely oblivious. “What?”
Oh… Bucky thought, but no. No, that’s not possible. Steve hadn’t done anything yet, least of all with Tony Stark.
Purple Man is getting better at this, or Rogers really does want to make Stark feel better given he has no choice in the matter. Either way, this isn’t how he wanted to spend his evening. He looks down at his watch. “This is getting dull, and we really should be getting back to implementing your plans for clean water in Ethiopia. Why don’t we move this along?” He sits back and steeples his fingers.
No. Steve is their only viable option, regardless of whatever Doc had to say in her final assessment. Depression. Insomnia. PTSD. Symptoms of maladjustment disorder, and whatever bullshit she could cook up to bench him. Steve is fine, perfectly peachy. And if he wasn’t… well, who wouldn’t be a little rattled in his position? But he’s no pansy. He’ll just walk it off like always, even if it was taking a little longer than ideal. After everything that happened with Jan, with Clint’s family and Loki and Natasha, he could use a–
Not when the very thought of it makes the man shudder. Irrumatio has never been Antony’s preference, and so he replies. “No, it is a rumor I heard, and I was simply curious.”
Tony shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Steve. Maybe you shouldn’t have pulled the alarm directly in Dr. Pym’s line of sight if you didn’t want to get in trouble. I mean… at least wait until he turned around or something.”
“It’s Antony, and would you like that?” He asks, now sitting up fully on the bed to allow space for Stefanus to do the same.
“Come on, Stevie. There’s no need to play dumb, not with me. A couple days ago, Stark was helping you study for your physics midterm, and then all of the sudden, his unicorn is nowhere to be seen,” Bucky continues with much aplomb. “And here I was thinking you’d never make a move. It was painful, you know, watching you struggle to so much as talk to the guy. I’m impressed, didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Your punch needs work. I barely felt that at all,” he says, tapping the raised pink ASPS brand on his own right fist and then his eye. “You should put your whole body into it…” He eyes Suibne’s physique. “Though that might not be much.”
“Oh God; you feel so good, so tight.” He drives forward then shudders in place against Tony’s slicked ass, inspiring a shivery feeling up his spine. He leans over to plant open-mouthed kisses along the back of Tony’s neck, along the plane of his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re mine. Tell me you’re mine, Tony.”
Antony should have told him to fuck off, and had he been older and more self-assured, he would have, but at the time, he is sixteen and still much too conscious of the other man’s social capital. He holds out his hand for a shake of reconciliation. “Agreed.”
Clint raises a brow as Stark attempts to speak in muffled tones before prying off Steve’s fingers. “We were not. Steve made a bet that he could touch the vaulted ceiling in his room, and he had tried to use the bed as a trampoline to reach it.”
“It isn’t about what we deserve,” Aemilius heaves, his voice hoarse with fear or from the near strangulation, Stefanus is unsure. Aemilius clasps the victor’s thigh and presents his neck as he has been trained to do. “Uri, Vinciri, Verberari Ferroque Necari… this was always the way it was going to end. For all of us. Eventually.”
“You were a slave before,” Antony points out, but he gets up as well, crosses the short distance between them to sit shoulder-to-shoulder beside Stefanus on his settee. His side is warm where he touches Stefanus. “Though I
Facing Steve with Stark’s hand moving towards his blaster, he signs off. “Thanks, Rhodey. I’ll take that tow when you can get it out to me. I’ll send you the coordinates later, okay?”
Tony leaned over and kissed his forehead, holding him close in his arms, as he felt like the happiest man on earth. “I love you, Steve. I love you too.”
Tony hummed in approval. “Looks like you can listen after all. I think I should keep you naked more often, since you seem to have grown too big for your britches,” he said, stroking his back and rubbing circles on his bottom. He put a hand on the small of his back to calm him down, before kissing his forehead. “What happens to bad boys in this house?”
He took a long last look at the bedroom, a tiny bubble where they forgot they were at war. In there, they’d created beautiful memories, all of which he would never forget. With a final glance at his sleeping lover, he walked out and shut the door.
Tony's mouth fell open. He'd forgotten how direct Steve could sometimes be. “My heart wasn’t in it,” he said. “You took it when you left,” he added, curtly.
Tony raised a brow, hearing about this for the first time. “Who's behind all this?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Hardening his heart, Tony picked up the crop, and stroked the exposed cleft with its tip, tapping it lightly against the tender rosebud. Without warning, he pulled it back, flicking it directly on the tightly-clenched hole. The effect was immediate. The boy howled in pain, twisting wildly in his futile attempt to free his hands and soothe his sex.
And that is it. Their relationship ends not with a bang, not with the sword or spear and Stefanus bleeding out on the sands, but with a whisper, a glance, or so Antony believes.
“How do you figure that? Tony. You’re dying. You’ve been dying for months now, and no one knew. Not Pepper, not any of us.”
Stark’s fists ball up. He stands, walking around the fire to confront Steve. “You speak of attachment as if it’s something wrong, something dirty, but guess what, Steve? Attachment is
Tony resisted the urge to roll his. Of course, Steve, unwaveringly loyal to the ones he loved, would think so. “Then why did Zemo insist?” Tony countered, remembering the general’s damning evidence of Barnes’ guilt.
It was romance. And Tony would fight anyone who claimed otherwise. It was love he’d seen in those blue eyes, which burned fiercely for him, even though they glazed over at one point and Steve froze for so long that Tony was sure he’d changed his mind.
“Oh!” Tony shouted as his leaking hole stretched around Steve’s throbbing dick. “You crazy, jealous, possessive prick!” he cried when Steve did it
Tony squirmed as his juices leaked all over Steve’s firm grip. “Might make them worse,” he admitted.
Tony stared at him in surprise. "And why would you want that? Now?" he asked, when he finally found his voice.
get you into the shower and scrub away his scent. Can’t wait – all your fault – need you – now,” he said, and lifted Tony over his shoulder in one move, keeping a possessive arm over his bottom, as he made their way to the bed in long, purposeful strides.
“Stand down now. Final warning.” Tony's voice was stable, a low growl, but the look in his eyes brooked no argument.
At the threat, Steve buried his head and sobbed miserably, but he stayed in position, head on the ground and ass in the air, legs apart, just as Tony wanted.
do you mean Bucky, your best friend of a hundred years, who was just holding on to my shoulders so I wouldn’t fall off the stage?”
Why then did his boy, who lived in the lap of luxury and had his every need catered to, repay his kindness by running away each time he could?
“Head down,” Tony said, applying pressure to the back of his neck. “Knees apart. I want to see you.”
His first stop was to the treasury - to retrieve the weapon that the guards had seized when Steve had been caught. He hadn’t needed it then, not with Tony as his fortress. But if he was going back to his old life, surely, he’d need to be armed.
“Thought so,” Steve mumbled, and went back to sucking at his hole and running his tongue all over Tony’s freshly-waxed cleft and taint.
Tony felt loved and cherished, and wet and open, with the combination of spit and slick dribbling down the back of his thighs. He wanted more. He needed more. He whined when Steve pulled away, and wiggled his bottom in invitation.
Steve brushed his other hand across Tony’s bare chest, gently running over his flat stomach and his hip to wrap his fingers around Tony’s leaking cock. “I don’t know,” Steve said, considering the question. I might allow you a cage and plug. That will at least keep their hands off you. Think that would curb your wanton desires?”
His heart clenched painfully in his chest, the thought of being apart from his boy, his – Steve, shattering his heart. Well, that would be
He was quiet now, silent tears running down his cheeks as he strained in misery, his muscles flexing and unflexing as he endured the harsh strokes on his thighs. His back was coated in perspiration, the evidence of his suffering in the sultry evening heat.
Tony’s eyes flew open at the threat. He flashed a rueful smile at the larger man. “But you’re not,” he squeaked in a small, meek voice. “So maybe we’ll let this go, just this once?”
Tony found a bottle of oil, pouring a generous amount on his palms before rubbing them together. He covered the expanse of Steve’s bottom, paying special attention to the inner cheeks. He placed a hand on the small of his back to soothe the touch-starved man, who was breathing through his mouth, eyes closed.
“Of course, it does,” Tony agreed, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I'll give you the belt,” he whispered in his ear.
Tony ignored his pleas, so Steve sighed and resumed the position. In no time, warm hands were on his bottom, examining the damage it had taken.
A hand stroked Tony’s length while the other fondled his balls, and the combination of sensations turned his brains to mush. “Steve… Oh Steve!”
“They used to be, until they developed a more violent agenda of their own. Order through chaos. Something like that," Steve said, shaking his head. "They're against the accords," he added.
“You see,” Tony said slowly, slipping his finger back inside his soft cunt, slowly fucking his sweet boy, who was so so so soft, warm and tight. “We're going to need a new home.” His fingers moved in a slow circle, stretching the ring of muscle. “This cabin is a real tight squeeze. I mean there’s barely any room for two,” he said, stressing the word as he inserted a second finger, drawing a choked gasp from Steve, who squeezed back in response.
“No. No. Now. Please. Just please. Fuck me now,” Steve gasped, tears running down his cheeks as his fists crunched the dried leaves under the blankets.
That’s not what his father says. Tony is a Stark after all, and as such, excellence runs in his veins. With his potential and pedigree, anything less than perfection is practically a moral failing.
They’re both wearing entirely too much clothing, a problem Tony quickly remedies by unbuttoning Steve’s shirt with his teeth while he makes quick work of Steve’s button fly.
“And remain silent for the term of six years after said agreement,” the second faerie finishes, bounding ahead of the first. “If you fail in either task, you will share in their fate.”
“It was cancer. Steve didn’t tell any of us, except Bucky before we shipped out, and Bucky didn’t tell me until she died. You know how the guy is. He probably thought she’d get better and didn’t want to be a bother.”
Steve blindly reaches out, managing to grab Stark’s retreating forearm on the second try. “Stay,” he says, his voice scratchy and sleep-soft.
“No no no… it sounds like you’re in love with the guy,” Rhodey clarifies. He begins to giggle softly to himself at the idea.
Steve had done what he always did when confronted with a bully and punched him square on the nose, but Hodge didn’t go down as easily as Brock. He retaliated, laying Steve flat in the dirt with a well-executed kata. That had led to a scuffle Steve couldn’t hope to win, but then again, he never knew when to quit.
“Okay, just so we’re clear,” he turns to a side cabinet, opening it to find it disappointingly empty. “We’re here a couple days until Rhodey can tow us out, and then a couple more days so I can repair the damage and restock.” He looks over his shoulder, “I’m going to take stock of what is left of my ship and what parts I need so I can relay the information to Rhodey. Why don’t you make yourself useful and find a water source, maybe forage some berries or whatever you learned to do at Jedi scouts–”
It was a warm, summer evening, so they lay on their blankets with only the night sky for cover. The forest floor was a good bed - soft, thick with several inches of soil. Gazing at the blanket of stars, they munched on wild berries and talked about the ceasefire and the rebuilding efforts, heartened by the progress on that front.
“We’ll have to keep searching,” Tony said, moving deliberately slowly in search of the spot which drove Steve wild. “Until we find the perfect spot,” he said as Steve screamed and shuddered, sobbing into the blankets.
“Zemo,” Steve echoed, with contempt. From his satchel, Steve pulled out a box and handed it to Tony. “We found this among his possessions, at our last raid. I think it belonged to your father.”
Still panting, Steve rested his head on the bed beside Tony’s. He placed his weight on his knees and elbows, careful not to crush him under his weight.
“Freedom,” Tony scoffed. “A noble idea. How many men are truly free? You think I chose this life? That I chose to be a king? Do you think I enjoy this? Every widow made by my decision? Every child orphaned by my will? These are
The boy had ridden back in disgrace, arms bound behind his back, feet lashed to the stirrups. Nonetheless, he kept his back straight and head held high, like a wild horse one sometimes found at the fringe of the forest. As he passed the gates, he looked directly at Tony, blue eyes blazing with the heat of a thousand suns, defiant even in defeat.
Inwardly, Steve groaned. He didn’t want any more punishment, and not on his hole, but there was no point in begging. He learnt that the hard way. “Yes, sir,” he said instead, trying his best to be the good boy Tony wanted him to be.
. Tony smiled indulgently at the scribbles in the margins denouncing the monarchy, tickled by the hand-drawn moustaches and beards. It was a gesture which spoke volumes, even if Tony was the only one who understood. It was Steve’s way of telling him - that he was the only one who mattered.
When Tony sat down on the edge and lowered his trousers, Steve didn’t have to be told what to do. His mouth was around Tony in a second, his lips moving up and down on his shaft.
Tony had already calmed down from that morning when he discovered the rebel’s escape, on Gerald, his noble steed no less. It was by a stroke of luck that his guards had caught up with the young rider before he reached the forest.
Tony remembered the first time they’d met. The boy was on his knees, head on the ground, under the toe of Stane’s filthy boot. His legs were tucked neatly under his body, back and bottom covered with the marks of a single-tailed whip.
“All eyes were on you, following the sway of your hips, staring at the jiggle of your round ass. They have no right to look at you like that. You’re mine,” Steve complained, and stuck out his bottom lip unhappily.
Steve turned his head to meet his gaze. “A lot of things you don’t see from up there on your throne.”
“Oh, baby,” Steve sighed. “Have you any idea how you look, all pink and wet and waiting for me?” he asked, before he pressed his warm lips against his entrance, tickling the insides of his cheeks with his beard.
“I do,” Steve said, and a small smile spread across his face. He leaned down for a soft kiss. “I love you, too.”
“You’re mine,” Steve said, as he reached for Tony’s cock and stroked it in time with his thrusts. “Mine,” he repeated when he pressed a soft kiss in the middle of his forehead, still driving into him. “Mine,” he whispered into his ear as he nibbled on his earlobe.
Tony followed closely on his heels, shouting out warnings as he tried his best to stay out of the way. “Steve!” he cried, pulling the shield out of a tree and hurling it at him at one point when he was outnumbered.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this, you manipulative asshole,” Steve retorted, a knowing smirk on his lips.
penance, for daring to go against nature, for daring to take what could never be his. And he would have to bear it for the rest of his life.
It was a warm evening, so they were comfortable in their underclothes, neither of them embarrassed by the lack of clothing. Using branches that Steve had skinned and sharpened at one end, they skewered the fish and roasted them over the fire, shoving the thick end of the spit into the ground to free their hands.
Tony's hand rested at the back of Steve's head, cupping his face as their breaths mingled. He raked his hand through the soft locks, lowering his own body until nothing remained between them, the warm press of Steve's chest setting his body on fire. As he kissed his warm lips, he could feel the heat spreading through his body, smothering him with fumes. Still, he delved deeper, allowing the flames to swallow him whole.
Tony fisted his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling the man off as he handed him the bottle of oil. Steve coated his length, spreading it from the tip to his balls.
“No,” Tony said. “I’m not going to punish you for running. You were doing what you believed in. That’s all we can ever do.”
Tony parted the swollen cheeks to peek at the rosy flesh between, focusing his gaze on the tender pink bud. He stroked the rim with his thumb, gently tracing circles as the boy squirmed, fully aware of what awaited him. He’d been warned. The next time he betrayed Tony, his sweet boycunt would pay the price.
Tony had kept him against his will. Forced him into a relationship. And hurt him too. Steve should run as far as he could. Why would he even want to come back?
The bubble burst, and the weight of failure sank to the bottom of Tony’s stomach. He let out a deep sigh, thoroughly defeated. He’d exhausted his options, used the very last weapon in his arsenal, but still, his rebel refused to yield.
Tony had never expected the blotchy smudged scribblings of a farewell note to be honoured, and he was deeply moved.
Steve shot him a dark look. “Obviously not enough,” he whispered harshly and nibbled on an earlobe. “Do you have any idea how you looked, dressed in that see-through number with those pants hugging your round ass?"
“Very well,” Tony said, running the leather tip over the smooth, round bottom. “Let’s see if this will change your mind.”
Tony sank to the ground, hands fumbling to untie Steve’s long legs from the bedposts. He rubbed gently at the ankles, chafed from struggling against his bonds before he untied the ropes that bound Steve’s hands, kissing away the indentations of coarse rope.
And Tony couldn’t ignore their demands. It would start a coup, the very last thing he needed in the middle of a revolution.
“What happens now?” Tony asked, the next morning, as he watched Steve saddle the horses in preparation of their long journey.
“Yes,” Tony said with a happy sigh as he rubbed himself against the rough fabric, but the heat and friction barely did anything for the ache down in his belly.
Tony's arm snaked around Steve’s waist, hoisting him up. “Walk,” he said, nudging Steve away from where a crowd had gathered.
“You know, if I were a more traditional alpha, I’d take a belt to your ass, make sure you won’t be sitting for days.”
Tony slid a hand down Steve’s body, caressing his hip and his bottom, his fingers gliding between his inner cheeks, dancing around the young man’s hole. Pressing his lips to Steve’s ear, he asked, “Did you feel me that morning when you left?”
He turned Steve over, so he lay on his elbows and knees, punished bottom in the air. With a steady hand, he drizzled the oil from the bottle directly down the cleft, spreading it evenly so a thick layer coated the swollen boycunt, and slowly worked his fingers into the pretty pink rose.
Steve moaned. The oil was warm, but the rubbing kindled it so it felt like he was on fire. Tony ignored his protests, pouring more oil down his crack, carefully working his oiled fingers into Steve's hole. Finally, he slipped the metal plug inside to keep it all in. It was the large one, too, for punishment.
Tony sometimes wondered where Steve even considered his home, now that Brooklyn had been razed to the ground, in revenge for what they’d done to his parents. It had to be the redwood forests that bordered the city, where the rebel base was rumoured to be.
Steve nodded, placing his arms around Tony instead. He rocked with him, moving in time to Tony’s thrusts, desperately chasing his relief. If Tony came before him, he wasn’t going to be able to come at all. Thankfully, he’d been well-stimulated and his release came quickly.
Tony hummed. “You know, you're right. Your poor bottom has had quite enough,” he said, and Steve felt himself feeling light with hope. Then, Tony’s hands were spreading his cheeks, giving Tony a good view of what lay between. Tony stroked his cleft, drawing circles around his hole. “But we’ve neglected this, haven’t we?”
“Oh,” Tony said, the air rushing out of his lungs as his heart swelled to twice its usual size. “Funny how you once said you couldn’t give your heart to me.”
Tony ran his fingers lightly over his sore bottom, tracing the welts that had been left behind, making little sounds of satisfaction. “Feeling all right, baby?” he asked.
“When did you wax?” Tony asked, placing his thumb directly on his hole as he stroked his smooth perineum.
Tony moved his hands to the back of Steve's head, stroking the young man's hair as he searched his hopeful eyes. “I don’t know”, he answered, hesitantly. “Look, I want to, all right? I really do. But that will just make it harder in the morning when you leave. You know, it really hurt me when you left.”
Tony turned Steve to lie on his back, carefully bending his knees to relieve the pressure on his sore bottom. Tony broke the kiss, peppering Steve’s neck with lighter ones, kissing a trail down the flat planes of his stomach before finding his cock.
Tony put down the crop to review the results of his work – red stripes covering the graceful swell of his bottom to the middle of strong thighs. He ran his fingers gently over the raised lines, eliciting a whimper from the well-punished boy, whose body continued trembling with violent sobs.
Steve’s eyes flew open and he turned to face him, looking horrified at the insinuation. “No,” he said. “No one.”
Steve didn’t last very long, soon spurting ribbons of come onto the bed, some of it dripping onto Tony’s fingers. With Steve finding his pleasure, Tony followed soon after, as he had no wish to prolong the young man’s misery.
Steve groaned softly into the bed before he rose to a kneeling position and straddled Tony’s hips, even as they continued to stay locked together.
“Perfect. This will make the crop more enjoyable. Don’t move,” Tony ordered before leaving him, presumably to fetch the wicked riding crop.
“You’re so perfect like this,” Tony said. “But knowing you, it won't be long before you're right back here. Am I right?"
Tony swallowed his hurt, barely masking his pain. “Why? Why do you have to fight me all the time? Is your life here so hard? Do you hate me all that much?”
Tony blinked in surprise, looking from Steve to the cabin and back to him. “Is this a permanent arrangement? Don't you live in housing of some sort?” he asked.
Unlike Steve, Tony had no love for that man. Notwithstanding the fact that he’d killed his parents, Tony hated his perfect hair and well-proportioned features, especially those large brown eyes filling with tears when Steve had offered his freedom in exchange for his life. He could still remember the man’s impassioned pleas.
Tony allowed his eyes to roam over Steve’s naked body. His hands hovered over his skin, drawing soft gasps and short sighs each time they made contact. “Look at you,” he said, gently squeezing one of his thighs. “All grown up now.”
He wondered if Steve would think of him on occasion, hopefully not as an adversary, but a lover who’d once shared his bed. What would be his favourite memory? Would he remember the first time he tried chocolate and made such delicious sounds of pleasure that Tony commandeered the city’s next shipment for his personal use? Or the first time he’d had a warm bath, delighting in the novelty of scented bubbles?
“Oh!” Tony moaned as sweeping fingers brushed over his sweet spot. He bit his bottom lip to stifle another moan. “Is it working?” he asked.
It was a bittersweet moment - two bodies joined as one even when they were really worlds apart. Tony bit back a sob, muffling the sound with Steve’s shoulder. It was for this reason that he chose to take Steve from behind. He wasn’t going to let his lover see him crying. It was their final moment together and it was going to be perfect.
Between his sobs, the boy could barely string a sentence, yet Tony understood the devastating words. “All that I have is yours – the richest food, the finest clothes, the softest bed. Still, you would rather be with your friends, starving in the cold, as you plot the next protest or maybe even my death?”
Tony turned to face the younger man, cupping the side of his face with his hand, just in time to wipe away a tear. “Hey, hey. I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you for leaving,” Tony said, stroking his cheekbone and wiping away another tear as he tried to reassure the young man that nothing had been held against him. It appeared to work and Steve began to calm down. Nonetheless, he kept his hand on Steve’s cheek, tracing the trembling lips with his thumb.
“Not sorry for running though?” Tony asked, noticing the omission. “You’re going to try again, aren’t you?”
Those in attendance had gawked at his outburst. It was objectively absurd, for the king to be defending a thief, an enemy of the state. How could he have such strong feelings for someone he’d never met?
Tony paused at the doorway of the bedroom, desperately trying to catch his breath and slow the pounding of his heart. As always, his thoughts raced ahead of him, but he needed to calm down and focus.
Steve flinched at his tone, swallowing hard before dropping the subject. For a while, they said nothing, just watching the fish browning over the grill before devouring it with their hands. It was far from the best meal Tony had had, but it was warm and satisfying after going a whole day without any form of nourishment.
“Don’t,” Steve said, waving away his apology. “You gave me a home. This was my choice,” he said as Tony's heart ached at the thought of his precious boy living in these conditions, alone.
“I believe you,” Tony said, planting a kiss on the middle of his bottom, where a red mark was beginning to appear. “Shhh… Shhh… It’s all right, my love. You’re doing so well. Can you turn over now? Turn around and lie on your back?”
Steve’s rim burned with a different kind of sensation. Tony paused for a few moments, giving him time to adjust. Slowly and lazily, Tony thrust in and out of his hole, before progressing to erratic, unpredictable strokes. “You feel so good. So so so good. My good boy,” he said. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
It didn’t take long before Tony was gasping and moaning. “Oh - oh Steeeeeeve!!!” he moaned as he spilled all over his stomach, his thighs trembling from the waves of pleasure still cresting through his body.
Tony had exploded, rebuking the pompous general, threatening him with a whipping of his own. The boy was stealing Tony’s plans in Tony’s study in Tony’s palace. That made him Tony’s captive. What authority did Stane or anyone else have to lay a finger on or in
With his other hand, Tony squeezed Steve’s cock, stroking it slowly and rubbing around his tip. “Brooklyn has got potential but I'm not sure - if I like the hustle and bustle of city life,” he said, increasing the pace of his thrusts, before inserting a third finger, causing Steve to moan loudly and arch his back.
It didn’t take long for Steve to reach his climax. He came with his head thrown back, eyes closed and lips parted, sobbing his pleasure as he spilled over his stomach. Tony fucked him through his orgasm, watching Steve as he lay, calm and pliant, waiting for him to reach his. It came swiftly, the waves of pleasure building up at the base of his cock, before cresting as he spilled deep inside his boy, marking his insides.
“Yes,” he said, looking at him, as if pleading with him to understand. “Because then I would get to choose. Then, I would be free.”
“No, not at all.” Tony put his arms around the small of his back as Steve pressed a soft kiss to his neck.
His next stop was the study, where he found Steve’s sketchbooks, filled with sketches of the palace and its curios. He would want to show them to his mates, find a point of entry and finish the mission that Steve started.
Steve gave him a sideways look and let out a whistle. It took a while for Tony to hear it the unmistakeable sound of hoofbeats. The white horse was magnificent - sturdy and well-built, clearly bred for battle, but it was the one behind, dark brown with a white star on his head, which made his heart stop.
They kissed for a long time. It could have been seconds, minutes or hours. Tony neither knew nor cared. It felt like time had stopped as the world crumbled to their feet. There was no pain, no suffering, no war.
Steve begged, pleading for mercy and for the punishment to stop, but Tony remained impassive to his cries. It was probably just as hard for him to ignore Steve’s pained whimpers, but Tony always gave him exactly what he needed.
“Oh. That is nice. That is real nice, sweetheart,” Steve told him in a hoarse whisper, and showed his appreciation with a round of applause on his bottom, where a few sharp smacks landed dangerously close to his twitching hole and full balls. “Want you on your back now. Legs up.”
Tony wasn’t even afraid, having lost the ability to feel anything else apart from despair, now that the love of his life had left. He just couldn't bring himself to care, not even about prosperity, peace or progress, when he had no queen by his side. He'd given up on finding one. Not one of the beauties in his harem could hold a candle to his Steve - a beacon in the dark, who burned fiercely as he left stars in his wake. Someone like Steve could never belong to anyone. Tony wasn’t supposed to want him, much less try to hold on to him, and keep him for his own.
“Beautiful,” Tony said, admiring his little display of humility. “I think I’ll keep you like this for a while, let the lesson sink in.” Tony’s fingers trailed over his hole and the cleft, finally cupping his balls. “How do you feel?” he asked.
He’d asked if Steve wanted to stop, promised to wait as long as he needed. But Steve, his hotheaded lover, had demanded that they keep going, even threatening to kill Tony at one point if he dared to pull away. Tony had obliged, kissing the soft pout with desire, before finding his warm ass and burying himself inside.
The exit led them right into the middle of the forest. Looking at the rows of trees surrounding them, a bone-deep weariness began to settle on him. “You know what?” Tony said, planting his tired ass firmly on the grass. “Just leave me here," he said, only half-joking. "It’s a good place to die. Where else am I gonna find a view like this?”
Tony pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to the middle of his lower back. He held him tightly, keeping his voice even, despite his desperation, resisting the urge to beg. “Look at how your body responds. You belong to me. Tell me you’ll stay. Promise that you won’t run.” | [
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“I have a wired feeling about this” she whispered and stepped out first, followed by Clint who both had their weapons raised. Steve didn’t fully understood where the danger should be, they had permission to land and came with peaceful intentions, but he still kept his right hand hovering above his blazer. Tony, Janet and Fassamau did the same while Bruce seemed to become more uncomfortable with every passing second. The scientist never carried a weapon, he valued live to much to even keep the possibility to end one with him. Steve on the other hand valued the live of his crew to much to not keep one.
“Yeah, we can’t let that happen. Now that the communication is running again the first thing someone does when spotting Ultron is asking for support. No one engages with him on their own. Make sure everyone knows this, Romanoff” Steve ordered and Natasha nodded, already passing along the order. Steve on the other hand got a call from the holodeck.
„Good idea, give me the sharpie“ Peter said and draw a dot on his right upper arm after Harley had drawn one his collarbone.
“Captain” both of them greeted him which made the three adults in the room look up. Tony immediately smiled at him, reducing Steve’s anxieties about Tony ignoring him. The mechanic was the only one sitting, Bruce and Hank Pym stood at each of his side and lent over a table in front of them.
“The united federation of planets is at war with AIM. They tend to fly with war ships into our territory and attack every kind of ship that gets into their reach; it doesn’t matter if it is a war ship, a research ship or a private machine. Our ship is not made to fight, our only chance was to escape” Steve explained and Natasha translated.
“Sure, hopefully they speak a language we understand” Steve said and sar up straight, Tony next to him did the same thing.
“I think I should go back to my room” he then said and left, leaving Steve to star at the empty and cooling down spot of his bed where Tony had laid.
It didn‘t take them long to reach the prison block. Multiple cells filled with their crew were left and right of them. The real Jonny Storm sprung up when he saw his Doppelgänger and spat in their direction.
“And why would that stop us?” If anything, that just makes the situation even more tempting” a sickening sweet voice laughed and the man and woman oppose to Steve stepped aside to make space for a very human looking man. Steve cursed when he saw the AIM symbol on his chest.
“At least let me change into something more appropriated” the Captain said but his second in command crunched his nose.
„This ship belongs now to the Skrull! Surender and we don‘t have to harm you!“ she received as an answered.
„Yeah, but if they would have wanted to kill them, they would have done that. Ergo everyone taken must be imprisoned on the other ship. If we could get their and free everyone we could regain control over our ship“ Harley said.
“Yes they are and I leave with them” she said fiercely. She hadn’t been laying when she said AIM’s consequences were worse.
„One that doesn‘t include bursting in, destroying half of the ship and probably killing a few of us because we have no clue who is who?“ Tony asked with both eyebrows raised.
“Ultron said he killed someone, when he first attacked us. Who did he kill? We didn’t found a body” Steve asked and Tony’s eyes went unseeing.
The Holodeck was mostly used for simulations, taking scans from planets and analyze them from a safe distance without disturbing the planets residents. Right now it looked like a clearing. High trees surrounding the spot of green grass where a blanket laid out. Candles surrounded it and a basket full of food stood in the middle. Over them the stars lightened the night.
„Peter, Harley, are you alright?“ he asked worried and pressed himself against the glass wall that separated them.
„We need to find Mr. Stark! He needs to know whats going on“ Peter exclaimed and run further down the mechanic room Harley close behind him.
They both begged away from the angry robot against a wall. No way to run, Ben and Drex still out cold, Natasha and Thor not to be seen. It wasn’t looking good for them.
“What? There is no other ship on the radar” Rhodey stated confused. Bruce more or less pushed Sam away from the computer to have a better look and countered the attack in his stead.
“He knows what Ultron in planning so you go up there and fucking listen to him. Your emotions shouldn’t stop you from doing what’s best for the crew … Captain” Clint hissed with fake respect.
“I am Captain Steve Grant Rogers of the U.S.S. Avenger. We have no ill intentions but attaking us would equal attacking the federation of planets and believe me you don’t want that” Steve informed their opponents but received just some sinkers as answer instead of the lowered guns he against all odds had hoped for.
“Of course I do” she stated and immediately started to translate Steve’s speech. Shortly after she finished a visual connection was made and the crew could see three humanoid individuals with dark blue skin and from their point of view strange clothes. The three strangers in turn could only see Steve, tony and Natasha, who had stepped behind them. Steve nodded respectful and the man (?) in the middle, obviously the superior, nodded in return. Then he stated to speak, it was short and with harsh notes but that might just be a tick of the language. Steve looked at him as long as he spoke and then turned to Natasha to receive her translation. There was slightly confused look on her face but just for a second before it turned neutral again.
„Look, it‘s fake Groot. If he‘s still here then the fake Mr. Stark must be over there“ Harley laughed while pointing further down the deck.
When he later stepped foot on the mechanic deck he found Thor and Drex talking to each other while Rocket yelled that everyone was standing in his way of fixing shit. His words not Steve’s. Benjamin Grimm smiled at Steve when he saw him enter and walked towards him.
“I am Kilien. Like most members of AIM I dedicated my live to science. I tried to perfect a serum that makes our soldiers and therefore AIM unstoppable and it is so nice of you to volunteer for my experiments” he smiled and through a metal sphere into the group.
„At least it is better than looking at stars. I am going to read Olympe Gouges. I want to hand in a formal complain about the fact that we only have two woman in position of power on this ship which is inexcusable and who better to quote in it than Olympe De Gouges, founder of modern feminism and that over thousand years ago“, she explained smiling.
“Ultron!” Pym said with a proud smile but Steve’s confusion over the explanation must have been obvious because Tony explained it further.
“If it is that good than how did we escaped in the first place” Janet mocked him and the smile on Killian’s face dimmed slightly.
“Oh, Maya. What are you doing, darling?” Killian laughed not bothered by the gun pointed at his head. Then, with one swift move he gripped her gun, ripped away from her hands hand with one hand snapped her neck. Her limp body dropped to the floor eyes wide in shock. Killian must have used Extremis on himself.
“How many?” was his next question and Steve remembered what he had said about the blood Ultron spread and how it would be in Tony’s hands. He’ll have to talk to Tony about this later.
He should have informed Carol as soon as Natasha expressed her discomfort. Hopefully they had already realized they were missing and a rescue party was on their way.
“I can’t find any trace of the Extremis serum neither in his blood nor in his brain. Except for the arc reactor there is no physical proof that something’s different. I don’t think it is dangerous for Stark but I can’t know for sure with the research data destroyed” the Doctor explained and Steve nodded. It could be worse.
“We don’t know for sure. Our first priority is getting out of here. It’s just the three of you?” Steve wanted to know. Only three appeared not enough, seeing that they were in an AIM faculty in AIM territory.”Sending an army down here, that we don’t have by the way, would only end in a big fight. Best case scenario would be just losing you guys and one third of the crew. Coming down in a small group appear to be the better call to me” Carol explained on their way out, passing multiple unconscious or dead AIM soldiers and scientist.
„Hell yeah I did. And beat Thor‘s ass all along“ said woman grinned which shifted a bruise on her cheek and Commander Denvers gave her a loving smile.
Only two hours later the two were back on the ship shortly followed by Tony’s group. Both Tony and Bruce carried backs with parts and Thor had some big metal object thrown over his big shoulder.
„No, come and help me drag them into the storage room and tie them together“ he ordered and begun to pull the former Barton with Harley‘s help.
“So the Robot came alive? Can’t we just turn him of again?” Clint wanted to know and both Bruce and Hank looked at Tony. Everyone followed their look and Tony sighted.
“Thank you” Steve said and left but not before he could hear Rocket wiser: “Way to many humans here.”
„Sorry Mr. Stark, but I think we proved today that we are capable of taking care of our self. Harley and I started this on the mechanic deck and I think it would be only fair if we were there to end it as well“ Peter explained their point and Harley next to him crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“What happened to him?” she asked worried and the other two of the rescue team came closer as well with worried looks.
„Attack is probably the wrong word. It was a small animal, it looked a lot like a spider“ Peter explained which ended in Harley laughing.
„Don‘t touch her you green peace of shit“ and then he punched Peter with his free hand. Peter moved his head so that Harleys fist wouldn‘t hit him in the middle of the face but he still let him hit him. Storm immediately came to his support and gripped Harley tide and pushed him against a wall. Harley‘s head hit the metal wall hard and Peter had to hold himself back to not come to his friends help. Even MJ stopped her fake crying and cringed at the sickening sound. Harley blinged trying to orientate himself. He probably had a concussion.
That was kind of morbid but I just had to kill someone with a red shirt. Anyway, I think Tony suffered enough for now so I'll change perspective for the next cheapter. Peter and Harley are going to star.
“I get a signal. Half an hour from here is a class M planet. We could refuel or oxygen supplies” Natasha informed them and Steve nodded.
“Ok, than we know our next destination, Rhodes, Danvers how long until we can make contact?” he asked.
„I took self defense classes back on earth“ Peter laid and Harley piped in: „Also he wasn‘t alone, ok. We are an awesome team.“
„They have this collar things that stops me from connecting myself to their technic. No clue how it works or how they found out about it“ Mr. Stark sighted
“They are on the other site” he mumbled and his still orange eyes moved faster then it could be healthy.
“Steve” she said and nodded towards Tony who was studying Ultron’s reminders. She knew what had to be done and judging by the way Tony looked up at him he knew it as well. Steve sighted and closed his eyes firmly. He had to be the Captain of the U.S.S. Avenger right now and not Steve Rogers.
Tony shook his head in disbelieve over his two apprentice and stepped towards the next screen to video call the bridge as well as Dr. Strange.
“Ok, I’m going to speak to them and I obviously need Romanov for translation. Stark, you and Banner go find some spare parts. Take Odinson with you, just to be sure. The rest stays on the ship” Steve ordered while the ship sank down to land on the surface below.
This time the screams were muffled through the fabric in his mouth but they were no less painful to hear, even more so because this time they were Tony’s. His Tony, who was only here because Steve thought he was being clever. This was his fault. Everything his team was going through was on him.
“Yeah, everything’s fine” the other man said and through a knowing smile at Tony who in return looked as innocent as the night. At least that answered the question if Tony had told someone of their relationship. If Bruce knew than Rhodey and Pepper knew as well.
They hurried out of the ship and onto theirs. When Peter passed the Skrull that had impersonated Commander Danvers it was already nocked out.
„What is wrong small humans?“ the tree asked again and Peter shuddered, the hair on his arms and his neck stood up. Something was happening.
“Do your worst, asshole!” he spit while the soldiers gripped him and dragged him towards the still bloody chair.
“Hard work for weeks, countless sleepless nights and all you have to say is sounds useful? This is revolutionary Steve” he said proud and Steve couldn’t suppress a smile.
“We find another way out” Steve said confident and was already turning around but Tony started to wiggle on his back.
“Come one, he had enough. Just let us go. Our crew is already on their way. If you let us go I promise you you won’t face as harsh consequences as the others” Steve tried to bribe the woman but she just shook her head.
„Mr. Stark“ the fake Peter asked scared and the real one could only look at his Doppelgänger in shock. This one was a lot better in acting than the others.
“NO! Don’t touch me! I’m almost there!” the man screamed and crawled away from away from Steve which made his heart hurt. Tony wasn’t supposed to react that way just because Steve touched him.
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“But when something comes up you call me, ok Tony? I don’t care when or about what. Just don’t lock me out, please” Steve begged and after a few seconds without a reaction from Tony he turned to leave. Before the door closed he turned around again and locked eyes with Tony.
“Wait, did you talked to a computer in your head and asked him to open the door?” Clint asked confused before running to freedom.
“Appropriated means uniform and I just can’t tolerate that” Tony replayed and continued to drag Steve past the sleeping quarters.
Wondering why security wasn’t intervening, Tony looked towards the Not-Steve-Lifeguard. The younger guard seemed completely oblivious to what was happening. He was too busy being distracted by the bawling child beside him, who having a tantrum and screaming for her parents.
“He looks at you like he wants to put his mating bite on you. Like he’d launch a thousand ships if another alpha tried to take you away.”
“I, um, should have a heat coming up.” He clutched the coffee mug tighter. Fidgeted. “Would you...hypothetically...want to be my heat partner?”
“I do. I do need to thank you. There aren’t too many alphas who’d treat me the way you do. Trust me, I know.” Tony didn’t talk about Obie. Ever. Not too long ago, the only way someone could’ve gotten him to tell them about his old alpha was by pointing a gun to his head.
“I’m serious, Tony. He was looking at you like you were a ribeye steak and he didn’t care if I knew it. I thought he was going to beat his chest and challenge me to a duel. The last thing you need is another controlling douchebag.”
“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” Her green eyes blinked up at Tony innocently. “I heard you an’ Darcy calling him that.”
Steve hadn’t interrupted. Had only listened; a complicated series of emotions washing over his expression. Tony saw pain, empathy, heart break. Protectiveness. Admiration and respect for what he’d survived. Anger so raw it was living and breathing.
The teen’s scent was everywhere. In his lungs. Filling his head. A mix of aftershave, sunscreen, chlorine, and the unique scent of compatible alpha male. It was better than air. Calming him and yet somehow making him more frenzied all at once.
You guys have no idea how much it means to me that people are actually reading this crazy little fic of mine. <3
It was also probably the hardest the teen had had to work to get laid in his life. If anyone else had been lucky enough to find themselves on a date with Steve, they’d almost certainly be all over him, steaming up the windows to his car like that scene in
“Should be.” As if Tony couldn’t manage something as easy as file recovery. Please. It was child’s play. “Give it a look; see for yourself. I’ll wait.”
“What happened?” he asked calmly but with concern. He had learned the hard way that kids were a sponge for emotions and that if he freaked out, she’d only become more upset (Nat skinning her knee his first week on the job came to mind). Gently taking her arm, he inspected the cut on her elbow. Her skin was red and welling with a tiny amount of blood, but it was thankfully nothing serious.
He imagined Steve’s knot swelling inside him. How incredible it’d feel to have that big, hard cock locking them together, Steve pinning Tony down until he could never get away.
“I do,” Steve said, predictably adamant. That stubborn gleam was back in his eyes and Tony could all but see his resolution to cut off contact with the alpha falling apart. Especially when Steve next admitted, “I almost called you a dozen times this week. I’ve been trying to slow down, give you space. But I...I don’t like staying away. I miss you like crazy, babe.”
All of a sudden, ‘Teenage Dream’ by Katy Perry started blaring out of Tony’s phone, stopping him in his tracks. Darcy, being the annoying friend that she was, had set the song as Steve’s ringtone. Tony hadn’t bothered changing it because he hadn’t thought the teen would actually call him.
Steve was already a lot taller than him, and their height difference was only emphasized further by the fact that Steve was standing while Tony was sitting. The alpha looked positively gigantic. And every bit as tempting as usual.
Okay, wow. He’d actually agreed. Though, suddenly, Tony wasn’t so sure if that was a good thing or not. Was he ready for this much physical nearness with Steve?
“Does it look cloudy to you?” Tony looked anxiously up at the perfectly sunny, clear blue sky. “I smell rain. Do you smell rain? I’m getting a definite sense of impending rain.”
bad idea. There were too many inviting surfaces. The sofa. The kitchen counter. The desk in his workshop. The wall. Any available space they came across found itself christened with a heated kiss or two.
Then, with an intensity that made Tony want to hold his breath, he said, “This isn’t a game, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to prove that to you.” From the look on his face, it was a promise that he had every intention of keeping.
He held his breath, unable to trust that he was out of the woods just yet. Expecting another panic attack to sweep him away like a hurricane at any moment.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Growing dizzy, Tony dug his fingers into his hair, his breath too fast and too shallow. He still couldn’t draw enough air into his lungs. “I w-wear scent blockers, I do, b-but they aren’t working. I d-don’t want this, I don’t.”
Nat stood on her tiptoes to place the aforementioned dish into the sink, and then cradled her unholy doll in her arms before prancing away.
had—his pick of pretty people hanging off his arm. Hell, Tony had already seen Peggy and she was a total knockout.
“Because I always want you. Whether I'm around you or not. Whether I’m exposed to your pheromones or not. Always, Tony. Always.” The teenager was doing it again: being incredibly, annoyingly, ruthlessly sweet. Making Tony feel like he was someone special. Someone desired. “It wouldn’t make any difference if you were an alpha or a beta. I’d have to be dead not to notice you.”
Each kiss seemed to send a bolt of pleasure directly to Tony’s groin. Slick gushed out of him, his pheromones going crazy.
Even so, denying Steve equal skin privileges was beginning to have disastrous consequences on his furniture. Tony’s bed hadn’t survived their latest encounter.
. “No, but I do have a complaint. Sure took you long enough, Rogers. You could’ve done this two dates ago.”
“Uh, yeah. I was under the impression that was what one did on a first date.” Realizing he was fidgeting with his hair, he quickly dropped his hand, embarrassed. “Albeit, now I feel like a bit of a tool because I’m the only one who tried to dress up.”
Obie had detested the sight of Tony’s surgical scar. He’d expected his omega to come to him young, and smooth, and perfect. He’d been angered by the news of Tony’s congenital heart defect, believing it made him bad breeding stock.
Whenever Tony started to think he had Steve Rogers figured out, the teenager would go and surprise him. It kept things interesting, to say the least.
Not only did the woman not seem to care that Tony was disgraced, but she was also under the impression that Steve was Tony’s mate. That Bucky and Natasha were his and Steve’s kids.
The alpha in him would demand retribution. Demand that he eliminate any threat to what he saw as his omega.
After that, Darcy had chucked him on the shoulder with a, “Glad you’re not dead, dude, that would’ve really sucked,” which in Darcy speak was about as close to a heartfelt confession as he was gonna get. And then he’d been loaded into Steve’s SUV and they were off.
“No.” Far from it. He set multiple alarms to make sure he took them on time. “I tried switching brands, too. The last one wasn’t working, either.”
Before Bruce got truly angry. He was already huffing and puffing and turning a dangerous shade of red.
“I understand,” he said solemnly, like the persuasive power of ice cream and sprinkles was simply too much for any one child to resist.
It was still a novelty to be awarded control by an alpha. To be asked for permission instead of told what to do. And the thing of it was, Steve would always ask. That was the kind of person Steve was, Tony was quickly learning.
that? Chivalry hasn’t been a thing since the 1800s!” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just…just back off, okay? I can take care of myself. I am not helpless.”
Tony slowly calmed as he allowed himself to be comforted by the alpha’s voice. If Steve was going to come after him, he would have done it by now. Tony was starting to trust that he was safe.
“Sure. Listen, you’re welcome to stay if you want to. Nebula will understand if I have to reschedule.”
“Nothing big. Just, oh, you know, selling me to another alpha. Ain’t she a peach? Mother of the year, that one.”
“I know. But you might’ve found it anyway,” Darcy said, turning contemplative as her usual aloof, sarcastic humor vanished from her tone. She frowned. “God, you should’ve seen him when he pulled you from the water…he went totally berserk … especially when we thought you weren’t going to wake up…That was not the reaction of a friend. I don’t know how you haven’t noticed, but he’s kind of obsessed with you.”
Securing his seatbelt, Tony waited until Steve had climbed behind the wheel before saying, “Just so you know, I meant it when I said we should do things your way. I’m ready to rethink the shallow end. I know today was a big waste of time…but I can do better. I
He didn’t know if it made him feel less perverted that so many older women were also equally affected by the teenager. Mostly, it just made him feel jealous.
Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. Life has been kicking my butt a bit lately. The next chapter should hopefully come sooner.
Jane was a nurse practitioner who specialized in omega healthcare. She was the only person in her field he trusted even mildly enough to reach out to.
“Are you close with your dad?” Tony found himself asking. The teen was exactly the type of son Howard would have preferred.
“Rhodes, I trust him. With my life. And I say that with all the confidence in the world considering he’s actually saved it.”
“You told that lady you’re not family. You are too family! Momma says we get to choose our family, and I choose you.”
“Christ, kid. Don’t. Don’t say that to me.” Talking about it made it too real. Made it more than a harmless crush.
Steve had gone to stand by the counter, leaving a fair bit of distance between them that was still somehow too intimately close. He crossed his arms over his big chest, shifted a bit, then immediately uncrossed them again. His plate remained untouched beside him.
It had started as a way to protect himself. To keep his expectations from getting too high. Life couldn’t hurt as much if he was always prepared for the worst. But somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten how to show himself kindness.
know that?” Darcy arched her brows, like she couldn’t help getting in one last remark. “Because someone should probably tell him that and it’s not going to be me.” Conversation closed, she reached for the remote and returned to channel surfing.
this teenager, and how the hell was he so mature for his age? Tony knew 30-year-olds less emotionally developed than Steve was. In fact, in another few years, he’d be one. “I bet you’ve always had it easy, huh?” Irrationally, the more kindness Steve displayed, the more volatile Tony felt. “Tall, good looking, athletic…with a full ride to university and a mom and a brother that adore you…your life is white-picket-fence perfect.
“No can do, Stank. God knows somebody’s gotta do it. You’re constitutionally incapable of being responsible. The earth would stop rotating on its axis in cosmic shock if you remembered to take proper care of yourself for a whole 24 hours. If I know you, you haven’t even eaten anything today.”
Steve had helped him stagger to the bathroom. Had rubbed his back while he’d been hunched over, praying to the porcelain god. Had kept him from accidentally putting face wash on his toothbrush when he’d insisted on brushing his teeth. Had brought him water and made sure he was hydrated, before tucking him back into bed.
“Don’t—don’t tell him I saw you,” the beta pleaded. Backing away so quickly that he stumbled over the curb of the sidewalk, Brock righted himself and then ran—literally
Computer viruses made up over half of his clientele. The jobs were no-brainers and incredibly repetitive, but he needed the money, especially if he wanted to start paying Steve back for his hospital bills.
They were no longer the two strangers who’d been trying to feel each other out in Steve’s kitchen all that time ago. Back then, Tony couldn’t have imagined how far they’d come. How they’d one day know each other well enough to let their guards down together. In the biblical and non-biblical sense.
Feeling silly for his freak-out, he watched in muted surprise as the alpha began to tend to him, cleaning him of the slick, sticky fluids marking his chest and thighs. The gentleness and care of the teen’s ministrations did awful and terrible things to his still unguarded heart. Mostly because they weren’t terrible and awful at all.
grin. With teeth, even. Tony had to admit it was a good smile. A leading man sort of smile. The kind of smile that made everyone, no matter who they were, fall just a little bit in love with him.
“Okay. You’re right.” Tony threw his hands up. “I’m not fine. I had another anxiety attack—in a lifejacket no less. We should have done things your way. Is that what you want to hear?” He wrenched off the orange vest and threw it to the floor. “This is fudging hopeless.”
The young boy launched a tsunami sized wave at their heads. Shrieking, Nat hurriedly released Tony and retaliated, splashing her friend back.
Tony was about to continue making his case for splitting the bill when he noticed a group of teenagers giving him the stink eye from the next line over. The group consisted of two beta females and one omega male. All three were likely only a few years younger than Steve. Around sixteen or so.
. If today was intended to be a demonstration that we can mix and mingle with each other’s friends, the experiment was a colossal failure. Attempting to fight my best friend isn’t going to win you any points with me. If you want to keep seeing me, you’re going to have to get over your problem with Rhodey. His place in my life is non-negotiable.”
Society, the authorities…they’d all say the same thing. That he’d asked for it. That his pheromones had meant that he’d wanted it.
Steve nodded. “Great. We should exchange numbers. That way, you’ll know how to reach me.” A sly smile crept over the alpha’s face. “And I can ring you if we ever need any more repair work.”
The teenager sounded like he’d been the one brought to his knees, voice hoarse and wrecked. “Tony...that was...you’re amazing.”
The only thing that bothered Tony about Steve was that Steve was too good for him. Not that Tony could say that.
He wasn’t aware he was moving until he found himself in front of his liquor cabinet. His hand going straight for the scotch, he wrenched off the cap, downing it directly from the bottle. Seeking absolution. Obliteration. The total destruction of his thoughts.
It had become normal for them to send each other a play-by-play of their day. If Tony’s phone wasn’t pinging with alerts from Steve, it was for one of two reasons. One being because Steve had to put his phone away for work, and the other being because Steve was already there beside him.
“From what you’ve told me about your past,” Steve stated gutturally, “it doesn’t make you a bad person for not wanting to have that bastard’s baby. You were a victim.
The growling abruptly cut off. “What’s his name and where can I find him?” Steve’s voice was deceptively calm, lethal intent hidden in his tone.
“Remember when you chased Mr. Modok around the school with your hover car and he nearly pissed himself because he thought some secret high-tech branch of the government was after him?” Rhodey chuckled.
He had a sneaking suspicion that Steve Rogers was going to prove to be a very big problem for him in the future.
Christ. Tony could practically feel the hardened shell around his heart cracking. “Right. Sure. That’s nice of you to say and all, but it doesn’t really do me any good.” He squeezed his eyes shut, unsure what possessed him to say what he said next. “
Taking a minute to center himself, Tony brushed off his hands and set the bucket of popcorn on the dashboard. “I can see you’re waiting for me to elaborate, so here goes… When I was born, I had a problem with one of the valves in my heart. They rushed me into neonatal surgery, but the valve was too malformed to be repaired properly. I needed a replacement. Back then, though, that wasn’t something that was done. They didn’t know how to make mechanical valves small enough for newborns or infants. The prognosis was that I wouldn’t live to see my first birthday. I don’t remember any of this, of course. It’s all second-hand information. The way my mom tells it is that she and my father moved heaven and earth to find a solution. They sought out the world’s top cardiothoracic surgeon.”
Tony knew he should say no. Sharing clothes carried a significant weight in their community. It was an intimate act. An additional way of scent marking. A way for alphas and betas to say ‘this person is important’ or ‘this person is taken.’
He’d stared at it in the mirror for longer than he should have. When he’d pressed down on it, he’d gone instantly, painfully erect. His instincts had gone wild. A haze of lust overtook him, and before he knew it, he was coming into his fist, the name
“Maybe,” Tony hedged. “There’s not all that much to look at. I’m a lot less interesting than you think.”
Tony gaped, feeling like he was staring into the sun. Though that may have been because it was also shining directly into his eyes.
It was becoming abundantly clear to Tony that Steve was a foul mouth at heart. The teenager cleaned up his language when they were around everyone else, but when they were alone—particularly when they were watching sports—Steve let loose, cursing with all the colors of the wind.
“Here,” the alpha said, handing Bruce his glasses. “Don’t worry about Jeremy. I’ll have a talk with him. He won’t bother you two again.”
Five minutes later they had decided that Ned and Flash should stay back, Peter would act like a Skrull and Harley and MJ were his prisoners. Harley gave his beloved metal pipe to Ned for safe keeping.
“Barton, find Thor and tell him Ultron targets our oxygen supplies” he ordered and the other man nodded before leaving.
„Of course not, I‘m not stupid. Any way, Ned and I got bored and sneaked of the ship“ Peter continued and rolled his eyes at Harley’s raised eyebrow.
“But the only one to copy when he woke up was you!” Steve said and Tony looked at him with wide eyes.
“Wilson?” he asked the man who started to tip with a for him unknown speed on the computer in front of him, eyebrows knitted together.
“Because he can learn. It is just a matter of time until he finds a way to over ride his programming and we need to stop him before that happens” Tony explained and after that Steve let him work. Suddenly the lights went on, the screens on the walls as well and a soft jolt told them that the ship was moving again.
Before the docking point were to guards, Commander Denvers and Mr. Storm. Both locked up when Peter dragged Harley and MJ towards them.
“Tony please wake up. What happened?” Steve shock Tony’s shoulders soft. They needed to find whoever did this before they could do any damage.
“Ok, I need to know where this comes from and I need Tony here ASAP” Steve ordered and was about to call Tony when Bruce looked up.
“My skin is flawles as ever, thanks for your concern. Gosh, I need a coffee“ Tony answered with a small smile. “I’m really sorry to interrupt you boys, but we are lost in the middle of nowhere with nearly empty fuel tanks, no shield and no warp so how about we concentrate on fixing that” Natasha stated slightly pissed. His xenolinguistic lieutenant was as dangerous as she was beautiful and Steve was glad she was in his side.
“Cap, what ya doing down here?” the raccoon asked and climbed on a table to be more on Steve’s eyelevel, it was far from enough.
Clint was the next to wake up, followed by Tony. The Ensign was the last to open his eyes and there host had obviously watched them because Killian chose that moment to enter through a door Steve could have sworn hadn’t been there before.
“I don’t mess up!” Tony mumbled, his arms around his torso but Steve was to enraged to reassure his lover.
„And there I thought he was warming up to us“ Peter mumbled confused. Rocket might not be the most friendliest of the crew but he at least had some form of respect for other mechanics: „Wired.“
“Ultron, Bruce said he is almost finished. I just need to do the last of his programming” Tony confessed and Steve took a deep breath.
“A minute for what? Tony, what are you planning? Here is no access panel! We can’t open the door from here!” Bruce tried to explain calmly but Tony fanatically shook his head.
„Didn‘t you hear the part where this two took out more then two of us. I don‘t trust them to not do something stupid“ he said and shock MJ hard. The girl started to cry harder while Harley begun to scream at him.
“Did ya see that? This baby works smoothly. The sound was perfect. I think I’m in love” the Racoon said proudly petting his gun.
“What? No! But I tried to make him human. He was supposed to copy human behavior” Tony explained looking everywhere but at Steve.
“What’s wrong?” Strange asked when he saw them. The Doctor was probably here to give a full report on injuries and medical supplies like he tends to do after inconveniences.
“What do you mean we lost control? Out system is unhackable. Mordor himself created it” Killian yelled at his man.
“You are right. I was so busy with how we can save resources that I didn’t thought about the social problems. This is going to be a lot more difficult than I thought” Steve said and he could feel Tony’s shoulders tense up.
“You remember when Ultron couldn’t attack you on our first encounter with him?” Tony asked and Steve nodded, encouraging him to continue.
Again and again he found himself in front of the closed door to Tony’s room. He knew the other one was in there, he hadn’t left in three days, not even to eat and Steve was going to put an end on Tony’s self-destructive behavior. He knocked first and after a minute past without a response he repeated the action. Again nothing.
“More or less. Not enough to repair everything to a satisfying degree but we will probably be able to travel with light speed for a short period of time. If we go that fast for more than a few minutes I fear the core might over head and we would all die from radioactive radiation” Tony explained and Steve raised an eyebrow: “Yeah, let’s not do that.”
Responsible. With great power comes great responsibility. His uncles voice echoed through his head and calmed him down. They could do this. They just needed to find someone who hasn‘t been replaced yet.
„What do you think you are doing. You will go with the others and lay low until this is over“ he ordered but Peter shook his head.
Steve’s first stop was the mechanic deck. He didn’t spent much time between these giant machines whose purpose were a mystery to him but Tony loved this place, loved to be surrounded by machines more than by real people. But Tony wasn’t there. The only living creature Steve found was Rocket and the wired more or less talking tree that followed him everywhere.
When they entered the mechanic room they saw Groot tipping on one of the modules which was even weirder than seeing him without Rocket. The boys weren‘t sure what Groot‘s purpose on the ship was but him touching electronic never ended well.
„We have no way of finding out if there is a spy at the moment but we still can take back our ship. Just stay together!“ Captain Rogers ordered and everyone followed MJ who was guiding them back to wards their home.
“No, I thought that when we are stuck on this ship for ten years, we could as well make our relationship known” Steve said and Tony tensed in his arm then turned around to look at him.
„Damn, he can‘t differentiate between the real and the fake ones. Ok, how many live signals are on the ship?“ Harley tried again.
“Where was I until I was so rudely interrupted? Ahh, yes. I wanted to inform you what I have planned for this party. As I said before I am trying to create some kind of super soldier serum but the causalities of my experiments are kind of high so I am really glad you decided to help out. I have to say I am curious. The Extremis serum works different on every species and I never tried it on a human” Killian explained with a wide smile and then gave someone who Steve couldn’t see a signal. Two of the enhanced soldiers with orange veins entered as well as a few scientists with monitors, weirs and an IV.
They were nearly out where the ship could hopefully beam them up, leaving the smaller ship behind which they had landed with out of politeness didn’t concern them, when they were stopped by Killian and a bunch of his super soldiers as well as Maya. All of them had guns raised in their direction.
“Ok nice but how?” Janet asked but no one was looking a gifted horse in the mouth. Same for the door that suddenly opened.
He jumped on a metal table and from there onto the alien, slung his legs around his neck and crashed his head onto the table. As soon as it was out cold it turned back into it‘s original form which was large and green with pointy ears.
“Don’t Captain!” Tony argued put the only female scientist pushed something in his mouth to shut him up.
“We lost control over the system” he answered while tipping on a hologram that appeared in front of him.
“The protection unit I told you about. We think the Dire Warth gave us the last parts we need to finish it. Especially now that we are stuck on this ship with next to no protection we need something like Ultron to not only fight our battles but also to fulfill repairs on the outside of the ship. I want it to resemble humans just to make it more acceptable by the crew. Some biological components as well as a human like mind should support that, which is why Bruce and Hank are here. And Peter and Harley help with the robotic part. Last thing to do is for me to actually program it and see if it works” Tony summarized his work of multiple weeks in a way Steve could easily follow.
„Young sirs, is there a reason why the elevator stopped. Is there an emergency?“ Jarvis voice echoed through the small room and Peter jumped down from the ceiling.
“Hello Captain Rogers” a mechanic voice said and Tony’s eyes darken with fear and anger. Steve spun around and stood in front of Ultron The silver body appeared broken but the sinister smile on his face was proud and confident. The robot took a step towards them. Weak legs seemed to barley supporting his weight and he looked like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
“The boss man is not here. He left with the two smaller humans to meet other humans in the lab” Rocket explained and griped a wrench to hit seemingly randomly a pip.
“He wants to know why we were in a fight if we are scientists” Natasha asked for the man who still hasn’t introduced himself.
„I think Ned‘s plan is very exiting“, he started and Ned gave him and appreciating look, then he continued: „ Harley and I are going to spend the weekend with Mr. Stark. This new think where he can connect his brain with computers is so exiting and he asked Harley and me if we want to help find out his limits. Isn‘t that awesome?“
„I am Groot“ his friend said and everyone turned to him. Behind the metal table laid the Skrull Peter had nocked out earlier today.
“I’ll explain later” Tony said and looked expecting to the next corner. Fighting sounds were audible and those of them who were still able to fight fell into a defensive position. But behind the corner weren’t any AIM agents. At least not anymore, Carol, T-Challa and Thor had made sure of that.
Harley and Peter where still mumbling to each other when they exited the elevator but stopped when they saw passing by.
„Good. So, do you remember a few weeks ago, when we landed on that small planet shortly before the Ultron incident?“ he asked and Harley nodded.
“There must have been another way” he started but Steve immediately interrupted him: “There wasn’t!”
“I don’t like that thought at all” Steve said and through a look over his shoulder just to see if someone was around. This was the most open display of affection they ever had and Steve feared that if someone saw them Tony would regret it. His euphoria about Ultron and whatever he had plant for Steve got the better of him.
„Wow, so now you and Mr. Stark have superpowers. Where do I get some. I want some. A lab experiment failed. Thats it, I need Dr. Banner“ Harley exclaimed and clapped his hands together.
„And you wanted to to do science with Dr. Stark“ Ned said to prove the same thing, even thought Peter knew that already, he didn‘t had the feeling that made his hairs stand up.
“I understood it a little bit different but ok, Clint” Tony mumbled and received a friendly punch against the arm from the archer when he passed him. To Steve’s disappointment did Tony a really good job at ignoring him and sat down next to Fassamau. They would have enough time to talk when they were on the planet below. Clint sat down on the pilot seat and immediately the small ship left towards the orange planet they could see through the window. Natasha had informed him of the name but it was impossible for him to pronounce so he hadn’t tried to store the information.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Steve asked and stepped closer to the table to take a look. In front of him laid some kind of robot, the size of an average human with similar anatomy but in silver and red with a scary smile.
“Commandeer Stark; you brought the entire crew in danger. Every harm Ultron does will be your fault. I have to arrest you. Barton, please bring Stark into a cell” Steve announce cold and turned to leave the room. Behind him everyone started to talk at the same time. Through the chaos of voices he could hear protest against the order, mainly from Clint and even Dr. Strange seemed to thought Steve overreacted but he wouldn’t pull back now. He waited outside the lab and watched how Tony walked towards the elevator, Clint’s hand on his back but more for support than anything. Steve tried to avoid Tony’s eyes but they pulled him towards them with the same gravity they always had possessed. The look of heartbreak would hunt Steve in his dreams but right now that wasn’t important. Right now the crew mattered most. The others left one after one to find a way to stop Ultron but Natasha stopped next to Steve.
“That was uncalled for. We both know this is not Tony’s fault. Hopefully you didn’t just ruin everything you two had” she said sad and left. Guilt begun to settle on Steve’s stomach but he couldn’t do something about that now. He also needed to figure out what to tell the crew. He didn’t want to terrify them. The truce could end in a panic but lying wasn’t an option. At the moment he didn’t had a way of communicating with the entire crew any way.
“They couldn’t call for help with the communication down. Clint found them a few minutes ago but we didn’t know where you were” she informed him and he nodded.
When they finally reached the mad bay Doctor Strange hushed all of them out, he hated it when it was crowded, so Steve had to wait in the hall. Natasha stayed with him while the others took much needed rest or ordered the ship to leave this galaxy as fast as possible.
“Maya, stay here. The rest of you is not needed here at the moment” Killian ordered and the female scientist nodded while the rest left.
„Is it over?“ a scared voice asked and now Flash came around the corner as well. He was shaking badly and even thought Peter disliked Flash he felt bad for the other boy.
“No, I thought if something important comes up Jarvis would inform us” Steve said and Tony didn’t really look at him.
„Hey Rocket, where is Groot? I don‘t think I ever saw you two separated“ Harley greeted the Lieutenant who just looked at them distrusting.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m here for. I would like to accompany you on this mission” Fassamau explained and Steve had to hid his disappointment. He wanted this to be a mission with friends but if he refused to take the Ensign he had to explain why he took the people he chose.
„Ok, we are going to Dr. Strange“ Harley answered and turned to activate the elevator but Peter griped is arm to stop him.
„I am full of surprises“ Peter answered with a smile and turned to the next cell where the crew from the bridge waited.
„Sure, we are science bros. Even when for what ever reason you decided that some random reactions between elements are more exciting than physic. Is this your way of coming out as gay?“ Harley smiled.
“Ultron” Bruce whispered shocked. Ultron turned his head towards the scientist and his red eyes focused on him.
„I don‘t think fairness is important right now. This is dangerous. And Harley has a concussion“ Mr. Stark argued angry and pointed in Harley who begun to pout.
„I ain‘t going to look a gifted cow in the mouth“ Rocket exclaimed and gripped one of his modified guns that, much to Tony‘s dislike, laid everywhere.
“Strange is an asshole. I mean, he is a brilliant doctor and I’m glad his here with us but as a person I totally hate that guy” Steve said and kissed Tony’s head.
„What the fuck is this thing, Rocket?“ Harley asked and holt the weapon away from his body with a disgusted look.
When he was used to the light he finally took in the sight in front of him. Opposite of him was a high wall. Janet was chained to it, arms raised over her head. Unconsciousness still claimed her. Next to her were Clint and Tony chained in a similar fashion. Steve tried to get to the later one but as he was about to figured out he was as well chained to a wall. The ache in his shoulders had been blissfully blocked out until this moment and the pain hit him like a fist.
Harley looked at the to of them and drummed nervously against is collarbone, the exact spot where he had drawn the dot earlier. Peter locked eyes with his friend and, unknown to his Doppelgänger, tipped against his right upper arm and then nodded towards on of Rockets guns. Harley grind and Peter turned to the Skrull to distract him.
„This boy was one of their friends. Was the only way of getting close enough. Haven‘t had the chance to change into something more appropriated“ Peter explained stern and to his luck the skrulls seemed to buy it.
The next morning, Tony woke up early and rebooted JARVIS and hacked into HYDRA database using his private Stark server. After a few minutes of finding he finally found the file that he was looking for. He immediately transferred it to JARVIS's database and burned the laptop a few feet away from his motel. Coming back to his room, he closed the curtain and switched on his server. "J, you up?" "
Reaching down, Peter heard his Pops voice and somebody else's voice. "Is that..Harley?!" Peter exclaimed and Tony laughed and nodded, Peter sprinting towards the kitchen. As he guessed, there sat his Pops and his dear elder brother talking to each other with a plate of mac and cheese in front. "Har!" Peter ran and Harley sat up from his seat and embraced him in a tight embrace. "Pete! How are ya little guy?" Harley greeted him while ruffling his hair, Peter squaked and batted his hands away and pulled a chair beside Harley and started digging into his mac and cheese. Soon enough, the family of four where chatting and exchanging stories with each other. Later, the family when to Natasha and Bucky's baby shower. "Hey, babe...can we stop at Scar's grave?" Tony asked and Steve smiled fondly "Sure". The boys at the back then leaned forward "Who is Scar?" Peter asked "It's auntie Tasha for you and she...she was my best friend, since
“It is not about worthiness.” Erskine broke in, surprising everyone with his sudden presence. “Steve, walk with me.”
“Right.” Steve said in a high voice. He was not a prude, he’d been to public baths before. But laying naked in a field with his friends and the god of Thunder made his cheeks burn more than just a little red.
That got her to immediately turn around in alarm. Her motherly instinct to make sure everything was alright overriding her sense that the call couldn’t be for her. Upon seeing Tony her eyes widened and she let out a surprised gasp.
And as the years went by Tony’s list of responsibilities grew and so his free time shrank. He began to really look forward to Thor’s announcements for his visits because then he had at least some time off.
“Steve, you need to live your life.” Peggy said gently and framed the blonde's face. “I want you to go on adventures, make stories, and fall in love.” Steve closed his eyes and looked as if he was going to say something but Peggy continued on. “I mean it. I’m ordering you to move forward.”
“I did not lie to him!” Thor roared then squeezed the blue god tighter. “And I can’t believe you kept a child in the Underworld!”
Tony ignored him and focused on Steve. “I am fine.” He stressed. “You guys are the ones that are in danger here. So one more time. What are you doing here?”
Eventually the Avengers had to leave New Thebes City to go deal with a hero situation and Tony was glad for the break. The last date he had with Steve, and their tag along Clint. Tony had cut short. He just couldn’t take anymore of the showboating.
Steve shook his head again and groaned. “I refuse to believe that. And you better not let Thor hear you say that or anything like that!” He warned sternly but Tony just rolled his eyes.
“Fenrir?!” Loki exclaimed when the wolf shot past him. “Fenrir come here!” But the wolf was already gone. Loki let out an aggravated growl. “Tony!”
Thor had then flown the two to where the others were. After dropping them off, the god then took off to the harbor to wait for them. It had taken some finagling and a lot of Tony distracting the snake, but eventually Steve had managed to tell everyone the plan.
“Yeah.” Steve chuckled “Yeah but even after that. On the island I came to terms with some things. And I remembered her telling me not to carry anything but her ring. To not carry her death.” He let out another chuckle that held no trace of humor “And I decided to ignore it. I felt like I failed her, and so ignored her.” He glanced at Howard and Sam and shook his head. “I ignored her dying wish because I was too selfish.”
“Only if you’re feeling up to it.” Steve sat up and moved to help Bucky but the man shooed his friend away.
Taking a deep breath Howard looked at Loki with a steely and determined look in his eyes. “How long do I have to bring one of them?”
Steve rolled his eyes then crouched and plucked a flower from the ground. Tony gave him a quizzical look but Steve just handed it off to him.
“The restless shade I presume?” Loki asked examining the human soul that was currently yelling at another underworld minion. The minion that was leading Loki nodded and then went back to their post in directing the weary and accepting souls.
once a month. And even then he’d complain it wasn’t enough. But now, nothing! So he must be sleeping with someone and if it's not you then…” Loki glared harder and Amora let out a chuckle. “He went for mortals before. Remember that one accursed female?” Her tone had hardened in anger at the memory.
“You’re clever but not that clever.” Tony said not even giving Minos words a thought. “You insulted Frigga! Queen of the gods! How do you think her children, you know Thor? Will react when you meet him?” King Minos’s face paled and Tony smirked. “And now your threatening his friends?!” Tony tutted. “Not a great move.”
his mind supplied. Through all the suave and style, Steve was certain that was the shy seven year old brunette he saw on the first day of elementary school.
Ahana slowly succumbs to sleep as she feels Bucky's lips on her head and a whispered "I love you" to her ear and she closes her eyes, sleeping fitfully after a very long time.
That night, Tony and Bucky were at the balcony at the top floor which faced the garden which was build behind the compound. Both their feet dangling in the air, swaying them back and forth. No words were passed between them but the presence of each other comforted the other. Tony took a deep breath and turned to Bucky "You..you're good to her" Bucky huffed a bitter laughter "If you mean good, by leaving her to the monsters.." he shrugged. Tony reached out and placed his hand on top of Bucky's and squeezed it "That makes us two. We both hurt her unintentionally, and.." he shrugged his shoulder. Bucky turned towards Tony and gave him a small smile. Tony returned the smile and turned back to look at the garden. Suddenly, Bucky snorted and Tony turned to him with an amused smile and a raised eyebrow "What?" Bucky turned to him "Thinking that it was trouble enough taking care of Stevie when he was a shrimp, now I have to see him as my brother-in-law" Bucky shuddered at the words and Tony bursted out laughing until he had tears in his eyes. Infected by the laughter, Bucky joined him only to stop at a throat clearing "So, this what happens when my husband and my best friend get together? They make fun of me" Steve said with a mock pout. Tony rolled his eyes fondly but beckoned him towards them. Steve joined them by sitting in between Tony and Bucky. The trio was silent but it was comforting. Tony soon enough laid his head on top of Steve's shoulder and was fast asleep. Steve fondly smiled at him and then turned to Bucky "I'm gonna bring this tiny to bed, you're not gonna crash?" Bucky shook his head but looked at him fondly "Nah...I'm just gonna hang out here and then go to bed, its..its comforting ya know..Tasha is not physically here but knowing that she's here just a floor down, its..comforting" Steve nodded in understanding. Steve carried Tony looked at Bucky "Night, brother-in-law" Steve teased and Bucky rolled his eyes but laughed nonetheless "Night, punk" and looked back at the garden. Bucky looked up at the stars and wished upon it.
As careful as they can be, Ahana let's Bucky carry the wolf through the back door using the maintenance lift and she picks both of them up, the wolf securely at the back of the car. "How was it?" Ahana suddenly asks and Bucky raises an eyebrow at her "The mass, for him" she clarifies and Bucky sighs and takes her hand in his "Yeah, it was nice, everyone was there and most of his employees and his fans except..." "except me. I know, I know how it looks but...but I can't look at the grave or his picture without thinking that I was also a part of it, I can't go and celebrate when I feel like a murderer" she says, her voice cracking and tears stream on her cheeks. Ahana stops the car at the side and cries, her grip on the steering wheel tight. Bucky hugs her and kisses the side of her head, reassuring her, the couple mourning the lost of a family and a friend. The wolf's whines makes Ahana wipe her tears and look back through the rear mirror "I'm fine baby boy, just...I'm fine" she says before starting the engine and drives off to the Avengers compound.
"Tony, ever since we clashed at the Helicarrier, a good seven years before, I never knew what I was signing up for..."
6.Eto to, chto vy mne obeshchali, kogda sbezhali iz uchrezhdeniya i ostavili menya tam. s monstrami, i vy narushili svoye obeshchaniye. - That was what you promised me when you ran away from the facility and left me there. with monsters and you broke your promise.
Tony was peacefully dozing in between the three humans, when a loud alarm starts blaring and he startles awake, the soft arms around him keeping him from bolting. His human is softly whispering and soothing him as the both blond and brunette human start padding outside of the room. "Call me when you leave?" his human whispers to the brunette and the brunette hums before they both kiss and the brunette runs out. His human sighs "Guess it's just me and you, baby boy" she says and hops on the bed, patting her lap for him. Tony immediately leaps on the bed and curls up on top of her, the food and stress taking a huge toll on him.
By the time the recess bell rang, Tony's class had a Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Sam, Peggy, Thor, Jane, Darcy, Loki, Pietro and Wanda. He also got to know his other subject teachers, Mr. Phil Coulson, his language art teacher, Ms. Giovanni, his arts teacher, Mr.Erik, his technology teacher, Mr. Mark, his reading and writing teacher and of course Principal Fury. Tony and Scarlett rushed out of their class as soon as the bell rang and took the front most seat at the cafeteria. They were both munching the lunches their parents packed when a small voice interrupted them "Uhm, excuse me, is this table taken?" and Tony looked up and met Steve's eyes "Yeah, sure and he slid closer to Scarlett and allowed Steve to sit beside him. Then, pretty soon their table was full of their classmates- excluding Loki and the twins -chatting with each other. "So, how you guys met each other?" Darcy asked them once she swallowed her food. "We are neighbors, went to the same nursery and preschool." Tony answered "Exactly like me and Buck!" Steve answered "We were friends since we were in diapers!" Steve laughed as Bucky grumbled into himself. Tony got to know that Natasha and Clint are also childhood friends since they were at the same foster home since birth and Jane admitted that she knows no one from the class and is fairly new, same as Darcy and Bruce. Thor and Loki are step brothers and Pietro and Wanda are twins and the four met at a function during last year's Christmas.
she mouths at him and chuckles at his spluttering, continues walking back to her table and clearing it when she hears a throat clearing at the back of her. Zipping her back, she turns to see the same barista, looking at her with a sheepish smile "I'm so sorry, Mrs Stark-" "It's Mrs. Barnes, actually" Ahana corrects and the barista chuckles awkwardly "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Barnes, I really didn't know that you are married I'm so sorr-" "Kid, it's okay. It happens quite alot, so no harm done" Ahana soothes him before grabbing her working bag and her handbag "I'm already late, but it's nice to meet you..." "Zane" "Zane. It's nice to meet you, bye!" Ahana greets before hurrying her way to her car.
Steve was starting to wallow in his own misery before he was interrupted by a tapping on his desk and he looked up to Bucky with a raised eyebrow, Steve shook his head "What?" Steve asked nonchalantly "Scar and Tony invited us to go for the new movie at the nearby theatre" Bucky said hefting his bag higher on his back "What movie?" Steve asked "How to train your dragon, Scar insisted she wanted to go, ya comin' ?" Bucky asked again and Steve's anxiety spiked up again "Nah, ma asked me to be home early, said she wanted to talk about something, but you guys enjoy" Steve said and hurried away quickly, leaving behind a very confused Bucky.
" Tasha hisses in his comms but Bucky doesn't rely, to stunned to see his ex-partner infront of him.
Steve's inner thought was cut off by a strange beeping sound. He wiped his eyes and reached for the sound. Brushing past a few debris, Steve found an earpiece, with a blinking red light. Steve immediately hooked the earpiece and switched it on with a single tap. Steve breath relieve and slumped against a wall as Tony's smooth voice washed in "
Junior prom came and Steve went with Peggy and Bucky went with Scar. Steve smiled softly as he saw Bucky and Scar slow dancing to a song while also whispering to each other, clearly happy in each others arms. Steve's eyes continued to roam around the ballroom to find where Tony was but in vain, he was nowhere to be found. Once the dance finished, Steve pecked Peggy on her lips before excusing himself to go talk to Bucky. He found his best friend at a nearby lake, idly throwing stones across the lake. "Hey" Steve started and Bucky turned and looked at him with a tired smile "Hey, punk. Why aren't you inside?" Steve shrugged and sat beside him "Wanted to talk to you" he replied and Bucky huffed. Silence blanketed them before Steve broke it "How are you guys?" Bucky huffed again, but now a bitter tone to it "You really wanna know?" Steve nodded "Not good actually, it's like someone cursed us after you left us and bad luck just follows us" Steve winced but looked at him in a funny expression "What do you mean?" Bucky looked at him "After you left, both Scar's and Tony's parent died, then Tony moved out to California to attend a boarding school, and...Scar..she's diagnosed with fourth stage lung cancer.." Bucky trailed off as Steve gasped "Scar..has cancer? H..how long?" "A year maximum" Steve shuddered and turned to look at the lake "Tony is at a boarding school? When did he move?" "After the parents' death and Scar's diagnosis" "You and Scar..." "Were together for 6 months before this thing happened". Silence found it's way again around them and both of them looked at the lake. Finally, Bucky sighed and got up, turning back to look at Steve "At least, you're enjoying your life" huffed a bitter laughter and went inside the building. Steve looked at the path Bucky went and closed his eyes, tears forming at the tips of his eyelids, thinking
. See, she was 3 minutes older to me and always used that card on me when she wanted me to do something usually to put me to bed." Tony said with a light smile. "That sounds like your twin alright" Rhodey teased. Tony mock glared at him but continued "It was annoying, sometimes, but it was a barrier when it came to Howard. She saved me, multiple times. Even though we were twins, physically we were quite different. While I had brown eyes and brown curly hair with light olive skin, she had piercing blue eyes and jet black straight hair and tanned olive skin. She was 2 to 3 inches taller than me and was an exact opposite of kid me. While I was this shy, withdrawn and quiet kid she was the brave, outgoing and fierce type. But Howard didn't like that that she took the trait and not me. She gave zero bullshit to anyone who dared to hurt me, even Howard. She understood English but only spoke in Italian, she said it was easier to flip off Howard like that, since he doesn't understand the language" Tony said with a quiet giggle. His family laughed together with him "Other than that, our interest were the same, Engineering, mechanics and all those shenanigans. She was the first person I came out to when I was twelve. I was so scared that she will find me disgusting that I cried when I told her that I was bisexual, afraid she would hate me. But she immediately gathered me up in her arms and rocked us back and forth shushing me, she said that she was proud of me and she will always support me no matter what and she said and let me quote 'You could be gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, asexual or transgender, heck, you could even be an alien for all I know and I'll love you the exact same, maybe even more' and ruffled my hair and kissed my forehead." Tony said. "Aww, she's sweet." Sam said from behind Bucky. "She was, the sweetest I know..." Tony said.
"We raised them good, didn't we.." Tony said as he watched the boys hug before going in different direction, as he rested his cheeks against Steve's shoulders and sighed. Another pair of arms enveloped both of them and Tony and Steve turned around to look at Scar giving them a kiss to each of their foreheads before dragging them away for their lunch.
"Learning that my brother can shape-shift into a wolf is the coolest thing I've ever seen! And I'm not gonna ruin that for him, the cure is for his speech, and how to make him more human when he's an actual human, something like a therapy maybe" Ahana says with a shrug and Natasha hums, when the door opens and Bucky enters. Natasha gets up and kisses Ahana's cheeck "Kayh
Ahana sits on her bed and let's her tears flow freely, her chest heaving with each inhale and exhale and her wolf nuzzling her arms, whining softly. The bedroom door opens and closes and Bucky pads towards her, sitting beside her silently. "Shouldn't you be with him?" she asks and Bucky just hums "I'm serious, I just used you for my fight and insulted you at the same time, you should hate me" "I don't hate you, never will, never am, never could" "I just-" "I would have said the same thing if I was in your place and you were in mine. And Steve's an idiot, he confesses his undying love and then screams at you, so dumb" Bucky says and Ahana chuckles before the door opening and closing one more time, this time her wolf snarling. "Baby boy, shh, it's okay, I'm fine" she soothes, running her fingers through his fur, the wolf relaxes only slightly. Steve pads slowly to Ahana's other side and gently takes her hand "So...I was an idiot" he says and Ahana doubles over laughing " Yeah, yeah you are but we're both dumb when it comes to that self-sacrafying idiot" he teases and the three of them laugh, her wolf safely nestled in between her feet.
Bucky's heart is pounding against his rib cage as he sprints and skids through the compound hallways, JARVIS's warnings running through his head. When he gets to the vault, he sees atleast four HYDRA goons standing, guarding the door, their weapons held high to aim at the hostages inside. Bucky slowly shadows himself against the walls and skirts through to the vault entrance, the rest of the Avengers signalling him in his comms. A muffled thud and a knife slash is heard and Bucky sees Clint from the vents and Tasha from the other side of the floor, Steve commanding the rest to keep guard outside. Bucky silently reloads his M4A1 rifle and attaches his silencer and waits in the shadow, easily taking down the two nearest goons when he hears a gun cocking right behind him and the muzzle pushing against his temple. Bucky closes his eyes and silently curses "Well, well, well, if it isn't the great Winter Soldier." the thick Russian accent mocks him and the guy pushes Bucky to the room, the gun still at aimed at his head.
Bucky was awake propped up against the headboard of the bed, his Starkpad on his lap, scrolling through it intently. It was still very early morning and the whole compound was peaceful and quiet and Bucky was savoring every ounce of it. The only sounds that filled the rooms was the soft whirring of his tablet and the quiet little mewling noises from Tasha. Bucky was scrolling through the maps to find the nearest jewellery shop, searching for a ring. It was when Tasha and Tony came back from their conference three days ago, when it hit him. This is what he wants. He wants Tasha, for the rest of his life. He wants to share his problems, his insecurities and his vulnerable side to Tasha for the rest of his life. That thought would have scared the life out of him but..it didn't. The thought kinda warmed him, thinking about it Bucky leaned down and planted a kiss on Tasha's forehead, making her stir a little more. Flicking through a few websites, Bucky still haven't found the perfect ring for Tasha, so he decided to ask Tony to help him instead. He shot off a message to Tony before closing all his tab, clearing his history and placing his tablet back on the nightstand beside him. He slid down under the comforter and stared at Tasha. Her soft exhales fanning his face and the rise and fall of her chest soothingly lulling him. He gently raised his index finger from his flesh hand and started tracing Tasha's face. From the crown of her head, the raise of her nose and the dip in between those plump lips. The fingers continued tracing down her smooth neck, the hollow of her collarbone, The trail in between her breasts, the v of her hips, curving slightly at her hipbone, down the sides of her thighs reaching her knees before making back to the top. Tracing up, Bucky let his finger run on the inside of her thighs, slowly stroking the soft skin there in gentle up and down movement. Tasha mewled and huffed and puffed and rolled over on her back, giving more access to Bucky's wandering finger. He slowly uncurled the rest of his fingers and slid his palm in between her closed thighs, pushing them apart slowly, inch by inch. Tasha's breath hitched but made no move to wake up. He then rubbed his palm up and down her inner thighs before his index finger traced again. Bucky then covered himself under the covers and bent Tasha's legs and parted them a little wider, her core proudly showing off to him. His index reaching to the warm and soft skin near her vulva, tracing soft patterns on the skin. The trail continued to the inner labia, tracing it up and down, feeling the smooth velvety texture of the skin, then crooked his finger and caressed the inner side of the labia. He then curled the rest of his fingers except for his middle finger and slowly pushed it into the warm canal. Heat. Velvety heat blanketed his finger and Bucky closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss at the junction where the rest of his middle finger was connected to her core. Bucky knew the exact moment Tasha was already awake when her core poured copious amount of slick, almost entirely covering his palm, then, long and slender fingers carded through his hair and a soft moan was heard from above. Using his other hand, he flung the cover and it fell with a soft thud on the floor. Bucky raised from his position in between Tasha's legs and saw that Tasha's eyes were screwed shut, mouth agape releasing the most sinful noises, back perfectly arched and her heels digging into the flesh of Bucky's ass, giving up on his temptations he leaned up and kissed her, one soft, comforting kiss turning into a passionate war of tongues and teeth, leaving both of them breathless. "Open your eyes, doll.." Bucky whispered into her ears and looked down at the most striking blue eyes he has ever seen, Tasha giving him a soft smile that got cut of by a lengthy moan, made him even more harder.
Reaching the compound, the guard, Stan, opens the gate and gives them a salute before she drives off and parks at her place. Ahana gets off the car and Bucky carries the wolf to their shared room and gently drops the wolf into the bathtub. The wolf shakes his fur and looks at her and Ahana chuckles at him "I know, this is mine and Bucky's room and you're now in the compound, a place where my friends are and it's home" she says as she turns the hand shower on and tests the temperature, a nice hot water. "FRI?" "Yes, Miss Stark? How may I help you?" FRIDAY speaks and the wolf growls and Ahana puts her hand on her head and strokes him "Shh, it's okay. It's just the A.I on the ceiling, don't worry" she soothes and the wolf calms and lays his head on the lip of the tub. "FRI, can you order those organic dog shampoo?" "Any specifics?" "Uhh, something that can disinfect and also keep his fur soft?" "Noted, the shampoo will be delivered to your room, Miss" "Thanks, babygirl" and Ahana slowly let's the hot water cascade through the wolf's fur, the blood on his fur rinsing off, the fur pearly white.
After the incident, Steve continued to ignore Tony's calls and Scar's invitations. Bucky kept asking him what was the problem but he shook his head and said it was a 'family issue'. He started hanging out with other people in his class, he started talking to Peggy, Sam, Nat and Clint. After a few cajoling, the trio didn't approach him anymore, getting the message clear as crystal. Sometimes, Steve would see those three all but laughing as they walked towards the cafeteria and wished he could be there with them but he always remembered that it was him that created the distance between them. Summer school came and went, and Steve's growth spurt finally hitting him. Growing to a full 6'2 and building up muscles, coming back to school was fun. People started to notice him, wanted to be his friends, all but Tony and Scar. He often see the duo together at the library, deep in their studies and often moved to speak to them but chicken out at the end. Steve missed Tony, missed him like a limb but there wasn't anything he could do since it was all his fault. 'Steggy' was the ship name the whole school used when Peggy and Steve got together. They were like almost the power couple of the school, Peggy being the head of the cheerleader and Steve being the captain of the football team in their school. Whenever Steve would wait for Peggy at their locker, he would sometimes get a glimpse of Tony searching through his locker, snapping his fingers when he found the object he was looking for, shut the door and lock eyes with Steve and immediately walk off without a smile. Steve sighed and hung his head, keeping his sobs to himself. Yes, he loved Peggy, but seeing the way Tony scrambling away from him really stabs a knife into his heart since the genius still has a little place in his heart.
Ya sdelayu eto prostym, yesli ty sdelayesh' eto prostym. - I will make it simple if you make it simple.
" Tony's eyes widened and Steve's eyes narrowed at Bucky "But wait. Something doesn't add up here. Buck, you said that both of you became good friends at the facility and then it was because of us getting you out of there that turned her into this. Was that the truth?" Bucky looked down and shook his head "No. It was a lie." "Why?" "Because I wanted to be selfish! Because I wanted to satisfy myself! Because I wanted to make myself feel good about what I did to her! Yes! We knew each other at the facility! But...we were more than...more than just good friends...we..." "Then why lie?" "If Nat knows this, don't you think she would have found out about Yelena by then? She would. And the jealousy would have fueled her enough to go and hunt Yelena down. So, I lied. We were dating when the shift happened, when I was called back to the lab to get my mind washed she said those words. Those....those words were true...and then the whole Zemo and Zola fiasco and we never saw each other, my mind was wiped and she was on the opposite side, that was the only thing in my mind. So, I was assigned to take her out. And you guys came in when I finally caught her. She pleaded and begged for me to remember her. To remember her when I was pointing a fucking revolver on her forehead and the whole S.H.E.I.L.D was there."
?” JARVIS asked. “Cause she wasn’t in my sister mindset. She was brainwashed by Hydra. And Steve and the other Avengers fought her today and she ran away. Just like that. I need to find her, J” Tony muttered while fiddling with the handbag’s tassle. JARVIS was momentarily silent then “
" "Okay, then...J, scan for nearest motel, rental car service and electronic store. Any later I'm like this, the higher possibility for me to turn into a capsicle. We already have one, don't bother with another." "
Steve stood at the archway of the door that led him into their shared bedroom, eyes red rimmed for the very last time as he looked at the scene in front of him. All their friends were gathered around Tony's thin body surrounded by tubes and wires, giving their final speech. They hushed against each other and slowly one by one exited their room, patting Steve on his shoulder on their way out. Once the last of them went out, Steve entered and sat beside his husband, immediately pulling him to his side. Tony sighed in relieve and rested his cheeks against his shoulder "Don't be sad once I'm gone, don't be angry once I'm gone, look after Peter and Harley for me once I'm gone..." Tony kept talking to him, promising him to do everything that they did, without him and Steve just nodded with tears streaming down his cheeks when Harley and Peter entered the room, their eyes red rimmed too. "Hey, boys...c'mere..." Tony beckoned them with a weak voice and the boys sat near his body "Take care of your Pops for me, will ya?" the boys smiled through their tears and nodded. After a few minutes, Tony started yawning and Steve knew that this is the last of him, he tightened his grip around Tony and Tony snuggled closer.
After a nice bubble bath, Tony put on his silk bathrobe and laid down in his bed. “J, patch me up with Steve.” “
" Tasha kept muttering to herself. Bucky took the chance to slowly move in between Tony and Tasha and gently pushed Tony towards Steve. Steve immediately catched Tony despite Tony struggling in his arms "That's Tasha!It's my Tasha!" Tony kept screaming and that broke Tasha. She looked back up from her daze and staggered back "
The rest of the day goes by with Ahana finishing her tasks with the wolf on her lap and it's the end of the day. Ahana is contemplating on how to transport the wolf when her phone rings and it's her husband. "Hey, babe you done?" Bucky answers and Ahana smiles "Hey, yeah I'm done, but, babe I need your help" "You okay?" "I'm fine, I just need your help, can't say it on the phone, can you drop by o your way here?" "Uhh, I still have a few mission reports but, yeah, sure I'll be there in five?" "Yeah, sounds great, thanks" "I love you" "Love you more" she says and hangs up. Ahana is scrolling through her Instagram when the wolf starts whining and tossing in it's sleep. She immediately puts her phone down and gently places her hand on top of the wolf's head, stroking it's fur "Hey, baby boy, it's okay, your fine, your safe, it's okay" she whispers and after sometime the wolf slowly goes back to sleep. Another five minutes and the door to her office opens and her husband pokes his head into the room. "Hey, babe" he greets before coming near her and freezes at the wolf in her lap "What is that?!" he whisper-shouts, pointing at the wolf "A wolf" Ahana deadpans and Bucky rolls his eyes. "I know, but what's it doing here?" he asks and she beckons him to her side, slowly. Bucky tip toes and gingerly sits beside "I don't know where he came from, cause I found it this morning under my desk, like this." she points at the blood "caked in blood and whining. He's leg was bent so I called Bruce and he came took a look at it and cast it" she says pointing at the cast "and he said that it'll take atleast a week or two for it to heal, and I can't keep it here, so I thought about bringing it to the compound?" she finishes that sentence with a question and looks at her husband. Bucky looks at the wolf and then looks at her "Who's gonna take care of it?" "I'll do it. I found him and he isn't close to anyone else, plus if the pap knows, the next we want is pet control and this big guy in a cage" "Your work?" "I'll just work from home, babe, don't worry, I'll do it, plus" she adds mischievously "I think it'll be a great practice when we have our own kids, hm?" she says and Bucky chuckles and pecks her on the lips "Other's will get a dog, but only you, babe, will get a wolf" he says teasingly and Ahana chuckles "I'm a Stark, what do you expect?", they both laugh.
Yelena abruptly opened her eyes and pounced at the nearest person, pinning them under her, the victim's body falling with a heavy thud and a loud grunt. "Kto ty?! Otvet'te mne!" she barked at the person. Tony lifted his hands in a surrendering motion, signalling the team behind him to not move muscle. he took a deep breath and stared right back into Yelena's eyes "Tasha, it's me Tony.." he tried but Yelena pressed him further into the ground leaning even more forward against its body. "Ya ne znayu etu Tasha, ya Yelena" "No, you're not Yelena, you are Tasha, Natasha Stark." Yelena violently shook her head "Net net! Ya ne! Kak ty ponimayesh' russkiy yazyk ?!" Yelena's eyes moving back and forth, her heartbeat beating fast, breathing becoming shallower "Your Natasha Stark." Tony said ignoring Yelena's question. Yelena's grip on him quivered and Tony took his chance and rolled them until he was on top of Yelena "You are Natasha Stark!" Tony barked over and over and over again but Yelena shook her head, convulsing below Tony. Yelena kept her eyes closed and refused to open them muttering the same words over and over again muffled with Tony's voice from above. Yelena's eyes blurred again and the small boy she saw years back appeared again, the same brown haired boy. Her eyes widened, memories coming back pieces by pieces but still not enough to put a perfect picture but the boy stood still among the walls covering in bits and pieces, beside the boy was the man, the long haired, metal armed man, staring at her, she opened and closed her mouth, but no words came into her mouth.
” JARVIS asked with an amused voice. Tony looked up with a soft smile “Just like the olden days. And, yes, this is kinda secret, I..I’m finding for my sister, J. I saw her at the graveyard today.” Tony said. “
Tony internally screamed at himself.He closed his eyes and took a deep breath commanding his heart to beat normally and opened it back. " Fri, what's the time ?" Tony asked with a quivering voice. "Time is 8.52 in the morning with a slightly cloudy weather, boss" FRIDAY smoothly chimed from the ceiling.
Steve's eyes slowly blinked open, adjusting to the morning sunshine. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the peace and quiet of the compound. It was still a little to early for the rest of the team to be awake and he enjoyed the scenery from his bedroom. A soft smile bloomed on his face, memories of his dreams flooding in his mind and his grip on his husband tightened. Tony shifted in his arms, grumbling but fell back to deep sleep. That was 10 years ago, since then their marriage faced so much turmoil, that Steve was suprised that they came so far. If all the fights, screaming, and the almost filled divorce lead up to this? Then Steve would gladly go through it again. Steve's eyes widened at an idea. It was almost more than a decade since he and Tony got married and they were always planning to renew their vows and now, now Steve wanted to do it properly, proposal and all. So Steve, made himself comfortable on the bed and started planning for the big thing.
Bucky peppered kisses all over her face while one digit turned into two and then three of his fingers were pumping in and out of her core, slick dripping onto the sheets below. "My baby girls’ needy, isn’t she?.." Bucky all but purred into her ears and Tasha nodded furiously, strangled chokes and moans tumbling out of her lips "I want to fill you up so bad. Fill you up with my come, load you up with my babies-" Tasha mewled loudly and gripped Bucky's hair tightly "Ohh..you like that idea, don't you baby girl? You, pregnant with my babies...god, baby girl, you'd be the most gorgeous pregnant woman anyone will ever see, pregnant with my babies" Bucky growled. "P-please. Bucky-fuck!" Tasha pleaded, tears staining her cheeks :"N-need y-your c-cock!" Tasha pleaded again. Bucky loved how responsive she was with every twist of his fingers in her "I know...shh, shh" Bucky soothed while he brought his metal arm to wipe her tears away "I can hear how wet you are baby girl." Tasha's pant and Bucky's grunt was the only sound that filled the room and the smell of sex permeated through the walls of the room "Shit, doll. You’re so tight. Relax..relax" Bucky rubbed his metal arm up and down her stomach while his other fingers were four digit deep into her, his erection painfully curved against his stomach. After a few minutes, Bucky pulled out his fingers, Tasha whimpering at the lost of his fingers but moaned when the tip of his cock brushed against her core, slowly, Bucky pushed in, the familiar warmth enveloping his cock and Bucky had to try so hard not to cum right that spot. Once he fully bottomed out, he waited until Tasha's fingers tapped a Morse code against his thighs, signalling him to go, he pulled out completely until only his tip was attached and slammed into the heat again. Tasha screamed and arched her back, almost floating off of the bed "Taking me so good, doll. Fuck just listen to you. So wet. Just for me." Tasha moaned and mewled at every hit on her G-spot "That’s right doll. Let me hear you. Wanna know how good you feel." "Fuck! Bucky! I’m coming!" Bucky was also reaching his climax, the familiar heat building at the bottom of his stomach, so he leaned near her ears and whispered "Come for me, doll..let yourself go.." and Tasha tumbled over the edge, her body convulsing with each spurt of her come, Bucky followed a minute later, his cum filling the insides of the wall. He ran both his hands up and down her sides and soothed her through her orgasm. Finally Bucky pulled out, wincing at the discomfort and landed at her side. Tasha then turned to her side, grimacing at the cum dripping down her core. She caressed her hands and kissed him soft and slow, pulling back with a soft smile "Morning, dear" "Morning, baby girl."
" he pleaded and Steve looked at Tony and back at him and nodded. Tony slowly wound his hands around the back of him successfully locking him and her in place. "
"Came here to see your wife? We killed her" the voice mocks and Bucky clenches his right hand, his left tightening around his rifle. "I should have known you would have gone soft. Getting married having a wife, huh!" the voice taunts him and Bucky keeps his mouth shut, confirming that the Avengers are close through his comms. "What do you want?" he asks finally and the voice barks out a bitter laughter "Your wife, if possible, but most importantly the dog with her" the voice sneers "Why?" "That dumb dog escaped our facility!" "Experimenting on animals now? That's low even for you" "Do not taunt me! I'll kill your wife!" "Does it really matter when you said that you already killed my wife?' Bucky asks even as his heart crumbles inside him. The voice laughs and turns Bucky to face him and Bucky gapes "Yelena?" "Why? Thought I was someone else?" she sneers and points her gun right at his forehead. "
The first thing Tony wakes up to is fingers running through his fur and he stiffens immediately. The hand stops but a whisper follows it, soothing and calm, the fingers scratching behind his ears.
Tony thought and continued his path to the kitchen. Entering the kitchen, the scene in front of him warmed his heart even more. Steve and the original six avengers are at the dining table eating breakfast and talking to each other, Pepper is at the coffee machine waiting for her coffee while busily typing on her phone - definitely to her girlfriend, May - with a soft smile, Peter and Harley are at the living room playing the new Avengers Monopoly game, Bucky and Sam are fighting over a video game, Rhodey and Danvers are at the window near the kitchen which faces the ocean talking to each other with a cup of coffee in each of their hands and finally Dodger and Figaro, a Golden Retriever and a Tuxedo cat curled up together near the fireplace.It was sickeningly domestic but Tony wouldn't change it for the world. This is his family. With a soft smile, Tony padded towards the dining table just in time for Steve to lift his face from the conversation and catch Tony's eyes. "Morning, beloved" Tony cooed as he dragged the chair beside Steve, slumped on it and rested his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve turned his head and kissed Tony's head "Morning, sweetheart" he said while gently pushing a cup of coffee to Tony. Tony hummed and used his right hand to drink his coffee and the other hand to lace his fingers with Steve's, their wedding bands clinking. "Did you sleep well?" Steve asked as he continued to skim through his emails in his Starkpad. "I...slept okay...I guess" Tony admitted and Steve gently pushed Tony until they were at eye level "What's that supposed to mean? Another nightmare, honey?" Steve asked and Tony nodded after a few minutes. "Is it about...Afghanistan?" Natasha gently asked from where she was sitting at Steve's right. Tony shook his head "Then tell us Tones, maybe we can help you, you were there for all of us, now let us be there for you..." Pepper came from the coffee machine and sat beside Tony with an arm around Tony. Tony tried his hardest to fight back his tears but it still managed to flow out his eyes. Steve swiped his thumb wiping of the tear and kissed his cheeks in an effort to gently coax Tony to talk. Tony looked around and took a deep breath and told them.
Steve suddenly realized as he was watching Tony present something in front of the class. His olive skin was bathed in the early morning sun ray blinding through the class window. His eyes, those warm chocolate eyes lighting up with wonder and excitement as he gestured wildly to the class, his posture tall but not intimidating and his hair a fluffy mob of brown curls, reaching all the way to the nape of his neck. He was wearing a red band t-shirt, a black leather jacket draped on top of it and a black skin tight jeans which hugged his legs and his ass perfectly. He was trying to grow a goatee as he could see traces of course hair on around his mouth.
" "Then leave the planning to me. Or atleast...inform me" Tony grumbled under his breath. Tony shivered when a gust of cold air hits his face "What's the temperature here? Isn't it to early to be chilly?" "
" but before Tasha fired the gun, Steve rand and cloacked her jaw and Tasha flew an landed several meters away. "NO!" Tony screamed but the Avengers were already assembling and fighting against Tasha. They tossed her and took turns fighting her but she gave them equally. Tony screamed and screamed until he collapsed on the ground breathing heavily. Sound of a trigger being pulled was heard behind Tony's head. "
Opening the door, the whole class was in chaos. There were paper balls flying everywhere, a few children screaming their lungs out for their parents and some were running around the class chasing each other. Tony immediately hid behind Scar's back and her hold on his wrist tightened as she moved forward towards the only empty seats, sandwiched between another small brunette boy with glasses reading a book and a strawberry blond girl. The girl looked up and saw them and gave them a welcoming smile, gesturing them to take the seats with her eyes. Scar smiled back and went forward to the seats. Tony took the seat beside the small brunette boy and Scar sat beside the strawberry blond girl, who immediately turned towards them "Hi! I'm Pepper Potts! What's your name?" the girl asked enthusiastically "I'm Scarlett Maximoff and that's Tony Stark" Pepper beamed at Tony which beamed at her back. The small brunette then turned towards them, pushing his glasses up and giving them a small smile "Hey, guys..I'm Bruce Banner" Banner greeted softly "Tony Stark" Tony pointed at himself and pointed at Scar "Scarlett Maximoff" and then shook his hand. The quad then continued chatting among themselves when the sound of heels tapping against the tiled floor stopped at the entrance of their class.
Bucky shook his head and huffed a soft laughter. He climbed out of bed, made their bed and was on his way to the bathroom, when he heard Tasha's voice flowing through the small crack of the opened door. Bucky smiled and continued his journey to the bathroom. He relieved himself, flushed the toilet, washed his hands, brushed his teeth, washed his hands again, shaved his morning stubble, washed his face and went to the kitchen. Entering the kitchen, he saw Tasha, bustling around the area, going back and forth between the island counter and the fridge, grabbing what it seems to be ingredients for a bowl of cereal. She was talking a mile a minute, was when Bucky noticed the bluetooth earpiece dangling from her right ear. "-by using sound waves and known genetic techniques, we can, for the first time, noninvasively control specific brain regions and cell types as well as the timing of when neurons are switched on or off" Tasha looked up from the various papers scattered around the island counter next to her cereal and saw Bucky. She smiled and held up her index finger in the universal sign for "gimme a minute" but Bucky waved her off and walked towards her, planting a light kiss on top of her head, pushing the cereal away from her elbow to avoid accidents and went to the coffee machine for his dose of caffeine. "While several emerging methods in neuroscience allow researchers to manipulate brain circuits, most require invasive techniques such as stereotaxic surgery, which can damage tissue and initiate a long-lasting immune response, also, conventional pharmacological approaches lack the spatial, temporal and cell-type specificity required to treat the brain, and can lead to deleterious side effects." Bucky sat opposite Tasha and sat down with a cup of black coffee and a plate of eggs and bacon. Sitting down, Tasha immediately coiled her feet around Bucky's ankle with her thumb occasional brushing the skin there. Bucky in returned reached out to her hand and played with her pinky finger. "To get around these issues, the Caltech team first injected microbubbles into mice’s blood vessels, and then zapped the bubbles with ultrasound waves at specific regions in the brain to create temporary, local openings in the blood-brain barrier. The researchers then took advantage of those openings to sneak in a viral vector carrying a gene coding for an engineered type of protein known as designer receptors exclusively activated by designer drugs (DREADDs)—in this case, a receptor that would respond to the synthetic drug clozapine-N-oxide (CNO)." Tasha walked towards the blue file that laid in the hall and returned back, flipping through the pages until she reached the page that was covered in test graphs and results. Bucky just shook his head and started recalling another fond memory, sipping his coffee.
The wolf sniffs her palms and finally buts his head to her palm, nuzzling into it. Ahana chuckles and then slowly slides her hand across the wolf's blood-matted fur. "What on earth happened to you, baby boy?" she whispers and the wolf, suprisingly, whines to her question and Ahana huffs. "And your a smart one, huh?" she teases and the wolf manages an eyeroll and lays his head on her lap, his breathing laboured. She skims her fingertips lightly on his injured hind leg and winces "Took a bad fall, baby boy?" she asks and the wolf huffs and Ahana hums sympathetically, continues to pet the fur, thinking what she should do next. "We need a doctor-" she says when the wolf snaps his head and growls at her, his sharp teeth baring at her. Ahana backs up and her back hits the chair at the back "Okay, okay, sorry, baby boy. But I'm not a doctor and is we don't treat that" she says pointing to its injured leg "It might infect and harm you" she placates and the wolf lowers his head whines. Ahana chuckles and scoots forwardand gently places the wolf's head on her lap. She soothingly strokes his head "I..I have this friend, well he's more my brother's friend but, yeah, he's a doctor-" the wolf snarls warningly but Ahana shushes him :"relax, he isn't those cynical ones, he's actually quite nice. What do you say, I call him up and let him patch you up and we'll send him back right away, just for the leg, nothing more, nothing less" she offers and after a long time the wolf nuzzles her lap and whines.
Tony’s inner thought cut off when his eyes narrowed down on a black handbag near Tasha’s tombstone. Tony waited in the car until the rest of the Avengers went back home in their cars with Steve following Bucky back home.
"Dad! Pops! Where are you?!" Peter bellowed from the hall of their condominium. "J, where are they?" Peter asked their A.I butler "
During recess, Tony was walking to the library when someone crash landed on top of him. "Ooff! Hey wa- Oh hey Steve! Where are you rushing to?" Tony asked as he got up from the floor, Steve giving him a hand to stand up. "I was actually coming to find you" Steve answered as the boys were busy picking up Tony's fallen book "Oh. Anything important?" Tony asked as his books were all in his hands and he dusted himself before looking at Steve with a raised eyebrow "Actually, I wanted your help in Maths, me and Buck actually, if your free that is" Steve asked shyly and Tony bit his lips thinking through "Actually....Scar and I were just talking about that, we wanted to sleepover to finish our work, if it's okay for you and Buck, come join us! The more the merrier!" Tony said and Steve immediately nodded "Great! I'll talk to Buck and I'll tell ya during end period." Steve said and scrambled away as Tony headed to the library to return the books he borrowed.
5.Tebe ne obyazatel'no eto delat', kotenok. Pozvol'te nam zabrat' vas obratno. My pomozhem vam vyzdorovet' ... -You don't have to do this, kitten. Let us take you back. We will help you recover ...
is the third thing that comes to his mind when his muzzle is assaulted by the very delicious scent of bacon and meat. His tongue rolls out and his human chuckles softly before kissing his head "Got hungry, baby boy?" his human asks and he whines- he can't use words anyways -and wakes up and stretches, licks his human, once, and pads out of the bedroom to the kitchen. There, handling the stove, is a blond human, shirtless and is humming softly as he flips the bacon and puts it on the plate next to him. He whines and the blond human startles and turns to him "Hey there big guy, you hungry?" he asks and Tony whines again, making the blond human laugh. The blond human then puts four pieces of bacon and sets the plate on the floor, near the dining table "Bon Appétit, big guy" he says before he goes back cooking.
"When Zemo took over Hydra, Zola was pushed away. He took his liking in Yelena and appointed her as his right hand. We still went for missions but it was very little. Zola wanted revenge and so this one night, when Yelena and I were lounging around, some Hydra agents dragged me back to the Dark Room, Yelena refused to let me go but I promised her that whatever happens, I'll come back for her. Unfortunately, that's not so...easy. Zola mind washed me again but he implanted my next target as Zemo and his allies. When I came back, I saw Yelena with Zemo and automatically went to assassination mood....and that was the last I remember her" the four of them finished eating their breakfasts, asked the waitress to clean up the table and spread out the information they found. The table was soon a clutter mess on files and mission reports.
Ahana is skimming through her file cabinet when she hears faint whimpering. Ahana stops searching and looks around her office, everything is still in it's place. She shrugs abd continues searching when the whimpering sound is followed by a scratching on the carpeted floor. Ahana gives up her searching and walks around her office, her ears keen on the sound. She goes around every nook and cranny and even as far as searching the corridor of her floor. Nothing, not even a single soul. Ahana walks back when her eyes zero on something under her table and her whole body freezes and she closes the door of her office slowly before tip-toeing her way to her desk. She holds her breath as she slowly lowers her upper body to see under her table and she takes a sharp inhale. It's a wolf. A white wolf. A huge white wolf under her table, panting and whimpering, his paws slowly pawing at her shoes. That's when she sees the wolf's hind leg bent painfully and her expression softens. She always had a soft spot for animals and the wolf looks domestic enough and she slides to her knees and slowly reaches the wolf's fur. The wolf snarls weakly and shrinks even further to the back. "It's okay, baby boy. I'm not gonna hurt you" she says and lifts her hands up and then slowly shows her palms to the wolf's muzzle.
"Tasha, you’ve taught me the importance of family and helped me make amends with mine. I no longer feel like at any second the roller coaster I’m riding is going to plunge to the bottom or that my world is going to fall apart… you are my world. You are my best friend, the one person I can’t imagine living without, the absolute love of my life, in my heart my soul mate and to everyone else my girlfriend."
In the end, Steve and Bucky agreed and the four of them were gathered in Tony's room, finishing their homework. Scar was sitting crossed leg with her Math book on her right thigh jotting down the answers, Steve was to her right sprawled on his front with a pencil gnawed between his teeth and Bucky on her left also crossed leg and listening intently as Tony was going around the group, explaining the mathematical solutions. "So, the cumulative frequency is when you take the top number and move it to the 'C.F' column. Then, take that number and add the number below it in the 'Frequency' column and then repeat it." Tony explained while going through each of them one by one. "So, how about the conclusion? What do we do?" Steve asked "The cumulative frequency is the number of occurrence of the frequency that we jotted down, that's what we write at the conclusion column" and within two hours, the quad finished all their homework and were now spread out near the LCD in Tony's room "So, what are we watching?" Tony asked crawling towards the basket which had the DVDs in it. "Inception is a good movie" Bucky said while munching the bowl of popcorns on his lap and the others nodded "So, Inception it is!"
Bucky slowly awake to the morning sun shining on top of his eyelids, he blinked a couple of times, yawned and rolled over to see his bed empty, the side cold indicating the occupant has long awaken. If it was four months ago, Bucky would have been worried, shooting out of the bed searching for the person in question but that was in the past. Bucky slowly dragged his eyes to the photo frame on the nightstand on his left side. It was a picture, a picture that consists of him and Tasha, beaming at each other while his family were celebrating in the background. It was taken during one of the regular Thursday movie night and Bucky's lips turned into a soft smile at the memory.
Tony came back to school after 3 weeks and sat down at his place, the ever bubbly Tony replaced by someone quiet and withdrawn. He never talked much but always hung out with Scar and Bucky. The trio rarely have sleepovers and often like staying alone and doing their works alone. Scar and Tony became very withdrawn in class until the teachers allowed them to leave school early, since both of them always looked like they never slept last night. Steve's heart shattered to see two of the most smartest and talkative people in his class so quiet and always like to blend at the background rather than being in center stage. Tony came back and saw a piece of paper weighed down under his bottle, he took it out, saw the sender and turned back and glared at Steve before crumpling the paper and throwing it into the dustbin. Steve broke a soft sob as he saw what Tony did and rested his face on top of the desk, bringing his arms around his face and cried again. It was a note that said 'Don't worry, everything will be alright', now crumpled and waiting in the dustbin to be disposed.
“Right.” Tony scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, his wet shirt balled up in the other. “Well, this is awkward.” He couldn’t quite look the alpha in the eye and found himself staring off to the side of Steve’s shoulder and throat instead. “How about we agree to forget what an embarrassing mess I just made of myself, and never speak of it again?”
Steve surprised Tony by playing along. “I never met a mermaid before. I should’ve guessed when I saw the red hair. You look like Ariel.”
A tiny ember of something that Tony refused to name niggled at him but he suffocated it until it promptly died. His mind rejected her words like he had a built-in firewall. He couldn’t let them mean anything to him – not even for a nanosecond. Not even for
“Good.” Darcy relaxed. “‘Cause I know I’m no match for him, but I’m not above asking my sister’s boyfriend to take out his kneecaps. I don’t care how pretty he is.”
“See?” Tony said when they resurfaced and were standing waist deep and unharmed in the water. “Witness me in the pool. And I’m okay.”
. She needed me.” What if she’d felt the lack of love all those months and had decided not to fight to live? “It was my fault. She must have known. Felt it. Felt that she was unwanted. If I’d been different...accepted her sooner...if I’d—...maybe she’d still...”
Tony sprinkled a light dusting of brown sugar over a bowl of oatmeal and berries and set it down in front of Natasha.
The damn things were so Steve whipped, he’d already stumbled across the room and was opening the door before his sluggish, inebriated brain could caution him against what a stupid move it was.
It was the kind of voice that was easily distinguishable as belonging to an alpha. And even though there was no actual alpha command in it, it still made something prickle along Tony’s spine. He lifted his head and blanched, suddenly feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, or, since they were at the pool and swimming metaphors were more appropriate, like he was plummeting into the deep end and all the air had left his lungs.
Something made him move. Made him slide his hand into Steve’s, entangling their fingers together. Inhaling sharply, Steve tightened his fingers around Tony’s, his blue eyes widening like Tony had just given him something special. Like Tony had just given him the moon.
He blamed the atmosphere for causing him to fall into the trap of PDA and holding Steve’s hand. The two of them had strolled along the water like one of those obnoxiously content mated pairs Tony sometimes saw on the boardwalk.
The football shenanigans ended when Thor—who was genuinely delighted by Steve’s skill with the ball—started balancing stacked plastic cups on his head for the teen to knock off. Jane confiscated the ball before his idea could reach fruition.
He wanted to warn her not to feed that thing after midnight. He was afraid it would morph into its next evolutionary stage like a gremlin and wreak havoc everywhere.
Desire speared through Tony, making his stomach clench low with want. Okay, he needed to stop ogling before he suffered a total system error. A popup with the words ‘file not found’ had already replaced 90 percent of his mental processing.
His begging seemed to obliterate whatever was left of Steve’s restraint. A shudder moved through the teenager and his lips crashed back down onto Tony’s with a growl.
As the kids were hugging and saying their goodbyes, Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets and peered at Tony from under his baseball cap. “Can I call you tonight?” he asked, coming off more boyishly bashful than someone his size should be capable of.
But could it technically count as forgetting when Steve hadn’t informed him of the date in the first place?
Not wanting to be left out, Bucky climbed down from his mint truck and snuggled under his brother’s arm.
“You watch Disney movies?” Tony blurted out. He wouldn’t have guessed that with the teen’s tough alpha jock image. Then again, at his age, he probably still watched Nickelodeon.
“Easy,” Steve said with a wicked gleam in his eyes that turned the warmth in Tony’s body thermonuclear. “You dancing for me.”
His tears lasted until he physically didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. When they finally petered out, it was late into the night, his eyes swollen, red, and as dry as sandpaper.
Tony winced down at the overcooked, unappetizing glob of macaroni he’d all but massacred in the pot. He’d been trying to make lunch for Natasha and himself, but there was no way the two of them were eating that.
But the moan turned into an embarrassing whimper when Steve did the unthinkable and tore his mouth away.
Did this heightened, all-consuming attraction only exist because they were highly compatible? Would they still be like this together if they were two alphas?
Honestly, what else had Tony expected? That Steve had seen something special in him? That he’d fallen for Tony’s incredibly flawed and not-so-sparkling personality? That he’d choose Tony over every other omega in the world to be his mate? Not a chance.
The word seemed to echo in Tony’s head. Hunching his shoulders, he resisted the pathetic impulse to bolt.
“Nanny Tony,” Natasha tugged on his hand eagerly, pulling him onto the pool deck. “Will you swim with me?”
They were whispering and snickering and making no secret of the fact that Tony was their topic of choice. He couldn’t hear most of what they were saying, but he was able to catch the words “his neck” and “loser”.
, Tony’s instincts screamed. He was so wet and primed he was in agony. “Um, yeah, but you can’t...I’m not comfortable doing anything else tonight. That’s as far as I go.”
Her designer handbag clacked against the table as she lowered herself into the chair, the very picture of untouchable poise.
“The movies always make summer look so magical,” Darcy complained, “but in reality, it’s a sweaty, lazy, boring, sticky, overrated mess filled with sunburns and melty ice cream. I want the magic I was promised. I want sun, sand, and starry nights that stretch into eternity. I want peace, love, and pineapples. I demand to feel young and free.”
He mentally swatted it away like he was swatting a fly. He didn’t need Darcy’s overeager imagination getting into his head right now.
He barely paid attention to the rest of the movie. He was too busy staving off the temptation to crawl onto Steve’s lap. To nuzzle his neck; lick the strong collum of his throat. To pick up where they’d left off at the pool.
They were wrong for each other on every level…but maybe that was part of the appeal for Steve. Maybe the alpha was tired of all the squeaky clean, perfect betas and omegas practically handing themselves to him on a platter. Maybe he liked the idea of ‘slumming it’ with an older, disgraced omega.
“No.” Sighing, Rhodey looked at him in his familiar what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you way. “I think you deserve the right to run your own company, you know that. I just wish I’d been given some warning. It’s safer if I’m in on this.”
can draw better than you!”) Though Tony did now have Nat’s new artistic rendering of him to show for it. The redhead had drawn a rather interesting picture of him as a merman. In it, he was holding a trident, had a green aquatic tail, and long flowing brown hair. On the top of it she’d written: ‘
“I’m sure you don’t, buddy,” Tony shrugged nonchalantly. He was currently meeting with a customer in the parking lot of a shopping mall. The sunlight beating down on the asphalt must’ve been getting to him, because he was finding the summer heat way more irritating than he should’ve been. “Look, I don’t need an explanation. We have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy here at Rhodey’s Repair Shop.”
Tony walked until he reached the large tree with the tire swing. He took a long breath before confronting his friend. “Rhodey, man, you know I love you, but I'm gonna need you to dial it down a notch.”
As ready as he was ever going to be. Meaning, not very. But if there was anyone worth putting himself out there for, it was Steve.
If someone had told Tony a month ago that he’d be willingly sitting across from an alpha—and a younger one, at that—wishing for said alpha to put the moves on him, he would’ve bet Dum-E’s memory chip that they were wrong. And laughed. A lot.
“What? No. No hospitals.” Tony hated doctors. Hated being poked and prodded. And it wasn’t like he could afford health care. One checkup would set him back for months. “I told you, I feel fine.”
The fact that he’d get to spend the rest of his life with the intimate knowledge of what Steve looked like when he came both thrilled and tormented him. He’d never see anything hotter. This was it. He’d peaked.
Right, like the authorities would slap handcuffs on an alpha. “I’m not some little ‘mega you can control. Give it back and get out.”
He quickly hopped up and went over to help. “How does this thing keep getting so tangled?” He untwisted it and put it back into place. “We really need to get you a new pair.”
And just like that, Tony hit the limit on his emotional capacity. It was like his brain was failing to compute everything that had happened to him and so it just…didn’t. He shifted into autopilot, reverting to his tried-and-true defense mechanism of using wise-cracks as a weapon.
The teenager’s insatiable appetite for him was a powerful aphrodisiac. He was always up for it. Always in the mood. Tony only had to look at Steve sideways and the alpha’s heavy cock would already be thickening in his athletic shorts, standing at attention.
The voice telling him that he didn’t deserve to feel good still hadn't shut off. It was holding him back even here, keeping him from tumbling over the precipice.
He lifted his gaze to Steve’s. “You’re not a creep,” he confessed quietly, barely able to hear himself over the pounding of his heart. God, was he really going to do this? It would change everything.
He’d forgotten about the blasted sunset. That the beach was one of the most overtly romanticized places in cinematic history. How it practically weaved a dreamy sentimentality upon its visitors.
“You look at him funny. Like you gots a crush on him. And Stacy from school says that omegas and alphas always get mated.”
A chill climbed up his spine. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to stave off his goosebumps. His shirt was still wet and clinging to him and he was suddenly incredibly cold.
“Keep them closed,” Tony insisted, leading Steve by the hand as he steered the alpha towards his workshop. “No peeking.”
“Why would I be on the side of a snot-nosed punk?” Steve taunted, though his voice was fond and clearly teasing.
Instead, a weird, almost possessive thrill moved through him as he watched Steve walk around his home—
He knew that the Instinctive Drowning Response stopped people from voluntarily controlling their arm movements or for calling for help. That their heads were almost never above the water long enough to exhale, inhale, and still have time to call out.
hiring and firing power? Tony supposed it didn’t matter. When a high-level alpha like Steve Rogers gave you an order, you listened.
“What do we say to the god of burnt mac and cheese?” Tony asked Natasha as he used a spoon to scrape his noodle faux pas into the kitchen garbage.
“Ooooh,” Bucky exclaimed in an exaggerated lilt. He and Nat simultaneously burst into a bunch of accompanying kissy-face noises.
Okay, Tony couldn’t deny that one. He’d had to pile on an obscene amount of scent blocker in order to hide the smell of a very specific teenage alpha. Steve’s damn alpha musk kept overpowering the spray’s effectiveness.
Nat blinked the water out of her eyes, staring at him as if it was too good to be true. Then she catapulted at him and wound her skinny arms around his neck in a borderline strangling hug.
“He picked me up and carried me to our pool,” he said, voice devoid of emotion. He had to stay detached or he’d fall apart. “He knew I couldn’t swim, but he threw me into the water anyway.” Howard had gotten physical with him before, but he’d never once thought his dad was capable of killing him. The betrayal had shattered his six-year-old heart in a way he hadn’t been ready for. “He told me to save myself. That if I really wanted to live, I’d find a way.” Tony had sobbed and pleaded, begging his father to save him. He’d kicked and thrashed and had been lost beneath the water’s surface again and again. Howard had stared back at him, unflinching, his eyes colder than the water could ever be.
As in: seeing each other outside of his swimming lessons? In a darkened theatre, alone? Without the safety net of the kids being there as mini chaperones?
!...Then I figured it out….” Amora grit her teeth in anger. “And so I didn’t mind putting up with your abuse and bullshit. Because I felt bad for you!”
Just as Loki had imagined, once the 5 mortals freed all Amora’s duplicates the crowd of people, who followed the heroes, clapped and showed their appreciation. Though to a lesser degree than Loki had originally imagined but it was no matter.
“Words are fanciful, but mortals often lie.” Loki said a neutral tone, which did nothing to curb the Avengers or Thor’s anger at the blue god. “Would you swear that?” He asked and Steve raised an eyebrow. “Would you swear on your very soul that you will not bind Anthony to you?”
“Technically he’s a wolf and he’s not mine.” Tony hedged weakly. “He’s Loki’s pet….one of his favorites.”
Steve lied. Steve didn’t love him. He was an idiot! He fell for the “i’d never hurt you” cliche. He fell for all the cliches. He fell in love with Steve and thus never asked the right questions. No wonder Rhodey and Loki and everyone thought he could be manipulated so easily. Because it was true.
“He’s just trying to be honest about his feelings. Granted,” Bucky gestured. “his timing’s shit but he’s trying to follow his feelings.”
2. The Avengers all pranking each other is canon! And so I had to make sure it's known that even in this AU they all give each other shit :3
“I will do one better.” She rose and in a shimmer of magic her fancy and frivolous royal dress was replaced with her gleaming battle armor.
Loki gave everyone a very heated and angry glare. When his red eyes passed over Pepper, the shade gave him a helpless shrug, to which Loki barely batted an eye.
“They gain a bit of immortality.” Erksine answered with a wry smile. “I am not fully immortal but my lifespan is,” He let out a small chuckle “much much longer than the average mortal.”
They had gone a few more rounds, all the while Loki had remained blue and red eyed. Proving his point of still being angry at the blonde. However when Thor woke the next morning, Loki’s skin was pale and his eyes green.
“No need to apologize. Your right.” Steve looked forward again and recalled Erskine in his mind “Knowledge is power.”
Sam gave Erskine a smile “Thank you.” He then looked at Bucky and gave the outraged man a wink which instantly flustered the brunette.
“And yet you still call me Mr. Stark.” Howard shook his head ruefully at Steve’s bashful smile. “I know I’m old son,” He gestured to his full head of white hair. “But I don't want to be made to feel older.”
Steve blinked owlishly. Traveling to the realm of the dead was impossible, to even consider it was beyond his imagination.
Tony felt around the scar, it wasn’t painful to touch but it wasn’t pretty to look at. He glanced at Steve but the blonde was just radiating happiness at Tony being alive again.
Everything went a lot smoother after that. Tony had formally met Betty and they both needled Bruce about taking so long to leave the Monster Bog. At the mention of the Monster Bog, Steve gave Bucky and Natasha a meaningful look and so the two apologized.
“Have any of you seen Tony Jarvis this week? He’s the human that whistles and wears red usually.” Bruce asked and Thor repeated it to make sure the question carried.
“If you say ‘I’m fine’ or any variation of that, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you to your place.” He deadpanned and Tony barked a laugh.
“I failed again.” Steve whispered, glancing up at the sea. He then went back and clung to Tony. “I’m so sorry Tony.”
“He does my Lord. And I will also do anything I can to help get Peggy’s soul back.” The friends shared a smile then turned back to the god of the Dead.
Thebes City had lost it’s defending centaur during the war. Many believe the enemy snuck in and killed the great protector, but it was never confirmed. Either way it made the city an easier target for the enemy during the war. They hadn’t been able to destroy the entire city but it did take a heavy hit. However, with the help of Stark Company and the citizens of Thebes, the city was reborn and dubbed New Thebes City. However crime rate and problems never seemed to be in short supply. Therefore it was a perfect spot for them to build their hero reputation.
“If you ever need to talk about this stuff again Steve, I’m here for you.” Sam assured quietly. “If you ever need to vent or help figuring things out, just let me know.” Steve smiled and clapped the dark skinned man on the back.
Tony had walked around Hel with Loki, talking and catching up on things. It wasn’t the first time Loki and Tony had spoken and it wouldn’t be the last. Sometimes Tony would wake up to Loki in his kitchen, stealing his food for no other reason than to annoy him. Other times the Avengers would walk in on Thor and Loki going at it in one of the rooms.
However the Jotunn’s, the base-line beings they were, merely embraced their new Queen and King. They encouraged her conquest of the world and used their ties to the elements to ravage the Earth for her. Odin was alone. But he wasn’t for long, for a great warrior goddess came along, Frigga. Together they forged an army and waged war on Bestla and the Jotunn’s. The Jotunn’s fought to the death to defend their tyrannical queen and would not see reason nor accept the wiser Asgardian way. So, sorrowful as it may seem, they had to cut all the Jotunn’s down till none were left alive. After Odin had defeated Bestla he had taken his throne as King of the gods and Frigga became his queen.
“I am done.” He said with finality, his tone not as furious as it was to Thor but more damning. “Do what you want now. Live your short lives. Eventually, you will all die. And then you will be mine.” A cruel smile slowly cracked it’s way onto the blue god’s face. “And when you die, I will have the most amazing time ripping your souls asunder. You will not know rest and will beg for something as sweet as pain.”
Loki was now completely blue and his eyes red. His body jerked again and he growled. “I am being beseeched!”
That night everyone went out for drinks to celebrate Jan’s success and engagement. During a highpoint in the night, Tony approached Steve and gave him a wrapped box. In the box was a brand new pair of running shoes. Steve kissed him and Tony kissed him back and they left the party and went to Tony’s place.
“It’s one me and Rhodey came up with.” Tony broke in, making sure to catch and hold Steve’s eyes. “I’d explain it but I don’t know if I actually can. It’s weird.”
“Steve you live in a mini-palace.” Tony reminded with a smile, but thoroughly enjoyed the look of awe on the blonde’s face.
The shade was a man, perhaps in his late thirties but Loki was a terrible judge of mortal ages. His hair looked like it once had a fine sheen to it, before the man died, and he had a nicely trimmed mustache. He was wearing a Greek linothorax, and some light hide greaves on his legs. With some traditional Greek sandals adorning his feet.
Loki thought viciously. He then sat up straighter on his throne, “You will have three days.” Loki waved his hand and a scroll appeared in his hand, he floated it over to Howard who grabbed it. “That is a map that will show you how to meanuever in the underworld and where you can find the underworld entrances. They are hidden all over in the land of the living.”
Everyone nodded and began to move. Sam helped Bucky up. Natasha went to Clint with Phil’s assistance. Betty helped and let Bruce lean heavily on her. Tony made an aborted gesture to go to Steve but held himself back. | [
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saying yes, just to be clear," Tony asserts before Michael can respond. "Absolutely yes." He makes grabby hands for the books. It's an impulsive decision, he knows, but he's got all the info, and he knows what's what. He wants to help. He wants to save people. He wants to make up for every mistake made and then some.
"Don't be jealous, James, it's not a good look on you." Steve leaned forwards and picked up one of the teacups, playing along.
He was struck with a well of affection for Bruce; the physicist knew him so well. He had even set out Tony's favorite coffee mug next to the machine, a red and blue ceramic cup with a white star at the center,
"I-I think I can read it," Tony gasped out, his head jerking up and down with the force of Steve fucking into him. "Please,
"Yes! We'll buy things that are organic, right? Check the ingredients. Natural stuff, with no preservatives." Natasha was already digging through the pantry to find the reusable bags she knew were in there. "If we can divide and conquer, it shouldn't take long."
Scissoring his fingers, he lifted his legs into the air and bent them as the knee, using his other hand to pull his ass open. He hurriedly slipped a third finger in and groaned, "Steve..."
Tapping a small curricular picture that looked like a camera lens, he laughed again when the screen changed to show
"Of course," Steve answered, his voice barely above a whisper, "but we need to talk. I messed up. You can't put all the blame on yourself."
- he walked back into his bedroom and grabbed a pair of socks. "Want to tell me why you found it necessary to hang out in my room while I was in the shower?"
The page appeared on the screen above his head, and Tony ran his hands down his inner thighs, trying to pretend it was Steve's fingers that dipped into the crevice that connected his thigh to his body, and ran his hands up his torso, slowly pressing into his waist and reaching up to rub his nipples. His hips began to move on their own, arousal cascading through him.
"It's escapism," Natasha said, leaning against a bookcase and peering around to see Tony, curled up under a blanket. She watched him often, and Steve knew that if Tony had any inkling at all how often Natasha essentially spied on him, he'd be furious.
"Yeah, you will." But Tony still sat, taking his own tea and dunking another cookie in it. "It's cold," he complained.
The sound of coffee percolating had been long ago tied to Tony. Just like the gentle whooshing and beating sound of a rug being aired out reminded him of his mother, or the quiet scrapes of steel against wood was his grandfather. They could go for months without seeing each other, but every morning Rhodey would hear the sounds of the coffee machine finishing up, and he would flash to Tony, curls askew, pajama bottoms wrinkled, staring longingly at the pot. Young. Small. Full of uncapped potential and innocence and sass and brilliance.
She took a deep breath. "Okay, how about this? I know that you guys don't know me from a hole in the wall, but I want to
"Well, thank god." He was across the room in five strides, pulling Tony into a tight hug before doing the same to Steve, standing on his toes to reach. Realizing what he was doing, both Steve and Howard snapped back, clearing their throats awkwardly. "Sorry! I'm just… I'm happy for you. For both of you." He gestured between them. "I approve of-of this. I mean!" His face went red. "Not that you need my approval but-"
Unwillingly, Howard sat. Standing felt better, but he was pretty sure his knees were going to give out. "I don't understand."
Steve is gentle as he wraps the casts and washes him, edging around the arc reactor and rubbing lightly over the bruising and scrapes. When he washes Tony's hair, Steve lets him rest his neck on his left forearm, and lathers with his right hand, always conscious to not allow any soapy water to get into Tony's eyes.
It was a week into this experiment and Tony still was unable to get Steve alone to feed him a prompt. And to apologize. He loved Steve. He wanted to be with him. Plan a life together, be all cute and domestic and lame together. All that stupid, cozy shit.
The one flaw in the plan was that Tony was wrapped around Steve like a four armed octopus. It was cute, but it presented a problem in getting up. When he had first met him, Steve never would have guessed that Tony was a cuddler. Not even a little bit. But being
Steve smiled, his happiness bursting through. He pulled a small, black box from his pocket and opened it, showing Howard. A simple, gold ring with little diamonds embedded around the band sat inside. Howard's eyes went wide, his hands freezing as they cleaned the table.
"I'm bored." Tony said. "Like, super bored. As in, all my current projects are done and honestly, I need human interaction or I'm going to go postal."
"Of all the people to like," Bruce muttered to himself, "you choose the most complicated." It was true, but only half so. Bruce had a feeling that the Other Guy took to Tony not only because Tony was the only one not afraid of him off the bat, but also because
"Yeah, I'm the one who got him into rehab." At his incredulous look, she pressed on quickly, "I'm the one who chose
That night, he donned on his best clothes, took the tin from the ice box, and headed back to the speakeasy.
"Spoil sport." But Tony didn't mind. He grabbed a cookie, tugging from Steve's arms, the soldier rolling his eyes as he did so. But seeing Tony willingly eat was wonderful.
. Which was why he retreated to the roof so often, hearing aids hidden away safely in his pocket, and nothing but the cool expanse of blue in front of him.
Natasha shook her head, her face worried. "Steve completely losing his cool, I think. Wasn't sure that was entirely possible."
Tony was in bed sleeping when Rhodey let himself into the suite, curled up on his side and hidden by the blankets. It was disturbingly quiet. Usually the dishwasher was running, the television was on, or Tony had music playing. At the very least, he and Steve -- and sometimes the others -- would be on the couch chatting away like high schoolers in the cafeteria. Open containers of takeout on the coffee table, half empty tea cups and discarded saucers, and shoes piled by the door, a hammer hanging on the hook… All signs of the family Tony had made for himself.
Howard took one step, and then another, his unease palpable. Bruce figured he only came to his apartment at the request of Thor, who no one could easily say no to (at least Bruce couldn't). "If you think it can be fixed," Howard spoke to the wall beyond Bruce's head, his back stiff with his fear.
Thor threw his head back and laughed heartily. "You are not as walled up as you would have us believe, friend. Now come, have a snack with me, while you wait for Steven."
, Howard was confused, hurt, maybe a little angry? He didn't know. But he stumbled back, hitting the door frame.
"I know." It took a lot for Steve to relent, but he didn't want to spend another minute thinking Tony was mad at him. That's what the debriefing room on the Helicarrier was for. "I don't support this," he pressed on before Tony could protest. "I can't lie to you and say I do, Tony. I just can't. But I'll still be here. Whatever you decide. It's gonna take a lot more than a time traveling father to chase me away from you."
"Right, you don't like me either," in Howard's drunken mind, for whatever reason, this was funny. He laughed. "I'm the most hated man in- where am I again?"
Tony threw a napkin at him. "You're not much taller than me, father. They say the apple doesn't fall far, well I didn't have far to go at all!"
Just one night, that's all he wanted. One night to tell Stevie Boy what to do to make him come. Suck him. Fuck him. Eat him. He'd give anything for it.
"I...M...no, that's an N. Y...O...U...R...A...S --" leaning back from the machine, Tony turned to look at him, eyes unfocused and furrowed. "Dr. Rogers?"
That got Tony's attention. He looked up at Steve, his eyes wide and his voice quiet. He was emotionally spent and tired of fighting everything that had built up within him. "It's just. I don't know what this is. I can't work; I can't do anything. I feel useless."
stayed!" He head whipped back and forth between Tony, Steve, and Fury. "I took the good with me. So the me that didn't time travel, he's-- he's…"
: This is amazing! NGL, I came so hard. Do you take requests? What if he wore Steve's colors and Steve couldn't help himself?
"Thank you, Tony," Howard said, just as quietly, as if he spoke loudly the spell between them would be broken.
"You are both hurting deeply right now," Thor added. "He made a rash decision. It can still be fixed."
Tony waves his hand, placating. "JARVIS, be nice. I'll donate fifteen new PlayStation consoles if you leave Clint's alone." He hasn't even been up long, but already his eyes are slipping shut. That's what several days of only sleeping in increments would do to anyone, let alone someone recovering from being injured.
As the years passed them by, Tony grew, not as much in height, but he filled out. He went from a baby faced young man into an adult that turned every head as he walked by, but he still had those wide, brown eyes. Rhodey looked into them often and still saw the small little teenager who just needed a friend.
“Can we talk in private? We want you to reconsider your decision about the donation. It’s not a good idea, Steve,” Gerard said, with a little frustration in his voice. “This is how your father intended it to work. The hospitals should be given the freedom to do with the money as they please, wherever they need it,” he explained. “That can be for free procedures, or somewhere else. We shouldn’t force their hand like this.”
office, as his father would put it - Steve thought with distaste. But he wasn’t going to stay there a second longer. He was furious at his father for not letting go of the subject, furious at his mother for enabling him, and furious at himself because even through all of his anger, he still wanted to please his father. He still felt like he had something to prove, like he had to make the ‘wise choice’, no matter what his heart dictated.
Gerard was quiet for a moment before he spoke softly. “You don’t know anything about my life, Steve. I had problems and I was in need of money, and your father
Steve grinned and after getting off the elevator, introduced him to his tech head. “Tony, this is Miss Potts. She will be taking your interview today. You will work with her if you’re selected.”
. Someone who wouldn’t put his life in danger. He would make jokes again. He would roll his eyes again. Isn’t that what Steve wanted? Would he risk Tony’s happiness just because he was selfish? Would he be able to live with the guilt of something happening to Tony if he didn’t do as the kidnappers want? Even before he finished the thought, Steve knew the answer to that question. He breathed in and finally made up his mind. He was going to do it. He was going to save Tony.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Barnes. But there’s nothing else we can do,” a woman, who Steve thought was another nurse, said to Bucky’s mother.
“What is it?” he asked, though he already had an inkling. They had not been happy about the cancellation of the charity fund and his plans to completely revamp it.
“I know that, Tony! That’s not what this is about. Look,” Steve said, sitting up a little. “I know you don’t need my help. But that doesn’t mean you should reject all of it! There is… a certain grace in allowing yourself to be open to help as well, Tony. I know you might not need it, but if people who care about you want to help you, then… you should allow them to do so sometimes.” Steve shrugged. “It’s for their benefit too. It makes them feel needed. It makes them happy. If they want to do it so dearly, then it’s okay to allow them that opportunity, Tony. You don’t need to do everything alone. You
Steve laughed at his words. “We don’t have a mausoleum, I’m afraid. My mother’s wish was to be buried here. So we are stuck with you common folk.” He grinned at Tony.
Natasha was sitting inside the office, with her head glued to her phone. She looked up as Steve entered.
“Hmm.” Sarah contemplated for a moment before continuing, “You say taking over the company would make you lose your morals. That you would feel like you were exploiting people. That you actually want to help them. But why can’t you do that as the head of the company?” she asked.
need to shut yourself off. Let me help you, once in a while. Please.” He took Tony’s hands into his own.
“Steve! Hey! Are you alright?” Tony asked, alarmed. “Hey, look at me!” He grabbed Steve’s arm and forced him to look up. “Look at me. It’s fine, it was probably just a car backfiring. There’s no danger. Deep breaths. Follow along with me.” Tony kept eye contact with Steve as he helped Steve to breath. “In and out. It’s fine.” Steve didn’t let go of Tony’s arm as he followed Tony’s instructions.
“Hmm. That does seem fancy,” Steve acknowledged. “We could go to Paris.” His eyes lit up. “That seems like fun.”
“Stop, turn around,” he told the driver, and gave him the new address. Tony’s apartment. It wasn’t far from his own home, maybe a short ten minute ride. He wanted to see it one more time, take in the coziness of it, before he went and potentially got himself killed.
Suddenly, he could hear sirens in the distance. “Shit,” Gerard cursed before suddenly holding a gun to Steve’s head. “What did you do? I told you to come alone!”
” he screamed out. Dread was creeping through him as he realized that Gerard wasn’t gonna let Tony go at all. He was gonna kill them both and Steve had to do something.
“What does anyone want from someone like you, Steve?” he said slowly. “I want money. You understand, right?”
“I’m on the way, but I want Tony released right now,” Steve demanded, growing angry at the nonchalant tone of the person’s voice. “And I want proof of it,” he added.
Tony stared at Steve for a minute before hugging him tightly. “Okay, Steve,” he whispered into his ear, before letting go. “If it means that much to you… then okay. I’ll accept it,” he said smiling. “But, you need to realize you can’t do this every time. You don’t need to save everyone, whether they need it or not. Rather, you
“Wait here for a few minutes, please. Thanks.” Steve tried to manage what he hoped was a smile and got out of the car. He faced Tony’s building and surveyed it.
As soon as the door was closed, Steve started talking. “I don’t want to be in your position, Dad! Why won’t you understand that? All my life you’ve dictated what I should do. All my life, you planned everything for me, and I agreed to it, didn’t I? I agreed to all of it! Then why can’t you, just this once, just this one time, agree to what I have to say?” Steve’s voice broke, his blue eyes scrunched up with tears. “I don’t wanna be the next billionaire. I don’t want your title. I don’t want your connections. I don’t want your money that you’ve leeched off of people by exploiting them-” Steve slammed his mouth shut and let out a long breath. He closed his eyes to calm himself. Here we go again, he thought. Just like clockwork.
“It is nice out today, isn’t it?” Steve asked Tony, his head raised and eyes closed. He had a smile on his face as he breathed in the fresh air and sighed contentedly. He loved those sunny days where a slight breeze was happening. So much so, that both Steve and Tony had decided to ditch their little rendezvous at the coffee shop and instead take their coffees and take a stroll through the nearby park. It was peaceful there with the birds. They should come here more often, he thought. It was also not that crowded, he noted with a glance around, and he suddenly had the urge to hold Tony’s hand. He looked discreetly down at Tony to find him in a daze, a frown on his face.
“Steve, don’t,” Tony warned, a dangerous tone in his voice. “I told you this because you are my friend, not because I want some pity charity money from the latest billionaire on the block,” Tony said, his voice growing agitated.
After choosing what he wanted and paying for his drink, Steve stepped aside for Tony, who always had the same drink every time. Steve couldn’t believe how someone could settle on a choice so quickly, without even considering anything else.
Gerard whirled around, wide-eyed and suddenly pointed the gun at Tony. Steve could see panic in Gerard’s eyes and sweat running down his face and knew that at any moment, he was gonna pull the trigger.
Suddenly, a loud noise went off outside and Steve jolted in his seat. He looked around wide-eyed before covering his ears as tightly as possible. No, no, not right now, he thought, as he started hyperventilating. He tried to force himself to calm down, but it didn’t work. What was it that his therapist had told him to do? What was it?! He couldn’t recall no matter how hard he tried, which made him panic even more and he started rocking himself in his seat. And just like that, he was right there at that exact moment - when it happened. He could hear his mother’s screams as she was thrown from the car. He could hear the sound of glass breaking. The lights on the road overwhelmed him - it was too bright. He could hear the distant sirens of the ambulance. Someone nearby was wailing. Steve wished they would shut up already. Couldn’t they see he was trying to sleep? Someone grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Yeah.” Steve sported the biggest grin as he gazed up at Tony. “Okay, my turn.” Steve said, covering his eyes. Tony spinned the globe, before telling Steve to point.
“Do you think I made the right decision, Mom?” Steve asked in a quiet voice. “About the company? Don’t you think someone else should take over instead? I mean, this feels a little like nepotism, and I hate it. What do you think? And don’t just tell me what dad would want. What do you
.” Steve said the last word in a tone that made it clear it wasn’t his own. “My father had started the initiative, and had presided over the event every year. This is the first year I’m spearheading it, since his passing.”
Then everything suddenly seemed to amp up as he hit the ground. The lights in the room suddenly seemed to overwhelm him. He could still hear sirens somewhere in the distance. Someone nearby was wailing. Steve wished they would shut up already. Couldn’t they see he was trying to sleep? Someone grabbed him by the shoulders.
one!” A familiar voice said from beside him. He whirled around to find Tony staring at him from a seat at the counter. He had the same exasperated look on his face as everybody else.
“Well, I’m glad. Now can you please ask someone to get me coffee before I start having withdrawals?” Steve asked, grimacing a little.
“I, uh, I’ve been trying to build this geolocation sensor that’ll keep track of the places you’ve visited. Sort of like a travel diary? But automated. It’s a pet project of mine,” Tony said, still a little stiff. “But uh, it’s hard to find resources. Money is a little tight right now, and the job doesn’t pay much, so…” he muttered and left the words hanging.
"Jesus, Fury, just spill it!" Nine heads swivelled around to stare at Natasha. She threw her hands up. "This is hard enough! We are on the verge of losing a friend! Or are we not? We don't know because you're dancing around the damn subject!"
"Nope." Grinning, he leaned forward, "We elves try to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns, and
He laughed. "Everything is served in gelatin." At her disgusted face, he shrugged. "I can get good meals out, some high quality French shit, but my servants have fallen into the trends a bit too much. Even Jarvis." Glancing up at the ceiling and then back at her, he grinned.
"And Steve? If sometimes your best is only 50%, that's okay too. But I know with certainty that you were at full capacity on that day in Rochester, and even if you weren't, you are not responsible. The man that released that demon creature is. I just… You know I always looked up to you?"
"As you should be. I could bounce a quarter off that thing. All the squats in the world won't give me an ass like that. But you're missing the point."
Tony didn't hesitate. He mixed the cleaners and solvents with an expert hand. "This is dedicated to every winner of every science fair
He could tell Bruce was weighing his next words. He always shifted from one foot to the other when he felt he had something important to say but didn't know how to voice it. Steve was patient, waiting him out with a calm understanding. The doors opened when Bruce finally found the words.
With a sassy twist, Tony tilts his head up to look at Joseph. "You might want to fire your marketing department."
But other times, he sat quietly, writing down descriptors and passing along his notes surreptitiously to Steve or Bruce. Just in case.
Rightly contrite, Tony gave Steve a sheepish smile as he batted away Rhodey's hand. "Sorry, I have my own shit to work on too."
Steve let out a breathy whine at that. "Tell me about it." He slid his finger in deeper, crooking it up so it grazed against Tony's prostate, gently beginning to stimulate it.
"I can do that." Carefully, Steve backed up toward the bedroom, gently maneuvering Tony along with him until he could pull Tony onto the bed. Steve lay on his back with Tony on his chest, legs tangled together. Tugging the comforter over them to keep Tony warm, Steve asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
But Steve's eyes widened. Apparently, he spoke 'Tony,' because something clicked and he understood the words buried underneath the stilted and jumbled mass of verbs and nouns that tumbled out of the genius' mouth.
"Sir is in his workshop." The voice was clipped and short, professional in the way a boss fires his secretary.
"Yeah. Something about Bruce's birthday and the Tanger Outlets on Long Island." He eyed Steve sardonically, "Look, I don't ask questions when it comes to Point Break. I just let it be." He chuckled, "You wanna question a god's motives?"
"He's not, Pep, I swear," Tony defended. "He's really good at letting me be who I am with barely any complaints. It's
"You know what, Steve," Howard snapped, standing up straight and getting into his face as best as he could with Steve towering over him. "I'm sick of your attitude. I'm sick of you hating me for shit I haven't done yet! I'm sick of-"
But then the war happened. And his priorities shifted, squeezing out any chance of children. He had no longer felt the urgency to have them, even years later.
When the bed dips, Tony has to grip the edge to keep from rolling toward him. His knuckles go white with the strain.
They were in the penthouse kitchen, Steve at the breakfast nook, flipping through the newspaper and sipping orange juice. "Knock 'em dead," he cheeked.
It took a moment for Howard to gather his words, Thor could see him struggling. He looked away, studying the door frame and Thor could easily imagine he was looking into the hours past. "He told me," he gasped out, "about him and-and Steve. About how they are gay. And in love. But he used another word, he said-"
This was getting out of hand already. "Okay! Back on subject! I get that you tried, but we're going to
A well placed elbow to the ribs had Clint doubled over, but all it did was help him misplace whatever control he had. He lost it, giggling and laughing so hard tears started to stream down his face. "Clint!" But the euphoria of the night hadn't worn off of Bruce either, and he felt his face split open into a wide grin. "Barton, conceal! Don't feel!"
Tony gave James a triumphant look. "Whatever, man," Rhodes said, lighting a cigarette for some other dame. No one could say he wasn't a gentleman. "If he'll do it, then it's just fine. If not, I'll take care of it."
"You and I, Howard Stark, are going to have a conversation." Lifting Mjolnir, he pointed it at Tony's father, dipping his head forward and raising his eyebrows in a way that clearly said,
"I don't know how you were raised," the woman spoke again, "but if your father never told you, I will. No one has the right to touch you unless you explicitly say it's okay."
Releasing him, Tony snatched the package, "Gimme!" Steve let him. It wasn't like he could ever say no to Tony, not with things like this anyway. Tearing it open, Tony plucked out a plastic bag and ripped off the top, dumping what was inside into his hand. "A pin?" It was small, circular, with a pallet knife and a paintbrush crossed in the middle. Around the outside it said
"No, thanks." He ignored the complaint, continuing to thump his feet. "Anyone else home?" Steve asked, watching as Tony discarded the old filter and measured out what was surely too many scoops for the amount of coffee he was making before leaning back, scoop still in hand, to get a good look through the door to the living room. Natasha had cleaned up the puzzle, apparently over it, and was nowhere to be seen.
"Oh God!" he exclaims, rushing forward. Tony looks confused for a second before Steve is on him, wrapping his arms around him and lifting the smaller man from the floor. "You're alive!" His tears are coming faster now, in relief and joy to see Tony. Alive. Not dead. Safe. Not at the bottom of the Pacific. "Tony, oh my God, Tony!"
"Can I go to my room? I'll sleep better in my bed." There's a pleading quality to Tony's voice, and Steve pauses in shifting him. He glances at Clint - who shrugs - then back to Tony.
Which reminded Howard that he hadn't had anything to drink the entire day, and his body was trembling lightly.
. "I've got coffee in your Captain America travel mug—by the way, that's so sweet I think I just got a cavity—and lunch reservations at Gino's. We need to have a talk."
In the bedroom, he gently tugged off Tony's sneakers and socks, jeans, and t-shirt, replacing it with a pair of his own sweatpants, his own hoodie, and a thick pair of slipper socks. Tony’s feet felt like ice and Steve wrapped his hands around them, trying to massage some warmth back into the appendages before pulling the fuzzy fabric over them.
"You bet," Steve brought his hand up to cup the back of Tony's head, kissing him again, deeper this time, trying to pour all the confidence and contentment he felt into it. When he pulled back, Tony beamed at him.
He put his arm around her as she held her phone up for a selfie, "What brings you ladies out today?" He gave his best smile as the camera clicked.
But he could tell that Steve was worried. They all were. He was never much of a fiction reader before, and he was sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with him, but he really did like the escape.
He set the bottle down next to him and kissed Tony deeply, "He's fine, Tony, trust me. Nothing is wrong. He and Clint just chased a pizza with a bottle of vodka, apparently. Nat just needs help getting them to bed."
She poked her head into the room, knocking twice and pasting a smile on her face. "Hello! How are you? I'm Natasha." The album talk immediately ceased as the five men stood to shake her hand. She took stock of each of them, mentally listing everything she knew about the members. It didn't hurt that in her more innocent youth, she had been completely enamored with them, that is until she grew up and out of manufactured pop and fell right into metal and rock. But that meant she had a good feel for what they were about as artists.
Steve felt it as he shifted Tony in his arms, pulling his head down to his chest. "Angel?" he prompted, kissing Tony's head. "Talk to me, sweetheart."
When he approached Clint, he told him he loved light bondage, like being tied up. Not a lie. He kept this one truthful simply because he liked Clint's reaction to it. And the not so subtle bulge growing in his pants. Clint was known to enjoy tying his partners up.
After a few minutes, he stood and made his way to the bathroom to clean himself up, and curled back under the covers, naked and sated, reaching around the floor until his fingers closed around his phone.
He does his best to maintain an air of professionalism, but his cheeks burn red as he carefully pulls Tony's shirt off. He almost flees after helping him step out of his pajama bottoms, his eyes anywhere but on the man in front of him. Tony, at the very least, is too tired to protest or make any snappy comebacks.
Tony couldn't pinpoint exactly when it was he began to just feel sick. Constantly. It probably started months ago, but by the time March came around, the days he felt ill and the days he didn't blurred together in a new uncomfortable normal that he was becoming less and less able to compartmentalize.
Steve was smiling, he adored Cara. She was an amazing writer and her exuberant personality not only reminded him of someone else he knew, but it also brought out his own. It was honestly too bad she could never know who he really was, but even still, having someone to fangirl over Tony with was fun. He didn't like lying to them, but the fake profile on Facebook was necessary to keep his cover. Roger John Stark. A bit obvious, maybe, but the use of Tony's last name was common among the fans of his, as it was for the Steve fans to take on Rogers.
"That's funny," Tony said coyly, his lips quirked up at the corners, "I'm always in the mood for bratwurst. German it is."
Bruce threw his hands in the air. "He's a mess! They had a moment? At least that's what Steve said, but then Tony shut himself away and honestly? I need a vacation after this." He took a deep breath and motioned that he was done.
"Don't think so. Just us," he answered, pushing Steve forward a bit to get to the sink and fill the carafe with water. The heat under his hand was tantalizing. Steve was so warm; he could only imagine curling up against him an a cold and snowy night, fresh coffee in one hand, Steve's face in the other as he kissed him...
"Of course you do. You're a fucking whore." He bent down and kissed Tony's cheek, right where the hand print was. "Such a beautiful whore. Just for me."
Steve watched in horror as the man lifted it, aiming for Tony's head. He could see Tony looking up, abject terror on his face when he realized exactly what type of danger he had put himself in by leaving the armor. Above, the quinjet tilted and tried to take aim. "We don't have a clear shot yet, Steve!" The body of the dragon, enormous and bulky, blocked the quinjet from the other side.
Pulling his legs out from underneath him, Tony sat forward, agitated and annoyed in the way only Rhodey could accomplish. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The shield left his hand with a flick of the wrist, he had no memory of doing it after. But he remembered -- afterwards -- how it connected with the man's arm and severed it. He could only spare half a thought to his own mental state that it took that long to use it as it bounced off a lamppost and careened back into Steve's grasp. It was a bit violent, honestly, a bit too gory, but the bastard had aimed for Tony.
"Steve and Tony?" she asked, tentatively, unsure of how much she should insinuate. Rhodey had taken Tony out to lunch -- and out of everyone they knew -- he was the best at knocking sense into the stubborn genius.
But he worried, as he so often did, that one day Steve would have enough and leave him. Where was that line? Where did Steve decide that he couldn't do it anymore, that he wanted stability, someone who wasn't ill, someone who wasn't half out of his mind from depression. And that jolted Tony, to admit it. But the mystery of his health had sent him down a dark hole.
His comrade was full of love and giving, determined to better the world. Damaged, yet still kind. Broken and weary at points, but always ready to fight for the world. He was resilient. Strong. Stubborn in his love of technology and hellbent on advancing modern society and creating an easier way of living for everyone in the world.
But on the rare occasion that he did venture outside, he truly enjoyed it. The March morning was crisp and dry, and when he exited the building and turned toward the market, he breathed in deep. In and out. Taking in the fresh air and centering himself.
"Your loss." Tony grumbled, swiping his phone open again. He paused, contemplating, before tossing his phone to the other side of the couch and shucking his clothes. It was always better when he was naked.
Steve unfolds a comforter. It's a spare one, taken from the hall closet, blue and soft. Thick and warm. It's not enough. He spreads it over Tony, his hand lingering by Tony's shoulder before falling back to his side. "I'm-" he swallows, looking away. "I'm real glad you're okay, Tony."
. But it was also complacency. They had their peak, twenty years previous: throngs of fans, record breaking albums and tours, number one after number one after number one… they were just happy to still be able to make music. Maybe there weren't
Clint was panting, his fist close to a blur, his back bent over as he gave into the pleasure. "So fucking pretty, so fucking beautiful, I'm going to make him filthy."
Coulson's lips twitch. "That I do. What I can tell you now, however, is what my first few years as an angel were like."
"You don't wanna know what I did, Ma," he murmured softly to her sleeping form, "but I'd do it again if it meant saving you."
Tony woke up on the fifteenth morning to an e-mail (and so what if he made an account, IronDick69 wasn't taken, so he jumped at the chance.).
"That's… That'll always happen, Tony. No matter what. When one of your charges is about to die, they tell you. But—" he closes his eyes, hand going to his chest. His distress is evident, and it's freaking Tony out.
Rhodey had already written his best man's speech. He wasn't ashamed. It was good too, just the right amount of sentiment mixed with humor and memories. Love for both Tony and Steve. They were the real deal, a romance that Hollywood would be envious of, two damaged men finding their missing pieces in each other. Finally, Tony could put all of his trauma behind him.
None of this matters at this moment, however, as Tony's heart clenches at the sight of Steve. He looks beaten like he's throwing in the metaphorical towel and giving up. It hurts to see him so upset. Steve, regardless of their first meeting, has become something of a beacon for Tony. His strength and courage is something Tony tries desperately to emulate. Steve is the glue that holds them all together, both beautiful and strong at once. So it's no surprise that Tony had fallen head over feet for him.
Steve's concern, his love, and his own welfare hung in the balance, teetering on the edge of one of his branches, barely holding on. Steve had already suffered so much in his life, had already endured far too many hardships. It wasn't fair to him.
Rhodey's face dissolved into one of disgust, "I try not to think of my little brother having sex, thanks. That includes any discussion on Steve's…junk."
Steve was conflicted. If what Tony was saying was true, they really weren't all that different. He had taken a hit job to try and save his Ma, and Tony had taken over the
Dropping back into the armchair, Clint plucks his phone from the charging dock on the end table, scrolling through to find the menu. "I'm always down for a diner-burger, Cap."
"Knew you'd like it." Bruce could tell Tony wanted nothing more than to take Steve's hand. He could see his fingers twitch in contemplation, but though their friends were supportive and accepting of their relationship and the country's view was shifting, society as a whole was not. He hated that they had to hide.
Clint allowed the back legs to the wooden chair he was on crash back against the floor. "Hill, eight o'clock," he said, sotto voce to Natasha, who sat next to him.
In the middle of the altar, placed in an abalone shell, was Steve's last gift to him. A pin from his youth, something given as a token of friendship just weeks before he disappeared into the vast cold of the Arctic.
It all came down to the separation between the different Howards he had encountered. He had been treating the situation as if there were three of them: The Howard he had known in World War II, the Howard that had raised Tony, and this one. Back when he had first started dating Tony and he had first separated the Howard of the 40's from the one Tony knew, it was simpler. And it was the closest to what Steve had to do now that they had all the answers they needed to move forward.
"Yes." There was no hesitation. His brown eyes connected with Steve's, open and honest in his answer.
She sighs, glancing at Tony again, but she strides over and sits in one of the other vacant chairs. Coulson and Fury return to theirs.
"What did we sign up for, more like." Bruce said, rubbing his eyes and sending his glasses up his forehead.
"Thank you, JARVIS." Turning to look at Howard, she jerked her head in the direction of the living room. "Let's talk."
Steve looks like he badly wants to respond to that, but instead, he plucks the parsnip from Tony's hands and drips it into a Ziploc bag with a handful of the beans. "I like parsnips better anyway," Steve finally says as he zips the bag closed.
"I always loved your drawings," she said instead of answering. "You're amazing at capturing emotion."
Steve's hands flew to Tony's waist, gripping to hold him up, while he mouthed his way down the length and gave one long lick upwards. Tony's body gave a jolt. "Shit, you're good at that. Had practice then?"
Tony hummed in answer, taking another bite and following it with a sip of milk. "I am an idiot sometimes, though."
Tony was starting to move, the armor dented and wrecked by the force of the tail. Unable to stand with the armor so compromised, Tony's hand slammed against the emergency release latch and the suit cascaded open. He didn't see the man, that much was obvious, the large carcass hiding him.
The AI responded, "I know, sir, Agent Barton and Dr. Banner have been inquiring about when you were awake to inform you. Shall I tell them?"
"Momma, she, uh, had a cake made. Three tiers, eighteen layers in all. Vanilla cake with chocolate frosting and mocha filling, my favorite. He didn't show. I blew out the candles with just her and Jarvis and Ana. The next day he went to get some cake and complained - loudly - that he hated this flavor and why would anyone get it?" Steve listened as Tony spoke, as always tempering the anger he felt when Tony mentioned the abuse and casual neglect he faced growing up in that household. He slowly ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Tony's head, a small comforting gesture.
"I'm with Steve. We're in love. He makes me happy." Tony began to step forward, foot raised and hand reaching out, and
Walking to the door, he called out over his shoulder, "At least I'm predictable!" And left. Once again leaving Tony to his thoughts.
Tony's knees went weak. He had kissed countless people in his years, and none had sent such a voltage through him. How could one person cause so many emotions to flutter within his chest?
"How did the water look?" he tossed over his shoulder as he finally found an MIT zip up hoodie that might have been his at some point.
He had to admit, flying was a good idea. Banking a hard left and switching trajectory at the last moment, Tony sailed upward, moving his arms out just enough to spin in the air. It had been almost two weeks since he had last flown. Since he had last done
The archer silently digested what he said before nodding. "Okay, Tones." He stood, tilting back his mug and emptying it down his throat. "But if you ever want to talk..."
He caught the paper as the printer spit it out, reading quickly and heaving a long suffering sigh. A monster would have been so much easier to deal with. But it was there, in black and white. The DNA from the scotch glass matched Tony's on a paternal level.
There were precious few things in the world Bruce held above science, but a love like Steve and Tony had was one of them. He envied, but he always supported. He knew there were many who would rally around Captain America and Iron Man's relationship, but there were just as many who wouldn't.
He was working again, sleeping less, and had some energy back. When he appeared in a new black suit on the morning before his doctor's appointment, Steve could have cheered. Yes, the recently tailored suit showed how thin he had gotten, since it wasn't the oversized clothes from Steve's own closet, but it was the first time in a while that Tony had made an effort with his appearance.
"Aren't you at all happy to see me?" Howard shot back, holding his glass out and pointing with his index finger. At Steve's stony face, he dropped his arm. "Want a glass?" he tried, picking up an empty tumbler, "This is good stuff."
With his nose buried in one of their discarded Starkpads - and Natasha knew he really shouldn't be looking at that if he was who he said - she was able to quietly swing down and snag his abandoned scotch glass before swinging back up and making her way to Bruce's lab.
He couldn't control himself when Tony rode him. He couldn't set the pace and slow down if he felt it would be over too soon. It was one of the reasons he loved it so much. Tony would ride him, and it was like diving into a wave at the beach. You could only control so much before you were shifted in the water by the power of the current. He moved to take hold of Tony's erection, but his hands were forced back.
Tony sighed contentedly, "You're amazing-" he laughed, a clear sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes, "-and I'm not cold anymore."
She waved her hand, dismissing the thought. "Hypotheticals aside, it's not okay for him to do that to you. Tony, I like Steve, but that sounds controlling to me."
Clint pointedly ignored her as she stalked to the coat rack by the door, instead turning to Howard for the first time, "Any food preferences, Asshole?"
"Then we keep trying. Tony, listen, I don't know much about time travel." Letting his fingers trail up Tony's face, he gently cupped his cheeks, tilting Tony's head so he could look into his eyes. "But you're still here, right? You haven't vanished into thin air?"
Being in the future was really starting to lose its curb appeal. No shiny electronics or technology could erase the fact that he was not only regretting this but completely done with it.
"I don't feel very protected right now, Steve. I feel like you think I can't handle my own shit." The grey t-shirt he swiped from Steve's drawer was too big for him, but combined with his fitted jeans hanging low on his hips, he looked both adorable and sexy as hell. Had Steve not royally pissed him off, he might have enjoyed teasing him, playing a game of coy innocence and driving him wild again.
It was the first of many mistakes concerning the entirety of this… Well. Debacle seemed the only fitting term. And he was still somewhat confused, but it was becoming clearer and clearer with each moment, each dive back into every minute of the previous two weeks.
She tilted her head, "Privacy smivacy. Wait," she glared, hand held out. "Is Bruce making you his pancakes?!"
He ignores it and presses the pillow into his face harder, letting himself cry. Just a little. A few tears, hasn't he earned that right? Hasn't he been through enough that he's allowed to mourn the loss of what he can't have?
He couldn't help but wonder -- especially as he watched his heart walk along the landing pad -- where did Steve fit into that particular puzzle? The one in the compact spitfire package with large brown eyes and a heart the size of Texas. Did Steve even belong anymore? Was his cut just too bulky to smoothly click in with the other bits of Tony's life?
"You are most welcome, Agent Romanoff. Your manners, as usual, are impeccable. I wish I could say the same for Agents Barton and Hill."
Tony stood by the dresser, fiddling with the wire to the lamp placed on top. He was worried, that much was clear, but Howard couldn't imagine anything Tony could say would be all that bad. He may think differently in ten years (
A while later, they were laying on the bed, faces next to each other. Tony suddenly sat up, remembering something, and turned towards the bedside table.
“Damn, you weren’t lying, Steve,” Bruce said a little while later, when both of them had exhausted their questions and were sitting back. “It’ll be nice to have someone smart around here to talk with. I’m glad.” He smiled, before chuckling as he got several offended
But Tony would be free. Tony would go on living his life, happily. He would find someone else, someone more
“Hmm, let’s see…” Steve said, scanning the menu above the barista. He had started ignoring Tony’s little nicknames for him and instead started smiling fondly with a shake of his head.
There was a palpable tension in the air as they made their way to a table and sat down. People were either ambling about, or sitting with laptops, engrossed in their work. It was mid-afternoon and sunny outside, though the atmosphere inside felt suddenly colder. Both of them were silent and avoided looking at each other as they sipped their coffee. Steve couldn’t bear the awkwardness any longer and tried to find something to talk about.
he thought bitterly. But maybe he didn’t want to be someone who became oblivious to the world - to the real world, not this… fantasy that his father had tried to create for him. Maybe he didn’t want to be someone who capitalized off of people’s problems. Maybe he wanted to help people solve those problems -
“We’ve already delayed the payment for as long as we can, Mrs. Barnes,” the nurse said, a little frustrated. “Time is running out. We’ll need you to vacate the bed if this continues.”
About ten minutes into the ride, Steve decided to stop. He had to first make sure that Tony was alright, that the kidnappers would actually let him go before he went and gave himself up. He told the driver to stop at a quiet location and got out. Walking a few steps away, he called up the number that had left the message.
He flipped through every option he had, but all of them landed on one outcome - Tony possibly being injured, or worse, dead. The person on the phone had seemed pretty firm about that. He took a deep breath, and then allowed the one thought which he had kept at bay into his head. He had to give himself up. He had to. There was no other choice.
“Have you been practicing your moves?” Bucky asked Steve suddenly, in a serious voice. “Like I showed you?”
Steve scoffed. “I don’t need to get bigger. I have you!” he smiled at Bucky. “Together, we can defeat
Steve ushered Tony into the building by his hand. He was excited. He had finally convinced Tony to come and work in the company. Steve had loved Tony’s idea of an AI powered bot that could be used in hospitals. He wanted to actually make it a reality, and wanted Tony specifically to spearhead it. They had just expanded their business into tech, and had some of the best minds on board. Tony would fit right in, he knew. Tony had declined at first, but after Steve had dialed up the charm, and after they had gone on a few dates where Steve showed off his best puppy-dog eyes and an All-American smile, Tony had fallen hard.
“Oh.” An awkward silence fell on them, until the guy coughed and introduced himself. “I’m Tony, by the way.” He gave a little wave.
After Steve had calmed down considerably, he wiped his brow and sat up straight. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to ruin the mood. It’s just… loud noises scare me, ever since last year, after the car crash…” Steve trailed off. He realized he was still holding onto Tony’s hand and let go quickly.
“Sureee…” Tony laughed, then turned his attention towards the barista. “What’s the situation with the milk today? I hope you’ve brought in a fresh batch,” he said with a serious face. “Don’t want His Highness getting sick with week-old stale milk.”
Steve laughed a little before remembering something. “Did you… uh, I sent you a message…” He trailed off, his voice unsure.
Steve breathed in the smell of Tony’s apartment as he looked around. It smelled like home. It smelled like hours spent laughing over lame jokes, and time spent cooking together. Well, time spent where Steve cooked and Tony buzzed around like a fly until he told him to go to the living room.
Suddenly on impulse, he decided he had to make a quick detour. He looked at his wristwatch to gauge how much time he had left. About forty-five minutes. There was still time. Could he make it? He really wanted to, and without overthinking it, leaned towards the driver.
Steve sat down on a nearby chair and tugged his sweater closer. It was winter, and though they had heating on, as well as a fire merrily crackling away in the fireplace, he always felt a little cold regardless. He didn’t like the cold, it made his mood turn sour. He turned to look at his mother. She was a short woman, her head reaching only his shoulders. She had a grace that couldn’t be imitated, and a face that was quietly beautiful - accentuated now in the glow of the fire. He coughed to get her attention, and she turned to look at him.
“This is not about that!” Steve countered. “God, Tony, I’m not pitying you. I just want to help a friend! What is so wrong with that?”
“Because I’m not an indecisive prick like you,” Tony said after Steve voiced his thoughts. “I already know what I want…” Tony trailed off, frowning down at his wallet, before looking up at the barista. “Um, can you put it on the tab? I’ll pay you later,” Tony said with an uncomfortable tone, becoming painfully aware of Steve looking at him.
“Steve.” He looked at the person who had spoken. Gerard Shaw, one of his father’s most trusted advisors and a board member. “You’ve been preparing for this your whole life. We’ve all interviewed you. You are well equipped for this job. This is what you were meant to do. Don’t just throw it away.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Gerard said, all business-like. He took out a file from a drawer and showed it to Steve. “You’re going to sign over the company to me, Steve. Right now. Look, I've drawn up the papers and everything.”
“Hey, it’s me. You’ll probably get this after… everything. I just wanted to say… I’m so proud of you Tony.” Steve’s voice had turned hoarse and he could barely manage speaking. “I’m so proud of everything you’ve achieved. You’ve done so much, even when you got a shitty deal in life. But look at you now! Two patents and three releases under your belt, and many more to come. I’m so constantly amazed by you, Tony. Your passion for what you love, your ambition for what you want, and your perseverance to achieve it, I’ve learned so much from you. And that is also the reason why I fell for you. Remember that first time when you told me the ideas that you had? You left me awestruck, and I’ve never been the same since. You know, I never told you this, but life had become boring for me. I was going through the motions, not really interested in anything. But then somehow I… found you. And you made me want to live again, Tony. You made me realize the beauty in small things, the value of a laugh, just… how to
Steve was about a couple of minutes away from Tony’s apartment when he got a text. He took his phone out with rising apprehension and carefully opened it. The moment he saw the text, he took a sharp breath. There was a photo attached, of Tony looking like he was about to pass out. He had a bleeding nose and Steve could make out that he had been crying. The caption read
“Of course,” Tony scoffed. “I’m always prepared. What do you take me for?” he said confidently, though his voice betrayed a hint of nerves.
Steve was smiling when he remembered himself and started walking towards the elevator. Just one look around, he convinced himself. Just one stroll, for the last time. He realized belatedly that he was picking at his nails again, and willed himself to stop. Tony would always scold him when he would do that. It was a nervous tic of his, one that he had picked up during his several visits to the hospital as a child. He had been sick numerous times when he was little, and the anxiety of it had not stopped when he had grown up and gotten better. Steve reached Tony’s apartment, and with a deep breath, unlocked the door and went inside.
“I’m not forcing anybody’s hand. The reason we wanted to start this charity in the first place was to help underprivileged people get better medical assistance. That was the goal. I think you might have forgotten that minor fact,” Steve said a little testily. “I won’t change my mind. This is how I want to do it. Now if you’ll excuse me…” he said, before closing the door of his office in their faces.
"It was years ago, don't know why he still gets to me." Tony spoke into his water glass, taking a long gulp and setting it down before rubbing his eyes. "I swear he knows the power he holds over me too."
Kneeling between Tony's legs, he gently pushed them up, something unspoken between them letting him know it was okay that he topped, that Tony wanted it like this.
Hulk knew that. In his own way, Hulk loved Bruce fiercely. Like a parasite, maybe, but it was there. And he picked up on what Bruce was feeling, specifically anger, hence the whole issue to begin with. But Hulk also knew that Tony brought a sense of
"No problem," she smiled, "have a nice day!" And she was gone, wheeling her cart toward the frozen section.
He took his time. Slipping one finger inside and gently working the muscles. Tony tensed at first, sending out a slew of curses that made Steve freeze.
In the produce section, Natasha surveyed the displays before acting. Planning her route around. She nodded, tapped her cart, and set off. Apples, oranges, pears, mangoes, strawberries, and bananas. Fruit: Check. Celery, broccoli, onions, mushrooms, bell peppers, squash, green beans, and cucumbers. Vegetables: Check. Dill, parsley, rosemary, thyme. Herbs: Check. Root vegetables: Potatoes, parsnips, carrots. Check.
He takes a deep breath and looks towards the sky. It's beautiful out, and he feels good. "Let's go home, Happy."
"Jealous of what? Your tea making capabilities? Make a proper cucumber sandwich and then we'll talk." Rhodey quipped, picking up the teapot and pouring them each a cup. He made a show of it, like he was a Japanese geisha and not a military man.
He just needed to assuage Howard, who was likely to be upset. He would do whatever it took to help make Howard happy there.
"Probably. I have to go, babe. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He made to move his arm from Tony's grasp, but the smaller man just clung on tighter. "Tony," he consoled. "It's only one night."
to tell you that!" It made Howard step back, stumbling into the stool behind him by the viciousness of the accusation. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Sitting up, he swung his feet over the bed. This story was going to need something better than his fingers or his little vibrator. In the closet, in a small box, Tony had several other toys, including a nice sized dildo, red of course, and exactly the size he assumed Steve to be. He stumbled back to the bed, jumping onto it and flopping onto his back like a teenager about to see his first porn, that is, with a little too much excitement.
Steve threw his head back and laughed loudly, Tony really liked how his eyes crinkled in mirth. He pushed Tony forwards, "Come on, idiot. I'll let you enter first, so you can pretend you won."
He sat, pulling a stuffed bear from behind him and setting it on the back of the couch. "I'm beginning to think this isn't a good idea, Tash."
A dash of creamer for himself, and black for Tony. He gently placed them on the nightstand and turned to check the food Bruce had given him for Tony. It was a little soggy but still edible, and Rhodey balanced the tray on his hip before kneeling on the bed and setting it down. He tapped Tony's nose, loathe to wake him after he had sobbed for nearly an hour, but he knew that Bruce was right. Tony needed to eat. And then he needed to get the hell out of bed.
"There's a gay joke in there, isn't there?" Tony snorted, wrapping his arm around Steve's, trying to anchor him to the couch where they were sitting.
Yet… It didn't seem right to shove Tony into that category. He was a good man. Hell, he was a genius superhero who was willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Howard had the internet now. He saw the video. Tony left him in the dust. Even if
"I'll do it." Three sets of eyes swivel to stare at Tony. He swallows and repeats himself. "I'll do it. Don't worry about the funding. I'll pay. And I can probably improve on whatever radar you have so we don't dive unnecessarily. It'll take a weekend. Maybe three days." He musters up a grin. "It'll be fun."
until he faces what happened to him as a child! Hell, none if you can! God forbid, Clint, you talk about your parent's deaths, or your brother!"
Steve's head ducked down to meet Tony's, his hands sliding up to cup his face, and they were kissing. Even when the laptop slid off Tony's lap and clattered to the ground as he moved to face Steve more fully, they didn't stop. When the cheers erupted from the dark inside the tower, they kept on. It was dizzying. It was perfect.
"That's not all." A flash of panic streaked across his face, Tony's throat making a choked sound as he fought down his emotions. As Howard watched, Tony's fingers gripped the counter on the kitchen island, knuckles turning white. He staggered and leaned his weight against the counter, turning into it and flattening both palms along the smooth surface. His head dropped, and a hitch of breath cut through the silence. He was waiting for Howard to acknowledge what he said.
"Yeah?" Tony gasped as Steve sucked a line down his neck, his hand fumbled for a moment, reaching up to touch Steve's face and instead knocking his glasses askew. They fell to the tip of his nose and he hastily pushed them back up, not wanting to miss what Steve was doing, "Prove it."
"In the morning, he made me an honorary member of his family. Said he's never seen a white man drink so much and not vomit!" He spoke with his hands, something that Tony did as well, but the combination of his exuberance in the storytelling and his drunken state set him off balance, and he tipped over the back of the sofa and out of sight.
"Like that woman in the video said, it doesn't matter who you are, no one gets a free pass to grab at you like you're nothing but a package of meat."
Steve felt his heart drop. "Okay, angel. Can you take a few swallows of the smoothie at least? Put something in your stomach?"
Tony gave a short laugh. "Thanks, J." Tilting his head up so he could see Steve, Tony asked, "Hungry?"
Moving to the other, Steve asked, "You like that?" Before taking it into his mouth and pressing his tongue against it.
He holds the head up with both hands underneath and the heavy weight situated between his knees. Their snowman is going to be massive. He loves it.
"Cross my metallic heart, Miss Potts." Even though she couldn't see him, he drew an imaginary X over the arc reactor.
"It's good to finally meet you, Tony." Behind him, Tony's new textbooks sit piled on the coffee table. He itches to read them.
"This part is going to hurt," Michael laments, his face pinched at the very idea of causing Tony more pain.
"The hell it doesn't count! You've seen what he did to him! You were there to witness it first hand!"
"Can it?" Steve asked, looking up at him. "Because you didn't see him. You didn't see-" he trailed off, unsure of how to verbalize what he was thinking. Shifting his body so he could look at Bruce, he tried again. "Do you remember the first few months after the Chitauri invasion? How Tony would have constant flashbacks and panic attacks? How when it got really bad on some days, he would disappear into his suite and just… sleep?" Bruce nodded. "This was worse. He barely left the bed, refused to eat, he was just so… hollow."
couldn't hurt him anymore than you could hurt yourself. You're brass, and impulsive, and you definitely leap before you look." Howard chuckled at that. "But that's why I liked you in the first place. You're brilliant. Not as smart as Tony, sorry-"
legs wrapped around his waist, he pushed in, mindful of the gasps below him. He kept it slow, giving Tony a chance to adjust to him inch by inch.
. His voice clear and crisp on their records, lifting the harmonies like a swift breeze in the middle of a hot summer day. He had no record to speak of, just a string of bad relationships and a temper that took a lot to goad but was rumored to be fierce. Divorced with one child, a son named Nikola, he had an amicable relationship with his ex-wife. He also had a penchant for misanthropic escapes and fast food. He'd have to tell her the secret to how he stayed thin.
Steve cut him off with a kiss, pulling Tony's neck down to slot their lips together. "Shut up," he chuckled, flipping them over so he was on top and nestled between Tony's legs. Tony's answering laugh was interrupted with a moan as Steve grinded down on him. "Nat needs me in the living room."
Sometimes, it felt like someone had taken a shard of glass and was cutting him open from the inside out, other times he would vomit up everything he’d just consumed. Some days, there was nothing. Literally. He would sit in the bathroom, cramping and cursing everything in existence while other days it would come on too fast and too painful. He could never predict what would happen. It was safer to just stay at home.
The sight was enough. Just seeing how far he had stretched Tony's pretty hole, watching as he pulled in and out, the way Tony's rim fluttered when Steve was almost all of the way out, it was beautiful in ways he couldn't describe. It only took a few more thrusts before his body was seizing with pleasure and he was coming, legs jerking out straight as the intensity of the orgasm barreled through him, ropes of come shooting out and coating Tony's insides. He kept pumping, watching with thinly veiled fascination as his movements started to bring the come out, his cock covered in what he had just filled Tony with.
The kettle started to whistle as Steve was finishing wiping the table down. He was trying to give Tony and Rhodey some space, knowing how important it was for the two of them to reconnect without him there.
Tossing them back into the drawer, Steve got up on his knees. "But for now," he gently pushed Tony onto his back and pulled his knees apart. Tony's hips moved, ever so slightly, at the want of friction. "You're okay with this?"
saying, you have nothing to worry about." Howard saw a slight tuft of brown hair in between the blankets and Steve's body as she slinked to the edge of the bed and slid to the floor. A tuft of hair and, whoa. That was a perfect ass.
Tony is knee-deep in schematics to rebuild the suit that got him out of the cave. He looks up at Coulson guiltily. "Ah," sliding the toolbox in front of him over, he attempts to block Coulson's view of what's obviously a blueprint for the armor, "you know I already have a job, right?"
Nodding, Tony moved to the edge of the bed. He felt stale and stiff, and weariness had crept into his bones and settled in, making itself at home. When he stood, his lower back ached, and the scars around the arc reactor stretched uncomfortably. Shuffling to the bathroom, he clicked on the light and winced as the brightness assaulted his eyes.
Tony's hips began to undulate slowly, rocking down into Steve's fingers, his body tense with want. "And I fuck myself. Sometimes hard and fast, sometimes slow. I aim for my prostate, humping against it. Drives me insane." His words were short and clipped, punctuated with every roll of his hips as he demonstrated, fucking himself on Steve's fingers.
The room froze, no one even releasing a breath. Steve's hand went to his mouth, covering it in his shock, his other arm pulling Tony in closer.
There was so much to discuss, so much to talk about and work through, but it would all fall easily where it was supposed to now they were together again.
"You've done a lot of asinine things, but this? How? How did you get here? What are you playing with, Howard?" Steve snapped, and Howard didn't like how angry Steve was making him feel. He had searched for too long, had loved the man like he was family. He didn't like being fearful. This was how the Nazis must have felt coming up against him. This was Captain America, not Steve Rogers.
"A one stop shop, sir, that's what I try to be." Natasha was pleased. Miranda, however, was a nightmare: a budding pop starlet with a proclivity for partying and drugs, she had a loose wallet and even looser morals. Natasha had spent the better part of the previous eight months chasing her down and ordering a semblance of control within the singer to
"Stupid super soldiers and their stupid strength, stupid stupor soldiers and their stupor stupor strength, stupor st, stupid...I suck at this."
And the stares from the other patrons didn't help. They glanced from the magazine's to Tony's face and to Steve's, their looks pitying or disgusted.
"Thanks," Steve spoke softly, reaching out to take the pin, but he changed direction, noticing a laminated sheet of paper that was also in the box, and picked that up instead. "It's a letter," he said, reading quietly, "it's from your father!"
With a single nod, he turned and raced down the hallway toward his apartment, to his uniform and shield. Ready to face whatever it was, ready for a distraction.
That night, while getting ready for bed, Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's waist and pressed his face into his shoulder. "I love you," he whispered, "but I need you to let me make the call on this."
"Thor isn't the only god around here." Clint joked, walking—no, sliding—back to the work station. "Tony Stark! God of technology!"
"Tony." Steve said quietly. "You-" he sighed and tried again. "I felt like I missed so much. Lost so much. But you, you somehow gave it all back to me."
someone else on the payroll, but a half-hour into the meeting and Fury looks thrilled. As much as a guy with one eye and resting bitch face could look thrilled, anyway. They're talking over a potential contact when a woman enters. She's petite, brunette, and right away, Tony knows she's tough.
"Is it? Tony, you need to let go of Howard. The one you grew up with anyway. Let him go. He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."
Spinning on his heel, Steve stomped to his bed, sighed, and fell face down into it. His voice was muffled when he spoke. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"
"You okay?" Tony sent him a loaded glance. "Right. Stupid question." With a sigh, Bruce let his head fall back again. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm bored."
"For the past week or so, just some soup, fruits, vegetables. Cereal. Yogurt. It was all I could keep down."
"Evening, Barton," she smirked, not looking away from the man seated next to her. Howard's eyes narrowed, and her grin deepened. He was off put by her knowing who entered without looking. Good.
"What we both need is sleep." But Steve stands anyway, curiosity gently peeking out behind his sad blue eyes. He swipes at his tears, chuckling despairingly, and huffs out a sigh. "What do you have in mind?"
Steve suddenly thought to himself. He went to the bedroom, uselessly hoping that he would find Tony there, sleeping soundly, unharmed and oblivious, that all of it had been just a horrible nightmare. No one was there though. Tony’s bed was empty, all perfectly made as it was every morning after Tony got up. Steve suddenly wished it wasn’t so. He wanted to see it wrinkled up, as if Tony had just gotten up and gone to the bathroom, and he would come out any minute. But the lights switched off in the bathroom told a different story.
“I can pay for you if you want. Look, it's no big deal,” Steve said, already pulling out his platinum credit card. “Let me help you-”
he would have said. It was his father who had dragged him along to prepare his will the minute he had agreed to take over the company.
“Already on it.” Tony grinned and pulled out two cappuccinos. “I went to our place before coming here when they told me you were awake.” He carefully handed the cup to Steve before adding in a serious tone, “Don’t tell the nurse.”
Steve started making a mental checklist of things he had to do. He had to leave instructions for the board of directors at his company. They would have to choose a new president. He had to inform his vice-president about the status of the top-level projects his company was handling. He had to give explicit directions on how he wanted the funds allocated to those projects. There was no time to be scared now. He wiped his face, shuddered a little, took a deep breath and sat down at the table. But first things first, he needed to update his will. A fortune as big as his, it was of utmost importance. He opened the locked drawer where he kept important documents and took out a file. As he was about to close it, his eyes fell on a bunch of receipts, and a smile automatically graced his face. Tens of receipts were bunched together, from a coffee shop, from the time spent with Tony. Alongside them, an old, worn-out coffee stirrer with a note attached -
Steve nodded, pushing the bills into his pockets. It was thousands of dollars, more than enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life if he wanted.
"Bye, Creep!" In one fluid movement, he had pushed Tony behind him, taking over the space the smaller man had occupied, and bodily lifted the jerk off his feet and threw him out the door. He landed on the platform with a thud and a grunt. Steve leaned out, his hands resting on the subway car's sliding doors, "It's called consent, dick-bag. You may want to look that up in the dictionary. Also, if you hadn't noticed, he," Steve pointed angrily behind him at Tony who stood shock still, "is way too good for you. Stay in your lane, asshole." And the doors closed.
"So, you got a stomach bug?" But a stomach bug wouldn't explain the weight loss. Pepper probably knew Tony better than even Steve did. He'd talk when he was ready, so she allowed him his excuse. "Okay, you can miss this meeting, but I need you at the next one, Tony." She darted her eyes towards Steve, a silent promise that she wouldn't make Tony do anything if he was still this sick. It was always better to give Tony a goal.
The ding of the bell over his head was only partially covered by the rustling of the plastic holdings for the bouquets. He stepped inside the dim light of the store and picked up a basket. Eggs, bacon… he was pretty sure he was out of vanilla extract and he needed that for the pancakes. Turning a corner at the end of an aisle, he blindly grabbed a box of tea from an endcap, even he enjoyed a little surprise once in a while. As he turned into the refrigerated section, his sight landed on a boy of about six or seven, staring at him with wide eyes.
that cemented it. Steve had made quite a few missteps in the last several days, but one thing he understood was that when Tony said
He loved movies, especially those from the Golden Age of Hollywood, and they bonded over Cary Grant and Gene Kelly, Veronica Lake and Lauren Bacall. Spoke of their crushes on both and giggled at the old horror movies, throwing popcorn at the screen and yelling at the characters.
Steve put his hand gently on Tony's thigh, letting his fingertips graze the inside right above the inseam. "Do you want to keep going?"
"Oh, sorry," she said, showing him her phone, "you weren't ready." In it, the boy was looking at him, wonder splashed across his face, and Bruce was laughing.
"Uh. I can change." Tony muttered, catching sight of how well dressed Steve was in comparison to his own frat boy get-up. | [
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Sherlock glanced at him and back to the shattered mug, back to John, back to the mug. His eyes, shining with unshed tears, bounced back and forth again and again, until they finally settled on John.
He looked at John then, the pain behind the his eyes making his heart ache until he thought it was breaking in two.
"Look, Papa, there's a bird! Two birds! I wonder if they're daddy birds, maybe they have two baby birds at home just like you and Daddy!"
"They're baby shoes, you dunce. Oh, lovebug, oh this is so wonderful." John said, hugging his daughter.
"What are you talking about Sherlock?" I asked. He jumped off my lap and began pacing back and forth in front of me, his arms waving in front of me.
"Goodnight, my darling, sleep well," Sherlock said, "tomorrow we can go over the case with the missing grocer."
Her eyes glanced at mine before she slid off my lap and ran to Sherlock, shouting, "the best day ever, Daddy!"
"Your arithmetic skills astound me, John," he said, a playful smirk on his face, "but yes, it is most helpful." He finished burping Indie and carefully cradled her against him, his other hand typing away at his laptop.
I straightened up a bit and looked down at his face, the once cold and staring eyes now filled with tears as if something had finally broken inside him.
I rolled over and slowly found my way out of the darkened bedroom. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, hands steepled. Oh God, he'd been thinking.
John nodded and crossed into the kitchen, the sounds of cabinets opening and plates clinking on the counter soon following.
My arms felt decidedly empty. There were usually two little girls for us to hold, one for each of us. I didn't like the emptiness. I switched on the telly and sat the pillow behind my back on my lap. We sat there contentedly for an hour, before a small knock on the door signaled Molly' arrival.
"Who, Sherlock? Who hurt you?" John whispered back, sitting next to Sherlock and taking the freezing hand in his, rubbing his tanned thumb across the pale white skin.
River and Indie were practically rolling around the limo with excitement, their incessant chatter sounding like songbirds singing on a spring morning. I smiled and reached for Sherlock's hand that was sitting on the cushion next to me. I took his pale hand in mine and brushed across the scars on his wrist and the back of his hand, the thin, silvery lines somehow feeling even softer than his already soft skin. His head came to rest on my shoulder, his hair tickling my cheek and smelling somewhat floral from his shampoo. I took my hand off of his and wrapped my arm around Sherlock's shoulders, running my hand along his shoulder, feeling the bones of his shoulder beneath his coat.
I set River down and she went over to her sister, tucking her legs underneath her as she sat down. She took Indie's hand in hers and rattled off the events of her day.
I was so tired. All I could do was brush my teeth and roll into bed, my face down in the pillow. A few tears leaked out, soaking the pillowcase beneath me. Jack snored in his bed on the floor. I felt the bed sink down next to me and thin fingers stroked my hair.
She handed me the piece of paper she was holding. On it, she had drawn a big heart with the words 'Get better soon, Papa' at the top written with bright blue crayon in all capital letters.
I could feel Sherlock's chest tremoring behind me, as if he was trying to keep from laughing. I shoved my elbow into his bony chest and he seemed to compose himself almost immediately. He sat up, held his arms out, and said, "My, my, what a beautiful breakfast!"
The tray had two plates of uncooked batter, with what appeared to be shards of eggshells, covered in syrup, two princess-themed sippy cups of orange juice, and a bundle of Sherlock's red peonies that he grew in an upstairs window (rays of sunlight came in at just the right angle for optimal peony growth, according to him.).
"I just wanted you to come back to us, Sherlock, I thought we were going to lose you too." I let him go, my feelings overwhelming me, and began to pace around the room. "None of this makes sense, our little girl, our wonderful, lovely little girl, is gone. She was supposed to be learning to play violin and she was supposed to go to the beach this summer and make that sandcastle I promised we could make! She was supposed to grow up into a beautiful young woman and slam her doors and tell us she hated us when we wouldn't let her go out, she was supposed to graduate and become a veterinarian, maybe marry some bloke that we couldn't stand and become a mother! She's supposed to be running and dancing and playing because she's just our little girl. But she won't be doing any of those things because I couldn't save her, Sherlock. Christ, what kind of father am I?"
I sat down next to him and he laid his head on my shoulder and we sat quietly, watching our breath in the winter air.
I laughed to myself and we hurried to keep up with them. We piled into the car and I began to brush their hair and tidied up their dresses from their time in the field. Thankfully, they didn't get any dirt on their dresses and only a tiny bit on their shoes. The trip to the ballroom was filled with the girls recounting the look on Mycroft's face when a mouse had scurried across his newly shined shoes and when Greg almost fell after tripping over a mole hill. By the end of the ride, Indie was leaning against Sherlock, her eyes drooping closed. River began poking at her, trying to get her to wake up.
The silence between us was broken by little feet padding down the hallway as River came back from using the bathroom. "Is Indie okay, Papa?" She asked as she climbed into Sherlock's lap. I sat down in my chair. "Oh yes, she's just having a bit of a nap, I'll get her up when Aunt Molly gets here so we can go shopping."
River looked up from Sherlock's shoulder and nodded her head morosely, swiping her sleeve across her dripping nose and dropping her head back down.
I lumbered down the hall with the squealing and laughing girls still on my legs. When we got to the kitchen, they got off and scrambled into their chairs. Sherlock was at the stove, frying bacon.
I knew that he threw all of his emotional capacity onto us, his family. It was like his emotions were caged until we had River and Indie, and then all of the love and concern the man could muster just poured out onto our girls like floodwaters escaping a dam.
The sun shined brightly on us, giving us a little bit of warmth against the chilly January day. I walked with Indie to the park, chatting away with my little girl. She told me all about Sherlock's contest with her this morning and told me that she was sure she was almost big enough to be a scientist just like him.
"I miss her, Sherlock, I miss our baby," he sobbed, "every night I lay there and think about her. I just want to see her again, hold her again, talk to our beautiful little girl again. It's their birthday in only a couple weeks and instead of two blueberry muffins there will only be one, and we'll only put seven candles on the cake instead of fourteen. How can we keep doing this, Sherlock? How do we really move on without her? Can we move on? Jesus, Sherlock, we haven't even taken her placemat off the kitchen table or gone through her clothes and toys. How can I put them away when I still wait for her to come home every day?"
"Well, let's do this River Grace, let's write about your favorite memories, with Indie, with me and Daddy, with everyone. I know your teacher would love to hear about those too." I said, taking her hand in mine.
I could hear the smack of a ball of paper as I went down the hall into the study, closely followed by a quiet shout of "You utter cock!"
"Yes, but they weren't my children. My progeny will be far superior to the average child," he said, taking my laptop from the table and typing on it.
She snuggled herself into my arms and off we went. I poured cupfuls of the girls' strawberry bubble bath as the warm water ran into the tub, quickly undressing Indie and placing her into the water before she could catch a chill.
She scrambled over to me and put the package in the bag I carried that had extra clothes, wipes, tissues, medicine, whatever we may need while we're out. I've had it since the girls were babies and Greg jokingly called it my "man purse."
My heart breaking and tears pricking at my eyes, I laid aside of River as Sherlock crawled next to Indie. We joined arms over our daughters and cuddled them, as we had countless nights before.
"Go get her a change of clothes, some water, ibuprofen, and the Amoxicillin I have in the fridge, Sherlock."
"Papa said that too when we got done at the hairdressers, he said we got all that from you, Daddy, but I think we got it from both of you." Indigo said.
He walked quietly into the room, beds still neatly made, Indie's side still full of the trinkets and toys she had held most dear. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Greg kept the room tidy all of these years, knowing that it was too much for John or Sherlock.
The weight of the last day suddenly dropped onto my shoulders and I gasped for air. I stopped just outside the door and sat against the wall, lolling my head back.
"Do shut your mouth, John, it is a bit unattractive, our girls didn't have time to craft their own spaceship during these past few days, so I found one for them. Our Moon Princess and Prime Minister deserve only the best spaceship in all of Britain to take them to see their kingdom."
"Daddy, you're back! Where did you go in your mind palace this time?" She chattered as she leaned against my legs, staring intently at me.
We ate dinner with happy conversation, Jack sitting dutifully at my feet as I fed him scraps from my plate. We were almost finished when I saw River's eyebrows furrow as she looked at Indigo's place.
"No, we're going home today and we will stay there, we will have the doctors come to our flat if we need."
"Wonderful, you're doing a great job, love. Now, can I get back to sleep? I have a train to catch in 2 hours."
"River, love, can you stay here and finish the game with Nana Hudson? Daddy and I need to talk, we'll just be in our room, alright?" I said to her with a smile.
It started with a few twinges of pain here and there, right in the center of his chest. He would sit down for a bit, rubbing the spot with his hand, always saying,
I had often heard families of terminally ill patients talk about 'the last good day,' a day where it seemed like their loved one wasn't sick at all. They would get up in the morning and walk on their own, leaving their cane behind, not needing to be carried down the stairs. They would eat a full breakfast and go on a long walk. They would laugh and joke, their face unmarred by grimaces of pain, their eyes unclouded by fatigue and medications. The day's chores and errands would be done and every dinner plate would be empty. They would stay up to be with their family or friends long past the time they would normally nod off to sleep and everyone would be filled with a sense of euphoria, a nostalgia of days that had long passed. They would go to sleep with smiles on their faces, the day disappearing just like any other, and they would wake up the next day just as they were two days before, not able to eat, not able to walk, the light slowly fading from their eyes. They and their family would trudge on, hoping for another 'good' day that would never come.
River and Indie had woken up around 8 AM, as they usually did. The nurses came to unhook everything from Indie and we got both girls into the shower.
I saw Sherlock's eyebrow quirk and I quickly shook my head at them. She could tell us on her own if she wanted to.
River stuck her eye to the telescope and after a few moments she squealed, "I see a shooting star!" She quickly pulled her head back and squeezed her eyes shut, making her wish.
I stopped scrolling through the cases piling up on our website and went into her room. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a piece of paper on a book in her lap and a pencil stuck in her mouth.
"I have no doubt in my mind, John," he said, his thin fingers brushing gently across John's, "do you think that's why I am the way I am? Monsters beget monsters after all."
"Of course, my darling, we have to measure them and place them in the second condition," he said, a faint smile on his face.
She stood up and left, quickly squeezing my shoulder as she walked past. I went back to Sherlock and Indie. I kissed her cheek, careful not to wake her. Sherlock wouldn't even look at me.
"Come off it Sherlock, you've been talking to them about cases and your experiments since the day we brought them home, I've heard you while I'm in the shower."
"Brilliant, John, our girl is brilliant! Walking at 9 months!" Sherlock celebrated from where he sat filming her.
"I should have known, this is my career, solving puzzles, and I couldn't solve the one that mattered the most in this world," he moaned.
What? How could he possibly…oh of course it's crooked. Of course, Sherlock bloody Holmes can tell my tie is crooked from a few texts. I straightened the light blue tie and made my way downstairs, buttoning my black jacket on the way.
"It was okay, Papa was helping me with homework and was telling me about how Indie is painting all the flowers for me!"
I ended up in the doorway to an ornately decorated room, dark wood paneled the walls, plush red carpeting lining the floor, pictures of royalty hung on the walls and sat on tables.
I ripped October 7th from my calendar that Molly had gotten for me last Christmas, looking at the little pug puppy sitting in a pumpkin and the accompanying quote for today;
I took the paper from her and studied the brown and black blob she had created. Her blue eyes were large, expectantly waiting for me to critique her work.
I picked my head up to look at Sherlock, his eyes were rimmed with red, and his lip was bleeding from his chewing. I sat up fully and he gave me a weak smile, turning to stare at the wall in front of us.
He stood up, his tail wagging furiously. I had just scooped him into my arms, when a small voice from the doorway startled me.
The festive mood was shattered by an ear-piercing shriek and a cry of "Daddy, Papa!" from the front yard. Sherlock and I immediately jumped up and ran out the front door, everyone else following close behind. The bikes were tipped over in the yard. River was kneeling next to Indigo, who was sitting on the snow-covered ground, red spread all around her. I thought her ribbon had come undone and sat next to her, until I realized it was blood.
"My God, Sherlock you're freezing, did you walk all the way home in this rain?" John said, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's thin frame. "Sit down and I'll get you some blankets." He managed to maneuver Sherlock onto the cushions, pulling his jacket off and draping it over the bony shoulders.
"That's my girl," I said, tweaking her nose, "do you want to wait for Daddy before we start? I'm sure he'd love to help you too."
I picked Indigo up and we went up to our flat. River set the plate of cookies down in the kitchen and I sat down in my chair, Indigo still in my arms.
"LET'S GO!" shouted both girls. True to form, River grabbed Indie's hand and grabbed Sherlock's hand with her other. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, quickly took the two sippy cups and gave one to Sherlock, motioning him to drink from it as he was being led away by River. I quickly took a sip from mine and also took two flowers from the tray, placing them in my shirt pocket.
"I heard, my darling, now, did you know that she shapes the clouds for you too?" He said, gracefully gliding over to the window. I stood up and walked next to him, looking at the evening sky.
"Everything about our darling is in here," he whispered, tapping the side of my head, "You will never lose her, John, never."
River danced around us and shouted, "I love it, Daddy! Thank you, Daddy!" Indie grabbed onto Sherlock's leg.
We had the girls in matching dresses, as we usually did on Christmas. They were white satin with a silver embroidery and a red ribbon tied 'round the middle with a big bow in the back. A red bow sat on the left side of the girls' hair. They also had insisted that Jack have an outfit for Christmas, so I found a collar with a red bow tie on the front. The girls loved it, even Sherlock gave his half smile that I loved so much after he saw our little pug.
"I'm telling you, John, they are two boys. I'm sure of it," Sherlock said as we were sitting and waiting for the nurse to call us back.
I thought about how often it had been said that she was just like me, but as I sat and rocked her, all I could see within her was John. She was as brave and as strong as my soldier, as caring and compassionate as my doctor. I had given her unruly raven curls and ice blue eyes, but John had given River her heart.
Sherlock was the first to scoop Indie up in his arms. She opened her arms to us, and we went to her. Nothing could be heard except the quiet sobs and the silent screams of a family's heart breaking.
"River Grace, come out from behind that chair, Indigo Rose, come out from underneath that table. We will be late if you do not!" Sherlock said in an exasperated tone.
I had just taken the thermometer out of her mouth and had turned to give it back to Mrs. Keaton when I heard banging and a scream from behind me.
Tonight, it was John's turn and he picked up River, laying her head against his shoulder, quiet, snuffling snores emanating from her. He walked slowly to the door and down the stairs with her, the dog following them, leaving me alone with Indigo. I paced around her, watching every breath, every monitor she had. Her oxygen saturation sat at 93%, not ideal, but decent, according to John.
We had a face painter, balloon artist, and other arts and crafts for the kids to do during the party. Music would be playing throughout the party and the dance floor was open for anyone to dance. We had games planned for the children throughout the night. Everything was set and it was almost time for the party to start. Mycroft stood with the chef, discussing the food for the evening. I pointed at the door, letting him know I was going to get Sherlock and the girls.
She nodded against my cheek and her hiccupping sobs seemed to slow down. We sat on the cold bench on the dull, gray street for what seemed like forever, until she picked her head up and brushed her hands across my cheeks, wiping away the tears that had long dried up.
"River Grace, how lovely to see you, did you and your sister get the dolls I sent from Russia?" He said, patting her on the head.
"I suppose, John, I'll call after the girls wake up for the day," Sherlock harrumphed, the corner of his mouth tipped up.
"But I don't want to go to school, Papa!" River shouted, stomping her bare foot on the floor. Her face was twisted into a pout that very resembled Sherlock's when he also didn't get his way.
I picked up the glass of water Indigo had been drinking from and brought it to her lips, but she immediately shook her head. She looked at me with big eyes and a frown on her face.
"Of course, lovebug, how about we sit down and read it after dinner? I was going to make a roast tonight, go get changed and then you can help me, alright?" John said.
Sherlock's eyes widened into puppy dog eyes. "But it makes it feel better, John," he said, almost pleadingly.
I fumbled my way up the stairs, ignoring the worried whispers of my name coming from the front room.
John frowned as he crouched down to help Sherlock, "It's alright, love, no harm done. I have plenty of mugs." He was horrified to find he was using the same tone he used with victims of abuse or other terrible crimes.
They jumped off the last step and ran to the door, scuffling for a bit before Indie finally grabbed hold of the door and opened it. Both of the girls looked out the door and froze.
"I wish for Indie to get all better so she can stop taking medicine and so that she never has to see the doctors ever again and I wish for Papa and Daddy to get lots more cases and for Uncle Mycroft to smile more, and…!
I walked over to them and shook each of their hands. Each handshake felt like we were signing a contract together, like we were all in this together, until the end.
No, I didn't see this so called 'magic' of Christmas until I saw River and Indigo open their first presents on Christmas morning and they shrieked with joy, toddling around the room, showing all of us their presents. I was entranced by them and suddenly, Christmas was my favorite time of the year.
No response. I knelt down in front of him and brushed his tears away with my thumb. He looked at me with the saddest face I had ever seen.
"I promise with everything I have, Sherlock. No one will hurt you. I will protect you from now on," John said, cupping Sherlock's cheek with his hand, brushing away the multitude of tears.
Sherlock at last looked at him properly, pools of tears shining in those ocean eyes. He gripped John's hand so tightly that John was beginning to lose feeling in his fingers.
I laughed and splashed a bit of water onto her. She giggled even louder and reached for me. I leaned closer to her and she placed a large mound of bubbles on the top of my head as she gave me a kiss.
"Yes you may, I brought your trainers with me, but I forgot a change of clothes, so please try not to get those pretty dresses dirty." I said.
"Brilliant, as always, Sherlock," I said, kissing him on the cheek, "and yes to the shops. River and I'll be going to find you something for your birthday. I've already asked Mrs. Hudson to watch Indie for the afternoon since I know you were planning on going down to the Yard for a few hours."
Beakers smashed against the wall, pages from files fluttered to the floor, notebooks torn in two. My useless hands cut open, wounds marking my clothes with crimson.
The noises were coming from our bedroom, the door locked and barricaded. Things were being thrown inside, the sounds of glass breaking and wood splintering mixing with screaming.
We would come upon this picture some weeks later as John and I sat in the front room placing pictures into albums, the fresh spring air coming in through the open windows.
We sat down to dinner and ate our fill of all the great food that the chef had prepared specially for each of us. I had requested a salmon dish, while Sherlock had fish and chips. River requested Chinese food and Indie wanted a ham and cheese sandwich and smiley fries.
"Yeah, tell that to the exploded tea kettle sitting in the trash bins." I said, turning and shutting the door, just catching his smirk as the door shut. God, I should probably buy another kettle while were out, just in case he repeats his 'experiment' tonight.
After he quietly shut the door behind him, I sighed and laid my head down on my pillow. I was on the edge of sleep when I heard papers being violently shuffled in the front room. I tossed the covers off of me and shoved my feet into my slippers, grumbling all the while about a certain insomniac genius.
A black car rolled up on the street in front of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock's ride into the depths of Hell had arrived.
Her eyes brightened and she jumped off her bed, grabbing the fresh sunflowers from the bedside table.
Before I could shout the number of expletives I had lined up, I heard someone, no many people, crying, sobbing, absolutely wailing.
Indigo's throat was fire-engine red, with white patches covering her tonsils. Classic strep throat. I sighed to myself with just a tiny bit of relief. Strep throat was easily fixed, a course of antibiotics and she'd be as right as rain. The more pressing matter now was her fever. I picked her up and took her downstairs to the bathroom. River and Sherlock were sitting in the kitchen, River eating cereal while Sherlock flipped through his latest case file.
"I know, I know, sweetheart, but we have to get your temperature down, Papa and Daddy are here, it's alright."
Sherlock sat on the floor, his lovely raven curls a bit of a mess, surrounded by a sea of pink and purple. He was sorting little piles of onesies and outfits covered in flowers and glitter, a pile of small tutus on each side. There were two big packages of crib bedding, both with soft, floral patterns.
Indigo let out a raspy laugh next to me and gave John a thumbs up. John smiled and blew a kiss towards us, shutting the door behind him.
"Do you think they should come home in these, John?" he casually said, holding up two light pink onesies with "Daddy's Little Princess" on the front of them in gold lettering.
River had been staying in our room with us ever since we had said goodbye to Indigo. As I could not sleep, I spent most nights with her after she woke up screaming from nightmares, wiping her tears away and rocking her until she fell back to sleep, desperately wishing I could answer her pleas to bring her sister back home.
Sherlock had just taken it into his hand when a snail popped its head out of the shell. Both girls jumped back, startled by the appearance of their new friend.
"Of course, John, I was simply calling to give you an update on the girls. They have been sleeping for…"
The memories came flooding back, I could see her and River sitting on the bathroom counter in their pajamas. I could hear Indie sing the song, specks of foam flying from her mouth. I remembered that she always started brushing on the right side, and that she filled her cup of water halfway when she was ready to rinse.
"Papa! This is such fun, Papa! Come jump with us!" Indie shouted as she jumped and spun around and around, spurts of water coming out from under her rainboots each time.
I laughed to myself when I found Sherlock curled up on the couch, the telly flashing brightly with some crap TV show.
As we settled into our seats, Sherlock began to fiddle with a switch that was on the ceiling of the limo.
"We're at home, Sherlock, this isn't a fashion show. Now go put your livers in the fridge before they…go bad, or whatever."
"You have to go to school, love, the holidays are over now. I know your friends are very excited to see you again!" I said, shrugging her navy blue school jumper over her head.
The cab pulled up to a nondescript house, a brown wooden fence surrounding the property. The gray stone house was small, with the front porch filled with police officers. Lestrade came up to the gate to greet them.
"It's a hands-free system. There. Now keep that on for the next 20 minutes or so, should keep the swelling down and keep bruising to a minimum."
River Grace and Indigo Rose Watson-Holmes were the most precious gifts Sherlock and I had and will ever receive. River was the elder of the twins, exactly 4 minutes older as she liked to remind anyone who would care to listen, and certainly took after her Daddy in looks and attitude. Her raven ringlets fell just below her shoulders and she had eyes as blue and deep as the ocean. Right now, she was wearing a long purple nightgown with suspicious splotches of flour dotted all over. Her little fingers and toes were painted with a pink glitter polish, specially bought for the girls by their Uncle Mycroft for their 4th birthday several weeks ago. She was the leader of the two, always spouting ideas and dragging her sister along for the adventure. She was kind and fierce, letting no obstacle stand in her way.
River and Indie sat together on a bench with floral cushions. They were dressed in matching lilac dresses with puffed short sleeves that had frills of lilac lace at the collar and along the bottom of the dress. They wore white socks with lace at the top and shiny purple ballet flats. Both of them were wearing a wide brimmed white sunhat with a lilac ribbon tied around the middle of the hat. White satin gloves extended up to their elbows and their pinkies were out as they sipped from white teacups. The corners of their eyes were crinkled, the only indication they were smiling behind their cups of tea.
I sat up, grabbing her thin wrist and feeling for a pulse that was no longer there. I knelt next to her and began CPR, damn the DNR order, damn it to Hell, I would save my daughter.
"Daddy, Daddy! Look at the duckies!" Indigo shouted, her pudgy fingers patting a duck on the head. Her hair shone like gold in the sun, her eyes were round and bright, framed by her beautiful, long lashes. She laughed, a laugh that was so like John's, as the duck nuzzled into her pockets.
"It is beautiful outside, John." Sherlock said from his chair, a soft smile directed at our daughter.
Suddenly he ripped his hand out of mine and briskly walked over to her, setting the suitcase he was holding down on the floor. His shaking hand reached out and began to gently rub her hair.
The door opened and two perfect little girls appeared, their dresses sweeping just above the floor, soft pink roses weaved into braided crowns atop their heads, their ringlets flowing past their shoulders, and their faces brightened with just a touch of makeup. My daughters looked absolutely beautiful, angelic even.
"Enjoy the little things in life, for someday you will look back and realize they were the big things."
She climbed into his lap and waved goodbye to her mother, chattering to John and Sherlock about her morning.
John cleared his throat, his blue eyes dulled with pain, his face contorted in a feeble attempt to conceal his anxiety and fear.
He laughed and picked her up, letting her chat happily to him as he bounced back with her into the kitchen to show her the most recent (kid-friendly) experiment he was working on.
The girls took Mrs. Hudson by the hand and talked with her about what they were doing in school, how Sherlock had fallen so much while roller skating today, about what kind of dresses they wanted. They forged ahead of us, leaving Molly and I a bit behind.
I rubbed my eyes with my hands, this was not what I wanted to be doing on this Christmas Eve, not at all.
She scrambled into my lap and I wrapped my arms around her. Her eyes were wide, looking at me innocently, a grin on her face.
"Indigo, no, don't leave me! Please!" I begged, leaping forward in a panic, my arms flailing, trying to grasp onto her again.
I picked up a pair of blue pajamas from the drawers we had placed in the corner of the room and disconnected her from the wires and tubes, happy to see her without them.
"I know girls, let's build a blanket fort. Uncle Mycroft and I did it when I was a little boy." They nodded excitedly and we set to work.
"I can hear you, John, I have very good hearing." Sherlock shouted from the kitchen where he was finding ice to apply to a very sore bottom.
You always told me to keep smiling, because smiling makes your heart happy. For you, my sweet girl, I will keep smiling, although it will be nearly impossible without you smiling next to me.
"What is it, John? Why would you give us small shoes?" Sherlock said, confusion apparent in his voice.
"I had to wash him off of me," Sherlock said, his eyes distant, looking into a past that he hadn't faced in so long.
I smiled back at her and she held tighter onto my hand. Her eyes frantically searched for John, who had left the room to get her afternoon medications.
"She was here! We went on the swings and on the slides and climbed through all the tunnels!" she shouted frantically.
Both girls wanted to help make lunch and I had them butter the bread and set the sandwiches up before I set them in the pan to grill. They stood on their little pink and purple stools to watch me cook.
"Thank you Mrs. Keaton, I'll call my brother-in-law for a car to take us all home. She can't walk home while she's ill."
"Daddy's alright, he's just in the other room, River, shh, he's here, he's here," I said, trying to calm her down.
"She gets more and more like you every day, Sherlock, just today she told the cashier that she hoped her new puppy would stop chewing all her furniture. The poor woman was terribly confused," Molly said.
The next day dawned clear and bright and would remain clear for the rest of the night, a perfect night for the observatory. Indie had chosen to wear her astronaut pajamas, complete with pink tutu, and River had selected to wear the Wonder Woman costume she had worn last Halloween. A chill had settled on London and Sherlock and I were chasing the girls around the flat, trying to get them into their winter coats.
Lestrade only saw the hair that was black as night and the pale skin. But John saw the bruises and the blood and knew that this little boy looked more like Sherlock than anyone could have imagined.
I opened the girls' door and sighed with relief at the mess of blonde curls peeking out from under the pink rose covers. I tiptoed to Indie and picked her up, covers and all, putting her face next to my cheek.
Molly and I began to laugh, when suddenly we heard Sherlock laugh out loud with everything that he had, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Molly and I stopped laughing and stared at him in shock. We hadn't heard him laugh like this in months.
She continued on, listing all of the people she loved and her various wishes for them, she wished for Greg to take a vacation once in a while (he always says he should go on vacation, especially after dealing with Sherlock on a particularly difficult case), for Molly to finally get the little bulldog puppy she's always wanted, and for Mrs. Hudson to get her own housekeeper.
Sherlock had already left by the time I had finished cleaning up the bathroom. He had set up a little painting area in the middle of the room for the girls, with newspaper spread beneath them and plastic cups of water next to them for their brushes.
"Well let's get you back on that couch and a pillow under that ankle!" he said. He practically floated to the couch, flying Indie like an airplane, before gently placing her on the cushions, popping my Union Jack pillow under her right ankle and draping a blue knit blanket over her in one fluid motion. Only Sherlock could make placing a child on a couch look like a scene from a world-class ballet. Once she was settled in with her coloring book, he crossed to the kitchen and I followed.
I held Indie in my arms, about 2 months old and her head full of light brown hair. We sat in a rocking chair we had placed in the front room. I held a pacifier in her mouth, feeling her gums chew on my finger. It was so very late at night and I was exhausted, but she was wide awake. Her dark eyes watched me intently as I sang to her, trying to get her to fall back asleep.
"Oh, he's getting dressed now, finally. We haven't had a case in days, you know how he gets." John said.
Soon, Indie was sitting on the couch in Sherlock's arms, wrapped in a blanket and dressed in her purple flower pajamas, sipping on water.
He was small for his age, dressed in navy blue pajamas decorated with dinosaurs. He lay on his side, his eyes closed. A shock of raven, messy curls matted with blood sat on top of his head. His right arm was twisted at an awkward angle. The ghost of a black eye darkened the child's porcelain skin.
"I will speak to Papa about it tomorrow, princess, but we will make a brand new room, just for you, I promise."
Sherlock just stared at John, his eyes wide. For the first time in his life, he couldn't find words.
After a time, the girls fell asleep in our arms and we took them upstairs, laying them in their beds and kissing them on their foreheads.
As if on cue, Sherlock waddled back into the room and the girls roared with laughter. Sherlock continued to dramatically waddle around the kitchen, opening and closing each of the cabinets. His act made the girls laugh even harder and they fell to the floor and began to roll around.
Despite his assurances, his chill was the start of pneumonia. He came home from hospital several days later, more pale than John had ever seen him.
"Yeah, I don't know why I thought of it today," he quietly said, sitting in his chair and flipping open the paper, placing the bear protectively against his side.
"John, I could easily teach them at home, they're too advanced for these classes, they'll be utterly bored!" Sherlock sulked.
The two men and their girls slept soundly, wrapped warmly in blankets, the excitement and joy of a new day together waiting beyond them.
"Thank you, Papa!" Indie said as she slid off of Sherlock, stopping to give me a kiss on the cheek before running upstairs to get her pajamas on. River quickly followed after her.
It was autumn now, the trees dotted with bursts of red and orange among the still green leaves. John sat in his chair typing away as he normally did on these lazy Sunday afternoons. He enjoyed this peaceful time with his daughter. They had just finished an arts and crafts project he had found online. The blue tissue paper pumpkin sat on the mantle, waiting for Sherlock to come home so that it could be proudly presented to him. John sighed as he watched the lone figure play enthusiastically on the floor.
I felt myself shaking, I turned to run away from whatever hell I had walked into, when a deep voice moaned,
We fell into each other's arms and I watched as the Sun rose, rays of light filtering through the windows, shining onto the small face that could no longer feel its warmth, onto eyes that could not see, onto the lips that would never again smile at a sunny day.
Feet scuffled against the floor as the girls dashed out of their hiding spaces, lining up in front of us like they were soldiers in a parade.
I grabbed my mug and noticed that the fire was particularly large this morning. I took a closer look and found a scrap of burned paper with medical jargon on it.
"What shops are you planning on going to today, John?" Sherlock asked with his head in the freezer, his voice muffled.
"Papa's here, lovebug, just cry, cry as much as you want," I told her as she buried her face even deeper into my neck, her tears soaking my collar.
John sighed, rubbing his face with his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose until he took up typing again.
A spark of anger lit up within me. He's right, how hadn't he known this? He knows everything! He must've suspected something when her ankle was hurt, why didn't he say something, he usually never shuts up about his idiotic observations! She's been sick for weeks and he should've known! He should have known. Maybe we could have helped her if we had known earlier.
She continued, "Indie told me lots of times that she thought you were the best Daddy and Papa ever. When we saw shooting stars, Indie wished that everyone had a Daddy and a Papa just like you."
"I'll be home in just a bit, then you can head down to the Yard, alright? Just make sure she keeps drinking and if her temperature goes up again, you can give her paracetamol."
"I grabbed our coats and boots! Get yours, Papa and Daddy! Let's GO!" River shouted, her wild raven curls tossing around.
Sherlock's mouth upturned in a half smile, half grimace as he felt the familiar pang of pain in his chest. Fear filled him as he watched John talk. He didn't want to leave John so soon.
My heart was breaking as I looked into my daughter's eyes, the sorrow within them far too great for any little girl to bear.
He carefully took the paper off the present, his face breaking into a grin when he saw the packaging.
So, when Indie excitedly waved me over and suggested we throw a birthday party for Sherlock, I hesitated for just a second before looking into those shining hazel eyes and nodding my head. Her eyes became clouded again, but her beautiful smile remained, and I set about planning the birthday party I would have to throw in a few days' time.
"Fifteen minutes was a bit of overkill really, John. Remember, they are our little girls. The most astute brains and biggest hearts in all of England."
The girls went to the table where I had put the presents and gathered them in their arms, placing them in front of them and handing him our present.
At that moment, Mrs. Hudson hurried into the flat, fussing over John and I, fussing over the girls, snapping photos, and hurrying John to get into his suit for the party. I slipped into my coat and scarf and walked toward the door.
The sun was shining into the windows at just the right angle to make her golden hair glow and she looked as though she was the Sun itself.
I wrapped her tightly in the blanket she had around her shoulders and laid down, pulling her onto my chest. I brushed the hair from her face, her eyelids fluttering briefly before quickly falling asleep.
"You are so thoughtful, lovebug, thank you. You make me very happy, you know that?" he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
Sherlock harrumphed and sat through the appointment, answering questions when spoken to, allowing the nurse to place the EKG stickers on his chest. He was diagnosed with angina, brought about by his years of drug abuse the doctor surmised, and given a variety of medications to take and a referral to a cardiologist.
"Papa? Daddy? Can I stay home after we are done Christmas break, I'm too tired to go to school anymore, but I want to finish this quarter so I can get my report card." Indie asked Sherlock and I as we were getting her ready for bed one night.
I am actually raising two 6-year-olds and a 2-year-old, I thought to myself as I shrugged my black jacket on and grabbed an umbrella.
I stayed awhile longer, making sure to grab a copy of the ultrasound pictures announcing that we were having girls. Mrs. Hudson, Greg, and Molly had wanted to see them straight away.
"It's lovely, but you're still here with us, Indie, still right here." I said, nearly choking on my words.
She opened the large, heavy black door as quietly as she could, her small arms trembling from the weight. The butterfly flew out, but hovered at the bottom of the steps, seemingly waiting for her new friend.
But Mycroft had already spoken to all the top pediatric oncologists in the world, some of them twice over. And they all said the same thing.
"Let's get your favorite books then, girls!" I said, scooping them both into my arms and running upstairs, their laughter echoing off the walls.
I wanted to shut my ears and run away, take John and River and Indigo to another doctor, another hospital that would make my Indigo Rose all better again.
We stood, out of breath, as River and Indie continued their game, plumes of snow flying into the air as they ran, chasing each other.
"There's a good girl, just keep it under your tongue sweetheart, just a couple more seconds, there you go."
"I won't hurt you, Sherlock," he said, inching closer to Sherlock. He opened his eyes and all John could see was terror.
As they continued to chat, a new mood enveloped the flat, a feeling of hope and joy for this so welcome arrival. Sherlock and John spent the next 6 months redecorating River's old room as a nursery, leaving the walls purple for their new granddaughter. Sherlock played Mozart and Bach, along with his own works for River's growing belly and both men stood in awe as they felt the baby kick.
"Mrs. Butterfly, why did you take me here? I haven't been here since Indie…since she…" River began to cry, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and splashing onto the brown dirt below.
"Your wallet is tucked into your back pocket, when it is usually sitting on the desk, and you keep glancing at your watch, you're on a schedule today, but you don't have work and we have nowhere to be with the girls. My birthday is tomorrow, thus, to the shops for a gift."
"I think you're a good Daddy. Indie thought so too,' a small voice said. I looked towards River's voice and saw her peeking her head through the crack in the door. She tiptoed in and shut the door behind her, walking over to Sherlock, who picked her up and sat her on his lap.
He gave me the tiniest of nods before placing his lips on my forehead and murmuring, "I promise, John."
They both stood silent for a moment, interjected with the soft sound of Sherlock sniffling. He made no attempt to wipe his face or staunch the flow of tears that kept pouring down. His lips were trembling as he tried desperately to keep from crying out.
A rope swing with a wooden seat hung on one of the trees in the field and he had taken pictures of the girls in it. There was one of River, grinning mischievously at the camera, her blue eyes as deep as oceans, and her hands gripped the ropes like she was about to take off. Indie sat on the swing with her feet crossed, her head leaning against the farthest rope, and a small closed-lipped smile on her face. The sun reflected off her eyes, making them look almost green.
She wrapped her arms around my waist when she reached me. I picked her up and swung her onto my hip, brushing her flyaway hair out of her eyes.
"Next summer, when the water's warm again and you and River are out of school," John said with a smile to his younger daughter.
Indie leaned over and whispered into River's ear. River's face becoming serious and nodding as Indie spoke.
River turned towards the sound and said, "Indie! That's Uncle Greg, he must be looking for me. Just wait here until I come back!"
"Indie! You came back! I knew you would!" River exclaimed, catching her in a hug. Indie hugged back and the girls held onto each other until Indie broke away. Taking River's hand, she pulled her towards the tunnels and slides.
"Good thing there's two of us, eh, Sherlock, one for each of them?" I said one morning as I fed River, delirious from the lack of sleep the night before.
I pulled the bag of birdseed and oats from my pocket and had Indie hold her hands out. I poured some of the birdseed into her hands and she set off towards the ducks, calling out 'Here, duckies, here!'
"Well, do what you'd like, I'll go and help them pick their dresses out. I don't want to miss a moment with them, with her." He nodded and crossed the room, enveloping me in a hug. "You're an amazing father, John." I swallowed the lump in my throat and just nodded against him.
He waited for me to explain, although I could see understanding quickly flash across his face. Sherlock didn't voice his deductions when it came to the girls, he told me once that letting them come to him with their thoughts and fears, their hopes and dreams, was like reading a new book each day, like opening a treasure chest with mountains of gold spilling out. He loved talking to them. He loved talking about them.
"Ha, ha, very funny, I'm still bigger than you silly girls and I say let's get going! We're already going to be late!"
"Timeout, River, timeout, I'm tired." Indie said, catching her breath. She snuggled back into my arms. "Can I go to sleep, Papa? I'm so tired."
"I have your periodic table and Papa's dollhouse, now I just need something from Indie!" River exclaimed, digging through a bag she had brought in.
Sherlock and I had decided to tell the girls while we were still in the hospital. We wanted as little of these memories as possible to be associated with Baker St. We needed to keep our home as their sanctuary, as our sanctuary.
And I was right. You lit up every room you walked into and every person left you with a smile on their face because of your love for them and your love of life. You lived life with passion, spending every moment singing, playing, or dancing, splashing in the rain, walking down the street, holding my hand and pointing out all the little things that I would have never noticed otherwise. And even when you were diagnosed with cancer and when you knew you would go to Heaven, you carried on living with strength and courage and somehow kept smiling, dancing, and playing through all of it. You gave us all comfort and hope, even though you were so sick. Soon before you left, you told me how lucky you were that I was your Papa. I am the lucky one, blessed to be your Papa, Indigo Rose.
"Sherlock, best put her to bed, I'll be up in a moment. River, do you want to go up with your sister and play in your room for a little while? Daddy and I have to talk with Uncle Mycroft," I said.
We sat with Indie until they came for her. Sherlock and I wrapped her in a white sheet, tucking her teddy bear in with her. I carried her to the van waiting outside and we kissed her forehead, telling her again how much we loved her. A man began to pull the sheet over her face when Sherlock grabbed him.
I was gathering the wrapping paper into a trash bag when I heard Indie making quite a commotion to get to the window.
The signature at the end was hardly necessary at this point, but it was a comforting habit for both of them. So much had changed since they first met, but the way they texted didn't. It was such a small part of their lives, but John had learned that the smallest things mattered to Sherlock. They gave him comfort.
"I'm glad Indie isn't hurting, but Papa, will I ever stop hurting?" She sniffled, brushing her hand down her doll's long dark hair.
"We need to talk about hospice care for Indigo, nurses will come in and help you care for Indigo and we can bring in a bed and equipment to make her more comfortable. Mr. Holmes may want to be here."
I turned and stared at him, momentarily stunned, he never cleaned (unless forced to by yours truly).
"Thank you, sweetheart, that will be a most welcome snack for later." Sherlock replied, a bit more awake this time.
Today, we lay her to rest, we say our goodbyes for now. I challenge each of you to live as she did, with the kindness and compassion she had, to make this world the place she and River would have made it together.
"Good morning, my love! Are we going to have a fun day today?" John said, kissing his granddaughter on her cheek.
He nodded his head and sat next to me, twisting his hands together, his foot tapping against the floor.
John would furrow his brow at him, frowning as he watched his husband purse his lips together to breathe through the pain.
Suddenly I felt a chill and shuddered, something felt wrong, I hadn't felt this much dread since right before, well, Sherlock's fall. I glanced at the quote again and shook off the feeling, silly getting so upset over a quote from a calendar. Sitting at my desk at the clinic, I straightened the picture of my little family and smiled. I remember that day like it was yesterday…
She got up and walked over to Sherlock, who picked her up and absolutely flew with her into the kitchen, high-pitched laughter ringing out.
I sat down on her bed, her pillow behind my back, and held her like I did when she was a baby. More tears dripped onto the covers and I struggled to keep my body from shaking with the sobs I was trying to keep inside.
I finished putting things away in the kitchen and came into the front room, sitting on the edge of couch next to Sherlock and the girls. I wrapped my arm around River and Indie, squishing us all into the cushions in a hug.
"The best father, John. You cared for Indigo day and night and spoke to her doctors and arranged her care when I could not. You tried to save her and I pulled you away, giving up on our daughter. I locked myself away from River, only seeing her for brief moments before I had to run and hide again. To see her without her sister, to listen to her cries, it was all too much. I left the both of you, I abandoned my family if not physically, but mentally. Never question how good of a father you are, John, because you are a far better father to our precious girls than I ever was or could be."
I sighed a small breath of relief. At least our girls weren't in imminent danger of hurting themselves or burning the house down.
"But it will happen, John, and we must take each precious day as it comes and keep it in our hearts and minds forever. We will make these next few months happy and carefree. She is incredibly perceptive, John, when she knows, she will ask, and we will help her be ready. We will hold those little girls as tight as we can and when Indigo tells us, we will let her go, and hold River even tighter. It will happen, John, but it isn't happening now, dwelling on her death will not allow us to watch her live."
It was her new favorite thing to have a popsicle in the morning and any bit of fluids and sugar she wanted, we gave to her.
"And I'm sure Miss Petunia loved meeting us all, but she probably needs to get home to her family, it is getting a bit late."
"I do too, lovebug. We all love her so much, don't we? And she loves us so much. We're going to have such lovely times with her and all we have to do is remember our happy times when we get sad and although we'll still be sad, we'll be happy for at least a little bit. But you and Indie can always talk to Daddy or I or your Nana or your Aunt or your Uncles whenever you feel sad or mad, okay? Don't keep that inside you, love."
I quickly walked out of the room and told Mycroft to watch him before going to the bathroom. I came back and cleaned his hands, wrapping them in bandages and antibiotic ointment, without a single flinch or movement from him.
"I need you too, Indigo, I can't go, darling, not to a life without you," I said, crouching down to her level, "Here I can hold you in my arms, I can watch you play, hear your laugh, your lovely voice. I can give you a goodnight kiss, we can read together, I can teach you violin. Here you're alive, and back there, in that terrible world, you are not. That is a reality I cannot face, Indigo Rose."
The little girl turned, unmistakable bright hazel eyes staring back at her, a wide grin set on her face. Her cheeks were full again and there were no longer dark shadows under her eyes. She wore a short blue and white striped dress, white Keds on her feet.
"Come on, lovebug, get up for Papa, please, we have to eat breakfast still, and we don't want to be late." I said, kneeling next to her.
She always was so thoughtful, so kind, our little girl with a heart of gold. A nudge at my side brought me out of my thoughts and I looked back at Indie, who was eagerly waiting for my reply.
"Finally. Now, River woke up at 12:30 for a nappy change and Indigo woke up at 12:45, needing the same. They fell asleep after about 15 minutes of rocking and have been sleeping peacefully since."
"She's been doing great actually, she was a bit tired today, but that's to be expected sometimes, I suppose. We're just trying to keep everything as normal as we can, you know? She's going to school as long as she's able. We keep their bedtimes the same. River is doing well, running around, talking all of our ears off. They're both doing so well in school, I'm so proud, Sherlock is too, keeps saying we have two little geniuses on our hands and that we should enroll them in a higher grade so they don't get bored like he did. Sometimes he gets in one of his moods, and I'm always sure it's because of Indie's illness."
And then he was twenty years younger, watching his two little girls run around the room in tutus and sparkling dresses, the sunshine bright on the yellow walls.
They set off down a blossoming Baker Street, the two men and their Charlotte Indigo laughing and smiling the whole way to the park.
"Up we go then, love, but mind, I can't carry you through all the shops, you're getting to be such a big girl." I said, picking her up.
Indie reached over and grabbed River's hand. "No! River, you have to stay here to be with Papa and Daddy. We can't leave them here all by themselves."
"Don't forget to save the ginger nuts, John!" I said, turning to him and catching him mid-bite of a damn ginger nut.
"Sherlock, can you come here, please?" I called out to him, while running a lukewarm bath for Indie.
He quickly scooped up our little Sunshine and carried her under one arm, before sweeping over to River and I. He picked up River in the same manner and walked out of the bathroom with his two laughing and squirming packages.
Indigo and I were sitting in her room reading a book when I felt a sharp stinging in my hands. I dropped the book onto my lap and rubbed them together.
I crossed the room and put my arms around her, as she had done for me. She clutched the baby doll Indie loved most to her and sobbed. We sat like that for a moment, before she weakly said, "I'll make us all a cuppa," and walked into the kitchen, setting the doll gently back onto the table.
"No, I don't believe we did, he bloody well deserves one though," I replied, my voice muffled by raven curls.
For Sherlock, I had gotten a silver watch. The face of the watch popped open to reveal the same picture of us and on the underside I had engraved, 'For the best and wisest man I have ever known.'
Sherlock and I walked hand and hand out of the school and we sat in a café across the street for the rest of the school day, my hand on my phone.
The yelling had begun around half past seven, the tall, thin man with jet black hair screaming at his wife. He didn't notice the small figure cowering in the shadows, his tiny fingers wrapped around Momo, his stuffed elephant. Sherlock was frightened, Daddy never yelled like this, especially not at Mummy. But, Daddy had been acting funny for a little while now, yelling about money and what Mummy buys at the store.
"I love you too, little miss, I'll be 'round again tomorrow after work." he said, his voice cracking. Tears sprung to my eyes and my heart wrenched as she shook her head and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He gave her one last kiss and turned from her, tears freely flowing down his cheeks.
John opened the door to the darkened room and saw Sherlock standing at the window, staring out into the street below.
He groaned again, reaching his arm up to flip on the light next to him. I rolled over and draped my arm over him, kissing his ear gently.
My smile quickly faded when I saw how flushed she was. I set my hand on her forehead, causing her glassy eyes to peek up at me. She was on fire. I threw the covers off her and she curled into a ball, shivering.
"Look everyone! The sun is setting; you can see it just through the clouds!" Indie shouted, stopping her play.
"It's nearly 9:30, Lestrade will be expecting you, Sherlock." I said, gently picking up Indigo and settling her in my arms. She stirred against my shoulder.
After dinner had been eaten, the kids were let loose to do whatever their little hearts desired. Balloon swords were fought with, kids were transformed into Spidermen and dragons, fairies and princesses, and coloring pages and stickers were left on tables. Lips and tongues were dark from the icing on the cakes and little fingers were sticky from the candy floss and other sweets we had set out. It was a mad, chaotic, glorious party. My face was painted with tiger stripes by the end of the night and Sherlock had even let River and Indie draw a heart on each of his cheeks. Greg opted for a dragon face, Molly had flowers painted on hers, and Mrs. Hudson was painted like Spiderman. Mycroft's face was paint-free, but his one hand had the same hearts that Sherlock had on his face.
"What color did you decide on for your bedclothes, lovebug?" I asked, making my way to the sofa where Molly sat.
I walked over to the table and placed my lips on my daughter's forehead, wisps of blonde hair stuck to the sweat shining across her forehead. Indie whimpered and inched herself closer to me. "My God, she's absolutely burning up, Mrs. Keaton, what's her temperature?"
"Sweetheart, last night," my voice cracked, "last night, Indie got very sick." I watched her cheerful face fall and I swallowed back bile as I continued, "She fought terribly hard, but this morning, lovebug…this morning Indie went to heaven, I'm so sorry, love," I said, each word tearing at my heart.
"Don't take her away! Papa, don't let them take her!" River shouted as she scrambled across the seat. I caught her in my arms before she could get out the door.
Mycroft's seamstress had already fitted the gowns to the girls and I paid the cashier with the credit card Mycroft had given us. I set up a time to come pick up the gowns on Saturday morning and we all went off on our way. As it was only 7 o'clock, we stopped by a fish and chips shop for dinner. We had almost finished eating when I noticed Indie precociously wrapping her last piece of fish and some chips up in the wrapper.
We had just put the girls in their bathrobes when I noticed that John was staring off into the distance, a blank look on his face. Indie began to pull at his jumper sleeves.
River delivered a healthy baby girl on a bitterly cold late November day. Michael came out of the room, shouting that he had a perfect daughter. Sherlock and John smiled, remembering their own shouts of joy when their girls were born. They held their new granddaughter later that day, her deep baby blue eyes wandering all over the room. They whispered to her, telling her how loved she was.
Before I could reply, Sherlock spoke up and said, "Thank you, ma'am, I am incredibly lucky to have the best husband and daughters in all the universe. Come John, River, Indigo, let's get back to the limousine." He gave the woman a brief smile as the girls took our hands and we walked toward the exit.
"Sherlock, we're not doing this tonight, not now. You'll see the cardiologist soon and they can fix these things right up. No death talk, you're only 64." John said stubbornly, poking at the fire.
I hope you enjoy the compositions I have created for you. As I stand near to the willow tree next to where you sleep and play for you, I imagine those nights where I watched you and your sister twirl and dance to my songs and all the times I lulled you to sleep with music. It is somewhat of a comfort to me, knowing that you can still hear me play.
Mrs. Hudson cleared our dishes and gave a plate of cookies for 'Father Christmas' to River. I would enjoy eating them later. I do love Mrs. Hudson's ginger nuts.
He carried her into the kitchen and placed her in her highchair. He cut up a banana and put it on the tray, along with blueberries.
They nodded and went back to playing with Jack, who was now laying on his back with his tongue lolling out, enjoying his morning belly rubs.
It is lonely without you or your sister here. River visits when she can, but her shifts at the hospital often keep her late. Papa and I still work some cases for Scotland Yard and from our website, but Papa's knees and shoulder ache him and I must confess that my body is betraying me in the same way. Retirement seems close for us, and I can't say I'm disappointed. Lestrade has already stepped down from the force and working cases isn't as satisfying anymore. He and Molly visit us nearly every week, along with their daughter Abigail, who's nearly 15 now and looks just like her mother.
Sherlock and Michael sat in silence. Sherlock's ice blue eyes boring into Michael, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor.
"John, we should discuss the matter of my will," he hesitantly began, "we both know my heart is weak, these pains are just a signal of something worse to come."
"Goodnight Nana Hudson, thank you for helping us with our dresses!" River said, Indie following with a quieter 'thank you, Nana Hudson.'
"Sir, what I'm saying is that putting your little girl through chemotherapy and radiation would prolong her life by maybe a few months, but would severely reduce the quality of her life in the months you have left with her. It is yours and your husband's decision ultimately, but it is my duty to you and Indigo to tell you the facts." She gently replied.
I scooped Indie in my arms and went to her room, getting her changed out of her jeans and jumper into her pajamas. As she tugged her pajama shirt over her, I noticed a splash of purple and blue across her back. I frowned. It was quite a large bruise, bigger than any other I'd ever seen on her. I began to gently press on it.
I pried small hands from my arm and tucked her in, thankful she had slept through the night without crying out. I left the bedroom door open, shuffling into the front room and settling into my chair with Jack, staring at the spot where Indie had lain, her toys and books still piled on the table. We were three days into this strange new life without our Indigo Rose, and the grief was nearly too much to bear. Mycroft had returned to his estate, but not before leaving us an envelope with a bill from the funeral home marked 'Paid.' Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Greg had come and gone throughout the last few days, dropping food off, mainly for River's sake as neither Sherlock or I had any appetite, and keeping us company through the hours that seemed never ending.
It was quite a funny picture, Indie stood triumphant with the green bowl slightly lopsided on her head, holding out that damn paper towel tube, and the silliest grin on her face. I was crouching slightly behind her, eyes crinkled and a smile on my face, laughing at my Moon Princess. River leaned against me, with her arms around my neck and drowning in Sherlock's coat, blue eyes sparkling and looking at her sister, her mouth opened in a shout of laughter.
The flat sounded much too quiet and there was only a soft, blue glow coming from the crack at the bottom of the door. I imagined everything from radiation to some sort of fire before I slowly eased the door open.
I turned towards the muffled voice coming from the prone body covered in black silk pajamas and said,
Sherlock's voice continued through the story, as deep and as strong as ever. But if you looked, very closely, you'd see the drying trail of water down the right side of his face, from the only tear he had and would ever allow in front of his daughters.
"Damn it to Hell, that terrible disease. So much suffering, so many babies suffering." Mrs. Hudson quietly mused, her eyes staring at the little blonde girl in the decades old photo hanging on the wall.
"You should try to take a nap too, sweetheart, it's been a long day and you don't want to be sleepy during your party do you?" I asked her.
Greg and Mycroft stood up when we entered the room. Their somber faces contrasted sharply with the glittery stickers on their hands and suit jackets. They held pages torn lovingly from coloring books in their hands.
I sat in my chair, scrolling through the pictures I had taken. Indie snuggled with her Uncle Greg, River smiling with her arms around her Nana Hudson and Aunt Molly. River carrying Jack with a Santa hat on his head, Indie tearing open a present with Sherlock grinning widely beside her, River sitting on Mycroft's lap, a large red bow sitting on top of his head. Mrs. Hudson had taken one of Indie kissing me on the nose and one of the four of us by the fireplace, all in our pajamas.
"Get her dressed and I'll get this medicine measured." I said to him, pouring the ibuprofen into the measuring cup.
"You weren't assassinated by a sniper, John, so yes I would say it worked quite well before! I have always done my best to make sure you are safe!"
I clasped onto the hand resting gently on my shoulder, squeezing it gently, until it slipped away and I heard a quick pounding of feet down the stairs.
She fell then, into a fitful sleep, her chest rattling with each breath. John kissed her forehead, tears appearing in his eyes, and sat back down next to me. He took my hand, the two of us anxiously waiting for those beautiful eyes to reappear.
That's when John noticed something he never thought he would see from the great and seemingly invincible Sherlock Holmes.
It was the first 'after' photo either of us had taken, capturing the quiet strength of this wonderful little girl and the love her Daddy had for her.
We eventually got Indie dressed in her Belle nightgown and settled her tan teddy bear and her pink penguin next to her. We sat on either side of her, holding her little hands in ours.
I laid down, holding onto her blanket that still smelled of lavender and strawberries, setting my head on the pillow where stray curls lay, curling up next to the space on the sheets that still held her shape.
Sherlock nodded silently, taking her and River's hand in his. They soon turned and went back up the hill to the car, leaving the willow branches waving, the yellow petals of the sunflower shifting in the wind, pieces of their hearts bleeding on the freshly fallen snow.
A pug, a bloody little pug, was sitting in our flat. The girls had finally been put to bed, Sherlock was tinkering with some experiment in his study, and the little dog was sitting in front of me, his head cocked to the side.
She looked back at me with sad eyes and squeezed my hand gently and said, "Well if there's anything you or Sherlock need, I'm just a call or text away."
He smirked to himself as he tapped his fingers on the desk, watching the door, waiting for the rays of sunshine he actually wanted shining on his face.
Sherlock spotted the raven hair and pink trainers before John and dashed towards them, his black coat billowing behind him.
I went over to him, with River following close behind, and we both hugged him. I looked up at him and pressed my lips to his.
"We only ever got to go back once after that, then Indie got sick," River said with a sigh, setting her pencil down on the paper.
I followed the sounds of mourning, through narrow corridors that twisted and turned like a maze, the crying getting louder as I went along.
"Jesus Christ, our daughter is dead, her sister is dead, and her father looks like he's well on his way to following her! Is that what you want? Do you want to die too, leave us behind so you don't have to suffer this hell anymore, you selfish prick?!"
They hurried over, the soft swish swish of fabric following them, and rushed into my arms. I could hear John admonishing them to keep their dresses and hair tidy for the pictures we were taking before the party.
Soon, we were all laughing at River's impression of Sherlock and the whole nosebleed incident was nearly forgotten. We played games until the girls began yawning widely.
"Next summer, my loves, and the summer after that and the summer after that, until you're both grown up and have to take me and Daddy to the beach," John said with a laugh.
I walked behind him and wrapped my arms around his middle and whispered into his back, "Bloody hell Sherlock, don't worry so much, she's an active little girl, she's going to sprain an ankle now and then."
We were all gathered in the sitting room, drinking tea after our meal, when Mycroft strode into the room.
"Yes, John, I'm alright," Sherlock said, laying his head down, "but we need to discuss the matter of my death."
John leaned his head onto Sherlock's shoulder. The two men sat contentedly hand in hand, a gentle breeze blowing, the sun shining softly down on them.
After the first few Christmases where I would simply guess the present the night before based on shape, weight, and the noise the box made when I shook it, coupled with what I knew I had mentioned to John or what John thought I wanted for Christmas, John had decided that I couldn't even so much as look at a present before Christmas morning. To his credit, I have still not found where he hides them.
"It has been nearly a month since Indie's been diagnosed and she hasn't changed a bit, John. I thought, maybe, there was something in the literature about a possible cure. Something that would work while she's still so well. I thought I could find something, synthesize something, even if it was only theoretical in the papers, I could do it."
"Papa!" River hurried out of Sherlock's arms and into mine as I settled myself inside the, quite frankly, roomy fort. Jack joined us, curling up on a pillow.
"I'm going to turn the light on now," he said, as calmly as he could. When did he decide he had to announce everything he was going to do? John felt like he was defusing a bomb, every move he made could set it off at any time.
She laughed and jumped out of Sherlock's lap, running over to John and taking the bear from him, hugging it against her chest.
He wanted to shout at them, yell from the rooftops, that she was so much more than that. She was intelligent, she was funny, she was kind, loving, and caring. That she was terrified of thunderstorms and she loved when the snow fell. That she was his little girl that gave the biggest hugs and sang as loud as she could.
I tugged her hair into a ponytail, it was far too messy to even try to brush, and slipped a hat over her head and wrapped a scarf around her neck. She held her hands up to be held and I picked her up, carrying her down the stairs and outside.
"Your pancakes look just like my pancakes!" Both girls perked up to hear that they could indeed "cook" like one of their fathers. "Well let's get to those wonderful cards then, shall we? We can get back to breakfast later." Sherlock said.
"Certainly the best present I have ever received, Indigo Rose." Sherlock said, his eyes flickering with a hope I had long thought gone.
No...this couldn't be Indie, this couldn't be my daughter, we had some time with her yet…we had more time.
I turned around and kissed John, our lips moving tenderly against one another, our hands pulling each other close. I felt the warmth radiating off of John, warming my cold, thin body. He smelled of pine and peppermint with a hint of that wretched hospital still lingering.
I ran up the stairs and into the flat. A tearful Mrs. Hudson held River, her sobs making her gasp for breath and her whole body shake. I went over to them and took my trembling child from her.
"Arrest the parents. The father killed the boy, but the mother assisted in the abuse," Sherlock growled and swept out of the room, his long coat billowing behind him.
"Sherlock! SHERLOCK!" I shouted into the phone. When he didn't answer, I threw the phone onto the floor and held onto the still seizing child in my lap. Indie's face was turned towards me, her jaw clenched shut, blood and saliva trickled out of the sides of her mouth, staining the Peter Pan collar of her white blouse, her limbs still rhythmically moving back and forth.
I gathered her into my arms. Her cheeks were pink with the cold and she was breathless, but her eyes were filled with joy and she had a silly grin on her face. I pulled her hat down over her eyes, her laughter ringing out. She pulled the hat back up and set her nose against mine.
But soon, four would be three and our laughter would become quieter, our arms would be emptier, a little girl lost without her best friend, and fathers desperately trying to hold onto the memories of blonde ringlets and shining hazel eyes, alabaster skin and tiny dimples, the happiness, love, and dreams of a 6-year-old girl nicknamed Sunshine.
I picked her up and swung her onto my hip, unzipping the jacket she still wore. Sherlock leaned over and gave her a kiss, ruffling her curls.
"There's my good girl, now go with Daddy, he can get you breakfast. I'll be there in a second after I check on your sister."
"Contrary to your belief, Sherlock, I am a grown man, a soldier, and I can damn well take care of myself! Sometimes I wonder if this is even a partnership at all or just the "Sherlock Holmes Show and his sidekick, John Watson!"
I glanced into our bedroom through a crack in the door. The floor was littered with debris and Sherlock was slumped against the wall by the door, his hands coated in dried and congealed blood.
I found Sherlock and Indigo asleep on the sofa, unfinished tea on the table beside them. I took a quick picture and walked over to Sherlock, shaking him gently.
River nodded and looked down at her paper that was already covered with eraser marks and smudges of lead.
Sherlock's expression had become dark with the mention of Indie's illness, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. I walked over to him and rubbed the small of his back.
I heard quiet footsteps enter the room and turned to see a man I hardly recognized. His normally ice blue eyes were dulled, his face slack, his back hunched, the normally well-fitting suit wrinkled and in disarray. His eyes bore into me and I wondered if I was just as unrecognizable, with grief overtaking every part of my being.
Sherlock grumbled to himself, his knees cracking as he stood up from the chair. He ran his hand through his greying curls and went into their bedroom.
Mycroft stood at the foot of her bed, his hand clenched into a fist at his mouth, his brow furrowed in worry.
"Alright Sherlock, we're heading out, there's leftover chicken in the fridge, don't blow the flat up, we'll be back by 8."
He knew he couldn't take all of the pain away, no one ever could erase those haunting memories. John just wanted Sherlock to know that he was loved now, no matter what had happened in the past.
"That's me and Indie's room, and it hurts to be in there without her, I don't like that room anymore," she said, her tired, blue eyes swimming in tears.
"Do your legs hurt too much, Indie?" I asked, restraining myself from picking her up right then and there.
I gathered some of the decorations and joined them in the room, sitting on the bare mattress and watching my joyful daughter dash about the room, telling us where she wanted everything to go.
"I won't let him find you, we'll hide together, in the farthest place we can find, the darkest hiding spot. I'll stay there with you as long as we need."
The girls had gotten used to Sherlock calling their Uncle Greg by every G name in the book and simply replied, "Yes, Daddy!"
The girls stood in front of us and I placed my hand on River's shoulder, Sherlock put his on Indie's shoulder.
"I got an A on my science test! Daddy, can we check on our worms tonight?" She said, turning her head to where Sherlock sat.
It was Mycroft's idea (of all people) to celebrate the girls' six and a half birthday at the end of this month, while Indie was still…well.
Not many people knew that I was somewhat of an amateur astronomer since my time in Afghanistan. We were stationed in the middle of nowhere, there were no lights to pollute the night sky. Sometimes, when I couldn't sleep, I would sit and look at the stars and find the constellations I knew. It helped me to relax and forget where I was for a time.
The day before Sherlock's birthday dawned and I finished my last notes on what I needed to do for the party. It would be a small, intimate affair, with Mycroft, Molly, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson in attendance. Pizza and chocolate cake with chocolate icing would be served, along with ice cream and some other snacks. I sat at my desk, smiling to myself as I looked at the plans for what would be Sherlock's first birthday party since the age of 8 (according to Mycroft) and congratulated myself on planning such a lovely party in so little time.
"Look, there's the butterfly!" she shouted. The men looked up to see the yellow wings hovering near them.
Your Uncle Mycroft is still manning the British government and continues to be a thorn in my side. He just recently donated money to the new children's oncology wing at Great Ormond Street. He visited us this morning to ask our permission to name the new wing after you, my darling. So now, children will be cared for in the Indigo Rose Wing, where sunflowers will bloom and lives will be saved. Your sister is especially excited for that is where she will be working now as the brilliant physician that she is. Her husband will be working in the children's ICU downstairs. I will never admit it to your Papa or to him, but he is a good man. He is still not good enough for your darling sister, but he is tolerable.
I sat at Indigo's bedside, John sitting next to me, trying to get her to take just a sip of water. Her cracked lips remained closed as she weakly shook her head, jostling the O2 tubing in her nose. I fumbled in my pocket for the tube of chapstick I kept there and I swept the tube across her lips, cursing the blue tinge they held. Fluid was building up in Indigo's lungs as her heart struggled to pump blood to her little body, drowning her.
Nasty things, ducks are. I disliked them ever since one had bit me as a child, but that day I had inexplicably found myself with a duck's bill in my hands, noisily consuming birdseed.
! Papa, you start." River said, pushing the book into my hands. I smiled and scooted closer to Sherlock. He held the other end of the book as I opened it. The girls quickly flipped to the front page and I began,
"I have to see where I'm walking, love," John said, the tension in the air rising with every passing second. The bomb was about to go off.
I had gone to the biggest room my palace held, a room strung with streamers of pink and purple, stars shooting across the sky, their brilliance filling the room with a shining light. Toys, dolls, crayons, and empty bottles of bubble bath littered the soft white carpet and laughter filled the room. I opened a file and I was standing in green grass as jet black and soft blonde curls in royal blue coats spun around me. John, about three years younger, stood across the way, beckoning to us. The girls were in my arms then, their chubby faces dimpled as they beamed at me. I went to John and he gave all of us kisses, taking Indigo from me. We sat on the blue blanket spread out beneath us. The girls waved their little hands at passersby, earning smiles and friendly 'hellos.' John let out his hearty laugh as the girls called to the ducks. He put birdseed into their hands and they stuck them out to the cautious ducks approaching.
I turned and saw Sherlock standing behind my chair, his arms behind his back and his eyebrow quirked, his eyes expectant for an answer from the small girl sitting in my lap.
"Oh my darling, Daddy and I have tried so hard to find something to make it all go away, but we couldn't, sweetheart...I'm so sorry, Indie."
'When John and I found out that we would be having twins, and then having twin girls, we sat down with tea in the middle of the night, still awake half due to terror and the other half due to this relentless joy. Two daughters for us, these two old, outcast men who never thought they would be married, let alone become fathers. That night we chose the names for these two beautiful girls. River Grace and Indigo Rose. I had wanted to wait to see which child would fit each name, naming them only after their personalities had formed, but John said that we couldn't keep calling our daughters 'A and B' until they were six months old and that their names would suit them just fine. As per usual with these matters, John was correct.
It was peaceful in 221B that night. Indie didn't wake up at all, for the first time in a long time. I woke up the next morning, nearly panicking when I realized I had slept through the night. I was ready to dash upstairs when I heard deep laughter and high pitched giggling coming from the front room. I found Sherlock and Indie in there, Indie running around the room in a long sleeved maroon dress as Sherlock blew bubbles for her.
About an hour later, a frazzled River walked through the door, carrying her daughter in one arm and a bag in the other. The little girl squirmed out of her arms and ran to John, squealing "Grandpapa! Grandpapa!"
John cleared his throat, pulling at his yellow bow-tie, and held his paper down with trembling hands, his voice cracking as he began,
"Michael, my dear, so lovely to see you!" Mrs. Hudson said, walking over to him with her cane and sitting on the sofa next to him.
"Sherlock? Get dressed please, River and Michael will be over soon," John said tiredly as he came into the room.
Sherlock did as I said, blood spilling onto his shirt. Indie began to cough and spit out more blood, the gurgling sound she was making stopped and she seemed to calm down just a little bit.
"Papa, Daddy, I'm home! Uncle Greg brought me home in his police car!" River shouted as the front door swung open. John and I wiped away our tears as River rushed up the stairs and came into the kitchen.
After Mrs. Hudson went back downstairs, I switched the telly onto one of the morning cartoons the girls inexplicably enjoyed. Indigo snuggled herself into my chest, her eyes drooping.
"You are welcome anytime, my little scientist." Sherlock said warmly, a soft smile crossing his face.
He left swiftly and silently, only stopping briefly to give a curt nod to his younger brother, who stood still as a statue, not acknowledging Mycroft as he left.
River, meanwhile, had gone over to Indie and shook her awake, whispering to her about the party and about all the fun they were going to have with their friends. She sat up groggily, but became more awake as River talked and talked about the party they were about to walk into. I picked Indie up and kissed her on her forehead, checking for a fever. Satisfied that she didn't have one, I spun her around and set her down, picking River up in the same motion and kissed her forehead too.
I moved over and took the bag from him. He started applying a viscous blue liquid to the livers he had in a bowl. After a few moments, he seemed satisfied and began moving towards our room. His sharp hiss of pain took me by surprise.
"Can I have one too, Daddy?" River asked, her eyes perking at the possibility of such a treat so early in the morning.
"Papa! Daddy! There's so many puddles outside, may we go play in them?" Indie asked, her sweet face shining up at us.
I remember the nurse handing you to me wrapped in a pink swaddle soon after you were born, your hair peeking out from the tiny pink hat Mrs. Hudson had knitted. I looked at you, and you looked at me, your newborn eyes squinting in the light. That day, I saw the world in those big beautiful eyes and I knew then that you would change the world, you would move mountains, you would be amazing.
I brushed my thumb over the picture, Sherlock held River in his left arm and I held Indie in my right. Both girls were wearing baby blue frock dresses with bows in their ringlet hair to match. Three little faux buttons were in a column at the top of the dress and white embroidered flowers danced down the front of the dress. White tights and black Mary Janes completed the outfits. They had one arm around each other and the other around Sherlock or I. Their cheeks were pressed together and they had both been caught mid-laugh, their eyes shining brightly with mirth and their smiling mouths wide. Sherlock and I were kissing their cheeks with smiles on our faces. The girls were the center of our world, radiating laughter and light, and no other picture ever captured this as greatly as this one did.
They scrambled off the floor and went to Mycroft. We followed them, wanting to see what he had gotten them for Christmas.
They made their way back over to Indie, both gently placing kisses on her forehead. She reached her arms up and hugged Greg around the neck.
She let go of my hand and with a little encouragement, she walked into the classroom and sat with her sister, who was already chatting away with another little girl. Indie nervously waved goodbye and I waved back.
Sherlock's eyes were filled with tears and his breathing was strangled as he grasped onto her small hand.
Satisfied that the girls were safe, the detective stepped quietly down the stairs and strode over to his chair. He took the mobile phone from the table and swiftly dialed John's number. He put the phone up to his ear, counting the rings before a sleepy voice came from the other end.
"Hide!" River shouted, the girls running to hide behind Sherlock's chair, Jack following them. Mycroft crouched behind the arm of the sofa, while Mrs. Hudson and Molly hid in the kitchen. I went to the girls and knelt next to them, their bodies practically shaking with anticipation.
"Fine, but this better be quick, there is nothing I want to do more on an afternoon off than hold peas to your skinny arse."
I got up just before sunrise and went to the locked box I kept on the shelf, taking the vial of morphine out and giving Indie her morning dose.
John chuckled and got up from the sofa, grabbing the pile of lavender colored blankets and following her with a limp.
True to his word, Sherlock came right on schedule, sweeping his way into the group as if he had been there all along. The photographer gathered us all and set about posing us this way and that way. He took pictures of us all together, with the girls, the girls together, and finally, the girls on their own. The whole session took about an hour and ended just as the sunlight began to die behind the horizon.
We stayed with Mrs. Hudson for dinner. She made some sort of stew, it smelled nice, at least. Wasn't hungry though. The latest case Lestrade had called me with turned over and over in my mind. It couldn't have been the husband, could it? No, too dull, too predictable.
"Well, why don't you make me both, Sherlock, I'll sample both of our girls' favorite stars," I said, winking at River and Indie, who giggled in response, "let me go grab my mug from the front room and I'll be right back to start making our galaxy smoothies."
"I'm here, Sunshine, I brought you your medicine, I'm going to give it to you now, alright?" he said, preparing each medication for injection into her IV line.
Mycroft was told immediately of Indie's diagnosis, we thought that he of all people could find some experimental trial going on somewhere in the world, or some other doctor who had successfully treated Indie's condition. We were sure that he could find someone for us.
"There we go," I said, placing Indie's painting on the refrigerator next to River's, "two lovely paintings by the most beautiful artists in the whole world."
"Grandpapa, I'm not a little kid anymore, you don't need to tell me to go to bed," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes as she got up from the floor and gave Sherlock and John kisses goodnight.
You are now the most brilliant of stars, the sunflowers shifting in the wind, the brightest rays of sunshine. I see you in every beauty on this Earth because of the beauty that was your life.
Soon, the table was cleared and everyone was back in the front room, sipping on tea that John had made.
Sherlock and I laid with her throughout the night, both of us wide awake. Indie's breathing was labored and her O2 saturation continued to drop, no matter how much I turned the oxygen up.
I stood and picked up my violin from the side of my chair. I began to play, the most beautiful melody I had ever composed flowing from the strings.
"Indigo Rose Watson-Holmes! Where is my daughter?" I shouted at the secretary, who looked up at me with a startled face.
John shut his laptop and placed it next to him. He went over to her and sat cross-legged on the floor, his knees clicking as he bent down.
"I told Miss Laura that you told me that Indie isn't sick anymore, and she said you were right, that Indie wasn't hurting anymore," River had said to me one night.
She ran over to where Indie was playing with a few dolls and sat. Content that the girls were occupied, I walked into the kitchen and found the world's only consulting detective standing at the counter, holding a bag of frozen peas to his bottom.
John flipped the light on and was shocked by the flood of tears running down Sherlock's cheeks. His bloodshot eyes were rimmed with red, his nose red from where he had been rubbing it.
"And I'll make your favorite pancakes for breakfast, how does that sound?" Mrs. Hudson replied, her voice trembling.
She joined the football team and sang the leads in all of her school plays. I drove her and growing numbers of friends to the cinema and to concerts and I sat with her as she cried over the first boy to break her heart.
I had seen them, but at no point did I ever think "cancer." They were just bruises, she just had a sprained ankle. My anger towards Sherlock quickly died. We were both their fathers and we both did not think the worst because how could anyone think that our happy and playful little girl was dying. I felt almost sick for expecting this shaking human in front of me to ever be more than just that, a human being, an exceptionally gifted human being, but a human nonetheless.
I laid in bed, listening to the girls discuss their presents in the hallway. Sherlock stirred next to me, groaning into his pillow.
I stood by the girls as they looked through the telescope, directing them towards the constellations I recognized.
"May we be excused, Papa?" River asked, her body already halfway out of the chair. "Of course, darling. You both did very well eating lunch today." I said. They smiled at me, put their dishes in the sink, and ran into the front room, chattering away. I began to tidy up when I heard Sherlock step into the kitchen.
By the time Sherlock and I made it back to Indie's room, both girls were fast asleep. River lay on her right side and Indie lay behind her with her IV tubing and tape covered arm thrown over River. Both girls slept like Sherlock, with their limbs sprawled out as far as they could go. Raven and sandy blonde curls intertwined on the pillow they shared and their breaths were in tandem with each other, little snuffles emanating from the girls with each breath.
"I suppose a few nice pictures wouldn't hurt, but they don't want to do this, I won't make them!" He replied.
He glanced over at the picture that sat in the middle of the mantle, a radiant River standing at the altar in a white, sparkling ballgown, her raven hair pulled up into an elegant bun, a white, jeweled veil draping behind her.
"Sometimes…sometimes, these things just happen, love. No one did anything wrong, it's not anyone's fault. It just happened." I said, my voice faltering.
"Bit of important business to attend to, darling, so sorry to have missed tea. I think I have something for you and River to make up for it though." He said, motioning for them to come with him.
They stood in silence, the quiet hiccups the only sound they could hear against the backdrop of cars driving and birds chirping.
It was obvious he hadn't slept. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair stuck up all around. His bottom lip was bleeding from being chewed to bits.
We have everything! And if we forgot something, surely Mycroft's people could get it at this point. The car will be here any minute for us!
The cab finally pulled up to 221B. John tossed a few bills at the cabbie and ran up the steps to the large front door. He unlocked and pushed the door slowly open before quietly ascending the stairs to his flat. There wasn't any light coming from the bottom of the door, making John's mind race with worry. If Sherlock wasn't home, where was he?
Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Sarah, James Sholto, Harry, everyone I had ever known stood around them, their eyes staring, with tears running down their faces.
She gave me a very serious look and said, "Daddy, I won, my tongue is most definitely bluer than yours."
'To my sweet Indigo Rose, my brilliant Sunshine, I miss your smile, your singing laugh, your wonderful, kind heart. I miss flying with you through the living room, 'like the aeroplanes, Papa!' I miss listening to you name all your dolls and telling me their stories. I miss kissing you goodnight and watching your eyes flutter closed as you told me you loved me. I miss hugs before school and watching you paint me and Daddy pictures. I miss walks in the park and singing while you and your sister helped me make dinner.
I shut my eyes against the noise and opened them to find Indie fast asleep and River in Sherlock's arms watching a show on her tablet, Sherlock absentmindedly playing with her curls. Mycroft had gotten up and stood looking into the raging fireplace, one arm stretched out with his hand gripping the mantle that held that damn clock, with its incessant tick tock, tick tock that grew louder every day. Mrs. Hudson took my hand as we resumed watch of our little girl.
I felt my body being jerked forward by some unseen force and I found myself in front of my little girl lying in a white coffin. Her blonde curls laid perfectly around her head, her eyes closed, the corners of her mouth were so very slightly upturned in a peaceful smile. Her body was surrounded by daisies, roses, lilies, flowers of every kind. She was dressed in a hospital gown and her hands lay across her stomach.
"What?" John nearly shouted, startling Sherlock out of his lap. John saw the fear flash through the ice blue eyes and softened his voice, "Sherlock, love, you aren't a monster, you aren't a freak. You are so very wonderful. You help those who don't have anyone else, you've saved lives, you've brought closure to grieving families, and justice to those who were unjustly taken. I know how deeply you care about others, why would you do what you do if you didn't? I don't want to hear those words ever come out of your mouth again, Sherlock, because you're everything to me, my whole, damn, perfect world."
We pulled up to 221B with the girls asleep in our laps, light from the 'stars' twinkling on their sweet faces. I gently picked Indie up and we made our way into the flat. Mrs. Hudson came out to greet us and I put my finger to my lips, nodding my head towards the sleeping child on my shoulder. She smiled and went back to her flat, the sounds of tea being made emanating through the doorway.
After the girls had been put into bed, John and I sat in our bedroom next to each other on the edge of bed in silence.
"You are so lovely, so loved, my dearest Indigo Rose. You and your sister, and your Papa of course, are such bright lights in my life. It was so dark and then suddenly, I could not find a bit of shade. I'll never know what I did to deserve such a perfect husband, such a perfect pair of girls."
I gave her another dose of Lasix through her IV, trying to get her body to get rid of the fluid that was filling her lungs. She stopped coughing and her breathing calmed down. She sighed and her head lolled back onto the pillows, her eyes dull, blue shadows as dark as night underneath them.
Quick footsteps ran down the stairs from the girls' room. Sherlock had been spending most of his nights there, playing Indie's song over and over again, intermittently playing the song he had composed for the girls' birthday party. Once in a while, I heard a new song, its haunting melody one of overwhelming sadness that tore at me as I sat in my chair, brandy in hand, trying to chase the sight of her lifeless face away.
"And then the guy says to me, Greg, why'd you sign your name as 'Gavin'? Bloody Sherlock Holmes has me forgetting my own bloody name."
She took her first cautious step, then another, and another, until she fell into my arms, laughter ringing out.
River grabbed Indie's hand and absolutely flew down the stairs. Sherlock and I were following them when I heard,
"Yes, darling, Daddy's very happy, just promise me you'll misplace Uncle Mycroft's wallet for me today."
John sighed, his message again remaining unanswered. He was worried beyond belief. Nothing had ever shaken Sherlock Holmes out of the mold that John had built for him. He was larger than life, the most brilliant man in the world. The touches of human suffering that he had seen in Sherlock these last two days frightened John more than any bullet, any bomb, any crazed murderer they had met.
"I love you, Indie," I whispered to the night sky. Sherlock squeezed my hand as we turned back to finish her homework. We both put her to bed soon after dinner, our girl still chatting away about everything she had learned that night.
"Look at our girl, John! Up and dressed before all of us!" Sherlock said from behind her, blowing more bubbles.
We could not put this off any longer, we had to tell them now. My heart began racing, I could not bear to do this to my daughters, my two most precious jewels.
Sherlock began to rock River back and forth, mouthing 'sorry' over and over again. I ran my hand over Indie's hair over and over again and brought her as close to me as I could. We let them cry, let them scream.
The two brothers grasped each other's hands and Indie's cracked and blue tinged lips quirked into a smile.
After the initial shock wore off, Sherlock seemed quite pleased with the party, sitting among the conversation with the girls on his lap, a sort of giddy smile on his face. We ate pizza and cut the cake, Sherlock's cheeks blazing red by the time we finished singing to him.
I caught them as they were ready to set off, helmets on, feet on the pedals, with wide smiles on their faces.
"What are you doing with my laptop?" I said, marching over to him to snatch it away, "you have your own you know."
As I placed my fingers on her neck, her eyes popped open. She looked right at me, her eyes clouded with confusion.
"This one's a tough one, guys, one victim, eight years old. We have the father and mother here, they're pretty shaken up. Say they found their son on the floor. He sleeps on the top bunk without a railing and figured he fell out. But, I don't like it, it just doesn't seem right, Sherlock, that's why I brought you out here," Lestrade said.
"Obviously, it is quite cold in here, John, maybe you should stoke the fire a bit more before we all catch the death of us?" Sherlock smartly replied and followed our daughters down the stairs.
I couldn't deal with him at that moment, I couldn't deal with any of this, putting my daughter in hospice, signing the 'Do not resuscitate' order that meant I couldn't do a damn thing but watch my daughter take her last struggling breath, even though my mind would be screaming at me, 'Save her! Save her!' I would let her fade away, her beautiful voice, her kind heart, her silly jokes, all becoming memories.
She kept screaming, struggling against my arms, hitting at me with small fists. But I couldn't let her go and dash into the mess Sherlock was in, letting her see him in that state. I took out my phone and texted Mycroft telling him to get Sherlock out here, to drag him out if he had to.
"Coffin, Indigo, flowers, dead…" A trail of nonsense streamed out of my mouth, interjected with hiccupping sobs.
A few days later I was looking for my laptop…again. I opened one of the desk drawers and found a picture album. I sat down and opened it.
No one else would've noticed the slight hitch in his speech, the tense posture Sherlock had. But John did.
"Well, are you coming? Don't just sit there with your mouth gaping like you've seen a ghost, John," Sherlock finally said, his mouth quirked into a smile.
"Lestrade said he's got a case for us," Sherlock drawled as he threw his coat over his arms. He stood there expectantly, one eyebrow raised.
She slid out of her chair and crossed her arms, stomping her feet ever so slightly as she made her way to the sink, making John's lips quirk up into a genuine smile.
I turned toward the table and hesitated over the pink rubber placemat that hadn't been used in months, the focus of every eye during any meal we ate here.
"Can we sleep in your bed tonight, Papa?" Indie asked me, her hazel eyes shining at me with anticipation.
Sherlock stood at the front, his face ashen gray and his eyes were blank, but filled with tears. He held River in his arms, she was pulling at her hair and repeatedly banging her head into Sherlock's shoulder.
The lockets were silver with delicate engravings of flowers on the front. Inside I had put a picture of us from the photos we took before the girls' birthday party. Sherlock and I stood behind the girls, looking quite dapper and happy. River had decided it was a silly photo and stood with her hands on her hips, bending forward and sticking her tongue out. Indigo smiled brightly next to her sister, her hands clasped in front of her. On the other side of the locket, I had engraved 'We love you forever.'
The shock of what I had just been told began to wear off and the stoic facade I had built over the last day began to crack. Tears rolled down my cheeks in torrents.
River stood next to her sister, a mischievous grin on her face, and bent down, scooping water into her hands. She flung her hands up, throwing water onto an unsuspecting Sherlock. He stood for a moment, shocked, until putting the same grin on his face and throwing water onto his daughter, making her shriek with joy.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming, blinking rapidly to keep the tears back. I cupped the side of her face, brushing away stray tears that fell. I opened my mouth to speak when I was startled by a small voice in the doorway.
I nodded my head and nudged Sherlock to do the same as he was transfixed by the little moving figures on the screen.
"I love you too, I'll see you in the morning." He said as he always did, placing another kiss on the pale cheek.
"She was wonderful, Sherlock, what did we ever do to deserve her?" I said, brushing my hand over her face.
I sat there, breathing heavily, my hands clenched in fists, I had not felt such anger in such a long time, and never towards John.
I whispered, "Now where would they get such an idea?" He replied, "When we visited Molly, she was talking on the phone with her mother and said she was planning on making breakfast for her father for Father's Day, I'm assuming that's where they conceived the idea."
"Daddy, you're home!" River said, running to him. He caught her in his free arm and picked her up, kissing her on the cheek.
I came home and saw the fort of blankets, three curly haired shadows moving inside. Jack leapt onto my leg, barking excitedly.
His face was beaming with a rare full blown smile as he watched Indie jump, clapping her hands together to pop bubbles. I quickly picked up my camera and took a picture, catching her mid-laugh, her hands about to close over a bubble. She turned with the sound of the camera and ran to me with her arms outstretched.
"Nothing is harmful and they'll go straight into the fridge we have in our room. Now, can you hold the peas?"
The hitch in his voice didn't go unnoticed by John, who struggled to keep himself together. He could sense that their world was cracking, beginning to break into unrecognizable pieces.
Against everything I had learned in medical school, I scooped up my seizing daughter, cradling her tiny body, feeling her arms and legs hit and kick me, and ran.
She let go of my hand and sat back down, flipping a blue heart card over. I walked towards the bedroom, motioning Sherlock to follow me, which he did, his head hanging.
He threw himself onto me, thin fingers wrapping my shirt around them. Guilt and grief overcame me and I grasped at him just as tightly and we cried into each other's arms.
It's been twenty years since you left us, my darling. Time has only dulled the pain of your loss. There are still days that I pass sitting alone in my chair, lost in the memories I have of you and your wonderful life.
I placed my hand on her hair and gently brushed my hand down the waterfall of golden curls. I spoke to her softly, comforting her as best I could. Indie weakly reached up to touch my face before her hand again fell into my lap. I grasped her hand in mine and whispered to her how much I loved her, how much Daddy loved her, how we would make her all better again.
"Well, my darling, we made it, my first night alone with you and your sister. Went very well, I think," Sherlock whispered sleepily.
Sherlock smiled and picked her up, but his face darkened as she snuggled with him. His eyes became stormy and his smile quickly turned to a deep frown, his brown still furrowed with worry. Something wasn't right.
"Thank you, Molly, I do hope he knows what's happening though, I have a feeling 'surprise birthday party' didn't make it into the mind palace files." I laughed. She laughed and nodded her head.
"Come on, Indie!" River whispered, pulling her along to the couch where Sherlock lay. They bounced onto him, his head jerking up with the sudden weight on him. I crossed into the kitchen to put the leftover food in the fridge.
A deep rumble of laughter came from the man beside me. He doubled over on the stairs, placing his hand on the wall to steady himself, his eyes shining with tears.
The car soon stopped in front of Great Ormond Street Hospital and a team of nurses and doctors stood outside waiting for us. The car door was thrown open and I gave Indie to the first pair of hands that came inside the car.
"I need help, Sherlock. We need help. We just need to be her parents now; she just needs us to be her Papa and her Daddy."
Sherlock's phone buzzed, he popped up from his chair and motioned for me to come with him. It must've been the text from Mycroft that we were waiting for.
I looked over at John. He was standing by our desk, hands in the pockets of his jacket. A gentle smile was crossing his face.
River and Indie lay together, River chatting while Indie listened, the corner of her lips quirked up. Mycroft sat in my chair, umbrella in hand, while Mrs. Hudson flittered about picking up and putting down objects, pretending to clean, avoiding the inevitable departure from our flat.
"I'm so sorry, love, can you tell me what hurts, sweetheart?" I asked her, taking her wrist in my hand to feel her pulse. It was fast, but strong and steady.
"Oh Dr. Watson! River and Indigo are inside, Indigo seems to be feeling a bit under the weather, the flu has been going around as I'm sure you know! Poor thing started shivering like a leaf right before the final bell rang."
He scurried under his bed, hoping that his Daddy couldn't find him. He could hear him barging up the stairs and down the long corridor that led to the nursery. He was shouting loud, not very nice words. He was tucking himself into a corner on the dusty floor when he was grabbed by his leg and dragged out from underneath the bed, the plush navy carpet scraping against his chin. His small fingers reached desperately for anything that he could grab onto to get away from this monster. This wasn't his Daddy.
She lay sleeping, her small body somehow taking up the entire bed, her arm wrapped around her teddy bear, her legs tangled in the sheets. Jack lay at her feet, tail wagging at my appearance. I bent and pet him on the head, his silly face making me almost laugh.
Sun shined onto Sherlock's face as he sat in the chair at his desk and he squinted in the rays of the unwelcome intruder. He sighed and lazily scooted his chair to turn his face away from the windows. 221B Baker Street was always so dull when John and the girls weren't home. He hated that John had to work and his daughters needed to go to school. He could just as well teach them by himself, they'd learn more practical lessons anyway.
Sherlock's birthday was fast approaching and although he insisted we completely ignore the whole affair, I always made sure to have a gift wrapped and a chocolate cake with chocolate icing sitting on the kitchen table by the end of the day. He would give me a smile and a kiss, giving the same to the girls after they came into our lives. The throwing of birthday parties and the like was strictly forbidden, 'a ridiculous waste of time,' as Sherlock bluntly put it when I had brought the subject up soon after we had started dating.
He resisted any other attempts to talk with me and for a time, we sat in silence, Sherlock as still as a statue, with the only sounds coming from the telly and Indie's raspy breaths. I glanced at the clock, River was due home at any moment.
John left the room and I sat on my phone, running through potential cases for the upcoming week. Boring, boring, booooooring. Nothing, absolutely nothing. I would have to bother Greg for more cold cases to go through while the girls are at school and John is at work. I don't like to be alone.
I didn't know what to do with this horrible, overwhelming anger, so as per usual, I took it out on the wall, punching it. Faint red lines appeared on my knuckles, soon becoming a deeper red with oozing blood. I felt a hand grasp my wrist, and an arm hook around my waist.
"Do you want me to go outside?" River whispered, "I'm not allowed to go outside without Daddy or Papa. But, I can let you out so you can get back home."
I pulled away and cupped his cheek with my right hand, running my thumb over the tear tracks still lingering on his face. I placed my forehead against his and closed my eyes.
We sat in two chairs placed in front of the desk, but she did not sit behind the desk. She pulled up a chair and sat in a space directly in front of us. She sighed and began to speak.
Color was nearly gone from her face. She was fading from this life, from all of us. I wracked my brain again for anything that could give her a few more days, but all I could find was a large white room, devoid of anything but a small, broken picture of our family on the floor.
He slowly opened the door and quickly tiptoed over to River's crib, reaching in and putting his long finger underneath her nose, feeling her soft breaths on his skin. He sighed and brushed his hand across the raven curls that were just beginning to grow out. He did the same to Indigo, who laid in her crib on her back, her pink pajama clad arms thrown above her head.
John and Sherlock ran to the playground, their eyes bloodshot and wild, not believing that they had not lost their little girl until they saw her with their own eyes.
"I love you too, sweet little one," she said, gathering her into her arms as River looked on, confused.
And as I played, the sunflowers gently waved back and forth, blown by a breeze that had come in through the open window.
I fell asleep, thinking of the latest adventure our girls had thought up and fell asleep with that picture on my mind, we would have to get that one framed.
I knew of a field outside of the city that rolled with hills where tall grass grew. Harry and I often picnicked there with our parents when we were young. The sunsets there were gorgeous and would serve as the perfect backdrop for our pictures. We were met there by Molly, Greg, and Mycroft, who we wanted in the pictures as well, wouldn't do to have family pictures done without the godparents would it?
"Are you saying we shouldn't even attempt to help her?! What about experimental trials? There has to be something, you cannot just be giving up on my daughter!" Sherlock spat at the doctor.
"Pretty dolls for even prettier little girls, River Grace. And how is my Indigo Rose feeling today?" He said, stepping into the room.
"Papa, Indie won't come back to visit, will she? Lily told me that angels have to stay in heaven and that even if she visited we couldn't see her."
Her scream snapped him into action. He ran to us like lightning, pulling us both to the floor, all of us crying. Sherlock's bandaged hands grasped the back of my jumper and River held onto him with a vice-like grip. I wrapped my arms around the both of them, the empty space where Indie would've sat like a gaping wound.
I woke up leaning forward with my head on a pillow on Indie's bed, her hand still clasped in mine. I straightened up, cracking my neck and back along the way. A blanket that had been draped over me fell to the floor.
They drove away, leaving us behind to pick up the shattered pieces of our lives. I reached for Sherlock's hand to find that it was not there. The door to the flat was hanging wide open and I went back inside. I heard a commotion from our flat and rushed up the stairs.
John woke up when the sun began to filter through the room, specks of dust glittering in the light. He slowly stretched out his stiff neck and limbs, pops and cracks coming from the joints. He glanced at the floor and saw the long forgotten mug, still shattered on the floor. He cleaned the mess up, scrubbing the sticky hardwood until there wasn't a trace left. The door to the bedroom still hadn't opened, but the soft, sorrowful notes of a violin were emanating from the room. All John could do was wait.
A girl with blonde ringlets down her back, wearing a white summer dress, was kicking pink cherry blossom petals under her feet when she saw a man in the distance, the sun setting behind him. She broke into a wide smile, her sweet dimples showing. She started running toward the man, arms outstretched.
"Well she's looking much perkier today, John! It's so wonderful to see those bright eyes and that lovely smile again."
"I love you too, Indie," Molly sniffled. She took a shaky breath before continuing, "Come…come back to visit often, sweetheart."
Raven curls became longer and were put into ponytails and messy buns instead of braids, lips were painted with lipsticks instead of melted ice cream, and lacy dresses were replaced with jeans and tank tops. She grew too big for bedtime stories and became too heavy to pick up off the couch and lay into bed. Cuddles were 'weird' and a quick kiss on the cheek with a fleeting 'love you' was rare. Fights were had and curfews were set.
"She would always say I was the perfect Daddy, except for when I made your Uncle Gabe 'use all those bad words' and when I made your Papa 'sigh really, really loud and count to twenty.'" Sherlock said, giving a slight chuckle.
"It's not fair! Indie is my best friend! She can't die!" River cried out, angry tears beginning to stream down her face.
He waved his hand dismissively at me and simply said, "Indigo Rose," before slipping through the door.
He sighed and got up, straightening the comforter before he left the room behind, bear in hand. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, hands steepled, eyes intent on the blazing fire.
"Come on girls, it's time to go to your birthday party!" We walked to the large doors into the ballroom and waited for the commotion inside to settle down and the DJ to announce our entrance. We went in as a family, Indie on my arm, River on Sherlock's. Cheers rose from the tables filled with the girls' classmates and their parents and our friends. I looked down at Indie.
Sherlock handed the snail to River and turned to John, who sat with a bemused look on his face, and asked, "What do you think, John? Do you think we can add a sea snail to the family?"
Once the door had been softly closed, we crept over to the side of the bed and Sherlock gently touched the side of River's cheek, her long dark lashes fluttering for a second before she settled back into her dreams. I tucked the soft pink blanket around our girls and placed a feather-light kiss on each of their cheeks.
"They need social interaction; they need to learn what the other children are learning. They are going to school, Sherlock." I said.
"River! Thank God you're safe!" He caught her in his arms and enveloped her in a hug. "Sweetheart, you're freezing, what are you doing all the way out here?" he said, his voice jittery.
"There, now you can ride all around these grounds like your father and I did when we were little boys."
"Let's do something fun, Daddy!" River shouted as she flew into my arms, sitting herself down next to her sister.
I felt a tug on my hand and looked down at Indigo, who stood still holding my gloved hand in hers, a sad look on her little face.
"Oh my poor dear, extra sugar for you," she said, hurrying into the kitchen to grab the honey, sugar, and lemon.
I set River down and she carefully began to unpack the bags, holding their contents up for us to see before putting the pillows and blankets in one pile and her decorations in another.
I looked at John's beautiful blue eyes and only saw mourning and sorrow in them with not a single shred of hope. And if John had given up hope…
I remember that morning as an exceptionally cold day, we had the fire as high as it could go, and Indie bundled into her warmest clothes. Her doctor pulled us aside after examining her, a grim look on her face. I tucked the blanket tighter around Indie, making sure she was comfortable, I felt it was all I could do for her anymore. I went into the kitchen where Sherlock and the doctor were sitting. Sherlock's hands were tucked into fists and he stared blankly ahead. I steeled myself against the news I knew I was about to hear, I had been examining Indie daily, listening to the small heart that was growing weaker and weaker with each passing day.
"This is such a lovely card, lovebug, thank you." I said, kissing her forehead and setting her on the floor.
"Now Indigo, I have a very important question I need your help answering." She nodded at me, grinning widely as I continued, "I need to see which will be bluer after eating a whole blue popsicle, a big tongue or a little tongue. Ready, set, go!"
He stared at the closed drawer, tears falling fast down his cheeks. I fought with myself to not tear it back open and put her placemat back where it belonged, but I had to be strong, for him.
Screams reverberated off the walls around me. I didn't realize they were mine until Sherlock pulled me into his arms and the screams became muffled as I cried into his shoulder.
I wrapped Indie in a fluffy towel and tickled her. The precious sound of her laughter filled the tiny bathroom.
"That's what I'm having, Papa!" Indie shouted from her chair. River looked slightly hurt that I wasn't also having pancakes like she was.
It was an odd sight, to say the least, Sherlock hardly ever made food. He turned around and softly smiled at me.
River and Indie sat the tray onto my bedside table and clambered onto Sherlock and me, Indie came to rest on my chest, with River tightly wrapped around Sherlock. I sat up with Indie in my arms and joined my family in a group hug.
"Come on, I'll take you back home, I parked my car across the street there. What if we go back to Baker Street and make us a nice cup of cocoa, eh? Does that sound good, River?" Lestrade said.
I knew the children could barely pour cereal for themselves and with the noise that awoke me, I was getting more and more anxious that they had injured themselves or were about to hurt themselves. I swung my legs down to get off the bed, when Sherlock quickly shook his head and motioned for me to get back into bed.
We bundled them into their coats and their scarves from Sherlock as it was a bit of a windy November day.
"No, John, I've simply deduced that both fetuses are male based on the way that Lindsey is carrying and her suspicious lack of morning sickness."
Sherlock studied him for a moment, his eyes locked onto John's. His breathing was growing rapid, more shallow. The panic in Sherlock was rising, he hadn't told anyone his secret for nearly 25 years. Now he was about to tell everything, to the soldier that would keep him out of harm's way. He licked his lips, his mouth had become exceedingly dry.
This thought was confirmed when I saw the three of them splashing in the large puddles building up on Baker Street. They were all already thoroughly soaked to the bone.
"Daddy!" I heard her scream again, this time much more frantic, much louder. But River couldn't be here, she was at school, John was at the clinic.
I noticed Sherlock's eyes darkening as he looked at the doorway to the stairs and I turned to see what could possibly…ah, Mycroft was here.
"John?" He finally said, blinking rapidly, the tears finally running down his pale, sharp cheeks. He wrapped his arms around himself, his tailored jacket and ironed shirt becoming wrinkled. His breathing became rapid and his cheeks reddened, the realization of what had just happened hitting him completely.
"Alright, Daddies, we're going to be looking to see what gender these little ones are, are you ready?"
"So, how is she doing, John? How are all of you doing?" Molly asked, once we were a safe distance behind.
The man set the sheet back down and nodded his head. We climbed out and stood on the sidewalk, getting one last glimpse of our daughter before the doors were shut.
The ballroom was incredible. All of the decorations were gold and white, even the walls were white with a gold pattern on them, specially installed by Mycroft's people for this party. We chose these colors to let the people inside be the color, the life of this birthday party. Fairy lights were strung to the center of the ceiling and hung down, along with gold and white fabric. The seats were gold with white fabric seats and the tables were covered in gold or white tablecloths with small centerpieces of light pink roses, to match the roses in the girls' hair. A candy bar with any type of candy you could imagine sat in the corner of the room, along with popcorn, candy floss, and other treats. Sherlock and I decided to have a cupcake cake to make it easier for the children to eat the cake. The cupcakes were topped with black, dark blue and purple icing, swirled to look like galaxies. Each was topped with a constellation or an outline of the Moon or Sun. A large, glittery gold 6 and ½ sat at the top of the cupcake tower.
The day had started out innocently enough. Sherlock bounced around the flat, tossing this and that into boxes and cabinets, exhilarated by the latest case. John watched from his chair, smiling softly at Sherlock.
He paused and looked fondly at Indie sleeping in his arms, rubbing his finger across the baby fuzz on her head.
Blood poured from Indigo's nose, her little hand trying desperately to stop it. Her face was whiter than the snow she sat on and tears streamed down her face. Sherlock quickly knelt down and held his handkerchief to her nose. River was crying next to her, Greg picked her up and brushed the snow off her.
River straightened and cautiously glanced into the kitchen, her Papa was turned away from her, placing carrots on plates. She tiptoed down the stairs, searching for the butterfly all the while. She found it resting on the front door, its wings gently rising and falling.
I spotted the plastic wrap sitting on a shelf and had a brilliant idea. I grabbed it and began wrapping it around Sherlock, keeping the peas in place.
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and bounded over to Sherlock, snuggling into his lap and turning on the telly.
It was her last good day, that snowy January 6th. Her fevers returned, her muscles ached with every step, nosebleeds were nearly a daily occurrence, and she slept more and more. There were times I would retreat to our bedroom exhausted, my heart aching with her cries. Sherlock would come in and sit with me on the side of our bed, taking my hand in his.
Our reassurance seemed to give her strength and she sang, "I love you, Papa, I love you, Daddy," her voice louder than it had been in weeks.
I walked over to the shaking form rocking back and forth, knelt down next to him, and wrapped my arms around him. His head fell into my shoulder with a thud and his tears began to soak my jumper. Tears began to fall down my cheeks, some of them hitting my chapped lips. The stinging was a nice distraction from the stabbing I felt in my heart.
Sherlock paced around the kitchen, making laps around the table again and again, a baby monitor clutched in his hand. A bright '4:00' flashed from the microwave behind him. A snuffle came from the monitor and he stopped in his tracks. His face contorted into one of panic and he ran up to the nursery, his blue dressing gown flying behind him.
I couldn't help but fume on the way home, formulating what I was going to say to that big-brained idiot as soon as I walked in the door.
A crowd of people stood in a half circle around the front. They were all wearing the same clothes, had the same hairstyle, and were all the same height. Their cries and wails became more and more deafening the longer I stood there.
River waved her hand happily back and forth, shouting "I love you, Indie!" until she could no longer see the butterfly.
With that, we both collapsed into each other arms and curled into each other on the bed, my cries muffled into Sherlock's chest and his tears dripping silently onto my hair.
"Goodnight Mrs. H, thanks for all your help," I said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before ushering the girls upstairs.
Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson came upstairs, undoubtedly awoken by Sherlock, and found me sitting limply against the wall in front of our eerily silent bedroom. Mrs. Hudson, her face red and eyes puffy, knelt next to me, taking me into her arms.
We had decided to get our new family portraits done this year around the twins' 6th birthday on May 28th. Sherlock and I had gotten the girls ready the morning of the pictures and I had to convince him to put the girls in the outfits that Mrs. Hudson and I had picked out.
Sherlock groaned underneath all of us and I looked over at him, worried that we really were bothering him. Instead, I saw the man I loved with a huge smile on his face. His eyes caught mine and he shook his head with a laugh and settled his head back onto the couch.
"Lestrade is going to be wondering where you've gotten to." I said, checking Indie for any sign of the fever returning.
But, I was growing more and more angry with him. I couldn't go to him with our shared grief, we couldn't lean on each other for support. He had left me stranded in this cold, dark sea, struggling against the current. His state broke my heart, but I hated how selfish he was being.
"I have to go back to work now, darling, but I will see you tomorrow morning and then for Christmas dinner. You're still coming, aren't you, River Grace?" He mockingly admonished.
"No, let's start now, Papa! I already have one to write about," she said, the pencil beginning to mark the paper.
John sat in the cab with his head pressed against the cold, hard glass. It had begun to rain, the drops running quickly down the window. He had such a headache, the bloodied mop of curls on the small head burned into his mind for a lifetime. He looked down at his phone, the string of unanswered messages pulled up on the screen. He hesitated over the keyboard, his thumb swinging in circles, before finally typing.
Sherlock had stopped speaking to nearly everyone, including myself, merely giving them shrugs or dismissive waves. He spoke only to River now, her presence in his arms and her chatter bringing a glimmer of light to his dim eyes.
The girls got ready and we set off, leaving Indie with Mrs. Hudson with a hug and a kiss. River and I walked down the street, her gloved hand in mine.
River's mouth fell open and she broke into a sprint, running to the sister that she loved so dearly.
"I don't care about them, I want to be with Indie!" she yelled. With that, she threw herself onto the floor and began kicking about in a tantrum.
"Oh, I fell in gym class Papa, the nurse put ice on it and gave me icky medicine! It feels better than it did, the nurse said it was probably just a sprain," she replied.
I smiled, remembering how Indie would sometimes sing a song as she brushed her teeth, foam spraying everywhere as she laughed and sang.
I trudged down the stairs, Sherlock hesitantly following behind me. We sat in our respective chairs, facing Mycroft, his businesslike demeanor only marred by the
All three laughed and sat making small talk until Sherlock appeared in his classic Oxford and tailored slacks.
The girls had, after an hour or two of internet searching and a bit of help from me, found the largest Rubik's cube that was being sold in stores and decided that they would get that for Sherlock. The cube was 10x10 with electronic squares that would change colors if the puzzle wasn't solved in 12 hours. I thought it perfect for Sherlock's ever searching mind, looking for the next puzzle, the next case.
Christ, was he catatonic? My mind flashed to the morphine I had been giving Indie and I looked at his pupils with my penlight, praying they weren't pinpoints.
"Daddy approves," Sherlock said setting down his paper on the coffee table, "just be home by dinnertime, darlings."
A fond smile crossed his face as he nodded. I pulled a chair up for him before I headed upstairs to put Indie to bed.
A silver limo waited in front of our flat, metallic "wings" jutted from the top of the limo. Behind these wings, there appeared to be some sort of engine with orange, yellow, and red streamers flowing out from the back. The windows looked like portholes ran along the length of the limo. A man dressed as an astronaut stood by the door, waiting to open it.
Sherlock tucked her into his arm, turning the light off in the bathroom as he went. He walked to his and John's bedroom and set her down on top of the navy-blue sheets. She rolled onto her stomach and crawled over to Sherlock.
"I can't lose you, Sherlock, I can't do it," John said with a sob finally breaking through his stoic façade.
"Of course, John, do you remember when our Charlotte was small enough to love running down the sidewalks, chasing butterflies and ladybugs."
I flew into the doors of the A&E, my coat billowing behind me, shoes clicking on the tile, suitcase in hand. John only had time to say that our little girl was very sick and I needed to get to hospital immediately before I had hung up because I couldn't stand the screaming anymore.
"My father," he said in a single breath before falling into John's arms, his anguished scream piercing the air, piercing John's heart.
I laughed out loud when I saw that I had captured the blur that was our beautiful River Grace running in the background.
She continued with her elaborate story, not noticing the glaze of tears in John's eyes or his reddening cheeks as he tried to hold his tears in.
"Someday, love. And someday, we'll be able to think about all the fun we had with her and laugh and feel happy."
It only contained two pictures, the two ultrasound pictures. Written at the top, in Sherlock's neatest script, was simply, 'Our Greatest Adventure.' I smiled and took a pen from my pocket.
Her hand disappeared from my own and she faded away, the faceless crowd swallowing the place where she once stood.
"Sit still, River, you'll tangle the chain bouncing the locket like that." Mrs. Hudson said, taking the locket from her. "It's beautiful, River, should I put it on for you?"
And soon, we were all huddled in the tiny bathroom laughing. This, this is how it should be for the next month, for the next year, for the rest of our lives. Our little girls should laugh, they should play, they should learn, they should grow up to be lovely young women.
"Can you come home, Indie? Papa and Daddy and me are so sad without you. I can hear them crying when they don't think I'm listening. And I cry too."
I struggled to keep my hand from shaking as I handed it back to her, her hazel eyes giving me the same expectant look her sister had.
He returned to 221B and saw the pink and grey blanket draped on John's chair. He picked up the corner embroidered with 'Charlotte Indigo' and went back down to his husband and granddaughter.
He sighed. "It's the only chance to see our little Sunshine in a ballgown, with her hair and makeup done. It's as close to a wedding as we're going to get with her."
John and Sherlock joined their daughters, giving their farewells as the sea snail was set into the receding water.
He laid next to his daughter, the red light from the baby monitor shining from the bedside table. Her wispy blonde curls were beginning to dry and fanned out across the pillow. Sherlock kissed her forehead and pulled her onto his chest to sleep.
"Hold what? And what did we say about experiments in the kitchen, Sherlock? Children, remember? Our children?"
River stood and gathered her toys together, placing them in the plastic containers that they usually sat in when not in use. A flash of yellow caught her eye in the corner of the room by the open door leading to the stairway. She stared curiously until she saw it again. She walked closer and saw that it was a small yellow butterfly. It soon flew up, nearly hitting River's face, and down the stairs.
"Dinner should be ready in another 20 minutes, I'll get your Nana Hudson. She'll be so happy to see you both." John said, getting up and going downstairs.
"Remember when we were really little, we wanted a doggy so bad? We asked every day. But you and Daddy said we could get one when we were 7. But we got our puppy today and we aren't 7 yet."
"I tried to get her up, but she said she was too sleepy." Sherlock said, standing up from the chair.
Sherlock, meanwhile, had appeared back into the room, fastening the button on his suit jacket. He was wearing a starched white shirt that stretched tightly over his torso and trousers that hugged him quite nicely. His slightly damp curls sat just right and his blue-green eyes shone from his pale face.
The cold, grey winter days blurred together in an endless stream of medications and doctors' visits as we tried desperately to keep Indie here with us just a little bit longer. Her condition only worsened. Her doctor told us at first that we had maybe three months, which quickly shortened to two, and then, one morning, all we had was one more month left with our little girl.
"Of course, Daddy, are you feeling alright?" She asked as she placed the back of her hand on his forehead.
"Alright, River, get your boots on, we're going to go get Daddy's present now. Indie, we'll take you down to Nana Hudson's when we leave, alright?"
I snapped a picture just before I called everyone to come in to get out of our wet clothes, into some warm pajamas, and around the fireplace with hot tea.
John came running out of the back of the A&E with a dazed look on his face and River in his arms, her face snuggled into his neck. There was a large dark stain on his trousers, Indie had laid on him on the car ride over, the blood was dilute, mixed with saliva then. She was bleeding from her mouth. John's clothes were wrinkled and mussed, blood smeared on his shirt and trousers, Indie was moving, quite violently, on John's lap. Seizure, bit her tongue. A handprint of blood was on River's blouse, likely from John comforting her. Tiny lines of blood streaked down John's left cheek, Indigo's hand.
I think that is all for now, sweetheart. Give Jack a pat on the head for me and tell him that he is a good boy. I'll be by tomorrow to play you your song and to put down fresh flowers.
I quickly looked at John, a mixture of confusion, pain, and fear in his eyes, a mixture I was sure was reflected in my own. I could tell John was about to break. His soldier's heart that had been hastily glued back together in the time leading up to this conversation was falling apart before my eyes. He couldn't do this. I had to protect him.
I nodded and she gently patted my face. She went to Sherlock and he wrapped his arms around her immediately, bending down to bury his face in her shoulder. She rubbed his back and after a time, he let her go.
"There is nowhere to go, Sherlock. Nowhere except back to Baker Street to give that beautiful little girl the best months of her life. I am so sorry brothers mine." Mycroft grimly replied.
"John, we have to put her in her nightgown, she can't sleep in anything else! You know she sleeps every night in a princess nightgown! How could you let them put her in this, this is what sick and dying people wear!" his voice cracking.
"Alright, John, I will be in my study, make sure you put the suit jacket near the bottom of the pile, I want to open it near the end.
Raven curls flew past Sherlock and I and stopped behind Sherlock's chair. Another set of little footsteps tramped down the stairs and ran into the kitchen behind us.
One morning, John found himself at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the door that he hadn't gone through in years. He crept up the stairs and opened the door, its hinges squeaking loudly.
It was pouring outside one Saturday afternoon when River and Indie came dashing into the living room. Both girls were in floral print t-shirt dresses, River's dark blue with white flowers and Indie's purple with pink flowers, with gray sparkly leggings underneath. People always assumed Sherlock and I wanted to match them, but they always dressed themselves and usually picked similar outfits because they wanted to be like each other.
"Perhaps we could find a stuffed one for you, darling. Alright, Indie, love, it's your turn again to look!"
"John, focus. As I was saying, they have been sleeping for approximately 3 and a half hours since I called last…"
All we had left were the little things that would become the biggest moments of our lives together with her.
The girls would…River would be waking up soon. My heart dropped into my stomach and I swallowed back the intense nausea that overcame me. I stood up, my knees trembling slightly, and clumsily made my way out of the room.
"No, Papa, you're lying! You're lying!" She screamed at me, her eyes now wild. She violently wriggled out of my arms and ran out the door, the dog following her.
This would happen every few weeks or so, until one day John had had enough and drug him to the local surgery to get checked out.
Outside the front doors sat two bicycles, one pink and the other a light purple. They had training wheels, a basket, a bell, streamers from the handles. They were adorable little bikes.
"Princess Indie wants mac and cheese for dinner tomorrow!" she said, sticking her "sword" up in the air.
He could only choke out, "River!" before collapsing onto his husband and daughter, embracing them both in a hug.
"Fathers don't usually see their daughters in their dress until their wedding day, so too, I do not want to see my daughters in these dresses until the party." He had said to me when I brought up the trip.
With that he slipped down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat, where he had been staying in her guest bedroom.
Loud bangs were heard as River flew up the stairs and burst into the room, tossing her purple backpack on the floor.
Fat teardrops began to roll down her cheeks, a look of disbelief on her face. Her breathing was rapid, almost as if she was hyperventilating. I ran my hand down her mess of curls and tried to pull her closer to me, but she pushed back against me.
She was lying on the bed with her eyes closed, her face whiter than the sheets she rested on, traces of blood still trapped in the dry cracks of her lips, her hair fanned out around her head. The only signs of life were her chest steadily rising and falling and the beeping from the heart monitor.
I could smell the strawberry shampoo in our daughters' hair, feel the strong arms of my husband around me, and hear the giggles of our world between us. I never wanted to leave this moment, after all we had been through, we were happy and had the life we never imagined having, but could now not live without.
I sat down next to the love of my life and settled in. Indie squirmed out of my lap and moved over to Sherlock's. I handed Sherlock one of the flowers, which he also placed in his pajama shirt pocket. Both girls were practically squealing with excitement as we both looked at our cards.
"I'm not cleaning, John, I'm rearranging for the next case. Now that this case is over, everything needs to be somewhere else," Sherlock said, waving a pair of his black socks in his hand. He continued to buzz around the flat, complaining about how Anderson had so poorly handled the crime scene and the evidence.
"River Grace, could you get me a blanket from the sofa over there, I feel a bit chilled," Sherlock said one evening as they all sat together.
I looked at the doorway and saw Mycroft standing there with his hair disheveled and suit jacket unbuttoned.
I walked out into the lobby and saw that some guests had already started to filter in. Each child was provided with a suit or dress and their hair and makeup were done at Mycroft's expense. I learned not to object when Mycroft gave extravagant gifts to me or the girls. It was the only way he knew how to express his love, and by God did he love our little girls.
"Yes John, I suppose you are correct." He gave a brief, soft smile, but the sadness still lingered behind his eyes. We walked over to the girls and he knelt down to their level.
"I think that's a lovely spot for that one, don't you, Sherlock?" he said, turning to me with his arms crossed.
"River, love, how are you? You look well, how has the hospital been?" John said, smiling from ear to ear, "come in Michael, have a seat. Tea anyone?"
I picked her up and cradled her against my shoulder, her sobs growing louder and louder. I felt tears running down my face as I cuddled her.
Sherlock became more restless, where were they? They were always home by 3:30, always. Nothing seemed amiss this morning, the girls were happy, John was smiling. Were they kidnapped, hit by a car? He ran his fingers through his hair and chewed his bottom lip, a habit he had since childhood, but only showed up when he was most stressed.
Greg had also come by after work and brought the largest teddy bear in all of London, possibly the universe, and a giant cluster of pink balloons for his "Little Miss Sunshine." (His nickname for River was "Squirrel").
Indigo and I both broke into a fit of laughter, her voice already sounding less painful and raspy as she launched into the story of this morning's experiment.
Her pink trainers slapped against the concrete as she ran down the street behind the butterfly. It led her down several blocks, through several alleyways, until she arrived at the playground that she and Indie had most often played at when they were younger.
John secretly loved that River never lost the habit of calling him Papa or Sherlock Daddy. It was one thing that hasn't changed since she was a little girl, the days that he missed so terribly.
John laughed to himself, "Remember when we would chase Indie and River down these streets, watching them kick up the cherry blossom petals."
We sat for a few minutes eating our popsicles until we both were finished. I pulled out my phone and switched the camera towards us.
"You will have the loveliest room in all of London, River Grace." Sherlock said, "a room fit for a princess!"
"Hello, John, so sorry to be asking this today, but could you come in for a few hours? The main doctor has the flu and we are terribly swamped. It would just be until 7 this evening."
The rain drummed hard against the windows, making winding trails down the glass that flashed brightly with the passing cars below. The flat was quiet, Molly had taken River out shopping for the evening, giving us our first night alone in quite a while. I had gotten us Chinese takeout and lit a candle, reminiscent of our first night together so long ago. Sherlock and I spent time in each other's arms, lying in our bed in the dim room, talking about those far away days that didn't seem real anymore.
"River! Wait!" I shouted, my arms desperately reaching for her. I ran after her, nearly tripping on the sheets that had fallen to the floor.
"Ah, thank you, John, this is, uh, this is very lovely." Sherlock stammered out. He replaced the watch he was wearing with my gift.
Sherlock and John watched the little girl when her parents were at work or just needed some time to themselves. They relished in the feeling of a baby in their arms again, the smells of baby shampoo and powder, and the high-pitched giggles of a happy baby.
"Good evening, my darling, it's about 11 at night now, still March 1st. Papa went downstairs to tuck River in, you've been sleeping for about an hour and a half," I told her. As she had been falling asleep randomly, I liked to keep her up to date on the day and time and what had happened since she fell asleep. I didn't want her to feel disoriented and frightened when she woke up.
'Why is the sky blue, Papa?' 'Why do I have ten fingers?' 'Why do you put the cereal in before the milk?' A litany of questions poured out of her every day, with no question repeated. And we always had a satisfactory reason.
"Mrs. Jones wants us to write about our favorite part of the summer, but I can't pick just one, Papa."
'Thank you to all who have extended words of kindness in these last few months and I'm sorry I didn't get to reply to you all sooner, but I'm sure you understand. Grief still surrounds us. Sometimes I find that I'm gasping for air, trying to claw my way out of this fast-sinking mud. River is a wonder, keeping both Sherlock and I on our toes and keeping us laughing. But, at night, I find myself again weeping into Sherlock's arms, or into one of her favorite blankets.'
After breakfast had been eaten, I gave the girls a bath and got them dressed for the day, River in a purple jumper and leggings and Indie wearing a long sleeved dress covered with ice cream cones and gray leggings underneath. I left their long curls down, brushing them the few times the girls would allow me to before they tugged away and went off to play, River waiting for Indie as she slowly made her way into the front room.
"John, we should capture who they really are, not the perfect, polished version. I am not going to make my girls do what my parents did to me," he huffed and threw himself on the couch.
"Well if you're sure, Sherlock, but when I come for you all, they need to have their hair fixed (again) and make sure they look as perfect as when I brought them home this afternoon.
Tears poured down my cheeks and nausea overcame me, I felt so weak, so very weak and my knees buckled beneath me.
"No, Sherlock, I am not putting it away, not tonight," he said, pulling his hands roughly out of mine.
I felt for a pulse again and looked at my watch through a haze of tears. Finding none, I pronounced her.
He nodded his head and scrolled through some of the pictures on the TV screen he had set up. The group ones were the most entertaining, one caught Mycroft mid-blink, one had Greg turning his head, Mrs. Hudson was chatting away to me in one, and I was giving a glare in another to Sherlock for rambling on about the murder he had solved only 2 km away from here.
"You just had to tell them on your own didn't you? I was there, you could have included me, I tried to help, but you just did it all on your own, Sherlock. You have pulled me 'round and 'round every bloody corner of London and I've followed you like a lost puppy for years, but we are working together on this!" John shouted.
The three of them were nearly out the door when Indie broke away, came over to me, held out her little hand to me, and said, "I'll wait for you, Papa."
Christmas never mattered to me much, even as a child. I had figured out that Father Christmas was a fake entity by the age of 3 so there was never any 'magic' in the day for me. I let my mother dress me in my suit and I opened my presents with some enthusiasm, after all, a new chemistry set was worth feigning interest in a large man in a red suit. John came into my life and suddenly 221B was filled to the brim with tinsel and lights when December came around. I donned reindeer socks and tolerated Christmas parties in my flat, for John. I had no idea at the time why I did so much for this little soldier as the idea of loving him had not yet occurred to me. After we married, I contributed a bit more to the festivities, helping to decorate, letting John put a Santa hat on my head, and even standing behind John at the shops as he picked out presents for our friends. It was tedious work and I would, of course, interject when I knew the person he had selected the gift for would absolutely hate it. I think John appreciated it, even though he usually ended the trip muttering expletives with a face as red as those silly hats. | [
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Castiel set down his tea carefully then stood and moved toward Dean. He didn’t appear to rush, but one moment he was at the table and the next he stood close to Dean, too close.
Castiel flicked his eyes to the magistrate standing next to the young man. “Take off his cuffs, please.”
He sneaked a look at Castiel again and was ensnared by his eyes, again. Something had definitely changed. “What’s going on?” Dean demanded. He knew he didn’t have any way to force them to answer, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to ask.
“I…I’m attracted to Castiel.” Dean stopped, his heart banging, unable to force out one more word. He didn’t think Sam would react badly, but this was so…close to the center of his identity – something he’d never let anyone get near before – it was scary in a way no monster ever had been or ever would be.
Dean was getting overwhelmed with all of it - the sensation of Castiel in his mouth and under him, firm and hot, the sensation of Gabriel slamming into him, laying over him, and the curl and buzz in his head and his belly and his cock as Castiel called him a bitch with approval and delight. One small part of him was telling him that was bad and wrong - he shouldn’t let Cas talk to him that way, he shouldn’t feel pleasure at it, he shouldn’t…there were so many things he shouldn’t feel or do. But the biggest part of him was just feeling it all, and it felt so good he wasn’t able to process it all. He coughed a little when Cas came, spilling his hot come down his chin, and Cas met his eyes, as he lifted them, and a couple blunt masculine fingers gently swiped up the come and guided it back into Dean’s mouth. Dean opened up for it and closed his mouth around the fingers, gently sucking instinctively.
He saw the smirk was still there, maybe even a little bigger. Hot anger welled up behind his eyes, but Castiel fought it back down. He had no time for that right now. His anger would be appeased soon enough. His right hand whipped out to slap the young man’s cheek, staggering him and leaving a white imprint that slowly flushed red in reaction. The boy pulled himself back upright, then flicked out a punch that thudded into Castiel’s midsection, then another that crashed into his cheek, then two more quick blows to his body.
Now Castiel was a different thing entirely. If Gabriel was strength, power, and humor, Castiel was strength, dominance, and…lightning. Dean huffed a silent laugh. That didn’t quite work, but it kinda captured how he felt about the angel. He hasn’t seen much of him since the incident at the jail, but just the sight of him briefly around the house made him think of what it would be like the next time he fucked him. And if he was honest with himself (which he didn’t want to be, but suck it up, Dean), he knew he wanted it to happen again. He wanted to feel Castiel’s weight on top of him, holding him down, holding him steady. He wanted to feel Castiel’s hands, big and strong, gripping him tight. He wanted to feel Castiel’s breath, warm and soft, next to his ear. He wanted to feel Castiel’s cock, hot and hard, pushing into him, filling his empty spaces, taking him for his own like he did once before.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. No touching the pretty human, got it.” Luke rolled his eyes and headed toward his own rooms.
The magistrate gave the young man one last vaguely sympathetic glance, nodded, and walked away. It was a shame to see a strong young man turned into a bitch by an angel, but Castiel Novak had the right. It was done. The boy had been legally bitched.
Today the Novaks had been called to a meeting with their brother Raphael, out in the angel quarter. They were going to drop Joshua back at his own house for the duration, but he had wanted to stay with Dean and had won the ensuing argument, surprising Dean. He wondered at their confidence in him, but it also gave him a warm feeling.
A minute of watching failed to show any movement, and Charlie’s stomach dropped sickeningly as she pulled up the other images in succession and didn’t see anything of note, but. But. She swiveled to another monitor and pulled up the historical feed, starting a couple of hours ago. She saw the Novaks leave and the man and the boy start to play cards, then nothing happened. Literally. The feed was frozen. She swallowed, heart pounding, and hit the buttons to make the call to Castiel.
His eyes met Dean’s yet again, sharp and focused this time. Dean saw him swallow and inhale deeply. “Your soul is…the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Dean. It is…wonderful and…unmarred.” Dean could see that Castiel was picking his words very carefully.
The memory of Castiel’s strength and power, his…dominance (thank you for that, Gabriel, he thought acerbically) …as he maneuvered Dean where he wanted him and then pushed into him and took him, fucked into him, grunted and came inside him…even in memory, it did something to Dean. Something weird that warmed his belly and gave him a hollow, shivery feeling in his gut. Castiel wasn’t an especially big or powerful man at first sight, but it was there. And his voice – deep and gravelly, yeah, it did things to Dean as well.
Dean looked at Castiel, really looked at him. He had stopped very close to Dean, maybe a foot away. He would be uncomfortable if it was anyone other than Castiel. He was wearing the dark suit and tie that had stopped Dean in his tracks the first time he saw him in it. His hair was in its’ normal, tousled state. His face tried to hold onto its’ usual impassivity, but Dean could see the uncertainty, even if no one else would be able to. The angel stood there, looking back at him steadily, hopefully. He wasn’t trying to force Dean into anything. Normally so sure and commanding, now he waited for Dean to make his choice.
“Hey, Sam. I’m okay. Still with the angels. They’re letting me call.” Dean rubbed his hand against his jeans-clad thigh nervously. This was the easy part. It would only get more difficult from here on.
“And you’re really okay? I mean, that sounds like….” Dean could actually hear his little brother swallow.
Joshua wasn’t fooled. As the youngest of their siblings, he was secure in the love and protection of all of his brothers. “Amnayel said I could come for a few days. I’m all caught up, and I deserve a break, she said! It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you!”
“I’ve told you three times, Dad! It never changes!” Sam protested. He swallowed. His mind kept replaying the scene earlier that day – watching Dean…. He didn’t even know how to finish that thought. How to process it all.
Then this train wreck happened. Once he settled into the house with Castiel and Gabriel, he’d…enjoyed himself. The angels were interesting. The sex was good…and he could see “great” coming up on the horizon. Taking care of them and the house made him feel useful for the time being, although he knew it wouldn’t satisfy him forever. He’d want to get out hunting again. Would they let him work with them? Would they respect him? What the hell was that “marked as your bitch, now and forever” bit? What did that mean? How would they treat him, inside and outside the house? Would it be different? How would the other Novak brothers treat him? And he could he accept it, whatever the answers to those questions were?
Castiel shook his head. “No, thank you, Magistrate. I will finish up here, and then we’ll take him home.”
Castiel answered, “They were part of a small anti-supernatural group. They heard about you and thought they could gain recognition by freeing you. They were watching the house and when they saw Joshua, they shifted their goal – they wanted to grab him and hold him for ransom as well as take you. But they didn’t take into account you weren’t like them. You wouldn’t allow a child of any kind to be hurt.”
Their arms eventually got tired, and quiet, reasonable, sneaky Curly came up with the idea to start using a belt. Moe grabbed a knife and cut the shirt off Dean, pulling the scraps from his hanging body. The bruises and then cuts bloomed across Dean’s body as the belt continued to fall with a crack, over and over. Dean was still conscious, barely, and he saw them start to get more and more anxious. They knew this was taking too much time.
Dean listened as John explained about the digging he’d been doing and detailed all the recent hunter deaths and disappearances. It was disturbing as all hell. There was no way to know at this point if his situation was connected to everything else, but it was certainly something to bear in mind.
“Ah, yes, Winchester. Well, that was a bit of an error there, wasn’t it? The boy and the werewolf should have both died that night, then you wouldn’t have learned anything you didn’t want to know, and I wouldn’t be having to explain all this to you.”
Gabriel frowned and cocked his head at Castiel’s declaration and request. It was unusual, but – she must have found something- something really interesting. He couldn’t imagine what about Dean’s situation would require all of them to be present, but he guessed he was about to find out. He called his brothers then flopped back on the couch, claiming pride of place to wait for the expected entertainment to unfold.
“It’s a natural quality that he has, - the drive to lead, to command, to protect what is his. He is…well, he’s the most dominant angel of our generation at the very least. He is also…curious, and…open. He talks to and makes friends with other supernaturals much more than any other angel. These two qualities together have…sparked the situation we find ourselves in.”
The hard choice would require him to try to explain why to his dad. He wouldn’t get it, Dean knew that. Sam – he wasn’t sure what Sam would think. He was a pretty smart kid, and he knew Dean in a way that his dad didn’t, couldn’t. He might understand. Even worse, the hard choice would make him admit to himself what he wanted, what…fulfilled him…in a way nothing else ever had. But it would give him Cas. The hard choice would give him Cas, and an interesting, fun life with the angel he loved.
“Anyway, this whole thing has been…really weird…but some of it…it’s....” Dean floundered a bit. He didn’t know how to explain it so Sam could understand, because he didn’t really understand it himself.
“I’m going to spank you, Dean. I think we all are going to enjoy this. Don’t worry, thought, if you don’t enjoy it, we will stop. Tonight is about us reconnecting and your pleasure.”
Gabriel shook his head, giving Luke a chiding look. “You know that’s not how it works, brother. He owes his service to me and Castiel, not to any of you.” He was speaking to them both, Dean knew, and the knot in his belly slowly relaxed a little.
“Yes, sir. I will.” Dean said goodbye and hung up, then sat there holding the phone for a few moments. It had been so good to talk to his dad, but also a bit disorienting, like two separate worlds were colliding. The new information didn’t help, either. He shook his head abruptly and put all that aside. Time to call Sam and make sure he was okay and not getting into more trouble than he could handle.
Castiel ran his hand across Dean’s buttocks, gently caressing him. Gabriel settled on the bed near them, his hand reaching out to stroke Dean’s warm skin, reassuring him.
Dean let out a surprised laugh, “Yeah, no. This guy – he…. No, he’s not lying.” Dean blinked, nonplussed, because as cynical as he was, that thought had never even crossed his mind. And he didn’t have to think about it now, either.
He looked away from Castiel for a moment, then back. “Well, Castiel, are you ready for the next job I have lined up for Novak Brothers?”
He used his fingers to gently fuck Dean, feeling for the right spot. A sudden stiffening accompanied by a surprised grunt showed him when he found it. He smiled. Gabriel wanted Dean to enjoy this as much as he possibly could, because he intended to spend as much time as he could with his cock firmly lodged inside Dean’s ass.
Gabriel spun the boy around in a circle, both of them laughing, then set him gently down, and they both turned to face Dean. “I didn’t know you were coming, Joshua. Dean, this is our youngest brother, Joshua. He is not yet a part of our company, and I thought you were studying!” Gabriel finished by speaking to the boy, squinting his eyes in an attempt to be stern.
“I’m gonna be blunt here, Castiel, because we all know you don’t get subtle in personal interactions. Explain to Dean what you thought, what you found out, what you feel, and what you want. Go.” He sat back, leg still kicking idly, gazing at Dean.
Gabriel laughed at the look of frustrated bafflement on Dean’s face. “During the trial, Castiel wanted nothing more than to see you punished for killing his friend – a righteous punishment for an evil act. And then, when we saw you at the jail – you were so cocky, Dean, with that maddening little smirk of yours – Castiel gave in to his instincts. He proved his dominance over you, and that gave him the biggest kick, I can’t even tell you. I know, because I felt it, too, of course, when I mounted and fucked you.” Gabriel gave him a sly but good-humored grin.
Dean had told the angel he remembered what was going on, which he did, but that didn’t mean he understood it. He licked his dry lips, then croaked out, “Why…?”
“But it’s okay, I mean, he doesn’t need…. I don’t need….” Dean bit his lip. He abandoned that thought.
Castiel’s personal shield shuddered but held, and he struck back with the force of all his anger and horror at what his brother had done. It was over in a split second, and Raphael was gone. Castiel slowly straightened up and stood tall. He took a deep breath and deliberately let it out, letting his tumultuous feelings settle and his adrenaline subside. He took a few moments to just breathe. His brother had murdered humans. His brother had murdered his friend Silas. His brother had tried to kill him. All that was true, yet he still remembered their many years together as family, and mourned.
Halfway through the trial, it had become clear that the prosecutor could not prove his theory, and the defense could not prove hers. The jury had compromised with a ruling of manslaughter, declaring that Winchester had caused Silas’s death, but in the heat of the moment rather than the result of a malicious plan.
Dean had forgotten all self-consciousness as he watched Gabriel and tried to understand. He wasn’t sure if any of this was truly helpful in understanding what was going on with him and…well, with his situation, but any knowledge was better than none.
Castiel and Gabriel sat facing each other over the kitchen table, mugs of tea in their hands. As one, they stopped talking and turned to look at him even though he knew he hadn’t made a sound.
Dean flushed and his ears started ringing as he heard Castiel tell everyone within earshot what he’d done to him.
As both of their hearts and breathing settled back down, Gabriel eyed the turbulent swirls of Dean’s energy, and thought he should try to smooth it out just a little bit. Not with his magic – no, that wouldn’t be a good idea at all at this point. Dean was settling into life at the Novak household pretty well. He had their schedules down and was keeping up with his chores, with no issues or rebellion. He also submitted to Gabriel’s cock every day – but that was not so easy for him. Perhaps just a little nudge here would help.
“So that’s one…point…for you to think about. It does relate to what you said about angels not having a sexual preference – if you look at the 95%/5% split, you can see that the physical form does not have as great an impact on us as the spiritual form. So yes, we do not generally have a physical sexual preference.”
He lay naked, face down on a thin mattress on the floor of a small, bare room. It looked like a normal bedroom, only empty of any furnishings save the mattress he lay on and a small dresser over in the corner. Slowly he registered the two masculine voices, raised slightly in argument, mainly because they stopped abruptly just as soon as he turned his head toward their sources.
“Hello?” Sam’s voice was quizzical. It was hit or miss whether any of the Winchesters would answer an unknown phone number, but Sam’s curiosity must have won out in the end. Dean guessed he was glad. No, he *was* glad. He wanted to talk to Sammy, needed to. It was just going to be hard, navigating the tricky figurative land mines.
Castiel Novak nodded in response to his older brother, his cool blue eyes clear and determined. On one hand he wasn’t looking forward to what was about to happen, yet on the other hand, he had been waiting for this for days…weeks even. Revenge – no, that was not what this was. Revenge was petty and beneath him. This was justice, and it had to be done.
Cas’ whole body relaxed, and a wide smile broke free, full of relief and joy and love. It was miraculous, and it spread warmth and delight throughout Dean, who kept smiling back at him. Suddenly, Cas’ wings manifested, arching huge and black over them both. Dean jumped, but then stared in awe. Cas’ wings spread wide, then slowly, gently came forward to fold around Dean, cocooning the two of them away from the rest of the world. Dean closed his eyes as he felt Cas’ arms pull him into his body, then encircle him with their strength and power, and one hand cupped the back of Dean’s head and guided it down to Cas’ firm chest, and he knew he was where he wanted to be forever.
“That’s not creepy at all, guys,” Dean commented, going for the snark as always when he was uncomfortable.
Castiel emerged from his office finally and went into the kitchen. “Dean, would you like a beer?” he called out. “Gabriel?”
“Come on, Brother. Seriously. The boy has a beautiful, hot, tight ass, and I know you want to get back in there.”
The magic washed over Dean, warm and fuzzy. Yeah, that didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but that’s what he felt. The Registrar was a tall, blond female angel with piercing gray eyes. She was solid and muscular, built like Dean imagined a bodybuilder or maybe blacksmith would be. Her fingertips were rough but her touch gentle as she laid her hand on his forehead. A minute later, the warmth slowly faded, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed.
“Dean! Oh my God, Dean! Are you okay? Where are you? How are you calling me?” Dean smiled into the phone at the rapid-fire questions in a voice that went from total shock to total relief and then back to land on a combination of stress and warmth.
Dean woke slowly, savoring the comfort of his bed and an overall warm feeling of total well-being. A niggle of concern tried to come to the forefront of his awareness, but he refused to pay attention to it right this moment. He allowed himself to drift for a few moments more before reluctantly kickstarting his brain. Slowly, his memory came back online, and he remembered. His whole body tensed involuntarily before he consciously relaxed, part by part. He breathed.
This difficult, terrible part was over, but sorting out this mess had not even begun. The fact that he had never had any clue that this was how his brother thought, that this was what his brother was capable of – he knew it would be a long time before he could begin to reconcile that. In the meantime, however, he needed to see that his word was upheld. He needed to take the evidence of Raphael’s actions to the court and get Dean’s conviction reversed. He needed to ensure Dean’s magical bonds to him and to Gabriel were severed. He needed to look at the details of what Raphael had done and attempt to make whatever amends might be possible to those left behind. And he needed to see if he could make amends with Dean. If Dean…if he was amenable to being courted by an angel…by him. He felt tired even thinking of everything he had to do – with the exception of Dean. Thinking of Dean, he felt many things, but tired was not one of them. Thinking of Dean, he felt regret for hurting him and an aching, terrible void in his chest for his misjudgment, something he knew he could not change. Nothing would change what he had done. He could only try to make it up to him, try to show him that he could be better, that he was worth a chance. And if Dean did give him a chance, he had to make sure he never had reason to regret it.
“Thank you, Registrar,” Castiel said. Watching Dean as the Registrar’s magic enveloped him, Castiel felt the first stirrings of uneasiness. Gabriel had roused the young man early, showed him his small bathroom and the large communal kitchen. Dean had balked at eating, but Gabriel ordered him to eat a small bowl of oatmeal, and Dean did as he was told. He had been quiet and subdued, his manner quite different from the bravado of the previous day.
Castiel was shaking his head before Gabriel finished the words. “You were there, Gabriel. You heard the prosecution. Whether or not they received a tip about a rogue werewolf, you know Silas wasn’t rogue. That means he killed Silas, he stabbed him with a silver knife, just because he was a werewolf.”
Castiel jerked his head toward the door, and the man blinked and followed the silent order, stepping just outside the cell, where he stopped to turn and watch along with Gabriel.
“Dean, Castiel is an extremely dominant angel. You might have wondered at the fact that he is the youngest of our adult siblings, yet he is the one who led us out of the angel community. He is the one who worked with another supernatural first – Silas. He is the one who established this business and brought us into it. He is the one who leads, Dean.”
Charlie checked the monitor again, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and she noted it down. Her boss Castiel had asked her to keep an eye on his house this morning while they were meeting with Raphael. It was weird, but then again, Charlie knew about Dean Winchester residing with him now. Hell, everyone knew about that. She wasn’t quite sure what to think about it all – should she be all ‘get ‘im, Boss’ or should she feel bad for the human in a tricky situation? So she tried not to think about it at all, really.
Dean watched the two together and couldn’t help but think of him and Sam. He missed his brother. He missed his familiar life. He missed his freedom. The sudden sense of loss washed over him, and he swallowed hard, trying to let it sweep over him and not push him under. He had no time for this, not here and now, anyway.
“Yeah, okay, Dean. Just – you can always come out to California, you know? If you don’t want to stay with Castiel or Dad, you can come out here. If you want, I’d like it, too, you know?”
Gabriel nodded at Castiel, and he wrapped his arms around Dean as gently as he could to support his weight while his brother took care of the binding. They lifted him and carried him over to the couch and laid him down.
“Go, go, go!” Dean motioned, moving aggressively toward the boy and following him as he got with the program and ran for the bathroom.
Dean swallowed. Bits and pieces of old school teachings and rumors had begun to come back to him. Angels didn’t generally mix much with humans. They kept to themselves or mingled lightly with the general supernatural community. A few stories he vaguely remembered that seemed to fit this situation talked about how angels didn’t really recognize biological sex or gender as something they considered when taking partners. It had resonated with Dean – at least until he had buried that crap deep and shoved a metaphorical rock over the top of that grave.
Castiel inhaled sharply as his cock abruptly filled at the thought. He imagined Dean on his knees in front of him, where he belonged, his beautiful lips wrapped around Castiel’s big hard cock, sucking gently. His hands tightened into fists, and he slowly breathed out. Gabriel was such an ass.
Uncle Bobby stood next to his father, grizzled and solid, his face unreadable as well, but Dean could see the stiffness of outrage in the way he held his body. Dean saw a few others he knew in passing, but the vast majority of the crowd were strangers, humans and magicals alike. Most watched with detached interest. Some of the humans wouldn’t meet his gaze, embarrassed for him. Some of the magicals watched with enjoyment; some few watched him with hot, evaluating gazes.
The beating…well, he’d taken a lot of damage over the years from various supernatural creatures who were trying to kill him, so that kind of pain was nothing new, nothing too scary. Facing an angel, Dean hadn’t been surprised at the strength and power Castiel had been able to bring to bear on him. He knew from the start he was about to get his ass kicked, he just wanted to make sure he got in a few licks of his own – make the angel feel it, even if just a little. Feeling the angel come down on top of him and push his substantial cock into Dean’s asshole – well, he had a lot of weird crap twisted up in his mind about that. Sure, he’d thought about it over the years, wondered how it would feel – like, there was no way it wouldn’t hurt, right? But, and this was a huge “but” – just the thought of the solid weight of a man on top of him, the muscle and the bone of it, the strength…well, it had always done something to Dean. For Dean. Of course, he’d imagined it the other way around…mostly….
Gabriel cocked his head. “Castiel, that boy is not a murderer. You would know that if you just looked, but you don’t want to for some reason.”
Anger and pain simmered in him, and Castiel had finally thought of a way to begin to let it out. He would claim Winchester as Unrestricted Labor. As one of Silas’s heirs, along with Gabriel, they could claim him. And Castiel would find out the truth, and along the way, he would punish and teach the human in whatever ratio he had to, in order to make this pain fade.
Castiel and Gabriel flew to their house while Michael, Luke, and Ramiel raced to get there mundanely, in one of their SUVs. Flying was a huge drain of their energy, and it was a risk if they needed to use too much magic when they got there, but they couldn’t risk all of them arriving too late. Arriving at the house, they were violently rebuffed by an invisible shield. Gabriel took a breath and expanded his awareness. There was a flicker of energy nearby. There. He looked at Castiel then nodded across the street where they could just see the silhouette of a man in the passenger seat of an SUV.
During their talk, Dean had come up on his side to face Gabriel, propped up on one elbow so he could face him. His hand reached out and gently pushed him so he was face down on the mattress again. Dean’s jaw clenched and he stiffened, but he didn’t resist.
“I…didn’t know, Dean. But – I mean, he was gone this whole summer, but I thought it was because you were healing up…?”
Dean’s head jerked, and he slowly picked it up off his chest. His eyelids flickered and a glimmer of green shown through. His mouth quirked up in a barely-there smile, and he muttered, “nick of time, Cas.”
Dean nodded, and Gabriel gave him a small nod of encouragement back. “There is one more category of Labor called Unrestricted Labor. It used to be common, but it has fallen into a bit of disfavor in the last, oh, hundred years or so.” Gabriel pursed his lips, looking off to the right as if trying to think of the right way to explain.
Castiel stilled in pure shock, horror, and disbelief at what his brother was saying…and at what he had done. How could he have missed this…? It was exactly what he had hated when he thought Dean had murdered Silas – hatred and contempt for those who were not like him.
She took a deep breath and her gaze flitted from one of the brothers to the next, skipping over Dean as she explained. “I got John to forward that tip email to me. I was able to trace the path back to…” she gulped. “…Novak Brothers.” She didn’t pause, not wanting to answer any of the resulting babble of questions. “So I spent all of last night tracking the origin down, double- and triple-checking.” She looked at Castiel again.
“Wars in our home dimension combined with the difficult journey from there to here…it resulted in the fact that not many of us who started the journey completed it. Many of those we lost were our submissives. It left our people…unbalanced. Many have tried to find partners of a like spiritual…bent, …but even if connections are made, they are generally imperfect and at least somewhat unsatisfying. Some have given up trying to find someone; some have known themselves well enough that they have never tried.”
Dean’s heart beat sped up, and he tried to take a few deep breaths as the Registrar reached out with both hands, laying them on both the angels’ shoulders. A heartbeat later, an amazing warmth erupted throughout Dean’s body, starting from where the angels’ hands touched him and blossoming until it filled him to overflowing. The warmth did not have the fuzzy comfort of the earlier magic, but rather it had the quality of a burning sun, it seemed to Dean, flashing through him. It wasn’t painful, just – too much. Dean shuddered, but Castiel’s and Gabriel’s hands were there, solid and bracing. The magic slowly faded, and Dean finally drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself, trying to understand what had just happened. Whatever it was, he knew it had done something. It scared him, but there was nothing he could do about it.
He turned to face the young human standing on the other side of the room. He was tall and well built, but still slim with youth, and he was beautiful. Castiel knew him to be in his early twenties, but his boyish, unlined face made him appear no more than a teenager. His hair was dark and close cropped, and sharp green eyes met his warily. His blue jeans were worn and faded, and his black t-shirt and red flannel shirt were covered by an equally worn brown leather jacket. Old, cracked brown leather boots were planted on the concrete floor of the jail cell. A slight smirk lurked on his face.
“I have partners along the dominance/submission spectrum, Dean, but no one has ever matched me as you do. Perhaps you are thinking that one time is not enough evidence for me to make that statement, and it might be true, if I had not experienced your soul. Your body is beautiful, and you are a good, attractive man, but your soul is…the most amazing thing I have ever seen. I wanted nothing more than for you to be my partner and me to be yours, Dean.” Castiel stopped, not sure if there was anything else he could say. He had been as clear as he was capable of. The rest was Dean’s to decide
“It came from Raphael’s computer. I checked the system access and security cameras. Raphael sent it.”
A tingling warmth flowed through Dean from his shoulder down his arm and then through his chest and further until his whole body felt it, and the pain eased. It didn’t entirely go away, but it was magnitudes better, and Dean groaned with the relief.
Dean’s face flamed. He didn’t want to even think about it, that word, what it meant, what it did to him, but Castiel left him nowhere to hide from it. “I’m your bitch…I’m glad to be your bitch…Cas,” he choked out, embarrassed, trying not to be ashamed. He could do this for Castiel.
Dean nodded. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected, and to be honest, he felt a weird sense of relief. And warmth. While he knew a large portion of the angels’ swift and decisive reaction to what had happened was a result of the threat against their brother, he also felt they were taking care of what was theirs – him. And he hadn’t been taken care of for a long, long time.
“Let me complicate that a little bit for you.” Gabriel smiled at the snort Dean let out. “That percentage does not correlate with…importance, or…significance.” He was trying to be very careful here.
The beating kept going, pulling deep groans out of the young man now. “Castiel, stop. He’s done.” Gabriel’s voice was louder.
John’s expression softened, just a bit. “I know, son. Last time. Please. Tell me. Start from when I called Dean with the tip.” John had been on a job five states away when he received an anonymous email tip about a werewolf preying on humans not far from their home in South Dakota. Dean had been staying home, resting up a sprained ankle from their last job. Sam had just come back for the summer after his first year away in college in California, keeping his brother company.
Castiel inhaled sharply and smiled, pleasure spiking hard. “Yes…perfect, Dean, thank you, I appreciate that,” he said, giving Dean the positive reinforcement he needed. He sped up, punching into Dean harder. He wouldn’t last much longer, even if he had just come a few minutes ago. Hearing Dean admit that - it was too much. He grunted and came again, spurting into Dean again. He gave himself a minute to rest, then pulled out and gently turned Dean over. He smiled down at him and then moved to take his cock in his mouth and suck hard. Dean shouted in surprise and overwhelming pleasure and came just a few seconds later.
And seriously, weirdest of all the weird crap – while it was all kinds of wrong what had happened to him – there was still a…something…there that Dean shied away from even in the privacy of his own mind. He wasn’t going to think about it, nope. He was going to stay behind his odd shield of don’t give a fuck until he had a few minutes alone to pack it all up and stuff it away for another day – year…hell, decade from now, if he had anything to say about it.
John’s gaze moved around the table, meeting their eyes, one by one. “I got an anonymous tip emailed to me about that werewolf. That’s not uncommon. But we all know that was a fuckin’ set up. Anybody hear anything about anonymous tips that led to trouble, or other kinds of set ups? Trouble in the community? Think about it, people. I’m trying to find out if this was aimed at me or if it was something else.”
Dean had tried to come up with a logical way to lay everything he’d been thinking about out for Sam, but had pretty much failed. Finally, he figured he’d just spit out the various things he’d been thinking, and let Sam sort it out. He was good at that. He’d had years of practice with Dean, after all.
He wasn’t able to figure everything out in these few days, but he was able to draw one conclusion and decide on a few questions he needed answers to - some from Castiel and Gabriel, some from himself. His hard-fought, and hard-won conclusion was that he enjoyed being dominated by Castiel and Gabriel. He enjoyed getting fucked by them. He wouldn’t go so far as to open that up to any hypothetical others, but he couldn’t deny what had been happening, even if it would make his life so much easier. If…when..he was free, he could go back to his life as a hunter, helping his dad, helping people. But truth be told, that life hadn’t been so satisfying, either. He missed his brother - working with him, hanging out with him, having fun with him. He couldn’t get much of that with his dad, as he’d admitted to Sam- he wasn’t even around that much anymore. Dean had known things weren’t great, but he hadn’t known what he could do about it, what would make it better. What did he want?
“We were careful going in, but everything was quiet. No signs of anyone – human or werewolf. Finally, we found a small room on the second level – it was set up like a small apartment, and there was a dead guy there, an older, gray haired guy, looked like he had been stabbed from the quick look we took. We had just started to check out his room when we heard noise from back on the ground level. We went to check it out, and it was the cops.”
He looked at Gabriel questioningly. Gabriel shook his head. “These are the only ones. I can’t feel Joshua right now.”
“Those who attacked you are dead, Deano, and the rest of the group has been taken into custody. This won’t happen again,” Gabriel added.
“A convict can be assigned to a victim or a victim’s heirs as Unrestricted Labor if the crime was either sexual or had serious physical consequences.” He met Dean’s eyes once again. “Such as yours.”
There was another awkward silence until finally Gabriel broke it. “Ooookay then, people. Let’s get this party started.” He turned to Castiel.
Gabriel started to fuck him, slowly at first, then he picked up the tempo until he was slamming into Dean over and over, fucking him deeply, driving all thought from his mind.
I know I didn’t explain everything, but this feels complete to me, and I didn’t want to shoehorn some superfluous info into the story here. I may write a time stamp if and when I feel it - a window into what kind of pattern their lives together have settled into.
“Charlie, have you had a chance to look at the transcript of Dean’s trial that I had sent to the office?”
Castiel smiled genuinely. He watched as Gabriel gave one last deep thrust and yelled, filling Dean’s body with his hot come as well and stilling over the top of Dean, chest heaving and body hot and sweaty with exertion.
They hung up a few minutes later, and Dean sat there for a bit, letting it all settle. Dad was caught up – well, mostly - and would talk to Charlie. Sam was caught up. Now he just had to wait and see what Charlie could come up with. It wasn’t his best thing, but he didn’t have a choice. And in the meantime – he had to work on what the hell was going on between the three of them and why Dean wasn’t running for the hills.
Footsteps came closer, and Dean tensed, pain flaring in response. A man stood in the doorway, not too tall, not too broad, with longish, sandy hair and sharp features. He looked down at Dean, meeting his eyes.
“Dean, this is Charlie Bradbury, our office manager, and ‘Jill of all trades’. I don’t know what that is, but she asks that we call her that. We could not operate without her,” Castiel said, ushering the short, pixie-like red-head into the living room. Dean could hear the virtual quotation marks in Castiel’s speech, and he smiled.
Gabriel smiled down at Joshua. “Fair enough. I am glad you came to visit. Joshua, this is Dean, he belongs to me and Castiel now. He has his own duties, so don’t bother him, alright? Come to me or Castiel if you need something.”
There was a moment of utter silence, broken by a deep indrawn breath. “Jesus. All right. Good. Good.”
Castiel turned his attention back to Dean, laying unresisting under him, his breathing harsh and raspy, shuddering with pain. He shifted his knees wider to give him stability, and started to fuck into him, thrusting deep and hard, pulling out nearly all the way, then powering home, making sure Dean would remember this forever – the first time he had taken a man’s cock up his ass. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. His cock belonged here, buried deep inside his newly taken bitch. The tight vise of Dean’s ass felt like heaven squeezing his cock as he drove in again and again. He took his time, enjoying everything about this. Dean belonged to him now. Castiel would make sure he felt that, all the way to the core, each and every day for the next five years. Finally, he pushed home one last time and came hard, yelling out his release, his triumph, his dominance, spilling his semen deep inside the boy, marking him forever as the bitch he was now and would always be. After a few seconds to make sure he had emptied everything he had into Dean, he slowly pulled out, satisfied for now. He would fuck him again once they got home. He straightened his clothes and reached down to grab Dean’s arm.
The Registrar looked at him. She wasn’t smiling, but it wasn’t a cold look, either. She turned her head to look at Castiel. “State your claim, Castiel.”
“So…you’re gonna stay? Is that what you’re saying? And see how it goes? And if it does, I get to come visit you? And you get to…do whatever you want, right, I mean, get a job or go to school or whatever, right? Are you gonna get your own place or…? Sam’s questions started up again.
Well, he knew that wasn’t exactly right, but that was how it felt sometimes. Sam had been gone for around seven months or so when he came back for spring break – and this crap happened. The time hunting alone with his dad – well, it hadn’t gone great, to be honest. John just didn’t have a lot of…well, anything, really, to give to Dean except for orders. And it wasn’t enough. Before, Dean had Sam to take care of and hang out with, joke with, tease. After, he had a lot of silence and a few random hookups when he couldn’t take it anymore.
He cocked his head, shaking it gently. “Killing the werewolf did make a bit of noise. Someone must have heard something they shouldn’t have. Anyway, I was not able to get to both humans quickly enough for my comfort, so I simply dropped the knife and flew away.”
Castiel had watched as he went about his morning routine. He had been planning this since mid-way through the trial, but he still felt…off balance with the human in their house, disturbing the energy of their home. He had felt so triumphant yesterday, when he was finally able to demonstrate his dominance over the unruly young human thug – to begin to make him pay for killing Silas – his first friend outside of the angel community. They had met nearly fifteen years ago, when Castiel had first emerged from the angel community as an adult. Silas had taken a liking to the quiet, reserved angel and had gradually become his mentor, both socially and professionally.
Castiel returned his gaze to Dean. Well. He hadn’t wanted to scare Dean, but if Gabriel was telling him it was okay to say it, then he would. His eyes met and held Dean’s beautiful, confused green eyes, looking deep into his even more beautiful soul.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “In his office, of course.” He had kept trying to get Castiel to use Dean, to no avail. Castiel had holed up in his office and bedroom, alternately, for the entire week before their brothers returned from the Banshee job they had just completed.
In addition to being totally confused about what Gabriel was saying about Castiel, Dean was also totally confused about what he was feeling about the whole situation, too.
Castiel blinked and nodded. He set his hand on Dean’s other shoulder, then used the other to brace the human’s back, ignoring the stiffening of his body. He looked at the Registrar. “Ready.”
Dean blinked and again looked from one angel to the other. They were serious. So much had changed in the space of a few hours – from an invisible slave (to Castiel, although he certainly hadn’t been invisible to Gabriel, he smirked to himself) to…what? A guest? What exactly was he, now? And how long might he be stuck in this in-between space? He didn’t know what came after, and he was frankly afraid to let himself believe.
Raphael laughed, amused. “Hardly a spree, Castiel. I am not so crass. There was never a need for that. I just…removed one here, one there, two over there. They were just humans, after all. No need to get excited. If you don’t approve, I will stop. It would be a shame, though.”
Gabriel gave his brother an exasperated glare. “Tell him what you want, Castiel. He needs to know right now.”
Dean lay sprawled out on the couch, watching the big screen television that it seemed no one else ever did. Well, he wasn’t about to let something this glorious go to waste. Things had settled down mostly, but now…now he was waiting for the big reveal. Or whatever. He still really didn’t know what the hell was gonna happen. He didn’t know what he wanted, much less what Castiel - or Gabriel - wanted. After a lot of going around and around with it all in his head, he’d come to the conclusion that he had wait for Castiel to lay it out for him before he could make heads or tails of it. Thus his epic binge of all things television.
Sam had grown up and away from Dean, and Dean knew it was normal; more than that, it was a good thing, that Sam had become a strong, independent young man. But he did miss it sometimes – that look of love and faith in Sam’s eyes. This wasn’t the same, of course, but it reminded him of the good times, and Dean allowed himself this taste of a good thing in the chaos his life had become.
As Sam got older, he had rebelled against their father’s strict orders, training, hunting, and moving from place to place. He wanted a home and friends, a school that he could go to for more than a year. The fights got longer and louder, the older he got, until he finally broke away from hunting and got into Stanford last year. Dean hated the fighting and tried to mediate, but sometimes he just had to stand back and let them go at it. He saw both sides, but his first loyalty was to Sam. When he saw the direction things were going, he helped his brother as best he could, supporting him when he applied for admission and scholarships. He didn’t want to see him go, but Dean knew they couldn’t go on the way they were. Sam and John were just too alike, too hard-headed. John’s mission was not, and never would be, Sam’s. Sam wanted to live his own life, and Dean did everything he could to help him, even though it tore at him, that his brother was leaving him.
Dean’s face flamed red, and he turned his eyes away from Gabriel. He really wanted to forget that whole thing happened, but he was lost, and the knot in his gut wouldn’t go away.
He left his brother to his thoughts and went to take care of his own work. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could take Dean back to his room, get him naked on his hands and knees, and ride him hard and deep. He thought it could be fun to see how close he could get the boy to coming before leaving him there. He really wanted Castiel to get his head out of his ass in time to take Dean that last inch and show him how good it was to be their obedient little bitch.
Once inside, Castiel took in the scene with a quick glance. Dean hung from his wrists, shirtless, bloody and broken, and three humans stood before him, their hands bruised and swollen from beating him, their clothes flecked with his blood. Another flicker of will, and they dropped to the floor, unconscious. Castiel wanted nothing more than to destroy them as he had the one outside, but his first priority was Joshua.
Dean took another sip of tea, just to gave something to do while his mind tried to shift into gear. He looked at Gabriel, too uncomfortable with Castiel’s sudden intensity. “What happens next?”
Joshua, who had never had this kind of close contact with a human, was fascinated with Dean and couldn’t stay away from him. Dean had tried to maintain a distance, but Joshua reminded him so much of a young Sam, that he couldn’t bring himself to push the boy away. It wasn’t that he was so much like Sam, he really wasn’t. It was the unguarded openness and ever-present curiosity the youngster displayed that made Dean remember the good times with Sam, when Sam looked up to him as the one with all the answers, his big brother.
“It’s alright Dean, just relax. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just relax for me, that’s it. That’s beautiful, Dean, you take my cock so beautifully. It feels so good, having you wrapped hot and tight around my cock.” Gabriel was finally all the way in, penetrating Dean fully, the way he had wanted to since he saw Castiel fucking him earlier at the jail.
Luke laughed loudly. Smirking, he said, “I bet Castiel and Gabriel aren’t looking at his face much – I bet they have him bent over, legs spread wide for them all the time.”
The beating started. They took turns, alternating their blows with questions. Dean didn’t respond to either. They struck him from the front, then they moved to the back, then the front again. There wasn’t a lot of room to get at his sides, but that still left a lot of vulnerable, painful territory for them to pound. Dean’s attention wavered and faded as he slipped into straight suffering. He knew he just has to hold on long enough…but fuck, why, why is it taking so long! Where are his fucking angels?! Then coherent thought began to take too much effort, and all he could do was endure.
Joshua let out a peal of laughter as he slapped his cards down on the table in front of Dean. Dean grinned back at him, enjoying the boy’s uninhibited joy at beating him finally. They had been spending a lot of time alone lately, despite what Gabriel had said about not bothering him. In the first day or two Gabriel had watched them closely, but he could immediately see that Dean was comfortable and good with Joshua.
Castiel swallowed. Gabriel was an exceptional healer. If he needed Castiel’s help…. He didn’t know exactly what had happened here, but he could guess that Dean had protected Joshua with everything he had, maybe a little bit more. He owed Dean his little brother’s life. After everything that had happened to him…after everything Castiel had done to him…Dean had still saved an angel’s life. He knew he would have a lot to think about soon, but first, he had to help Gabriel save Dean.
“Meeting angels – it’s cool, right? I mean, we’ve never run into angels before, so I’m learning some stuff about them that’s…it’s not like anything we knew about in the lore. And…living with them – Gabriel is….” Dean blinked and tried to figure out a PG way to describe Gabriel. He wasn’t sure he could.
Little by little Dean had found himself gravitating toward Castiel. Castiel would often be found in the kitchen or living room, mostly working on his computer or studying papers. Dean would sit close, but not too close, and watch for a while, but he usually ended up falling asleep. He wasn’t sleeping well at night – too much was going through his mind, but once he found himself in Castiel’s presence for any length of time, he relaxed, the hum quieted, and he fell asleep.
“Ramiel, Joshua is in the bathroom. Please take him back to our office, if you will. Michael and Luke, these three have information we should have. Please take care of it,” Castiel directed confidently, and the three nodded, and moved to make it happen. He turned back to Dean and glanced at Gabriel, the best healer among them.
The next few days were the busiest Castiel had ever been. Charlie helped by collecting the electronic evidence, which included the security video detailing Raphael’s confession and his attempted murder of Castiel. She also discovered the files Raphael had kept on everything he had done – it turned out that he was as efficient and attentive to detail with regard to murder as he had been in running their business. Castiel was both horrified again and thankful for the records, since they would allow him to do what he could to assist those injured and left behind.
Turning back to the waiting young man, Castiel slowly and deliberately approached him, stopping a couple of feet away. This close, he could feel the younger man’s body heat. Castiel was a bit shorter than the young man, but his solid presence more than made up for it.
“I am not a natural healer, as Gabriel is. When I helped him heal you, I had to let my grace touch your soul in order to hold you here,” he explained.
Castiel was shaking his head before the Dean’s final words. “No, Dean.” He cocked his head slightly and his eyes unfocused a bit, as if looking at something behind Dean.
“Suck my cock, bitch. That’s it, that’s amazing, you’re a natural….” Cas sighed and came, filling Dean’s mouth, spilling down his throat inside and out. After so long resisting his beautiful boy, he couldn’t last long this first time.
Sam swallowed again and took a deep breath. He could do this. One more time. “Dean came into my room and told me you called about a werewolf hunting a couple hours away from us, killing humans. He said you had tip about where it was holed up. If the information held up, the job should be easy. We packed up and headed out to talk to the local law enforcement and the three victims’ families mentioned in the tip.”
“Yeah, dude, I’m totally okay.” Dean’s mind flashed an image of him hanging helplessly, blow after blow falling on him. “I’ll be okay,” he reassured his brother and himself at the same time.
“I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. But I did watch you. You were so…confident, so easy, with Gabriel. He was dominating you, but you didn’t seem to…hate him, resent him. You are charming, Dean, intelligent, and good. You are such a good man. I could see it, but I didn’t want to. You were good with Joshua - you joked and played with him, even though you had every reason to hate angels. And then you saved his life. And then I saw your soul. And I was…done. It’s true that seeing your soul made me finally realize how wrong I was and how much I did want you for myself, of your own free will, but everything about you from the time I first saw you had led me to it.”
Castiel looked at Gabriel, then followed his gaze to Dean, who was so visibly wound up that he was almost vibrating. Ah. Yes. Gabriel was right. He was not subtle. But he didn’t think that’s what Dean needed or wanted. But Dean did need him to be clear. He could follow Gabriel’s guidance.
“Good boy.” Dean closed the panel, making sure it fit but wasn’t airtight. He felt time running out, and he had to get away from Joshua’s hiding spot, now. He had no idea what was going on, but he figured better safe than sorry. If these guys turned out to be repairmen or something, then he’d be embarrassed, but he knew deep down humans breaking into an angel’s house meant nothing good.
“Charlie was the one who noticed the video feed from the house had frozen. She told us. She was also helping us with tracking down the members of that group,” Castiel answered his unspoken questions.
Dean shut his eyes for a moment, then looked at who he thought must be Gabriel. “Yeah,” he forced out.
Castiel knew that Dean could not have murdered his friend. It was so totally incompatible with what he had seen that it was bedrock knowledge for him. That’s not to say, as Gabriel had mentioned once, that Dean
“I have arranged for a copy of the trial transcript to be sent to my assistant, Charlie. She is our office manager and an expert in all things electronic. She will attempt to trace where the initial email that was sent to your father came from. It is my intention to see you cleared and free again, as soon as I can.”
John sighed out a long breath, thinking. It was pretty clear that it had been a trap meant for him, or him and Dean both. Sam had been an unexpected addition to the situation, since he had been out of the picture for nearly a year. Three things stood out for him. One, who sent the tip, why, and how did they know him? Two, why did the police show up when and where they did? And three, who killed the werewolf? He knew it all was likely to be related, but it helped him to pull out the threads.
The young man got knocked down a few times and got back up to take more and more abuse, until finally he couldn’t get up anymore, and still Castiel beat him, launching punishing kicks to his thighs, buttocks, belly, shoulders, and back. Finally, the young man lay still, gasping harshly, blood covering his face and splattered over his clothes and the concrete around him.
The one question Gabriel had not yet answered was what the hell the Registrar had meant when she said he was their bitch now and forever. He got the “now” part, but where the hell did the “forever” part come in? He had asked, of course he had, but at that question Gabriel just gave him a pleased smirk and kept on with whatever he was doing. It was a bit maddening, really.
Dean woke suddenly, his body assaulting him with messages of pain from everywhere. He breathed through it, trying to keep from exacerbating the pain and failing. As young as he was, he had a lot of experience dealing with pain, but this was next level. All of his nerve endings were screaming their distress, and he slowly forced it back enough to turn his attention back to the outer world.
He waited until Sam ran down, then said, “I don’t have all the answers yet, Sam. Let me do one thing at a time.”
He couldn’t actually make any decisions yet. All he could do was work on acknowledging being dominated did something for him, and try like hell to believe that didn’t make him weak.
Castiel cocked his head. He hadn’t intended this part of the conversation until after Dean was freed, but he could see that Dean’s current reaction was not the relief and happiness he had anticipated. Sometimes he had a hard time interacting with humans. He wasn’t the best at interpreting their facial expressions or body language, certainly not as good as Gabriel was. Very well.
Dean didn’t know how long they stood like that, but eventually Castiel slowly stepped away, keeping hold of his hand as he pulled him toward the table and then held the chair for Dean to sit. He moved to fix another cup of tea, setting it down in front of Dean before he took his own chair again.
Her job was to assist the Novaks – well, it was, even if she mostly – okay, totally – ended up assisting Castiel alone because the others really didn’t have too much to do with humans. She ran the office and everything associated with it and did pretty much anything else Castiel needed help with. So – keeping an eye on the house.
As their blue eyes met green, Castiel’s grace touched Dean’s soul, and Castiel was engulfed in an explosion of power and magic and possibility that he could barely comprehend. He didn’t see energy as his brother Gabriel did, in colors and streams, but he saw/heard/felt the totality of Dean, the absolute and utterly overwhelming beauty of Dean’s soul, and he knew he would never be the same.
Dean groaned as Gabriel pushed one last time into him and came, filling him in hot, wet spurts. Gabriel rested for a few moments, draped over Dean’s body, enjoying the feeling of his balls emptying into the young human under him. One hand reached for Dean’s cock, finding it hard and leaking, as he expected. He smiled into Dean’s shoulder and stroked him gently for a few minutes before pulling his hand away. He felt Dean’s aborted move toward his retreating hand and smiled a little bit more, before his smile faded and he sighed.
The prosecution had claimed that the werewolf had died from a stab wound to the heart within about an hour or two of when he was found. The knife had entered from the front, angled precisely to catch his heart, and the prosecution’s experts had claimed he would have died nearly instantly, thus the perpetrator must have been an expert with a blade – like someone with a hunter of Dean’s level of experience. They had found the murder weapon thrown under the bed – a nondescript silver dagger, blade still bloody but handle wiped clean.
Dean felt his face flush hotly at Luke’s comment, but he kept his gaze up. He wasn’t about to let this guy get to him like that.
The young man struggled weakly and groaned as he was penetrated, but he had nothing left to fight with. His body was racked with pain, bruises blooming red and purple everywhere. Even breathing hurt, and he thought dimly that maybe he might be dying. Over and above all that, he felt the hot searing pain of the angel’s huge cock as it pushed into him and filled him full. He felt dull and confused, not sure what was happening now. He hadn’t been surprised at the angel’s presence, and he hadn’t been surprised he got his ass handed to him. But this - this was totally out of his experience – this was not something he had been ready for.
Dean felt the man’s heat and presence behind him, then he felt the fingers gently push into him. It felt weird – really weird, but it didn’t hurt. His tense muscles slowly relaxed and then he felt the most amazing thing as those fingers found a spot inside him that made him see stars. He grunted and realized that he was starting to get hard. What the hell?!
Dean searched his memory - there were something pinging in his back brain, but it was too vague to grab onto, and he shook his head.
Dean knelt down in front of Castiel, looking up, his heart beating fast, the muscles throughout his body trembling with nerves. He wanted this, he did, but there was so much going on in his head. Castiel’s hands went to his belt and he slowly unbuckled and unzipped, then pushed his trousers and tight boxer shorts down his thick thighs, baring his hard cock. Dean swallowed. Cas was much bigger than Gabriel - both longer and thicker. He’d never really thought of a man’s cock as beautiful before - his own was functional and a source of stress relief and pleasure when he chose to exercise it, but others’ were - well, had been - so off limits that Dean had never allowed himself to contemplate what it would be like, to be this close to one - to be allowed to focus on one. He leaned closer and tentatively reached out with his tongue, gently contacting Cas’s cock that he held out for him. Tentatively, he tried again, licking, then opening his mouth wide and lunging up a bit to take Cas’s cock into his mouth. He reached up with one hand to grip what his mouth couldn’t cover, and he started to gently suck, trying to keep his teeth away from tender flesh. This was more difficult that he would have thought before. Girls and women who’d done this for him had mostly made it look easy, he thought grumpily, pulling off, frustrated.
Dean didn’t know what to think about that either. Gabriel never hurt him, making sure he was stretched out and lubed up, and Dean’s body seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. He started to get hard even before Gabriel pulled him to his room, and by the time Gabriel came, Dean was all the way hard, but Gabriel hadn’t made him come yet. After Gabriel left each night, Dean stroked himself until he came, cleaned himself up, and went to sleep easily. It was so weird. He would have expected himself to hate this, to hate Gabriel, to feel angry and…well, he didn’t even want to finish that thought. He didn’t feel that, though. One side of his brain knew that he got a hot wisp of…pleasure…when Gabriel dominated him, when he called him a bitch. The other side of his brain wanted to bury that first thought fucking deep and never think about it again, but he couldn’t, because it happened every night. There was no getting away from the totally unwanted thought that he enjoyed serving Gabriel that way.
Hearing of Silas’ death had hit Castiel hard. He had never lost someone so close to him. As a hunter, it was not entirely unexpected, but still – and to a human? The utter uselessness of it, the waste of the such a good man had torn a hole in Castiel. Watching the trial day after day, hearing the prosecution claim that the human had hated all magical races, that he had set a trap for a werewolf, that he had murdered that werewolf, it had enraged Castiel – that a human could wipe away all that Silas had been, all the good he had done, in ignorance and hate. He had wanted, no, needed, to see the human punished. The defense tried to claim that Winchester had been tracking a rogue werewolf who had killed several humans in the last couple of weeks before the incident, and that the evidence led him to Silas. They claimed that Winchester had found Silas already dead.
Dean grimaced at their backs. Nice. Four more angels to deal with. Well, the boy wouldn’t be an issue – he might even be fun, but the other three…. Dean shook his head. He already missed being alone with his two angels.
So what the hell, he wasn’t a coward, Dean thought. He was attracted to the angel. He wanted to feel that strength, that power focused on him again. He had a feeling next time would be different. Next time would be…clarifying. He hoped.
“Ah, okay. Thanks, Charlie,” Dean was a little uncomfortable with this stranger knowing so much about him and what happened to him, but he was going to try to ignore that discomfort for now.
Gabriel nodded at the three angels in turn. Michael was a tall, dark haired man, almost startlingly handsome, with warm brown eyes. Luke was about average height, with sandy hair, and a sardonic grin on his face. Dean resolved to be careful of that one. Ramiel was the shortest and slight of build, with dark hair and eyes also.
Castiel cocked his head. He wasn’t sure what the words meant, but he got the gist. And he was amazed and amused, despite it all. This human who had every reason to hate him, was giving him a nickname and…teasing him? This man who had just been tortured was trying to make light of his pain?
matter to him and if so, why? And should it? Could he choose to not care about what anyone else would think? Was he that strong? And if he was that strong, why did he want what he wanted?
“Tell me, Brother, what’s holding you back?” Gabriel asked, a small smile remaining on his face after seeing his brother’s reaction.
“Sorry to hear about your boy, Winchester,” one grizzled older black man said. There was a general murmur of agreement from the others.
Dean swallowed drily. “So, it wasn’t…” He closed his eyes and lifted his hand to cover his face for a moment, holding on. “It wasn’t the best time of my life, okay? But I need to…not talk about that right now, Sam.” He swallowed again.
The young human had to know that he had no real chance against the strength of an angel, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Castiel moved with the punches, absorbing the lightning fast blows that kept coming for a few minutes that felt like forever to those watching, and the magistrate shifted uneasily until he caught Gabriel’s shake of the head.
John took a deep breath and let it out slowly, silently. He nodded acknowledgement. “You guys hear anything?”
“He’s a murderer, Gabriel, and a bigot. He killed my friend – our friend – just because he was a werewolf.”
Dean was undeniably, unmistakably human, but when his soul had touched Castiel’s grace, they had recognized each other, reached for each other, intertwined and tasted each other as only those who are meant to be Soulbound do.
Gabriel took Joshua’s hand and turned to go find Castiel and the others. He looked over his shoulder at Dean and said, “Finish your chores, Dean. Please have dinner ready for all of us in three hours.”
“I don’t know, Castiel. But what I do know is that Dean said he didn’t do it, and after the past few days with him, I believe him. Oh, he’s no helpless kitten, that boy, he *is* a hunter, after all, but I think if he’d killed Silas, he’d have admitted it.”
“Do it, Gabriel,” one dark, gravelly voice ordered, “you know you have to establish the relationship now, before we register him.”
not have killed him, but murder – no. He was innocent, and Castiel had beaten and fucked him and treated him…. Castiel swallowed. He could not take back what he had done, but he recognized two more items of bedrock knowledge. He would do everything he could to find the truth and see Dean free again. And he was meant for Dean, as Dean was meant for him.
Sam paused to gulp some water, then continued. “It all checked out. The sheriff’s department gave us copies of the reports; the families confirmed the details. We went out to the abandoned warehouse he was supposed to be holed up in.”
Dean heard Sam’s sincerity, and something tight in his chest eased. It had been hard watching Sam go away, head out on his own, but he knew the kid had to go after his own dreams, and he was proud of him, he was. But it had been hard watching him go and not look back. This, knowing Sam still wanted him around, hadn’t been trying to ditch
“Yeah, about that. First, I’m okay, alright?” Dean waited for Sam’s slightly apprehensive okay in return, then told him what happened.
Dean swallowed. He felt light-headed again and wondered what he was supposed to say now. The ground had shifted under him, and he felt unsteady. Castiel could see his soul? And it was…unmarred? But…he knew he wasn’t perfect. He had been a hunter for years…that definitely came with some ugly psychic baggage that slowly piled up over time. He didn’t understand this at all, so that’s what he managed to get out.
Gabriel nodded and went to sweep up the discarded clothing. His dick was hard as a rock after watching his brother mount their new bitch, but he knew it would be better to wait until they got him back to the house to take his turn between the boy’s legs. He could wait.
So the work was easy. The sex…well, he wasn’t sure what to call that. Gabriel never hurt him, and in fact, his body was totally on board with all of it. He hadn’t actually come with Gabriel inside him yet, but he was sure one of these days he would, based upon his sheer frustration level. Gabriel ordered him around and firmly took what he wanted from Dean…but he also took care of him. He saw him. He talked to him. He touched him. And Dean…loved it. And he didn’t know what the hell to do about that – how to think about that. He barely wanted to think about the fact that Gabriel had basically said he was submissive. It went against everything he’d ever been raised to be – a strong, aggressive, take-no-shit hunter. But it was also easier than anything he had ever done. He didn’t know what to think about that, and in fact, he didn’t even know if he wanted to think about that. He just wasn’t sure he was going to be able to avoid it much longer.
Castiel looked at Gabriel briefly, then moved his gaze back to Dean. “We know you’re innocent,” he stated calmly, quietly. “
“Who? I’m here alone.” Dean tried for clueless. It wasn’t hard. He really didn’t have any idea what was going on here. Why would some humans be after an angel child? It was nearly suicide, as far as Dean could tell. He knew the Novaks would destroy anyone who hurt their brother, not to mention what the larger angel community and maybe even the rest of the supernatural community would do if humans injured or killed an angel child.
“I’m guessing they don’t think there’s much to talk about. We know it’s a rough job; hunters die. But I’ve talked to maybe fifteen gatherings across the area in the last coupla weeks. Everybody knows at least one, sometimes two hunters who’ve died…unexpectedly…in the last year or so. It’s hard to pin down a timeframe, obviously. Hard to pull out the anomalies from a regular, not “unexpected” death.” John’s hand rasped across his beard.
And he was focused on taking care of Dean. He greeted him in the morning with his regular, “Hello, Dean,” and he asked if he’d slept well. He made sure Dean ate regularly and if he needed anything. He showed Dean the room set up as a gym and encouraged him to use it regularly, “Because you need to take care of your health, Dean.” Dean tried. He ate and slept and worked out hard, and he read. And he thought. He thought about what he wanted and why, and what did that imply about him, and why did it matter anyway? He thought about his family’s reaction to him and his possible choices. He thought about other people’s reactions, and if that
“Listen, Dad, the Novaks want to help prove that I’m innocent. They want to help get my conviction vacated. They’ve got an electronics expert they think may be able to help. Her name’s Charlie Bradbury. She’s gonna be calling you soon for more information about that email. Answer her questions, okay?”
Dean picked his way carefully down the stairs, looking around for signs of anyone at all. He heard a low murmur coming from the kitchen area and froze. He had a feeling that everything had changed, but he didn’t know why he felt that, and he wasn’t sure he was gonna like it, anyway.
The magistrate finally shrugged and did as the angel asked, using his key to remove the solid steel cuffs that had bound the young man’s wrists behind him.
“Yeah, well, we’re…uh....” Dean tried to figure out how to describe this part of it. “He asked me to stay, so….”
Dean knew he should be happy, knowing Gabriel wasn’t going to feel free to fuck him every night, and happier that Castiel would never touch him again…but he wasn’t. It was weird and fucked up, but he…well, it would be quite a stretch to say he’d been happy, but he hadn’t been unhappy. He had felt…carefree? That wasn’t quite right, either, but it came close. From the time he was four years old and his dad had shoved Sammy into his arms, he had never been free of the weight of that responsibility. His job was to take care of his brother, and after that, to take care of his dad. Yeah, Sam had grown up and gone to college, but that still left him staying with his dad, following orders, being there because he frankly didn’t know what would happen to his dad if he tried get a life of his own. He’d been holding his family together with his fingernails and determination and stress, and after the trial – well, the stretched taut rubber band had loosened, and all Dean had to do was relax and live day to day. The chores were easy and not all that burdensome.
So this one was a struggle to write, both because of real life and because this is a kind of transition chapter with a lot of different stuff going on. I hope it doesn't come off as too choppy or busy, but I'm trying to keep to my outline for this, my first real fic, and some strings had to get woven in here for everything else to go the way I intend it to. I also wanted to thank you guys for your comments and kudos, it gives me a reason to keep marching forward and also lets me know where I need to focus some attention in the story. I hope you enjoy -
Castiel bypassed that. “You believe him, then? You believe his story about the anonymous tip and Silas being dead when he got there? That means that someone had to have killed Silas and set Dean up for it. What possible reason could there be for that?”
Now. Now he was getting fucked every night – his thoughts broke off at that, and he frowned, his thought abruptly detoured. Gabriel must be healing him. Huh. Anyway – he was getting fucked every night by an angel – a man whose physical stature might not match his, but his strength and his…confidence, his power, made Dean feel – not really small or weak (he hadn’t been small or weak for years) – but maybe…protected? That might not be quite the word for it either, but whatever it was, Dean enjoyed the way Gabriel manhandled him, put him in the positions he wanted, guided him, held him up, held him down, and just plain held him. Gabriel’s strength and power, along with his gentle, sometimes wicked humor, let him relax and let go for the first time in years, let him set down his “armor”, and he wasn’t ready to let that go.
John knocked back his shot of whiskey, breathing through the burn. The others at the table with him did the same, and it was quiet for a few moments.
Eyes wide, Dean looked back and forth between Castiel and Gabriel. They seemed to be pretty serious. There was so much bound up in that statement that he couldn’t deal with it all at the moment. Ignoring the huge and potentially explosive implications for now, he chose to concentrate on the details. He narrowed his eyes, trying to show them he meant business. “Does that mean I’m gonna finally get some answers now?”
Castiel stayed close to home. He didn’t say much to Dean, but he was there. His solid presence steadied Dean’s flares of anxiety. It was the waiting, the uncertainty that was disturbing him. Before, he knew he couldn’t do anything about his situation except endure, make the best of it – he’d been a hunter. Patience hadn’t come easy to him, but he had learned it. This was different. This was out of his control, and he had no idea what was going to happen next.
“Oh, no.” Dean looked at Castiel, then over to Gabriel, who was smiling a bit, and kicking his leg rhythmically.
“Angels are…beings of spirit, of energy, first and foremost. It’s why we can manipulate energy – do magic, as you say. As individuals, we do have different capabilities, different talents – or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that while we all have the basics, we each have an…affinity…a particular point of view toward seeing and manipulating the energy of the universe. Our physical bodies are made of matter, of course, but maybe you could categorize angels as 95% spirit and 5% matter. Humans – well, humans can vary as well, but let’s say most are 95% matter and 5% spirit.”
The Registrar nodded. “I recognize your claims, Castiel and Gabriel. I See your essence within him. Both of you have penetrated him and filled him with your seed. He is marked as your demonstrated bitch, now and forever.”
“He’s clean and clear of any and all bonds,” she said to Castiel and Gabriel, standing just behind and to either side of Dean.
Gabriel had stopped at that, highly unsatisfactory point for Dean. A few things had settled in his mind, but Gabriel’s ‘angel class’ had raised even more questions for him, questions that Gabriel had already said he wouldn’t answer – yet.
Buried full-length in the young man’s tight asshole, his balls pressed firmly against his firm round buttocks, Castiel turned to look at the magistrate. “Witness, if you please, Magistrate. I’ve taken Dean Winchester as my bitch.”
Castiel nodded, still smiling. Gabriel knew Dean in a way that he did not, yet, but he would catch up and surpass him, he had no doubt about that. While Castiel was willing to share with his brother, Dean belonged to him. It was good to see that he acknowledged that.
It was just as well, Dean thought. He had enough to worry about on his own. Finding himself in Castiel’s proximity more and more often, he had taken the opportunity to surreptitiously study him. When he was working and Dean was supposedly reading, he could look over and watch Castiel. The man…the angel…was beautiful, Dean thought. Maybe others might prefer the word handsome, but that wasn’t quite apt enough for Dean. Castiel wasn’t quite as tall as Dean was, but his body was solid and strong in a way that Dean’s wasn’t. The muscle and bone of him- his physical being seemed to take up so much more space than it objectively should. Dean wasn’t quite sure how to describe it, but Castiel definitely had a presence that drew people’s attention - not just Dean, although that was definitely true. His eyes were a clear, light blue that, despite the color, were warm, and when he looked at him, he
That left getting fucked, to put it bluntly. And truth be told, although he was frustrated as all hell, since Gabriel hadn’t been letting him come, he…well, he liked it. He found it barely possible to admit to himself, but it was the truth. Yeah, he was a normal guy growing up – he’d had his share of hookups with women, plus a couple of relationships, although nothing really serious. He’d looked at his fair share of guys, too, but he’d never taken that step. It had just seemed to involve too much baggage to be worth the novelty, so his curiosity had never gone further than the occasional glance and a fleeting thought.
Castiel shook his head. He didn’t know how Gabriel could just...decide to believe Dean over everything the prosecution had said. He turned his back on Gabriel again, facing back to his email, and waited for Gabriel to leave.
Gabriel sighed. He surveyed the confused young human and explained. “You know about State Labor and Restricted Labor?”
Gabriel watched Castiel turn his back to him and rolled his eyes with exasperation. His little brother was so smart in some ways, but once he made his mind up it would take a sledgehammer to get him to change it. Well, he had planted the ideas he wanted Castiel to think about, anyway, and that was what all he wanted.
Embarrassed and ashamed and…naked…as he was right now, Dean also felt the tiniest, strangest curl of warmth in his belly at the thought of all of it – being forced to submit to these two angels, getting on his hands and knees and spreading his legs for them, taking their cocks inside him, feeling them fuck him deep and hard and spill their seed inside him, being their bitch. He could barely allow himself to recognize any of this…alien feeling…as his, much less begin to think about what it meant about him. Well, whatever this was, he had no time for it now. He firmly pushed any weird feelings and wayward thoughts out of his mind and concentrated on getting through the next minute, and then the next, and then the next. One thing at a time.
Castiel blinked in response as he tried to parse that expression out. Finally he came to a possible meaning and replied, “Very well.” He paused. “If we can, we will.”
“Some get emailed tips, run after them alone and end up dead in a ditch or field. Some get phone calls. Most work alone, but there have been a couple with partners where both turn up dead. I don’t know what’s going on, Bobby, but Dean’s the only one who’s still alive after being targeted. So far.”
It’s been a couple of hours now, and Charlie’s been checking every fifteen minutes or so. She saw Dean and Joshua were still playing cards at the table, and she idly wondered how long could they even do that. She’d never seen Joshua do one thing for so long. She’d met him a few times, and the boy struck her a normal high-energy…. She took a closer look at the camera that focused on the dining area, using the computer to pull the image up to fill the screen.
Dean, still wet and relaxed from Gabriel’s fucking and the spanking, groaned as he was filled once again. Cas’s bigger cock invaded him, making a place for itself inside him, filling him full. He felt Castiel come flush against his ass, all the way inside, and the fact of it was almost enough to make him come. He rested there for a few seconds, then pulled almost out of Dean and pushed back, slow and deliberate. He kept at this pace, fucking Dean slowly, making him feel every inch of his cock, again and again.
Castiel turned to look and abruptly dropped the paperwork he had been looking at. He surged out of his chair and toward Dean. Always, toward Dean.
“Dean!” his dad growled out in surprise. “Dean, are you okay? Where are you?” His voice was rough, urgent.
“When you are free, I will ask you to stay here, with us. I will ask you to choose to belong to us, Gabriel and I, to choose to submit to us, to accept our dominance in all ways. In return we will promise to protect and support you always. We will lead you and guide you and help you grow in whatever way seems good to us all. You would belong to us, Dean, and we would belong to you.”
Castiel got in the front seat of their nondescript sedan, while Gabriel followed Dean into the back seat, to both of their surprise. Gabriel smirked at Castiel’s look, and he reached down with one hand to gently grasp Dean’s cock. Dean flinched and inhaled sharply, but slowly relaxed as Gabriel did nothing more than hold on.
Castiel came into the room and handed the beers around, keeping one for himself. Dean shifted to sit upright, uncomfortable already, and nobody had said a thing.
Dean blinked a few times, looking back and forth between the two angels, finally settling on Castiel again. His mind scrambled, trying to fit this into the narrative. Finally, he just asked, “Why now? Just because I wouldn’t let Joshua get kidnapped?”
So, it had crossed his mind that the Novaks, as former associates of the victim, might want him as their Restricted Laborer. He hadn’t thought it likely, given Browne wasn’t an angel, but it was possible. Seeing the Novaks in his cell – well, he knew he was screwed. The ass-kicking that followed wasn’t a surprise by that point, either, since Dean was never one to expect sunshine and roses, but then – that last bit, that was a surprise. Laborers weren’t supposed to be abused – that wasn’t the point of any of it. Dean was adrift. What was happening?
Castiel knew there was no use talking to Raphael further. He would never understand the utter horror of what he had just confessed to. He turned away. He would take this to the Council and let them deal with his brother. Reaching for the door, he felt an enormous shock impact him from behind, flinging him into the still-closed door. Stunned but not incapacitated, he immediately shielded himself and turned to face his Raphael, who was still smiling as he tried to kill his brother. “I don’t think that went too well, do you, Castiel?” His eyes flared brilliantly, signs of his magic ramping up, and he struck out again, attempting to annihilate Castiel.
Dean flinched, unable to stop the reflexive movement, but he didn’t back up. He met Castiel’s unblinking gaze and was unable to look away. His heart was beating fast, pounding in his chest, and he started to feel faint. His head went light; he swayed, and then he felt strong arms come around him, holding tight, and a firm chest against his. A hand palmed the back of his head and gently guided it to a solid shoulder. Dean stood stiff for a few moments, totally confused – what even was happening? But then he allowed the warmth of Castiel’s body to enter his awareness and then seep into him. He allowed the strength in the arms holding him to anchor him. He allowed the solidity of the body pressed into his to buoy him up. The tension flowed out of him, and his breathing and heart slowed as he relaxed into Castiel’s embrace.
All at once he couldn’t wait any longer, and he moved, slowly pushing his engorged cock into the young human. Dean took a quick breath, and Gabriel shushed him.
Dean cocked his head toward the door, hearing some odd scratching sounds. He got up and went over to the monitor near the door. He saw three human-appearing men huddled close to the door. One appeared to be fiddling with the door knob, the other two were looking in opposite directions down the street. Oh, this cannot be good, Dean thought.
On some few occasions, if a convict had committed a crime against a person instead of against the state, the victim could place a claim on his or her labor if he or she desired and could support and maintain the convict. Restricted Laborers in this situation had to be approved and were monitored for appropriate obedience, work performance, and safety by the city Labor Magistrate’s Office. RL’s owed their labor to their assignees (unofficially known as their owners), but they could only be punished for infractions by the Magistrate’s Office after a hearing. RL’s still had rights and protections.
Dean in a way no one else did. His voice was low and pleasing, sliding into Dean’s hind-brain slow and smooth, hitting an arousal button he had never before discovered. He was the calm, grounding center around which everyone circled.
Upstairs now, he kept running and closing doors. He heard the smashing of wood coming from downstairs and knew he was out of time. He darted into the master bedroom, closing and locking the door, then into the walk-in closet. Fuck, what the fuck! Everything was hung up and tidy! He should have gone into Gabriel’s room, he bet that guy had clothes lying everywhere! Dean grabbed clothes off hangers and sheets and bedding off shelves and tossed it, trying to make it look somewhat normal messy, whatever that meant, and buried himself into the resulting pile. It was ridiculous, but it was all he had now. He wanted to be hidden, slow these guys up, but he needed to be easier to find than Joshua.
John wasn’t sure what was going on or why, but he was sure that he was going to do his damndest to find out. He needed to talk to the human hunter community and see if there were any rumors going around about this kind of set up – or about anything unusual at all. It was going to take time and effort, but if there was one thing John did have, it was determination.
The brothers came back to the house in short order, one after the other, until they all sat around the living room, waiting. Castiel continued working in the kitchen until the doorbell rang, and he ushered Charlie in and took a seat himself.
Castiel shook his head as he started the car toward home. He was glad this part was done. Dean was theirs officially and publicly, to do with what they chose. While he wasn’t quite sure what that was yet, he was ready to move on to the next step.
Cas was smiling down at him. “You look beautiful on your knees for me, Dean, with your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”
“Uh…why? And what about Dad? Hunting? What would you even do? Why are you even thinking about it? ‘cause I know you wouldn’t even mention it if you weren’t thinking about it.” Sam’s questions were rapid-fire, leaving no room for Dean to talk until he finally ran down to silence.
Michael cocked his head at Gabriel. “So, this is Castiel’s new project?” He eyed Dean speculatively. “He’s a beautiful human, at least.”
“Dean, when I watched you at the trial, I thought you were beautiful, but also a bigoted murderer. I was blinded by preconception and anger. And so I determined to punish you, to teach you better. But even when I…hurt you…some part of me knew I was in the wrong. I saw how strong you were. I saw how brave you were. And I didn’t realize it at the time, but I must have felt something of what you are…dominating you was so good, so perfect, but I wanted you to…submit, willingly. I couldn’t deal with that idea, so I…stayed away from you entirely. I was confused.” Castiel looked away for a few moments, then back at Dean.
Dean had known from childhood that he was attracted to boys as well as girls, and he had also known that he was different from everyone else in that respect. Growing up on the road with his father and his little brother, he learned early to keep his mouth shut, keep quiet and listen, and to do what he was told. He knew of no one in the human hunter life who admitted to being anything other than a “normal” heterosexual. Maybe it wouldn’t have been a big deal to admit, but the fact was that Dean just never wanted to take that chance. His life was tough enough, he didn’t need to deal with that, too.
As a consequence of his caution, he had never had a sexual experience with a man – until Castiel had fucked him, that is. He still wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. He was aware that everything felt a little…okay, a lot, removed, right now. It felt almost as if he was watching everything happen from behind a pane of glass – he saw it, he knew what was happening, but he didn’t entirely feel it.
“Don’t make us hurt you.” Moe was ready to hurt Dean, he could see it. Maybe it was payback for earlier, maybe it was just his nature, but he was looking forward to it.
Luke still had his eyes on Dean. “Lemme take him off your hands for a bit, Gabriel, it’s been a long time for me.”
“Fuck it,” he said, abruptly fed up with his own crap. He finished descending the stairs and made his way to the kitchen doorway, uncomfortably aware he was standing in the same place he had been tortured in not that long ago.
Gabriel had told Dean all this, answering his questions easily as he showed Dean where food and supplies were kept and told him what their daily schedules were. Dean had seen Castiel only in passing, quick glimpses in the morning before Dean made breakfast for Gabriel and him, and in the evening after Dean made dinner. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. Gabriel seemed to be sunny and open and direct about everything, including his unabashed enjoyment of fucking Dean deep and hard every night, filling his ass with his hot come, before leaving for his own bed with a grin and a “you’re such a good bitch for me, Dean, thank you,” thrown over his shoulder.
“I am a dominant angel, Dean. I know Gabriel has explained something of what that means for angels. What it means for me, is that I need to dominate my partner, and I need my partner to need to submit. It doesn’t work if it’s not mutual. Certainly it can feel good,” here he gave Dean a quirk of his lips at their mutual remembrance, “but the ultimate satisfaction for me comes when my partner and I work together to please each other.”
The three of them stood on the plain stage in the town square, surrounded by hundreds of humans and a few dozen magicals bearing witness to the beginning of Dean’s punishment. It was midmorning on a Saturday, the normal day and time for public ritual bindings. Normally they were mostly business or personal contracts. Occasionally, they were bindings for Restricted Laborers. This was a first in human memory – the binding of an Unrestricted Laborer. It had pulled nearly twice the usual number of witnesses and a significant number of magicals.
“UL’s are expected to take care of the sexual needs of their assignees – their superiors. Since Silas left his estate to Castiel and me jointly, we are considered his heirs. That means he and I have to claim you sexually before we take you to the Registrar for your binding – it’s part of how the magic works.”
“Gabriel! Charlie called. She’s on her way over, and she asked for all of us to be here. Call the others, please.”
Gabriel grinned, enjoying this immensely. “This human, named Dean Winchester, was given to me as one of the two heirs of Silas Browne, as Unrestricted Labor for the period of five years, in partial restitution. I claim this human, named Dean Winchester, as my bitch, bound to submit to my dominance in all ways. In token of this, I have demonstrated my dominance with my body.” He smirked and felt himself harden as he remembered that act fondly. He would have to repeat that, very soon.
Gabriel saw the sudden realization on Dean’s face, and his cock started harden again. It had softened somewhat during the trip from the jail to their house. His strong initial reaction to seeing Castiel dominate and fuck Dean had faded as he realized how injured the young human was. They had settled Dean in the small room prepared for him, and Gabriel had argued with Castiel about letting him rest for the night first. But Castiel had been right. It would be better to get this done now, then let him recover the rest of the night before they took him to the Registrar tomorrow for the binding and marking.
Gabriel collected his thoughts for a moment. He wanted to give Dean some things to think about without overwhelming him. It was a delicate balance to walk.
“Good.” He was somewhat surprised, but also relieved to hear that. He had told Sam he wanted him to keep living his life, but he knew how stubborn Sam could be. He would call Sam as soon as he got off the phone with his dad, and he hoped his brother was actually at school.
Gabriel slowly started to fuck him, pulling nearly all the way out, then pushing deep. It went on for a long time, and Dean got harder but he didn’t get anywhere near coming. Weirdly, the whole experience felt…safe. He didn’t have to do anything, he just had to lay there and take the angel’s cock.
“Stay here, no matter what happens, until I or one of your brothers come get you, okay?” Dean emphasized it again.
Dean closed his eyes for a moment. Maybe they were telling the truth about not hurting him; maybe they weren’t. It didn’t really matter, since there was no way he could give up a child of any kind to these three, not if he could help it, and right now he could. He again mustered his best give ‘em hell smirk, and said, “There’s no kid here, buddy, but even if there was, I wouldn’t give you crap.”
He wasn’t sure it was a great idea to bring this up now, but then again, he wasn’t sure there’d ever be a good time to talk about this with his brother. But he had to talk about it to someone. “They want me to stay. After.”
Gabriel smirked. He was really looking forward to watching these two fumble their way forward, with a few nudging course corrections from him, of course.
Dean’s breath hitched a couple of times, but he slowly slid back into sleep, feeling safe and cared for, even though that made no sense whatsoever.
Dean didn’t know what to feel. Calling him confused would be a massive understatement. It was really good to be finally getting some useful information from Gabriel for a change, though. While the last point Gabriel had brought up claimed the majority of his attention, he made an effort to remember the other two as well. After his time here, he knew Gabriel would not give him random information. It was important – it was all important.
“Joshua is doing well, if a little shook up. He wanted to come back here and see you, but we’ve convinced him to wait for a bit. We wanted to talk to you, first.” Gabriel said.
The Registrar’s hands dropped away, and then, a moment later, the angels’ hands left him as well. There was an indistinct murmur from the crowd as they saw the glowing outline of hands where Castiel and Gabriel had touched Dean. The Registrar gently turned him to face the people watching. Dean flushed, self-consciousness and embarrassment filling him. He wanted to keep his eyes down or closed, but he refused to be a coward. His gaze swept the people in front of the stage then the ones in the back. He heart skipped a beat as he saw his father and younger brother, standing on the left in the back. John’s face was blank, but Sam’s was pale and strained. Dean met his brother’s eyes and gave him the slightest nod and wink, trying to tell him he was okay; he was going to be just fine. He wasn’t sure that was the truth, but he didn’t want Sam to worry – well, worry too much, anyway.
“There is no way that a being with a soul like yours could have murdered my friend. It’s impossible. Which means that I was wrong. I was wrong, and I was willfully blind to it. I’m sorry, Dean.”
“Maybe,” Castiel answered, his smile growing and becoming warm, feeling relief move through him. It was only a start, but it was a good one. Dean hadn’t rejected him out of hand, and he felt confident enough to demand answers. The young man was showing himself to be a force to be reckoned with.
He knew what the easy choice was – what his dad would expect. The easy choice would take him back to his normal life and allow him to forget the things he’d learned about himself here with Cas and Gabriel. He’d go back to hunting with his dad, non-stop travel, crappy motel rooms or camping outdoors, alternating following his dad’s demanding orders with abandonment.
“No, we’re not doing that. You guys gotta tell me - what do you want, first? Then I’m gonna ask a metric fuck ton of questions, and you get to answer them all.”
Castiel inhaled sharply. “Do you think that’s it, Raphael? Do you think that we are going to overlook your murder spree?”
Dean turned to see a young dark-haired boy, maybe around ten or eleven – or at least he would be, if he were human. The boy grinned at Gabriel and launched himself into Gabriel’s open arms, hugging him, his face alight with pleasure and joy. Dean couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
He hit the lock and closed the door and then ran through the bottom floor, locking and closing all the doors. He needed to slow these guys down as much as he could. He knew the house was alarmed and monitored, he just had to buy as much time as he could until the Novaks could get someone back to the house. His mind worked, trying to figure out where he should hide…if he should hide.
“They get in the way, don’t they, Castiel? Sad, weak little monkeys, chattering and flinging shit around. The fewer there are, the better we angels can maintain our control over both human and supernatural society. Plus, Novak Brothers gets more jobs to choose from. Win, win.” He smiled widely, clearly pleased with himself.
Dean was a fully grown human man, tall and well-muscled, and he projected a confident cockiness, even as he was being beaten by Castiel. But Gabriel had seen beneath the physical mask – the boy’s cool green energy had flowed and given way before Castiel’s dominant, icy blue energy even before the first punch had been thrown. By the time Castiel had mounted him, Dean’s energy had surrounded and gently smoothed the icy spikes of Castiel’s energy. Dean was born to be a submissive – it was obvious to an energy-worker like Gabriel. And it was equally obvious he was no murderer. Castiel would realize sooner or later where Gabriel’s certainty of that came from, and maybe then he would use his talent to See Dean as he was.
The bathroom here on the ground floor wasn’t spacious by any means, and Dean felt his heart fall as he took in the space, but Joshua slid between the toilet and shower, pushed at the narrow wood panel there, and it popped open, revealing a small empty area. Joshua turned to look at Dean for approval. He didn’t know what was going on, and he was scared, but he trusted Dean.
A flicker of will, and Castiel smote the human from existence. The barrier disappeared, and Castiel strode toward the door. He can see it now, splintered and open. Gabriel followed at his shoulder. They had no idea what they would face inside, and fear for their brother was paramount in them both. | [
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Sherlock sank heavily down into the chair in the centre and leaned forward on his elbows, steepling his fingers together in front of his face. He shut his eyes and allowed darkness to swallow the horrible, hollow whiteness of hospital walls, of lab coats, of charts and papers and scribbled notes on clipboards – he breathed deeply once, twice, three times, and let it all melt away.
“By the way, I feel bad,” came Sam’s voice again. It was a bit louder now, and more focused. “I never ask you how
He sighed, rubbed at his temples a little, then stood up. He’d better go and have that word with Mrs. Turner about her class’s behavior during third period today. Then when school was over he could cut out right away and do the shopping before he went home.
Sherlock’s entire body was rocking against him – John could feel muscles clenching up against him, arousal flowing back and forth between them, everywhere they were touching. He was exquisite, John couldn’t get enough of touching him. He could feel his own cock dripping, sliding up and down Sherlock’s length, and the flames in his abdomen flared up higher, white hot, burning with need.
“He was more than worried, John.” Mrs. Hudson was suddenly firm, her hands clenched nervously around the tea towel. “You didn’t see him in that A&E; he was an absolute
“Wait,” Sherlock said, sweetly. He’d dropped the teasing note from his voice. With his free hand, he rubbed slow circles on John’s lower back. “Let me take care of you.”
“Brilliant,” he said, almost too softly for Sherlock to hear. Still, the praise he’d gone so long without made colour rise in Sherlock’s cheeks, and he had to tear his gaze away again.
The room was dark and bare; Sherlock had straightened up the mess that had accumulated throughout his stay by piling everything into his suitcase and shoving it into the closet. He had turned on a single lamp in the corner of the room, which projected a dim light and created strange shadowy shapes on the floor.
“It’s been incredible.” He was pressing himself closer now, so much that Sherlock could feel his breath across his lips. “And I really am so proud of you, you know that?”
“This is…” Stacey began as Jeannie came over. John sat there, frozen for a second, before he recognized his cue to speak.
He held the scarf in place with both hands – red seeping through blue at a panic-inducing rate – and applied pressure, making John let out a low, strangled groan.
Relief trickled through John, and he let himself sink into it. The tense moment had passed, vanished like a faint memory.
It wasn’t a beautiful Christmas Eve; it had rained earlier, and would probably drizzle on and off all night. It felt appropriate, in a way, but still disappointing. He’d been hoping this would at least feel like a special moment.
“It’s not gonna be exactly fun, though. Being up there alone.” He sighed again. “Never really been good at that.”
Sherlock nodded again, but didn’t offer anything else. John ushered him in the direction of the house.
He heard Dad pull back, and groan again as he read the message scrawled on the sign tacked to the wood –
“Not that one.” Sherlock sifted through the coat rack and picked out one of his own, a rather bright blue one with sequins adorning the lapels. He tossed it at John. “Here. Obviously Elton will show us up, but if we don’t even
They kissed, hard with want, but slow, and tender. John splayed a hand across Sherlock’s back, holding on tight, as tight as he could.
“Don’t you dare,” John whispered, with a soft grin. If Sherlock was comfortable sleeping with his whole body directly on top of him, so was John. It was perfect. Better than any blanket.
Sherlock stared up at the attendant. He knew how stricken he must look, and hoped maybe that could persuade him.
His eyes were downcast – he didn’t seem to be able to look at Sherlock or Magnussen. Magnussen, however, was staring evenly at Sherlock, still with that same smile on his face. Pleased, and almost triumphant.
He pulled in a few staggering breaths, trying to centre himself again. He felt wild and dizzy, every nerve blazing.
It had been quite the end-of-term concert. Sam’s girl, Joanna, had absolutely stolen the show – she had a voice far beyond what anyone expected to come out of an eleven-year-old, and had stunned everyone in the audience. She’d walked off from her wild applause with the rest of the band, and if Sam’s plan turned out right, he’d have told her how he felt soon afterwards. Hell, maybe John should just go wait outside for a while, and let the boy get a good snog in before he took him home.
His eyes were dry but burning, and he screwed them shut, trying to pull himself back from whatever precipice he was about to hurl over – back away from blank eyes and cold hands, away from the long, drawn-out shriek of a flat line across a black screen, away from ghostly pale lips that whispered his name in a sound less than a breath before finally going still. He clenched his hands against the porcelain and pulled back, pulled back, pulled back to the alley and the blood and the whitewashed tiles, if only to keep himself from the unthinkable alternative.
Here he was, in a bar with the three most beautiful girls he’d ever seen, and all he wanted was for them to leave him alone. He couldn’t
“Yes,” Sherlock said, smirking. A large framed poster of the young, four-man group was standing beside him, as well as their recent platinum record, almost like a challenge. “I saw them on the show last week – they weren’t very nice about my record.”
he was behaving like a besotted schoolboy but he just couldn’t help it. He’d done it! He was going to go out with Sherlock Holmes!
Sherlock burrowed as tightly as he could into John’s side and listened to his heart thumping against his ear – it soothed him a bit, but not as much as it usually did. Try though he might to relax, there was still that sensation from earlier holding him alert; that feeling that, when he fell asleep, he would be forced awake far too early.
“Yes, except we’ve changed the word ‘love’ to ‘Christmas’”. Sherlock eyed Mike up and down, wondering if he needed to be on his guard with this one.
Perlman’s notes flowed though him, washed over him. It was beautiful, and masterful, and Sherlock felt it fill some of that dreadful, hollow cavity within his chest. But it was too quiet and too slow. It wasn’t enough. There was too much empty space all around him.
Sherlock sat at the edge of his seat the whole way, his heart whirring as fast as the car, that final, high note of that song echoing over and over in his ears.
“No, I just thought I’d ask the blunt question, in case it was the right one.” Her eyebrows were raised, as if scanning him, but it was an understanding sort of curiosity – kind, not malicious. “And you needed someone to talk to about it, and no one had ever
Sherlock couldn’t help it. He turned his head, caught John’s wide eyes shining in the darkness. His heart clenched at what he saw there, so close to him, so near at last to the shining, visceral
. And Sherlock knew that, John knew he did. It was why he’d thrown himself into his caretaker role so faithfully – it was the natural thing to do, because he was always there for John, no matter how difficult things got, no matter how dire circumstances looked. Sherlock would always be there to help him, to support him through anything, as much because Sherlock needed it as John did. Because Sherlock needed him.
Prime Minister Holmes and President Magnussen stepped into the room, to flashbulbs and reporters and a crowd of eager listeners, microphones and notepads at the ready.
Mrs. Hudson chuckled merrily, and Sherlock sat back in his chair and cradled his cup in both hands. He let the conversation wash over him as it continued on to whatever mundane topic occurred to the three of them – Mycroft did little more than nod occasionally, and Sherlock could only half-listen and half-respond when it seemed like he was being addressed. It wasn’t long before they graciously left him alone – apparently coming to the realization that as much as he needed them right now, he was very much unable to chat – and Sherlock stared into his cup and let the modulations of their voices soothe him as much as they could.
Sherlock swallowed, pinching his lips a little. There was something about the way Magnussen said it that he didn’t like.
“I want you to know,” John whispered softly as he pulled back to look at Sherlock’s face – at the unbearable depths of love swimming in those impossibly blue eyes. “I could never have asked for a better doctor.” He felt himself smiling gently, his heart pushing up against his throat. “You’re all I’ve ever needed.”
“Right.” Sherlock gave his head a shake, deciding that was probably best. “Well, listen, why don’t I give you a lift?” He stared up at John, shooting him what was probably a pathetically imploring expression. But he
John’s voice was bright and smiling. Sherlock had to shut his eyes underneath the weight of it, pressing down on his chest.
“So we, um.” His left hand clenched at his side underneath the table. “We probably shouldn’t bring this back to London, then.”
“But Mum –!” The boy started to protest, but snapped is mouth shut at the dangerous look in his mother’s face.
and no one else – there was no one but them on stage anymore, this moment was just for the two of them and there no one else
John’s smile widened slightly. The barest fraction of his despair had ebbed away slightly, even though he was sure Sherlock had just insulted both his writing and his driving.
Molly finished the story with a rapturous laugh, and a giggling Lestrade launched immediately into another. Sherlock took it in and smiled along in the appropriate places, letting himself be caught up in their enthusiasm as much as he was able while his mind was still struggling back to whatever was going on in that operating room, a steady eye on the infernal drag of hands over the clock face,
sweetheart,” John rasped out, his face buried in the hollow of Sherlock’s throat, his lips sticking to Sherlock’s damp skin. He held himself there, his mouth moving hot and wet, more of a sloppy lapping of lips and tongue than an actual kiss, but to Sherlock the feeling was as sweet, as passionate as any kiss could be, because John had simultaneously picked up his pace to thrust long and fast, rocking deeply, more deeply within Sherlock than ever and finally,
He knew why, of course: John still had a lot of strength to recover, and it was a risk Sherlock wasn’t willing to take yet. But the longer this went on, the more John found that he was rather eager to start taking more risks, in fact. And it sounded petty, even ungrateful, which John could certainly never be, but he sometimes wished Sherlock would boil some eyeballs in the kettle, or have a strop on the sofa, or propose some mad scheme for the two of them to do something ridiculous, just so John could feel like things were normal again.
John’s eyes were unbearably deep, swimming with a thousand emotions. Sherlock let himself stare into them for a bit longer, knowing he could only stand so much before he’d have to tear himself away.
And John’s breath had left his body in one fell swoop, the irrational anger at Dr. Moore blown entirely away by something horribly painful and desperate.
“It’s the most prominent star in the sky, John, it doesn’t have to be seen make itself known.” Sherlock’s cheeks were slightly flushed with cold, but his hand was warm where it wrapped around John’s. “See the silver gleam on the bottom edges of that cloud? That’s its rays shining through.”
John joined in, really just moving his hips a little as he stepped awkwardly from side to side. He’d never been a good dancer, but he was too focused on Sherlock to care. He looked so free and uninhibited, and it was
He’d had this saved as a contingency, in case things didn’t go well. It was some fluff proposal for student grants funded by both governments, something they could easily find common ground on, and at the same time make for some decent PR.
“Thank you, inspector,” Sherlock replied as cordially as possible, despite the massive kick his heartbeat had just taken.
And then the second soloist stepped up, a confident stride and a shock of blond hair, its owner standing in front of the microphone looking completely at home there.
He turned back to Magnussen, whose face barely changed. He merely stared down Sherlock’s look, and quirked an eyebrow upward, as if with curiosity. But Sherlock knew exactly what it meant.
A horrible, constricting dread surrounded Sherlock’s heart and squeezed it viciously, and for a moment he wished she wouldn’t say anything more. That she’d walk off, and he could go back to that desperate abyss where he would go completely insane, but at least he would never have to deal with what she could be about to tell him.
Sherlock set the CD player down on the ground and pressed play. A gentle chorus of women’s voices filled the chilly air.
“Alright, sure,” he said, sardonically. Sherlock heard him shift a bit, then throw one side of the covers back. “Come to bed, you big idiot.”
“This isn’t…” John wheezes, and his hands are still trembling, but his eyes find Sherlock’s in the darkness, and somehow they still manage to shine. “This isn’t how I imagined you kissing me.”
Sherlock turned away from it, sharply. He didn’t want to look at it now, didn’t want to remember. He hated seeing it, hated seeing the eyes from all these photos – happy, smiling, carefree eyes staring down at him and reminding him of what a fool he was. Reminding him how foolish the life he’d lived had been, too.
reliant on it.” Sherlock’s eyes glinted with mirth, mischief. Affection. “Did you know that stars stay the same
how awkward he sounded even as the words left his mouth. Sometimes he was so stiff at this parenting thing. It had always irritated Sarah, when it wasn’t amusing the hell out of Sam.
, John could feel within him that this was a bad idea, but there was no way he was going to turn it down now. Just like this morning, just like last night, there was no part of him that was prepared to refuse whatever he could get.
There was no sound in the room – not even a breath. John couldn’t even feel his own heartbeat anymore.
They watched him together as the track faded out and the DJ pulled his microphone close to his mouth.
The disaffected quality of his voice made John want to scream with rage, but – no, he shouldn’t be, he was telling them
He slept most of the way there, wanting to be alert for when he arrived wherever he was going. It all seemed a bit unreal, still. He could hardly imagine what he’d find when he arrived. Could he really be right? Would he really find someone in America as amazing as the concept he’d built up inside his mind?
He’d surged forward, hoping to edge John away from the shelf, but froze when he saw what John had in his hand as he straightened up.
The still air in the room settled over them again; the howling wind echoed outside against the window, but couldn’t needle its way in. Beneath the sheets, their warm bodies, their tangle of limbs, was their own private haven. John could feel Sherlock’s heart beating against his chest, and there was nothing but pure, elated happiness in his own.
And then, finally, he broke into laughter. Sherlock joined him, ringing out beyond the water and into the grounds beyond.
He crossed the floor over to her glass-panelled office, and she closed the door behind him. She had a look of mild amusement on her face.
“I know.” And John’s voice was a low, exhausted sigh. He finally looked up, and Sherlock almost started at how worn he looked, at how deep the creases of his brow were. His shoulders were sagging, and there was no trace of that sparkle in his eyes.
“Any chance you’d like to explain to me why your suspect was just picked up by police on the Strand, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the side?” The terse, sarcastic smile was evident in his brother’s voice even through the phone.
His throat seemed to seize up at the drawing, and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell Sherlock anything about how wonderful he was – but Sherlock, once more, seemed to understand, and the way he looked at John told him he didn’t need to say anything at all.
Mrs. Hudson’s face fell, and her eyes filled with something like guilt, as if she’d betrayed something she’d been supposed to keep secret. John was suddenly torn between relief that she was so much worse at hiding what she was thinking than Sherlock was, and the growing dread at the centre of his stomach that felt even worse than the nausea.
Sherlock hesitated a moment longer, his eyes raking over him for a moment, and John fought the urge to duck his head in shame. Eventually Sherlock nodded once, his lips twitching up into an obviously hollow smile, and he swept out through the door, leaving John alone in the bedroom with an ache in his chest deeper than any knife could carve.
Mycroft huffed out a bewildered laugh. “‘Sorry?’ Is that it?” The sound pounded against Sherlock’s brow, making him wince. “Can’t you even be bothered to try to justify this in some scathing manner that’s supposed to prove your own brilliance?”
A click of the lock, and the door swung open. There stood Sherlock, wearing his blue dressing gown over his button-up, his hair slightly mussed and his cheeks turning pink as the air rushed in through the entrance.
He was exceedingly glad when Mrs. Hudson broke the silence. “Well, at least one of us should get some rest. For tonight, anyway.” Her voice was a bit strained, but she managed to mostly maintain her sunny disposition. “I know when my sister had her heart episode, I didn’t sleep for a week!”
“Right,” Mycroft finally chimed in, once Sherlock was able to get his giggles under control. “Well, I’ll get my things, and then let’s fix the country, shall we?”
He gave a half-hearted chuckle, but Sherlock obviously didn’t join him. He nodded, and sipped at his tea again.
Their backs were turned to Sherlock, so he moved a little closer, and was able to catch their conversation floating out through the open door.
case, and quite a brilliant solve, as John had told him very thoroughly in the cab on the way back to the yard. The post-chase adrenaline was still coursing in his veins, and he was sated with bone-deep satisfaction that filled him at the close all the best cases, just inviting Sherlock to spend the next week or so basking in it. He’d even told Lestrade on the way in that he didn’t have to get him a Christmas present now – this had been more than enough.
Sherlock’s smile was eclipsing everything else in the world – it was brighter than the sun, brighter than the entire
Sherlock finally looked at John straight on. His arms were crossed over his chest, but his lips were pursed in an unsure…almost nervous way.
“Don’t go,” he whispers between John’s lips. “Please, don’t go, don’t leave me here.” His hands pound frantically on John’s chest. He can’t feel his heartbeat. “Please don’t die, please please don’t die, I love you, I love you, John,
They broke apart long moments later to find that their hands had unclasped and they were holding each other closer, not moving away. Their bodies might always have known, in every cell, that they would find their way here one day, and know exactly what to do.
Sherlock drew another shaking breath; he didn’t let himself finish that thought. Instead he clutched John’s hand tighter, moved his fingers over ghostly pale skin – too cold, too cold. He watched his face intently, waiting for any change, any indication of consciousness, any signal that John could hear his incessant, broken pleas,
“Here,” he said as he broke off. He stepped back to set the book almost reverently on the side table next to his chair, then dug inside his jacket for a moment before withdrawing a small, square box, wrapped in gold paper.
And with another messy kiss John reached in between their bodies and took Sherlock in hand, stroking long and luxuriously over his aching cock, giving him just enough sweet pressure in combination with each hard, perfect thrust and that was it, that was it. Sherlock’s back arched off the mattress into John’s chest, John’s name bursting from his lungs as he crashed over the edge; flames, white and searing, coursed through his extremities and he was coming, hard and fast over John’s hand, his hips still pushing back to meet John’s thrusts as he rode out his sweet pleasure.
Of course it had been ludicrous – John had known it last night as he’d stared at the flight page, wondering if he was really going to go through with this. What was he even
Sherlock was almost laughing now, swimming towards John and snagging papers as he went. “Que tipo de idiota não copia?”
Sherlock didn’t let him finish. He dove back in, kissing him even more deeply than before, holding him so tightly and never ever wanting to let go.
John “Yeah... I was. I don’t know how the hell it works, but...” I turn my head again, showing him the side of my neck.
Greg "Oh really? Do explain, matchmaker." I raised an eyebrow jokingly and at one point I had felt Luke attractive, but he was an idiot. A plain, muscled idiot.
John “Um... sure. The bathroom’s downstairs. We were expecting that when we picked you up, you’d have some things. I’m sure Anthea is having the rest of your things sent over. We could go shopping.”
Dr Capaldi "Do you know his next of kin? Though he can recover here we're quite busy. Seems a lot of metas have been suffering weird afflictions. It would be best if he had somewhere else to recoup."
Greg "Morning. How are John and Sherlock doing?" I asked and undid my jacket, so I could at least sit comfortably with my coffee.
Sherlock My teeth nip into his flesh once more, before I pull off, panting and slightly glazed, nodding and rolling onto my back, spreading my legs for him as I stroke myself, "Won’t… take much."
Greg I didn't hold back from groaning as we wouldn't have spectators, one of my hands running down to his arse to pull him against me for friction. My body was shaking with how desperate I was for him to fuck me.
Greg I could feel Mycroft already starting to fall asleep when we climbed into bed, so I decided the questions would have to wait until morning. It was like I felt his exhaustion too, like I'd just been on a long 48-hour crime scene shift and I'd just gotten into a bed that was like a cloud. I was sure I'd fallen asleep as soon as I had relaxed into the sheets with his head on my chest.
Mycroft "You know as well as I do that continuing his sedation will not interfere with the healing process. Another 12 hours, and he'll likely wake on his own. In the meantime, you have full access to the amenities, including" I wrinkle my nose at his dusty features "the shower. Lestrade and I will remain here, so that John is not left unattended."
Greg I watch carefully as Mycroft and Eurus and the crunch from her dislocated thumb made my heart jump, her hand flying towards Mycroft and I flung to get in between them from the kitchen where John had been trying to clean up the cut on my neck. The knife had been dropped yet I then had her hand suffocating the breath from my neck.
Rosie "Why does Graham fight with dad? I thought you were all friends, but you don't act like it."
Sharon Price The fire burns brighter as I wave away the attentions of the medics, instead rushing towards Lestrade, "That was so brave. Is... is she all right?" My eyes are large and scared under my heavy brown fringe, turning to watch the medics work with shaking hands trying to reach for any comfort I can find
Sherlock My nose scrunches at John's rather silly question about my underwear. He knows I always sleep naked and rarely bother with clothes if it's just us two... which... it isn't now. Oh. I feel my face heat for a moment before the little girl drops her bee, panicking. Swiftly I lean down, scooping the toy off and holding it out with what I hope is a reassuring smile, "John spills more milk than that if he's half asleep in the morning. Once he caught his bowl with his arm when not paying attention and launched his bran flakes and milk straight into the face of George."
Sherlock My arm comes up to cover my eyes, allowing her touch even though my skin crawls with it. I choke back a sob before muttering, "John...would have wished me to carry on. I believe my brother fetched my daughter as some kind… some kind of emotional balm. Yet I don't know what I'm doing. She would be better off with someone else, even Mycroft. I'm such a useless, pathetic man."
Greg "Well. there was something I'd been thinking about for the last few months. Rather than us trying to work with the Yard, Sally will probably still be there… Anderson too..." I smile back at him and brush my thumb across his cheek.
Mycroft I finish my tea as well, taking both empty mugs and setting them on the tray on the vanity. I then climbed onto the bed, nestling my body close to him and settling an arm around him.
Sherlock "I... apologise also." My voice lowers, eyes falling on John and Rosie, before returning to Lestrade, "John's daughter seems taken with you."
Greg "I’m sorry. And here's me moaning on about my ex-wife cheating on me." I dropped my feet with an anxious chuckle running a hand through my hair, thinking he had it a lot worse than I did. It must have made sex difficult.
Rosie I get up on a chair, holding my new Bee and backpack. "Have any cookies?"
Mycroft "Nothing..." I whisper hoarsely, drawing a moan from him as I nuzzle against his cock.
Rosie "Dude! That's so cool!" Wow, I wanna be a detective. "What do you do? I mean like what's your power?"
Sally Pfft "it's always a little somethin’, Lock. You're not as high as I've seen ya before, but I can see you've sunk pretty low. First losing John, then finding out you’re a dad, then losing that cute little girl...? That would break anyone. Even you."
Greg I tilt my head back where we had the fire lit, it sounding like one of those old fashioned romance novels where they make beautiful love in front of the fire to keep warm. I loved the feeling of the rug on my body though but wanted to feel his hands all over me. Even if he did have to put on a thin pair of gloves so he wouldn't get overwhelmed.
Oliver I tried not to fidget while I sat opposite the DI and the boss of my boss' boss
Mrs. Lipton "How do you know about my sister?" I narrow my eyes while I put a bowl on the table
Mycroft "Possible." I leaned on my umbrella, deep in thought. "And there are apparently to be repercussions, as I read the enclosed note before you did... as though he knew I would."
Greg I put my legs up onto his as we stretch out on the sofa and both of us are glad that John and Rosie have headed off to bed. Me and John still weren't on speaking terms, Rosie being very talkative and almost hyper where the adults were just exhausted.
Sherlock My jaw loosens again, nodding and then automatically shifting my shoulder from under his hand, turning to take my empty cup back into the kitchen
Mycroft "Interesting. They appear to be adept at staying below the radar. We may need to do some more intensive research."
Greg "No, not really." I scratch the back of my head and knew this was going to be a tough story so sat back in the sofa.
Just keep an eye on him. You can let him rest but only a few hours it at a time. And if he’s hard to wake call 999 immediately.
Sherlock "Anderson." I say the name firmly, coldly. "He is the inept forensic specialist and Sally's lover. I thought those two would be in this together." I turn back to Rosie, nodding, "Your help has been invaluable."
Greg "Which is why we have to show her that we're stronger than that. I know you're worried about Sherlock and so am I." I got up to touch him to be soothing, stopping with the cold voice I got in response.
Mycroft "You are curious about my ability. I can see it on your face." I quietly slip off one of my gloves as I watch his reaction.
John “Well, if he’s this feverish. He could turn septic quickly. Like I said, he’ll need antibiotics.”
Rosie "How old are you?! Dude, that's way too much sugar. You're gonna rot your teeth out."
Sherlock I slide down onto the sofa once more, nibbling in my ginger nuts, occasionally attempting to slide one her way to see what she thinks. For the most part, I stay quiet, abashed by my earlier argument with the child and rocky start, watching John interact with his daughter now to try and learn.
Mycroft My tongue swirls over his shaft, as he thrusts against me. He hits the back of my throat, and I try to suppress my gag reflex, letting him move just a little further.
Greg I rub my face for a moment before following Sherlock, my face sunken and I folded my arms across my chest again when we were out of eye shot and ear shot. People in my team knew John's 'death' had been hard on me.
Greg I nodded as we needed to trace that car, knowing that Oliver must have contacted Sebastian to tell him that we were on to him. I felt the familiar calm feeling as Mycroft touched my arm lightly and I saw his eyes shut as he tried to find it.
Greg "Oh wah, John, you're lucky you're here at all, me and Mycroft spoke about sending you to a safe house out in the country and you now feel what I feel when you and Sherlock go off on a case. I’m left without anything, unable to do anything." I said angrily, and I'd barely slept last night with arresting Sherlock yesterday.
Sherlock My gaze follows her as she rushes up, quite warmed by her joy. I realise she hasn't smiled much since she's been with us. Without delay, I pull out my phone, sending a long message to my brother.
Sherlock With a last kiss, I'm sweeping out the door, "Come Rose Marie. The game is on."
Moriarty The feeling of his warm mouth had me taking control and fucking into his mouth. "Another." I demand him to give me more at the same time as me keeping his head where I wanted it. His tongue was doing delicious things to my frenulum.
Mycroft No, thank you, Lest - I mean, Gregory." I said, avoiding the offered biscuits. We headed down to the garage, where I climbed into a red BMW. He looked a bit surprised that I was driving, rather than enlisting a driver this time.
John Seeing Sherlock back on his phone, I smack him giving him a look. “So, do you two want to wait in the couch and I can go make some snacks?
Greg I looked up at him as he slathered the lube on his cock, his eyes still erotically dark and just wrapped a hand around myself as he pulled my hips up to nudge against my whole. I loved how he growled and was grabbing me like I was a piece of meat.
A red and a blue, one lies and one’s true, they're in the drawer next to you, here's a little clue, one pill to not weep, one pill to sleep, one pill will heal you, two pills will kill you.
Greg "Some. Nieces mainly, my brother had twin girls, so I always took them for a weekend if their parents needed a break." I smile fondly. I found out a month after my divorce that Caroline was pregnant but not with my child obviously, which we established when she was 5 months gone.
Greg "No... no, course not." I chuckle, lifting his hand from my chest to kiss it and I heard him say something else when I was just dropping off. My muscles felt completely relaxed and I felt I could actually sleep for a change.
Sherlock I glare at them for a moment longer, before turning away, looking to John with a softer frown, my face hardening in a moment before I stand, placing his hand onto his chest, "Ten minutes. No more. If anything happens to him then I will not be held responsible for my actions."
John He reaches for me and his arms close around my shoulders. “You can touch me?” I sigh heavily, relaxing into his arms.
Greg I myself look up at Mycroft where he stands up and I know my powers won't work with Irene, her being such a powerful meta. I left the file on the desk and left the room, shutting the door without a word and trusted him to get the information we needed from her about the organisation but also about Moriarty.
Sherlock I look startled, glancing over at Mycroft for a sign of what to do, before wrapping my arms carefully around her, speaking sincerely, "I am sorry I had to break your confidence, but you are a very special little girl. Your home is here now, with your father. Everything I do is to keep you both safe and secure here in Baker street."
Greg "I am shouting at you because you kept information from me. You didn't tell me that you were going to read that child. That is my argument and if we can communicate better than we can work together.” I calmed my voice down a bit where there were officers coming in and out and they didn't need to see another lover’s tiff.
Greg I tried to keep glancing down at him to make sure that he wasn't passing out from the emotions flooding him, my hand down on his shoulder rather than in his hair with my eyes shutting again in time with a strangled moan coming from my throat. He was getting more confident with his hand on my hip and raising it up to brush my nipple again, twisting it in his fingers.
Mycroft I fell back onto the bed with a groan as he wrapped his hand around my shaft. "Y-yes... that's good..." I managed to say when he began slowly stroking me.
Sherlock Leaping to my feet, I stride to my brother, before dropping down to my knees in front of him, naked pleading in my voice, "You asked me to act as if I'm grieving for John. That will be quite easy to do as I'm so scared of losing him."
Sherlock Muttering something under my breath, my hand reaches for one of the jars of honey on the counter behind me
Mycroft "John has been resting comfortably in your absence, brother." I clear my throat and rise to my feet, ignoring Sherlock's question. "I need to be getting back to the office. There is much for me to discuss with Anthea."
Sherlock had snapped. “And I wasn’t expecting to…to Dreamwalk anyway.” Still, Moriarty had not been happy. He’d let a wraith have her way with Sherlock, and he spent a week seeing things that weren’t there, screaming at nothing. After, Moriarty had shown him the tapes. Sherlock never quite remembered what he had seen during that week. He’d screamed John’s name a lot. He’d strangled a lot of air. Hit the walls of the cage until his fists were bloody. Nearly scratched his skin off one day, muttering about bugs. Really, he was glad he didn’t remember.
It had taken most of the first month for Sherlock to believe that Mycroft wouldn’t hurt him for wearing the provided pyjama bottoms. John found the reason for this in one of the journals. In the cold months, mostly, Moriarty would supply Sherlock with clothes, tell him to put them on, beat him if he refused. Then, when he did put them on, the next time Moriarty came into the room, he’d fly into a rage, beating, cutting, burning Sherlock, berating him. “I never said you could wear that. What, you think you’re better than this? You’re
It still was taking a long time. Sherlock couldn’t get through a meeting with John without someone else there. He needed near constant reassurances from Mycroft, or Dina, Isda or Sariel that John was real. That Sherlock wasn’t making him up. That someone else wasn’t making him up for Sherlock. He trusted Mycroft the most. He knew him best.
Also contains some Angel History, by Mycroft! Some is personal head canon, and some is borrowed from CW's Supernatural, and then embellished a bit.
Sherlock had lost track of how much time had passed. There was snow on the ground, he knew. Because it had swirled into the warehouse the night before, and piled up a bit on the floor under the windows. He’d actually managed to fall asleep, covered with his wings to keep out the chill. He’d been woken with a bucket of freezing water. A demon shoved her face into his. “Wake up sunshine!” she’d crowed. “It’s a glorious cold day. Up! Up! Up!” Each ‘up’ was accompanied by a jab with an old fire poker to the ribs. Sherlock tried to stand, but she’d hit him, hard in the ribs when he didn’t stand up fast enough. “Hurry up!” she’d trilled.
He was glad of Molly. Molly, who had never been used against him, whose image was never false. She was a little frightened of him, at first, and then, he could tell she also pitied him, and neither was pleasant, but it was better to be sure of himself. And sometimes John didn’t seem quite real. At least he could fly again.
“I think, for the time being, that is probably unwise. He did not react very well to your presence before, you may recall.” John flushed. Mycroft sighed. “Look. You may remain here. Read the journal, if you wish. I will tell you when you may see him. You two,” he added to Lestrade and Sally. “Go back to the yard and fill out the report. I will check in shortly.”
Weeks turned into months. He still dreamed sometimes, usually John was in them, though it wasn’t the real John from the time he’d managed to Dreamwalk.
*Dina--angel of Learning, also of Knowledge and Communication. I figured, this would be a good one to represent Anthea from the show.
**Isda--angel of Nourishment, physical and emotional wellbeing. There are better angels of healing, but I figured, on short notice, she might be the closest one Mycroft could get ahold of.
“I lied. I do that you know.” Sherlock’s knees had buckled where he had been straining at the collar. Moriarty had laughed, hit him, hard, with something metal, and left.
He eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion. And, he finally managed to dream. John was there. Dreamwalking. In the minutes he’d managed to catch of sleep here and there the past….however long it had been, he’d tried to do this, and it had never worked. It took him a moment, but he realized it wasn’t a dream. He’d managed it. He was in the flat, wearing his coat, firmly buttoned to his neck. “Oh,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting this.” He looked at John, who looked a little stunned to see him. Definitely Dreamwalking then. Not just a dream. Thank….well, whomever was listening. Father, maybe. “I suppose we must be asleep at the same time. I’ve been trying to do this for ages you know.” Since he realized he could dream.
At night, he still heard the screams. Moriarty’s face swam into view. “I’ve got Melissa,” Melissa? Oh, the wraith, he’d forgotten…. “having some fun with a few friends,” he whispered. John’s voice rang out.
For months, John visited every day. Not for long, not at first. And every time, Sherlock repeated the exercise he had on the first day. Mycroft would announce John’s presence, and Sherlock would look up, and meet John’s eyes, slightly terrified. He would check with Mycroft several times to ensure that it really was John. Mycroft explained it that he was essentially the only thing Sherlock knew definitively, was real.
If there is something you guys would like to see, please let me know. I have some interactions, some...incidents planned that may or may not make an appearance in the story. So, if there is something or someone you'd like to see Sherlock interact with, please comment.
So I tried to have Sherlock starting to get a little better. He is still far from perfect, he is still weak. He does have a reason for helping the boy and his sister. It will be explained in the next chapter I think.
It took a long time for Sherlock to say anything even remotely understandable. And even then, it was mostly random words. John’s name; sometimes. Mutters about things being ‘false’ or ‘real.’ He still didn’t talk much. It was eight months before he looked up at John and said “Home.” John blinked at him. “
It has been....a long time since I've updated. Sorry about that. I've had this chapter...or versions of it, in my mind for a while. There are a few things that might come back next chapter. I am thinking, only one or two more, and then this story will be finished.
. Bet you don’t like them.” Sherlock managed to stand, tried to lunge for Moriarty, but the blades stopped him. They were far enough apart from each other that he couldn’t even pull them out of the wall. He didn’t try to lunge again, though he stood, watching the Fallen angel through furious eyes. “Not uncomfortable, are we Sherlock?” he sneered. “We’re just getting started.”
“Be careful what you say Sherlock.” He leaned on the pipe. “I don’t think John would survive this do you?” Sherlock grunted in pain. “What do you say we test it out?” Sherlock’s eyes widened.
John strode over, ignoring the warning from Lestrade. Sherlock looked up and started to…well, to be honest, John didn’t know what he started to do. The sounds coming out of his mouth were not human. John was forced to his knees. Somewhere, a previously unbroken window shattered. The room seemed to vibrate. He forced himself to stand to move to the wing, and jerk the blade out. The bars of the cage shook, though they didn’t break. There were odd markings and symbols on them that John couldn’t quite make out as he rounded the cage slowly. Plaster started to rain down on them. Lestrade beat John to the second knife, pulling it out. The wings snapped into the cage, but seemed to hang wrong. Bone stuck out of them at odd angles. Badly broken. The screaming stopped.
His wings would be unpinned for brief periods of time, enough to get some feeling back into them, back into his body before Moriarty came and had target practice with them again. It was less target practice really, and more him entering the room, gleefully, and saying, “Come on Sherlock, stand up, wings up and out.” If Sherlock was too slow, or if he refused, or asked a question, Moriarty would sigh. “I really thought you’d hold out longer. I think I might send one of my little pets for yours now,” and Sherlock would stand, glaring. And then, before he could even see it, two knives would be hilt deep in his wings, and he’d be pinned to the wall again. Sometimes, he couldn’t even crouch, depending on where they landed. He’d stay standing for hours. Once, for two days, he couldn’t move. His legs had been positively shaking, though they had long since gone numb. Still, he had endured worse. It had been a long time ago, to be sure, but he had endured worse. He was sure of it.
Sherlock moved then, smashing his lips against Moriarty’s. John felt hopelessly lost. What was happening? Moriarty grinned, and…the best John could describe it was flickered and then pulled away, once more looking like the Jim Moriarty he had met at the pool. “That’s more like it,” he said. And leaned in for another kiss. John could see his erection growing, pressing against Sherlock’s slowly hardening cock. He kept rolling his hips to stimulate friction.
The chains around Sherlock’s wrists were tight. They lifted his arms straight into the air, suspended by a hook on the ceiling. His feet brushed the ground, barely. No way to take the pressure off his arms. He’d been hanging there for nearly three hours. His hands were turning blue. Earlier, he’d tried everything he could think of to get down. Nothing had worked. And the only thing that
I've taken the basic character of angels from how they act in the TV show Supernatural. I've also taken some of the demon behavior from that show, though I've given them more power in this instance.
Um....so I have some torture, some crazy Sherlock...and yeah. Maybe some more Sherlock and John next chapter?
The day after that, the exercise was repeated. Except this time a four tailed whip was used, with bits of bone at the end. He was not allowed to sleep. He wasn’t allowed to even collapse that day. As soon as the whip and peroxide part was over, Moriarty left. But the demons didn’t. They burned the ground under his feet, catching them on fire if he didn’t, jump. Then they’d freeze it as he came down, sending him sprawling.
"No," whispered Sherlock, "God, no." The demon whipped the scalpel down, cutting a gash across Sherlock's cheek.
Right. I think that a lot of story was lost in this chapter, and it became really descriptive. Sorry about that. It is pretty long.
Baker Street was…much, much better than Mycrofts home. It actually felt like someplace he wanted to be. It felt like someplace that
“For the shock,” said a smooth voice, and he glanced over and saw that Lestrade and Sally were still there, that they had their own drinks, looking just as dazed as he felt. Mycroft stood, leaning against his desk, looking decidedly unruffled. At least, at first glance. As the roaring in John’s ears grew muffled, as he remembered how to breathe properly and as his heart rate returned to normal, he noted that Mycroft’s face was too blank, his eyes worried, though no trace of it showed on the rest of his features. He took a shaky breath.
He still had wraith given hallucinations about killing John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Of people coming to rescue him, NSY with all their forces, John, gun drawn. He didn’t have any more about Molly, not after that first time, though he never really wondered why. He never thought about it. There wasn’t time. Usually he could tell when something was a hallucination or not. And often, he could dispel these with the triumphant informing of these imagined friends that they were false. It was the only thing, he learned that was safe to say to John. False. False. Though he usually didn’t say anything if it were a dream of John. Just to be safe. To know it, in his mind was enough. To know that his mind was still his own….he didn’t need to say it out loud.
Relief was short lived, as an electric shock sent him all but shrieking toward consciousness. The demon bitch was grinning at him still, what looked like a small cattle prod aimed directly at his heart. He assumed. He couldn't see much except skin and his broken ribs, red and dripped peaking out over his chest cavity. The man 'tsked' at him. "Come on now. That's cheating. Mr Moriarty won't like that at all, will he." It wasn't a question, however much it might be phrased as one. The male demon gently pushed the electrical tool away, and the girl stood back, setting it down where Sherlock couldn't see her or it. And then the demon man plunged his hand into Sherlock and grabbed his heart, and started squeezing. "I trust you are familiar," he whispered, "with the story of Prometheus?" And somehow, through the haze of pain, Sherlock did know exactly what had happened to Prometheus. He tried to scream but all he could d was cough. "Sadly," the demon continued, "I don't have anything as majestic as an eagle." He gestured, and the girl came forward again, a rather large rat in her hands. "This will have to do." She made sure Sherlock got a look at it, before the demon nodded. "Put it in and close him up."
“Can we go home now?” John asked him. Sherlock tilted his head to the side, and shuffled his wings. John managed to catch hold of him before the two of them were swept from the morgue and back at Baker Street. John felt a little ill, as he always seemed to after angelic transportation. “You gonna tell me what upset you this morning?” Sherlock hesitated, then slowly brought his forehead to Johns. He was already shaking.
dreams. He knew that by now. Somehow, Sherlock was trying to reach him from wherever he was. John wasn’t sure how he felt about that. If it was even believable.
Greg Lestrade visited Sherlock for the first time one month after John started his daily visits. Sherlock, by that point, didn’t need Mycroft to stay the entire time John was there. He still required him to reassure Sherlock that he wasn’t hallucinating John, that John was
“No?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the ball. He stuck the finger into his mouth. The boy looked horrified.
“Yes,” replied John, just as quietly. Sherlock would be able to hear them if he wanted, it didn’t matter how softly they spoke. Or even really where they were. Still, it felt odd to speak in tones any other than almost whispers. “But he’s getting better. He doesn’t need Mycroft to stay anymore, to ensure I am who I say I am,” he shrugged weakly. “You’ve been reading the journals?” Lestrade nodded, looking a little sick.
This John didn’t move. Just closed his eyes. Sherlock glanced at Mycroft again, who nodded. He raised his other hand, brought it to John’s face as well. He began mapping it, thumbs brushing against cheekbones, his nose and above his eyebrows. He traced fingers down John’s lips, his chin. John let him map his features, let him learn the feel of them. It was different. Different than False John. This was…he huffed out a breath. This was real. He was….he glanced at Mycroft again, grounding himself. It was real. This John was real.
again, and finally, John had agreed. Sherlock was quietly pleased to be going out, and John could feel it occasionally, bubbling across whatever link Sherlock (or Mycroft, he honestly wasn't sure which) had set up so he'd be better able to help. Since they weren't touching, he wasn't getting anything clear from Sherlock, just an overall sense of general wellbeing. John was glad to make him happy.
The wraith though…she might not have been in Sherlock’s mind for the nightmares, but she could get a good idea of what he went through from the things he yelled. She’d started fast forwarding through most of the hallucinations now. She’d pause every so often, to see if there was anything new. There rarely was. Sometimes he’d start hurting himself, throwing himself against the walls, the bars, beating his head against anything he could find, clawing at his wrists until they went bloody…and she was tired of watching it. Mycroft wanted the tapes watched so badly, he could watch them.
Mycroft sighed. “I don’t know. It is telling that he is asking you now, instead of just telling me that he wishes to go ‘home.’ He won’t tell me what home is though. If home is Baker Street or if he wants to go
"I'm his friend. And he isn't autistic. He's been through a trauma." The woman started backpedaling.
Moriarty clicked his fingers and Sherlock collapsed to the ground, moaning. The demons disappeared. John blinked, as suddenly the room was empty of all but Sherlock and Moriarty. But when Sherlock looked up, Moriarty looked like John. Like
this was odd. Demons shouldn’t be able to do this, not normal ones. He never thought he’d be grateful for the return of James….of Moriarty.
“Yes. He was. I…haven’t determined the reason for that yet,” said Mycroft. “It seems he found something
Sherlock slumped against the wall and another demon approached. He had a thinner metal tube. He passed through John, and John heard his staff humming. He grinned, and plunged it into Sherlock’s side, hard. John could hear and smell the electric shock. Sherlock screamed again.
"It's alright. It's just me. I have you, alright? You are still safe." Sherlock took several deep breaths, trying to calm down.
Wow, it's taken me forever to get this up. Sorry about that. This might be the last for real chapter. I might do one more, set a few years in the future and put in some Johnlock slash, but....I guess that depends on demand? So. Unless I get hit with a real good idea, this is it. I might do ficlets in this universe of various extras.
said Lestrade. “I must have tried a dozen times, he won’t answer his phone, his assistant won’t answer
Mycroft stared down at Sherlock’s barely moving body. Though it was only barely moving for a moment. He screamed, and started thrashing wildly. Mycroft called for help, and Isda and Sariel clutched at his hands, pouring calming grace into him. Finally, Sherlock did stop screaming, and lay, just gasping, still unconscious. Mycroft touched a soft hand to Sherlock’s forehead. “We’ll make you better, brother,” he whispered. “We’ll bring you back to us.”
"My niece," she said, slowly. "She's…could you fix her?" John frowned again, and Sherlock mimicked his expression.
The voice laughed. Cold, cruel, and absolutely gleeful. “Yes dear. Pins and pipes and huge needles and corkscrews and we had such fun, didn’t we?” Sherlock groaned, and was rewarded with a hard kick straight to his groin. His body instinctively clenched in on itself, but the pressure on his cock didn’t go away after the kick. The foot stayed there, and pressed down. Sherlock gasped, trying to breathe, trying to scream, anything. The voice was saying….something, just what, Sherlock had no idea. Then the foot was gone from his groin, concentrating instead on kicking anything else it could reach. Stomach ribs, and then there were
"Which one's yours?" she asked, and honestly, John thought it was obvious. He had his own socks and shoes on, and yet was clutching another grown mans pair. Sherlock was more or less the only lone man in the park, and he was the only one without shoes. Sherlock would have had a scathing comment. John just smiled and pointed. He was examining the large tree at the edge of the park now, about fifty or so paces from the bench where John sat. The woman nodded, pity filling her eyes, and John immediately felt his defenses rise. "I have a niece," she said. "Autistic, poor dear. It's nice though, that they let him out. Are you his doctor?" John tightened his jaw.
John only saw what happened next because he was far enough away. Sherlock’s hands, on Moriarty’s chest, moved from the shirt, slowly, then were holding his hands lightly. The other barely noticed, enjoying the kiss, loving the fact that Sherlock’s body was reacting. He read the additional movement as further arousal. And then Sherlock moved, faster than John would have thought he could. The knife, though pressed against his chest, was now being only very loosely held by Moriarty.
Sherlock My arms stretch up lazily, before I hop to my feet, eyes bright, "Only this." My hand reaches into my pocket, pulling out the one small, cream-coloured pill, "But I wouldn't recommend arresting me for it. It's prescription."
Sherlock My glass touches my lips and I suddenly realise how thirsty... and hungry I am, having half-starved myself to play this part. Sipping the wine, I shake my head, "You're also a genius."
Sherlock "No, this is my dream." My voice is edged with that familiar tone of huffiness now, the fingertips brushing again
Greg I tried to relax where his tongue around my hip was driving me crazy. I lazily kept my hand on his shoulder around his neck, looking down at him when he lifted my leg over his shoulder and started making his way down to my arsehole. It made me tremble in anticipation.
Greg "Yes. An Oliver Parsons. 24, insured and taxed. Not one single point on his license and the only thing he's been charged with in the past is public disturbance but that was due to drink two years ago." I explained, seeing him blink and pause for a moment.
Greg "The research I did on soulmates earlier... I felt how drained you were after the whole Eurus incident." I muttered as I stroked his back and felt him relax into me more. It felt good to have him by my side again.
Greg I chuckle angrily and look back out the window, shaking my head. "You... You suddenly disappearing for 5 days without a single god damn fucking word to me..." I said with my temper feeling like it was rising each second I stood there with him.
John Mycroft lowers Jim to the floor and I see Sherlock standing behind, frozen arms still raises with the gun. I move over to him quickly, taking the gun from him. “Sherlock? Alright, Love?”
Sherlock "Daughter." I mutter in passing, heading towards Lestrade's office, knowing that particular information should distract her enough she wouldn't question where I was off too. I was confident Rosie could take it from there
Mycroft I smile quietly as I move up against him, my fingertips dancing lightly over his hip. I can feel the heat of his cock across the back of my hand as I stroke across his stomach.
Mycroft "It is believed even in a coma, one can hear the goings-on around him. So it's not surprising that you have a memory of someone speaking while you were unconscious." I reply calmly. "I did not recognize the voice, unfortunately, and no names were mentioned. Who sent the photograph? Is there any information on the envelope?"
Mycroft "I'm just a bit more controlled... in public." I smile at him. I ran a finger along his jawline.
I ran into the hospital and was directed to surgery, my hands at my side as I finally found Sherlock and stood beside him, deathly quiet and I gulp where I see them trying to call time on his death.
Sherlock The thought makes me pause, for a moment looking a little upset even, before pulling the mask back on, "You may be right."
Irene Swinging my leg down, I rest my elbows on the table, looking across at the salt and pepper haired one. “I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” I reach across to lazily finger at the top of the file.
Sherlock "One step ahead for you is still two steps behind me, Lestrade." I snap, pulling out my phone and shooting off a Text to my brother.
Mycroft I return to the bedroom to find Greg still mostly dressed, shivering under the blanket. "Greg... you need to get those wet clothes off..." I say, starting to gently dry his hair with the towel, while avoiding the cut on his forehead. I nod to a pile of clothing on the vanity. "I was able to find you some clothes that should work for this evening - track pants, and a sweatshirt. And warm socks."
Sherlock "Ah!" Hesitating, I swing myself around to face Rosie. "Rose Marie. It seems we must tell you certain things. Things that are keeping us all safe at the moment."
Greg I'm exhausted from tossing and turning all night about Mycroft, there now being a possible crime scene that could be related to Moriarty or Moran. I ring the bell to be polite and anxiously wait by the door.
Greg "I'll be up to the hospital in a few days to see you both, just stay safe and I wish it wasn’t like this." I take her hand to shake it for a minute, having to pull it back rather quickly as it was like a ‘bugs crawling up my arm’ kind of feeling with an edge of calm that I only ever got with Mycroft if he touched me bare handed.
Sherlock My hands are shoved deep in my pockets, turning and striding away from the run down, boarded up house, back towards the main street. I'm unaware I'm being watched still by the cameras placed by my brother
Rosie "Some one’s gonna kill me? Are they gonna blow me up too? I can't stay here. You and John might be here when they blow me up and you'll get hurt and I'll be all alone again and-" I'm interrupted my British Government.
Sherlock "Don't go." I bark out, trying to stand quickly and peering into the mists, "I can't do this without you, John."
Mycroft "When will you have results back on the pill Sherlock had in his possession?" I ask quietly, trying to ignore the excessive noise in my head.
Greg I squeeze his thigh for a minute before we got out and went in, my nose picking up on how quiet the house was and then my eyes spotted a body out of the corner of my eye. It was someone laid across a sofa and then someone on the floor and it was oddly quite clean. Not a lot of blood and chills went up my spine with how Mycroft came into the room.
Greg I found a vending machine so I could at least eat a packet of crisps and a chocolate bar, my eyes just shutting when Mycroft appeared again. I rubbed my eyes and saw something had unnerved him or put him on edge. "What is it?" I asked as I stood up
Rosie "Rose." I start to calm down. "People call me Rose. And I'm not good with people. No one likes me but animals." I won't cry this time. I won't.
John “She’s with Anthea. In a safe place. Greg was shot. We are back at Mycroft’s House now. I’m not sure why we are even waiting. For a signal from you? We know where you are. I just want to come get you. Bring you home.”
Eurus My movements are fast, knowing exactly where everyone would be and how they would react it seems. Once I have my arm around Lestrade and the knife to his neck I relax, purring, "That's better. I know you wanted to cuddle me and hold me tight when you met me before." My voice drops to a soft whisper in his ear, "I can save you. Come away with me Greg. Be mine. I've already saved you twice from Jimmy."
Sherlock I try to fight to stay in with John, yelling, "He needs me. Let me through. He's coming back for me."
John “Sherlock? Is that you again? Where are you?” I’m in the white misty place again. I had just been in the hospital waiting room. “I must’ve fallen asleep.” I mumble.
Greg "And you aren't scared of Jim? I mean, if he gives you the choice of killing your parents unnecessarily then it doesn’t seem that free. You'll be put back in a secure place after the funeral, but you'll know that you did some good for your family and for me…" I played to her soft spots and felt her relax even more, my actions quick to twist her wrist and we all then heard the clunk of the knife on the floor.
Mycroft "Well, you are off to a good start..." I reply, my breathing getting calmer. "...and I like to think I gave you some ideas..." I reach up carefully and stroke his jaw with the back of my hand.
Greg "And when he is more onto the road of recovery, you two can choose where you wanna go on holiday." I smiled where it seemed the most likely thing Sherlock would do and then the look on John's face at the thought of a holiday.
Sherlock "I apologise." My own plate is slid away, despite my slender frame obviously crying out for more food. My tone is cold now, eyes narrowed, "I had my mind on other things."
Greg I had to smirk but just looked out the window, thinking he had a pretty cool power. "That’s right." I said lightly and looked back at him when he kept going.
Greg "No... no..," I half kept my arms around him, half sweeping my hair back where it was dripping wet. "She'd always talked about her daughter Sharon but I was never there when her daughter was visiting." I explained.
Mycroft "I have obtained more information since arriving. It seems the building collapse was not due to poor structure, but due to a coordinated explosive detonation." I said, again tugging at my gloves. I had met with the Search and Rescue commander at the site while en route to the hospital. Tucking my gloves securely in my pockets, my hands brushed over some of the debris as the commander led me through. I was able to detect some of the explosive residue, and 'see' the detonation, through that light touch. That was enough for me. "I fear we had a traitor in our midst."
Greg "I know someone had forced me off the road with how close they were riding my ass. I wanted to remember the number plate but…" I looked up at him and met his eye worryingly where the number plate had disappeared from my short-term memory.
Greg I roll my eyes for a moment and sigh, "You don't always need it from me, Sherlock." I said and it was true. He had John and now a child to help keep him on the straight and narrow.
Greg "It wouldn't be lust if Oliver wanted to pursue a more serious relationship with him and that's a good idea. It also gives us the chance to keep an eye on him in case he betrays us somehow... speaks to Seb." I said as I first walked out of the lift and needed to get home really.
Mycroft His trousers down, his cock bobbed in front of me enticingly. I caress it lightly with my tongue, watching as his head falls back on his chair, a quiet groan come from him. "Quiet..." I whisper with a grin, continuing to flick my tongue over his cock.
Sherlock I'm frozen in shock, near to Moriarty but unable to do anything, my eyes wide and face pale
Greg "Its fine. I'll see you in a few days.” I tried to look properly at her face but she was soon off to get into the ambulance with her mum. I found Mycroft's driver further down the road now waiting for me, my clothes wet and my face covered in soot with the shock blanket being abandoned.
Mycroft While Greg showered, I made breakfast, and Anthea delivered his spare suit and mail from his office. I greet him with a cup of coffee.
Mycroft I frowned. "So... you were able to 'read' me for a second?" I had never heard of such a thing, but then, my ability was somewhat uncommon.
Greg "I saw them at Christmas for a few days, but they live in Cornwall with their parents, so it takes them a while to get here..." I looked back down at my take-out box to start eating again where I could feel his eyes looking over me.
Sherlock There's no hesitation, sliding my hand to take it, shaking visible and desperation in my eyes, "No one is powerful enough to stand up to my brother when he has his mind fixed on something. Oh god, Sally, oh god, what have I done... he's taking her away. I've got no one..."
Sherlock The colour drains from my face, leaning over to clutch Lestrade's arm tight, staring at his phone, "That… can't happen. It was just a simple mission"
Mycroft I shiver, still a bit chilled. "I'm not sure a fully clothed shower was the wisest thing we've ever done..." I pull my dressing gown a bit tighter. My hair is still wet, and is likely to curl dry, but I'm too amused to care.
Greg "I've never seen him as fragile. Not with the job he has or having you as a brother. No offence. Yeah, under the surface, he is soft and kind, but he is strong." I say softly, watching his eyes widen and then the confusion in his face.
Greg "Please... touch me with the gloves on." I gasped for breath between us kissing and it’s something I'd never expect to like before. I stepped off him to lie down, one hand holding onto the headboard while the other stroked my cock enough for his pupils to be as wide as dinner plates.
Mycroft "Wait... Sherlock took his burner phone with him." I leave Greg standing in the hallway, and hurry to my office. Rifling through the bottom drawer, I find an old phone of my own... untraceable. With the phone, I send a text message to the most likely phone number.
Greg "There’s a little sandwich place just down the road from the Yard. If you ask for my usual then they'll make it for you." I grinned, taking my coffee mug in hand so I could drink it once I'd come out of the shower. I changed into a fresh dark navy suit and thought I looked smashing.
Mycroft I tentatively pick up my coffee mug and take a quick sip. It's been a long time since I've tried to control my power on my own like this... the last time it overwhelmed me. "It was wrong of me to ask you to curb your ability when I was not willing to curb my own."
Greg "Okay. Just eat a bit more chocolate to get your blood sugar up... deep breaths..." I went to move my hand from his knee but the look he gave me kept it there. He seemed to get a bit more colour in his cheeks, my phone buzzing with the report from Molly about the body.
Sherlock There's the sound of footsteps from above, even above the stairs leading to Rosie's room, hurrying downwards
Mycroft "After scolding me, for working to keep you and John - and him - safe." I huff.
John “Um... that Moriarty was planning to come and get Rosie. That he couldn’t get a message to us. But it wasn’t real. It was just a dream.”
Greg "We might be able to get the postcards to tech to see if they can do anything with the blurry face. We've even got someone that can analyze the handwriting." I said as I picked up the second mug of coffee Myc had made me, picking up a banana for the both of us.
Sherlock My heart sinks more, swallowing, "Is he going to be all right?" There's something vulnerable about my tone. A tone that says I've seen too much death already during this mission.
John “I thought we would travel to New York together. And she’s coming to live here. I want you involved. You already are. As long as you want to be.”
John “See... see? You mean you want me to let him... read me?” I look up at him nervously.
John “I don’t know! I don’t know what parts of those dreams where real or weren’t real.” I take a breath to stop my panic. “He seemed ok. He didn’t seem injured or anything.”
Greg "Would that be somewhere Sherlock would go? We could always go check if they're alright, check out the staff." I suggested where my gut knew something was wrong, Sally nor Anderson thankfully being in today.
Mycroft I take the postcard from John, and compare it to the one I have in my jacket pocket. The photograph is the same - a man, facial features blurred, holding the Crown Jewels.
John I can almost physically feel him next to me in the bed. “I was thinking of you too. I thought this was my dream? Which one of us is dreaming?”
S&R Commander "Let's go!" I check the monitor to find where Sherlock has placed the beacon, and the team goes to work, carefully moving through the rubble. One of the team members yells out when they move some bricks and uncover an arm... a female arm.
Greg "Yeah, our latest missing persons friends backed up her boyfriend’s comments about their relationship, but she didn't go out with any of them for drinks or anything. They said she'd cut herself almost from them and joined this new club. She didn't tell them what sort of club it was but I'm guessing it's a strong meta one." I said lightly and put 'meta organisation' in the middle of the photos of the missing. I hated the cold look on his face.
Sally "You really want a second chance?" I look around to see no one listening. "Look. I got a friend. Real reclusive type. Been on me for years to be introduced to
Sherlock My hands are still clasped in my brother's, seeming forgotten as I nod, speaking quickly and with precision, "We spoke about Rose Marie and her abilities, her growing bond with you and the ongoing process of gaining full custody of her. We also spoke about what happened to Lestrade and the growing danger to you."
John “Oh that’s good. Both Sherlock and I like to read. There’s a library just down the street. I write a bit.”
Greg "They don't necessarily have him, he might have had to leave the phone here for some reason. To keep himself safe or to make sure things couldn't be traced." I rubbed the back of my neck and try to look over his shoulder at the text messages to see who he'd been talking to.
John I take a step towards where he was sitting at the table. “I’m his partner. His friend. I know you and Mycroft cared for him and kept tabs on him before I was in the picture. I’m grateful for that. I really am. But I know him better. I -love- him. Mycroft has trusted me with his well-being for the last few years. And I take it very seriously.”
Mycroft I gently remove his sling and slid his shirt off. "Just stay still." I whisper against his skin as my lips move down his body.
Eurus My eyes shift to the stuffed dog now scruffed on the floor by the chair, "He never let me play with him."
Moran I'm about to reply when I hear a noise from down below. The crunch of tyres on gravel. "Be quick. I have company." I disconnect the call, slipping the phone into my pocket as my hand goes for my stolen gun, crouching down hidden still
Oliver "No, Sir. It is still in the parking lot. I went to visit my parent in the weekend, after that I parked in the parking lot. During the week, I keep it there as I take the underground to work, Sir. I only live six stops away."
Rosie "Do you and Graham get to hold hands at all??" I climb on the counter to grab some juice glasses.
Mycroft I lean down and kiss him lightly on the lips. "I didn't know, but I should have."
Sherlock My legs give way, flopping me back down into my chair, both hands slipping into and around John's smaller one, drawing it up till his skin meets my lips, "Wake up. I can't do this without you."
Greg "No, no, of course not. What have the metas been coming in with? Anything related to the case?" I asked as I tried to sit up but winced instead, quite surprised that he would take me into his care but thought it might have just been out of guilt.
Greg It is a mix of pain and pleasure that I know I'm gonna be feeling for the rest of the day at least when he cums. It’s hot in my ass, his breath on the back of my neck and I didn't see something from his childhood, but it was now more that he could read me completely without having to touch me. That bond was solid now.
Sherlock I stalk into the morgue, a face like thunder, snapping out for Molly and gaining no answer. Instead I teleport through the locked glass doors, striding towards the cabinets where the bodies are kept and starting to open each drawer, searching for the bodies of the murder victims over the past couple of weeks, along with Oliver’s
John “I’m at the hospital. I think I fell asleep in the waiting room.” I’m wandering around trying to feel anything, see anything but all it is is cold mist.
Greg I check Sherlock’s usual or even his old haunts to have no luck in finding him, it worrying me to the point where I told work I was going home for the weekend and that was at 2pm. I went for a run hoping I would somehow spot him, but I was in my comfy clothes by 5 watching crap TV.
Mycroft "I'm sure it's more bluster than anything else, but I would advise caution. Perhaps we should inform John, as well. It's possible that Seb is not yet aware of Dr. Watson's survival, after all."
Mycroft Greg's hand moves to cup my balls, rolling them in his palm, stroking and tugging them lightly as he takes me as far into his mouth as he can. "Yes... fuck... like that... I'm..." I arch my back as I cum, every fiber of my being vibrating gloriously.
Sherlock Without waiting I shoulder on through into his flat, heading towards the kitchen, "Are you sure he isn't here? he has a habit of making himself comfortable in places you don't expect him."
Sherlock I scan the photo, frowning, before starting on the letter, letting one eyebrow drift upwards, "Childish."
Greg I watched him as he began stroking himself and it somehow made my cock feel even more painfully hard. I kept stroking his chest as I got one finger in to the knuckle, my concern lowered and when he put his hand over mine again, I was holding love and warmth and relaxation in myself to try to mirror onto him. I had noted that any emotions I had when he touched me, he immediately took to hold himself.
Rosie "Dude, he's right here. He's not dead." S e r I o u s l y ... w t f...
Moriarty "Ha! Well treated?? You are mental as your sister! I have -never- been well treated. I have been studied, experimented on, abandoned by my own parents, but never ever treated well. Non-Metas are cruel to me, to us." I give a slight signal to prepare to fire. Both guards are aware Sherlock is to not be harmed but the others don't matter.
Mycroft I sit across from John. "Greg has been in Sherlock's life - watching over him, as you put it - for a lot longer than you have." I fold my hands in front of me. "He and I have seen a side of Sherlock that I hope you never see, and I think what he saw frightened him. I know when I first heard, it frightened me. We have watched Sherlock go down that path, John. I have pulled him out of drug dens, sat in A&E wondering if I was going to be burying him that week, stayed with him through detox." I shake my head, a bit sadly. "I don't think you see his side."
Mycroft I laugh weakly. "Yes, a bit not good. He ranted on about how I should have told him first, should have informed the boy's father first... without regard for the value of the information I'd given him."
Sherlock My eyes taken on a little softer tone as I gaze across at John, "You can't go with me. You're dead, remember?"
Sherlock I fall silent a moment, just sipping my tea, before nodding firmly, "I hope you can tell me more. I think your power is quite unique."
Rosie "He looks kinda dead." I sniff the juice before I take a sip. "Did you speramint with my juice...?" Never thought I’d have to ask that question but I've learned a few things since I've been here. Rule 1: don't eat nothin’ Lock has speramented on.
Sherlock "Who?" I look at John in confusion before starting the hunt for a cup of tea
John “Yeah. He’s doing ok, though? Not anything like Eurus is it?” I take a swig of my beer before sitting down again.
Sherlock Settling into a flow, I allow my lips to tighten, then relax, before gulping a breath and allowing him to buck up into the back of my throat, resisting the urge to choke around him. The hand on his base squeezes and lets go, mimicking the sensation of thrusting into my own body for him
Seb "For you to touch me... please..." I said with my eyes looking up at him pleading, my dropping body getting out of the bath where he held up a towel to await his next order. I just wanted to please him.
Simon Campbell "I guess... at this point, I'm willing to try anything." I carefully hand Rowan to the tall gentleman, who carefully cradles him, rocking him gently. I'm shocked that my son calms so quickly, his screaming turning to snuffling and small noises as he stares at Mr. Holmes. I turn to DI Lestrade, who seems similarly surprised by what has happened. "So, do they have any leads on where Penny is? It's not like her to just up and disappear like this..."
Sherlock My nose wrinkles at the bridge, climbing over the back of my chair before flopping down in it, "Lestrade wants me to go and get some things from his office. He also wants me to question Sally and Anderson. This is perfect!"
Greg I was itching to have a cigarette with how stressful everything was, but I resisted to head back into Mycroft’s room. It was only 5 minutes before I had to step out again to be told over the phone that Seb had escaped while they'd been transferring him over to a secure cell at the Yard. It seemed unbelievable to me.
Mycroft Greg looks fairly distressed at what he is seeing, and when his eyes search the crowd, I catch his eye with a small nod.
Mycroft "Relationship-wise? It's been years since I tried. The last relationship didn't end well..." It had been close to 10 years since Cameron had left, frustrated by my unwillingness for physical contact. "I find it easier to just... be alone." I sigh, a touch of sadness in my voice.
Mycroft I roll my eyes. "I mean, if you need information from outside the flat, I will obtain it for you."
Sherlock “Hold on tight to my hands." The lift shifts a little, my added weight throwing it off balance. My hand clings to John's as he accepts it without question, his usual trust and faith in his eyes. Taking a breath, I turn to Lestrade, "I used my power to come to John, but I need your connection with my brother to guide us back out. I've never tried teleporting with even one person." My lips quirk in a small grin, "Good time for an experiment, isn't it? Now... concentrate on my brother, more than you ever have Lestrade."
Seb I kept easing my finger further into his hole as I moved to kneel between his legs, starting with a slow, light lick up the side of his cock to then take his head completely in my mouth. I then felt his hand in my hair and kept sucking on his head while he moaned into the room.
Moriarty "Hahaha so cute when you're cranky." I pinch his cheek just shy of painful. "Does Princess need more sleep? Coffee? Cocaine?"
John I shake my head, taking a seat. “I don’t see we have a choice. We need to get to him. This is the only way.”
Mycroft I quietly slip out of bed, careful not to wake Greg, and dress, heading to the kitchen to start coffee.
My legs swing down, utterly unbothered it seems by the guns pointed at me as I stand, putting my hands up with a small giggle, "It seems you have me right where you want me." My eyes are intense on Lestrade still, "Just like you had my big brother right where you wanted him earlier too."
Greg "I don't know how much I can protect him, that's the thing. If Moriarty does have an obsession with him, we don't know what he's going to do. We need to work on keeping strong metas from joining and making the group bigger, and then what we thought of earlier, knocking Seb out after we get him on his own and hold him as bait. "I ranted as I paced the kitchen.
Mycroft "Coffee ?" I asked hopefully, as I sat up and stretched. "What time is it? I feel like I've slept for days.”
Mycroft A feeling of dread I could not pinpoint had come over me in the last 45 minutes. When Greg walks in, soaked and smelling of smoke, I barely quell my panic. "What has happened?" I rush over to him.
Greg "A little... it’s just where I've been working a lot, the rain around." I shook my head and it just made me feel even more dizzy, my hands beginning to shake even more as I wiped them on my trousers. Now I knew something was wrong and tried to get up to get some air.
John “Mmm. What a wasted opportunity then.” I turn in his arms quickly, catching his lips and kissing him hard and deep, my hand in the back of his neck.
Greg "What do you mean, what?" I said a little louder than before and folded my arms across my chest. I'd had a busy 5 days without much sleep and the odd meal here and there, it being Mycroft who I'd reached out to without anything back.
John “Your mind palace?” I look around then down at myself. I was smartly dressed in a dark mauve cardigan. “What am I wearing? Do I even own this cardigan?”
Sherlock My breath hitches, trying to shut down my brain for once and just trust my own power, trust it to find the connection. There's a popping sensation just as the lift starts to jerk violently and fall... then the three of us appear in the control room, barging into Mycroft and sending all four of us to the ground.
Greg "Oh. Well, it was only a small scratch anyway." I wave it off but wince when I try to sit up, smiling where he pressed a button to sit my bed up. I used my free hand to rub my eyes, so I could see him properly.
John Narrowing my eyes, my eyed follow Greg as he sits. “Are you sure? You don’t look so great. Are you feeling sick? Feverish?”
Mycroft I creep over to the door, and slowly open it. "Inside, quickly" I whisper to John. We slip inside and close the door behind us. "We should be near Sherlock's cell, if what he showed you is accurate. Let's wait a few minutes - my little 'diversion' should be arriving any minute now." I whisper.
Greg "There are people out there like that, Mycroft… contrary to popular belief." I smiled at him as I took it, meeting his eye for a moment before I briefly left my office to put our bag into the bigger bin in the kitchen. I returned to find him standing with his coffee mug.
Greg "If you've got something more important to do then you don’t have to... I can just probably fall asleep." I gave him the option before I laid my head on his chest and hooked my leg over his. I only pulled the covers up halfway, so he wouldn’t get too warm either.
Sherlock My throat bobs as I turn to Sally, affecting a hitch in my voice, eyes reddening and glistening on command, "I... I know... we have not always seen eye to eye Sally but... but I wish to thank you for taking care of my daughter while..." I trail off, as if overcome, turning away from her and thrusting my hands into my pockets, shoulders trembling
Moriarty I wave away his concern. "She’s happier there. She has her own pet DI to play with. Mycroft is the only one who could free her from her mind."
Eurus "He could have learned." I snap, starting to struggle a little. "He learned how to block your powers eventually. We were too young though. You sent me away, didn't even give me a chance."
Mycroft I lift my hips as Greg strips my jeans from me, and look down to see he's stripped off his own, as well. I reach down and pull off his t-shirt, leaving us both completely naked.
Mycroft "I didn't find much information, so this may be a learning experience for us both. I suspect over time, as with any power, we will gain better control over it."
Greg I brought my hands down to lay beneath my chin, trying to think of the best option here. Play Moriarty’s game of making it look like both me and Mycroft are going downhill with the death of John, stress of Sherlock failing or continuing as we were trying to capture a strong meta to get any information we could out of him. I worried my lip and then felt Mycroft’s arms around my neck.
Mycroft I turn and walk away, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of my coat pocket. I take a seat on the bench. The young man sitting there considers starting a conversation, but with one look from me, he stubs out his cigarette, and finds somewhere else to be. Three smokes and 30 minutes later, my anger has dulled enough that I feel I can at least attempt to get some work done on the case, so I head up to Greg's office, knocking lightly on the door before entering.
Mycroft I follow a shell-shocked Donovan to her desk, where she pulls out a file. I carefully review the paperwork, and sign where she indicates. "Was that for real? You're sending him to Switzerland?" she asks.
Sherlock My heart is in my voice, breaking a little as I state. "If you come to Sherrinford you will die. Mycroft will die. Lestrade will die." My breath catches, then I plough on, "But maybe with what I can give you, we can work on a plan."
Sherlock "They don't want her." I snap, suddenly feeling a little heat, a burst of rare empathy. "She was abused there. Neglected. They're lucky we don't press charges."
Mycroft I shake my head, trying to derail that particular train of thought. "No matter. Right now, we need to focus on getting my brother back." Just as I say that, John walks into the room.
Mycroft I can tell he's anxious to leave, to get away from me, it seems. "Problem?" I ask.
Sherlock I can't help it. I jerk away from him, snapping, "Sentiment almost destroyed me. Please do not touch me like that." I lift me my chin with a steely, dangerous look to my eyes, "The only man who touched me like that is dead. There will be no more."
Greg "I know he was trying to protect me and I've done everything to protect him but neither of us are fragile. We’re both in jobs where we put ourselves in danger every day. I don't need molly-coddling. He's done this before?" I said with my eyes scanning Sherlock and it was true that Mycroft hid a lot away
John I nod, wondering if Sherlock would attempt to contact me separately. “What’s the next step? We just wait for Sherlock to contact us?”
Mycroft I hear Greg's voice, and feel a gentle shake of my shoulder, as he tries to rouse me from my deep sleep.
How ready do I have to be? I can't stay coped up in this room for much longer. My brother will already be searching for me -SH
John “But you can’t. I don’t want you to get hurt.” I’m moving around, trying to move towards the rumble of his voice.
Greg "It's because we believe you are working with Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran to create a large group of powerful metas. Not sure what purpose of it is apart from bringing back old-fashioned views of humans against metas. Killing those who are worthless." I motioned air quotes with my fingers at ‘worthless’ and swallow as I look over the arrest report again.
Greg "He shouldn't have but it explains a lot. Makes me feel less like a douche." I said lightly and stepped to the side, so he could at least come out of the cold.
Greg I take a deep breath and sip my tea, "I know that but it's not the point. He knew we were working together and he just went behind my back when I've been trying to deal with all these families who have lost someone. Missing persons records, up to my eyeballs with 18-hour days." I explained.
Greg I'd been watching Mycroft from the window while he read the same note I'd read, it making me think of what exactly he'd been doing over the last 5 days. What the letter meant by bad behaviour having to be punished.
Mycroft I hold up my mug and tap it lightly against his, the ceramic ringing pleasantly. I sat back to enjoy my pad thai. "Hopefully you're not always stuck at the office this late..."
Greg "Yeah? What did you find?" I rubbed my eyes tiredly and just thought he meant research in terms of everything going on at the moment. Not with us, metas and all that jazz.
John Ripping into the chocolate, a break off a small piece and pop it into my mouth, softening it quickly. I press my mouth to Sherlock’s using my tongue to pass the melted chocolate into his mouth.
Greg "Will you be able to show me what you found? With the victim’s families and the bodies? I can only go so far." I moved to perch beside him on the sofa and I fiddled with my own sleeves where I just wanted to keep him here all night. Cuddle in bed.
Sherlock "Why? Why are you doing this?" My face grows even closer to his smug one, "I've lost everything. If you do this, if you take Rosie and send me away, you'll destroy me"
Greg I heard Mycroft getting into the shower and flicked the kettle on, collecting my clothes from last night to put in my wash pile and I then left his on the bed with the bedroom door shut for privacy. I was just jamming my toast when he popped his head through
Sherlock My lips purses, my attention pulled from the frustrating mixed clues around Lestrade to the murder scene. The familiar thrill coasts through me as I stride towards the body. The tide was out, casting the area in a haze of rather foul stench, made worse by the state of the man they were busy pulling out the mud, "Suggests he was either drugged or knew his attacker."
I think to myself as I rub the gel over my hands thoroughly and move to hand the bottle back. "I will pull the CCTV footage for you as soon as I get back to the office. I don't suppose I can interest you in coffee?" I would have suggested lunch but seeing the body had killed my appetite.
Sherlock My fingers wrap around his wrist, leaning in closer, "You mentioned training, being equals. Start treating me like one and tell me what you wish me to do."
Mycroft "Greg and your father are friends... they've both known my brother for a long time. Sometimes, they just disagree..." I suddenly drop my coffee cup, my eyes wide.
Mycroft When he turns toward me, I lean in and kiss him with a small moan, my hand flat on his back as I pull him close.
Greg "I also realise that Sherlock, I respect that you want to grab every opportunity by the throat, but we've got to stay one step ahead of them to have any fucking chance of bringing them down..." I stressed and glared at the sneer he gave me.
Sherlock My lips almost vanish, holding them together so painfully tight, face screwed up as I draw the overload of emotional baggage from him, draining it away painfully while keeping my own inner shields solid to prevent any of my own turmoil from seeping back to him
Mycroft "So, John," I look over the map on the table. "We should be able to get to the shore under cover of darkness. Between us, we should be able to get around the majority of the guard stations. Greg will be in communication with each of us from the ship - in his condition, he won't be of much help on the ground."
Greg "I don't know. You now know as much as I know." I shrugged and guessed Anthea could get any sort of information at her fingertips.
Oliver I pulled the pictures toward me with my shaking hand "I... I just... I'm not... and then they just showed up and guy with blood..." I was cut off by the Detective’s voice.
Greg I simply rubbed her back as she sobbed into me and I held mine back where I was a more private person with emotions. I knew Mycroft would be noted of this soon with his driver still up the road, stuck there by police and I then heard the paramedics call the time of death on Mrs. Price. It was heart shattering.
Mycroft "Let me explain..." I unconsciously moved one foot forward, to prevent him slamming the door on me.
Greg I smiled faintly at john but mainly focused on getting us all caffeinated, putting three mugs on the side while the coffee machine was whirring away. I thought John looked more than exhausted but I was feeling almost dead on my feet.
Sherlock "Since Mycroft is the cause of this, Mycroft can take us to the hospital." I snap, rounding on my brother again and making sure I block the exits.
Rosie "It's kinda like we can share feelings. They usually all feel kinda the same things as the others do. When they get in a group they can kinda tell me why they're feeling some way." I shrug cause it's not as cool as teleporting or being strong or anything like that.
Sherlock My feet stumble just slightly as I enter, quickly shutting the door and glancing around suspiciously. There's the strong scent of smoke around me and my fingers bear nicotine stains. It seems like the words take an extra few precious minutes to sink into my brain, my head coming up and staring at the man, "How did you know...wait, I know you." My eyes narrow suspiciously now. "Molly's friend from the morgue. The one who tried to call security on me."
Greg "Well. Just give Mycroft 5 minutes to get dressed, okay?" I look back over my shoulder where he's sitting up with the quilt over himself and it's like he has the energy of Sherlock. I rub the back of my neck, not knowing why I was suddenly embarrassed to be stood in front of John like this.
Sherlock My gaze sweeps over the sea and the wind plays with my hair as I stand the balcony overlooking the cliffs and ocean. It's a pleasure to breath in the air after being confined inside for those couple of days but my skin still itches. I had woken up from my dream half naked, my clothes stripped off my body in my sleep and the evidence of my very erotic dream drying on my thighs. It wasn't until I had showered that I noticed the large bite on my inner thigh. John was coming. That thought was enough to make me stand and watch the ocean for hours now, even though I logically knew it would take him and Mycroft a day or so to raise a taskforce to storm the island
John “Sherlock.” I sigh out even more relieved than before. I let him close his arms around me as I sigh into his shoulder.
John I turn back in the door way. “No... The bed’s just cold without him is all. Just... bring him back safe.” I head back into the guest room to try and get some rest.
Rosie Setting my phone down I get started getting the rest of my stuff packed. "Bout Papa Lock? And the plan?"
Greg "Oh no… No, no, no... No chance, that's too dangerous." I get up and shake my head, waving my hands in the same way and I know what they were trying to do but there were others we could use. Sherlock getting involved with Moriarty when Jim has an obsession is way too dangerous to risk.
Mycroft "The dishes can wait." I smile as I pull him toward the media room. I motion to the DVD shelves, containing an assortment of movies, mostly older ones. "Your choice." I say, settling myself on the sofa as he looks over the choices.
Sherlock No soon has he said that, but our lips are together, passionate and needy as my arms tighten around him.
Mycroft "We both know that wasn't the real reason you shouted at me." I reply. "You thought my actions were from a lack of trust... that I don't trust you. Nothing could be further from the truth." I look at him fondly.
Moriarty "YeP." I wave to the guards by CuteLocks door. "Here you be. T. T. F. N.'
Mycroft "Damn. Well, hopefully you went unnoticed. Odds of that are good, as the attempt of Greg was made last night."
John Nodding, I take the glass of water and Paracetamol. “Thank you, Love.” I say to Sherlock has he curls up on the couch next to me. “Where did Greg go?”
Greg "There's a small note along with the photos. No clue as to who sent it." I said as I looked on the envelope and photos, unfolding the note to read it to him.
Simon Campbell "No, definitely not. She was going to try to go back to work part-time next week, in fact. I know she's been taking Rowan out and visiting with a few of her friends who have babies Rowan's age, too, so it's not like she's been cooped up in the flat for months." I gave the DI a list of a few of Penny's friends, with phone numbers where I had them. Mr. Holmes came back over and carefully handed Rowan back over to me. He was quieter than he had been in hours... nearly asleep, in fact.
Sally "Oh, I’m so sorry Rosie. How old are you?" I leant her over to sit on a chair and pulled one over for myself, still assuming that Sherlock was standing with us but just looking around the yard.
Greg "Do you wanna know what I saw? I even heard your voice at the time." I smiled as I turned my head to look at him and shuffled closer, so I could curl against him in a small cuddle.
Sherlock My eyes widen under the hood, hands coming out of my pockets and straight away sprinting off into a dead run without waiting, heading towards the main road
Moriarty My thigh muscles were starting to go out on me from how vigorously I was riding Seb. I could feel the bruises forming from where his fingers dug into my hips. I slowed down to an imperceptible rocking motion and grinned at the almost pained look on his face. "Time to move my pet. You're going to fuck me now." I take my hands off his arms so he can hold me up while he thrusts up into me.
Greg "He won't be dead, John. I promise you. We can see what we can get out of Seb and Eurus and get Mycroft up and running again. Okay, trust me." I heard his voice crack, it breaking my heart but it was all we could do for now.
Mycroft "John, we need to talk to you and Sherlock about the postcard... do you have it?"
John My face falls in slight panic. So, I stand up between them and look at Rosie. “Why did you leave New York? We were coming to get you. You could’ve been hurt or lost.”
Mycroft I continue to lick at his tight ring of muscle, his whimpers just encouraging me to do more. I nudge into him with the tip of my tongue.
Sherlock I take the file, mindful of John's injuries still, hesitating, "Do you wish to read this alone John?"
Greg The breath is taken from me when he kisses me more forcefully, my eyes watching him now hungrily as he pushed me back in my chair. "Good. I thought I'd been too forward., too much." I said lightly and with my heart pounding in my chest.
Mycroft "Fine..." I slowly relax my arms, reluctantly allowing him the access he wants. This ability of his was something we'd stumbled upon accidentally, while I was in the psychiatric facility 10 years ago. He had long been able to block me -- to keep me from reading him without his consent, unlike most people -- but the ability to clear aware the emotional debris that I accumulated in reading others was a new facet. Something I hate taking advantage of, because I know it takes a heavy toll on him.
Greg I'd seen what had been in the box with 'KIA' on the bear, killed in action being something that even hit me hard. I'd not even heard anybody come up the stairs and I spun around when I heard Mycroft clear his throat. The sight of him made my throat close tightly.
Mycroft "Most of what you said was nonsense. You were convinced John was trying to give you alcohol and batteries when he offered you water and paracetamol tablets, for example," I say with a grin. "Once you were here at the hospital, you mostly slept."
Greg "I wanted to talk to you about working together. I think things would be going a little smoother if we were getting on. A little more, I understand the whole contact thing, but you just seem a bit cold." I said cautiously and hoped I'd worded it right.
Mycroft "Calm yourself. I don't know any more than what I've told you. We have to wait until we hear from them." I pat the pillow, indicating she should rest there. "It has been a long couple of days, but I'm hopeful that we will get things resolved soon."
I thought you'd be happy with your prezzie. Do you not like being the first to know? a case to solve...
Mycroft "I haven't seen him yet. Rosie wanted to see you first." I smile at her as she wraps her arms around John's neck possessively.
Sherlock After what seems like forever, I swan out of the bedroom, dressed once more in my 'druggy' outfit of oversized hoodie and loose jogging bottoms. My hair is in greasy disarray my eyes are a little glazed
Sharon Price "Thank you so much." I seem unbothered by how fast he pulls back, my shifting eyes smiling now, "Thank you for being so brave and trying to save mum."
Greg "But when you love someone. You'd do anything to make them happy. Anything for them, including being the getaway driver it seems." I whispered and knew what he was thinking by the shake of his head, but I just ignored it.
Mycroft I opened my eyes. "7:30? Damn... I'm late, then." I looked around for a moment, with the realization I was at Greg's flat, not in my own bed. "What did I do with my phone last night?" I wondered aloud.
Mycroft "We did speak, Sherlock... can we discuss this later?" I glare at him. Now was not the time or place for this discussion.
Mycroft I close my eyes and start sifting through his recent memories. The first ones I encounter are... A bit personal. I can only imagine how flushed my cheeks are.
Greg "I'm not sure. I'm guessing Seb is just gonna head straight back to Moriarty to tell him about what we've done. We might need to be on an even higher security alert for the next few days while we sort Eurus out and come up with a better plan." I sighed.
Mrs. Lipton "You can say that, yes... It's not exactly an illness. He experiments on her. We are identical twins still I am meta and she is normal. He wants to know how the abilities form in metas. We are not the only twins here. There are Tommy and Justin, the dear hearts are only three years old." Poor little tykes.
Dave the Druggist My gun fires off twice, pinging off the nearby shelves. I regret leaving my phone on my desk now as I went to fulfill the order. Ducking around the corner, I yell, "You fucking druggies. You don't know who you're messing with, coming in here to try and score your next hit. You better get out of here."
Greg "I can imagine. I’ve only been there once but coming back to London was so much better." I chuckled and was slightly confused to who that could be, my hands going into my pockets when Sherlock said he'll get it.
Moran My breath catches, hoping Watson is too busy dealing with the wounded copper to notice I'm still alive... though not for much longer. I can feel my fingers going numb, the phone dropped to the floor by my head, mumbling, "Hey love...call them off. Too late."
Mycroft "I found it gets easier over time... Repeated exposure to the same person is less overwhelming." After a few moments, my heart slowed back down to a normal pace. I look at him and see that he still looks fairly worried.
John “We need to find Sherlock. When was the last time any of us have heard from him?”
Mycroft "Everyone falls off the wagon once in a while... cigarettes are a minor sin." I smile at him, taking a long drag then gently returning the cigarette to his lips. "Sherlock has been warned of Eurus. His immediate concern was your safety. If she is somehow involved with Moriarty, his concern is not misplaced."
Turning back to Lestrade, my eyes sweep over him, my shoulders slumping just a little, "I am lucky. I am even more lucky to still have John."
Mycroft I am more curious than ever about his nightmare, but I don't pry. "I wouldn't recommend that. However, if you insist, you might consider getting undressed, first." We were both soaked to the skin, and neither of us moved to do anything about it, just sitting together under the hot water.
Seb "You hold the whiskey and glasses then." I hand them to him and loved the laugh he gave me when I picked him up bridal style. I carried him to his bed, setting him on it gently and as we drank, I explained how Mary found the body and I even shot John who didn't put up much of a fight.
Jamie I walk back in to the morgue to wait for Molly to return with coffee. "Oh. Hello there! You startled me." I reach my hand out but quickly retreat it when I see the look of pure rage on the guys face. "Umm... Who are you? Does Molly know you're here? This is a restricted area."
Greg I felt like my body had been drained completely but I pulled out of him slowly, using my shirt to clean us up and when he pulled me up, I felt wobbly. I was only knowledgeable in certain metas so didn't have much idea about what had happened between us when I came yet just held onto him as we shuffled upstairs to his bedroom.
Mycroft A flash of anger crosses my face, and I quickly quell it. I put a firm hand on Greg's shoulder, and pull him away. "Greg, would you be so kind as to go get me a cup of coffee?" I smile at Moran.
Mycroft "The experience is a bit draining, I admit, but I appear to have recovered. Why do you ask?"
Greg I slipped my coat off with how warm I felt, smiling weakly at John and it then fell when I saw Mycroft having tea with the blogger. I glared at the ground listening to Sherlock and then moved to sit on the arm of the sofa.
Seb We'd been given a case that led us to Tel Aviv, it thankfully going smoothly while Mary and I were scouting the building while John was keeping an eye on the boundary. We'd been given the intelligence that the building was clear but we still had our hands near our weapons anyway.
Mycroft I walk over to the package on the living room floor and carefully open it, revealing two stuffed teddy bears. One, dressed in doctor's garb, with a stethoscope around its neck and a very real scalpel attached to one paw. The other, a similar bear dressed in an RAMC dress uniform. Tucked inside the uniform waistband is a small pistol - a Glock 43, 9mm. "John and Mary were both shot by a 9mm pistol... I would wager that this gun - or one like it - was the weapon used." I mumble, after reading the note. "This is a message from Moriarty, meant to hurt my brother."
Mycroft "Moriarty has been there." I sigh. "I took him there once... a grave mistake, it seems."
Greg "It’s hardly being brave, I’m a police officer so it’s just in my instincts." I say modestly with another smile, feeling my chest tighten again as they got her mother into the ambulance to take her to the hospital where she could then have a confirmed reason for death.
more private..." I look at the blinds covering the glass walls. "Can you get away for a few hours?" I lean over him, running my lips over his neck.
Rosie "How can you be both? Aren't ya kinda small for a Soldier? Do all soldiers write about their adventures and stuff?" I start to finally settle down and take a better look around the room.
Rosie I come back down the stairs wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but I brushed my hair, so the curls look kinda pretty again.
Mycroft I just sit quietly, my gloved hands steepled under my chin, as Greg looks over the arrest report.
John Nodding. I wait for him to touch my hand. He does and my whole arm goes numb and my fingers tingle. I take a few relaxing breaths.
Mycroft My hand slides down his side and grabs his arse, pulling him against me as my teeth graze over his neck. "I suggest we stay as quiet as possible... wouldn't want to attract attention..." I purr in his ear.
Greg I search his face for a minute or so before I leant down to kiss his neck, all the while I pulled out to thrust in again. I was just going to take it slow since I had a feeling he'd never done this before and I didn't want him to burn out so quickly if he was getting my memories through. My breaths were coming out as hisses as I was repeating the motion of pulling out to then thrust in again, feeling his ankles dig into my back and then his hands searching more of me.
John “Get off me!” I rush down the stairs but by the time I reach the second landing, I realize that I can’t go outside. Bringing my fist back, I punch hard into the wall, leaving a big hole there. “Damn it!” I rage whirling back up the stairs. “Sorry, Greg. Sorry.” I say helping him up.
Sherlock I reach over my brother's arm to grab a flannel from the counter, running it under cold water and then tossing it over my shoulder, confident in John's ability to catch it… all while keeping Mycroft trapped and glaring intently at him, "How did you manage to mess it up Mycroft? I spent valuable time and effort assisting you."
John Giggling into his embrace, I squeeze him tightly. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. How hard can it be?”
Sherlock At Rosie's words, my face pales a little, swallowing and then bending, "Maybe you could go to your room and play for a while? The juice is safe. I've learnt to always mark things after your father moaned too much about the eyeballs in the milk." My gaze though keeps drifting towards the living room, my teeth worrying my lower lip
Mycroft I stare at the monitor as Greg looks up into the camera, almost as though he can see me. I close my eyes and concentrate on him, the warmth of his skin, the smell of his cologne, the tenderness in his eyes... Dear god, I hope this works. I can't lose him... I can't lose them all.
Greg I felt his thighs tensing where one hand was still stroking the fine hair there, my mouth going from his cock to take a ball into my mouth and the profanities/moans mixed together that came was enough to make anybody come. When I knew he was almost there, I took him completely in my mouth while both of my hands fondled his balls.
Greg I sighed and sat up to feel myself still shaking, my body feeling like I needed to get the stink of him off so I couldn't even answer Mycroft’s question before I went into the bathroom. I turned his luxury shower on to the highest setting and didn't even bother stripping, just got under the splashes of water and eventually sat down underneath it.
Sherlock I'm silent for a few beats, then nod, "Add some to tonight's meal and tomorrow's breakfast. Target only the guards, not Moriarty himself." I grin at her, "Maybe some of the guards will oversleep and be drowsy tomorrow."
“For God’s sake, would you stop fussing about?” Sherlock asked him, on an unusually sunny Saturday afternoon. “You’d think the Christmas holidays would let you relax just a little.”
Their lips brushed once over each other, unsure, then after a moment’s hesitation, pressed lightly together. Sherlock’s other hand came up to cradle John’s skull, threading through the fine strands of greying hair at his nape, and a second later he felt the small weight of John’s palm sliding across his shoulder and coming to rest at the centre of his back.
Sherlock nestled back into John’s chest, and John reached down and drew the blankets up over them. Sherlock sighed contentedly, John’s arms holding him close, his breath warm and comforting against Sherlock’s cheek. They drifted off to sleep, feeling whole and peaceful, the city lights shining radiantly up through the darkness outside the window.
Slowly, the backstage space emptied out as children went on stage and joined their parents in the audience afterward. The younger kids went on to stumble their way through a few carols. Groups of terrified-looking boys and girls went out clutching little bells and woodblocks to play along. Sherlock barely wrapped his thoughts around any of the performances before they were ushered offstage, and in absolutely no time at all the class doing the nativity play was carrying off the manger, and it was time for them to go on.
Sherlock felt like he was standing on a tightrope high above the ground. Any move in any direction could send him plummeting.
Sherlock hummed in approval, lips twitching upward. “Feeling up to breakfast? I bought fresh bread from that bakery on Marylebone.”
Sherlock huffed out what he hoped sounded like an amused breath, but his heart had slowed to a crawl. Very slowly, he stooped to pick his trousers up off the floor.
oh, love –” John choked out. His mind was flooded with sensation, his ability to form coherent sentences diminishing by the second.
As the haze of his arousal ebbed away, and Sherlock’s mouth came to kiss tenderly at the nape of his neck, John started to feel the remaining tension in Sherlock’s hands, in his torso pressed up against his back. John sighed, contentedly, tried to push back against him, but only managed to twitch his hips the slightest bit.
And then they were kissing, fully and properly. John’s tongue pushed greedily past Sherlock’s lips as Sherlock’s hands bracketed John’s face, exhaling a long low sigh as he opened his mouth to invite John in. John’s hands had come up to seize Sherlock by the shoulders, pushing himself into his embrace, and all at once the world seemed to slip out from under him because this was unlike anything he’d ever felt, Sherlock’s hands, his lips, his
When he made it back to the waiting area, Sherlock was surprised to see that Mycroft’s familiar figure had appeared and was sitting next to Mrs. Hudson. The four of them were leaned in close and talking in hushed tones, but pulled back swiftly as soon as they saw Sherlock, rearranging their features into unconvincing smiles.
give us a break, apparently”, but they only seemed to buoy up his good mood, and he deliberately passed by her on his way back and gave her a cheeky smile, which made her shut up quite quickly.
But no, no – Sherlock couldn’t let him leave with even the slightest possibility that he might believe that, or deserve that. He had to say
Sherlock didn’t travel for cases. London was where he thrived, where he was comfortable, all its eclectic energy and familiarity combining beautifully into the only place he’d ever called home. Mycroft knew this, and years of fruitless entreaties for Sherlock to go out and do legwork in other parts of the world should have prevented him from pressing the issue on this occasion. But then came a series of murders of members of a powerful family known to be associated with the Russian Mafia – murders so clean and efficient, leaving so little evidence that Mycroft’s usual pawns were found to be instantly out of their depths. So he had, very grudgingly, called in possibly the only man he knew capable of such a job, and certainly the only one he trusted – his little brother.
John let out a laugh that was more like a gasp, and brought his hand up to Sherlock’s face, swept a thumb along his cheek.
“Mr. Holmes,” said Dr. Moore, in his usual, curiously inscrutable voice. “And Mr. Watson. Good to see you again.”
of you, Sherlock. All the time.” He tightened his grip around Sherlock’s waist, holding him firm. “Alright?”
John sighed, and began circulating the food again, lost in his own thoughts. He should have been able to charm that girl in his sleep, but instead he’d been so amateur it made him want to cringe. What was
“Husband,” Sherlock echoed, barely a murmur. “My husband.” His hands were nearly trembling where they cradled John’s face. “Oh,
Sherlock pushed open a door to where a few parents and kids were milling about, and suddenly heard someone shout his name.
In an instant Sherlock had unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his trousers, and John hurried to copy him. Now it was just them, bare skin but for their pants, every point of contact branding itself into John’s flesh. He would see it there later, John was sure, see all the places Sherlock had touched him as a physical memory, carried with him, always.
“Got it,” Sherlock replied, holding the radio close to his lips so his words wouldn’t be carried off by the breeze.
been weeks since he’d seen him? He sighed, hesitated until the last possible second, then hit the talk button.
There was no mistaking it – there was no one behind Sherlock, or close enough beside him, John was pointing at
The moment stretched on into an age. Sherlock allowed it to, their eyes locked. The unsaid words were louder than anything he could have ever spoken aloud.
fine, but there was an edge of determination in his voice that John couldn’t argue with. Almost as if by saying it, Sherlock could make it true. | [
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Tony held up a hand to stop them for a moment, putting his helmet back on. And even though his face wasn’t visible, Steve still could see the tension in his movements.
Steve jolted sideward, trying to be fast enough before the phone went a second time. He disentangled both arms from Tony’s upper body, flexing his fingers before holding the device in front of his frowning face. With a long exhale, Steve’s pupils flew over whatever message had appeared on the display. After a minute, he tossed the phone back on the nightstand, momentarily allowing his temper to get the best of him. His jaw tightened, his brows drew together in a firm line and his hand shook with how tight he was gripping the pillow beneath him.
Steve smiled—he couldn’t help it—and leaned down to kiss Tony once more, before slowly moving downwards, along Tony’s chest, nipping briefly at his bellybutton before his thumb slipped over Tony’s erection, teasing him with lazy circles.
He dashed forward, bodily and mentally. While he shot repulsor beams at Ultron, he also fought his way into Ultron’s matrix.
"He really doesn't need his ego patted, Steve," Bruce called from across the table. The science professor was sitting comfortably next to his wife, Betty, nursing a glass of wine and wearing what Steve assumed was his finest tuxedo suit. Steve laughed at that, nodding his head. That was true enough. He recalled Bruce's indignant expression when Steve had told him about the development in his and Tony's relationship. They had gone to that same shitty cafe and Steve was buying. Bruce had seemed ready to high-five him.
After a moment, Barnes’ face hardened. Tony had long since sat back on the floor, regarding him with cautiousness. Somehow, Tony knew exactly what Barnes was thinking right now and he just…
He had chosen a side—the side that wasn’t Steve’s—and thus, he had forfeited the lasting remnants of hope on his own happiness. In the process, he had willed his own wishes away, mentally letting go of what could have been if he and Steve had stayed friends just a little while longer.
The next thing Tony knew, Steve hauled him upwards and resituated him in his lap, pressing their chests together. He dipped his cock back inside Tony, so goddamn deep now, that an involuntary tremor rumbled through his limbs.
It was too much. Steve’s hands dug into his skin when he felt himself about to tumble over. “Shit, I—”
“You were a bit of an asshole,” Tony confirmed with a crooked grin. “Will your childhood hero ever forgive you?”
The war was… it was taking parts out of him. Tiny parts, but Steve felt as all those horrors, each and every day, slowly but steadily wound their way into his heart.
Tony nodded and cupped Steve’s cheeks with both hands. They both sat leaning towards each other, but even that small space between them seemed too much. Drawing nearer, he saw Steve’s eyes had focused on something he couldn’t see, but the expression on his face spoke of horrors beyond imagination. Tony remembered the blood leaving his body, remembered those stab wounds, and the pain was a distant hum, but the pure despair in Stephanus’ eyes wasn’t.
"Mr. Stane, may I offer some painkillers? Mr. Hogan is just outside, ready to assist you in case you're still unstable on your feet. Can you stand?" She fired one question after the other, while Stane was slowly sitting himself upright and holding a hand to his forehead.
Vision shrugged—he’d seen Wanda do it, whenever she tried to look casual, and figured it were those little things that would make him seem more human. “He figured out who Steve was, and decided to call him out on it. He did, however, realize that Steve had no hostile plans, so he decided to play along, and lie to you in the weeks to follow.”
Another moan ripped through the air, once Steve had pushed his fingers further into Tony. “Harder,” Tony demanded, and of course he’d be absolutely unashamed as he gripped his beautifully curved cock, rocking between the two sensations.
“I know it’s not our only option,” Steve said calmly. “Or… maybe it is. Maybe we lost too much time and all the other options are gone. Point is, it’s the only one we’ve got right now. We don’t have time to sit around and wait for something else to spring to mind.” A soft beat, and Steve leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. They usually tried to tone down the PDA whenever the others were around, but desperate times and all that… His hands grasped Tony’s as his thumbs ran comforting circles into his skin.
Fury’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t seem surprised. He knew Steve’s views on punishment without a proper prosecution and what he would or wouldn’t agree on. “We can’t afford to wait that long.”
“Let go, baby,” Tony murmured softly, clutching Steve as close as he could. “I know you can. I’ve got you.”
So he fisted Tony’s hair and dragged him away from his throat, ignoring the whimper of protest that tumbled through Tony’s lips. “It’s Steve,” he told him firmly. “My name is Steve.” With that, he pressed his lips to Tony’s mouth. And immediately, any sliver of doubt that this wasn’t a dream was banished.
“Of course they did.” Tony sighed and raised his voice. “Well, if she ever comes near anyone with her creepy magic again, I’ll put her in the Hulk-out room.”
Steve knew the last year hadn’t been easy, the loss of Extremis forcing Tony to once more learn how to function without the ability to perform inventions and improvements at his fingertips. On the other hand, there was the government, calling him over to DC almost every other day. And there was Ian.
Steve heaved a low breath, taking that last step of the stairwell, and stopped when he saw Natasha leaning next to his door.
Instinctively, Tony tried to hang onto some grain of strength, but step-by-step, Ultron was taking hold of him. And deep inside, he knew he couldn’t so much as lift a finger in defense.
Tony had reached up and brushed back the hair that fell across Steve’s forehead. Steve had closed his eyes, feeling his face heat at Tony’s touch.
“You’re lucky they’re still clothed,” Clint declared. “I once caught them with their pants down in the gym. If you haven’t seen their schlongs by the end of the year, you can call yourself one happy man.”
They were kissing, and then Tony told him he could touch the scars. Embarrassed, Steve allowed himself to more directly feel them. He'd touched them briefly before, but never truly investigated them. The play of dull and sensitive skin was tantalizing to watch, and Steve had to pull his attention away with conscious effort.
“It seems, there has been an unexpected visitor,” Friday replied at once. “The whole team has assembled.”
Natasha closed her eyes as Bucky’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her pants, though he knew she tried not to. He traced the hem around her waist and grinned when she quickly reopened her eyes as he ground his middle against her, pressing her further into the mattress of his bed. His mouth was millimeters away from hers when he said, “You missed me. I know you did.”
The front door of the farm house opened, and Tony stepped outside, looking a little frazzled. He turned around, then fixated Bucky with his eyes. “Got news for you, Frosty.”
“I really can’t believe you,” Tony said, shying away from Steve as he tried reaching for him. There wasn’t much room to maneuver on the steep trail however, and he ended up almost stumbling into the greenery. Steve caught him around the waist, pulling him near even as Tony glared at him. “You’ve gotten us lost in the middle of nowhere,” he complained.
He saw them all in his mind, as they stood there on the deserted airport like the opening of an overly dramatic musical show, and wondered how the hell they got here. Weeks ago most of them had lazed around at the tower, bickering over movies, giving foot rubs to random people and arguing over who took the last beer out of the fridge.
Tony frowned at him for a moment, but his eyes were clearly set on Steve and that was… great, really.
A few minutes passed before Tony felt he could attempt to broach the line between sleep and wakefulness any more than he already had. His mind raced against his body’s will, trying to remember what he had consumed the night before and just how much of it.
Steve stepped forward, doing that thing with his shoulders that made him five inches larger. “Diving in head-first without a plan is still better than only reacting when it's too late.”
. There should be laws against Steve looking the way he did now. All flushed skin and potent need. However, soon enough, Tony felt a wave of giddiness surge through him. So they were both alright with switching, that was… God, that was perfect.
"He'd better," was all he actually said, giving Tony another kiss and pulling back. If he stayed close much longer, he'd get distracted, and then there'd be no telling when they'd stumble out of bed.
When they’d arrived at the address Agent Romanoff had given them, they’d stood in front of an enormous building. Above the front entrance Steve could see the inscription:
Steve’s only answer was a groan. But his body communicated plenty as he pressed his whole frame against Tony’s. Tony’s hands glided up his chest and underneath his shirt to slide it off him. As it puddled on the floor, Steve grabbed him around the waist to spin them both around. Tony winced and clutched his side.
“You do that,” Steve said lowly, irritation rising within him. Years ago, he wouldn’t have thought that losing JARVIS would hit him that hard, but here he was. And he didn’t want to stop his mourning because the guy that had JARVIS’ voice was having an epiphany. “We’ll meet at the—”
Steve hesitated. He did because he knew a panic attack when he saw one. He'd had quite a few before the serum, and he'd been lucky because Bucky had usually been there to help him through it, but for the life of him Steve couldn't remember
Tony looked up at him with his big brown eyes that had Steve’s heart skip a beat every time he stared into them directly, and a tiny smile rose to his lips. “That’s something only you would say,” he said, huffing softly, before he leaned in and slowly kissed Steve back.
Without hesitation, she undid the buttons of his trousers, and there was nothing romantic about the fierce coupling that followed. He only pressed her against the wall and took what she offered.
that he'd remember before it was too late. I know what it must've looked like, and I'm sorry that you had to go through that, I really am, but the serum can take a lot. A lot more than some flesh wounds, and I needed to take that chance.”
Steve made a face at him, but did as he was told. He wound an arm around Tony and pulled him near, moving them back and forth until he could take a decent selfie of them both and the mirror.
“Zoning out,” she replied and smiled knowingly. “Tony will come around, Steve. You just need to use this opportunity wisely.”
Tony exhaled slowly and regained his breath. He squeezed Steve’s hand lightly. “I think you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve braved yourself into things this far.”
His eyes lingered on Tony’s chest. He never thought he would be partial to a man’s chest, but he was. Suddenly, Tony’s chest was the most sexy thing he’d ever seen.
“Good.” Snatching the can in mid-air, Steve grabbed Tony’s hand and basically dragged him up the stairs. They didn’t waste much time, and soon enough, Steve had Tony beneath him, naked and ready and very willing. There were still some chocolate smudges on both of their bodies, but foreplay was only bearable for so long.
Standing up, he realized he wouldn’t have been able to defeat her. She had gained the advantage over him, and the only reason he wasn’t dead by now was that she hadn’t wanted to kill him.
He turned around somewhat, cleaning first his hands and then, a bit awkwardly, the insides of his pants.
An hour later, Steve waved at the others as the elevator’s doors closed. After asking FRIDAY to lock the penthouse, he turned around and saw Tony standing at the foot of the stairs, tossing the can of chocolate frosting from one hand to the other, smirking at him.
Dazed, Steve stood in the center of the room. He had no idea what to do, and he only looked over his shoulder when he heard steps. “I should check on Wanda,” he heard himself say.
“Whatever you decide—the team will deal with it. Whether we’re all staying here, or if we’re splitting up again… or if the two of you decide to take a timeout… we can deal with it. You don’t have to worry about that.”
When he glanced back at Tony, Steve saw him already halfway through the first sandwich, and it made him smile. So that had been a good idea. "So long as you get to sleep at some point," he said, then turned his attention back to the suit. It was difficult to see all the details from where he was standing, but he wasn't sure if it was off limits to come any closer.
It took two more weeks before he called Steve again. This time, however, Steve didn’t say a word either. Tony managed a whole minute of listening to his shallow breathing before he ended the call once more.
Steve just hugged him, and when Tony's voice faded, he finally kissed his cheek. "You don't have to say anything back."
When he stood a few feet away from Tony, his gaze shifted from his face down to his hands. There were a few bruises on his knuckles that had Steve suck in a sharp breath.
Evidently, by the time the group had moved to the old part of the house—back through the entry hall, the kitchen, and into ‘Clara’s room’—Tony had well and truly lost all remaining interest.
Tony glanced at him. “I have no idea, I’m not a shrink. Maybe you’re my way of dealing with J’s death, or I just really need to get laid again, what would I know.”
Instead of answering, Steve only rolled his eyes. And then, with his free hand, he let a finger drift over one of the feathers. They felt… different. It was hard to figure out what it was, but there was a warmth pulsing beneath—a light shining from within. They were beautiful—even now, even bloodied as they were. “Does it hurt?”, Steve asked, his voice cautious.
Bucky stared at the ground for a long minute, then shook his head. “They put me in the cell, and… the soldiers weren’t there, it was just that doctor. He had a book with him. He… he said something to me. I can’t remember what, I…” Suddenly, his eyes were awash in remembrance, trained on his metal hand. “He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was kept. He wanted to know exactly where.”
“This might get a bit more than unexpected,” Steve protested quietly. The Mind Gem clearly was the uncontrollable factor here, and yet… he realized that if someone had to bear it, he wanted it to be JARVIS.
“Yes,” Steve answered, his voice achingly hushed. A tiny smile quirked his lips as he studied the guilt that shadowed Tony’s brown eyes. “Just… please go slow.”
“Easy now,” Steve said softly, trying and failing to conceal his mirth. He guided Tony’s hand through the water, turning it back and forth. “That’s it.”
When he looked up, things got… a little strange. After he’d run into Strucker, Steve had stood right behind the building’s entrance, and now, he was lying at the bottom of a stairwell. Focusing on the matter at hand, Steve shook off his confusion and instead ran back up the stairs. Once he stepped through the door, he spotted the girl again and, raising his shield to her head, he ordered, “Stand down
There was a blast of air, and the next thing Steve knew, he was knocked to the ground. While he hadn’t seen anything, he knew enough about how it felt to be tackled by someone, and this had definitely been a person—male, probably.
“Goddammit,” Clint said, evidently unhampered by the awkwardness of the situation. “I expect a state of the art tractor, Tony, all extras, in shiny purple, are we clear?”
“I can make you feel so good,” Tony repeated, running his index finger over Steve’s shirt. “You never did this before, did you?”
He grabbed for the suit’s helmet, pulling it off and letting it drop to the floor. It was his tech, it could take it. He moved around in Steve’s arms, staring up at him intently. “Long story short: We won’t suffocate. That enough?”
He felt Steve trembling against him. His hands still cupped Tony’s face, his fingers rubbing imperfect circles into his skin.
With that, the man spun around and thrust out a knife from his pocket, nearly slicing off Bucky’s human hand in the process.
Steve’s body quivered with alarmed arousal as his mind clinked out. His hands blindly sought Tony’s wrists, trying to make him slow down.
“You want to?” Steve echoed and Tony tried hard to ignore how those words affected him. Steve sounded almost…
Tony seemingly couldn’t bear it any longer. He turned around, set into motion and walked a few steps to the other side of the room, coming to a stop with his back towards the others.
At the end of it all, Steve was fine. And Stane, the man who’d made their lives a living Hell for far too long, was dead—and that was all that mattered.
With a deep frown, Steve glanced down at the card. “What is this?” he asked, squinting at the code Tony had written down there.
He’d died… Antonius had died. And the feeling of it would now forever be burned into Tony’s memories. The last thing he remembered were fingers brushing over his forehead and then he’d… vanished. He’d left.
Tony needed to figure out into what time period the Eye had dropped him. Maybe he should’ve thought of a specific date when he’d put the necklace on?
. He marveled at how Steve could make him happy to see him and thoroughly furious, and really, really pissed off and annoyed, all at the same time. He kneeled next to Tony, looking down at him, and as much as Tony was glad to see him, he also kind of wanted to punch him in the face.
Tony took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. Of course Steve would want to go in alone—the reason was pretty fucking obvious. And the South carrier was closest to the Triskelion, which also meant he’d face the worst opposition. “I don’t mean to put a damper on anything,” Tony said slowly, glancing up at Steve. “But are you aware that everyone aboard those carriers could be HYDRA?”
“Alright,” Pepper said eventually and only a beat later, she began to talk of all the preparations that would be necessary for the ball to happen on such a short notice. However, Steve hardly heard what she said, because the look on Tony’s face was absent once more, and Steve could see from the way his shoulders drew upward that he was trying to hide something.
The words hit Steve like a tidal wave. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t open his mouth to do as Tony asked and that was it—that was enough. Tony’s hands dropped from Steve’s body and a self-deprecating smile took hold of his lips. “It’s alright. You’re a good man. I would never ask you to love a murderer.”
This was how Steve had always imagined the ‘old Tony’ to be. A man driven by his own ideas. A man shaping the future, no matter the odds. He’d seen glimpses of him while they’d traveled through Southern Europe, and seeing that devotion back in his eyes now, it almost had Steve tearing up.
Tony’s expression darkened even further. “You know what,” he snapped, and neared Steve like a leopard on the hunt. “For once, I completely agree with you.”
Steve let himself slump down against Tony, mindful to keep some of his weight off him. He knew Tony was right. Even though they were the same people, it still wasn’t the same.
Steve nodded, saying nothing. They all had their fair share of nightmares, and he’d known Tony’d had a particularly hard time after his fight against Aldrich Killian, and once more after Ultron.
Tony jumped swiftly on his feet, but the scene outside hadn’t changed. But then, Steve’s hands were suddenly on his upper body and he pushed him hard against Fury and—
“Just because you couldn’t get through to him doesn’t mean that I can’t,” he snapped at her and immediately wanted to take the words back, but it was too late. There was a brief look of hurt on Natasha’s face, before she schooled her expression. Then, she turned on her heels and made to move back into the house.
The next second, the door to the penthouse flew open and Pepper walked in, impeccably dressed in vintage Chanel. She gave the room a once-over and shuddered. “God, Tony, this place is a pigpen.” Making an executive decision, she snapped open her cell phone and punched in a number. “Happy? I need a cleaning service over here. Offer to pay them double their rate if they can do it today.” Her eyes flicked over to a plate of Spaghetti spilled all over the floor. “And get a cleaning service that specializes in Macassar ebony. Thanks.”
Tony smiled at Barnes’ wide eyes, then stepped up next to him. That wasn’t excitement yet, but he hadn’t turned on his heels and left, so Tony counted it a win.
“Negative!” Steve shouted back. He and Bucky raced towards a ladder leading up to the upper level. “If that truck crashes, the gem could level the city. We need to draw out Ultron.”
Tony bit his lip. “I don't remember Steve dimension-hopping back then, so that’s new, but…” He sighed, obviously finishing whatever he’d had to say in his mind. After a beat, his eyes flickered back to Steve. He quirked a smile. “Sorry for… the kiss and… the stripping.” He rubbed another hand over his neck. “I guess we’re not an item where you come from. That must’ve thrown you for a loop.”
Tony watched for a moment, mesmerized by the woman's grief, then walked towards the next room. He felt like his body was moving on autopilot, his legs functioning while his mind still tried to process what had happened.
Steve smiled knowingly. “Now that you mention it, why don’t we make a little detour to Coney Island? The park should be open for another hour.”
“Did I ever?” Clint asked and grinned. “Sooo, now that I’ve clearly saved your marriage: No sex in my house, you hear me, Cap? Thin walls, impressionable children, and Laura actually likes her sheets and I would hate having to burn them.”
Steve stared off into the large hangar. His hand, however, cupped the back of Tony’s head, his thumb brushing gently over the curve of his cheek. “I don’t want this to come between us.”
“Try,” Steve urged. “All of this, there needs to be a reason behind it. We need to figure out who’s trying to blackmail you and why. So you got on the plane, and then what?”
It wasn’t a loud crash that stopped Tony’s words, just a subdued whooshing sound. At first, he’d thought something on the now-crooked supply shelves had fallen to the floor, but when he looked up, he stared directly into the serene face of Vision.
Tony’s exhalation blew through the air. “You’ll have to sign first. There’s a paragraph explicitly saying it’s a draft paper and all parties will be allowed to negotiate further changes. I had my lawyers check it, already. Sign first, discuss later. It’s safe.”
Steve smiled as he panted, struggling to catch breath. They stumbled into the tent together, mindful to pull the zipper up behind them. When Steve turned around to look at Tony, though, he was already sitting in the middle of the tent, looking at the ground with a serious expression.
Rhodey gave him a look when he returned. “We need you strong now.” He shoved the plate into Tony’s hand, holding the coffee at arm’s length. “Eat. Then drink your coffee.”
, Tony,” he cursed, and there were trembling fingers brushing along his neck, while Steve buried his face in Tony’s shoulder.
Barnes snorted. “I know what an AI is,” he interjected and had the audacity to roll his eyes at Tony.
“His recent associates have proven a liability to SHIELD.” Fury turned away as though ashamed. “And as you might have guessed, SHIELD has a traditional way of dealing with its various obstacles, including arbitrary personnel. And since I have taken action against our policies…” He trailed off, frowning at his own words.
Gesturing the others to hold open the door, Steve gingerly maneuvered him over the threshold and into a room that strongly smelled like hospital. God, Tony hated hospitals.
The grin turned to something a little more soft. “Those I always forgive.” Steve leaned in, making a pleased sound as their lips touched ever so gently, and Tony was still surprised by how little Steve cared for what people thought of them. He planted one on Tony whenever he felt like it, and now, with hundreds of people mingling all around them, and a few even coming to a halt and staring blatantly, Steve only seemed to kiss him more fiercely.
Tony let go with one arm and looked at him intently. “I’m sober. Well, mostly. Two beers don’t count, right?”
“He doesn’t have to explain himself to us, that’s why. We’re strangers. You’re his best friend. It’s just easier for now. You need to respect that.”
Sam tried for a smile as he stepped up to them. There was a thin dribble of blood leaking from his hairline. “At least no one got killed. That’s something to be thankful for.”
“—not the do-gooder he wants us to believe he is,” Tony finished. “Yeah, well, we figured. Aside yourself or the agents down in records, I don’t believe anyone knows
"Actually, they didn't do anything," Steve said, sitting down in the chair across from Bucky and looking at him closely. He was pale, but looking much better than he did when he showed up at Steve's door. Bucky lifted an eyebrow at him, a silent 'oh?' "I… After what happened, I just quit. They never court martialed me."
Tony smiled and moved just enough to nuzzle Steve’s cheek delicately. “That was a no-brainer. You’re the nicest guy on earth. I knew you wouldn’t be like Ty.”
If things with Pierce came to a close, he wouldn’t be able to pilot Iron Man like this—or rather, Steve wouldn’t deem him fit enough to join the fight. He would put him on the bench with nothing more than a worried but oh so stern glance and there was
The library, however—Steve didn’t recognize this room. The slightly dusty books, the dark ceiling-high shelves, the old desk. It looked like some kind of time capsule, closer to what Steve had been used to in the 40s. He hadn’t been here before, though something about this place rang familiar anyway.
Maria nodded determinedly. “You’re absolutely right, Doctor Banner. It isn’t. Now’s the time to put the Winter Soldier in front of a judge, where he belongs.”
“I like the way you think, Rogers,” Tony said, grinning broadly, as soon as he realized what Steve had in mind. He was all but towering over him now, complete in boots and uniform and,
“Look, you can’t deny that I was best qualified to do a quick scan of the perimeter. It would’ve taken you
“Hey man,” Rhodes warned. “That’s my best friend you’re trash-talking about. Better check what you’re saying.”
Steve’s lips drew upward in a tender smile. “It’s… still about the weirdest thing that ever happened to me, and that’s saying something. You and I… well, I don’t have to tell you we have a difficult past.”
It was sad, in its own way. But Tony guessed there was nothing to be done. Today was the first time they’d met ever since, and though the Antarctic hadn’t exactly warmed up, Obi had been fairly polite, even shaking Steve’s hand for about half a second.
When it came to men, he’d always had a weak spot for the blonde bulky sort of guys. And this one hit all the marks.
Tony made a face but didn’t argue, letting Steve put on his blue button-down slowly. “How’s everyone, by the way? Did Vision settle in?”
"The Hulk and Scarlet Witch are ready to lift the debris blocking the exit," Vision said in his calm, even tone. "You might want to dress up and move out of the way." He stood still, watching them expectantly for long seconds. Something about the play of muscles or light on Vision's face changed, and Steve could've sworn his impassive expression had somehow shifted into a smug one.
The next instant, something crashed hard above their heads, and the ground began to shake. The steel beams whined, and in the distance, he heard something rip apart. And then the floor gave way, and in an instant, Steve was falling—
It dawned on him then. Tony was memorizing him. Committing his every contour to memory. There was no gratitude in his touch—this was pure yearning at its best. For a split-second, Steve vowed to ask him why he was so afraid to lose Steve all of a sudden, but then, Tony’s hand wrapped fully around his length, a quivering breath pressing past his lips.
Tony bit his lower lip, staring at the van in front of them. “You sure you don’t need Bruce as backup?”
Tony, for his part, was alone in Clint’s barn. He stood in the shadows, silently tinkering with the old tractor, fixing something for a change while he waited for the go to fly off. He reached into the lapels of his jacket in habitual search for his favorite red screwdriver, then leaned down and loosened the screws of the engine hood. The dark green tractor was an antique, and usually, he enjoyed working on old machines, but today, his heart wasn’t in it.
He reached for one of his tablets, typing on the screen so fast Steve had trouble following. It seemed he was giving Jocasta instructions, then dated them back four years ago. When he was done with that, he photographed the floor plan, then highlighted an area on the lowest floor of the castle.
Steve shook his head heavily. “But… I thought… Everyone told me how much you loved her. And every time someone mentioned her, you had that look in your eyes. You…”
Tony’s mouth traced the line of Steve’s throat, while one hand finally managed to wheedle under the pajama top, stroking all the way along Steve’s ridiculously toned back. On his way down, he settled his fingers on the waistband of his pants, dipping inside a little, caressing the curve of Steve’s ass before retreating again.
“Yeah, we kinda can’t,” Clint drawled, though it was clear just how much out of breath he truly was.
“Of course I do!” Tony thumped a fist against the wall behind him. “I just… I can’t go back. I can’t go through all of that again. And it won’t change anything, anyway.”
the Wakandan shield after all—“…but I think you should have it, anyway. It’s yours. So… you’d do me a favor to take it back.”
“Alright,” Tony said, smiling at Steve warmly. The guy looked as shaken as Tony had ever seen him, and he knew this wasn’t the time to sulk like a prima donna just because Steve didn’t want to share his feelings. He clapped a friendly hand on his shoulders, lingering for a second, before he let go again. “Offer stands, and you know where to find me.”
Tony's hand was warm, and the touch was like a shock to Steve's system. It had never felt this way when Tony touched him in the past, but now… He glanced over at the guy, who was still smiling at him with a kind of understanding on his face that Steve hadn't expected from him.
When Steve and the others walked inside, Tony had already assumed a seat in the far back, his back halfway turned to them, leaving them to the larger sofa in the middle. He didn’t even look up when they entered, only rigidly staring down at his tablet with an intense focus that was probably faked.
, I’m sober.” He looked as if he was nearly going to weep at the thought. “Shit. What did you have to sober me up for? Now I’ve got to do it all over again.”
Tony’s eyes were one hundred percent fixed on Steve’s, his hands holding his hips steady while he rolled against him. “Oh, I think you do.”
“Sorry, Steve, that… that is dangerously arrogant,” Rhodey replied. “This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the world security council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.”
“My, uh, knees kind of do, though, sorry,” he admitted, even while he entwined their fingers again and pulled Steve’s hand to his lips, kissing its back. He slowly pulled off of Steve, only groaning once when his cock plopped out, leaving him empty. He turned back around while sitting back on his feet and took Steve’s hand in his. The room around them was still quiet, still dark where the light didn’t reach, and maybe he was imagining it, but the air felt a little thinner already.
“Might as well join you,” Tony said, moving to stand with Steve. He trailed after him through the room, picking up his clothes as they went.
A surprised shriek left Tony’s lips as the world suddenly veered off its axis. He was—had Steve just actually picked him up? Tony was hanging in his arms, limp for a long moment, before his hazy mind caught up with what was happening.
“I keep replaying it in my head,” Tony said. “Not just our little stuntshow there, but the whole thing… and I…” He trailed off, then glanced back up at him as well. “Do you think if you and I had ever learned to get along better… If you felt like you could’ve maybe trusted me, that you—”
Steve had been so deeply focused on the two that he hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and he wasn’t at all prepared for the vicious kick to his lower back that came just a few seconds later. There was an explosion of pain in his spine, and he hit the pavement on his hands and knees. Before he could recover, another kick landed on the side of his head, pushing him over onto his back.
Even from where Steve stood at the far side of the room, he could see that both Bruce and Tony were definitely nervous and at the same time, they seemed excited. It had been a while since Steve had been around for one of their experiments, and he found himself relax a little. With the entire team standing in a circle around the cradle, it felt like they were at last seeing eye to eye about this. And Steve had a feeling that whatever happened today today would dictate much of their future.
Steve had forgotten to pull the shutters closed. He regretted that only briefly when the light from the window fell on his eyes. He was used to early mornings, and usually didn’t resent a wake up call in the form of sunlight on his face.
Of course, there was every chance he might die today, and if he didn’t—he simply didn’t want to lose anyone else.
, his voice was breaking now, his eyes getting all watery. “But that’s too boring for Tony Stark! Nah, Joe Billionaire here says all you need are some superpowers and a badass attitude, and you can have a place in his private super-gang.”
Tony grinned as he lowered the fork to his plate to scoop up another mouthful. Whatever this was—it was nice, just spending time with Steve as though they were normal. As though they hadn’t tried to kill each other. As though they weren’t so horribly complicated, and the burden of the future didn’t mean every move could change their life forever.
that,” Tony said, a little smug now, moving upwards so the head of Steve’s erection nudged against his opening. “Go on then, before I can change my mind.”
Steve was about to open his mouth at that, planning to tell them exactly what he thought of that nickname. But before he could fully decide what to say without breaking the light mood, there was a low ping from the elevator.
Fury’s jaw tightened. “Alright. I call for further investigations,” he said, looking back at each of them, then at Tony. “I’ll have to consult legal authorities, Mister Stark. Until then, we’ll bring you to our Headquarter.”
Tony raised both hands into the air. “Here’s me, looking at the bigger picture. I say: let’s take our awesome plan and do what we said we’d do. We drive to Hopkinsville, we bask in the magical awesomeness that is the solar eclipse, and then, you can come home, find Carol, and spend the next billion years in bed, for all I care.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, with an angered groan, Tony pressed a hand to his forehead and freed himself from Steve. He walked away, obviously trying to find stability in the middle of all this confusion. After a moment of contemplation, however, he once more walked towards the bottle of whatever alcohol he had been drinking and finished off the remaining quarter in one single chug-a-lug. Then, he flung the bottle away and flopped onto Steve’s sofa. “I’m gonna get some sleep.”
They first came to a stop in front of an elderly man with a pleasant smile, who greeted both Tony and Steve with a firm shake of his hand. He drew Tony into a long hug after, before his eyes settled on Steve.
“Gotcha,” Sam said and through the comm-line, Steve could hear both Bucky and Sam whooping. Natasha smiled widely, slumping against Steve with a relieved chuckle.
They fell silent for a long moment, but Steve knew there was more to come, and he had an inkling feeling that he knew exactly what Bucky would say. So he braced himself with another full spoon of melting chocolate.
“I would agree with you if there weren’t things well beyond human imagination threatening the world. You and I, we both have seen what is out there. We have seen what kinds of evils are waiting to dig their claws into Earth. And as long as we are our only defense system, we
All of the others had left for ‘grocery shopping’, and while Steve suspected that Natasha had something to do with that, he was less annoyed and more grateful that he might get to talk with Tony without an audience.
While the others broke into big smiles, Bucky walked over to bring him some clothes. All the while, Steve’s eyes lingered on Tony, watching how his shoulders were hunched a little, his gaze downcast and his face expressionless.
Sam blinked, only then realizing what Tony was saying. “Well that’s true, in Riley’s case, mine though… okay, wait. Are you saying
Only when he felt Steve’s hand on his thigh, Tony realized he’d been fidgeting and forced himself to stop. He put a hand on top of Steve’s, entwining their fingers and glancing at Steve with a reassuring smile. “‘m good,” he said. The look of concern failed to dissipate from Steve’s eyes; he clearly didn’t believe him. Tony sighed, shrugged. “I’m just… I think I’m finally getting somewhere with the company, you know. At least half of the board listens to me now, the energy projects are well underway, and he stopped nagging about his weapon’s projects all the time and only brings it up a solid… twice a day. Don’t want him looking over my shoulder again all the time. Not that I don’t want to tell him, I really really do, just… Obi’s Obi. Hard to tell how he will react.”
“Please,” he pleaded. By the end of it, Tony’s chest was littered with little bite marks, thin trails of saliva, where Steve’s tongue had made its course.
That wasn't Steve. And as much as it hurt that he had risked his life like that... it was also one of the reasons why Tony loved him. Steve didn't quit. He didn't stop as long as there was still something to fight for. It was what made him a hero. It was part of their lives, and at the end of the day, Tony needed to respect that.
Steve sighed. “You’re right about that one. Come on, we’ll get you to your room, you can sleep it off there.”
“If we don’t do this now,” Tony said, his voice gentle, “it’s going to be done to us later. That’s a fact. And it won’t be pretty.”
At that, Steve’s breath shot from his mouth as he started to come, completely untouched. Tony shut his eyes with how much Steve was squeezing him and jerked forward, thrusting into him hard, feeling Steve quake and tremble beneath him. His lips opened against Steve’s shoulder blade to groan into his skin. Everything stopped for a few perfect little seconds, and then Tony’s orgasm took him as he spilled into Steve, hissing as his body tightened around him further.
“I’m glad you’re with me,” Steve said. He hoped Tony was too cold and sleepy to mock him, and the thought was confirmed when Tony nodded and let Steve tuck him further against his chest.
“He’s here,” Vision replied. “There was someone looking for him, so he went to see what they wanted.”
“In a nutshell, yes,” Tony said. “I know this year has been hard on all of us, but I do believe we can move on from here.” His eyes flickered briefly to Bucky, before they continued with their round towards the rest of the team. “So we’ll make the best of what we have, and once this mess is settled, we’ll all go back to our lives, more or less. I'll leave it to you if you want to return to the tower, or resign from the team, but consider yourself invited.”
“Here we go,” he murmured, hoping Steve wouldn’t hate him for just showing up here, while all of the others were around, too.
A still beat settled between them, Steve’s eyes wide, and Tony used that moment of surprise to finally wrangle his hand free and storm off in the direction of the lab.
“Couldn’t see what was happening,” Bucky whispered after a moment. He blindly flicked Sam off before brushing his thumb tenderly over Natasha’s cheeks where a light cut was already healing.
The sight was… unlike anything Steve had ever encountered, and he felt himself stiffen once more. Once Tony cried out and added to the already cooling come on Steve’s chest, a surprised groan tore through Steve’s throat. He fisted both hands into the bedsheets, bucking up. There was the sound of cloth tearing, and he gasped and twitched and couldn’t believe himself as he came a second time.
“I know you think I’m just some stupid kid, so let me do stupid things! What does it matter—just fuck off and let me
Next to them, Natasha stood up and looked down at the broken debris around them. Both hers and Clint’s face were ashen and smeared with black sludge. “We got to keep moving,” she said worriedly.
“Whoever’s still standing, we gotta move!” someone called, and the voice was near and yet miles away. When Steve blinked, he had moment when he thought Bucky was kneeling right in front of him, shaking him with hands on both of his shoulders, but before he could snap himself back to reality, he was pulled into the vision again.
he thought, feeling a sour tightening in his throat at the mere thought of it. He was glaring at Tony, daring him to say something to rile him up more.
After that, it was mostly routine work. They were able to free Sitwell and the rest of the hostages without any casualties; Natasha retrieved whatever data Fury had told her to retrieve and they vacated the premise without any difficulties.
“Tony, I… Look. I know that we’ve planned this for-fucking-ever. And I know how important it is to you, because it’s exactly that important to me, all right? But… bringing a few more people along won’t make it any less significant. In fact, I’m sure it’ll just make this an all-round more fun experience, with more minds to bear witness of the wonder that is the solar eclipse.”
And then, hell broke loose. Outside, thunderclouds darkened the sky and explosions resounded everywhere, the ground shook, pushing Steve against the railing. Beneath him, Bucky fell on the lower level, taking the rest of the Iron Legion suit with him, and parts of the bridge landed on top them both.
“That’s it,” Steve rasped into his ear. “Give it all to me. All of it.” His thrusts were growing even more frantic, but no less precise. As though releasing to a mixture of relief and anger at once. As though punishing Tony for making him worry so much. Every strangled moan from Tony was answered with a gasp of pleasure, and Tony did not call him on it. It was good. He felt so
“Tony,” Bruce ventured cautiously, as the Iron Man suit bled all over Tony’s body. It hadn’t even been a conscious decision. And yet, within seconds, it had encased him in metal. It cut into the splints around his torso, rendering them useless. A dull pain rolled across his abdomen, but Tony didn’t even flinch.
Alarmed, Steve pulled himself over the edge, but then, there were two large, green hands grabbing for his shoulders and hauling him upwards. Above him, fierce lightning illuminated the sky. It was everywhere, all-consuming and Steve had exactly a second to watch the missile speeding through the sky, before thunder hit it while it was still high up the air. The explosion shook the air, but the detonation held no danger to them here.
They walked past a wall that held three framed photographs. Peggy’s, Howard’s and one of Colonel Phillips.
“Fuck,” Tony ground out as he realized one of Clint’s EMP-arrows had hit his power transmitters. There was still plenty to keep the suit running, though. Shaking off his stupor, Tony saw Vision at the other end of the battlefield, still fighting Wanda, and it didn’t look like either of the two would be getting the upper hand soon.
It took him a moment to raise his eyes from Ian’s sleeping face. “Can this wait? Haven’t seen the little guy in a while.” A while was just a bit over one day, but he couldn’t care less about his clinginess right now.
Steve shook his head, trying to clear it as he wiped a bit of dirt and greenery from his trousers. It was late afternoon and they sat in a clearing inside a small wood next to the hotel. They had discovered the place earlier in the week and now often came here to enjoy the warmth of the day—without anyone bothering them. The grass beneath them was soft and still slightly heated from the sun. Steve had his notebook and a few pencils with him, though the pages were still blank.
Tony made a sound of mild amusement. “Yes, Steve. Though I admit I thought this would be a bit easier. Actually, I thought you were in love with me.”
They held their gazes a moment longer, then Tony nodded and left the room for good. For a long while, Steve just stood there, staring at nothing in particular. He had no idea why Tony looked so
Steve gritted his teeth. The moment of silence lingered, and he thought he might've said too much already, so with the slightest glance at Tony, he took himself out of the workshop and as far away from Tony he could get while not leaving the tower.
"Fine, whatever. But you're going out, anyway." It was final, it seemed. "Tonight's now officially date night. We'll go after dinner."
After he’d passed Albany, he exited the freeway and drove a little through the countryside. When he came by a diner, he decided to grab something to eat and parked his bike. There were only one or two guests, and Steve greeted the young waitress on his way in, keeping the sunglasses on for the time being. People usually respected his privacy, or didn’t recognize him in the first place, but he didn’t want to risk it today.
“Steve.” Bucky’s voice was quiet, and he put a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re both going to be fine.”
Tony couldn’t settle down, couldn’t stop the buzzing that was racing through his bloodstream. A good hour had passed since Ross had announced his arrival and he still hadn’t shown his stupid face. And Tony still stood in the bathroom nearby. He’d spent endless minutes trying to figure out a way how to help Steve without helping him, how to keep him safe without turning everyone else against him, but so far, he’d come up empty.
for beta-reading, and more importantly for listening to me whining for about 4 months straight, and for giving me new ideas and pointers. Also a BIG thank you to
Gently, Steve let his hands wander down Tony’s arms, and Tony felt his own body shudder beneath his fingertips.
There was a moment of contemplation, and when JARVIS spoke up—probably for the last time, Steve realized with a pang of sadness—his voice was very gentle. “It’s a date, sir.”
“You’re starting to sound like ‘Drunk Tony’.” Steve grinned wickedly and kissed him all the same. Tony utilized that advantage and wrapped his thighs around Steve, pulling himself on top, and earning a long-winded groan as he began to rub against Steve.
“Says you,” Tony said. “Dragging in Clint. Dragging Wanda and Pietro from a place they didn’t even want to leave. I’m trying to keep... I’m trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”
“Don’t be a baby,” he told him. “A couple of months ago, a slime monster dumped a whole church on me and left me there to burn to death; so you can deal with a little antiseptic.”
An eternity later, the door of the car opened. “Get him inside,” someone ordered from afar. “We have basic medical equipment down the stairs, the first door on the left.”
Tony cast him a small smile and even moved a little to give Steve space. “I’m fine,” he said, as Steve settled in. “Sorry for being weird. Just… there’s a lot on my mind.”
He took a deep breath. “The day Tony took us all to the workshop—I chased Dummy until coming across the room nearby. It led straight to the ocean…”
“Steve?” Tony said for the fourth time within the last minute, and his tone was getting more and more urgent. What was going on? One moment, Steve had opened his mouth to say something, and the next, he’d frozen on the spot. He’d stared into the distance, eyes wide, shaky breaths leaving his mouth.
Steve's hand ran idly up and down Tony's back in a slow line. He hummed a no and closed his eyes. Tony's weight was a comforting presence, and he didn't want it to disappear just yet. The way the man's words slurred, his complete limpness, the way he draped over Steve, he just wanted to keep all of that.
The thought of leaving here in the morning, without at least trying to make Steve understand, had Tony’s insides twist and his heart ache. Returning to his regularly scheduled life held little appeal. Not after being so close to Steve.
“I thought if I fooled myself into thinking I didn’t need you, it would become true at some point.” He sighed. “It didn’t. And now…”
A long sigh shuddered through Steve’s body at the contact and Tony sensed the minute that he snapped awake. Felt him recall everything that had occurred. A pained groan left his lips. Then, Tony felt his lashes dance against his skin and the intake of a sharp breath.
“How old-school of you,” Tony mumbled, but unfolded the paper anyway. It was a newspaper article. On top, there was a headline:
“No opposition?” Steve asked, only slightly out of breath as he finally stepped inside the building. The corridors were empty, as far as Steve could see, just brittle cement walls to his left and right.
Tony glanced up and sighed. “Come on, I’m not angry, quit looking at me like I’ll throw him out. I know you can keep Ian safe even if he loses it, but…” He looked at Bucky, his expression a mixture of solemnity and regret. “The risk is too high. We gotta ask Happy to babysit for a while. I can’t… I can’t have you around him.”
He figured Steve hadn’t told Barnes, what with his panic of messing up his future. So Barnes didn’t know about… It. Tony just needed to calm the fuck down.
Steve closed his eyes, reminding his body very sternly that he wasn’t going to throw everything away for quick sex that would be sloppy rather than memorable. He refused for this to be it.
A shudder ran through Tony. He was sort of aware his full weight was slumped on top of Steve, and while he
A shiver raced through Steve, and he cuddled more provocatively into Tony. “Not exactly. But I think you might like it anyway.” He ducked his head conspiratorially, murmuring against Tony’s ear, “It’s a thank you. For everything.”
As he walked down the stairs to the foyer, he was somehow surprised when he first saw Virginia Hogan. She had beautiful red hair and was dressed in fine clothing—but what got to him was her composure. She looked confident and exuded a certain sense of authority. Next to her stood a burly, large man and one that was a little leaner, with dark skin and very kind eyes.
Natasha pressed her lips together and shrugged. “I’m not sure. There have been some rumors that the ATCU got infiltrated by HYDRA as well, but I didn’t have a chance to talk to him so far.”
Bucky snorted, leaning back and taking a large swig. “And there they are. Heart-eyes. God, this is 2019 all over again.”
"This… It's… Is this a cybernetic arm?" Bucky asked, sounding cautiously reserved. Steve knew better, though. Bucky had always been a huge sci-fi geek, and his eyes were getting larger by the second.
“Sokovia,” Tony agreed. “He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.”
A part of him agreed with that assessment, but the other… the larger part… thought about Charles Spencer, and that guy’s daughter, and knew the alternative was something he couldn’t live with any longer.
By now, his mind had sort of caught up with the idea that he’d once more travelled to the future. He’d heard Bruce and Tony talk about time travel before, but it had only been a theory, something they’d joked about, nothing that could actually
,” Natasha interrupted. “There’s always a first step, okay? You just got to breathe…” She pulled one of the chairs around to the head of the kitchen island to sit beside Tony. “Now let’s take a look at that list of yours.”
Right… that’s what it had been hadn’t it? He’d been jealous. He could feel his face flushing a little red.
“Just a little.” Steve let a hand run along Tony’s jaw, his smile widening when Tony leaned into his touch. “You’re the most intimidating person I’ve ever met,” Steve whispered, but though he was quiet, his voice remained sincere. “You still are, to some degree. It took me a while to bring up the nerve to do anything about my feelings. But now, it doesn’t make me nervous anymore. I’m just… happy. You’ve made me happy in way I never thought I’d be.”
The shock at what Tony was saying was akin to getting slapped across the face, and Steve stared at him for one, long, disbelieving moment. He gritted his teeth, his hands clenching to fists still held tightly in his crossed arms to avoid doing anything stupid. It was much harder than he remembered to keep his anger in check.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Tony shot back challengingly. He really didn’t need to be told twice, and instead just grabbed for Steve’s hand and dragged him into the room.
The Enhanced Citizen Act (a name Tony thought was a bit ridiculous, but everything was better than naming the bill after a destroyed city) was everything the Sokovia Accords hadn’t been.
He’d felt a bit irritated by it, at first, but decided to agree. All of it felt too overwhelming already and Natasha looked to have his best interest at heart, so until he found proof of the contrary, he’d trust her.
When he’d first learned that Steve was married, he’d thought he’d felt envious. Envious about Steve having what he’d never managed to have: a steady relationship, a permanent commitment.
“Oh, I dreamed of you for years, basically my whole youth. But you weren’t like this, not so…” He swallowed, and words seemed to fail him. “You’re different.”
“I’m not making excuses,” Steve said steadily. “You let your fear of losing someone rule you, that’s human. That’s something I can forgive, but… Tony, we need to start talking about these things. You need to let me in on your plans.”
Steve frowned slightly. Did Tony really think they wouldn’t be seeing each other after this? He would be lying if that didn’t sting at least a little. College was a busy time, sure. They’d meet a lot of new people, but of course they’d be seeing each other again. What made Tony think Steve would just drop him because they weren’t on the same school anymore?
And then everything was quiet. He didn’t hear Ross yelling commands anymore, didn’t hear his team talk, didn’t hear anything. The comm was down.
Steve hummed in agreement. He couldn’t even visualize it anymore. That a time existed when they both tried with all their might to hurt each other. Softly, he kissed the corner of Tony’s mouth while Tony sighed with contentment against Steve’s cheek.
There was a long moment of quiet, then, “Also, I want an official thank-you-note for not calling you
All of them SHIELD agents, Steve thought belatedly as he greeted them back. There was already a plate full of food in front of him. Eggs, cheese, ham, bread, and he really guessed he had to be grateful for all of this. Upon awakening, Natasha and that director—Nicholas Fury—had sat down with him and explained very calmly what had happened and where he was. There had been no games, no belittlement of the situation, they’d only told him what was what, and Steve was grateful for that.
Sorry for the long wait. This chap does contain a bit of original TWS dialogue, I hope you don't mind, it's definitely not gonna happen often. Thanks to
Tony stuttered, frowned. He was almost sure it started with B. “Well, he likes to be alone most of the time… you really think I have no friends?”
Staring at the ceiling, Steve let the thoughts come and go as they will. He should call Bucky. It had been too long, and Bucky deserved better from his best friend. Maybe later today, he mused, turning onto his side and watching the light from the digital clock blinking.
"Bucky?" he asked as he approached the step. Bucky smiled at him, but it was an unstable kind of smile, the kind that was a little lopsided, and didn't reach his eyes. Bucky didn't look like he was doing well at all. His hair was longer than Steve remembered, he had deep, dark circles around his eyes and wasn't properly shaved.
God—It was only four years. How had he managed to get there in four short years? Convincing Steve to be with him, to marry him… just…
In the weeks after they met at Bruce's lab, Steve suddenly spotted Tony all over the campus. The guy seemed to be everywhere. For one, the setup of Bruce’s new lab equipment had taken longer than one session, but even outside of the science division, Steve now saw Tony almost every day.
“Tony…” Steve said lowly, not wanting to pressure Ian into anything, but on the next beat, he turned his head sideways, glancing up at Steve as he clearly considered the situation.
"Right, uh, Steve, this is Natasha. Natasha, Steve." Bucky kept the introductions mercifully short, and while Natasha made no move to shake Steve's hand, she did smile at him, so Steve decided to put her on the okay-list and gave her a small smile in return.
Tony shrugged, though he did rub a hand over his forehead as he walked across the room and then back. “Not much in this world surprises me anymore, to be honest. So, what was it: A spell? Fuck, I hate magic
His finger was scrolling through the phone’s menu and before he knew what was happening, Tony had already opened its contacts. There was only one number in there, and Tony rolled his eyes when he saw the name.
“We both know that whether or not we can take Ultron off the Internet, I’m still a liability. You saw it at the party, Extremis is a handicap, and there’s every chance he’ll take me apart as he did with JARVIS. And I couldn’t live with myself if he turned me against you.”
Tony raised a brow when he heard Steve apologize. He looked up and saw the frown on his face. With some awkward shuffling that had Steve chuckle, Tony managed to sit up, scramble for balance on the narrow counter top, and settle down—chest to chest—on Steve’s lap.
announcing their arrival. He held his hand against Steve’s, prompting him to take it, which he did without hesitation. Together, they stepped over the threshold, and into the workshop.
Steve glanced to Tony, who only smiled softly. “Peps has a rather liberal definition of the word ‘insist,’” he replied. “I mentioned we were home, and she announced that she would be stopping by today to size you up.”
Another line appeared on the canvas, and then a rounded shape on one corner, before Steve paused to look at it again. This wasn't going anywhere, figuratively and practically. The lines did nothing to work with one another, it was just raw feeling, and Steve knew he was too scatter-minded to get anything meaningful out of it.
“Well, maybe ‘friends’ is an overstatement. He likes to keep to himself, too, we just meet for coffee sometimes.” He pinched his jaw, which Bruce always did whenever he had some sort of revelation. “This looks good. We might be able to produce about 250 percent more energy, that’s… a real break-through. Thank you, I mean—how did you know?”
“I still can’t believe it. You’re from the future,” he murmured, like he’d been doing for the last half hour straight. “Let’s start with this: When exactly did you learn how to time travel? I mean, I’ve kind of been waiting for you to build a time machine for decades now, but the fact that you’re here and you obviously didn’t bring me with you, you’ll understand I’m a bit bummed.”
“Oh-kay,” Tony stated, flustered for a moment, before his eyes settled back on Steve with an intense sort of heat. “That’s… infinitely hot.”
As his eyes fell on Tony again, he couldn't help that overwhelming surge of affection towards him. He looked so wonderfully ravished, even after they'd had a good night's sleep. He was carrying himself like he was having a constant muscle ache, the kind you get from good exercise. Steve wanted to do so many other things with him.
“Off to the decontamination shower, Cap,” Tony said. JARVIS had already rerouted air circulation within the suit, so it was safe to pull Steve a little closer to his chest so they could actually talk. And with ‘talking’, he meant making sex-pollen jokes.
Steve swallowed hard, reactionary senses on autopilot. He couldn’t trust himself otherwise. “Prove it.”
“Oh, right,” Pepper replied good-naturedly. “Tony mentioned that you were the traveling companion of that horrid person. Justin Hammer, wasn’t it? The guy couldn’t produce a working weapon if we gave him all of our money.”
"Who are you trying to impress?" Steve asked as he let the strange material of Tony's undersuit out of his hands and onto the floor, reaching to stabilize him as he got rid of the pants. The suit was tight and springy, which Steve thought would present an excellent way to keep them off the floor.
And this wasn’t the Steve who had betrayed him, the one who had left him half-dead and freezing in Siberia. Not yet.
So instead of grasping Steve’s hand in his, he stood up. The air between them was dreadfully still, and now that Tony had stepped out of Steve’s reach, he found himself drowning in cold. He had barely dared to hope at all anymore, but now Steve was here, and Tony wouldn’t let that chance go to waste.
The second he came to a halt right next to Tony, Tony all but… dropped. He slumped forward, down on his knees, and the gauntlet that had just been about to shoot a hole through Bucky’s head came to a rest on top of his heart instead. He balled Bucky’s uniform up between his fingers, as he let his head sink.
Ross nodded, and turned the television off. He walked closer towards the table, putting the remote control down with a clicking sound.
Steve reached for his chin, feeling the light stubble beneath his fingertips. “I do. Just takes longer.”
"God, this is good," he breathed, rolling his hips against Steve and pressing broken moans into his neck. His fingers were digging into Steve's shoulder and... this could be enough, would
Tony’s small smile had lasted only a second, but it was definitely there. “Yeah, I know.” He squeezed Steve’s hand firmly, his voice suddenly gruff with emotion. “Love you just as much. And we’ll find a way.”
Steve released him with a wet plop, rubbing his cheek along his length before taking him into his hand again. “Either I’m very good today,” he said with a smug smile. “Or you’ve just not had any in a long time.”
Tearing his gaze from Tony was not an easy task. The guy could come off as sensual beyond measure when he wanted to, but Steve desperately needed to find an available surface for them right now. The training floor was expansive and he felt exposed, no matter the blackout. Look at all that tan skin…
When Bucky lifted his head to speak, Steve saw the marks on his neck, a good few dozen scratch marks from longer fingernails.
, he didn’t have to. Instantaneously, Tony wanted to cradle him in his arms, to shelter him from the harshness of the world, and to remove the terrible look of sadness that was now darkening his features. On the next beat, Steve buried his face in both hands.
“Please don’t freak out,” he mumbled awkwardly, but didn’t give Steve even a second to let those words register, before he pulled back slightly. He cupped Steve’s face, guiding his mouth to Tony’s and pressing their lips together.
“Today’s gonna be packed,” he murmured. Steve’s heart rate seemed mostly back to normal, and he closed his eyes listening to the soft thumps. “Might as well grab breakfast and start early. Have a feeling Jarvis is already on it, either way. He tends to go overboard when I'm away from home that long. Fair warning.”
And just like that, Steve was in control again. In a flash, his insecurity vanished and self-assuredness poured off his body in waves so powerful Tony was amazed he hadn’t yet drowned in it.
They took off as soon as they reached the bridge. Pausing briefly to catch the truck driving in their direction on the street below, Steve readied himself for jumping.
He caressed Tony’s cheek as gently as he could. “What’s going on?” he asked. Clearly, Tony was still linked to Extremis, and that meant Ultron could get to him whenever he wanted, right?
Tony tried to meet his gaze, and when he did, he cast him a small smile. “As you can imagine, we get along better at some point.”
Steve opened his eyes and saw Tony swimming next to him. Feeling as light as he hadn’t in a very long time, Steve grinned again and splashed some water at him.
The man next to him, one of the armed guards, offered a nasty grin, taking a step forward. He leaned down, lips pressing to his ear, just as the familiar pain started to surge through every part of his body, whispering, “Just close your eyes and think of America.”
gotten thinner, and with his almost fully-grown beard, he looked a lot different than the Tony Stark he knew from back home. But he was healthy and in good spirits now that he was able to move again, and in Steve’s book that was all that mattered.
He let both of his hands trail along Steve’s arms, settling them on Steve’s neck, so he could draw him in. “And most importantly, I want to take my time with you, make you enjoy this as much as possible. Let me do that for you?”
Of course he did. Steve always memorized plans with an ease Tony admired. It didn’t make him feel any better. “Good,” he said with a forced smile. “Then walk me through it.”
Before he could truly sink into the feeling of utter failure, however, Nebula suddenly stormed forward and several things happened all at once.
His tone was probably slightly hysterical, but just the thought of facing any of the others right now, and having to engage in serious conversations, was definitely on the more frightening side.
Tony moved, carefully settling on top of Steve, and looking down on him. Steve had half a mind to remind him of his injuries, but Tony was moving without any visible strain, so he kept it to himself.
At some point before dinner, Steve excused himself for a quick shower. The mission had lasted far longer than he’d expected, and he really needed to freshen up a bit.
After yet another morning full of boardroom meetings at the UN, Tony stood in some secluded and far too colorful ‘parent-child room’ that seemed to be in use only by himself these days. It was noon, and he’d just had his last meeting for the day, and could very well be on his way home, if Ian hadn’t decided to make a big fuss before Tony could put him into his stroller.
“I never found out what it was,” he said, his voice soft. “The dreams. The reason we were… together. I did a lot of research, spoke with people I would’ve never spoken with otherwise, and… I still don’t understand it.”
Steve laughed when Bucky pressed a spoon in his hand, before he opened the lid. He knew that JARVIS was thoughtful enough to always stock the fridge full of every possible type of food that anyone could ever want, but ever since Bucky had joined their group about two months ago, there was a new assortment of chocolate that led Steve to believe the AI had caught on to Bucky’s sweet tooth.
"Thanks," Bucky said, and Steve eyed him worriedly. He didn't even sound sarcastic when he said that. He pointed Bucky towards the couch as he went to get the coffee started. Once they were settled with steaming mugs, Steve let himself look at his friend for a long moment. Neither of them spoke, but Bucky gave him a small smile.
A small grumpy yawn left Tony’s lips, but he forced himself awake. Sure enough, his head was craned back in an awkward and entirely painful way. The apartment was still dark, and Steve was kneeling before him, his face illuminated by the dull light of the arc reactor, while he was caressing Tony’s neck in slow strokes. He was wearing gray sweats and a blue t-shirt now, his blonde hair still somewhat damp from the shower. His blue eyes were very large as he looked up at him.
Tony’s jaw tightened as he watched Steve turning around while jogging towards the 50 yards line. He waved at the crowds, his expression as always a bit sheepish. Steve had a hard time dealing with the fame, he’d once told Tony. You could see it in the tensed line of his broad shoulders, and the way his eyes never quite made eye contact whenever he was the center of attention.
Tony could practically hear the exclamation marks as she talked. That they were all expected to be excited about it. And everybody else seemed to be. All of his classmates were happy to escape high school, and embrace the wonder that was university-life.
It was as exhilarating as it was frightening. This new body was very obviously meant to fight, to endure the heaviest strain, the longest exertion. And yet, he was sitting here, in this slightly run-down motel room, doing absolutely nothing.
“No, I can’t! Whatever I say or do… it’s wrong, you see? And if I don’t speak, it’s still wrong. And I can’t talk to you because…” He swallowed hard. If he didn’t do this now, he’d never again have the courage. “Because I
“Yes,” Natasha said. “His son. He funded the expedition, upped the frequency by a good few hundred percents after his father died. Even made some of the flights himself. You’ll meet him, eventually. He’s kind of… a consultant for SHIELD, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. So you’ll run into each other at some point.”
“It’s called making amends,” Strange argued. “I met the Captain, once. And I do believe the two of you can choose a different path if you try.”
,” Steve corrected. “Come on. Let’s take it one step at a time.” He reached out and took his hand, leading Tony towards the elevator. “My next step is getting through this day without breaking a politician’s nose.”
Steve snorted with surprise, before barking out a real laugh. “You’re exaggerating, that was one time.”
Tony quickly sealed the space between them, seizing Steve’s wrists. “Hey, look at me,” he said thickly, raising Steve’s hands to his own face. Steve swallowed hard and obeyed, his gaze locking with Tony’s.
Back then, his mother used to say the mind fought ninety-nine percent of the battle. And up until now, Steve’d thought she was right about that. While he’d often found himself looking at other men,
“What?” Tony asked, voice breaking, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions. He was aware that the others were staring at them uncomfortably, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that. “‘Please Tony, let me give my life for this guy?’ Is that what you want my blessing for?”
“Early,” he replied in a clipped tone and folded his suit jacket across one of their lounge chairs. “No need to get up just yet.”
“They’re all looking at us,” Agent Barton muttered. He was an archer and had been working for SHIELD for a long time, if Steve understood correctly.
Ian didn’t seem to care much for the mask on Steve’s face. It didn’t trick him in the slightest, he knew exactly who that person in front of him was. He did look a little confused, though, as his hands settled on Steve’s cheeks, pinching the material.
“Since I started behaving like a Grade A asshole.” Tony smiled kindly. “I tend to get carried away when I want to have something.”
“Liar…” Tony dipped his head. “Come on, shower, then you need your beauty rest. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”
, you scoundrel.” He pulled firmly at Steve’s hand, trying to pull him the last inches to the bedroom door.
Sensing Tony’s attention, Wanda glanced his way, and her expression almost immediately darkened. Tony got where she was coming from—if what Natasha had told him was true, the twins had every right to hate him, whether or not he was responsible for what had happened to their parents. He understood that they had needed someone to blame so they could stay sane in the aftermath of their loss, and he wouldn’t take it away from them.
The height wasn’t completely ideal, but there was no way he’d stop this now. He jerked at the zipper of Steve’s pants, tugging them down over his hips. He nipped at Steve’s lips one last time, before he leaned down. “You want to be here. You want me. And you want me to do this to you,” he said boldly and didn’t miss Steve’s gasp when he slowly drew his head in.
As she walked away slowly, down the middle of the cemetery, Steve hurried to catch up with her. “Sharon,” he prompted. “My sincere condolences.”
The church was three-story high and occupying an entire block. Even now, after years of obvious neglect, Tony could see how impressive it must have been in its day with a sweeping entrance, huge bay windows and elegant columns. Staying in the shadows, Tony circled the area trying to figure out what Ultron was planning. He spotted a couple of his minions roaming the grounds and two more at a smaller back gate.
In any case I invite you all to chat me up on Tumblr and discuss this with me if you feel the need, because I KNOW this is a different approach and one not all of you might like ... and if that's the case I hope you can overlook this part and still enjoy the upcoming Civil War installment. :-) Little Ian will now play a part in this verse, it's one of the few changes I decided to do because... let's be honest: Civil War with a baby? Heartbreaking. (However ... since I got so many asks: I intend for Civil War not to actually break any Stony hearts. It won't be all sunshine and butterflies, of course, but I love them too damn much to really do any permanent damage. If you survived this AoU fic, CW will be bearable, too. Pinky promise.)
Steve held his breath. One of Tony’s knees had found its way between his thighs and his cock was rubbing intimately against Steve’s clothes. His brown eyes were wide with something between anger and lust.
“In the evenings, Jarvis will always call you to discuss the next day’s activities,” Stane announced, halfway turning towards the exit door. “He will be by to show you the mansion shortly. If you need anything in the meantime just ring him on the telephone.”
"You have me," he said, short of breath, right against Tony's shoulder. He licked at the skin and nipped on it, decidedly aiming to leave a mark.
When Steve kneeled on the bed, Tony kissed his cheek reverently. Together, they lay down face to face, and Tony’s heart was aching with how much he wanted this, his whole self wrapped in this moment.
The rhythm Steve set was tender—he couldn’t help it. After the hints Tony had dropped about his first and only time, he couldn’t do rough. Not the first time they did this.
“I’ll grab a few z’s soon,” he said, figuring a ‘No’ would only have Steve furrow his eyebrows in disapproval. He took a long gulp from the beer, closing his eyes for a moment because it was cool and one of the nicer sorts they had in stock upstairs, then pointed the bottle towards the new suit. “The bulb’s layers gave me an idea for a problem I had with the new suit casing, and things kinda went out of hand from there. I tend to zone out sometimes, just means I have to sleep a bit longer later, it’s no big.”
And, the more reasonable part of his brain supplied, they had only spent a few stolen hours together. There was no need for a label just yet.
Huffing, Tony let his hands drop lower, placing them on Steve’s ass and pulling him in. “Do I ever?”
He heard it shatter, and for minutes, he attempted to simply put Steve out of his mind. Forget how he’d once looked at Tony with such patience. How he’d often sat down with him for hours, bickering about music and movies, and television series and trash magazines. How he’d respected him, depended on his opinion, and—
Whatever decision he was approaching vanished on the breath of a hoarse cry, as two red metal hands clutched Bucky around his throat, choking him. At first, Steve didn’t even understand what was happening. And then, his eyes clashed with Iron Man’s.
Steve snorted and followed Tony’s thoughtful gaze. Bucky’s cufflinks were hexagon-shaped, with geometric patterns along the border, and black engravings on its white-golden surface. He remembered vaguely that they’d belonged to Bucky’s grandfather once, and it was almost surreal that Tony had found them in some World War Two museum.
In that moment, Steve glimpsed into the eyes of his own mortality and realized his life might end any second. But right then, he was still alive. He was alive enough to remember, he still was…
are his husband. The Sokovia Accords was one thing, but faced with a simple choice, Steve would always choose you.”
Every other woman would’ve either pulled her hand back so she wouldn’t make him feel awkward, or say something sappy. Natasha, however, leaned in and pressed a kiss against the round metal stump and cast him a smirk. “Kinda miss that guy.”
Tony released a trembling breath and gripped his cock to lessen the strain a bit, before pulling his knees up to give Steve better access.
Now that Steve stood right in front of him. Seeing the truth with his own eyes. Seeing Tony for what he was. In the worst possible moment.
The stars above them fanned out in waves, brilliant against the complete darkness. It was impossible to know where earth and space began or end. It was one fantastic stretch of dark and light, glowing blues and greens.
“I…” Steve said, not knowing what to say, but then, the front door just beneath the living room opened and closed, and Bucky walked into the kitchen.
“No, they’re everywhere—all over the country. I always wanted to go to one, but never really had the chance…” He trailed off, skimming the rest of the pamphlet. He was also almost fully pressed to Tony’s back from head to toe, which yeah…
Steve glanced to Tony quickly, his retort for Bucky immediately replaced with the more urgent question, and both he and Tony turned to her at the same time.
Steve couldn’t believe his own eyes. The room was like a time capsule, preserving life as it had been a year ago, when Indries was still alive.
Steve laughed and handed her staple of platters. “Take that to the table, please. I think we need two more chairs if Maria and Phil are joining us.”
good way. And I… this is enough, don’t get me wrong. At this point, I’m pretty sure everything we do is still a million times better than doing this with anyone else, ...and please know that you can totally say no here... It doesn’t need to be today, of course, or ever, for that matter, I—”
"I only have the one," Bruce said, indicating Tony with a tilt of his head and a smile on his face. "My star student, I must add." He stepped back into the lab, motioning for Steve to follow. "Come on, I don't want to take up too much of your time and this shouldn't be long."
Steve looked as relaxed as he possibly could be while he was reliving moments of a past--but not really past--life, never showing any kind of emotion, only a flutter of eyelids here and there.
“I hope you approve of the new decoration,” Stane went on. “These rooms were never used much before, except for occasional visitors. We were in a bit of a hurry to get everything done.”
Someone was walking along the corridor. That was the first sound Tony heard upon waking up. It was still night, still dark outside. Slowly, Tony raised his head, ignoring the way his muscles ached at the weird position he’d fallen asleep in. He... probably shouldn’t make it a habit to sleep on that armchair. His fingers twitched around the glass he’d been holding, only to find that it had long ago fallen to the floor, the whiskey spilled all over the tiles.
Faintly, Steve heard the others mutter a few words before they finally gave them some space. When Tony pulled back, he stared up into Steve’s eyes with palpable despair. “You gotta go with them,” he whispered.
Steve released several harsh breaths, glancing down at Tony with a frown. “What…” he said slowly, enjoying the view for a few wonderful seconds before he felt Tony’s hand trailing
The only facts he knew were Tony’s first name, that he liked to work with machines, and that he’d once lived somewhere in California. He didn’t know much about this new world, but he knew there would be thousands of Tonys out there.
Tony just stared at Steve, wondering what exactly to say. It was a loaded question at that point, so fucking loaded he didn’t even know where to start. Alcohol tended to make him too talkative, so better to dodge the subject altogether.
Tony frowned down at the floor, still not looking directly at him. His mouth started to shape the word ‘Why?’, then he changed his mind before articulating it and shrugged. “Do whatever you want,” he said curtly. “I’m going to the shop. Suit still needs repairing.”
. But apart from that, and despite everything that had happened, he wanted… he wanted for them to be able to look into each other’s eyes again without flinching.
That being said, Tony wasn’t all that thrilled that Rhodey (who was marginally more hormone-driven at the age of eighteen than he’d been in elementary) apparently wanted to bring his girlfriend and a few more people along.
Steve nodded his head, to show that he'd heard. He had no intention of talking about it, not now or ever, but there was no reason to say so. The thought of wading through those memories again made him feel ill and he gulped around the tension in his throat. He couldn't imagine what Tony's nightmares were about, but if it gave him as much grief as Steve's did, he may not want to talk about it, either.
“You… are?” Tony asked, then back-paddled. “I mean, yeah, it’s good to see you, too, Cap. We thought we’d lost you.”
, Tony thought to himself, and it wasn’t the suffocating and frightening kind of feeling anymore, but a pleasant hum in the back of his mind.
This year's students seemed to be a bit dull up until now, but Steve found it to be both a curse and a blessing. For one, they didn't ask too many questions, so he usually managed to relay all the material in class, which left him with more time to run workshop sessions. So aside from the fact that he sometimes thought he might fall asleep standing, it was pretty good.
“I know.” With a disgusted expression, Tony pulled the tank top off and threw it on the floor, now standing top-less before them—something Steve had
While Steve knew Tony meant every word he said, there was an undertone in his voice. Something dark and pained and… did he think Steve was turning him down?
Steve shook his head. “Don’t say that. You’re a good man,” he said, his fingers dancing across Tony’s cheek.
“There’s this little thing called learning from your mistakes. Since you obviously haven’t taken that step yet, I’m going to have to take it for you: You’re not going without me.”
The words brought warmth to Steve’s heart that was unlike anything he’d felt in a long time. It might not be love what Tony felt, but it was genuine and beyond simple gratitude.
“Morning,” Steve mumbled, moving even closer. A comfortable silence covered them like a blanket. Just being here together, it was enough.
are far more clever than you’re letting on,” Tony said, looking at him fondly. “You’re the most intelligent, empathetic, stubborn man I’ve ever known. One day, you’re going to change the world for the better, I’m sure of it.”
“I think it might be a good idea to let the two of you train separately for a week,” Steve suggested, keeping his tone mild. “Natasha will supervise, give you pointers. Then she’ll team you up with one of the others at a time.”
Eventually, he couldn’t hold his own weight anymore and slumped against Steve’s back. He breathed heavily, body exhausted, as he pressed little kisses against Steve’s neck with reverie.
Tony tugged at Steve’s arm, tasting himself on his lips when they were eye-level again, ignoring the victorious smirk that arose to Steve’s face in turn.
“How long have you wanted this,” he asked, heaving low breaths. “Tell me. How much time did we lose?”
Love. It was such a big word, and yet… for some reason, he knew Tony meant it, he just couldn't say how. They’d barely been doing this for a month, and hadn't even seen each other for most of that time. And yet he felt… a response so powerful to that thought that he was ready to shake Tony awake just to share it with him.
We would also like to thank our readers for all your lovely comments. We were very pleased you enjoyed our protective!Natasha.
Bruce, however, looked exhausted and shaken, staring down at his hands without really doing anything aside from massaging steady circles into the sole of Tony’s naked feet.
He tried to hold on to a guarded optimism, a hope flaring inside him that allowed him to sink further into the belief that maybe the United Nations wouldn’t even consider the Accords. Or that he’d discover a way to circumvent the oncoming rupture between him and Steve with some sort of compromise.
Tony huffed, as if he’d asked himself the same question a million times. Why work on something that was no use to him? Then, a sinful smirk appeared on his lips, and he turned his chair around, settling both hands on Steve’s hip. “I guess you could say I always loved a challenge.”
Tony nodded and pressed a gentle kiss against the intact side of Steve’s face. Then, he made to stand up. He knocked on the door once, not waiting for a reply since he knew there wouldn’t be one, and unlocked it via Extremis. Then, he pushed it open a fraction.
“I know that road,” Tony said, his voice surprised, but laced with something… else. Not quite fear, but very close to it.
“The new equipment is set, I don’t know why he should, exactly,” Bruce said slowly, obviously gauging his words. He was leaning against the wall beside the exit, eyeing Tony with interest. “You really should stop giving him such a hard time, you know? Kids flirting with you is tricky business, Tony. Don’t put him in that spot.”
“Remember how I said nothing could go wrong with a little walk? Forget that. Seriously forget it. And forget about dates, too, we’re fucking horrible at it.”
-wrong, although my dad sure as hell thinks so, but… it just… it doesn’t feel right. I don’t have exactly much experience, and what I have wasn’t… good. And,” he inhaled a low breath, and tried to keep his voice steady. “Sometimes, being normal would’ve been easier. Sometimes, it sure does feel wrong.”
Natasha stopped, but didn’t turn around. “You’re welcome. But I did both of you a favor,” she said, then left.
“But you wouldn’t have agreed on this,” Clint pointed out, raising his hand in defense when Steve glared at him. “Hey, I’m not saying you would’ve been
A muffled sob escaped Tony’s throat when Steve sped up. He was sucking and nibbling at Tony’s neck, pulling the thin skin between his lips to the point of almost-pain. And all Tony could do was turn his head sideways to give Steve better access, fingers taking hold of Steve’s neck and bringing his mouth closer. He loved how Steve took complete control over his body, taking him however he wanted, hurting and soothing, wrecking and mending in any way he pleased.
A cheeky smile crossed Tony’s face, and he brushed a kiss against Steve’s lips. “Did I mention I don’t do bottoming?” he asked, then snorted as Steve’s expression just kind of… fell. He tried not to let it show, but couldn’t hide his obvious surprise.
“Yeah, well, you know how it is. Can’t watch kitten videos on YouTube all the time,” Tony joked then heaved his old man’s body up. For some reason, he suddenly worried that this was yet another pop culture reference Steve wouldn’t get, but his mouth had quirked upwards so Tony figured it was okay.
Tony stared up at Steve with wide eyes; a surprised yelp escaping his lips when Steve suddenly set into motion. For the fraction of a second, he’d thought Steve would push him off and that would be the end of it all. But then, Steve was hovering above him again, face just inches away, and he looked about as unhinged as Tony had ever seen him before.
“You saved my life,” Steve said, coming closer. His gaze still flickered towards the wings, though he very obviously tried not to look at them. “I can’t… grasp it all, yet. I keep replaying every case we had in my head, everything that happened since I’ve met you, but it’s all a mess right now. And yet I know—I
Steve turned around, pleasantly sore from the previous night when Tony had walked into his bedroom just when Steve was about to go to sleep. Every inch of skin was still thrumming and Steve felt a smile on his lips as he turned to look at Tony’s slumbering form.
That broadened Tony’s smile. “It’s a prototype for a… well, an alternative power source. My father used to work on it before he died. It’s not working, though, and it’s not something I can use for my company, anyway.”
Steve could tell Tony was just as unnerved about all of this as Steve himself. This wasn’t normal by any means. Dreaming about the same person was one thing, but having that person remember the dreams in great detail, it was… impossible.
“You want it?” he whispered into his ear, while he made quick work of his tie and dress shirt, throwing both on the floor. As soon as the arc reactor was laid bare, the dark surrounding was cast into a soft, blue light, bathing Steve’s skin with it.
“Well, your choice,” Tony answered matter-of-factly. “Once this dream is over, I’ll already have the next chit at the ready. And there’s always the one after that. That’s the one good thing about being who I am.” He took another, much longer sip, and Steve noticed he didn’t even flinch as he swallowed the alcohol down.
“Are you sure your Steve is even with them right now?” Steve asked. “What if he never got in contact with my team?”
“Well,” Steve said, shaking himself back to the present, trying to make his voice sound as neutral as possible. He would find out what was going on eventually. No secret remained hidden forever. “Let’s find out what the ghost wants.”
. One of those was sweeping at Steve just as he landed from a successful toss of his shield. Luckily, Hawkeye had managed to put an explosive arrow in it before it could tackle him.
“Tony?” Steve called, whirling around in horror. Tony was nowhere to be seen. And the woman, and the guy with black hair were gone as well. “Tony!”
“Because Carol is secretly a nerd,” Tony replied after a moment. “Because she knows the significance of this trip. Because
Tony wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling the warmth move down his throat and into his chest. Great feeling, he thought, and decided to have more right away.
He grinned and reached for one of Tony’s hands. As always, Steve’s skin tingled when their fingers entwined. And again, he wondered how silly he was, for his heart to flutter like a teenager, when in truth, much more than Tony’s hands had touched him. When he knew what it felt like to take him inside. And yet, the heat on his cheeks refused to fade.
Cleanup went quietly between them, and Steve waited out that quiet again. He could tell, from the energy in Tony's movements, his concentrated look, that his mind was racing again. Amazing that it could come back online so soon after orgasm, he thought absently, but didn't say anything in comment. Tony would speak his mind sooner or later. That’s how the guy operated.
“You shut me out,” Ultron roared, throwing Tony off of him, before attacking Vision straight-on. “You think I
“Just… what happened with him, before he died.” His voice was gentle. His eyes flicked to Tony, then settled back on his watch. “How he tried to kill you, how he left you to die, and how you had to kill him. The things he… the way he goaded you into it.”
She cast Rhodey a regretful glance. “And I’m afraid it’s not only a matter of the boat.” There was a significant pause. “We have to follow every lead from here on.”
. With some reluctance, Steve set into motion. Tony had a feeling that right now, Steve would follow him off the edge of the world if he asked it of him.
“FRIDAY, ask Happy to go to our pediatrician, get some homeopathic pain relievers for teething. Make a list of things that help, and order some teething toys while you’re at it.”
“Exactly,” Tony agreed as he raised Ian back to his chest. “And don’t you forget it.” He pressed a kiss on Ian’s nose, rejoicing in the laughter that followed.
Only much later, when they were both lying on the workshop couch, grinning from ear to ear and pressed together from head to toe, Steve took a moment to reflect back on what had happened.
“What time is it?” Steve mumbled as he was roused from sleep. He had a feeling it was only a few hours before dawn. And yet, Tony stood next to the bed, loosening his tie.
Ah, Steve nodded, then nodded some more. He didn’t feel too good about sending his team into situation they might not be ready for yet—after just fighting Thanos, but if there truly was no other choice…
Five minutes and some very endearing deep breaths on Tony’s part later, they said their goodbyes and made their way through the crowd. And within two seconds of getting in the elevator, Tony’s mouth tore at his—both hands fighting his clothing and chucking his tie and dress jacket to the floor without any niceties. Steve moaned into him, guiding him blindly in a clumsy haze for the wall and fending off his attack with one of his own.
Of course, Tony refrained from telling him that his Steve had served him that exact breakfast about a dozens of times already. It was only polite.
Relieved, Steve smiled. Tony was staying. At least for now. He hugged him briefly, not sure where the gesture had come from but rolling with it. | [
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Dean lifted his hand to the knob but before he could open the door, it swung open forcefully and Dean was face to face with Sam. "Dean!"
Charlie sighed and looked up at Dean. She put her highlighter down, "That's kind of a good point, man. Why don't you go home and take a shower or something before religious ed?"
Dean’s eyes lifted up in search of Castiel. He could feel his heart pounding a mile a minute and all he wanted was to see those big blue eyes. When he finally made eye contact with Cas, he saw that Cas too was fighting off emotion as Dean stared back at him meaningfully. Flashes of him and Cas sitting together and talking about Mary and John, holding each other in Dean’s back porch, singing and laughing together in the suite and at Adam’s house parties entered Dean’s mind, and Dean was suddenly calm. Looking into the blue pools of beauty, wisdom, and understanding he uttered out the final line of the chorus, “
Ellen ran her tongue over her teeth, "Alright boys, now get out of here before you go and make me emotional.", she said, pushing Castiel out the door. Cas laughed and bellowed out one final goodbye before walking out the door and down the steps to the Impala.
She crossed her arms and scoffed, "I mean, I could always just tell Ellen when I drop her check off that you're acting weird and that I'm worried about you, and then you'll have her to answer to."
Gabriel smiled at him and bowed, "Though I appreciate your skills, my lovely Baz, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist dropping in on Cas getting drunk for the first time. I was looking for an intimate moment and I knew that you weren't going to be able to make it through."
After a clumsy escape from the bathroom, Dean and Cas have a hard time keeping their hands to themselves and returning to the group. The two share a tender moment.
P.S. Just a reminder that I actually went to God Camp as a teenager so, all the shit that they do here, I actually had to do with a bunch of my peers as an awkward 16 y/o (even the bus singing)
Castiel’s eyes were the size of the moon as he realized what was about to happen, and Dean flashed him a wicked grin just before leaning down over him and attacking him with tickles and quick sweet kisses on his cheeks and nose.
Gabriel arched an eyebrow and then slid down the wall next to the door to sit next to Cas, handing him a beer. Cas smiled and thanked him before opening it to take a sip when Gabe asked, "Did you finally put Dean's dick in your mouth and now you feel weird about it?"
Jess just laughed and so did Dean, and then he leaned over and gave her a hug. "I'm so glad you're home.", Jess said as she rubbed her hand across his back.
He quickly took a bandana out of his pocket from one of the earlier activities of the day to wipe off his hand and clean Cas up. Castiel was quiet as his breathing slowed down back to its normal rhythm.
Dean looked at Cas with confused eyes, feeling a little bit bad about the fact that this fact cheered him up a little. Cas contined, "I was smiling and talking back to him to be polite but, his breath was horrid."
Ellen sighed, "We should all come up and see you one of these weekends and take you out to lunch before you have to go to your class." Ellen thought for a second, "Wait, isn't it 5 o'clock?"
Dean nodded, still looking off in the distance, "He definitely would. Cas is like catnip for him. The guy's got something for the quiet dorky ones."
Dean's face darkened with crimson, both with embarrassment and internal panic. Before Dean could respond or go into a full mental breakdown, Gabe decided to actually answer with some sincerity.
Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel’s shoulder and pulled him in quickly for a peck on the side of his head before saying, “I’m gonna go in a lay down. You wiped me out, champ.” Dean reached up and ruffled Castiel’s hair.
." On the third time, Gabriel and Balthazar started to laugh and began singing too, "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine," Balthazar stood on his chair and yelled, "EVERYBODY!" and waved his arm up to encourage them, and quickly, everyone else joined in chorus, "LET IT SHINE, LET IT SHINE, LET IT SHIIIINE."
Dean could feel his neck and face start to heat up as Cas moved his lips down slowly to his jaw and then down to his neck more. Dean held his breath and felt his arms move from his face down and around Castiel’s back as Cas kissed him. Dean’s hands traveled on the surface of Cas’s shirt and lightly squeezed his somewhat soft sides. Dean exhaled as Cas darted his tongue out against Dean’s rough stubble when suddenly Cas jerked back hard and let out a little squeak.
Dean listened to Cas go into his room and dig around for a cup to use when he called out to him, "What about you, Cas?"
That's when Dean heard a loud moan. At first he thought it was Castiel, but Cas had stopped kissing him. Dean pulled back a little and opened his eys to see Cas tilting his ear up toward the door to listen for more noises coming from outside the bathroom. There was another breathy moan. Cas looked down at Dean with a surprised and confused smile, silently asking,
The more Cas thought about Dean though, the more he thought about the possibility of the two of them being together. Sure, he had always fantasized about it when he was with Dean and even when he was on his own, but he hadn't actually thought about it in a real way until the almost kiss that happened in Dean's room a few nights ago. Then there was the time on the kitchen floor, and then of course, the moment that Cas had just walked away from. There was an actual possibility now, and Cas wasn't sure what to do. What if Dean just thought he was attractive and was looking for a hookup? Cas had never done anything like that before, and Cas knew that doing something like that with Dean would be catastrophic considering the actual feelings that he had for Dean. Pretending that they weren't real and allowing Dean to take him as a casual lover would be damaging to Cas, as much as he might want to give in. What if Dean just felt bad for Cas because of what had happened with his dad and so he was just going along with Cas out of fear that he would upset him more? Or, the worst possible option of them all, what if Dean actually liked Cas as Cas liked him? Cas's giddy and soft expression was now twisted into a thoughtful and confused one. He was still squatting amongst his belongings when he heard a voice call out to him from a couple feet away.
Jess was only gone for about 10 minutes. When she returned she grabbed two Caprisuns and slammed herself on the couch with Dean and let him open up to her about what had been going on. He told her about the tequila, the crying, the too long glances, the dancing, the singing, the car rides, the movies, the texts, the conversations, and the snowflakes. He even told her about the Benny scare. Once he finished laying it all out for her, she smiled and leaned over to put her arm around Dean, pulling him towards her and then rubbing his arm quickly to comfort him.
Dean chocked on his food and coughed a little to make it go down the correct pipe, "Excuse me? Is Sam in rehab?"
Gabriel didn't hide his laughter this time. Instead he howled out a laugh so loud that it rang across their suite as Cas threw his head down on his knees that he had now pulled up to his chest. Hearing the commotion, Balthazar came out of his room and made his way toward the two of them. "Hey, Cassie baby!", Balthazar greeted, "Did you enjoy your sexcation?"
"Oh, cher, you are too good to me" Benny sighed, as he inhaled the smell of the food into his lungs.
Hannah shrugged with her typical shit eating grin, "They didn't. I went one night and just did it."
Dean normally save this kind of behavior for when he allowed himself to really get into the darker and more controlling part of his sexual preferences, but with Cas panting beautifully underneath his hand, Dean couldn’t manage to think before he acted.
Cas bit his lip and looked around, avoiding eye contact. Finally, he muttered out, “I’m really ticklish, okay?”
Chuck finally removed his glare from the four of them before continuing. "As I was saying, today is going to be light. I want you all to mostly just get used to one another, since we will be sharing pretty close quarters for the next few days. Hope you brought your warm clothes." The whole group groaned before loading on the bus.
Cas reached his hand underneath the table dividing them as they sang along with the group, and grabbed Dean's hand. Castiel's eyes were filled with nothing but appreciation and warmth. Dean squeezed his hand and winked back. They stayed like that for a while, holding hands under the table and looking into each other's eyes. Gabriel and Balthazar were too busy playing air guitar and dramatic fake drum solos to notice. Or maybe, they were just pretending not to notice to give them some time to appreciate the moment together.
Dean looked down at his phone and giggled. He didn't have to think twice. He was out the door faster than he could remember the name of their building.
Castiel was peaking his head out a little from the corner to look at the stranger, who had a hand over his chest, seemingly as startled as Castiel felt.
If Cas could bother to be embarrassed, he might have cared that he was about 10 seconds into kissing Dean and was already to moan into his mouth, but he didn’t have it in him. All he needed was Dean. Now.
He heard Cas chuckle a bit and then saw his blue eyes look behind at Dean and smile. Dean got lost in the blue for a minute before he heard Ellen break the silence, "I know an easy way for you to burn a few of the calories you just ate. Cas. Dean. You're on dish duty."
This is kind of a short one, and there isn't much story progression per say, but it provides a lot of insight and character information. I'm sorry that I'm a little slow in my plot progression but, it feels more realistic to me when you get a chance to see these kinds of interactions unfold. In my experience anyway, these types of things actually end up taking this long because people can't get out of their own way. I understand though that it's frustrating to read through in a fic setting though. I appreciate your patience greatly, however, and I hope that you'll stick around to see it all unfold.
Castiel was soaring. His heart, body, and mind were soaring in bliss and he wanted to chase this high forever. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on Dean.
"Hm?" Cas grunted, asking what Dean was laughing at without using his words as he fiddled with his keys to get the suite door open.
That’s when it happened. Castiel Novak shut his eyes, but reached out to touch Dean’s face as he came. Dean felt the hot cum burst out and coat his hand as Cas convulsed underneath him and then cried out. Dean stroked him through it until Castiel finally came down and opened his eyes again to look at Dean. It was the most beautiful thing that Dean had ever seen.
"Love you too" Dean replied as he hung up the phone. He took one final deep breath and gave himself a mental pep talk before walking back in.
Dean saluted the two girls and ran to the door, Castiel lagging under neither him. Thankfully, they were able to make it out to the driveway before Cas let any out. When they finally stopped though, it all dumped out of Cas and didn't stop for a while. Dean leaned over with him and patted his back as Cas vomited into the patch of dandelions against the side of the house. "It's okay, buddy." Dean reassured him, "We've all been here, just let it out."
He sat in his car for a few minutes debating. He was completely lost in thought when he nearly jumped out of his skin to a hard slam against his driver side window.
Castiel's hand wrapped around Dean's head and his fingers curled into the hairs at the base of Dean's neck tightly. Cas still seemed a little to taken aback to speak, but his eyes said it all. He looked up at Dean through his eyelashes with a look of bewilderment and adoration before gripping his own bottom lip in between his teeth. Finally after a few minutes Cas spoke softly, his voice sounding like he just ran a marathon, "Thank you for being impatient", and smiled a shy grin.
They walked into the common area and Dean answered, "Oh, nothing. Jess just sent me a picture of the family."
“CAS?!” He yelled out into the abyss of dark tall trees in front of him. The loud music and laughter coming from their campsite reassured Dean that there was no way anyone over there could hear him yelling.
Dean heard the door close down stairs and then looked at his phone to see what time it was. It was only 10:30 in the morning, so he didn't know who it could be. Everyone was either at work or school. He reached over to the side of his desk to the baseball that he kept there and picked it up slowly before tip toing out of his room and down the stairs. He held the bat up to his shoulder and held his breath, trying to be as quiet as possible. Whoever it was, he could hear them walking into the kitchen, and a few soft thuds. Dean continued down the stairs, his palms sweating against the wood of the bat and his breath quickening in anticipation.
Cas squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath before finally jumping down from his spot on the sill. Dean was ready to grab him, and actually managed to do so, before falling backwards, Cas in his arms, due to Dean’s lack of preparation of Castiel’s weight hitting him so quickly. They were on the ground in seconds and Dean quickly sat up in fear that he has seriously hurt Cas.
Cas nodded slightly, taking in all that Dean had to say, looking at him in the eyes with that same knowing look that he had shown Dean in the car those weeks ago. Dean took a leap and kept talking, feeling exposed, but still safe. "Jess came over every night with dinner for us. Every night. She would go grocery shopping with Ellen, would drive Bobby to work when they had to sell Bobby's car in order to compensate for the newfound expense that Sam and I brought to the house, and she just listened. She listened to me, Sam, Jo, and everyone else in our house. Because we were all uprooted from our lives and shuffled together like a new deck of cards in a poker game for the first time. She had this way of making us all feel heard and valid without allowing us to wallow in self-pity. She just got it." Dean could feel his tears poking into his eyes, "I'll never be able to repay her for all she did for us. She's a Winchester-Singer through and through."
Dinner was delicious and Dean was all but 400 pounds heavier once it was time to clean up. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach in discomfort, "I think I went a little too hard on that one, gang."
Cas smiled wide and nibbled on his bottom lip, "I would love to come, thank you for inviting us.", he replied, not breaking eye contact with Dean until Ruby spoke.
"Woah, woah there buddy" Dean said, putting his hand on Castiel's back as he chugged, "Careful with that thing"
There's only a little more than a month left until confirmation, which means that the retreat is coming. Cas, Gabriel, Balthazar, and Dean are getting prepared for the weekend long trip with Chuck and Jesus.
Dean softly treaded his fingertips across the ink on the index card and smiled like a giddy 13 year old. Cas could have easily texted him, but instead he left a note. How cute. Dean decided to pick it up and put it in his nightstand drawer. He didn't want Benny to come home and read it. Maybe Benny had been there when Cas wrote it, but Dean quickly deflected that thought, not wanting it to ruin the moment. That's when his phone started to ring.
"Who are you, and why are you in my kitchen?" Castiel growled, trying hard not to soften under the tender, and honestly fond gaze he was receiving.
Dean looked over to find Cassie walking through their old row of seats to the isle, and then walking up the steps to meet the rest of them. "You would think walking around was too much to ask" he quipped, rolling his eyes. Cassie finally walked up in front of Dean and leaned on the seat in front of him. He reached his hand out to shake Dean's and said, "I'm Castiel. I'm a mythology major."
It took them about an hour to get it all together and Gabe and Balthazar just laid down on the ground around the half way mark and just let the rest of the group do the work. Chuck definitely saw them, but didn’t seem to want to argue with them enough to say anything about it.
She chuckled a little bit and then looked at Dean with sincerity. "When he would talk, your whole face and body relaxed like you were floating. But, at the same time, you were so focused. I've never seen you concentrate so hard when someone's talking like you do with him, even when he's not talking to you. You just hang on that boys every word."
"Oh yeah, because a religious ed class is a good place to pick people up?" Dean snorted as he let himself be pushed out the door and into the hallway. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and left for the theology building.
That's when the two of them heard the front door to the cabin slam open. Dean froze and so did Cas, there lips still locked, but eyes open now, looking at the bathroom door in confusion. They didn't hear anything for a minute. Dean figured it must have been someone coming in quickly to get an extra scarf or something. Dean looked back at Cas, who shrugged, and they went back at it. Dean's tongue roamed around Castiel's mouth frantically as he pushed their bodies up against one of the bathroom walls. The position now easing up a bit on Dean's upper arm strength now that he had the support of the wall to keep Cas up. Cas gasped against Dean's mouth and his hands moved down from his hair into the back of his shirt and flannel, slightly massaging the skin there.
Charlie ran into the coffee shop with her hands up to her head, trying to shove all of her hair into a ponytail. She slammed herself down on the red stool next to Dean's, and he slid the drink that he had bought for her over into the counter space in front of her. "You are my knight in shining armor, Winchester." Charlie continued to take a gigantic gulp from the cup and winced from the temperature, but still did not stop.
He heard Ellen's hearty laugh from the other side of the phone, "Interesting introduction, Dean. Okay. I could use some entertainment!"
Suddenly Dean was pressed flat against Cas. Cas could feel the bark biting into his back as Dean pinned him down with his weight, the two of them chest to chest. That’s when he felt Dean’s right hand slide down Castiel’s chest, passed his stomach, and then finally,
It was 8:05 in the morning, and Dean called Ellen to let him know that they were coming. "I haven't picked them up yet, but we'll be there on time. I told them that church started at 9:15 and that we would be leaving at 8:30."
Cas sighed and put his head in his hands before he heard his brother stand up from the couch in the common area and walk towards him, his slippers shuffling loudly against the marble floor. Once he heard Gabriel stop in front of him, Cas peeked up at his older brother through his fingers and watched him give Cas an earnest and questioning look before asking, "What's going on, baby bro?"
The people coming in to attend the class seemed normal enough. Dean wondered what it was that made them decide to come back and do this. Maybe the same reason he was there. There were about ten of them sitting there, himself included, and Dean put his feet up on the desk to make himself comfortable before the lecture started.
Dean followed Cas to a different section of clothes and folded next to him. "We'll see if a hangover will really make my chemistry class more interesting."
Benny rolled his eyes and walked over to Dean, dropping his order of dumplings and general tso chicken next to his head before sliding a chair over to sit next to him. Dean finally picked his head up to open his food containers, eyes still sunken in from lack of sleep.
"I'm goinna bed, you better set that alarm boy, you know the rules 'roun here." And he was gone. Disappeared into his bedroom with a door slam.
"If you said you live in Belington, you must have to take a left here, right?" Castiel asked, pointing just a few feet ahead of them.
Dean shook his head and stood up, smiling back at Cas before he walked out of the room to talk to Ellen. After he assured her that Cas was fine after his slip, they cleaned up the floor from the mess that they had made, and finished up cleaning up the mess from dinner together. The music continued on, but the two of them agreed to actually focus this time.
Dean grimaced. Castiel was still sick? I guess for your first hangover you should just go big or go home. "I didn't do anything to him, he was the one who decided to chug the tequila like it was water."
"I wouldn't be too worried, pal. That was a really beautiful scene you two just shared with the class. He just walked into the tree line over there." He pointed to a stretch of woods about 10 feet away from them. Dean had to pretend that he wasn't kind of afraid to go in there. It being dark out and, in the woods, and all that. He knew that Cas was in there though, and he needed to see him and talk to him.
finished with your snide remarks, Mr. Novak, I’d like to explain the next part of the evening.” Chuck glared down at all of them firmly.
Cas's eyes darted over to Dean's in shock. Dean looked right back at him with a smile and began to sing louder. Cas shook his head and smiled back before joining Dean in song with the radio station. The entire bus turned to look at them in silence. The music seemed to get louder, either by Chuck or the bus driver, and the two of them began on the next line, just looking at each other with smiles the size of their whole faces. "
and opened the door slowly and quietly, hoping that whoever was out there wouldn't see them. The door was cracked ever so slightly, but they could still see what they needed to. Dean felt Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder and peak his head under Dean's arm to look too.
"Hi Dean!" Ruby called out from behind the bathroom door, where she and Bela had moved to clean themselves up.
The way their buildings worked on campus, was that you were able to get into other people's buildings during the day, but after midnight until about 6 am, your card only works on your own building. Cas was locked out. Dean nodded and looked at Castiel, who was now lost in thought again and still swaying in his spot. He was now looking down at a button he had found in his pocket and was inspecting it closely.
“Beautiful choice, Dean. Do you need the lyrics out?” Chuck asked, seemingly unaware that Dean was getting emotional.
Dean snorted and Castiel's face blushed in embarrassment. Balthazar leaned back so the four of them could hear him and whispered, "Oh fuck, we're not gonna last long guys.", when Chuck cleared his throat obnoxiously loud to get him to stop talking. He took the hint and looked around awkwardly before taking a huge gulp of coffee.
Dean had made it out first. Thankfully he was able to reach a nearby tree branch to grab onto in order to guide him to the ground relatively smoothly. Cas wasn't so lucky though. He had made it through the window, and was now sitting on the sill, but his arm wasn't quite long enough to reach the branch and Dean could tell that he was starting to get a little nervous. Castiel looked around nervously, his beautiful blue eyes getting wider as his knuckles started to whiten on the sill beside his hips.
Dean looked back over at Cas, who was now lost, again, in a completely different song with the rest of the company they had arrived with. His smile was wide and the sweat glinted off of him as the strobe lights drifted over his figure. Cas looked over at him and waved his hand for Dean to come over, and Dean smiled. Of course, following Cas without a second thought.
Dean started to kiss his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, and Cas managed to mumble out, “Dean, please.”
It's not like Castiel was deflecting out of internalized homophobia. He was out and proud at home. Even though no one expected it, his family literally did not care at all that he liked men. Not one bit. In fact, the fact that he left for Northeastern was more of a shock to the system than his admittance of his sexuality.
get drunk if we were there because his uncontrollable urge to mother me even though he is my little brother will never stop, and I believe that it was about time he had some fun."
Dean and Castiel showed up at the homeless shelter with the others that chose that route. There was only 2 other people with them. A surprisingly large amount of people chose the babysitting option, much to Dean and Castiel's surprise. Their names were Bela and Ruby, and they seemed nice enough. Dean talked to them a lot about their classes and other college experiences as they worked. Dean could tell they were forced by their parents to be there to by their serious amount of contempt for where they found themselves. They could barely make it 5 minutes without complaining that they didn't want to be there. Their negativity didn't seem to get to Cas though. He just continued folding and organizing clothes, seemingly unaware that they were even talking.
Maybe they were worth being friends with, because Dean found himself wondering how he didn't think of that first.
Dean walked through the finish line of finals week on all fours and barely breathing, but he did it. Grades still wouldn't be in for another week or so, but Dean wasn't going to let it bother him too much. He knew stressing about what he may have gotten would do nothing to affect his scores at this point, so he just put the thought out of his mind. Winter break was about three weeks, and Dean was incredibly excited to go home and do nothing but relax for a little while. Well, do nothing but relax, and work at Bobby's auto shop that is. He knew he wouldn't get away with sitting on his ass the whole time. Bobby wouldn't allow it. Dean didn't necessarily mind though. He loved working on cars. He would just pop in his headphones and jam out as he worked, usually allowing himself time to think as well.
"Hey, Cas?", Dean called out almost in a whisper, careful not to bring Cas out of his train of thought to forcefully. Cas blinked a few times, allowing himself to return back to the room and looked at Dean expectantly. "Do you mind if I hook up my speaker and we listen to some tunes?"
Cas threw his coat and keys down on the couch and ran over to Dean excitedly, "Ooh! I want to see!" He took the phone from Dean's hand and looked for himself. A contented and appreciative smile crawled onto his face. "Jess is very beautiful"
"Well, when I took off after you, I heard Chuck tell Baz's team to join up with ours to make up for our abscenses.", Cas pointed at the two of them, "And I guess Baz doesn't mind the egg smell."
?" Dean stammered, directing his words at his friend, standing in the doorway rather than answering Bobby.
The bible camp lyric almost made me choke on my food it was so hilarious, and as someone who has been to "bible camp" or as we called it, "God camp", I can promise you that shit like that happens lmao.
Sam huffed a quick laugh out of his nose and looked up at Dean with a small smile. "You're praying that an old lady is sick because you were too stupid to watch your own drinking habits last night?" Sam shook his head, but kept laughing anyway. "That's fucked up, man."
Dean talked about Sammy and Jo and his loving parents, and explained how it was that he ended up back in confirmation classes. That's when Castiel spoke up, "They sound like lovely people". Castiel's voice was gravelly but smooth and it made Dean have to work hard not to swoon. His eyes were so bright blue that Dean could feel himself getting lost in them. Castiel had said commented with such sincerity that it surprised Dean. He didn't even think that Castiel was listening.
Jess cocked her left eyebrow and rolled her tongue over her teeth, looking at Dean like he was an idiot. She didn't buy it. "Try again."
Dean folded his lips into his mouth and created a thin line on his face as he tried to push the violent thoughts out of his head. It was a good thing that Cas lived so far away, because Dean would have probably killed the guy if he had ran into him after this. "What did he want?"
Dean couldn't believe it. Of course Gabriel had been behind that. There was no way someone would play such a romantic song in the middle of a house party full of drunken 18-21 year olds.
Dean sniffled and laughed a little, thinking of those two. Images of his mother's long blonde hair and his father's burly figure popped into his head. The smell of his mother's iris and honey perfume and his father's cigar and peppermint smell danced across his nose and he missed them fiercely. "They were absolutely, unequivocally, in love with each other." Dean said, looking down at the ground smiling even as one tear slowly trailed down his face. "My mom was a real spit fire and never seemed to be able to keep her mouth shut, and my father was a real hot head with a lack of patience for bullshit. They were at each other's throats as often as they were wrapped around each other, that's for sure."
Ellen smiled and Bobby nodded before Cas walked out into the kitchen with Dean, his arms full of dishes.
Hehehe there's smut in this one y'all. It's been a long time coming. You are such a wonderful bunch of readers and you deserve this for sticking around for so long. Love you guys <3 please enjoy the adult content you've been waiting for (:
"No problem, honey. I'm just so glad you're coming, I don't even care if you're late. It's only been a month but I miss ya, kid."
"Screw you, Sammy." Dean muttered as he threw his hands down from his ears in frustration. Suddenly, he heard the sound of multiple footsteps from upstairs making their way towards the two of them in the living room. Ellen raced down with her one hand holding the curling iron to her hair, and the other opened wide to greet her boys in a big hug.
Dean almost cried on the spot at the idea of just being able to stand in hot water for a while and not think about anything. He started shoving everything into his bag and rushing to get his coat on. "That is a remarkable idea, princess. This is why I love ya." He reached over and held her head in his hands and kissed her forehead.
As if on cue, Cas stood up faster than lightning with his hand over his mouth, flashing that familiar green color that Dean had grown so used to.
hello friends!! hope you enjoy as always, and sorry about not updating on time. i am not very organized so i kinda just write when inspiration hits me ya know??
"Only because you begged like a big giant baby," Dean giggled as he threw a balled up napkin at his friend.
When they made it to Dean's room, Dean made his bed and straightened it up to make it more comfortable with his friend. "You'll sleep here and I'm gonna be right here in the room with you in my sleeping bag," Dean explained as he leaned across his bed to tuck the blanket in against the wall. "so if you need anything during the night, I'll be right here."
When the two of them strolled up to Cas's door, Dean held onto Cas's bag as he fiddled with the keys. "I feel bad that you're carrying all of my stuff, I could've managed." Castiel said, shoving the key in the lock, "You've already done enough for me these past few days."
After a moment of silence and a few more steps Gabriel stood up a little straighter and gasped, "I'm a genius!" He yelled.
Jess pursed her lips and nodded once. She looked at her watch and said, "Listen, I'll go run this over to Ellen, and then I'll come back and we'll figure it out, alright?"
Once they were all settled and the bus started moving, Gabriel started the conversation. "So, long time no see, Deano. We were starting to think you died or something."
"Good evening, everyone! I hope you all have had a nice weekend, and are ready to give back to your local organizations." Chuck was wearing glasses today and he somehow managed to look even nerdier. "You are all aware of the choices, so you may come up here and sign up for what you want to do. Just remember, in order to get all 12 hours, each one of our community service days are going to be three hours long, so you wont be leaving until about 8:30pm tonight."
Dean blinked a few times in surprise and opened his mouth to talk before Bobby cut him off. "It took me way to long to finally call your Mama my girl, and I don't want to watch you waste anymore time, ya hear me?"
Suddenly, Castiel heard soft snickering coming from the bonfire. His head jerked up, worried that he would find two homophobic assholes laughing at him and Dean.
"Alright brother, I'll see you tonight. If there's any hot guys in there be sure to drop my number along with yours." Benny shoved Dean's arm as Dean walked toward the door.
Hope you enjoy, and a tremendous thanks to those of you who take time out to comment. It really means a lot <3
I just want to let you know, my semester back at college is starting again, so it's gonna be a lot longer between chapters. I'm gonna do it at often as possible, it just is going to be a little less frequent than it has been.
Cas thought for a minute, "I hadn't officially thought about it, Sam. I suppose I will choose my brother Gabriel. Have you decided yet?"
Castiel was certainly nervous, this being his first real time, but he was determined to make Dean feel as good as he had made Cas feel, even if Cas was less experienced.
Dean let his fingers dance there for a minute as he felt Castiel shiver underneath him. That shiver going straight to Dean’s cock as Dean released Cas from his bruising kiss for just a second. Barely able to separate himself long enough and sneaking tiny chaste kisses in between words anywhere on Castiel’s face, he asked, “Is this okay?”
Cas bit his lip and let out a soft moan as Dean continued to make use of his mouth on the sensitive parts of Castiel’s neck. “D-Dean we need to go back. Someone is going to be looking for us s-soon.”
"Well don't get too excited there, princess, he told me he had the hots for Benny the second he landed in my bed. I wouldn't classify it as a win." Dean went back to his coffee and looked out the window as the information hit Charlie.
The next twenty minutes of the course were spent explaining what confirmation was all about, why they were doing it, the explicit steps they had to take, and when they were expected to do each of them. "You are all going to be spending a lot of time together during these next few months. We will be doing a lot of spiritual reflection, team building exercises, and community service together, so I want to give you this time to get to know the people around you, so you're more comfortable throughout this process."
All of a sudden, Cas perked up and smiled wide as he looked across the room. "Oh my god, Anna!" he yelled.
Balthazar laughed next to him and pulled him into a side hug, "You are such a little ham, Winchester."
Cas bit his bottom lip and his cheeks turned crimson. Fuck. Maybe Cas did remember. "Benny, your roommate?"
"Famously. You are all lovely people." Castiel made meaningful eye contact with everyone at the table. It was true. Ellen and Cas had talked about Baz and Gabe on the whole way there, he had been cracking jokes with Jo and Sam almost all mass long, and he had been discussing the stock market with Bobby ever since they got out of church. He was getting along with them famously.
"Nothing quite says early February activity quite like outdoor camping" Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Our cabin better be fucking heated or I'm hopping into one of your sleeping bags for body heat."
Dean wasn't quite sure how it happened so suddenly, but Dean's breath hitched at the last message and he felt like his chest was warm. Castiel never had any problem saying kind words to him, and it made Dean feel uncomfortable but warm at the same time. Not uncomfortable as in he didn't like it. He loved it. In fact, maybe he loved it too much. He just wasn't used to someone who wasn't a family member showing him that level of affection. Dean supposed that's what made Cas special, the fact that he just said what he meant to people, without letting anyone make him feel weird about it, like Dean had so many times in the past, which kept him from allowing himself to be vulnerable with others so frequently.
He started to stutter and shift his eyes quickly from his new spot on the ground to a quick look up at Cas. “I-I really did mean it, but if you didn’t y-ya know, i-if you didn’t really mean it then, we can just act like it didn’t happen and I--”
Dean looked over at him and laughed as he took his wrist and started pulling him forward to start the walk home. "Wow, you're wasted"
Dean reached up and placed a hand around Cas's ankle in attempt to soothe him. His fingers glided along the inside of Castiel's pant leg and he rubbed his thumb against his ankle joint. "Cas," he repeated, keeping his voice low and even, "I promise. I'm already grabbing you and my feet are flat on the ground. I just need you to let go a little bit, alright baby?"
Castiel brushed his teeth and swished around his mouth wash, still contemplating how he had gotten away with the sleeping in. It's not like his alarm not going off had ever gotten him off in the past. Once in high school, he forgot to reset his alarm clock, and his old man had come into his bedroom with a bucket of cold water to dump on him. It took almost a week for his pillows to dry completely. This made Castiel double check his alarms every night before falling asleep.
As the first few chords of the song flew out of Chuck’s guitar, Dean’s whole body broke out in chills and he focused all his attention on trying not to burst into tears in front of all these strangers as he sang the first few verses.
Dean grabbed his coat and took off after him and swung around to face Cas once he caught up. It was really fucking cold out and Dean's cheeks were already burning from the wind. Dean tried to look Castiel in the eyes but Cas refused to look up. Not playing games, Dean reached for Cas's face and lifted it to be eye level with Dean when Cas finally gave in and looked at him, his blue eyes getting even brighter when they are cushioned with tears. "You are not leaving here, until you tell me what is going on. How did you even get here?"
" They honestly sounded like a gospel choir, and a good one at that. Dean spun around on the pole in the middle of the bus and sang the next line alone, for it to be followed back by his new found back up singers, and Dean gestured to Cas playfully the whole time, with a big goofy smile on his face. As if he could ever even pretend to be into anyone else.
Cas’s memory zoomed back to a few days after his conversation with Baz and Gabriel. After their several cracks about Cas being the bottom and getting down on his knees for Dean, the two of them came to the realization that Castiel had never even been blown, let alone blown someone else. That train of thought then lead to a three hour “blowie training course” as Gabriel so eloquently put it, where Cas was taught all the essentials to a successful blowjob. It took a little bit of practice, but eventually Baz and Gabriel were high fiving and hugging him and showering him in praises at being a blowjob champion.
Dean spent the rest of the day with Ellen and Sam talking about their plans to get this confirmation thing done. Sam was already all set with religious ed accommodations. Their church ran it year round for students who are old enough to get confirmed. Unfortunately for Dean, they only work with people who are still in high school and are doing it at the "correct" age. After a little bit of research, Ellen found that Dean's school actually held it's own confirmation program, which meant that he wouldn't be able to come home for family day anymore. Classes were held on Sundays from 5pm-7pm, and lasted until the second week of March, of course, breaks omitted. Even though they were later in the day, and provided plenty of time for Dean to go home and back, Ellen insisted that he stay so he isn't too tired by the time he had to go to the class.
Dean walked up to the table and grabbed his plate, stacking more spaghetti on top of what was already there and grabbing a chicken breast from the cookie sheet in the middle of the table. As he piled the dish with the other food at the table Ellen spoke up, "What's going on, Dean?"
He shoved his tongue into Castiel’s mouth ungracefully. Thankfully, Cas moaned into his mouth as a reply, clearly liking what Dean was doing, or he was just really good at faking it. Dean was starting to feel a growing wet spot in Castiel’s underwear. It was about everything he could do to not start grinding his pelvis into Cas and coming in his jeans. Dean wanted to make this about Cas though. Show Cas how much he meant it when he said he had loved him only a few minutes ago.
"Yeah, we heard Dean gave your little heart a startle." Hannah, poked her finger into his chest to punctuate her point.
On the way back to campus, Cas and Dean sat in the car in silence. The radio was playing softly, but they weren't talking. It wasn't an awkward silence though. It was more of a peaceful one. A thoughtful one.
Dean tried to chuckle off how uncomfortable he felt and act normal. "What can I say, the classes I have this semester are way more intense than the last ones."
let Gabriel and Balthazar sit between him and Dean. Dean figured that Cas must not like him very much, but knew that the other two were entertained by him, so he just tolerated Dean. Why else would Cas continue to treat him like he was contagious or something. Dean decided not to let it bother him. He enjoyed Gabriel and Balthazar's company too, so he just decided to deal with it as is. Afterall, he was thankful to get to spend any time with Castiel.
"Yes, Kelly, I know, but if I don't go home to help out on the farm my mother would never forgive me."
That’s when it hit him. He stopped walking and stilled his movements completely. He wouldn’t be able to hear anything while he was tromping around. The noises of the snow, sticks, and his heavy footsteps would keep him from hearing anything lower than a yell. Dean took a deep breath as he stilled, and closed his eyes.
Dean, who had just taken a drink from his water bottle, choked at the figure of speech. All three sets of eyes looked at him as he tried to recover, and he wanted to crawl into the floor and die.
After a while, Cas gathered up the saliva in his mouth and continued to move down Dean’s shaft inch by inch, swirling his tongue around and pulling up just a bit every few seconds, just to move back down again. Cas tried to move down all the way, but as soon as Dean’s cock hit the back of his throat, he felt his gag reflex start to hitch. He pulled up quickly and moved his hand to the base so Dean’s dick was covered. Cas started to bob his head as he heard Dean speak breathlessly.
"No fuckin' way" Castiel replied, slipping right back into his accent only 15 minutes into his homecoming.
Cas looked up from his menu where Dean was looking with him and met her eyes. He lit up. "Charlie? You work here?"
Dean learned that Castiel was a freshman like he was, but that he lived across campus in the suite buildings with these two. Gabriel and Baz were confirmed on time, but Castiel never had a chance to in high school because he spent his sophomore year abroad through his high school's French department. The three of them had actually grown up together, and their parents were in a prayer group together. They were all incredibly religious, but in the not loving and cuddly way that Ellen and Bobby were. They changed the subject quickly to Dean once that fact had slipped out of Baz's mouth.
Cas waited for an explanation patiently. Eyes continuing to stare into Dean's intensely. "Him and my mom got in an accident when I was in high school." A single tear slid down Dean's cheek and landed on the pavement below him. Dean did not move his eyes.
Cas sits down with his brother and Baz and the three of them talk about the predicament that Cas has found himself in.
Dean was trying to level his breathing when Cas asked, "Do you just wanna hang out and watch movies at the suite with me while they're out? I don't want to be in a loud and intense atmosphere tonight, but I don't want to just sit around and do nothing."
"No like, really", Dean assured her, rubbing his eyes and then dropping his face in his hands. "I'm officially not retaining anything anymore. My brain space is all occupied. If I put anymore information in, other information that I've absorbed is gonna go out."
" Cassie pleaded. "I know you two have already done this, but I actually have to get confirmed when this is over."
Castiel swallowed hard and balled his hands into fists. He retreated completely to the behind the corner and scolded himself for being so childish. Castiel stomped out into full view, eyes glued to the floor before finally finding the courage to look up at the boy. His embarrassment making his temper rise, as usual.
Cas finally stopped laughing and it turned back into small chuckles, "He asked all of us if we 'would please go and support him'". Cas made finger quotes around his father's words. Cas scoffed, "Naturally, I declined, and I guess that was the wrong answer.", he mumbled and pointed to his eye. He looked up at Dean with sad and exhausted eyes.
Castiel groaned and tilted his head back into the tiny amount of space left between him and the tree. “Y-you’re so beautiful, Cas” Dean all but growled as he continued to rub Castiel over his jeans. Cas felt like his skin was on fire.
Unable to wait another second with Castiel’s permission, Dean shoved his hand into Castiel’s boxers and took a hold of his hot and incredibly hard dick at the base and lowered his head to spit down onto Castiel’s dick.
Cas was reading something, intently. His brow was furrowed, and he wasn't looking up at all from the pages as his eyes darted back and forth rapidly. He was leaning back in his chair casually though, radiating so much confidence in such a small action that Dean almost wanted to run in the opposite direction and just go home. His attendance record could take one absence, right? Dean quickly spun around out into the hallway.
"Out?" she looked confused, "With who? Couldn't have been Benny. I saw him in my building last night when he dropped Andrea off across the hall. I'm surprised they haven't gone at it yet."
A single tear slid down Cas's face and he bit his bottom lip before managing to mutter, "Okay, Dean."
"What were they like?" Cas's voice was gravely with emotion, "Your parents?" Dean noticed that Cas had tears in his eyes too, not letting it get the better of him though.
Cas bit his bottom lip into a smile and his fingers started to move tracing the labels and seams of Dean’s clothing down his chest in feathery little movements that sent a wave of chills throughout Dean’s body. “Aww,” Cas cooed, “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”
"Well I know my mama would be disappointed in me if I didn't appreciate one of her favorites. Being a kiss ass is a full time job, ya know. Even when she isn't here." The four of them laughed together, and Dean's eyes eventually went back to Castiel's as the next song started. Dean must have started a trend, because the whole bus sang along to this one too. Funnily enough, it was "The Table of Plenty", as if Ellen herself was the DJ.
“Oh Cas—” He whispered, his hot breath skating against Castiel’s pulse point. Dean moved his head up from Castiel’s neck to look into his eyes. Cas swallowed and fought the urge to move his eyes away from the gaze of tenderness that he found himself under. He didn’t deserve the amount of fondness pouring out of Dean right now. He knew he didn’t.
Ellen leaned over and smacked Dean on the arm as she sat down, "Dean Winchester, you leave that cute little girl alone. She doesn't need her boss to hear about the bottle of whiskey you two shared last night."
Dean finally spoke, after what seemed like 50 years on the ground with Castiel, "My fathers", he breathed out.
Dean shook his head carefully, his eyes still glued on Cas, "No, Cas, we were just eating dinner. Tell me what's going on here."
Right when Dean was one fraction of an inch away from Castiel's lips, Cas pulled back slightly and looked Dean in the eyes, his fingers still pressed to Dean's cheek and swallowed hard before whispering, "See you at the retreat next week." He turned from Dean and grabbed his bags as he opened the door with his foot and entered his suite. Dean just stood there, drunk on the smell of Cas that had polluted the air that Dean was breathing, as he watched Cas grin wickedly before closing the door and leaving Dean out there alone.
Dean felt another tear slide in the other tear's path as he looked back into Castiel's eyes. "I noticed it the first time I met you," Cas continued, "that kind of pain leaves a mark." Cas was still slurring his words, still drunk. Dean didn't want to be crying right now. Castiel was too drunk. Dean figured that was the only reason they were talking like this.
Kelly's eyes fluttered as she averted his look. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to get hurt, that's all."
He had been fumbling back and forth with the idea for a few days now, and his friend Kelly who lived across the hall was trying to talk him out of it.
Cas shook his head, "I'm usually only there to drop them off, pick them up, and then clean up the vomit."
They were quiet for a while, when Dean started talking again, regaining his composure. "So, they're gonna be in a rush when we get there, as usual. I will have to run upstairs and change, but it won't take long."
She slumped a little in her chair, looking a little defeated. Her expression was thoughtful as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. After a few moments of silence, Charlie finally asked Dean to start from the beginning, as Dean predicted she would.
"Yeah I'll be sure to tell him, Sam." Dean rolled his eyes and pulled the door open. His eyes widened in surprise and he blinked about 50 times, not moving or talking for a few moments.
The final chords were played into the air, but Dean didn’t hear them. All he saw was Cas and Cas only. Cas’s mouth had opened slightly in shock and a single tear fell down his cheek.
"Then I guess that's the question you have to ask yourself, Dean." Jess explained, putting her legs up on the couch and tucking them underneath herself. "Which are you more willing to live with? Are you more willing to live with things staying the way they are, leaving you unknowing and suffering, but keeping the relationship you have with him the same? Or would you prefer the possibility of rejection but finally having some clarity?"
Cas said nothing, but looked deeply into Dean's eyes. He gave a look not of pity, or remorse, but of sheer understanding. A look of knowing, without a shadow of a doubt. Then, Castiel leaned over and put his palm against the ring resting on Dean's chest, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's.
He could hear Benny's laugh from behind him as he shifted his duffle bag back on his shoulder and made his way down the hallway, sporting a chuckle of his own.
Dean smiled as the lump in his throat grew, "No, no, you didn't Cas. Benny was flattered. I saw him check you out. Don't be embarrassed. He loved it."
"Now, the next time we see you two will probably be at confirmation," Ellen started, fixing the collar on Cas's shirt as she spoke, "So, make sure you guys do everything you need to do before hand. You need to get your suits ready and buy your corsages ahead of time, so that way you're all ready to go when it's time."
Dean looked over and saw the tears poking into Castiel's eyes at the kind remark. Ellen quickly added, "Wait, you don't call your mom, Mama, do you? I don't want to take her spot."
, no no no no, Cas, seriously, no." Balthazar looked flabbergasted. Cas gave him a confused look. Baz continued, "
Also I feel like this chapter is long, and I'm kind of afraid I'm sucking at this whole writing thing. A lot more happened than I was planning on. Whoops.
ACDC's cheeks turned red as he stood there, still standing in that spot like a statue, looking more embarrassed by the second. The smaller guy behind him grabbed ACDC by the shoulders and physically moved them to the back, where Dean was sitting, with the taller blonde guy following behind. Blondie was almost dancing to his seat, swaying his hips fluidly as he held on to the others' shirts. They finally plopped down in the row in front of Dean in a hush of whispers and giggles. The classroom had stadium seating, so Dean looked down on them and inspected each of them in curiosity.
Cas giggled underneath him as Dean continued to get swept up in the song and sang the rest of the lyrics while taking the lead in the pseudo tango dancing that Cas had started. They grooved along to the mellow tone of the song as Dean spun him around and closed in on him, acting like he was running through a scene in a play. Cas played right along, giving into Dean's advances as he bit his bottom lip and played "hard to get" by pretending to brush Dean off as he sang to him. It was getting close to the bridge now Dean was still singing, and he tugged at Cas's shirt as he danced, "
When he finally pulled back, he reached behind himself and looped Dean into his body, with his arm around Dean's shoulders. Dean had to steady himself by grabbing on to Cas's other side, his hand managing to catch a little bit of heated skin when Castiel's shirt rode up above his hips. "I am here with my confirmation friend. We spent the day being good summarittens-" Cas slurred, "and now-" he hiccupped, "I'm intoxicated".
Dean still had a vivid memory of that day. Their two families had gone to a Yankee's game together. His parents had a van at the time, so they had all fit in one car, and they sang Led Zeppelin song almost the whole way down. Dean was able to sing a little bit too, not knowing any of the actual lyrics, but remembered the melodies well enough to keep up. His dad had bought him his first soft pretzel and Dean remembered thinking that his life couldn't possibly get better than it was as he listened to his parents chant with their friends and watched everyone around him cheer with each home run. Even thinking about it now was making Dean all warm and fuzzy inside, memories of the smell of peanuts and beer entering his mind like it was yesterday. He let the ornament drop from his hand and hang down from the tree branch as it had been before he came in and ran upstairs to put his clothes back into his dresser.
"Then what is taking so long?!" Gabe complained. "I mean Jesus, Imma be like- 80 thousand years old with a beard down to my fuckin' package before you make a move."
Dean reached out and grabbed Cas, maybe a little more aggressively than planned, and pull him into his chest and squeezed. His fists were balled up in Castiel's jacket so tight, so glad that Cas was here with him and not in his house with that asshole. He felt Cas melt underneath him and he started crying. Not just quiet tears sliding down the face crying either, like they had done around each other a few times at this point. This was as if Dean had punched down the damn that Cas had been barely keeping standing to keep his emotions in to get him here. Dean moved his hands to Cas's hair and gently ran his fingers through it softly to comfort him and shushed him calmly. "Shhh," he sighed, closing his eyes as he felt Castiel's tears dampen his shirt underneath him, "It's okay, Cas, you're here now." They sat like that in that back porch for what seemed like hours, until Cas was finally out of tears, and his breathing returned to normal.
That's when Gabriel realized that Dean had walked in and walked over to him, covered in ranch dressing and spinach. "Oh yeah, we've known them for a few weeks now."
That's when, right on time, Cas lifted his hand to Dean's cheek and sang with a dirty grin shining on his face,
The four of them talked over one another for almost the entire time allotted, but Dean didn't mind. It really reminded him of the vibe at his house. Everyone goofing off and making fun of each other out of love. Castiel was quiet though, letting his brother and Baz speak for him mostly. He almost seemed lost in thought as Gabriel and Baz screwed around, only really looking up and engaging when Dean talked about himself.
Dean smiled and felt all of the tension in his chest slip away, "Hey mama. I miss you." Which was true. He wanted a hug from her, bad.
Castiel took a deep breath and put his hands in his pockets as they stopped at the corner. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Dean." His voice was still deep and even, even standing in the cold.
"Okay." Benny started, "If he doesn't say anything to you by the time you get there about it, I think it may be time to pull out the big guns."
He had to get his feelings for Castiel under control while they were apart for these upcoming weeks, because it was starting to become a problem. It was starting to hurt, the longing, and Dean wasn't sure how long he could take things being like this. That being said, however, he didn't want to stop being friends with Cas, so he wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do about this. Dean rolled over to his back and lifted his pillow from underneath himself to shove it into his face and groan in frustration.
Dean smiled as brightly as he could watching Cas giggle the words out and look into Dean's eyes. Cas's head fell back as the mess of na na na's came out of his mouth and Dean's chest tightened. He wished he had a camera to capture this moment.
Instead, he knew that the farm life wasn't for him. It never had been. Yes, he always gave an extra hand. He was a part of the house after all. But, all that said, he knew he wanted to be a doctor. Hannah on the other hand, she loved the farm life, and she was the one in line to inherit the place when his parents bite it. Dean would be a good partner for her. Someone who actually likes the life, and handsome to boot.
Gabriel and Baz began to boo incredibly loud and Balthazar took his arm off of Dean to move it to Gabriel's shoulders as they walked ahead of Dean and Castiel into the cold night air. They started mooing instead of booing and both Dean and Castiel started to chuckle.
"Castiel, you know they're just gonna be pissy and mean to you the entire time, right? It's not worth it."
Dean shook his head but giggled, "Welp, that's interesting advice, Cas, but considering the fact that this is your first time, I don't think you'll have any problem getting drunk." Dean took the bottle back and took a few more gulps before handing it back over and grabbing Castiel's hand. "C'mon, champ!"
So, I realized I accidentally said that the retreat was a week long in previous chapters. I totally meant a weekend long. They're usually the whole day Friday, Saturday, and then Sunday. I went back and fixed it, but if you're reading as the chapters come out, I wanted to let you know that it was a mistake here so you weren't confused. If you see the mistake anywhere else that I missed, please let me know! This is what happens when you only work on your writing from 1-4 in the morning. We love trying to be coherent with little to no sleep.
As promised, Sam and Bobby ended up getting the address from Cas and bringing the truck back to the Novak house. Bobby just tossed the keys in the mail box on the porch, knowing that he wouldn't be able to control himself if Cas's dad ended up being in their still. They were able to stop by Balthazar's house too, where Gabriel was waiting with a bag of Castiel's clothes and toiletries so he had everything he needed to go back to school with. Bobby of course offered to bring Gabriel back with them. Gabriel declined, saying that it wasn't the first time he had to run away to Balthazar, and it wouldn't be the last.
Dean heard Cas chuckle as Cas reached forward and clutched Dean's hand in his own. Dean's heart seemed to double in size, and he continued. "She was never afraid to tell him what was what, even though he always seemed to scare me shitless. And they laughed, like all the time. They were always pulling pranks on each other and driving each other crazy. But damn, they were in love. When I was little, I asked my mom why she chose to marry my Dad, just because I had seen my first romantic comedy and was curious about how it worked in real life."
It was a text from Cas. Just the thing Dean was hoping to see. Dean felt a twinge in his stomach and he started blushing before he even read it.
Sam chuckled and Cas walked into the living room behind Dean. That's when Dean noticed that the love of his life was there, sitting on the couch with her legs crossed, and her nose stuck in a book as usual. His whole body lit up in excitement as he lunged himself forward and jumped on top of Jess, Sam's girlfriend of two years. She shrieked and giggled, giving him a huge hug as he picked her up and swung her around, her blonde curly hair bouncing off of her shoulders.
The rest of the day seemed to go on at a glacial pace. Dean wasn’t sure if that was because the activities were incredibly boring, his group hated him immensely, or because he was doing everything he could not to march over to Cas and rip his clothes off. They continued to play stupid games and Dean’s team continued to lose, but Dean tried his best not to get too upset about that.
Sam took his shot too, proposing the same offer, only to Bobby. Bobby's expression was soft, in a way Bobby's face very rarely got soft. "Of course I will, son."
There it sat, perfectly plump, and insanely tall. It was wrapped in the giant colored light bulbs that were popular back in the 70's that Ellen refused to throw out and several of Dean, Jo, and Sammy's childhood made ornaments. Ellen and Bobby were big believers that children decorated the tree, not adults. Because of that, there wasn't a single fancy bulb or crystal to be found on their trees. Only popsicle sticks and childhood pictures.
Cas was quiet for a while as he watched Dean work, his expression full of adoration. Of course, Dean didn't see, because his back was turned trying to fluff the pillows, but it was happening regardless. "Thank you.", Cas finally croaked out.
"Michael is he oldest, then Raphael, Gabriel, Duma, and then me. The rest of them are kind of dicks so, Gabriel and I don't really talk to them that often."
Dean could feel his cheeks warm up so he refused to look at Benny and instead broke into his dinner for the evening, "No", he lied.
Cas sped up even more as Cas felt Dean’s balls start to clench and he knew that Dean’s orgasm was building.
Castiel blushed hard and slid his face back a little bit further into the other room. The boy broke out into an all out chuckle.
"Yeah, it's the one across from the fountain." Dean answered. "It's about two hours, so I won't be home until later."
Blondie leaned over his smaller friend's lap to whisper back at ACDC, "Cassie, would you please relax? I know that it is medically impossible for you to remove the stick from your ass, but you need to liiive a little, beautiful." Blondie dragged his hand against Cassie's jaw.
Dean froze. Castiel continued in his laughing fit. Dean wanted to rewind that to make sure he heard correctly.
Dean could feel Cas lower his torso down against Dean’s and lean into his neck before his whispered, “Don’t worry, I liked it.”, and started scattering light kisses on Dean’s jaw and shell of his ear.
Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed his sleeping bag out of his closet, "Fuck you. Go to sleep, asshole."
Cas leaned down and whispered to Ellen as she finished up spiffing him up, "Thank you for everything."
Dean smiled as he thought about it and zipped up his now filled duffle bag before throwing it over his shoulder. Benny was still there, laying on his bed, not looking like his was going to move any time soon. Dean tapped on his shoulder and Benny opened his eyes. "Hey man, I'm gonna head out.", he mumbled.
It was still quiet between the two as Cas finished clearing off the plates and Dean watched him. He kept opening his mouth to start a sentence, and then pulling back. He probably did that three or four times before Cas stood up, and that's when Dean picked up the mashed potato bowl and began putting the left overs into a Tupperware container as if he hadn't been staring and attempting to break the wall. Dean was getting more and more nervous the longer they were left alone in the kitchen. This was a difficult situation. Did Cas only want to kiss Dean because he was thankful, and knew that Dean was into him? Did Cas actually want to kiss him at the time, but has decided that he doesn't actually like Dean anymore because of Dean's lack of action? Did Dean take advantage of Cas in the emotional state he was in, and now Cas was disgusted with him? He had no intention on taking advantage of Cas but, just because the intent wasn't there didn't mean it didn't happen. He just wished Cas would talk first. That way he could get a read on how Cas was feeling. Did he want to try that again? Did he just want to move on and act like it didn't happen? Maybe if he wasn't such a baby he would just ask him. He didn't want to pressure Cas though. He wanted Cas to make the first move. He wanted Cas to be in control of what happened next between them. Dean owed him that much, since he hadn't been in the position of control the past couple days. This was going to be on Cas's terms.
Dean's heart suddenly dropped. She had called him babe, he had kissed her on the cheek, and she slapped him on the ass. Was this Cas's girlfriend? Cas pulled Dean in closer so that Dean's neck was against Cas's face. "You smell good" Cas whispered and Dean's back was covered in chills.
"They're important to you Dean" Cas stated matter-of-factly, looking at Dean sincerely, "Of course I remember what you said about them."
Dean opened his closet to find his dress shirts organized and ironed perfectly. Evidence that Ellen had once again struggled to let Dean's room remain a mess. He chuckled at his lovable control freak as he chose the light blue shirt and grabbed his black dress pants as well. He heard a small knock on his door and told whoever it was to come on in since he was decent still. Sam opened the door and Dean looked down to see Sam in his church clothes with his tie wrapped around his neck like a scarf. Sam shut the door again behind him and asked defeated, "Can you do my tie, please?"
"Hey if it is Mr. Sutton, tell him it's about time he shaves the creeper 'stache, I'm tired of looking at it when I see him at the garage." Sam called out.
Gabriel and Baz had turned from their few yards to the right of the two of them and continued to walk backwards towards their building yelling, "IT WAS NICE TO MEET YOU DEEEEEAN" mockingly back at Castiel. Castiel rolled his eyes and huffed as he smiled slightly at Dean.
It had only been three days, but Dean really missed him. The slow and heavy intro broke and the beat caught up faster. Cas was still looking back at Dean as Dean stood up and started to dance his way up to the sink beside Cas. Once he reached Cas's side, he bumped his hip against Cas's to the beat of the song, which made Cas laugh harder and loosen up a little bit. Dean saw all the tension in Cas's shoulders slowly make it's way out of his body as he started to sway to the music and mumble the music to himself as he reached for the first dish.
Cas finally swung around to another side of a tree and leaned his head against the bark out of exhaustion. Castiel wasn’t much for running or exercise, and it was catching up with him now. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. He almost thought he could hear a voice in the distance, but he figured that it must be coming from his racing thoughts.
Gabe and Baz were beside themselves with quiet laughter as they slapped at their knees and pointed at Castiel. Cas glared at them as they both simultaneously started bobbing their tongues in and out of their cheeks with their fists going back and forth.
Cas grinned at Dean wickedly as he closed his suite door, his bags in hand. Once it was shut, Cas's grin turned into a shy smile as he turned around, looked down at the ground, and slid down the door slowly until he was squatting and picturing the look he had left on Dean's face. His cheeks were getting warm as he felt a blush creep from his neck up to his face as the butterflies danced around in his stomach. Dean was so cute. No matter how casually Cas acted around Dean, he knew that Dean was the cutest boy that he had ever met in his life. Every minor expression, smile, and detail on Dean's face was like kryptonite to Cas, and it was all Cas could do to keep himself from curling himself up into Dean's chest and hanging on for dear life.
Castiel felt tears creep into his eyes, knowing exactly what Dean meant by that. He curled further into Dean’s chest and inhaled his sweaty and musky scent. “It was my absolute pleasure.”
"That's the spirit!" Gabriel said, almost a little too loudly. Castiel reached over and punched Gabriel in the arm.
"Whose ring is that?" Cas asked, out of the blue. "I have been so curious for so long and I just need to know."
Dean pulled his bottom lip to chew on it before answering. Charlie had known about Castiel. Dean talked about him almost every coffee meeting Monday since he met him. Dean didn't even have to tell her that he was into him. After a few minutes of talking about him after their first religion class, Charlie had nailed him about being a lost cause. She want to know everything that happened from start to finish, and he wasn't really prepared to explain how he had royally embarrassed himself.
Castiel didn't even look at his brother before his elbow jammed as hard as it possibly could into Gabriel's rib cage. Dean's face was on fire. This bus ride had only been going on for 5 minutes and they've already had a handful of uncomfortable moments. How were they gonna last the full two hours? Dean realized that it was unlike Gabe to make comments that blunt about the two of them in from of Cas. He usually said those kinds of things to make Dean uncomfortable when they were alone.
Dean noticed Gabriel's absence. He wasn't with the others. He must have slipped out between Piano Man ending, and Dean and Cas's performance, which was unlike him. Dean figured that Gabriel would have wanted to stay and watch that unfold, considering he had told Dean that he had been actually doing things to purposely get them to get together a few weeks ago. Dean whipped his head around looking for his friend, and didn't see him anywhere on the dance floor/dining room that they were in.
Also I just want to let everyone know who may be reading this chapter as it comes out, that I've changed a detail. Originally I had it so that confirmation was in May for the college gang, because that's usually when confirmation happens. However, I decided to change it to early March because I realized that they have way longer religious ed classes which means that they would finish their hours way quicker. I changed it in the previous chapters, but I wanted to say it here just in case the change wasn't noticed.
Castiel watched as his father dropped his work boots next to where Castiel was standing and then turned around to his mother again.
Hearing the sound of her son's laugh, Ellen finally turned around and saw Dean. She spread her arms wide and gathered Dean in for his own hug, and any tension that Dean had been holding in his body suddenly turned to mush as he accepted a hug from his mama. She muttered something about it being about damn time, and Dean kissed her on the head.
Finally, Cas picked his head of up Dean’s chest and looked down at him, his blue eyes twinkling in the bright sunlight. His fingers were still lightly tracing the lines of Dean’s jacket as Cas grinned softly and muttered so softly that Dean almost didn’t hear, “I heard you call me baby ya know”
Cas let Dean lead him to the middle of the dancefloor where Dean, seeming to be surviving on the adrenaline of the moment, began to dance slightly by moving his shoulders to the beat of the song. Castiel stepped carefully toward Dean, as Dean picked up the pace a little and grabbed Cas to motivate him to dance too. Cas finally took the hint and started to move his hips a little bit to the music. After a while, the two of them were really dancing with the people around them. Cas continued to take swigs from the bottle, and Dean felt his stomach flip watching Castiel's adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Dean could see the sweat pouring down his face and neck as he continued to dance, and wow. Cas was actually a really good dancer. The two of them sang Mr. Brightside together, or more like, screamed it together and Dean held his breath the few times they accidentally touched hands.
Dean shuddered at the idea of alcohol even looking at him tonight, let alone actually drinking. He was way too exhausted, and way too stressed out for all of that tonight. "Oh my god, there is absolutely no way I could go out tonight. I would rather die."
Mass passed by relatively quickly that day. Much to Dean's frustration, Mrs. Butterfield was there after all. The organ somehow managed to get even louder than it had been last weekend. The first clang of the gathering hymn was so loud it made him jump out of his skin, and he heard his younger brother snicker from the other side of pew. Dean made sure to trip him a little bit on their way out.
"Why did you feel the need to stage that whole thing?" Dean asked, surprise still hanging on inside his chest.
Eventually Cas ate the dinner that Dean had brought to him, but the ended up bring it out to the main part of the house so that way they could warm it up first. Dean took Cas's coat and hung it up as Cas received hugs from the rest of the family. They were quiet at first, but welcoming all the same, not wanting to scare Cas off by overwhelming him or jumping all over him. Ellen told him that he would be staying there until they needed to go back to school. Cas tried to dispute, saying that he needed to bring the car back, but Ellen would have none of it. She assured him that Bobby and Sam would take care of it, and that she wouldn't hear anymore about it. Cas smiled a little and thanked her quietly. Jo and Sam invited Cas to come and play Mario Kart with them once he was finished eating, and after playing with them for a while, it seemed to cheer him up and bring him basically back to normal.
Dean thought about it for a minute. He had no clue. He had only been at school for a month, the end of the year seemed a million miles away. "I think I heard Benny say at some point that we finish in early May, but I'm not 100% sure. Why are you asking?"
The small guy snorted, "Can you not hit on my little brother for like," he paused to hiccup, "two seconds?"
"Not usually" he answered, "In fact, it's usually quite the opposite. With women I like the ones who are feisty and outgoing, and usually the guys I go for are quippy and flirty. Cas is different. He's thoughtful and serious, and he actually sees people all at once, not just as someone to talk to or someone to entertain him. He's smart. He's smarter than almost anyone I've ever met, but not in a way that makes you feel like you're stupid. He just gets it. People, concepts, everything."
Almost before the sentence even finished, the gang of craziness turned to face Dean. Balthazar leaned forward and tapped on his hand relentlessly. "He's ours! I called dibs on this one!"
Images of his father entered his head involuntarily. All the family arguments and problems between his father and mother, memories of himself at age 10, promising to himself that he would never put himself in the position to be hurt again for the rest of his life, not for love or money, and the idea of things turning nasty between them flooded his train of thought and he felt it all squirming inside his skin. Oh, and God forbid it was Cas who broke Dean's heart in the future after all of the horrible things that Dean has been through. He didn't want to be the cause of more trauma and sadness in Dean's life. He finally spoke up, and when he did, his voice was broken and sad. "I can't."
As Dean filed in the isle on the inside of the bus, he was surprised to see the layout before him. He was expecting two columns of seating and an isle in the middle, but this bus actually just had a few clusters of seats facing one another, more like the layout of a train. Dean sighed a tiny sigh of relief. The four of them would be able to sit together, and he wouldn't be stuck on an awkward journey with just Cas for two hours. They picked a cluster towards the back and Dean sat on the same side as Baz, so that Gabriel and Cas were sitting across from them.
Cas had barely realized that he started to walk away from the group and towards the woods as he looked down at his wet and muddy shoes, carrying him to a place to get some air. Yes, he was already outside and technically didn't really need air, but he needed a place where he could clear his head for a moment.
Jess was an honorary family member at this point, after all she had done for each one of them, especially Sam. She was always there for them in times of crisis, and really came through when she was needed most. She was smart, extraordinarily kind, sincere, compassionate, and fiercely loving. She was easily Dean's favorite person on the whole planet, well, she
Dean’s balls rolled around in Cas’s hands as Cas sped up his movements, the bitter taste of precoma coating the inside of his mouth. This may only be his first time doing this, but Cas already knew that he had a taste for it.
“Dean” Cas moaned out, latching his fingers into Dean’s soft hair. He was getting breathless and he felt Dean move one of his hands down to Castiel’s right nipple, rubbing it into hardness as Cas bit down on his bottom lip. “I meant it, Dean” he whimpered, “I meant it completely. I’ve been in love with you ever sense I handed you that sign in sheet on the first day of religious ed.” Cas felt his breath catch as Dean moved his mouth down to his collar bone and nibble against the thin skin there.
Dean nodded and sighed so hard he thought that some braincells came out. "Very unfortunately", he muttered.
Castiel’s tongue swirled around as he pulled up to Dean’s tip and then back down, looking at Dean through his long eyelashes the whole time. Dean’s teeth were biting into his bottom lip so hard that Cas was expecting blood to drizzle out and suddenly Dean’s grip on Castiel’s hair tightened immensely.
For fun I did the Myers Briggs personality test for our two mains and Castiel got INFJ and Dean got ESFP in case you were wondering lol.
Chuck looked up at them with annoyance. "Are the three of you going to sit down, or are you just going to stand their giggling the whole time?"
Dean was ripped suddenly from his dream with the clamoring of his alarm. He shot up from his sleeping bag in reflex and looked around to take in his surroundings. Memories of why he was on the floor washed over him as he blinked hard and woke himself up further. He looked over to his noisy alarm clock to see that it read 6:45am. His head ached a little. Nothing serious. He leaned over to his nightstand to turn off his noisy digital clock, careful not to knock over his water bottle from its spot. Dean stood up from his spot on the floor and was instantly hit with goosebumps and shivers. It was freezing in there. He ran over to his dresser and quickly threw on jeans and a burgundy sweater. He looked around for the source of the frigid air and realized that the window had been opened. He had no recollection of doing that, so Castiel must have cracked it during the night. Dean understood that. When he had been hungover in the past, he also found himself in between hot and cold flashes.
"Brilliant. Come over here. It's only fair you take care of the problem you helped create. I'll leave the suite door open so you can just walk in. Fourth floor, babe." Balthazar hung up.
When it seemed that Castiel was finally done, he just laid down on the pavement next to his puking spot and closed his eyes. Understanding how Castiel must feel, Dean found himself getting down and laying beside him. A few minutes past as they laid there silently. Thankfully this house was far enough from campus that they didn't have to worry about cops driving past. Finally, Cas spoke, "I'm sorry, Dean."
Good. Music Dean could do. He knew exactly what to play too. Dean opened his Spotify and opened up the Mac Miller playlist that he had been building up over the past few weeks. He had always been a fan of his music, but ever since he found out that he was Cas's favorite, he had been compiling a playlist of just his favorite Mac Miller songs so that he could eventually discuss them with Cas and figure out his favorites. Even though Dean thought that he would share it with Cas when things were normal between the two of them, he didn't mind sharing earlier. He knew Cas could use the pick me up. Dean held his breath and looked over at Cas, who was turning on the water and putting the soap on the sponge, as he hit shuffle and let the first notes of the first song bleed into the kitchen. Cas turned quickly around with a smile in his eyes as he realized what was being played, and he grinned at Dean before tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth in excitement.
Cas sighed, "You guys don't understand. I've never done anything like this before. I don't even know if he actually likes me." Castiel looked down at this jeans and started to pick at a thread that was poking out at the knee.
"You better get off this phone then, boy. Get in there. Didn't you say that today is your community service day?" Ellen asked.
The stranger took a second to breath out his start and then cracked a smile, "You really gon' hide with your head peakin' out like a 5 year old?"
As they descended from their seats and the rest of the class erupted into conversation with one another, Baz threw his arm around Dean, "So, are you going to out with us tonight, scamp?"
"Would you two stop?" Cas asked, his face still in his jeans, "Nothing happened, okay? At least nothing real happened anyway."
Dean snorted and quickly covered his mouth as Cas's face lit up into a mischevious smile and snickered quietly with Dean. Castiel whispered again, "So that's now
He finally broke the silence with a quiet “Uh…hi” and Gabriel and Balthazar started cheering and whistling. He saw Cas reach over and punch Gabe in the arm and Dean continued.
Chuck glared at Gabriel. The four of them were not used to being this close to the guy, and forgot that he could probably hear them from their spot. "I would appreciate you keeping your comments to yourself, young man."
Dean pulled up to the curb in front of the house. Closing his eyes tight and preparing himself to look as awake as possible to avoid his family picking fun at him for the rest of the day. He opened his door and stretched until he pulled a muscle and joined Sam as he opened the front door.
It's been two weeks since the party. Dean agrees to take the gang on a trip to his house for a family day Sunday. Gabriel and Balthazar continue trying to get Dean and Castiel alone together.
Cas was quiet a lot of the time. He was constantly listening and thinking. There were a lot of times that Cas would just smile to himself at a funny comment or roll his eyes at a stupid joke, but didn't feel the need to reply or speak like so many other people, including Dean, needed to in order to feel like a part of the conversation. When Cas did talk though, it was always a well calculated and amazing use of his voice. It was either a zinger that decimated whoever was talking before him and made them all drop their jaws, an explanation of something the rest of them didn't understand that made perfect sense, or a really well thought out response to something that we had to read, or conversation they were having. Cas was not only thoughtful, but articulate, and Dean had never met someone like that before.
"I told John he should have you do it when the time came, but I guess he just never got around to enrolling you into religious ed." Bobby explained.
Gabriel just started laughing. Dean used every brain cell he had to keep himself from cheering as he looked at Balthazar with smiling eyes. God he could kiss Baz right now.
Detecting Dean's embarrassment, Castiel reached his hand over to Dean's leg and said, "Don't worry, I'm not completely selfless. There isn't a chance in hell I'm going to the babysitting one."
Dean saluted with two fingers as he loaded the last of the food onto this plate for Cas and turned around to go back into the porch. He found Cas still sitting where Dean had left him, except now he was picking at his fingers anxiously, and his fingers were shaking. Dean placed the food down on the table out there and sat down next to Cas and placed a hand on his back. "Where's Gabriel?"
"I don't even know why I asked," she started, "it was written all over your face when you brought him here. I mean, shit. I genuinely thought you were bringing home your boyfriend to meet the family until you told me that you guys were friends."
Castiel finally managed to peel his eyes open and look at Dean. His euphoria catching up to him as his mouth opened a little wider in pleasure. His dark blue irises were almost completely absorbed by his pupils and he moaned as Dean fisted his cock even harder.
Dean opened his mouth to decline when Cas spoke up, "Well, I don't think Dean will be able to. He has an 8am on Mondays."
Castiel let her out of his embrace and then booped her right on the nose. She smirked and booped him right back before letting out a tiny whisper, "I'll miss you, Mr."
Dean blew air out of his nose in a laugh as he watched Castiel squint to look at the melting snow in his hands. This continued for about a minute, when Cas finally looked up to see Dean watching him fondly. "What?"
Everyone quickly silenced and looked at her expectantly. "So, Sam, have you decided who you want to be your sponsor yet?"
"Touchy, touchy", Dean mumbled, almost low enough that Castiel wouldn't have heard it. Almost. "I'm your father's farm hand. I was lookin' for work, and he was lookin' for help. I'm actually pretty sure I took your spot in the line up, Cas."
Dean smiled. Even though he was annoyed at Gabriel for offering this outing without asking, he was glad that he had an excuse to go home. He missed the smell of his house, and he wanted to see his family. It had been too long. "Trust me, I'm glad I'm coming too. Just prepare yourself. Two out of three of them are wild cards. I have no control or responsibility for their actions."
Cas tried to stick up for him, "No, he's right. My intro to Greek myth is really slamming me a lot harder than I was expecting it to."
Castiel watched as Dean shoved his hard leather gloves back on his truly exquisite looking hands, and shifted his cowboy hat a little before winking at Castiel and leaving out the front door.
Dean threw his final sweatshirt into his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. He checked his phone one final time before committing to the plan that he and Benny had decided on the night before. There was still nothing from Cas. Just a text from Baz saying, "Please bring coffee for your favorite neighborhood drunk."
Had he just winked at him? What a prick. Castiel was sure that Hannah must've liked him. Not only because they were both talented in pissing Castiel off with their quick wit, but also because Dean, by anyone's definition, was a total dreamboat. Hannah was a pretty girl. She deserved someone like Dean.
Cas was still looking at the floor and was silent yet again. Dean waited patiently, not wanting to rush him. Cas started to talk again. "Apparently he's getting married. To the secretary." Cas suddenly started to chuckle, then it turned into a full blown laugh. Dean felt his heart drop as the laughing fit continued. "My father!" Cas laughed, "Getting married to the
Gabe threw himself back in laughter, forgetting that he was attached to Dean and Dean almost fell on his ass. They stumbled back in balanced and Gabe answered, "Cassie is like- the BIGGEST Mac Miller fan on this entire planet of earth, man! And you?" Gabe stopped in his tracks and pointed his finger in Dean's face with a smile, "You are a horny son of a bitch, and I knew it wouldn't take a lot to break ya. Plus I saw the Mac Miller sticker on your laptop." They started walking again.
Dean stopped fluffing and turned around to look at Cas, tears entering his eyes again. Dean had never seen eyes so blue before he met Cas, and Dean felt his knees turn into butter. Dean walked a few steps closer to Cas, and Cas turned toward the window trying to get his emotions back in check. Dean walked around and intercepted Cas's line of sight and stood before Cas looking down at him. Cas gnawed at his bottom lip and avoided eye contact again as another tear slipped down his cheek. A lump formed in Dean's throat and his fingers started to tingle as he guided his own hands forward to cradle Cas's face in both of his hands. Cas's breath hitched and he looked up at Dean, his eyes saying about 50 things at once. Dean's breathing started to stagger and Cas started to move his face in closer, so slowly that Dean wasn't sure it was actually happening at first. Dean felt like he was floating and having a panic attack as he began to move his face down too.
. Dean cleared his throat and tried, but failed, to keep his crimson blush from creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. He rose from his seat and dared to place his hand at Castiel's middle before saying sort of quietly, "Here, Cas. Let me."
Gabe smiled and stuck his finger out to pause the conversation before yelling out again. "What makes you think that it'll be Cassie on his knees?"
"You must be Castiel", said the boy, his intense drawl coating Castiel's name like honey. He raised his arm to extend his hand out to him. "'M Dean."
Suddenly Cas took a deep and frustrated breath, and without looking up said, "If you want to sit down, just do it, I'm not sure why you're waiting for an invitation."
Dean could feel his heart racing and he was starting to sweat. He decided to take out his phone and call Ellen and catch up, trying his best to stall before he had to go in. Maybe he would get so into the conversation he would just talk with her until it was over.
Dean was happy that the first song wasn't overly sexual or romantic in nature, because he just wanted Cas to have fun, without any other possible meanings coming out. This song did that. Cas changed from swaying to moving his shoulders along as well, and Dean took the cue to use the dish towel like it was a cane in his dance number. With that, Cas lifted the faucet of the sink and turned it around so the back of it was to himself and brought it to his mouth like it was a microphone, while at the same time, cleaning off the dish that he had just washed before passing it off to Dean. The two of them continued to sing and dance as the song continued and lead to other songs on the playlist. Dean could feel his heart growing by the minute. His Cas was back.
Castiel always sat on the very end of the row, furthest away from Dean. Dean was usually there first so he would just sit in any random seat, and then the group would find him and sit right beside him, but Cas never failed to sit as far away from Dean as possible. Dean even tried to switch it up, and through him off guard by sitting at the end of the row, closest to the isle, and Cas
Cas looked up at Dean and Dean almost didn't recognize him. His eyes were red and puffy, and there was a small purple bruise forming just underneath his left eye, in the shape of an incredibly thin crescent moon. Cas had always been a little shorter than Dean, but Dean never thought he looked small until this moment.
Cas just looked at him for a second and opened his mouth to decline before Dean cut him off, "Before you even try, Cas, you're going. You went through a lot today, and you need to rest. They don't care if we go up. C'mon." Dean shook his hand again, nonverbally telling Cas to grab it.
Cas's face blushed underneath him and his breath became staggered. Dean quickly licked his bottom lip to moisten it when he heard Ellen's voice.
Dean chewed on some of his pork fried rice as he thought about this. He knew it seemed petulant but, it kind of sounded like a good plan to him. It's definitely way less embarrassing than the emotional heart to heart, and possible rejection alternative.
Cas's cheeks went pink and he looked at Dean for a second before thanking him and stepping to the side. Dean got on his tip toes and shoved Cas's backpack into the spot without a problem. Those extra inches really helped him out.
The table broke into chatter as the family started their own side conversations with each other. Dean and Charlie started talking about the chemistry project that they'd been working on for a couple weeks, Sam and Jo started bickering about who would get to pick the first game of the day, and Bobby leaned back in the booth and opened the newspaper to the sports section. Ellen looked around for a second at the commotion, and cleared her throat loudly to get everyone's attention.
Dean rushed into his room and changed so fast he actually slipped a couple of times. His socks on the slippery hard floor mixed with his frenzy were a recipe for disaster. Once he finally had everything he wanted to wear on and ready to go, he could hear the voices of everyone in the house exchanging pleasantries in the living room without him. He raced down the stairs, thankfully for him, with shoes on this time, and zoomed into the room with the rest of them in time to see Ellen hugging Cas tightly. Cas made eye contact with him and Dean chuckled.
Castiel swallowed, eyes still wide, "I've never actually been to one of these before" he admitted, "I actually had no plans on coming until you said you wanted to come."
Dean knew it was a lie. Catholics were super weird about the no parent rule. He just knew that when Sammy told the guy the whole story of what Bobby or Ellen meant to him, they would figure out that they weren't actually blood. Not realizing he was doing it until he actually did it, he reached up from under the table and laid his hand on top of Castiel's. Without even blinking or looking away from Sam, Cas laid his other hand on top of Dean's and rubbed his thumb against his knuckles comfortingly. Dean looked across the table to Jess, her eyes were filled with tears and she smiled at Dean.
Cas nodded and Dean pulled up to the curb in front of his house. He held his breath and him and Cas exited the car and made their way to the door.
Dean shook his head but couldn't help but smile while he watched Cas attempt to get ahold of himself. Dean began to chuckle too as Cas wiped his eyes. He much preferred watching Cas cry out of laughter than the alternative. It was definitely easier on Dean's heart. And his rage.
Great. Dean could see how out of shape Cas really was. Cas lifted his head from resting against the trunk of the tree to turn and face Dean head on. Between shaky breaths Cas blurted out, “Did you really mean that? Did you really mean to say what you did up there?”
"Oh, but would you like to be, my friend?" He held up a flask to Dean's face and wiggled it a little, "My name's Gabriel, and I promise that this is not some elaborate plan to roofie you."
"Okay gang," Bela started, "Bathroom is upstairs and to the right, back porch is attached to the kitchen, and the basement is sound proof. So, have fun!"
The pet name just seemed to slip out of Dean without him even thinking about it. Jesus. A few kisses and he was suddenly turning into a lovesick puppy. He hoped that Cas didn't notice or would just act like he didn't to save Dean some embarrassment. Cas closed his eyes for a minute and took a deep breath before looking down at Dean and nodding curtly. Dean smiled again and took a couple steps back, reaching his arms up to Cas and nodding reassuringly as Cas made eye contact with him.
"Yup, just a few nights ago. I'm still up on the choppin' block, so maybe you'll be off the hook." she giggled a little and tapped him with her elbow a couple of times.
Dean patted her back and laughed at the state of his friend. "How late were you up last night?", he asked.
Ellen interrogated Cas a little bit and was able to figure out what he liked to eat in order to make his final home meals before the semester started up again. Dean's favorite meals were pushed to the side, but he didn't even noticed. He would've cooked the damn meals if that's what Cas wanted. Cas ended up asking for homemade mac and cheese one night, steak another, and on their final day before leaving for campus, Cas asked for bacon cheeseburgers. When Dean pointed out that it was also one of the meal's that he had wanted, and Cas assured him that he had asked for it so that Dean would actually get to have it.
The program not only included the courses, but provided opportunities for community service and the week long retreat that are required before confirmation. Reading about all of the stuff he had to do was making Dean less and less excited about it, and he was already dreading it the second he found out about it. But, he loved his mama, and his mama loved Jesus, and his Mom, Mary, would want him to do this for Ellen. Dean twisted his father's wedding band in his fingers before clicking on the enroll button and officially signing up for the pain.
Cas stopped him, "Of course not, Dean. I want to go. They seem great, from your stories, and I want to start putting faces to names." Cas looked down and put the car into drive. Dean looked up at him, surprised. "Now let's get going, we're going to be late!"
Once it started to get dark outside, Chuck gathered everyone back together and announced that they were going to build a bonfire as one of their final team building exercise. Dean, Gabe, Baz, and Cas all let out groans of relief at the fact that the day’s forced family fun activities were almost over and got to work with the rest of the group to start putting the wood for the fire in the correct formation.
"Oh, shut up." Dean spat. "Why do I have to do it now? I'm already 18, can't I just skip this one?"
Dean heard Cas gasp slightly as Dean nibbled on the spot where his neck met his shoulder, and Dean moved back up to his mouth. They kissed slowly, but deep as their tongues softly caressed the inside of each other’s mouths. Dean’s fingers clenched down on Castiel’s tangled hair and Cas made a soft noise in response. The hand that wasn’t curled around Cas’s hair slid its way down his chest and Dean slid his thumb over Castiel’s nipple, massaging it into hardness and Cas let out another slight whimper.
Castiel began to practice what he was gonna say when he entered the door. Maybe something witty to lighten the tension? Maybe something kind to buy him some sympathy? Maybe something stern and confident to let them know he wasn't gonna be made to feel bad about his choices?
Dean arrived back to his room around 7:45. He had stopped to get dinner for Benny and himself because he received a whiney text from his roommate just as he was passing the take out dining hall. He got Benny four soft tacos and himself a burrito bowl. He threw the bag of food on Benny's desk in front of him and slid his flannel off in one slick movement before face planting on his bed.
The emotions Dean had been experience had almost nothing to do with the religion behind the song, but Dean didn't need to clarify that. Instead Dean just pressed his lips together in a small acknowledgement and nodded curtly before looking back down at the crowd.
Dean laughed a little bit out of love for his friend, regardless of the disheartening feeling that was creeping over him at the lack of text from Castiel. Benny was already off studying with one of his friends, so he wasn't there to see Dean off, but before he left he made sure to remind him of what to look for after the flirting operation had begun. Dean took a deep breath and tried to get himself in the confident flirting zone quickly before leaving the room to get Baz his coffee.
Castiel smiled and pulled his hand back before swatting Balthazar's hand off of Dean's. "This is my brother Gabriel," Cas pointed out, "and his friend Balthazar."
"Yes sir" he answered, and bounced over back over to his seat with a giddy grin. Gabe reached across the space between them to high five Dean. "That was awesome, dude."
Hey everyone! I'm sorry this took so long to finish. As I said last time, I'm back at college, so that means I live, eat, and drink school now. I'll be sure to stop and write whenever I can though.
Being flipped so that Cas was now straddling Dean's waist and Dean could feel Cas's thighs against his own ribs must've spurred something on in Dean, because suddenly he flipped them back over, pretty aggressively and pined Cas's arms above his head, holding his wrists firmly. Cas grunted in surprise and his eyes widened, Dean's blood was running hot in his veins as he looked at Cas predatorily. He saw Cas swallow hard underneath him and Dean leant down closer to Cas and said smoothly and low, "Is that all you've got, tough guy?"
Cas swallowed and his eyes filled with tears as he clenched his teeth and brought his hand to Dean's opposite cheek and stared for a minute. "Damn right."
Dean scowled at Benny, "He's a friend of mine. He's insanely drunk and is staying here because he doesn't have his ID. Keep it in your pants.", Dean sighed, "and put your fucking shirt on."
Dean felt his face blush crimson and he shoved his face in the couch cushions and whined, "I'm so toast."
About 5 minutes after Dean and Cas returned, Gadreel and Baz waltzed back over to the rest of the group as well. Gadreel still looked perfect, not a hair out of place, as if he had just gone to the bathroom or something, but Baz wasn’t so lucky. His hair was pulled in about six different directions and his face all but shouted “I just got rawed” as soon as Dean looked at him. Dean heard Cas let out a small giggle and Gabe whistled like he was catcalling Balthazar. Of course, in typical Balthazar fashion, he just smiled and blew all of them an individual kiss.
Someone to the left of them cleared their throat, and suddenly the reminder of where they were and who they were with slammed into Dean's mind like a freight train. Dean took in a sharp breath at the sound and looked over to see Baz, Ruby, and Bela just staring at them. They all had looks of both shock and awe, and Baz's jaw was basically on the floor. The music had returned to the norm of a college party as the beginning notes of Welcome to the Black Parade came blaring through the speakers. That seems to be enough to change the attention spans of their audience back to partying and singing themselves, and Castiel, as Cas ran over to the others to chant those beginning lines. Dean was still reeling and didn't join them.
Dean sighed. Well, apparently this is happening. "Great, Cas. I'm sure they'll love you." Dean smiled at Cas, but then shot a glare over to Gabe, who had a shit eating grin smeared across his face.
After a few minutes, Castiel got up from his seat to go to the bathroom, letting go of Dean's hand gently. Dean deflated a little bit, wanting it to return. That is, until Cas leaned down before him and kissed him on the cheek before descending to the back of the bus. Dean almost fell out of his chair.
"Dude, you've got that guy wrapped around your tiny little finger.", Gabriel snickered, "But yeah, what Baz said."
Benny looked up from his food and rolled his tongue over his teeth, making stone cold eye contact with Dean. "Okay, dick head. Message received."
Cas spent the next few minutes explaining to the two of them everything that had happened over the past few days, making sure to be specific about each almost kiss incident so that he wouldn't be yelled at for withholding information later on. Baz and Gabe were practically shrieking by the end of it all, reacting to each part of the story like they were watching a movie and they were on the edge of their seats. When Cas explained the final interaction between he and Dean that took place only 15 minutes ago in front of the door, both of them threw their heads back in frustration and groaned dramatically.
The four of them arrived at the party around 11. Dean thought it seemed early to show up to a party like this, but to be fair, he didn't usually know the people that he were throwing the parties he had been too. They had all went out to eat beforehand and stopped by a liquor store. Thankfully Bela had a fake ID and was able to buy four bottles of liquor without a problem. They all had their backpacks, so they were easy to conceal. Cas seemed to open up more at dinner. He talked about his major and told stories about Gabriel and Balthazar that made the girls laugh, but all Dean did while he listened was look at the way his muscles moved under his hoodie while he talked.
"-but I don't make any promises. Try your best to keep bring your best attention forward in these next few months. It will be over soon."
Dean blinked and looked back at Cas, who was looking back now. Cas reached across himself and laid a hand on Dean's chest to feel the ring that had fallen there, not breaking eye contact. Dean's breath hitched and tears gathered in his eyes, probably because of the booze that were starting to catch up with him now. Nobody had actually asked him about it before in these four years. Everyone at home knew what it was, so they didn't need to ask. Living in such a small town, everyone knew everyone's business, and nobody at school had noticed yet. I guess that was Dean's fault, for assuming that there was something Cas had not noticed. He seemed to notice everything.
Castiel clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before his mother stepped to the side, and left him face to face with his old man.
Hannah, of course, was the first to break the silence. "Well, don't everyone crowd him all at once, now." she spat out, sarcastically.
Cas chuckled and pushed Balthazar's hand away teasingly before Gabe added, "Yeah, you wish you thirsty bitch."
Dean sighed before lifting his head and looking at Castiel again, who was now wearing an incredibly fond look on his face, his smile spread from ear to ear in a way that said
"I miss you too, kid. Jo and Sam are at each other's throats lately I-", she was interrupted by a loud crash. Dean could hear Jo and Sam squabbling. "Hang on a second, honey."
He rolled up to their building and only waited a few minutes before he saw movement at the door. Cas came out in a light blue dress shirt and a black tie and his normally spiky and unkept hair was combed and gelled to look perfectly respectable. He looked great. Once Dean was done being distracted by Cas's outfit, he noticed that he was alone.
The song mentioned is "Blue World" by Mac Miller, which can be found on Spotify, and on YouTube here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_GC2wFTCAGY
Dean swallowed hard. Cas and him had become more comfortable with one another but, it was getting harder to pretend he wasn't feeling anything for the guy. Dean was torn between being glad that they were getting along and hanging out more, and wishing that they could go back to Cas just being around him at religious ed and talking to him occasionally. Dean loved spending time with Cas and talking to him, but being able to appreciate and be interested in Cas from a far was easier and safer. Ever since that day with his family, the aching feeling of want and pining was starting to become too much.
Dean just chuckled. It was honestly on him for assuming she would accept an answer like that in the first place.
The family, once again, looked at each other expectantly. No one raised a hand or nodded. "I'll go see who it is, maybe Mr. Sutton needs to borrow the shovel again." Dean said, standing up and wiping the excess sauce off of his face from messing with Jo before he left the table.
Dean looked down at Cas fondly as his head leaned up against Dean’s chest. Dean smiled as he looked at Cas’s hair pressed up against his sweater when he was suddenly shocked out of his loving gaze.
Baz just shrugged, okay with that assessment. He got back to his dancing, but this time, the girls joined in.
Before Dean could think another thought, Balthazar and Gabriel were both ungracefully climbing over their seats to come sit beside Dean. Balthazar started stroking Dean's hand and Gabriel grabbed Dean's backpack and started to look through it. He grabbed Dean's Anthropology text book and looked at it thoughtfully, "Shut up, we are not in the same class on Thursday!"
"Definitely" Dean muttered, now close enough to Cas that Dean could hear him breathing. They paused, and Cas looked down at Dean's mouth quickly before looking back up into his eyes. Cas darted his tongue out quickly to coat his lips with moisture and Dean quickly reached his left hand down into the filling sink and splashed a huge wave onto Castiel without breaking eye contact. He smiled a giant, teeth showing, goofy grin as Cas gasped in surprise, now dripping onto the floor.
The whole table went quiet, and no one dared make eye contact with another person. No one had the heart to tell him that Bobby and Ellen didn't actually count as his parents. No one had the heart to say it in front of Bobby and Ellen, though Dean was sure they were thinking it too.
"Mama!" Sam bellowed out to Ellen with a smirk, making direct eye contact with Dean while he watched his brother wince and cover his ears, "We're home!"
"Nope. I just had the one. Figured if I had to take an 8 am I at least deserve the rest of the day off, ya know?"
Cas could feel the tears slip from his eyes as his brother spoke. Gabe leaned over and squeezed Cas's shoulder and smiled at him. That's when Baltazar leaned his head against Castiel's shoulder and squeezed in a sort of side hug. Cas looked over at him and patted his head a little before Baz sat up again and looked into Castiel's eyes, "You're far too beautiful to live your life a spinster, my sweet." Baz dragged his knuckles down Castiel's face slowly. "And if things don't work out with this chuckle head, you can always run away with me."
It took a little bit longer than it should have because a few puke breaks had to be taken, but they eventually made it to Dean's room. Dean now had his arm snaked under Cas's arms to keep him walking and Cas was leaning most of his weight into him. Dean didn't mind. Dean pushed the door open and found Benny taking his shirt off and getting ready for bed. He had just got home from a party too. Dean could smell the whiskey he had been drinking.
Charlie didn't look up from her textbook, which she was currently highlighting. "That's not an option, dude."
Dean was at a complete loss for words. He let the seriousness of Bobby's words seep into him and digest in his brain before he was being pulled into a hug. Dean swallowed hard and squeezed his hands into fists before Bobby clapped his hand on Dean's back and let go.
"You will never become, Dad. Ever. You are kind, you are thoughtful, and you have never, could never, and will never, hurt a fly." Cas opened his mouth to bring up his other points when Gabriel put a finger to his mouth and continued, "And there is no way that Dean, or anyone else that you date for that matter, would be anything like Dad either. You see everything. You pick up on everything. I mean, except for Dean dragging his tongue on the floor while he gushes after you that is." Cas smiled a little at that. "But the important stuff, you notice. I have no doubt in my mind that you will never allow yourself to be with someone like
This is a Cas POV chapter. It is going to stay in third person as it has been so far, but the narrative will follow Cas's thoughts and action as it has for Dean in the past. It will go back to Dean's perspective next chapter and probably will stay that way until the end, but maybe we'll pepper in some more chapters like this in the future if it goes well!
Dean had introduced them a few days after the tequila incident. Charlie had begun to threaten homicide if she didn't get a chance to "check out the merchandise". Of course, they hit it off.
Dean could swear he heard Cas gasp as quiet as a mouse as another tear fell onto his cheek. Cas pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and sighed, his blue eyes almost looking silver with his tears surrounding them, and repeated the motion back to Dean.
Dean threw his head back and sighed. After a few minutes of silently pouting and pondering, he looked back up at Ellen pitifully, "Do I really have to do it, Mama?"
Cas's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in a kind of smile before he moved the faucet back over to face the sink and laughed his ass off. "I'm so sorry Dean," he managed to get out between barks of loud laughter, "but that was definitely worth hearing your little mousey scream." Cas threw his head back in another fit of laughter.
Dean’s eyes fluttered open, confused and startled by Cas’s sudden movements. Cas had sat up completely and was now straddling Dean’s torso.
to do something like this. Dean felt like a dick for commenting like he did, but it was too late to back peddle now. "I guess I'm just not as selfless as you, Cas."
Before Dean could even open his mouth to talk to him, Cas sank to his knees in front of Dean and began to unbutton his jeans.
Next, Cas opened his mouth and started suckling at the tip. Dean’s hands immediately went to Castiel’s hair and Cas hummed. Dean touching him was everything he needed in this moment.
Dean realized that Cas had been staring out the window as Dean finished up putting the left overs away in the fridge. He seemed incredibly lost in thought. Dean hated to interrupt him, but he didn't want to scare Cas or disrupt him even more by starting up the dishes or anything without letting him know. That's when he got an idea.
Dean could feel his face start to warm up with embarrassment and he quickly wrapped his arms around his face to hide from Cas, who was just looking more and more beautiful by the second outside in the woods like this. It was unfair, really. Dean groaned underneath his arms and yelled out, “No you didn’t! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Balthazar laughed for a while, wheezed actually, trying to catch his breath before yelling out away from the phone, "Cassie, is that true? Did you really chug tequila on your first night as a real college student? That's so hilarious." Balthazar returned to the phone, "You've corrupted our little goodie two shoes, you scoundrel."
"I love the logic there, kid." Dean finished up by tightening the tie just tight enough that Sam wouldn't be uncomfortable.
“In fact, your little display of enthusiasm is what made me choose you to go first. You’re clearly comfortable with singing and performing so, you’re the perfect choice to break the ice.” Dean just stared. Chuck continued, “I am not changing my mind, kid. So get up here.”
Dean took a sigh of relief, happy to hear that he could just kick his feet up for the first time today. He slung his arm around Cas’s neck and pulled him in close into a side hug as Chuck continued.
Cas ignored Dean and only sucked harder. Dean yelped and gripped Castiel’s hair even tighter. Cas was determined. He could do this. He could swallow it.
Dean could do nothing but laugh as Cassie grabbed Gabriel's shirt and pulled him down to his level, "Will you not rest until you have embarrassed yourself to the maximum capacity?"
"It's true" Cas wailed into his lap before throwing his head back up to look at the rest of them, "I totally humiliated myself."
Dean lurched forward and grabbed Cas into a tight hug. He ran his fingers behind his neck and clenched his fist in his shirt as he hugged him as hard as he could. He felt Cas jump a little in surprise underneath him before Cas too, fell into the hold and buried his face in Dean's neck as Dean comforted him.
Dean was basically on top of Cas the whole time, making sure he didn’t get a splinter from handling the wood to the point where Cas had to tell him to relax and kissed him on the cheek when the others weren’t looking. Dean’s face blushed up and he hoped Cas and everyone else wouldn’t notice due to the darkness.
Balthazar, who had taken his spot on the floor on the other side of Cas, reached his hand out to poke Castiel's side. Cas flinched away from him and yelped at the jolt before Balthazar sternly said, "Say what you mean by that right this second."
P.P.S. This chapter has been updated. There was a lot of extra information added in this update, so make sure you've read the updated version so you're not confused later on.
Cas was laughing so hard it almost sounded like screeching, and maybe some of it was. He flailed around under Dean, trying to wiggle his way out of Dean’s grip while simultaneously trying to shove Dean’s hands off of him. Unfortunately for Cas, Dean was well versed in wrestling and he had a firm grip on Cas. Dean demolished Sam every time, and Cas was way smaller than his little brother. There was no way he’d get his way here.
"Who the hell are you?!" Castiel shouted, definitely sounding more squealed than he would ever admit to anyone ever. Especially Hannah.
"You broke our pet nun", Balthazar chuckled into the phone, "He's still vomiting in the bathroom as we speak, kitten. What the hell did you do to him?"
Dean took the opportunity to do the thing he had been wanting to do for a while, but knew it had to be face to face without getting smacked. He cleared his throat and attempted to dissolve the lump forming there. "In that case, mama, would you do me the honor of being my sponsor?"
Dean ogling was disrupted by the song ending and Cas grabbing his hand and twirling him around underneath his reach. Dean's breath was taken away in surprise. The tone of the music had changed dramatically, to a funky and smooth song that Dean didn't recognize right away. Once Dean had turned completely under Cas's hand, he was being pulled into Cas's chest and both of his hands were laced in Castiel's, as Cas started gently dancing along to the music with him. Cas's shoulders were going back and forth in beat with the music, tugging Dean's arms forwards and backwards with it. Cas had his eyes closed, really feeling the music before twirling Dean again. Dean's heart could've exploded. That's when Cas leaned in and sang the first lyric to Dean, just inches from his face, "
Dean still felt like a zombie when he walked into their religious ed classroom. He looked around to the sea of depressed and zoned out expressions of his classmates and felt a little bit better that he was not the only one suffering. He slinked up to his seat and rested his head on his desk until the rest of the crew made their way in and Cas tapped him on the shoulder.
Gabriel looked at him with sad eyes. Knowing how Dean was feeling, but not enough to for Cas to notice. Cas probably would have noticed if he hadn't been sick or if he wasn't too busy dying of embarrassment. Dean shook his head quickly, letting Gabe know that it was fine, even though it wasn't really.
Dean hesitated as he started to walk toward the door. There was a bright purple pair of panties that had been thrown in the corner of the room near the door. Dean scrunched up his nose in disgust and confusion as he grabbed a pen from his back pack pocket to lift them from the ground. He hadn't slept with anyone since the beginning of the semester, so he knew they weren't his responsibility. They must have been from recently, because Dean was just noticing them for the first time. How the hell did they get all the way over here? Dean turned around and walked a few steps back towards Benny's bed with the pen still holding the panties up in the air and then dropped them on his friend's head. Benny blinked his eyes open again and picked them up off of his face.
The whole classroom groaned. Chuck rolled his eyes and gestured to the three clipboards in front of him, silently asking everyone to come down and pick. Castiel stood up and Dean followed, leaning into Cas's space and asking, "So, which one are we going for, champ?"
Ellen laughed and then looked back at the two of them, "Alright guys, go on upstairs and get your clothes on. We're leaving in ten minutes!" She retreated back upstairs as she let a piece of hair out from her curling iron and tripped a little on the second step. The boys followed and walked into their rooms.
ass home more times than I can count." Shit. Benny. Dean immediately regretted bringing him up. Maybe Castiel didn't remember, like Charlie had said.
you don't wanna just hang out here with me during the break?", she asked, knowing full well what Castiel's answer was going to be.
Zachariah stepped toward him slowly. Almost like a drill sergeant checking out his recruits. He looked Castiel up and down. Castiel swallowed and tried to look forward.
Dean reached out to Castiel’s forehead with his left hand and brushed away some of the hair that was matted to his skin there. His hand moved down to cup Castiel’s face and grazed his thumb across his cheek bone, still looking at Cas like he could really see him. Cas pointed his face down and kissed Dean’s palm and nipped at it a bit, still making eye contact with Dean.
Sam was interrupted by the door being shoved open, and Jo walked up to Dean's dresser and grabbed his deodorant, quickly putting it on. "C'mon, ladies. We gotta go." she quipped before walking out of the room and walking down the stairs.
Dean thought about what Cas was saying. He couldn't imagine not wanting his father. That being said though, he couldn't imagine having a father that would just up and leave him either. "You have other siblings?", he asked.
Dean ruffled up her hair with his palm, "Have you come to your senses and dumped my brother for me yet?" He joked. Of course he didn't mean that. He had nothing but great familial and platonic love for her, but this game they played to annoy Sam was tradition at this point.
“Sh, Dean.” Castiel said as he slipped down Dean’s zipper and looked up at Dean with sapphire eyes, “I’m gonna take care of you now.”
Cas looked at Dean fondly and squeezed his hand a final time before Charlie came over with the food. It seemed to break the family's emotional trance, and business carried out as usual. People started talking over each other and arguing about stupid things, but laughing and joking too.
“Come on, baby. Open your eyes. I want you to look at me. I want to see your beautiful blue eyes as you come in my hand.” Dean’s voice sounded like someone else due to its lust filled and gravely tone.
Ellen took his face in her hands and replied, "Don't call me ma'am, sweetheart. I'm officially your Mama now."
It took Dean a second to return to reality after the moment had with Cas. He had gotten lost in the deep blue eyes that he loved so much and didn't even remember that there were other people surrounding him. It was just him and Cas, together, loving each other. Dean's breath had caught in his throat at Castiel's return in love declaration, and Dean was almost certain that there was no way he could return to Earth after that. If he could, he'd turn pink and rocket into the sky in excitement like Peter Pan, but all he could muster up was a choked-out chuckle and smile, another tear falling from his eyes.
Hearing it in the destiel context was just so golden I found myself wondering if there were any fics like that and then I remembered that I can actually write one myself if there weren't any.
Once the bonfire was lit and everyone got comfortable and started roasting marshmallows, Chuck stood on one of the picnic tables and called everyone’s attention. The group turned around to face him and noticed that he was holding a guitar in his hands.
The two songs mentioned in this chapter can be found here if you are unfamiliar with them and are curious. This Little Light of Mine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKkbIZtqhyQ The Table of Plenty: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_t8O_PwPlKA. When I'm writing, to kind of put myself in the situation when I know song is playing at a certain part, I'll play the song when I read it back to immerse myself, and it always makes it more fun if you wanna try.
Dean instantly was filled with worry and dread that he could feel in his feet. What if Cas suddenly was panicking and didn't actually want anything to do with Dean? What if he had just completely freaked Cas out with so much emotions. JESUS CHRIST, DEAN HAD JUST TOLD HIM HE LOVED HIM. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. Dean began to search faster.
Also just as a warning, I usually write from like 1-4 am because I'm stupid and what is sleep. So if there's part that is weirdly written or doesn't make sense it's because I'm surviving off of one braincell like a caveman lol, so please let me know so I can fix it when I'm less tired. That's also probably why I stopped when I did. Like I said, a bitch has to sleep sometime.
The next day proves to be an interesting one for both of them. Castiel is puking, sweating, and wants to die. Dean is avoidant and weird. Dean goes to Gabe, Balthazar, and Castiel's suite for the first time.
Finally, Castiel picked up a stained baseball t-shirt and sighed, "I don't understand how so many of these items are completely unwearable.", he complained, "These people are homeless! They don't need clothes with giant stains on them or holes. People should be donating clothes that are still in good condition. Just because they don't have houses, doesn't mean they don't deserve to be clothed properly." Bela, Ruby, and Dean all just looked at him for a minute. He looked at the three of them, "I apologize for the suddenness of that comment, this is just the 10th shirt with a stain like this in it an it's incredibly frustrating."
He looked down at Cas who had closed his eyes and laid his head back against the floor, chuckling softly.
"I sure have", he answered looking Cas dead in the eye before looking back down at his hands, "I sure have."
"I'm going to go grab you some food, Cas. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." Dean let go of his friend and charged back into the main part of the house as Castiel sat down on the couch in the back porch. It wasn't the warmest room in the house, but it sure beat being outside, and Dean didn't want Cas to feel like his family was eavesdropping.
Dean shut off his screen and left with his coat in his hands after squirting himself a few times with his cologne to mask the alcohol coming out of his pores. Thankfully it smelled worse than it felt. Maybe he was getting too good at hangovers.
Dean wanted to puke. Dean wanted to puke and punch something. He couldn't imagine anyone putting their hands on Cas in a way that wasn't tender and soft. And Gabe? They were both too good. How could they have been hiding a past like that for that long. Dean felt horrible.
Castiel was wearing a dark blue hoodie and jeans. He was wearing matching blue converse and he had managed to scrunch himself up so that his book was in his knees, which were brought up against his chest all in one seat. His hair was in its usual mess, but it was significantly matted down against his forehead today, its dark color and closeness to his eyes really bringing out the bright blue against his irises. The book looked worn, like it had been read several times. Cas had the front cover folded behind the rest of the book.
The craziest part of all of this is that Dean was not a shy guy. He never really felt uncomfortable talking to anyone in normal situations. He was usually confident, even when he was trying to pick someone up. He was a total flirt with everyone he was interested in, and very rarely folded in social situations. Why was this giving him such a hard time?
Their lips slid together and radiated loud smacks into their surroundings and Dean grunted before walking him and Cas toward the tree once again until Cas’s back hit up against it with a thud. He could feel the heat traveling to his dick, getting more and more turned on by Dean as the seconds came and went.
Dean jumped and his heart stopped in surprise, "Jesus, Jess!", he griped, "I thought someone broke in!"
Dean was so flabbergasted but he was also pretty enthused. That bastard really was that desperate for tail that he was willing to do it just feet from his sleeping roommate. That was weirdly admirable. Dean just shook his head and laughed, then threw a rolled up piece of paper from his trash can right at Benny's face as he walked out of the room. He opened the door and just before he slid behind it he called out, "Ya nasty, man. Nasty."
Cas must have gotten really into the music and stopped paying attention to what he was doing after about 15 minutes of their silly antics, because he turned to sing face to face with Dean, and completely forgot that the faucet/microphone would continue to spray water in the direction that Cas turned. Dean was showered and he flinched and shrieked higher than he would ever admit. "Ah, Cas!"
Dean shuffled his shoes as he walked, trying to think of something to say to Cas that would interrupt the silence, but Cas was just looking up at the sky with a big goofy grin spread across his face. Finally curious about what Cas was so interested in, Dean looked up too, realizing that in all of his anxiety about talking to Cas, he had missed that it started to snow. Dean felt the tension that was bubbling in his chest soar out of his body as he watched the tiny white flurry dance in the air.
Dean cleared his throat and sat down, trying to act normal, "It's okay man. I guess I was just surprised that you managed to beat me here. You guys are usually running it at the last second."
"Well, it's basically you officially telling God that you're on his team. Usually people do it when they're 16, but you can do it whenever you want, actually. You just have to take like, an ass load of religion courses and then you go to God camp, and THEN you get to tell the Bishop that you're good to go." Charlie explained, "The sponsor is a person you pick to represent you when you do it, kind of like a god parent but you can pick anyone except for your actual parents."
Cas is staying at the Singer's house for a few days before him and Dean need to leave to go back to school.
Dean opened his mouth to say that he didn't see it, but instead he heard Bobby's voice come from the kitchen. "Joanna Beth, do you really think it's wise to be cussing this close to leaving for church?" Jo rolled her eyes in exasperation as he continued, "Anyway, your other heel is in here by the washer." Jo's eyes lit up and she ran into the other room to find it.
Dean did nothing but gaze at him for a few moments, and then was shocked back into reality by Chuck playing the sound of church bells on his phone to get everyone's attention. "Alright everyone, that's the end of the class for tonight. I hope that you were able to find some people to call your own as we continue with this process." Gabriel took the opportunity to lean across to Dean with a fist bump ready. Chuck continued. "Next week we'll actually get into the meat and potatos of these courses. We'll be discussing the gospel as well as what it means to be catholic in this day in age. I will try my best not to make it boring-"
Cas rolled his eyes and then looked at Gabriel, his expression searching for answers from his older brother. Gabe put a hand on Cas's shoulder, "Honey, there is absolutely zero chance that he doesn't like you. In fact, I thought that maybe you weren't into him and you might just be getting off on teasing the poor guy because of your lack of action at this point."
Dean exhaled softly and swallowed as he let his forehead land in a small thud against the door that Cas had just shut.
Castiel scoffed, just as willing as Dean to move past the horribly awkward moment they had just experienced, "Don't forget our fearless and wimpy leader."
Dean put his water bottle, which was filled on his nightstand next to Cas's head along with a packet of Advil. He kneeled down next to the bed and looked at Cas, "Feel free to take and drink what you need, Cas. You're gonna have a wicked hangover tomorrow, so you might want to get a head start."
"Listen, you are all supposed to be here because you're ready to dedicate your life to the Catholic faith. I'm not very impressed with the attitude so far. Just keep in mind that I'm keeping tabs on you during these next few days. If I don't feel as though you've gotten what you should be out of it, I will not let you continue onto confirmation. Is that clear?"
Gabe looked at him with a grin and then answered, "Because I like you sweetheart. You're funny, you're macho, you're chill." Dean still didn't understand. Gabe rolled his eyes and continued, "I didn't want it to seem forced, buddy boy. You're good for, Cas. I knew you would be the second I met you and you're tiny little voice quaked when you talked to him."
"Oh, hello my handsome boys!" She squeezed them both individually as Jo ran up behind her with only one shoe on.
Cas looked up at him expectantly. Dean's stomach tied in a knot as Cas stared him down with his baby blues. Dean shook his head slightly and answered, "You know what, sure. I'll go with. Only if my friend here comes too." Dean reached over and slapped Cas on the shoulder.
Charlie scowled and crossed her arms, "What? How did you manage to get out of that? I had to do it sophomore year of high school. The dress was so uncomfortable."
Chuck cleared his throat at the front of his room to give the room the time to quiet down before he got started, and then he welcomed everyone as he brought up the slide show for that day. Cas lifted his head from Dean's shoulder and Dean longed for it to return.
Dean reached for the wedding band hanging from the chain on his neck once again before he opened his mouth to admit where he was going to his roommate. He knew Benny would make fun of him. Not in a real, hurt your feelings, bully way. In a, you're such a push over for your mom, way. He knew he would never hear the end of it. Benny was a good roommate. He always kept his side of the room tidy, and on his side of the room. He ALWAYS invited Dean to come with him to every party or hangout that Benny was invited to, and he was really good at keeping it down when Dean was sufficiently hung over. He was even a pretty decent wing man. As good as he was though, he was also a total ball buster.
Dean chuckled, "I didn't go to bed until closer to 4 last night, and I still managed to beat you here."
Cas blushed a little bit at the command of Dean's voice and grabbed his hand slowly, "Okay, Dean." Dean looked Cas in the eyes and felt his chest start to heat up and his heart start to flutter. Cas needed to stop looking at him like that. They must have stayed that way for a while, Cas's hand and gaze in Dean's, because finally Jo cleared her throat obnoxiously, which brought them out of their haze. Dean finally lifted Cas out of his chair and patted his back as Cas made his way towards the stairs. Dean turned back and looked at Jo and Sam who were both looking at him with their eyebrows raised, smugly.
"Every time I get a snowflake to fall on me I try to see if I can see the unique shape of it, but it always melts before I can see the whole thing." Cas sighed. "It's moments like this that I wish humans had microscope vision."
Dean wiped his face with his sleeve and looked back into Castiel’s eyes before pointing to his eye, his heart, and then back at Castiel. A communication that he witnessed his mom and dad use throughout his whole childhood. He didn’t care that everyone could see it.
Cas put his other hand on Gabriel's hand before he allowed Gabe to continue, "And even if things don't work out with Dean, all of that will still by true. You can't let the mistakes of our mother and the sociopathy of our father hold you back from living your life, kiddo. Because that's how the bastard wins."
The movie was almost over, and had reached it's resolution, and Dean was filled with emotion and appreciation of the movie. He was so excited by what happened in the end, he was sitting on the edge of the couch to get closer to the TV screen. He turned his head to talk to Cas, "Cas did you see that she-"
"It's fine, man.", Dean was still smirking, "Keep laughing. I'll just have to get you back when you least expect it. I bet you squeal like a pig, Novak." Dean hadn't realized that he started creeping closer to Cas's face as he spoke.
Cas stared at him with unwavering intensity. Dean seemed a little bit taken aback. Castiel couldn’t tell if it was because of the question or because of the searing eye contact. Dean looked at the ground underneath him, and even in the dark, Cas could see his face and ears darken with blush.
Castiel woke up surprisingly slowly and naturally the next morning, suspicious of how well rested he felt. Even though he'd grown up in this house and had to wake up at 4:30 am every morning of his life, it never got easier. Ever. So why was he waking up on his own, after months of waking up only when he felt like it?
"I'm not sure yet. Cas seems really freaked though. He said he didn't know where else to go. I brought him into the back porch and I'm gonna go bring him this so he can tell me.", Dean gestured toward the plate he was holding. "He's forming a black eye, so this can't be good."
A few hours had passed, and the four of them were on their way home now. Dean and Gabriel being the drunkest of all of them. Ruby and Bela had stayed over at Adam's, and Dean and Gabe we're arm in arm, trying and failing to walk in a straight line on the sidewalk. Castiel and Balthazar were walking and talking in front of them and laughing about something. They were far enough ahead that they couldn't hear what Gabe and Dean were saying. Dean had started drinking heavily after his scene with Cas to keep himself from drowning in his own emotions and sexual frustration, but it ended up having the opposite effect. "Gabe, h-how the fuck did you even know that shit would work, dude?" Dean always swore more the drunker he got, "How the fuck- did you know- that some random ass song would have that fuckin' effect on us?"
"Did either of you see my other heel in between the doors?" she asked, sounding rushed. "I can't fucking find it."
Dean's smirk transformed into a full teeth showing smile as he imagined Cas using the pocket sized magnifying glass that he had bought Cas for Christmas. He had dropped by to give his gifts to the crew the night before, but Cas was out with friends. He just put the magnifying glass on Cas's desk and a paper cut out snowflake that Dean had made just in case Cas didn't understand the gift right away. He had gotten Gabe a key chain of a cartoon middle finger, and Balthazar a plastic tiara. They were small gifts but, seeing how Dean was poor, he figured he would just get them little gifts that reflect their personality to show that he knew them. Castiel's gift especially, that gift representing a fond memory for Dean.
The door opened and Cas turned around to grab his stuff. "It's no problem, Cas. I like helping you. You should never feel bad coming to me for help." Dean looked into Cas's deep blue eyes and they stayed like that for a minute, before Cas reached across and put a hand on Dean's cheek.
He decided to take his sweet time getting ready anyway, knowing full well that it didn't matter how late he was at this point. He was going to be late no matter what, so he might as well milk it while he could. He took his time in deciding what to wear, and went with his trusty pair of jeans that he's owned since he was 14. They were holy and gross, to be perfectly honest, but he didn't care. It's not like any of his clothes ever got to live long without being ruined around here. He wasn't even sure why he packed, he realized, since he wouldn't dare wear any of his school clothes around the farm. That is, if he ever wanted to wear them on campus again.
Hannah slung her arm around Castiel's shoulders and started walking them towards the door. "C'mon Castiel, it won't be that bad. They're just a coupleuh old cranks. They'll lay off in a few days, you'll see."
Before Castiel could even respond, Hannah spoke up. "Oh don't be so sour, Dad. I told you I shut his alarm off so he could sleep in a little bit. It's not like we need 'im out here, that's the whole reason we have Dean in the first place."
The two of them hit the door at that moment and Castiel hesitated for a moment, holding his sister back. She looked over at him and then rolled her eyes.
Even though Dean was in college now, he still made sure to be there every Sunday, especially since he only went to school a half hour away so there was no excuse to not be there. Ellen always made sure to give Dean money for the gas that was used up coming home every weekend because it was important that he "keep his relationship with the big man as well as his mama." The two of them were in the impala on the way over. Sam had asked Dean to pick him up from his friends house since he was already on the road. Dean's head was pounding something fierce from the hangover he was rocking, and Sam was elbow deep his sociology textbook.
The family rolled into the parking lot of their favorite diner as they did every Sunday after church, and fell out of the tiny family car like a bunch of clowns arriving at the circus. They walked as a clan to their normal table in the back, and of course, Dean's best friend and Patrick's Diner waitress extraordinaire, Charlie waited on them as she always does. She brought them their usual drinks and then went sprinting down across the restaurant. She had a splash of powdered sugar on her cheek and a pen shoved somewhere in her bun as she rushed around. "Hello my beautiful Singers!", she called out, "I'll be over to talk in a second!"
Dean surged forward with his whole body and grabbed Cas's face with both of his hands and pulled him into himself, looking right back into his deep blue eyes as he finished the song with Cas in it's final chorus, them both belting their hearts out and moving their bodies to the music, not breaking eye contact. As the music fizzled out into its final notes and into silence, Dean was out of breath and so was Cas. They stood there for a second, not talking, still looking at each other, as the music changed to a different song. Up until this point, Dean had only pure thoughts about Cas. Sure, they had been a little sex driven in moments when he got a brush of skin against his own, but they were relatively innocent. This moment was different. Dean was about five seconds away from throwing him against the wall and slamming his lips onto Castiel's. Dean swallowed and looked down at Cas's mouth, which was parted and pink in Cas's exhaustion from singing and dancing like they had been.
Cas just chuckled, "Even when you look tired, you still look great, don't worry." Cas lifted his hand to brush back the hair that had fallen into Dean's face.
Cas sighed, "It sounds like he was a very honorable man." He smiled and squeezed Dean's shoulder as he stood up and got himself a cup of water.
He cleared his throat and croaked out, “You Are Mine”, and he could already feel the knots in his chest start to tighten and his eyes start to water.
The religious ed classes continue. Dean and Castiel go on their first community service run. They end up at a party together later on one of them gets pretty shitfaced.
Dean only chuckled in reply. "I only came in here for a cup a' water, alright? I'll be outta your hair in just a minute."
Cas pushed his lips into a thin line but did not manage to hide the smile spreading on his face regardless. Before Dean could even see him do it, Cas reached over and grabbed the sponge from off the counter and squished it into Dean's shirt. Dean felt the hot water slide down his chest and chills covered his forearms. Dean squeaked again and took off running to the other side of the kitchen table. Cas darted his feet to chase after Dean with the sponge in his hand, when his feet slipped on the water pooling up underneath him from Dean's splash. He hit the ground with a thud and didn't move.
Sam threw his arms around Dean in a hug. Sam must've grown since he was home last, because he felt like his was being hugged by a giant. "Hey Sammy! This is my friend Cas."
After a few minutes of hustle and bustle, Ellen coughed up her notorious throat clearing that made the whole table shut up before asking, "So, Dean, Cas, how is the confirmation journey going?"
Ellen laughed and linked arms with him, "Well, let's get going then. You can tell me all about them on the ride over."
Cas spoke up then, "Trust me, ma'am. You'll be glad it's just me. I can actually behave myself, unlike my brother and his friend."
Dean finally returned her gaze and looked disappointed, "It would be, if I hadn't embarrassed myself to the max before we even made it back to my room-"
"Even though I'm sure you were infuriated at the time, it's probably a good thing he found you when he did." Cas stated.
Damn, she always seemed to know. "I'll be okay, mama. I should head in though, I'll talk to you later."
have an actual reason to stay here. Your father's a pig. All I have facing me is just a little family drama. I'll be okay, bean."
Dean continued to run as fast as he could, hoping that Cas wasn’t running too fast for him to catch up. It seemed to get darker as he ran, but the snapping and trudging sounds seemed to get louder. Finally, Dean turned a corner, and saw a flash of his own coat weave around a tree.
Dean looked at Bobby sincerely and nodded quickly, before slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder and walked down the porch steps to meet Cas in the car. He beeped a few times as he pulled away, Cas waving his hand out the window to his family with a smile.
"Just do it, just shove him down on his fuckin' knees and shove the dick into the mouth. I know you have it in you man, I was pretty sure you were gonna go for it like two hours ago.", they talked over one another.
"Yeah, yeah" he smiled and shoved her out of the way playfully. "Now, I really need to finish packing here or I won't make it home until after dark."
That checked out. Dean agreed. He didn't realize that Cas had never been out before, let alone never got drunk, before last night. Otherwise, he totally would have invited him before that. Everyone needed to know what it was like to be drunk at some point in their college career. What better time than the present? Dean still didn't understand something though, "Why didn't you just tell me? I would have taken him out before now. You didn't have to get someone else to convince me, man."
Castiel rolled his eyes, "Well if you had told me that we hired someone I could have been more prepared."
Dean closed his eyes and winced at the intimate act. He bit his lower lip before answering, "I mean, even if I was going you could have stayed home if you wanted, Cas."
The four of them ended up going out together almost every weekend. Now that Cas was comfortable with drinking and was more familiar with the college party scene, Gabriel was ready to have the whole group go with them, instead of just Cas going with Dean. Cas still was tempted every now and again to ask Gabriel to slow down or be careful, but now that Gabriel had the ammunition of Cas's previous alcohol mishap, he wasn't afraid to remind Cas of it and call him a hypocrite. They were a good team of drunks. Castiel kept silent tabs on all of them, Baz made everything more fun, Gabe could always get them free booze no matter where they were, and Dean was an excellent wing man. Having been burnt by Balthazar's sexual history with the first guy he flirted with, Castiel was too scared to actually admit interest in or flirt with anyone else, and quite honestly, Dean was okay with that. Helping Cas get laid was something he wasn't ready for yet. He wanted Cas to be happy, sure, but he wasn't so content in his spot in the friendzone that he was ready to advertise Cas to the highest bidder. The only guy Dean really had to worry about for the time being was Baz, who always managed to start flirting with Cas
Instead of getting up and leaving, he decided to curl into the couch a bit more and close his eyes too, letting Castiel's whistling snores sooth him to sleep in their dark suite common room.
Cas paused and looked at Dean with what looked to be a thoughtful gaze. After a few seconds he replied, "I don't know. I'm glad I have a chance to impact the community in a positive way."
Cas's eyes widened to three times their original size and Gabe just closed his eyes as his mouth folded into a thin line. After a few moments of tense silence and Cas staring at Gabe as if he had crushed one of Cas's CD's, Gabe finally opened his eyes and looked at Castiel like a child who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Guess the cat's out of the bag", he muttered.
The bus was quiet as they all collectively registered what Chuck had said. Knowing full well that he did not want to have to do this all over again, Dean decided that he was going to try his best to participate without rolling his eyes as much as he possibly could. The song switched to, "This Little Light of Mine" and Dean smiled. As lame as it was, Dean actually kind of liked this song. He thought of Ellen, and how her whole face lit up when they played this song at church. This song and "The Table of Plenty" were the songs that could make Ellen sing louder than anyone else in their parish. Dean laughed at himself for a moment, and suddenly started to lowly sing along to the song as the first few words bled through the bus.
Cas choked on his newly sipped beer and had a small coughing fit before he was able to respond. "Excuse me?!"
Once he had told Charlie the whole story, she stopped and allowed herself to absorb all of the details from the story. Then she spoke. "Do you really think Benny would hit that?"
Cas started to squirm in his spot and looked around for second before laying a hand on Dean's arm and saying, "Don't worry about it, I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry for disturbing your family's evening", and turning trying to walk off the porch.
"I had a doctor's appointment today, Dean. Ellen asked me to stop by and grab a check that she left at the house to drop off to her at work on my way back from it." She pulled out the check from the mail she had been sorting threw and whacked Dean on the head with it lightly. "Good to know that you have bat up there though."
He could tell that Cas was getting close. Dean picked up his head and saw Cas with his eyes screwed shut, his mouth agape, and his breaths labored. Dean whimpered at the sight, trying his best not to grind himself into Castiel.
The two of them started to finally catch their breaths, their frenzy of giggles and laughter slowing down into small chuckles until the two of them were just breathing slowly and laying together on the cold wet ground. If he were with anyone else, Dean might have been bothered by the dampness seeping in through his clothing, but with Cas resting on him like this, Dean could find it in him to be anything but content.
There she was. Castiel's twin sister, Hannah. She was smiling ear to ear and jumping up and down. Castiel smirked and he felt his heart melt a little. He popped open the door to a squealing shriek and a big hug as he stated, "Little by 2 minutes, smart ass." He hugged her back as she practically climbed up him. She definitely looked a little older than she had the last time he'd seen her, and it worked for her. That's when he noticed a little sparkle on her ear, glistening in the fading sunlight.
The two of them began to take the plates and food off of the table together and Cas leaned over to Bobby and Ellen and said, "Dinner was delicious. Thank you so much."
Chuck continued with his lecture, but all Dean could seem to do is stare at the back of Cassie's neck. He had tan skin and it contrasted beautifully with the rest of his features. When he actually turned around in his seat to hand Dean the attendance sheet, all Dean could do is stare.
Sam let go of Dean and he stepped to the side to allow Cas to introduce himself to his brother. Cas stuck out his hand formally and smiled, "I'm so glad to finally meet you Sam.
Castiel reached and grabbed Dean's shirt and pulled him down to his own face, "Hey, wanna hearasecret?"
Winter break ended up being everything that Dean needed. It felt like he lifted a 100 pound weight off his chest not having any assignments due for the first time in months and just getting to enjoy his family time as well as his time at the shop with Bobby. Sam, of course, was pissed that Dean was able to spend his break homework free and declared that it was completely unfair. Dean told Sam that he would get his time to be in college soon, he just was still paying his dues. Sam still continued to be a baby about it regardless. Jo spent the whole time asking Dean about what college was like and what she needed to prepare for. She had finally gotten her acceptance letter from Northwestern University admitting her into the journalism program, and now college was all she could think about. He even went out with her a few times to places like Bed, Bath, and Beyond on supply runs for her dorm. She was getting a much bigger head start on it than he did. Dean didn't buy a single thing for college until halfway through July.
Castiel flinched at the nickname. No one had ever called him Cas. Not once. He got Cassie sometimes when his family was yanking his chain or trying to make him blush, but never Cas. It was always Castiel. And here was this boy, someone he's never met, in his kitchen, touching his dishes, and calling him whatever the hell he wants.
"Oh my goodness, silly!" Cas finally answered between giggles. "She's not my girlfriend! I mean she was when we were in high school but, I'm pretty sure the whole school recognized a beard when they saw one."
Dean took a breath and thought about this information. Then, he took off his backpack and unzipped to find the bottle of tequila that Bela had purchased for him. "Well, Cas,", Dean started, "Rule number one of house parties: they are no fun sober." Dean unwrapped the bottle and took a swig. He handed it over to Cas who seemed like he was breathing even faster now. | [
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“I didn’t like those women touching you, Dean,” Cas said while Dean found the oil and dipped his fingers in. “I didn’t like having to watch them drape themselves all over you and I could only stand there and watch.” Dean nodded, putting a hand next to Cas’s head to support his weight over the boy while he circled Cas’s entrance with a pad of his finger from the other. “I’m the only one who gets to touch you like that.”
Dean groaned, his breathing starting to pick up as he felt heat coil low in his abdomen. He could almost hear Cas’s voice now.
slick because it turns you on so much,” Dean asked, pushing back up to his knees. He motioned for Castiel to follow and said, “Sit up so I can take your clothes off.”
“Because I’m more than just my status, just as everyone else is. I’m an alpha, but that’s not all that I am.” Dean gestured to Castiel. “You’re an omega, but you’re not
“It’s for when my brother and his girlfriend visit,” Dean said, “I keep it around in case Jess needs or wants it.”
Benny rolled his eyes. Dean always forgot he couldn't lie to Benny. “You did the right thing, Dean,” he said. “Leaving her there on that island? That was the right thing.”
Dean shoved his tongue into Cas, massaging his inner walls until he started whimpering. From where his arms were, Dean could feel Cas’s thighs trembling and he pulled away as he brought his hand down to rub his finger over Cas’s rim.
Cas pulled his fingers out of Dean’s mouth once more and moved his hand down to grip himself lightly, sliding his thumb over the slit of his cock. Dean craned his head down when Cas didn't bring his hand back up. “Oh, fuck!” His hips stuttered and Dean surged forward to kiss Cas, rough and uncoordinated, thrusting his hips a few more times before he spilled inside Cas with a strangled moan.
The Captain was back in his cabin and waiting for Cas to get done with his shower. He had to hear it from the boy himself.
Everyone looked up to see Ellen standing by the door. She tapped her wrist and smiled. “It is time to go,” she said. Castiel felt his stomach do a flip from how excited he was. He couldn’t stop smiling as his friends led the way out of his room.
“Sh,” Dean whispered, his hands coming to hold Cas as close as he could. “I got you, baby. I’m never letting you go.”
Castiel nodded tentatively, but still walked with her to his room. He held the door open for her, and she made herself comfortable in front of his fireplace.
Meg winced again, but said nothing. She kept her eyes downcast and crossed her legs. Castiel could tell by her scent that she was feeling uncomfortable, but she didn’t regret what she said.
They quickly made their way through the halls to the beautifully decorated chapel all the royal weddings had been conducted in since the castle was built. Castiel could barely contain his excitement as they arrived. Benny, Sam, Jo, Victor, and Gadreel met them at the entrance and each apha linked arms with the omega they were walking down the aisle with and got in line: Sam and Jess, Jo and Gilda, Victor and Charlie, Meg and Gadreel, and lastly, Benny and Alfie. .
A string of curses left Dean’s lips as Cas started to pick himself up and fall back into Dean’s lap. “Fuck, Cas!” Cas couldn’t stop himself from repeating the same words over and over again:
Dean didn’t say anything and pushed the ringer again, taking a step back and turning to face Amara. He waited for what felt like hours before speaking again.
Jess stepped back next to Castiel and took ahold of the hand he had on her arm, squeezing it to comfort him. Castiel let go of her arm, but kept his hand in hers as Jess pulled him over to sit down between her and Alfie.
Jo cut Dean off with a snort, “Doesn’t matter if you need him to or not, he’s your brother. But he’ll come to his senses. Just as Benny and I did.”
“Forget it,” he said, and before Rachel could get up, he left, grabbing his things from the library, and then heading out. He knew he should go to the hospital because he’d never really been able to take a hit, but the adrenaline and anger coursing through him was keeping him on his feet. It was just like Jo to take her anger out on him after something like that, but for Rachel to take her side? Castiel guessed he shouldn’t be surprised. He was just…
Castiel scowled again to himself because he may have the ability to hear thoughts, but it felt like Dean could read his mind even better than him; and even without powers.
It was around noon when the carriages stopped and Cas was ushered out. He was told to follow his father and before he knew it he was standing behind his father as he spoke to the King of the Kingdom of Hell: His Majesty, Crowley. Only every few words Michael spoke made sense. The others were just white noise to Cas.
“And he’s scared that you’re about to figure that out and not want to be with him anymore,” Sam finished.
Cas threaded his unoccupied hand into Dean’s hair and nodded. Dean smiled softly and kissed him, sliding his tongue into Cas’s mouth at the same time he slid a finger into his heat. Cas gasped softly, and pushed down onto it, tears welling up in his eyes...
Castiel shook his head. “No.” He pulled away from Dean and slid off his lap onto his own legs. “I’m not.” Castiel pulled Dean up from the stool and tugged the alpha with him as he walked back towards his bed.
Dean almost laughed but thought better of it. “Where do you feel it?” He asked, already having an idea of where Cas was feeling it.
The feeling of being incomplete was horrible. It distracted him from what he was supposed to be doing with Amara and got him in trouble. And, well, it wasn’t like Dean really cared if he got in trouble, but he wasn’t fond of the cuts and marks she left when she got mad at him. Furthermore, Dean definitely wasn’t a fan of the worried scent Castiel gave off when he saw the wounds. He hated it when he worried his omega.
“You just want to watch Titanic for the Kate Winslet drawing scene,” he said, smiling as some laughter erupted. “How about Hidden Figures, huh? Came out not too long ago, it’s got great actors, and it’s an amazing movie. I went to see it in the theater with my mate and we both loved it.”
“Gods, Cas,” Dean breathed out, raking his eyes up and down Cas’s body. “You look so...” He trailed off losing himself in the feeling of Cas moving faster and making the chair they were in slide back inch by inch.
“Dean…” Cas whispered. The man was just as beautiful as he remembered. The only change Cas could see was a small pink and healing scar poking out from his hairline.
Time seemed to stop for Dean as Castiel looked up at him, because Castiel’s dazzling blue eyes weren’t what was staring back up at him. Instead, he saw gold. Castiel’s eyes shone gold up at him, and Dean felt the last bit of control he had on his alpha slip.
Castiel took a moment to process everything his siblings had said and focused harder than he ever had to search their thoughts to see if they were telling the truth.
“Yes, Dean, please! I am ready!” Castiel cried. Dean leaned down to kiss him, slipping his tongue into Castiel’s mouth as he grabbed his member and guided it to Castiel’s entrance.
“He will not give me what I want from him,” Castiel said, “I want more from our relationship, and he will not give it to me. He said was that we have to wait until marriage.”
“So why don’t we do that?” Alfie sounded hopeful. Cas generally didn’t want to do anything, but he didn’t want to let Alfie down, so he found himself doing a lot of different things with Alfie and going through the motions. From what he could remember of it all, it was all, not surprisingly, tiring.
Lighting lit up the room again, and Castiel saw the shadows of his wings on the wall he was facing. They flared out behind him in a display of dominance, and Castiel couldn’t help but notice how Dean’s hips started to lift up to meet him when he fell back into the alpha’s lap.
And ever since that meeting with a representative from the Kingdom of Hell blew up in Michael’s face… Well, Cas’s Grace had more than just internal healing to do than normal.
“Why, I believe I can’t say. I’ve promised Ben here it’d be our secret,” Dean joked. Lisa’s mouth twitched up before she could help herself. She shuffled her feet before trying to give the handkerchief back.
Dean flicked his eyes down to Castiel’s chest, and Castiel almost covered himself because his scars were deeper by his rib cage and they were some of the ones he hated the most. But Dean just slid his hands up, tracing the edges of his scars with his thumb. And it didn’t feel humiliating to have Dean giving them attention, either. Castiel didn’t know how he did it, but Dean actually made him feel beautiful.
At the moment, Dean was singing him to sleep. Cas wasn’t really listening to the words, he just liked putting his head to Dean’s chest and feeling the rumble as he sung.
that they were touching you,” Cas said, his voice deep and gravelly. Dean didn’t think that a voice like that could turn him on, but it did and he barely had time to recover from it before Cas’s hands gripped his member tight. “I’m
“You’ll be there when he wakes up,” Sam said, “If Gilda said you needed to get out, then you don’t need to be in there right now.”
Amara’s smile fell off her face and her lips pressed into a thin line. “Throw the next fight you’re in,” she said. Castiel took a moment to process that, looking at Gadreel to make sure he’d heard right.
“Happy to do it,” Dean said, continuing with eating his own meal. Castiel pushed his plate away and slyly scooted closer to Dean. He planted his elbow on the table and put his chin in his palm.
Gabe’s arms came around him, hugging him tight and surrounding him in comforting embrace. “I know,” he said, “I know.”
“Dean, please,” he whined, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist and pulling their hips flush together.
“Please,” He begged. “Please, I need to come.” Dean raised an eyebrow at him as he tugged Cas’s pants and drawers off the rest of the way, grinning as he bent Cas’s legs at his knees and pushed them up to his chest. He whined and whimpered as Dean moved his limbs.
from his Grace. It was something that was purely Cas and something he was certain only Cas could do.
Castiel’s chest felt tight as he entered, and it grew harder to breathe as he walked deeper into the house. The marble floors documented his every step, and the high ceilings echoed his labored breaths. Castiel may not feel things like other people, but he knew what panic and fear were.
Dean clenched his jaw for a second before Cas ran a hand down his back to soothe him. Once he untensed, Dean rested his forehead against Cas’s and he swallowed to clear his throat. “Who even is she?” He asked.
“You looked for me?” Castiel asked, because he couldn’t believe that. Rachel hugged him tighter and Gabe rushed over to wrap his arms around the both of them.
“Stop it,” Cas chided himself, pulling his covers up around him tightly. He couldn’t think like that. If Dean had really perished some other pirate would be taking credit for killing him and everyone on the Impala. Since no other buccaneer was, then there wasn’t any reason to believe the rumors of Dean’s death were true. And, anyway, the rumors originated from the old and crazy veteran sailors living on their broken down boats.
“Cas?” Alfie’s hand on his back snapped him out of his daze and Cas was able to notice that someone else was in the room too. “Are you alright? What happened?”
Cas nodded, taking a few step backwards out of the kitchen. “Thank you,” he said one last time before turning and walking briskly out into the mess and then onto the main deck.
“What are you thinking about?” Dean asked, smiling in amusement. “You look like you’re thinking real hard.”
“Yes,” Castiel said, and then Dean was pushing in, bottoming out inside Castiel with no resistance in one smooth, gentle thrust. Castiel’s eyes rolled up into his head at the feeling of being absolutely complete. Not even those wooden toys he’d used a handful of times to prepare himself for this could compare. Dean was hitting all the places that he couldn’t reach, and he was being stretched open so wide. Castiel finally felt that itch deep inside him scratched, and it was so much better than he could have ever imagined.
fault,” He said as Cas dropped to his knees. “You didn’t even show up to that meeting! Do you have any idea how untrustworthy that made me seem?! Crowley called me a goddamn cad! What the fuck does he know?!” Michael looked down at Cas and sneered. “Get up.”
Ellen moved aside and Alfie stepped into the room, his eyes widening as he took in everything. Like Castiel, he’d never seen such grandeur before; let alone been this close to it.
“I got you baby,” Dean huffed out. He reached between them and undid Cas’s pants, tugging them down just enough to get his cock out before sliding down Cas’s body and taking the length into his mouth. He bobbed his head like it was what he was born to do.
“Where is he?” Castiel cut Gabe off. He looked from sibling to sibling, trying to find where they were keeping Dean in their thoughts, but he couldn’t find the information. “I know you took him!”
"I won't," Dean said lowly, watching Cas's face closely. He always made the prettiest faces. And the fact that Dean was the one who caused him to make such faces only made Dean feel like he was special. Not only that, but he was the only one who had ever seen Cas at this state and he was the only one Cas would let see him like this.
“Nothing is as big as you,” Cas whimpered out, “Please?” He turned his face to look at Dean over his shoulder. Smirking, Dean pushed Cas flush against the tiles.
“I’m so sorry, angel.” Dean buried his face in Cas’s neck, keeping him gripped as tight as he could. “I’m so fucking sorry! That night, I was just about to wrap you up and carry you back to our ship when Sam climbed through your window a-and he told me that Abbadon had taken hostage the island that his and Benny’s wives lived on and she was going to kill one person everyday until I got there. And then when I did get there half the pirates in the sea were waiting for me.”
When he was seven, his father had locked him in his room and starved him for two weeks with minimal water because he’d wandered off one day in the market when Michael was teaching him about how their town worked. Cas was drawn to the harbor and the ships docked there; he didn’t know it then, but that was himself saying he wanted to get away.
“What do you need, baby?” Dean asked, pushing his fingers against the bundle of nerves inside Cas mercilessly. Cas felt himself getting close.
“I don’t know if I want to see him,” Cas interrupted. “I don’t know how I should feel about him anymore.
“Everyone having a good time?” Cas heard Dean’s deep, rich voice. Nods and sounds of agreements were heard among the pirates at the table along with an enthusiastic nod from Gabe. Dean caught Cas's eye and jerked his head toward the exit.
“I’m sorry, father,” Cas said. Michael made a noise of acknowledgment as he shifted, tapping his foot on the floor.
“We’ve eliminated the last ship,” Benny said. “We’re safe until we make it to shore. And we should get there by sunset.”
Cas tightened his grip on Dean as he went over the edge and Dean came at the same time Cas did, with a quiet shout of ‘
“What?” Abbadon gaped at Dean as he turned around and came face to face with Jess and Andrea. He pulled out his other blade and gave one to each of the women.
By the time he got to the café Dean was at, he could barely keep a coherent thought, because he felt so… Alive. The whole day, it had been like the air was easier to breathe, the sky was a brighter blue, and Castiel didn’t feel like he was going through motions. He felt better than he had in years. And he knew that part of it was due to Dean, but the other part? It had to be that he hadn’t had his medication.
Dean smiled and let go of Cas, scooting up on his bed. Cas came and sat down next to him, but Dean pulled him into his lap, legs on either side of Dean’s hips.
“Let’s get dressed and we can lay together for a bit to get you warm again,” Dean said, helping Cas onto his feet. Cas nodded and held onto Dean as he led them out to his bedroom, again. He dried them both off before searching around for clothes and when he found two suitable outfits, Dean dressed and then started on Cas.
“Fuck, I can feel you,” Dean rasped, resting his head on Cas’s shoulder as his thrusts grew erratic. “I can feel you squeezing around me. Are you close?”
Castiel hadn’t noticed his shoulders had begun shaking and that tear upon tear streamed down his face until Dean spoke up again.
Amara liked knives, and she liked using them on Dean almost too much. He didn’t have scars because Amara was smart. She didn’t want to mark him, she just wanted to hurt him. And seeing as he’d just upset her, tonight would be hard to get through for more than one reason.
“That you love me,” Castiel said, and he felt tears begin falling down his cheeks. “That you still want
“I guess I can’t argue with that logic,” he said, “Sorry to offend, but I’m not stupid, I know I’m attractive—dare I say charming or enchanting, even—” Castiel laughed under his breath. “—and I know the effect I have on omegas. Unfortunately, that effect can attract some underage omegas.”
“That is so good to know,” Dean laughed as he stroked Cas’s back gently for a while before speaking again. “Do you want to go to sleep?”
“I’m not jealous, Gabe!” Cas raised his voice. “Those… Those…” he searched for a word he could use to express his displeasure towards the courtesans that had the audacity to touch Dean.
“Missed you so fucking much, baby,” Dean muttered, sucking one of Cas’s nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud until it was hard. After that, he moved to the other one.
“And love you, we do,” Charlie interrupted, stepping up behind the two and giving Dean a hug. “Happy birthday.”
“What’s up?” He asked, his voice higher than normal. He coughed and pretended as though he had something in his throat.
“Dean,” Cas whined, his thighs quivering and opening wider. “Faster!” Dean kept his pace the same. Right now was not the time for a rough quickie. He knew Cas wanted it, but he wasn’t going to allow that. The pirate looked down at Cas’s cock. He was sure the small length was aching painfully to be touched again.
“Before we do anything we need to send a scout team to shore. Charlie, Sam, and Garth will go. They’re a good team. Effective.”
“Are you hungry?” Charlie asked. Cas felt Charlie sling her arm over his shoulders, something she was too short to be doing, but he didn’t mind. She pulled Cas forward towards Benny’s station.
“Fuck, Cas, you know you cause this boom of thunder and lighting every time you come?” Dean said, groaning into Castiel’s neck on one of his rougher thrusts. “I mean, I can already feel every time you come, but now it’s like I can almost see how good it feels for you.”
Michael started to rifle through the clothes in the corner of his closet. The clothes that Cas kept there to hide the burlap that Dean had given him with his toys.
The smile Dean had on his face now was real and it was smug and boastful. It made Cas smile, too. “And Luci,” Dean threw over his shoulder. “It’s
“I trust you because you’re not like the others. You’ll listen without thinking it’s all about you,” Meg said. She let a beat go by, looking at Castiel in thought before she continued, “When I jumped forward into the future, do you know what I found there?”
“Gods,” Dean said, looking at the man. “Apparently you made a mistake, too, Sandover.” He sauntered around the man, before stopping in front of him and looking at him in disgust. “You’re fucking pathetic.”
Abbadon rolled her eyes and sneered. “I wouldn’t have taken your second chance even if you’d offered your ship, crew, and gold with it.”
“Cas!” Dean growled, letting go of their members and grabbing Castiel’s hand from around their shafts. He pushed both their hands above their heads, and thrust his hips against Castiel’s.
won’t be starting anything and I want them to know that; but we’re not going to go down without a fight if
“Nonsense.” Dean waved him off. “You’re my guest here and what kind of host would I be if I let you do chores.”
But mostly, Castiel was thankful; because she was the one who’d let Dean out. She was the one who’d saved everyone when Castiel had lost control. Ellen was the only person who understood how Castiel felt about Dean. Castiel could feel the love she had for him and his siblings, and Castiel could tell if the situation were reversed, if her children were in danger she would do whatever she could to save them. Just like Castiel would do anything to save Dean.
“But we can’t give up yet, everyone knows that. We’ve reached the shore and defeated Abbadon’s armada.”
Cas felt himself smile. He laced his fingers into Dean’s hair and nodded. “I’d like to get to know you better, too.”
“Ready?” Cas asked, scooting up again, sitting up on his knees and reaching behind him to guide the head of Dean’s cock to his entrance.
“Both,” Cas answered, nudging Dean to lift his head so he could wrap his arms around the man’s neck.
“I am glad you like it,” Dean said. Castiel saw him smiling in amusement out of the corner of his eye.
It started slow. Dean kept his hands on Cas’s hips until he couldn't anymore and he was picking the young man up and laying him gently down on the bed. He did just as Cas had and kissed every inch of skin he could as clothes were shed.
Castiel felt Benny coming at him before he saw, and with all the indifference in the world he turned just in time to catch the punch Benny was throwing at him. He ignored the surprise on Benny’s face, and leaned in, squeezing down on Benny’s fist.
“I’m sick of it here,” Ava said, ignoring Dean’s question. She jerked Cas forward. “If I have to hurt your little pet to get out of this town, you bet your ass I’m gonna do it.”
Dean laughed softly. He nodded his head and kicked at the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said. Castiel rolled his eyes and took a step forward.
“Cas, you’re not ugly,” he said. “You’re extraordinary. You’re stunning and beautiful a-and every other amazing word you don’t think describes you. You’re wonderful.”
Then, he summoned Cas into his study and made him stand in the middle of the room for a good half hour before he broke the silence by standing up and pacing in front of his desk.
“Good,” Dean whispered, latching onto a sensitive spot he knew Cas had and sucking hard. Cas gasped loudly and whimpered.
“Meet in the middle, no weapons?” Abbadon called over. Dean took off his weapons belt, handing it to Sam.
“Yes,” Cas said. Dean’s heart filled with emotion before he crushed his lips against Cas’s and hugged him tightly.
Dean’s eyes raked hungrily down Cas’s flushed body to stop at his cock. There was a steady stream of precome leaking onto Cas’s stomach. Cas was a sight to behold like this: legs trembling, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, and his cock aching to come. Cas sobbed out a whine. Dean took pity on him and slammed into him, hitting his prostate and making Cas scream out Dean’s name as he came, pulling Dean over the edge with him.
“Do you mind me asking what happened?” Dean asked. Castiel gripped the strap of his book bag again and held onto it tightly.
It wasn’t until Dean pulled away from him that he finally remembered where he was, and his guard went back up immediately. He turned around and pressed his back to Dean as he wrapped them in a protective barrier.
Castiel mewled high in his throat and he curled into himself again as he orgasmed. Dean didn’t slow down though, and Castiel’s body shook from the stimulation.
And then she left, and Castiel stared at the spot she had been until he couldn’t hear her footsteps anymore before he bolted with the intention of never returning—even if he knew he would have to come back, eventually.
Cas looked up at Dean. “When’s your birthday?” He asked. Dean also looked up, an amused expression on his face. They were in the mess, having a midnight snack of cherry pie together.
“I have a feeling you’re still sore from last night. And believe it or not, but I’m sore, too.” Dean looked back up at him. “Plus, I’d like to get to know you better.”
“Right,” Cas said under his breath, rolling his eyes. Gabe sighed exasperatedly and pushed himself up.
“You ready?” Dean asked, after breaking away from the kiss. Castiel nodded, gripping the sheets beneath him and looking up into Dean’s eyes. “Let me hear you say yes.”
“Wait, Meg, stop!” Castiel jumped up and blocked her path out of the living room. “Wait, I’m sorry. It’s… It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, and I’ve missed you. I don’t want to lose you again.”
“Let us adjourn to the dining hall for sustenance and merriment!” Bobby yelled over the cacophony of noise, but all Castiel could focus on was Dean—his best friend, his true mate, his
“I can’t believe you don’t know about—okay, look, true mates are mates, but it’s different. It’s like—” Gadreel waved his hand like he was willing himself to remember. “It’s not a choice
“Fuck, Cas,” he groaned, “So good.” Cas smiled wider and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Dean’s.
“What does that matter?” Cas snapped, finally turning and walking back the way they came. Gabe blew out an exasperated breath, looking over at Dean and catching the man hold up his hand and point to it with a dangerous look directed at the three women. He furrowed his eyebrows when the three women's shoulders tensed and they hastily sashayed up to another man who looked like he had some coin. Gabe mentally shrugged and turned to follow Cas.
Dean you always make me feel so good,” Cas gasped and strained against his bonds. Dean smiled to himself. He crooked his fingers and watched as Cas sharply inhale a shaky breath and shiver. “Oh my god, right there, please. Right
“Wait, no,” Dean said, untangling Castiel’s legs from his hips so he could back away, “We should wait.”
“I did not think I had a choice, your Majesty,” Castiel said, clasping his hands together in front of himself.
It didn’t take long for the feeling to finally overtake him and throw him into a deeply satisfying release. Castiel hummed in contentment as he came down from the high he’d been floating in and smile at Dean.
“Now, Castiel, how do you feel?” she asked. Castiel glanced up to Alfie, frowning as Alfie wouldn’t look at him and his face still was tinged pink. He took a deep breath and then nodded his head, smiling at Ellen as he answered.
“How has the day been up until this point?” Dean asked a few moments later. Castiel smiled fondly up at him.
Cas gave Dean a moment before speaking. “Dean?” he asked, scooting down on the bed to see Dean’s face.
“He’s right,” Lisa murmured, scouting the crowds to see where Dean was with Ben. “They take this holiday the most serious out of all of them.”
“Cas, no!” Dean lunged forward again, catching Castiel by surprise as he wrapped him up in his arms and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Jesus, Cas!” He looked up at Sam. “And damnit
” Cas gasped. Dean let go of Cas’s hands and undid Cas’s slacks, pulling them off in a swift motion along with his drawers. Cas bent his knees and opened his thighs eagerly. Dean oiled two of his fingers, reaching between their bodies to circle his finger around Cas’s rim and in turn making Cas squirm. He pushed his digits in and crooked them in just the right way that made Cas’s hands shoot up to beside his head, gripping the edge of the table.
came from behind him. The wind around the courtyard began to pick up, and as Castiel turned around with Gabe clutching onto him, his eyes widened at the sight before him.
Castiel surged up and threw his arms around Dean. “Thank you,” he said, and the sound of Dean’s laughter in his ear gave him butterflies again.
Cas’s heart pounded in his chest and he looked at Gabe as his father was pulled from the carriage. Gabe lifted a finger to his lips and jerked his head towards the open carriage door. Cas wasn’t given time to think much about what that meant a before the door to his right was pulled open and he was grabbed by the front of his ugly brown suit.
“You like being tied up, don’t you,” Dean spoke in a deep voice. Cas’s legs jerked open wider. “You like being helpless to me.”
“Dean, just trust me,” Castiel said. He motioned for Dean to move up the bed, following closely as Dean settled against the headboard.
Another tear fell down Dean’s face and Castiel wiped it away. He stepped forward into Dean’s personal space, cupping the alpha’s cheek. And then that feeling from before sparked back to life. That heat inside him ignited and it made him surge forward to kiss Dean.
“Dean… Thank you,” Cas stuttered out, smiling. Dean leaned down and kissed Cas lovingly, moving his lips slow and steady against Cas’s until they were breathing hard. He moved his hands up to play with Cas’s nipples until he was squirming beneath him and whimpering against Dean’s mouth.
“Your cock is leaking so much,” Dean noted, pushing Cas’s legs apart to look at the young man’s red and angry looking cockhead.
“He broke my heart,” Cas said, turning back to look at Sam. “He left me after I’d shown him the acceptance letter. He wrote,
He slumped back onto their bed, moaning softly as he came down from his high. Dean kissed over his face and neck tenderly, waiting until he knew Castiel was finished coming. And once Castiel sighed deeply, he knew Castiel was alright to continue.
“Your breasts will grow, although only slightly. A male omega’s means of making and storing milk, in the case you ever have pups, is an internal function. It is not akin to the way female omegas and betas store and make milk,” Jess said, “and that is because your breasts are inside your chest, and if you ever do have pups and begin to produce breast milk, you will need to find a way to expel it as soon as possible otherwise it would grow to be very uncomfortable and painful and could cause difficulty breathing due to your breasts and where they are positioned internally.” Jess said.
The heat from Alastair’s body between Castiel’s legs went away, and Castiel figured that meant the other alpha had won the fight over him. He readied himself as much as he could for what was about to happen, but all he felt was his pants and underwear pulled back up and buttoned. Someone began talking to him, but Castiel couldn’t understand what was being said. He felt an arm slip under his back and another slip under his knees. A small whimper escaped his lips as he was lifted up and into someone’s arms.
“Will do, Captain,” Charlie saluted. She grabbed the bandages from the counter and placed one over Dean’s neck before patting him on the shoulder and walking out to give Kevin his task.
“Yes.” Castiel nodded. He cupped Dean’s face and leaned down to rest his forehead against Dean’s. “You are my true mate,” he said softly, “and I don’t want anyone but you.”
“I never should have believed Jo,” Rachel said. “She’s always been… It doesn’t matter. I moved to California a year after you left because I thought that’s where you were.”
“Your Majesty, these stories my subjects claim to be true are not. They have made them up. There is no maltreatment of the lower destinations on my lands.”
“Okay, so, meet me outside the back entrance to the auditorium tomorrow at eight in the morning and we’ll set up together before the presentation,” Barnes said, handing Castiel a pink slip to give to his teacher. Castiel thanked her and was on his way.
used to isolate yourself from everyone and everything. Even when we were young. Especially when we were young.”
“Turn into the alley on the left up here,” Cas instructed, lifting his head up only slightly to see where they were. “It goes along the outskirts of town and leads out to the woods.”
Castiel would have been happy to spend the whole day in Jess and Gilda’s company, but a knock sounded on the door and Gilda got up to get it.
“You don’t understand family, Cas,” Rachel said, and huffed out another dry laugh. “You don’t even understand what it means to be in a relationship.”
“These rings will now seal the vows of this marriage and will symbolize the purity and endlessness of their love,” Bobby announced, “By the power vested in me by the King, the land, and the cosmos, I now pronounce you, Dean and Castiel Winchester, true mates and King and Queen of the great land of Winchester. You may kiss to seal the bond!”
The next thing Castiel knew, his body was being lifted up, what felt like miles, from his face-planted position in his pillow. He felt an involuntary whine escape from his throat before he was being lowered back down. He sighed as the coolness of the new pillow soothed his burning skin. And then... As he inhaled, the most amazing thing he’d ever smelled overtook his senses and he couldn’t stop the pleased little noises he made as he tried to burrow deeper into the pillow.
“You keep oil in your desk?” Cas asked, throwing his head back when he felt Dean push a finger past his rim.
“Please?” Cas asked, gripping onto Dean’s hands while they made love. “Please stay; just one more week.” Cas ended his words with a gasp as Dean thrust into him.
Benny and Gilda were already in a small boat and Cas kept silent as Sam situated him next to Benny. “Let’s get on!” Sam yelled. Jo and Ash pocketed what goods they wanted and then made their way over towards the other few boats.
“Dean,” Castiel said, motioning for him to come in and take a seat at his desk. “I did really good tonight, didn’t I?”
Just a quick little note: this chapter may read like the characters are acting out of character, but just hang in there. It’ll be explained.
“Don't mention it,” Charlie said, “Turn around though. Benny made something special for your birthday.”
“Gabriel,” Michael said, curt as always. “It was nice of you to come visit us so late in our stay in the kingdom.”
“Cas, the world is going to end in ten days, and I don’t know how or why it ends.” Meg shook her head like she was ashamed. “All I know is that we need to stop it.”
However, he also knew that not everyone worked the way he did, and he didn’t want to make it seem as though sex was all he cared about. He’d brought the conversation up with Cas one day when he was having doubts, and it seemed like it was the first time Cas had ever even considered that thought. Cas just said that he never thought of them having sex as just sex. Each time they were together he’d always thought of it as…well, as an act of love and closeness between them. Dean agreed; very much so. He’d never thought of his time with Cas as just sex. But sometimes...sometimes he needed a reminder that Cas felt the same way.
“Are you asking if he’s been looking at you without his normal completely smitten lovey-dovey gaze? If so, yes,” Charlie answered. “He seems like he could be upset with you, but I don’t know what it’d be about.”
“Hey, baby,” she said, and Castiel rushed over to her, wrapping his arms around her in a crushing hug.
“Stop it,” Cas hissed to himself, shaking his head to force the all around feeling of nothingness away. He closed his eyes, making himself think good thoughts about Dean, Gilda, Charlie, Sam, Benny, Lisa and Ben—anyone from the Impala. That was one cure he had found worked when this happened. Most of the time it worked, too.
“Stop saying my name like that,” Cas snapped as Ava dragged him out of his room, letting him grab his trench coat, and heading down the stairs. Ava laughed quietly.
Then, like he could smell the content and happiness from miles away, King John came and tried to ruin it.
“Yours was the scent that was on that quilt and pillow?” He asked, “You were the one at the door who gave them to Ellen?”
“Do you know what this does?” He asked. It was a piece of metal with a two pronged fork at each end. “See, what we do is,” Dean paused to unclasped the fork from the collar to wrap the leather around Sandover’s throat. “We put this around your neck, and then we attach the fork, and if you lower your head, you die. It’ll impale your chest or throat.”
Amara was quick to react to that and straddled his middle, raining down hits and scratches wherever she could. After another hit below his eye, Castiel yelled and shoved Amara off of him. He rolled over to get on top of her, but she jumped up, kicked his side and knocked the air out of his lungs.
“Will you untie me so I can touch you, now?” he asked. His breathing hiccuped as Dean’s pupils dilated and lust flashed through his eyes.
“Right,” Michael said, he stepped aside and let Cas pass to get into bed. “Well, I’ve come to tell you that the search for Ava has ended. I’ve had messages sent to all the neighboring towns that if she’s seen she’s a wanted woman.”
“Cas…” Dean breathed out, looking at Cas with wide eyes. He cupped Cas’s face and kissed his forehead. “I’m not going to stop loving you.”
Naturally there were still some inconsistencies in the husband's testimony, but they didn't outweigh the evidence that proved him innocent.
Cas tightened his hands in Dean’s hair and pushed his chest into the pirate’s hands. “Dean,” he squeaked, letting the older man know that he was close. His hands were tugging roughly at his hair and his hips were starting to thrust into Dean’s mouth at a uncoordinated pace. Dean closed his eyes and removed his hands from Cas’s shirt, continuing at his pleasant pace until Cas was doubling over and holding Dean’s head down. He cried out loudly as he came, "Dean!" His hips stuttered to a stop before he breathed deeply and laid back on Dean’s desk, removing his hands from Dean’s hair and letting them fall down next to his head.
Dean looked into Benny’s eyes and nodded. He picked up his blades and sheathed then in his belt. “Let’s go,” He said and exited his cabin. Benny followed closely, watching as with each step Dean transformed into the tactical and formidable Captain he knew Dean to be. “When we get onto the ground we need to be fast.”
“But I’m cold and you’re warm,” Cas protested. Dean batted his hands away and stood up, pulling the articles of clothing with him to rest on Cas’s hips.
Dean laughed, “I don’t know,” he said huskily, nipping harshly at the spot where Cas’s jaw started. Cas arched his back into Dean and whined. “I think I’m gonna tease you. Teach you a little lesson?”
Castiel was sorry for losing control. She’d tried to teach him better than that, but Castiel hadn’t been able to learn from her. He wasn’t able to keep himself in check when Dean was being threatened. Castiel was sorry for failing his mother and disappointing her.
“I think an actual introduction would be good,” he said, sliding his arms around Dean’s middle as the alpha curled his arm around his hips. “This is my mate, Dean.”
“I know sometimes you don't think you're a good person or that you're not enough for me… But Dean, you are enough. You’re so much more than enough.” Cas came around to face Dean again. He undid the string keeping Dean’s trousers up and helped Dean to step out of them. But he didn't stand up, and instead he sat on his knees, running his hands over Dean’s legs and closing his eyes. “I know you think these scars you have…” Cas started, feeling his heart clench again at all the variations of skin he could feel on Dean’s legs. “...make up who you are, and that who you are is an ugly and unlovable person. But that's
Gabe laughed loudly and in an overly fake way. “Great idea, Rach, let's do that,” he took a swig of whatever cocktail he’d made. “Yeah, refreshing. And now that I’ve had time to think about it, I say no. Who’s with me?”
Dean smirked and pulled off, bringing one of his hands down to glide over Cas’s spit-slicked length. “Do what?” he asked, smirking when Cas had to fight for breath.
Castiel felt his face flush and he gave Dean a small smile as he moved inside. He stood off to the side and looked around, taking in all the different things he saw. There were several desks in the middle of the room, and cabinets and dressers against the walls, while lamps and other antiques were scattered over any surface available in quite a pleasant way. The store was cluttered, but not chaotically.
“Sh, baby, I got you,” Dean whispered. He lifted his head from Cas’s neck, “I got you.” Cas whimpered loudly and screwed his eyes shut. Dean smiled and jerked his hips forward, making Cas cry out loudly and snap his eyes open to look into Dean’s. “I got you,” he repeated, making Cas gasp for breath as he fucked into him again.
After Castiel was completely dressed and had his hair done, the ceremony was only a very short while away. But, as Meg said before sneaking out to get some pastries and tea, as long as they weren’t needed for the ceremony, they needed time to do as they pleased.
Dean inhaled shakily as he rested his forehead against Cas’s again. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you, Cas. I love you so much.”
Plus, my writing isn't... Great. It's very underdeveloped. I've come so far since I began this fic, and whenever I sit down to continue writing, I fall back into the headspace I had when I first started this fic. It's a dangerous place to be because you get more dialogue than description when more description would be better. Not only that, but this fic is also all over the place. I've put in useless scenes that don't advance or help the plot and it's just... Wow. Not great. (And all the historical inaccuracies???? Oh man, I want to slap myself. Some of them were intended because I didn’t want to have to write about the realities of this time period, but still. Not good.)
Dean moaned quietly, running a hand through his hair and moving his other hand faster over his manhood. He thought of the time he’d made Cas come four times back to back just by whispering dirty things into his ear and massaging his fingers against Cas’s prostate. That boy was honest to Gods the single most sensitive person he’d ever met. It was unreal how sensitive Cas was. Dean knew a lot about sex. He knew where humans held pleasure spots and how responsive each spot could be, but Cas was showing him new extremes. And Dean
Castiel could hear the thunder and see the lighting. It roared outside in time with the rise and fall inside Castiel. Every rush he felt, thunder cracked, and when he dropped the lighting lit up the room. Usually, rainy weather put Castiel on edge. He’d never liked the loud booms and sudden flashes; but when he was the one causing it? That was a different story.
In the year since Castiel had accepted Dean’s proposal of courting, he’d been the happiest he had ever been. He spent a lot of time with Dean, and the more time he spent with him, the more Castiel fell for him. Not only did Dean show him all the wonders of the world, but Dean taught him so much, too. They had weekly sessions where Dean would help him to understand the politics of being Queen and what was expected of him when he did take the throne. Dean never once made Castiel feel stupid for a question he had, and he didn’t make Castiel feel less than for not knowing something.
“Well, I’m here now,” Dean answered, smiling as Ben nodded and rested his small head in Dean’s neck. “I’ll protect you.”
“I’m so close, Dean,” Cas mewled, rolling his body into Dean frantically. Dean huffed and moved his head from Cas’s shoulder to his chest, taking one of his nipples into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the nub as he sucked lightly on it. “Gods, Dean!” Cas cried out, clamping down on Dean as he felt his orgasm approaching fast.
at night. You can’t hold yourself to a higher standard than everyone else. Not in a situation like this. You’re just one man.” Jo jabbed Dean’s chest.
A ripping sound followed soon after Dean’s words and Castiel saw Dean holding the belt he’d been wearing. “Worth it,” he said.
“Father, no!” Cas panicked, throwing his covers off and shooting over to stop his father from rustling around in his things. Michael looked at him with a curious look and an open mouth. “I-I mean, it’s not over there. It’s in my dresser by the window.”
When Castiel finally took a pause and started fidgeting, Gadreel got up and got Castiel a glass of water. He still didn’t say anything as he handed it to Castiel, only let Castiel take it and process for a minute or two.
fault, guys,” Jo spoke up, and her voice cut through the air like the knives she threw. “I was the meanest one out of all of us. I thought that if I showed dad how much like him I could be, he’d love me more. He’d think of me as Number One even if I wasn’t named it. I’m… I’m
“Well, then he couldn’t have had someone send a message to me or something?” Cas asked. “He couldn’t have had Kevin or Ash o-or Chuck or
“I-it hurts. I’m not even ten feet away from you, but it hurts. I can feel the distance between us and I can’t—Cas, I can’t not want to be close to you,” Dean said. “I can’t stay away from you. You’re my true mate.”
“Before I pronounce you mates, you must place your rings upon each other’s fingers.” Bobby summoned the ring bearers, Krissy and Ben. The two of them came over, smiling up at Dean and Castiel as they each handed a ring to one of them. “Gramercy,” Bobby said, “Castiel, take Dean’s hand and repeat after me…” Bobby recited the announcement Castiel was to say as he took Dean’s hand.
Had they’d kidnapped him such a public display to make a point? Had Dean ordered this? If so, why? What had he done to deserve such cruelty from the man he gave his everything to? Or, were they trying to tie up loose ends? he did, after all, know more about Dean and how he operated than anyone on this planet. Was—
Meg laughed under her breath. “It sure is nice to see you haven’t changed either, Jo,” she said, and then followed after Rachel in leaving.
There were preparations to be made for the entire lot of new subjects. And more to be made for any others who wished to come. It would be hard work to figure out accommodations for the sheer amount of people, but they found that with each other by their side? It really wasn’t so daunting.
treated him as worthless! It made it so Castiel could only see red. He wanted to kill them. There was nothing else he could think about but making them pay for what they’d done to him…
Castiel shook himself, and looked around the room, wrapping his arms around his middle for comfort. Everything looked rather new and unused. There was a fireplace on the wall directly opposite the door, and two windows on each side of the stone to let natural light in. A small area to sit during the cold seasons, Castiel guessed, was in front of the fireplace and on the to the left, on the west wall, was a large wardrobe. And lastly, to the right, there was a four poster bed with drapes to ensure privacy. It was the largest bed Castiel had ever seen, and certainly comfortable looking with all the pillows and blankets, but Castiel would not be won over by a bed. Castiel knew what kind of man the King was raised by, and therefore knew how King Dean would think of omegas. Castiel was not one of the teen omegas from the kitchen either, so easily won over by just looks.
When he reached Dean’s body, Castiel dropped to his knees and used whatever strength he had left to push Dean onto his back. He sat down on the floor and pulled Dean into his lap, cupping the alphas face with a shaking hand.
So, Cas came to the conclusion that no, Dean was not dead. He couldn’t be. And he wouldn’t die. Not out at sea and certainly not without Cas. He felt it in his bones that Dean was still alive. But there was always a doubt that maybe what he was taking for truth was just Cas wanting it to be truth so bad, he was tricking himself.
Castiel mumbled something from under Dean’s hand and Dean felt him moving his arms. He looked down to see Castiel spreading his hands out as best he could, nodding at Sam. Dean could see the mental smirk Castiel had.
“Absolutely not,” Dean said, a tone of finality in his words. “Cas, there’s you. And there’s me. And then there’s you and me. I don’t want you and me to overshadow
Castiel wasn’t sure how long he was frozen for, but then the man laughed, and Castiel stopped breathing.
“Castiel,” Alfie said suddenly, pulling Castiel to face him, “This is something else. True mates are rare. Benny and I met by sheer chance, we were never supposed to even be in the same parts of the castle. If Dean is your true mate—”
Dean smiled and dropped everything to the ground. “Let’s do it,” he said and began undressing. Back on the boat they had both decided they wouldn’t need any swim clothes. Cas blushed, only a little, and did the same. He took Dean's hand in his when they were both undressed and let Dean lead him to the waters edge. Slowly edging himself in, Cas found it to be the perfect temperature.
“How can you be sure?” Cas said. “Emotions are fickle and they can change in a day. You could wake up tomorrow and I could say something and then, bam, you hate me. Or two years from now we could start drifting apart and then one day… Bam,” Cas looked away, his eyes welling up with yet even more tears. “You don’t love me anymore and all those quirks that you used to love about me you now hate them and they drive you insane. How can you be so sure that you’re not going to stop loving me?” Dean didn’t even hesitate to respond.
“Gonna take that as you forgive me,” Dean said, laughing as Castiel rolled his eyes and pushed at his head to get him to move down.
“What?” Castiel knew his voice was a few octaves higher than normal, but as Dean moved off the bed and unbuttoned his jeans, Castiel found that he didn’t care to be embarrassed because his focus was on Dean’s hands.
event! Stars are born when true mates meet. And when you look into their eyes, everything changes. You see a glimpse of their past, their present, and you see your future together with them. The deepest pit in your soul is filled, and you know that as long as they are alive... You will never be alone again.”
“There’s so many people,” Lisa said, a wonder-like quality to her words. “There’s never been this many people here on Thanksgiving.”
This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t right. Castiel should have been able to feel Dean, should have been able to see his soul.
“Feel good?” Dean asked, a laugh in his voice as he started fucking Cas deep and slow. Cas nodded his head enthusiastically, tugging at Dean’s hair.
“I love you!” Cas cried, saying the words each time Dean thrust into him. The pirate responding with desperate kisses against his neck and whispered
Dean was smiling when he saw them and immediately picked Cas up and spun him in his arms, kissing him deeply.
“Great.” Rachel stood up as Castiel did and the two of them followed Benny out to the courtyard where everyone was waiting already.
Dean was only eight when it happened. His father sold him to a royal looking for someone to have around for whenever he needed to…’blow off some steam’.
Dean walked slowly inside, a deep, thoughtful look on his face. He took a seat on the edge of one of the couches in the living room, and looked at his feet. Castiel closed the door quietly. He didn’t want to jolt Dean from whatever thought he was having because it seemed important. Castiel could tell.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Dean said, moving down to brush his lips against Castiel’s. He relished the little gasp the omega gave, but before he could do anything about it, Castiel was surging up to kiss him. And fuck, if it didn’t take the wind out of Dean’s lungs. He’d kissed and been kissed by some great kissers and attractive people, but fuck. Kissing Castiel immediately took first place because he was so enthusiastic about it.
“Fine,” he said, and the way Dean’s face lit up almost made him smile back. “B-but you have to keep your distance.”
It was pushed open to reveal an absolutely stunning dark haired omega that made nearly all of the students’ jaws drop.
still interested, I think you’re ready, too,” he said, tugging on Dean’s cock just enough to get his point across.
“Me neither,” he said, running his hands through Dean’s hair. “But we have the rest of our lives together,” he continued in a whisper. Dean smiled at him, groaning lowly a second later as he thrust into Cas. Cas gasped at the spark that ran through him and rolled his body down to meet Dean’s next thrust.
“Yes.” Dean said. Castiel shook his head, because he couldn’t—he wouldn’t lose. “I know you won’t, Cas, I mean I know you and I know why you go in there. I don’t want you to throw that fight.”
“Good,” Cas said with finality. “‘Cause honestly you didn't have much of a choice.” He ended his sentence with a yawn before turning on his side and snuggling into Dean.
“Cas, look, before we get any further into things, I need to warn you,” Dean began, “I really don’t want to make you unhappy, but speaking of Amara…”
Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean’s wrist, stopping them both in their tracks as something electric rushed through both of them at the contact.
Jo nodded her head and came over to stand next to Lisa. “You betcha. He cries easily, he’s needy, he’s constantly whining, and if he doesn’t get what he wants he’ll throw a fit, too.”
Castiel nodded, because he could relate to that. He wanted to be a writer and writing little stories in the moonlight was how he escaped when he was younger. “I know what you mean,” he said, “Wanting a way to escape. When I was younger, I would write those typical short stories about an omega prince saved by the dashing alpha prince from the evil queen who locked him in a tower, or the charming thief who freed the omega from a curse.”
“Yes,” Cas sighed, letting Dean unwrap his legs from the man's waist so he could clean them both up.
Castiel smiled, looking down at his feet as he worked up the courage to speak again. “Thank you, Dean.”
“Please,” Castiel said, pulling away to look into his mother’s eyes. “I’m so confused about everything because I—”
Dean snarled as Castiel’s heat spasmed uncontrollably around his cock. Castiel clawed at Dean’s back, crying out every thrust because Dean’s cock felt so good inside him and Dean knew exactly how to fuck him. He could feel his pleasure heightening, and when the beginnings of Dean’s knot started tugging at his rim, Castiel came again, squeezing around Dean unbelievably tight.
“Alfie is down below. He’s with Dean at the moment, being shown the ropes and familiarizing himself with everything,” Sam said, frowning as Cas didn’t respond. He let out an anxious breath as he pushed into Dean’s cabin. “Please hear him out. It’s not his fault that he left and was gone for so long.” He plopped Cas down on the bed and began untying the ropes around his wrists first.
“Sam, you take care of things while I’m taking Cas back, get the swabs to work,” Dean said, “Charlie, Ash, Benny, you’re coming with me to better keep Cas’s identity anonymous. I take it you all know who his father is?” Everyone nodded. “Who else knows?”
“I don’t know if Dean has told you about him and I…” Benny started, obviously not sure how to approach this subject. Benny opened his mouth to continue, but Cas cut him off.
“So… Michael…” she started, “Why, again, were you not able to meet with us all those years ago when we first reached out to you about a marriage proposal?”
Castiel nodded like he understood the urge and Dean almost wanted to question it, but Castiel stepped forward hesitantly and Dean got a whiff of his scent. If Dean didn’t know better—or hope Castiel hadn’t, at least, because foreplay was one of his most favorite parts of having sex—he thought maybe Castiel had already had a session of… Self love.
!” Sandover said, spitting his words into Dean’s face. Dean smiled as he wiped the saliva from his face, letting out a fake laugh.
“Come,” he commanded, watching in awe when a moment later Cas’s mouth fell open and his back arched into Dean’s chest. A high pitched moan tore itself out of his throat and Cas came. Dean followed him soon after placing sloppy kisses over Cas’s face until they were able to talk.
Castiel tried to be mad, tried to be even a little miffed at Gadreel for taking away from the point he was trying to make, but he wasn’t. Honestly, he knew what Gadreel was doing, and he was thankful for the fact he had a friend who could distract him from the stupidity of people sometimes.
Dean expected Cas to scream or something; in no way was he prepared for what really happened: Cas’s head flew back with his mouth open and eye squeezed shut as his hands flew back to Dean’s thighs and gripped Dean almost painfully. He drew in a stuttering breath before raising himself up again repeated his motions, screaming this time. Dean guessed Cas had angled himself so his prostate was being hit each time he sunk down.
“But they’re touching him,” Cas said, his voice low and upset. “They’re touching what isn’t theirs.”
Cas was still smiling as he swallowed all of Dean’s release and as he pulled off, stroking Dean’s length gingerly and coaxing him down from his high.
“Castiel,” Michael greeted as the carriage door opened and he got in. “I have a meeting to go to at six tonight, so I will not be home for dinner.”
“Let’s go to your room,” Cas said, taking Dean’s hand in his and pulling the man with him as he walked into the cabin’s hallway. “I have some things I want to say to you.”
One infraction that stood out to Cas was the time of which the husband said he got home. It didn't line up with the time in which it would've taken him to get home from the whorehouse. He said he left at around eleven fifteen, and his house was a twenty minute walk from the brothel. The husband said he got home at eleven forty, but he also said he took a carriage home; meaning he should have gotten home much faster.
“You’re human. And you make mistakes,” Jo said softly. She hugged Dean tightly. “But, those mistakes are not
“Shit Cas,” Dean groaned, tilting his head up to kiss Cas desperately. Cas kissed back for a brief moment before he had to pull away to breathe. Dean kissed down to Cas’s neck, sucking bruises over his skin.
“Put your hands behind your head,” Dean said, using his Captain voice again. Cas locked his fingers together behind his head and looked to Dean for more instruction. Dean raked his eyes up and down Cas’s body hungrily before issuing another command. “Fuck yourself on my cock." Cas whimpered and raised himself up an inch or so. Any more and he wouldn't be able to handle it. "Talk to me, tell me how it feels."
Dean shook his head and wrapped Cas up in his arms, clinging to him like his life depended on it. “And, Cas? No,” he said, “I haven’t stopped loving you. I could never. I love you, Cas, I love you so fucking much. I missed you every day. I hated leaving you, but I couldn’t risk you getting hurt or worse.” | [
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Tony gets to his bedroom and turns back to his friend. “I’ll go. You don’t have to stay to watch me out the door.”
“The important part is that Tony accepted me at face value. Didn’t try to change me. Didn’t care about my past. Didn’t seem to mind that I’d
Tony stands from his seat and walks off the stage. None of his teammates turn to say goodbye. Howard is on the end, his face blank but his posture angry. Tony doesn’t care.
Tony’s eyes are glued to his phone screen as JARVIS feeds him the data. It’s all there. Everything they need to implicate Hammer and Stane in a web of wrongdoing. It’s as damning an info dump as he’s ever seen, and he has seen some bad shit in his day.
“We want in on the YouTube channel,” Clint declares one afternoon, halfway through dessert. “I’ve got a shit ton of ideas.”
“She mentioned the arc reactor,” Pepper says, leaning up on her toes so Steve will hear her over the noise. “This is the first time I’ve seen him out of his garage since that morning.”
“That sounds painful,” Bruce says, which is the first thing that comes to mind. He hasn’t spoken out loud much lately either so he’s not exactly at top form. He has never been at top form, really, now that he thinks about it. “Is there a specific reason you came to find me?”
“That’d be amazing,” Steve says. “My dad-- he passed when I was a kid. My coaches were everything to me when I was in junior high. And you’d be so good at it.”
James makes a wild rush for the stranger and the stranger shoots him twice. The tranqs are clearly effective because when James drops to the ground, there’s no doubt he’ll stay there. Bruce can see he’s out.
“James, this is Clint Barton. Clint, this is James,” Bruce introduces for lack of anything more enlightening to say.
, you know? I wasn’t making assassination plans if you weren’t behaving yourself, I swear. You could have fucked up whole villages. It wasn’t my business.”
There’s more shuffling and it’s Steve on the line again. Bruce wonders about the code Natasha and Clint have just sent back and forth, but it doesn't appear to worry James, so Bruce isn't worried either.
It turns out Hangover Soup is a real, working, magical thing, and Tony wants to buy a factory and start mass producing it. When he’s finished with his bowl, he feels a whole lot better.
He’s Captain America. Isn’t that what Captain America’s supposed to say? ‘Hey kids. Don’t be wasteful. Stay in school. Check to make sure your friend is really dead if they fall to the bottom of a canyon.’ Helpful shit like that.
He takes the chair in the corner and uses his Starkpad to scroll through James’s medical charts. He feels like he’s missing something now, like he missed something before. He’s not going to fail James again.
“I’ll do you one better and give you the whole night. If we aren’t heading out any time soon I’ve got some business of my own to take care of,” Natasha says. “You good here, Steve?”
“With a new twist,” Bruce says. “I’m not upset you didn’t tell me; that’s your business. I wish you had though because I’m worried. And I feel guilty that I wasn’t there for you. Really, guilty. You know me. I overthink things and then when it’s really important to get something right I get it wrong. And who knows-- maybe I’m destined to always make life worse. That’s-- that’s what I’m calling about, actually--”
He opens the first by laying his hand against a blue lit square, a security measure Tony occasionally uses in the lab.
Tony’s not used to people taking care of him. At least not people who aren’t employed for that specific purpose. Tony complies, mostly out of confusion. Either Natasha is very convincing, or his headache is very bad. He’ll figure that out later.
“I’m not sure how much help I’d have been,” Bruce admits. “I have good intentions but my implementation could use some work.”
“More security means people get hurt,” Tony says, cutting Steve off. “It’s unintentional, but it happens.”
Steve nods. He’s not surprised. He’s known for years that the bond Tony and Bruce share is special. Not romantic love, but just as real and every bit as important.
“Give me some credit. I do know what I’m getting into here. And for your information, my crush on Neil Degrasse Tyson is real and valid,” Steve says. “I’ve been to Hayden Planetarium more times than I can count. He narrates the--”
Natasha takes the next right. “I thought you might want to be in the neighborhood. We’re three minutes out.”
So he finds the bedroom where Sam has deposited his stuff, scarfs down a Starkbar, grabs a quick shower then flops face first into bed.
Life goes on. Sober and happy, Tony develops new inventions at a rate unmatched by any of his peers. Unmatched even by Howard’s successes at the height of his career.
Clint’s slightly disparaging description of their process gets the reaction Clint wants since James relaxes.
“Not until the morning,” Natasha says. “He said he needed a night in his own bed and that you’d understand.”
“I stopped by to see a friend,” Steve says. “A friend I knew I wanted more with. Just didn’t want to make assumptions.”
Steve shakes his head. “I have not,” he says. “I saw a link, but I don’t believe just because you’re a celebrity you don’t have a right to privacy.”
Rumlow looks like he’s going to fight back, but Natasha steps up to Clint’s left, with her arms crossed like she means business. You’d have to be a straight up idiot to take them both on at once. Brock looks to Steve for assistance, and Steve just glares. Brock thinks better of his clenched fists and jogs away to catch up to the rest of his team, mumbling slurs under his breath. He’s pissed, and he can stay pissed. Steve’s not going after him to play nice
“If he was stealing office supplies, you’d be down there helping him load them into his car, not up here, alone, sulking.”
The woman who opens the door isn’t at all what Tony’s expecting. It’d been easy to picture the woman who’d raised Bucky Barnes as someone formidable. This woman is barely 5 foot tall. Her white curls are pulled back into a soft bun, and the look of pure joy on her face at the sight of Bucky, Steve and Clint catches Tony by surprise.
Tony steps back up next to him and Steve realizes the few shop employees and all the other customers have all disappeared. Tony’s taken care of it like he’s taken care of so many things lately. His presence is steadying in a way Steve’s never noticed before. Like just having him close is making it easier to think.
“Great Depression Chic is due for a comeback,” Tony says, looking quietly pleased. He’d calmed down as soon as Steve had said he’d move in. “And I don’t care about the stuff. I’ll take it all. We can turn the living room into a flea market if that’s what would make you comfortable. As long as you’re there, I’m good. You living there; that’s what I want.”
When Pepper’s coffee break is over she thanks Steve for his time. She only looks mildly embarrassed when Tony appears across the lobby, proving her earlier story a lie.
“Hydra made me special clothes. My metal arm is bigger than my skin arm, so all these shirts either feel tight around the metal, or too loose around the skin. There’s no in between.”
As much as he isn’t sure how he feels about James Barnes he absolutely does not want the man dead. Not after everything he’s suffered already. The universe can
“Seems stupid for only one of us to show off that we’re taken,” Tony says. “I want the world to know I’m yours.”
Of when he was sick with asthma and allergies and who knows what else. Only back then, these dark moods were aimed at Bucky and Bucky never felt like he needed to take Steve’s shit. Not like Tony does. Tony takes it and takes it and takes it, like somehow he thinks he deserves to be Steve’s emotional punching bag. Like suffering is penance.
The group only make it through three trays of fries throughout the night, but that’s because the shots and the beer are endless. Infinite. Especially for Steve and Tony since they’re the ones everyone is celebrating. By last call, Tony is sloppy, floppy drunk. Steve’s not faring much better as they follow their friends through the door and pour out onto the sidewalk. The whole lot of them are laughing and stumbling and leaning on each other for support.
They’ve discussed this in therapy. Steve needs to be his own person. Tony needs to be his own person. And Rhodey and Pepper are trusted friend who will keep an eye on what Tony drinks. As if reading their minds, Rhodey appears across the room and waves.
Never mind that it took him almost two months from when he’d first thought he ought to contact Stark to get here. Tony doesn't know that.
“Get Steve on the comm,” Bruce says. “He might have some thoughts. I probably should have connected with him already to let him know how James came through surgery.”
“Tony does,” Clint says confidently, as he and Bucky join them at the rear of the van and they all begin to unload.
“Neural activity looks good,” Bruce says. “Heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation are all within range. At this point he’s probably doing better than you are.”
Once he gets his way, Bucky turns off his flirty charm as quickly as he turned it on. The smile that's left behind on Bucky's face is entirely sincere.
Bucky’s recovery takes half the summer. He’s met Tony a dozen times, but always because Tony’s come to his and Steve’s place. Usually with food (which makes Tony a decent catch in Bucky’s opinion). Today, the whole crew is going to Tony’s rink to play hockey. It’ll be Bucky’s first time back on the ice.
“No,” Steve says emphatically. “If I had issues with his performance on the team I’d talk to him. In person. Alone.”
It’s too much. And part of him doesn’t want Steve within a hundred miles of the tower and the other part wants him there right now. Rationality is a blur because Tony just found out who murdered his parents so everyone’s gonna need to give him a little bit of grace on this one. Especially Steve. Steve who launches himself out of the elevator before the doors finish opening and skids to a stop in front of Tony on the slippery floor.
“I don’t have to give you the keys,” Tony points out. “I’m trying to talk about this like an adult.”
in with the team,” Clint says, plating up some extra crispy... ham? Turkey? Bruce isn’t sure. He also isn’t picky, so he has no room to complain either. “Figured protein would go further for breakfast,” Clint explains. “It’s a 4 hour hike to our new place, unless we want to steal a car.”
“Me, too,” Bruce agrees. “James, I hope you’ll choose to stay, but if you need to go, we won’t stop you and we won’t track you.”
Tony can hear him walking slowly up the stairs. He resists the urge to throw anything in Rhodey’s general direction.
Tony leans in for another kiss. When he pulls back he looks at Steve seriously “Let me take you out to dinner,” he says.
Bruce groans. “I vote we don't make any decisions regarding an unqualified doctor until everyone is off their pain meds."
“You’ve seen me exactly three times in the last three months. At the gala when I yelled at you. During the whole California mess when I yelled at you,” Tony says. “And today. Where there’s no guarantee I’m not going to yell at you. I’m a weird thing for you to miss.”
He stands, and this time carries his duffel bag back to the center of the barn. He pulls out a gray hooded sweatshirt and holds it up.
“That was nearly a year ago,” Tony says, drawing back so he can look Steve properly in the eyes. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“When’s the last time you changed your sheets?” Sam asks. He’s leaning against a lamppost for support.
“I can’t picture you on a trike, but yeah--,” Clint says. “I think it’s a pretty safe bet that waking you up before you’re ready would be hazardous to my health.”
When it’s nearing noon, it’s time for them to go. Rhodey has work and Pepper’s got a meeting. Steve hates to see them leave.
Steve practically chokes at the mention of that god-awful song. “Please tell me that’s not your private elevator music.”
“There’s an exhibit of my things at the Smithsonian,” Steve says gently. “They’re on loan from Stark Industries and I’d like them back.”
Bucky follows after Clint, which leaves a spot for Tony in a chair on the end, squeezed between Bucky and Steve.
“Right before JARVIS asked you to bring me food,” Tony confirms. “Thanks-- really, for breakfast. And for shutting things down last night. Did you get any rest?”
It’s Bucky’s first time with the new glove Tony had designed for him. It turns out Tony’s been designing shit for years that no one ever knew about. And now that he’s out of the game, it’s a full-time gig, or it would be a full-time gig if he hadn’t been absolutely serious about coaching his niece.
It’s weird calling him Stark, Steve thinks. In his mind, he’s always Tony now. And since he’s given Tony an embarrassing amount of thought lately, the given name sticks.
“Duty calls,” Tony says. He looks a little dazed. Like he’d lost himself entirely in the lesson and only now realizes how long Steve had let it go on.
He waits a few seconds, for Dum-E to press the button, and when he sees the red light flicker on, he begins.
It takes Bruce a while to get to sleep. He’s so worried James will have nightmares, he can’t stop trying to listen for them. Eventually Bruce drifts off and when he wakes up it’s dawn. As far as he knows, James slept noiselessly. Unless he didn’t sleep at all. Or he’s gone. Or he’s dead. Or gone and he murdered Clint in the process. Or they killed each other and their bodies are out glistening with dew in the morning sun.
No. All anyone in the media (or at SHIELD for that matter) seems to care about is what happens in Tony’s bed, or anywhere bed-adjacent.
“But I need something from you,” Steve continues, looking toward Bucky. “A signed puck for his goddaughter. I guess she’s your biggest fan.”
It’s a week after that that Steve finds himself in Stark Tower, this time via a quinjet and a promise of any favor that strikes Clint’s fancy for being the short-notice pilot. Tony’s text had been brief and alarming.
The three of them and JARVIS work seamlessly together, and Steve knows he’s only in the way. He’s got no more to contribute here than he’s got to give to Bruce and Nat and Sam.
“That’s some real science right there,” Clint agrees. “I am always up for a game of “What Shit Can We Scan?”
When the SAD department personnel all get raises, it doesn’t feel like some sort of creepy pay-off for getting Steve in bed.
Tony’s voice sounds tense. Steve isn’t having this conversation while Tony is under a car. He reaches for Tony’s ankle and slowly (carefully) wheels him out from under the vehicle.
“Plus Bucky Bears were a thing,” Bruce adds. His voice is about a hundred times less burdened now that he sees James in the flesh. Especially since James looks like he’s made about a week’s worth of recovery in the 8 hours he slept. “You might have seen them actually, if you were doing research.”
Even Tony, who’s never been big on carrying traditional weapons, is holding a paintball assault rifle that would send whole armies running. He’s got a paintball gauntlet, too, attached to his hand. And that’s before he pulls out a series of large gun parts that he has to assemble on the spot.
“Wait till we get to New York,” Clint says. “Cause now I’ve got something to put money on with Stark. Who’s the better braider, you or Nat?”
The seizing stops and James lies motionless in the grass except for the harsh rise and fall of his chest. Bruce waves the scanner over him starting with his head and moving it lower, forcing himself not to rush this despite the urgency. A blurry picture isn’t any more help than no picture at all. What the hologram starts to fill in as Bruce works is a nightmare.
He lets go of Steve’s hand but doesn’t move out of his space. Steve lets out a slow breath. He doesn’t say anything else and he sticks close to Tony as they walk back inside.
“Then send Katie with me. She’ll be my trainee. We’re a lot less suspicious than the four of you.”
“If you’ll unwrap yourself out of that blanket burrito you can find out for yourself.” Steve looks down at the bagel in his hand and keeps his eyes there as he continues. “I was thinking of heading over to Brooklyn. Jarvis suggested taking some pictures of some of the places me and Bucky used to go. I know-- I know not to get my hopes up. I understand it might not help.”
“A circuit board if you’ve got an extra one,” Bruce adds, eyeing their haul. “And as much gunpowder as you can spare.”
Steve takes a step back and Tony grabs his wrist and pulls him forward. Without the Iron Man suit, Tony can’t budge him, but Steve’s in enough of a daze he steps closer anyway. The last thing he expects in the entire world is a hug from Tony. A real, consoling, heartfelt hug that lasts at least 10 or 15 seconds before Tony lets him go.
“I have not observed any indication that he has. You should know, Colonel Rhodes is here and he and Ms. Potts have taken turns staying for the last three days. The colonel intends to leave now that you’ve returned, but he would like you to call him later this evening, when you have a moment.”
They both end up reinstated within the week. They don’t see each other again, but they text. Text every day. Enough that both Bucky and Clint notice right away, and the rest of the team notices by Steve’s third game back. Their third win in a row, after a cold streak while Steve was out. That’s all it takes for the tide of public opinion to turn. He’s back to being Brooklyn’s sweetheart.
Steve only gets a minute alone with Tony, right at the end. Pepper and Rhodey have said their goodbyes, and Bruce hugs Tony then tells Steve he’ll wait for him in the car.
“I watched my dad prioritize work over his family and friends way too often. Come on. I’m done letting history repeat itself, aren’t you? So what do you say: Burgers? Fries? Seriously, you’re giving me a complex with the not talking thing,” Tony says, making a sort of wild gesture at Steve’s face. “Talk.”
“Nat, think you could take us on a detour to HammerTech? I think it’s time we pay our friends a visit. And JARVIS, get Rhodey on the line. I know he’s going to want to see this.”
“Tony, please. I’m begging you. Don’t run away. Come with me to check on Clint and Natasha. Please don’t leave me to deal with this on my own.”
It’s Clint who finds him up on the roof, sitting with his back against the landing pad’s dropped edge, hidden from view.
Tony grabs a plain bagel and a little plastic container of plain cream cheese. Steve pulls several bagels from the pile closer to himself.
“Will you please fucking stop?” Tony snaps. “I don’t hate you. What you did to my parents... I’ve read the HYDRA files. That wasn’t a choice you made.”
“I’m not talking to him,” Steve says. That much he can say with certainty. “He’s not supposed to use the phone.”
“The Smithsonian. There’s an exhibit.” Steve pauses, and makes the mistake of nervously taking a drink of the smoothie, since it’s right there in his hands, and it sends him into a coughing fit.
Tony doesn’t know what to make of that and he looks away. The silence is awkward and he doesn’t know how to make it better. He feels a hand on his arm and when he turns back, Nanna’s taken a step closer.
Clint invites Steve out for burgers and milkshakes the next day. Natasha joins them, which is a nice surprise. It had been hard to get a read on her when they’d first met, but lately she’s been welcome company.
The drive back to the tower is a quiet one. Steve knows that if Tony wants to talk, he’ll talk. They hold hands for most of the trip, and when the traffic picks up and Steve needs both hands on the wheel, Tony rest his fingers on Steve’s thigh. It’s nice.
Tony stares at him for a few long seconds, like he’s looking for something specific. Whether or not he finds it there, Steve doesn’t know.
“Prototypes,” Tony says. He points to the horizon, where sure enough, a gray cloud of swirling metal is flying fast in their direction.
love if it isn’t an overriding (sometimes idiotic) concern for the wellbeing of someone other than yourself?
They really are in the boondocks. Possibly twenty miles past them. Tony owns some property out here and it seemed like a good idea to take this project out of the city to upstate New York.
what I need, or we could break into a medical center after hours. It’s not fair involving you any further.”
Steve feels like he can breathe for the first time in days. “Thank you, Jarvis. I really appreciate your help.”
Steve spends the drive to the hotel wondering how many delivery boxes are going to be waiting for him in his room. The answer is none.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Tony lies badly. “You’ll have to be more specific. I like a lot of people.”
“I’ve got a guess,” Steve says. “If it’s where I think they’re going to take us, you couldn’t be more safe.”
Tony places a mug in front of Steve. “I’ve got a car coming for you in half an hour. I’d have taken you home myself but I’ve got company coming.”
“I washed them all last week,” Steve admits. “I was having trouble sleeping. Jarvis walked me through what you ask the professional cleaners to do.”
Monday is never a good day to try and take off, so it’s Tuesday before Steve can get out of town. He’s made his appointment with SI and rented a truck from a place near the airport. He arrives at the remote warehouse a few minutes early, and is a little concerned when there’s not a single car in the lot. There’s no guardhouse either, so as Steve walks to the front door he’s not entirely sure it’s open.
more emotionally compromised than when it comes to Rhodey or Pepper. Where I think I’d be screwed-- and where so far you’re not doing any better-- is that getting yourself shot is not going to bring him back.”
No one mentions that Thor has decorated his egg in green and gold and it’s a miniature Loki. They aren’t sure he knows. So it’s a relief when Steve hears him call it “Yolki” a few hours later. And despite Thor’s tendency to move around the penthouse like a bull in a China shop, he’s careful with his egg.
That earns Clint a dirty look. “You're gonna get smart with me while I'm sittin' at a table full of weapons that could end you?”
“It doesn’t belong to Stark Industries,” Clint adds quickly, mumbling through a mouth full of fig-flavored cookie.
Steve’s having a good time for the first time since he left Tony upstate. Clint doesn’t take it easy on him, and Steve’s not a terrible shot. By the time they’re finished, they’re both out of breath.
“I noticed that, yeah,” Clint says. “And if I thought you were there to hurt Bruce, I'd have taken the shot. But I don't want to hurt you. I wasn’t out trying to rescue you, either. That’s Steve’s deal. Which-- look, I get you don’t want him to know where you are, but he’s out busting his ass looking for you and dragging along my best friend in the process. And since Cap’s scared you’ve been captured by HYDRA he’s landed them in some dangerous places. Got himself shot the other day.”
Bruce takes a few steps back to give James plenty of space to do the scan of his knee. The floating picture above the baton begins to fill in, and when James hovers the scanner over his injury, Bruce gets his first look at the damage. He’s seen enough of Steve’s second-hand charts to know exactly what he’s looking at.
Nick Fury arrives shortly after, and Steve and Tony get sent home. Bruce and Nick can handle it from there.
“Would not have guessed of anyone on the team, we’d be pinning our hopes on them,” Steve says. “Not that-- I mean-- Bruce and Clint are great.”
“If something feels off, we won’t be annoyed if you need us to stop,” Bruce tells James as he lifts his backpack. “Just say the word.”
“Geez, Clint. Give them a minute to pull up their pants,” Bucky says, pushing past his boyfriend to step out onto the patio. “Thought we’d check on you two. Everything good out here?”
“Google me,” Tony quips. “Try an image search, safesearch off. I’m young, but legal, in the pictures. You can see for yourself how much I enjoy it.”
On screen, Steve stands and gently picks Tony up to shift him down the couch. He grabs the pillow. Goes for the terrible, itchy, blanket (that one of the designers had picked out and Tony hadn’t gotten around to throwing away yet) and stops himself. JARVIS offers to lead Steve to better blankets.
“Because he was hot and you’re sick of dealing with the perpetually damaged?” Tony guesses. “See? I didn’t need to ask. Got in on my first try.”
Steve’s never actually tried an Egg McMuffin. The face he makes after he takes his first bite of the gummy English muffin and the limp egg and the flavorless, chewy ham (is this ham?), says everything about his thoughts regarding McDonalds' sad attempt at breakfast.
He’s defeated. He’d just played one of the best games of his life and he can’t enjoy the victory. Which is why he, Sam, Clint and Bucky are all piled onto his hotel bed, which is filled with every snack Bucky and Clint could snag from the vending machine down the hall.
It turns out, for about an hour and half, they do a bit of both. Mostly because Steve confesses that apart from driving a zamboni he’s always wanted to try and skate being pulled along behind one. So that’s a thing that happens. Steve even manages to do it without breaking his neck in the process. He does fall once, but since he’s put on a few of Tony’s extra practice pads it’s actually a whole lot gentler than falls that happen in a game.
“Sirs,” JARVIS interrupts, within a few seconds of when the scan ends. “I have information on James’s brain scan I believe you will want to see immediately. I can forward it to the screens here, but the most accurate representation would be in 3D. If you are willing to step outside, the Quinjet’s holo-field would prove most informative.”
“Oh, well you spotted him this morning right?” Bucky asks, pulling out his phone and thumbing to the exact same picture Clint had shown him a minute ago. He flashes it toward Tony. “He was here.”
Steve can’t mention Tony’s name without Bruce’s eyes going hazel or Clint disappearing off to the range for hours at a time. Natasha flies to South America and only promises she’ll check in once a week. Pepper says she needs to focus on keeping SI afloat despite Tony’s best efforts to sink the company, and Rhodey buries himself in his military work.
“I feel like I should be bothered that I’ve got no clue if you’re late night shopping in the nearest beauty supply or knocking over a corner store, but honestly, I’m too tired to care.”
“I have done so already. I believe he is most impatient to speak with you. He is requesting that you make no stops along the way and also that you don’t listen to the radio until he can explain.”
The rest of the night passes far too quickly. Tony and Steve are maybe flirting but it's so far removed from Tony's usual experience he's not 100% sure that's what's happening. It's nice though, whatever it is.
Finally he recognizes someone Tony thinks he can trust-- a guy that Obie had tried to fire for playing paintball in the parking lot with some friends after hours. The man is sitting at his desk, nursing a Stark Industries mug of coffee with his eyes closed.
Tony stops short and turns to look Steve in the eyes. “James Buchanan Barnes did not live 70 extra years of hell on this planet to die in the back of one of my quinjets, or in whatever circus tent of a backyard Barton’s got hidden up in the middle of Nowheresville, New York. It’s not going down like that. It’s just not. I won’t let it, and neither will you. So we’ve got this. Right?”
“We renamed it after all those things Stark said about you boys,” Mae consoles. “It’s just a C3 for now. Coffee, Cookies and Cream. It can’t hurt you.”
His head still aches, and movement seems like a lot of effort. Natasha looks ready to teach a Pilates class.
Bruce has never heard that story before and he smiles to himself. Mostly at the image of Clint trying to wrestle down a bald eagle.
Steve nods. “You’re right. It is a good superhero name. A good song, too. How about you let me get you both to your town cars and after you’ve given it some more thought you can call me in the morning. We’ll talk.”
Steve waits until Tony looks up, and then places the paper on the floor and moves to sign. He pauses and looks up at the ceiling.
Tony trails off. So many people don’t know this. And usually if they find out it’s after a whole stack of paperwork. But he trusts Steve. Trusts him implicitly.
Steve isn’t sure what to say. There’s definitely an awkward few seconds before Clint takes the lead.
Tony shakes his head. “Fine. Pep was the exception. We all know how well that worked out for her. Even when I tried to contribute, it was all wrong.”
“Exactly. Could have, but didn’t,” Clint agrees. “I left myself wide open, you were out of your head, you had multiple weapons, and I am
“Tony thinks you are,” Kate replies. “And I don’t disagree. Please? It’ll make everyone feel better. I’ll show you my place. You can meet Darcy.”
“Because you’re supposed to be inside, eating the damn fries. Five platters, guys," Clint complains. "It’s like you’re not even trying.”
“You didn’t want to give him another chance?” Steve asks. He’s surprised considering how much she obviously cares.
“Unless you would rather I do it, I think you could do all the scanning of your legs yourself,” Bruce suggests. “Or you can try the whole scan on your own and I can check the picture and if there’s something we can’t see clearly we’ll figure it out.”
If Natasha notices the gentle shoulder squeeze Steve gives Tony as he walks away, she has the good grace not to mention it.
“I went lookin’ for you because I wanted to know if the error was with him or with me. Was I broken, or was he so goddamned reckless with his own safety he didn’t know when to quit. That’s the answer I was looking for, and it’s why I’ve been trying so hard to keep him away. He’ll just keep trying to die for me. He won’t quit.”
Tony chuckles at the enthusiastic introduction and the last of his stress gives way. Clint hadn’t pointed when he’d said the names, so Tony’s still not sure who is who, but they look friendly enough.
Steve smiles at a memory. The time Bucky’d torn out an article about Captain America from a newspaper and then read it out loud to the whole pub later that night, with a ton of colorful commentary inserted in between the facts. Just rant after rant about Steve throwin’ himself on grenades and jumping without parachutes and generally being a dopey, shit-for-brains menace. When Bucky’d really got going, the Howling Commandos had never laughed so hard. Morita had fallen out of his chair. Dum Dum had nearly pissed his pants.
It doesn’t matter. Tony can hide it. His coat covers all evidence of his discomfort and his voice miraculously doesn’t weirdly pitch as they step into the elevator and Tony instructs Jarvis to take them up to his office.
“Fine,” Tony agrees. “But since you took care of coffee I’m paying for all our drinks tonight. No arguments.”
“Someone would probably pay you a lot of money for this interview, Steve,” Clint says seriously. “Like a million dollars. I’m not exaggerating. Back me up here, Tash.”
Steve knows Tony’s being sarcastic and rhetorical, but you know what? He’s got an answer for this. A memory that comes to mind more often than Steve would like, when he remembers his mother.
“Most humans are born with a capacity for emotions and feelings. There are definitely exceptions, but typically, a child is born and that child has emotions keyed in and ready to go,” Bruce begins. “That’s the... the typical state... of neurocircuitry. Umm.. the control mechanism that regulates thoughts.”
Bruce really isn’t sure where else this will go and the staring contest going on between them only seems to agitate things. Bruce reaches slowly for his backpack and pulls a StarkBar out of a side pouch. StarkBars aren’t technically a thing yet, so much as a side project that Bruce had been working on before he left. On the run they’d been a lifesaver. When Bruce gets back, he and Tony are going to revolutionize food aid.
And that makes Steve’s breath hitch. Aunt Peggy. Of course. Three years into his friendship with Tony, and somehow this is the first time she’s ever come up. Steve can’t hide the flash of pain he feels at her name.
Steve feels more than a little glad himself. If all he can do to help their cause is keep an eye on Tony-- well, there are worse ways to spend a day. Like alone.
“I’m guessing the answer he’s looking for isn’t ‘uncomfortable’,” Tony says carefully. “If it hurts like a bitch, then tell him that.”
“He was charming,” he begins hesitantly. “Lively. A chatterbox is what my ma used to call him. And he was good. Just a good person. He had this way of looking at the world-- like he didn’t see it for what it was, but like he could see it for what it was going to be. Like he could see
“I should have gone to you and told you what I’d overheard,” Steve says. “It wasn’t fair of me to go behind your back, even for a good reason.”
“Thank fuck you went to Steve’s last night,” Bucky says over the speaker of the burner phone. “We’ve got security alerts set up on your name and someone put out a hit on you around 1 AM.”
“That was all on me,” Tony says. “I take some getting used to. My point is, first impressions-- or second impressions-- aren’t the most reliable way to gauge how something’s going to go. Give him another chance. And another. And maybe like a dozen more, and whether he’s the old Barnes or not-- you might like the guy. Bruce doesn’t have a lot of friends, you know that right? But he likes James. That says something.”
If you're someone who has commented or kudos'd, you're the reason this fic has grown so much bigger! You keep giving me ideas for things to add. It's like non-stop motivation!
“Because we’re both supposed to feel safe here? I should have asked you if Clint was going to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Tony-- I think I’m good on what I need but keep the line open in case I run into any trouble with this IV? I can see you’ve made some adjustments since the last time I hooked anyone up.”
Steve doesn’t believe either of them are serious about dating Tony, which is why he can laugh. Bawdy talk was a big part of life during the war. It feels familiar. Comforting. Fun. It has been
Tony shakes his head. “Doesn’t feel like I did much really. For the most part I was just along for the ride.”
Unhurriedly, Clint reaches out the glass to James. James takes it and drinks a few sips. Clint crouches down, so that even though James is looking toward the floor, he can see him in his view.
When Stevewas outed in the press, his own team had been great. Supportive. Protective. Most of them had already known, so it wasn’t a surprise.
“Bruce needs my help scanning James,” Tony says simply, pocketing his phone. “He thinks there might be an engineering problem with the arm.”
Pepper looks a little surprised by that. “He’s had a bad week. People think those interviews don’t get to him...
“It’s not trouble,” Natasha says, without turning around. “If you’re going to date Steve we’re part of the package.”
There are just so many expectations; it’s exhausting trying to live up to his own reputation. He spends the rest of the afternoon contemplating ways he can bail without looking like a jerk. He writes out the “Sorry-- something came up” text a few dozen different ways, but never sends it. He wants this evening out, he really does. And he’s not sure if he blows Clint off that he’ll get another chance.
Here Steve’s voice breaks a little. “I served time so they wouldn’t have to. By the time I got back, they’d all moved in with each other and already had jobs at Stark Industries. Clint knew someone in the HR Department who hooked them up. Overlooked some forged credentials. That’s where they met Sam and Kate. And when I got back they were willing to overlook my prison record, too. There are rules about it SI. You don’t hire criminals.”
“On self-discovery? No. No, I think it’d be good for you. Even outside all the incredible fantasies I can cook up. You should do this. Look into art school. Or work with one of my foundations. Start your own foundation. Find what makes you happy.”
Rhodey begging for help that’s never gonna come. Tony had Yinsen. Tony didn’t face his fate alone.
“Occasionally,” Clint says. “But no. I learned way before SHIELD. Hair and makeup is probably the most marketable circus skill on my resume, after The World’s Greatest Marksman.”
“Oh, you mean you took your eyes off Prince Charming long enough to miss me?” Tony asks, with false cheerfulness. “I didn’t expect you back until after breakfast.”
“I'm not the one with the crush on him,” Clint says. “If he snaps, I won’t take it personal. It’ll probably blow my shot at a lifetime of free cable, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
Tony has only been to the diner once, that day after their trip to the Children’s Hospital, and that day they’d only had milkshakes. This date is for food, and Tony seems surprisingly torn over all his options.
Only this time, the sound doesn’t come from the table. It comes from the kitchen. All eyes turn in that direction, where Bucky stands next to a frying pan not looking the least bit sorry. His hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and a few strands have come loose and hang in front of his eyes. If anyone thinks he looks a little silly in his My Heart Belongs to Hawkeye shirt, no one’s going to say.
. But all of that leaves me with one big question and I’m not going to get an answer if you walk away.”
Steve appears to have run out of words, too. He stands eerily still and stares out the window at the lights of New York. Or maybe he’s staring through them. Whatever it is he’s doing, it looks like it’s got more to do with the dead than the living. And that right there-- that’s what helps Tony understand what he’s looking at.
Being this close to Tony’s body is making him incoherent. Steve is feverish with need. He moves to straddle Tony’s thighs, so he has a better angle to give him his attention.
He follows James further into the house and discovers it really is perfectly suited to their needs. It’s one story, fully furnished, and in addition to the living room and kitchen, it has two bedrooms and one large bathroom. There’s a modern minimalist decorating scheme consistent throughout, with lots of light colors set against dark wood that Bruce finds calming. It also has very few windows. If you want to take in the view you’d need to go outside to sit on the large, wrap-around deck, and that’s not a problem since it will give Bruce or James some breathing space if either of them start to feel confined. Clint too, if he decides not to run.
“Mingle,” Tony demands. He gives Steve a playful push and then heads across the room to his best friends.
“That makes it sound like no one knew. There were people who did. Peggy for one. The Howling Commandos. Your dad.”
When Tate and I wrote The Company You Keep I was new to the Marvel universe and she was a Bucky/Steve shipper so that's the direction we went. Now she's moved on to other fandoms and with her enthusiastic permission, I'm
He watches the buildings go past. Considers Tony’s words. Waits for Tony to speak and fill in the quiet but Tony doesn’t. Just weaves through traffic when he can, and sits patiently at the lights when he can’t.
Tony flies his Iron Man suit to Malibu the next day. He doesn’t own a house there anymore so he rents a big, fancy one right on the beach. Steve learns this from a SHIELD report. A week later Tony throws a wild enough party to get kicked out of that house and he rents another one, this time up on the same hill where he’d once lived. Steve learns this from Pepper. A few days later there’s a house fire during yet another party so Tony buys himself a new place outright. Like he plans to stay in California permanently. Steve learns this because it is plastered across the front of The Daily Bugle.
He heads down to his lab and changes into something more suitable for laying on the floor. He’s got an FTL Platform that needs rigging from the underside and Tony’s brain finally lets him relax once he’s elbow deep in electronics and plasma coils and grease.
“The last time Sir displayed similar behaviors, his expected death was imminent. Is he dying again?”
Steve looks down at his hands. He can hear that fight replaying in his head like it’s on the radio. He’s memorized every word.
"And here I thought it was because Tony’s always sneaking in pointy things to poke you with on stage," Steve comments.
Tony nods. They both climb out and Steve pops open the trunk to retrieve Tony’s duffel bag, shouldering it easily. There’s a desk, with an older woman behind it. She has the eyes of someone who has seen it all and she smiles at them in greeting.
“I’m sorry for everything you’re going to read about yourself in the paper tomorrow,” Tony says. He sounds nervous. “Maybe I should go out there alone. Lead them away.”
“You’re my first,” Steve concedes. There’s so much innuendo floating around at this point, Steve isn’t even sure which conversation they’re having.
“You gonna ask permission to breathe in my presence, too?” James asks. “Cause it’s gonna be a real pain in the ass when I say no.”
“I know you don’t like being handed things,” Steve counters. “Which is why I’m not handing you this. I’m holding it out for you, so you can see and then explain.”
“Oh. Then I guess I figured it out before you two did. No big deal. I’m clearly a relationship savant. I mean, look at my boyfriend. I did good.”
“You name drop him constantly,” Pepper laughs. “It’s been Steve this and Steve that all week. You didn’t think I’d notice?”
“I will,” Bruce says. “We all plan to keep each other alive, for as long as we’re traveling together. Try not to worry.”
“I might stay,” the soldier says, stepping over a few feet to a low, square hay bail and then carefully lowering himself onto it. “Will you tell him I’m here?”
“Sorry, man,” Clint apologizes, “That’s not the most polite hello I’ve ever made happen. You surprised me. I’d been listening for you to get out of the bath or head this way and then I look away for a second and you’re there. I’m impressed.”
He’s happy. Tony can hear it in his voice. And Tony’s not happy at all but he does try and pull his shit together long enough to have this conversation.
“Tony’s only said that Steve and Natasha were out looking for him and that he wasn’t under HYDRA’s control at this point,” Bruce admits. “If I’ve ask anything else he changes the subject.”
“Right,” Bruce says. “So I don’t worry about accidentally telling Clint to do something. It’d be different with you right now. I’m trying extremely hard to phrase anything I ask you as a question with an out so you don’t interpret it as an order. But I might forget.”
Or he’s Hydra and there’s backup out there, though that seems like the least likely of the three considering the calm Bruce maintains.
It absolutely gets them the attention they’re looking for. They can’t see the building through the smoke, but all their phones display a drone-cam feed that JARVIS is controlling from far beyond their manufactured chaos. A dozen or so HammerTech employees run out of the server building. Some of them are clearly the IT crowd but the ones who aren’t-- the ones wearing what look like tac jackets-- head for black escalades, four to an SUV.
Bruce picks up on his reluctance and picks the scanner back up from where he’d laid it on the porch.
“I’m gonna need to find out more about SHIELD when this is all over,” Tony says, eyeing the firepower they have at their disposal and then making a decisive choice.
“Yeah. And not because he thought we’d be shiny stars,” Clint says. “Neither of us are good at written tests, and no one in HR bothered to hide that we’d had some of the worst entrance exams of the decade.”
It’s only just out of his mouth when suddenly Steve seems to realize what he’s just said and he jerks up abruptly.
“James has had six and half weeks to eat a bullet,” Clint says, his words the slightest bit slower than normal. Like it’s an effort to concentrate. “He didn’t. He went looking for you instead, to ask about Steve. He wants a life. After everything-- don’t dismiss that. Don’t pretend that wasn’t tough as shit for him to do.”
“He...” James starts. “The way he looked at me... I am not that person. I’m not who he thinks I am. I’m an asset. A weapon. Not Bucky Barnes.”
Bruce’s clothing choices are limited. He can wear his clothes from Europe that are still bloody from earlier, the Stark Industries Swag he’d nabbed from the jet that’s less bloody but… still bloody.
“JARVIS is watching,” Pepper says. It sounds ominous. “But in case he’s compromised,” she glances at Tony, “I’ve signed the bottom of each egg. No signature, no win.”
He gives James time to consider his words as he walks out to the porch. The three boxes the drone left behind aren’t too big but it’s more than Bruce was expecting. He picks them up one at a time and carries them inside, to deposit them on the table.
With the decision made to stick around, something changes in him. Bruce watches the man’s posture relax a little as he leans back against the wall of the barn.
“Oh thank God,” Tony mumbles, finally finding his voice again. “Sorry-- just-- wow. I was running on spite and adrenaline and tacos and now I think maybe I need a second.”
“I was just about to tell James my thoughts on one of his malfunctions,” Bruce says. “And honestly, your perspective might be helpful. I... um... I’m not an expert on this. On any of it.”
Steve still looks a little caught off guard by his entire conversation with James, but he still manages a small smile. “Yeah. I think that a lot.”
He looks relieved though, like this is exactly the kind of ridiculous problem he needs to solve to get his mind off Bucky things.
Chapter warnings for lots of blood and for a mention of possibly suicidal thoughts. The person in question was not suicidal, but another character phrases it in a way that could be upsetting if suicide mentions bother you.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Clint says. “I think you’re a first-timer at this, and it’s not my first rodeo. Natasha was a nightmare when I brought her in. She was in full on survival mode, she didn’t trust me any further than she could drop-kick me, and she nearly killed me a dozen times the first week. I got through that; we’ll get through this. When you do the right thing, most of the time it works out.”
Tony stops speaking as the occupants around the table (minus Steve and Clint) laugh. Tony laughs, too, but when the laughter dies down, Tony fills his next glass to the brim with more champagne and drains it like a thirsty soldier with a canteen. There’s no more science talk. Instead Tony’s boyfriend takes over the conversation and launches into a story about a time he’d shut Tony up, this one involving a gag.
“My speed?” Tony asks. “Do foods have speeds? Are you calling me, what? Fast? Slow? I don’t even know what’s more insulting here. You’re going to have to explain this metaphor.”
As much as Steve knows that this is important and that Howard has been an elephant in the room for far too long, he still isn’t sure how to get through it. And that only takes Howard into consideration. Tony’s never said more than a word or two about his mother. She could have been equally cold. Distant.
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“I want you to see,” Tony says. “Before-- before you just let this go. I want you to see the pictures and I want to explain.”
“I wish I’d talked to you after the whole New York thing,” Clint sighs. “They made me see a SHIELD therapist. He was... not real helpful.”
Sure, he’s the better coach. Tony is positive Howard would have some tips and tricks that Tony might lack. But he will never allow Howard to squeeze the joy out of hockey for his niece the way he’d done it to Tony.
“I’m not a therapist,” Bruce explains. “It’s a miracle I haven’t messed you up yet, James. When we get settled somewhere you’re going to need to see someone who knows what they’re doing, if you’re willing. And I think, if Steve will take the suggestion, he should, too.”
And to James’s point... well, Bruce can’t deny that James is probably on to something even if it’s not something Bruce would have the first clue how to go about fixing.
“I haven’t told Tony I’m not traveling alone yet,” Bruce says. “And please call him James. He thinks the Winter Soldier sounds stupid.”
It takes everything in Bruce to dig his fingers into his palm and concentrate on all the very valid reasons he doesn’t need to go green to protect Clint. Clint’s got this, even as the Other Guy is pointing out how Clint is small, and squishy and made of meat.
“Take your time,” Steve tells him. The car starts to roll forward and away from the scene and Steve places a hand on Tony’s back consolingly. “You okay?”
Bruce sees James stiffen in his seat. “He asked me to call him James,” Bruce explains. “He doesn’t remember anything about his life as Bucky and he doesn’t much identify with that name. But he’s here and he’s safe. We’re all looking out for each other.”
Clint speaks first. “He relies a lot on his instincts and he’s not afraid of breaking rules if it’s going to help somebody. He can’t be bullied and he won’t stand for anyone else being bullied either, even if that might put him in the wrong. He’d be the first person in any group to throw himself on a grenade to save everyone else, so I’m honestly not sure how he’s still alive. Especially considering the company he keeps.”
“No,” Steve says. It would be a whole lot easier if he’d brought his shield because then he could use it to pry open the elevator and crawl up. That would be preferable to this conversation. But Steve’s come all this way, and he’s not a pushover even if this wasn’t the best thought-out plan. “There’s a chance he might see me anyway. Would you mind asking him?”
When the talk is over (and thank God it is over because Steve’s ass had gone numb about thirty minutes back) Tony practically bounces down the steps to meet the guy. Bruce hangs back, and Steve stands with him.
It’s hard not to ask James to confirm one last time this is what he wants. It’s hard, but Bruce resists because he will not infantilize James, and third-guessing him when he seems so sure about his decision would be a dick move. That’s a shitty way to treat an adult and it's not the way Bruce would ever want to be treated.
Bruce turns the phone toward James so he can see the picture Tony sent. In the interest of trust, he’ll show him every text that comes through until James tells him it isn’t necessary. Maybe that show of trust is the push James needs, since that’s when he speaks.
Tony doesn’t look up when the door slides open. All his focus is on his phone, and whatever is displayed there, that’s making him frown. There’s a piece of metal netting at his feet, bent into an odd shape that Steve can’t identify.
Bruce is apologetic in both tone and manner as James freezes. It hadn’t occurred to Bruce when he’d asked that James would know quite that level of detail.
“Damn straight,” Clint says with a pleased smile. “I like to tell Bruce to fuck off at least once a week. Keeps him on his toes.”
He waits for her to join him and then lets her see his screen. It’s a picture of Bucky Barnes, looking like he just stepped off a team bus and into his front door, holding up a handwritten sign that reads “HI JENNY! GO WILDCATS!”
Steve’s able to stand with no problem and he reaches down a hand to Tony to help him up. Tony stares at Steve’s hand, then takes it.
“SHIELD?” Bruce asks, pulling his eyes away from the hologram in confusion. SHIELD is supposed to be gone, and if there’s anything left, Bruce doesn’t trust it.
“Correlation doesn’t imply causation,” Steve quotes. He’s heard Bruce say it enough times to know it can win a lot of arguments with Tony.
Bruce has no idea how this conversation’s going to go. How he’s going to tell the best friend he’s ever had that he’s palling around Europe with the guy who’d offed Howard and Maria
There’s a loud crunch as Steve takes a bite of his crispy taco. For some reason, that’s what makes Tony bark out a laugh in a slightly hysterical pitch. They’re in the back of a goddamn murder-mobile and Steve Rogers is half a foot away, low key munching on his lunch.
They walk for about two hours when the patchy clouds above them begin to sprinkle down cold rain. It’s not miserable, but it makes Bruce reconsider his stance on the Steal A Car plan, even if it’s too late for that. James seems to be keeping up with Clint fine, despite the wet ground. Both men are a good bit ahead of Bruce when Bruce gets a text from Clint.
Bruce doesn’t respond because his eyes are on Clint’s results. The break is bad, but it’s clean and even if Bruce was up for starting work on it now, they need to let the swelling go down before there’s any real progress to be made.
“Not that kind of recreation, grandpa. The bruise is from my girlfriend. The physics professor I’ve been seeing?”
Tony thinks about Steve’s bedroom, and the perfect model Starship Enterprise, and about this man who is not only his boyfriend but one of the best friends he’s ever had. When he smiles at Steve it’s bright like Christmas morning.
Tony had felt terrible then, and tears had welled up in his eyes. She pulled him close and wrapped his new quilt around him.
“I get it,” Tony agrees. “But keep in mind, I’m not known for my spectacular decision making skills when I’m emotionally compromised and I don’t
“Then what?” Steve asks, nervously shifting the bag he’s holding from one shoulder to the other. If anyone can see through him-- if anyone can see all the fear and insecurity Steve’s feeling-- it’s Tony.
“Wait,” Steve says. “You’re telling me we’re in Brooklyn. At lunchtime. And you want us to eat salad?”
Steve hits send and that’s the end of it. He can see that Tony saw the message, but there’s no reply.
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather give it all to Tony, Ms. Potts. Anything that was Howard’s should be his.”
Bruce’s chest tightens. Why hadn’t Tony told him? Why hadn’t Tony trusted him? Why had Tony gone through this alone?
“I do have that ability. I do not always have the correct permissions. What is it you would like deleted?”
Steve tries to dig further into his own feelings. He remembers something Bruce said. One of Bruce’s concerns about Tony’s letter.
Except Steve doesn’t ask. A month passes, then another. Steve comes up with a dozen reasons not to seek out Tony. Just because he’s Captain America doesn’t mean he’s immune to the pang of rejection or a distaste for being mocked. Tony will tease him about wanting his relics. Remind him he’s an old man and offer to buy him a new sketchbook-- a digital one with all the bells and whistles. He won’t understand.
“You’re going to get help here so that doesn’t happen,” Steve says. “I think maybe I should start seeing that therapist at SHIELD again, too. There are all kinds of reasons we could walk away from this, but please don’t let fear of hurting me be one of them. You’re worth the risk.”
Steve stops what he’s doing to look up at the ceiling. He wants Jarvis to know he has his full attention.
Tony mouths the word “boooooom” as he lifts his hands like a mushroom cloud, which gets a chuckle from Steve.
He steps over to Tony and wraps both arms around him in a hug. There’s nothing romantic about it. There’s a time and a place for Steve’s unrequited feelings and this is not that time or place. Tony leans in against him and Steve holds him a little more tightly. They stay like that for almost a full minute as Tony pulls himself together. The shaky sobs turn to sniffles and then they quiet all together. Tony tugs away.
Steve knows Tony’s not serious. The picture with Dum-E’s hearts had been displayed front and center in Tony’s rehab room, and at some point Pepper had brought a frame for it. It is currently sitting on Tony’s bedroom dresser in a place of honor. Valued.
Partly because the old woman looks about ready to fall over from shock and partly because Steve’s just not sure what to make of the heartfelt defense.
He really has no choice but to rely on James’s opinion, since he has no idea what Clint’s seeing that’s worrying him.
“You don’t have to stop. You can talk about him,” Tony says with a shrug. “I’m not going to stay up all night crying over it.”
And well-- if they were going to kill him, that seems like a weird thing for Steve to concern himself with, right?
“I’m not lying,” Steve says, looking up at Tony with lustful eyes. “You are gorgeous. Perfect. Incredible.”
“That depends,” Steve says. “Are we talking a translation from an earlier translation or did you work from the original Italian?”
Steve stands and Natasha follows him to her feet. She reaches down a hand to tug at Tony’s elbow since he’s not moving. He stands and follows his friends out the back door, and they quickly walk without speaking down the hall to where the limo is waiting. Tony’s heart is racing. He’s not sure what to make of Steve’s defense. He’s grateful. Confused maybe. Feelings are
The other men take off their shoes to line them up neatly under a bench, and then disarm themselves of their guns and place them carefully in a large basket lined with blue velvet and lace. Tony notices that there is already a gun in the gun basket waiting. Nanna’s gun, apparently. Tony adds his weapon to the pile. Bucky adds a second. Then a boot knife. Clint unloads half an armory. Tony doesn’t even want to guess where he was hiding the dart gun.
“I’m already working on it, sir. However, Captain Rogers will need to take a look at my results as there are multiple sets by varying artists.”
It takes Tony less than 24 hours to decide he wants in on the game and by the end of business that day, he's racked up his first 20 points.
“It was in that info Nat dumped. JARVIS put it together about 5 weeks ago. James killed Howard and Maria and made it look like a car accident.”
This is not a romantic admission. It feels more like something Steve would say in a confessional booth before mass.
Steve quiets Tony with a shake of his head. “I don’t need you to apologize,” Steve says. “Right now, all I really want is to go to bed. It’d be nice if you were there, but if you’re busy murdering a robot that’s okay, too.”
Tony leans down to kiss Steve, and Steve opens his mouth and sucks on Tony’s tongue and shudders with just how good having Tony close makes him feel.
“We won’t stop you if you have to go,” Bruce says. “But personally, I’d like it if you stayed. There’s no punishment for this. I understand why scissors can be a trigger. They are for me, too. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Bruce notices Tony give Steve’s knee a comforting rub and the way that seems to relax the tense set of Steve’s shoulders.
“Text me if there’s anything you want from the store. I’ll let Bruce know to do the same,” Tony says.
He’s joking, obviously, and Bruce nods. “I’d say it must be nice, but I think if I had the choice, I’d choose to be like you.”
“But it might,” Tony says gently. “I’m not going to tell you to give up all hope. We already tried that. It wasn’t great.”
“One day, and you’re gonna figure out how they worked, get all the materials you need, and super-glue them all back together?” Sam asks skeptically.
“Actually-- you should stay,” Tony says, before Steve needs to respond. “Bruce is busy doing the doctor thing, Barton is injured and Wilson is napping. Someone needs to keep an eye on the place. You up for it?”
“Oh Phase 2 is absolutely a go,” Tony agrees. “We’ve got answers. We’ve got so many answers, right down to why they chose
The worst part about the museum, apart from the constant worry he’ll be recognized, is how much he wants to reach out and touch his things. How nice it’d be to curl up with his old sketchbook or run his thumb over his beat-up radio, and
“I’d date him,” Clint says. “But I don’t go down for anything less than HBO. What about you, Nat? After watching what happened between him and Pepper, would you date Stark?”
At least he’s being honest. Steve knows he should do the same. Stop being such chicken shit. Own his feelings.
Clint repeats his words in German then in Russian, or at least that’s what Bruce thinks he’s catching from his limited knowledge of the languages. That seems to get James’s attention even if Bruce can still see the way James’s pulse is throbbing in his throat.
“Okay. I just don’t want you whipping out the Eyes of Disappointment when you see me. You can break people with that shit.”
“Even the part where you swore, used the Lord’s name in vain, and broke the table?” Tony asks with a grin.
“I don’t get why we can’t take an uber,” Steve says, finally opening the door and taking a seat in what might as well be a clown car for as well as it fits either of them.
Tony grabs Steve by the arm and tugs him into the nearest store, and without asking for permission reaches over to flip the open sign on the window to closed. There are only a couple of people inside, thankfully. If nothing else it’s quiet.
Steve snaps his notebook closed and tucks it in his bag. He could use some air, anyway. Maybe a walk will help him sort out where this whole conversation went so very, very wrong.
He takes a hard blow to the shoulder and throws his elbow backwards to send whomever hit him flying backward.
“I overthink my words,” Bruce explains. “I want to be careful because people can be self-conscious when there’s something about them that isn’t typical. Not many people have metal arms.”
Bruce ends up napping in his chair after he shoots off his grocery requests to Tony. He isn’t sure how much time passes before James’s neural alarms beep and Bruce wakes with a start. James comes to consciousness a few minutes later.
Compared to what he’s spent the rest of the flight doing, patching up Clint is a piece of cake. Bruce wraps Clint’s arm carefully then use long strips of bandage to secure a splint into place. He helps him lift the arm to his chest and has him cradle it there before strapping on a sling.
Steve, who had hurled plates at the roof and dissolved them into dust because he trusted that even Tony's more batshit ideas could still be good ones.
Steve leads Tony straight to the armored car, and the rest of their friends (now including Rhodey) are an impenetrable wall around them. Steve makes sure Tony climbs in first, but then there’s a pause and friendly chatter outside the car. After that, Steve’s the only person who joins him.
Steve’s angry retort dies on his tongue. He glares at Tony, bends down to pick up a plate, and hurls it a hundred miles an hour at the ramp. It hits so hard the pieces turn to dust.
“Can you find the tape and get rid of it? It sounded like it was all digital. Sitting on some server somewhere.”
“You’re such a shit,” Tony complains. “I was actually feeling bad for you when I invited you to hang out. Then you come and sit on
“We’ll worry about it when it’s a problem,” Bruce deflects, as he gets to Clint. “Now stop being stubborn and let me look at your arm.”
“I do,” Clint complains. “Now get over here and help me up. Haven’t seen you in six weeks and I don’t even get a damn hello.”
Tony’s eyes narrow. “They weren’t in storage until after he died. He kept it all in his home office. He never let you go. Not even for a second.”
“One bacon cheeseburger, hold the onions, a large fry and a large Iron Man shake, coming right up,” she rattles off.
“I can’t say for sure,” Bruce admits. “But it’s a good sign that you aren’t feeling it now. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were getting neural feedback from the way they’d attached the leads for your arm into your nervous system. And now that the attachments are disconnected, the feedback is gone.”
“Could be worse,” Natasha says. “Barnes is safe for now. That’s more than we could say this morning.”
There are clean towels stacked on a shelf and he grabs one to place down next to the tub so it will be easy for Tony to reach. Steve spots a razor and pockets it. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to leave Tony alone with one just yet.
Bucky motions Tony over and explains what he’s doing, and Tony takes over double checking security codes as Bucky heads down to the basement to presumably sort through more weapons.
Giving Bruce his own text tone was a stroke of genius since Bruce is the one and only person Tony cares to text with at the moment. Bruce’s cheerful ping differentiates him from all the annoying gongs of work and duty and life outside the tower. Usually when a text comes through from Bruce Tony’s on it like lightning, but this time he’s distracted. He’s... well... for lack of a better word... he’s spying. On Steve.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bruce calls out in warning, as the man approaches. “Please don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”
Steve leans in and lets his face settle in the crook of Tony’s neck. He takes a deep breath then kisses Tony a few times before he pulls away.
The silence that follows the Captain’s outburst is the silenciest silence that has ever silenced. It’s beautiful. Golden. It’s like the ultra quiet anechoic chamber out in Minnesota that Bruce is always threatening to lock himself in, only this is better, because it’s full of politicians simultaneously pissing themselves. Silently.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Steve apologizes, his voice muffled by the food. “I didn’t want to talk with my mouth full and you asked right as I took a huge bite.” He sounds contrite. “We are not burying any bodies. I think what you’re smelling is mulch, maybe? And-- we’re not going to hurt you. I won’t let
“I’d like to state for the record that Sam did not know why he was doing this bullshit,” Sam inserts.
Honestly, James sounds so protective of Steve both Clint and Bruce try to hide their smiles. It doesn’t work and James looks unimpressed, which only makes Clint laugh.
“I should have called but I told myself I needed more information," Steve says, all in a rush, before Tony can get out a word. "I didn’t want to drop all that in your lap without some kind of... answer. And then... Bucky. I guess-- in the whole scheme of things your parents weren’t-- weren’t at the top of my mind because it’s Bucky.”
Bruce can tell James is overwhelmed, and he gets it. The guy’s world keeps getting turned upside down. It’s going to take time for him to figure out which way is up.
He sighs and sits down on the couch and waits. For what, he doesn’t know. An asteroid maybe. Something quick and painless.
The look on Clint’s face is so absolutely sincere, Bruce’s irritation can't hang on. Clint’s a good friend. Clint’s trying to help. Bruce is thanking him by being an ass. He sits up a little straighter and fluffs the pillow he’d mangled.
“There’s a piece of paper,” Tony interrupts. “Over there. It ummm... just... this conversation might be easier...”
“Great. Now go away. Give us some privacy, sky snoop,” Tony says, climbing to his feet and helping Steve do the same.
Steve knows the usual lunch crowd and they are long over any Avenger celebrity awe. If someone does make a big deal out of him and Tony, it’ll be a tourist, and the diner doesn’t get too many of those.
And it is a report. There’s a forced effort to James’s voice that Bruce hates more than a little. Not to mention the mess that is James not identifying the leg as his own. Bruce knows dissociation when he hears it.
It starts ascending a lot more quickly than before. When it stops, it’s at roof level. Tony is leaning casually against a new model quinjet.
“What am I eating?” Steve asks. His eyes water as he tries to force his gag reflex (his strong gag reflex, thank you) back under control.
He’s noticed the way Tony keeps running his fingers over things (the kitchen counter, the knobs on the bathroom sink, the books on the nightstand) like he never expected to see any of it again.
“No, you know what?” Tony asks, taking a step away from the woman. “I’m not going to be in your picture, because you’re right. I’m a shitty role model. If I had kids I’d hope they weren’t anything like me. But Rogers, here? He’s a good man. And I’m not sure what crawled up everyone’s collective asses and died but--”
“Barnes wasn’t in the city,” Sam says. “We’re pretty sure he wasn’t on the continent. But he was there at some point in time. These prove it.”
He takes the small Brooklyn Stars gift bag from Steve’s hand and opens it. The first puck is signed to Jenny. The second one is for him.
When Nanna nods Tony continues on, introducing himself in polite, fluent French, explaining about the trunk and then thanking her for her hospitality and willingness to take him in. Clint mouths
Judging by the speculative looks James is now giving Tony, whatever James has built Tony Stark up to be in his head, meeting him has taken some weight off of James’s concerns.
Somewhere upstate, buried six feet under, Howard Stark is rolling in his grave at his embarrassment of a son.
“Enough that Barnes should probably move the van back another hundred feet after we unload,” Tony says.
He hasn’t told anyone yet, and that’s the rub. He plans to get through the night’s interviews with as little hoopla as possible and then in a week he’s going to announce his retirement. He’s going to change his life. Focus on what makes him happy. He’s going to--
“If you reconnect it, will the feedback come back?” James asks. He sounds worried. Bruce totally gets that.
“If Stark knows you’re running around with the Winter Soldier he’s probably halfway over the Atlantic right now. It won’t be pretty.”
“Shit,” Tony swears. Now it’s his turn to be the cuddly one. He turns in and presses kisses to Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m a jealous asshole. I’m sorry you had to cut talking to that kid short when you noticed I was missing. I’m sorry I--”
“I didn’t open it at first, because I didn’t want to know how little he thinks of me. What he was going to offer me to buy back my friendship,” Bruce says. “He’s smart. He’s got to know a few million aimed at a medical clinic somewhere poor would do the trick. I’d resent him, sure, but I’d fake a few smiles if it really helped people, right? It’s not like I’ve got enough friends to turn him down, and he’s got you and Pepper and Rhodey so I only half need to matter.”
Tony doesn’t know how much he needed some quiet time until it’s only him and Steve in the car. He’s done with words, and all he can do is nod.
This story is an absolute joy to write, thanks largely to all the feedback from you! When I realized this chapter was over 7,000 words I just about died.
“Yeah, we’re buying this,” Tony agrees. “J, track down the artist. Make them a generous offer on my behalf.”
“They’re two sizes too tight, and they say Property of Tony Stark on the ass,” Steve reminds him. “Not exactly work appropriate.”
Tony knows, and believes, that Clint and Bucky and Steve don’t mean him any harm. But things are getting weird. And... well, their friendship is sort of convenient for kidnapping or murdering him, now that he thinks about it...
Kate is napping on Bruce’s couch when Bucky’s text wakes her. She reads it over, flops onto her back, and breathes in the delicious smell of whatever it is that Bruce is in the kitchen cooking them for lunch.
“No,” Bruce says. He’s not afraid. “It’s important to me that I know you understand that all this is your choice,” Bruce says, figuring James can handle the honesty. “I-- I don’t have a medical history for you. I don’t know much about you, really. I’m afraid that people who’ve worked with your injuries before didn’t give you the option of telling them to fuck off.”
“We need groceries,” Tony declares. “There’s nothing in here you wouldn’t find in an elementary school cafeteria. I can’t live like this.”
That gets a laugh out of Tony. “When I was younger I drove through a wall or two. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
Steve reaches for Tony, who is still flat on his back. He helps him sit up and then rolls him closer so they can kiss.
“Thought you might be mad at me, Dr. Bruce,” Clint adds, as Bruce carefully begins the scan. “I didn’t tell you that I’d ask Nat to come for back up,” Clint continues. “I didn’t tell her ‘xactly where we were. Just asked her to get to Switzerland, near the border. After James freaked over the haircut figured that it might be smart.”
It helps his control immeasurably that Bruce has already gotten some of the story from Tony (who had gotten it from Steve) so Bruce knows the Winter Soldier isn’t necessarily on team HYDRA anymore. Everything is okay for now. They’re far enough from civilization that this might not even get ugly.
“Well, we are,” Bucky says. “And since you’re still alive, I’m going to say we’re pretty damn good at it.”
Bruce rummages in his bag, then tosses one of the bars to James. They are down to less than a dozen so the food issues can’t wait forever, but they can definitely wait until tomorrow. For now, Bruce moves on to pulling vegetables out of the fridge to make the stir-fry for himself and Clint.
Bruce laughs. “Yes. Yes, you do. Give me a second to grab the supplies and then I’ll get you set up.”
I got the impression they believed Sir had told you of their departure from the fundraiser. He is in his workshop now. Would you like me to patch a call through to him for clarification?
Bruce works for an hour, sleeps for four, then wakes up again to get back to work. The biological part of what’s wrong with James is grim. All the monitors hooked up to him report back the same thing-- his body is trying to heal but there’s something in the way. Bruce’s best guess is that it’s the arm and the way it’s wired into James’s central nervous system, but the mechanics of the arm are out of his area of expertise. With some reluctance, he reaches out to the only person he knows who might be able to make sense of what he’s seeing.
The sex noises and accompanying jerk-off gesture make Steve snort a loud laugh and then choke on his iced tea as it goes down the wrong pipe. “No! No, I have never thought that and now I’m never going to be able to unthink it. Thank you.”
Bruce finally gets a better look at Clint as he’s laying the holo-baton on the ground next to James. He sees a dark bruise and a bone out of place nudged up just under skin above Clint’s wrist. Bruce has to focus on James for now despite how much he’d like to help his teammate. At least until he has some idea of what’s gone wrong.
“And you’re an expert, huh?” Tony demands. “You don’t know shit about me. If you’re going to clutch your pearls over bedroom talk, maybe next time don’t sit at the grown up table.”
“Shit. Not-- I mean, that wasn’t... the crack about the Kiss Cam. I’m not gay for you or anything. I didn’t come back here for that,” Steve rambles.
They strip out of their gear and jumpsuits without much care for privacy. Tony used to be so concerned with anyone seeing his arc reactor and now he doesn’t appear to think about it at all, as he guzzles some bottled water and stands around in nothing but his boxers.
Steve takes in Tony’s words. He doesn’t miss what a turnaround like this will cost Tony in the long run. Justice. Vengeance. Retribution. All things that by all rights Tony might feel he deserves.
Steve stands and puts a hand to the small of Tony’s back to guide him through the bar crowd. Steve uses his size to clear the way so there’s never too much of a press against Tony, and Tony appreciates it more than he can say.
The soldier’s eyes bore into Bruce. Bruce takes a deep, stilling breath, and lets it out on a four count. The Other Guy is definitely not a fan of the soldier’s sharp gaze.
Steve shakes his head. “He moved out of the tower. He’s staying with Clint over in Bed-Stuy. I don’t think he’s up for a visit just yet.”
“He always did,” Steve says. Then he pauses, like he’s trying to think how to phrase something. “You like him, don’t you?”
Clint puts down his coffee and starts blindly patting around behind his computer before pulling out a sheet of copy paper. There’s a neatly typed list there that’s nearly unreadable because of all the furiously scribbled out words and notes and addendums. Tony is absolutely sure this is not at all the kind of thing Clint should be showing him. HR would be in tears.
“Sam Wilson,” the winged man introduces as he rips a velcro medpack off his flight suit. “Para-rescue. Friend of Steve’s.”
“You are displaying many of the most common symptoms of depression,” JARVIS says. “Perhaps it would help if you put on clean...” there’s a pause as JARVIS apparently searches through his database for an accurate description of what Steve’s been wearing for the past day, “sweatpants.”
“Too busy to care,” Bruce responds. Not to be an ass, but because the lights and the beeps and the panels and the blood have his focus. He’s finally snapped back from the grips of stunned failure where he’d lost himself for a minute.
Steve is appalled. Tony knows he’s appalled because Steve’s mouth is stuck open and his eyes are wide, like a trout mounted on a wall in a country club.
“Just goes to show you, HYDRA’s a bunch of ignorant assholes,” Clint says helpfully. “Best marksman in the world, except for maybe me, and then they put you at a disadvantage. It’s one thing being evil, but do they have to be evil and stupid?”
It’s a Saturday morning, two days after one of these fights, when Bruce texts Steve to ask if they can get lunch. They meet at the diner and chat about the usual things until their food arrives. Steve only learns why Bruce has asked him to meet when Bruce pulls out a crumpled envelope and taps it on the table.
There’s no two ways about it, Steve’s depressed. Google told him so. JARVIS told him so too, when he asked for the AI’s opinion.
Tony isn’t sure what to make of the offer. Dinner sounds good. Time with Steve always sounds good.
“I feel bad for him,” Steve says. “He’s a lot different off the ice. Or-- well, we were on ice, but outside a game.”
PS tell Barton the next time he invites me for a slumber party at a house with multiple killers and zero alcohol or coffee, I’m cancelling his All You Can Eat card at SoupSoupSoup.
“You’re the nerd, nerd,” Bucky says, leaning down to kiss Clint on top of the head, like he does every morning. “What do you think all the angles you calculate off the top of your head are? Social Studies? No. Geometry is math.”
It only takes them a minute to pack up after James pulls the Stark Industries hoodie over his head. Bruce doesn’t let himself take a picture even though he figures Tony would be exuberant there’s a 90 something-year-old assassin decked out in Stark gear. Before SHIELD fell, Tony’d been working for months to get a tiny Stark logo on Steve. Anywhere.
“Ana and Jarvis were the ones who raised me,” Tony says. “They couldn’t have kids. I didn’t know that until I was older. Ana always said they had me around, why would they need anything more?”
“Make an incision between the 8th and 9th rib on his left side,” JARVIS replies, with the blessed brusqueness of an artificial intelligence unmoved by the tragedy of it all. “Three inches wide, two inches deep.”
He’d made the wrong choice. He should have pushed about the trigger. Clint could have died because of Bruce’s inadequacies. How would he even explain that?
“They were all signed R.J. if that helps,” Steve says. “That was the only identifying information.”
“Hey, sliced bread was well within my time and my tastebuds work fine,” Steve says. “Ask Bruce if you don't believe me. I have a healthy appreciation for food from this century.”
“Tony’s probably over-reacting but thank you,” Pepper says from behind her desk. She doesn’t look like she intends to budge.
“No. It won’t hurt,” Tony says, with a gentleness usually directed at Dum-E when Tony doesn’t think anyone else will hear. “Hold still and this will only take a minute.”
“Thank you,” Tony says. “For-- all that.” He gestures upward to indicate what had happened in his room and then leans against the wall for support.
“Someone put a hit out on Tony and he’s worried they’ll come after you,” Kate explains. She props herself up on an elbow. “Bucky and Clint want you to go somewhere else. Somewhere people won’t think to look for you.”
“You want to come in?” Tony asks. “Jarvis could queue up some Cosmos for us. There are still a few I haven’t watched.”
Steve prays the same words over and over, willing the universe to accept them. If there is a God, it shouldn’t be asking too much. Not after everything they’ve been through.
“Can you not call me that?” Steve asks. “Cap is fine but Captain America... I’d just rather you not.”
“To answer your question, I didn’t know what kind of bagels you like and I was hungry-- figured I’d let you pick first then eat the rest.”
Pepper, Rhodey and Steve excuse themselves to the garden, and leave Tony to give Bruce the grand tour alone. They’ve all seen the whole place by now. The receptionist brings them chilled apple cider, and they drink it in the garden, where the leafy bushes have all gone red and orange. The air is still warm and the sun is bright in the sky. The afternoon passes much too quickly.
Nanna walks in on the tail end of Clint’s suggestion and he freezes, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.
Bruce makes a face, he can’t help. Neither him nor the big guy like to think too much about someone hurting Clint and there’s unpleasant implications in what Clint’s saying.
with Clint last Christmas (I lift up mine eyes into the hills) but for whatever reason, when he needs to split, he ends up in Switzerland, von Trapp style.
Tony’s never been happier with a decision to bring someone home. At least a decision that wasn’t entirely based on sex.
“J-- I need you to find me a rehab. Somewhere I can start in the morning. Out of the city but still in New York.” Tony says it all in a rush, as if he thinks he’ll change his mind if he doesn’t get it all out at once.
The smile’s small and slightly pained but Tony can feel that something’s changed. That the wall that’s built up between them for the last six weeks has lowered a couple of inches. It makes it a whole lot easier to breathe.
“I’m not mad,” Bruce says easily, as the reading begin to fill in above the little baton. “I trust you to make those kinds of calls. It wouldn’t be fair for me to blame you for doing the thing I had hoped you’d do.”
“It’s nothing against the guy,” Clint explains. “He’s hardly ever down here so seeing him is like spotting something legendary. There’s this game some of us play. It’s stupid. But like-- you get 10 points for a Bigfoot sighting, 10 points for tagging management with a post it note, 10 points for paging a punny fake name over the office intercom without getting caught, 10 points for deliberately leaving your fly down all day, 10 points for relocating Steve’s lunch. 20 points for making Steve swear. Here... there’s a list.”
“I’ve had worse,” Clint says. “And Stark keeps the fun pain pills up front. Nat got me two and now I can’t feel shit. I’m superman!”
Tony closes his eyes. There’s too much light and noise to get it right unless he cuts himself off from the outside world.
“It doesn’t have to stay long,” Clint says. “Unlike Bruce, I’m not inflating my skills when I say I am one hell of a hair professional. I learned from the best.”
the plan,” Tony objects. “I’m just trying to figure out if I need a ride home. I’m not going to beg you to stay. I already said you could take the car.”
Clint wisely gives them space as Bruce waits for James to settle carefully onto the porch. It had been Clint who’d first declared that getting scanned in a chair was too much like being in Medical for him, and he would rather be on the ground. James doesn’t say as much but copies Clint and sits with his legs out in front of him, resting back on his hands.
“My father cheated on my mother a few times while I was growing up,” Pepper continues. “He wasn’t discreet and I watched what that did to her. What it did to them. How much she hated him by the time they divorced. I couldn’t do that to us; it wasn’t healthy. I was going to lose him forever if I stayed.”
He’d have never guessed Tony’s nonsense rambling could be considered comforting, but in a way, it is. Now that he’s gotten to know Tony, he knows it’s not a lack of professionalism, or a demand for attention or a worldview that sees trauma as one big joke.
“There really is,” Bruce agrees. “So what should I call you? Because I’m not going to refer to you as The Corpse of Bucky Barnes. I’m just not.”
Tony eyes him skeptically. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever. Show me your wartime medic skills. They did have penicillin back then, right?”
“It’s potting soil, Nanna,” Clint explains earnestly, with an absolute shit-eating grin aimed in Bucky’s direction. “Bucky shoved him into the trunk of a car.”
Natasha leads the way in, and sets herself up at the bar, perching on a chair like she owns the place. She pulls out a stack of crumpled, scribbled-on note cards and some old, blurry security cam photos. The Winter Soldier is visible in several of them.
“Yes, sir.” Tony knows better than to personify JARVIS too much and still he can’t help but think his AI sounds relieved.
Tony feels sick. He is turning down one of the hottest men he’s spoken to in years. Steve wants him. Now Tony has to ruin everything.
“Let’s do it,” Tony says. “It’ll be nice to collaborate on something that’s not for the team for once.”
“Give me a minute,” James says before he even opens his eyes. When James does open them, he turns his head to the side to look at Bruce. “Not-- functional? I can’t feel my-- anything.”
“I thought I saw him die. I should have jumped off the train after him when he fell. Followed him down the mountain. Every day I’m so damn sorry that I didn’t.”
If James isn’t going to ask him about the call with Tony, Bruce isn’t going to force the information on him. Not with all the layers of guilt that lay in between.
Clint’s eyes flicker up to Bruce’s face in surprise. “Oh... thanks... that’s some faith that’s probably not deserved. But appreciated, man.”
And since Tony’s never left well enough alone a day in his life, he finally allows himself one question of his own.
Tony’s brain puts the thoughts together in some semblance of an order and after a few more minutes of just sitting on the ground and making himself breath, he’s able to push up off his rear and stumble over to the nearest sink to splash some cold water on his face. It doesn’t do anything for the splotches on his cheeks but it grounds him. Helps him stay on his feet as he paces and thinks.
“I taught Dum E how to draw,” Steve says proudly. “This is his second try. There was an incident with the first. A spilled drink. Then fire.”
Info begins to appear on all their phones. They dive in to Hammer’s dirty secrets, while Natasha drives and continues to speak quietly in a low, hushed conversation that seems to involve an intricate mix of corporate espionage and shoes.
When he walks over to James, his steps are heavy, and there’s no stealth. Clint is a solid, grounding presence. Bruce had never noticed before that Clint could do that. Could be so there.
“Trust me,” Tony continues. “I’ve done what I can to re-educate her, but she’s determined. And I would hit epic levels of cool if I could get her an autographed puck. I know I could buy one on ebay, but that’s not the same. Not to her, anyway. She’s a goalie for a traveling team. The Wildcats. And there’s no one for her but him.”
Steve picks up his hamburger, takes a bite, then swallows. “The sex. I think Shayla’s full of shit.”
Yes, he likes talking about Steve. Likes the way saying his name feels on his tongue. Likes just thinking the word. So okay, shit, yeah. It’s obvious.
They walk past Jenny and she beams up at them both, which puts another smile on Tony’s face that lasts long after they leave.
But they don’t call, and he doesn’t hear from them, and between the loneliness (Bruce had run) and the boredom (Bruce won’t be back anytime soon) and the overwhelming curiosity (it kills cats but Tony’s not a cat) Tony ends up poking where he shouldn’t.
“It wasn’t me,” Clint whines. Then seeming to realize he doesn’t recognize the voice, he slits open his eyes and spills coffee on his shirt in the process. “Awww, coffee, nooooo.”
Bruce sees James tense from the corner of his eye and adds “We’re not going to use the scanner until you’re ready, James. And before that happens we’ll do a scan on me first so you can see how it works. If you don’t like the looks of it we’ll figure something else out.”
“You read it right out of my mind,” Bruce deadpans. “The only thing you got wrong was the timeline. I am an expert with braids. I’d have us both done in under twenty minutes.”
“I’ve got a security team for this kind of thing,” Tony reminds them. “I know you know that, because you work for them.” He’s still a little on edge because of the way everyone in the room is looking at him and his headache is back in full force. “People have been trying to kidnap or kill me since the day I was born. We’re prepared.”
“He didn’t leave,” Clint assures him. “Well, okay, he’s stealthy as fuck, so yeah, maybe he left. But not in any way I could tell.”
The next morning, James is still waffling on hairstyles while Bruce cooks breakfast. Clint shows up as soon as the smell of bacon fills the air, and James ignores them both as he taps away at the laptop. Since the screen is facing the kitchen, it’s hard for Bruce not to notice that James keeps switching between tabs: some that are pictures of random men with short hair and some that are most definitely pictures of Bucky Barnes circa 1940 something.
Bruce taps at his screen and brings up the scan they’d taken in the chalet to compare it to the shoulder scan they’d taken on the quinjet. There is literally no difference he can see.
“Stick around if you want,” Steve says. “We’ve only been going quiet when you walk in the room because a search and rescue for the guy who killed your parents doesn’t sound like something that ought to be forced in your lap.”
“I really don’t think you could, if that helps,” Bruce says. “But even if I thought it was possible, I wouldn’t run. I’d like to help you if you’ll let me.”
The only person as drunk as Steve and Tony is Clint, who is now sitting on the pavement with his eyes closed, leaning his head against Sam’s legs. He’s humming to himself loudly, massacring what Tony thinks might be ‘Eye of the Tiger.’
Tony’s eyes tingle with tears he refuses to let fall. No one has ever defended him like this before. Rhodey and Pepper have come close, but what Steve’s doing is unprecedented and Tony has no idea what to do with his stirred up emotions.
Bruce smiles. He’s done right by James, so thank god for small favors. “No,” Bruce says. “Not now I don’t. So that’s it? You’re okay with all this?”
James’s head snaps to the left to first look at Bruce and then at the back porch beyond him. He begins to cough as he sucks in air too fast.
Logically, Tony’s known for hours this was going to happen. The reality of the risk hadn’t hit him with full force until now though. Until there was no going back. His chest tightens and it’s a little harder to breathe. Steve puts his hand on Tony’s knee and squeezes.
“I hate everyone you date,” Steve says finally. It’s all he’s got. His only defense for why he’d interfered.
“Didn’t want to make assumptions,” Tony says. “Just because you’re gay didn’t mean you were gay for me. What about you? Was this why you stopped by?”
Clint throws up a peace sign and Tony laughs and does the same. The picture Clint shows him a second later surprises Tony, because it’s been a long time since he’s seen his own face captured with that kind of smile. Definitely not for a few years.
Steve considers it. “I don’t...” He trails off. There’s really no point in denying the crush. Clint’s clearly figured it out. So instead he just focuses on the rest. “Would you? Just to make sure he’s safe?”
The bathroom is steamy when Steve opens the door, though thankfully the air isn’t overly hot. Tony hasn’t been scalding himself.
Steve takes in a slow breath. “You think he’s ready? What if it’s too soon and his old mission protocols kick in?”
So Tony hasn’t completely given up on large scale romance, but it’s all the sort of romance that Steve can appreciate. And he is all the happier when the limo takes them straight back to Stark Tower so they can celebrate there, alone.
When Bruce walks inside, James is sitting on the couch, his hand resting carefully on his knee. Clint is back at the table, assembling a gun.
The look James gives Clint could set him on fire and Clint just beams like a murder glare from the world’s deadliest assassin is exactly the reaction he was hoping for.
The opposing teams were a different story. Steve’s not even convinced they’re homophobic so much as they were looking for a way to get him off his game and as much as he hates to admit it, it had worked.
He has no reason to believe Tony’s into him. Yes, they’d flirted. Yes, Tony brought up being bisexual. It didn’t
“Bucky doesn’t want to see me,” Steve says, sounding numb with disbelief. “He wants me to stop looking.”
“Tony. I appreciate the gesture, but that could have disrupted SHIELD missions,” Steve says gently. “Put people at risk.”
“I do know him,” Bruce confirms. His own voice is the sound of calm. He is steady. Everyone gets to live (for now). “So do you, I think.”
“You’re both saps,” Tony pouts, finally struggling a bit in Steve’s hold. He sounds more himself. Reassured.
Steve dresses for a mission. Not his usual sort of mission. No, this one is going to be a whole hell of a lot more difficult than a bunch of killer robots or venomous super-slugs.
A moment later a picture of Boop appears on the nearest screen. She’s as beautiful as Steve remembers. Large, intelligent eyes, curves in all the right places, dark curls pinned up to frame her face, and an easy, sweet smile as she beams at the camera.
If he’s honest with himself, a big part of Steve’s ambivalence toward the younger Stark is just how hard it is to look at him without feeling sad. Howard could be a pain, yes, but he was also a friend. To Steve, it’s been less than 4 months since he flew into the icy water and left his friends behind. Tony’s presence in his life is a constant, painful reminder of that.
“You’re free to leave,” Steve says with a shrug. “What I don’t get is how you--genius, billionaire, philanthropist...”
Steve reaches out to pull Tony down next to him, so they’re lying against each other. Steve’s whole body shivers from the contact. He lets his hand rub lightly over Tony’s back. The material of the pajamas is so soft and silky, Steve’s brain (traitorously) flashes to Peggy and those petticoats she used to wear. Not helpful brain. Shut up.
“Thank you,” Bruce says, worrying the worn hem of his sleeve as he watches James. The man doesn’t look like someone who doesn’t care. He also doesn’t look like someone who’s gotten enough to eat. “Then I’m going to call Tony from the porch. I’ll leave the door open so you can hear my parts of the conversation if you want to listen.”
James must notice Bruce’s discomfort, because he pulls the jeans back up quickly, and his body goes tense again. He sits absolutely still and stares straight ahead, the slight tremble in his jaw the only visible evidence that he isn’t a statue. Bruce recognizes the posture. James did something Bruce made obvious he didn’t like and now he’s waiting for punishment.
“This is going to be an awful ride back to the city unless you brought some portable showers,” Natasha says.
“I don’t doubt that,” Bruce says. “I gave up trying to protect Natasha and Clint from themselves a long time ago. If they think they can survive you, they’ll find a way. Clint invited us to stay here-- this place is his-- but you aren’t obligated to say yes. For now, the first thing we need to do is get some calories in you.”
beneath their hands. Except he doesn’t die. His heart stops, everything stops, and then his healing factor repairs something necessary for life and James gasps in breath as the sirens shift to speeding beeps again.
“So he can hate you, too?” Steve asks in return. “Kill you with kindness? Cause let me tell you, it’s great.”
Steve’s changed into sweats and a t-shirt, and again, that’s something Tony hasn’t seen before. At his place, Steve’s either in his work clothes, or in his boxers, or in less, and then back to his work clothes again in the morning. Casual Steve is something Tony is looking forward to seeing more of.
“Maybe,” Steve says. “I just-- I think there are some things you might be into that are absolute nos for me. Like... I’m not going to hurt you. I’m never going to leave bruises on you. I’m never going to put you in danger. You are precious to me. I won't treat you like you're anything less.”
“I think we need to consider the reality that we aren’t going to find him until he’s ready to be found,” Natasha says. “He’s too good.”
“Tell me how to keep James alive. First steps-- baby steps-- anything. I don’t need the odds. It’s better not to know.”
“Bad,” Tony says simply. “But probably not as bad as it was the other day. Barnes has lived through worse more than once. We’ll get him fixed.”
Obadiah makes a lunge for Tony or maybe just JARVIS on Tony’s phone. It doesn’t matter. Steve plants himself in front of Tony and deflects the attack, dropping Obie to the ground like a stack of bricks.
Of course their not so subtle entrance to the HammerTech Business Campus has Hammer’s security scrambling but since the armored car is superior in every way to any weapon Hammer could ever make, Natasha has zero difficulty driving them right up to the giant, glass front door. Thankfully she does not smash through it. She just angles the car so they are only a step or two away from the entrance, and already most of the crowd has turned to look. It would cause too much of a publicity nightmare to shoot them all on camera so they ought to be safe.
The room itself is large and airy. The wallpaper is a little garish with faded clowns lining the ceiling, and the carpet is a worn, seventies orange. But none of that is what’s got them both out for revenge. It’s the twin bunk bed that’s sitting off to the side, undersized for Tony and practically a toy bed for Steve.
“I think in another day or two your knee won’t be giving you any more trouble,” Bruce says. “You’ll probably want to consider waiting a week before you jump off any roofs, but walking around should be fine. I still want JARVIS to double-check me if that’s okay?” Bruce asks.
It’s the last he speaks until later in the morning when they’re doing one last sweep of the house to make sure they aren’t leaving anything important behind. They can’t comfortably carry all the clothes Tony had provided them, but they can carry what they want, and James suggests they bag up what they don’t. Bruce writes out a note in rough German, asking that anything they leave behind be donated. It’s the best they can do on short notice, and it seems to satisfy James’s need to not be wasteful.
“It's what I should have done a long time ago,” Steve says quietly. “What I said-- that wasn’t off the top of my head. I’ve rehearsed it for months-- in the shower, in the gym... in bed at night. Not as a speech to deliver in a hearing, but to say to you. So you’d understand...”
When a doctor finally comes to get them, they’re in better spirits. Steve’s sure they must make quite the spectacle walking through the halls, with Tony and Steve still in uniform and Bruce in... a blouse? Cargo pants better sized for Hulk. Flip flops.
“It will be okay,” Steve says, looking at Tony with all the determined earnestness of a basset hound puppy.
Both parties shall comply with Stark Industries discrimination, harassment and behavioral workplace policies, which they both acknowledge having read and understood.
there is a description of rape. It happened in the past, and it's a second hand story, but please mind the warning if this is something triggering for you!
“You are so hot,” Tony says. Which is probably a mixed signal, now that he thinks about it. “And so off limits. I’m sorry. Gods, I am so sorry. If you didn’t work at SI we’d be in a taxi already, headed for my place. I just... I can’t. I’m your boss and there are... reasons... I’ve been told there are very good reasons.”
“After the initial pain goes away, what’s left is like a ghost. The sharpness fades, but there’s still something aching there. I guess my brain expects it to hurt so it’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I can feel the bone mending and that’s not something I think a person is supposed to notice,” Steve adds. “I just have to keep telling myself the pain’s not real and it’ll calm down after a few days. I mostly try not to think about it and by the time I do, it's usually manageable.”
Tony’s not sure why Steve’s conceding. Tony’s really not sure about anything that has to do with Steve anymore.
“I’m not ready to go back,” Bruce says, telling the soldier something he hasn’t been able to articulate to Tony yet. “But if no one is coming, I don’t need to be in a barn. We could go somewhere else. Find something remote, with heat and a kitchen. My friend Tony is good at setting up that kind of thing.”
“We leak a press release,” Natasha says. “Make it sound like the feds are going to charge someone innocent with one of Barnes’s crimes. Give a number the public can call if they have more information then hope like hell that JARVIS is better at tracking calls than Barnes is at hiding them.”
Tony’s eyes narrow slightly at Steve’s sad attempt at a joke. “Fine. Ask away. I couldn’t feel any more like shit if I tried.”
There are legos and a Black Eyed Peas poster and there’s a letterman jacket for jazz band and tennis slung over a chair. There’s a diorama of dinosaurs and a volcano adorned with a first place ribbon. There is also a cubby full of art supplies beneath multiple tacked up pencil drawings of Justin Timberlake. There’s a graduation cap and some Star Trek memorabilia. And unsurprisingly, there’s a Good Sportsmanship Award, hung up proudly over an ancient computer desk complete with ancient computer.
It had only been a sort of offhanded thought on Steve’s part, when he’d chosen it. Give Bruce something that isn’t green. Seemed simple enough. But to Bruce it clearly meant a whole lot more.
“I’m hoping you’ll rename the C3 milkshake back to an Iron Man for me,” Steve says. “Not right away. Just... before too long.”
“I’m not here to fire you,” Tony says, shaking his head. “I was wondering if you know where Bruce is?”
“I malfunctioned,” James says. “At the knee. Now it’s healing stupid and Bruce thinks you might know why.”
“Agent Romanoff was more than happy to give you permission to dismantle the bunk bed. In her words, ‘Knock yourselves out and try not to catch the house on fire”.
His eyes fill with tears, and he half expects Tony to mock him for it but Tony’s looking a little misty-eyed too.
“The second suggestion,” Bruce says, “is to call Steve. Ask him what his pain feels like. Then maybe you’ll have a more knowledgeable perspective on what you can expect. It’s up to you though. I won’t call or text him without your permission.”
“No,” Tony cuts him off. “I didn’t tell him. What’s done is done and telling Bruce isn’t going to change that. Did you taste any flavor in the BannerBar at all?”
Tony laughs. It’s infectious. Steve tries to look serious and only manages it for about five seconds before he snorts on a laugh of his own.
She’s twelve and like Tony always says: she’s his favorite. Smart, hilarious, full of sass, and hell on skates when she plays hockey. There are already college teams looking at her, and Tony couldn’t be prouder of that if Jenny was his own.
“They’re tranqs, Dr Banner,” the man calls to him, no doubt hoping to keep the Other Guy out of this equation. “Super soldier tranqs.”
That’s not actually what Steve had come to ask. He’d wanted to ask for some time alone with his stuff and that was all, but Tony’s attitude has him feeling honest. It reminds him of long-lost friends, and how they took no shit from anyone, and it gives him strength. And, more importantly, thinking of Bucky, Howard and Peggy gives him patience, because Lord knows they had infinite patience with him.
“It would be pointless. My phone is never on anything but silent,” Tony says. “So. Real follow up question: Any of those showgirls really get you to third base? Or whatever the equivalent was back in the olden days?”
Tony’s glare turns into a glower. “Have you even met yourself? If I made a list of the top one million words to describe you, gold digger wouldn’t be on there.”
“I’ve had worse,” Steve says. When he glances down he can see red stains on his white button up and dark blots along the black jacket. He doesn't care in the slightest. “Are you okay?”
“It’s not that,” Steve says. “Or okay, it was a little bit that. I like feeling financially secure. But the bigger part of it is that I don’t know what else I’d do with myself.”
“Sir, I agree with Captain Roger’s recommendation that you abandon the van,” JARVIS says, the volume on the phone doubled, as if JARVIS thinks that’s what it’s going to take to get his point across. “That is a Kamov Ka-52, Sir. Based on your designs. They will be in missile range in less than two minutes.”
James glares at Bruce like he’s just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. James was clearly telling the truth when he said a lot of things seems stupid to him now.
“Fine. You know what? I’m gonna leave your asses wondering. It’s going to keep you up at night. What would Clint have named his sex tape? You’ll be tossing and turning and wishing you knew!”
The television turns on and Tony watches as Steve dims the lights then watches Tony sleep. It’s probably overly intrusive to view the feed, but... well, he’s not known for his restraint in these things and there’s only JARVIS here to judge him. And let’s be real: this is waaaay low on the list of weird things JARVIS has seen.
“We’ll know it worked when he wakes up,” Bruce points out. “If he doesn’t wake up-- it didn’t work.”
It’s a quiet skate off the ice, and an even quieter walk down the hall to the locker room. Tony doesn’t say a word as he strips, showers, then changes into a suit for his postgame interview. Losing sucks. Losing to Steve sucks worse.
He wonders if Steve had gotten to the point where memories of Bucky no longer hurt him, before all this shit got stirred up. If Steve had thought fondly of his friend when he remembered their times together. And how awful it must feel to have Bucky’s body back with someone new inside. Someone who wants nothing to do with Steve.
James gives his head a slight shake then sits down on the wooden porch to wait. Bruce isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t trust him, or if he just doesn’t want to go in the house alone. Regardless, Bruce pulls out his phone and pulls up Clint’s number. It only rings once and then Clint is on the line.
“It’s a gesture,” Tony says, waving toward the jet. “A grand one. I show up, take you anywhere in the world. Fourteen-year-old-me gives me a mental high five when I kiss you somewhere over the Atlantic. It’s a hell of a first date.”
“I’m good with sharing a bed,” Steve interrupts, looking nothing but amused at Tony’s attempt at repairing his overstep. “And tearing this bed apart sounds like a promising way to spend the afternoon. Seeing James was... rough.”
Bucky leans in to tackle-kiss Clint as the beer (that Tony hadn’t seen anyone order) arrives. There’s a tray of fries, too, on a giant communal platter, and they’re smothered in cheese and bacon and ranch dressing. Tony hasn’t seen anything like it since college, and that was always on other people’s tables.
“My grandchildren are all big hockey fans. I don’t know that you two are the best role models, but they’d still want to see this.”
What Steve can’t avoid is Tony’s wrath. It’s a day later when Stark turns up in the gym wearing a sharp business suit and shoes that are perfectly shined. He’s wearing sunglasses, too, though he pulls them off when he speaks.
“No. The NDA. You said your assistant drew them up for you and that you always made people sign them. Where’s mine?”
“No casualties,” JARVIS says through the speakers of the phone. “Though the drones have contained and subdued Hammer’s staff.”
“You’re a Google pro,” Clint corrects. “Got it. Fair warning, don’t look at my search history while you’re in there, unless you want to see porn. My tastes run a ways past vanilla so view at the risk of your virtue. And pick something for Bruce while you’re looking. A hairstyle, I mean. Pick out hair, not porn,” Clint clarifies.
“It’s not right, you still feel like that,” James says. “Bruce is a good listener. You should talk to him.”
“Wouldn’t end things without a reason,” Tony said quietly. “I lied. To her. To everyone. I did take a woman back to my room. We drank. We talked. But I didn’t cheat. No matter how drunk I was I couldn’t.”
“Good game,” Howard says, swatting Tony on the shoulder as he walks past. “That’s what I like to see out there.”
People know Tony’s in rehab. People know Steve’s been spotted up there dozens of times. But apart from a few internet rumors, no one has put together the exact nature of why Steve visits. The general consensus is that he’s up there to try and gain access to the Iron Man suit. After what Tony had said about him, it’s too much to believe that Steve could be so forgiving. But Steve trusts Mae with his privacy. She’s never been anything but supportive.
“It’s still malfunctioning,” James says finally, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the ceiling. He sounds defeated.
shoot me. And he didn’t leave me in a holding cell to rot. He’s a good man. I wouldn’t tell you he was if he wasn’t.”
It leads to more stories about Tony, and Steve finds out things from Pepper that have never appeared in any SHIELD file on Stark. Steve had no idea that Tony’s designed more third-world accessible medical technology than whole universities put together. Or that on occasion he puts on his full Iron Man gear to visit the children’s cardiology ward and walk around making all the patients honorary Avengers. Good Morning New York had certainly made no mentions of the 3D printed limbs Tony’s developed for injured soldiers, or that Stark Industries provides them free of cost.
“I’m going to roll this up,” he says, gesturing to the material at James’s ankle. “If you need me to stop what I’m doing at any time, say so.”
Clint speaks in Russian, and while Bruce can’t understand it, it’s calm and steady sounding. Clint stays very still until James’s body slumps more heavily against the post and he lowers the scissors entirely. When that happens, Clint moves to stand.
“It’d be a little late for that now,” Tony points out. “And I trust you. I thought about it, after the first time you came over. I realized that you were the kind of person I could see wanting around more often. And for it to work-- it couldn’t be something I was enforcing with paper. It just seemed... draining.”
“I’m bi,” Tony says. “It’s just never come up in the news because before I even think of asking a man back to my hotel room he’s got to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement that would give Rumplestiltskin a hard-on. I’m pretty sure they’d owe me their firstborn child or something if they broke it. I’ve never actually read it beginning to end, but since my PA, Pepper, put it together I’m gonna guess it’s brutal.”
“I don’t care who you’re sleeping with,” Steve says, trying to keep his tone polite. He turns from the punching bag to give Tony his full attention. “If someone’s going to act like an asshole I’m going to treat them like an asshole. In any century.”
Steve’s known Tony Stark for a few months, and he’s still not sure how he feels about him. As Iron Man, he’s competent. Not exactly enthusiastic about the team dynamic, but he shows up, and he does the job.
And in the second half of the season, the team can’t afford that. Maybe if the NHL was still around. Things were more lenient then. But that’s not the case with the World Hockey League. The WHL system is brutal and a screw up mid-season can have a ripple effect all the way to the end. The Brooklyn Stars can’t afford even the tiniest slip in concentration.
Still, Tony is a professional and he plasters on a smile like he owns the place (because hey, he does, yay!) and follows the directions Jarvis gave him. Two rights, a left, and then Bruce.
It’s not a lie. He would never leave a teammate behind bars to fend for themselves. It’s just not the full extent of the truth, and everything in his mannerisms gives that away.
When they finally pull up to the rehab’s security gate, Steve’s prayer stops. He gives Tony’s name to the guard as well as his own. The man doesn’t bat an eye. They’re allowed through and Steve pulls ahead to a small gravel parking lot next to a large, elaborate mansion. It looks like something built in the gilded age, all nooks and angles and gables. There are porch swings, too, and a garden. If it were a bed and breakfast, it’d be somewhere Steve would like to stay for quite a while.
“Still working on it,” Tony says. “If all else fails, ban the quinjet from the roof till the last ones hatch and the whole family moves on to greener pastures, I guess.”
“One’s got skin and one’s got metal. That seem complicated to you?” James asks. His eyes flicker up to Bruce’s face and he looks almost amused.
“The next batch should be done in a few minutes,” Tony says. “Come down to the lab. You can try one there.”
“Not at the moment,” Bruce says. “James-- I’d like to officially introduce you to Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson. Natasha got us off the mountain and Sam kept you alive while I was melting down.”
“Damn right I’m protective,” Steve says. “It was all I could do not to snap Justin Hammer’s neck that night. I broke a very expensive table and I didn’t even apologize.”
Tony knows he’s rambling but the whole conversation went from funny banter to asking Steve if he wants to share a bed a little more quickly than Tony’d intended, and yes, okay, he’s panicking a little.
How Clint can see through the smoke and the dirt and the distance is a mystery, but Tony’s got his own eyes up in the sky and JARVIS speaks through his phone a moment later.
“We’re 2 hours out from New York,” Natasha says. “He won’t wake up before we land. We should be worrying about where we’re going to put down.”
When Dr. Gerber brings up the importance of equality in a relationship one last time, Tony loses his patience entirely.
Steve’s expression softens a little. “I think I should probably take a look at the paper before we continue this conversation or all your self-discipline is going to be for naught.”
Bucky tilts his head down slightly, making his blue eyes grow wide and he leans more weight on one leg, and sticks a hand in his pocket which is just doing things for his physique that seem entirely unfair. Barnes is a menace.
“Subtle,” Bruce remarks. He glances at James who looks... concerned. “I know it looks odd but I’m sure it’s safe. And no one knows we’re here.”
“Clint and me are on uniform procurement then,” Bucky says. “Steve, get them IDs. The printers in the shed can handle whatever we need.”
“It’s more of a safety issues than anything else,” Steve explained. “People get crushed because there’s sort of a swarm. We’re fine if someone inside the cafe takes a picture. You don’t have to confiscate phones or anything.”
Bruce winces, but he gets what James is doing. Provoking the threat out of Tony rather than wait around and have a threat surprise him. Bruce has been known to do the same thing-- the first time he met Natasha comes to mind.
James closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the cushions. “Do what you want. I don’t fuckin’ care.”
“Maybe at first,” Bruce says. “But we wouldn’t leave you in pain. We won’t stop tweaking things until you’re entirely comfortable.”
“When you get back up here you can have some cookies with your coffee,” Nanna says, as Tony passes her. “Clint can share.”
“He gave some guy an island once,” Clint says wistfully. “I can’t believe he’s got that kind of cash to hand out and he
Tony ignores him and looks at the list more closely. He can’t help but smile, because the whole list is horrifically unprofessional and hilariously awesome.
Steve smiles. “Something like that,” he says fondly. “Anyway, the two of you can naked science to your heart’s content if I’m ever around. I won’t be scandalized.”
Tony has made a huge mistake. His phone is still in pieces back on the table in Steve’s apartment. No one knows where he is except the people in this car. A car that smells like tacos and dirt. Tacos and wet grave dirt, more precisely, and that is exactly how Tony will describe it when he is (inevitably, miserably) rehashing this ordeal with the NYPD.
“I’ll have Jarvis send you a compilation video of all the shitty things I’ve said about you in the last six weeks. You should play it a couple of times a night. You’ll get over me, just fine.”
“The first suggestion is that you sit with your right hand resting on your knee for a few minutes. You have a lot of practicing identifying areas of malfunction; I’m not as sure that you have practice noticing the...” Bruce lets out a sigh of his own, because again-- this is where Tony starts tossing words in. “Noticing the nuances of pain,” Bruce continues. “And your hand on your knee may guide your brain to a tangible place of focus. Maybe. Or I might be talking out my ass, because this suddenly feels a lot like I’m talking out my ass.”
Tony nods. “I don’t think you know what you’re in for, but sure I’ll give it a go. Under one condition.”
“If something else is wrong, we’ll fix it,” Bruce assures him. “Until then, I’ve got a weapon for you.”
What’s new is the way Tony tilts up his face and pushes forward the inch or two so that their lips meet.
For a few seconds he forgets Tony is even in the room until Tony reaches over and puts a hand on Steve’s knee.
“Point taken, though I always heard it as sleeping dogs,” Bruce says. “I guess bears makes more sense, now that I think about it. Either way, you’re right.”
“Nothing to see here, folks,” Tony says in a voice that carries across the room. The look he’s giving Steve is murderous. “We’ve all had too much to drink. Time to go home.”
“Stand down, soldier,” Clint orders. “You’re fully functional. We don’t need a mission report.” That doesn’t do anything to erase the murder eyes James is giving him and Clint tries again. “You’re field ready. At ease.”
Bruce is struck by the depth of James’s frustration. Either James was put on ice and left to heal when he couldn’t remember what healing felt like, or he’d been forced to endure missions while in pain. Either way, it’s yet another example of the shitty treatment he's endured for most of his life and it's left him with no understanding of physical recovery and what it entails.
“I don’t need a nanny to get me ready and out of the house,” Tony insists. “Dad can go fuck himself.”
Steve does, though the noise from the street is loud and distracting, and people are edging closer because apparently Avengers get no privacy at all. If this is bad news he can’t do this here. He just can’t.
“This isn’t because of the loss,” Tony begins. “Both teams played hard and I’m proud of our effort. I’m proud of my own effort. This isn’t about that. I just think it’s time. Time to learn to live a life outside of hockey. Time to coach my niece through her junior hockey years and to spend time with the people who mean the most to me. Time to get my priorities in order.”
“I thought so too,” Shayla continues. “Like-- I’m not trying to be rude or be all TMI, but it’s not just the scars up by the... light. The scars go all the way down to... you know.”
“These guys are no joke,” Bucky adds. “And for this kind of money they’re gonna show up at your doorstep in droves.”
Tony nods, and fiddles with a panel on the back of his jeep. Two showers pop out of the top, one on either side.
“I think so, yeah, definitely,” Tony’s ex-girlfriend giggles. She’s smiling like a sycophant. Steve has no charitable thoughts for this woman. “It was really disappointing actually, after everything I’d heard. But I guess you’d need to get one of his old girlfriends in here if you want to have a before and after look at his performance. We can compare notes. It could be like a slumber party!”
“I never... I never knew you thought that,” Steve says helplessly. He tries to replay a hundred different moments in his head at once. A hundred different confrontations and conversations and sideways glances. “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry. That was never my intention. I thought you knew. Everyone else on the team knows.”
“I’ve got a head injury,” Tony says, carefully sitting up and then leaning back against the platform. “Humor me.”
Why had he agreed to stay behind? He could have gone. It was his jet, his money funding all these adventures, Iron Man would be the best suited to take down Barnes if something was really wrong. Natasha had come to him first, before she'd gone to Steve. Tony could have at least offered to go with her. He hadn't.
Tony laughs. “Yeah... if we’re doing the confession thing, then so do I. Give myself points I mean.”
A flash of silver whips toward Bruce as blood begins to gush from James’s wound. Clint throws himself between James’s arm and Bruce’s body, knocking Bruce backward as Clint’s side takes the full force of impact. He lands heavily on Bruce’s legs, barely missing the blade Bruce drops in surprise. A foot away, James rolls to all fours, coughing and choking, and scrambles for the weapon. He picks it up and lunges for Clint, who manages a sharp kick to James’s injured side.
What Bruce does know is that fussing over James like a child is infantilizing, so he’s just going to chill the fuck out and give him some space. James can fly a jet; he can figure out water knobs and a bathtub stopper.
“And look. I know you’ve got no reason to believe me,” Clint adds, as he sits back down at the table, “But I am giving you my word-- no one’s putting you back in that chair. I would kill to keep you out of that chair. Hell, I would
“You’re right. Not my best plan. What about we fire up a laser when you get back and burn it onto the moon instead?”
“I do this every time. I take good people and I break them. I make them snap. It’s always the same.”
“Sounds reasonable. And he’s not alone,” Tony reminds him. “Bruce is there, so the HYDRA concern goes down a couple hundred notches. No one’s getting past the Hulk.”
“Sir,” JARVIS’s voice over-rides the music Tony’s got turned up in his office. His thoughts and the volume drop to simultaneous, eerie silence. “There is an emergency in Switzerland. Dr. Banner requires assistance and an emergency evacuation. I am assisting him now.”
Steve makes a V with his fingers and then points from his own eyes to Bucky then Clint, in the universal sign for
He tightens his arms around Tony and breathes him in. Wills this moment to see them through forever.
Tony shoulders sag in relief. He grabs for the counter to support himself and Steve rushes to his side, to steady him and then to hug him. He holds Tony tight and doesn’t mind how the wet seeps through his shirt. He doesn’t plan on letting Tony go any time soon.
100 - Unknown Awesome (Photographic proof required.) (No sex tapes.) (SERIOUSLY NO SEX TAPES CLINT.)
He hadn’t played Tony’s team in those two weeks between the news breaking and Steve’s suspension from his team, but Tony has a reputation for being an asshole. best case scenario is that they manage to ignore each other all night. He’s really not in the mood to take any shit from anyone and after punching Rumlow, Steve isn’t going to make it back on the team this season if he gets into it with Stark.
“He was gonna die for me on that helicarrier,” James says. “Do you have any idea how confusing that was? I just spent 70 years of no one giving one single fuck about my life except that I was useful, I guess. Then that punk shows up, I’m tryin’ to kill him, and he wouldn’t fight me. He didn’t want to hurt me. It was like-- like a broken piece of code. It caused an error. Once the error started I couldn’t make it stop.”
Sometimes Tony gets a bit of cold comfort in knowing that the man who’d killed his parents had paid a price for it. Paid a price 100 times over and would probably continue paying that price for the rest of his life.
“He’s taking them to school,” Bruce says, once Tony turns back around to write a few more calculations on the board. “Ten years ahead of our time is still twenty years behind Tony...”
“You aren’t upset?” Pepper asks. “We didn’t want to tell you while you were still in rehab because that was supposed to be about you. Your recovery. Your healing.”
The video goes to black as Dum-E tries to mimic the peace sign action and the camera drops one last time.
“They’re pulling into the server lot now. They’re gonna have to shut off their transmissions to keep from giving anything away. Us, too. Radio silence in 3... 2... 1.”
Tony had never seen so many victory GIFS. Or eggplant emojis. Clint has infinite amounts of creativity stored up for just this sort of occasion.
“You fellas need a ride?” Natasha asks as she walks down the ramp and then stops next to them so she can lay the stretcher down next to James.
“If you’re the sort of person who’s noticing all this, I think it’s a good sign for what kind of person you are. I can’t say I’m the best judge, though. By any standard, if I was a decent person I’d figure out a way to kill myself. I even tried once, but it didn’t take.”
He texts Steve. Or actually he composes a text, changes it twenty times, bangs his head against his desk because he’s garbage at this, deletes the texts, writes a new text, and then presses send before he can talk himself out of it. All for:
“I’ve done an awful damn lot,” Steve snaps. His words come out loud. Frustrated. “And believe it or not, I don’t wake up every morning hoping to pick a fight with you. Whatever I did that pissed you off, if you’d just tell me--”
Steve's blood runs cold. He was in show business long enough to know exactly what he's watching. It might seem impromptu, but this whole bit is as contrived as if it's been scripted. No doubt Shayla's going to have a book coming out soon, or a fragrance, or an album. Something. And this-- this whole act-- is just her way of prolonging her fifteen minutes of fame into something slightly more marketable. At Tony’s expense.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispers, wrinkling his forehead in troubled concentration as he takes a deep breath to steady his hand then drives the knife into James’s side, removing it just as quickly as he shoved it in.
“Nothing,” Steve says. “Or something, I guess. It’s a code she and Barton use. She didn’t tell me what it means.”
Rhodey laughs. “Not incest. I thank God every single day that we aren’t related. Come on. Get up. You’ve got to go to this thing. You’ve got to show the world that last week was a blip on the road to recovery. You’ve been sober for more than a year, Tones. One slip up doesn’t have to ruin everything you’ve worked for.”
“Is this even considered the boondocks, or was that like twenty miles back the other direction?” Clint asks.
The food is pretty good, so buffet trips are plentiful. They still manage never to get within 10 feet of each other. At least until they are straight-up wrangled by a bossy old woman that barely comes up to Steve’s chest into getting a picture together with her. She grabs Steve by the hand and drags him over to Tony’s side.
These are Tony’s first three thoughts upon waking. He lays there for a few minutes trying to will himself back to oblivion. When that doesn’t work he tries to move, but Steve is heavy against him, and all dead weight.
Tony listens to the brief directions and commits them to memory as he takes the elevator down half a dozen floors.
“It doesn’t involve Tony either,” Clint adds. “Not until James can say whether or not he'll allow it. Sorry, Tony-- that whole murdering your parents is a brain fuck, any way you turn it over.”
“Get some rest,” Natasha insists. “You don’t have to sneak out like you did something wrong. Steve wants you here, and so do we.”
He’s still on his knees, and he’s glaring at Tony like he honesty believes Tony’s hiding these answers to be a dick. Like somehow Tony’s the key to making it all make sense. Which is utter bullshit, because Tony’s flying just as blind as the rest of them.
The holy shit has Bruce spinning around in alarm, since Clint’s not the most flappable guy around. But it’s nothing bad... just James. And James doesn’t even look particularly menacing. He’s standing there in plaid pajama bottoms and no shirt. The most intimidating part of him is his metal arm and his metal hand is clutching dirty clothes so not a gun at least.
Steve watches as Tony begins to speak, though the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen explains everything Steve needs to know.
“I’ve wanted you since that night you told Sean off for forcing the gag on me. There you were, Captain fucking America, back from the dead, and as good and righteous as every story I ever heard.” Tony sounds wrecked. Haunted. “You were the perfect person for me to want because you were never going to want me back. I could daydream about you and it was going to hurt indefinitely because you would never be interested and that’s what I deserve. And then you had to go and be bi. Which-- thanks for head’s up, by the way. It felt great finding that out three years after everyone else.”
“I hope,” Tony says, sounding a little agitated. “There’s a lot to sort out first. It will probably be a few weeks. And I know... I mean, I don’t know actually. What you want. About... the tower. Living. Arrangements.”
“Ugh, you’re making it really hard to resent you,” Tony sighs, pulling away from Steve’s arm and letting out a groan of exasperation. “And shit-- my ass fell asleep. And here at least I thought I could make a dignified exit.”
Steve climbs out of the car first, so he’s the one who gets the first set of gasps. Flashbulbs go off by the dozens. Justin, who is still up at the microphone pauses, then tilts his head in frustration as Tony emerges behind Steve. For a man who can smarmily smile through just about anything, that’s practically a scream.
Clint’s forehead is creased with worry and for the first time it occurs to Bruce that this is the kind of injury that could end a career for an archer. And maybe more worryingly, Natasha is staring at Bruce like she’s never seen him before. Like watching the interaction between him and Clint is something new and strange.
“They’re going to print lies about you,” Tony warns. “They always do. They’re going to say you’re gay. That we’re together. Probably that I was blowing you in here.”
Steve looks skeptical as he opens a dresser and begins to pull out an assortment of clothes. “You might be the first person to ever think so.”
“You’re here telling me the one time everyone thought you’d cheated in the past you hadn’t,” Steve says.
“You’re only making it worse,” Tony laughs. “You should probably clean that up before you make your sexy video. Which is for what exactly?”
Bruce considers his response for a minute then sends a GIF of a happy cat going down a slide over and over and over. Some day he and Tony need to talk about James. That day is not today.
“Bruce, buddy? Talk to me, big guy. I’m looking at these scans and we’ve got some work to do. I’m right here. Listen to my voice. Focus on my words. You’ve got this, okay? I know you, and you’ve got this.” | [
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Lestrade was beginning to think the blaze at Markham’s flat was the least bizarre thing he’d encountered that morning. When John returned fully dressed, Lestrade said, “There was a fire at Markham’s flat.”
WHEN SHERLOCK OPENED his eyes, the sky outside was turning a pearly grey at the edges, heralding the coming sun. He inhaled deeply, and John murmured a response to the movement in his sleep, slightly adjusting the way he laid draped on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock took a moment to focus on this, on all the places where their bodies intersected, the points of contact burning like small stars to form a constellation. He listened to the pounding of his heart, felt the throb of it as the blood pulsed through him, and became aware of the answering thud of John’s heartbeat against his. If only they could stay that way indefinitely. But time was short now, so Sherlock began the slow process of disentangling himself.
“I should go meet Irene,” Sherlock said, working an apologetic note into his tone. “She wants to plan . . .”
The clinic stayed busy, so Sarah hadn’t had many chances to observe John at work, but she was impressed with what she saw. He worked quickly but with supreme care. Maybe more care than was absolutely necessary? She watched the way John’s hands lingered for a second longer than needed after laying each strip of adhesive. But then looking at his face she realized it was because he was lost in thought. And the way his eyes traveled over Sherlock had more to do with John mentally piecing together the trauma that had been inflicted than it being some kind of visual caress.
It was more difficult getting John out of the car than it had been to get him in; John spent some time trying to shrug off their best efforts until he grudgingly relented to their tugging and urging, only to come close to falling on his face when they attempted to extract him.
John waited for the light to go on, although Sherlock surely knew he was awake. Thanks to his military conditioning, John was a light sleeper, could be made alert in a matter of seconds. Not something he enjoyed—he preferred to wake more gradually—but it had proven to be a useful skill since meeting Sherlock.
“I refuse to believe you’ve been forced to resort to clichés in order to get someone to feel you up, Christopher.”
John stirred reluctantly against what had become his least favorite part of their developing routine. “Too early,” he mumbled, trying to burrow under his pillow.
“Bird,” Sherlock slurred. It seemed to John that he started to say more, but the wave of slumber crested over him before he could manage it.
“And this,” Sherlock said, holding out a hanger that held a nicer shirt than the kind John typically wore.
John re-banded the remaining correspondence and put the chest back where he’d found it. He took the time to put the other memento boxes back in the closet as well, though he knew they were impossibly out of order. But better to leave as little evidence as possible.
Sherlock considered. How far away he was from where he’d been abducted would rely partly on how long he’d been unconscious. Difficult to determine while wearing a blindfold, since he couldn’t tell whether the sun had set yet. They’d grabbed him on the road outside Weald House, roughly two hours from London. He could easily be in London or any of its immediate environs. The Ritz again? But the place didn’t have the closeted and contained smell of a hotel room.
“Almost six,” said John. “Not like you to fall asleep on the job.” He’d meant it jokingly, but it came out sounding harsher than he’d intended.
Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “You’d have to ask Whitcombe, then. I’ve never been good at . . . that kind of thing.”
. As a parting shot she’d warned them that their lovingly decorated honeymoon suite at Weald House was still waiting for whenever they chose to return.
A smile tugged at Irene’s lips. “Really? I think maybe he’s mentioned you, too, but—” And here she gave an exaggerated frown as if trying to remember, “I could be thinking of someone else.” Then without waiting for Harry’s response, Irene turned to John once more. “Wake up, John. I dragged him all the way down here; the least you could do is be awake.” She leaned in and peered at him. “Not self-medicating again, are you?”
“The calyx was to be your ransom. I didn’t know Charles was . . . I didn’t know what Charles was doing,” Sherlock rephrased.
“And until then, I’m just supposed to continue pretending you’re dead,” John surmised. He stood only to realize his breeches were loose. “Huh,” he said, refastening them while eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.
“Almost there,” said John, giving Brandywine’s rein a tug. The horse snorted his disapproval but moved forward nonetheless. Being close to his goal, John became more insistent and Brandywine eventually gave up stopping every few feet.
“I don’t remember; it seems likely I was already unconscious at that point. But Moriarty would have needed help to move me. Well,” he said abruptly, “this is interesting but what we really need to know is—”
“Mm.” Sherlock headed for the bathroom. “You won’t be without company,” he called over the clatter of toiletries being tossed into a kit. “Your sister is going with you.”
The eyes slid toward the sound of his voice, and seeing him, John drew himself up and back as if trying to pull into the corner of the sofa. “No,” he said. “No. You—you don’t get to call me that any more.”
Sherlock felt his heart pick up speed. He could not recall a time when he was happier to have such a suspicious, nosy, and overbearing older brother.
But Charles was looking at John. “It seems we caught you as you were going to bed for the night. You shouldn’t let us keep you.”
“I’m not—I don’t know what I am,” said John. “I’m—I’m confused, and . . .” He tried to trace his feelings to their roots, but all the wires inside him were crossed.
“All right, well,” the nurse said, walking over and fixing the chair in one smooth motion, “we’ll keep him under sedation for the next eight to twelve hours, mostly to stop him from moving around too much. And after he’s awake,
Sherlock sat up and buttoned his shirt. “I think I’ll . . .” He stood and half strode, half stumbled to his room, slamming the door behind him.
“Probably not,” Sherlock agreed, though John noticed that his companion made no motion to touch his food, instead picking up the newspaper that was folded on the tabletop in front of one of the vacant chairs.
So at first Sherlock mistook Lestrade’s astonishment for shock at the general carnage of the flat. “Moriarty,” he recounted grimly. “He . . .”
“Sit,” Sherlock instructed gently, and Mrs. Grossman entered with a tray weighted with a pitcher of iced water, two glasses, and some bread with butter.
John often reflected on the duality of having such an impatient flatmate who himself required such fortitude to deal with.
“Whenever a man tells a woman something, she invariably views it as an opportunity to redouble her efforts in the hopes of changing his mind,” said Sherlock. “No, she’ll either need to come to the conclusion on her own or have someone else—another woman would be best—tell her.”
But any jealousy Sherlock had been primed to feel was cut by closer examination of the image. Because while Eoin was looking directly at John, even leaning a little toward him, John showed no such inclination—literally or figuratively. John remained stolidly upright and appeared to look past Eoin rather than at him.
Sherlock blinked rapidly, surprised by the turn in conversation. “No. Upsetting Mycroft would only be a side benefit.”
“Don’t be childish; you know what they are. And if I’ve taught you any kind of deductive skills, you also know they haven’t been used in ages.”
But if that were strictly true, Sherlock’s actions now did not make sense. He had a case, and by all the unspoken and unwritten rules that framed the way Sherlock worked, he should be completely engaged with that and not at all interested in his flatmate, who had no valuable insight to offer at the moment.
John could think of little he would like less than having to spend any time at all in Mycroft’s quelling company. “He’ll probably just send his assistant,” John called hopefully, “and Mrs. Hudson can let her in.”
But doctors and soldiers cannot afford to be rash. Even when they must act and react swiftly, it is always with thought and precision. There are guidelines. This often determines the difference between life and death.
“Now I’d like to get out of here with a minimal amount of fuss,” Mycroft continued. “It’s bad enough I had to come at all. Mr. Moriarty, if you please—” Mycroft gestured for Moriarty to join him. “Mr. Tait is under the impression that I am Inspector Lestrade, so if you’ll follow my lead . . .” He and Moriarty began to walk away, but after a few steps Mycroft paused. “Sherlock! Are you coming?”
“Is this an interrogation?” John asked suddenly. “What do you want to know, Sherlock? How we met, or what happened the first time we slept together, or—” When Sherlock blanched, John added impatiently, “You don’t expect me to believe you were celibate for two years?”
John was tempted to ask if that’s how he’d done things, but Sherlock was bringing the tray, which he set on the table before settling in a nearby chair. John handed Charles one of the cups then took up guard standing beside his flatmate’s seat while he sipped from his own mug. Sherlock left his tea untouched, his eyes focused on the windows across the room.
JOHN STOOD THERE for some while; it was too early yet to go over to the clinic. His mind wandered; first, his gaze having landed on the computer, idly wondering what Mycroft might want with it, then thinking he should at least shut it off . . . And he would need to leave the flat unlocked so Mycroft could get in . . . Not that locked doors seemed likely to prove much of an obstacle for him. But John didn’t want to be present when Mycroft turned up, either; he didn’t like the way the older Holmes brother looked at him as if trying to pin him in place with his eyes.
Sherlock herded John into John’s bedroom and sat him on the edge of the bed, waiting a moment to be sure John wouldn’t topple. But his flatmate was already making the slow climb out of the sleepiness that the last dose of drugs had caused, and remained upright. Soon, Sherlock knew from experience, the insomnia was likely to set in.
He tried to focus on the road; it was dark now, and Sherlock had been right in suggesting John might fall asleep while driving, tired as he was. But he also couldn’t help taking in little glances at the man sleeping next to him. John liked watching Sherlock sleep, always had, though it embarrassed him even to admit it to himself. There was something lovely about how blank Sherlock’s face became, how quiet his features, the eyes closed instead of constantly roving, looking for input. Sherlock looked sweet when asleep, young and soft and inanimate, like someone in a painting by Leighton or Jones.
“Fingernail polish,” said Sherlock, dropping to the hardwood. “And black shoe polish, too; whoever she is, she was wearing dress shoes.”
His own curiosity piqued, John took his new clothes to the closet to hang them, then poked his head into Sherlock’s room. The walls were hung in dove moire, the bedspread was iceberg blue with cerulean stripes, and the rug was Wedgwood in hue. The overall effect was of an encapsulated rainy day.
Sherlock scowled and looked to the doorway. There stood Lestrade, and behind him Sargent Donovan. “Who called you?” Sherlock demanded, though he already knew the answer.
After the door had closed behind him, Irene turned to Sarah, pointed in opposite directions, and mouthed, “Fighting.”
Sherlock moved forward, briefly considered the hideous chair, then took a seat on the edge of the bed instead. “I’m sorry, John,” he said again, and it occurred to him that he would most likely be saying it for the rest of his life.
John waited. Sherlock could feel his flatmate’s expectancy crawling over him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet John’s gaze. Instead, Sherlock scrambled mentally to come up with a way of telling John about Moriarty’s visit that wouldn’t anger or upset him. But every potential scenario ended with John stalking off either to his bedroom or, worse, out of the flat entirely. Sherlock felt as if he had just been checkmated at chess.
He turned his head to look at the man beside him. The smooth back was inviting, but Sherlock knew better than to touch a sleeping soldier. The one time he’d made that mistake, only his own quick reflexes had saved him from having his nose broken. Since then he’d resorted to waking John from a distance.
“Well, maybe Sherlock sized it for himself,” John retorted, suddenly feeling defensive. For some reason, the idea that Sherlock had gone to the trouble . . . Sherlock, who never put himself out for anyone, who wouldn’t even go to the grocery . . . It shook John at the core to consider the possibility that Sherlock might have had the ring sized for him.
“No, that’s—” Sherlock grabbed the frame from which the sketch had been taken and flipped it around to view the photo. “That’s part of Lambeth. And
They searched in silence for some while before John asked abruptly, “Why did you want to become a saint?” When Sherlock didn’t answer, John stopped and looked over at him, could tell by the way Sherlock was studying the page he was holding that he was only acting like he was absorbed in something, pretending not to have heard the question.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long,” Charles said. “There were a number of factors that prevented my coming.”
John grimaced. “He was being so . . . deliberate. Precise. It seemed like . . .” He swallowed. “Like the placement had meaning.”
God, why was he thinking about this? He sat up. He needed to find something to do, like maybe sort through the post.
But Sherlock had picked up the guidebook, flipped it open to the marked page. “Who says we’re staying there from May to August?”
“Sherlock,” said John. If he could get his flatmate to look at him, maybe he’d be able to discern the deeper feelings involved, if there were any.
John was trying to figure out what to do with both Mrs. Hudson’s cool box and the casket that Sherlock had handed over to him. “Yes . . .” He finally managed to get the box behind his feet while holding the reliquary on his lap; not a comfortable arrangement, but the best he could do.
“How do you know?” Lestrade asked. It came out more sharply than he’d intended, his mind having drifted to other things again.
“I . . . don’t know,” John admitted. He was too tired for trick questions and wished his companion would come to the point.
But Sarah wasn’t the type to let questions go unanswered, either. “Then you were there as what? Helping Sherlock?” she asked.
“She was there at the time.” Mycroft leaned his weight against a counter and took another hesitant sip of his tea.
“I need Irene,” Sherlock said suddenly. He looked down at himself and realized he didn’t have his phone. Was it still in the hired car? He had no idea what Moriarty’s men had done with that.
“Right. I’ll call you when we’re in,” John told her. As he hung up, he felt a wave of frustration. Sherlock’s unorthodox methods were starting to take a serious toll on John’s personal life, and John forged a new resolve to set things straight all around.
He wondered fleetingly if there were any chance he had morphine in his kit. Seemed unlikely but might be worth a look.
—but his eyes were closed. Either he really had fallen asleep, or he was studiously and steadfastly ignoring his sister.
Sherlock silently cursed Mycroft for not having buried that deeper. “What do you want to know?” he asked Lestrade.
“I don’t suggest we wait to find out,” said Sherlock as he joined him outside. John noted how tightly his companion held the reliquary, how white his knuckles were.
“How is it you’re always running into him when you visit, and I live there and never see him?” Sherlock asked.
John was formulating an appropriately snippy retort when Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway. “You’re up!” she crowed.
“Well, I’m no psychologist, but . . . In my experience, there’s something to be said for the theory that some people want to get caught.”
John turned to Charles with an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to forgive him; he’s had a lot going on just lately.”
benefit, not mine! None of what you do is for me! At best my wellbeing is a byproduct of your fascination with whatever mystery you’re solving at the time!”
Irene guided him around the museum to where Cleopatra’s Needle stood and found them a vacant bench, but Sherlock didn’t sit. Instead he pulled out his phone and began to pace as he dialed.
Lestrade cleared his throat. “Right, so . . . We should move on to what happened with you then, Doctor.”
“She’s a . . . medical professional . . .” Though Sherlock’s tone suggested he wasn’t persuaded of Sarah’s credentials.
“OH MY GOD,” Sarah said when Sherlock shed his coat and what remained of his shirt. She stood next to John in the glass booth that separated an antiquated computer from the radiology room. “What the hell happened?”
Christopher leaned in closer than made Sherlock comfortable, but Sherlock refused to give ground. “I’ve missed you.”
“Well, then,” said Sherlock, pushing the car to an even higher rate of speed, “allow me to show you what you’ve been missing.”
“Marks where the camera can catch them,” Sherlock finished dully as he turned circles in the space between the end of the bed and the desk, toying with the belt. “I remember. Explains why you model suits, I suppose.”
“Now, Elyse,” Gerrie said. Looking at John she added, “Though you must admit, it does appear a tad incriminating, leaving so suddenly.”
John rolled onto his side to face him. “Then as your doctor I will be required to take charge of your care.”
“In a way . . . It could be,” Sarah told him. “My parents have enjoyed many years of domestic bliss.”
“IT’S NOT YOUR fault,” Sarah told John as they picked at the Chinese food they’d ordered. “You had no way of knowing.”
Then the manager’s eyes lit with understanding. He held up a finger to indicate that John should wait and disappeared into his office, returning a minute later with another envelope. John accepted it with little grace but froze when he saw his name written on it. The handwriting was Sherlock’s.
“If you’re worried I don’t comprehend the damage my ‘death’ did to John, allow me to put you at ease. I am very much aware of it. But it was the lesser of evils, and in the end it will be for John and I to sort out between us. He needs no intermediary for his feelings, and I would guess he would be angry to learn of your trying to insert yourself into his affairs.”
This wasn’t entirely true, though Sherlock would have been hard pressed to describe the things that did unnerve him. None of the ones that sprang to mind were corporeal, for one thing; two dead bodies, regardless of their similarities to John and himself, were far from ‘spooky.’ Intriguing, yes. Frightening, no.
Sherlock allowed Irene to lead him out of the room and downstairs to one of the myriad of taxicabs that choked New York. His only thought was to get through the hour with as little effort as possible, maybe by nursing a drink and not saying much. He was so absorbed in this plan he almost didn’t notice when the cab stopped and Irene got out, forcing her to lean in and hiss, “Sherlock!”
But John had already come to the same conclusion. The weight and feel of the piece was too familiar for him to believe there could be another so identical to the one he was used to.
“No, I’m—” The fingertips were delicately feathering their way along the old wound. “That’s probably enough, don’t you think? It’s not like you’re painting the Sistine Chapel.”
“Devoted.” It being a weekday morning, the museum was far from busy, so there was no wait at the admissions desk. Irene handed Sherlock his ticket and a floor plan and gestured to the left. “Old Greek and Roman stuff is that way.”
Mycroft spared her a glance. “Surprised you didn’t come out earlier,” he remarked, “once you knew Sherlock was alive and well.”
“She’s not a suspect,” said John in hopeful and sympathetic tones, his inbred streak of chivalry coming to the fore, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.
John passed a wheeled basket piled with hospital laundry and paused. He glanced up and down the corridor. Empty. Eyed the basket. Checked his watch. Visiting hours would end soon, but if he were there as a doctor . . .
Mr. John had evidently found the remainder of the refreshment she’d offered their guest. Mrs. Grossman looked again at the stranger, who had lost all his color now. “There,” she told him, “it’ll be no bother at all to have Dr. Watson take a look at you.”
“Of course I’m not disappointed!” said Harry far too loudly for a hospital, or even a bar, unless perhaps there was loud music involved. “But it’s a shame to worry Mum and Dad for no reason.”
Which meant it was no routine question of logic bothering him. Something deeper was troubling Sherlock Holmes.
“Mm,” was all Sherlock said in reply, uncertain how much conversation was to be expected on the subject. It was clear there had already been some in his absence, given John had done damage to Patrick’s face.
As Sherlock closed the door behind him, John had a thought. He strode over and pulled the door open. “Take my gun at least!”
He turned and found Sherlock watching him. John lifted his eyebrows in an unspoken question, and Sherlock asked, “Feeling more awake?”
It was a very strange feeling, but not a foreign one; he’d undergone a similar sensation after being wounded in Afghanistan. He supposed he’d been on medicine then, too.
“Well,” said Mrs. Grossman, who prided herself on her good manners and never liked disappointing people, “I should say the least I could do is offer you some tea before you go.”
“Ha!” John swiftly suffixed his involuntary bark of laughter with, “Sorry. Uh, no.” He paused. “I’ll have some of the carrot cake, Irene; it might be the last time I get to have any, if Sherlock gets his way.”
But John shook himself and said, “No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Um . . . I lost track of time, so I don’t know how often he was giving me the drugs, but there was more in the syringe each time. An opiate of some sort, clearly.”
IRENE TRAILED AFTER John as he strode down the sidewalk, working to keep up while still engrossed in the video on the phone. “Oh my God,” she said. “John! You missed it!”
Sherlock was aware of Lestrade’s true reason for stopping by, and he was somewhere between flattered and irritated by it. “Well,” he said now, “it’s little enough to go on, but we’ll see what we can find out. What’s the name of Lumley’s bakery?”
John stared at the steaming mug. He didn’t even like oolong that much; he preferred Darjeeling. Shouldn’t Sherlock know that by now?
And now, looking at the photograph, John didn’t want to leave it. But he knew he shouldn’t take it, either. Not if he was going to accomplish the clean break he needed.
Gerrie sat back in the chair, failing to hide her disappointment. But moments later she rallied, and sitting up again she said, “Well, I’m that glad that he has you to look after him, since he won’t let Mycroft. And you a doctor besides. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you when he gets in. Not much fun for him, having only his mum for company.” And she heaved another sigh, offering John the opportunity to contradict this last statement.
“Try them and find out,” said John, sitting down again to finish his own meal, though he paused and looked at Mycroft before taking a bite. “
John started to laugh, huskily, and this time he couldn’t stop himself, even though it hurt. “I’m the fine tuning.”
“I’m sorry,” said John as he bent down for a closer look. “It was probably instantaneous. We should—” He broke off. He’d been about to suggest they go find Sherlock, but another thought sprang to mind. What if Henry had found Sherlock after all?
“And if Irene doesn’t come back tonight, where will she stay? Have you given her the keys to your flat?” Sherlock wasn’t sure how far the planning for this rendezvous had extended. He glanced around, set his untouched wine on the desk.
John ran his hands over his face. He needed to focus on more practical matters. The house wasn’t his now, not really; he should pack up and go back to London, start sorting things out there. Sherlock was gone for now, but who knew when he might be back? John couldn’t see staying at Baker Street, waiting. He needed to clear out and start over. He needed some distance.
“Never mind her,” said Sherlock as he passed back through the kitchen. “She won’t tell; will you, Chloe?” He threw her a wink and was gone, while she stared with barely concealed hatred after him.
Elyse wrung her hands and shook her head. John had never actually seen anyone do that before, hadn’t thought people really did that, but there it was. “Oh, Jeremy! Somebody shot Henry!”
Sherlock’s eyes drifted toward the tall windows that fronted the room, giving a view of the portico outside. “Mycroft suggested . . .” His voice trailed.
Charles returned from securing the door and instead of returning to the chair he’d been sitting in, he perched himself on the edge of the bed.
Irene sighed as they wove their way through, past and around people on the sidewalk. “Tamzen is usually more fun, but lately she’s too busy being angry at Jonah for not kicking his drug habit . . .” She darted a glance at her companion. “Sound familiar?”
“A lucrative enterprise,” said Charles measuring out the amount of liquid in the needle. “I’m going to assume you don’t have Sherlock’s tolerances.”
“Or something,” said John. “I’ll tell him to call you if and when I see him, but I have no idea when that will be. You’re better off trying yourself.”
John could practically hear Lestrade reading between the lines. “You two have a fight or something?”
On the way downstairs, Sherlock provided a list of instructions. “You’ll sit to her left, but don’t sit until she does. Mum’s a stickler for this sort of thing, in that way only people who weren’t born to it can be. Don’t let the amount of tableware alarm you, just watch me—”
But even as John was opening his door and telling himself that, no, he couldn’t leave Sherlock in the car, Sherlock opened his eyes. Started to sit up, then drew up short, his face contorting in a way that suggested he wasn’t sure what had just happened.
“I think he’ll be that irate at having lost to the Martlets, and he’ll be prepared to take it out on me,” said Sherlock grimly. “The fact that Elyse is willing to pay him is just a bonus.” He unlocked the street door and John followed him upstairs, then produced his key when it became evident Sherlock didn’t have his.
Sherlock was lifting the top slice of bread for a better look at the contents of his sandwich. “Uh . . . no. Are those grapes?”
Sherlock’s older brother looked up from whatever he’d been reading, something he’d no doubt picked up off one of the teetering piles strewn around the room.
But Moriarty was chuckling. “No need to worry on his account. Do you think he’s worried about you? If you’re lucky, he’ll be along in a little while. I’ve asked him to bring something by on your behalf.
Light, he needed light to see . . . what he didn’t want to see, but he had to look because Sherlock almost certainly needed, what? Medical attention? Was he even breathing? The darkness paired with the heavy bedspread made it impossible to tell.
“You should ask Charles,” Sherlock said absently as he reached over to adjust the blanket that shrouded John’s shoulders.
“Of course he’s planning something,” Sherlock said with no small exasperation. “And now he’s trying to distract us from whatever it is he’s up to.”
But the lily would be small and almost certainly in a drawer somewhere. Sherlock began walking past the racks the way one would walk past library shelves, stopping only when he found what—or rather, who—he’d been looking for.
JOHN FELT AWFUL. He felt dry despite the copious amounts of sweat that covered him and hot despite the shivers that wracked his body. Pulling air into his lungs seemed like a Herculean effort, and his heart was kicking like a snared rabbit. John pictured the lapin ripping his insides apart with the claws of its thumping rear feet. He imagined the blood bubbling up in his throat, dripping from his nose, ears, mouth. He needed surgery, he realized. The rabbit had to be extracted; he just needed a knife.
Things at Weald House promised to be mundane, even boring, which was fine with John after all the drama of late—the most recent adventure in London and the bizarre revelations of the day before. And while part of him kept telling him to go home, another part insisted he couldn’t possibly leave Sherlock to face things alone. Not for an entire week. So John began to look at the whole thing as a sort of holiday. Or maybe it was more like dinner theatre? Like he was some poor bloke pulled up from the audience to play the straight man in a parlour enactment.
normal since under usual circumstances they would never do that. Why create dirty dishes, after all?
So after his shower, John went back into Sherlock’s room and pulled the case from under the chest-of-drawers. His eyes strayed toward the letters, but John forced himself to ignore them. He gathered the needles and put everything else back.
As the Register began speaking, a pang of alarm darted through John. Did Harry have the ring? He started to look over his shoulder, wanting to ask her, but caught Sherlock’s worried frown. John stared back helplessly.
Sensing the growing tension, Irene turned to John and said, “We’ve converted the old nursery rooms on the third floor for your parents and sister.” She turned to Sherlock and continued, “And space for your mom, too, when she gets here.”
John resolved not to care and started for the butler’s pantry. He’d take all the keys if need be and try every one of them until he found the one that would free his car.
Mrs. Watson obliged by releasing Sherlock and stepping back. “How are you boys holding up? Nervous? Oh, it’s all right,” she went on without waiting for answers. “It’s normal to have nerves.
Sherlock returned, looking much more himself, and dropped John’s mobile phone on the bed. He held his own in his other hand. “I haven’t looked at them. If you’re feeling up to it . . .”
They arrived at the car, and as they settled in John began to dread the notion of having to sustain a conversation. It seemed ridiculous, but after all the lovely things Sherlock had just said to him, John felt pressure to come up with something equally eloquent. He hadn’t planned anything for the ceremony, and now he felt empty and unprepared, as if sitting for an exam for which he hadn’t studied. Words weren’t John’s strength (his now defunct blog proved that much); he was better at doing things to show he cared.
“In the pantry, under the sink.” John was moving to fetch it when she asked, “Do you think she got out of the pond?”
John watched him for a while, hoping for a clue so he wouldn’t have to ask, but he finally gave up. “What are you doing?”
John was curious but didn’t want to pry, literally or figuratively. Deciding it was quite likely Sherlock hadn’t eaten lunch that day either, John opted to get on with making some dinner. But when he was halfway to the kitchen, he heard Sherlock stir.
The second man took a seat in a chair beside the bed. “I hope for your sake and his that we’ve made some progress. It won’t do to have our customers dying. Makes it so difficult to keep business in the black.”
“Ah,” said Charles in understanding. “I simply hate to think you might be angry or disappointed, dearheart. I wasn’t sure how much you knew about the—the trial and my conviction and such. I know Mycroft was keen to keep you out of it, so I didn’t know how much filtered back to you.”
Sighing, John hoisted the statue and followed Sherlock down the turning staircase until they came to the landing about halfway down. Sherlock gestured wordlessly to the niche, and John returned the unidentified saint to his rightful place, silently asking for absolution on Sherlock’s behalf for having misused the holy icon. Not that John was a superstitious or even very religious man; he simply believed in erring on the side of caution.
And then, just as John was ready to begin stammering some kind of excuse for his being there, the woman broke into a smile. “Why, it’s John, isn’t it? Sherlock didn’t say you were coming.” And with that she had his arm and was towing him into the house.
Charles stared hard at John for a moment, and though he smiled, the eyes were hard. “It’s me you must forgive; I shouldn’t have come so late. I was simply so eager to see him.”
He didn’t shower—he didn’t trust leaving John alone that long—though he had, over the course of the days, several causes for changing his clothes.
Sighing, John wondered whether he should take the Tube or a cab to Lambeth. The Tube would take longer but felt less conspicuous. And something told John he should attempt to keep things low-key. Yet time seemed to be a factor in this whole affair. But as John turned to fetch his wallet, a jingle from his jacket pocket reminded him of Sherlock’s car keys.
Sherlock supposed Madeline might know where the portfolio was. At the very least she could get him access to the flat they had been planning to move into, in the off chance Markham had left it there. Upon reflection, Sherlock surmised it might be a task better left to John; he was better at dealing with people, especially women who were liable to burst into tears at the drop of a hat.
“Said you weren’t answering your phone,” Mrs. Grossman told him. “Probably can’t hear it when you’re riding.”
Sherlock’s visage darkened further. “Don’t call me that. Seriously, it’s rude to continue calling someone by a name they don’t like.”
John sighed. “Yes, I guess I did,” he answered, making it sound as if this fact somehow proved a point.
to me. Oh!” he added in surprise when John did roll the rest of the way over and tucked himself close.
“Fuck it,” John said as he found Sherlock in his contacts and dialed the number. “Answer it, goddamn it.”
John’s head spun and the room around him blurred. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision. As he focused, John realized he wasn’t in the flat and wasn’t in a hospital; he was in a hotel room.
“Let him rest here a little first,” Sarah told him. “We can order something in. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
John felt the room sway around him. Instinctively he reached out, looking for a piece of furniture, something to hold onto, maybe a chair to sit in. Instead he was startled to find something soft and warm behind him, bracing him.
“Jeremy!” he exclaimed at seeing the old butler struggle with what was evidently a heavy load. “Let me help you with those. She’s in the yellow room.”
“No, really, I preferred not to watch Moriarty kill you. Which is what he would have done, right before killing me.”
“What’s it for? Does it prove something?” Sherlock asked. “I’ve always assumed it’s more for the guests than the two people being married.”
The cane planted itself in John’s line of sight, and holding it, Moriarty slid down so that he could look up into John’s lowered gaze. So John closed his eyes. Felt Moriarty’s hand on his cheek then his chin. Didn’t resist when Moriarty leveraged his head and bent closer to murmur, “You’re going to die, John. How does it feel to know that?”
John nodded absently, and Gerrie finally began to eat, giving John and Sherlock the freedom to eat as well. Sherlock surprised John by attacking his meal with barely restrained gusto, though upon reflection, John counted three days since he’d last seen his flatmate eat anything. Which wasn’t unusual; Sherlock’s appetite was like a tide, out for long stretches before washing ashore again.
Sherlock had lapsed into silence, but Lestrade could tell he was impatient by the way his eyes darted at everything they passed and his fingers tapped a subconscious melody on his knee. Lestrade wanted to be able to tell Sherlock everything was going to be fine, but he didn’t know that for certain, and he’d been in law enforcement long enough not to make the rookie mistake of offering empty assurances.
John whipped his head back around. “It’s everywhere! You wear it like an invisible suit! You won’t even let me—” He reached toward the cut on Sherlock’s temple, but Sherlock deftly drew away. “Maybe we should get
But then the steps moved away, and with that John made a decision. He stood and was startled to discover he was shaking.
“Oh, God,” said John, bringing his hands to his face while Sarah blanched beside him. “Sorry,” he said to her, “sorry, I’m just—I’m giving him a little leeway tonight.”
room, the one he’d so carefully constructed to suit his needs, and resentment began to bubble up once more. He’d come to love that room and that house and the people there, both at Weald House and in the local area. But John also wasn’t any good at lying, and certainly not over any length of time; how could he possibly pretend this was all his when he knew Sherlock was alive?
But the paper appeared older than that. It was the kind of lined notepaper students might use, folded in the way a letter would be, and slightly yellowed with age.
If Elyse picked up on the sarcasm, she was too polite to show it. “Yes,” she said again, turning her smile toward Sherlock. “And how is London?”
John made it a point not to look at his flatmate this time as he wondered whether Sherlock would do as he’d been told. There seemed to be a long wait, but at last Sherlock came the rest of the way into the kitchen, took the platter off the counter, and brought it to the table.
There was a stretch of silence, and John began to wonder whether the car hadn’t heard him and if he should just go ahead and start driving. But as he sorted out how to use the paddle shifters, the car instructed him, “State your destination.”
John was ready to tell her exactly where she could go, but Irene’s laughter had drawn Sherlock’s attention from across the room. He took in the sight of Irene’s hand on John’s arm and the way she was beaming up at him, and moved as if to walk over. But Christopher said something then, dragging Sherlock’s attention back to him.
“Don’t get snide with me, Sherl, you know it doesn’t work,” said Irene. “Look, I know you had what you thought were good reasons for doing what you did, and it can’t have been an easy decision to make—”
Lestrade did not fail to observe the way John flinched at this statement, and moved by something indefinable, the inspector half snapped, “Well, if anything should happen to you and John, I’ll be sure to check yours straight away.”
“I was only surprised because he’d never done anything else I’d asked of him,” muttered Sherlock, now sorting with barely contained fury.
At the moment of opening his eyes, there came a surge of confusion. Sherlock was used to waking suddenly, but he had not realized he was asleep. For the previous four days, in his drive to be attentive to his flatmate’s needs Sherlock had done nothing more than doze; now he mentally berated himself for slacking in his duties.
SHERLOCK DID NOT wait to be buzzed, waved or escorted into his brother’s building; he sailed through the common areas and past a number of raised eyebrows, John hurrying nervously in his wake, casket in hand.
When he arrived, the hotel lobby was vacant; even the desk lacked staff. John had to ring the bell several times before anyone appeared. “I was told there was someone here in need of an English-speaking doctor,” he told the man impatiently. Because now he was starting to worry; medical needs were nothing to take lightly.
“I’m not looking for what I already have, John. I can do stylish and sophisticated all on my own. I want the person who can save me when I’ve been shot, the one who’ll go looking for me when I’m lost, someone who reminds me to eat and lets me pretend to be brave when the truth is the only reason I’m not terrified is that he’s standing next to me. That’s you.”
Except that he couldn’t find John. The living area was abandoned, and John wasn’t in his room. Sherlock even checked his own room on the off chance John had decided to go through some more of his things. But no, John was most definitely not in the flat.
Sherlock frowned and started to shrug off John’s hand, but even that small motion seemed to threaten his equilibrium. He shot Mycroft an inscrutable look, but the older Holmes remained stone-faced.
AFTER MAKING THEMSELVES as neat and hay-free as they could, John and Sherlock returned to the house with the sole intention of showering (separately, just to keep focus) and readying for the arrival of John’s parents. But Mrs. Grossman was already preparing lunch in the kitchen, and when she asked, “Did you have a nice ride, then, lads?” John’s stricken expression nearly gave the game away. Lucky for them she was intent on her work.
John took a step back, working to mask his hurt, though it hardly mattered because Sherlock’s attention was on the door. “Not like Moriarty to run,” he mused.
Mrs. Hudson bustled back in with a pile of blankets. “Here now, no use crying over it,” she said as she set them at the foot of the bed. “He’ll be fine, you’ll see. Have some tea, and don’t worry about the tray; I’ll come back for it later.” She paused at the door. “And I’ll bring you up something to eat. The two of you look half starved on top of it all. Just don’t get used to it,” she warned before sweeping out again.
me? You’ve been dead for two years, or might as well have been, and you come here to tell me you missed me? You could have saved yourself the trouble, and me some—What kind of person does that?” he asked abruptly, his voice rising. “What kind of person puts someone they profess to care about through something like that? It’s . . . deranged.”
“Hungry? I can’t see how you wouldn’t be,” the landlady went on. “I’ve brought up some toast for Sherlock, but I can make more, no trouble. I just didn’t know you were awake,” she added with a hint of rebuke.
John took a deep breath and reminded himself that being in hospitals made Sherlock peevish, and that he shouldn’t take it personally. “I was hoping this would keep them from kicking me out in the next half hour.”
Sherlock turned then, his expression severe. “If there were any risk to the public, certainly. But there’s not, and they have no right to marketed voyeurism. If it were me, John, or you, would you want to see it as a headline?” He turned back to the wall without waiting for an answer. “Here, I think.”
But maybe that didn’t matter. After all, the words weren’t for him; Sherlock cast them off and out like so much useless weight, like stones found in a pocket. And if one was diamond, what of it? Sherlock had no more use for it than any other rock.
Irene began circling the table. “So that eliminates . . .” She began turning cards face down on the table. “But that’s just flavor,” she said. “You can have any of these designs, depending on the kind of icing you want.”
“Yes, because of course if there were, that person would want to make sure we knew it,” Sherlock said. “It’s the lack of evidence that proves it. Assuming they drank the hemlock, there would need to be at least one glass or cup containing the dregs.”
“I don’t see how; I was only being honest.” She paused. “And what are they doing to the master suite that I can’t stay there?”
It took every modicum of Sherlock’s willpower to keep him from putting a bullet in Charles right then. But Sherlock had a measure of curiosity in him about all that had transpired, and he was determined to sate that before his bloodlust. So as Charles leaned farther forward, Sherlock stepped up and placed the muzzle of the gun at the nape of Charles’s neck. “I’d say you’re already in trouble.”
“I don’t belong to you any more. You don’t get to—to take up where you left off as if you hadn’t . . .” John shook his head as if clearing it of something unwanted.
“You’d be first in line, I take it,” Sherlock snapped, then sighed. “She would have her choice of suitors, certainly, if her brother didn’t keep her leashed like one of his damn dogs.”
Michael’s eyes darted from Sherlock to John and back. Then, apparently deciding there was no trick involved, he stepped forward. But as he reached for the silver casket, a shot rang out, shattering glass in a nearby window.
“I really expected more people around,” Harry sniffed. “More flowers at least. Those are nice, though,” she said. “Who’re they from?”
“OKAY, WAIT,” IRENE said as they started up the staircase to the museum’s main entrance. Sherlock obediently stopped walking, and Irene was several steps ahead before she realized it. “I didn’t mean
“There may not be much affection between us, Sherlock, but I’m still your older brother, and as far as I’m concerned the only one allowed to bully you is me.”
, John thought as they walked in charitable silence to the stables, the tension blowing off of them like so much dust.
“What? Oh.” Sherlock obligingly took the rein and led Brandywine into the stable where he snapped cross ties onto the halter and began untacking. “Tell me what you know,” he told John as he worked.
Knowing that Sherlock still had difficulty bending over, John reached down to retrieve it. “The Tower,” he read as he handed it to his companion.
Sherlock flinched, his eyes flicking to meet John’s briefly before turning away again. “Don’t. Touch me.”
“Lovely,” Sherlock murmured, turning his attention back to the computer. “The lilies aren’t much of a research subject, although at least two sites claim they work in tandem as a sort of combination lock or key . . . to some unspecified safe or vault.”
“No.” Sherlock took the opportunity to step back farther so that John could see their guest. “John, this is Mr. Charles Whitcombe.”
A doctor emerged through the heavy wooden doors that led back to the emergency operating rooms. She made a beeline for Patrick, who deftly pushed John a tiny bit forward. The doctor hesitated. “Are you all here for Mr. Holmes?”
He hadn’t even waited for the door of the office to finish slamming shut before starting to yell. Irene took this as a bad sign, and she backed up until her rear connected with the large desk that filled most of the space in the room.
Mycroft had been trying to tell him something. Lambeth had some kind of connection to the Martlets. Not a contemporary bond, but something older and deeper, maybe even at the root.
“Indeed,” Charles agreed. “Now, if you’re not going to eat, we’ll get on with it.” He crossed to a large desk and picked up a needle and a vial. “If the chemicals are balanced right, this will be one of the fastest addicting street drugs on the market.”
Sherlock wasn’t the least bit satisfied. Breaking Charles’s nose hadn’t been near enough. But Lestrade had wrenched the gun from his hand, so the best Sherlock would have been able to do would be to kick Charles, if only Lestrade weren’t preventing him.
Sherlock felt as if the world around him had slowed down. “Irene . . . has a way . . . of making . . . the most ridiculous things seem . . . like a good idea.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mycroft asked. “I have more options for helping you if you stay.”
No getting away with ignoring her now, Sherlock supposed. He pulled in a breath and looked at her squarely. “Hardly.”
Sherlock felt as if he’d just been tossed into the deep end of a swimming pool. They were dangerously close to a discussion of feelings and all the messy, subjective points of view that would entail. Desperate to stick to the facts, and thus stay on solid ground, Sherlock said, “I went to New York to do as they’d asked so I could get you back.”
That earned him a glare, but at least it got things moving. Sherlock rose and started for the doors without checking to see that John followed—which, of course, he did. And continued for no little time, always a few steps behind as Sherlock moved swiftly in the direction of the falls.
Or maybe he shouldn’t wear it at all. Maybe this was a test and wearing the ring was the equivalent of a failing grade. But on second thought that seemed unlikely because Sherlock took slights personally, and to not wear the ring would be a slight. Wouldn't it?
John reluctantly approached the horse, shying when Morningstar turned his head toward the newcomer. Elyse frowned. “There’s no reason to be frightened, Doctor. Morningstar is quite docile.”
Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut briefly in an attempt to reset himself, though he filed this new data away for later analysis. “Dinner then,” he said, and Irene let out the breath she’d been holding. “We’ll bring something for John, and I’ll want to speak to his doctor . . .” He turned and nearly walked directly into Mr. Watson.
Sherlock hung up and stood, thinking to return Lestrade’s phone and ask him to drive him to Kensington, but he drew back when Lestrade, now standing alone, turned to him with an unexpectedly pleased expression on his face. “There were two men taken from your flat.”
SHERLOCK STARED AT the door for a long while after his brother had exited. “We’re going to have to start locking that,” he finally said.
“No, it’s—” He looked again at Lestrade, who had stepped away with the doctor. “A friend’s. You can call Mycroft if you need to reach me.”
“Oh, of course not, dear,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I had the delivery man bring it. But it was quite the trial.”
John could tell from Sherlock’s voice that his flatmate was halfway asleep already. After hours of feeding his curiosity, he’d satisfied something in himself—something John never would be able to—and could rest, if only for a while.
“It’ll be a game to him,” Mycroft said. “He won’t send his best because he doesn’t want them to succeed.”
“ISN’T THE FLAT back—?” John began, thinking that after three visits he should know where he was by now. But as he glanced up and down the block, he realized he still had no idea.
“It’s not some beauty contest,” Sherlock snapped, finally bringing his gaze to meet Lestrade’s. “He doesn’t get a consolation prize for being runner up. He doesn’t get to walk away with ‘almost made it.’”
“I phoned him last night when we got back to the flat. He knows the circumstances we’re laboring under.”
“We could pick something out . . . somewhere . . .” John went on, looking out the window again. “Where are we going?”
Just as he’d expected, a room key was waiting for him at the Dorchester, and Sherlock once again silently thanked his brother for accommodating his needs. Sherlock supposed he should do something nice for Mycroft, and if he got through this without ending up dead or in prison for murder, he’d be sure to show his appreciation. Maybe he’d actually agree to help Mycroft with something . . .
Sherlock complied in silence, was buttoning his shirt and contemplating his bare feet, when John said suddenly, “We shouldn’t do this.”
But Irene was nodding, pulling him into the tiny apartment. “Oh yes! You had that same look when Christopher walked out. And you didn’t come all the way over here to see my latest show.” This last was delivered with a certain amount of censure.
She laughed, clapping like a child who has performed a great trick. “What’s one more mess in this place?” she asked him.
Sherlock did not sympathize, nor did he deny Charles’s allegations. Instead he simply stated, “And yet here you are. What could be so important that you would risk my brother’s long reach?”
Lestrade shifted his weight slightly, a direct sign of his discomfort. “Charles Whitcombe,” he said.
John ran his eyes over the map of abuses that was Sherlock’s body. “Her lily must be one of these.” He reached out as if to touch, but Sherlock stepped back and plucked his shirt from the chair.
Irene hesitated but decided to let the issue slide. “It wasn’t that hard. With the right look and some convincing credentials, I was able to get access. Jonah made the replacement.”
Sherlock looked to John once more. John had at last closed his eyes, though they were streaming now as if he were crying. Sherlock knew this was a symptom of the withdrawal, but he hated the sight of it. He returned to the bed. Sat down. Brushed one of the wet cheeks with his hand.
“They’ve always been high. You used to think this was fun, but now it’s nigh impossible to get you to agree to come along.”
“John.” It was no use asking what was wrong, Sherlock knew; this afternoon was only another item in what had become a steadily growing list.
“Has been in our possession for some time. It took us a while to figure out what we needed to open it.”
Charles froze, but maddeningly he also laughed. “You never struck me as the type to play jealous lover, Sherlock.”
“I’m sorry,” Irene said. “I was just trying to find a way for Sherl to release some . . . tension. I didn’t know you were coming too, or I never . . . But wait!” She placed a hand on John’s forearm, and he found himself staring at her well-manicured fingers; the woman had absolutely no boundaries. “This is perfect, actually!” she went on, laughing. “You and I can go to dinner and—”
The sound of footsteps in the corridor drew Irene’s attention back to the doorway. Finally! Sherlock was coming.
Sherlock hesitated. “All right,” he said softly, setting something on the tray beside the untouched water and bread before exiting. And John didn’t want to look because he knew what it was and what it meant, but his eyes were drawn to it anyway.
Mycroft shrugged as he went over to a highly polished bar and began pouring drinks. “It’s only gold plate; the value is mostly sentimental. And historical, I suppose, if one were a collector of such things.”
Sherlock took the shirt and slipped into the bathroom to change. “No need to be modest,” Irene teased.
“Something like that,” Sherlock murmured, turning blindly for the door. Was there dust in the room? Why did his eyes hurt? “I should go . . .”
“A swift or a martin, by most accounts,” Mycroft told him. “Used to be people didn’t think they had feet, so it was thought they didn’t land. Because they were always flying, they were considered tireless, and so on a coat of arms signified unceasing effort.
Sherlock, now done destroying the evidence, moved on, leaving John to catch up. “Threw it in the pond. How do you think my boots got so muddy?”
John stared at him for a long time, and it suddenly struck Sherlock as absurd that they were having this conversation while lying in John’s bed after four and more days of having been sequestered in their flat as if on some disastrous, backward honeymoon.
“Merely a precaution,” said Moriarty as he finished with John’s wrists. “It’ll take a while for you to bleed to death from that. And in the meantime, we can have such fun together. Oh! Your hot water is ready.”
Patrick sailed through the doors, and John wondered fleetingly if he’d passed Mycroft on the way, before having less charitable thoughts when Patrick took the seat on his other side and whispered in John’s ear, “I’ve released him into your custody.”
Mycroft only blinked at him. “Set it on the desk there, if you would, Doctor,” he told John, though his eyes never left his brother.
Irene waved the idea away. “You can’t think about it like that. John is a big boy; he can decide whether he wants to be with someone or not, and whether that someone is good for him or not.”
ONCE SETTLED TO her satisfaction, Gerrie made her way back downstairs in search of someone to greet her the way she felt she should be greeted. She found her oldest son settled in a chair in the library, reading one of the several daily papers he made it a habit to peruse.
“AH, JOHN,” SIGHED Sherlock as he entered room 367 and fell into the chair beside the bed. It was a strangely square contraption, filled with foam and covered in a particularly awful shade of sea green vinyl. Sherlock frowned down at the piece of furniture in which he sat, picked idly at a place on the left arm where a seam had begun to fray, then reluctantly allowed himself to lean back, only to have the chair unexpectedly lean with him.
SHERLOCK CAME TO in his usual abrupt fashion and discovered he couldn’t see. Blinked. Felt his eyelashes brush against something.
“I know my son, John, so take my word for it: you could move halfway across the globe, and he’d go find you.”
Sherlock dismissed the notion of karma, the belief that he somehow deserved this as cosmic punishment. Even if he did, John did not.
John didn’t bother to argue, but as he turned to guide Sherlock back to the clearing where they’d found Henry, Sherlock said, “Your gun.”
Sherlock didn’t answer, instead making straight for the pile of post John had left beside his computer. He had only just begun flipping through it when there came a knock at the door. “Must be, if he’s been watching the flat to see when I get home.” He waited a moment to see if John would come back to answer it, was more than a little annoyed when he didn’t, and resigned himself to opening the door on his own.
Stepping forward, John offered his hand to their guest. “John Watson, pleased to meet you,” he said firmly, drawing Charles inside before turning to Sherlock, who was looking at him with an incomprehensible expression on his face. John met his gaze and put a hand on his arm. “Sherlock, sweetheart, why don’t you make some tea?”
Sherlock pulled his shirt the rest of the way off, then wasn’t sure what to do with it, but John took it and set it aside on the nightstand. “Lie back.”
“The night Moriarty . . .” Sherlock thought back. “I was going to meet Lestrade at a crime scene in Shoreditch.”
After tossing his phone onto the chair with his coat, Sherlock reached for Christopher’s belt. “How bad have you been?” Sherlock asked. It was a rote question, bred from old habits, and he knew Christopher’s answer before it was spoken.
“If you keep letting him rope you into things, you’re eventually going to get hurt. Well, look! You have already!”
Sherlock set his cup on the counter and preceded John to the door, opening it and holding it for him. John mumbled a thank you and stepped out into the mid-summer warmth.
Sherlock stood and Mycroft waited for his brother to pass and exit the room ahead of him, an old habit born of Sherlock not always following when he was expected to. But Sherlock stopped beside his sibling and said, “I almost lost him, Mycroft.”
So the gun would be somewhere Eoin wouldn’t normally have a reason to look. But John wouldn’t keep it too far out of reach, either. John’s sock drawer yielded nothing, but at the top of the closet Sherlock found John’s old medical kit, and in it, amid a collection of implements and old vials, was the gun.
But Sherlock was shaking his head. “You don’t get up from making love, go drink a paralytic poison, then go back to bed. And there’s no note.”
a distraction, but Sherlock knew it was only because he allowed it. And he allowed it because he enjoyed it. The walls Sherlock had spent years building, the ones that enabled him to compartmentalize people and his work and let him divide his emotions from the whole, had been breached, and the sensation was so novel, was so like a high or a rush, that he hadn’t bothered to reseal the fortification.
So with a furtive glance over his shoulder at the door, John lowered the bed rail and gingerly lay down on his side of the bed (and it
“Your father instructed us to carry on,” Sherlock reminded him. “And he strikes me as someone who is used to having his orders followed.”
LATER, ONLY A handful of moments would stand clear in John’s mind, one of them being how agitated Sherlock seemed when John first set eyes on him standing on the small dais in front of the seated guests. John knew that Sherlock would have been pacing if he hadn’t been so very aware of all the eyes, that he might have done so anyway if Mycroft weren’t silently willing him to remain in place. But once Sherlock saw John he grew calm, and John understood. Sherlock was overstimulated, needed something to focus on, and John was that something.
Sherlock scanned the available furniture, none of it appealing. The sofa had a distinct sag to its middle and was covered by a crocheted blanket that looked more itchy than homey. The chair was worn enough that Sherlock suspected one could feel the springs driving into his back should he sit there. But there was a small dining table with two straight back chairs against one wall. He decided one of those chairs would do.
“Me? No, I can’t imagine I have a reason to be angry. Let’s see, you went to New York while the man you were afraid of held me hostage and forced me into a drug habit that resulted in what I can honestly say has been the worst . . . however many days it’s been of my life . . .”
Understanding began to crystalize in Sherlock’s brain. John’s upbringing didn’t allow him to take his sister to task for her behavior, so John chose to avoid her rather than deal with the constant frustration of not being able to chastise her.
Sherlock turned his attention to the man who stood at the foot of the bed. Tall and muscular, thinning hair, good posture. Military. Possibly militant as well. At the very least, he clearly had expectations about how his son should behave. Yelling at his sister was evidently
Sherlock relaxed again and gave the hand a small squeeze. John suddenly realized how much he missed being close to this man. It was easy enough in a tiny flat in London—sometimes that was too close. But out here, and in separate bedrooms (
That line of thought was getting him nowhere, John realized, but he seemed unable to shake free of it.
“It’s under construction,” John told her as he gathered three of the bags, leaving Jeremy with the two least heavy pieces. “Besides, the yellow room is the nicest one.”
Mycroft harrumphed in a way that caused Sherlock to think his brother didn’t want to talk about it any more than Irene. “Tea?”
feel better,” said Sherlock. “Do you want me to talk about it? What do you want to hear, that he started at the top and worked his way down? That he told me to close my eyes and think of England?”
But John couldn’t process what was going on. He clutched the case, his eyes darting between Moriarty and the bedroom door.
Maybe if he ignored her, she would go away? Like one of those animals—what were they called?—that played dead . . .
The sense of foreboding he’d been battling rose up again, threatening to choke him. John wasn’t superstitious by nature; Sherlock never would have tolerated him if he had been. But something about this made John feel as if they were tempting fate. At the very least, did Sherlock have to wear it on his left hand?
“What? Oh,” said Mrs. Watson as she turned to John. “All right, Johnny dear, we’ll be back to see you . . . when? Tonight? Tomorrow?”
But this statement smacked of paranoia; Sherlock needed more facts before he’d be willing to voice such a sentiment. And maybe, just a little,
Sherlock transformed his expression into something suitably grave. “Awful,” he agreed. “And are you . . . a friend of John’s?”
“Good old John, he’ll do anything for you, won’t he?” John demanded. “Stitch up your cuts, pretend to be your boyfriend—”
Moriarty’s smile became strained, and for the first time Sherlock could see into how affected he was by the situation. Whatever these Martlets had done to him—killing Lumley, maybe more—had impacted Moriarty more than he was readily willing to admit. “It doesn’t matter,” he answered now, turning toward the door, just inside which Sherlock still stood. Not wanting to appear to be giving ground, the detective stepped aside only slightly to allow Moriarty to move past him. But Moriarty paused in the doorway and said, “Lumley and Markham were the bell. Time to move on to the book.” And with that, he stepped out and was gone.
Then John and Mr. Watson returned, John blinking at everything around him as if he’d never seen any of it before, and the group went outside to meet Mycroft in the Range Rover. The trip was an eerily quiet one and seemed to take far longer than it should, despite Mycroft’s aggressive driving. In the end it took no longer than half an hour, but time had become elastic; John had the sense it was bending strangely around him, and he found it impossible to believe that not more than two hours before, he and Sherlock had been standing before all their friends and kin, well and whole and happy.
“In my pocket.” John came over and slipped an arm around Sherlock to ease him away from the support of the car. “Come on,” he said, as if coaxing a small dog.
“Where is he?” Henry boomed as he flung the front door open without having bothered to ring the bell.
But Sherlock was beginning to understand that John needed something more from him. And John was safe enough to experiment with. So after exhausting himself with research on the case, Sherlock had showered, put on his pajamas, and gone to John’s room. In an attempt to maintain some control over the situation, Sherlock had anchored John with his arm; John was sometimes a fitful sleeper.
John pulled open the drawer and indeed found a little leather-bound volume, which he picked up. He saw it had been lying on a pen.
“I can’t. I don’t. But, John, if you had seen him . . .” Sherlock searched for a way to explain, but as someone who didn’t usually trust in intuition, he was at a loss to articulate what amounted to a gut feeling. “He was upset, John. About what they’d done.”
“And this is your evidence that he cares? Sherlock would be the first to point out it’s circumstantial.”
John blinked rapidly. “There was . . . a crime. I was at the scene, so . . . They need my DNA to match what they find.”
The landlady stared a little longer before going to the door. “Do try to be nice to him,” she pleaded. “He’s still not completely well.”
From somewhere outside the storeroom came a loud, protesting voice. “I thought he was CID! He said he was a detective!”
John had no need to ask either who was speaking or about whom he was inquiring. “Mycroft,” he replied, forcing himself to be pleasant. “Always nice to hear from you.”
“Well, that’s a start,” Irene said cheerily. “No nuts, no doilies. We’re narrowing it down at least.”
John turned and saw that they’d made it about halfway around the pond now. Looking across it, he realized they’d been walking slightly uphill, too; the pond lay a little below them and the house farther down the slope still, just past the tree line.
And when John had believed there was no alternative to living without Sherlock because Sherlock had been dead (or so John thought), John had eased himself back into the stream of the normal world and managed to pull off a fair imitation of someone with a life of his own.
“She doesn’t know you well enough to trust you. If Mother did it, that would work, but I don’t think Mother would ever—Ah, you can get the best view of the house from here.”
“Really?” John looked over his shoulder as if expecting to be able to see flags, tents, people—whatever constituted this jubilee. “Should we go?”
John shrugged. “So kill me, kill him, kill us both. You still won’t have won by your wits, only by default.”
“Not at first,” Sherlock said. “But eventually I needed funds, and I couldn’t tap into what I’d left to you; it would have been noticed.” He sighed. “I was only stopping by; I didn’t mean for you to see me.”
“You received a letter, didn’t you?” Moriarty asked. “Every initiation is equal parts an offer and a threat.”
“You can wake up in the cab, we’ll eat at Mycroft’s, and we’ll be done well before you need to be to work. Get dressed.”
“He made it plenty clear that he didn’t want me anywhere near them,” said Sherlock, rising. “Anyway, he has Eoin to back him up.”
John had forgotten he’d put it in the back of his waistband. Though it was concealed by his jumper, Sherlock’s sharp eyes had noticed it immediately.
“WELL, I’M GLAD you’re happy to see me,” said Irene when Sherlock came down the stairs, his expression one of preoccupied irritation.
John thumbed open the lid. Inside was a ring, the gold band marked in a sort of Celtic knot design, a large oval sapphire at the apex. It was lovely and clearly old, for though it was polished, it showed signs of long wear.
Sherlock shook his head slowly. “He’d talked about leaving, but never in concrete terms. It was rather more poetic.”
“Really?” John didn’t hide his surprise; he’d assumed anyone who’d known Sherlock as long as Irene would have met his mother at some point.
“Christopher adored him, you know,” said Irene. “He would have stayed for as long as Sherl let him.”
Sighing, John stepped into the flat. “What’s a Candlemas mural look like, exactly?” he asked as he began sorting through the nearest stack.
Sarah stuck her head in farther and saw Sherlock was lying facedown on the bed. “Ribs must be feeling better then,” she remarked.
Sherlock looked again to John, who was intent on his cake. “Yes,” he said again, handing back the nearly untouched slice of lemon chiffon. “Come on, John.”
“What?” John retorted, momentarily confused by the question. “No,” John assured him once he’d concluded that Sherlock was worried about his shoulder, “it’s fine.”
Sherlock withdrew, sitting farther back in the chair, and John watched as the face—the face he thought he’d never see again in life—fell blank. “Mrs. Grossman, please give us a minute.”
But Irene shook her head. “I don’t know John very well, but Sherlock will be a mess if we can’t get them back together.”
“Tell them I’ll send them a bill,” Sherlock told him as he opened the door. “And that next time they have need of my services, they should ask me outright.”
But John shook his head. “That’s not a good idea. It’s bad enough I agreed to take you out of the hospital; I don’t want anything to compromise you.”
John wasn’t sure what to say. He could tax Sherlock with having shot a neighbor’s dog, but he didn’t see that it would do any good. So he backtracked. “So how can I help with Miss Baskerville?”
“Wait!” said Irene, standing to go after him. “John, I promise, I didn’t know . . .” She stopped. “But then who sent you the text?”
Throwing back the sheet, he sat up, collected his trousers from the floor, pulled them on and slipped into the living room, stopping short at what he found.
“Certainly. He talked so much more about you than about any of his other, er, friends. Made you sound very interesting.”
Mrs. Hudson came twice each day, quietly leaving and removing sandwiches and tea. Sherlock made himself nibble from time to time, only to avoid a lecture. And maybe, of lesser import, to spare her feelings.
They’d only been off the Shuttle a short while, traveling now through Belgium, Sherlock having chosen a direction at random. John was sure the view would be lovely, if only he could stomach seeing it fly past at 160 kph. Maybe more. He was too afraid to even peek at the speedometer.
John looked toward the house again, but they were coming down again now and the trees were beginning to mask the building. He dropped his eyes, trying to think of something to say, and then saw—
“I don’t . . . know,” Sherlock admitted. The words pained him; he didn’t like not knowing things. “But maybe he’d be happier with Eoin, or anyone else for that matter. Maybe being with him is a way of hurting him.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know,” Mrs. Hudson soothed. “It’s the stress; you know how he gets.”
John decided he’d go one better by bringing his and Sherlock’s bags down and putting them in the car directly, thus saving them a later trip. He only hoped he’d be able to tell which car was Sherlock’s.
“Well, can I come in?” And here was Charles, all warmth and camaraderie, like an old friend stopping by. Never mind that it was after midnight now, that it was clear Charles had been watching the flat and waiting for Sherlock to come home.
Sherlock ripped the sketch in half, ripped those pieces in half again, and pulled a lighter from his coat pocket.
So he’d hired Mrs. Grossman through an agency and a service to come regularly to tend the grounds. And when he’d found himself strangely reluctant to dissolve the stables as he’d originally intended, John had hired Tim, the teenage son of a local farmer, to see to the horses.
John glanced one more time at the door, stretching his ears for the telltale sound of footsteps on the staircase. Nothing. Then he turned and looked at the statue. “It didn’t break,” he remarked.
Sherlock did rise then and pushed past Sarah. “Lestrade,” he acknowledged. “Have you brought John’s gun?”
JOHN HAD KEPT his head lowered so that most of the scalding water ran over his neck and back, though plenty splashed his shoulders and traveled around his neck to his chest.
Irene shrugged. “To get something to eat? And don’t tell me you’re not hungry,” she added preemptively.
He ascertained which of the various noises his flatmate made should be acted upon and which could be disregarded.
A waiter approached and paused as he recognized Irene from earlier, his curiosity obvious. Irene grinned broadly and pointed to her companion. “This is my other one!”
He ran his hands over his face, took a deep breath, and selected the most recent letter from the pile. Which, upon reflection, wasn’t all that recent, since it hadn’t been sent to Baker Street but to Kensington, where Sherlock had lived with his brother.
Behind him, Sherlock heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Suit yourself, John; I’ve done what I can.” It was a clear dismissal.
“I should probably tell him about the ceremony,” Sherlock said absently. “God, I hope Irene hasn’t said anything yet.” He stood. “I should probably—”
But the idea that he was responsible for what was happening . . . That, traced back to the roots of the problem, was not outside the realm of possibility.
“There’s a railway,” Sherlock observed when they arrived, “and a platform . . .” He was thoughtful about it, but John ascribed this to Sherlock’s general interest in how things worked. Only later would he come to comprehend Sherlock’s true motive for the walk that night.
John wasn’t sure if Sherlock meant the statement or the packed overnight bag. Wordlessly, he hefted the case from its place on the bed. Sherlock picked up the garment bag and gestured for John to precede him out the bedroom door. Reluctantly, John complied.
Thus reminded of more pressing problems, John sighed and went to collect his toiletries. But when he came out of the bathroom after fetching his shaving kit, he found Sherlock pulling on his coat once more.
Sherlock answered “yes” at the same moment John said “no.” When Sherlock frowned a question at him, John said, “I’m not ready to see anyone.”
Sherlock looked at him as if he’d gone daft, so John dropped the subject, grateful for once that they were nearly to Mycroft’s. But then Sherlock murmured, “The uncertain glory of an April day.”
John gave the kind of shrug that comes with being resigned to having nothing unique to offer. He was there to state the obvious, to trail behind the shiny Sherlock Express like an unnecessary caboose whose only potential function was to signal the end of a train of thought. “Only that this one is or was married.”
Sherlock looked at her, then quickly away. “Visit?” he asked her as he stepped over to join the two men.
“Then Chloe felt they should get a fair shot at being together. After all, Elyse had no other ready suitors.”
He tried to reason that perhaps Charles had only been making sure John didn’t drown. But that only made him want to laugh at his own self-delusional naiveté.
Not wanting to move Sherlock if he could avoid it, John carefully slipped a hand under Sherlock’s back to check for an exit wound. There was none. A small relief.
John allowed his shoulder to bump Sherlock’s arm in a semi-affectionate gesture, the type that could be easily shrugged off if it became clear that Sherlock was not feeling open to such things at the moment. But Sherlock merely glanced at John, then reached for his hand. Frowned slightly. “Does that hurt?” he asked.
He kicked off his muddy trainers just inside the kitchen door and headed up the hallway with the plan of packing his things before hunting down his car keys. But as he passed the library, he heard Gerrie call, “John?”
Tamzen eyed them speculatively as Sherlock slipped off the suit coat. “Should I ask what you’re up to?”
But whether they’d died there in bed together or had been placed there—just one of the many questions Lestrade would need to answer.
“He needs more blankets,” Mrs. Hudson decided, breezing to the door. “I’ll fetch them. Goodness,” she added as a parting shot, “what you put him through, Sherlock, it’s a wonder . . . Well, I guess he wouldn’t stay if he minded,” she amended when she caught sight of Sherlock’s stunned and colorless visage. She hastily disappeared.
Eoin glanced at the morphine drip, and John realized he thought John was subtly asking him to do it. “No, Eoin,” he said gently; Eoin’s feelings were so fragile, John sometimes felt he couldn’t talk louder than a whisper. “I didn’t mean for you to do anything you shouldn’t.”
That day saw Mr. John off to the stables after breakfast, and after clearing the dishes, Mrs. Grossman was on her way to see to his room when there came a knock at the door. Being not at all a young lady, it took Mrs. Grossman some little time to turn herself around on the stairs and come down again.
John concentrated on his breakfast, very aware of Mycroft’s eyes on him. Then his phone chimed. “Excuse me,” he said as he extracted it. “Sarah wants to know how you’re doing,” he told Sherlock.
With a sigh, John rang the older Holmes, fully expecting a tirade but receiving only silence. After waiting a minute for some kind of response, John said, “Well, then, I’ll just be—”
“I don’t . . .” John wasn’t sure where he was going to fit the box. It could go on the passenger seat for now, but once both he and Sherlock were in the car, one of them was probably going to have to sit with it on his lap. “I don’t know,” he said now with more alacrity. It was time to get moving in any case; let other things take care of themselves.
And Sherlock was about to ask time for what, exactly, but John said, “I want to do it while the lawn is still green. And I don’t want to wait another year.”
And like a shot passing through him, all at once the answer seemed obvious. He reached for the doorknob and wrenched it open.
Even as John worked through this mental maze of information, he tasted something strange in his throat, and realized after a moment that it was the coppery flavor of blood.
Sherlock glanced at the pale, immobile figure in the bed. “I’m his fiancé.” He wasn’t sure this was still true, but it would suffice for now. | [
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“I tell you what—you finish this last set and get through one more round of leg curls and I’ll treat you to pizza.” Dean watches as Castiel hesitates a moment, mid-lift, and tilts his head. Dean’s eyes go wide as he realizes he may be crossing the line here, inviting Cas to stay for dinner.
Castiel's finger runs up along the underside of his cock with the lightest touch, and Dean gasps at the pleasure of it.
“God Dean, no, of course he didn’t. He just told me I was...pretty...and he hoped he’d see me again. Like I said, creepy alpha.” Sam goes back to his waffles while Dean tries not to lose his ever loving shit.
“That’s a shame, Dean. There are powerful antioxidants in leafy greens, including the carotenes that compose vitamin A—which I’m sure you know are phytonutrients genetically low in omegas,” Castiel rattles off casual, swirling his wine glass around. Dean gapes at him a little, looking thoroughly surprised.
“Nonsense.” Castiel opens his eyes again and smiles, his heart so full it feels like bursting. “Dean…what do you think I should do?”
Dean lets out a long sigh before looking up at Castiel. His expression is that same firm, immovable look. “Collar, calling you Master, and following your rules. Got it.” He isn’t so sure how good he’ll feel about all that once they reach Sioux Falls, but he’s sure as hell gonna try.
Here is Chapter 13, you will get an update on Sam and some POV from Cas and Dean in this chapter. I also plan to post 14 shortly after this one so hold tight!
“I think I can help you out with both things, Mister Novak,” Dean smiles at him. “What kind of rope are you looking for?” His eyes follow as the mans long fingers trail over the different ropes, from cotton, to nylon, to hemp and even some jute. There are a lot of options.
Dean chuckles in a far-off, distant way, turning his head but keeping his eyes closed. “I like the sound of that,” he says, softly now, then he drifts into a deep and peaceful sleep, leaving Castiel confused and emotional—alone with his thoughts.
“Hey, bud. You ready for dinner?” he asks, giving Cash a pat on the neck as he secures the halter. Cash has on a light sheet that Dean bought him in red with black piping to keep off the rain and wind. He puts his hand down beneath the sheet to feel his chest and make sure he’s warm. Satisfied, he leads the horse into his stall.
“That's good at least.” He scuffs at the ground with his foot, thinking how much he misses Cash. He eventually has to head back to the barn to finish his chores. Ellie has a few afternoon lessons and the farm is busy with riders and the farrier coming to shoe and trim the horses as well. He’s fairly tired by the time he glances up to see Sam’s car coming down the drive.
“So alluring,” Castiel mumbles, licking and sucking on the only patch of skin he can currently reach. The song begins over again and his sub is suddenly chuckling above him, his laughs making Castiel withdraw.
“Now you’re too late,” Dean says with a low chuckle. Castiel sighs, on the verge of giving up when he feels Dean push up behind him. The proximity makes his breath catch in his throat, his hand white-knuckling the fishing rod as he tries to remain collected. Dean reaches his hand and places it over Castiel’s, moving the alpha’s index finger down to the line.
“No thanks needed, just doing what you taught me,” Sam sees the question on his face and adds, “taking care of family.”
"Yeah, go on ahead. Anything that can't be re-purposed on an actual car is all yours. What in the hell your gonna do with it, though, is beyond me." Bobby shook his head, going back into the house.
“Now this is the kind of dessert I like to have after lunch.” Castiel licks over one nipple, making him shiver before he pulls back to stare at him.
Dean frowns, lifting his arm and sniffing. Sam isn’t wrong—those blockers stood no chance against the chlorine. He shuffles a little, feeling embarrassed that he’s so transparent.
“Alright,” he whispers in agreement, and once his knot goes down they jump in the shower, preparing for Sam’s arrival and the long, busy day ahead.
“Surprise surprise,” Gabriel says sarcastically. “You haven’t answered your phone in days, and whenever you do, it’s ‘not a good time.’”
“You’ve got a big heart, and a knack with troubled teens. I could put in a good reference for you at the KU School of Social Welfare. The head of the program there owes me a few favors.”
okay, and he isn’t sure what his decision is going to be because he never thought Dean would offer him
Castiel seems to recover though, going back to his set with a slightly reduced scowl on his face. “I find that acceptable...if I can pick the toppings?”
“Fine,” he snaps, flipping to the last page of the contract and snatching up a pen. His hand hovers over the paper, breathing in his last few seconds of freedom—praying for something to stop this, anything.
“I don’t understand that reference,” he deadpans, thinking his sub will smile and laugh, will kiss him again.
Right as Michael’s finger goes to hit the remote Dean shifts his upper body forward. It's awkward and agonizing and he isn’t sure how he doesn’t fall over, but somehow he pulls himself to kneeling.
“Maybe one day I’ll see you with a real cock in your mouth, while I’m buried in your ass,” Castiel growls, mostly just dirty talk, though he’s surprised by how turned on he is by this idea. He’s healthily possessive of Dean, more than anyone he’s ever dated or dommed, but his boyfriend loves cock so much that just the image of him being surrounded by more men, mouth stuffed full and hands stroking cocks, makes Castiel feel heady and reckless. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, slut? Me owning you while you have so many cocks ready for you, you don’t even know what to do with them?”
At the opposite end of the table, Castiel hears a sarcastic snort. Dean blushes, staring back down at his plate as if that reaction had escaped accidentally.
“Of course I knew. Come now, you think I don’t know my own daughter? Or you, for that matter?” She looks between them.
“It’s none of your business who I call, but I get my damn phone call.” Dean grits his teeth and tries not to wince in pain at the manhandling. With some of his adrenaline gone, he’s starting to feel all his aches and pains from his fight.
She straightened up and trailed off to another room. Ruby had given Sam two conditions for joining the Hand: firstly, he had to help them hack into confidential Fist sites - something he was more than happy to do. The second was he couldn't breath a word about his brother to anyone, not even other members of the Hand. If he followed those rules she would help him find and free Dean. The second request made no sense to Sam. Why he would need to keep that a secret from the other members of the Hand? But he was in no position to bargain, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to get Dean back. Sam typed as fast he could, feeling with each key stroke he was closer to finding his brother.
“Oh, aren’t you the prettiest picture,” Castiel hums, running his hand up the cover of Dean’s back. “Since you can’t speak, I want you to stick two fingers out if you have an emergency and need my help. Do you understand?”
“Please sir, please,” he whines and Castiel sinks the digit into him and they both let out moans at the tight clench of his hole.
Sam turns his classic bitch face on him before moving to put things away. “Pie is not on-diet, man.”
Not bothering with shoes, he pads down the hallway toward the library. It’s become a nightly ritual for him now, going to the library. He checks to make sure it’s empty before heading in. He only flicks on the small desk lamp and then moves over to the biology section, where he left off. He has to climb the ladder a bit, but he finds the book he’s looking for, pulling it down and heading to the table where Sam normally does his homework.
Dean doesn’t answer—just closes his eyes and shakes his head, a fresh wave of tears streaming down his cheeks. Interpreting this as Dean’s surrender, Castiel reaches for the strap of leather holding Dean’s arms to the cross. When he touches the buckle, though, Dean’s eyes snap open.
“Only my good boy is allowed to do that,” Castiel says, emphasizing his regret, as if the decision is out of his hands. And it
“Still doesn’t explain why.” Dean mumbled, rolling onto his stomach and pillowing his head on his folded arms, looking over at Cas.
Castiel’s eyes shoot up, a smirk forming on his face. “See? That was exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you, Dean.”
Dean stands stock-still, staring at his feet on the matted playroom floor. Castiel has removed his plug and cage, leaving him in just his collar. He wants to squirm, but he wants to be a good boy
Dean can’t help but grin as he watches Castiel shift in the seat next to him. Peering up at the rearview, Sam fidgets in the back, running his hands through his too-long hair for the millionth time. It’s strange to be the calm one in the car. He thinks he should be more worried about this, but he just can’t bring himself to be. He’s about to have all his favorite people in one place and all that brings him is excitement. It’s been two weeks since the night the power went out and they’ve fallen into a wonderful new kind of rhythm together, like they finally found their footing with their burgeoning relationship, and this just feels like the next natural step.
He’s very close already, his erection stiff and pink and glistening wet, and the sub increases his speed, rutting against Castiel and clinging to his upper thigh. Castiel is falling over the edge again, the rough rhythm of his sub clinging to him increasing the momentum, and he demands, “Come for me,
Gabriel blows air through the receiver and says, “There’s a beta I know—a guy who works downtown. He did some marketing for the casino once. His name is Inias, and I showed him your picture a few years ago—he visited the offices in Nevada—and he basically drooled all over you.”
“I would require your resume, of course, and any academic transcripts,” Castiel says matter-of-factly. “This is a job offer, Dean. Everything will be done above board. Are you in college now?”
"Sir, do you know what you would like for dinner?" Tessa asked in a soft voice. Apparently she was reluctant to wake the sleeping Dean either.
He straightens up then, speaking directly to the other Dom in the room. “Can you take her out of the scene, and provide aftercare? I have to find Dean.”
“I would like to suspend you, Dean, then pink up this beautiful skin for me.” Castiel’s hands never leave his skin as they test and tug at all the harness, checking it all over.
He looks up and realizes he has angry tears in his eyes. He wipes them fast on his sleeve before he spots Cas standing a few feet away. The alpha looks incredible, hair swept back and sleeves rolled-up, his suspenders off his shoulders and dangling by his hips. Dean glances up and sees most of the lights in the house are off, and wonders how long he’s been out here. Long enough for his legs to go a bit numb.
“Fuck me, baby, come on.” Castiel tightens his hands on the headboard, giving himself better leverage, and then Dean’s cock strikes his prostate and he cries out. “God, right there, right fucking there—”
“I need time, Sam, time to figure out what our next move is…alright?” He lifts the pot of boiling pasta, arms shaking, and nearly drops it. Luckily Sam swoops in to help, grabbing Dean’s hands and steadying him. “Thanks,” he mumbles. Can’t even drain pasta on his own.
“We can try,” he says lightly, accepting the knife graciously and opening it. He looks between the hive and Dean, then says, “You may want to back away.”
Dean seems pleasantly surprised by these instructions, and follows them closely while Castiel finishes laying out the spread for lunch. He then takes his seat at the table, putting Dean’s mat on the left side, closest to the view. The sub comes out wearing a slinky white robe, short and silky, and blushing a lovely shade of pink.
Fuck, he’d even admitted to finding the boots sexy. FlyBoy was probably going to wake up and think Dean was some kind of perv and never talk to him again. He rolls over, scowling, and pulls up his phone to reread the messages again. It had sounded like flirting…no scratch that—it
It deflates some of the anger puffed up in Dean’s chest, and the omega eventually mumbles, “Nothing, okay? Nothing. It was shitty being in there but there’s nothing you can do. So, sorry if I ruined your grand plans or whatever, but I don’t want to fucking talk about it because it doesn’t matter. Got it?”
“I told you when you signed the contract that your brother was welcome here. Though you did not provide notice he was coming and that does break the house rules.” Castiel gives him a stern look that makes Dean’s stomach turn to jello. “Seeing as you were simply trying not to interrupt while helping me get set up this morning, I can hardly fault you for it.”
He really hadn’t been expecting Cas to even bring up the cops. They’ve never really cared about Dom abuse in the past—hell, most of the force is made up of Doms and an occasional switch.
“Tell me when you’re close, Dean,” Castiel tells him, in a voice that sounds way too fucking calm for how utterly undone he feels. His hole clenching and releasing around the toy reminds him of his reward,
“Knew my whore would like that,” Castiel says appreciatively. “Now go and strip. Did you wear a pretty pair of panties for everyone to see?”
Dean grits his teeth, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. “You’re not going back there, Sam.” His brother nods, blinking his eyes and standing up tall. Dean can see the brave face his brother is putting on, and he isn’t sure if he should feel proud or sad. “Don’t know how we’re gonna figure out school, though. You have a few more weeks left and you can’t drive yourself yet.”
“Wait,” Crowley says, voice harsh and firm. Castiel turns around slowly, his jaw set tight, his teeth grinding.
Everyone quickly digs into their food and he has to admit it's damn good. He has a fleeting moment where he thinks of Benny and how much he’d love a good barbecue like this. Maybe that's a bridge he should try and mend soon. He gets a bit lost in thought till Cas brings him back into the conversation with stories of Lou and his antics.
“The next time I see any of you dickheads around,” he begins in a husky, threatening whisper, “I’m gonna let my knife do the talking. Get the fuck outta here. Now.”
“Research from two different labs. I need to be able to compare what each one found about the same formula, but it's taking me forever to manually calculate it all. Can you do that thing you did before on the other file?”
“He was spirited, a people pleaser. It was impossible not to like Jimmy. He lived a wholehearted life, wasn’t afraid of anything.” Joshua smiles, as if remembering. “His loss was very hard on all of us.”
He looks down at the phone again and wonders about calling Dr. Barnes. He wonders if she might know what's going on with him, since he feels stuck in this weird headspace. Maybe talking to her will ease his anxiety and he can be a better sub for his Dom. He calls her back and holds the phone tight to his ear.
“I’m afraid those are beyond a dry cleaner’s expertise,” Castiel says sadly, looking at the various stains—Roman’s blood, his blood, tears at the bottom cuff. He liked that suit quite a lot, but he has no intention of keeping it now and reliving that day.
Dick smirks at him, his gaze practically feral. “That means you are a virgin. Imagine, Castiel, the feeling of a tight virgin hole catching on your knot…”
Eventually everyone splits up to their tasks for the day. Castiel goes to assist Ellen and Missouri with party planning, while Alfie takes Joshua to a follow up appointment for his hip. Sam heads over to get the information he needs for his summer internship working on Jody Mills’s presidential campaign. After Jody had won a second term as governor she had set her sights higher, with omega reformation one of the biggest ticket items on her campaign.
He takes in all the rings along the walls, imagining all the ways he could be strung up. A low whine of anticipation comes out on an exhale, and he is never more grateful that he waited for Castiel.
He licked his lips a moment and cleared his throat before uttering the name he hadn’t said in years…
“Fuck off, Luc. Not in your dreams.” Dean scowls at the alpha, feeling the hair prickle on the back of his neck as he struggles to focus with this new piece of information.
Dean can’t help the scarlet blush to his cheeks. They must have read his ID card…they know he’s a submissive.
He stayed very still, not wanting to break the moment between them. Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he gave Cas a small, shy smile, ducking his head. He took that as his cue and drained the tub, grabbing a towel and helping Dean up. He helped to dry Dean off without letting his hands stray.
"Well, I don't know about any out of the ordinary plans, except that Nick is planning to go on a trip for the next month and asked that I stay at his place to house sit." He could feel Charlie's hand tighten on his shoulder but ignored her for the moment.
“Sounds good,” Castiel says, not meaning it. It seems to pacify Gabriel, though, and they chat for a few more minutes until Castiel heads downstairs. He skips breakfast, eager to bury his head in his work. Taking several days of unplanned time off is never good for his clients, and when he checks his inbox, he has two hundred emails and six calls scheduled for today. It’s going to be a very long and tedious day.
He tries to get his bearings when a guy grabs him from behind. Dean stomps the guy’s foot till he hears a howl, then pulls away. After that it’s a tangle of limbs and thrown punches, and Dean’s heart races as he grapples with the alphas, feeling his lip split and wincing as he’s tossed against the brick wall. He only hopes Sam stays inside—he doesn’t need his brother witnessing any of this.
he thinks and sighs as a cool cloth wipes him down and the cuffs and gag are removed. He collapses into the bed with his master, who hums softly, stroking his hair while he slowly but surely comes back to himself. “Thank you, so good for me, thank you,” the man whispers to him and Dean hums in pleasure. He’d made him happy…he could really get used to this whole Master thing.
They head down a small trail they took yesterday, once Dean’s heat was over and they could safely exit the confines of the cabin. They’re in a remote spot and there are no neighbors around, but Castiel still wouldn’t risk Dean’s safety until his pheromones had become somewhat muted again. Castiel slips his hand into Dean’s and the omega takes it gladly, grasping his fingers as they walk down the gravel.
Joshua’s eyebrows shoot up, as if he can’t believe Dean’s already heard about what happened to Castiel’s twin.
When Sam nor Dean answers, he tosses his phone into his briefcase, feeling restless. By the time Alfie has reached the correct street, Castiel is vibrating with energy and seething with alpha wrath.
“Dean?” Castiel pulls himself to sitting quickly, looking Dean up and down. “What's wrong, sweetheart?”
He’d found it easy to be confident with Castiel—something about being around the alpha gave Dean courage and made him more bold. Alone in his room later, though, the doubt had started to creep in. Fear that Castiel didn’t really want him, fear that Cas would never want to mate with him, fear that Cas
Castiel nods his approval, but crosses his arms against his chest, thinking hard. “Pull up his file.”
“You’d look perfect stretched around my knot, sweet omega,” he breathes, cock still knocking against Dean’s ass as his fingers travel down, seeking his hole—
He shakes his head, knowing Pam never likes to beat around the bush, well not that bush anyway. “Uh, yeah. I wanted some advice, actually.”
“Nah, Cas, you’re good.” When Dean looks at him, he has a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “It was fucking hot, to be honest.”
“Please what, my sweet boy? Tell me what you need,” Castiel encourages, and the stubble on his cheek tickles the back of Dean neck.
“Then let’s go inside,” Dean whispers, popping off Castiel’s cock long enough to speak, his voice sounding wrecked.
“You will do no such thing, just continue to take excellent care of my Oscar and we are square,” Rowena nods at him, bringing a hand up to flatten her hair that Dean frazzled a bit.
Dean locks the stretcher into place, feeling it rattle as his belligerent patient bounces around. Jo eyes him from the back of the truck, and clearly they are both thinking the same thing about this guy.
. They’re on equal footing, the sub taking as much as he’s receiving, and Castiel knows he should put an end to this…should focus back on the scene…but it feels so damn good, just being together in this way. He can’t remember the last time just kissing someone got him this hot and bothered, but he’s almost fully erect and feeling drunk with desire when he finally separates their lips.
“Well…yes,” Castiel mutters impatiently. “But that contract may not even be valid. Some of the results were switched, and… Well, it’s complicated, but I need to see Dean right now.”
Dean has gone from concerned to downright worried. No one is answering their phones and it’s mid-afternoon now. He’s been too busy caring for Sam to try any other way of contact. Gadreel is nowhere to be found, but Dean thinks that’s likely for the best as well. He doesn’t want too many people near Sam when he’s like this. Even going to the kitchen to get Sam a Gatorade, Dean can still smell the sweet omega heat scent. It’s never stronger than on an omega’s first day of their first heat. Some biological bullshit about attracting a mate.
Dean stares at the paper, up to Castiel, then down at the paper again. He does this several times before whispering, “You bought this on the day of Sammy’s first heat.”
“That’s all for today,” he replies, grabbing two bundles of the Jute rope. “Thank you for your help.”
“Smell so good, mmm,” Castiel practically purrs, rutting forward. Dean lets out an embarrassing whimper as he feels the hard line of the alpha’s cock on his leg. Castiel’s hand tightens in his hair as he noses at the base of his neck, making Dean go mad with want, body already slicking for Castiel.
“It’s gonna be okay, Dean.” Sam tries to reassure him, but all Dean feels is gut-wrenching terror and blissful relief at the thought of Cas.
The image of his dom wrapped around him has his cock stirring. That decides it for him…he is going to need something more to get himself calmed down. He pulls off his towel and digs through his bottom drawer till he pulls out a long bunch of blue rope. He’d bought it not long ago when the bright color and soft texture had stood out to him. He is fairly skilled with ropework and even read a few books on shibari that Pam had leant him.
“Good boy, so good. I am so proud of you,” Castiel tells him, and Dean feels the praise soothe his ragged nerves. He blinks up at Castiel, eyes squinting as the room feels softer around the edges.
Castiel feels a flash of momentary guilt—he and Dean decided to stop using scent blockers at home, since scenting each other as mates is practically compulsory—but he can’t focus on that issue right now, not if there’s something more pressing going on. Jo grabs him by the shoulder and drags him toward the living room, the non-formal one with a large television and an L-shaped couch.
“But he’s right? Isn’t he?” Dean’s voice is stronger now, more insistent. “Are you even in the registry?”
Michael chuckles. “Oh, we’re not one of those fancy facilities. It’s not about us changing for the subs…it’s about the subs realizing the Doms are in charge and adjusting to their needs. Because of that, the first day is pretty standard—sadism, serious impact play, and obedience training with a shock collar.”
He whines as Castiel teases and pulls at his nipple through his shirt, body rolling and hips bucking up, looking for contact. His jeans are getting tighter and more uncomfortable by the minute, and Castiel just keeps kissing him, running his hands over him in light touches that are driving him mad. He tries to kiss back harder, nipping at Castiel’s lip and trying to nuzzle towards his neck. He wants Castiel, and he wants all of him now. But a firm hand on his chest keeps him in place as he struggles for more.
“I am going to put you on your knees on that bed, then I am going to tie your upper body to that ring up there in the ceiling. Then I will bind your hands and your legs so you are at the perfect level for me to fill all your needy holes... What color, Dean?”
“Hey there,” comes a deep, friendly voice that sounds as familiar as it is welcoming. The newcomer is speaking quickly, obviously in a rush, as Castiel scrambles to greet him. “So, Missouri forwarded me your chart, but it isn’t done downloading. Thought I’d come introduce myself while we wait for our ancient technology to catch up.” There’s a slight chuckle, one meant to put someone at ease. “My name is—”
Missouri eyes him with distrust and mischief, throwing her hands up. “Sir, you don’t pay me judge. But if you did…” She drops her voice down to a whisper. “I’d say you’ve gotten yourself into quite the predicament, haven’t you?”
Dean grunts out a laugh. “Can you fucking blame me, man, with alphas like Dick Roman wandering around—thinking I’m a basically just a hole to fuck?”
“G-good, thank you, Doctor,” the man responds, breathing heavy and holding impossibly still. Castiel wiggles his finger around, hooking it slightly until he brushes the nub that he knows is the man’s prostate, and the sub whines and pulls against the restraint.
“Ellie is here, and last time I checked he was my horse. Rowena signed the bill of sale over in my name.” Dean nods rubbing a hand down Cash’s neck. The horse’s head bumps against Castiel’s side, and sniffs at his jeans pockets looking for a treat.
“I know,” Dean says, hands reaching to unbutton Castiel’s pants. “But some other sub had her paws all over you, and I’m fucking pissed, okay? So if anyone’s gonna get you off, it’s
Castiel flushes, chuckling nervously and staring down at his glass of ice water. Dean sits quietly after that, just waiting for Castiel to take the lead. The alpha finally takes a deep breath, and says in a rush, “Dean, what happened between us today is something I’ve thought about.”
“Hey, it’s my right as big brother to bust his chops,” Dean answers. “Besides, him having a meltdown that night gave me an excuse to leave the party early and weasel you away from that douchebag who was drooling all over you.”
Bobby whistles. “You oughta try law school after college, boy. You’re pretty good at arguing a point.”
He maintains tight circles around the table, not touching his sub apart from fruit dropping onto his bare skin, and he sees the man shudder. Without warning Castiel bends over, mouthing at a strawberry slice near his belly button, and his sub’s body trembles as a soft moan escapes his lips. Castiel’s mouth is wet and wild, leaving open mouth kisses and lavish licks as he chews and swallows the fruit.
“See! He can’t keep his mouth shut for two seconds. I’ve had to correct him several times already for not using appropriate titles with me.” Gordon glares at Dean, and he bites his cheek to prevent shouting at him and proving him right in front of Castiel.
His eyes caught on the one bit of color on the page. Dean had colored in the blue in his eyes and it made them stand out, making it look like Cas was staring out from the sketch pad.
By the middle of the week, a package arrives on Castiel’s front stoop. On the outside there’s a return address for Dean scrawled in tiny, messy script. Inside is a hardcover book of Mary Oliver’s selected poems, Castiel’s favorite writer…a fact he’d mentioned in passing months ago but Dean somehow remembered. There’s an inscription on the title page:
Dean smiles at her and nods, thinking the sooner he gets his barings the better. Shooting off a quick text to Sam telling him he made it fine, he tucks his phone in his pocket and gestures for her to lead the way.
“You’re fine now, Sam, but you just started your heat. It's gonna get a lot worse, okay, and your needs are gonna get a lot stronger. Just keep them nearby, in case you need them. Take some Advil too, it should help the fever.”
A cool, gravely voice breaks the silence in the room, and the buzzing in his head. “Just a moment, omega. I may have another option.”
“Th-thirteen,” Dean breathes, and Castiel brings his hand down again and again, watching in rapt attention as Dean begins to moan after each hit. The cries of pain have turned to cries of pleasure, and the last trace of tension leaves Dean’s shoulders as he drops, fully submitting to Castiel.
“Let’s begin with Inspection Pose,” Castiel says, hands tucked in his pocket. Dean lowers himself down down, knees and hands shoulder-width apart, head down and ass perked and on display. “Very good. Nadu?”
“How, uh…so how does that work? Sir?” He knows there's blood tests involved, but he’s been kind of avoiding asking about the subject with Castiel. He doesn’t like thinking about leaving Cas.
“Hmm…” Castiel’s hands can’t help wandering over his sub’s face, stroking his cheek bones and petting his freckles. “Is that why I spotted at you the bar, talking to another dom? Because you missed me?”
Sam doesn’t look convinced, but he at least doesn’t challenge Dean the rest of the way back to Bobby’s. He waves goodbye to a worried-looking Sam and heads toward Cain’s house.
“Sleep, Alpha,” Dean mumbles, feeling exhaustion dragging him back under. He feels lips press to the top of his head, and Cas shifts and moves till he goes still as well, falling into an easy sleep.
Dean looks down at his feet, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “Mighta been practicing with Ellen all week. Wanted to surprise you.”
bed—feeling both clammy and hot at the same time. He swears he can still smell Dean on his sheets, even though the janitorial staff washed them days ago without his permission. He nearly went into a rage when he came back after working a sixteen-hour shift just to see his perfectly rumpled bed, with Dean’s sandalwood scent still intact on the pillow case, washed and dried and remade. It’s unfathomable to him that some people are carrying on with their daily lives—like the world hasn’t collapsed around Castiel, even though it has.
Dean smiles, shaking his head at his highly intelligent friend being a complete bonehead. The rope had been a great idea, just like jerking off, and he can tell he staved off a potentially shitty day by using them. It’s no replacement for his dom though—the actual warm arms, the caring in his eyes. He feels better knowing his friend is taking care of himself, though surely having a lot less fun than Dean had been.
As filthy daydreams pass through his head, Castiel vaguely recognizes that all the songs sound immensely familiar. It isn’t until he finds himself humming along to a Zeppelin tune that it finally occurs to him—
Castiel nods approvingly. They’ve only been home for about five minutes, but Dean is already looking significantly better now that he’s washed the blood from his face and hands. Between them, Castiel thankfully bears the brunt of the injuries. He knows he should head upstairs and take care of himself, but just the thought of climbing the grand staircase makes his body ache.
“That’s not decorative, you know,” Ellen grumbles at the other end of the table, staring at Dean’s untouched salad. Castiel blinks back into the conversation, trying not to let his thoughts run away with him.
“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, I am.” He purses his lips a little in that same way he used to do when they were kids and Sam got his first crush in school.
He hears a female voice calling, and looks up to see a brunette standing by the front of the room calling his name.
“So beautiful for me,” Castiel hums almost to himself. He then quickly pulls a rope through a ring on the harness at Dean's chest. Taking both ends, he runs them in between Dean's legs and proceeds to tie them to his ankles, keeping him from being able to straighten up, while the rope in the ceiling keeps him from falling forward.
Castiel chuckles. “Hmm, I have some ideas. I see you registering for classes, finding something you love to do, probably saving the world. I can take a step back from big business, focus on projects I’m passionate about with business partners I don’t feel the urge to murder.” Dean barks a small laugh at that. “Find ways to make you laugh,” Castiel adds with a grin. He hesitates, then his voice comes softer. “Maybe even…have children?”
“Happiness and health go hand in hand,” Pam interjects sharply. “Especially for high-levels like you and Dean.” When Castiel looks down and doesn’t answer, she says, “Or do you think I’m wrong? Me, the medical professional you pay an exorbitant amount of money each month?”
He went to the kitchen where Jo had made a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for herself and the girls. He requested four more and she happily obliged, confused when he refused a more complex lunch. He brought the sandwiches and glasses of water out to where Dean was sitting and nervously set them down.
He writhes on the toy as his sweaty hand strips his aching cock. His mind starts to fade into a fever haze. His body rocks against the damp sheets, skin aflame and freezing all at once. He smells his own faint cinnamon tangled up with the bitter oil and can’t hold back the whine.
Dean hesitates—he doesn’t want Castiel to worry about him. At the same time, he wants him to understand just how badly he needs out of there.
good enough that Castiel volunteers to help again sometime. Almost. Over dinner they don’t discuss anything consequential, just small talk about their friends and work and Dean’s progress in reading
She just shrugs. “They weren’t bad. Weren’t exactly awesome, either—something like seventy-nine? Or maybe, eighty percent?” She grips the arms of the chair, sitting up straight now. “We didn’t really care, though. We knew any relationship is a gamble, but as long as we’re committed to each other, that’s all that matters.”
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam adds, as he gets up and brushes off the grass from his jeans. They hear the back patio door open and close, and catch sight of Gadreel coming outside.
He dries off, ignoring his half-hard cock as he walks back into his bedroom and begins to dress. Just being in the shower and thinking about Dean is enough to make his body react favorably, but he hasn’t scened or orgasmed since Dean left. He knows it’s unhealthy, and the longer he waits the more he’s going to fall into Dom drop, but there’s a dark part of him that thinks he deserves to be punished. He was so sure of their connection that he never once prepared Dean for the possibility that they might be separated. That seventy-four point five percent compatible score is printed in his memory like ink bleeding onto paper. He’s confused by it, devastated by it, unsure of it, but he’s checked the numbers himself and there’s nothing he can do.
“After this I deserve all the things,” Dean replies, arms crossed and eyes on the road as they drive towards his fate.
“Miss MacLeod…are you talking about my contract?” Sam asks, shifting in his seat. So far, they’ve been unsuccessful in finding the contract or learning who would inherit ownership.
“I tried to get him out tonight,” Castiel says, feeling pained at the thought of letting his good boy down, “but the administration has the transfer paperwork from his previous Dom, so they’re holding him.”
“I just want to make this good for you,” Castiel admits in a quiet voice, trying to push through the haze of lust to make Dean understand his intentions. “We’ve never done this before, with each other or anyone else—as alpha and omega, at least. So I need you to communicate with me. If anything makes you uncomfortable, or doesn’t feel good, then we can—”
There are more impact toys on the other wall, and he walks across the clean white floors and sees the rugs and large pillows, a regular leather seating bench facing what Dean figures is a traditional triangle spanking bench. It reminds him of the one he made for Balthazar last year.
“We can get you some popcorn at the movie,” Inias suggests, and Castiel’s interest in piqued. It’s been a long time since he’s since a film at the theater, and if this date is continuing, he’d rather have an excuse for silence to settle between them. He’s exhausted all his pre-selected first-date topics, and now he’s just drawing a blank. It doesn’t help that, at some point over dessert, he spent the better part of twenty minutes talking about Dean. Inias had asked a simple question about Castiel’s staff, and that somehow digressed into Castiel cataloging how impressive Dean’s classic rock knowledge is.
“You saw him without me? Dean, you could have gotten hurt! What if his jackass friends were back there? What if they tried something on you?” Sam looks furious, eyes glistening. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say his brother was fighting back tears.
Breakfast passes without any further outbursts from John, and Castiel is pleased when Dean asks for a second helping of eggs. Dean’s dad flees the table as soon as he’s finished, and Bobby just grunts and rolls his eyes, scoffing and pouring a little whiskey in his coffee. Castiel and Sam scrub the breakfast dishes together, chatting about Sam’s senior year and all the AP classes he’s enrolled in.
The omega looks down at the ground, then back up at Castiel, eyes determined. “Listen, god knows I’ve wanted to be yours for…for forever. But not like this—not because you feel like you have to—”
“Don’t forget your toy, Toy,” Castiel reminds him evenly, “it sounds like you might need it.” The sub’s cheeks flush a beautiful pink as he reaches down for the cock cage and stuffs it in his open bag. He exits the room with his head down, though his eyes are on Castiel’s lips, and the minute the closes, the dom leans into the mattress and sighs happily.
“Let me,” he says, shooing Dean’s hand away. He kisses his collarbones, his chest, then latches onto a nipple, enjoying the feeling of Dean squirming beneath him as he works the nub over. Then he sinks lower, leaving kisses on his belly and his hips, and when he’s finally reached his destination, he looks back up at Dean with a predatory smile. “Please tell me you’re clean, because I’ve been dying to taste you.”
“Your biggest weakness, the thing I noticed the moment I met you, is your courage—your reckless bravado. That is what is standing between you and your submission. Do you need me to lay it out for you, boy? You are mine now. You don’t belong to anyone else but me.” Cain gives him an almost sad smirk.
“Hey Cas! Sorry I missed your call. Gilda and I tried to this new LARPing group, and dear gay lord in heaven, it’s lifechanging. She’s been testing out this new handmaiden outfit for me, which is just…” Charlie whistles loudly. “My girlfriend looks so hot, it should be illegal.”
Dean stands with the steady hand Cas provides, then his dom gets to work tightening his collar and harness. The leather tugs on his skin and cinches around his torso, snug but not constricting. “How does that feel? Color, Dean?”
“Castiel, what a pleasant surprise,” he says dryly. “I didn’t expect to see you back after our last meeting, though judging by your scent, you’re
“Oh, y’know, finally sealing the deal with your online bestie. Never woulda thought he wasn’t a secret creeper, though it’s only your first date, so the jury’s still out.”
Before Castiel can answer, Dick snorts loudly. “Novak? God no. He’s a perpetual bachelor.” He drops his voice down low, as if he’s releasing a scandalous bit of gossip even though Castiel is sitting right next to him. “Don’t you read
. It was nuts! I’m only a beta, a ladies-only beta at that, but even I couldn’t walk by the west wing without catching a whiff of that. You were putting out some serious ‘down to clown’ vibes.”
“You as well,” Castiel answers, coming closer as his father touches his shoulder. “Were you writing?”
“Come, Dean,” he says in a commanding rumble, and walks back toward his office. Victor and the others just watch, silent, as the sub follows at his heels.
he isn’t quite sure…but in the end, he just chuckles dryly. “You’re good. More persuasive than I remember, which is saying a lot.”
Dean’s shirtless upper body is lying flat on the table, tears rolling down his cheeks. There’s a bite mark distinct and bloody on his scent gland. In the main frame there’s only Dick Roman, suit barely ruffled, mouth red and sloppy with Dean’s blood. They’re in the police station.
“Let’s get you home.” Joshua and Missouri begin to open the doors of the SUV, with Alfie siding open the driver’s door. Dean moves to climb in after Joshua, but Castiel puts a hand on his back, shepherding him backwards. Dean jerks away skittishly and Castiel drops his hand, feeling like he’s been burned.
He tells Pam and Gabriel goodbye in a flurry, heading for the elevators with a nervous thrum in his chest. He’s already calculating the drive to Sioux Falls. If he packs in twenty minutes, he’ll be on the road in thirty, and with the two-hour drive and no stops for the bathroom, he’ll be there by ten or so… He mentally assembles a packing list, wondering if he should pack enough clothes for days or weeks, knowing the answer depends entirely on if Dean is willing to leave his current Dom. He hasn’t actually read the contract Dean signed with Cain—since his father keeps those on his private server—but figures it’ll be the standard agreement. Exiting on his own terms should be easy enough to navigate, especially since Castiel was one of the files chosen for Dean’s trial placement.
He hangs his drenched trenchcoat on the coat rack, but he’s still soaked to the bone. The magnitude of the last few days hit him all at once—he’s barely eaten or slept. He’s moved from one crisis to another, his fear and longing for Dean buzzing like static in the back of his brain. His nerves are on-edge with the news he has to deliver to Dean’s family—especially John Winchester, who’s passed out on the couch with an arrangement of empty beer bottles at his feet.
“State facility. Where else?” Cain shakes his head. Castiel feels like the air has been punched from his stomach. He’s never set foot in a state-funded submissive training facility before, but he’d heard plenty of stories and more than a handful of rumors.
“Something like that,” Castiel says, returning the smile. He makes a point to look at them both, though Sam is standing several yards away. Cas notices the bruise on the teen’s face is fading, thankfully…though he frowns at it all the same. Dean takes a step towards him, so close their arms are almost brushing, and whispers, “It’s, uh, from some douchebag guy at school—not our dad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
, because Castiel is currently being reminded of why he never cooks. Honestly, if Dean or Ellen aren’t shoving food under his nose, he barely eats—some days he just forgets.
“I know you’re not Jimmy. I know you’re strong and healthy and full of life. I know you have an incredible future ahead of you, not only as a parent, but as someone who’s helping to change the world. But if something goes wrong and I lose you, I…” His voice breaks and Dean kicks off his drawstring shorts, his boxers along with it, and then he’s fully naked and straddling Castiel’s lap. He surges up to kiss Castiel’s forehead, just as the alpha whispers, “I would never recover, Dean. You’re my whole world.”
“Mouthy as well,” Crowley says approvingly. “That’s preferred. Nothing bores me more than an omega who simply bends over and takes it.”
Castiel’s heart pounds, his face softening. He squats low, so his face is closer to Dean’s, and he reaches out with a tentative hand, putting it on Dean’s forearm. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through since you left Purgatory, Dean.”
There was a seat in the shower, and Dean convinced Cas he could take it from there, so the man finally left him to get cleaned up. The warm water was amazing on his aching muscles and he scrubbed himself three times with Castiel’s body wash till he began to feel human again. He even managed to dry off with one of his big fluffy towels, and wrapped it around his waist before going back out into the room. He saw Castiel finishing putting new sheets on the bed and gathering up the dirty ones in his arms.
“Good morning,” Gabriel chirps, as if sensing Castiel’s thoughts. “What’s on the agenda today for my successful, badass, swoon-worthy baby bro?”
Dean can’t believe Cas will really just let Sam stay like this. “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”
And yet as Castiel slides into his Lincoln Continental, he can’t help but fantasize about being reunited with Dean tonight. What would it be like to see that man kneeling at his feet, miles of golden skin at his fingertips, those plump pink lips parted for his cock? His jeans grow tighter just at the image, and he adjusts himself in the car, stopping at a red light and impatiently tapping on the steering wheel. He needs a release, and he needs it now.
Dean reaches towards the first-aid kit, and when he turns back around, he has gauze and bandages in his hands
Castiel can feel heat radiating from his skin, his head nearly feverish with rage. His father not only willingly sent Dean off with a Dom he was not that compatible with, he also wrote in a clause sending him somewhere other than Purgatory?
He knocks on his father’s door and a blonde sub answers, wearing a thin robe with her head tucked down. She’s half of his father’s age, but considering Dean is young as well, Castiel figures he has no grounds for judgment.
“Well, then, we’re gonna have to see a lot more of each other. Appointments twice a week for a month.”
“It’s not my sweet tooth, it’s my sub,” Castiel corrects, and then realizes his mistake when Gabriel kicks him from under the table.
Dean gave him a wolfish grin. "I said, why don't you get me those supplies and I can start a sketch of you."
Dean beams, as if taking care of Castiel brings him immeasurable joy, and the alpha shifts in his seat. He feels nearly feverish just at the sight of Dean, and he averts his eyes and stares down at his sandwich, picking it up and taking a large bite. The burst of flavor is better than usual, and he moans a little as he swallows, Dean sitting at his own desk and chuckling quietly.
“The first day we worked on rope work, mostly. I did a few different ties with him and we worked on him learning his body, and when a rope was too snug how to signal his Dom.” Gordon’s voice is a bit muffled by his stuffy nose. He thinks of how hard he tried to be good that afternoon, even though something about Gordon had him on edge.
The cold air wakes him up and he knows the drinks were pretty weak—he should be good to still drive. The whole ride home, as he presses the heel of his palm to his hard as stone cock, he thinks of storm-blue eyes and a deep, gravelly voice.
Castiel eyes the back seat a moment and gives it a long look before glancing up at Dean, a failed attempt at an innocent smile on his face. Dean swallows hard, imagining all the fun they could get into in that back seat.
, and he begins to slide toward the floor when his Master catches him to keep him in place. “Easy there. Weʼre done with pet play, Dean. You aren’t Princess anymore. You did such a wonderful job. I am so proud of you.”
“Holy crap,” Gabriel moans after the first bite, somewhat absurdly in Castiel’s opinion, “this is actually
“You can use some of that hot air to blow up these floats?” Missouri suggests with a smirk, her tone light and full of sarcasm. Charlie laughs at their banter and walks by, mentioning that she’s heading into the laundry room to gather up a stack of pool towels.
He throws his head back over Castiel’s shoulder and writhes on top of him. The feel of Castiel all around him, the mouth kissing his neck and the hand on his chest and the legs bracketing him is all so intense and amazing he can’t help but pant and whine, canting his hips begging for more.
“Yeah, I’ve been working a lot, too. We moved to Kansas City, actually. I meant to look you up, but things have been so busy,” Dean says apologetically.
“Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, oh Dean,” Castiel chants in his ear and its a like a benediction, like being enough, being what this beautiful man needs. He falls into darkness then, letting sleep take him.
Dean freezes in place a moment, feet slowing to a stop as the words sink in. Alistair thought Alfie was a good sub. He told Alfie he was good. He stopped when Alfie told him to. It doesn’t make any sense, though. It was only three days but he’s certain that not once did Alistair tell him he was good. He never stopped, never cared. Maybe the problem wasn’t Alistair…
“Are they mad at me?” he asks, as Castiel comes around to grab his own expensive-looking suitcase. The sight of it by his torn and patched duffel is a little too on the nose for his taste.
“Panties down just below your cheeks, and spread them nice and wide for me so we can see this needy hole or yours,” his master growls, and Dean leans his face on the bed and reaches back to comply. Spreading his cheeks with his fingers, there is a quick snap of a bottle cap and a lube-soaked finger rubs at his sensitive rim.
“Yes. A separation between our romantic relationship, and our relationship as dom and sub.” Castiel’s proud he can even think this clearly, honestly, with Dean being this naughty to him in public. He wants very much to go to the car and teach him a lesson, but this is a
“It’s 10:53 right now. If you can last three whole minutes—until 10:56—I’ll use my mouth instead of my hand.”
“Yeah, apparently you’re a genius,” Kevin says, grinning toothily, “though I’ll be the judge of that.”
can make him regret last night—and then they brush their teeth with filtered water and get dressed. Castiel keeps getting distracted by Dean’s lips, and they end up making out with Castiel’s shirt only half-on and Dean’s pants around his ankles. The kisses are fun and flirty, rather than heated and sensual, and they keep honest-to-god giggling every few minutes and muttering, “I can’t believe this finally happened.” Castiel feels like his heart is glowing so brightly, he’s surprised Dean isn’t blinded by it.
“Come on, let’s dry off and then I can hold you in an actual bed.” He smiled, thinking of those nights on the beach or in the back of his car. All he’d wanted then was one night in a nice soft bed with Castiel in his arms.
“Shhh, sweet boy, you- you’ve been sooo good,” Castiel huffs above him, short of breath as his thrusts speed up. “You can come for me, Dean,” Castiel grunts out, hand reaching forward to tease at Dean’s weeping cock. He feels it coming, like a tidal wave bursting past the constriction of the ring he comes. The vibration on his cock ring mercifully stops. Warm hot pulses rock through him, he lets out a cry muffled by the cock trusting erratically in his mouth.
He hesitates only a second before hitting send and curling up under the covers. Getting his own ass pounded might be just the trick for his mood. He falls asleep, waking up hours later feeling like ass warmed over and in desperate need of a shower.
"No worries, and you can call me Cas outside of class, okay?" He handed the note to Sam who tucked it into his workbook with a smile.
“Oh, a very long time. I worked for his father, Chuck, before he moved away. I stayed on when Castiel came to live here full-time.”
Castiel looks at the flowers blooming, the rays reflecting off the tiered fountain they’re passing, the pollen already floating in the air. He thinks for a moment about how spring reflects what it’s like to be in Dean’s presence—pure, unequivocal sunshine.
Dean purses his lips like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t—just fluffs the pillow and leans in closer.
P.S. This chapter is dedicated to all our readers impacted by COVID-19—whether you're sick, your loved ones are sick, your employment situation or living situation is challenging, or you're just stuck at home full of anxiety. We see you, we're here for you, and we hope these lovesick boys will help give you a moment of reprieve. <3
“Where the hell were you?” Castiel demands, glaring at the bodyguard and feeling another wave of wrath wash through his body. “It was your job to keep them safe!”
“What you said, about submission… I, well I want you to know that I respect you.” Dean reaches for his beer, taking a large gulp. “I’ve been thinking about it, and—we’ve been through a lot, and I’m not always gonna agree with every decision you make. I’m not even pissed about what happened anymore. I’m just, I dunno, frustrated at the whole damn system. But I do trust you to do what you think is right, Cas.” Dean looks nervous as he adds, “You’re a good person and a good Dom.”
Dean lets himself be pulled into a hug and feels the hard thump to his back that makes him smile. “Heya Bobby, I see you haven't changed.”
“Tell me what you’re not telling me,” Castiel says coolly, following a hunch to see if he’s right. “Master doesn’t like when you keep secrets.” He leans down, his lips brushing the other man’s ear, as he whispers, “If you want to be my good boy, you’ll tell me.”
“Seatbelt,” Castiel reminds him as they slide into the seats. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever sat in a car this expensive before.
The sub stands next to him immediately, Castiel’s heart beating out his chest. His pet keeps his eyes fixated on the floor, a true sign of submission, and it makes Castiel ache to come all over his sub’s stunning face. But this is about his pet being rewarded and achieving true subspace. Even so, Cas is still human, and he can’t help but run his hands on the outside of the panties, a shiver running through his sub. “These are beautiful. You’re a beautiful little slut, aren’t you?”
“It’s this guy who started coming a few months back.” Gabriel cranes his neck, as if the man will appear in front of him. “He’s got model-good looks and a bunch of doms buzzing around him like flies, but he hasn’t sampled the merchandise yet,
“That's a panic button. All the restraint furniture in this room has them. You can always hit that button if you ever feel unsafe, and the dungeon master will come in and help you. Do you understand?”
“I’m going to tell you everything that is going to happen tonight before we begin, and you can tell me if you consent. Do you understand?” Dean nods his head in response, and feels a harsh pinch to his side that makes him jump and yelp. “Words, sweet boy.”
promise,” Sam’s answers, and it's true. Dean never thought he could fulfill that promise, but maybe he can.
“So good, Cas, feels so good,” Dean slurs, face planted into the mattress. “Never…never knew it would feel so good with you…” Dean’s scent has changed completely now, a combination of Castiel’s earthy tones and Dean’s sweet spices, and it’s intoxicating in every possible way. His knot catches with a particularly aggressive thrust and then the mattress is suddenly falling, the bedframe around them splintering in half as Castiel empties himself inside Dean.
Castiel tilts his head, considering. “You know, for years it was the time Gabriel stole my swim trunks at the eighth grade pool party, when they fell off after a dive—”
“Yeah sure, no problemo.” He hopes he isn’t completely bored stiff in the first hour on the job. Castiel nods, twisting to crack his back a little. Dean can still see the tension in his body and the heat in his cheeks. Dean wonders if his headache is bad again and if he should offer to use the pressure point. He just wants to be a good employee and help his boss have a good day, right? That’s a totally normal impulse and has nothing to do with getting his hands on Castiel again. Plus, Dean is just a natural caregiver…and no, it has nothing to do with being an omega, despite what his dad says.
Castiel chuckles, shaking his head. Unable to resist any longer, he takes a chance and leans in. His mouth brushes Dean’s ear, and he says in deep rumble, “I don’t have to tell you how breathtaking you look tonight, or how difficult it is to have you in my arms and not kiss you. But just know, omega, I’m counting down the minutes until we’re alone again. I can’t wait to show you just how beautiful I find you…every naked inch of you.”
He covers the receiver with his hand taking a steadying breath that is all the harder with the banging and death threats coming through the door. “This isn’t up for debate Sam, Amy is not safe like this and neither are we.” He brings the phone back up and hears the dispatcher say she is sending a unit. “Look, Amy Pond is here, she’s the daughter of the woman banging down my door. I’m concerned for her safety.”
Dean nods, feeling oddly quiet as he sinks deeper into his submissive space. He pads over to his familiar table now lying down on the mat with his knees bent and hands behind his head. Eyes closed, he drifts to the sounds of dishes clinking and water running.
“Not officially, just helped Bobby some,” Dean says humbly, as Castiel begins to pull out of the parking spot. “You might have a bad starter or a worn-out ignition switch.” He frowns at the pop station Cas had it turned to, adjusting it to classic rock with a smirk.
Castiel arches off the bed a bit as Dean begins to suck and bob his head in earnest. He can taste something different on his cock and realizes that it's his own sweet slick. Not for nothing, but it's not half bad. He moans around the cock, trying to keep his eyes on Castiel’s face, mouth hanging open around a soundless “O” as he struggles not to buck up into his mouth.
“Dean this is serious…you were hurt yesterday, and then accosted by an out-of-control alpha,” Cas crosses his arms, frowning at the carpet.
he’s requested this meeting. It’s not wise to tell Dean the particulars though, not unless he comes back with good news.
, is deep in subspace. He hasn’t tried to speak for days, and wakes up curled at the foot of Castiel’s bed, whining and ruffling the covers to wake him up.
“Kneel down for me, tiger.” Cain gives him a wicked, promising grin and Dean attempts to stop shivering as he falls gracefully to his knees—wondering if Castiel would be proud of how well he did that. Hands come forward and latch the collar around his throat, and Dean feels like the sound of the buckle is the final step to sealing his fate and saying goodbye to his dream.
“Oh, my sweet boy…my hungry boy…” Castiel sighs, unable to keep the image of Dean on his knees, sucking cock, from entering his imagination. He slides his pointer and middle finger between Dean’s parted lips, and the sub sucks them eagerly, moaning around the intrusion and writhing around on Castiel’s lap.
“Good toy,” Castiel tells him, and then Dean hears the sound of keyboard keys clicking above him. He can do this though, he can be a good toy for his Master. Dean rests his face in Castiel's lap and thinks his Dom really wasn’t lying…he said Dean was going to be fully stuffed today. What better way to spend a Sunday?
He watches Dean descend down the hallway and then closes his door. Two minutes later, he’s managed to pull up a pair of sleep pants when his next visitor arrives—a smirking Missouri, with her eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you.” Dean reaches forward, searching for his phone. His skin is sleepy warm, his neck a little sweaty, and Castiel is tempted to just fall back asleep in each other’s arms. It’s starting to become too hot for that, though. The air conditioning must be off. “Weather alert. Looks like a storm threw out a bunch of power lines… Sam said half the city’s in a black-out.”
“You answer your Master when he asks you a question,” he reprimands tersely. “If I don’t want you to speak, I’ll tell you.”
Dean had more free time on his hands then he was used to, and with the nice weather he spent every minute he could outside. Castiel showed him how he gathered honey from his hives even though Dean wouldn’t go over. Way too many stingers for his taste. He did use the honey to make some baklava for them, though—a sticky sweet mess, but totally worth the effort. Dean could tell he was falling harder and harder for the alpha with every passing day.
Once he’s covered Dean’s ass in come, he does what’s guaranteed to get Dean off, too. He spears his tongue inside Dean’s come-soaked hole, then uses a finger to go deep, down to nearly two knuckles, before curving his finger against a bundle of nerves—
Dean’s eyes go wide but he instantly obeys, and watches as Castiel shifts down his sleep pants and pulls out his incredibly hard cock. He feels sorta desperate for it, to be able to give Castiel pleasure and make him feel good. It's suddenly all he wants as he rocks forward, mouth open and waiting.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” Castiel coos softly, and on-command Dean’s cock pulses out his release. He melts into Castiel’s arms, kissing him slow and messy and soft. He lets the sensation of safety and home wash over him, and he feels utter relief that he can still feel that way—even after everything.
He hears a crack of hardwood behind him, and Castiel leans up in his chair, the lamp light barely illuminating Dean as he stands in the doorway.
“Omega,” he whispers softly, and Dean can barely hear him before he’s closing the gap between them and shoving Dean up against the wall.
. But he doesn’t have an alpha—Castiel is not his alpha, and it’s not Dean’s job to take care of him…despite the feeling in his gut telling him otherwise.
Dean scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest. “What’d you think—that I’d come out of jail all chipper—maybe do a little song and dance? Everything sucks, don’t you see that? I get attacked, Sam is nearly raped, and I have to empty my savings account to pay a goddamn fine.”
we are.” He laughs again but his jaw is set tight, tense in his every movement. Out of nowhere, he grabs the empty plastic cup off his tray and slings it in Castiel’s direction. He’s so taken aback, that Dean launches a stack of napkins and an extra pillow at him before he’s caught on that Dean is tossing everything in reach.
“It’s just oatmeal. Did you sleep at all?” Castiel put a hand to his forehead and frowned at the fever he still felt there. The heat would go for at least another two days, but he was feeling stronger than the night before.
“I decided to get a bit creative. This is a leather cinch strap I just bought. Would you like to help me break it in a bit?” Castiel gives him a devilish smirk.
The implication hangs heavy, and Castiel shakes his head vehemently. “No, I haven’t had…those dreams in a long time.”
He stands in the road a second longer, and feels this strange draw to turn around and go talk to the man. He can’t seem to figure out why he just wants to be near him. He shakes off the feeling and puts his boots to the ground, heading for home. Tomorrow, he thinks, is going to a very long day.
His sub moans outrageously, his erection held snugly in the cock cage, and Castiel grins wickedly. Yes, this might’ve been an intense experiment for his pet, but he’ll make sure the outcome is more than worth it. It takes a moment to situate him properly on the table, leaned upright to begin. “Can you hold onto the straps yourself, or would you like to be tied in?”
Dean makes an incoherent grunt because he can’t get words out, throat closed completely. Castiel looks like a deer caught in headlights, staring at Dean and looking guilty as sin. Which is stupid—Dean knows it’s stupid. Castiel has every right to be out on a date and he’s not obligated to tell his employee about it. Still, it doesn’t stop the gut-wrenching pain he feels as Inias puts his hand lightly on Castiel’s elbow, gently cupping it. It makes Dean’s skin crawl seeing someone touching Castiel—even such an innocent gesture.
"Duh, dummy, I am logging into a video chat with Naomi. She wants to talk to you and she wanted to be sure the line was secure so here I am," she said, twirling her hand with a flourish.
“That was worth the wait,” Dean whispers with a dreamy sigh, tucking his head into Castiel’s neck. “That was fucking amazing.”
He sucks in a quiet breath, caught in Dean’s gaze. The sleek suit and slender black tie look amazing on Dean, his hair tousled with gel, his face closely shaved. Cas hasn’t seen his omega for several hours now—separated by the crowd and Dean’s general sense of busyness—and having him so close now makes Castiel itch to reach out. To touch.
“Very good things.” Castiel let’s his eyes linger on Dean’s body, and though all he can see apart from the sleeping bag is Dean’s bare chest, it’s the most intimate look he’s allowed himself yet. When his eyes float up to Dean’s face, he sees sharp green eyes staring back at him and Dean’s mouth hanging open.
“What? No, you know that was awesome—I came in like two seconds. And the pregnancy hormones have me horny as hell.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Listen, that was a bad example. All I’m sayin’ is you gotta let me live my life. It’s exhausting, having you spazz out everytime I try to lift more than a freaking paperclip!”
A moment later, Dean is only halfway dressed when there’s a tentative knock on the door. Castiel calls out, “One minute!” Dean’s bottom-half is dressed, but his t-shirt is pretty soiled now, so Castiel tosses him the first t-shirt he can find.
“I understand.” Castiel’s voice is warm and genuine, hands scrubbing at his scalp. “You were coping with a trauma, Dean. I’m just glad to be here now.” Castiel’s hand pauses in his hair, and Dean can tell he’s debating something. “You don’t have to tell me, Dean, not now, not ever if you don’t want to...but was the bite all that happened? Did he…did they…?”
Okay guys, this is it, all she wrote, the end. (I'm not crying your crying). Its been so great sharing this story with you, I feel like I learned a lot writing this and I feel like a better author after finishing it. I could not have done it with out my friends, Ellen of Oz helping edit every word a long the way (mostly fixing my present tense to past tense and adding lots of comma's lol). WaywardAF67 and waywardjenn and TrenchcoatBaby for reading and encouraging me along the way. (I highly recommend looking up TrenchcoatBaby and her State of You fic, its so so hot and all the eye fucking you can handle).
“I hope you don’t mind if I finish my meal…” He begins to trail slices of fresh fruit over the man’s skin, on his shin and hips and collarbones. His sub just breathes through the sensation, following the directive to stay motionless, and Castiel trades out the strawberries for the mangoes. He scatters chunks on his abdomen, his arms, his lower thighs. “I could’ve finished it earlier, but it seems you’re too distracting. The only logical solution is to make
So even though we tried to anticipate all potential tags for this story—we've always had this story marked "angst with a happy ending" for example—we recently decided to add the "heavy angst" tag. We know we're entering some difficult territory here, so we want you guys to be fully prepared for what's ahead. As such, please check the content warnings at the chapter's end (if needed).
“Then why are you so against being with an omega?” Dean asks, the question coming out strong and clear, as if he’s wondered this for a long time and is relieved to finally ask. “You’re not a sexist douchebag, Cas, not like so many alphas I know. But you’re still keeping me at arm’s length because of some stupid rule—”
The scent of lavender hits his nose as hands press into his back, Castiel’s thumbs running up along his spine. Dean lets out a long, low moan of pleasure.
Dean how he hoped training is going…there’s a distinction there that makes Castiel uncomfortable. Now that Dean knows he’s a dom, and knows that fact very well, Cas doesn’t want to come off as an overbearing, domineering dictator. Not after he’s spent six months calling Dean a little bitch, a slutty whore, a needy pet, and a whole range of other humiliating names that wouldn’t seem normal to anyone but them.
“Then I’m not going anywhere. Never going to leave my good boy.” Castiel cups his face and pulls him for a warm kiss. Dean knows then that everything is going to be alright.
Still he had trouble doing what Castiel wanted sometimes, like sitting on the furniture. It made him uneasy and he couldn’t stop the panic attacks, waiting for the a blow that never came. Eventually Cas stopped asking him to sit at the table or on the couch, but would put a pillow down for him and that made him feel a bit better.
“Course you didn’t,” Dean mutters against his skin, in a tone that implies Castiel would never try to entice Dean back to him by manipulating him through their scent bond. Which is true, of course.
Dean practically falls to his knees at the deep, lust-filled command. He bends over, pressing his forehead to the ground, and sticks his ass in the air. He reaches back with both hands and spreads his cheeks as wide as he can, fingers digging into his own skin. The footsteps echo in the room as Master moves behind him. The toe of his boot presses into his thigh, lifting his ass a little higher. Holy fuck…if that isn’t so hot. He feels his dick fill out with the press of leather and rubber to his skin. The boot slides up the inside of his thighs and just barely taps at his balls, making him flinch. Fuck, this guy might be the actual death of him.
“It won’t be any trouble. I can clear out this whole side for you. Maybe we can go shopping and get you some new flannels, with winter coming soon,” Cas continues talking to him from the closet, but Dean isn’t listening.
The rest of the night comes back to him slowly, in pieces. Pacing his room, unable to settle, eventually going down the hall to Castiel’s room, the smack to his cheek and the mind-blowing orgasm. Oh god…he thinks his whole family may have heard him. He wonders if he begged?
Hannah scoffs, her expression outrageously shocked. “If you’re fishing for compliments, then fine,” she muses. “Castiel, you are incredibly attractive. If Dean has even one gay bone in his body, he’d be into you in a second.”
“Don’t call the police, Missouri. I mean it,” he says in a deadly command. Then he reaches for the handle of his briefcase with a quick snatch, walking briskly down the hallway and toward the garage. Missouri is on his heels still, calling his name and begging him to slow down. But all he feels is fury rolling through him, a surreal sort of anger that makes his conscience feel disconnected from his body.
With a hand on his shoulder, Cas guides him to the mirror by the front door. Dean can practically feel the heat of the alpha’s body as it presses up behind him. So close…but not touching. He can’t help but wonder what would happen if he just arched his back a little. Castiel’s arms reach around him, and he smiles warmly at Dean over his shoulder as he undoes the mess Dean started.
“Yeah, yeah, never said I was a gymnast,” Dean gripes, falling back into Castiel’s arms. “Okay, same question.”
When the elevator doors open, he’s practically giddy, feeling more animated and hopeful than he has in weeks. He turns the corner, but the closer he gets to the door, the more he realizes a small, blonde woman is standing with her back to him. She turns around abruptly, and with a confused frown, he says, “Becky?” It takes him a moment to realize why her appearance at his door is such a surprise. “Aren’t you out of town with my father?”
Castiel gives a soft chuckle. “Answer me, sub.” It's not a harsh admonishment, but a warning nonetheless.
Sam is quiet on the whole drive over, which is fine by him since he can’t seem to stop thinking about his dom. What would he look like standing in the kitchen, cooking breakfast with a spatula in hand? But a spatula in his dom’s hand only makes him think of how good it would feel making his ass red, and he flushes at the image of being bent over the kitchen table, a firm hand to the back of his neck.
He hopes his voice isn’t shaking already, but good god, it’s difficult to sustain a clear head when all his fantasies are coming true. He stares at his stunning pet as he walks over, the tight and muscular abs and arms, the trim waist, the metal of the cock cage thick and noticeable through the thin material of his panties. The man’s face seems neutral but excited and as he kneels at Castiel’s feet, but he winces, adjusting himself. Castiel makes him wait nearly five full minutes, as he tosses through his papers and looks busy, and he can feel his sub getting needier and more impatient by the second.
“Nope, the Jolly Green Giant can sit his ass back on the couch, I got this,” Dean grumbles, giving Cas’ wrist a squeeze before heading into the kitchen. Sam invites Castiel to sit down on the opposing loveseat, and he perches on the edge, hands clasped over his knees.
Castiel nods approvingly, his grip transforming into something more gentle and loving. “Are you familiar with the stoplight system, Dean?”
The door to the room swings open and Castiel storms in, taking in the scene. If Dean’s legs weren’t frozen in place, he thinks he might run to the man. Castiel swings a briefcase into Alfie’s arms before dismissing him and striding into the center of the room, eyes only for Dean.
He knows it’s early and he should go back to sleep, but he slips into a pair of sleep pants and tiptoes out of the suite without waking Sam. The house is dark and quiet as he makes his way to the west wing. Climbing the stairs, he begins to smell the familiar scent of his alpha, which makes him feel immediately calmer. He creaks open the bedroom door, with only a soft light starting to show through the curtains. He looks to see Castiel sleeping on his back, stretched out across the bed. He’s in nothing but his boxers with blankets tangled around his legs.
When Dean is finished, Castiel wipes a drop of come from the bottom of Dean’s lip, the sub instinctively sucking his thumb into the corner of his mouth. “You are wonderful, Dean. I think you’ll do quite well here.”
“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.” Castiel moves up on the bed a bit, kneeling between Dean’s legs. He pushes on Dean’s knees until they’re bent, his back arched and his feet planted flat on the bed. He wants to reach his hands down to cover himself, and he flushes a little bit at being so exposed. “Look at you, all helpless and laid out for me.”
Dean wishes that the flirting could have been real…but in the end, this right here, this friendship is nothing he wants to risk.
Dean’s stomach drops just at the mention of the man. He can smell the bitter oily scent, can feel the sharp teeth sink into his skin, can perceive the burn on his wrists as he struggles. He tries to suck in air, but he can’t, it’s like his whole throat has closed up and he can hear Dick laughing in triumph. His mind whirs, and he can hear the faint sound of someone calling his name.
He reaches the kitchen and swings the double doors open, spotting Ellen over the sink, her apron wet with dishwater.
Dean chuckles gently, in obvious agreement, before Castiel’s mouth overtakes his. It’s a slow kiss, sweet and reassuring, and Cas only separates to stretch over to open the drawer of his end table. He comes back with lube but leaves the condoms there, thankful that they both were tested thoroughly—regularly for club membership, and then again, just weeks ago—and slicks his fingers up. Dean watches the whole process with drifting, lust-filled eyes.
“Please…” The voice is small and pleading, and Castiel just hums with dim acknowledgment, walking over the counter and wiping his cock off with tissues. He tucks himself back inside, zips the fly of his jeans, and bends over to wipe the come off his boots when he hears his sub shout, “No!”
“It was, but I’ve changed my mind. Now ‘this situation’ is an element of my counter offer,” Castiel says smoothly. “Try and keep up, Dick. Or shall I call in your receptionist to take minutes for you?”
They only have twenty-five minutes left according to Castiel’s watch, so he decides to combine their puppy play with aftercare, merging them slightly and cleaning them both off before instructing his pet to come lay with him. He sits up on the bed comfortably and instructs the man to curl up beside him, his head tucked in Castiel’s lap, breathing heavily and nudging the dom needily by rubbing his face against his thigh. Castiel touches him all over, his head and neck and shoulders and back, fingertips light and soothing as his sub relaxes beneath him. Finally, when he thinks it’s very possible the man might have drifted off to sleep, he whispers, “Is my good boy ready to talk again?”
“No, stop!” Dean cries suddenly, rising to his knees and nearly knocking Cas off-balance. Castiel blinks, his vision blurry, not understanding why Dean is reacting this way.
He cuts the engine and peers up at the house, the broken shutters, the peeling paint, the moss-covered roof. He wonders what on earth possessed him to bring Cas here. “If you wanna just wait here, I won’t be long,” Dean adds, feeling reluctant to get out of the car.
“I am. Consider it a perk of the job,” Castiel says casually, and sees Dean smile and shyly drop the blanket, facing the wall again. Without the distraction of an ongoing scene, Castiel can finally appreciate all the smooth curves and freckled skin of the man standing in front of him. The slopes of Dean’s shoulder blades are muscular and carved, his calves tight and athletic, his ass perfectly perky. Castiel finds himself distracted as he works, reading emails but then losing his train of thought as he tries to reply. It’s barely been two hours, but he’s tempted to fuck Dean all over again.
I am only a day late its a miracle thank chuck! Life has been INSANE, but I got this chapter done and I am pretty happy with it. Its all Dean POV and normally I like to have a mix of the two but this just worked better from his perspective. I hope you like it.
“Gorgeous,” he whispers, running gentle fingers all over the man’s body, from ankle to collarbones, touching him everywhere. Before the come begins to cool, he wipes it from his face, then gathers a larger amount from his sub’s abdomen and covers his cock with it.
“Yeah, umm…” Dean scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Castiel noticed during their first meeting. Dean’s cheeks flame scarlet, shifting uncomfortably in the leather chair, and Castiel’s interest is officially piqued. “No judgment?”
“And leave Purgatory?” Castiel says skeptically. “You heard my father today. Business isn’t slowing down—if anything, it’s growing. He’ll need me if he plans to expand the facility.”
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He smacks his hand against his head, about ready to hide under the desk and never come out. He just needs to get through this night and then he can snatch a bottle of fancy-ass whiskey off a bar cart and lock himself in his room till he’s good and drunk. He grabs the envelope from the desk and tucks it in his jacket, taking a few more slow breaths before he heads to the kitchen to find the caterer.
And then there’s Dean. Brave, lively, kind-hearted, strong. He’s one of the most fascinating individuals Castiel has ever met, and that’s to say nothing of sparkling green eyes, dusting of freckles, the sound of his laugh…
They chat about what they’ve been up to the past few years. Dean tells him about his accelerated courses he took to become a physical therapist in Lawrence while Sam finished high school. He tells him how he moved to California to follow Sam when he got into Stanford, realizing that saying it out loud makes him sound like he doesn’t have a life outside his brother. That isn’t true—Sam is just the only family he has, and he wanted a change of pace from Lawrence. Cas tells him how he spent time in Chicago for his undergrad before transferring out to California later.
“You’re the best, Pam.” He grins, just thinking about getting to have another scene with that voice and those eyes.
Garth quickly sends him a text with where to meet him. Garth heads out and Dean waits on the last floor for thirty minutes with no sign of Cas. He takes a chance, brewing him his usual order and slinks through the cubicles toward where he thinks Castiel’s office might be. He walks with confidence as if he has any idea where the hell he is going and stops short when he catches a pacing figure in one of the side offices.
"I appreciate that. Have a good night, Cas." Dean gave him a small smile, heading for his steps. His instincts told him to trust the guy, but his instincts had been wrong before. Actions speak louder than words. He figured he'd give it time to see who this guy really was before he decided friend or foe.
“He didn’t tell you? Well why would he bother telling the coffee boy?” Zachariah laughs and Dean is about ready to punch him in the nose.
Dean lets out a breathy intake of air, one that has Castiel shifting around in his seat. If Dean keeps making sounds like
is a hard question to answer. He wants to say he hates most of it, though he knows his body doesn’t hate all of it. He worries if he tells Castiel about things he doesn’t like, he may try to force him to like it.
The man smirks at him. “He’s in a bit of trouble, son, but maybe his prayers have been answered.” The man’s eyes rake over him and it makes his stomach drop. He’s looking at him like a piece of meat, but he shouldn’t be able to tell what he is. Not unless someone told him...not unless his dad told him. A cold chill runs down his spine, and everything in him is itching to break this guy’s nose and run.
“Master…” Dean moans, wiggling his ass needily. Castiel smirks but ignores him for now, putting his sub’s legs into the new piece of equipment and attaching the carabiners to the metal circles near Dean’s arms. Once Cas has tested the bonds and everything is secure, he instructs Dean to relax, and his sub follows the demand immediately. Even with his muscles lax, Dean’s held snuggly with his knees up and together, his arms still held back, only his head able to be lifted.
Dean, he can make things alright again. He flings open the door, turns the corner, and runs right into Alfie, who seems bewildered to see Castiel out of the playroom.
“I had considered using the registry results. But getting a lawyer…” Castiel mutters, thinking aloud. “That’s not a bad idea as well.”
“She’s at some convention in Vegas this weekend, but she said she’d come next time.” Dean’s childhood best friend Charlie is a spitfire of a redhead who was orphaned young and had been quickly taken into their misfit family. Charlie was actually the only one he’d even told about his extracurricular activities, knowing she’d never judge him for it. He hasn’t told her about his new dom though, and he thinks maybe he needs a night out to talk things through with her. She’s usually pretty good at helping to tell him when he’s in over his head.
“I’ll sue them. No…I’ll bury them! I can’t believe they let something happen to you, Dean. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more, that I couldn’t protect you from this. I tried calling you every few hours, but they would never let me talk to you directly anymore. Did you try calling me? Would they not put my messages through? It was torture, sweetheart, thinking you were locked away, alone and hurting, and I couldn’t do anything—”
There’s a pang of regret in Castiel’s heart then, thinking about all the other Doms who will get to work with this gorgeous man. But he’s not a trainer anymore, not officially, and he has his paperwork, his research… After today, he can’t get distracted.
He heads to his room to put on his uniform before he ends up running late. His pants alone weigh a ton, and he does his check to be sure he has his flashlight, knife, trauma shears, all with him before bolting out the door. He feels hot already in his clothes, and is kinda glad the sun is going down soon and things will be cooling off in a few hours. Jo is in the back of the truck checking stock when he gets there. His phone pings with an email and he ducks out her line of sight before checking it.
Castiel shakes his head. “No, I left right in the middle of the scene. Highly unprofessional, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that sub leaves a scathing review once Victor pulls her out of subspace, but… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”
“Good, needy little pets only get what they want when they ask for it.” Dean blinks up at the face staring down at him and is overwhelmed but the look of desire, lust, and awe on Cas’ face. “Feel free to come up and get a better look, just remember, no one lays a finger on him.” Dean doesn’t think anyone would challenge a threat like that. He hears the shuffle of feet and sees the crowd move to form a circle around them. People whispering and laughing sharing drinks. Several with subs of their own at their sides. He feels even more small and exposed like this. He loses track of Cas for a moment and when he finds him again, he’s standing between Dean’s splayed open legs, a riding crop in-hand and devilish look on his angelic face.
“But we have to maintain some semblance of professionalism in business dealings, even in disagreements.”
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuuuck,” Dean chants, feeling his orgasm building in his balls. One of Castiel’s hands wraps around his cock, giving it a squeeze, and it has him coming undone, cock spurting out across the alpha’s chest. He groans long and low, body clenching around Cas, and he feels the alpha’s knot starting to form. Dean is so loose after the rush of endorphins from his orgasm, just one quick thrust and the knot pops into place. A low growling whine comes from Castiel as he feels the alpha filling him up, cock pulsing deep within him.
“Perks of being the boss!” Jo calls over her shoulder, stacking the empty plates and passing them off to Dean. So Castiel wanders back down to his office, passing Dean’s empty desk wistfully, though they’ve just parted at dinner. It’s unsettling how quickly the omega always leaves him wanting more. He fishes his cell phone from his pocket and stares at the text from Inias, stomach twisted in knots before finally replying:
health.” Castiel crosses his arms too, looking resolute. In response Dean actually turns his head, and to Castiel’s immense surprise, laughs fully. Instantly, any tension evaporates from Castiel’s insides once he sees the pearly-white smile of Dean Winchester looking down at him.
They both begin to speak at the same time, then stop, gaping at each other. Castiel smiles awkwardly and Dean lets out a low chuckle.
“Best behavior, Ellie, we’ll save the screwing for after dinner,” Castiel adds in such a deadpan it makes Dean’s jaw drop.
“Yeah, it was…kinda hard,” Dean admits, “picking the breed, I guess. At first I thought husky, because I’m pretty stubborn—”
“A few of my less reputable business partners…Roman, for one.” Castiel says the name like it physically pains him. “I’m bringing Jo with me for security, but I don’t want you anywhere near them.” Castiel glances at him worriedly.
“Shhh, handsome, it’s just me,” Castiel’s honey warm voice greets him and he immediately settles. “Let me see how my boy is doing.”
“Bet it’s even better when you make him scream.” The other man’s voice drops low and dangerous and it sends another shiver prickling over Dean’s skin, and oh god yes, make him scream, make him scream.
Dean surprises him by switching their positions and pinning Castiel to the bed. Dean has a hand on the front tie of Castiel’s robe, looking into Cas’ eyes for permission to loosen it. The alpha just lies back and nods, observing the reverence on Dean’s face as his chest becomes bare.
He touches the soft leather of his new collar and feels a bit weird putting it on himself. He carries it out to the kitchen and finds Castiel already sitting in his seat—a huge plate of food and Dean’s pillow by his side. Breakfast smells amazing, and Dean’s stomach rumbles. He’s quick to lower himself down and get settled.
“I think it got in my hair,” she whines. It really isn’t that much, it just sprayed a lot. They got the bleeding under control pretty quickly, but not before Jo’s shirt got covered.
“I was going to give all of this up because I was falling in love with my best friend. It tore me up inside—the thought of losing the most beautiful, responsive, giving, uninhibited sub I had ever met. You are a fantasy come to life, trusting me with all of yourself, it was...it
Sam nods and Castiel tosses him the keys from his pants pocket. “Drive us to the hospital. I’ll stay in the back with Dean.”
“So beautiful, you did so well sweet boy, just so well,” Castiel’s words are like a balm softening everything in the low lit room. “Are you ready to come undone for me?”
Castiel is nothing if not a hard worker. So he falls into a rhythm at Bobby’s house, a rotation of meds and food and baths and naps, every moment of his day devoted to what Dean needs. His good boy spends a lot of the day sleeping on the couch, the pain meds making him drowsy, and Castiel is pleased to be used as Dean’s pillow—his lap and shoulder, mostly—all while his hands gently rub Dean’s head and neck. For the first two days he sleeps fitfully, even in the haze of medication, waking up with a gasp and his body shaking, dreaming about a type of pain Castiel will never fully understand. It breaks his heart every time he sees Dean like this—his eyes foggy as he searches around for danger, heart pounding, Castiel’s name whispered like a plea. He’s been through something traumatic, and he’s thankful that Dr. Hanscum recommended a therapist for Dean to see.
“Hey, we aren’t starting on the kids yet, alright? So keep it in your pants.” Dean laughs as Castiel grips him tight in his arms. Despite what he said, just the press of their bodies has Dean tightening in his jeans.
It’s a dreary, gray Thursday evening when his office door is thrown open. He glances up from the stack of papers on his desk, completely caught off-guard by the sudden appearance of Pam.
“So what if I am? Hop to it, stable boy,” Castiel chuckles and swats at Dean’s butt as he jumps away.
"I'm- I'm g-gonna, Dean..." Dean moved one hand to give a tiny tug on Castiel's balls through his pants and pressed a finger by his perineum and sent him over the edge, coming hard down Dean's throat. He'd almost forgot how much an Alpha could come and he worked hard to swallow it all down, enjoying the sweet taste of it and letting his eyes flicker closed.
He’s speaking openly, honestly, though that’s nothing new. He always misses his beautiful sub—but the past few days, after being so embarrassingly drunk and hitting on his best friend, Castiel has felt a total loss of control. He doesn’t know what’s slowly developing between him and Medic67, but it feels like he’s on the verge of developing feelings that are more than platonic…which is so entirely inconvenient, he doesn’t even know where to begin. As much as he truly cares for ‘67 and values his friendship, he can’t imagine ever giving up his sub, not now. Not ever. But reading back through his drunk texts, he can’t deny that ‘67 had seemed turned on by the thought of Castiel fucking a man publicly against a bar. Not to mention that he said Castiel’s boots were sexy, which was a surprising but welcome compliment. What could these things mean? Could he actually have sexual chemistry with a nameless, faceless friend?
The gorgeous man moans softly as he lowers himself to the floor, on hands and knees with his back arched, and it reminds Castiel of the very suggestive cat-cow pose he sometimes practices in yoga. He wants to run a hand through the perfect dip on the man’s lower back, brushing every tight and active muscle…but there are better ways to reward a bitch.
“You look lovely.” Castiel’s voice grabs his attention, and he blinks up to see his Dom watching him from the doorway.
They pull up to Kimball Farm and Dean’s eyes widen with shock. He hasn’t been out here in ages and had forgotten all about it. Last time he was here, it was just a small ice-cream stand with mini golf. Now there’s a driving range, batting cages, bumper boats, food stands, candy store, and a pitch and putt.
“Come on, you look like you could use some breakfast…though maybe I should have got you decaf.” He smiles at the alpha and heads into the office, putting down the drinks and food.
He sends another hurtling slap down to Dean’s bare bottom, and the sub arches his back up, chasing some sort of pleasure he hadn’t been before.
“Look…” Dean scowls a bit, crossing his arms and trying not to watch to see Cas come in. “Cas and I have a strictly professional relationship.”
“Come on, let's go see what's for dinner.” Dean puts on his best smile, and it must be good enough because Cas returns it before following him out toward the kitchen.
win back Dean’s trust. There’s no other option now, because life without him is too unbearable to stand.
“Gentleman?” a woman’s voice repeats, and Lilth comes from the corner of the room. She’s in a floor-length, slinky white gown, her lips pursed in a smirk. “Do you hear that, Abby? Our host is being horribly sexist.”
Dean’s own heart aches as he slowly approaches the table to see the smiling blonde looking back up at him. Jess had been so beautiful, so striking, she had kinda reminded Dean of his mom a little. “Why’d you go?” Sam’s hiccuping voice breaks the silence, a long finger trailing over one of the polaroids. “I’m so sorry,” Sam says barely above a whisper and Dean manages to lunge and catch Sam right before he face plants on the table.
Dean returns the grin and enters his office, walking steadily over to Castiel’s desk. He swings a leg over Castiel’s lap, hands entwined behind the alpha’s neck, straddling him.
A moment passes between them when they’re both still staring, but not speaking. Dean has eyes that he could fall right into, so vivid and mesmerizing.
CB here with another chapter for you guys. This weeks conversation between TCBaby and myself went something like this.
He can see Castiel now riding in the arena, his boyfriend seated atop the large bay appendix quarter horse, Maco. He blinks a few times till he realizes Castiel is riding in an English saddle and he’s wearing tight tan pants and tall black boots. Even from a distance he can see the outline of his thigh muscles and it makes his mouth water.
“Oh, honey,” Ellen wraps an arm around his waist, “you could never disappoint me. I just want to see you find someone who will make you happy, is all.”
TCB: I can't decide what makes me more excited sometimes. Our story, our friendship, or our readers. ❤
Castiel feels a flicker of endearment spark inside him, a connection tethering him to this wild man—this sub who came to their facility on the precipice of death, and already seems to be on the mend after one orgasm. But he suppresses the feeling, pushing it down where he can process it later. He stands up briskly, all business again, and looks down at Dean.
“You look so beautiful.” He runs a hand over the front of Dean’s panties, tracing the outline of his cock cage with one finger. “Such a perfect sub.”
He heads back toward the arena where Castiel is lunging Cash. He leans against the top rail, watching as Cash bucks and tugs on the line. Castiel stands his ground, waiting out the tantrum Cash is throwing. Dean can’t help but smile, watching Cash pin his ears and kick up dust. Castiel gives an annoyed eye roll but even he is smiling too. The horse breaks to a trot, finally floating over the arena footing with his tail up like a flag.
He smelled even stronger in there and it was dark, since the power was out. That’s when he heard it, a small tiny whimpering sound that if he hadn’t had Alpha strong hearing would not have registered over the howling wind. He took the stairs two at a time, desperate to get to Dean. He
The fingers teasing and playing with his chest are making him mad with want. “Come, I need to come, please.” He just manages to get the words out.
“What the hell happened here?” Ellen demands, then looks over at her daughter. “Joanna Beth! Are you hurt?”
when Castiel pulls his fingers out, his heart racing wildly. He squirts a generous portion of lube onto his hand, then lathers up his cock, nudging his cockhead at the entrance of Dean’s hole. The only sounds in the room are breathy moans, but as Castiel pushes inside, bottoming out, they both cry out from the intensity of it.
Jo proceeds to smack him in the arm, making him jump. “Don’t be a goddamn coward, Dean. Tell the guy to his face that you’re done. I'm sure he will understand your reasons, and if he doesn’t, that’s not on you…that’s on him, okay? You can’t let anyone get in the way of being with the right person.”
“How can I do that when you’re fucking hitting me?” Dean snaps, then adds, with a burst of anger, “You know what,
Dean nods, thinking it does. “But I don’t wanna do that all the time, you know?” He can’t deny he had enjoyed himself, now that he’s a bit more clear-headed.
“It’s fine,” Castiel cuts him off stepping back a moment. “I came to tell you that one of my brothers and some of his associates are planning to stop by today to discuss a few business items. I will need you to reschedule my afternoon meetings to later in the week, and then you may be excused the rest of the day.”
“This won’t be a…fun conversation,” Castiel warns, and Dean frowns a little but nods in understanding. “Can I tell you about Jimmy?”
“I think…sir…” Dean’s breathing is uneven now. His head drops to Castiel’s shoulder, as if he’s so turned on, he can’t hold himself up. “Fuck, Cas, sir, I want you to do that to me. I want you to do
Dabbing on an extra dose of blocker spray to cover his scent, he takes a final deep breath before tucking a knife in his boot and heading in. It’s a cool spring night, the warm air of the day long gone. He hurries in the front revolving door, feeling his nerves tingle as he tries to assess his surroundings. The lobby seems relatively empty except for a brunette sitting behind the reception desk. He slowly approaches her as dark, round eyes lift to meet his.
Castiel’s body goes stock still as his blue eyes widen a moment and Dean fears he guessed wrong. He begins to try and pull away but his doms grip is too strong.
“I missed you so much.” Castiel kisses his neck, slips his hands around Dean’s waist until he finds that perfect ass and grabs roughly. Dean lets out a needy whine that goes straight to Castiel’s cock, and he nearly growls.
He starts clicking through the list, calling the laundry service to find where the Tuesday dry cleaning delivery went. He reschedules two conflicting conference calls, replies to a few meeting requests and emails, and he can already feel his eyes start to burn. He’s thrilled when Missouri messages him that Mr. Adler has arrived, asking if he can come escort him to Castiel’s office.
“I am going to bring you to the brink of orgasm, Dean, and when you are at the very end of your limit I want you to tell me before you come. We are going to do this ten times, and if you can make it that many, without coming or tapping out, you will get a reward.” Castiel gives him a mischievous grin as he strides up to Dean, hand sliding between his legs and slick finger circling his hole.
“Dean there’s no reason we can’t both have what we want. If we work together I know we can make it happen. If I just—”
“Well, trash is done. And I gotta say, even in a swanky ass place like this, it’s nice to see that a dumpster is still a dumpster. That thing stunk to high—” He halts in his tracks when spots Castiel, door latching behind him as he swallows, eyes wide, “—heaven.”
He nods, glancing back at his dad who’s just standing still as stone with his arms crossed. Roman clears his throat and Dean’s snaps his eyes back to the man. “Good boy. So, I’ll be frank with you Dean, your father here has gotten himself into quite a lot of debt with me. I’m afraid he’s going to have to forfeit over his house and auto shop to me by the end of the week.”
“Would you consider yourself currently aroused?” He hopes drawing out this “clinical” line of questioning might help him regain some of his control. Plus, he
. A wall of impact implements, a table with brand new, in-the-packaging insertables, gags, and leather bondage gear. Then there’s the furniture: a Saint Andrew's cross in one corner, a spanking bench, stocks, a small cage, and a big, beautiful bed.
“The light makes this my favorite room, too.” He looks around the spare room. It's a mishmash of furniture, a treadmill, weight machine, an old padded medical table, and boxes of weights and elastic bands stacked in the corner by an exercise ball and yoga mats. The other side, however, has a loveseat and bookshelf right by the window. It’s one of his favorite spots to unwind after work.
A shy smile breaks across his face and its so contradictory to the Dom persona from before. “Tonight was more about meeting your needs, Dean, and believe me I found the experience more than satisfactory.” Castiel nods toward his pants and pulls the blanket back to reveal what looks like a dried wet spot.
He returns to his chair afterwards, his steps measured, and flips open his leather portfolio. It was a birthday gift from a relative, and he’s pretty sure he’s never used it before, but he’s ready to pull out all the stops for his new sub. He’s scribbling away on a legal pad, flipping through a collection of old W-2s in a way that makes him look preoccupied, when he hears the door crack open. His body begins to thrum with adrenaline.
Castiel spins around to see Rowena standing there, smiling up at them. “Rowena? What are you doing here?”
Dean looks a little awestruck at the open invitation to visit the buffet, and he nods, smiling a little as Castiel dismisses him. He watches from the table, grinning to himself as Dean hoards plate after plate onto his tray. He comes back with all manner of junk food—pizza, fries, and apple pie.
In this chapter Dean enters into a scene with Alistair, they have strictly defined limits and safe-words for impact play scene, with nothing sexual. Alistair ends up ignoring his safe-words and using a whip on Dean. He is hurt but will heal. It is split between two scenes in this chapter. If you need to skip in order to take care of yourselves all you need to know to continue the story is that Gabriel and Castiel step in to help Dean, Castiel confesses his love for Dean and gives him a chance to decide how he feels and see if he wants to move forward together or not. All love my friends <3
He looks up to see Castiel step out onto the patio. Sunglasses are settled on his nose, but his eyes are obviously scanning for Dean. He can tell when the alpha freezes that he’s spotted Dean, a sad kind of smile on his face. Wanting to take that sullen look off Castiel’s face, Dean stretches his arms up above his head, feeling his swim trunks fall a little down his hips. He watches in satisfaction as Castiel’s Adam's apple bobs up and down.
“Still such a brat,” Castiel chuckles quietly, and begins to thrust headily, taking a few moments to figure out the best rhythm. Then he’s going at it earnestly, pounding into Dean as his boyfriend thrashes and cries out. Every inch of Castiel’s skin feels like it’s on fire, he’s practically vibrating with need, but he knows he isn’t hitting Dean’s prostate at this angle. It takes a moment of adjustment, but he pulls Dean up by his sides until he’s stretched out like putty in Castiel’s arms. Dean has to do a little more work now, but he takes it on beautifully, rutting his hips around and riding Castiel’s cock. With every raise of his hips, Castiel plunges in deeper, both of them picking up the pace with sudden urgency once the head of his cock hits Dean’s prostate.
mercy?” Dean smirks, slipping a hand in Castiel’s back pocket. “Now that’s something I could get used to.”
“Not something you hear every day,” Dean smiles a moment till he sees Castiel’s face start to sour, “but I like it, it suits you.”
“What a lovely offer, my good boy. Unfortunately I don’t want to be late for brunch. Would you go grab me a tie from my closet? Any color you like.” Castiel plants a kiss on the top of his head and Dean gets up to go find a tie. He thinks it’s pretty formal attire for a brunch with his own dad, but then again, Castiel is a pretty formal guy.
“Alright Dean, did you finish signing everything for me?” Missouri comes back in the room and Dean hands over the papers. “Wonderful, these look good. You know, Dean, have you ever considered a career in social work?”
man out of his head. He craves a deep connection with someone, a bond that’s monogamous and passionate, unlike anything he’s ever had before. He shakes the thought from his head ruefully, though, knowing the chance of finding that tonight is slim to none. As long as he comes at some point tonight, he’ll consider his goal accomplished.
He looks up to see Sam standing in front him, with a very pissed-off look on his face and the bag from their house gripped in his hand.
“Yeah, well, she’s a smokin’ hot alpha so I’m happy for me too,” Gabriel says coarsely, grinning toothily. “You should see her in the sack. I swear, she must have four extra arms hidden away somewhere. The way she can hold me down, get between my dirty pillows while still having havin’ a hand wrapped around my—”
Dean had almost forgotten that Gordon is a cop. He’d always just thought of him as his dad's drinking buddy. Or the asshole who had come on to him and gone after Sam, chasing him out of the house. Why did it have to be
Sam smiled and nodded understandingly. "He can be a bit... prickly lately, but I'll talk to him. I know we can trust you - you’re one of the good ones."
Hands guide him forward till he’s draped across a solid warm body, and Dean’s limbs instinctively curl around it, clinging to his Dom. His Dom has him and all feels right in the world.
“That’s totally freaky, right?” Dean says, voice rising as he—mistakenly—takes in Castiel’s reaction. “You’re right, that’s—that’s nuts. Nobody in their right mind wants to get
Dean blinks hard, trying to rid his eyes of the burning pain. He can’t afford to start crying again, and part of him is shocked he has any tears left to give. Earlier, he’d soaked his first goodbye letter to Cas and had to try all over again. It hadn’t been perfect, but he hoped it was legible. His chest gives another aching
“Yeah?” Castiel leans in, and Dean can’t take his eyes of those fucking lips, pink tongue darting out to wet them.
“No, I had some things to get done,” he answers with his half-truth, knowing Cas would have been fine with him going. “You just laying down mulch?”
“Grab the bed if you need to, whore, but don’t you dare move another muscle.” His dom growls, and Dean quickly braces himself against the bed, shivering at the fierce lust in his voice.
“Hey man,” Dean greets him, and fast as a whip Victor snatches his wrist and twists it up behind his back, making him gasp in pain and drop his bag. “What the fuck!” he grunts, trying to pull away from the firm hold…but Victor got the jump on him, and he can’t move without dislocating his shoulder. Dean’s cock gives the tiniest twitch of interest at being manhandled—
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” The alpha’s voice goes soft as he slowly gets closer, approaching Dean like a skittish animal.
“I love you, Dean,” he whispers out, the words seeming to fill up all the empty spaces within him. Looking up into those eyes, he knows the undeniable truth now… Dean Winchester is loved, and he’s going to love this man right back. | [
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long since he felt anything at all. Well, anything that wasn’t the excessive nothingness that was only ever interspersed by heavy, harrowing depressive episodes. Moments where he felt anything else were minimal with only a few glimpses of a gentle, safe peace and slight flashes of muted happiness that permeated the toxic mist that hung around every facet of Castiel’s life. And these moments only happened when he was with Meg or, now it seemed, his brother.
relief from the agonizing guilt that had continuously dug a hole in his gut since the day he had kicked Castiel out of the bunker. One night would not suddenly make things right after the weeks of solitude Castiel had been forced to endure. This was, however, the best he could do for now, and god-fucking-dammit, he was going to do it.
“You would have left me without saying goodbye?” Castiel’s voice was small, barely a whisper. The sound made Dean’s chest ache in a way that had become painfully familiar over the past couple of Cas-less weeks.
Cas was the one trying. He reached out. He kept trying to talk. Dean didn’t get to pretend he didn’t exist. He just didn’t. Dean could scream. He could yell. He could tell Cas to
Dean nodded, relief washing through him. He stilled his hands and leaned forward, gently touching his forehead to Castiel’s. The energy in the room seemed to palpably shift, and Dean inhaled deeply. The tightness in his throat eased. He could breathe again.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you or hold you up, but I’m supposed to go to the cafeteria for dinner, and I have no idea how to get there.”
. There one second and gone the next. Dean, therefore, was forced to stay awake and stare at the wall of his room. He kept his eyes open, replaying the angel’s last words over and over again, his fists clenching and unclenching. He was livid, absolutely furious at the situation. An all-too-familiar rage was burning under his skin. Not this, not Cas, not like this. The anger pulsated, the ache beating along with his heart. But this time he could feel something equally vicious pulling for his attention. A new type of white-hot agony rivaling the anger in its ferocity And God did it
Cas stiffened. The uncertainty in Dean’s eyes making Cas feel cold all over. Dean must have felt the sudden rigidity of Cas muscles because his eyes widened and immediately moved his one hand and threaded it through Cas’s hair gently.
Dean cracked his door open. Cas was on his knees, with his back to Dean, in front of the couch which had been shoved so that it was angled in a different direction than it was before. He was digging in between the couch cushions. The apartment was a mess-- throw pillows on the floor, carpet rucked up, some of the kitchen drawers standing open.
Thank you so much to those of you who have read and left kudos on this! And particularly to those who left comments, you have no idea how much your feedback and your engagement with this story means to me.
was Cas’ first thought when he was confronted with Dean Winchester for the first time in half a decade.
Dean stopped what he was doing and glared at Cas, “I told you not to mention my brother when you’re naked.”
“I have only known you for a week, that’s true,” Castiel whispered, “but we have spent more time together than I have with almost anyone else in my life.” He moved the fingers of one hand into Dean’s hair, carding it through the dark gold strands. “And from what I can tell, you are one of the most selfless people I have ever met, one of the most compassionate and kind human beings,” he moved the hand not currently knotted in Dean’s hair to caress his cheek.
“This is turkey bacon,” Dean said pointedly ignoring Sam, “and this is the good stuff”. Dean pointed at another plate and winked at Eileen. Eileen smiled gratefully and grabbed a plate, Sam followed suit and Dean sat down with his coffee.
“So, stay Cas,” Dean whispered into their shared space, “And don’t ever leave me again. I will not be able to survive it. Stay. Stay with me in this life, and in the next.”
“Okay, fine,” Dean conceded when the silence became unbearable, “Yeah. I don’t like talking about my father.”
Cas cleared his throat. “Well, firstly, do you remember when you told me about what happened and how you had told Sam that you would get a restraining order against John?”
posted on social media. Not that Dean knew from frequent checking or anything. So, of course, when he did post, Dean would be curious. It was human nature: a very natural, very rational reaction.
Dean turned to the familiar sound. Cas was watching him with a frown from the far end of the hallway.
In the echoing darkness of their room, Dean heard Castiel inhale sharply and swallow loudly before replying, “Thank you, Dean.” His voice sounded rough and low, as if sleep were already ready to take Castiel too.
After Sam had disinfected the wound and made a splint for Dean’s hand, he sighed heavily. Dean’s eyes darted to him questioningly. “You should probably go to the hospital tomorrow and get that checked out properly.” Dean nodded and agreed gruffly as got up and headed towards the passage, probably heading to his room. Sam, however, knew Dean would not be going the hospital anytime soon.
The transition between the two thoughts took much longer than it should have. And he got stuck on the second one. He knew he was gaping, but he seemed unable to get the command for his mouth to close from his brain to his face, the neural message getting stuck in the sludgy disbelief currently coating the inside of his head.
Dean stilled; he didn’t want to think about the accident. Didn’t want to think of those moments. Not right now. Not when he was so happy.
someone that could reflect back to him all that he’s needed for so long. Someone who would understand without him having to explain. But, although he cared for them, there was something inside him that stopped him reaching out, stopped him from trying. So now, instead, he was awash in a mix of loneliness and numbness that were constantly at war which just left him feeling raw and achy. The only time this ache was bearable was when he was around Meg. But she didn’t understand, not all of him, not every dark scar scratched into his heart. And he wasn’t sure he wanted her to be that person for him. He already
“Yeah, Stevie got her on the phone. She’s coming tomorrow to talk to me, or later today I guess,” Dean said as he glanced at the window where the sun’s rays were filtering in more evidently.
Dean sighed theatrically. “Fine.” He walked over to the dresser to grab his own clothes. He wasn’t going in a full suit and tie, but he would at least put on his nicest collared shirt. It was a big event for Sam.
“Dean, I did…” Cas started, and Dean repressed the urge to close his eyes and drink in the sound of his gravelly voice. Dean interrupted him,
He grabbed his phone and checked the time, quarter-to-nine. That would mean it’s nearly three in the afternoon in Ireland. Dean opened his chat with Sam, and then hesitated. He really needed to talk to someone about what was going on because his brain was now an echo chamber of nothing but confusing thoughts. Would he be able to tell Sam that he jerked Cas off, and that he came harder than he had in years when Cas reciprocated?
Dean almost swallowed his tongue when Cas was suddenly in front of him. His entire head started buzzing when he saw nothing but soft, tanned skin stretching over toned muscles.
“What’s happening? Did you wake me up?” Dean asked, stifling a yawn and running his hand through his hair.
He quickly added creamer and two sugars to the mug he was holding and hurriedly shuffled to the coat rack.
“Well, catastrophizing is to view or present a situation as considerably worse than it actually is, often as a result of trauma. And if your survival and the survival of another was dependent on you constantly being prepared for the worst, it makes sense that that would be your “default” setting.”
Castiel knew Dean did not believe he was good with words. Castiel also knew, however, that there was nothing he could have said in that moment that would have made him happier than those
. He groaned and dug his face into the pillow. This situation, of course, made sense given what his brain had supplied for nighttime viewing, but that did not detract from how much Dean did not want to deal with it right now. The idea of jerking off while Cas was only a thin wall away was not his idea of a good time.
“Is that the infamous Dean, Cassie?” That accented voice grated against Dean. Dean snapped his eyes to Cas’ laptop where the image of a blonde guy wearing an unreadable expression was filling the screen.
photos. Dean’s heart did a weird flip-floppy thing that he steadfastly ignored. Much like he ignored the phone with the unanswered message lying next to him on the couch.
“Dean?” Castiel whispered, his heart beating painfully in his throat, old lies trying to break into his mind, trying to break him away from this moment. But how could Castiel focus on anything else, worry about
“Yes, Dean. You’re exhausted,” Cas’ finger dropped to ghost over the shadows beneath Dean’s eyes. The touch so gentle that Dean’s throat constricted.
Next week: A flashback to how Dean and Cas met and both boys struggling with the memories and feelings being around the other elicits.
“You knew what I was asking, you knew I wanted to know if he was safe. You intentionally misled me.” Dean hated the way he sounded, how devoid his words were of the anger that was boiling him alive.
“Right, let’s get you settled in then,” Charlie said, as she filed the papers away that Amara had given her.
“I know how terrifying this is, but you are strong enough to do it. And, honestly, I found it quite cathartic when I was in your position.”
Sam scoffed, “Yeah, not likely. Dean, you have a lot of unfinished business with Cas. Maybe now is a good time to talk, to get some closure – “
“I’m not a doctor, but the first medication they had me on gave me such bad vertigo, I tripped over my own feet for a week. Sometimes, the drugs have very strange side effects. Did you tell Missouri about it in your session?”
Dean pouted for a second and then exhaled dramatically, “Fine, but I have no idea how I’m gonna keep my hands off you now that I’ve had a taste.”
Please note, this chapter is quite heavy and deals with some difficult topics, although I did try to not go into excessive detail. Please see the end notes for trigger warnings.
“It has nothing to do with you,” Dean hastily added, “I just really don’t remember, and when I think about it, I get this pit in my stomach, it's terrifying and cold. And yeah, so I don’t like thinking about it let alone talking about it.”
“Everything. Weird things. Mundane things,” Cas started, “The first moment I saw you, I was curious. Curiosity, what a beautifully tedious emotion, but I hadn’t felt it in years. Hadn’t experienced anything like it in such a long time. It was so bizarre and seemingly intoxicating, all I wanted was to know about you and your story... My story, the one I shared on Monday, I spoke of feeling like a corpse. The living dead. I didn’t feel anything outside the realm of pain and nothingness. Not really. Sometimes, on good days, I felt like I experienced emotions through a haze, like a barrier of water blurred the feelings, but I didn’t
She walked out of the room without looking back. Dean all but crumpled in the seat the second she was out of view, and Cas’ hands were there, cradling his face.
“It’s not for me. It’s for you brother. You know, weird guy, about this high, with the eating habits of a toddler,” Meg replied.
"No," Dean sighed, "Amara explained the place, it's vision and shit, about why she thought being away from home would be good. But I can't justify being away from Sam, from my responsibilities for... it's different if it was... I can't do it for fun things."
the sensation in what felt like a decade. If, however, you didn’t eat in a psych ward – or long-term
Dean rolled over and groaned into the pillow he had not slept on. What a complete and utter clusterfuck of a situation.
which no one was good at, except Hannah, and luckily, she was on Dean and Cas’ team. When they won, Dean stuck his tongue out at Claire who rolled her eyes and then continued to sulk for the remainder of the evening.
Very few people outside of Bobby and Sam knew how badly the breakup had fucked Dean up. The only other person was Charlie. Of course, Sam would be worried, Dean would be too if the situation was reversed.
And then, miraculously, Sam’s earthy eyes focused, if somewhat hazily, on him. And recognition, clear as day, washed over his pale features.
Dean tried to nod, to speak, but he was frozen. He had been avoiding thinking about it all morning. He didn’t have the energy to have this conversation. He was barely keeping himself together as is, and he was meeting with Amara after breakfast. He didn’t have time to pick up the pieces that he would surely shatter into if he had to relive that night again before that meeting.
“Sit up straight,” Dean ordered as he slowly lowered Cas onto the couch. Cas coughed again but did as he was told.
Cas dropped his head and licked up Dean’s neck. He gently tugged Dean’s earlobe with his teeth. “I have waited for this for over a decade Winchester,” Dean shuddered as the voice ghosted across his ear, “I want to savor every moment of this. I want to remember it with perfect clarity. I want to make you feel … everything.”
He has told Missouri about these events though. She gave him some techniques to calm himself and the painful thud of his overworking heart when he awoke in these states.
“Clarence,” she greeted, jumping up from her seat and throwing her arms around him in one fluid and familiar motion. Despite the heaviness that generally attached itself to Castiel like a twisted shadow, he found himself smiling.
. And, if the memory of Sam lying motionless and ghostly pale in that sterile room wasn’t still seared onto the backs of his eyelids, if the memory of the panic he had felt was not still haunting his thoughts, both awake and asleep, he would pile Castiel into the back of the Impala immediately and take him shopping for his very first set of bed sheets and his own memory foam mattress.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Cas said, smiling at Sam. Sam looked between the two of them for a bit. When he noticed Dean softly rubbing Cas’ back, Dean saw understanding bloom in his eyes.
Cas dislodged his hand from Dean’s to gently wipe the tears from Dean’s face. His hand lingered on Dean’s jaw. Dean curved his face into it and placed a grateful kiss to the center of his palm.
The door opened and revealed Cas, but he was no longer donning the confused expression. Instead, he looked resolved if a little weary. “Dean, Balthazar explained what that – “
“Dean, you didn’t,” Castiel said earnestly. He debated with himself for a few seconds before moving out of the crouch and sitting next to Dean on the bed. Dean shifted slightly, some of the tension bleeding out of him.
Firstly, I wasn't going to write a proposal here when I did my plot outline. I thought it was something that was done often in fics and I wanted to move away from it. But then, as I was writing it, I just realized that Cas deserves nice things. And the two of them deserve a soft ending, no matter the world they exist in. So this was the result.
After he had finally admitted that he needed long term care, that is. Or more accurately, wanted… that he wanted to get better.
That evening, as the two retired to their room for the night, Dean’s chest felt lighter than he remembered it being for a long time.
Dean, seeing it resting there, was overcome with emotion again and he was crying openly as he pulled Cas in again. They kissed long and slow. He could taste the saltiness of their mixed tears on his tongue. But that wasn’t all, Cas tasted like hope, like contentment.
“Yeah, she explained what happened yesterday. So, we’ve scheduled an extra session with Pamela on Monday.”
Dean would have, of course, paid for it if he had to because, come hell or high water, there was just no fucking way he was missing Sam’s wedding. He just wanted to make sure there weren’t options that weren’t going to leave him bankrupt upon returning to American soil.
“Dean, those first few days after the car accident, you were in and out of consciousness a lot. You said a lot of things about what happened with your father; what happened in the car; your decision to end both of your lives…”
“Life has not been easy for anyone here, but I think that it’s a good place for second chances,” Castiel shrugged as he stood up. Dean echoed the movement without thinking about it.
I am publishing this a day early, because I have quite a full day tomorrow and don't know if I will have access to the internet and I didn't want to fall behind on my schedule.
“They didn’t specify; they don’t really know the rules or where you are. Just that you’re somewhere.”
The way he said it so simply cracked something inside Dean. He dropped his elbows onto Sam’s bed and buried his face in his hands. “Sam, I’m the oldest. That’s my job. My job is to look out for you, to keep you safe. You shouldn’t feel like you have to…”
Cas clucked his tongue impatiently, and Dean rolled his eyes but sat up, and as he did so, Dean noticed Cas staring at his chest. Dean slept without a shirt on most nights. He felt a little flustered now, with Cas staring at him so openly. His stomach started contorting itself into oddly shaped knots.
very much alive: color painted his features, he twitched restlessly in his sleep and Dean could very clearly hear his breathing.
“I was not your responsibility, yet you took care of me more than our parents ever did. Gabriel, you have nothing to be sorry about.”
Billie had ensured an iron clad restraining order was delivered to John before Sam was even discharged from hospital. There was no way John was showing up today. Although, admittedly, the odds of him showing up even if there was not a legal reason keeping him away was almost zero. So, Sam did not have his parents at his graduation, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his family.
“Well, Dean, the point in talking about it is that you’ve been dealing with the pressure of having this kind of parent since you were five, as according to your file, that’s when your mother passed. That’s a long time and it was a very young age to be exposed to continual trauma…”
Castiel walked slowly through the halls that he has become so accustomed to, and before he reached the reception area, he tugged his hoodie sleeves lower, grasping the edges tightly with his fingers. He spotted Meg immediately after he entered through the doors leading into the reception area, where all visitors had to wait after signing in. Her hair was loose, and there were dark, purple shadows under her eyes. Castiel noticed she was biting at the nail of her thumb anxiously as she stared at her phone. Castiel darted his eyes around the room, not admitting to himself that he was looking for Gabriel. And, when he couldn’t see him, he continued with the internal denial and didn’t think about how much pain that disappointment caused him.
The first couple of days after Amara’s visit, Dean had been like a barely contained tornado; constantly in motion, constantly talking, either to Castiel, Bobby, Charlie or Amara. Oftentimes, Castiel would even find him talking to Jody at length about Alex’s recovery, the types of therapies she had done, exercises, and what the doctors recommended. Given that Sam and Alex’s injuries were vastly different, Castiel doubted that there would be much overlap in their recovery processes, but Dean always seemed calmer when he felt like he had something to do. So Castiel said nothing while Dean nodded along to whatever physical therapy method Jody explained, even taking notes and asking questions. Jody didn’t say anything either, just indulged all of his inquiries.
Dean spent the entire day in his room, only leaving to get food, and when Cas, who was either sprawled out on the couch with his laptop perched on his lap or fumbling around in the kitchenette, tried to talk to Dean, Dean steadfastly ignored him. He just pretended Cas did not exist. He made sure to grab the easiest possible food options so that he wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchenette for longer than he absolutely had to be.
“What?” Dean snapped, the calm uncoiling in front of Castiel’s eyes. The rigidity bled into uncontrolled movement. He was shaking, fidgeting, flexing his fingers.
“Dean, there’s a reason your mind has done this, and until you are ready to remember, it won’t do you any favors to try to force your mind into recalling those days.”
This level of undress, both his forearms and shins exposed, was unusual for Cas. In fact, he looked practically naked. Dean remembered that he usually dressed in layers. He remembered that he always dressed to the nines up to, and including, a trench coat, even for eight a.m. lectures. Dean, himself, usually attended these in the pajamas from the night before. He was efficient like that.
“What about you? In all of this, did you think about yourself, what that could have done to you?” Castiel tried to keep any judgement out of his voice. He wasn’t judging Dean. He was scared for him. He knew better than most what that specific type of desperation felt like, how all-consuming it was, how much it narrowed your focus.
Dean hummed in agreement, trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering a staccato out in his chest.
“Don’t look at me like that, Cas. I promise it’s way worse than it looks.” Dean was itching to change the direction of the conversation.
He was entertaining these thoughts when he reached his door. He felt a strange desire to knock, although technically, it was his room too. He sighed as he gently opened it.
Something white hot and acidic shot down his arms. His brain got foggy, and he fought between two warring instincts: to clear his throat obnoxiously loudly or to turn and spend the rest of the day hiding away in the kitchen. Luckily, the embrace didn’t last long and Castiel caught Dean’s eye over Max’s shoulder.
So, firstly, thank you so much for being here and for reading another chapter. Especially, thank you to those who left kudos or commented. I appreciate it so much!
Cas stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks to hide the fact that they were shaking. “I’m not?”
But the sight of the person framed by the doorway froze the blood in Dean’s veins, stopped the air from leaving his lungs, and caused the wiring in his brain to short circuit.
“Missouri,” she said softly yet urgently into the receiver. “No, it’s not… Dean…. Yes… Castiel, he said he thinks everything… Mmm… Okay”
What exactly she understood, however, was still a mystery to Dean. He hadn’t opened a vein and gushed about his life, about how much pain he was always in, how lost and confused he felt, about the scars that seemed to cover wounds that hadn’t healed properly, both external and internal. But, there was something in her eyes that made him feel like she recognized something in him.
, Dean was not actually dealing with the ex problem that he should be dealing with – the one that was not a problem that resulted directly from his own actions.
Meg looked relieved, “I haven’t spoken to the guy in years. You can tell me all about who he is now.”
“No exactly. It’s horrible but smart because its how they get the animals to be submissive. It takes the fight out of them.” Sam continued.
Castiel continued running his hands and lips all over Dean. They stayed like that for a while, until Dean had calmed down enough, so that Castiel felt comfortable to pull Dean slightly away from where he was clinging to his chest, so that he could cradle his face in between his hands. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Cas tensed, waiting for Dean’s reaction. They hadn’t had the chance to talk about them yet, about what they wanted, what last night had meant. But to his utter relief, Dean let out a short but very real laugh and shrugged.
was defined by him constantly counting down the hours to his release while simultaneously berating himself for worrying about the hours left instead of actually experiencing them. It was an absolutely torturous cycle that he seemed completely incapable of getting himself out of. Pamela, in their last session, had informed him that this was natural and that he shouldn't be so hard on himself. Which, of course, was easier said than done. Castiel had made progress while he was here, but he was still human.
me. I just, I need you to trust me, Cas.” Dean hated the begging tone that seemed to leak into his request, but he knew that he would happily drop onto his knees if it meant he could get Castiel to understand. If he could get Castiel to stop looking at him in that guarded manner, Dean would kneel, plead, pray and beg just to bring back the look of adoration Cas used to have when he looked at Dean (don’t think about it).
“No, this is for Castiel. I wanted to check on him too, but now it looks like I am killing two birds with one stone.”
“You didn’t explain, you just told me to leave,” Castiel said after a moment, voice still unsure, but luckily for Dean, he did not try to reclaim his hand.
His room was empty, and he tried very hard not to panic. Logically, he knew that Cas had to be here; that last night had not been a dream.
Castiel chucked the bottles of water at him. The array of snacks soon followed, gathering together to create a cesspool of unhealthy goods. Dean patted the bed next to him as he finished the first bottle of water in a few fast and deep swallows. Castiel sat down as far as possible from Dean as the bed would allow, almost shrinking against the headboard on the opposite end (don’t think about it). He passed Castiel one of the chocolate bars as he opened up the jerky.
He opened his mouth but luckily was saved from replying by Claire dropping into the seat next to Dean’s.
“And yeah, that’s when you woke up,” Sam concluded. Cas heard a catch in his voice, likely due to strain. Sam had been talking for a very long time. And although Cas had been paying very close attention to the story his eyes had, furtively but consistently, been jumping to the door leading into the kitchen. Dean had still not returned, and Cas did not like the idea of him being alone while being in the frenzied state he had left in.
“Lawrence Memorial Hospital,” the woman had said, dark eyes flicking up to meet his own. She had stared at him briefly and then dropped her gaze to the drying crimson specks on his hand.
“Of course, Castiel,” Gabriel said solemnly, “I should have been here sooner. Shouldn’t have left at all, if you want to get into it.”
Dean breathed in deeply and let his imagination run a little more wild. He drew on memories, experiences, instead of the two-dimensional photo. He thought of how her legs felt wrapped around his waist, her soft mouth on his. He thought of how her long, dark hair cascaded down her shoulders as she looked up at him from where she was kneeling in front of him.
“What the fuck are you gonna do? You might have an older brother that left you, but that’s not who I am. I need to get to him. Now.”
As Cas dragged the heel of his palms down Dean’s chest, stopping only to scrape his thumbs across his nipples, he realized there were more freckles than he'd remembered. Dean must have been spending more time in the sun now than when they were in college. Cas' heart constricted at not knowing why he was spending more time outside. Of not being part of the –
“Dean,” Cas groaned, hips rolling forward. Dean smirked as he continued moving his lips on Cas’ skin.
And as Dean pulled away slightly, but not far enough away as to break the contact between their foreheads, he slipped the ring onto Cas’ finger.
Dean felt rooted to the spot, his arms shaking violently. Of course, of fucking course, Cas would be reliving this moment. Dean took a very deep breath and headed down the hall and towards the memory that had physically cracked his heart down the middle.
“I asked him how the two of you knew each other. He explained that there was a bit of a complicated history, but he did not say anything rude or cruel. I wouldn’t have kept speaking to him if he had,” Castiel explained.
Dean flicked a glance to Cas. The blue eyes were boring into his, a glacier of undivided attention. Dean felt itchy all over. His tongue felt swollen, cutting off the words that were hesitantly trying to leave his mouth. Dean closed his eyes and counted to five then opened his mouth again, trying to hold on to the resolve that he had felt entering this room.
Dean’s arms came up and circled Castiel’s neck as he rose up from the bed slightly, so he could attach his mouth to the skin right underneath Castiel’s ear.
Eventually, he heard Dean leave his room and move softly to the kitchenette. When he heard Dean clattering around in there, his stomach growled. He grabbed his phone and checked the time: 10:18 a.m.
Dean was absolutely terrified that Cas would realize he was wrong about him, that he wasn’t a prize, wasn’t someone who was deserving of this level of reverence. He could barely even
Dean closed the distance between them again, kissing Castiel gently, cradling his face. Castiel was the one to deepen it, to open his mouth, to lick at Dean’s lower lip. He relished the way Dean shuddered as his tongue slipped into his mouth. The hand that had been holding Castiel’s back, slipped down until it reached the hem of his shirt. Dean tugged it lightly, a question. Castiel nodded, and Dean pulled it up and over. The second his t-shirt hit the ground; Dean’s hands were on him. His hands dragged across his chest, stomach, back. Dean’s hands were calloused, and where the rough skin moved against him, Castiel erupted in goosebumps. It was so addictive, and it made him feel so alive. He was aware of every point of contact between them. He was
Sam has not woken up and was nowhere near consciousness yet, but he started showing some signs of early responsiveness. Only motor responses to physical sensations, like turning toward a sound, pulling away from something uncomfortable, or following movements with his eyes, but there were no responses to verbal commands as of yet. But it was real progress.
Thank you so much for reading, and continually commenting and leaving kudos. Any interactions with this story warms me up inside. And it's heading into winter in the southern hemisphere, so the extra warmth is appreciated.
Dean’s eyes jumped to Cas’ face before quickly darting away, but he couldn’t help but notice the drawn look, the shadows that bled out from under his eyes.
Dean followed Castiel’s lead, quietly falling into step beside him. They had barely made it through the door before Castiel whirled on Dean, “What’s going on with you?”
He was not sure how long he lay there, curled on his side, cradling his stomach that was recoiling violently, before the door to the room creaked open.
Meg’s eyes snapped up to him, and Castiel barely had time to register the exhausted look in her eyes, to see the lines etched into her face that seemed to tell the story of one much older than her, before breaking into a winning smile.
Castiel seemed to sense this, so he hung his arm around Dean’s shoulder and pulled him tight against his side.
Dean thought as white hot frustration simmered within him. Dean lowered his hand again, closed his eyes and thought of the picture Lisa had sent him yesterday. He pictured her long, smooth legs, the curves of her calves, her thighs, how the lacy panties had clung to her form.
“He should be where he is loved,” Eileen agreed, her eyes jumping to Dean. Dean pretended not to notice as he stared at his coffee very intensely. Studying it as if the color itself was the most endlessly fascinating thing he had ever seen.
Castiel tilted his head to the side, the angle so familiar to Dean that he felt an ache somewhere deep below his sternum.
But could he talk to him about the emotional aspect of things? Yes, that he could do. Sam was great with that crap. Always has been. And so is Eileen. It couldn’t hurt to talk to them.
After more of this frenzied kissing, more exploring hands and needy bites and licks, Dean pulled away, “We should stop.”
The next couple of days pass in a blur. Sam is agitated and confused, constantly forgetting where he is and talking nonsense. Dean had been very concerned when, during that first visit, after Sam had looked at him directly, the first thing he asked him was, “
to him. Whether Dean was angry at the fucker or not, Cas had an effect on Dean that no one else ever has.
(which he definitely did not watch for its medical accuracy), so he needed Bobby to explain what was happening a couple of times before he fully understood it, and he was still unsure about a lot of the lingo.
Dean nodded. The answer was vague, but at least he wasn’t talking about the magical liopleurodons (and how they were going to show him the way) anymore.
Castiel huffed out a laugh. It would have been easy to dismiss the comment as arrogant, but Castiel could see the relief in Dean’s eyes. Bravado can be a great shield.
“Dean, that’s the second time that’s happened in the last hour. What’s causing you pain?” Castiel asked, his voice rough.
Before Dean had come to Sam and Eileen and told them of his plan to save Cas, Sam had found some information in the Men of Letters archives of a dimension called
. He thought he heard Cas make a desperate hissing sound. Dean lifted his hands to run it over Cas’ back, tracing every ridge of his spine with one hand and then the other. He closed his eyes again, trying to memorize the feel of the hard muscles on the angel’s back, to engrain the exact texture of Cas skin into his brain.
Dawn was just starting to make an appearance, just starting to coat the room in muted yellows and pinks when Castiel heard heavy, familiar footfalls in the passageway. He had the door opened before Dean was even outside the room.
He walked back to the bedroom and grabbed his phone where it was resting on the coffee-brown side table, still plugged in to the charger in the wall. As he walked back into the bathroom, he opened
Dean eyed Castiel blearily. The former angel was standing with his arms crossed over his chest and was leaning against the door frame, effectively blocking Dean from entering their shared motel room.
“Very funny, Mr Winchester,” Missouri said. And although her tone remained the same, there was something in the way she was looking at him that made him realize that she did not, in fact, find it funny.
Pamela had told him it was okay, in his first session with her, when he had sat in her therapy room, fidgeting with the fresh, red dappled bandages on his wrists.
“You’re a part of this family,” Dean said softly, wincing at the memories of the times he had let the boy down. He lowered his eyes and started fidgeting with a book that had been left discarded on the table.
Gabriel let out a low whistle, and Castiel’s face burned as he guiltily looked away from where Dean had just been.
It started as a soft scrambling noise on the other side of the wall that divided his and Cas’ rooms. But then, the scrambling turned insistent, louder. It sounded like Cas was throwing things around his room. Dean locked his phone again and hesitantly stood up.
Right, Dean had the en-suite bathroom. So, Cas would have to use the one that was opposite his room, across the living area. This image might be a common occurrence.
with you, near you… but I couldn’t focus on it because then we had the kid, and the next mission in the apocalypse world and Michael and ...” he trailed off. Dean eased up on the pressure he was using to dig his fingers into his lap.
and yet he still didn’t have him back. He was still on his knees next to the bed. Dean dropped his eyes back to the sleeping angel and he had to fight a very new and confusing urge to fit himself in next to Cas, to tuck his face into the crevice of the angel’s neck and relish in the feel of Cas’ skin against his cheek. Dean felt himself flush and then quickly shook his head, as if the action itself could clear the very perplexing thoughts currently short circuiting the wiring in his brain. The idea never left his head but seeing as it would be highly uncomfortable to climb into bed with his best friend while his son, his brother and his brother’s girlfriend are all within a two feet radius, he settled for placing his hand directly next to Cas’ on the comforter, their pinky fingers almost touching.
He sighed in resignation as he grabbed the duffle from his bed. Bobby had dropped off some spare clothes and toiletries for him with Amara. When she had brought this small duffle to him, she had also informed him that a bigger, more thoroughly stocked bag would be packed and sent to Everlasting. Dean had been relieved to change into something familiar and out of the hospital gown that so loudly screamed “Hey look! Something is wrong here!”, but it had been obvious that Sam had not been involved with the packing as none of his favorite shirts nor his favorite pair of jeans had been packed. Sam was the only person who knew those kinds of things.
Okay, so the previous night had happened. Castiel bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop the humiliated groan that was building in the back of his throat. He shifted slightly, trying to find a way to extricate himself from Dean without waking him. But suddenly, Dean was sitting up, eyes wide but a little hazy, and Castiel almost tumbled off of the bed. Dean instinctively reached out and grabbed him before he fell.
So, that is how after two days of silence Dean found himself knocking on his brother’s door in the middle of the night… again. Sam opened the door faster than Dean was expecting, he must still have been awake, and he heard a small gasp coming from inside the room.
So this chapter is some schmexy times. Not too explicit, obviously, given the rating. However, if this is not your thing then please feel free to skip this chapter.
“That’s how I feel every day I’m with you,” Dean said smiling. Castiel’s heart clenched at the earnestness in his tone. “But this is not about me. What you’re feeling is valid. Of course, it makes sense that right now would be confusing and scary. Fuck, if I were you, I’d be terrified. But Cas, buddy, you have to know that you are strong enough to do this. You are the strongest person I know. You have survived more than you should have had to, but you came out on the other side. You are loved and have people that will always look out for you. You won’t have to do it alone this time. This is going to be so good for you. Life is going to be so good to you. Because you deserve it and because I will physically fight anyone or anything that tries to take it away from you.”
TW: mild sexual content; mentions of canon deaths of minor characters; gunshot wound (non fatal); depression
“Yeah,” Dean swallowed heavily. “I found it one day when I got lost fetching Sam from a friend’s house. I really liked the tranquility. I’d come here when things got difficult. It felt a little like an oasis, something untouched by my real life, you know?”
“You’re the best part of my week; I only come because I want to. I hate everyone else. Seriously, if I didn’t get to see you this frequently, I would probably lose my mind. I…” Meg stopped herself short, her eyes wide.
They drove on, comfortable silence stretching between them. Dean even dropped off for a couple of minutes while Cas was running his fingers up and down Dean’s arm.
Dean’s jaw dropped. He has seen about ten photos of Cas in the past five years (okay, not about, he saw exactly ten photos. Whatever.) And now, suddenly, he has
“You losers want to watch a movie tonight?” Meg called as she walked into the lounge area, already dressed in her pajamas.
“Obviously,” Meg said smiling as she reached her hand out to Castiel to help him up, “There’s no reason for him to stay with Chuck and Naomi, or for them to know he’s back in the States at all.”
“Cas?” The word, barely a breath, tumbled from his throat. Cas’ pale lips were melting into a smile and before Dean knew exactly what was happening, he had pulled Cas into him. The action was inelegant. It was frantic. It was a violent collision of chests and arms and a desperate grasping at anything solid. Dean needed proof that he was there,
“Yes, Ma’am,” Gabriel said, and the serious look flew off his face and was instantly replaced with the mischievous one Castiel had known since childhood.
“We have quite a bit of free time here. We usually spend it in the day room. They don’t like us spending too much time in our bedrooms, but there are certain activities that happen daily,” Castiel explained. “So, for example, every day we have group sessions, but the times are different. And your schedule will tell you when you have individual therapy, which is either with Pamela or Missouri. And we have at least one group non-therapy activity a day. Like Wednesday is Yoga and Friday is art.”
– Dean’s hand tightened around the plastic. He moved back to Cas, sat down next to him and held out both hands: one with a cup of coffee, one with his inhaler.
Dean turned away from where his face was pressed into Cas’ chest to look at him and Cas’ eyes were wide. “Dean…”
Dean startled and pulled himself up into a seated position. Cas, who had apparently been re-organizing his dresser, if the pile of clothes he had just neatly laid in one of the drawers was any indication, walked over to him.
Cas could do this. He could give Dean the outlet for his emotions, could help purge the hurt and anger and betrayal that were clouding his features. It was his fault they were there after all. It was his fault that Dean was feeling this way.
“You did… you did what?” Dean asked, more than a little shocked at the sheer domesticity of the gesture.
“Well, then I’ll ask again. What do you want, Dean?” Cas’ breathing was labored. So was Dean’s. The apartment was silent except for the strained sounds of the air leaving and entering their respective lungs. The tension was palpable. It was bleeding into the room, bleaching the oxygen from the air.
I really wanted to thank you all for reading this story and interacting with it. Both the voiced and silent support is so appreciated! So from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
of Cas wearing that thing (because of course his brain would supply those super helpful images) that he didn’t hear the soft creak of Cas’ bedroom door as it opened. He was completely unprepared for seeing Cas, let alone him in nothing save for a towel slung low on his hips. As in, completely unprepared.
After, Dean lay with his head on Cas’ chest while Cas ran his fingers up and down Dean’s arm. Both men were breathing heavily.
, yet you still have amnesia. There is something you are trying to forget. But that’s not what I meant. It’s more than that. It’s what they found when they did the x-rays on you after the accident. Dean, they found a troubling number of healed fractures.”
“Dinner?” Castiel asked, and Dean nodded eagerly. As the two left the room, Dean had to actively stop himself from grabbing Castiel’s hand.
“You,” Dean admitted, the lowly lit room making him feel confident enough to be honest. “You were gone again. And I kept trying to get to you, but no matter what I did… I kept watching you disappear over and over again.” Dean stopped himself from continuing, his voice already shaking. Tears burned in his eyes and he swallowed heavily against the thick feeling forming in his throat. Cas’s hand stilled as he moved himself closer to Dean. Cas moved his hand down and splayed it across Dean’s chest. Dean felt the tears brimming as the remnants of his nightmares flashed in his mind.
where he was not awake or speaking but sometimes reacted to stimuli. Not all the time, though. Bobby had mentioned, however, that as the days progressed, the times he reacted started outnumbering the times that he didn’t.
Cas lifted his hands and placed one on either side of the doorframe, so that his arms stretched the length of the doorway, completely blocking Dean from leaving and making it impossible for Dean to shut the door on him.
Castiel sat upright. “No, I want to talk about it. But I am very tired, so can we do it over coffee?”
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at random points in the day. Still felt the urge to rip his hair out and barge to the nurses’ station and demand that he be let out
The image he conjured stubbornly refused to leave his mind as he spurted onto the wall of the shower.
“Yeah, Yeah,” Dean grumbled. Cas smiled at the hunter, his heart feeling full. Dean scurried over to where the breakfast foods were on display. Sam had really gone all out and Dean was piling his plate high with food.
Dean didn’t want to talk to him. Didn’t want to hear him say that it was a mistake, that there was a reason they broke up in the first place. And although Dean didn’t necessarily agree with the reasons Cas had said all those many years ago, it didn’t take away from the fact that it did happen. To Cas, the breakup had been logical. Cas was always the logical one. And, logically, one night doesn’t automatically take them back to, you know, being
Dean felt significantly better once he left Missouri’s office, which he admittedly did after hours instead of his allotted fifty minutes. She had calmed him, reassured him that his life outside these walls would not crumble in his absence. They went through his schedule, each activity explained and the benefits outlined, and although he would vehemently deny this out loud, he was grateful. He wasn’t sure what had happened in that missing week; that black shutter was firmly stuck in place--but he hadn’t been lying to Castiel when he spoke to him earlier. Every time he tries to think about that absence in his memory, whenever he looks too closely at that nothingness, a dread so overwhelming it blocks out everything else, fills all of his senses. Blinds him. Deafens him. Cuts off his oxygen. He didn’t want to think about it. He
Castiel burst out laughing and was happy to see some of Dean’s real smile sliding back. He wanted the fake smile gone more than he could remember wanting anything else. He wanted Dean to look at him with his eyes dancing with humour, with his lips tugged upward.
“Don’t apologize,” Dean breathed into his ear and kissed a soft line down his jaw. When he pulled away, Castiel let out a low whine.
“Good morning to you, Dean,” Castiel greeted, smiling affectionately at the man sprawled out on his own bed as if his limbs were trying to find the ways in which to touch most of the surface area of the blanket.
“Heya, Cas,” Dean greeted and then dropped his gaze to Max, “You okay, Max?” The animosity had bled out of him. He could see that Max was, obviously, in a bad place.
“Dean,” Castiel grinned fondly, “I was looking for the right words.” He reached for Dean and pulled him back to their earlier positions.
Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulders, spun him slightly and shoved him backwards until Dean’s back hit the wall. Dean’s hands automatically wove through Cas’ hair and tugged him closer. Cas’ lips met his at the same moment as his hands gripped his hips. Cas kissed Dean breathless, as he so often did.
Tears were streaming down Castiel’s face, “And I know that’s not what I’ll get. What I’ll get is a lecture about how I let them down, how all this attention-seeking isn’t helpful. That I am sinful, selfish and…”
Eileen touched Sam’s shoulder, nodded, and winked. Dean burst out laughing when Sam turned an extremely entertaining shade of red.
“That’s not very stealthy Dean,” Sam countered, “you could wake it up again. Plus it is a literal endless void, you could be running around forever.”
“I do really think this is the right thing for you, Dean. And, I know it will be difficult to not have contact with your family for a while, but this way you focus on you. And, I will come see you every Saturday so that you aren’t alone on visitation day.”
As she walked past him and behind the reception desk, he noticed that she was pushing earphones into the pocket of her scrubs.
Cas spilled into Dean’s hand who only slowed his movements but didn't fully stop. It was bordering on too much, but Cas was desperate to get Dean over the edge. He pulled Dean towards him and tilted his head so that his throat was bared to Cas. Cas latched himself onto Dean’s neck, speeding up his movements, and when Dean made that familiar sound that indicated he was close, Cas lightly scraped his teeth down the column of his neck, and then, Dean was coming on his hand.
“And I know I apologized the first time I saw you, but I only apologized for not knowing then, for not realizing. But I am sorry for a whole lot more than that. I am sorry that I left in the first place, back in high school. I’m sorry that I left the second time. I’m sorry that when I left, I completely disappeared…. I’m sorry that I let you down so many times. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed someone to catch you.”
They worked each other rough and fast. It was desperate and frenzied, and Dean kept biting Cas, his teeth digging angrily into the muscle of his shoulder, his chest, his neck.
The three of them walked through the glass double doors, and Meg dropped Castiel’s arm in order to beeline for Charlie, dragging Gabriel behind her.
Thank you so much to everyone who has interacted with this fic in anyway! I genuinely appreciate it so very much :)! Again, I know this is a day early but I have a lot of work I need to do tomorrow, so thought I'd get this out a little earlier. I do seem incapable of actually publishing on a Sunday.
He had been surprised when he’d tasted the salt of his own tears on his lips. He had rubbed the back of his hand down his cheeks. He had clenched his hands and stared at the swirling patterns on the carpet, waiting for the heat to fade from his eyes. He was so tired of crying.
“What kind of things?” Dean asked mischievously, and when Cas looked at him, he wiggled his eyebrows in a comically suggestive way. Cas huffed out what was undoubtedly an exasperated, yet affectionate, sound.
“So, you were definitely a dick to the guy then,” Sam sounded so goddamn sure of himself. It was annoying.
felt. Castiel’s mouth crept into a slow smile, and he started lazily running his hands up and down Dean’s back.
“So, before the whole incident with Dean’s brother,” Castiel started as he folded his legs under him on the couch, “Dean was planning on filing a restraining order against his father.” Castiel had told Meg and Gabriel some of what happened with Dean and Sam; not the full detailed story,however, as those details weren’t his to share.
When Dean’s breathing seemed to be normal again, after what was far too long a time, he looked at himself in the mirror above the basin. His eyes were wild, a frantic energy written into the lines of his face.
Dean dropped his phone next to him on the bed and stared unseeingly out the small window. He knew he promised Cas that they would talk today, but he’d mostly just said that to get Cas to
Castiel listened as her footfalls diminished. Dean was wiping at his eyes and pouting in a way that reminded Castiel of a grumpy toddler. He laughed affectionately before leaning in and kissing Dean’s forehead.
And hers were compounded because she had first-hand experience of what he looked like when he fell, of when he broke. Castiel felt shaken by one night of worrying, one sleepless night, and yet, Meg had endured it night after night, not once complaining, not once asking for help. She worried for him. She loved him.
“I can’t even imagine,” Dean sympathized, “So, let’s get you fed. You can’t enter into the emotional warpath on an empty stomach.”
“If you don’t get yourself caffeinated in the next five minutes, I’m requesting a new roommate,” Castiel warned as he tied his shoes.
Castiel leaned the side of his head against Dean’s and squeezed where his hand was resting on Dean’s shoulder.
“Used to?” Cas questioned, resting his hand on Dean’s thigh. They were quiet for a moment, and Cas gently started tracing patterns on Dean’s leg with his fingertips.
Cas smiled widely at the screen, “That’s not what I meant, but I am happy we have that in our favour.”
Cas, for his part, did try to speak to him all three times he crawled out of his room, but Dean was stuck in his resolve and was incredibly proud of himself when he didn’t break. Not once. He was dead silent the whole day.
There was silence, and Dean watched the look of contemplation sweeping over Castiel’s face as he thought about his answer.
He was happier than he had been in quite some time, while still plagued with a terrifying abyss that hung over every move he made. He was elated yet terrified, excited yet fearful, and the warring emotions were very draining in their intensity. Dean felt like he was holding something made of glass while crossing a cobblestone and potholed terrain, scared to drop it but forced to move.
“Yes,” Castiel conceded, “but I know you did not mean it. We both knew that whatever brought you here was something dark and something horrible. And lashing out when remembering the event that was so traumatic it literally caused
“It seems like you have all had a very eventful couple of weeks,” Cas said into the lingering silence.
He shrugged off his trench coat and hung it up on the coat rack, next to a green jacket that must have been Dean’s.
Castiel took a long sip and the caffeine sang in his veins. He gulped down another couple of swallows before turning to Gabriel. “You have my full attention.”
They stared at each other for a long time. And then Dean’s stare morphed into a glare, a muscle in his jaw twitched as he visibly grit his teeth. Cas sighed. “Is there something you want to say to me, Dean?”
“John wasn’t really around. As the drinking got worse, he disappeared for longer periods. It started as a night here and there, but by then, he would be gone for weeks at a time. It was one of the main reasons I was able to get guardianship of Sam when I was eighteen.”
Dean wiped his hand over his face, catching some stray tears before they managed to slip out of his burning eyes. He pushed himself up until he was seated against the headboard. He needed a distraction before he started crying in earnest. He wasn’t sure he would be able to live through the humiliation of Cas seeing him like that.
So being seated in the back of an Uber with a thankfully silent driver felt like the first peace he’s had in ages.
“Dean asked me to be here,” Cas replied; it was clear he was trying to sound neutral. The thing is, however, ever since Cas had welcomed feelings, emotions, and plain
Dean tried to ignore the question as he poured his coffee and took a deep gulp, relishing the caffeine burning away the last of the fog of sleep deprivation that had been clinging to his brain.
His only reprieve was mealtimes, he somehow always ended up next to Dean. And, although they hadn’t had much more time alone, he found his presence grounding. He enjoyed hearing his laugh. He enjoyed watching him interact with everyone else there, so comfortable in the presence of others, it seemed like he had been part of this group for months, not hours. Castiel found Dean Winchester to be endlessly fascinating.
“Cas how could you do that to me? How dare you do that? How did you think… how could you think...? You were gone…” Dean’s voice was increasing in volume as his speech started decreasing in coherence.
, as the administrative staff that did the checkouts only worked weekdays. They had made an exception by having Charlie do administrative work when he arrived, but that was because, as he now knew, he was deemed an
happen with his parents. This catharsis, this honest revelation of pain and regrets was not something Chuck nor Naomi would ever understand let alone consider. But they were his
Cas. I fucked up… I’m sorry. So goddamn sorry… I know I ruined… but Cas… please don’t… you can’t… Cas, please don’t leave me. I’ll make it up to you, I will…”
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Cas seemed to notice that they weren’t driving in a familiar direction. “Dean, where are we going?"
“No,” Dean, the word erupted out of Dean, “I can’t … not now…” a single tear rolled down Dean’s face.
“Hey,” Dean said, reaching his arm around and placing it on Castiel’s shoulder before pulling him into Dean’s side. Castiel dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder and sobbed brokenly for a few seconds. Dean just held him and rested his chin on the top of Castiel’s head.
At dinner, as Castiel got up to take his plate to the back, Dean got up and followed him, his own plate in his hands. Castiel tried to bite back the smile that threatened to break out on his face. He knew he should be careful; he didn’t know what was wrong with Dean yet, and, he had to admit, people didn’t end up here because they were functioning
And when Sam had invited Cas, Meg and Gabe to his graduation, Dean thought he finally understood what it meant to be truly content and at peace.
The first thought Dean had when he awoke was that he must have fucked up in a monumental way in his past life for him to be punished this severely by the universe.
The name burned his brain, brought a pain so sharp and sudden that Dean jerked the car. Sam’s head twisted sharply, and he stared at Dean, eyes flooding with concern. But Sam didn’t say anything, just watched his older brother closely and Dean kept his eyes trained on the road. The part of him that always wanted Sam to think that things were okay, that he was fine, itched to put his brother at ease. But he could not do it. Not this time. He would not be able to say the words:
“But, the sentiment is still true. Even if I have the worst case of foot-in-mouth on this side of the equator. If I didn’t have you Castiel… My life would completely suck without you. Okay?”
Dean’s voice broke, and he brought his second elbow onto the bed. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. Cas started rubbing smooth circles on Dean’s back.
I googled the process of becoming a firefighter in the USA so if I got the details wrong, I do apologize.
“Well, I won’t be going through it long,” Dean said as he pushed past Eileen and moved to the center of Sam’s room. Sam raised his eyebrows in questioning, Eileen remained quiet.
Dean looked up as Cas entered the room with two shopping bags. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Sam’s gaze land on him.
Dean signed the final paper that Amara put under his hand. She had given him copies of all the forms and regulations over the past couple of days, so he knew what he was signing without having to spend too much time reading through them now.
The silence grew and tightened, stealing the air from Cas’ lungs as his world zeroed in on the green eyes of the man that once knew him so well.
Castiel was just starting to get genuinely concerned about the dark shadows pooling under Dean’s exhaustion-heavy eyes when good news arrived from Sam’s hospital.
Dean listened as the door closed with a subtle click. He wasted no time and walked towards the bathroom, stumbling a lot more than he thought he would. Once inside, he filled the basin with cold water. He splashed his face a couple of times, but eventually, he gave in and just submerged his face. The haziness lifted almost instantaneously. Dean towel dried his face as he heard the room door open and close, signaling Castiel’s return.
Cas could not be the only one talking again. Cas was watching Dean closely, eyeing what must be a very confusing blend of emotions on Dean’s face.
Because, of course-- of fucking course! The universe really hated Dean, and after this grueling day, it thought it best to end the experience with a giant
However, he couldn’t let Dean see the way he was affecting him, how close he was to crumbling into dust right in front of him. That would scare him and make him uncomfortable. Well,
), he found his mind wondering back to what Castiel had shared that morning. He hadn’t had enough time to talk to Castiel before his mind snapped. He felt a little embarrassed when he thought of his speedy exit earlier. And then the shame melted into guilt. Castiel had been vulnerable earlier, strong, and Dean had left very suddenly. Logically, he knew that he owed Castiel nothing, but that didn’t change the flare of protectiveness, the burst of affection that flamed in his chest whenever he thought of this strange and brave near-stranger. The fact of the matter was that Dean really
in Johannesburg. Thereafter, he was seated next to a new mother whose infant had not stopped screaming for what felt like the entire sixteen-hour flight. He had stumbled half drunk on sleep deprivation through JFK just to almost miss his connecting flight to
He hadn’t really known what to do, but he patted Dean on the back until the tears stopped. He kept mumbling reassurances, that he was happy to have done it, that he was happy that Dean was okay, that they were like his kids, that he would do anything for them.
“Slow down,” Dean warned. “You’re going to make yourself sick.” He slowly held the bottle out again, and Sam lifted it to his mouth. Dean noticed his arms shaking, his muscle straining with the effort of lifting the plastic after nearly ten weeks of disuse.
The plan was this: Jack would take Dean and Sam to the outskirts of the Empty after Dean downed the potion that would grant him entry. Sam would open a fissure that led into the Empty using a spell from the archives. Dean would then go in and use the amulet as a compass to find Cas. Once he found Cas, he would do a variation of the spell he had used in Purgatory when Bennie had hitched a ride back topside, and then head back towards the outskirts where Sam would be flashing a light Jack had made, one that could pierce through the Empty’s nothingness, as a guide back. Jack would then return the four of them back to the Bunker. As soon as they were back, Jack would be able to transfer Cas’ energy back into his body.
“The Empty is still in his head,” came Eileen’s soft response. Three heads turned to look at her and Eileen exhaled audibly.
When they reached the door, Castiel walked through without hesitation. This room was still new to Dean, he didn’t feel the same confidence strolling in and making himself at home the way Castiel just did. Dean stood on the precipice for a few seconds before following the other man in.
“Well, just saying, you could work on them a little.” Eileen smiled into Sam’s arm for some reason Dean could not explain.
“Dean,” he said quietly, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I understand where you were coming from. You listened when I spoke. I cannot offer you atonement because there’s nothing to atone for. Seeking comfort through touch makes sense. With us, just with it being so new, I didn’t want any of the developments, any of our firsts, to be one of us trying to escape something, running away from something, especially considering where we are. I want those moments, especially at the start, to happen when we are both fully present. And I know that it may not be conventional or common, but it’s the same reason you didn’t kiss me that night after the issue with my parents. And, more than that, this, you, us it is all very new to me. I’ve never, uhm. I’ve only ever kissed two people, one of which was a woman, so that hardly counts.”
as he listened to Dean’s voice as it traveled through the hallways. He hadn’t really been reading it anyway.
Dean shifted slightly and made a soft, contented sound. Castiel kissed his hair, and Dean’s arms tightened around his midsection.
If he’d stayed with the group, he would have been back a week ago, sharing his isolation time with Meg. However, now he was facing the very real reality in which he would have to share a tiny apartment with a perfect stranger for ten days. From his spot in the backseat, he switched his South African sim card for his local one before finding the name of the owner of the isolation facility he would be staying in, in his contact list.
After they came down from the high, Dean didn’t look at him. He just stumbled to the en-suite bathroom, and a very uncomfortable feeling started tugging behind Cas’ sternum when he heard the tap running. He plucked some tissues from the tissue box on Dean’s bedside table. He cleaned up his hand, tucked himself back into his slacks and grabbed his shirt from the floor.
“I really want to take you trick or treating,” Eileen called from across the table, winking at Jack. “Dress you up as an angel. Halo, harp, plastic wings the whole nine yards.”
Castiel and Dean didn’t get another chance to talk that evening, but Castiel was hyper aware of every movement Dean made, relishing every accidental bump of their legs or arms. And every time he glanced in his direction, Dean was already looking at him.
“If you’re open to it,” Dean shrugged, fully committed to the shit show that was his nonchalance act, “I’ve already cleared it with Charlie.”
“I’ll join you shortly baby,” Sam mumbled, kissing her temple after he finished drying his hands. She walked towards Cas and gave him a friendly side hug, “I’m glad you’re back where you belong.”
But here he was with his finger frozen over the trackpad where he had been scrolling before the photo had burst into Dean’s vision.
“What’s wrong?” Eileen asked as she saw different shades of regret painted across the three men’s features. “I thought you would be in a better mood given your recent sexcapades.”
A loud buzzing grew inside his head as he watched where their hands were joined. He squeezed Castiel’s hand experimentally. He loved how warm it was, how easily it filled the spaces left by his own fingers. Dean shook his head, trying to stop the thoughts. He, however, did not let go of his hand.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Dean greeted a little hazily with the memory of sleep still echoing in his mind.
“No, and I would have said something to you sooner if he had deteriorated. Right now, he’s almost exactly in the same state as he was when you last saw him.”
Dean had already given Amara the first letter to Sam. He had written out in detail what he could remember and what was happening. He had written that he loved him and that he would be home soon. And, then, he made sure to add some quips about his hair and that if he gave Bobby any trouble, he would kick his ass six ways to Sunday.
“That is really good to hear Castiel. There’s still an hour or so before breakfast,” Charlie said on her way out, “Try to get some shut eye.”
“I will stay out of your way as much as possible,” Cas said and was deeply grateful the words came out normally and not watery. He grabbed his bag and dragged it behind him to the open bedroom door. Tears were spilling before he even closed it behind him.
Sorry this chapter is a little on the short side, but I thought Dean's emotional processing deserved its own chapter. Also, please note that this chapter references S13e06 - Tombstone
“Castiel,” Gabriel started. Castiel jumped a bit; he so seldomly used his full name. “I really don’t think that you should see them.”
“Dean, I may be wrong, but I think you have psychogenic amnesia. Or dissociative amnesia. Your brain has made the decision not to remember a couple of days leading up to the accident. We will obviously do some tests…”
Claire, only then, seemed to realize what she had said - how loud she had said it. “Shit, sorry.” She dropped her head into her hands.
“Well, you did it at the start of our relationship, so I thought I’d do it at the start of the next phase.”
“But he tried again. John tried to land another blow, but this time Sam jumped in front of me. He wasn’t steady on his feet and with the force of it, he collided with the table…”
“I know, but this is quite a distance from the University. I feel horrible that you feel the need to drive this far each weekend.”
broke from his mouth. “Why’d you do it?”. It probably wasn’t the right time to ask. He wasn’t even sure how
“Okay,” Amara said, as she handed Charlie all the signed forms, “I have to go now, but I will be back in a week to check on you.”
“No, stop that, don’t apologize,” Dean said seriously. “You have nothing to apologize for.” Castiel nodded weakly and turned his face back into Dean’s shoulder, breathing deeply.
Dean could barely hear him through the ringing in his ears and Cas’ voice as it echoed somewhere deep within him. Before now, he hadn’t had time to think about those last moments: about Castiel’s tear stained face, the relief and joy painting the angel’s features as he spoke the words, he had never felt that he would be able to say. Until now, Dean had been in survival mode, adrenaline coursing through his veins non-stop. But now that the imminent physical threat was gone, the emotional threat burst forward, clawing at Dean, demanding to be seen. The ringing in Dean’s ears turned deafening. His breath caught in his throat and his vision started to blur, an unnatural darkness mixing with the streetlamp lit night. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, the space in the car was too small, his skin was too tight.
“Yes, I can only get into the outskirts. But it’s kind of like a moat around the actual Empty. I could hear some of the thoughts of those on the other side, I could hear their dreams, but I couldn’t see anyone. I did…” Jack stopped short and furtively glanced at Dean.
“It is a metaphor, I believe,” Jack said, looking conspiratorially at Dean, “but I can’t be certain.”
“Bring him home,” he said simply. The last thing Dean saw was a light glow emanating from Jack’s fingers.
Dean grinned as he dipped down to grab the shirt Castiel had dropped and immediately set to folding it. After what seemed too short a time to pack up a place he had stayed for so long, Castiel sat down onto his bed and stared at his suitcases lined up neatly next to the door. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
“Not having you around,” he admitted. Closing his open eye once more, he finally gave up on the battle against gravity, leaning with his full weight against the wall.
Castiel stood there, a little awkwardly, not sure if he was supposed to follow them. His eyes darted around the room, watching as Charlie greeted Gabriel animatedly.
“I really don’t want to ruin your good mood,” Meg said softly, very pointedly not looking at Castiel.
Dean took a long, exaggerated breath while maintaining eye contact with Cas. Cas nodded weakly, coughed again but then mimicked Dean.
Dean pulled the comforter over his head and tried to breathe, trying to soothe the burning mix of anger, hurt and longing that has been simmering just under his skin for the past two days.
Cas almost screamed in frustration. He just needed to talk to Dean. He just needed to explain. They’d been okay for a second there, they could be again. Dean might not want him in a romantic sense again, but maybe they could be friends.
“If you are referring to before I took a blade to my wrists, the answer is no. I have not seen them since then” Castiel chuckled humorlessly. Just the mere thought of this interaction sat like a rock inside his chest, something hard and heavy.
“No,” Castiel interjected, “nothing like that. But I am worried about him. Really worried and I just realized that this is how you must have been feeling for almost two months now. It’s tiring and it’s heavy. And I am just so grateful, and I’m so sorry you felt that for so long, and still feel it.”
Dean felt his face tighten as he looked back at the computer screen. Dean glared, full on glowered, at a perfect stranger.
Meg was avoiding looking at him, and Castiel felt his throat tighten. Meg had been doing this often, saying things like that every time she had seen him since she found him on the bathroom floor.
Mercifully, when he entered the main living area, which was directly outside his room, it was empty. Cas must not be awake yet. And if Dean stopped outside Cas’ door, it was to listen for footsteps to confirm this, not because he wanted to see him. Absolutely not.
Thirdly, as always, my deepest appreciation goes out to Hellbreaker42 for all your wonderful beta-ing. Your comments on my drafts always fill me with so much joy.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean whispered against his skin. “I still can’t tell you why. I want to. But, if you never believe another word I say, please believe me when I tell you I never wanted this. That I never would’ve done it if the stakes were something I could risk.” Dean felt a new sense of urgency as he tried to make the former angel understand.
nothing. And then, all of a sudden, there was you. All green eyes and freckles and seemingly interested in talking to me, and it felt like finally breaching the surface of the water. And I felt everything: curiosity, exasperation…”
Today was a good day. It was a great day, in fact. Meg, as promised, had taken him shopping and Gabriel tagged along, although he complained most of the time. They had tacos for lunch and had bought frozen yogurt right before they left; Gabriel’s piled high with candy, Meg’s plain and Castiel’s covered in honey. The sticky sweetness of it was still lingering in his mouth.
He tried and failed to not think about the ring box still shoved in the back of his underwear drawer back home. It was the most painful reminder of what could have been; the most excruciating symbol of how wrong Dean had been about them, and what they were to each other. But, in the end, it was still a reminder of Cas, of their relationship, how Dean felt, and so, he was never able to get rid of it.
Dean looked a little embarrassed, Castiel’s chest felt warm as he looked into Dean’s eyes, the natural sunlight turning the emerald shade brilliant.
Dean was seconds away from deepening the kiss when he heard someone clearing their throat. Dean’s eyes snapped open, and he took a step back sheepishly.
Dean was nodding before he even fully registered what Cas was saying. Cas trailed the hand that was already on Dean down over his shoulder, down his forearm and grabbed his hand gently. Dean took a tentative step towards the bed. And then another small step.
“How are we feeling this morning?” Dean asked, nestling his head into Castiel’s side and pressing a light kiss there. There was a beat of silence and then Dean was suddenly sitting upright, eyes wide, all traces of sleep completely gone, “Oh fuck, you hated it. You thought it was a mistake….”
On Friday morning, he found himself out of bed before the sun had fully risen. Cas was already, predictably, absent. He regretted the dawn awakening almost instantly, but Dean Winchester was nothing if not stubborn. He wandered the halls in search of his raven-haired enigma and his
And then Dean was storming out of his brother’s room, ignoring the calls following him to his room. He was able to lock the door behind him before the dam of emotions he had been holding back for the better part of a decade collapsed.
Dean had to actively stop himself from thinking about what else he did in college because that automatically segued into what
Cas and Dean both stripped down to their boxers before Cas climbed into the bed and gently pulled Dean in after him. The last thing he felt was Cas pulling Dean into him, fitting his chest to Dean’s back.
’. And Cas,” Dean pushed his fingers into Castiel’s hair, palm cupping his face, “You are. You are exactly what I’ve been looking for. My whole life.”
Dean smiled widely and Cas felt his heart clench and then the two fell together and into each other, both laughing and crying as clothing was removed and kisses became more frantic.
“Uhm, I –“ Cas swallowed, “I made dinner. For both of us. You haven’t eaten today, and I wanted to say thank you for helping me earlier, and uhm – it’s not gourmet or anything, and I’m sure the pasta is undercooked or overcooked.”
“No, man,” Dean said. “Don’t apologize. I just realized that I shouldn’t, you know, like, push you, or anything. I know that. I’ve been with someone before who had some issues, no offense, with that side of himself. And touching for comfort versus flirting is different…”
“I may have misspoken. I meant that Bobby would take care of Sam in your absence. And, that he wanted you to go. It’s called Everlasting, it’s a long-term psychiatric care facility, but it’s run on a large plot of land, not a hospital, and it isn’t as… sterile … as the more traditional inpatient program.”
He stared at his phone for a long while, the anxiety of being forced to share space with the stranger building behind his sternum, creating an uncomfortable feeling like a rapidly filling balloon pressing on his lungs.
If he did that, if he brought Castiel back, Zeke would leave, and Sam would just be a broken shell, a collection of internal burns and half stuck angelic duct tape. Sam would
He huffed out a tight breath when he felt like himself again, Sam did not speak but placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder -solid and comforting. But Dean did not want comfort right now. Pain, anger and loss were mixing in a toxic burn in his stomach. He needed an out. He needed it to
Life had not been kind to the Winchesters. Especially Sam. Dean had been so worried about him for so long. The wedding and the way Sam had radiated joy for days before and after felt like the sign Dean had been waiting for. It acted as proof that things really had turned around for his little brother.
“No, she understands,” Jack replied, “She is disappointed in him. But she would protect the legacy he created before he forgot himself.”
“So, Jack and I have been thinking,” Eileen started, “about the time Cas went into the Empty to see Ruby.”
“I’ve been here a week now, sleeping in the same room as you for five nights, and every single morning you leave before the sun is even up, and then you come back here looking all zen and shit,” Dean continued as if Castiel hadn’t even spoken. “Like, is there a secret club or something that I’m not a part of? Because I gotta say man, I’m starting to feel very left out.”
“I’m never anxious,” Dean outright lied, cracking a wide smile. Missouri smiled fondly but didn’t say anything, just looked at him in an expectant way.
And some days, reality looked like a distant memory, whether it was talking about fantasy stories or the heists that were being run in the hospital. He kept whispering conspiratorially about the nurses. For three days, he was convinced the nurses were cutting his hair in his sleep and selling it on the black market. He also thought they were stealing his blood to drink at their parties. He was more concerned about the hair, though. Obviously.
Dean felt a very new shade of joy warming him up from the inside, “I am very happy that I can do that."
“I still don’t understand,” Dean breathed as Sam walked back towards him and dropped the file in Dean’s hands.
Bobby had barely parked the car before the front door was thrown wide open and Cas tumbled out of the front seat. He rushed towards Dean with the urgency of someone who just found a water source in the middle of the desert, not like someone who saw Dean two days prior during his final visiting hours.
“I’m not sure exactly. Something in you shifted when he helped us after I let Lucifer out,” Sam winced, the old mistake still a tender subject, “But I can’t say that I realized then, or if that was the moment that something developed, but I noticed a difference then.”
“You don’t have to be good with words, Dean. You don’t get extra credit for phrasing things well. All you need to be is honest.”
“Yeah. When I first got here, I was so far gone. I was this broken, bleeding, echo of a person…. Think of it like this. If you’re in an accident and you shatter the bones in your leg, but the same leg also has a huge, deep gash that’s bleeding profusely over everything, you need to address both wounds before your leg can work again, right?”
“Okay. It was one of the worst and best experiences of my life. It was complicated and messy but necessary. I needed to be there. I needed to fix – “
“Hey Dean,” Sam called again, his voice low. Dean turned towards him, his eyes weary and slightly vacant. Sam had never seen his brother like this.
Dean tried not to remember the face Cas had made when he saw him yesterday, tried not to think of the horrified look he’d sent Dean’s way, the clipped and disinterested tone he’d used when speaking to him.
Dean couldn’t have done it. Even though they were going through an extremely stressful time, even though everything leading up to that night had been fraught and panicked and had basically taken a wrecking ball to the plans they’d made for their future, Dean never would have given up on Cas. He doesn’t – no,
“Not even a little,” Castiel looked up and saw Dean staring at him. At these words, Dean’s smile turned wicked.
“Awesome, we have some here in the bunker…” Dean trailed off, eyes flitting back to Cas’ face. He knew he was being pathetic, he
. It wasn't enough, though. There was so much more that they needed to consider, so much they had to understand. Frustration at the size of the task ahead of them, and without Cas there to calm him down, Dean’s factory setting of anger took over.
Dean, whose eyes had been staring at a spot on the wall behind Castiel, dropped his eyes to look at him.
“Yes, you were having a nightmare,” Cas replied softly, the sound of his voice warmed Dean from the inside. Dean flushed instinctively and tensed, embarrassed at having had Cas see him in such a vulnerable manner - all his defenses down. Cas, obviously having sensed the rigidity, started withdrawing his hand from Dean’s shoulder. The thumping in his chest escalated at the thought of not having Cas’ hand on him. He knew that he wanted to let Cas in, he just had to get used to the idea that vulnerability did not mean weakness. Not when it came to this angel. Dean darted his hand out and stopped Cas’ retreat. He pulled the angel’s hand back toward him and lower than the original position, placing it over his heart. Cas shifted closer to him, draping his other arm across Dean as well, covering the expanse of his shoulder. Cas used the fingers on the hand Dean had placed over his heart to gently tap out the rhythm of the human’s heartbeat. Dean tried not to think about how much safer he felt having Cas this close. He also avoided analyzing why the gentle taping of the angel’s fingers on his chest seemed to soothe his racing pulse. He avoided thinking about all of it, just felt it. Experienced it, experienced Cas in this new way.
Castiel noticed this often happened when people shared their story. This moment, the moment that it tipped too far, the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, it was difficult to vocalize. It was difficult to think about, let alone talk about. He watched her, watched the tears and wished he could comfort his friend. But he knew she needed to do this on her own. Dean seemed to sense his unease and he squeezed his hand.
“I had the shiniest wheels, but now they’re rusting,” Dean said softly. He struggled to sit upright, only to collapse his head and upper body against the headboard.
“Good,” Castiel breathed and then pulled himself up so that he could meld their lips together once more.
Cas was relieved when Dean told him that a plumber would be there soon. He did feel a little guilty about interacting with anyone before their isolation was over so, while they waited, he washed his cloth mask and took sanitizer to every surface in the room.
“I need you,” Dean countered, moving one hand inside Cas’ underwear. Dean grinned when he felt the angel was already half hard. He stroked once and Cas moaned lewdly above him. Dean lifted his head and nipped at Cas’ Adam’s apple.
“I’m going to get you a cup of coffee, hot, caffeinated beverages can help. Then I’m going to look for your inhaler for you. Where do you remember seeing it last?”
“When Cas raised you from hell, he stitched your soul back together and in order to do that he had to infuse it with his grace.” Jack explained.
Sam turned to look at him, huffing out as if the movement exhausted him, and locked his eyes on his brother.
He placed the serving dish, two plates and two sets of cutlery on the small dining table that was half in the kitchenette and half in the living area. He then shuffled to Dean’s door, his heart beating in his throat.
Stevie nodded twice and then immediately reached for the phone. Castiel bit back the urge to groan in frustration. Why wasn’t she going
As he dragged himself into bed, still fully clothed, flashes of images pulsed unbidden in his brain: John screaming; John lashing out; John apologizing before collapsing on the floor in his own sick; Sammy screaming; Sammy crying; Dean trying to stop his nose from bleeding; Dean cradling his arm as it hung from a weird angle.
They walked to dinner together. And once they were there, they were immediately pulled into a heated debate about which tv shows were genre-defining. Castiel could contribute very little as his exposure to pop culture was limited, but he did enjoy watching Dean become increasingly animated and get actively involved in the conversation, yelling over Rowena and divulging into a heated debate about the nature of Spock and Kirk’s relationship, which Dean said was in ‘no fucking way platonic’, with Adam. Castiel held Dean’s hand under the table, and Dean hooked their ankles together.
Everyone turned to look at Dean. Cas felt un uncomfortable twinge in his side at her name leaving Dean’s mouth.
Dean had known that this was a possibility, but it was still disconcerting to find himself sitting exactly where he had nodded off. If it weren’t for the fact that he was completely alone in his room, he would have been convinced that the dream root hadn’t worked. But he was. He was completely alone. His eyes twitched nervously to his now empty bed and felt his heartbeat pick up with the very evident absence of Cas.
As he waited for visiting hours to start, he stared despondently at Dean’s bed, which remained completely untouched since yesterday. The sheets and comforter still twisted where they had kissed on them, Dean desperate and far away from Castiel’s reach. Dean hadn’t come back to the room - not to shower, not to get a fresh set of clothes. He hadn’t been in the cafeteria for breakfast or lunch, either. Cas noticed his absence acutely, the vacant seat next to his was almost loud in its emptiness.
“Dean,” Cas repeated, his voice forming the syllables of his name with such reverence, that Dean’s chest ached.
“And, given the severity of the accident… we did run multiple scans and tests and there was no physical damage to your brain. There was no head trauma apart from a mild concussion which is mostly healed now. So, it is likely that the memory loss is psychological rather than neurological.”
“Castiel, it’s okay if right now someone else is the only reason you’re alive,” she had said, the gentle cadence of her voice calming him slightly.
Dean had not been having the greatest of times lately. And, as his bag was packed into the hospital transport van before the sun had even risen, he had a feeling today would, unfortunately, not break this pattern. Dean had never felt like this before, this broken and aching feeling that hat settled in his chest. Of feeling nothing and then, suddenly, feeling everything. Oscillating wildly between the inability to care about anything, when the numbness seeped into the very fabric of his being, to feeling absolutely everything when it suddenly felt like he would implode from the sheer inability to stop his sobbing.
They had reached the cafeteria, and Castiel opened the door, gesturing for Dean to head in before him. He was happy to see they were the first ones here; he liked the idea of getting some time alone with Dean. The only other person in the room was Charlie who was inhaling her spaghetti while staring at her phone.
“Uh, what? I still have no idea what you’re saying?” Dean said, eyes darting towards Sam who looked just as confused as he was.
“You let me take the easy way out,” Dean heard himself say, faster than he could process the words tumbling out of his mouth. “You let me go away, somewhere far away from the consequences of my actions.”
A flash of pain seemed to flit over Dean’s features. Cas looked at Dean, raising his eyebrows in question. Dean just shook his head and stood up to clear the table.
“I want you to hurt the way that I did,” Dean visibly cringed when the words were out of his mouth. He hadn’t intended to say that. The fact that Dean didn’t realize that Cas has been hurting, has been an open wound, for the past five years was baffling. He was so sure it was written all over his face.
Dean had been trying to avoid thinking about how difficult it must have been for the newly human Castiel, thrust into a world that made little-to-no sense, and then subsequently abandoned after he finally thought he had found a home – a touchstone in the chaos. Thrown out by the person who he had trusted the most. But, with Castiel in the same room as him, with scarcely more than a sleeping bag clutched to chest with the same desperation as a child clutching a security blanket, Dean could no longer avoid thinking about it. Could no longer avoid thinking about the massive fallout and consequences of his actions. So, after tossing Castiel a pair of too loose sweatpants and a black t-shirt, as he had no change of clothes (don’t think about it), Dean had flown out of the motel room, running from his issues. He was consistent in this, at least. And before he really remembered making the decision, he found himself at the bar down the road, nursing his second scotch. He didn’t mean to go there. He just needed to get away.
“Okay, listen to me. Take a long deep breath, okay? Don’t panic, you’ll hyperventilate. You’re going to be fine. Just breathe with me, okay?”
“Sorry,” Dean muttered, avoiding eye contact with both of them, feeling shitty. They had done more than he had. They did this for him. He didn't deserve them.
“Tape recorder,” she said casually. “A study published by Northwestern University has shown there might be a link between coma patients hearing familiar stories repeated by family members via recordings played over headphones and increased recovery rates. The theory behind it is that hearing voices that are deeply rooted in long term memory exercises the circuits in the brain responsible for long-term memories, and that stimulation can potentially help trigger the first glimmer of awareness.”
Dean leaned his forearm flat against the tile of the shower wall before placing his head in the crook of his elbow. He closed his eyes before taking his cock in his right hand. He stroked himself a couple of times, a little harder and faster than he usually would at the start. It was unlikely, given how annoyingly hard he was, that this was going to last long anyway. And given that he was trying to ignore the reason for his morning glory, he definitely wasn’t going to try and drag this out. After a couple of strokes, he felt himself get close, so he sped up his movements. He increased both his pace and the pressure, he twisted his hand on every third stroke. He felt the torturous build up, felt his muscles in his stomach start to contract, felt himself teetering on the edge, so close…
Dean started tapping his foot as he watched the second-hand tick closer and closer to his allotted time.
Cas sat up and reached out his hand before she dropped two pills into his waiting palm. She offered him some water, which he accepted. Dean watched his neck as he swallowed, tracing the movement with his eyes and wanting nothing more than to run his fingers down the column of his throat.
“Sammy, it’s a very natural, very beautiful act between consenting parties,” Dean moved the hand that had been on Cas’ leg and threw it across Cas’ shoulders. Cas almost jumped out of his own skin as Dean placed a very exaggerated kiss to his cheek. When Dean’s lips left his skin, he turned to look at him and Dean was beaming. Cas responded to the smile with his own, marveling at the fact that this righteous and beautiful green-eyed man was now his. That he got to experience this with him.
Cas breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly and then said, “I thought it was on my side table, but it wasn’t there. Then I thought it may be in the bag I used as a carry-on on the flight. I always keep it close to me. But it’s not there. I checked my luggage and everywhere in my room and –“
Dean scooped the last of his eggs into his mouth, downed the dregs of his coffee and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.
Dean still had three weeks, so when Castiel was released, he would have to remain for another two, and although Castiel knew he was exactly where he needed to be, the idea of Dean being alone if…
“Not really,” he said with a sad, humorless chuckle. He looked back to Castiel who nodded with an encouraging smile, “but I will be.”
“You didn’t have to come,” Castiel said as Meg reached for the bag that was resting next to the chair she had been seated in.
He opened the app on his phone, but before he was able to click the notifications button, the first picture on his feed drew his attention.
Meg had been ushered out by the nursing staff before he had been able to ask her how she knew Dean, and the curiosity gnawed at him. Castiel had been shocked to find that he had felt anything this acutely, let alone a sensation so randomly mundane. He had decided to focus his attention on this feeling. To nurse the prosaic feeling and analyse it. To see how it affected his body - how it made him fidget and tap his pen on the book in front of him instead of writing. It had been
“Dude, that’s great! You’re getting to start a happier chapter in your life, man; you so deserve this.” Dean grinned and cupped Castiel’s face in his hands and pressed a light kiss to his lips. Castiel leaned into it. His hands gripped the flannel that hung open over Dean’s
Sam shook his head, “You’re wrong. I was. Grief makes you selfish. You can’t see past your own pain. But nonetheless, what I’m trying to say is once I was out of that headspace, when I became more myself again, the more I thought about it… Dean, Cas breaking up with you didn’t make sense.”
And while Dean was working his way out of the storm, Castiel was mentally preparing for his release. During their last phone call, Meg mentioned that she found a great four-bedroom apartment that was equidistant from their campus, as Castiel had decided to continue with his Master’s program and Meg was still finishing her nurse practioner’s qualification, and the office where Gabriel had gotten a job working in marketing. She said they could wait until Castiel was out if he wanted to see it first, but Castiel had told her to sign the paperwork. He was excited to start anew. He didn’t want to go back to his dorm room. He didn’t want to be haunted by the ghosts in those walls.
“Yeah, Cas,” came Meg’s soft response, “things always seem more manageable in the daylight. Goodnight, sleep well. Love you.”
Castiel switched off the lamp, but Dean swore he saw tears glossing his eyes before the room fell into darkness.
Lastly, thank you so much to you guys! To every single person who read, subscribed, left comments or kudos. I so appreciate it and your voiced and silent engagements have meant more to me than words can describe.
Dean suddenly moved his hands, dragging them up and over Cas’ chest and then down until he reached the hem of his shirt. Cas got the hint and withdrew slightly. Cas looked at him, and Dean started balling the material of his t-shirt in his hands.
“I’m going to open you up slowly; I’m going to take my time getting to know your body as intimately as I know your soul.” Cas placed a kiss right in the center of Dean’s breastbone. And the sensation in combination with Cas’ words had tears streaming down his face. Cas let go of Dean’s hands and brought his own down to envelope his face. Dean placed his hands on Cas’ waist, reveling in the way his hand seemed to fit perfectly there.
notifications. He knew they were pictures Meg had likely posted of their research trip. She had been attached to her camera for the fourteen days they were there. He also knew that if he did not like and comment on the photos (something incredibly clever and unendingly witty), Meg would be deeply unimpressed.
“When I left here, I considered just driving back to Kansas. Leaving you the room and giving you space from me,” Dean said once he felt more like himself. He was still a little drunk, but he was definitely racing towards sober.
Dean moved his thumbs lightly up Castiel’s face, his fingers grazing and outlining his jaw, ignoring the heat that seemed to blaze straight from the point of contact to his stomach. Castiel inhaled sharply when Dean’s thumbs found his mouth and began dragging across his lower lip.
Dean didn’t know if Castiel would want him there or if he would want privacy. But Dean knew that he didn’t want to leave him alone right away or have him out of his sight for any extended period of time. He tried not to think about why these instincts even existed when it came to someone he barely knew, and he definitely tried not to think about why they were so aggressively dominating - invading all of his thoughts.
“Dean,” Missouri’s voice came long before he was ready for the conversation they were about to have, “please, come inside.”
“Hey, so, we’re gonna go,” Meg said as she walked back to Castiel. He found himself struggling to break the weird, heated eye contact but did so reluctantly. He looked at Meg who had followed his line of vision. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in surprise.
And then suddenly, without his permission, the image in his mind altered. The dark hair shortened, shifted from elegant to disheveled, the rounded, soft cheeks sharpened and got dusted in black, coarse stubble. The dark eyes lightened and blended until they burned blue. And in the space of one breath, it’s suddenly Cas on his knees, his mouth on Dean and...
Slowly, and very reluctantly, Dean pulled away from Cas. He slid his hand up from Cas’ back and silently ran his hand up Cas’ neck, reveling in the feel of his pulse, the reminder that he was alive. His hand continued his journey until he had Cas’ face cupped in his palm. Following the instincts he had forced into dormancy so for so many years, he slowly swiped his thumb across Cas’ cheek. The feel of the angel’s skin was electric against the pad of Dean’s calloused thumb. Cas leaned into the touch, gently and hesitantly, eyes never leaving Dean’s. The angel’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed, he was obviously not able to make sense of Dean’s whirlwind of emotions and actions today. Dean exhaled; he was not being fair to Cas. He did not want to cause the angel emotional whiplash, they needed to clear the air. Dean dropped his hand and Cas made a soft sound of protest that cascaded through Dean, warming, and comforting him. Dean smiled reassuringly at Cas as he took a step back and sat down on the foot of the bed. Dean gestured to the couch, and Cas followed his lead, sinking into the cushions.
“Of course it worked, it was your idea.” Cas said simply. He was leaning against the wall, watching Dean sprawled out on the bed: eyes closed with a faint but very genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Adam, who had been admitted with schizophrenia with visual hallucinations of seeing the Archangel Michael, was also teary as he waved goodbye to those who were remaining. Castiel had never spent too much time with him, therefore, he was surprised at the sadness his departure evoked in him.
He enjoyed spending time with Dean. He felt alive when he was near him; wanted to know more about him, hear his stories, and discuss his beliefs. He enjoyed learning about him, unravelling the layers slowly, and gently wiping away at the perfectly cultivated façade. Castiel liked this man. This kind, strong, life-hardened and skeptical hurricane of a human being.
Cas lifted his hand and gently knocked on Dean’s door. The sound was dull and timid. There was no way Dean would have heard that if he had earphones in or if he was napping. He was just about to knock again, when Dean opened the door. His hair was rumpled like he’s been lying down, but there was no haze of grogginess floating through his eyes. So he hadn’t been sleeping. Those eyes, however, were trained on him.
It was better that way, though. Cas wasn’t sure he was ready to hear any of it. Not really. He wasn’t ready to picture Dean with someone else, his lips on another’s skin, his hand tracing down the body of someone who wasn’t Cas. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t rational – just because he didn’t like thinking about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. But in that moment, Cas didn’t care. He just liked being near Dean, close enough to count the constellation of freckles flowing over his face and down his neck. He liked hearing his voice, his laugh. He’d believed he’d remembered these perfectly, but his memories didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.
He was actually relieved when his phone started ringing loud and incessant during his fourth cycle through the album. He felt like he was dealing with his own twisted Newton’s law:
“I don’t think going door to door in an isolation facility is allowed,” Cas tried to reason with Dean.
. You fucking left me broken and without looking back. It destroyed me, Cas, totally obliterated me. So no, I’m not going to sit and fucking have dinner with you like that never happened. I don’t want to do that. I won’t do that. I – I can’t do that.”
“Dean, I am just happy that you want me involved at all,” Castiel said with the air of someone confessing something very private.
Dean nodded, his heart kicking into overdrive, the loud sound making it hard for him to think. Or maybe having Cas in such close proximity was making it hard for him to think. He didn’t know, didn’t care.
“There he is,” Dean whispered, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as he ran his index finger down the length of Cas’ profile. The angel’s eyes fluttered at the gesture and made a breathy sound. And in turn, the angel very slowly brushed his thumb over Dean’s Adam’s apple. Dean felt his breath hitch in his throat. This felt raw and exposed in a way he could never remember being.
“You too, Cas. You have to know that. I’m falling in love with you, too. Of course, I am. How could I not?” Dean was babbling, and the words poured like honey into Castiel’s ear. He smiled as he switched their positions, effectively trapping Dean below him, his back flat against the mattress. He pushed his thigh in between Dean’s legs as he leaned on his arms which were framing Dean’s face.
“Okay, so its three forty-five now.” Sam says after pulling his phone from his pocket, “lets re-group at 8h30?”
Robert Singer has already been in contact with Sam’s social worker; they have approved this. Ellen Harvelle and Robert Singer have agreed to pay you, in absentia, for the next two months. Bobby is with Sam. Right now, you’re safe. You’re okay. You don’t have to catastrophize. People care about you and want to help you through this.”
“Yeah, I did. It was great to see a lot of what I’d studied in theory in person, you know? And the African wildlife is just so vastly different from anything we have here. And the people were great, the Game Rangers were so accommodating, and the locals were so friendly. And oh my god, the
“Like there are needles poking at my skin, but from the inside. But it doesn’t really hurt either? I don’t know, it just feels like there is something moving under my skin but with, like, a scaly back?” Dean’s brows furrowed further, and he started pinching at the soft, pale skin on the inside of his wrist. Castiel gently tugged the offending fingers away and laced his own with Dean’s.
Dean’s face tensed before he nodded, “Yeah, all the time. I remember back when I was very young, John had this friend, Frank Devereux. He was the only man who still tolerated him and his drinking. Mostly, it was because he was… unwell. He had lost his wife in a horrific way, too, and they seemed to understand each other. But most nights, after John had long since passed out, Frank would decide it was time to share his wisdom. And there was this one night, a couple of days after John had had a really bad violent episode, or whatever, one of his firsts, and I was feeling so drained, so hurt and angry. He sensed it, didn’t guess at the reason, though, and he looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘Deano, my boy, whatever’s got you down, don’t let it. Decide to be fine til the end of the week. Make yourself smile because... you're alive, and that's your job. And do it again the next week.’ I was thirteen, and he was the first adult that had really addressed that sort of thing. It was one of the first pieces of advice I had gotten about life, and dealing with bad things. So, I listened, I smiled, and I pushed it down. There wasn’t really another option, you know?”
“And to be human is to make mistakes.” Castiel continued, wanting to morph whatever Dean was feeling into something more positive, something happier, “but, for what it is worth, you are one of the best humans I have ever met.”
Dean bolted upright. Cas had already been in the Empty, but he had found his way back to Dean. He could do it again, surely. But, if this time he couldn’t find his way back, Dean would follow him there. He shook his head to try organizing the thoughts that were now jumping like rapid fire through his brain. He would get Cas back. He had to. He would do anything. He would do
“Dean, I need you to understand that everything I have done, and everything I will do, is what I believe is in your best interest. You are my patient. My sole purpose is to make sure you are okay. And I also know that, now that you have allowed yourself to remember, keeping any information regarding your brother’s medical condition will not serve your best interest.”
Castiel rolled his eyes in a perfect imitation of Meg, “Just because most of us here have lost our minds, doesn’t mean we don’t understand that it is also a common phrase.”
Due to Dean’s sudden relocation out of Kansas right after graduation and the gradual distancing of friends that happened in the two years he was away, their shared social circle basically evaporated. They don’t work in the same field, don’t have the same routines. The odds of Dean ever accidentally running into Cas is borderline zero, let alone the opportunity to rekindle the love story of two people they no longer were.
Dean’s voice was hard and cruel, so different from anything Castiel had experienced from him before.
“She’s not here, Dean,” Castiel tried soothingly, slowly moving his hands up and down Dean’s shoulders.
“Which wasn’t exactly a ‘no’, and if you weren’t sure Sam would be around to need you anymore...” Amara shrugged.
If anyone is interested, the South African big five includes: the lion, the rhino, the elephant, the leopard and the Cape buffalo.
it, but he didn’t feel like leaving Cas’ side even for the few minutes that it would take to gather the ingredients. He had hated leaving his side when Cas had been nothing but an empty vessel, but now that he was actually physically here, although admittedly unconscious, it seemed almost impossible to be separated from him. Like, if Dean walked outside, he would come back and see Cas dead again, his skin-tinged blue. Or worse, Cas would not be there at all. Dean knew Sam would would have a lot to say if he voiced the thoughts out loud so instead, he opted for a cheap cop out.
“No, not according to Meg. And the thing is, I know that it’s not to apologize, you know? I know this logically. I
“You know, some people would argue that it’s not the greatest idea to look for anything like that in a mental hospital,” Castiel said pointedly.
Cas smiled warmly, and his face flushed at the compliment. “Don’t look at me like that, or I’m going to drag you back to bed, and then, we’ll be late,” Cas warned.
But before Cas could finish, Dean bolted out the door, sprinting down the halls -- no destination in mind.
“Cas, buddy, please never mention my brother’s name when you are naked and pressed up against me,” Dean chastised as he ran his hand through the angel’s hair.
“Cas, you’re my best friend,” Sam said, smiling softly, “but you can’t leave him like that again. And I do appreciate that your sacrifice made it possible for us to win. I do, believe me. But Dean needs you in a fundamental way. More than he needs me, I think. And although that’s probably not healthy, after all the trauma he’s been through, I think it’s understandable.”
“I don’t care,” Dean interrupted him with the very obvious lie. He studied the floor as he walked, avoiding Cas’ eyes.
didn’t care when Cas sat right next to him, touching their knees together and gently reaching out to trace the contours of the ink on Dean’s chest. Dean tried not to lean into the touch, tried not to make a sound as Cas’ fingers burned his skin.
Castiel had barely slept when the alarm clock next to his bed went off. He sighed and blinked, opening his heavy lids. After breakfast, he would have to bare his soul to no less than eight people, discuss moments he would rather erase from his narrative. But, he trusted Amara and Pamela. And more than that, he promised Meg he would give his all to this program.
Which it obviously didn’t because no matter how much Dean tried to think of the most frigid images he could imagine, his traitorous dick showed no signs of softening.
“Uh, Dean. There is something that we should talk about,” Cas said from beside him. Dean turned to look at him, all the blood draining from his face.
Dean settled himself a little lower into the couch before replying. “Yeah, no, dude, it’s great. No weird stains or horror-movie scratch marks. I call it a win.”
Castiel, however, interrupted him, “I don’t want you to tell me out of a sense of obligation. It is yours to talk about, whenever you are ready.”
“You have more to say?” Dean asked, his voiced laced with genuine curiosity, “after everything, that speech, or more like what happened with Billie, in the dungeon and …” Dean babbled.
“Okay, Dean,” Cas said softly. Dean let out an explosive breath and nodded. Cas shuffled out the room, he hesitated just outside of the door and looked over his shoulder. Dean was already looking at him.
“And that does not make it your responsibility, just so you know. It’s mine. I own my emotions, but you gave me a reason to try to crack the shell open, for a lack of a better explanation.”
Dean continued to glare at him. And Cas shrugged as nonchalantly as he could muster. But the longer Dean stared at him with such intense malice, the faster Cas’ throat dried out. Swallowing became difficult. Breathing became difficult.
Cas eyed the clock on the wall as morning started melting into afternoon. He did laundry, he did dishes, he started another pot of coffee. But nothing. No sign of Dean. There was no movement behind his door, no sound. If he hadn’t heard the faint sounds of a shower running earlier, he would have barged in just to make sure Dean was
Thank you again to all those who've left kudos on this work! And particularly to those who have let comments, it really makes me so unbelievably happy.
“I don’t like that he had to take on that responsibility,” Cas said lowly. Cas felt Dean squeeze his leg in agreement.
“Dean, I was never the one who asked for space. I’ve never not wanted you around or asked you to leave. Ever.” Castiel answered. And Dean wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the crappy motel light, but he swore he saw tears pooling in those blue eyes. The mere idea of Cas in pain made Dean feel as if his heart was cracking down the middle. Dean closed his eyes as his throat tightened involuntarily, threatening to completely close the narrow path of air to his lungs.
This, too, was familiar. Cas had watched him use it before. He saw it directed at others. He’s never seen it directed at him. Even
Cas looked down at his hands as he tried to avoid replaying Dean’s hasty exit in his mind. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had done wrong. He wasn’t sure why Dean had gone from holding onto him as if he were the only source of oxygen in the whole world, to cold and brimming with anger. But he hated it. He knew he should ask Sam more questions about Chuck. How were they planning on keeping an eye on him? Were there any loyalist angels in Heaven that might pose a threat to them? But instead, all he could think of was Dean. The way he had looked at him when the Empty had come for Cas and the way he looked as he had fled out of the room mere hours ago. He wanted to talk to him. He ached to talk to him.
Castiel sat on his bed. He placed his hands on his knees and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply through his nose, counting the four seconds out slowly.
Cas was looking at Dean, was directly looking at him, and Dean was undone. He was coming apart, the seams ripping unceremoniously from the very fabric of his being.
“I don’t like the idea of you being fully clothed in this room,” Dean grumbled as he dug through his closet for jeans and a flannel. He heard Cas chuckle softly behind him, and Dean grinned at the sound.
“Dude come one!” Sam shouted exasperated, throwing a wet dish cloth at his brother, “we have a communal bathroom.”
“Well, if memory serves me right, most nights I snuck off that couch and into your bed,” Cas said without thinking. He immediately went rigid as he processed his own words. He cringed internally,
“Thirdly, you need to stop thinking things like that, saying things like you don’t care what happens to you, and making decisions that put you in harm's way. Because you may not care what happens to you, but I do. Sam does.”
Dean’s brow furrowed lightly as he watched Cas stammer. Cas clamped his mouth shut, took a deep breath and tried again. “I made food. Do you want some?”
“So, if we took some of Cas’ grace with us into the Empty it would take us to him?” Sam asked, realization dawning on his face. Both Eileen and Jack nodded eagerly.
Dean has always prided himself on his ability to get along with almost anyone, and since he had charisma to spare and a very strained bank account, he opted for this option.
“I can just leave this here if you two want some time,” Cas was already putting the bag on the side table.
“I am so much better than okay, Dean,” Castiel murmured into his skin. He punctuated this by placing a kiss right in the center of his sternum, “It’s just all so new and the way I feel is quite overwhelming.”
When Dean awoke to another very angry boner, he was ready to bang his head against the wall until he collapsed. It would be the less painful option, really, spending the next eight days unconscious on the floor instead of constantly fighting off the onslaught of memories and
A sniffle caught his attention, and Castiel saw Gabriel palming his red-rimmed eyes, “What? Never seen a grown man cry in the reception building of a psychiatric facility before?”
“Cas, don’t… don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Dean whispered, tears flowing freely down his face now. He dropped his gaze, but Cas grabbed his chin and forced Dean to look at him. Dean had no idea what he was seeing. A haunted, broken man? A failure? A wreck? A combination of all of these?
“So, if I were to, say, buy a cowboy hat and wear it at night…” Castiel purposefully let the sentence trail into the otherwise silent room. The atmosphere was tightening, the tension growing as he climbed on top of Dean, his knees bracketing Dean’s hips. Dean’s eyes widened as he drew in a sharp breath. Castiel watched his Adam’s apple with fascination as he swallowed heavily. Dean let out a shaky breath, “I can totally get behind you in a cowboy hat.”
There was a moment of silence, and Dean was reveling in the fact that he was having a coherent conversation with his brother. But then...
“The bullet hit her in her lower abdomen. As soon as she collapsed, they all ran out. But luckily, my deputies, the backup I had called for, were there. They were all arrested, and we managed to keep Alex stable enough before the paramedics arrived. They say she was exceptionally fortunate. But those minutes before the ambulance got there, where I was holding my second dying child in my arms...”
It was a candid shot. He was smiling widely at someone off camera. His head tipped back with blue eyes bright as the cloudless sky that acted as his backdrop. Dean couldn’t stop staring at the face of the man he was once wholeheartedly convinced was the absolute love of his
He was in love with his constant steady sureness. Castiel was the moon, pulling at the tides of Dean. He was in love with his unwavering loyalty, with his mistakes and the subsequent humanity that filtered through the celestial exterior, with his steadfast faith in Dean. He was in love with his patience, the soft layer of innocence that covered the hard shell of the warrior he was. He loved that when the world was ending, Cas was the one who got through to him. Cas was his fucking gravity.
. Dean’s every thought was twisted around the memory of Cas’ sacrifice. Each repeat of the scene digging deeper and deeper into a cut in his heart, a wound so deep now he did not see how it would ever scab over. A part of him that would bleed in this life and in the next.
Castiel held his gaze before nodding. Dean licked his lips. He held Castiel’s eye for a second longer and then surged upward, one hand moving up and under the back of his shirt to hold him tightly against his chest as his mouth collided with Castiel’s. There was a new urgency in the way they moved against each other; they kissed frantically and insistently. Castiel’s arms snaked around Dean’s neck, and he gripped the short hairs at the nape of his neck tightly. His other hand sneaked under the collar of Dean’s shirt, his long fingers splaying over the expanse of skin on Dean’s back.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas greeted him warmly, “You better get dressed quickly, or your breakfast is going to be cold.”
Thank you so to everyone who has read, subscribed, left kudos or particularly commented on this fic! I so appreciate you taking the time to read this story! And a particular big thank you to Hellbreaker42 for his amazing betawork!
He stayed like that for a while, in the strange limbo space where he was half asleep and half fighting his own mind.
“… this. I will agree to the shortest program we have. Eight weeks. And, if your memory is back to normal, if it comes back naturally and you’ve had a professional help you through this process, I will sign all the papers to discharge you, and I won’t bother you again.”
Because that was not the way he felt about him. He hadn’t said it because saying he loved Cas the same way he loved Sam would have been a lie, a blasphemous twist on the feelings Dean kept tucked away into the most scarred and sacred corner of his heart. He loved him deeply, truly. He loved him like…
The adrenaline rush of the conversation and the kiss was slowly starting to recede, and exhaustion seeped into Dean’s consciousness. He yawned as he climbed off Cas and immediately missed the reassuring feeling of physically touching the angel. He pulled Cas up after him and threw his arms around him again and for a while the two stood still, just holding each other.
He knew he should text Gabe and Meg, let them know he was back in Kansas, that he had arrived safely, but he knew he would sound as shaky as the feeling of having pressure in his chest always made him feel and he didn’t want to worry them.
as it was a very Cas-centric episode. Cas also monologues in this, just like he monologues in that episode.
Who she was, what she was doing, was already amazing. Who she was, what their friendship entailed, was
“Yeah. When I was looking at the structure of Heaven and the premise of “eternal happiness” the current model wasn’t working. I would never be eternally happy if I was separated from those I loved,” Jack looked a little shy as he explained.
Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. He moved away from Cas slightly and reached back into the basket and pulled out a deep blue notebook, with a golden bee on the cover.
“Dean did remember last night. But he has not had the opportunity to discuss it with either Missouri or Amara, so we should let him be for now.”
Castiel nodded, gently placing his hand on Dean's shoulder, "Dean, I'll be fine. I needed to talk to Jody anyway."
“Dean you need to slow your breathing, you’re hyperventilating. I know it feels like you can’t breathe, but you can. You’re getting too much oxygen in.” Sam’s voice finally pierced through the fog in his brain. He held on to the familiar sound and followed his brother’s instructions. Slowly his breathing returned to normal as the panicked feeling bled out, leaving Dean feeling weak and shaky.
An hour before, he had watched Castiel talking to Jack and his husband Connor, a nice man who had worked at the corner store close to the bunker in Kansas. His twin daughters had been brushing his hair and tucking him in warmly, as he was always cold these days. He kissed both of their hands as they joined their brother and father. Sam, who had refused to leave his side since this prognosis, was bouncing his great-nephew on his knee weakly. And looking at him, Dean could see through the lined face and the grey hair to the kid he had raised and the strong man he had become. He had patted his brother’s hand gently and had whispered “I’ll see you soon, baby brother”. He doubted Sam could hear him, his hearing long since having deteriorated. He mostly communicated through sign language these days.
Cas stared ahead of him. This could not be happening. There was just no way the universe hated him this much.
As always, the biggest of thank yous to Hellbreaker42 and Aubrielle for the beta and advanced reading respectively. You guys are so amazing and I so appreciate you!
“Uhm, not really… Meg it appears that the universe is playing a cruel cosmic joke on me,” Cas whispered. He hadn’t heard Dean leave the lounge and didn’t want to be overheard.
“Fine, yes. Whatever. And so last night he came over to my room and like demanded that we talk, and he kept asking what I want and yeah, there was yelling and then – uh – other things.”
was playing softly from the other room. And Dean swayed them to the music for a minute. When he pulled back, he was happy to see that his wedding ring had come with him, the silver band infused with the Grace that he had used all those decades ago to save Cas.
The grace had started glowing brighter and brighter until suddenly, in a bright burst of light, Cas was at Dean’s feet, his life force taking the form of his current vessel, the one back in Dean’s room. But as Sam had suspected, Cas was asleep. Dean flinched, scared that the light had woken something up. So, he worked quickly: saying the spell, carving the symbol on both Cas’ and his arm. Dean felt giddy when he saw Cas’ life force enter his arm and the amulet fall back to his body. He turned in the direction he came from and sprinted flat out to the flashing light.
He had felt a flame of blistering anger licking through him when Castiel spoke of how his brother had left him. Twice. He knew it wasn’t rational to feel this level of emotions about a man he had never met and whose personal story wasn’t familiar to him, but when he closed his eyes now, all he could see was
“Hey, Dean! Just checking that the place isn’t too skeevy,” his brother’s voice traveled through the tinny speaker of his cellphone.
Hannah, whose latest manic-depressive episode had been the reason she was admitted in the longest program available, eight months, was terrified of leaving. When her husband had fetched her, there was an evident uncomfortability, a stiffness in the way they reached out to each other. But, at least, they were still reaching out. Hannah had cried, but Castiel believed that she would be okay. She had been struggling for years, not understanding her brain chemistry, unable to make sense of what was happening to her. But now she did, and she had the right medication, the right tools. She had needed this time, and now, she was better equipped to handle her life.
“Heya, Cas,” his voice was rough. Castiel walked over and dropped onto his haunches in front of Dean, unsure if he would want him sitting next to him. Unsure of what he needed.
He jumped off the bed, silently walked to his door and placed his ear against it. He listened as Cas made coffee and poured cereal. He stood with his ear pressed to a fucking wall like he was in some Disney Channel Original sitcom. He waited until he heard nothing coming from the common area before gingerly opening his own door.
Every day they had a non-therapy activity. Mondays was pottery, which Dean was exceedingly bad at; Tuesdays was music or poetry, which Dean was okay at (he had learned to play the guitar a little in high school, although admittedly, he hadn’t really had the time to give the hobby the attention he had wanted to); Wednesdays was yoga, which Dean could barely participate in as he was about as flexible as a telephone pole (but he did get to watch Cas bend into strange and exciting positions, so he wasn’t complaining), and Thursdays was an open day. Which meant in the allotted hour and a half slot, they were allowed to do what they wanted given that it was an actual activity or skill.
“Hey, Cassie,” Gabriel stepped towards him, and Castiel threw himself into his brother’s arms. The same way he had so often done before, back when he was a child and his brother had been the only one who could make him feel safe. The only one that could keep the voices at bay, could keep their parent’s poison out. Gabriel, goofy, never-serious, mischievous and loud, Gabriel hugged his brother tightly and whispered softly, “I’m so sorry, baby brother. I’m so, so sorry”.
Castiel’s heart seized in his chest before suddenly pounding at an alarming rate. He flicked his eyes to the entryway and sure enough, Dean Winchester was standing there with a duffle bag slung on one shoulder and a small suitcase in hand.
“Oi! No funny business in my backseat,” Bobby broke them up, but when Dean caught his eye in the rearview mirror, Bobby was smiling.
“Did you have fun there?” Dean questioned. Cas noted a strained tone to his voice but couldn’t guess at the reason.
“He hadn't been around in weeks...” Dean murmured, trying to remember, or better yet, think of any reason he would’ve actually gotten into a car with his father.
“No, everyone’s always ready for bacon,” Dean said smiling, “except Sammy, of course, stupid kid. I mean, are you ready for your life story thing today?”
So, Dean did; he closed his eyes and inhaled as deeply as he could, focusing on the feeling of his diaphragm filling with air.
After the plumber left (with the pipe fixed, but the hole in the ceiling remaining) Cas moved his suitcase to the floor and dropped heavily onto the couch. Dean walked over from the front door where he’d just let the guy out, and leaned against the wall opposite from Cas.
“So, before you head to breakfast, I thought I would just let you know that our latest addition over there,” she said gesturing to the door, “will be your roommate for the remainder of your stay.”
It was one of the most incredible experiences of Cas’ life, and he hadn’t wanted it to end. Hadn’t wanted to leave the excitement of the outdoors, the thrill of being so close to the animals he had studied for so many years just to return to his empty and lonely apartment. So, on a whim, something Cas usually never followed, he’d offered to stay behind and help Dr. Fox compile and sort through all the data they’d collected.
“Exciting is not the word that I would use in this situation,” Castiel admitted, taking a sip of his coffee, trying to hide his grimace. Hannah had not added sugar; not that she had any reason to know how he took his coffee.
Thank you all so much for all the comments, kudos and hits! You have no idea how much it means to me. I love getting your feedback and any interaction literally makes my day.
Dean whipped his head to see the very evident confusion in the kid’s face. He even detected a hint of fear.
“I don’t– Something in me just snapped that night. Seeing you like this, and then John and I– I’m sorry that I didn’t get rid of John when you asked. I’m just– Jesus, Sam, I’m so fucking sorry.” Dean planted his free elbow onto Sam’s bed and dropped his forehead into his palm.
I checked with the neurologists who ordered scans and there was no physical reason for your memories to be disappearing. It was all mental.”
Dean suddenly wished Sam would worry about the math again. “Jesus, Sam, no. We barely said ten words to each other before he ran into his room like he was being chased, as if he couldn’t fathom being around me for more than five minutes.”
“Dean, it’s the middle of the night. I think we should get you back to the room, and then I’ll call Stevie…”
“We probably have more to talk about,” Dean said eventually, at this point almost fully sitting in Cas’ lap.
Jody sobbed loudly. Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand bone-crushingly tight. And when Castiel glanced at him, he had gone completely rigid, his face seemed bleached of all color. Castiel blanched a little; he had never seen Dean look like that. When he noticed Castiel staring, he shook his head lightly and then smiled in reassurance. The smile seemed real enough. Castiel ran his thumb along Dean’s and then turned back to Jody.
Castiel was really looking forward to domestic days like this with Dean in the future. Although, depending on Sam’s condition, this might be far into the future. But that was okay, too. He was in no rush.
It was very dark in his room, so dark that he could barely see the outline of the pillows below him.
“We can arrange that,” Castiel stood up, walked over to Dean’s bed and drew the sheets back while Dean changed into his sweats.
“You can’t go around spending money on stupid things anymore, Sammy. The wife will have complaints.”
Cas shuffled over to the bed and dropped down next to him. Dean extended his arm, and Cas moved as close as he could into the cradle the gesture created. Cas rested his head on Dean’s shoulder and placed his hand flat on Dean’s chest. Dean started lazily running his fingers up and down Cas’ arm with the hand attached to the arm currently encircling Cas. With his other hand he reached into his jean pocket and extracted his cellphone. He typed something as Cas tangled their legs and closed his eyes. Dean continued typing on his phone for a little while longer, and Cas busied himself by running his fingers up and down Dean’s clothed chest. The moment was so intimate and gentle that Cas thought that he would go through everything that had led to this moment a hundred times over if the outcome was this. For the first time in his exceptionally long life, Castiel was at peace.
He schooled his features into what he hoped was a neutral expression as he lifted the bag and walked into the small living room. His heartbeat was far too fast and far too loud. The furiously pumping blood caused a high ringing sound to echo in his ears, caused a flash of vertigo that would no doubt leave an ache in the back of his skull.
Dean suddenly missed the safety of alcohol, and the blanket of false courage and plausible deniability that would shelter him from the look on Castiel’s face. To shield him from consciously registering the way he was reacting to Castiel being this close.
Cas felt a lump in the back of his throat, turned away from the photo and sat down on the couch that smelled very much like Dean.
“I mean yes, please, but use my money. Get a couple of bottles of water, lots of jerky and anything with peanuts in it. Nothing healthy.” Dean reached in his back pocket and fished his wallet out. He found a couple of bills resting inside and handed them to Castiel.
Castiel walked into the reception area with something that felt suspiciously like exhilaration humming beneath his skin. It seemed like this newfound ability to feel things made him actually experience the
Cas squeezed him gently. “That is very mature, Dean. I think that’s a very healthy outlook. I’m proud of you.”
due to the delays from his first flight. He hadn’t even had time to buy a proper coffee, as he could barely stomach the dishwater that passed for coffee on flights, before the final call for his flight was announced. This six-hour journey did not have a screaming baby, but it did have a super-chatty seatmate named Becky. Becky was not able to pick up on Castiel’s aggressive indifference to her stories and his utter lack of interest in her love life, which she spoke about with very little filter or restraint. And in detail. Graphic detail. Cas didn’t want to be rude, but the fact that he had been awake for over twenty four hours was wearing on his already limited social skills.
“Ask away,” Dean said, trying for indifference, but knowing his voice was strained. It was a very open invitation, and Dean was nervous about what Cas would want to know about.
“Well, that depends on you, but a good opener is usually telling me what brought you here today,” her tone matched her expression exactly.
“No, not then. When the Empty came for me. I had to say things in order to summon it. Things that probably should have been said differently, things he didn’t want to hear,” Cas clarified.
But it was not his pain to take away. Dean had to work through what he had to work through, and had to process what he could, when he could. But Castiel could stand by his side, be something for him to lean on when standing was an effort. Because Castiel understood needing that.
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathed out shakily. He had come to understand that Cas was very open with how he felt, never trying to filter or dilute it. One night, after they had kissed long and deep and slow, while their limbs were still intertwined but before they slipped into their separate beds (which they did most nights, in case someone came in to their room during the night), Cas had whispered something to Dean that had him glowing scarlet from the mere rawness of it, the intensity of the blatant adoration. Cas had definitely noticed his reaction, and when Dean had tried to spit out a coherent response (which he wasn’t able to), Cas had traced his thumb along Dean’s bottom lip, which almost made Dean short-circuit and definitely did not help with him trying to come up with a reply. He had looked Dean dead in the eye and told him that he spent so many years running away from and denying what he felt, still fought voices that told him what he felt was wrong, and the only way he could make up for it was to say them plainly now whenever he felt them.
manipulated the ingredients and tools. But, more than anything, he absolutely adored the smile that had brightened Cas’ entire face as the ingredients blended together and the sweet smell had started to fill the kitchen.
“But you can stay longer if you want to,” Dean whispered, holding on to Cas’ hand as tightly as he could.
He knew what was awaiting him, yet he knew that none of the images he had conjured over the past couple of hours would affect him quite as significantly as actually seeing Sam in that position.
“We want to get Cas out of the Empty,” Dean said plainly, downing the coffee and immediately refilling his cup.
“What was that?” Dean asked while lathering up shaving cream in his hands. Cas said nothing, just glared at Dean’s reflection in the mirror.
He had to admit, however, that he also awoke feeling more rested than the previous four mornings. He still hadn't slept
Dean reached towards him, taking both hands in his. Castiel let him, and his ocean eyes did not move from where they were staring at their interlinked hands.
“So, that means we talk about it. And then we discuss it and work through it. There are various therapeutic methods we could try: trauma debriefing or CBT. But before we can do any of that, we need to talk about it. You need to talk about it.”
“I swear, Cowboys have the same effect on you as drugs,” Castiel laughed as Dean pushed the door open so hard, the bang of it hitting the wall echoed down the deserted hall. The excess energy seemed to be in control of his limbs and actions.
“That makes sense, Dean. It is, however, often the things we are most frightened to unpack that are the most important for us to talk about.”
“It’s obviously not our ultimate goal here,” her lips had stretched, the edges lifting into an affable smile, “but for right now, it is. Right now, anything that makes you want to stay alive is okay, is
“Looks like the new patient is joining us today,” Castiel offered as Hannah came to a stop right next to him. She sat down on the bench as she reached out a hand which held a steaming mug. Castiel took the cup of coffee she offered as he breathed in deeply.
in the TV room. It was Dean’s choice, obviously, but Castiel enjoyed watching Dean when westerns were playing. He became deeply focused, eyes unwavering, a slight furrow in his brow, and more often than not, he was mouthing the words along with the actors on screen. Castiel was trying very hard not to think about taking Dean on a trip to
This. This was why he didn’t cook. He had to be the only twenty-eight-year-old who burned himself making fucking pasta.
The gravel of his voice, so rich with emotion, turned Dean inside out and then when the content of his words fully processed, he was turned right side in again.
Sam calls for re-enforcements, Dean gets an unexpected gift and Cas struggles with the Empty induced sleep.
Secondly, I have been toying with the idea of potentially doing time stamps with this fic. I've never done them before and I'm not sure if it something you guys would like to see. My beta even suggested a conversation between Sam and Dean about Dean's experience at
“Stop that,” Dean said softly, gently pulling Castiel’s hand away, “You’re making sense. You needed to be stabilized before you had surgery. And the six weeks was allowing you to become strong enough to admit that you needed surgery, that there were things you had to address outside of the bleeding.”
Dean hurried towards him, dropped down beside Cas and had his head in between his hands before he really knew what he was doing. Cas was still coughing, his blue eyes watery.
“Yes, Dean, all amnesia cases are different and although most of them resolve within a few weeks. Some cases can last months.”
“Yeah?” Dean was unendingly grateful for the interruption, but he still couldn’t quite find the courage to look at Cas.
And then Cas screwed up. He said the wrong thing. It wasn’t his intention. Of course, it wasn’t. It was a commentary about the changing ages of when people entered marriages in the twenty-first century, not recalling something from their past. He had no idea it would be a sore spot for Dean. He had no idea that Dean even remembered that part of
Dean walked into their en-suite to change out of his sweats and into jeans. He also decided to wash his face while he was there.
“Castiel Novak,” Dean repeated to himself, the tone of his voice making it sound like it was something special, something worth committing to memory, and the sound of him saying his name affected Castiel in a way he didn’t quite know how to put into words.
Dean’s arm snaked up his back until his hand rested at the base of his skull. Dean started massaging gently.
“Just don’t order Hawaiian again, you fucking animal,” Meg shoved her foot aggressively against Gabriel’s chest.
Dean’s entire body went cold and rigid at the thought. He tasted something metallic as he imagined the familiar arc of John’s fists aimed at his brother.
“I don’t have the fucking luxury, okay!” Dean exploded, his heartbeat deafening. “If I don’t work, my brother won’t have anywhere to sleep, and he won’t get to go to college! If I’m not home when his social worker comes by, my guardianship of him can be taken away. Fuck that, if there is even a gap in my income, they can take him
When his name was called, Dean, Cas, Bobby, Gabe and Meg jumped to their feet and clapped and hollered louder than anyone else there. Sam was glowing red, but smiling proudly when he took his certificate from his principal.
“Dean, I don’t really know what to say or what exactly you are meaning to tell me,” Castiel said, and Dean ran his hand over the lower half of his face, exasperated with himself. He could hear that he wasn’t really making sense. But more than that, what he was saying, and what he was doing, were not aligned. He didn’t know what to say that could make this better. Words had never really been his strong suit.
Dean thought to himself as he started scrolling. He didn’t scroll long, however, because the first thing he saw on Cas’ wall was:
“No,” Jack says simply, “Think of the grace as stitches, Dean’s soul healed a long time ago, so he no longer needs it.”
He grinned as Cas crashed into him. Dean flung his arms enthusiastically around Cas’ neck and kissed his forehead as Cas snaked his arms around Dean’s waist.
Cas cursed loudly as the boiling water sloshed over the rim of the pot and burned the skin on the back of his hand. He switched off the heat on the stove and moved the pot to a cool plate before running his hand under cold water in the basin.
“That’s like ten years,” Dean eventually huffed, rubbing his forehead as if it could sort out the chaos in his brain.
“Do you want to talk about what happened with Billie and the Empty?” Sam asked when Dean remained silent.
“Kitchen,” Sam ordered and luckily Dean did not put up a fight. When they arrived, Sam pulled a beer out of the fridge and grabbed the first aid kit. He plunked the beer down in front of his brother who opened it absent mindedly.
Castiel turned and lifted himself onto his elbow, too, so that they were mirroring each other, “It was even better than I could’ve imagined. I am happy that it was you.” He reached over and traced Dean’s face before gently pulling on his chin with his thumb and forefinger.
Their lunch had extended late into the afternoon. They only called for the check when dusk had started filtering its dusty orange hues through the window at The Roadhouse. Sam and Eileen were going to a graduation party at a friend’s house, and Bobby had offered to drop them off on his way home. Meg and Gabe were headed home. Cas thought they were headed there too, but Dean had a different plan. He tried to hide the tremor in his hand as he stuck the keys in the ignition.
Bobby scoffed. “Alright, alright, no need to get sarcastic, asshat. You know I ain’t good with this type of crap.”
Dean hurried over to the coffee pot. He set a mug down, and as he was pouring, he remembered something.
The photo he had been looking at greeted him. It was Castiel in tight jeans that were rolled up to just above his knee and a plain black t-shirt. The shirt was a loose fit, but that didn’t stop the interested twitch his dick gave as he stared at the photo. He
There was a beat of silence. Then another. She said nothing, just stared at him with a friendly, relaxed expression. Dean’s heart rate picked up.
“Do you have Moana?” Jack asked, his eyes lighting up, “I really like Hay-Hay the chicken. He makes me laugh,”. Eileen smiled as she nodded. Jack jumped up, hugged his two dads, and then followed Eileen out.
And for the first time, when Dean now considered his future, he didn’t feel terrified. He didn’t feel trapped.
He luckily managed to pull himself together before the end of the ceremony, in no small part thanks to Cas’ hand that was twined in his.
Cas stiffened violently next to Dean, his hand stilling the motion on his back. Dean felt his mouth dry out, his vision blur.
“I don’t really know who I am without my faith,” Cas said softly. It sounded like a confession. He walked over to his bedside table where he switched on the lamp before turning off the main room lights.
“Hello, Meg,” Castiel said softly as he walked towards her. She was seated on one of the purple couches in the reception room, surrounded by strangers.
This is the last full chapter before the epilogue. I cannot believe it is over. I've been working on this for over five months and it seems very strange to be saying goodbye to this world.
He sat himself up, ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at his eyes roughly. He blinked a couple of times, and then, out of nowhere, he was holding the gaze of deep cerulean eyes. The eyes placed in an exceptionally beautiful face – dark stubble coating a strong jawline. The stranger’s hair was pointing in a million different directions in a painfully endearing way. The man tugged at his hair, and Dean was suddenly faced with the urge to do the exact same thing. And then, he was smiling at Dean, something soft and gentle, and Dean couldn’t help himself, he returned his smile. And, encouraged by the fact that he wasn’t breaking the eye-contact, Dean winked at him. The man’s entire face turned a very entertaining shade of red, and Dean tried and failed to suppress the urge to chuckle. He found that he was unable to stop smiling.
Dean had known this was coming. Of course he had known. But now that her steady gaze was locked on his, her brown eyes serious and open, he felt all the questions vanish from his mind, vacuumed up until the only thing that was left in his mind were words she had already addressed.
“Dean, look at me.” Dean did as he was told. And Cas looked at him with the same ferocity and this time it made him feel like something alive was writhing under his skin.
“Sammy, not for nothing, but all of your potions taste like ass,” Dean said, barely stopping himself from gagging.
“So why isn’t he waking up?” Dean asked for the third time, feeling increasingly panicky, “Angel’s don’t need sleep.”
“If there is a secret club, it is highly unpopular. It is just me, watching the sunrise,” Castiel said as he picked up one of Dean’s shirts from a stack on the floor, he now knew which of Dean's piles were
He was busy trying to make sense of the mess in his mind when he spotted Dean Winchester looking around quite frantically while running a hand over the bottom half of his face. Castiel felt that twinge of curiosity that took root in him earlier bloom a little brighter as he watched Dean. He really was beautiful. Castiel blushed at the thought, and as luck would have it, that was the moment Dean noticed him. Dean looked at him quizzically, smiled and then jogged over to where Castiel was standing, who was seemingly unable to make himself move.
“I plan on getting very well acquainted with those teeth,” Dean said a little breathlessly. Cas laughed softly and placed a kiss in the hollow behind Dean’s ear.
“Are you feeling okay for today?” Castiel asked, trying to not sound as worried as he was feeling. It was Saturday, which meant that it was visitors’ day. Castiel knew both Meg and Gabriel would be there for him just as he knew that there would be no one there to see Dean. Dean had explained that Amara wouldn’t let him see anyone, not until his memories started returning. Dean still hadn’t really opened up much about why he was here, but Castiel could remember his first few weeks; he understood the uncertainty and weariness that permeated everything. People only came here when their lives had completely crumbled, the very foundations turned to dust. Dean may not know why he is here, but based on who ended up here and why they ended up here, Castiel can imagine that he is in no rush to remember.
“He’s not a good man, Cas, and he hurt me and let me down in ways I can’t even…” Dean bit the inside of his cheek and rubbed his hands on his thighs, “anyway, life sucks and then you die, right?”
“Just… stay. Please,” his voice broke a little on the last word. Cas did not break eye contact as he nodded. Dean mirrored the gesture and then exhaled a little shakily, “I’ll be back.”
“Dean, there is nothing you can do for him right now. Where you are is where you are doing the most good. Get stronger, here,” she pointed at her head, “so that you can be strong enough for the both of you without it hurting you in the long run. Talk to Missouri about Sam; ask her how to help him when he comes round again, what to do when you get scared, how to help without forcing yourself to shoulder the guilt. Spend some time on yourself because once he gets out… you’re his legal guardian, there’s going to be a lot you are going to have to deal with.”
After Dean had fled out of the room, Stevie had rushed after him. Castiel wanted to follow, but he was scared that his presence would exacerbate whatever demons Dean was busy facing. So, he had stayed in the room, hoping Dean would return when he was feeling more like himself.
“And it better be good,” Gabriel called from the backseat, linking his hands behind his head as he leaned back.
When he had confided in Cas one night, wrapped familiarly and comfortably in each other, Cas suggested they move in with himself, Meg and Gabe.
Dean’s eyes were burning, and he blinked as two tears brimmed over. He laughed lowly, “there just never seems to be an after.”
Thank you all so much for reading as well as leaving kudos and comments on this! I so appreciate it!
After a while, and a lot more head banging, he realized it was a losing battle. It seemed like both his biology and his brain were dead set on making his life hell.
Dean almost rolled his eyes when he saw the top of Cas’ favorite brand of creamer peaking over the lip of one of the bags labeled
The words landed like physical blows, and Castiel’s chest constricted tight in response. But when he looked back to Dean, he didn’t recognize the man staring back at him.
He turned to face the bathroom when the water stopped running. Dean appeared in the doorway and leaned against it. He palmed the lower half of his face.
“No Dean!’” Cas almost growled and this time he leaned forward and kissed him gently. A brush of lips, a moment of shared air. When Cas drew away, Dean almost whined. Although he would never say that out loud.
“I wasn’t the one pouring the whiskey, buddy,” Dean laughed – trying for casual but coming out a lot more forced -the sound strained and tense.
Dean sighed as he read that message. He didn’t want Sam worrying about him. Not ever, really, but especially not now. The gesture, however, was appreciated.
After the sobs stopped coming and Dean was drying the tears with the backs of his hands, Bobby had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
“No,” Dean admitted, “I mean, I know that this is a long-term facility and that I’m here for the next eight weeks. I know that I have to see a shrink alone twice a week and that there’s group therapy sometimes…”
“It’s rather strange, and I don’t mean to alarm you with this, but you make me feel things,” Cas started fidgeting with his hoodie sleeve, eyes darting to the floor.
“Sam. He needed me to protect him initially, and I wasn’t there. He needed me after, and I was too chicken shit to deal with it and you just let me…” Dean couldn’t find the words.
“I think a pipe burst,” Cas huffed out. The ceiling above the bed had a gaping hole and water was still falling from it.
When Cas pulled back to rest his forehead on the wall next to Dean’s head, a strangled whine left Dean. He was ridiculously grateful everyone else had already left.
night, the more he replayed the scene, broke down each word he uttered, each sound Dean made… It felt like it was one of those defining decisions in one's life. And Cas made the wrong one.
as Pamela called them, were kicking in. He was lashing out because those were the instincts he had developed in order to survive. He was lashing out because this was the worst thing that could have happened to him.
Castiel smiled at the look of confusion on Dean’s face. Something about the crack in the arrogant façade spurring Castiel on.
Dean reminded himself. She paid him no mind as he walked past her and slipped through the door that was not warded against humans. Dean didn’t look back. And suddenly there he was.
There was a long silence, neither of the two uncomfortable, both just happy to be this close to the other. Dean eventually stilled Cas’ fingers and twined his own with the angel’s and gave Cas’ hand a gentle and affectionate squeeze. He turned his head and could just barely make out the angel’s profile in the near blinding darkness. Dean did not like not being able to see Cas’ eyes then. The deep blue shade of them having become one of the touchstones of his own sanity. He reached past Cas, shivered as his arm grazed across Cas’ chest and turned on the bedside lamp. The sudden flash of light burned Dean’s eyes a bit, and he blinked them a couple of times as he adjusted. The light was not glaringly bright, and when Dean’s vision came back into focus, his room and his angel were both bathed in a warm, intimate glow.
“I think I’m in shock at the moment,” Cas said as he eyed his shaking hands wearily. “But yes, I am alright. It has been five years. We are both grown men who have moved on and whose life paths have diverged.” The words came out rehearsed and mechanical, like he has practiced that type of response in the mirror.
Content/Trigger Warnings: mentions of a car accident resulting in a fatality (off screen), mild asthma attack (no hospitalization required)
When Castiel awoke, Dean was still clinging to him, his face peaceful in sleep. This was not unusual; they have been falling asleep in each other’s beds more and more frequently over the past three weeks. What was unusual, however, was the memories of the previous night that immediately flew into Castiel’s brain. The way it felt, the way
Castiel sighed, desperately wanting to take this weight from Dean. He lifted his hand and pressed it into Dean’s chest lightly, and Dean followed his unvoiced instructions, lying down onto the bed. Castiel slotted himself in behind Dean, pulling Dean’s back into his chest. He nuzzled into the back of Dean’s neck. Dean dissolved against him, and the pain in Castiel’s chest receded as he felt him breathing in his arms.
Castiel exhaled for eight seconds. He repeated this for a while. And after every cycle, his breathing came easier, the constriction in his chest loosened.
Dean laughed, “Hard? Jesus, that doesn’t even begin to describe it. But I got it done. And I kept us alive.”
“Yeah, man. I don’t know sorry. I just panicked when you weren’t here. I was scared that…” the admission didn’t come easy, and Dean found that he could not complete it. But Cas understood, he moved back into Dean’s space and placed a reassuring hand on Dean’s arm.
He was in no pain, Castiel saw to that. He had just reached the end of the road. The doctors had told them the week before, that time was running out. And Dean had insisted that Cas stop healing him, that he was ready to go. All the things, people and feelings he had wanted to experience differently he had been able to. His life had been good and long. And with the notice, he got to say his final goodbyes at his leisure.
As in an honest-to-god wink, complete with cocky smirk. Castiel’s heart clenched in a way that felt very unfamiliar to him, but he felt a warm blush creep up his neck. The green-eyed stranger laughed and smiled at Castiel again.
Chapter tags/content warnings: mentions of homophobic parents (not Dean's or Cas'), masturbation, Dean lashing out at Cas, insomnia.
“I am a demigod, naturally,” he grinned. Castiel laughed lightly, and the two of them walked over to the kitchenette. | [
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“Dean,” he whisper yelled as he sprinted towards the man’s back. Dean didn’t even turn around, he was so focused on walking towards Alistair. But someone else noticed. Alistair looked up from where he was helping fight against Castiel’s garrison by lazily throwing knives at whoever strayed within range (and if Castiel were not so focused on catching up to Dean, he would be livid to see Hael and Ezekiel both had been hit, the hilts sticking out of their bodies and blood dribbling down from their wounds). The moment Alistair saw Dean, a strange calm came over him. He even smiled. Dean’s shoulders tensed up, and he reached for a weapon at his side.
“Is now the best time to be having this discussion?” Claire muttered. Benny said nothing at all, but something in him seemed to have relaxed. He knew Cas had made that decision he’d been talking about, and he thought Cas had made the right one. Cas wasn’t so sure.
“Of course she doesn’t,” said Selma with a snort. “Do you think this is the first time this has happened, Cas?”
He picks a hallway at random and starts walking, figuring he’ll find some long forgotten room to search at some point. It doesn’t take him long, actually, to realize Cas is following him. Not much later than that he realizes that he wants Cas to follow him. Wants the steady sound of Cas still breathing, the nearly silent tread of his footsteps right behind him. As long as Dean keeps walking and doesn’t stop, they can be suspended like this. Just out of reach, but together somehow. Like maybe he can keep Cas close if he gets him to play the shadow. Not that he thinks that will work, but it’s something to live in that isn’t anger or loss or crushing disappointment.
If Kaia had less patience for Claire’s infatuation with Jesse Turner, that was neither here nor there. She knew enough not to mention to her friend how much and just why it bothered her.
Or, said a voice in his head. You could go back to them. Tell Naomi everything you know. You don’t have to lose them again.
“You’d be surprised,” said Garth. “He seems all tough, but he’s really a teddy bear. And he’s a lot more in touch with himself than people give him credit for.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said after she had finished jotting down numbers. “So the story starts a long while back. Rowena was a daughter of one of the old king’s servants, and she fell in love with him. They had an affair and Rowena got pregnant with Fergus. The old king didn’t have any kids with his wife yet, and when she found out she put a price on Rowena and Fergus’ head and the king did nothing to stop her. Rowena had to run and I’m betting she started plotting that very day what she was going to do to get back at them. Ten years later, the queen has had seven daughters, but no sons and the old king was pissed. Sexist prick. Anyway, he tried to find Fergus so he could be his heir.”
Trisha shrugged, not giving him an inch. He hadn’t expected her too. He wouldn’t have if their positions were reversed.
“Barely,” answered Dean, at last. “You missed some pretty nifty driving when you passed out. Hurt my feelings.”
“Wouldn’t have time if I were on the run,” he said. He took two amphetamines out of his pocket and swallowed them. They were necessary for his alibi if he was to have driven from Ira to Superbia in a straight shot. “The story is I was stabbed and drove straight here from Ira.”
“Corinthia and Matthew were injured, but they said to tell you they wanted to come,” he said. “Some of the others on call for reinforcements in case of any attacks-“
“I know you’re scared of your father, even though he’s been dead almost half your life,” said Cas, knowing full well how touchy a subject that was. “I know you blame your mother for leaving you with him. I know you resent Sam for writing you off when you were in prison. I know that you’ll give anyone a second chance, even if they don’t deserve it. And I also know that you’re trying to make me angry. I just don’t understand why.”
But changing things on Earth on the other hand. That would be messy and complicated. It would involve danger and compromise and empathy and getting things wrong. It would be close and real, and Castiel knows even now it would involve failures of all kinds. But it would be good work, and someone has to do it. He’s long since known there is more than one way to be a hero.
“He’s not an asshole,” Cas says. “He’s… flighty. And he doesn’t understand… I kept things from him. My deteriorating relationship with my family. Money issues. I didn’t want him to know I was living off of ramen and my postgrad salary. I thought he would think less of me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Castiel said. He looked down at the file in his hands and passed it to her before trying to determine where to start. He supposed it was best to begin with the key players he had met in camp. “They operate with dual leadership. Billie Barnes is the one who is actually in charge and holds the most power, while a man named Dean Winchester seems to hold more influence over the men and women who are at the camp. His second in command is his brother, Sam, and he also has an expert in technology Charlie Bradbury as his primary adviser. She is, in my opinion, one of the more formidable assets they have. Below these key players are six captains, each of which is directly responsible for a section of the camp. These six are Benny LaFitte, Rufus Turner, Linda Tran, Tamara Winchester, Risa Jones and Gordon Walker. Of these six, Benny and Tamara have most influence. Benny is a close friend of Dean Winchester while Tamara has been married to Sam Winchester for three years. That being said, none of the other four are to be underestimated and all appear well trained in combat and strategy. Every one in camp seems to have some degree of training, though their respective positions were not explained to me. During my time-”
For a moment, bloodied faces swam before his vision. Hael with a bullet wound between her eyes. Susannah and Benjamin with their throats slashed. Balthazar and Hannah fallen and bleeding to death.
Suddenly there are strong arms under his shoulders dragging him deeper into the warehouse, away from the dead djinn. Dean weakly tries to fight back, but he’s dizzy and he’s having trouble keeping things straight. He figures he must have the mother of all concussions (probably not helped with hitting his head on Jody’s first floor bathtub the night before), and it’s all he can do to keep consciousness.
“But I’m kind of glad for it,” Lydia continued. “Because this is who I am, I think. A fighter. I just needed an excuse to see it, and, uh, certain circumstances made that clear to me.”
“That makes me feel… marginally better I guess,” says Charlie. “Chuck just would straightwash me though. Anyway, I’m alive again. So I’m gonna go get really drunk. Any takers for company?”
For the time being, however, Castiel has the day off and evening festivities don’t begin until much later. He has decided to take advantage of this fact by being as far away from everyone as possible.
“I ain’t leaving,” said Dean stubbornly. He sat there with his arms crossed and his breathing steady enough that he could be sleeping, though Cas had a feeling he was not. When he shifted in mild discomfort, slouching further down so his head wasn’t resting on the hard top of the chair, Cas sighed and decided to try again.
Jack mumbled something that was mostly incoherent about how he didn’t care, and why didn’t Gadreel shut up about it anyway. The soldier who had told them to bring Castiel up to Naomi told the both of them to make haste and then disappeared after her other soldiers in search of Jo. Cas hoped he had bought her enough time.
“But it’s nothing compared to the time I spent thinking about…” Cas starts, going silent as he sees Dean’s expression sharpen in concentration. He is giving Dean a lot of ammunition to hurt him. He knows he is. For some reason, he still can’t stop himself from finishing his sentence. “Other things.”
“Well if you two are going to spend all night sulking,” he says, pushing himself out of his chair and leaving the room. This is when Cas remembers. It was the Apocalypse. Cas was falling, Sam had decided to say yes to Lucifer in an attempt to trap him in the cage, Dean had reluctantly agreed, and in the mean time they were all just waiting. Waiting for it all to start, and for it all to end.
Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out the packet of painkillers Dr. Newman had given him, and then carefully spilled them out onto the table.
“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” said Dr. Newman. “It’s going to get a lot worse. I remember watching Jessica and Sam go through detox, and with them we had some idea what we were dealing with. We had Cordelia helping come up with drugs to ween them off their dependence. With you… we just don’t know what Naomi gave you.”
Claire’s the one who answers the door when Sam drops off Dean at their doorstep with a broken leg and a bad attitude. Turns out he fell wrong on a ghost hunt and almost bled out while waiting for help. That, coupled with a smaller injury from a vamp hunt gone wrong a few weeks ago means Dean is off active duty until he’s healed enough to not get dead next time he comes face to face with a monster. Claire suspects, though she doesn’t say so out loud, that whatever hunt Sam and Eileen Leahy (who seems to be Sam’s new girlfriend, whenever that happened) are going on is also partly an excuse to get away from Dean’s moping.
Convincing Kelly to come back was a task that was left solely to Cas. She had been suspicious, but as soon as Castiel had explained the plan, she had agreed to go through with it. He’d been a little surprised that she was willing to place herself in danger again so soon, until she explained herself.
Perhaps he had been too old to be effectively integrated into society, Castiel mused. Or too stubborn. Either way, it still seemed odd to Castiel that the two brothers had differed so sharply on their impressions of the state considering the level of faith they seemed to have in each other. Perhaps it was something that had transcended politics, or perhaps Dean had forgiven anything he might have held against his younger brother for believing in the state.
It was quiet as they arrived, and all eyes centered on Dean. No one was paying much attention to Castiel for once, which was a relief. He didn’t know any of the soldiers that they were opposing and none recognized him. He suspected that a great deal of the older and more experienced soldiers would still be reinforcing Superbia at the moment. He tried to scan and pick out which people were likely in charge and would have a say in the negotiations.
“I know,” said Cas. “I know that I’m not special and everyone is hurting and I need to get over myself-“
And now Bobby and Mary are looking just as alarmed as Sam is. Dean’s hurting them, he knows he is. So he shuts his mouth, and stands up and leaves. He’s halfway to the door before Cas rushes after him.
Jo stared at him a moment before swallowing and deciding that it was better not to make it seem like a big deal that Cas had just spoken to one of the kids. She must have figured that Cas would just write off Emma calling her ‘Aunt Jo’ as something all of the kids did.
And with that, Claire marched down the stairs and out the door before Kaia could so much react. When she had gathered herself, she chased after Claire, but at a distance. It wasn't hard to guess where she would go.
Jody rolled her eyes and went back to her drink. Then the both of them realized Castiel was still there.
“We don’t want to end our alliance,” said Billy. “And we don’t want to hurt you. We see a place for you, Dean. You could be a part of building a new world.”
“Then you don’t,” says Dean. “But Jesus Cas, tell me you don’t mean that. Because I think I might love you, and I think you might love me back.”
“Yeah, you have a habit of missing the forest for the trees. Don’t worry, it’s cute most of the time.”
“I had lows, but I never wanted to die. It’s not the same, Cas. You need help, and someone had to say it. Maybe… maybe she was part of why I tried to help you at first, because I suspected you’d lost someone with everything left unresolved, the same way I had. But the way you’re grieving isn’t healthy,” said Selma. “All you do is bury your pain, until you can’t anymore. And you act like no one should care about you.”
“Last big thing before we get into the details,” said Dean. “I’m going to be leading a smaller force into Canada so we can converge on Superbia. Hopefully we’ll be able to convince Cro- his majesty to spare some people to help us out with that. I’m still deciding who’s going to be going, but I will be leaving in the next few days. Jo and Risa, you’re both definitely going. Charlie, same thing. Everyone else will be notified in the coming days.”
“Frank, you’re going to be working with me from here on out,” said Mary. “Kevin and Sarah, you’ll be staying here in Ira. Everyone who used to work under Ash is going to be split up evenly.”
Mary got up to leave, but Castiel stopped her, reaching out quickly enough that her hand flicked to her weapon. Castiel stilled.
“I think you’ll find Castiel did this to himself,” says Billie. Jack’s eyes flash golden, but he doesn’t move against her. Not yet. “He knew the consequences of saving Dean Winchester again, and he chose. He knows what’s waiting for him back here, so he decided not to come back.”
Castiel started when he heard gunshots directly behind him. He spun slowly to see Anna staring at him, her uniform darkening slowly with her blood. She was staring at him.
“Yeah, yeah. What would I do without the two of you,” Bobby muttered sarcastically. Jody rolled her eyes and ordered a drink from Mandy when she came around again. Bobby instead focused in on Dean.
Then she grits her teeth and pushes herself to her feet. She starts to dig him out, ignoring the pain of charred debris searing her palms, making her skin redden and bubble. She is going to find Sam.
“How’s the kid?” Dean asks, following Cas to the room they’d set aside for the bodies. Cas doesn’t answer him. “Look, man…”
“I need to be somewhere,” Cas said, interrupting mind game number twenty seven in which Jo attempted to find out what was “really wrong” with him. She let him go, but Cas wouldn’t be surprised if she followed him. Hopefully, she would get distracted along the way because Cas had a feeling he was about to do something stupid, and he’d rather she not witness it.
“Would you like to buy it?” asked the boy who was standing by the stall. He looked to be in his early twenties, not much older than Dean. He was about Dean’s height, dark-haired, strong and pensive looking. His eyes were such a bright shade of blue, Dean wondered if he had eaten some of the spices from the stall down the street. He knew enough of the Lebanon fair not to actually ask.
Why on Earth would he say that out loud? In all honesty, Cas couldn’t begin to imagine what had possessed him to admit it. He wondered if he would shoot his own foot off as long as he got the last word. He strongly suspected the answer to that was also yes.
“Amelia and Jimmy,” Chuck continued. “And then there’s Amara and Claire. Our sisters. Claire’s been one of the guards on your door the past few days. She’s the baby of the family.”
“Get used to it,” she mutters to herself. Chuck betrayed her twice. It hurts worse the second time as it turns out. Not that she’ll ever give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
“That poor woman deserves better, but that’s not ours to give her right now. I need our safety secured. We’ve lost good people this past week, and we were going to lose more,” said Mary. “We had a plan in place to get her back eventually from Azazel, after we had taken out as many of his methods of retaliating as we could.”
Cas didn’t say anything, just listened as Dean got a faraway look about him. The walls seemed to slip from around Dean, and in front of him wasn’t Dean the leader or Dean the general’s son or even Dean the man who stared the world down with a grin. The smile even slipped from his face as he spoke.
“Knock yourself out,” said Kaia, whirling her staff a moment. It’s an effective threat. She slammed one end hard down on the ground.
“I know about the children,” said Castiel. “They were the state’s. We were the ones experimenting on them and you demanded we kill them because of your mistakes. You-“
“Whole lotta wrath,” says Chuck, looking at Dean as he says it. A bad feeling starts to well in the pit of Sam’s stomach. Dean’s expression doesn’t change, he just stares back steadily at Chuck. Like he’s daring him to say it out loud. “I mean you think I was bad-”
“We follow them,” said Cas. This was enough direction to kickstart the hyper-competent soldier who had led them through the desert to Libidine. Claire took Cas’ hand and they weaved through the crowd after Dean and the others, always far enough behind to be spared from notice.
Once maybe, but not anymore. Castiel didn’t voice this out loud, not doing a thing to course correct Naomi. He might be killed for his supposed betrayal of her, but she still wouldn’t question that Emma was dead. That would have to be enough, Castiel supposed, thinking guiltily of the kit taped to his back that would never reach Harriet if he were to die now.
Cas nodded, and tried to lift his arm to scratch an itch on his nose only to once again tug against something. He looked down to see he was handcuffed to what looked to be a cot. He frowned up at Dr. Newman.
“Good. I’m glad to hear,” Rosali said back. Jason was at a loss for words for a moment, then retreated to where Benny, Wendy, Garth, and Betty were having a spirited discussion. He looked like a dog that had just been kicked, and very pointedly didn’t look back in Rosali’s direction. Rosali sighed. “Men need to get better at reading nonverbal cues.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For telling Jo to get out. I’m sorry about what happened to you, but that girl’s my daughter and if anything had-”
“I don’t know,” says Dean. “I have no fucking clue, okay? Jesus, between you and Sam, I’m gonna have a midlife crisis ahead of schedule. You want me to think about the future, well I didn’t have one for most of my life. And when I did, I wasn’t even happy about it, I was just trying to get through another day so I could say I’d done it. But I always knew I’d die early and I’d die bloody, so I didn’t make fucking plans. That wasn’t for me. You- You all know what you want, well that’s great. I don’t.”
It wasn’t a long time before he woke again, but he kept his eyes closed. He was bone tired and he didn’t want to move just yet. He heard a voice and vaguely realized that it was Dean’s.
“Are we done here?” Kali asked. Naomi nodded, and Kali left unceremoniously, her men trailing behind her. Castiel spent the seconds it took her to leave wishing for a series of unpleasant and mostly violent things on her and Gabriel within his head. Once the elevator doors had closed behind her, he was forced to once again think about where he was and what he could possibly do to get out of it.
“Do you know the rules, dear?” Harriet asked. Castiel nodded to her and looked down at Jess’ hand. It wasn’t a good one and he had no doubt everyone knew that considering she was so eager to pass it off to him. He folded immediately, and waited out until the next round, taking advantage of the time to examine the other players. Balthazar had always been good at picking out tells, but had the unfortunate habit of informing the other members of their garrison what their tells were so they could compensate for them. Castiel was less skilled when it came to subtle shifts in expression, and knew he wouldn’t be defeating anyone by waiting for a jaw to clench or a muscle to relax. Instead, he tried to get a sense of what everyone wanted out of the game.
She drove off before he could answer her. Castiel looked up to where he imagined Anna was probably watching him from. He wondered what she would think of him, attempting this charade. That he was out of his depth, probably. Then again, if she was looking down, it was likely only to make sure he kept his promise to try to stay alive.
“You have my word,” Mary said. “On one condition: you don’t use Dean to weasel your way out. When the time comes, you put your head down and accept what’s coming to you.”
Claire figures this is her cue to enter the fray. Just as the crocotta turns again to hold off Cas, Claire takes a stab at him. She misses the crocotta’s spine by a mile, but slices him up shoulder to hip, and even if it won’t kill him, it seems to hurt. Kaia takes advantage of Claire’s distraction to swipe the crocotta’s feet out from under him with her staff. Unfortunately, the crocotta gets a handful of Cas’ coat and manages to take Cas down with him. Unbalanced by the fall, Cas loses hold of his blade, sending it clattering across the floor. Mr. Jones stoops to pick it up, a gun in his other hand with the safety still on. Claire doesn’t like his odds of shooting straight with all of them fighting in such close quarters. Mr. Jones seems to think the same, because he holsters his gun as he runs in to help.
“What are those from?” he asked frowning. Dean paused a moment, pulling his new shirt over his head before answering.
“Okay,” Selma agreed. “Just ask around, and someone will point you in our direction when you’re ready to play.”
Unfortunately for him, Balthazar was very used to him attempting to sneak away from crowds. He’d hardly gone a block before his friend was beside him, chattering on about something or other as though they had been walking together all along.
“Not yet,” Castiel said. “As I said, they don’t trust me. I’m kept at arm’s length, and Charlie is careful not to share any details she thinks I could use against them.”
“See if Eileen and I can get anything else out of Chuck? Sounds like a plan,” says Sam. Dean nods and is about to leave, when Sam suddenly freezes and aims another horrorstruck look in his direction. “Oh my god.”
Both Ash and Charlie looked disappointed by his answer, and Castiel didn’t quite miss Charlie saying under her breath something along the lines of wishing he would have just picked a damn side. Hers specifically.
“I stand corrected. You’re dumb as a rock,” said Gabriel. “Right and wrong stopped mattering a long time ago. At this point, it’s us vs. them, and if you want to be moral about it you keep your head down.”
“You really haven’t fucked him yet?” she said. “It really, really isn’t that hard. He’s into you, and he thinks sex is like God’s gift to mankind. You could just try not being an asshole for five seconds.”
“You don’t know everything about me,” she said. The two cousins exchanged concerned looks at this news.
“He was sixteen,” said Castiel. “And in training. I doubt he was even armed. And if you hadn’t tried to interfere I might’ve had time to…”
Claire’s receipt prints from the machine (a minor and somewhat annoying miracle), so she takes it and stuffs it in her pocket. She takes a final deep breath and then walks around the car back to the driver’s seat. She hears the door slam as Dean gets back in on his side. She slides in a few seconds later. Patience is awake now.
Cas reached out for Dean, hooking a hand behind his neck. He kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth, and then again on the lips. Softly, quickly. He’d learned that this was a language Dean responded to, even if it wasn’t one Cas was fluent in. Dean kissed back, pressing Cas back into the side of the car like he couldn’t get close enough.
Charlie trailed off, and suddenly she was hugging Cas. Cas hesitated to hug her back, but when she didn’t appear to be stopping, he did.
“Would you like to sit with me?” Selma repeated, undeterred. She waited as Castiel sized up her intention and smiled again when he nodded slightly.
Instead, Cas stood at the peak of a mountain. Below him stretched forests and fields, endless beauty in ever varying shades of goldens and greens and browns and yellows and blues. He wondered if this was how God must feel, the distance providing a strangely profound understanding that inspecting a single blade of grass could never supply. Cas could imagine the world was peaceful from here. That he had no right to affect it, to shape it, to even touch it.
Castiel ignored the glares he got as he walked past the kids, but he made sure to walk slowly and not in any way acknowledge that he saw them. He wouldn’t be surprised if the only rumor that had managed to spread about him here was that he was ordered to shoot children once.
“Then a lump of fur sat in your lap,” Charlie said, smiling wide. “Your tough guy persona is dying a horrible death as we speak.”
“This isn’t me, stopping time. It’s Death. Jack reinstated Billie, and I wouldn’t even be here if she hadn’t told me that you were about to… well. Die. I’m not supposed to save you. I’m not even supposed to be near you anymore after what happened last time. Billie is testing me, giving me the chance to make things right with you, offer you a peaceful passing,” says Cas. Dean stares at him. “Which I don’t intend to.”
“I don’t even know what I’m thinking half the time. Kinda doubt you know how to navigate my head better than I do,” says Dean. “And trust me when I say I’m real good at seeing things the way I need to see them to get through another day. Maybe I just figured I’d let myself want what I knew I could get, and hell even that seemed like I was stretching. I didn’t even know what you saw in me that was so worth coming back for, but it didn’t matter as long as you did.”
Cas lies on his stomach, in the gravel. His shirt and jeans will be stained with it, but he pays that no mind. Instead he curls his toes beneath his feet, and tenses his hands under him, ready to move quickly. It’s no small thing to catch a cat. Especially one that has evaded capture on all previous attempts.
“Yeah, alright,” she says, the words coming out strained and vicious. Patience can tell she’s upset, but she’s not sure how to help. So the three of them just sit in silence.
“Alright,” she said to Dean’s astonishment. She left to give her payment, and Dean stood there, absolutely stunned. He had somehow just managed to get himself engaged to Jo Harvelle. He should be happy. Why wasn’t he happy?
It drains Sam to say it, Dean can tell. And great, now Dean feels bad for feeling conflicted. For not, if nothing else, appreciating that Cas had died happy because the stupid asshole loved him. As if Dean should feel sorry that he would rather have Cas alive and miserable and there at his side, and not just gone. He doesn’t want Cas’ sacrifice, he wants to watch old westerns with him, and make fun of him for being a dork, and know that he has someone he can count on to have his back no matter what.
“Sixteen hours,” said Charlie. “We have papers for emergency use only. It’s how we got here so quickly.”
“You all are very passionate about people who don’t exist,” Castiel muttered, looking down at his drink and feeling awkwardly left out. Three sets of eyes were on him instantly and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asks, cutting in before Dean can say anything. Which is probably good, because Dean was thinking about letting his fists do the talking. “Rewrite?”
“We tried to get her back,” continued Tamara. “But every path went cold. And after seven years had passed, we knew we wouldn’t even recognize her if we did find her. So Isaac went to Libidine and I stayed in Ira, because after that long missing her we couldn't stand to look at each other anymore.”
“Yeah and guess how I figured that out?” Dean asks. “I knew after a while that I was probably talking to a guy. If you get comfortable enough with a girl, they start telling you things, like… like they’re on their period, or their bra sucks, or they bought a new lipstick that’s bright blue for the hell of it. Victor was too busy trying to figure me out to do any of that shit. I didn’t know for sure either way, but I didn’t stop messaging him. In the abstract like that, it seemed… fine. Being with a guy. And then it started seeming less abstract, but I was still okay with it.”
“Yes,” he said. The moment he had decided he was running to the edge of the roof and quickly scaling the building. He stopped at each person he saw, most of whom were sobbing over illusions. It was a process to convince them of reality, and one woman had reacted so violently to Castiel trying to convince her that her child hadn’t died before her eyes that he was forced to restrain her. To anyone he could cajole into a lucid state he gave a set of instructions: Convince everyone about the hallucinations. Restrain outliers and move them to a safe location. A man and a woman Castiel had never met had already helped to do so with the woman who had reacted violently to him.
“No,” said Cas, watching as the worried look deepened, the edges of Dean’s mouth pulling down into a frown. “You don’t need to worry. My eating habits won’t get in the way of you using me to take over Superbia.”
“She wishes you’d visit more,” Kaia says, breaking into Cas’ thoughts. “She wouldn’t ever tell you that, but she does.”
They play board games all night, until Cas is dozing off on Dean’s shoulder, and Charlie and Dean keep failing to get a decisive victory in the game of poker they decided to start.
Newman laughed a little at her, but at her familiar little stubborn frown straightened his expression within a second.
It is reassuring to see Dean breathing evenly, his face lax in sleep. It will be painful for him to wake up, despite the painkillers in his system. It is much simpler, for the moment, for him to be unconscious. This way, Cas can drink in the sight of him, can let himself be relieved and concerned and incredibly angry in equal measure without any emotion having to cancel out the others. The fact that Dean is breathing is keeping him in equilibrium.
They were led to the center of the city, and Azazel’s headquarters in relative silence. The streets were much deader than usual, and anyone who saw them got out of their way without hassling them or even acknowledging them. Castiel had a feeling getting out wouldn’t be anywhere near this easy.
“Sorry,” Ambriel said, eyes glued to her computer. “There’s an issue in Libidine that she needs to be on top of right now. She will be with you within an hour. If you want, I can call you back if you’re… uncomfortable.”
“Looks like, huh. Still doesn’t stick. I guess the warranty hasn’t run out yet,” Dean says, gesturing towards himself. His body, his meatsuit, his vessel, whatever you wanna call it. Claire doesn’t smile, and why would she? She knows what he really means. One of the few who could.
“No,” he said shortly. He had in fact spent a long time now very purposefully not thinking about Anna, and he planned to continue to do so as long as possible. Not that it stopped the dreams of her dying, which were almost always fragmented and violent now. Sometimes the dreams went off script and Castiel managed to shoot himself before Anna could stop him.
To stop himself from texting Sam to get him the hell out of here (and doing the equivalent of being a teenage girl at a sleepover begging to be picked up), Dean shoves this feeling down and gets quiet for the rest of dinner. He flashes a smile every once in a while, but tunes out Alex and Patience snarking back and forth about who was supposed to clean up the latest monster dissection in the garage. He also pointedly ignores the occasional looks he gets from Claire, who is uncharacteristically silent all through dinner, only really talking to Kaia and Wendy. She jumps in to side with Patience against Alex in some dispute or other and then goes back to quietly picking at her food and paying too much attention to Dean.
“Okay,” Castiel answered. Risa joined in on the game, and they spent several hours switching through poker, gin rummy, and several other games Cas had never heard of before and ended up losing very badly in. All the while, Cas made frequent use of Jo’s flask until his very identity started slipping pleasantly away from him.
It all happens so fast, Sam has almost forgotten he might be saying goodbye. Again. He feels for a second that long stretch of life ahead of him if Dean doesn’t make it. All that time knowing if he’d come up with a different plan, if he’d pushed back on this one maybe-
“How did we know what to do after you guys had us all gassed?” Dean pointed out. “Cas here was a big help with that one. He told us all about Sweet Dreams.”
Gadreel and Jack stopped arguing well ahead of when they might have been heard by Naomi’s guards. They handed Castiel over quietly, and then went off to return to their positions elsewhere. Castiel hadn’t realized that Gadreel had managed to put him at ease slightly until he was gone and Cas was surrounded by hostile faces again.
Other areas around the city hadn’t been as lucky, and word came in from both Risa and Rufus that there had been minor skirmishes in the rural areas that they were defending, and that there had been a few casualties, but though only locals had died. That hadn’t gone over well with the people of Sanctus, some of whom seemed to be thinking along the lines that Castiel was: if the resistance hadn’t come in, their people might not be at risk.
“He is good looking,” Balthazar said when they wandered toward the mostly empty dining hall and he saw Dean sitting there with Jo and Benny, clearly having a serious discussion with the both of them. Benny must have traveled from Ira, Cas thought to himself. He doubted the man had entirely recovered from his bullet wound yet, but with Jo having abandoned her post…
“Does being an asshole make you feel better?” Dean asked, obviously trying to keep himself from lashing out in a similar fashion at Cas.
Of course, Cas knew Dean cared about him. He knew Dean loved him. He just had not really thought it was quite to that extent. Or anywhere near close, really. Because when it came down to it, what about Cas was all that worth loving?
Dean didn’t seem to be surprised that Charlie wanted him there. He seemed a little frustrated Charlie had woken up so soon, but the moment he was at Charlie’s side he pulled her to his chest and hugged her, patting the back of her head while keeping a rather stoic expression himself.
“Nuh uh. Fuck that,” said Dean. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. No one’s going to touch you.”
It occurs to Cas as he considers this statement, that Kaia has not turned to look at him. In fact, he’s very certain she hasn’t looked at him once since she started painting sigils.
“No,” Castiel repeated, already knowing from the hangover he had two days ago that drinking six shots in a row, while impressive, was not a trick he could do twice in one week.
By the time he had somewhat averted another panic attack, he had been carried into an elevator with a familiar pair of shoes walking in with them. Castiel struggled to look up and saw Kali’s grim face looking back at him.
It all came down to one thing. Whatever misgivings Castiel had about the future, he now knew that the past was indefensible. The current abuse of power could not stand, and he would not fight to ensure the status quo.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t drink so much so fast,” Selma told him, when he handed the cup back to Jo a third time, who raised her eyebrows and poured significantly less inside this time.
“Trade?” Castiel asked, having not thought about exactly how the camps kept running before. Charlie nodded.
“But it will give us time to fix it that we don’t have if we keep letting Heaven expand like this. There are barely any angels holding it together anymore, and if I try to make more-”
“Alright,” Dean said to the assembled throng, drawing their attention away from hating Castiel. “Clear a path for Benny to get to the door. He’s our best chance of getting out of here. In the meantime, stay low to the ground and as far from the fire as you can. Use whatever you can to cover your mouth as a filter, and whatever you do, don’t panic.”
“Walk me back to my tent,” Jo said, and Castiel agreed, glad when Jo set the bottle down. He would rather the stuff go to waste than Jo drink the whole of it. They went, and something about Jo seemed to be filled to the brim with a kind of nervous energy. When they reached the entrance of her tent, instead of Castiel going on his way, Jo pushed him inside.
“Coke,” Kaia says over her shoulder. She finishes drawing the sigil she’s on and moves on to the next spot Castiel marked down. “Make it two.”
“Aside from an archangel?” Rowena muttered. “What do you think? Fate. You’re the one who kills me, Samuel. I suppose it was a nice thought that this would be the reason why.”
“Riddle me this, then,” said Meg at last. “If everything’s ‘fine,’ why do you act like everything’s shit?”
“If it means I get to stop the infernal noises coming out of your stereo, then yes,” said Cas. “In general, I don’t mind one way or the other.”
There was only one or two days left until they reached Guttur, and Castiel couldn’t be happier. To say he was sick of the time he was spending cooped up in the car would be an understatement.
“No. Dean is many things. An angel is not one of them,” said Cas, smiling softly to himself for a moment, before remembering where he was and that he may never see Dean again, if these people had their way.
“And to those forces that would invade the city,” said Naomi next. “I have in my possession two high profile hostages. Castiel and Jo Harvelle. As I understand it, Dean Winchester and Ellen Harvelle have more than enough motive to spare these two lives. I want to be clear: the only way both of them are getting out alive is if I have a total surrender by resistance forces within forty eight hours. After that I will kill one of the hostages. If no surrender has been offered within an additional twenty four hours, both of them will be dead.”
“You’re actually fucking killing me, you know that?” Dean said straight faced. Cas smiled at him, and Dean cracked, grinning back. “Fuck off, alright? You’re gonna be okay, Cas. I’m gonna see to it.”
“Okay, Cas,” says Dean, and keeps his voice soft. Soft enough that if Cas were anyone else he might have to strain to hear. As it is, Cas just looks startled. And alarmed as Dean takes a step forward, a step towards him. “But you owe it to me to say my piece. You know that.”
Michael reaches for the bread bowl and starts picking apart a roll, eating a bite every once in a while. Or Adam does. Amara isn’t sure.
“You’re Amara,” says Patience. She’s not sure there’s some kind of protocol for meeting a primordial being, but if there is she’s failing at it. Mostly she just expected… more. This woman could be someone she saw at the grocery store. Not exactly oozing with chaotic grace and unchecked anger. Or anything you might expect from God’s equal and opposite…
Garth sounded less than impressed with these observations when Cas brought them up in their nightly therapy session. Cas had wanted them to be weekly, but with Balthazar being allowed to come along (and over Mary’s objections) he hadn’t wanted to push his luck.
“Jody and the others will be returning to their cities at the end of the week. I’ll go with her, and then back to Superbia for an official update with Naomi. You said it yourself, you don’t always have the medication to deal with serious illnesses. It would be more than believable that Emma died of something.”
But Dean’s hand was familiar and comforting, and for the moment all his missing finger meant was that Cas had survived something terrible. But because he was alive, Dean could hold his hand. How wonderful and ordinary that was. How easily taken for granted.
“I don’t know what I want,” said Cas, eyes already closing again as he started to sink back into his nightmares.
A good translation. To the point, and without politics. Castiel has always appreciated when humans got the words right.
“I’ll talk to him later,” Sam says to Cas, who glares in the general direction of the door instead of acknowledging this. For now, Sam takes Eileen’s hand and the two of them look at each other. “I think we all need time to think. About what we’re going to do.”
That night he dreamed, sometimes, of loving Dean. Of reality through a fogged lens, dreamlike in its nature rather than its content. But more often he dreamed of that other Dean, the one he’d yet to meet. The one that killed a half dozen men out of sheer desperation. In these dreams, Dean does not hesitate before plunging a blade through Castiel’s chest.
After Selma left with the twins and Benny to go about whatever business they had on schedule for the afternoon, Lydia and Jo took time out to make sure Castiel was up to the apparently arduous task of shopping for supplies.
“I don’t know anything in your field,” he said at last. “I just wanted to ask how Crookshanks was doing.”
“I could carry him out,” Cas offered a second later, making Benny’s face twist in indignation. “It would be the least I could do.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak about me like I’m not in the room, Dean Winchester,” said Castiel. Dean’s head snapped from his mother to look at Cas.
“All of you are fired,” said Dean. This caused no shortage of general complaints (Jack was especially certain he couldn’t be fired, since he hadn’t done anything wrong) and Dean responded to it all by turning up his CDs as loud as they could go. This only lasted the five minutes before Guttur was in sight. “Quit your whining, it’s going off. Alright, everyone remembers what they’re supposed to be doing?”
“You,” said Cas at last. “I shouldn’t have to choose, but I’d pick you. Every time. Even when it’s the wrong decision. I’m surprised you’ve yet to notice, considering how smart you are. Being intentionally obtuse is quite the talent.”
“I want you to call them up and have them tell us anything we need to know,” said Dean. “Like what kind of weapons they’re willing to use, where they’re stationed, what’s been weakened since Zachariah moved his forces in-“
“Okay fine,” says Dean. “I’ll be so damn happy I can’t think straight. I’ll even mean it, just… Cas, please tell me I’m not the thing that kills you. Promise me that much at least.”
Dean’s expression was haunted. Cas wished he knew a way to soothe away the memories. Make them fade into something hazy and forgotten.
“Were?” Sam asks. Neither Amara nor Chuck looks at him, too busy glaring daggers at each other. Eileen is about as confused as he is, and well that makes sense. Not like he’s gone into much detail with her about how the end of the world went down. Claire and Patience likewise seem to be mostly out of the loop. Considering they’re trusting Patience to get them out of whatever is about to happen, this is a little concerning.
He practically gasps out loud when one of the eggs rolls onto the snow. It cuts to commercial break right after and Cas turns to look at Dean, his brow creased with worry. Somehow, all of this put together is so strangely and specifically attractive to Dean, that before Cas can chatter on and on about whether or not the baby penguin is okay, Dean is dragging Cas down underneath him.
“What?” Dean says at last. He’s pretty sure this is Michael and not his estranged half brother, right now. Mostly sure. It’s not like he knew Adam for that long though.
It’s as close to an admission as Rowena is going to get. At this point, she may have earned his trust, but that’s something hard to give in the best of circumstances. But this…
“Alicia, Max,” the young woman said, hurrying towards them with an expression of sheer relief. “Where’s Krissy? She didn’t get herself sent to max lock up trying to escape again, did she?”
“Evacuate? Where are they supposed to go? Earth? The Empty?” she asks. “We might as well try to make Jack explode again. It’ll be faster for all of us. Humans aren’t quiet by nature. It’s why Heaven had to pacify them in the first place. Humans tend towards wanting to live, and the Empty will find a way to get out eventually. It could swallow us, just to be spiteful.”
“It makes me feel sad in a way I can understand,” explained Castiel. “It puts words to grief. A Heavenly Hurt that leaves no scar. Just because you don’t think I’m hurting doesn’t mean I’m not, Trisha.”
“This ain’t about trust. This is about the fact you don’t want to be around and I don’t know how to fix it. Hell, I don’t think I can. What I can do is not make it worse. And helping take down Superbia is going to make it worse. There’s going to be casualties Cas, no matter what happens and I am not letting you take responsibility for them. The decision’s out of your hands,” said Dean. “Nothing you can do about it.”
“Wow, I don’t even count?” mutters a still blind-folded Dean, which makes Claire wonder how the hell he knows Cas is even there. She sets the thought aside when the crocotta stomps down on Dean’s cast, cracking it open. Dean lets out a surprised shout of pain, and Claire cringes as she watches him double over with his arms still tied behind him as he tries to heave up bile onto the floor. She doesn’t have to look at Cas to know he’s furious. Claire’s pretty sure the chances of this crocotta leaving the room alive just dropped below single digits, percentage wise. Then again, not like she’s sat through enough school to check that math.
“Uh, Charlie,” he says. Dean just looks at him. “I thought about… I thought about what Billie said. About trying to change for the better and- I’m not sorry we saved you from the Mark. But I am sorry about everything else and- And why not? If we can right a few wrongs and get off Death’s bad side while we’re at it-”
“It’s warm,” said Castiel as he sat down in front of her. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to take it off. She wrinkled her nose in distaste, but went back to skimming the report. When she was done, she set the papers down and looked at him.
“You mean besides Heaven tearing itself in two?” asks Dean. His voice sounds off, and Sam doesn’t blame him. If the other foot was gonna drop, it would be now. Charlie shrugs. “Seriously? There’s more?”
“Spoken like a true brainwashed robot,” Charlie said, sounding disappointed. “C’mon Cas. You’re don’t have to be Mr. Soldier anymore. At least not when you’re with us. Break a few rules. Rebel a little.”
“Jo. Like you said, older girl, good with guns,” said Rosali with a smile. “The poor kid didn’t stand a chance. Luckily, he’s smart enough to know she wouldn’t want to date an eighteen year old.”
“Truth is, kid, I didn’t know how to deal with you. I didn’t ask for that kind of responsibility, and my whole life I’ve had to take care of other people. I always had to put someone else first and… I couldn’t do it anymore. And that’s not fair to you, I know that. Because you didn’t ask to get stuck with me and Sam either. But I still couldn’t do it, and I’m sorry you didn’t have someone better. If it had just been Cas, if he’d always been there, you could’ve-”
Dean doesn’t usually bother to answer his phone. The only person who calls him that he likes talking to is Sam, and they still aren’t speaking. Dean has debated over and over again being the one to pick up the phone and end their fight, but he never does. In general, this means he tends to assume it’s a telemarketer or some other nonsense on the other end of the line, and figures they’ll leave a voicemail if its important.
“It’s not quite like that,” Castiel corrected softly. “There are people I can… It isn’t cut and dry, is what I am trying to say. And Dean is…”
“It’s easier to do that now,” he says. “When he can’t- It’s easier this way. Like in a way he died in that fire with mom, he just did. I don’t think he had any idea what he was going to do after he got his revenge. I don’t think he planned for it. I mean twenty or so years on and he thinks me and Sam are gonna what? Move on with our lives? But he died for me, y’know? Died so I got to live, even if I did a piss poor job of it. So he cared, right? But it’s just easier if he’s not- If he’s-”
It’s past midnight, and Cas can hear the sounds of water running as the girls go through their evening routines. They will be sleeping soon. He envies them that, wishing he too could escape for a while from the waking world. Instead he will simply sit with his thoughts, as usual. Funny that it had not bothered him in Heaven the way it does now. Humanity is catching, he supposes. It brings with it all sorts of little jealousies.
“Wait,” Jo called after him. “Could ya… Could ya stay? Not like… I just don’t want to be alone right now.”
“That’s true,” says Cas. Dean deflates. Part of him doesn’t want Cas to give in so easy. To give up. Because Dean means it, if it keeps Cas safe he’ll cut himself out to do it. Not that he wants to, but he will. Cas clears his throat, not looking at Dean now. “I’ve been thinking.”
At that thought, he does feel his eyes start to water a little, but they’re long since dry by the time he gets to Sam and Jack.
“Nah,” said Charlie. “We need his minions thinking you and Dean are happily together. The two of you missing breakfast was a good idea. I’m sure they all think you two were, uh, celebrating your engagement.”
“You kids alright back there?” asked Allen cautiously. Part joke, part actual worry, considering Castiel wasn’t that much younger than he was.
“I’m not mad at you for getting your butt tortured, okay?” Charlie whisper yelled. “Oh god. I don’t want to do this.”
Castiel didn’t tell her she was probably right. His own mother and father were only a hazy memory, and not one he tended to dwell on. His family was his garrison, and whoever Tamara’s daughter had been, Cas now knew that the state would have shaped her into exactly what it needed. Who was hurt in the process was less than a concern for them.
It wasn’t a long walk back to the motel, but Dean felt more unsteady on his feet the closer they got. Maybe he wasn’t drunk, but he was addled on despair, and whatever strength he’d relied on to keep him on his own two feet all his life was finally failing him.
And that’s when it all fell into place. Dean almost laughed as the monster continued his fucking monologue.
“Why would something be wrong?” Dean asked, looking genuinely confused. But underneath it was a kernel of guilt, and Cas knew he was on the right track. Something was wrong, and Dean had not realized Cas had picked up on it. Dean caught the look Cas was giving him. “It’s nothing.”
“Yes. I wanted to renegotiate the terms of our mission. See, I agreed to only one soldier accompanying me before your mother threatened me. Now I feel unsafe.”
“Yeah. That is the new policy, huh,” says Ash, sounding faintly disappointed. “Didn’t really think it was your style, though.”
It takes a moment for these words to register on everyone in the room. When they do, a lot of people start talking at once. Castiel immediately demands to know if Jack is alright, while Claire and Patience mutter between themselves about who the fuck God is then, and even Eileen signs a question at Sam about whether this is related to the whole world ending thing that Patience told Dean about. Dean doesn’t say anything though, just looks more and more certain of something.
“To be fair, Dean deserved that,” said a familiar and very welcome voice. Jo pushed her bowl of soup down next to Benny’s and plopped herself down in the seat, leaving only one chair at the table empty. “He was pretty much baiting Cas here. Ain’t that right?”
“Essentially,” Castiel confirmed. Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “I have Charlie sending in updates to Naomi from a personal device she gave me, with intentionally suspicious content. They likely already suspect I’ve been discovered, but if the knife wound is too fresh, it will raise questions.”
Gordon was a few seats away, which made it hard to ignore him. Cas had taken his seat next to Jo, and she and Rufus were the only two people acting as a buffer from Gordon’s malevolent glare. Castiel did the equivalent of a mental shrug and turned to look to his right, where Risa, Linda, and Tamara were sitting. Risa and Tamara were paying attention, if only superficially, but Linda looked bored to tears and was openly knitting a hat. She caught Cas looking at her.
So she schedules family dinners, and is surprised as Kelly starts to thaw towards her. Michael, likewise, is slightly less self righteous every time they meet, until he has conversations with Jack without having to have his ear talked off for half the meal. Even Adam seems… at least entertained by the tradition. It’s nice, sometimes.
It’s at this point where he wonders if he should move. He can feel the hum of the engine under him, so someone is driving. Chances are it’s either Dean or Eileen. He doesn’t hear anything besides the muted sound of wind and other cars whipping by and his own breathing, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He doubts Dean would be wearing out his cassettes if he thinks his younger brother is dead again, thank you very much. In fact, both of them could be there and wouldn’t really be talking to each other if Eileen is tired and not up for the focus it takes to read lips. He doesn’t really want whoever is driving to run the car off the road because they catch sight of him alive and well in the rearview mirror. Then again, if Dean is the one driving this is his chance to let them both know he’s okay without Dean shooting him on reflex.
“How am I supposed to know?” asks Dean, his brow still furrowed like he’s trying to figure this all out. “I don’t… I mean, did I do that to you? I know I tried to hook you up with a girl a few times over the years but that was just because I figured… You only had sex the one time. When you were human.”
Castiel did not know Rosali very well, aside from knowing she was an excellent marksman and that Rufus had pitched a fit when Dean had swiped her from him. Rufus and Linda were staying in Ira under Sam’s command, while Tamara and Gordon were going to be under Mary’s command and were preparing to head out to Invidia within the week.
They ended up being directed toward an underground area to park by a woman with dark brown hair twisted in a bun. She walked down the tunnel as they drove and directed them to a space, then knocked on the window.
“You did this on purpose?” Claire demanded. Calmly, Dean nodded. He stood and gently led Claire to the chair in front of one of the mugs of coffee.
“The point is you don’t actually want to be with me. I’m not enough. Not as a friend, not as whatever you thought you wanted with me. And deep down you know that, otherwise you would have come back. So I’m sorry for all the times before that- that I made you stick around. Because you coulda had the real thing if I’d let you go a long time ago.”
“Then I repeat my first point. I’m going whether you say I can or not. If you want to stop me, you’ll need to lock me up. You have over a dozen soldiers willing to fight for your cause because they respect me and my opinion. They will abandon you the second I’m behind bars.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Jack getting closer. He looks down at Dean with no expression at all on his face. Then he sits next to him and reaches out one hand. Dean takes it, thinking nothing of it until Jack’s hand starts to glow in his. There’s a little spark of energy, but it quickly fades to nothing, exhausted. Jack’s face falls.
It was early evening when Castiel arrived in Ira. He brushed aside hellos from the people he knew and only stopped to ask a passing Ash if he happened to know where Dean was. Ash smirked at him and indicated the general direction he should go in, saying he’d last seen him heading towards the conference rooms that Mary used for strategy meetings (he also indicated he was skipping said meeting, but Castiel quickly discarded that information as irrelevant). As soon as Castiel heard this he was walking again, planning how best to fulfill his orders.
“If I was going to do that, I wouldn’t be telling you, would I?” Billie says. “I didn’t consider it. Hell’s a battery, same as Heaven. I think it’s about time someone cut the power lines. To Heaven, to Hell, to Purgatory…”
“You do what’s right,” said Jack. “That’s the only thing I know about you. Even when it hurts you, you do what’s right. You saved my life, and that’s why you got caught when you were on the run. You could have gotten away, but you didn’t want anyone to die.”
“Thank God for small favors,” said Dean. “Garth, you make sure you’ve got Benny’s back since he’s gonna be distracted watching mine. Cas-“
“Today is going to suck major balls, isn’t it?” she said sadly. Cas nodded grimly at her, and the two walked toward the door as though they were on their way to an execution.
“You asked to change our terms once already,” said Azazel. “My turn. Do as I say or face the consequences.”
“No, I don’t think I can do better,” said Cas, finding the idea almost laughable. Dean had fit himself easily into Castiel’s concept of ideal, without even trying maybe. Doing better would mean reorganizing his sense of the world once again, and Castiel was tired of shifting his perspectives. Perhaps it wasn’t the best choice, letting one person be the center of your world. It had certainly failed Castiel before, but he suspected it was just the way he was wired. “And yes, you would hold it against me.”
“Ah yes. Jo,” Castiel said, deciding to steer the conversation firmly away from the direction he was sure Dean was going to take it. “I am curious why you are so adamant not to promote her.”
“I wasn’t,” said Cas. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Dean. I’d just rather you were comfortable.”
“If one were to be uncharitable, they might interpret it that way,” he said. The images of Dean cutting him open, pulling his soul from his chest, the awful nightmares Sweet Dreams had given him… “But no, he isn’t the reason. I was betrayed by someone I tried to help, and left to the mercies of State torture.”
“He probably didn’t think about it,” said Jo. “You’re going to have a hard time being spontaneous from now on though.”
Dean ignored him. The moment he saw Castiel was in the car he turned the wheel over to Hannah and calmly exited it, as though Castiel hadn’t even spoken. Hannah called after him, words demanding what he was doing and why he wasn’t following the plan. Dean walked forward without stopping, and despite the pain Castiel was in he tried to lunge for the car door to go after him.
There was no way to even think about answering through the intense pain Castiel was going through, and as it ratcheted ever higher he felt himself begin to lose consciousness. Within seconds, everything was once again peacefully blank.
“I understand. It makes sense,” Cas said. Mary almost looked sorry for a moment. “And Sam advised you tell me this. Naturally. He wants to test me, because if I run away it’s safe to kill me without hurting Dean’s feelings. It’s touching, how much he cares about his brother.”
“I made sure they liked me. Nineteen prisoners dead in that cell by the end of that first summer. But not me,” said Dean, sounding haunted. “It’s just pain, Cas. you hold on until you can’t anymore and then you hold on a little longer after that.”
“It means I’m trying to find a way out of this where I don’t have to ask you to leave me behind. Or tell you to. Whichever works.”
“Ishim had taken an interest in me as his eventual replacement should he be given the opportunity to lead his own garrison or replace Anna if she were ever promoted,” said Castiel flatly. “So my commander asked me to shoot him, as a test perhaps. His is the only life I’ve ever taken by direct action, and I have never regretted it. When I imagine the horror that Lily Sunder must have had, to be faced with the choice he had tried to force on her-“
“Then I’m probably awake,” said Castiel congratulating himself on his logic. Jo meanwhile was slowly going from relief to concern at seeing him conscious. It ripped the cover off the well of guilt he’d spent so long ignoring. “You don’t know. You wouldn’t be so worried if you knew.”
“You barely spoke to her and left as soon as you could,” Selma countered. “I… I understand if it’s difficult after what happened, but disappearing every time she’s within fifteen feet of you isn’t helping you or her.”
Cas sits on a barstool in the Roadhouse, invisible again. He doesn’t understand why this has become a place to congregate among his long dead friends. Of course, he could ask them, but that would involve showing his face and he’s not sure if he’s welcome. Many of them don’t even like each other. And yet day after day they show their faces and talk and act as if they were still alive. It feels like a performance, and Castiel is starting to wonder what happens when everyone stops acting.
“No!” Cas yelled. Dean practically jumped at the sudden volume. “Don’t leave. If you leave, he might come back and make me sleep. I don’t want to fall asleep. All they do is stare at me, Dean. It’s my fault, but if I’m awake I don’t have to remember. Please don’t-“
And if he were being honest, he might have said even if it had been the worst kiss in the world, it still would have been pretty great because of who he was kissing. Because of everything else that had come before.
“I don’t want them to panic,” said Dean. “And send away people who can actually help them. If we do our jobs, they’ll be safe and Zachariah might just lose a bit of his hold on the city.”
“It would’ve been stupid not to bring him,” Dorothy said now. “If we’re facing off against rogue state soldiers, I want someone who knows how they think and isn’t going to fuck us over.”
“I’m happy for you,” Sam interrupts, sparing Dean having to actually explain himself. Which is appreciated because Dean has no idea what was about to come out of his mouth, and is a little worried it was gonna be all kinds of sappy. “I didn’t think you’d get to have that. After everything with Lisa you just seemed to lose interest in anything like- Well, I guess it makes sense. It was Cas this whole time, wasn’t it?”
“You’re seventeen years old, and you’ve been on active duty for less than a year,” said Cas. “Forgive me if I don’t care about your opinion.”
It wasn’t long after that that they finally reached where the resistance had moved their operations to. It was much closer to the center of the city, and therefore a lot closer to civilians that Cas was sure Mary Winchester was hoping would turn on Azazel if he tried pulling the same trick again. The entrance to each building was heavily guarded, and Risa was questioned multiple times before being allowed to enter and was made to account for everyone traveling with her. After that, they were told they wouldn’t be allowed to leave unless there was an emergency or under direct orders from Mary Winchester.
They had missed lunch, but there was still some spare vegetables in the tent designating for food. Charlie explained there were sympathetic farmers nearby who had been willing to send food in exchange for some of the explosives Cordelia and Jessica were working on that “weren’t powerful enough”. When Castiel asked why they would need explosives, Charlie shrugged and said they hadn’t asked which was the most concerning thing Castiel had heard all day. Though Charlie had reassured him that Robert Cain had a longstanding trade relationship with Bobby and there hadn’t been problems yet.
“They’re doing something to one of the cars,” said Castiel. “They only need four to leave. I think they mean to leave the one they’re tampering with behind.”
“Nine years old,” he repeated. “And they’d already pretty much written you off as obedient and mindless, huh?”
If a year ago, someone had told him that this was his future… he would have laughed. He had changed so much in so little time, and trauma had had a large hand in how drastically that had happened.
“Fuck Gabriel, especially,” said Cas, even more belligerently. Then he started dry heaving and Dean had to turn him on his side so he didn’t choke and Cas felt significantly more tired after that. “I can’t fall asleep. Please don’t make me.”
“Wait, so Dean and Cas are dating, then?” Jack asked. Charlie quelled this line of inquiry with a murderous glance in his direction. “I just wanted to make sure I understood.”
“I hear you broke out of your hallucination almost instantly,” Dr. Newman said. “I’m just wondering… how? Sam I understand, I know what he’s been through. But everyone else needed help reaching reality again.”
“Cas,” said Claire, interrupting his thoughts. She looked tense, and it put him on guard. Claire had proved an indispensable asset on their journey to Libidine. She knew which roads to use, when to pull off the road and hide, and where they could find surplus food soldiers had stashed and civilians wouldn’t know the locations to. Her help had cut the time it took to get to Libidine in half. It didn’t make up for the week Cas had been kidnapped, but it was something.
“No. But I trust you to act in his best interests,” Billie says, nodding towards the image of Dean she has conjured. “See, unlike some people, I learn from my mistakes.”
“Dean, please just stop,” said Charlie. The fact that she was siding with Cas (even if everyone else in the car was also siding with Cas) was testament to just how annoying Dean had decided to make himself that day. Even Jack had quietly voiced his disapproval. Quietly. Dorothy and Betty had made numerous attempts to dissuade Dean from going through those same five songs again.
“You are such a baby,” she said. She unzipped her sleeping bag and Castiel didn’t hesitate to crawl in next to her. “No funny business.”
“Put yourself in my position and I think you might start to understand that I didn’t have a choice,” she said, a hint of shame working it’s way through. But she was proud and she kept her chin up. “If I know anything about you, I know that in my position you would do the same.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Benny, making Jo laugh. “Though if we want to talk about tattoos, Ms. Linda Tran has a fascinating example of the art.”
“She’s a good one,” Ellen confirmed with a hint of a smile. Deep pride simmered under the surface of what she was saying, and Castiel wondered a moment whether his parents had felt that strongly about him. If they’d loved him as much as Ellen loved Jo. “Make sure she takes care of herself, will you?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” she asks him. “You said you had a bad feeling about Chuck still being in control of our lives. And then you died. I thought it could be a lead. And now you’re back-”
“Let it be clear that I have enough experience with taking orders to know when someone’s words are repeated and when they are their own,” Castiel said, not buying for an instant the Charlie that had been so open with him would have an instinct for hiding information with being directed to do so. He knew he had Charlie’s trust. He slept in a spare room in her cabin, and although he knew she was armed or within reach of a weapon at all times, as well as highly skilled at combat, she wouldn’t put herself at a disadvantage around him if she had any doubt. No, it was clear that what was keeping him from getting information currently was Dean. He was the only one that had any hope of controlling Charlie, who was outside of any hierarchy the resistance seemed to be trying to enforce and was very much her own master. Not even Billie held much sway with her, as far as Castiel could tell. All of which had reinforced the idea that Charlie was incredibly necessary and valuable to them, since they let her bend rules as she pleased.
“Give me the chance to catch up?” Cas asked. His throat felt tight with nerves. The strange lust that had overtaken him had faded now, and Cas’ mind had cleared. If he was going to be stupid enough to go into this, he was going to do so with both eyes open. “Please, be patient.”
Kelly pulls him against her side then, and Jack lets her. She kisses his temple and Jack closes his eyes. He feels smaller than he ever has before. He feels safe, too. It’s nice.
“I’m the oldest, Father,” he said urgently. “And I’ve done everything for you. You’re making a mistake.”
Cas wanders out of whoever’s bedroom had been handed over as a makeshift recovery room for Dean to rest in. He suspects it is Alex’s room, from the posters on the walls of various musical acts, many of them smaller bands with graphically violent names and an affinity for spiked jewelry. Others were slightly less provocative, and Cas recognized one for Radiohead that he suspects Claire got for her.
“When we were in Purgatory,” said Dean, trying and failing to keep his mouth from going dry. He swallowed hard, and ignored the pulsing sound of his heartbeat rushing in his ears. “When I couldn’t find you --”
There was no time to pick further down that particular thread, however. With all the pieces in place, they could begin to put the opening stages of their plan in motion. That meant Charlie and Meg would turn off the power grid just as it was getting dark, leaving the city in disarray and confusion and drawing any militant resources to defend what they were certain Libidine would see as an attack. Hopefully, anyone in critical need of electricity would be protected by generators (which Cas knew were required in hospitals, but wasn’t hopeful that regulation was well enforced), but they knew this gambit was likely going to risk at least some people’s lives. So they decided to limit the power outage to twenty five minutes to minimize damage as much as possible, while still giving Claire and Cas time to infiltrate the prison and rescue as many people as possible. Resistance members would be separated into groups and led to different hiding places Claire knew across the city by following a coordinate system Charlie had devised on the fly. Everyone under Dean’s command, along with Jesse and Cesar and anyone they considered vital to their operation would be taken to Amara Novak’s place of residence.
He was thinking of it now as he and Selma were keeping an eye on the perimeter of camp. They even let Castiel carry a gun now, and he knew that said that he had come a long way in their estimation since he had first arrived.
“You’re awake,” she realized about a minute later, when she noticed his eyes were open. “Or you’re creepily sleeping with you’re eyes open.”
Eileen scrambles for the door, hauling it open just in time to get out of the room before the rest of the ceiling collapses in. Breathing hard, it takes a moment to realize she’s alive. She made it out by the skin of her teeth, and the ghosts are gone, and nothing is coming for her.
Corbett shook his head. Castiel watched as Dean looked between the two of them, clearly looking for signs of discontent. It still bothered him that they had almost deserted, and Castiel wondered if that wasn’t a big reason for him choosing to include them in this mission. Then again, it could just be that Mary had wanted anyone with the potential to cause trouble taken out of the picture. It seemed a little suspicious that the key orchestrators of Kelly’s escape (namely Castiel, Jo, Risa, Maggie, and Corbett) had all been sent off into the desolate (in Castiel’s somewhat biased mind anyone) and frigid country they were now in.
Dean all but confirmed it when he shrugged and stood there, as though daring Cas to have an opinion about it. Cas kept his mouth shut tightly, not wanting to open up the discussion.
“Who are you convincing, Jack?” chided the older soldier, who moved forward and pushed Castiel ahead of the two of them, keeping the taser pressed to Castiel’s back, likely in case he ‘tried something’. “Why do you care what a traitor thinks?”
“She looks just like you,” he said instead, because it was true. Dean was obviously startled by that answer for a moment before his face hardened again.
“Clearly,” Dorothy agreed, a quick grin falling to the wayside as soon as she realized who she was smiling at. “And fuck you, by the way.”
He decided not to worry about it for now and instead enjoy being allowed to accompany Selma on her round of keeping a lookout for state forces from Invidia. Benny had allowed it with minimal taunting of Castiel, if only because Selma seemed happy to have his company.
Dean turned the page and started on the next poem and then the next. Castiel slowly drifted between waking and sleeping, and a thread through each was the steady cadence of familiar words spoken by a familiar voice.
“I am going to share guys,” she said when she found herself the center of concentrated collective hatred. “Seriously, you all need to chill.”
“Blow shit up?” Dean finished for her, looking for all the world a little afraid. “God help me, but yes.”
“Let them go,” Azazel said after a moment. One of his guards went to cut the ropes from both Dagon and Ramiel. Ramiel immediately asked if he could leave and made some mention about going back to the lab and catching up on his reading. Dagon, on the other hand…
“I’m here when you need me,” said Anna cryptically. “And, dear God, do you need someone to help you.”
Castiel looked out of the passenger window to see the city and scared civilians passing by. They were one of many cars and had fake documents proving themselves citizens, but no one stopped them to ask for them. Jo drove like a true Superbian, calmly and with sudden bursts of outrageous maneuvering to get ahead.
“You care about me,” said Cas. “Like you care about Superbia and Invidia and the people who live there, too? You care until it’s inconvenient, and then it’s fine if you hurt them as long as you win? If you give away their homes and their lives?”
“You’re alright,” he assured her. He followed that up by sneezing violently which caused Charlie to laugh, a little too high pitched to be entirely okay, but better. “Why did I let you get a cat again?”
“I remember,” Max muttered. “Not sure there’s something I know about him a State file wouldn’t have told this scumbag-”
“I know I did something shitty, but don’t push your luck,” said Dean. He looked back down at the ground and saw Charlie. “She should probably get to sleep in a real bed.”
So she knows. She knows every flicker of emotion she’s seen on Dean’s face the past twenty four hours because she lived it first. Even the guilt.
“If anyone is being used, it isn’t him,” Castiel bit back bitterly. Mary managed to hide most of her surprise at his sudden vehemence. “If you want to be convinced, Mary Winchester, know this: I want him to live more than I want to win this war. Is that enough?”
“I am definitely just going to chug a bottle of wine, but we can do the first part,” says Charlie. “And then you can tell me who Eileen is…”
“Not like that, asshole,” Dean mutters. Cas does him the favor of pretending not to notice just how red Dean’s face has become. Although it is a little funny.
They were quickly directed to where Benny was assigning positions and directions to everyone under his command. Selma and Castiel waited patiently for him to see them and Selma was quickly sent off to help Jo and Jessica distribute explosives along Sanctus’ perimeter. Castiel on the other hand was ignored.
“Because there’s no one to hold it together, anymore,” she says. “The few angels left desperately tried to fix one bad adjustment that I released. You think Castiel or you wouldn’t have made a different mistake?”
Then again, the world itself still seemed grey at the edges to Cas, and he was finding more and more that he just didn’t care anymore. Whatever lever had been yanked inside him the day before had used up all of his emotions and now there just wasn’t anything left. Perhaps he should find that disturbing, but honestly he couldn’t really muster up any feelings for that either. Vaguely he wished he could talk to Garth about this, but it didn’t seem worth the trouble arranging a call with him would be.
Seeing there are no monsters to fight, and Dean just fell over his own feet, Claire goes bright red and starts to close the door again, apologizing as she does so. But then she freezes. Dean meets her eyes and then looks down at his own chest and for a second neither of them say anything. A series of emotions run over Claire’s face, disbelief, betrayal, hope, relief, anger, and then finally just confusion. Like she has no idea what to do with this. Dean doesn’t either.
“He did what?” Castiel said, perhaps a little too loudly. Everyone went back to staring at him. “I didn’t mean to shout. I apologize if I frightened you…”
“I had it pointed out to me,” she says. “It’s smarter to have allies than enemies. Especially when you have the second in common. Having a former crossroads demon on the payroll is a good reminder that inconvenience can be turned to your advantage if you’re willing to compromise. So I’m willing to compromise. For now.”
“Should’ve taken him up on it and sent him back bullshit. Might’ve been entertaining. Then again, you’re a shitty liar, so-“
Everyone was supposed to report to Benny, who had been radioed instructions to relay so that they could return to their regular duties and responsibilities, and it was apparent before a word left Benny’s mouth that some people weren’t happy.
“Look, Cas, it’s not that I’m not flattered. Or… y’know interested,” said Dean, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “But I’ve been, uh, trying to get better about not doing whole casual hook ups thing anymore, okay? I just don’t want you to think-“
“Are you awake?” he heard Charlie whisper into the quiet. He looked at her and nodded. “Can I ask you something?”
“What? Don’t you want me?” Castiel asked bitterly, vaguely wondering if this was how Jo had felt when she’d propositioned him. Knowing you didn’t want sex for the right reasons, and likely it was a terrible idea, and still feeling upset and rejected for being turned down. He didn’t like it.
“I knew,” he said. Dean supposed that was all the answer he was going to get, and so he leant over and kissed the boy again. The kiss was quickly returned, and Dean surrendered himself to the feeling of the boy’s hands on his skin. Soon they lay naked under the stars, a wet spot on the ground between them. Dean had never done more than kiss before, and though he did not know it, the boy next to him was no more experienced. It didn’t matter. It had felt right, and Dean longed only to touch him again. At least until he remembered.
It’s like one second Cas is still a good three feet away from him, and the next Dean is stopped mid sentence by what is quite honestly the kiss of a lifetime. Dean feels it in his knees, and he didn’t know that was a thing that actually happened to people in real life. Cas sways with it, equally unsteady on his feet. And Dean thinks for a second that he wouldn’t mind if Cas fell and took him down too.
“When we get out of here,” he said, mockingly solemn. “We’re going to have to have a long talk about when and where it’s appropriate to use the Moores’ explosives.”
Cas’ eyes swung to Dean, who was eating across from him. Dean met his gaze, and Cas watched as the man’s face darkened. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was desire. Castiel wasn’t confident enough to label it as either. Whatever the case, twenty minutes after found the two of them alone in the room Dean had claimed for himself. Dean’s hands clutched at Cas’ skin, and there was love there. But there was something else too, and it turned Cas’ stomach to think about it too long.
“No,” Cas says. It comes out hostile, and Cas is angry he is completely incapable of hiding his annoyance. It’s one thing to face Jack, another to face Amara, who carved a message into his chest once just to prove a point. Whose rage, however justified it might be, was later taken out through her torture of Castiel’s body. And yes, it was Lucifer at the wheel during that particular period of his life, but it’s not as if he forgot or forgave the pain of it.
“In what world do we have the technology to do any of that, Cas?” Dean said enunciating each word. “Think long and hard about that.”
“I’m taking your beer,” she says. She gets up and disappears behind the counter. The sound of a fridge opening and closing fills the silence. Mary sits and starts drinking.
Mary Winchester frowned at the both of them. She seemed to take particular offense at Castiel’s posture.
“Eighteen minutes,” he said. For the umpteenth time Castiel tried to think of some way out of the horrendous situation he had found himself in. He couldn’t have survived everything else to be killed like this, after hours of torture and for anyone and everyone to see. Yet still the minutes ticked down and Castiel could think of nothing. When it was time for the camera’s to come back on, Castiel found he was quite desperate.
Cas took out his radio, and took his last minute to relay his plan to Charlie as he looked for a full proof place to hide.
“No. God, no,” said Dean. “He just… look, he’s surrounded by people that don’t trust him, don’t like that he’s giving us so many resources, and are angling to take the throne from him. I’m just taking the pressure off by making sure no one can accuse him of… thinking with his other brain.”
“Me?” she said, shoulders shaking with silent and angry laughter. She sat down heavily on her sleeping bag, crossing her legs and not looking at him anymore. “You can join the club I guess.”
Dorothy sat back. She kept her expression blank, but Cas could see her hands tighten slightly. He was glad to see that dealing with McCleod seemed to be a universally unpleasant experience. He had started to think perhaps he was imagining how annoying he was.
Chuck let out a weary sigh, and left. As he did so, Cas caught sight of a flash of blonde hair, the same shade as his mother’s. So Chuck hadn’t been lying. There were more Novak children. Castiel felt his insides burning with anger at the thought. He felt replaced three times over. It had never occurred to him his parents might have had more kids after him. In his head, he’d always been a gaping hole left in their small family.
Dean glared at nothing and his fingers twitched. Cas wished a moment that he might resurrect Alistair just to kill him again himself. Dean’s expression didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t care,” said Dean sharply. “You think I wanted to make that deal with Crowley? That’s the best offer he would take.”
There is still Dean to contend with, though. Cas finds himself conflicted. Because there is a part of him that is angry with Dean and hurt by what happened earlier that day. There is another part that does not care, has never cared about anything except being close to Dean, no matter the cost to himself. It has motivated some of the best and the worst of his actions, the most sincere and the most reckless. He doesn’t hate this part of himself, no matter that it has hurt him in the past. It simply is, another piece of his being folded into the multitude that is him. He can’t imagine himself without it, nevermind how small a point in the millennia he has existed the last twelve years have been. Because there is a difference between existing and living, and it isn’t until he met Dean that he truly came alive. He became himself through his friendships on Earth, and he would never choose to go back to being what he had been. Cold and distant and suppressing the ever present fear that his doubts would be discovered and punished.
Dean’s plan had been unexpectedly good. He’d assumed the reason they had yet to be attacked was that forces from Invidia were waiting for the chemical agent to be diffuse enough so as not to effect them. That being the case, they all had to assume these hallucinations weren’t going anywhere within the next twenty four hours even after the gas was diffuse enough to no longer affect them. This meant there was a serious risk carrying firearms when one couldn’t always trust one’s eyes. On the other hand, if they engaged in outright combat, they were going to need effective weapons. Dean had suggested a strategy of capture and hold hostage, which would limit the amount of friendly fire hopefully play to their strengths of knowing Sanctus much better than the opposition. Soldiers tended not to be involved in rural matters as long as a steady supply of food was being traded to the cities, so it was unlikely any of the garrisons coming in had more than a cursory knowledge of Sanctus. Castiel remembered it had taken him three or four days before he had even begun to memorize the strange interweaving of the roads within the town. Having the advantages of familiarity with area of combat and the element of surprise were going to be crucial to expelling Zachariah’s forces.
They all congregate in the map room by some unspoken agreement. It seems to be the place to congregate. On the walk there, Cas’ eyes slide past the familiar table where the Winchesters’ initials are carved, and nearly does a double take when he sees his own name and Jack’s now carved there. A rush of affection strikes him so suddenly he feels dizzy. Dean doesn’t notice, tugging him along by the front of his coat to get him moving again. There is an anxiety to his movements, the way he glances nervously around as if expecting Billie to appear out of thin air.
John Winchester was a marine. While he was at war, his father convinced his mother to leave their life for the quiet town of Lebanon. There they settled down. At first they were rejected by the locals, shunned. At least they were until Henry Winchester proved to be an excellent bookbinder. He was sought out at market by prominent members of fairy kind, and declared a veritable man of letters. Millie Winchester did not need to do so much to prove herself. She knew her husband had certain fascinations with the unnatural and she’d long since decided she’d rather not know the extent of his inquiries into such matters. She became very good at not asking questions, the favored past time of her new home.
The thought of Charlie hovering over him and getting upset when he ignored Dr. Newman’s suggestions was not a pleasant one. Castiel decidedly did not want that to happen.
“Yeah, well you could have been fucking sympathetic about what happened with Vic- with Lydia,” Dean says, only just saving himself. And then it occurs to him, why the fuck not come out with it all? “With Victor.”
“I’m going to have to have a word with Jo,” said Benny. “I think she’s infected you with part of her personality.”
And then Dean kissed him. On the lips. It probably would have been a smoother move if Cas hadn’t been mid-sentence when it happened, but that sorted itself out soon enough. Dean would congratulate whoever had taught Cas how to kiss, but he kinda suspected Cas was operating mostly off of tips Dean had off-handedly given him over the years (to be used on people who were not Dean, because Dean hated himself), and vanity was a sin or whatever.
“Okay, but are you writing?” asks Dean, emphasizing the question so Chuck knows exactly what he means. Are you fucking with our lives again? Did we even beat you or was this all some kind of fucking test, a mind game that ends with Chuck finally winning, just as the Winchesters thought they’d pulled a fast one on God himself. But Chuck doesn’t look triumphant. Just confused.
“Heaven is a garden filled with bloodied angels,” Castiel said, his throat burning as he tries to swallow his own words. “Still dying.”
“It’s… me,” Cas confirms, dragging his attention away from Claire to meet Dean’s eyes for a brief moment before looking away again. Not towards Claire this time, who is safe as long as time is frozen. Just… away. It stings, even as Dean tells himself it shouldn’t.
Cas smiles at him knowingly, because he can’t help it. Dean sputters for a moment before grinning back in mild embarrassment.
“Hey, we’ve come back from harder odds before,” he confirmed. Cas nodded and let go of Dean’s hand. He stood up to leave and go to his assigned quarters. Dean grabbed the back of Cas’ shirt and pulled him back.
He’s going to show them, his family. He’s going to show them that he’s still good. That he has always been good.
“I don’t… I’m not,” says Cas, unable to face the awfulness of what Amara is suggesting. Becoming the new arbiter of Dean’s freedom. Another obstacle. Another enemy. Again. “I’m not God.”
“As a doornail,” Pamela confirmed. It made sense now, the soldiers that had been tailing them. The entire city was under Mortimer’s control, which meant the resistance had successfully staged a coup with the death of one man. That was nepotism for you, Cas supposed. He didn’t much like the fact that Mortimer seemed to have killed his brother without regret or shame. It didn’t speak much for him feeling anything in the way of attachment.
She can see in her father’s face how difficult this all is for him. That even now, even after having lost his mother and gotten her back he still feels the loss of his wife more keenly. But he seems to bury that grief so he can nod at her. He invites them in, holding the door open wider to gesture them through.
Sam, Cas, and Charlie sit at the kitchen table, and Dean can’t bring himself to approach them. Cas is slightly pink, which means he’s been drinking and he has been doing his best to make the effects last. Dean likes when that happens. There’s something bubbly about the way Cas starts complaining about obscure historical events (the ones he deigned watch from the heavens), or the way he winks too much and not at quite the right times.
“I killed someone today. I’m not in a celebratory mood,” Cas said harshly, already knowing what Dean wanted from him. He wanted Cas to behave like everyone else, fall into line, and join the cause.
“I’m not sure about the man,” said Duma, her eyes once again on Cas. His attention flickered between her and the strange man. At last he settled his focus on the man, deciding he was in charge and the more important of the two to win over.
“Yes, you,” Billie interrupted, speaking as though she couldn’t hear Dean. “People know your name, Castiel. What happened in Superbia has spread beyond its borders, and the soldiers see you as something of a martyr. A template for who to be in a new world. Among citizens and the resistance you are… less well liked. But the soldiers, they respect you. They believe in you. You change minds and loyalties.”
“I know,” he said softly, doing his best to catch her as she collapsed. “But it’s okay. You’ll be okay, Anael. It’s just like going to sleep.”
“I can second that,” said one of the woman Castiel had yet to meet. Her hair was short and blonde, and she had a lean look about her. “Roman’s conniving, but he’s proud. He likes Lucrum’s business to stay in Lucrum. We’re pretty sure that’s why he drugged the water supply, so everyone’s too blissed out to ever leave or betray him.”
Dean did not know what to do with this. In fact he did not know what to do at all, and perhaps that was why he stopped trying to reason what he should do and did what he had only just realized he wanted to do. He kissed the boy again, longer this time. He leaned back and then found himself lurching forward to again catch the boy’s lips with his own, all the while reveling in the wide blue eyes that were staring back at him.
“Do you think I made the right choice?” she asks him. He side-eyes her, holding his tongue for a second. She watches a few emotions cross his face, none of them entirely set. He settles on a kind of commiseration. “What you said to Jack, it… I almost changed my mind.”
But he can try. Awful as it is, Cas just gave him all the tools he needs to see this through. To set everything in motion. Still, it’s not every day you ask an angel to fall again. And both of you older and wiser and worse for wear than the first time around. But that doesn’t mean Dean isn’t gonna ask.
Cas ended up sleeping again. The next time he woke up, he was alone. He got up to look around and found it was late afternoon. When he left the room, dressed for the day, he found a guard waiting for him and was taken to where the others were having what looked to be some sort of competition.
When all was settled, Claire stepped forward first, taking a deep breath and opening the door. She stepped through, her feet landing on a surface that felt suspiciously spongy. Darkness surrounded her, and yet she found herself perfectly visible. It seemed almost a moving, breathing creature she had wandered inside of.
“Cordy, Jess!” Selma called out, making her way to one of the tables in the tent. Castiel did a double take when he saw both of the twins turn in unison to look at Selma. They narrowed their eyes at him in almost uncanny synchronization as they attempted to figure out why Selma might be dragging the spy behind her.
“F-f-follow me,” Inias said, gulping when he looked at the torturer. The poor man was little better than a bureaucrat, and Castiel did not feel safe in knowing that he was the sole point of reference he had in this rescue mission. Still, he kept his eyes down and never looked at Inias for too long. Best not to give up the game, if only for Inias’ sake. He could still back out and Castiel did not hate him, and saw no need to reveal him if he did so. After all, what did he owe a traitor several times over?
So here she is, deep in the thick of putting down another uprising (how her disloyal subjects keep forgetting she knows spells that’ll make their toenails curl in on themselves she’ll never know), when suddenly time comes to a stop around her. Rowena frowns, poking at one of the few members of her royal guard who has managed not to be a total disappointment. When he doesn’t move, Rowena turns in a circle, looking for whatever being has deigned to put time at a pause. And why, more importantly.
The two of them only promise to help him find Cas’ motel room if he lets them watch the whole time (in case Dean has suddenly transformed into a creepy stalker instead of just an idiotic fuck up) and if he promises not to go back to Cas’ room again unless invited. Charlie has the data pulled up on her computer in minutes, and she uses it to call Cas’ phone. Dean tries to silently ask for it but she shakes her head.
“She reminds me of…” Jack said, trailing off into silence. He was more reflective than he usually was. Less righteous. Cas wasn’t sure that was a good thing. “She’s pregnant.”
“Alright, walk that last part back for me,” says Dean, the most focused he’s sounded in the entire conversation. Sam hears the sound of rustling in the background as Dean sits up or something and wonders what Dean is doing in bed. Sure he has a broken leg, but it’s still like noon where he is and Dean isn’t much of a sleeper. No way he hasn’t gotten up unless something else happened to him. Sam feels his eyes narrow. “You mean Azazel like Azazel who killed Mom and fed you demon blood Azazel? And you didn’t think that was something I should know about-?”
“I’m going to ask Billie for Mary,” he says. Cas lets him go and looks at him. His eyes are sad. “I can still- She prayed to me. When Heaven was breaking. I don’t know why I never thought of trying to bring her back before. I’m the one who- I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
“Heaven split,” Jack says back, wiping an angry tear away from his face. Cas doesn’t know when he started crying. He wants to comfort Jack but he doesn’t know how. It’s too much. The weight of human souls on his shoulders, even now that he can’t do anything about them. “How are you going to put it back together again?”
There is no memory of Dean to play this out. Cas doesn’t understand. He looks at Dean again, and he wants to get it but Dean isn’t saying a word. Mary and Bobby exchange glances awkwardly and Sam looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.
“And the other theory you mentioned?” she asks, wondering if Cas really has been avoiding Dean for some reason. Dean grimaces.
For a long time the answer to this has been clear. Stop this bad guy. Help these people. Solve this problem. With no specific answer to point to now, however, Jack finds himself at a loss. He wants what he’s already said. He wants them all to be a family. He wants the time and space to find out what he’s supposed to want next.
“But he may want to some day,” says Cas cryptically. “It’s easier not to feel things. You know that.”
Then again, there were times when even his affection for Selma couldn’t break through the fact he was still indignant about Castiel punching Dean (one time, Castiel thought to himself tiredly) and wanted to reassure Castiel, in case he had forgotten, just how much he disliked him.
Ash relaxed so quickly Castiel wondered if perhaps it was an unfair advantage for him to be good friends with such a likable person. There was a reason Dean asked Jo to do all of the recruiting. She was unrelentingly friendly and quick to put people at ease when she needed to.
Cas looks up from his musings to see Dean struggling to lift the body of one of the more muscular hunters. Cas obliges, lifting the man with ease and avoiding the burnt out sockets where his eyes once were.
“I don’t…” Cas whispered, closing his eyes. He could feel a burning at the back of his throat because honestly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. “You weren’t supposed to love me back.”
“C’mon, kiddo,” Dean says, falling back on bravado in lieu of actual courage. “You think you don’t have it in you to know who failed you? Cause it wasn’t Cas, we both know that. I mean, you only sent the hit squad against one of the three of us, and well… Not like I don’t know why.”
“You don’t work tomorrow?” Cas asks him hesitantly. Dean can tell he’s trying to find a way to politely turn Dean down.
But with Light, there is always Darkness. How easy to forget. It’s ingrained, deep, a consequence of the universe’s very inception. Creation itself casted the SHADOW. Pleasantly tired, they are silent and dragged in the wake of memory, gently rocking to the tune of stolen dreams.
“As if I would ever answer that question,” said Eileen. She managed to sound dismissive, sarcastic, and pleasant all at the same time. “I’m not an open book, Castiel. In my experience, it’s safer that way.”
“Are you busy after this?” she asked, seeming not to notice how the noise level of everyone else sitting at the table died at her question. Castiel realized more quickly this time what a question like this meant.
Claire leaps up from her seat and dashes past the door, just missing Sam’s outstretched hands to stop her. Another hard pull from Patience and he’s stumbling back. She puts herself between him and the door. Even with the certainty in her expression, Sam can’t help but think he’s just let something terrible happen.
It was too bright when Castiel tried to open his eyes. It took a great deal of blinking before he could open his eyes, and as he started to wake, he felt bile rising in his throat. He tried to spit it out, and then felt hands on him turning him onto his side and placing a pan under his mouth. Something was tugging uncomfortably at his wrists, but he was too sick to care.
A flicker of guilt pierces through Castiel, seeming to trickle icy cold through his veins. He’s not sure what to say, and Kaia suddenly looks a lot less sure too.
“Shut up,” said Cas. Dorothy looked like she was entertaining the idea of hitting him for talking to her like that, but he shook his head and pointed behind her. In the distance, they could see two women dressed entirely in white soldiers’ uniforms approaching them. They were armed. “I think we’re here.”
Cas didn’t have an answer for this. He wasn’t even really sure where it was coming from. Yes, he knew Dean cared about him, but Dean cared about everyone. He was a singularly empathetic person. And certainly Dean was attracted to him and that had complicated some aspects of things, but Castiel wasn’t exactly among a small number of people there either. It was easier to list the people who hadn’t at some point had sex or wanted to have sex with Dean than the other way around. This being the case, Dean was used to navigating the complications and resisting the urge to be biased.
“Don’t mess with it, those two are crazy about each other. Betty knows it too, that’s why she didn’t put up much of a fuss. She knows she and Charlie are just having fun. It’s different with Jo,” Dean said, waving off Castiel’s concerns. “Charlie just has… issues. A lot of us do.”
“Promise me my men will be safe,” he said. “Whatever punishment needs to be inflicted, it doesn’t fall on their heads. If nothing else, you owe me that.”
“Give him a second,” Sam says. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. Cas isn’t even sure what he wants from Dean. To be yelled at? To be disowned? To pay somehow for the wrongness of this situation. “It’s not your fault. He knows that, but…”
It’s not like Sam hasn’t lost Dean before. Hasn’t had to move on with his life, however that worked. Drinking demon blood or hitting a dog and settling down or just carving out his own place in the world when he was off at college. Before Chuck’s plot caught up to him. But it’s different this time, because they were supposed to change the ending. It was supposed to be the open road and a life stretched out ahead of them, and now all Sam sees is the things he has to do. After that it all seems to go blurry.
But of course, this is Jack. Or well, not Jack. God. But also Jack, just a little. The remnants of the boy Cas had tried so hard to raise to be good and honest and true, who had taught Cas in turn what it meant to be more of… of a father. More of a man, perhaps. Then again, Cas isn’t a man exactly, so much as he is a being not uncomfortable with masculinity, in the human sense of the word. A found comfort he should be trying to distance himself from.
He’s sat there a while before someone sits next to him. He ignores this. No one will take his seat, out of a subconscious aversion, so he sits and does nothing and waits for someone to realize he broke the rules again. Even when he’s largely in charge of it all, he can’t stop himself from breaking the rules.
“You’re right. It’s not. But you don’t seem to be able to do the job yourself, so until that changes I’ll pick up your slack,” Selma said. “You should sleep.”
“Hey now,” said Ernie, immediately aware of the change in atmosphere. He was attuned to tension despite lacking in his other senses. “We don’t want trouble here.”
“If he has to follow you,” Cas says, hands signing along with his words. “If we have to bind him. Someone has to close the door behind him, to seal the binding. Someone he can’t see coming.”
“I’m not exactly interested in the cult basement you crawled out of,” said Meg. Claire scowled at her.
“We could be. It’s not too late for us to change. That’s what Billie was saying. It’s not too late to just… be different men.”
For a while Chuck just stares at Sam. Then the strangest thing happens. He smiles. Like he can’t quite believe it.
“Forgive me for being a little suspicious about the people that tried to recruit my own men to spy on me,” Dean said. None of them blinked. “You had to know Cas would tell me about that.”
“I don’t really like it when people call me pretty,” said Dean. He let go of Cas and sat on the steps of his cabin. Cas hadn’t noticed where they had been walking before then, but this made sense. Cas sat down on the opposite side of the steps. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”
“A member of my former garrison,” he said through gritted teeth. She had the sense enough to look ashamed of herself then. She knew what being in a garrison meant. And what it didn’t mean. And it never meant leaving someone behind that you could save. “He was shot. If we kill the power, and the only thing keeping him alive is a machine…”
“You should get some sleep, Dean,” says Cas, not missing the way the energy has slowly been draining out of Dean over the course of their long conversation. Or the fact that Dean is likely exhausted physically and emotionally from yet another close brush with death. “It’s late.”
Cas stopped passing out food, much to the dismay of the surly Sanctan teenager who had been holding his plate out half-heartedly for a serving of steamed vegetables. Cas passed the serving spoon to Jo, who had been standing next to him and gossiping, and stood at attention. Jo too had stopped talking and was doing her best to pretend all of her attention wasn’t directed behind her while she apportioned out food.
The Russian is different than Dean was expecting. He’s shorter, less imposing. Less intruding. Quiet and still, like he could wait in a line forever without even a hint of impatience. It threw Dean long enough for a small frown to form on the Russian’s face.
After checking his watch, Cas realized it was too early for Claire to wake him up. That could only mean there was a change in their situation. He bolted upright, startling Claire, and then ran to the window to see if his friends had been taken from the prison.
“Fine. But just because I feel bad you got your finger cut off,” she said to Cas. Cas’ hands twitched and he tried not to think about being strapped to a chair and waiting for Alistair to cut out his eye. “Come on, dude.”
Dean stopped on occasion to talk to the smaller groups of people traveling. He learned quickly that some of them had little in the way of an idea where to go, they just knew that the cities had become too dangerous to live in. Others had managed to get on the right path to Libidine, only to be chased off or turned around by a strange group of mostly women former soldiers that were blocking one of the main roads there. This was what interested Dean most, and the majority of their planning at the moment went towards preparing for an encounter with these women.
“I was just trying to lighten the mood,” muttered Gabriel, before pouring himself some of his father’s wine. He missed his older brother wincing, or he might have thought twice about drinking it. As it was, Michael attempted to salvage the situation as best as he could.
Without another thought, she lays her hands down on the horn, watching them jump out of her way as she throws the car in reverse and speeds out of her spot. She makes it out of the parking lot without a hitch.
“Ishim was a monster,” said Balthazar. “That’s different. If it makes you feel better, I’ve never slept with a civilian.”
Dean makes an effort to stand, gently pushing Cas off of him when he tries to help. He turns towards Billie, carefully making sure he is between her and everyone else. So just as stupid, Castiel thinks to himself. And then, well, he wouldn’t be Dean if he wasn’t.
Benny was starting to stumble too as they made it up the rest of the stairs. Everyone else had cleared out of ahead of them, except a masked girl who Cas distantly realized must be Claire. She leapt from behind the front desk and towards them, grabbing Dean from them and hoisting him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She ran out of the building, shouting back at them to “Move it!” Benny grabbed Cas’ arm and urged him along. It must have taken less than thirty seconds for them to clear the front desk and burst through the front doors, but it felt like an eternity. Time wasn’t moving quite right, and Cas kept forgetting what they were running from. Benny dragged him after Claire’s retreating figure until the smell of smoke wasn’t quite so strong.
Cas has a feeling he knows exactly what Billie means to show him. She’s already come to him once before, when Dean had broken his leg on a ghost hunt and come close to dying (again) before Sam had managed to get him medical attention in time. She had come then only to deliver the news after it had happened, and spoke as if it hadn’t occurred to her that it might bother him. As if she were merely commenting on the weather or asking after his health, or any number of inconsequential things they might think to say to each other if they were not beings beyond the need for such pleasantries.
*Part of this chapter includes a hallucination that looks like Anna making sexual passes at Cas that he isn't comfortable with. While under the influence of Sweet Dreams, people see what they fear most, and Castiel has deep fears of the fact that while Anna was alive he was sexually interested in her.
“I’ve been alive for a very long time,” says Cas, deciding that perhaps if he satisfies Dean’s curiosity he will stop asking. “For most of it I found human sexuality boring and repetitive, in all its variety. Until it… wasn’t.”
“I know. Don’t mean I have to like the fact that means all of you have to leave so soon,” Bobby said. Dean seemed to be in agreement and Bobby let the sentiment hang for a second. “So Sam was talking to me about something.”
“I haven’t. Not with anyone,” he admitted, albeit a little hesitantly. Not that there was anything wrong with it. He just wasn’t looking forward to the teasing once Rosali told everyone else. Jo was bad enough about that, though she’d eased off after seeing how much it bothered Castiel.
“I just let her out,” said Castiel. “I didn’t plan to, I just saw her and I couldn’t let her stay like that. I just hoped that if someone would have the good sense to help her if she got out since none of you did.”
“Can I kiss you?” he asked Jo at one point, later in the night after they had been drinking a short while. She smiled at him, and there was something heartbreaking about the fact that she looked happy. After all of her time spent being afraid of what loving Dean Winchester might bring her, she looked happy. They kissed and it was nice. There was a spark there, like there had been before, but Dean couldn’t remove the thought from his head that it wasn’t quite so nice as another kiss he had enjoyed recently.
It’s sudden, the dark shame that clouds Dean’s face. It’s sudden too, the way twists his arms and almost gets free before Castiel takes him down again by grabbing his left leg when Dean tries to run. They struggle, but eventually Cas manages to gain control by placing Dean in a loose chokehold. Dean stops struggling, realizing how easily Cas could knock him out like this.
“I think about, sometimes,” says Cas. “If I want my father back. Not Chuck, just… some nebulous idea of one. The comfort of knowing there was a plan and he had orchestrated it and it was good.”
Eileen signs ‘fuck you’ and Sam signs back ‘I know that sign’ and then they both stay still and quiet for a while.
Castiel decided to return to the competition and gently let go of Selma’s hand so he could pick up one of the knives that had been put on the table after they had all been carefully pulled out of the wall. She stopped him before he could move very far.
“What are you doing here?” he asks her. “Didn’t think you’d be slumming it on Earth again any time soon.”
Castiel couldn’t quite look at Gabriel after that. He didn’t like at all how much sense what he’d said made, and even after having decided to switch sides, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. He really believed that he was helping people during his time as a soldier, and now he didn’t know what to think at all.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” said Mary, a little pale faced now. “If I had any idea that he would have done anything like that I never would have sent you and Sam-“
“Where were you?” Dean asks him, trying for a grin. Cas smiles back weakly, hoping his hesitation isn’t taken for rebuke. If he were being honest, he might say he’s still waiting for Dean to realize that it isn’t mutual. This deep and unabiding love he’s carried through the years. At some point, Dean will figure out that their relationship is uneven, with Castiel taking and taking and never giving enough in return. Wanting too much. And then he will withdraw and Cas will have to face his pains alone.
“Just… just stay there okay?” he said. He and Jo left, while Ellen stayed behind. She sank into the chair Dean had been sitting in.
Charlie had brought Crookshanks with her and asked if Cas wanted to play with the cat. Castiel was tempted to say yes, but a brief moment spent thinking about how Jo would react to that and whether she would assume Cas was taking a side had him carefully turning her down. If the deeply disappointed look Charlie gave him was anything to go by, she knew exactly what he was doing.
“I need Charlie here,” Dean pointed out. “Besides, I need someone to find the twins and then check in on Gordon, Tamara, and Benny.”
So they drank by themselves, and laughed a lot about nothing. It didn’t get rid of the the tension inside Castiel, but he no longer felt stretched so thin. He no longer felt like he was going to snap.
Dean sighed, but nodded. He got it. It was a con, but it wasn’t an unmotivated con. The position of power Mortimer was trying to maneuver Guttur into was fragile. An attack from any side could wipe out their chances.
“Missed you,” she says quietly before letting go. She looks away from him, coughing a little performatively, and making her expression carefully blank. “So… how is he?”
“I assume Dean sent you back here. It isn’t a good time. Invidia has been stockpiling weapons in preparation for an invasion, and Naomi is desperate to protect her chances of assuming leadership.”
“Because you’re a fucking lunatic,” said Tamara. “And I wouldn’t put it past you to lose it and mow down every last one of us.”
It was only then that Cas saw Emma, a few steps behind her mother and with her head down. Like she was trying not to be noticed. It was such a departure from the outgoing, courageous girl he’d seen in passing several times before, that he couldn’t help but take notice.
“If you don’t like it, you can always leave,” Charlie pointed out. When Castiel sat up, she picked Crookshanks up and dumped the cat on his lap so he couldn’t get up. She gave him a smug smile when he relented because he didn’t want the cat to spend the next three days meowing mournfully at him for moving her.
“I think we keep him around,” Sam said, at last. “For now, at least. His file and his story add up. But one wrong move, Castiel, and you’re a dead man.”
That made sense. Sam left before Castiel could think of any other questions, so he continued on his way, assisting people as he went and relaying the same instructions time and time again. It was forty minutes since the car had exploded when he reached the edge of town and saw a rocking Jo who had Selma and Jessica gently trying to reach her. She didn’t appear to be listening. Castiel ran to her without a thought.
Cas leaned up to kiss Dean again, a highly effective method of shutting him up. As Dean started getting back into it, Cas broke the kiss again to copy what Dean had done earlier, trailing kisses down his neck.
“Tell me what to do,” he says. Dean stares at him. It’s like all the energy, all the fight has just drained out of Cas. He looks the way Dean feels most days, like living is an exercise in going through the motions. “Everything feels wrong. Everything has felt wrong since I left the Empty. The only time I felt like me again was making certain you got to live even when you shouldn’t have. You said I don’t listen to what you have to say. Maybe that’s true. So I’m sorry, too. Just… tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
“Gets what?” Castiel asked, feeling lost. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something Selma had brought up.
“I wouldn’t split hairs about what I can and can’t do, boy,” says Bobby. “You want to work? Show up. And don’t give me that look, we both know your mama’s paying the rent. Has been since Lydia-“
“What? Oh you mean about the nosy thing. That’s okay,” said Garth affably. “Everyone’s a little nosy. Didn’t take it as an insult.”
Alistair was a tall and thin man with a reedy voice and a smile that made Castiel feel thoroughly uncomfortable. His name also sounded damned familiar, though Castiel couldn’t quite place it. He reached for a knife at his belt and turned to Naomi.
“Or that,” said Jo grudgingly. The two looked out of the bars of their cells and waited as the hours started counting down. Castiel didn’t say it out loud again, but he couldn’t shake the deep conviction that no one was coming.
Dorothy’s lips pressed together. She nodded, and picked the cot closest to the door. Cas frowned. He had been planning on using that one. He supposed, however, it was best not to complain.
Dinner passed uneventfully, with no discussion of why they were there. The longer it went on without anyone mentioning anything, the more Castiel wondered just what was going on. He didn’t eat much, too busy waiting for something to happen other than the king uselessly chattering on about how wonderful his chef and tailor were while everyone else smiled politely at him.
“God, you’re a dick,” says Dean, hearing a short burst of laughter stutter through him. “What, so why’d I have to be here for this whole part? Didn’t know you needed an audience when you went invisible girl.”
“We’re offering splitting the territory currently under Superbia’s control with Canada,” said Dean. “Crowley would kill for better land to reward his higher ups with. Inspires loyalty or whatever. Other than that, just your standard asskissing. Who needs pride when you’ve got a war to win?”
Cas pauses. Dean light himself a cigarette and offers a second to Cas. He takes it, but doesn’t light it. Instead he fidgets with the thing in his hands.
It doesn’t help that Dean is so light and calm. Almost euphoric, if Sam had to put a word to it. He drives them out to bumfuck, Ohio just for a pie eating competition, dropping Miracle off at a kennel along the way. Although Dean is kind of a hardass with the people who work there to make sure Miracle is gonna be well taken care of, Sam is just relieved he didn’t insist on bringing Miracle along. It’s a little ridiculous how much time Dean spends with the dog these days. He starts to wonder if Miracle is a little like a canary in a coal mine. If Dean is waiting for the little guy to disappear again, and he can hold on as long as that doesn’t happen.
Castiel wasn’t sure which of these he was. Looking back, he was sure there was ample evidence for either or perhaps both. He knew the more reasonable people who had known him, Anna or Balthazar or Dean for that matter, would say stupidity each and every time. Someone with a little more tact might say he was just naive. Perhaps Samandriel would have branded him an optimist; he’d always been frighteningly kind that way before Castiel had gotten him killed.
And then he storms out of the room past everyone else. Cas watches him go, but he doesn’t follow. No one does. Jack starts to think someone should follow. He’s too weak to do it himself though, so no one does. Jack would have wanted someone to follow him.
“We’re getting close,” she said. “We need to ditch the cars here and walk in, or we’re gonna get shot. They’ll look like military vehicles from far off.”
He’d take another round in the Cage with fucking Lucifer over this. And if the only thing keeping Dean alive was Chuck’s shitty writing he’ll take that too. In a heartbeat.
“You mean, Charlie and Ash?” Castiel said as the Dean hit a button for one of the upper floors and the elevator began to stutter and start it’s way upwards. “I don’t understand how work is supposed to get done when they both respect each other so little.”
“Yes,” says Dean. And because he hates himself. “But hey, at least I wasn’t entertaining a fucking marriage proposal on the side-“
It took Castiel a moment to place the voice, not for lack of familiarity but for lack of any expectation to hear it any time in the near future. But he turned to look and there sat-
“I- I tried to run away,” Castiel started. Jack perked up immediately, sitting crosslegged as though meditating and waiting for the story to continue. Castiel didn’t have to look to know that Benjamin, Joseph and Isabella were listening in as well. He kept going, despite not particularly wanting them to know the details. “Naomi found me and she offered me a deal. If I became a state spy, she would return me to my garrison and my disobedience would be forgiven.”
Jo nodded at him. She stopped to find Charlie first aid kit and passed it to him, for which Castiel was grateful because he really needed to bandage this before he passed out from blood loss.
What was Cas supposed to say? That he didn’t know? Jo had told him as much about Charlie’s past. Charlie had tried multiple times to reach out to him, and he had repeatedly taken Jo’s side. Nothing Charlie was accusing him of was wrong.
“I think that trusting the people who have put their faith in you is the least that you can do,” said Cas. “Unless you want people to abandon their posts.”
He was lucky that the rest of his day would be spent with Lydia and Jo in the city. Since Dean had a large sum of state currency currently at his disposal, he was sending small groups into the city to obtain weapons from factories, alcohol, and other items of interest. There was a priority on hygiene products, which Jo had repeated to him five times, so he assumed it was important.
“Sometimes he’s even funny,” said Jo, nudging Cas in the arm. He couldn’t help smiling back at her insulting tone. “Sometimes.”
“About the cut or…?” Dean asks. Cas doesn’t answer him. Figures. “So what you’re here to get me out of trouble? Well. That’s swell. Am I gonna remember it this time?”
It had never occurred to Castiel before now that his disappearance might hurt Claire’s feelings. He knows there is affection between them, but he also knows there are numerous complications that come along with that affection. He does and does not remind her of her father, and sometimes it is hard for her to separate the both of them. It occurs to Cas that if Claire lives long enough (which she will) that she will have known him longer than her father. Know him in all his mistakes, all his misery, and all his growth. Meanwhile her father will remain a child’s memory.
“The wonderful thing about fingers is I have more than one,” said Cas. Dean stared at him again, his mouth twisting into a half grimace as though Castiel was the strangest thing he had ever seen.
Dean doesn’t know how Cas knows. Maybe he followed Dean out to make sure Dean got home alright, and that’s when he saw- Dean doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about anything. His bed still smells like Cas, and he tries not to think about the fact that Cas is staying across town at a motel. He promised Mary he’d stay for the wedding, but after that he’s going back to England.
“I told Risa why I was going again, and she said I had to bring someone along with me just in case and was pissed I’d gone alone in the first place,” said Sam. “So, I asked Trish to go with me.”
Selma tried to play the words off as a joke, but Castiel could tell there was honest worry behind them. He reached out and took Selma’s hand as a sign of comfort.
“It’s awesome,” Dean said. And then as the realization hit him that the voice he heard was the same as the poem’s author. “You wrote it?”
Was there an appeal in the power he had been given by Jack, one that even as it repelled him had been reassuring? It had given him confidence that he could change things he couldn’t on Earth. Except Heaven wasn’t made for humans. Just to contain them. There is no fixing what is already working perfectly for its intended purpose. Only trying to break it in a way that mutates it into something else. Maybe that had been a worthy goal, in some ways.
“I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” said Sam, shaking his head. “This has you written all over it.”
“But it’s already been two days,” he said. Castiel frowned, trying to grasp why that didn’t sound quite right, but not able to put his thoughts in anything resembling order.
Dean and Cas park at the end of a trailhead, a little ways away from where they’re supposed to be camping for the night. They don’t plan on staying, just waiting out their mark and hoping he makes an appearance. In the meantime, they are very much stuck together. Cas munches on a pack of sunflower seeds and Dean resists the urge to tell him for the tenth time that you’re not supposed to eat the shells. Figures he’ll find out the hard way.
Sam senses the unspoken part of that. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go. She’s a person, same as the rest of them. Same as Chuck. Sam has a feeling Chuck isn’t taking her in any time soon, either. It’s almost heartwrenching, the quiet realization she comes to in that instant that she is without her power and has no one in the entire world to call a friend. Sam looks at his brother, knowing he’ll understand the question he’s asking with a look alone. Then, with a silent confirmation from Dean easing any misgivings, he offers the only help and apology they can really give to Amara.
“I’m not in love with you anymore,” Castiel realized, saying it softly. It was a relief and something shameful at the same time. “Anna-“
Perhaps that was catastrophizing. Still, Cas took out one of his explosives from under the sole of his shoe and unwrapped the fireproof cloth it was kept in. Carefully, he set it down in the elevator. Then he tapped out a quick message to Charlie, hoping perhaps she could figure out something from her side. Perhaps she could even unlock the doors for them, though it wouldn’t be for a while. State regulations put delayed locks from anywhere between two to five minutes and a lot could happen in that amount of time.
“That’s true,” admitted Garth. “But Ira’s down too now, so I guess that just means five cities to go. Before this is all over.”
“The explosion was used to disperse a chemical agent that causes hallucinations,” Castiel said. “It’s a method of incapacitating the town so Zachariah can eliminate resistance forces without risking casualties. People are so consumed with fear or despair that they won’t be able to fight back Dean briefed everyone about this possibility.”
“Thank you,” Castiel said, eyes now glued to the floor for no discernible reason. “I really should go and find Selma. Lunch will be over soon, and I don’t want to distract from any work she’s assigned to-“
Dean frowned at him a moment and then opened the book again to a random page. He sat down on an armchair he had dragged closer to the bed, his feet resting on the edge of the memory foam mattress he had been so enthused about earlier. Cas personally thought it felt almost too soft. Like lying on cloud, he felt he might fall through it any second. Not that he would mind if the Earth opened beneath him to swallow him up.
“I would know,” says Cas. “It’s not as if- This body, it’s not the problem. And I know because Crowley, of all people, made sure to tell me that in excruciating detail. On more than one occasion, for the record.”
Castiel leaned up from his makeshift pillow to see Selma looking back at him in concern. Her brow was furrowed in concern that he didn’t deserve. He could feel himself frown at her, and lowered himself back down and closed his eyes.
Castiel didn’t know what she meant. He didn’t know why he couldn’t push her from his head, or why he knew deep down he didn’t want to. She betrayed the state and for all intents and purposes she should be dead to him in more than just the literal sense. And yet…
So Chuck left first his sister Amara, and then later his succession of wives and husbands to do most of the ruling. After the death of his most recent (and most beloved) wife, Rebecca Rosen, Chuck realized his own end was soon approaching and it was time to approach the subject of succession.
He can relax Dean’s features into satisfied contentment. Or purse his lips in barely veiled annoyance. He runs the gamut, depending on his mood.
“No reason. Just answer the question,” she said. Castiel was still trying to figure out how to answer when he was saved by Jo, who had probably seen them walking to the food tent and followed them in.
“It’s mine,” said Castiel, holding out his hand impatiently. It felt like she had a piece of his soul in her hand, and she was treating it with all the care of a child dissecting an insect.
“No. That was always me, wasn’t it?” said Cas. “I still miss you, but… I think that’s okay. I think I might be okay.”
Lucky for her, this plan seems to be working out better. She barely gets a nod from Cas before she launches herself forward, swinging her switchblade in a wide arc that the crocotta easily dodges. Just as he’s about to stab forward into her stomach, Cas is there, knocking the crocotta’s hand aside and slicing up the thing’s arm while he’s at it. Claire drops to the floor in an attempt to trip up the retreating crocotta, but misses her mark a little and only just rolls out of the way in time to avoid death by her own fucking sword.
“I don’t talk,” said Cas, as though it had been drilled into him. Which it had. Honestly Cas was surprised he wasn’t being forced to stay behind with Charlie. The only reason he could think of was that ordering him to stay behind would mean Dean would lose the spare manpower that came with Hael, Remiel, and Balthazar coming along.
“No, I don’t mean us, us,” she clarified. “I mean everyone. State, resistance, and the rest in between. I dislike you, because I’m half convinced you could do it, too. Raze everything to the ground without even realizing what you’re doing. I know it’s not your fault. They wanted weapons. That’s why the last Lightbringer stole resistance kids for his experiments. All of that horror, and Naomi just made you by accident.”
Jo frowned in thought. She seemed on the cusp of saying something when Selma broke into the silence.
It was almost as though Naomi could read those thoughts. At the very least she also thought of Anna, and Castiel’s willingness to do what she had said, even in the face of clear evidence she was disobeying orders. Her death was a moment that Castiel didn’t like to dwell on for existential reasons. Of course, he still found he could do little else.
“She had Kate drive in water from Lucrum,” explained Jess when Cas tilted his head in confusion. “She thought it might be similar stuff chemically. It makes you malleable. Takes away your will. We distilled it into a serum and started injected some into your IV. You were dying and we didn’t have anything else. It was worth a shot.”
He pushes himself up from the couch, reaching for his crutches. Tells Miracle to sit, when the little guy tries to follow him and tells everyone else he needs a bathroom break. There’s something strained about his voice, but he gets out of dodge before anyone can question him and stumbles off to the first floor bathroom.
It was a lot more garbled than Castiel meant for it to come out, but his words had started becoming sharp enough that he knew he would be understood.
“And my magic gave life to,” Rowena hissed. The boy looked away from her, knowing this was true. “Never forget, boy, I did you a favor. I stripped you of your name and freed you from your burdens and you agreed to give your will to me.”
“No they don’t. They came from me having detailed knowledge of how you tortured and killed multiple men,” said Cas, making Dean flinch. “Something you were forced to do, and that I don’t blame you for.”
“As you have every right to be,” said Cas. “I’m just pointing out he has more reason to… take it personally than Kevin does.”
“Don’t you dare question that,” said Dean. His voice dropped in volume a moment. “Emma, sweetheart…”
“It already is tomorrow,” said Cas. This is one of the least helpful things he could have said, and yet Dean found he respected the honesty. They were counting on one hell of a depressing Hail Mary, and Cas had risked more than most to get them to the fourth quarter of this twisted game. Or however football worked, Dean was more of a pro wrestling guy if he was being honest.
“It was meant as one,” said Cas, squarely shooting himself in the foot for no reason. Garth rolled his eyes. Castiel briefly wondered if Garth was actually human and, if so, where he’d learned his seemingly unlimited patience.
“We’ve been waiting,” she said, reaching out and unerringly finding Dean’s face. “I thought it was you. You know your nose whistles a little while you breathe?”
“If you keep them to yourself, I might be able to stop by a state medical facility the next time I report to Naomi and…. borrow some things for you. Small things,” Castiel rushed to add at the end, seeing the sudden gleam in Dr. Newman’s eyes.
“Jesus, Dean, I’m leaving,” she said quickly. She was out the door before Castiel could gather his wits. Dean was moving away from him, carefully crawling out of bed and making sure not to jostle Castiel’s wounds. He shut the door after Jo and pulled a bag towards him, looking through it for clean clothes.
The first time this happened, Dean had flinched away from him in terror. As if Castiel’s weakness revolted him. Now there is no hesitation, but Cas still imagines an echo of that same horror in the way Dean’s hands shake as he reaches for him.
“You picked a fight with me,” muttered Cas, putting extra emphasis on the you. “I only tried to win because you’re annoying.”
Once again he was back to that deeply troubled feeling. He shut the door softly behind him, and took a step toward Dean, who had started fidgeting in his sleep. Suddenly, he went completely rigid and his eyes snapped open. Before Cas could even take a step back, he had been knocked off his feet and found Dean’s hands wrapped around his throat.
“I know how to drive,” said Cas indignantly. “What if they ask questions? It hasn’t been long enough.”
That’s all that’s left of the person who raised him, who protected him, who made him into the man he is now. Nothing.
“My favorite thing about you is that you’re practical, and you know that getting to Libidine is more important than getting me out of here.”
“Maybe ‘official state policy’ is supposed to be okay with people like me, but Acedia sure wasn’t,” said Dean. “My dad sure wasn’t either. You know, he caught me blowing some other guy after a resistance meeting, once? I was seventeen. He beat the shit outta me with a crowbar to teach me a lesson. Made sure to stick to girls after that. But when I got sent to prison-“
“Dean willingly walked into a room with you alone despite knowing you were acting weird. I’m not convinced he can be smart about you,” said Sam. “And he’s obviously not telling me everything. I know you had your epiphany or whatever. And I know you didn’t try to kill Dean on purpose. That doesn’t mean you’re on our side.”
“You can’t just turn the psychobabble off,” he said. “Once you know how people work, it gets real fun trying to figure the tough ones out.”
“Yeah, they make a lot of trouble,” Jo said with a smile. “Though that’s nothing compared to Aditi and… and, uh, Tony.”
“C’mon, Cas,” Garth said. “You know what to do. Deep breaths. That’s it. You’re safe. No one is keeping you here. No one is going to hurt you. Deep breaths.”
Dean had asked him about it the night before. Cas had responded by saying he wanted to sleep, after which Dean had offered him use of the bed while he took the armchair. He’d also given Cas the copy of Cat’s Cradle he’d been reading with strict instructions not to write in this one. All in all, Dean seemed rather determined to get on his good side. Likely that meant something he really wouldn’t like was about to happen, and Castiel should be more worried about it.
“What? You’re nicer when she’s around. Don’t shoot the messenger,” says Patience. “Besides, Alex needs to make her shift at the hospital, and Kaia has the test for her GED coming up. You see another option besides us two?”
“But she and Charlie are not on the best of terms. Betty’s my friend too, and Jo is too smart to ask me to pick sides.”
All Dean can see is light. The barest outline of the kid he knew, and an imprint of something much bigger. It’s like living in two dimensions all your life and then getting a good look at a sphere, it doesn’t make sense and it’s kind of breaking Dean’s brain trying to comprehend it. Since his eyes haven’t burned out yet, he thinks he’s doing an okay job, though.
“No, I came here to jump your bones, and I got distracted and angry,” said Castiel. Dean choked on nothing. “Jo taught me that expression. I’m not sure I like it. Doesn’t it remind you of dancing on someone’s grave, jumping someone’s bones? Really the world would be a better place without the English language and sex.” | [
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When Sherlock imagined their first kiss he thought about gentle lips slowly pressing together, shy moves and sweet whispers. He thought about fingers carefully slipping between his black curls and laboured breaths.
“ Today. Ok? We’ll talk when I get back from surgery” the answer was poor at best. This whole situation made Sherlock feel inadequate in so many ways. Since the start of their new arrangement nothing had changed as much as the young Holmes expected, John barely talked and only addressed to him if it was strictly necessary, he seemed to avoid touching him and spent most of the time at work. John had never worked this much. And Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking it was because of him.
John was forcefully sliding his mouth over his, tongue invading Sherlock’s mouth without preamble. His hands were gripping the tall man’s hair. It hurt. It felt like the doctor was devouring him, biting his lips with despair.
There was a time Sherlock Holmes - the world’s only consulting detective and self-proclaimed sociopath - lived in that fantasy. If you had asked him a few years ago he would have answered arrogantly : ‘ Destiny is just term invented by petty humans who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions. They conceived an abstract power where they could place all their frustrations and blame for all the mistakes they had made during their boring lives ’.
To say their relationship is complicated is an understatement. However, what mattered at the moment was that he was alive. Disgustingly alive. Hatefully alive. He wished this sweet darkness surrounding him was death. Peace. The opportunity to forget everything, forgive everyone and live in an idealized world, the promised land. Nevertheless, Sherlock knew if Heaven existed he wouldn't be allowed entrance, he would probably be doomed to burn in the flames of Hell.
“Lucy, ¿can you take Rosie to get an ice cream? I need to speak with Sherlock for a sec - ” John gave her the child and smiled charmingly “ - Thank you, love.” That was the same word he used with Sherlock and the detective could only scream in his mind
At night, when they were sleeping John laid with his back to Sherlock. Were the young genius to initiate an attempt to cuddle he let himself be hugged for a few short minutes before he carefully extricated himself from the cage formed by the arms of his untrained lover.
Mycroft walked until he placed himself in front of the window. The warm sunlight streaming through made his ginger hair shine like bonfire, it also exposed his thinning hair and receding hairline. His pallid skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. Posture slightly bent. His shoulders stooped forward, as if the weight of his brothers suffering rested all upon him. He would never forgive Watson for doing this to Sherlock. He shouldn't have let him in.
He absently hailed a cab and gave the cabbie the address. Rosie could sense the aura of uneasiness that surrounded Sherlock and touched the man’s cheek with a chubby hand. Moved by the child’s attempt at comfort, the detective smiled and sweetly kissed her cheek. He decided to forget all his insecurities for once and trust in John and their love. Their relationship was not perfect but they were just getting used to each other and, hell, they had been together for just one month and a half, time would heal the wounds they still carried in their hearts.
“Don’t be rude, I told you Lucy was coming today - ” Everything was so confusing, the world was spinning around Sherlock, he could barely breath. “ - it’s time for her to meet this little bean. After all, two months is time enough to be sure and besides, she was dying to meet her.” John’s face had a strange grin, his voice full of mockery.
"NO! No, no, no. This is cruel even for you. How could I have John's child without him knowing it? I would not forgive myself. I desired to have kids with him, most ardently. But I would not resort to this as a revenge."
After a few seconds, Sherlock closed his eyes and started to move his lips. He desired to savour this moment, he had waited seven years for this. But it was too messy. They were not synchronized, John was moving too fast to Sherlock’s tentative nips. The young Holmes was trying to concentrate on breathing, he was starting to get dizzy and his knees were shaking. John didn’t stop pushing him, it was too intense. He pushed John away.
Megan got pregnant and despite the fact they were just students, they decided to have the baby. It probably was the reckless nature of youngsters. They felt indestructible, there was nothing that could bring them down. Sadly there was. As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes found out they threatened to disinherit him.
Sherlock thought with disdain, he straightened his back and tried to contain that giddy feeling he got every time he looked at the army doctor.
Once out of Graves’ office, John walked down the hall, his slight limp showing but hardly noticeable to those passing him. He found an empty briefing room not far away and sat down to review his target’s file.
“I wish you’d stop fussing over me like someone’s maiden aunt, John! I told you I am fine. There is nothing wrong with me!”
Sherlock's hair looked much as usual John noted with amusement. His suit however was utterly ruined and quite unrecognizable from the day before. The shirt was too, John saw with a pang of concern. Sherlock always liked to maintain a neat appearance…
John stood and surveyed the view from the window. Despite it being 3:30 in the afternoon, darkness was starting to fall. The day had hardly been light. The rain hadn’t ceased since they’d arrived in Foxley; it fell on the roof with a steady hum, flowed down the inn’s drain pipes and formed puddles on the waterlogged ground. It was the sort of November afternoon he might have enjoyed before the war; settling before the fire with a book and a mug of hot tea. But peace and contentment were gone from him now, torn from his soul by a burning sun; screams of anguish and death on hard-baked earth. The hole that remained had refused to mend; through it everything that had been meaningful in his life had drained away, leaving him hollow. He had felt the loss but had been unable to stop it.
John spoke first. “Since they know we are in Foxley, our…followers will have guessed that Welford is where we were headed. Our best chance of throwing them off our trail is to go nowhere; to stay here in Foxley.” He glanced at Sherlock who, despite the warmth of the car heater was beginning to tremble. “They won’t expect it and it’s better for you; any activity right now will set your progress back. I know someone in the village; we’ll have to drop in unannounced.”
Another three blocks into the chase and to John’s further alarm, two more Alphas had joined the first two. They were running together so they were obviously known to each other. They had probably coordinated with their mobiles. So this was to be a gang-rape then; recreation not procreation, John thought grimly. John couldn’t afford to hold back now, so he began to sprint. He was getting closer, but was still not close enough.
Later when they were cuddling under their duvet, John tracing the outline of one of Sherlock's well-defined pectoral muscles and Sherlock stroking the soft rounding of John's belly, John spoke. "Sherlock, I want to confide something in you."
When John didn’t answer, Sherlock spoke again, slowly, “An….acquaintance... of mine once pointed out that someone can walk through in hell and still be on the side of the angels, John.”
Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, “I require little sleep, Ælfric, but I wish to stay here beside you while you sleep.”
December sat with Sherlock in the booth while John ordered toast, milk and tea at the counter; the quickest items on the menu. The food arrived, served by the café owner who was brimming with barely restrained curiosity about his unlikely Christmas day customers, only to be quelled by a withering glance from Sherlock. December fell upon breakfast with enthusiasm, stuffing chunks of toast into his small mouth and gulping milk as fast as he could, spilling a great deal of it onto Sherlock beside him.
Sherlock had drawn himself up, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched and his feet planted in an aggressive stance.
John was out of his chair in an instant and bending to take Sherlock in his arms. “That’s not true, Sherlock! You’ve given me so much! So many things that no one else could have! It’s you who gave me my self-respect back, a reason for living, the opportunity to contribute something good and worthwhile to the world. I had none of those things before I met you. You saw value in me and trusted me with your life. My God, Sherlock, you love me! I know that you do. Do not think for a moment that sex is more important than that. It isn’t! Not to me! I’ll never leave you, never! Not for sex, not for anything!”
John had met Captain Moran briefly only once. Speculation about the man’s atrocious activities had been confirmed for John by a medical colleague who had inadvertently found herself treating a prisoner who, it turned out, had been in the custody of Moran before he had come into her care. John’s colleague had done the best she could for the severely abused patient and succeeded in securing his protected status going forward, but, even the hardened battle surgeon that she was, she had been deeply disturbed by the victim’s condition.
But Sherlock, confused, was uncomforted. He continued to tremble and whimper, frightened beyond all reason.
So as not to disturb December, thought John and grinned inwardly. His question had been a small test of course; it was becoming clear to him that something momentous had happened to Sherlock's heart when little December had laid his trusting head on his shoulder Christmas Eve.
"Geoffrey! The baby! Tell them, Harvey, please? Don't let them take him away! He needs me; he'll die without me Harvey! Oh God, my baby, tell them to give him to me please?! I'll do anything you want, just let me have him, please, please!"
But before she could say anything, John lifted his eyes from the still baby in his arms to look at Sherlock. He smiled gently and reached a hand to Sherlock’s cheek. “Come here,” he said.
Sherlock's response was soft, as was his hand on John's shoulder. "No, thank you John. I'll make the tea, please sit."
He didn't stir when Sherlock finally slid him off of his lap and under the duvet, drawing it up over him. Sherlock rose and stood looking down at John for a moment. He then turned to the door and switched off the room's ceiling light, but before he left, he turned back and said, "I will do as you ask me John; I will find Geoffrey for you."
The drive to a car park under a warehouse, back near the river was an uneventful one relative to the wild ride they’d just taken. John parked the car facing the entrance and picked up his mobile. Deliberately not looking at Sherlock, he hit redial on the last number called and waited.
"Knock next time. You scared John." Simple enough words but they were delivered in a threatening growl that gave them a whole different meaning, one that Lestrade did not miss. He glanced with interest from Sherlock to John, still frightened, in the far corner of the room.
The British Secret Service…CSIS...the CIA… purveyors in the torture trade, all. John acknowledged to himself, belatedly, that he wouldn’t have been able to follow through on the job even if Blackburn hadn’t become ill and required medical help. The flare of vengeful wrath he’d experienced when he learned of Blackburn’s association with QAT had burned out quickly. Intercepting Blackburn had done nothing to ease his pain, his constant companion since Afghanistan. And offering up a man, any man, for torture and disappearance was not in John’s nature, no matter how damaged his soul.
Lestrade folded his arms and waited, knowing that insults to his officers was the price to be paid for Sherlock's assistance with any case…
“Oh dear! Is she still here? Goodness, how awkward.” Sherlock strolled into the living room and gazed dispassionately at Elizabeth, the subject of his comments, who was sitting, by now rigid with outrage, on the sofa beside John.
"The motivation is ambition. Simple. The three priests murdered worked in large prestigious London parishes, quite different from St. Patrick (which was another reason that the letter to Father Stansell was such an important clue; it did not fit the pattern). The contents of the hate-letters, untruthful accusations and dramatic threats of revenge were nonsense, of course, meant to distract us from the real motivation−that of Father Stansell obtaining a significant promotion to a large and important parish. In that sense all of the letters were red herrings."
Sherlock, now tired, rested back against the back of the bath tub with his eyes closed and murmured, “Nō, Ælfric.”
“But Ælfric, you do not know; others did live… I found their trail, iċ i æfterfylge, I followed them − to go with them, of course, but they were too far ahead of me. I could not catch up to them before they reached the firgenbeorg.”
“Yes…I’d love to feel you inside me, Sherlock. And I’d love it if you came in me. You know…” He lowered his voice to a dark whisper, “if you thrust into me and came deep inside…”
Did anyone know about this or had John borne it alone? Almost certainly John had been alone: isolation of the victim was a defining feature of this type of crime. And the thought of the man he had seen tonight suffering alone year after year made what he had witnessed all the more terrible.
But even as he sat up to grasp his rifle in preparation to investigate the door of his tent was pushed open and a filthy brute of a soldier filled the entrance.
Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the dark, resting their backs against an inside wall of the empty shed. They had made a slow circuit of the interior using Sherlock's mobile for light for they had decided it was too risky to use a torch. The back of the shed had been chosen as a resting spot because it was slightly less damp than everywhere else. John had produced a bar of chocolate and offered it to December who had gulped it down in seconds. Too hungry thought John, anger welling up in his chest once more. There was nothing for the child to drink which concerned him but he couldn't do anything about it for the moment. Sherlock had shed his coat and they had wrapped December in it and placed him between them.
“Hush! Stop now.” He rocked Sherlock back and forth. “He’s dead. I killed him. They are both dead.” Cold satisfaction resonated in John's voice and in the expression on his face. “You have nothing to be afraid of now. You are safe. They can never touch you again.”
If you see any mistakes or typos, please tell me on the comments below. English is not my first language.
Sherlock could feel a horrible pressure in his chest, he was fighting to get a simple word out of his mouth, he had suddenly lost the ability to speak. “Please… - ” He whispered brokenly, he could feel a panic attack coming, his breath shallow. “John, talk to me, please. I don’t understand. Tell me I’m wrong, tell me what I’m seeing in her, in you, is just a mistake.” his eyes were burning.
“John, I want to have sex with you”. The detective blurted one morning as they were having breakfast. John’s eyes widened in surprise and looked at him in disbelief.
Everyone thought the detective was not capable of feeling anything, they believed him some kind of heartless creature that lived for , a freak. They couldn’t be more mistaken. Sherlock doesn’t feel things the same way others do, that much is true. He doesn’t let emotions take over his mind, he has to be in complete control to solve crimes, he can’t allow himself to be distracted, one simple mistake can cost a life or the chance of giving the victims the justice they deserve.
" You've come out of your sedative induced coma a few times, couldn't even utter a single sound that resembled a word of the English language, or any existing language for all I know. Nevertheless, you did manage to say
John’s physical and emotional distance tore the detective’s heart apart. Sherlock knew John blamed him for everything even though the army doctor tried to conceal his discomfort towards the young Holmes. So he tried to redeem himself, he let John take whatever he needed from him, he let him beat him physically and psychologically.
Sherlock didn't really see a point in staying alive anymore, not that he ever did. He wanted to die, to vanish from this planet full of idiots. He saw an opportunity to live in John so he had given him everything. The soldier turned out to be a double-edged sword, he had the key to Sherlock's happiness but he could also take it all away from him. Now he had nothing. He was so dependent of the soldier he would probably die if he didn't see he him again.
On these rare occasions the young man would feel so intensely, emotion in its purest form would cascade over Sherlock’s sanity. He would let his fears and insecurities run free and the walls around him crumble. At times it was so overwhelming Sherlock had to fall back into the black pit created by drugs to get away from the chaos in his mind.
They were walking down the street after leaving Scotland Yard when John gripped the detective’s hand and dragged him into a dark alley. Tension was visible in his jaw, the way he gritted his teeth, hands closed into fists. He made sure nobody could see them and before Sherlock could ask what was wrong the army doctor pushed him into a wall and crashed his lips into the detective’s, efficiently shutting him up.
The air he was breathing had an undertone of bleach. There were few places that smelled as such, he had a list with all of them in his mind palace. He could be in Molly's lab right now, taking a nap on one of the free autopsy tables but the cannula shoved down his throat seemed to disagree, as well as the stiff mattress he was laying on, the catheter dangling from his arm, the beeping coming from the machines, the indistinct chatter of the nurses outside his room.
“ Oh, come on, she doesn’t understand a thing of what we’re saying. She’s a brilliant child but you as a doctor should know that kids their age understand individual sounds not an entire sentence. And don’t try to distract me, is it because I’m a virgin? I admit I’m not an expert on this matter but I have done my research. The internet has endless information about sexual intercourse, some of it extremely bizarre but I’m not opposed to try if you were into that kind of… stuff ”.
"In the end it was John Hamish Watson the one to burn the heart out of you. I warned you, all lives end... all hearts are broken... caring is not an advantage".
Sherlock was not exactly ecstatic when she died, mind you. John and Rosie were hurting and he couldn’t help but share their pain.
John left for his shift at the clinic and Sherlock stayed with Rosie. He fed her, changed her, played violin for her, she seemed to enjoy the last task immensely as she couldn’t stop emitting little cries of contentment. He never imagined himself with kids but after Rosie he could not fathom a world without her. She did not judge him when he rambled for hours or when he accidentally burned the milk. Rosamund loved him just the way he was, the way only a newborn could love the ones that took care of them, unconditionally.
It turns out the man was not as perfect as everyone believed him to be. A year before graduating from university he had met a girl, Megan. She was not rich nor religious, she was rather liberal and was a member of the university’s feminist group. Everything the Barnes family did not want for their prodigal son.
Sherlock didn’t quite know what to do. This was not his first kiss, he had had to do it for a few cases. And Janine. But nothing like this.
Someone else - someone not Sherlock - would have noticed John’s speech didn’t sound so sincere. It was too overworked, too cheesy, it probably contained lines from movies or books, but Sherlock was like a child with a veil over his eyes in terms of love. He was so innocent and his feelings for John were so strong that he let himself believe this indisputable farse.
, you are an invaluable asset to society. Your brain... you could change the world. And... It would break my heart to see you go." This blatant demonstration of sentiment from Mycroft was so rare, this probably would not happen ever again.
"So... What's next for the great Sherlock Holmes? Are you planning on returning to London and keep working with Scotland Yard? We're in Paris, I'm sure you've noticed. Mother and Father are here too, they are in the hotel refreshing themselves at the moment. They have barely rested. They are concerned about your wellbeing. And not only physically, they know how sensitive you are. After all, you were a very emotional child. You should expect a visit from our progenitors in about ...-" Mycroft paused to look at the watch in his right wrist. "- 35 minutes. I believe that will be enough time to discuss your
of John Watson?" The atmosphere had suddenly shifted, Mycroft turned to look at him straight in the eye. He's trying to deduce me.
"I'm not going back. Not to London, not to Scotland Yard, not to 221B. Please take care of Mrs. Hudson. I expect John to keep living at Baker Street. He does not have the income to buy another house. Maybe he will move, eventually. If he does, make sure Mrs. Hudson receives the amount corresponding to the rent monthly. As for me... I wish to take up on your offer. That mission in Serbia. Is it still vacant?"
“Hey there, pumpkin.” John kissed Rosie’s head and the little girl threw herself into her father’s arms. “ Hi, Sherlock.” the doctor added curtly, cleared his throat and turned to face a short woman Sherlock hadn’t realised had been there all the time. “Lucy, this is Sherlock, my flatmate - ” the detective wasn’t surprised by John’s introduction, he probably wasn’t ready to out himself to his colleagues and understood the doctor’s position “- and this beautiful angel here is Rosamund, my daughter.”
The silence in the room was disturbed by the muffled voices of doctors and nurses, the chirping of the birds near the window, the wheels turning inside Mycroft's head. It was obvious he was thinking of a way to save his brother. A rather difficult enterprise when that person didn't wish to be saved. Suddenly he remembered. He remembered something he read in John's file the first day he became of aware of his and his brother's newfound friendship. The idea was twisted at best, it could be considered unethical even. However, he would do anything to keep his brother alive.
He slowly opened his eyes, it felt like his eyelids had been glued together and it took an awful long time to adjust to the light streaming through the window. It was sunny outside. He would have preferred London's gloomy weather a thousand time over. It would have matched his current emotional state more accurately. But instead he had this perfect day, he could almost hear families laughing together, parents playing with their children in the park making most the of the sun and warm temperature. They were laughing at him.
name...- " he stopped as soon as he realized how accelerated Sherlock's heartbeat became when he mentioned Dr. Watson. "You had a heart attack. It isn't at all surprising considering your past drug dependency, your on-off relationship with cigarettes and the 'care' you put into maintaining the transport, as you so call it. It was only a matter of time and a bit of sentiment. And you, dear brother, seem to have a lot of that ." He paused and gave the detective a side glance. " The damage was not too extensive, you were seen to with swiftness as you fainted in front of a clinic. Felicitous. The physicians in charge of your case heavily advise you acquire healthier sleeping patterns and diet. Allow me to call a nurse so they can extubate you."
, after solving a case they had been investigating for five days, John’s behaviour took a turn. In the beginning, Sherlock attributed this change to the lack of sleep and the days without a meal that hadn’t come out of a vending machine.
“Sherlock, spot on as always. Who would have thought you could be so blind for other things, or more accurately, for someone. If only Moriarty had known…tsk, tsk, tsk… it would have been so easy for him to burn the heart out of you. But he didn’t, I did.” he licked his lips and smiled cruelly “You know why I’m doing this, right? This is for Mary. You took her away from me and from Rosie. She’ll never know her mum because of you, you killed her. It should have been you. Instead you are here begging for someone to love you, to take your virginity. Disgusting. No one can love you, Sherlock, not really. You are a freak, a self-absorbed arrogant prick. And least of all fuck you, ¿have you seen yourself? Every time you touched me I had to contain the urge to vomit” John was attacking all of Sherlock’s insecurities, one by one. They were mostly lies, but John knew the detective was believing every single syllable he uttered. “You should never have come back, you should have stayed dead.” the soldier’s eyes were wide and red, full of rage. Sherlock was trembling, tears cascading down his face, the pain was so bad. This is the disadvantage Mycroft was talking about, to give your heart to someone who doesn’t want it and letting them do with it whatever they please. Even destroy it in the most vicious way.
People seem to live in an illusion, somewhere they can choose which path to follow, somewhere they can build the lives they want, somewhere they can cheat death, somewhere destiny is just but a word.
"As much as I hate myself for admitting this... I should have listened to you. Do not make me repeat myself. I know you heard me perfectly."
Sherlock’s body grew cold as he read the short notice. He felt a shiver run up his spine. He can’t say he didn’t expect this, Mr. Kane had shown all the signs of someone with suicidal tendencies but he had believed he would live for his young lover. Or so he had hoped. The detective inexplicably saw himself reflected in the older man and couldn’t avoid wondering if he would do the same were John to die. He knew the answer. It felt like a bad omen.
He thought he had had everything. But now it was gone. He had believed the universe would let him get what he wanted this time. His chance to be happy after an existence of hiding his true self from everyone. However, he was destined to a life of emotional isolation. It felt like a curse, to die alone without a single soul who cared. From a very young age Sherlock had had to struggle with loneliness and rejection from his peers and the only thing that helped him get through the darkest hours was hope. He prayed for the day where he would find someone that loved him as much as he needed to be loved, someone who cared if he lived or died. The detective would never admit it to anyone but he yearned to feel the warmth of love, the touch of a tender lover, a smile that could light up his insides, the flicker of devotion in his beloved eyes.
After two restless days of running around London trying to find clues that could lead them to the real identity of the victim they ran into a surprise. A freelance journalist claimed he had proof that an important member of the Conservative Party, Alistair Barnes, had a hidden past. Mr. Barnes was the poster boy for rectitude. The Tory came from a wealthy family, he had studied in the best schools and universities, he didn’t drink alcohol, didn’t smoke or do drugs, had being celibate until he had married a girl just as perfect as him.
Feeling Sherlock pressed against him, eager and excited, John finally allowed himself to give in to his Alpha nature. He pressed his cheek to Sherlock’s back and clung to him in awed gratitude; knowing that at last he had found his home; the extraordinary being he held in his arms, his beloved Sherlock, was the guardian of his heart and his life. With this realization, his body convulsed and he stiffened with the physical exertion of orgasm and ejaculation; utterly vulnerable in that moment but entrusting his body to Sherlock. His groan of release resounded around the quiet bedroom, “Sherlock…God…I love you…!”
“Yes, right here Sherlock.” John turned from pouring boiling water into the tea pot to smile at him, firmly repressing the jolt of desire that flared in his belly at the sight of him. “You must be hungry,” he said.
Sherlock, who had been rooted in place outside the private hospital room door listening to the ugly tirade inside, heard a rapid scuffle in the room accompanied by a sharply indrawn gasp and waited no longer. He acted on instinct, lunging through the door and into the room. He saw a heavy-set Alpha with a flushed face, one hand gripping his Omega's hair, the other hand twisting the man's jaw, forcing his face toward his own. His mate had been trying to cower into the pillows, his face as white as they were.
John stroked Sherlock’s hair back from his forehead and gazed down at him, his expression conveying the depth of his love for Sherlock and also the wonder he felt at Sherlock’s acceptance of him as a mate. Sherlock looked back at him before his eye lids slid shut and he sighed. He tried to lift a limp arm to his shirt buttons, obviously wanting to undo them, but his coordination had left him.
After Sherlock had relaxed and was resting easily, John said casually, “You know, Sherlock, if you ever do want to try again, there’s an easy work-around. I mean, lots of people like to have sex in the shower. I think you’d like it too. Imagine how great it would be to have the water running over your body while I touched you…and you wouldn’t see or feel any semen, mine or yours, right? It would be private too; we’d be surrounded by water and steam where no one else could possibly see us.” He paused before he added offhandedly, “It’s something to think about anyway.”
John turned to Sherlock. “Alright?” he asked with concern. “Yes,” said Sherlock and then grinned weakly, “Quite alright, actually.”
John's pain was devastating and Sherlock felt helpless; what did he know about babies and pregnancy loss? He tried to draw on whatever instincts had been compelling him to try to help John since he'd first met him.
John’s heart broke at the sight of him. “Sherlock, no! No, I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear it. I’m sorry I frightened you; I thought you were in danger, that’s all. I’m sorry. I love you, Sherlock! I would never hurt you!”
The soothing hand was batted away in annoyance. “And…what about you...doctor?” Sherlock demanded between gasps, “Your PTSD? How long will…it last…untreated as it is?” he bit out the accusation between dragging in lungful’s of air and glaring at John.
“Open your eyes, please. Look at me…” John’s quiet request stopped Blackburn’s ramblings, although his coughing and gasping for air continued.
Sherlock, semi-conscious from the blow to his head, slumped sideways as his captor’s hand fell away. But by then, pistol placed on the gravel beside them, John was there to catch him before he could hit the tracks. Even barely conscious, Sherlock knew he was home. His body sagged against John and he sighed softly, his eyelids flickering momentarily before closing against his pale cheeks.
Sherlock sighed. Setting aside the puzzle of John's aura for now (he remembered a recent paper he'd seen somewhere on bioenergetics…perhaps he should dig it out and read it…) he decided to broach with John something that he had been putting off all day. He didn't want to make John unhappy but he should offer to share with him what he had learned.
Lestrade, who had been concentrating his attention on Sherlock turned to John and saw immediately Sherlock's cause for concern. John's face was pale and his hands were beginning to tremble. He was obviously becoming upset.
Less than five minutes after they had left the pub, John was steering the car into a high-hedged driveway a short distance from the village. He drew to a stop near the front door of an old but neatly maintained cottage.
The private scrambled desperately to his hands and knees and crawled as fast as he could into the darkness. John watched him leave and then scanned the area for any other alphas who may have been hovering while their mate tried his luck. If there had been any, they were gone now, he noted grimly. He turned into his tent once more, secured the door and, finding the omega had disappeared, went to his cot and squatted beside it. He called out softly, “Hey little one, I’d like you to come out now… the soldiers are gone, it’s just me here now and I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
He wiped a defeated arm over his forehead. Where was Sherlock anyway? The longer he was out, the greater his risk of assault and although he was well able to look after himself ordinarily, tonight he was not in his usual fighting form. And the summer heat always made Alphas more aggressive…
“Mike must have had a friend drive them to the airport. Thank God for airport parking being astronomically costly. We’ll borrow their number plates. That will buy us some time.” John said, “Stay here, please. I’ll pick you up around front when I’ve got them switched over.”
"I was telling the truth when you asked me about it in the hospital Sherlock, I really didn't see or hear anything the entire time I was there!"
John had spent a long night beside Sherlock, his hand on Sherlock’s back, thinking over the situation and trying to decide what he should do, if anything. He was certain that Sherlock was sexually maturing as an Omega at last, for some reason; John himself could sense it now that he was alerted to the possibility.
Sherlock looked confused and anxious. “But I thought we−” he stopped, “I mean…I hoped you might lie-in with me.”
After a long silence, Sherlock asked, “In your opinion, as a doctor, John, what do you think happened to me? Am I asexual or repressed or something else?”
But John's biology held him a prisoner it seemed, for as his mate turned his back on him and walked out the door, he lurched desperately as if to try to follow, tearing the IV tubes from his arms and croaking, "No! Please Harvey! I need − come back! Please!" And when the door swung shut leaving the room in silence, he gave a curdling wail of despair and would have collapsed off the bed if Sherlock hadn't caught him.
The only sound John could hear was terrified raspy breathing from far under the cot; the omega likely had a lung infection… in addition to other obvious injuries.
The door of 221 B was flung wide, startling John so he almost banged his head on an open cupboard door. It was December returning from school, making his usual enthusiastic entrance to the flat; today clutching a handful of Christmas candies and a tin of homemade shortbread cookies given to him by Mrs. Hudson.
“Well, we will find out what went wrong and then we will discuss what you will do to rectify the situation. Ask Robert Trenholm to pay me a visit. Immediately, if you would.”
Sherlock was silent for a long moment studying John, before he agreed slowly, “Alright…if you say so, John.”
John was ready with his pistol. In one practised motion he brought the muzzle down against their would-be assassin’s temple as he pushed through the doorway, and pulled the trigger. The man dropped; killed instantly. Without hesitation, John stepped over the body to glance into the outside hallway. Seeing no one, he withdrew again and bent to drag the body into the room and close the door.
Before any of them could say anything further, December's head emerged from Sherlock's coat, wondering, no doubt, why Sherlock's deep voice was no longer rumbling soothingly in his ear. He took one look at the social worker and Lestrade and, knowing with his child's intuition that something was going badly wrong, he screamed shrilly and dove back into the safe haven of Sherlock's coat. John and Sherlock both recoiled at the heart-wrenching wail.
“As if you care what’s right or wrong.” Watson’s voice was harsh. But his next words were even harsher, “Alright. I’ll do it.”
John pressed his lips together and frowned. “So not a recruit to the QAT cause then. Not a brilliant chemist turned traitor?” Fury was welling up. “Just an amateur detective with a poor ability to pick friends. Is that it?” He rose with an angry shake of his head and began to pace the interior wall of the room with his hands on his hips.
The Simarine had been renowned in the region as peacemakers; dedicated to protecting the Sidesan Lakes and the surrounding woods for the use and benefit of all. They were as at home in the water as they were on land due to their unusual adaptations of syndactyly for fast swimming and specialized eyelids which protected their excellent under-water vision. The decimation of this unique human population and the precious ecosystem they inhabited was one of the worst atrocities of the war to date.
In a matter of minutes they had reached Slough and John drew into a deserted, crumbling car park, liberally sprayed with graffiti, and brought the car to a stop. He stepped from the driver’s side of the vehicle, reaching behind the seat for his medical bag as he did so. By the time he had rounded the car and reached the passenger door, he was a different man. Although unaware of it himself, he no longer possessed the edginess of a “hired-gun” but instead had taken on the mantle of quietly efficient doctor.
“Then why will you not go with me into the next world, the world beyond this one when our time here is over? Why will our mating end? I do not want to be without you. Do you not mate forever, Ælfric?” Sherlock’s eyes were tragic.
"You don't have to try to be worthy of anything John. You are already are. You just need to believe it."
Sherlock nodded. Pained confusion was written on his face for it was the first time in his life that he had not enjoyed the reveal of a murderer. And never again would he experience the pure rush of victory, flowing through his veins like the drug it was for him, when he solved a case. The expression on John's face would be a memory that would ground him; forever temper his exhilaration with a sobering awareness of the pain and devastation that the criminals he pursued left in their wake.
John was silent, his breathing almost imperceptible, before he whispered, "I don't… know anything…and I saw…nothing. You can leave now."
Trying not to look menacing but failing, Sherlock said nothing. John sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward for Lestrade and held his breath.
John turned to look at Sherlock who hadn’t moved from where he had first stowed him; he was staring ahead bemusedly, his fingers gently touching his lips.
Sherlock shook his head. "I…I don't think so John." He was silent for several seconds. "I…am very glad you are here now." And I can help you live, he thought. "I can't bring Geoffrey back but I will help you in every other way."
He was still struggling to catch up with his peers in school due to his difficult start in life. His teachers assured them that he would succeed; it would just take time.
Sherlock nodded and relaxed back into the curve of John’s arm. John turned the hot water tap on to warm up the cooling bath water and resumed bathing his patient. He ghosted his hand over Sherlock’s bruised chest with light fingers, watching his patient’s face closely for signs of pain that might indicate his ribs were cracked or broken. Satisfied they weren’t, next he probed the youth’s abdomen gently, looking for tender spots and he touched his hand to his delicate penis, checking as carefully as he could for signs of injury. The youth’s breath hitched slightly but he seemed to feel no discomfort at John’s touch. Relieved, John then stroked his fingers between the omega’s buttocks and thighs, to check for injury, but also to gauge the progress of his heat. He steeled himself against the flare of excitement that this action brought him; having anticipated it based on his body’s response to the youth earlier. This time at John’s intimate touch, Sherlock gasped and lurched in surprise. He drew his legs up sharply, wincing in pain from his injured ankle as he did so, and pulled away, staring up at John with an expression of alarm.
The Alpha holding Sherlock was next; shot through the ear as he stared incredulously at his friend, now lying with his trousers still down but dead on his back in front of Sherlock. The short Alpha who had risen after Sherlock hit him, to masturbate and watch his friend in Sherlock’s mouth, didn’t attempt to run; he knew he was dead even before he looked up from Sherlock and into John’s narrowed eyes. He dropped his hand from his cock, and his mouth, which had been slack with pleasure, only had time to form a small round ‘o’ of protest before John shot him between the eyes.
“Hmmm?” Sherlock was reading a book his arm around John, absently stroking the skin at the base of John’s neck. He hadn’t noticed that John had put down his Journal of Social Work several minutes earlier.
With that, even before he had finished his sentence, Sherlock was out of his chair and half-way across the room toward the stairs in his haste to check on John.
John untied the belt imprisoning Sherlock’s wrists and rubbed his hands for him to get their circulation back. While he was working, Sherlock sat still and quiet where he had settled, almost on John’s lap. When John was done and was once more supporting him in a hug, Sherlock’s eyes flickered open and he raised his head to stare at John. His body was heavy and pliant and he blinked several times as if to try to focus his vision. “John…I...want you. Now. I need you.” He closed his eyes as a tremor shook his body. John could feel wet heat spreading where Sherlock rested against his thigh. And dear God, the surge of arousal that coursed through John in response to it, and Sherlock’s whispered plea, swept almost every vestige of rational thought from John’s mind. He began to pant and shake under the force of his desire. Trying to fight it off, he sucked in a deep breath of air and gripped Sherlock’s face with both hands. “Open your eyes, Sherlock,” he urged.
John, sitting at the table composing a shopping list, jerked his head up in time to see Sherlock reach for his mobile as if to send a text. Sherlock never made it. John sprang from his seat, his face contorted with fury, and launched himself across the room in a violent tackle to flatten Sherlock onto his back on the sofa seat where he sat astride him and pinned his shoulders to the cushions with painful pressure. His eyes bored into Sherlock’s and he hissed, “Go ahead Sherlock! Do it! And while you’re at it, add a P.S. from me to Sebastian Wilkes…” John spat out the name, “…letting him know that it will be his last 10 seconds on earth, because I’ll blow his head off before he gets in the door of the flat, the bastard!”
“Homer called him the luck-bringing messenger of the Gods.” John was looking interested, so Sherlock continued. “At birth he refused to stay in his heavenly cradle; he wanted to fly so much that he leapt up and left his mother to take to the sky. He is important in Greek mythology as the guider of souls to the after-life. Of all the Gods, he is the divine crosser-of-borders between the worlds. He moves effortlessly between this world and the next, John.”
Half an hour later, the electric heat turned on, they were sitting in the now slightly warmer kitchen, sipping mugs of strong tea, sugared and milk-less, and munching hot buttered toast. John, observing Sherlock, was pleased to see his colour returning, although his movements were still slow and awkward.
John drew his hand away from the drawer as if stung and bit out an expletive. His hold on Sherlock tightened painfully. Moran of course, would have such a revolting stash! Visons of the man’s activities in the very room they were in caused John’s vision blur with rage. No wonder he had instinctively avoided the place! Everything about Moran, especially this, was antithetical to all that John stood for.
John blinked and took a step backward, unused to such a bald assessment of his mental−and sexual−weaknesses by a complete stranger.
At this trusting expression of forgiveness, John’s iron suit of armour, the heavy burden of the warrior−already weakened by the sweet ways of this lovely, other-worldly creature−cracked and fell away entirely. Holding Sherlock, he felt something brilliant and new burst forth from within; infinitely stronger than the leaden armour it replaced, burning through him with the power of a hundred suns. With a choked exclamation he bent his head toward the undeniable cause of it; the seemingly magical being he held in his arms.
"I said the murderer was ambitious, I didn't say he was intelligent." Sherlock was scornful. "He had established a pattern of delivering the letters on a Wednesday afternoon, probably a poor attempt to make the murders look ritualistic in some way. So, when he failed to deliver the letter to St. Patrick as planned that day, he had to try again immediately or wait another week. And, it was imperative that someone other than Father Stansell find the letter, to witness it, so to speak. With the investigation intensifying, the murderer felt he couldn't afford to wait."
John couldn't keep the shock out of his voice as he stilled and stared into the corner of the dingy room − the locked door of which Sherlock had just put his shoulder through. When something had first caught his attention he had assumed that it was an animal, a stray dog or cat, sheltering in a deserted building on a cold winter day. And it was cold for London, not at all nice weather for Christmas Eve.
John had switched from crying now that he had Sherlock, to smiling radiantly instead. He began to return Sherlock's embrace, hugging him tightly, pressing kisses on his lips and repeating, "Thank you Sherlock, thank you! A baby, our baby! It's what I wanted, I didn't expect it of course, but that didn't stop me from wanting it!"
“I’m not sure Sherlock. You suffered extreme abuse at a vulnerable time in your sexual development. That kind of experience impacts people differently.” He squeezed Sherlock tightly in his arms before continuing, “The fact that you had a healthy and emotionally rich sexual identity developing as a child counter-indicates asexuality. And there’s no reason to think that you have a physical problem since you had no difficulty stimulating yourself to orgasm before the abuse.”
Blackburn’s condition was not good. His central nervous system was inexplicably depressed; his breathing was shallow and his blood pressure low. Examination completed, John stepped back from his patient to rest one hand on his hip and the other on the car door. He observed Blackburn. John was puzzled. If he didn’t know it was impossible he would have diagnosed the man as suffering from a drug overdose.
He waited for John to quiet. “You couldn’t be more mistaken about me – well, alright, you are correct that I’m magnificent and intelligent, I’ll give you that,” he said, trying to make John smile, “− but…on the children point, you must allow me to decide for myself and I assure you that it doesn’t matter to me. Look at me and you’ll see it true.” He sought John’s eyes. “And I don’t mean I don’t like children, I do, frankly more than a lot of adults I meet, so if you want a child someday John, I’m very willing to consider other options.”
Sherlock moaned and shook once more in John’s arms. A warm slick of lubricant, sweet scented and seductive, flowed over John’s fore arm where he was cradling Sherlock on his lap. It was so potent and compelling that it caused John to tremble and cling to him, groaning helplessly and delving deeply into Sherlock’s mouth with his own. When he finally pulled away it was to pant heavily in Sherlock’s ear, “Oh God, Sherlock! God, I want you so badly!”
They took turns holding December and walking the floor of the small shed until it was light enough to start out on the path once more.
Sherlock, fully aware of John's scrutiny of course, looked up and caught him off guard with one of his, for-John-only, highly flirtatious, the-name-is-Sherlock-Holmes winks.
“When the armies arrived on that day...” Sherlock’s voice shook slightly, “The Elder Council made the decision to hide the lakes. It was right to do so; it is what must be done under such circumstances. It has been done before in our history but then the knowledge of how to bring the lakes back was retained by the people who survived. I fear that that is not the case this time; the lakes may be gone forever.”
It was when Sherlock was preparing for bed that he heard a cry from upstairs. Knowing this time what was happening, he dropped his toothbrush in the basin and sprinted up the staircase, barefoot and shirtless. He opened John's door to see him by the stream of the light from the hall gasping and clutching his middle in acute distress. He was repeating, "No, no, no, please no," in an anguished chant.
John knew without asking. “You weren’t?” He drew on his physician’s training. Let the patient talk, encourage them…
John was rigidly erect as Sherlock had already discerned through their pyjamas, but delicate, as he should be, slim and graceful, rising from a swirl of golden hair. Sherlock reached with a warm and smooth palm to stroke him, seeking John’s eyes for confirmation as he did so. John, relieved and trusting, smiled up at him before closing his eyes and reaching for Sherlock’s other hand around his shoulder.
John turned the light on and with gentle hands probed the bump and small cut on Sherlock’s head while Sherlock lay still and quiet.
“Because you need an Omega who can give you lots of children, Sherlock. You are a magnificent Alpha, intelligent, courageous and so loving and gen…tle…” John choked over his last words.
to eat, I'm sure I will enjoy it. But why bother unless you feel like it? I'd had it in mind to order take-away, perhaps Chinese…"
After supper, with the dishes washed and put away, Sherlock sat at the table with his lap-top and John, sitting on the couch, resumed reading his book, The Urban Social Geography of London, which he had begun earlier in the day. Despite the quietness, Sherlock found it difficult to concentrate. Instead, he found himself casting frequent side-long glances at John. The evening was chilly. The temperature outside had dipped significantly over the course of the day to where it was now hovering on freezing. John was wearing his thick sweater but Sherlock found himself worrying that John was not warm enough. He rose from the table and lit the gas fire.
Sherlock’s words were cut off by a sudden irritated exclamation from John, “You don’t want soup?!” he snapped, “As if there is a menu to choose from, Sherlock! You should be worrying about bigger things than whether or not the soup suits your taste! Do you have any idea the kind of danger you are in?! Any idea at all, Sherlock?!”
John started to tear up and his voice trembled, "someone pushed me from behind, very hard Sherlock… I tried to catch myself..." he looked up at Sherlock beseechingly, "I tried to stop myself from falling, I did, Sherlock, but I couldn't and I fell into the little table. It shattered when I landed on it and one of the broken legs hit me in the stomach, then I fell onto the wooden pew beside me before I landed on the floor."
John conducted a careful examination of the room for anything that might indicate where Sherlock had gone after he’d escaped his bonds. He found nothing related to Sherlock, but to his further disgust and anger he found evidence that others had been in the room before Sherlock. There were numerous spots of dried blood, for although the walls and floor had been cleaned, faint reddish stains were still visible. There were two metal rings in the floor and fragments of rope, overlooked during cleaning, in the corners of the room under the sinks. On another wall near the floor he found scratch marks where perhaps a captive had tried to inscribe letters or a word. Sick to his stomach; he knew without a doubt that he was in a chamber of unspeakable horrors; a sadistic psychopath’s private playroom.
The destination was Kew Gardens. The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon as they entered the park; the air held that hushed anticipation of spectacular things to come that characterizes the early days of spring. Mauve and white crocuses and ever-shy snowdrops were closing their petals against the cool evening air but the Japanese flowering cherries, like triumphant brides in their wedding finery, refused to be dimmed by the twilight. It was under the fragrant shelter of one of these glorious ladies, surrounded by drifts of pink and white cherry-petals that Sherlock guided John to a seat on a bench.
At the touch of the gun and the sound of John’s quiet voice ordering him to get into the car, Blackburn froze, but only for a moment. After the brief hesitation he cooperated without protest, to John’s surprise - although targets were always somewhat unpredictable in their responses. Blackburn slid obediently into the front passenger seat and lowered his head to his knees when ordered to do so. He was still and silent as John secured his wrists behind his back and, keeping his weapon to Blackburn’s head, accessed the driver’s seat using the back passenger door and climbing between the seats.
The two agents maintained their steady aim with their weapons. The man positioned on the driver's side of Mercedes shouted, “Get out! And lemme see your hands!”
Oh yes, thought John to himself, grimly. Mycroft will definitely listen to what I have to say to him; ‘The British Government Complicit in Horrific Child Sexual Abuse’ makes a riveting headline and is sure to keep tabloid reporters with microphones and cameras standing on the front step of the Diogenes Club for days, if not weeks, not to mention to hacking one’s phones…
Sherlock returned his look and was still for a moment before looking away and enquiring cheerfully, "Breakfast, December?"
Sherlock had entered quietly enough, remembering that noise might scare the child, but too quickly. He heeded John’s caution at once, stopping where he stood.
“I’m sorry, Liz! I really am! We’ll go out. To the pub! Liz, wait!” John rose to follow her but his pleadings were punctuated only by a vigorous slamming of the door and the rapid tread of footsteps going down the stairs.
The memory of this drove an unfamiliar stab of fear through John’s chest which, before he had control of it, had choked off his breath and clouded his vision. What if he wasn’t in time to stop what would surely happen to Sherlock? The sensation of fear was so unfamiliar that John faltered for a second. He hadn’t felt fear in years and momentarily he forgot how to deal with it. Don’t fight it, use it, he coached himself, channel it from the mind and into the limbs, into strength and speed…
The result of John’s decision, apparently, was that Sherlock felt he was being ‘mother hen-ed’. Well, he probably is thought John ruefully, but his concern was so strong that he had difficulty backing off. However, on this afternoon, in the interests of giving Sherlock some space, he bid him a casual good-bye and took himself off on a quick trip to the shops. He’d pick up some creamed honey for their tea. He had discovered that Sherlock had a fondness for it and he knew they were out.
Mycroft rose from his desk abruptly to pace before the window. The creeping shadows of late afternoon kept his expression hidden from the two men still seated. Neilson and Trenholm glanced at one another, knowing they had been dismissed.
Sherlock said haughtily, “I’ve done it before John; I knew what I was doing. I jumped off the roof of St. Bart’s once, in fact−”
It was in a container near the end of the second row that he found Sherlock at last; curled up on the bottom of the container and motionless. He was naked and bloodied; bright streaks of red glistened against the whiteness of his skin in the beam of John’s torch. He held against him the torn remnants of John’s T-shirt; the one he'd been wearing when he was abducted.
He saw her expression but was unable to stop. “Ten and one quarter inches. Hair blonde. Eyes likely blue and brown. Cause of death, placental abruption.” Sherlock halted with sharply indrawn breath, struggling to control his facial muscles, his eyes desperate.
When they were both dry and dressed, John moved them to an unused operating theatre where he could seat Sherlock on a gurney and re-bandage the cut over his eye and his injured ankle. Sherlock followed John’s practised movements with clearly absorbed fascination.
The boy slowed as he drew near the unresponsive Sherlock, not as certain of himself as he had been a moment earlier. He stopped, and suddenly, before John could say anything, his small face crumpled and he sobbed, "They were right! Batman doesn't like 'chickens' and he doesn't like me!"
Looking at Sherlock now, cold and dishevelled but clutching the child possessively in his precious overcoat, John recognized paternal love at work even if Sherlock himself did not. It might be rare, but when Sherlock loved, it was sudden, powerful and to the death, as John knew only too well.
As for Blackburn, although robbed of his reason and mastery over his own body, he knew enough to surrender to the man in whose hands he found himself. Whether he would live or die, by unspoken agreement between the two of them, was now John’s to determine.
John spoke, "Sherlock, I…I…am feeling tired after all. I think I'll go upstairs now. Nice to meet you Greg. Please excuse me," he stood and turned away toward the stairs.
"I lost my mobile when I fell! I couldn't get up but I looked everywhere that I could on the floor around me in the nave and the foyer. When I couldn't find it, I lay there as still as I could, wondering how best to get help and that's when Father Stansell and his curate came in and they called an ambulance."
After a short silence Sherlock asked, “How can you be so sure I can change, John? What makes you believe that?”
He wanted nothing more than, after drinking his fill of Sherlock sleeping peacefully, to kiss him awake and make tender love to him for the rest of day, maybe even through the next night as well. But he must not. He must allow Sherlock, when he awoke, the time and space he would need to reflect on his experiences of yesterday. Sherlock would feel much differently about everything today, without hormones and wild emotions pulling him in opposing directions. So John would back away now and give him the freedom he needed to adjust to his new identity.
"John!" Sherlock reached for him, the tea forgotten, and began to explore John's body with frantic urgency. But John recovered from his faint as soon as he hit the floor and was struggling to sit up. He clutched his banged head and moaned, "God, my head hurts!" then, turning his face away from Sherlock, he was sick on the floor.
Sherlock looked up. He said carefully, “John, would you like tea? I’m making toast. It’s almost done.”
Sherlock didn’t comply immediately. He sighed before he reached slowly to accept the phone, “If you insist, John.” He squinted, his vision not completely normal yet, and pecked out a series of numbers on the screen with his elegant fingers. He put the phone to his ear and waited.
Sherlock accepted the soup with delicate grace, gifting John with the pleasure of watching the spoon slide between his perfect lips to be licked clean and returned.
“On his way to settling into his old quarters I should think. I am moving you into barracks, Watson, for the remaining two days of your rotation.” He glanced at his watch. “The warrant officer will make the arrangements for your new accommodations. Dismissed!”
"Wait, you said…what did you think Sherlock?" An accusatory note crept into his voice and he looked at Sherlock in disbelief. "That I'm upset over Harvey's death?! You think I would grieve for Harvey?"
“I love you very much, Sherlock.” His voice was starting to shake slightly. “But you should know, it’s only fair…” Sherlock could tell tears weren’t far off now. Concerned, he nuzzled John’s ear. “What John? I’m sure it’s fine.”
He then said softly, "But thank you for the tea, John. You make an excellent cup of tea, which is welcome at any time." He smiled tenderly at John who blushed and nodded his head.
The agent pulled John’s pistol from his arm holster and raised it to show his colleague, “Got it, Bill.”
When he got no response; Sherlock hadn’t moved, he only sighed slightly, John continued, “I’m still wondering how they found us; they must have had a car at every cross-road between Foxley and London to have intercepted us on this route. But for that, they’d have to have called out every resource in the country, which is impossible…” John’s brow furrowed. “Even if it is the case, then how... and why!?”
Trenholm’s expression became unreadable. He prevaricated, recalling Graves's description of the look in John’s eye when he’d been told of his target’s connection to QAT. He said, “Watson, until yesterday, has been the firm’s most talented and reliable contractor.” Then he betrayed his irritation by adding, “He’s never snapped-out on us before!”
Sherlock sighed. His heart ached at the thought, but John must be informed of his true nature so he could take his rightful place in society. And no one deserved respect and privilege more than John.
John hailed the first passing cabbie, who pulled over and accepted them into the back seat with barely a glance, to John’s relief. They appeared as simply a tired couple headed home, slightly under-dressed and dishevelled at the end of a sweltering August day.
Sherlock nodded and climbed out of the cab but as John had known he would be, he was almost too exhausted to climb the stairs to the flat. John half carried him the final few steps and through the door. At least Sherlock hadn’t suffered another episode of heat-fueled sexual desperation since he’d run from the flat, which pleased John who wanted him to be able to sleep and not have to struggle more with the unfamiliar sensations of a heat and the frightening loss of control over his own body.
As soon as he was free Sherlock reached for and enfolded John, vomit and all, into his arms. "What John? Is it bad news? We'll get through it, don't worry. Mycroft knows specialists…"
Lestrade sipped his mug of unsweetened tea and wondered absently at his discovery, speculating that perhaps it arose from Sherlock's own social awkwardness, which, although Sherlock never let-on, Greg knew he was sensitive about. It was a new insight into the perplexing man who was Sherlock Holmes; a man Lestrade was very fond of, despite Sherlock's abrasive manner. Perhaps John would be the one to bring out Sherlock's warm human potential, thus far hidden from almost everyone. Lestrade hoped so.
“Oh, you know, just to get going with breakfast and things.” John waved his hand vaguely. “Have a seat anyway and eat something, will you? There’s some of your favourite honey here.” Mrs. Hudson, bless her, had retrieved the shopping that John had dropped on the stairs yesterday and left it on their counter for them.
“Alright, turn on your side, Sherlock. We can fix this for you. I’m sorry. I should have thought to prevent this, to spare you from going through this again.”
Sherlock, in fact, was not hungry, he had too much on his mind, but he would have sooner cut off his right arm than refuse John's meal, so he ate with every indication of enjoyment. And it was delicious. He found to his surprise that despite his lack of appetite he did enjoy it.
The tub was filling slowly; water was at a premium in these dry lands so the pressure was low. While he waited, John turned his attention to the youth's clothing. He was wearing a robe-like garment made of light fabric. John had pulled it partly away from his body earlier in order to check for injuries. He began to unwind the rest of it now, not wanting to add any more dirt to the bath than what was already on the boy himself. The robe could be washed later.
John then collected the muscle relaxant and quickly prepared a hot water bottle. He gave both to a still shivering Sherlock, along with a full drink of water and began to rub his back for him, hoping he would fall asleep before the next wave of cramps hit. To his relief Sherlock did and John, sitting beside him, a light hand on his back allowed himself to think; severe cramps, temperature spike resulting in a sensation of being cold, difficulty urinating due to internal swelling, lack of appetite and nausea…
Dear God! On top of everything else, why would Sherlock have to be stricken now with an episode of Post-orgasmic Tristesse, of all things!
This is the scene that greeted Mycroft as he arrived in the doorway accompanied by Mrs. Hudson once again, who looked around the room, shaking her head and clicking her tongue in gentle disapproval.
After confirming that the washroom was empty, John bent to examine the dangling handcuffs. He was looking for a clue, anything that might point to where Sherlock had gone. The cuffs were tiny; small enough for a child... rage flared his gut again… what kind of monster owned such things?! But once more he schooled his thoughts; he would extract justice from Moran for his crimes, certainly, but not now. Later. At this moment John needed to think, not feel.
He hadn’t had time to learn the complete layout of this particular base in the short time he’d been there but he knew that ammunition storage would be on its perimeter, so he headed outward, away from the centre of the camp with its barracks and service facilities. He had a scent to follow but he hoped to gain time by outrunning the trio. It was risky of course, if by shortcutting he made a wrong turn and missed them, he’d lose precious minutes, but although his emotional connection to Sherlock had brought mind-clouding fear for his omega’s safety it had also awakened a powerful protective instinct. It was a new source of information and he knew to trust it.
It is possible for a bullet from a pistol to pierce steel. It depends on the gun, the bullet, the angle of the shot and the thickness of the steel, but it is possible. I imagine John to be armed with something pretty powerful and we know he’s an incredible shot. :-)
The bunker was dark inside, little of the early sun made its way in, and it was silent too. At least, it was at first. As John stood motionless just inside the entrance, blinking in the darkness, gradually his other senses began to compensate for his lack of vision; especially his hearing. As his eyes and brain become accustomed to the lack of light, he began to sense distant sounds.
Sherlock nodded abruptly and took a jerking step forward, his eyes pleading with John to forgive, to understand…
How right this felt! With just this simple action, John was stunned to find himself awash with alpha sensations the strength of which he’d never experienced; fiery heat coursed through him, pooling with throbbing tension in his belly and his chest tightened painfully with emotion. His senses flared and physical sensation overwhelmed his consciousness; the tickle of a soft curl of hair against his forehead he felt down to his toes; under his hand, the feel of slippery fabric over fragile flesh and bone swallowed the memory of all he’d felt before it and the thumping of his circulation in his ears deafened him. Far too late to stop it, he felt Sherlock’s fresh, sweet scent, already familiar and dear, overtake him and imprint itself, unchallenged, onto his soul…
“In Greece,” said John, reading a note on the counter, “back on Sunday night. The neighbour is to look in on the place on Thursday morning. Good, we have time to rest up and be gone before then.” He studied Sherlock, pale and slumping in his chair. “I’m going to insist on you eating something, Sherlock, but first let’s have a cup of tea and get some heat turned on. We can’t make a fire or turn lights on though, it’s too risky.”
John smiled even wider. Once he’d been set down again, he reached up to stroke Sherlock’s wet curls from his forehead and replied, “I love you too, Sherlock!”
John’s expression froze and his body went rigid. He exclaimed, “Moran is here, in the camp!? Since when!?” He was incredulous.
When he was still awake several minutes later, John, acting on intuition alone because he was now well past the limits of his rudimentary counselling skills, urged, “Tell him I’d like to meet him, Sherlock. Tell him I already know him and I love him; that I think he’s sweet and innocent and fun. Ask him to come out and play, Sherlock.”
The silence drew out, only short, shallow breaths could be heard, before a strangely gruff voice, hoarse and low asked, “You are… ælfwine?”
When Sherlock returned with the tea, he found John lying on his side on the bed, curled in on himself with his back to the door. Sherlock's cautious enquiry yielded no response so he set the vacuum flask of tea on the nightstand and drew the duvet from the foot of the bed up over John and left the room, leaving the door ajar.
An hour later in the silence of the dim second floor room of the Rookwood Arms, Blackburn was still sleeping peacefully with John Watson keeping watch at his side. Despite his grueling morning, there was no trace of tiredness in John’s face; he rested a vigilant hand on Blackburn’s wrist and listened to his breathing as he stared unseeingly into the small gas fireplace. That there was something wrong with the scenario his employer had presented him regarding Blackburn was obvious. There was much more to the man lying beside him than John had been told when he agreed to the job; whether the man wasn’t Blackburn at all or John’s employer had misinformed him about Blackburn’s doings−knowingly or unknowingly−John wasn’t sure. Either way though, it didn’t matter, John realized. Even if Blackburn was the villainous traitor he’d been portrayed as, there was now no question of John carrying through with the plan to deliver him to the CIA. And John was fully aware that the unidentified client that had hired his employer to apprehend Blackburn was the CIA.
The older man had found the teenager trying to break his car’s lock and instead of calling the police he took him in, showed him there was more to life than stealing cars and living on the streets. Alex had a world of opportunities ahead, but his destiny was different. Alistair received a call from the journalist, and out of fear of the story coming to light he killed his son. As simple as that. The columnist still hadn’t found the politician’s son, he only had a name that didn’t figure anywhere, so they couldn’t possibly link the death of a hobo with him.
He tried to redeem himself after that. He went to see her everyday after class, they studied together in the library, he even attended the feminist group’s reunions. It was only time until Megan fell for him too, he was a charming lad. Things were going great.
John had been the only one capable of destroying the intricate fortification that Sherlock Holmes had created at a very young age, when an innocent child had discovered the horrors and pain shrouded in the darkness of this merciless reality. Victor Trevor’s death had marked Sherlock for the rest of his life, his first friend killed by his own sister in a fit of jealousy. Had Victor never been his friend he would probably still be alive, he would have grown into a young man with a bright future ahead of him. But meeting the young Holmes had blown away all his possibilities. Sherlock had given up sentiment entirely after Victor, he had sworn he would never become attached again. And had been successful.
Sherlock tried not to struggle with the foreign object in his mouth, he had to stay calm and get used to the feeling. If he had a panic attack he would most surely choke and the nurses would put him to sleep again. And that he didn't want.
Alistair Barnes had confessed as soon as the police appeared on his doorstep. It was an absolute success.
‘I did not do it. You have to believe me when I tell you Megan was the most important person in my life. I would give anything, anything to get him back!’ Kane groaned vehemently. ‘ I do not see myself with anyone else other than him, he was my future’ he smiled sadly, he looked disturbingly calm, almost lifeless.
Sherlock noticed the cab slowing down and saw they had arrived. He carelessly threw some notes at the driver and started walking towards the hospital’s entrance. John, punctual as always, came out throwing his brown leather satchel over his shoulder. Sherlock smiled, he felt his cheeks fill with warmth. He was blushing. Sherlock hated himself for being so juvenile. He was behaving like some lovesick teenager!
Nevertheless, love her or not, Rosie was exhausting in strange new levels and when she fell asleep after her midday feed Sherlock relaxed. He was laying on the sofa just for the sake of regaining energy, he didn’t even have the strength to enter his mind palace.
Just a month before the birth Megan found herself alone. Alistair had disappeared without notice. It turns out he didn’t love her that much.
It was in the midst of this slight scuffle that there was a knock on the door and a voice that sounded like the cook’s from the kitchen called a cheerful, “G’morning mates. Ere’s your breakfast.”
Resisting the strong urge to follow the sergeant and administer the harsh discipline he deserved − he would be dealt with appropriately later John promised himself angrily − instead he set his rifle aside and fell to one knee beside the injured omega.
He stroked John’s wrists, taking reassurance from his steady pulse and continued, “I’m talking about how deeply I have fallen in love you John; it happened just as surely and as swiftly as spring emerges from winter and just as inevitably. You now mean everything to me and I want always to be the one who loves you, protects you, makes you happy and ensures that you never want for anything. May I please be the one, John? Would you think about marrying me one day? I can wait as long as you want, forever, in fact. Forever is fine as long as I can be by your side while you think about it. Please?
Sherlock flashed Lestrade's police ID. "Detective Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard. I'm here to interview John Smith if he is well enough to answer some questions. And you would be …ah…I believe I know, his husband…Mr...er…Harvey Smith, if I'm not mistaken?"
And…thought John to himself, I don’t think I need to add anything more to that picture…Let’s just let the image percolate with my love for now. John smiled and dropped a light kiss onto the top of Sherlock’s head.
When he returned minutes later it was to find Blackburn struggling to rise from the floor, where he had obviously fallen, and attempting to crawl to the door. At John’s reappearance he raised his head weakly and gasped out, “Mycroft!”
John, unaware he was growling aggressively, raked the small room with narrowed eyes; the defence and protection of his frightened Omega the only thing in his mind. Sherlock, crouched in the corner of the room, trying to hide behind the toilet, was beyond terrified now. He was weeping in fear, tears running down his cheeks; his pupils black and wide, face flushed and body trembling violently.
“If you would like to use a condom we will, of course. But my tests are up-to-date, Sherlock, so we don’t need to. I’m alright either way.” He stroked Sherlock’s chest.
There had been no hint in the files of the ugliness behind the façade of the five year marriage. The records had pointed to them being a devoted couple, not social but who simply enjoyed a quiet home life. John was a part-time social worker and Harvey a manager in his father's private security firm. It was true the couple moved frequently but presumably Harvey was advancing his career by managing successively larger offices. But in light of what Sherlock had just witnessed he realized frequent moves were also a way of ensuring that community connections were never formed and any violent altercations between the couple that were reported could not be followed up on by authorities. He shook his head in frustration and leaned back in the hard waiting room chair.
To John’s startlement however, Sherlock’s delicate features twisted in distress and he recoiled away from John’s touch. John knew better; of course Sherlock’s first thought would be that he had been recaptured by his abductors, but it was more than John could take. Before he knew what was happening he was consumed by a blaze of fierce possessiveness; he tried to supress it but Sherlock’s rejection and the wildly provoking scent of rival alphas on his omega’s body were too much. Despite himself he began almost shaking Sherlock and, in a harsh voice he didn’t recognize as his own, demanding, “Why?! What happened?! What did they do to you?!”
Mycroft lifted his chin in annoyance at this accusation. “I admit that events did not unfold quite as I intended,” his speculative gaze swept over John once more. “I was trying to teach my little brother a lesson. He cannot always rely upon me to rescue him from his ill-advised adventures. He needs to become more circumspect in his behaviour.” He sniffed and drew himself up to his full height, “I can see I have failed spectacularly in this latest endeavour, perhaps not surprisingly.”
Sherlock’s touch, as soft as a night moth’s, set John’s entire body abuzz with pleasure. He smiled at Sherlock, “I’m glad I please you, little one. You are no longer frightened of me?”
"He had a nightmare and started crying," said Sherlock gruffly, as if he felt he had to explain himself. "I didn't want him to wake you."
John turned from the window to see Sherlock, his face sober, holding out his right hand for John to grasp. John smiled slowly and nodded, accepting the hand offered to him.
John was standing in the living room doorway, his posture trepidatious, uncertain of Sherlock's reaction, but determined.
The room was in almost complete darkness when Blackburn stirred awake again. John rose from his chair and turned on the desk light.
Sherlock obeyed and tried to focus on John, but his gaze slid away once more. He whispered, almost to himself, “No clothes. Make a soft place, John. Lie with me. Here, where I can smell the blood of the Alphas you killed and know you’re strong…”
John pressed closer and laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock smiled as before long he felt John fall asleep in the circle of his arm. Sherlock would make him that cup of tea they had missed earlier and persuade him into bed to sleep when they got home. There would be plenty of time, the rest of their lives in fact, for passion. Their relationship was clearly going to be intensely emotional and physical and not something to be rushed. John had not yet regained his health and Sherlock himself needed time to adjust to the powerful new forces driving him. John must be protected from harm, even if that meant from Sherlock himself. He raised his eyebrows ruefully. His days as a suppressed Alpha were obviously over, medicated or not. Modern pharmacology, it seemed, was no match for John Watson. He tightened his hold on John and kissed his hair again. John was an unexpected miracle. One that required nurturing and cherishing and Sherlock was honoured that he had been chosen for the role. It would be the most important work that he would ever do in his life.
John gave a bitter laugh. “No, Sherlock, I’ve risked your life. Risked it terribly... so don’t thank me, please!”
Back on steadier ground now, dealing with a recalcitrant patient, John replied, “Well, you need to eat something anyway and so do I. So, I’m going to go down to the kitchen for some food. Don’t attempt to rise; you will be unable to stand for at least the next ten hours or so.”
Sherlock nodded self-consciously, so John said, “We’ll start with your shirt, I’d love to see your chest. I’ll want to kiss you, is that okay?” He undid Sherlock’s buttons and slid the shirt off, laying it carefully aside. He smiled and began to press kisses on Sherlock’s chest and belly, pulling him down onto the bed as he did. It was nothing too sexual, John just wanted to love and soothe him. And if that was all Sherlock wanted, John was more than delighted to give it to him. He was thrilled to be able to touch and show Sherlock how much he loved him; it felt the gift of a lifetime, something he had not expected to be able to do, ever.
Sherlock was hard, perhaps even harder than he’d been in the night, his cock straining against John’s belly. John inserted a hand between them and stoked him lightly to gauge where he was at in his arousal.
"I take that as a challenge John, so I will try even harder." Sherlock winked at John then sobered. "I treat you like the most important person in the world, John, because you are. You and the babies together. You are my world John. It used to be different before you came into my life but now there's only you and I wouldn't have it any other way."
Lestrade glanced from one to the other with amused interest. "Alright," he nodded and leaned back in his chair, "Gimme then."
The boy stopped crying and gazed in wonder at the tall figure stooping toward him. Sherlock grasped him awkwardly, not at all sure of himself, but December settled against him easily, reaching up with his own thin arms to hold Sherlock's neck. Settled, he then looked at John and said, "Okay, Doctor Watson, I'm ready now."
Expecting a caustic comment of some sort but hearing nothing, John paused his two-fingered typing to glance casually up at Sherlock only to freeze in his chair.
Then, not caring that Lestrade was there to see, he reached for and held John's shaking hand in his own and asked again, "Please, John are you sure you want to hear…this?"
John, observing the youth and monitoring his vital signs, knew the moment that he regained consciousness. John remained motionless and waited. The omega stirred slightly, turning his head to one side, instinctively trying to dislodge the oxygen mask. When the mask didn’t loosen, his eye lids flickered open. At the sight of John above him, looming large and shadowed in the dimness of the tent, he shrank back against the blankets with a terrified sound, his eyes widening with fear and his slender body stiffening. He clutched at the mask with long fingers, trying to pull it off.
“No John! Please don’t. Please stay a−” Sherlock’s words were cut off by and agonized groan and the sound of gagging.
“Because you are talking about what happened for the first time in your life Sherlock; you are acknowledging what happened and the damage it did to you. That is a first huge step. And, what’s more, you want to get better, you want to be able to feel sexual and enjoy it−“
By mid-morning John, looking pale and tired once more, returned upstairs. Sherlock took him a cup of tea in the early afternoon and found him soundly sleeping atop the bed. He didn't stir when Sherlock pulled the duvet up around his shoulders so Sherlock set the tea on the nightstand and quietly left.
Never mind that Sherlock was driving himself mad with his own antics, he was certain the outcome would be worth it for them.
He swung around to lock the door before kneeling beside the tub. The injured omega had gone limp again, eyes closed, his blood and dirt-streaked cheek pale against the dark khaki of John's T-shirt. John pressed a hasty finger to the pulse at his neck but to his relief he found it improved; steadier and slower than it had been earlier.
John went rigid, his hostile expression giving way to one of horror. “Oh God. Sherlock. What you just said about Wilkes was all nonsense wasn't it? You said it deliberately, didn’t you? Just to see if I’d be jealous.” When Sherlock nodded, John loosened his grip and dropped his forehead to Sherlock’s, stricken. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I’m so sorry!” he whispered, his voice full of agonized regret, “I shouldn’t have said or done what I did just now! You must know I would never leave you! Will you forgive me? Please!”
John moved on in the file to the overview of his target’s habits and routine. John frowned. The man kept extremely erratic hours. He could be found almost any time of the day or night at his lab, which was at the London headquarters of British Chemical. Blackburn seemed to have free run of the place, coming and going as he pleased. Company security was very lax in the case of James Blackburn; they obviously considered him no security threat. BC had numerous lucrative contracts with the British military to develop everything from new food preservatives to jet fuel additives. Unfortunately for BC, Blackburn was using his spare time in the lab to develop explosive materials for foreign terrorists.
John felt tears welling up. “You’re right, Sherlock, you are very safe with me beside you.” He lowered his head to kiss him, just a quick press of lips.
He was silent for a long minute, and then he kissed John’s cheek gently and nuzzled his ear. “John, now you have me and I promise I will never treat you that way, nor will I ever allow anyone else to either. I’m yours to do with as you wish, John. I accept your terms. I’ve lived for years without sex; I haven’t been the slightest bit interested in it. And I’m prepared to live the rest of my life without it too if it means I can be with you. The only thing I really want is for you to let me love you and look after you. That is what makes me happy John. I don’t want anything you can’t offer me. I only want you.”
After the massacre, allied reconnaissance of the region could locate no survivors. The Sidesan Lakes, the source of life-giving water for thousands of civilians, managed so carefully by the Simarine for centuries, had been found dry and the formerly lush vegetation surrounding them replaced with sand and dust.
The omega, feeling the loss of John's comforting stroking, for John was now motionless and staring down at him in surprise, opened his eyes. When he did so, John experienced a second surprise in as many minutes as the youth’s startlingly brilliant, clear blue eyes met his own. They shuttered closed again quickly but not before John had seen their semi-lunar folds, or third eyelids; two protective translucent membranes, commonly found in marine mammals… and very occasionally, also in humans.
“I think we’ll suit each other quite well. I’m gender-neutral and your reproductive system is seriously compromised due to depression and PTSD. In my mind that makes the arrangement ideal, don’t you think?”
Sherlock was aware of the drug; it was a surgical anesthetic, not intended for use as a sexual aid. His pain for John gave way to anger once more. Damn the man all to hell! Harvey Smith had gotten away far too easily with a quick death…God in heaven what a hell John’s married life had been!
“And that,” John gestured at the broken china on the floor, “…was probably a precious family heirloom and completely irreplaceable...” His tone was resigned.
John relaxed slightly then mumbled, "I see what you mean." Sherlock could see his brows draw together in slight confusion. Then, still looking at the floor, he said quietly, almost sadly, "You're right, of course."
The doctor, not at all fazed by the chaos, placed a comforting hand on John's shoulder and spoke to him again. John nodded vigorously in response and made a valiant attempt to stop weeping.
A figure, indistinguishable in the glare, stepped from one of the vehicles and a now familiar voice said, “Come along, baby brother. Mommy is beside herself on your account and father has locked himself in the billiards room and you know how that upsets the household…”
"I'm glad I can help you. That's all I want John, is to help you." Sherlock could hardly believe his own ears when he heard himself say it! But it was true. Somehow and at some point in time, what John needed had become the most important thing in Sherlock's life. He wasn't sure what that meant, just that it was true.
Sherlock’s arms tightened fiercely and he made a sound strangely like he was laughing and crying at the same time. “Yes, John. It’s more than alright. Thank you.”
The jolt of arousal that shot through Sherlock at this action caught him off-guard. “Jesus, John!” He fell back against the fridge with a crash, upsetting the rack of beakers stored there onto the floor. But John appeared not to notice Sherlock’s startled reaction, he pressed his body against Sherlock, squeezing with his legs and panting lightly in Sherlock’s ear, lost in the delicious sensations of his own body. They were both in T-shirts and pyjamas and Sherlock could feel every line and curve of John’s body against his and John’s delicious scent was like a siren’s maddening song in his head.
Outside of the cathedral, Sherlock hailed them a late passing cab and they climbed in, John seeking Sherlock like a homing pigeon the moment the cab door was closed. John pressed close, closed his eyes and breathed: why hadn't he noticed before? Sherlock's thrilling scent of danger and courage and cold mountain winds…like nothing he had smelled before…
John ignored this. He asked, appalled, “What kind of a brother are you?! Sherlock was damn near killed. Or worse!”
Sherlock stared back at him in surprise, “Are you trying to tell me the situation is my fault, John?! Because if so, you are wrong, it isn’t!” It was his turn to glare, “I am not the one who messed this up! You are a lousy mercenary, John! Why on earth would you agree to a job like this anyway? You are a doctor for God’s sake! An extraordinary rendition to a CIA black site for ‘questioning’?! It could hardly suit you less!”
The omega lowered his face to stare down into the water. His response, when it came, was barely audible, "Yése, … but a few of us survived."
When Sherlock finally came up for air, John managed to squeak out only, "Yes, Sherlock, I…." before his mouth was claimed once more.
Sherlock nodded, longing for John but not wanting to ask. John smiled and propelled him gently backward to lean against the shower wall and sank to his knees in front of him. As he opened his mouth and took Sherlock in deeply, he heard the choked groan from above, even over the noise of the water. He grinned inwardly and holding Sherlock’s hips firmly, he concentrated on pleasuring him with his lips and tongue. In almost no time he felt Sherlock’s desperate hand on his head trying to tell him he was close. But John stayed where he was, reveling in the intense pleasure that Sherlock was so obviously experiencing. He allowed Sherlock to thrust his hips forward as he began to come and took pleasure in swallowing his ejaculate as it flooded his mouth. Then as he felt Sherlock relax and soften, he ran a light hand over him to cleanse and rinse, ensuring no trace of fluid remained on him.
It was then that John, with a furious hiss, pulled a second pistol from under his jacket, where it had been tucked into his belt, took aim and shot Bill’s weapon out of his hand. It was a perfect shot; his aim rock steady. He then strode, weapon still drawn, toward Sherlock and Bill, and while Bill was still clutching his hand in shock, John, with an enraged snarl, swung his pistol at Bill’s head and knocked him unconscious.
“The next time Mycroft found me, I was by the stream in the wood, pretending I was a pirate and had rescued a sailor. My sailor and I were going to stay together forever; he thought I was brilliant and brave.” Sherlock stilled before saying, “Nanny felt a stronger form of discouragement was needed. She had a recipe for a compound of wintergreen, peppers and mustard seed. Have you heard of a poultice pouch, John? It is a very effective punishment. I never touched myself again.”
“John!” Sherlock erupted in a laugh. “God, yes, I liked it. I more than liked it; it wasn’t over before I wanted a repeat!”
Sherlock yanked frantically on the emergency bell, pressing it wildly while trying to aid the stricken man in his arms.
Sherlock sat down at the table and opened his lap-top. John must be protected and there was work to do.
John drew a shaking breath and nodded so Sherlock gently tugged John’s pyjamas down and off. Mindful of John’s frustration he didn’t stop too long to gaze at him, although he very much wanted to…for John’s lower body was a perfect as his upper. Even his feet were entrancing; they definitely must be explored very soon…and to Sherlock’s delight more freckles for him to kiss and count adorned John’s thighs. He didn’t think John would appreciate attention to his freckles at that moment though, so he turned his attention upward.
“I…Yes. Yes…” John rose slowly. He was having difficulty processing what he was seeing. He stopped. “You mean now, Sherlock?”
“No. Put the gun down. I’m turning myself over to you.” It was Sherlock’s low voice as he stepped from the passenger side of the car with his arms raised.
This frustrated outburst was met with a stunned silence from them both of them, until Sherlock, his eyes on the floor in front of John’s feet, replied in an icy tone, “I don’t know what you are talking about, John. I should have thought it was obvious, especially to you as a doctor, that I’m not an Omega. I am nothing. And before you start blurting out apologies and pity, let me make something clear to you: I don’t care. I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. And if you don’t like living with someone who you so clearly see as a mutant, then you can leave! Just fuck-off John!”
They rested for a while, holding each other, calming down and reconnecting. Then John murmured, “So, did you like it, Sherlock?”
Sherlock had known John had beautiful eyes; he had marveled the dark blue of John's irises−deep blue like the heavens on a summer night, encircled by an unusual colour-orb of earth brown−from the first time he'd looked into them. And right now John's eyes seemed to be casting some of kind of immobilising spell on Sherlock; which was a ridiculous notion and one Sherlock rejected immediately. Still, something unusual happening…was it a trick of the light? Yes, it must have been, for even as Sherlock stared, the sensation of entrancement faded. Sherlock blinked to find that John appeared as perfectly normal as usual.
Before John could think of how to answer this question he was surprised to hear Sherlock's deep voice resonating out of the darkness beside them, "Yes, December, quite right. Very sound logic."
His face set grimly, he concentrated on leaving the city as quickly as he could without attracting attention.
John’s voice was soft, “No, Sherlock, but I wondered. That’s all. Just wondered. You’ve been consistently… preoccupied with my dating life, since the beginning, Sherlock. That’s not really consistent with your claims of being “married to your work” is it? You might be the best detective in the flat, but you aren’t the only one.” He smiled at Sherlock tenderly. “And this just might be one area where, of the two of us, I have the edge.”
Sherlock’s usual expression, the one John had been expecting to see, the one that conveyed, in equal measure, both mystification and barely repressed irritation at the extraordinary dullness of the masses, was nowhere to be seen. In its place was that rare, unconcealed sadness that occasionally crossed Sherlock’s face; heart stopping because it was the only pure and honest emotion that John had ever seen Sherlock display. Any other emotional display was acting; extraordinarily brilliant acting that fooled everyone − except John.
Sherlock's voice was a growl in his ear which interrupted John's internal monologue. And was that a light nip on the side of John's neck? It was. Presumably to get John's full attention; which was completely unnecessary at that point.
Gaia Omega were sensitive with greater needs for love and security in order to flourish and share their special gifts. Gaia characteristics emerged only when these unique Omega felt safe and valued. Sherlock had never seen one, but the bond mark of a secure and contented Gaia Omega was said to be very beautiful, similar to a gemstone in optical phenomenon; and a status symbol for their Alpha mate.
At the sight of his slight form, so still and pale, an anguished roar erupted from John. Please not dead! Merciful God, please! He wrenched the wooden slats of the crate apart, desperation lending him strength and lifted Sherlock into his arms.
“Not today, Ælfscíene, your time is not today. You must come back to me now. ” He bent his head to whisper this against Sherlock’s ear.
There was a small sound from the child which John chose to take as an indication of progress. He persisted, "I'm not coming any closer, so you'll have to look up if you want to see me.”
Sherlock sucked in a shocked breath. "That is not true John! You almost died when he was taken from you; you were willing to give your life for your baby, John! Remember in the hospital? "
Thank you so much for reading and following the story! A special thank you to those of you who commented too!
Sherlock watched as John prepared a small injection of morphine for him and obediently exposed his arm when John touched it. To John’s relief Sherlock gave no sign of distress at the injection, he kept his stunning aquamarine eyes fixed unwaveringly on John. The colour of his eyes was that of clear lake on a summer day mused John as he wiped Sherlock’s arm with an antiseptic soaked, cotton wool ball and stuck a plaster on it. The Sidesan Lakes were said to have been a very beautiful blue colour, perhaps Sherlock’s eyes were the same shade…
Still holding the boy with one arm, John examined his body for open wounds, he had done so quickly before but wanted to be certain he had none other than a small cut above one delicately arched eyebrow; infection from an uncleansed wound, even a small one, could kill him in his present condition. Also, John had done a cursory physical examination of the omega for evidence of a sexual assault earlier, he had found none but he wanted to do a further check to reassure himself that the soldiers who had captured the boy hadn't abused him in that manner.
John was prepared. “Sex has been important to me but not really as an end unto itself. I mean, it’s more like a means to an end. It’s an important way to communicate commitment…and love…to someone. That’s why it’s important to me but there are ways, other than sex, to communicate and share feelings with someone you love.”
It was seven am when Sherlock awoke again, not peacefully as he had the previous night but this time with a violent start and audible choking gasps. John moved to the couch beside him to lay a soothing hand on his forehead, “It’s alright, relax, it’s normal; it will take a while for your nervous system to settle down after the overdose. You can expect something similar to PTSD for a short while, but it won’t last.”
John could feel wetness on his neck and Sherlock's voice, near John’s ear, was hoarse, “If that’s true John, how do I reach him? I don’t know how to go back.”
“You’re lying! You had at him yourself already didn’t you!? While my back was turned! You decided to get a taste of him before me – like a filthy rutting boar! Didn’t you?” An infuriated snarl erupted from the Captain, almost unrecognizable in its aggression. “And I’m going to kill you for it, right after you tell me where you left him!”
“My needs, heartsweet, are not anything that you should be worrying about; now, or ever for that matter. I have no right to expect you to meet the sort of needs that I have at this moment. No one does. Remember that always, leifling.”
Aloud all he said was, "Alright, but you must take it easy, your balance will come and go without warning over the next several days and you risk a serious fall if you aren’t careful, alright?”
Sherlock, eyes staring fixedly into his microscope at the kitchen table, ignored John’s attempt at humour. He was quiet for a moment before he said, “It was a very low point in my life, John. I managed to convince myself that Sebastian’s interest in me was genuine. As it turned out, it wasn’t.” He carefully switched microscope slides and resumed his study. “I learned this one night after I drank a great deal of alcohol and found myself face-down and naked on the commons with Sebastian trying to mount me and yelling and laughing about what a freak I was. Apparently I was not appropriately receptive to him.”
John cursed his bad luck at being ordered to visit this particular God-forsaken outpost of the war. It wasn’t on his usual field-hospital circuit but the camp’s regular doctor had been abruptly discharged from the army on the day John was to depart from headquarters; discharged for conduct unbefitting an officer John had heard. This hadn’t surprised him. Captain Moran had been a sadistic bastard whose reprehensible behaviour had obviously finally caught up with him. But it was as a result of Moran’s dismissal that John found himself in the middle of a wasteland at the outermost edge of the war, stuck there until replacement medical services could be flown in.
Opening the folder John began to study the black and white photos it contained. Other than a one page profile of Blackburn, the only other content of the folder was a secured USB flash drive which John knew would contain the detailed information he would need to apprehend the subject.
John trod heavily on the vehicle’s brakes at a traffic light which had turned red while he was distracted by his thoughts. He cursed as both he and Blackburn lurched forward on the front seat. John braced himself with the steering wheel, but Blackburn’s head made hard contact with the car’s dash. With a sharp exclamation of pain Blackburn slumped sideways. John’s reaction to aid him was instinctive. He thrust the vehicle’s transmission into park−a safe enough action, for the intersection was deserted at four-thirty in the morning−and he reached for Blackburn with an exclamation of “Alright?!”
More information was needed. Perhaps John was anxious about something. He had seemed contented lately, happy in fact (Sherlock paid close attention to John's moods), it had been a several weeks since he had had a down spell, but grief could creep in at unexpected times and perhaps this was one of those times. However, studying him discreetly now, Sherlock thought John looked relaxed, sitting across from him watching with a pleased smile as Sherlock swallowed mouthfuls of bacon and mushrooms. It was likely nothing.
John hated to remove his hand from Sherlock’s chest, for their pair connection was already starting to form, he could sense it through his palm. But somehow he managed, switching hands when needed, to pull his own clothes off as well as Sherlock’s. His heart began to pound at the sight of Sherlock naked and receptive before him. How many times had he relived the experience of that night two weeks ago when he had first seen Sherlock naked and wanting? Now he could touch him as he had wanted, at last!
“Yeah, alright, got it, thanks.” John called out, his eyes not leaving the motionless bundle that was Sherlock curled on the bed.
He should have called. What was he thinking? He was mad to go rogue! It would mean the end of his career certainly and likely even cost him his life, given the serious trouble that Blackburn appeared to be in! But even as he contemplated turning to pick up his mobile, John knew with certainty that he wouldn’t.
The limp captive, held aloft by the soldier, was alive although it didn’t appear so at first glance. But the omega’s scent told John it was, as did the sound it emitted when the soldier shook it; a small involuntary vocalization of fear or pain. It was the same noise that had puzzled John earlier, when he’d first heard it.
Lestrade, watching this, rejoiced. At last, here was Sherlock recognising and connecting with something greater than himself and his own brilliant intellect. Lestrade looked at John again with interest. There was obviously more to this unassuming man than met the eye for him to have had such an impact on the inscrutable Sherlock Holmes.
But Sherlock didn’t acknowledge him. He continued to walk deliberately away from John and toward Bill.
Nothing! Even before he entered his tent John knew it was empty. He sniffed. Someone had been there in the short time he had been gone though; Moran… yes, and someone else… John shook his head in an involuntary reaction to the foul odour… it was the scent of the burly sergeant who had brought Sherlock to his tent the previous night. John growled. The brute’s presence explained how Sherlock could have been taken so quickly. Moran would have his spies in the camp. He could hardly carry out his nefarious activities without accomplices. Obviously the sergeant was one of them. | [
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John nodded. He knew too well too, how adults, who should have taken responsibility, did choose to close their eyes and pretend that nothing serious had happened.
John had looked a bit angry as he had said, “Not all high ranking officers were like that! Major Sholto...”
Then he took a deep breath and looked at Mary, “I can tell you, because you can keep a secret. And somehow it would be nice to know that someone knows why I shot Mycroft......and Culverton..”
John had thought about gagging Sherlock sometimes. Maybe with something like a bit. They had seen things like that on the net and in the club. But he refrained from doing it. He liked the sound of Sherlock’s deep baritone voice too much!
The two men sat in silence just holding hands and John thought about how surprisingly all right it had felt having Mycroft as a spectator to his and Sherlock’s bodily actions:
ruled Russia and didn't want to cooperate. Later he threatened to start a war if the Chinese wouldn't join him. He wanted more resources.
A few hours later John returned to the hospital. Bringing some papers with him. Computer out-prints. And facsimiles of old journals from the governmental Baskerville Facility.
Mycroft looked her directly in her eyes and said solemnly, “I think that I'll have to work harder to earn that privilege again?”
Sherlock looked at John and decided that the time for “Elephants” had ended...if their relationship should stand a chance: “Well...there are....certain clubs here in London....that even Mycroft do not know anything about. I’m a member of two....depending on my needs. In one of them they only know the dominant and sadistic me and in the other one only the submissive and masochistic me. In 9 out of ten times...or even more...I visit the second club. Not so much after I returned after .....Serbia.... and....”
The rest of Sherlock's body was just so...perfect...as he was standing there. Arms crossed. A bit lost in his own thoughts, apparently. From that nape-curl, over those broad shoulders, over the curve of his back, that showed his strength and down to that plush arse, that the fine wool of the kilt couldn't hide. An arse that could drive John mad with lust.....and John realised now that he was now totally erect under his kilt. It tented over his cock and the fine woollen fabric felt amazing against his exposed cock-head. The only thing that prevented the kilt from sliding apart in the front and show his erection, was the extra fabric and John would only have to move a bit before that fabric wouldn't be enough.
And then John just stopped for a moment, in order not to come on the spot. And then Sherlock begged, “Continue, John. Hard. I need you. I need to be filled with your big fat gorgeous cock.”
“Oh...” said John: “So when Sherlock needed a flatmate...it wasn’t a lie.....and the need for me to get a job to earn money, when we hadn’t cases enough...it was necessary too?”
I found this old book, and decided to write a diary. Maybe someone is going to read it out in the future. I hope it is going to be us: Homo Sapiens Sapiens. If not...then don't bother reading!
And Sherlock continued, “If you have finished your self-flagellation John, I have a few remarks. You tend to paint things in either black or white. And now you have decided that I'm all 'white' and a saint and you are all 'black' and a sinner. But life isn't like that. I thought we had established that. You are not your father. You might have beaten me.....but it was when you were under extreme emotional stress. And at the first occasion, at the Landmark, you must have felt that I mocked your grief. It was me who failed....the social awkward idiot, who tried to use humour to make things lighter and failed miserably doing so.
Sherlock let go of John's hands and took John's face in his hands...and John remembered how he had done that during the case with the 'Blind Banker'...and if it hadn't been Sherlock, it could have been the beginning to a kiss. John removed Sherlock's hands...gently.....and said, “My hands are okay, not my face, thank you!”
Both John and Greg smiled...and Sherlock too. Of course they would help. And then John had to say, “I'm sorry, Mycroft. But the term 'it is practically harmless' and 'what could possibly go wrong' are sometimes famous last words. I have a gut-feeling about this. And it is Bulgaria after all. Not so far away from Serbia. What if?”
“She is still uncommunicative..but I have plans in the foreseeable future, together with psychologists, psychiatrists and behavioural therapists, to do ...something. It would involve John and Sherlock as well. And hopefully it will heal some of all the wounds that we all have. Mental wounds. But I can't say more about it for now...so: my parents. I've come to realise that they have been just as much victims of the 'Baskerville projects' as we have been. Sherlock, Eurus and I. Not everything that was done in the '30ties and '40ties and '50ties were recorded. And God knows what was done to those people, including my parents. So...I just accept and live with their flaws and failures. Accept that my mother scolds me unjustly.....and accept that Mrs. Hudson is more Sherlock's mother than Mummy would ever be able to be. You can't ask an elephant to walk the tightrope. You can't ask my mother to have deep feelings. My parents do their best. But it took me years to accept that....and Sherlock is still starving for especially Mummy's love, which she can't really give him....”
Mycroft looked at Sherlock, “And your reaction to my behaviour was to lash out and become so acerbic against me....”
Mycroft shook his head, “No...that was not planned. Neither was it planned that Sherlock would shoot himself. That he did that...well that became the breaking point regarding Eurus. When she saw that part of the recording, she finally realised that Sherlock was not Sherrinford. The first crack in that mental image was when Sherlock told Molly, that he loved her.”
They woke early, Mycroft as the first and he hissed a bit, as he went for the loo. In there he looked at his buttocks in the big mirror and reached behind his back to touch the welts. They were red an swollen, but already fading a bit. They would turn into bruises at a point, but not that bad.
“Stand still or it would be even worse for you” said a stern voice behind him. The other man, all dressed in black, took a step closer to Sherlock and produced a knife:“Stand still or the knife will cut you.....and it makes no difference to me!”
Ad then she put first one clamp on Mycroft's left nipple and then on his right. He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths...and whimpered a bit as she let the chain fall down on his stomach.
“Suivre le lapin”, said John as he repeated the last sentence in the film and it was so absurd that they fell into giggles.
John had tears of laughter in his eyes now and could barely talk: “Oh God, Sherlock....I....I just imagined which word would make us both stop immediately.....and it is so inappropriate!”
“And then your mother.....I could almost get the suspicion that it is she who rules the MI6, if I didn’t know better. She can make you and Sherlock dance by her tune sometimes!!!”
In the bathroom Mycroft obediently lied down on his back on the three white fluffy towels that Greg had placed on the floor and Greg prepared the enema. It was meant as a cleaning-procedure and not as a 'punishment', even if it was a effective method to ground Mycroft in his body, if he was on all fours and fighting the urge to let the water out again. Especially if the water was cold. It wasn't tonight, and it made it easier.
“Sherlock, brother mine.....”, and here Mycroft stopped overwhelmed with feelings and then he looked at Sherlock again, “I've been so wrong and I've caused you so much pain and for that I'm truly sorry. Not that it helps much but.....Sherlock. I do love you and there is not anything that I regret more than all the harm, I've caused you. And I can't ask you to forgive me, because I do not deserve that...And I've arranged for a hotel-suite for you, while your flat is being repaired...”
“This is normally the time where I would use restrains on my husband to keep him in place....but I'll avoid them with you. Just stay in place. Can I relay on your obedience, Mycroft?”
Sherlock said, “Well her real name was 'Melissa' after all, and in her new family there were too many 'Mollies'. That is why she changed her name.”
Rosie would be of at her day-care-family almost every day. They would be able to take her with short notice and if it was very urgent, Mrs Hudson would get up in the middle of the night and take care of her until one of the parents from the day-care-family would turn up to fetch Rosie. Sherlock and John were very picky about which cases they would take. 'Playing it safe' as John would say. That didn't mean that they weren't called to a crime scene with short notice, but it meant that the cases weren't as dangerous any more. Or at least 'appeared' not to be dangerous. But after 'Moriarty'/ Magnussen/ Mary were gone and Culverton behind bars and with Mycroft being very careful, other villains seemed almost tame. No semtex-vests strapped on innocent people. No flats blown to debris. No one blackmailed politicians into suicide. No suspicious deaths at hospitals. Just people being murdered for all the 'normal' reasons: jealousy, greed and pure evilness. But for the moment there were no mad serial killers and no megalomaniac media-magnates.....and no Mycroft to fuck everything up in his own way, because Mycroft kept a very low profile...at least in John's and Sherlock's life.
John felt a sudden urge to claim Sherlock, to show everybody that Sherlock belonged to him, and him alone! Sherlock shuddered and thought that yes, John should mark him. With a whip, with a cane, with his mouth… Anything!
“We can never totally stop such an organisation.”, said Mycroft, “Not one which has existed since the Renaissance. But we can 'clip their wings'. Just as Sherlock did to Magnussen's organisation. We can prevent them from being strong and efficient for a long time....and that might be enough to prevent the next war for many years.”
Sherlock smiled back and it didn't take Sherlock long to be on his hands and knees, “We better try to replicate that ancient treatment. For science, of course!”
All three Holmes-relatives looked at each other and then Mycroft asked, “How...why do you think one of us did that?!”
'. A story about a pirate-captain who was sure that two brothers, the Carridebs brothers, were planning to murder him. Through-out the book you had to find clues, that could point in one direction or another. And in the end it was the cook, who was a distant relative to the two brothers, who tried to murder the captain. And if you looked close enough, you could find all the clues from the first pages...if you were careful enough. Sherlock loved that book and kept on finding new details in the drawings.”
Sherlock frowned, “Decent!? With another man's finger up your arse? And what was in it for the men?”
She begun to have that odd feeling that everything was right and in order and that she had this perfect sub and he should just obey and accept what she did to him. That feeling was known as 'top-space' and it wasn't always that she would reach that.......The world narrowed down to her, the riding crop and that perfect sub in front of her, who grunted a bit at every blow. And courageously accepted the punishment, she decided for him to receive. Time stopped. The universe didn't exist. And as she continued cropping that obedient body in front of her, the tingling did build in her body and....she had an orgasm...
“Yeah...I did. Waiting for you I imagined myself as a soldier again. But now you are here it seemed more suitable to look like I was, when we first met.” And John was in his clothes from when they had their first case: his chequered button down, his pair of jeans and his oatmeal-coloured woollen jumper.
And thinking back John realized that Sherlock had tried in his own awkward way to “test the waters” and to find out if John was interested. But Sherlock’s own “I’m married to my work” on their first case and John’s own clinging to the label “not gay” had put a stop to everything before it had ever started. Neither of them being prepared to risk their friendship. And notice.... John had never said “totally heterosexual” either, because he had been with men. Mostly adrenalin-fuelled kissing and mutual wanking in a “thank-god-we-are-still-alive-and-kicking”-feeling” after near-death experiences in Afghanistan. And only at two occasions. Sholto had been one of them and another captain the other.
Writing this down I'm realising something. Maybe it wasn't my fault at all. Maybe the scientists had stashed Sherlock's and Mycroft's and Eurus' genetic material from when they had tempered with their genes way back in the 70's? And then it wasn't my fault that Sherlock was recreated as Khan Noonien Singh? Just....it might have been my fault after all......and knowing what that boy had to endure. I'm writing this now even if he is never going to read this: Please forgive me, Khan Noonien Singh, because if you are just a bit like my father inside as on the outside, you must have suffered immensely in the hands of those scientists. So please forgive me...and forgive us.
Sherlock had nearly finished telling about what had happened, but continued with the last part, “There in the darkness were just two people believing that every moment could be their last, John. Two people clinging to each other. Two people seeking a bit of comfort. And we ended up kissing. And the kissing got into something more heated. To make a long story short: we ended up having sex. It is not impossible for me to sustain an erection being with a woman, John.....and Irene was very skilled.”
And Sherlock continued, “I am a sexual creature, John. And since we have established that we are more than 'just friends' and have declared that we love each other, I would very much like you to join me in bed and make sure that we finally, finally!...could have sex with each other.”
John took a firm grip at Sherlock’s hands as he was about to take them away: “Now you listen to me, William Sherlock Scott Holmes and you listen very carefully! Being a masochist...or a sadist......being submissive or dominant.....it is most certainly not being a “freak”. It is the way your body...and mind....work! As I said, the framework for normality is rather loose-fitting. As long as it is between two adults.....and it is safe, sane and consensual...I see no problem!”
John was sitting with his mouth open, “That...that was brilliant. You made me shiver! You were that slimy officer through and through. Oh my. Maybe you should have chosen another career, both of you! Should have been actors. Oh my...”
When he came to his senses Sherlock was still on his knees in front of him and removed a bit of semen from the corner of his mouth with his tongue....oh God...that tongue and that mouth and Sherlock smirked: “Was it satisfying enough or......will I get punished?”...The last part said with so much hope in his voice that John began to laugh.
Sherlock used the time before John would return to make arrangements for the flat. Standing outside, with Rosie in her buggy and ready to go, John had pointed out that since they were going to live together....at that point Sherlock had just looked at him and John had said, “Do you think for just a fraction of a second that I would let you go now? I want to marry you, live together with you, raise Rosie together with you....and for God's sake not here, where a lot of things still are....infested with memories of that......that woman. I would prefer Baker Street any day.”
“You found it!” smiled John and lifted the kilt. He had feared that moths would have eaten it totally, but there were only a few tiny holes.
Hamish left school and began at University and Rosie left the school 2 years later to attend the same University. She was one of the youngest to attend ever. Only 16. Hamish wanted to study medicine and so did Rosie, but they studied two different areas. Hamish studied genetics, most of all how to cure defects in the genome and Rosie was more interested in fighting diseases directly with advanced medicine. And sometimes their areas would meet when investigations were made about how to strengthen the human immune system.
Before he opened the door, he looked at Sherlock and explained, “This is the secret. The reason why I wanted to make so much extra money. The Orangery will go on Mycroft’s account. He said it was his small ‘thank you’ for....to use his words... ‘exquisite favours’.....but this is paid by me. You might find it ridiculous, but please Sherlock...humour me in this. Promise....please!”
“I'm sorry...so, so sorry, Sherlock. For putting you through hell like that.....For believing that insane psychopathic woman for just a fraction of a second. For.....out of desperate loneliness and denial and anger and hurt to choose her over you. For believing that I loved her....”, John mumbled into Sherlock's curls.
Two days after John and Rosie had moved in with Sherlock at Baker Street, Mycroft had asked Greg to come to a meeting at the Diogenes' in on of the private rooms and Greg had of course asked how he was after the events. Greg knew of course now, that it had all been at set-up, but he had been told that Mycroft hadn't known at the time of the events happening and that Mycroft Holmes had been affected. Just like John and Sherlock. Yes even Molly, who had refused to tell Greg more.
Mary looked at John and settled for the truth, “Dying. He doesn't want to reveal the substance, he has taken. He think the world would be a better place without him. And he is confused and disoriented. No wonder when you think about what first Culverton did to him, and then what Sherrinford and Mycroft did.”
Prince William had looked at it and John had said: “It is just a souvenir.....a memorabilia from Afghanistan!”
“Well..” said Sherlock and smiled, “Then it is fine that you really not are a doctor from Victorian times. They were sometimes asked to perform 'treatments for hysteria' on ladies. That was 'giving them an orgasm'. For God's sake, couldn't they just have taught their husbands to give them a good sex-life?”
Mycroft and Sherlock walked a bit away from the others and talked for a few minutes and then they returned.
Afterwards Mycroft undressed and now Sherlock was the big spoon and they enjoyed a moment of peace and bliss.
“Is Mycroft's job to tell. I do not have all the data....and might have misunderstood something. You should call him, John, and make an appointment this afternoon. I'll fetch Rosie and make dinner and it will be ready when you return....”
Mycroft shook his head and said, “No...it was the last resort. And not a plan that I would have approved of. It was to risky. But Magnussen new about the first layer of our plans and had planned to gloat, as Sherlock would be so disappointed to find out that there were no vaults under Appledore. Sherlock had suspected the vaults to be either under Appledore, or under the office-building next to Magnussen's building in London City. He was supposed to send me a code, when he had confirmation of the vaults being under the office-building. As soon as he had sent the code, we did cut off the energy supply to the building, cut it off the internet-connections and 'jammed' the possibility of sending anything via blue-tooth. Actually...we jammed the whole centre of London...”
And he didn't even know what he begged for and then he felt how she stretched him even more as the butt-plug was pushed inside.....and now he understood the purpose of the twisting and turning top. It would massage his prostate. He opened his eyes and saw the moisture dripping out of him.....she was milking him!
“I see.”, said John, and then he paused and continued after a few seconds, “I see. So...I was right. You and Irene did....You had...”
But it was not only Sherlock's gorgeous body, that could impress John. It was the incredible mind under those beautiful curls and behind those laser-sharp eyes, that was now focused on John, too. Sherlock gave a little gasp and opened his mouth a bit so his front teeth became visible.....and then John could see a faint pink hue on Sherlock's cheeks and how Sherlock's eyes suddenly became darker, as his pupils dilated.
John wanted to do something to Sherlock that he had thought about since the first day they’d had sex. He had done it that time, but not since. Sherlock was ordered to undress and go to the bathroom and as John entered he almost lost his breath at the stunning sight of Sherlock on all fours, kneeling obediently on one of the quilted carpets they used for this purpose (and had dry cleaned regularly) and only wearing his collar. His wounds were healed by now and there were only faint remnants of his scars from Victor. Even those from Serbia were only white lines. John touched Sherlock almost reverently and kissed him gently at his neck above the collar as he whispered, “You are so beautiful… And you have no idea what I’m going to do to you… How I will mark you!”
Mycroft turned a bit, lying on his side, since she had finished applying the cream, “I feared something like: I would be naked, wearing a heavy butt-plug and with stripes from a whip on my buttocks and thighs and back. Wearing a 'humbler' and crawling on my hands and knees on a leash. And crawling in the corridors of Whitehall while everybody watched. And the worst part is that I would deserve every part of that punishment, because I betrayed your trust and had you humiliated so extensively.”
I had managed to get through the first two fences with my old access-card from Baskerville. There were some buildings behind a fence and some sports areas closest to the fence where I was standing. Some children were occupied in playing some sort of game. And there I saw him. Khan Noonien Singh. They were outside the houses and there were no adults near them. He can't have been more than 5 years old. And he was the spitting image of my father at that age. Apart from very small differences. Khan's hair weren't as curly and he was more muscular. But apart from that? If I had put a young version of my father beside him, you could have believed them to be identical twins, because even such twins can be a bit different. And he was already a born leader then. I could see that through his interactions with the other children. He wasn't the eldest, but as they discovered me, they had all looked at Khan and had expected him to react. He came over to the fence and told me that I would have to leave....or they would get punished...and maybe I would too. I told him that I worked for Baskerville...a facility similar to this one....and that it was very unlikely that I would get punished.
But what did it matter now? Sherlock was dying. He kept on claiming that he hadn't had time to take any poison or substance while he was at Baker Street, but his 'values' of his liver, his kidneys and a lot of the other bodily values were just so wrong and out-balanced, that John feared that Sherlock lied and had taken something, as John had had a suspicion about in the beginning...or even worse. That Culverton-Smith somehow had made a chemical timer-bomb inside Sherlock.
Mycroft rose to his feet: “I made a promise...and for a short while I thought, I would regret it. But as always you have turned out to be a real considerate friend. But this “gift” is not for you, but for me....so you can still ask me anything... I really must be leaving. I have a world to rule!”
Because, as things were, it was the only way to save him. Listen John: With certain drugs involved, it could be scopolamine or other with similar effect, Culverton could make me believe that I dreamt or hallucinated whilst being in my flat, and then in reality I would be out in the real world...re-acting...interacting.... doing things.”
Then John opened the door to the landing and there was Mrs. Hudson standing with a tray with two cooking pots on it.
And the Baskerville's family-tree is totally made up by me. There are going to be a few surprises in that.
Mary shook her head, “No...she isn't fairer than some of her cousins. So no....And I told her aunts never to tell her. But that was wrong. She needs her mother and I've missed her so.“
And finally John felt that Sherlock was ready. John thought for a moment to ask Sherlock if it was allright, but gave up the thought. Sherlock most certainly wanted this and he was ready.
“What are the rules?”, demanded Sherlock to know as they walked through the wall of golden sunlight and into a foreign landscape, that looked a bit like the landscape around their village in Southern England. The golden sunlight was all over the place.
Mycroft looked at Greg with his eyebrow lifted and just a tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth and Greg thought that the scientists at Baskerville must have had 'Vulcan' genes to their disposal (Even if the Vulcans were just a fictional race) when they made those Holmes-brothers, because they could be just as difficult to read as that green Alien 'Spock' in Star Trek.
But Mycroft had just looked at John and had said: “How do you even think that I found Sherlock in time in those dungeons in Serbia? I wouldn’t have been there in time to save him if he hadn’t been “tracked”. It could be seen that he wasn’t moving much and the pattern of his movement was suspicious......If we had not have such a tracker on him we wouldn’t have had time enough to prepare for his rescue...even if I did manage to learn Serbian in about 4 hours. Sherlock is one of my best agents......and he is a real agent, John....and all my agents are tracked!”
Sherlock looked at their intertwined hands......yes his hand was a young man’s hand too. Just like John’s. Sherlock’ brow furrowed in confusion when he looked at John again, “Weren’t you wearing fatigues and a T-shirt just a moment ago?” he asked.
Sherlock's attention was directed at John within a fraction of a second and John could see how Sherlock's pupil's dilated and how his cheeks blushed. Sherlock had often asked for the real pain and John would refuse almost most of the time...and Sherlock had to admit that the other things John did worked nearly just as well. But there was something about the cane and the riding-crop. Even more so because they would leave marks that Sherlock would be able to feel for days...and he liked that.
“Fine, Sherlock. We'll return later in a couple of hours”, said Mary and left. Sherlock was already asleep.
Mycroft sighed and said, “Well. That makes two of us. Two persons that Sherlock loves and whom he has forgiven against all odds. You are not the only one to have done harm to Sherlock. I think that I am even guiltier.”, and then Mycroft paused and looked at John before he continued, “You are aware that if we should decide, that we are unworthy of his love and therefore leave him. That would cause him even more damage?”
John just shook his head and covered his eyes with his hand and almost whispered, “Sherlock. You are such a wonderful person...how can I ever be worthy of your friendship? I.....such an old grumpy, dangerous, alcoholic and broken soldier?”
John lifted his hand as Sherlock was gong to say something, “On the other hand, Sherlock. The dark side inside me is saying,
Sherlock shook his head, “Jim shooting himself on the roof-top. Jim, being the criminal mastermind. Jim killing all those people in London. Jim doing all those insane criminal deeds. He worked together with Mycroft. Jim was a criminal, but he had never the brain to make such intricate machinations. Only one mind could match mine...and that was Mycroft's mind.”
A bit more about Mycroft's and Greg's relationship before the wedding.....and a bit more about the wedding, a surprise and their wedding-night. We'll return to John and Sherlock in chapter 27.
Sherlock dutifully swallowed the two pills and then he laid down again. John pushed Sherlock a bit around so he could reach and after John had dried off the semen on Sherlock's stomach and chest, John began to apply the Arnica-cream on Sherlock's nipples, back, thighs and buttocks.
John pinched his nose between his eyebrows: “Mina wasn’t mine. I know. I got a suspicion when I saw her hair. Mary’s ex-friend David had red hair, I suppose. But I still loved Mina! It wasn’t her fault!”
Sherlock sighed, “I...I never meant to tell you. How it was....being abroad. Travelling the world to bring down what I thought to be Moriarty's criminal organisation....”
“Yeah...we won.”, said John and kissed Sherlock again, because how could he resist those lips? That face?
Mycroft just looked at him and then he said, “Well, conditioning since childhood, it tends to stay rather persistently in the adult as well. And you very seldom allowed yourself to admit love for a person. Not even for women....so why should you allow yourself to do that regarding Sherlock?”
John looked up: “That is exactly my point. You do not have to! You are not some kind of substitute, because I can’t find a suitable woman. All my adult life I’ve searched for someone like you...and I didn’t even know that and I didn’t know that I had found it...and I threw it away when I could have had it, as you returned! That dark side in me wants to control, to dominate a strong, confident being.....like you, Sherlock. It is a bit like controlling a horse...it is stronger and bigger than you...and yet you are in control! You are strong and dangerous....I think even more dangerous than me.....and yet you’ll allow me to control you....totally. What a confidence in me....and I’m afraid that I can’t live up to that!!”
Sherlock frowned, “Why you....?” Then he paused for a few seconds...and then he pointed at the stack of reports, and took a deep breath, “I'll admit that while I was reading this, I wondered why
Sherlock shook his head, “No...not intentionally. Mycroft wanted to give Carl a warning. But the poison was more efficient than expected and Carl drowned. Mycroft did steal the shoes to prevent the police to find out about the poison in the lotion. But no one...except from me of course, thought that Carl's death had an unnatural cause. And fortunately they didn't listen to me. Mycroft kept those shoes as a reminder of being more careful later on.”
Sherlock turned his head so he could look at John and lifted his right hand so he could touch John's face and John buried his head into Sherlock's curls. Suddenly overwhelmed by remorse, self-loathing and huge sadness....that he had done that to Sherlock. Beating and kicking him...and pushing him out of his life.
“I know that I’m the biggest idiot in the world, Mycroft. But I found it difficult to abandon a pregnant woman with a past that could jeopardise her and the baby and the only reason why I stayed by her was that your brother told me that he had forgiven her and that she never had intended to kill him. I now know why he did it......and why he shot Magnussen... and for that I cannot forgive myself. In Berlin he told me to leave him, stay out of his life... and I obeyed......So please tell me: why are you here if it is not about Sherlock?”
And she turned towards John and gave him her hand: “Sorry for underestimating you! My name is Vanessa....and it is quite a disguise you have there in your woollen jumper. I could have taken you for being harmless. But you are not that al all...I see that now!”
John looked lovingly at the sleepy Sherlock, “It took us such a long time to get here. And I’ve been such an idiot. Having a gem like that in my hand, and then just throwing it away.” , he said gently carting his hands through Sherlock’s hair, “I’ve let him down so many times… And he still thinks I’m perfect for him. I don’t deserve him, Mycroft. I’m well aware of that..”
Mycroft paused a bit before he said, with a smirk, “You do like that I'm uncomfortable talking about this, don't you?”
John looked at her. He hadn't quite forgiven her the prank of shooting him with a tranquillizer and Sherlock was still a bit pissed off by that too.
Sherlock shook his head, “I don't know. I'm a man of science, John, but even in science there are mysteries. The famous lab-rat experiment, that somehow indicates that the rats in labs all over the world apparently communicates on a level we do not understand. The only explanation of why the rats in unconnected labs learn those identical labyrinths faster and faster. Or the 'spin' on subatomic particles that gets altered, if you alter one of them and even if the particles are no longer in the same country. There are still so many things, that we do not understand. Especially about our minds. Sometimes you just have to say..”
So over the next days some of Mycroft’s minions emptied John’s and Mary’s flat. Packed the belongings, which they might think that John would keep, in boxes and had them and some furniture stored. John’s clothes were packed in two suitcases and brought to Mycroft’s house and Mina’s belongings given to a children’s home in London. Mycroft had even arranged for the flat to be sold.
Sherlock smiled, “No...in Brighton. In a very low-paid job with no promotion-possibilities. He is married to a very boring woman and have no children and too much debt. Much better than the bottom of Thames.”
Mycroft smiled: “If you want to put it that way...yes. In my eyes Sherlock got so scared of rejection that he chose to be abstinent and as far as I know he had continued being that......”
Hamish did work for the Baskerville Facilities shortly around 2048-2052 and Khan was made in India in 2050. There were facilities all over the world (more about that is explained in 'The Truth?') and Baskerville did cooperate with facilities in Germany and India.
After the piercing Mycroft was looking in the mirror at the ring through his cock and then he turned and smiled at Sherlock, “Thank you. I couldn't have requested a similar service at a piercing-saloon. And...what about you? Do you still have unfilled fantasies? Do you want piercings too?”
“You don't have to read it. And I couldn't find evidence that could prove that Culverton Smith was artificially made too...”
“Well, right....I understood that you wouldn’t mind telling me what happened while you were away.....and I promise you, Sherlock. I’m here to listen....and I’m sorry that I haven’t asked before or not even realised how much I did harm you when you turned up at that restaurant! It was a huge mistake...that I treated you like that....I...” And right there John Watson ran out of courage.
“Yeah, I've read about that HMS Southshire. From the shipyard 'Tollerton'. A new experimental ship, but still with steam-engines, made for warfare in the Arctic Ocean. A totally stupid idea at that time. The steam-engines on board such a ship wouldn't be strong enough to force the ship through the ice..and they had furthermore failed to construct the ship in such a way that it could withstand the pressure from the ice. It was only a year after that, that a competitive company, The Braynard Yard, had succeeded in making a stronger ship, that could actually sail through the ice.” explained Sherlock.
He kissed Sherlock and then he continued, “To see you two fucking each other....it could be rather hot too. As long as I'm sure that you marry me....and that you'll not hide for me if he need your 'help' and that I'll be invited too.”
John opened it...and looked baffled as he found out that it wasn’t the Royal Pardon for Sherlock but actually a....knighthood for “Sir John Hamish Watson”. He lowered the certificate and said: “It is not because I want to be disrespectful Your Majesty. But I would rather trade this...this knighthood....for a Royal pardon for Sherlock!”
And Mycroft could see some of the tension leave Sherlock as he obediently crawled up on the padded cross and positioned himself on it. It fit perfectly to his measurements, but of course it did. It was custom-made to fit him...and Mycroft. That a bit more than half an inch in difference of hight between the two brothers, didn't matter.
John looked at the contents and asked, “Is this something that you'll like to introduce to our everyday sex-life too, Sherlock?”
And as Sherlock rose John could see a very insistent erection in Sherlock’s pyjama trousers as Sherlock said: “I’ve had a semi-hard on since you tended to my wounds....not because of the pain....but because of your hands. Come!”
John blushed as he thought of Sherlock in only a sheet at Buckingham palace so many years ago: “Oh my God.....she knew?”
Then she went to one of the cupboards and returned with a set of nipple-clamps with a heavy chain between them as she said, “It is strange that you and Sherlock never considered to use 'softer' means to achieve pain. This will hurt, but not cause any damage as will the rest of the things I intend to use on you: pain...most certainly...but no real harm. And that is a better way to still your mind, than something that do harm. I can see the appeal in that too, though. The threat and the pain, that last longer. But it is more dangerous and more damaging....and if this works just as well....”
“Sherlock was working as an agent and was under-cover and pretended to be a much younger exchange student from England as he lived by the Hudson’s. One night he defended Mrs. Hudson as her husband did beat her and got beaten instead. Sherlock wasn’t investigating Franck, whom everybody just assumed was a “small fish” in the drug-syndicate that Sherlock was investigating. He decided to revenge his beating by digging up more about Franck Hudson and found so much: murders, ordered killings and so on that Franck ended up in jail and the electric chair. Franck had not been a “small fish” but the top-predator.....the leader of the whole syndicate.....and he would apparently have gotten away with it had he not taken his anger out on Sherlock!”
John frowned, “But to come to rescue by barging in and attacking everything moving, surely there could have been others..”
That had caused them to finish each other off in back alleys and on toilets a few times after having left crime-scenes, because they couldn't wait to get their hands and other body-parts on and in each other.. and frankly John couldn't bother if Mycroft could watch them on his hidden cameras. In fact the very idea of that was rather arousing.
And the only thing John could say as he had visions of Sherlock giving him blow-jobs under the kilt and of him giving Sherlock blow-jobs whilst Sherlock would be wearing it, even though the kilt would be a bit too long for John and a bit too short for Sherlock, was, “Oh God..yes!”
John was shocked: “You mean that.....Victor actually stole Sherlock’s belongings.....and then didn’t care a fuck what happened to him?!”
Had Sherlock no gag-reflex? Oh God...John had had many sex-partners...and some of them rather skilled, but no one had been able to swallow him totally. It took John so much by surprise and aroused him so much, that he had to grip the nearest thing, Sherlock's hair, to warn him that his orgasm was very close. As Sherlock felt the slight pain from John tugging at his hair, he moaned in arousal and the vibration from Sherlock's moan sent John over the edge and he came in thick spurts down Sherlock's throat. And here Sherlock surprised John even more, because he just swallowed the whole load.
Sherlock hurried to get dressed in his clean pyjama bottom and another T-shirt and the beige morning gown. “Elephants”...yes...but did he dare tell John about the depth of his feelings for him? He didn’t want to ruin their friendship....not now when it apparently was back on track again.
Now Sherlock looked puzzled....but not quite....and John could easily read that....Sherlock knew of course about his brother....but he didn’t know that John knew!
Sherlock smiled, “Yes...exactly! And even if we are geniuses, we do not posses such powers in the real world. Maybe this could have been done if you had been green or blue and had been an alien. But honestly Eurus....why? And one thing more: all those inconsistencies and improbabilities: why did you return to the prison? How did you transport me and John to Musgrave Mansion? How many men had you to build the false room around me and how did John get out of that well? For God's sake. You had just told that he was chained to the bottom? Why couldn't I distinguish between a dog and a boy? And honestly...if a boy had gone missing, wouldn't a lot of people have done quite an effort to find him? And I can assure you that Victor Trevor was very much alive, last time I spoke with him. No, Eurus.....as John said: sloppy writing...”
Then John knelt on the floor between Sherlock's legs and took his hands, looked up and said, “Listen to me for a while without interrupting me.....and I'll give you the reason for this.....this picnic.”
Sherlock nodded, “While I was in Tibet the first time, the abbot told me something very important and he told me to remember his saying, as I visited them again while I was...away. He said,
Mycroft admitted that it had taken him some time to figure out, that the way Sherlock had been treated, had been so morally wrong.
John shook his had and muttered to himself, “That's it. I've gone totally bonkers. Seeing things...”
And John used the riding-crop on Sherlock's thighs and upper back. Sherlock's arse was 'decorated' nicely enough and didn't need more. The riding-crop did only leave red marks, as John was careful not to hit too hard. He had plans for other bodily sensations and the 6 welts on Sherlock's arse would throb and hurt for days. And bruise.
“I thought we were over that discussion! But lets us just dissect it into pieces again: you were not supposed to watch me jump” had Sherlock shouted back: “you were supposed to be at Baker Street.....with Mrs. Hudson and when you arrived, I tried to tell you! I used the “present tense” and not “past tense”....”It IS all a magic trick!” I said...... I tried.....but I couldn’t reveal more. The sniper was aiming at you. She had followed you from Baker Street to Bart’s. (Of course bloody Sherlock had known about Mary even before John had been told!). I never intended to make you see me jump and hit the pavement! But you were too bloody stupid to understand what I tried to tell you!”
John nodded, “I don't know about you. But I could use something to drink and eat before we continue. And I need the loo.”
After a cup of tea and some toast, Sherlock and John continued their conversation, again lying on the bed. Holding hands and being close to each other. The talk had stirred up bad memories and they needed too feel each other. Feel that the other one was there...and alive.
Mycroft was secretly removed from that governmental hospital he had been confined to, by Marianne, Mrs. Hudson, Sally, Lestrade, Anderson and John. An operation worthy of an Oscar. Mrs. Hudson distracted the guards with elaborated tales about her grandson and granddaughter, her knitting and her home-made cookies. And she almost forced them to eat some of them out of sheer politeness and the guards were sound asleep after only two of those 'delicious cookies after my grandmothers recipe'. Then the others got Mycroft out and he was brought to the same secret flat, where Sherlock was still being treated. The poisoning had done some damage and his long time of starvation needed qualified treatment too.
Sherlock had accepted that John wanted to keep a few secrets regarding their wedding and was actually thrilled when it turned out where the wedding should be: the Orangery at Kew Gardens.Thanks to Mycroft, no doubt. Who else would have been able to get the place at such short notice, less than 4 months?
Mycroft paused and hugged Greg, “And I spoke the truth to Anne. I would do anything to make you happy. Even accept if you would leave me...”
There was an old toilet in the corner closest to another door. One of those toilets with a high tank and wooden seat. That might have been the reason for putting them in this particular part of the cellar. It didn't seem too well planned out, though. Even if the door down to the cellar was of sturdy oak and the windows too small to be used as an escape route. But there were other doors in the room and with Sherlock's skills in picking locks, they would have access to much more....and even things they could use as weapons.
Sherlock and John were happy in Sussex. Sherlock finally had the place for his bees and made thorough studies and even managed to save the brown bee from the virus that had threatened that species of bee all over Europe. At least in apiculture the name 'Sherlock Holmes' was more known for books about bees and for saving the brown bee, that for being a consultant detective.
of November. Sherlock had really believed John to have hated him and only accepted Sherlock back in his life after Sherlock had saved him from the bonfire. Their conversation in the empty wagon filled with explosives had been...strange and off....and Sherlock now excused for his forcing John's forgiveness out of him.
Sherlock frowned, but understood immediately why Mycroft didn't want to go to a professional. It would be too risky being potential blackmailing material, so he just asked, “Where?”
And then after the case was solved, when they had been running around in London’s streets, alleys, backyards and byways, and finally had caught the criminals, then they would finally make their way home to Baker Street. Sometimes, but more seldomly now, with a brief visit to the emergency department, if it wasn’t something that John could treat at home.
John looked in shock at the angel. He had always believed that no matter how much he had damaged or hurt Sherlock, he knew that he had prevented Sherlock's death. Now he had learned that it had been in vain. And then, out of desperation, John got an idea.
Sherlock moaned even more and then he turned around...out of his role: “Did you just kiss my anus, John?!”
They heard voices talking as they finally did let go of each other and found that 4 people were watching them: 3 men and one woman. One of the men was looking a bit like John: blond and a bit muscular. The other 3 were more like Sherlock: tall and with dark hair, but all 4 good looking.
She smiled again and said, “Well, I better prepare you then, because there is no way that it will fit in you now. But you want it, want to feel how it fills you up......”
Sherlock smiled back, “And here I was afraid that I might loose you as a friend after finally having you back again, if I confessed what I felt about you!”
John paused a few seconds before he continued, “I want you naked and kneeling beside the bed.....and I'll give you a choice. Choose the cane or the riding-crop!”
Sherlock turned his head and looked at John and just said, “I promise! But no need for that. I trust you!”
They soon found a rhythm and as Sherlock demanded, “Harder...harder and faster. I am not made of glass!” John was more than happy to obey. When the orgasm did build in both men, John's deep trusts became shallower and shallower and Sherlock had put his feet down on the mattress to be able to move better. Sherlock grappled at John's hips and moved John...until the wave finally broke and both men came almost simultaneously with deep moans.
And John looked as his lovers gorgeous face and asked, “I did manage to overwrite the bad experiences?”
But he soon stopped as John in one swift moment turned Sherlock around so he was lying on his stomach, held down by John's smaller frame. And even if John had just had an orgasm minutes before, his cock still showed some interest in the next things that John did.
John nodded again and said, “And then finally you tried to...not not 'cure' her, because it couldn't be done, but...”
Mycroft smiled, “You were listening after all. No...not in Bulgaria. Here in England. You, John, are going to attend the 'The Afghani Veteran meeting, founded in 2000' in Birmingham and Greg is going to the 'Yearly assembly of retired London police-officers'.”
Now Mycroft blushed a bit and said, “Here comes the part that you might get mad at me for. No..I haven't adopted them, but I'd like to and they are already here in England....”
She guided him to the couch and guided him down, so he was lying on his back. It would hurt, lying on his back, but she had to get that cage of. It had been a mistake to use that. Mycroft must have set his mind to be obedient and he would have been that without the cage anyway.
He reached out for Mycroft’s face and forced Mycroft to look at him, “I thought you found me repulsive. My paleness, my too prominent cheekbones, my a bit too feminine mouth. My odd eyes and my much too thin body. I was a lollipop then… All head and a beanpole body!”
When Sherlock finally had put the evidence together and found out that the cases were connected and a serial-killer and rapist was on the loose, yet another teenager had disappeared. Sherlock had worked night and day. Only slept when it couldn't be avoided, out of sheer exhaustion and he lived on coffee and sugared tee for 7 days......and finally he had a break-through.
When John had heard about Greg's death only two months after Mycroft's...and only a few days after they had visited him, he had looked at Sherlock and Sherlock had shaken his head and answered John's unspoken question, “No, John. It wasn't necessary. I have a suspicion though...Do you remember the 'Thomson case'? That we solved 5 years after we arrived here in Sussex?”
Sherlock smiled. “In this case it is. And the person you thought to be Molly after you all had helped me to get to this flat....”
And finally Sherlock could admit why he had accepted Mary in John's life. He had genuinely believed, that she was what John wanted and needed, and now, sitting in that private clinic, Sherlock told how difficult it had been to 'give' John away. To accept that that tiny piece of hope that had brought Sherlock through all his ordeals those more than two years away from England, had to be put away at the wedding. Even more so because Sherlock had seen John together with Sholto and had to acknowledge that it wasn't because Sherlock was a man, that John didn't want him, but because Sherlock was...well 'Sherlock' and didn't deserve John. And he told John a bit more of his thoughts, his playing out scenarios in his mind, figuring out how Mary could be forgiven, because John needed her. Shooting Magnussen to keep John, Mary and the up-coming baby safe. How Sherlock had imagined 'Rosie' to look and behave and his relationship with John and Mary and the baby as well.
“Nothing, Love....I’m just amazed that your brothers presence didn’t bother me at all.....and then I wondered what his wife is going to say to all that.”
That evening Mycroft took a shower and an enema, before he looked at his purchases. He thought for a moment about the suggestion both Lady Elisabeth and Leuris had brought up: that he should have his nipples pierced, and maybe even having a 'Prince Albert' done. Leuris had shown pictures and videos of people with those piercings and what they could use them for, if they were chasing the bliss from sensations bordering on pain. Just a thing if Mycroft wanted to distract his mind. The problem was that the healing-time could be problematic and Mycroft knew that he wouldn't have much private time the next couple of months.
That voice and those words immediately made a certain part of John’s body very interested. He slipped into captain-mode and silently wondered how Sherlock managed to turn him so much on just by using words… And that incredibly sexy voice!
And then Sherlock felt it....the fluid oozing out of his cock and the strange tingling in his body and it did build...the buzzing....and the strange feeling. As if he was floating and almost moving out of his own body. Sweat began to form all over his body and he panted, “Oh God...please don't stop!”
Sherlock nodded, “Yeah...I know. By your father. But I never wanted to tell you that I knew about your childhood and youth...”
“Did you notice that I stopped on the stairs to the cellar, as Greg and I found you yesterday?”, wanted John to know.
John just said, “Hello...” and nothing more as he came into the living room. And there Sherlock was balancing the bison-skull on one arm trying to put back the headphones. The flat looked a lot better, with newly made walls, even if it was the same pattern of wallpaper. Even the rather spectacular one behind the sofa. John supposed that Sherlock had grown fond of that wallpaper somehow.
“She forced him to submit and...well she had an advanced sex-life with her husband. I think she demanded some...repentance....from my brother. And he is not a coward, so if she thought he could pay for his mistake regarding arresting her and humiliating her, he would accept.”
“Do you need any help?” and then a short pause before Sherrinford continued, “Don’t do anything stupid.” At that moment he sounded so much like his father, that Sherlock got a lump in his throat.
John didn’t say anything as he was very busy pushing his tongue in and out of Sherlock’s anus, alternating with licking long broad strokes along the crack of Sherlock’s arse almost sucking at the opening. John lost track of time, and so did Sherlock. For Sherlock the bedroom ceased to exist, the flat… London… Earth! The only things in the universe were the three points of connection he had with John: his tongue and his firm hands on Sherlock’s buttocks. A small part of Sherlock’s brain tried to tell that there was no pain and that was a shame, but the rest of his brain told that other part to just shut up and enjoy!
century. Maybe the postponing gave the countries time to invent even more horrendous weapons? Is that what we are doing? When I say 'not on my watch'. Making it worse?”
And late at night John would be lying in his bed thinking everything all over again. A lot of almost sleepless nights. Thinking way back.....actually back to where he met Sherlock, and when Sherlock had to jump...and when John met Mary...or rather 'Rosemary', as it had turned out her name was. And John felt there...in the middle of the night, whilst Rosie was sound asleep in her bed, as if he was slowly waking up from a dream. A nightmare. And he didn't like that. Because what that 'waking-up' meant was that he could see himself from the outside point of view. How he had changed...from bad to worse. No wonder that Sherlock didn't want to see him any-more. John had brought Sherlock nothing but pain, suffering and loss. No...not the first month they had been together. Not then. John knew that he probably had saved Sherlock from taking that pill from that cabbie. But since?
“And you had something more? I think it is important to know that we are on the same page in the BDSM-book”, smirked Lady Smallwood.
And then Sherlock frowned and said, "That is why I thought I had seen you before, when we met at Bart's!"
John was the first to wake up after about two hours of sleep. He was just lying there looking at Sherlock and wondering how he had managed to earn the privilege of being that incredible man’s best friend and now lover, and hopefully later, husband. He couldn’t help but kiss the small frown above Sherlock’s nose. The frown he found so endearing. John smiled happily and almost foolishly like a Golden Retriever as Sherlock opened his eyes and looked back at John with a smile.
John shook his head, “But...does it mean that she is still alive? I don't want her to be alive. She is so dangerous!”
And Sherlock didn't mention what he had made besides breakfast. There was no reason to tell John yet. How thoroughly Sherlock had showered and cleaned himself with the enema, he had brought from Baker Street. Sometimes Sherlock's irregular eating-habits and his recent drug-use would disturb his digestion so much, that it could be necessary to use an enema. And now, with the plans Sherlock had for the next couple of hours, it could be very useful. After the bath and the cleaning, Sherlock had used another thing brought from Baker Street. A butt-plug. So he could be ready for John....and surprise him and seduce him at the same time. Because John had gone now several days without so much as a wank, so according to what Sherlock remembered about John when he lived in Baker Street 221B, John must soon be needing a sexual release. This morning John had not had time enough in the shower. Sherlock was sure about that. And John had not had time for himself, where he could have 'relieved himself'. Conclusion: John Watson had gone far too long without sex of any kind.
John moved his mouth away from Sherlock’s arse long enough to say, “Come for me, Sherlock” before continuing to eat Sherlock’s arse out.
John smiled again and looked a bit embarrassed, “Well...I thought you were dying again...and I lost it. Kissed you. Told you how much I loved you. Told you how sorry I was and begged you not to die. I think I promised you the Moon and the Sun and that I would never leave you...and you woke up a bit, confessed that you had always loved me. We kissed and you lost consciousness again...”
And John told that he had been in a relationship where he had been a “dom”, so he wasn’t totally inexperienced....and as those 3 people began to...well “interview” would be the right word....but Sherlock felt it a bit like an “interrogation”, John surprised him yet again. No....he wasn’t a total novice in that area.....and the 3 people had to readjust there view of this seemingly harmless doctor. They too now saw the soldier.....and the sadist... that John was too....his dark side.....his dangerous side.
And then Mycroft said, “As I recall it, I have been, as the expression goes, 'topping' in more than 70 % of the time where we had penetrative sex...”
John hurried to the bedroom and fetched the buttplug....if he had only known that Sherlock used such an item!
Sherlock opened his eyes wide, grappled hard at Mycroft's hand and whimpered, “Oh God.....it hurts so much...I.....
Now Mycroft looked at John and said: “You don’t have to. Mary didn’t think of the consequences when she agreed on Mina being used as a donor...”.....his voice faded.....
“Mycroft thought for a long time, that I didn't remember. And he should have protected me!The way my mind is and the experimental way I store memories, means that certain words can trigger a memory and certain words can delete them as well. Or at least, that was the way the scientists, amongst them Culverton, thought that my mind worked. I can't really explain it. We do not have words for it and I've tried to explain it to others. But my mind is like huge houses in a landscape and....and I can 'live' in one of those 'houses'. Create a rather convincing world in there. With touch, sound, taste and....almost everything...”
Sherlock laughed and turned so he could kiss John, “That pathetic 'caterpillar'-thing sitting on your upper lip? That could hardly deserve the name 'moustache'. No, the other Watson had a nice big Victorian manly moustache, that would look ridiculous on a modern face, so don't get any good ideas. I still prefer my doctors clean-shaven..”
Mycroft smiled back. A smile...but a little sad one, “Yes I have. My armour did melt. And I'm not sure that this hermit-crab can live outside its shell.”
Just a lot of information about the extended family of John's and Sherlock's...and Greg's and Mycroft's. I'm going to need a lot of them later.
Sitting in the train on his way back to London John remembered that he had shivered as he had heard Sherlock talking so calmly and clinically about his torture and injuries and he remembered his own answer: “Of course you should have returned. You saved more than 500 people when you prevented the Parliament to be blown to pieces.....and we were people who were glad that you returned!!!”
Mycroft turned and faced her, “No...maybe not. But Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade has been a married man for decades and has no interest whatsoever in me. As a brother to Sherlock and as an allied in keeping my brother safe, yes. But in no way as a partner. He isn't turned that way. And for the two remaining questions or advises: I'll give it a thought, but right now I'm busy. Sherlock is not in a good place, even if he is recovering and I have to find out, what is going on. And I have to make further plans regarding my sister. We will not see each other for a while, Elizabeth.”
Mycroft closed his eyes and continued, “I had sexual encounters at the university... I knew what I liked. That I was into men and women and when I saw you I could only think about how it would be to kiss that beautiful mouth of yours. To reach under your shirt and feel your nipples, feel them peak under my hands, to touch your cock and feel how it would stiffen under my hand...”
Sherlock closed his eyes and said, “I might have deleted the solar-system. But I could never have deleted that I finally kissed you......but apparently I did. So when did we kiss the first time?”
you get rescued, then tell them to treat those bottles with utmost care. Just a drop of that poison on their hands could kill them....even if it took four days with it in the water-supply to kill a house full of people.....” and Sherlock's voice trailed off and he closed his eyes again.
Sherlock paused for a moment before he continued, “Do you remember how Jim mocked us at the swimming pool? How he said that I could cherish the look of surprise on his face, if I shot him right there and then and how I wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long, as the snipers obviously would kill us immediately after?”
Mycroft stopped and looked at Lady Smallwood before he continued, “And you haven't had the opportunity to attend those clubs for a long time and haven't had the possibility to have your needs in that area fulfilled since your husband died. I know, I owe you....greatly.....and.....and I'm prepared to be at your service. Totally. With only a few conditions....even if I'm not in any position, where I can put up conditions. I am fully aware of that, believe me.”
Mary looked at him, “You might have to get used to that. He doesn't want to live like this, John. And I can't blame him!”
Sherlock looked at Mycroft with a sudden understanding, “...oh...you build it because you thought it should be for you and me... And then everything went wrong with me and Victor and Sebastian. And my last assignment in France.”
And then he went over to Sherlock's bed. Took Sherlock's head gently in his hand and bowed down over Sherlock's head and kissed Sherlock. Sherlock hesitated for a fraction of a second and then he reciprocated the kiss with a strength that surprised John.
“John.....please. Fuck me!”, moaned Sherlock, because finally his mind was concentrated on anything but the case. It was finally filled with 'John'....'John'...because strong John had got him and would take care of him and finally Sherlock's mind began to give in and stopped whirling.
“Something like that. Culverton has only done that to me at a very few occasions, as I always have a break-down afterwards and afterwards the informations in my brain are very difficult to extract.
John returned a bit later and helped Sherlock out of the soaked clothes.....and that was the time where Sherlock realised his mistake.
Mycroft shook his head, “I did let you down a few times. When you were in France on that MI6 job and because of that never finished you education as a chemist.....and when I tried to make a deal with Moriarty. I failed you in Serbia......and I failed to see who Mary really was.......”
More sex ahead in this chapter..And I had to cut the chapter in two. I still need to write the bit in between where this ends and the next piece of text begins. But there is hope. Next weekend is not so busy. And please tell me if there are too many errors. After all...I am not English and this is not my first language.
“Didn't you notice? In the lift? On the way up to Magnussen's office? There was a panel under the buttons. An extra set of buttons was hidden under that. There were two more stories under the level of the parking lot. Deep down in the underground of London. And it was the place were the vaults were hidden. Mycroft's people are still working their way through this disorganized mess. No computers, just piles and piles of information on old-fashioned card indexes. Strange items piled up. But in a matter that made sense to Magnussen. A bit like my Mind Palace...just with real items to make associations from. It is a goldmine of information, if they can figure out his system, and even without that it is still a gold mine. “
John just wondered if Mycroft had had time to change the cameras to a better quality...but a bit more than 4 hours would have been enough.....and in that case, Mycroft was in for a show!
Sherlock closed his eyes and pushed the papers and journal away, further down on the duvet that covered his legs.
And John just remained in charge as he continued to suck and lick and tease Sherlock's cock whilst he was pinning Sherlock down with his strength, lying halfway over Sherlock's body.
“We have never lived together...only in the holidays.....so we are more like cousins...and that is legal.”, had Rosie said. And she was right...of course she was.
“”Living-suite, now! Bend over the sofa!”, ordered John and Sherlock hurried to obey. Now John was on his knees behind Sherlock and crawled under the kilt, and there in the dimness he grappled Sherlock's arse-cheeks and said, “Spread your legs, soldier!”
“Don't!”, said Greg and touched one of the welts with the tip of the cane as a warning. And Mycroft stilled.
An old theory says that gay men can't whistle. Maybe that information is useful, maybe not, in this chapter.
“That very lady. And she found more to me...about those human embryos experiments. It was something you said, John, that made me think.”
John watched him for a few seconds and recognized the signs and then he barked, in full 'Captain-Watson-mode', “Enough! Stop! Go to the bedroom! It is an order!”
.......but John had just looked at him, as Sherlock had told everything he had imagined...and that very vividly....in his own mind. John had just shock his head and said, “You utterly madman. There is no way, even with a real baby on its way, that I could and would in any way have been able to forgive Mary. No way. I am a bit disappointed that you would believe that about me...”
And then John pointed with his finger at Mycroft: “But.Don’t.Think.For.A.Single.Moment.That.I.Didn’t.Figure.It.Out!”
He sat up, because Sherlock had removed the restraints and looked at his pierced nipples again, “I can understand, why people can get addicted to this..”
Then John had told that he ought to find another therapist. “I understand if there is a conflict. I might ask you if Sherlock was allright. And I suppose you cannot answer that.”
And Sherlock looked a bit worried at John. John looked back and saw the uncertainty in Sherlock...something no one else would have noticed. He reached up and took Sherlock’s face between his hands and kissed him gently: “Oh don’t worry love...she is nothing compared to you!”
He woke by a gentle kiss at his forehead and Sherlock’s words, “Here, John...and dinner will be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“You didn't. David praised Sherlock's performance, and why shouldn't he? Sherlock is a great violin-player. You have invited me to so many excellent concerts, with excellent musicians, so I do have something to compare with. And Sherlock is damned good!”, said Greg and kissed Mycroft again and he continued after the kiss, “And on top on all this wedding planning, you had to work on the crisis in North Korea. The one in Brazil. The terror in France, and in Italy. I can see the tension in you. I can hear it in your voice. Allow me to take care of you, Love. Give you what you need.”
And then John paused and he squinted his eyes and smiled his 'dangerous' smile, “Oh...I see. There are of course 'dark angels' as well. They obey another master. You are one of the cursed angels.....not serving God, but the Temptator....the Devil himself.”
John stopped, unable to speak any-more, but Sherlock understood. And now it was his turn to give John a hug. They stood like that a few seconds, because that was all they had before Rosie protested and wanted their attention.
Mycroft at least had the decency to blush a bit and he hurried to explain, “We...I...only make sure that it is just you two.....three when Rosie is home...that are in the flat. After that I can assure you that the cameras and the sound are turned down.”
And he got up on his feet and removed the now stained shirt and kilt and went to the back of the upholstered sofa and laid down over the back-rest. With his legs spread out and not at all caring about smearing the rest of his semen on the fabric of the sofa.
The man smiled back: “They should!.....You are going to Balmoral....and will be back here in London tomorrow!”
John smiled at him, “My brilliant genius. Adrenaline....yes it works. But I think that we have used our ration of miracles for the rest of our lives by now. Rest Sherlock, sleep. But please do not disappear into your head again. Promise?”
John smiled a bit wickedly and pointed at Sherlock's still erect cock, “But you didn't ejaculate and you still have an erection!”
Sherlock nodded, “John, it was a mercy seen through his eyes. Do you remember what he said? “Locking you up with your own worst enemy”. Mycroft genuinely believed that being in prison would be the worst for me.....and I'm afraid, that I'll have to agree. And John, I had nothing to fight for. No reason to fight like hell and hold on to life with the tip of my fingers. And Mycroft wasn't sure that this false Moriarty-threat would be enough to convince...hmm...certain powerful people in the government and even 'higher' in society.. to let me go free, even if they would benefit so much from Magnussen being dead..”
John had smiled, “Yeah....and it wouldn't surprise me at all, if she had arranged for those boys to steal the cars and just had had an extra set of keys made for our car, and then had taken the car as she disappeared after she 'died'.”
And John looked in horror at Sherlock, “Are you telling me that she drugged me with something like that devilish gas from Baskerville?!”
The next months were busy, working together with Mycroft and a whole department of 'Secret Intelligence'. They were all trying to find traces after 'The Twenty' and it was so much more easy now, because they sort of knew where to look. It was of course mostly Sherlock and Mycroft, who looked through the internet and through piles of out-prints, but John had an keen eye and he had found and recorded suspicious chatters between retired officers, as he had attended the meeting for veterans. Greg had listened carefully at his meeting for retired police-officers, but hadn't recorded anything more suspicious than talks about bribery. So John had been put on military sources and was able to find 'wrong patterns' as he called it.
“Well....I think the mistakes were mine. John. Several actually. But I need you to make a promise. That no matter what I tell you.....you will not run away. You’ll stay and listen.....and without interrupting me. After I have told you ....everything...then you can decide whether you’ll stay or leave.....But please....do not leave before that....do not make any rash decisions before you have heard what I’m going to say. Can you promise me that?”
Survive.....well. Only barely when it came to Sherlock. And their chances of getting found in time were diminishing. And his own chance of survival would get slimmer as the time passed. He could get out of the house...and then what? Not knowing where they were and probably not able to drive a car with his injuries, not to mention that he wouldn't leave Sherlock. Not as long as he was still........
Greg positioned himself behind Mycroft as 'the big spoon' and hugged him, after helping him into a pair of silken boxers, to prevent too much of the cream to be smeared on the sheets, “But I only like it because you are enjoying it.” , he said.
He looked at her with a frown, “Sherlock..yes. His mind is more amazing than mine. He could do my job, but I could never do his. He can heighten his senses and notice everything and connect the invisible dots. I can't. I've been a shitty big brother, because I've let my envy shine through and made him believe that he was not worthy of love and care and my admiration. My 'excuse' was that I was damaged too, but not as bad as he was. It took me years to find out what had happened to him and Eurus....and then it was too late. And I've always envied him his body. I have to work hard to look as I do. He
“Get your arms around me. I want to feel you.”, ordered John and began to trust into Sherlock again. Hard, powerful trusts that did hit Sherlock's prostate every time and John enjoyed how Sherlock had been taken apart. Sherlock's face was pink and his neck and chest had the same colour. His hair was a mess and he looked like a fallen angel.
But it took several more 'experiments' before Sherlock could 'bottom' in their bed, instead of in their living room or in their kitchen and Sherlock would prefer to wear at least a bit of clothing.
“You, John...I have always accused you of being such a lousy actor. You were much to honest for that sort of deceit. And now I see that I was totally wrong...about you. About Mycroft...about everyone.” And Sherlock did hide his head in his hands.
Mycroft swallowed and nodded and then he said, “I have...toys so you wouldn't need a cane. It is tissue-damage and....”
Sherlock snuggled closer to John, “Most of all to harm me and a bit to harm you. Or rather to control you. But for all what it is worth, she must have loved you...the way she was capable of. She must genuinely have believed that you were everything, she needed and wanted. She could 'retire' and be 'a doctors wife'. She had made the decision to 'retire' long before the events at the embassy at Tbilisi. She had made a deal with Norbury and didn't mind one second that the ambassador and his wife, the whole staff and the other members of the A.G.R.A.-group would die. Her needs were more important than their lives, in her eyes. She was then later hired by Magnussen and was ironically hired by Mycroft too, to keep an eye on you. She carefully drugged you and planted words in you, that might trigger your anger. Let me give you an example: on the night I returned, she used the word '
He turned towards the young doctor, “Pack your necessities and come with me...to Scotland. We have room for a lot of people. And we have jobs and houses. Not for the whole village, but most certainly for my father's closest friends.”
The angel just looked at John, “And that treatment of 'different people' just shows how far you still are from reaching a higher level...”
He took a deep breath and looked around. Everything had been taken care of. Everything had been cleared and sorted out. The hives had been told that John had died. A new keeper had been found and the hives would be moved to their new place during their winter hiatus. Sherlock had even ‘told’ the bees that he would be gone soon.
He whimpered a bit as he closed his eyes and imagined that another person was doing this to him. He moved his hands away from his body and had now the remote to the massager in one hand and the remote to the rubber-sound in the other and slowly he turned up the effect on both.
“He did die, Mary.....he flat lined twice......in the ambulance and in the operating theatre! It was a bloody miracle that he survived! He had lost too much blood!”
“Oh shut up. He really tried to repent and he was just a child himself, when all that with Eurus began. He was not to blame....but oh God, the grown-ups around you. They were almost as shitty as my parents. About Mycroft, I think that I have stopped wanting to hit him at any given moment by now. Sherlock, Mycroft was just as much a victim as you....or Eurus. Just not as bad...if you can compare suffering. And I know that he painted himself into a corner regarding Magnussen and had to work hard to make damage control afterwards. I know we suffered because of Mycroft's miscalculations, but he was not the dark villain that I first thought him to be.”
And then John realised something. That Sherlock had thought John had been repulsed by the thought that Sherlock was made of the same material as the creature, Frankenstein's creature, whereas John had tip-toed around Sherlock, because he had been afraid of triggering some memories from Sherlock's childhood.
“I’ve even got an old kilt somewhere. I inherited it after said uncle as a child. I think it is in an old suitcase in the attic, here at Baker Street. I never bothered to take it with me as I moved out after you...you know. I had almost forgot it and it is probably been eaten by moths by now. I went to Mycroft to ask if you, being aristocracy, had any connection to the Holmes-Clan of Scotland. And it turned out that you have. Actually on your mother’s side and on your father’s side too.”
John went over to Sherlock's chair and touched him and once again marvelled at how soft and caring and trusting Sherlock could look at him and John couldn't help smiling back.
It was John who started the conversation, “Mycroft… When Sherlock and I started this, we promised each other that we would talk openly about our desires and needs. No more “not acknowledging the elephant in the room”. And it should apply to you too, if you want to be a part of this, is that clear?”
John had looked sternly at Sherlock and had said, “I’m OK with the riding crop and the kilts together. But all that eatable stuff, well it comes no-way near you if I am going to use that crop on you. Is that understood? We do not know the effect on stripes and welts.”
The two men were panting for a while and the “danger” subsided. John bent a bit forward and almost growled in Sherlock’s ear: “I want to fuck you right now....slowly....until you beg me to allow you to come......if you fail...I’ll punish you!”
John had accused Sherlock: “Talking about cruelty....how do you think it was to feel utterly useless, unable to do something to save your best friend when he jumped from that blasted roof in front of your bloody eyes!” had John almost shouted.
Sherlock laughed with that deep rumble of his and turned towards John, “I’m sorry Doctor, but I think that your definition of “vanilla” is a bit broader than normal. If you would recall our actions - We are both male… You gave me a humiliation enema and I was rimmed while in restraints. I was totally starkers and you had your clothes on!” and now Sherlock was smirking, “But if it’s your version of vanilla, I’m not going to complain. It was really intense and… I… I would like to return the favour.”
“And I’m going to hurt you with my words I’m afraid. For that I’ll ask you to forgive me...because it would be explained later..”
“On one condition, “ murmured Sherlock, already on the brink of sleep again, “...and that is that you are not sleeping in the room upstairs...”
She touched his arm as they came to that part of the house, “This is where it is going to happen. As I received your message, I made sure everything was ready. There is a small room. You will undress and use the gloves and the antiseptic gel and then you will put on the cock-cage. Then you'll enter the other room through the other door and kneel on the mat there with your hands behind your head and wait for your orders.”
“He was… And he refused to talk to me the first time I came home on school holidays. Something was broken… And I didn’t make it better by keeping a distance when we were older because I didn’t want to acknowledge my feelings for him. I still find them rather troublesome… It’s truly remarkable that you can accept that Sherlock and I are having sex... But I have always underestimated you.”
And then he suddenly had an expression of horror on his face, “Oh God. Mycroft is allowed to wear the tartan himself. Please tell me John, that he doesn’t plan on wearing a kilt as well....he hasn’t got the legs for it! It would bring the expression ‘thin hairy legs’ to new heights...or depths.”
Mycroft smiled as he took another sip of his whisky: “No....right now it would be too risky and I admit that the books did give it away. But who would have thought that you would actually find the only three books of hers amongst all the other books?”
Sherlock washed himself very meretriciously and to be sure that he was 'totally clean' he took an enema as well. Just to be sure. Sherlock had tried that before....the enema, because his eating-habits before John had lived in Baker Street and as John hadn't lived there any-more, had often caused it to be necessary from time to time.
“Because he had not engaged himself in a relationship of any kind afterwards.......and he would go for almost several months without...hmm....sexual release....”
“That is why they realised that it was a mistake. You'll be allowed to get...well in your case it is no longer a 'second chance'...it is more a '12
Sherlock went into the bedroom and said over his shoulder to John: “You better move your things down here. I’ll make room for them in my drawers and in my wardrobe. I suppose we are going to sleep in the same bed in the future!”
So Mycroft got up and went down into the living-room to fetch the reports....and when he returned, Sherlock was standing in his bedroom, dressed in his dressing-gown, holding the cane in his hand.
“My memories of that summer are a bit muddled too, John. And remember....at that time I wasn't at home much as I was at boarding school. I have spoken with my parents lately and they confirm that yes, we did have a dog.”
John smiled and kissed Sherlock again and continued, “.....And then you jumped and left. And I didn't feel anything but that the world had turned grey. Then I met Mary and she somehow brought colours into my world again. Nothing like you. Just colours again. Then you returned and everything was so wrong. And then she shot you. And I was so much at the hospital watching over you......”
Mycroft nodded and he had tears in his eyes, “John is....Sherlock is....My brother died to protect me and....”
Sherlock moved again and sat in John’s lap: “I know that you are trained in close combat.....but despite that....I would be able to defeat you 8 out of 10 times!”
“Weird...and nice at the same time. Confusing...but please don't stop. “, said Sherlock and shifted a bit so John's fingers went deeper into Sherlock's body.
John looked at Mycroft, “Squires. I see. So why the bloody hell did Sherlock need a flatmate and I needed to get a job to earn money?”
But back in London John hadn’t dared to contact Sherlock yet and had not written anything to Sherlock. And even if Mycroft knew now about John’s feelings for Sherlock, John had asked Mycroft to keep silent. John would tell Sherlock himself. And therefore Sherlock didn’t know that John had come to terms with his feelings for Sherlock...almost. And besides...John had decided that he would not give Sherlock false hopes and therefore John would wait until he knew for certain that his plan had worked.
Sherlock shook his head, “No...only some of it. But let me tell you about the facts concerning Carl Powers. The facts that I have now. That I've learned by now.......and after what happened with Eurus, I got the last data. And....”
Well, forward with the plot and the story. Slowly nearing the end of this story. But still 5 chapters more, before the end.
“You are dressed like that too.”, he smiled and Sherlock looked down. He was wearing his clothes from then too. The black bespoke suit, the white shirt, the blue scarf...and his Belstaff.
“No....At Bart’s I could see the net, I was supposed to land in....but it was the voices in my head that told me “give up, Sherlock, take the contents of the next syringe too. Nobody loves you. You are a freak!”...or “give up...stop fighting...there is too much pain”...I’ve had those demons inside too, John. I think we all have....more or less. But we have to face them....take them for what they are....a crazy place in your own brain, that need to be confronted, if we should stay human. Without controlling that, we are beasts....like Magnussen and Moriarty....and so many others. But not you! I wouldn’t hesitate to let you press your loaded gun against my chest! I trust you!”
“It happened the summer I was 8, Mycroft 15 and Eurus 7. Rudy's and Marilyn's son was 17....and somehow even worse than Mycroft. He was very handsome too: dark curly hair, bright eyes, handsome features and already then a body of a Greek God....”
And then Sherlock had stopped talking and Mycroft got a bit of his higher brain-functions back, “John...what about John...you have John. You can't.... I can't....”
“The blessings of modern science. A ring...emitting hormones enough to keep everything fresh and moist. And no risk of breast-cancer.”
John was sitting at the bed in one of Mycroft’s guest-rooms remembering the whole event. It had come back to him in details after his dream the other night. He had noticed the young men then, but it was first much later that Sherlock had put words to what John had seen then....no....”observed”.
After they had showered and applied Arnica-cream on each-other's buttocks and nipples, they dressed in pyjamas and went to bed together in Mycroft's bed. They had thought about sleeping naked, as both Mycroft and Sherlock sometimes did, but gave it a second thought because of the Arnica-cream. And then they were finally able to fall asleep. Curled up together as they hadn't done since Mycroft was 12 and Sherlock 5.
John shook his head. And looked at Sherlock, “Why do I have a feeling that this is going to take a while? And that we maybe should move to a nicer, warmer place with a functioning kitchen and maybe a place where we can sleep, when the tale is finished?”
Sherlock had looked at John and just said, “It is maybe none of my business, but why do I have the feeling that that family has taken more care of Rosie than expected? That she has stayed by them far longer than...normal?”
Mycroft continued, “If Magnussen hadn't been so coy and confident about his abilities to threaten us all with the information he could distribute
Great Britain leaving EU had led to the isolation, that had harmed Great Britain's influence in the world greatly. As time went by, the power-balance tilted more to the East and Western Europe got rather isolated. Including EU and Germany and France. Even more so because the military slowly took over so many of the private companies that provided knowledge. It was only the military that had the resources to launch rockets with satellites up into orbit and thus maintained international connections and communication-means. And only the military had the finances to build the server-facilities used by the internet. It was not only in Europe that things were just like that . It was like that all over the world. And looked upon that development in the political climate, with eyes from year 2020, one could just say that even if the countries still called themselves by the same old names and even if they still had 'democratic elected governments', they were most certainly more correctly labelled 'military dictatorships'. In North America and in South America the situation was the same. In Asia and Indonesia. Even in Great Britain too.
Sherlock shook his head, “I've tried. But in vain. And then I just stopped explaining. As long as I was allowed to do it without interruptions, everybody around me could call it what they wanted. I didn't care!”
Sherlock should remember something important about Mycroft too. But it did slip away all the time. Why was he so weak and tired? What had happened?
And John got a bit startled as Sherlock had moved and he was now kneeling in front of John's chair. And had taken John's free hands into his own bigger ones, “You see, John, that is why our friendship can be what is was before I had to abandon you, before I had to jump. Your view upon me and on yourself. You do understand now that Mary changed that. With drugs and carefully planted words. She made you doubt yourself, doubt your own abilities and skill-set and she made you doubt me. She drugged me too. Made me see things that wasn't there. Her for example. I kept seeing her and she had made those DVD's to make sure that she would get her revenge in the end. I would have killed myself waiting in vain for you to come to my rescue, because I would have believed her insane explanation and suggestion to how to save you, by putting myself in danger. By almost getting myself killed. And you? You would have come to late to rescue me.......and would have been eaten up by a feeling of guilt. She almost managed to ruin both you and me, but we are stronger than that. Aren't we?”
Sherlock paused and then he continued in a totally different tone, “While I was… away… I had to do nasty things to make people talk… To torture them. I had enjoyed being “sadistic” in the club, making people fall apart, making them desperate for release, controlling their orgasms… But to have to actually torture those people from Moriarty’s net… It was terrible. I knew exactly what to do… How to put a bit pressure on this joint, how to break fingers, how to shoot them and still keep them alive… At least long enough to make them talk.”
She just smiled before she answered. She had read 'Ender's Game' too, “I think they both have streaks of both actually. Mycroft has more feelings, than he would ever allow himself to show and Sherlock can be cold and calculating. You knew that. You have seen that side of him, and thought it to be the only one. I think Great Britain would face a much worse destiny, than being ruled by these two men. After all, they were made to be like that. To be rulers.
And now Sherlock had to swallow a lump in his throat and tamp down his arousal, because he knew exactly which blue item, John had borrowed. And 'old' and 'new' wasn't that difficult: 'old' was the sporran and 'new' was the rest of John's outfit. Bespoke...every bit of it. And John was looking so incredible handsome in it. As Sherlock had walked towards his husband to be, he hadn't noticed anybody else. Just John...And oh...did he have plans for their wedding night!
“And that is why you should consider visiting that sex-shop. Like that you can relieve some of the stress, before you get desperate. You know by now, what would work....and that without damage. Just take care, right?”
John smiled back: “It wasn’t that bad.....only sometimes......and very awkward to be there...well after Mary shot you and after she was killed. But maybe you were right. It was a place to bury myself into something I’m good at, not thinking too much. I’ll think about quitting later. OK?”
(I have invented that the words about the Eastwind was originally said, not by ACD's Sherlock Holmes, but by a politician, Neville Chamberlain and predicting WW2)
“I didn’t dare remove the cock-ring” whispered John into Sherlock’s right ear whilst biting gently at the earlobe, “I haven’t worn the pants since the dinner! But I’ve but in a butt-plug!”
Then Sherlock made two phone-calls from his new phone and then he turned towards John, grappled a bunch of paper-tissues and rubbed his face. Then he turned towards John and smiled. The glint was back in his eyes. He looked suddenly one hundred percent more healthy.
Sherlock had chosen the smallest harness for John to wear. It was a series of straps that wrapped around John’s upper body, but had a strap which led down the front of the body, that was kept in place with a cock ring. There was laughter when John had first tried the harness on as the cock ring was far too small, preventing John from getting an erection. The harness was returned to the tailor and the relevant adjustment had been made.
Sherlock looked at Mycroft with an abyss of hurt and sadness in his eyes, “You all seem to think, that I do not have feelings and sometimes even accuse me of that. When it is in fact the opposite: my feelings run deep and that I do not always show them, doesn't indicate that I do not feel them.....Just that I choose not to show the world, how vulnerable I am. So, now you can rant about 'sentiment' and 'love' and 'chemical effect'. All the things you have said to feel superior. Hurray, Mycroft, you have won: Yes...you are the smartest one....and yes you were right. Satisfied?!”
“I know what damage freezing does to living tissue, but who knows what Sir Thomas Baskerville did to that man. And remember, Thomas Baskerville had practised on sheep and smaller animals before. Is wasn't just a procedure taken out of the blue.”
And then Rosie died. John was devastated. He had loved that little girl, even if she wasn't his, and he and Mary did find each other a bit in their grief over Rosie.
Sherlock continued, “I can never be what he needs. Even if he should finally admit that he is bi-sexual and that he secretly dreams of kissing me and shagging me through the mattress.”
Sherlock stopped at the door and looked back at Mycroft and smiled, “I could almost feel that you ogled my arse.”
“Oh dearest. No...gender is irrelevant. It only means something on your lower level. God doesn't have a specific gender, even if you prefer to use 'Him'. And I don't either.....”
He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that they were at the club and only Sherlock’s tug at his sleeve made John aware of his surroundings again.
Sherlock smiled, “Yes. Irene liked the name....and so did I. It is just you, John, because you did connect it with the events happening at your mothers' uncle's house. It is actually a very nice name. 'William Hamish Adler' is the whole of it. So... there are a bit of me, a bit of you and a bit of Irene in that name.”
And Sherlock could only answer “Yeah” to everyone...John was nearly just as god as Sherlock at identifying wounds and scars.
He closed his eyes again and let the sensations wash over him. He chose one of the silicone 'sleeves', designed for masturbation. All of them were clear and looked most of all like sea-cucumbers. He had been shown how he could use one of them upside down, so the ridges and tiny spikes would affect the head of his cock.
“Obviously...since I had Rosie. And at a time after she was born, I doubted that she was mine after all. So she was tested and Rosie
There wouldn't be time for an enema and John had planned exactly what he would do and he remembered the first time he had introduced the 'tools' to Sherlock:
And finally John could tell what had happened that day in September 6 years ago. It turned out that the young man whose life he had saved had been Prince William! That the Royal family had been looking for John ever since...but major Armitage never got to tell enough about the doctor who had saved young William’s life and the phone call home to England from the helicopter that fell down only minutes after, had only revealed “army doctor”...”I gave him my card”....”saved Prince William life”.....”risking his own”....”didn’t even get his name”...And Prince William could only remember fragments and kept on talking about the “golden soldier-angel that had saved him”.
Mycroft rose and went to a drawer and found pictures as well as 3 sterile piercing-sets. Complete with needles and jewellery.
John didn’t have an almost eidetic memory like Sherlock but he could never the less recall a lot of their conversations and encounters and adventures together and as he was sitting there in that train with nothing better to do, he did contemplate over every single one of them again and again, but now with the knowledge of Sherlock’s love for John. John realized that he had indeed been cruel to Sherlock and he couldn’t even tell him a “I’m sorry” because of that blasted malfunctioning mobile-telephone. Maybe he would even make things worse if he tried to tell Sherlock. He did not intend to leave Mary or Mina and he wasn’t interested in Sherlock that way. He loved the female body!...The softness...the scent of their sex. Their full breasts!.......
John could only shake his head. Sherlock was amazing, he truly was, “So that is why you can forgive Mycroft...and your parents...and me?”
John nodded as Sherlock offered yet a few fingers of that whisky. This time with a few ice cubes to dilute it a bit.
John sighed and put his other hand’s palm against his right eye: “Look...this is not easy for me. My parents were rather religious.....so they sort of threw Harriet out of the house when she told them she was homo-sexual. And it took 2 years of hard work from my side to make them see each other again. I was their hope....their heir.....and I couldn’t tell them.... or even myself..... that there were a couple of boys I wouldn’t mind to kiss! So.....I denied that side of me....and having no difficulties to attract women’s attention...I stayed with that. Only in Afghanistan I found another male officer attractive enough to wonder if....”
And Sherlock could only answer “Yeah” to everyone...John was nearly just as god as Sherlock at identifying wounds and scars.
And then Greg let the cane fall on Mycroft's buttocks with a loud crack. Taking very much care not to break the skin, but with enough force to make welts. That was what Mycroft needed right now: the sharp pain and the knowledge that there would be pain tomorrow too.
“Truth be told, John...I didn't know if the off-switch was a booby trap. And that it wouldn't explode the moment I turned it off. And I still have a feeling that not everything was to be taken at face-value regarding all that explosive material and the plan of blowing the Parliament to the moon.”
And right there Greg got a bit distracted, because having sex with Mycroft was exceptionally good and last night had been extraordinary and Greg felt the first tendril of arousal and looked at Mycroft who had just continued, “....And if you could get your brain back on track again and listen to me? Then the statistic would......Oh God why am I even saying this, because of course I'm not pregnant. Don't look at me like that, Greg. Or I might never get this said and I'm afraid that you are going to be mad at me...”
When Sherlock heard John entering the room he didn’t lift his head but kept it bowed and said, “I’m sorry John, Sir. I insulted you and hurt you with my words. I know you were trying to help me and I was wrong using my safe-word. Maybe you shouldn’t have listened. Just like Victor didn’t!.... Sir!”
John did put on the nitrile-gloves and covered Sherlock's very erect cock with the antiseptic gel and then he began to ease one of the sounds down Sherlock's urethra.
Greg smiled, “And the kidnapping of two secretaries and eyewitnesses explanations of the whereabouts of a certain car did most of the job....”
John shook his head: “But to kill her own child as she found out how much such a tiny creature demands of you. That just shows how cold and calculating she really was. And it is really no surprise that it was that other assassin from the pool. Sherlock told me about it today, Mycroft. That David....he was the father. What a fool I have been!”
They told a story about rumours about a strange man living on the moor. About a village where everybody had been contaminated and died, except from one man and then about the expedition to the North with participation of the 'recently widowed Lord Thomas Baskerville, who had lost his son in the same accident, where Sir Thomas' wife had died'....
So over the next many weeks...the time it took for Sherlock to at least get so well, that he could manage to move around without the wheelchair and manage to eat on his own, they had time to talk and explain. Not only John and Sherlock, but with Mycroft as a participant too. And Sherlock told about how he had tried to play out different scenarios in his head. The things that his mind had invented and investigated, had been coloured by the things , he had heard whilst being almost unconscious. The old cases, John had read out aloud. The old cold cases, that Greg had brought with him, just to have something to read out loud for Sherlock. The old stories Mrs. Hudson had read for him and that Molly had read too. The things John and Mycroft had talked about. Because during Sherlock's hospitalization, John and Mycroft had become sort of friends, united by their worry for Sherlock's fate. John had learned to appreciate Mycroft's dry humour, so similar to Sherlock's. And Mycroft had learned to appreciate John's intelligence and personality...and they had found, that they both shared a fondness for 'Film Noire' and horror-movies.
John looked at Sherlock: “So in reality I do not need to earn that much money now, doing that bloody boring job anymore when we do not have enough well-paid cases?”
Mycroft smiled and John said, “Oh..yes. And people think it is just in James Bond movies that people have a false poisonous tooth. OK, that explains the 'not-risking-giving-away-secrets'...and I suppose that you had a pill for Sherlock too, if you had gotten caught. To give him an easy way out. But how could you watch it?”
Sherlock wanted Sherrinford to be the one to find him. The other letter was just to tell that Sherlock had taken his own life...voluntarily. In case someone else than Sherrinford would arrive first.
After the wedding and over the next couple of years, things settled down for the two married couples.
“No...because I couldn't be there for him. And it did pain Mycroft that it took him so long to get into a position, where he could outmanoeuvre Magnussen and get me back to England. Mycroft had thought it to be just half a year, maximum. But in reality Magnussen just let Mycroft believe that he had been outmanoeuvred. Magnussen made my brother dance. The only miscalculation Magnussen made...well the three miscalculations to tell the truth, was to underestimate Mary, to underestimate my ability to survive....even if it was a miracle...and to underestimate my willingness to die again, to save you and Mary and Mycroft. That did cost him his life in the end. His 'hubris' was punished...”
A lot of people were of course devastated, but she had managed to smile and say to Sherlock, as the ambulance had taken her to the hospital, “I'm old, Sherlock. If it is time, I'll accept it. And you will have to do that too, Love. If there is 'another side' I'll wait for you, promise!”
And John discovered that Sherlock breath was even and he was sound asleep. John smiled and gave himself time to admire Sherlock's body again. Sherlock didn't look like a man in his forties. His face would give away that he wasn't in his twenties any-more, but not his body. In fact he looked better than John could ever remember. Sherlock had gained more muscles and a bit of body fat and that arse of his! Two beautifully rounded globes that showed that Sherlock's had strong muscles there too. And John knew that to him heaven was to be found between those two globes. No matter what part of his body, he would put in there. Tongue or cock. Both could work taking Sherlock apart and John loved that.
Sherlock smiled and said that he planned to do that too and then they separated and didn't meet until they took the cab back home again. Each of them loaded with a lot of shopping bags.
“Oh God, no. Musgrave, the real building, is totally ruined. A house, partly burned and then left alone, would really crumble into a pile of debris. The Musgrave from the..hmm..events...was not that ruined. For an artistic effect. No I'm talking about the Holmes' Estate. The big house you saw, when you visited my parents. They have chosen to live in 'The Shooter's House' and the Estate is permanently rented by a hotel. But we do still have some rights and the hotel could be a suitable setting for a marriage.”
Sherlock took a deep breath, “This is difficult. It was so traumatic that I deleted it from my mind....so if I cry or have to stop, bare with me.....”
John suddenly understood, “That was the reason for all the clutter at Baker Street! You moved it around in certain patterns....and if they didn't fit, you knew it was false...”
Later people agreed that even if André Rieu had played Sherlock’s piece virtuously, Sherlock’s version had been the best. Every note, every movement of the bow had been a declaration of love for John.
John caught a glimpse of tears in Sherlock’s eyes.....and thought he understood. The only other time Sherlock had tears in his eyes recently was when he rather reluctantly had told John about other nightmares....where John had been killed....blown to pieces in that swimming pool so many years ago, being shot by snipers, being abducted and killed.....each time it had played out in nightmares for Sherlock.
And Sherlock obediently held his hands above his head and closed his eyes...a bit lost in pleasure as John opened Sherlock's white shirt, and let his hands wander over Sherlock's pectorals and caressed his nipples with his thumbs. Sherlock moaned.
John smiled, “The only reason why they didn't manage to harm you more, was that a nurse discovered them and had dialed Mycroft immediately. Mary had seen Magnussen on the parking lot at the hospital and followed him secretly. She shot him right through his head about a week after and tried to flee out of the country afterwards. But I was waiting for her in our flat. The morning after you were shot, I went home to grasp a fresh shirt and a few necessities and.....” John took a deep breath.....”She had been at home to. Had tried to hide her assassin-outfit. Oh god...she must have thought me to be so stupid...because it was so easy to find. Hidden behind the cupboard in the bathroom and under the bathtub, behind the paneling. Including the false pregnancy-belly. Or rather 'bellies' as there were several. So...no 'Rosie'. Mary had never been pregnant.”
Sherlock looked at their intertwined hands......yes his hand was a young man’s hand too. Just like John’s. Sherlock’ brow furrowed in confusion when he looked at John again, “Weren’t you wearing fatigues and a T-shirt just a moment ago?” he asked.
She smiled and began to touch him, “I want you. This you. This strong and yet caring man. The real Mycroft. You are better at this 'hiding your real self' than your brother....and he is rather good at it too. To hide the real 'Sherlock' and 'Mycroft' behind your walls of defence. Him hiding behind his 'sociopath-mask' and you hiding behind your 'Ice-man' demeanour. You are such an amazing man, Mycroft Holmes, and I should have married you the first time I saw you...even if I would have been accused of 'robbing a cradle'. I am painfully aware that I'm 16 years older than you.....but I made the mistake of my life marrying that husband of mine.”
And the last call was to the young doctor Sanderson. To tell him that John had died and Sherlock intended to follow him....and that the house now, with deed and everything, belonged to him. The doctor didn't try to persuade Sherlock from committing suicide, just like the priest and the DI hadn't tried. Actually, they had had that conversation years ago.....and even if it was 'in contradiction to their jobs', so to speak, they could fully understand Sherlock's actions.
She pulled the blanket up over him and left for a few seconds, so she could get out of the outfit and she returned after a very few moments, only dressed in her black silk dressing-gown, with a jar of cream She removed the blanket and began to apply it on Mycroft's welts and carefully on his wounds. It would speed the healing-process and would soothe the pain as well.
The political situation in the world had grown tense and a lot of countries were on the verge of war. Just...it really never came to that big confrontation. Just 'encounters' and small attacks and acts of governmental supported terror directed at goals on the territories of other countries. The relationship between Japan and China was...strained and complicated. Especially after North Korea did collapse in 2030 after their 4
Suddenly Sherlock stopped. He too was panting hard. He rose and reached his hand out for John asking,”Bathroom and then bedroom? And would you wear your collar?”
The boy was rescued. Not unharmed......the doctors would probably not be able to save his foot, which had been tethered to a wall with a much too tight manacle. And he had been raped. But he was alive unlike the rest of the children, who had been found buried in the soil of the garden behind the killer's house. Unfortunately the killer himself had vanished.
John remained inside Sherlock, because both men wanted to ride the after-chock still being closely connected and Sherlock had wrapped his long legs around John, reminding John of an octopus and John wondered for a few seconds about how many legs Sherlock actually had.
His thoughts were wandering and he was almost asleep and he saw Mary’s body in front of him. Even if he didn’t love her anymore, he still liked her....and her body. He started dreaming that he kissed her and caressed her breasts, feeling the nipples harden under his hands. He heard her moan as he buried his nose between her breasts taking her scent in...Licking his way down her stomach....swirling his tongue in her belly-button......licking her almost totally shaved mount of Venus....spreading her legs further and licking the juices from her vagina and finding her clitoris and hear her moan...
He wanted...everything...so he just nodded and she changed to nitril-gloves. And turned the butt-plug down a bit.
Suddenly John got a bit angry again, “And you can get arsed to find just a tiny fraction of a second to make people understand how wrong they are, accusing people of horrific sins if they happen to love a person of the same gender?! People here on Earth get killed, put into jail. They get tortured, flogged and persecuted and put through horrendous 'treatments' to be 'cured'...and then you just tell me that it is irrelevant!?!”
“But age must have caught up with 'Thomas' finally. This article tells about an very old shepherd, who died during a snow-blizzard in 1958.” John pointed at said newspaper-clipping. And then John frowned, and remembered Sherlock's question.“But what has that to do with freezers?” John wanted to know.
John continued with his mouth down over Sherlock's stomach until he reached the waistband of the kilt. He used his hands to push the fabric aside and Sherlock's proud erection was now to be seen between the layers.
Like that several months passed. John had accepted to be a temporary at the clinic as Sarah had begged him. “We do miss your skill-set, John. So much. And you of course. And we'll accept if you can't come and just notify at short notice and even if you have to leave earlier. Just come if convenient. Please?”
Hamish had found the job from his dreams and was deeply involved in genetic research and Rosie was busy in her field....and down in Sussex Sherlock and John just grew a little bit older every day. Sherlock kept his hair but it was a bit shorter than in his youth and with a lot of grey streaks. And John kept his hair on his head as well, but it was all grey now. Sherlock found that John was as beautiful as ever, despite wrinkles and grey hair and John could still lose his breath over Sherlock's beauty. And the villagers just admired their love for each other and they laughed a bit, but fondly, at how those two men were so deeply in love still at their age....that was in their 60s, in their 70s and even in their 80's.
Of course it wasn't that easy. John had so many more questions about what had happened while Sherlock had been travelling around the world in his more than two years away. Because John could see now how much of an arse he had been for not asking, for not wondering, for not seeing the hurt in Sherlock's eyes and the stiffness in Sherlock's movements even if a month had passed after John's attack in the restaurant as Sherlock returned.
Sherlock nodded and sighed, “It is a long story and a pathetic one too. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“You died in that cellar, Sherlock. And it can't have been a fucking dream, Sherlock, because since when have there been smell and scent and touch in dreams? I could feel the coldnes of your dead body and smell all the blood....”
And he lifted the duvet and showed his foot. Greg looked at it and Rohan was impressed that Greg didn't flinch but just said, “I see what you mean....” and pointed at Leuris and Eshan and said, “With the right prosthetic limbs, you will be managing better than walking on that mess that your right foot is right now.”
She pointed at the two cooking pots, “I've made a soup for Sherlock. He hasn't eaten for days, and he'll have to start slowly, and for you there is a nice lamb-casserole. I can bring you more, if Rosie is going to have her supper up here. Or I'll just keep her downstairs. And you, Mr. John Hamish Watson-Holmes. Off to bed with you too. Cuddle up next to your husband. You haven't slept for a long time either!”
John nodded, “And you survived being in that area. That was some miracle. I think I can recall that more than 50 people were killed and a lot more were wounded...” | [
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“Uh, this is Peter, my intern. I invited him along for educational reasons, you see,” he says loud enough for other people to hear. Peter sags a bit in relief after that, shaking Otto’s hand with a smile that accentuates he’s less uncomfortable now.
“So, Peter got bitten by something?” May asks. “How is that possible? Shouldn’t he be immune to things like these by now?”
“Jesus, have they been feeding you at all?” Peter asks, a bit shocked at the skinny appearance of the person that was once his best friend. Harry’s permanent grin goes back up, bringing wrinkles in his scarred cheeks. He looks truly crazy, with that distant look in his eyes.
“A lady gave me money again. I always bring it here whenever that happens,” he admits. “They can use it a lot more than I can.”
“No he isn’t, I’m sorry,” Pepper says. Tony squeezes his eyes shut to hold back a few tears. He keeps on forgetting that Steve isn’t in New York. Why can’t he just remember?
If Peter would just introduce himself as Tony’s son from another universe, this Tony would look him up. Peter would be giving him hope that he’s not alone, make him happy that he has an heir – which Peter knows was an issue for Tony before he knew about Peter being his son. And when this Tony will then find out that his son is dead, that he died before he even got to meet him… Peter can not do that to this Tony.
Exactly then, somebody puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder. That causes a reaction inside the boy, who ducks down while grabbing the person by the wrist, turning it around in a hold that must be painful. When he turns around to look the person in his face, he quickly comes to see that it’s one of the other interns with a pained look in his face.
“Of course I’m here, Dad. Where-else would I go?” he asks. Then he turns back at Dr. Palmer, who is looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.”
Maybe Mr. Stark should just let him fall; let him know the fate that befell Gwen. He would deserve it, after all. He made
Oh, shit, right, the man still didn’t know Tony was Peter’s father. “Uh, just because, his internship, you know…” she tried saving herself. Luckily Steve was tired enough to just go with her flow.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Peter. Yaël tried to read the text, but it took her a little while as the letters started dancing around.
“I have to go help them out.” He said to Yaël, already turning around. Yaël nodded, of course he had to… he was
to be there as well. But no matter how many funerals he’s been to, it seems like nobody ever really gets used to it.
After the commotion around Steve has died down, the door opens up again. This time, Peter recognizes the Winter Soldier, who pretty much looks like crap. His hair is pulled together messily, his arm grabbed by Wanda, who talks to him in a hushed voice. The man tries to ignore the fact that everybody’s looking at him. Peter feels sorry for him. When he feels Tony tense up next to him, he puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. Tony quickly clears his throat.
The way it was obvious for Tony that the kid didn’t want to fight Steve. Because Peter wouldn’t want to do it, yet he still did it because Tony asked…
Peter has his eyes closed – when did he close them? He’s lying on some sort of mattress with a too-heavy duvet lying on top of him. His head is giving him a lot of grief, and even pressing the palm of his hands against his brow doesn’t help him.
“Yeah, I- uh… how did you know?” he returns. He’s pretty sure they couldn’t have told him already, right? But T’Challa just takes out his phone and hands it to Steve, who gets to see an article published online.
“We don’t need to bring that up. Bygones and all,” the engineer mutters back. Peter frowns, taken aback by the answer. Of course, he knows Tony Stark well enough now to know that the man avoids conversations like these like it’s an infectious disease.
“Well how do you want to do this, then? Wanna get on my back? Or should I hold you in an embrace like Iron Man does with Cap?” he jokes along, and Hawkeye, too, starts laughing. It’s a stupid comment, though, because Iron Man doesn’t hold Cap any differently than he would with anybody else. It’s just because he’s just seen it happen a few minutes ago that he brings it up.
“It’s Been a Long, Long Time, if you have that one,” Steve said. It still felt weird speaking to the air and having some British AI that always seemed ever so slightly judgmental respond, but he was getting used to it.
“Looks like,” Steve responded noncommittally. He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself, then looked over at Tony again, or, rather, at the apparently fascinating refrigerator ice dispenser just behind Tony’s shoulder. “I know there were…things…I should have told you. I’m not proud of how I handled everything. But, you didn’t have to,” he stopped, blinking and looking down and away again, and it nearly broke Tony to see that. “You didn’t have to pretend, Tony. You didn’t have to---I didn’t need to be coddled. I was fine. I was fine, and this…this thing with you…I can’t do this. I told you that. But then you---why couldn’t you just let it go?” Steve demanded, voice rising with each word until he was nearly shouting, but under it all, under the anger and the pain, Tony could hear the plea in his words.
A stargazer lily sat cradled in the palm of the left gauntlet, its dark pink petals spread wide over the repulsor as it stretched upwards, towards the sky.
Steve remembered his mom, how she always tried to have everything just perfect, so Joseph wouldn’t get mad. Dinner on the table at exactly six. The plates turned so the flowers were all facing the right direction. Salt and pepper shakers by Joseph’s water. Tap water, room temperature. Everything just so. Except it was never enough, of course, and eventually, something would set him off, some perceived slight or failing, and… and Steve didn’t really want to think any more about that.
Guilt knifed through Steve. Of course. Of course. He should have thought--he had all this time here at the room, and he could have changed into his own clothes, but it hadn’t occurred to him how it would make Brock feel. He’d been wallowing in whatever was going on in his own head and not even thinking about how this was affecting his boyfriend.
“Fuck if I know,” Tony breathed out, running a hand up and down his face as he twisted back and forth on his heels, suddenly too full of some kind of energy that wanted out.
A firm pressure on the small of his back cut through the cacophony in Steve’s mind. Everything went cold for a moment. Like the way the water feels when you first break the surface, so cold, you forget how to move, Steve thought, then drew in a shuddering breath that burned his throat and lungs and followed the pressure forward, leaning down until his chest met the bed.
Conference Room Steve was sitting next to Tony, rubbing his hand up and down the inside of Tony’s thigh, where he held Tony’s knee captured on his lap. The position kept Tony’s legs spread wide. Steve was fairly sure that was the whole point. His skinny counterpart pulled his mouth off Tony’s cock, let go of Tony’s balls and trailed a finger down the crease of his ass, catching some of the come leaking out of him and circling the puffy, red rim of his hole until it glistened. Steve watched the motion as if enthralled. He couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away. He kept telling himself he should, but he just watched the slow, hypnotic turn of the small finger around Tony’s hole until it suddenly disappeared inside to the knuckle, making Tony’s hips judder and his body quake with a low, shuddering moan.
The water prickled against his skin, stinging slightly with the force and heat of it. He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against the cool tiles, bracing his good hand against the wall beside him, letting the water wrap its warmth around him. He still felt cold inside, couldn’t quite shake it off, despite the heat. He adjusted the water temperature slightly, making it even hotter. His mind was filled with smoke and explosions, a sudden, shooting pain and then soft eyes, a warm, determined grip, the slam of a door. It all rolled around in his head, one after the other, a muddled jumble of pain and comfort and some vague idea that slipped through his fingers every time he tried to grab onto it. He’d wanted Tony’s presence tonight, no sense in denying that. Tony was his friend, and certainly, if he’d asked…if he’d said…well, Tony would have stayed, of course. That’s what friends did. And Tony would understand not wanting to be alone. Wanting someone to be near, just to reach out and touch something real and solid and warm
“Always so warm,” Tony repeated, and then Steve felt a streak of cold down the center of his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath. Oh. “So warm everywhere.” The line of cold dipped lower, over his stomach, to his belly button where it pooled for a moment.
Tony’s birthday, and he wanted him to have a good time, or maybe because Steve was too stubborn for his own good, who knew? Didn’t really matter. Steve was trying to control the switch, and that was something.
“Please. James, please. I’m asking. For me, yeah, but for him, too. If you think I’m wrong about how he feels, then walk out. But, if you think we have a chance—I’m asking,” Tony pleaded.
“Sometimes I recite the Pledge of Allegiance for dirty talk,” Tony said. Steve rolled his eyes and buried his face into the curve of Tony’s neck. “He salutes, but probably not how you thi—“
“I have no idea,” Tony shrugged, one eyebrow raising as if he thought Steve might furnish some answer.
“I didn’t mean it like—I just—I would’ve—I would’ve helped, okay? ‘S all I’m saying. I would’ve helped. I think. Probably. If you could’ve gotten past Pepper’s gatekeeping, gold digger radar. I mean, she’d take one look at you and imagine picking up your dry cleaning, which, to be fair, isn’t without some precedent, so,” Tony acknowledged, dancing his head back and forth and rolling his eyes. “I’m just—I’m saying, I helped them. The others. Their—the families. I helped them.”
,” Anthony whispered across Steve’s skin as he spread his hand over Steve’s chest, the words echoing in Steve’s head with drumbeat. “
Happy hurried to shoo the tourists away and held the door open for Steve and Tony. Steve held out his hand, and Tony took it as he crawled out, then didn’t let go because that was what couples did. He felt Steve give his hand a squeeze, and he looked up and caught Steve’s eye. Steve leaned his head down and sort of nudged at Tony’s cheek. Not quite a kiss, but somehow even more intimate than any kiss Tony had ever experienced.
“Now, bend over until your chest touches the bed. Head to the side, there you go,” Tony said as Steve lowered his chest down.
“You should put that in the brochure,” Tony muttered, swiping a hand over his face and ending up leaving his hair haphazard curls, sticking up at all angles.
“You’re really going to make me say all this to the water, huh?” Steve called out, jerking his chin up as he looked out over the waves. “You know, as often as Bucky said I liked the sound of my own voice, I gotta say, I’m getting kind of tired of talking to myself here, Shellhead.”
“Let’s see…” Tony began, adjusting the scope. “That’s…Virgo. A bit there, see?” Tony said, shifting over so Steve could lean forward and look though the eyepiece. “Supposed to look like a woman lying down. I don’t know. I think the Greeks were drunk or something. There are over three thousand galaxies just east of her left arm, though. Here, let me just—“ Tony said, readjusting the scope just a bit so the spiral galaxy near the top of the Virgo Cluster came into view. “So, kinda cool, I guess.”
Coulson escorted them through the lobby, giving Tony a bit of history on SHIELD as they went. He pointed to a large framed portrait of a beautiful brunette in a deep olive green military uniform that stood at one end of the main lobby next to a gold plaque.
“I was drinking plenty of fluids. Ask Rhodey. Wait. Nevermind. Don’t ask Rhodey about that,” Tony amended. “I’m sorry you had to cut your mission short. Any chance it was one of those completely boring, everyday kind of routine missions that you go on just for kicks and free booze?”
A sheet of thick plastic draped over the various pieces of hardware. The fluorescent lights made the scene look almost eerie, some kind of modern-day equivalent of covering the mirrors lest the dead become trapped. He walked over and lifted up the sheet the veiled his workstation, slinging the edge off to one side. Dead and trapped in a mirror, he thought. Watching your loved ones go through their lives, missing you, mourning you, but you couldn’t reach them. He had the sudden urge to fling the plastic back down, but didn’t. Instead, his eyes caught on a glint of bright, silver metal, still shiny after all these years. Tony picked up the tin can that hung from a string by the workstation and held the open end to his mouth like a microphone.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” Steve snapped. He frowned, then forced his hand to release the seat. Rumlow wasn’t, of course, talking about anyone in particular. Just making conversation. Locker room talk. That was what they called it these days, apparently, as if the location made it acceptable. Like it could be said here, between Alphas, and left here, never making its way outside.
Getting your ass kicked at KISS mini-golf was quite the humbling experience, Tony decided as he waited for Steve to collect his trophy slushie for scoring a hole-in-one down Gene Simmons’ tongue. Words that Tony wanted to never, ever think again.
“I’m not toasting that,” Rhodes said, shaking his head and pulling a disgusted look. “BARF, Tony? Seriously?”
“I’m literally standing right here. You know I can hear you, right?” Rhodes cut in, stepping forward as Tony grinned.
“No, Tony. No. They’re not. Remember?,” Steve huffed, pulling Tony closer so he could tug the amulet out from under Tony’s tunic. “Tony is my people. Tony is my home,” Steve told him. “Right here, Tony. This is where I belong. Do you understand?”
…Steve’s body bucked wildly as he came into his hand, quickly trying to catch what he could before he made a mess on his bed that meant he’d have to wash the sheets himself instead of leaving it to the cleaning crew. Grabbing Kleenex to clean up the mess as best he could, Steve stepped to the bathroom to clean up and then sat on the edge of the bed, hands braced against the mattress.
He pushed a third slick finger in, heard Tony’s groan that sounded almost petulantly disappointed, then pulled his hand away and grabbed the jar, adding more of the jellied oil to his hands, then spreading it again over himself. Just that touch was enough to send another spurt of liquid from the tip into his hand as he rubbed. He stared at it a moment, then used that, too, looking up to see Tony’s wide eyes staring at him with a heated gaze that burned through Steve’s body, making a sweat break out over his flushed skin.
“Breathe,” Tony ordered gently, and Steve realized by the cold tightness in his chest that he had forgotten to do that. He drew in a breath, took in too much air with it, but swallowed it down with a shudder.
Surgical suite. Surgical. Surgery. That had been on the sign on the wall opposite the elevator, just below Laboratory and above Radiology, with an arrow helpfully pointing to the right. Small, color coded arrow-shaped signs pointed him forward like breadcrumbs. People in white coats or SHIELD uniforms turned to look at him as he took off down the hall. Someone shouted. He almost crashed into a nurse pushing a cart. Crash cart, his mind supplied, and that was enough to send him into a sprint. A hand grabbed for his arm, but he was used to dodging, and they got a fingertip on the sleeve of his shirt for their efforts.
"Which would all be well and good, maybe of interest to the IRS, but not exactly under our purview," Fury continued, "except AIM has been funneling tech and money to a terrorist organization known as Hydra. Hydra has been funding and supplying wars and things we don’t call war all over the world since sometime just after the First World War. We sent Agent Romanov in to infiltrate the club, see what she could find out about our players. Agent Barton volunteered.”
“Well, anyway. Just thought you should know. Might take a bit longer than you were hoping, if he gets a lawyer involved,” Pepper said, munching steadily on the bag of fries. “Here,” she said, tossing him a cheeseburger wrapped in greased-stained wax paper. “Eat something.”
“Would you at least concede that if the situation were reversed, if it was me down at the bottom of the pit, that you wouldn’t be the first to jump in?” Tony pressed.
“Yeah, I’ll bet he’s just crying into his billions,” Brock shot back. Steve could hear the sneer in his voice, but chose to ignore it.
“Nah. I can handle Ross,” Tony assured him. He blinked at his phone, then lowered it and looked over at Steve. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out, okay? Wanna know how?” Tony asked, a small smile playing over his lips.
“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Steve said with a lopsided attempt at a smile that fell flat. Sam huffed out a short, caustic laugh, then scrubbed a hand over his face. He nodded at Steve again, firmer this time, and turned back to the door.
“I do, Sir,” JARVIS replied, the AI’s simulated voice going quiet and soft in Tony’s ear. “It looks very good.”
“Sorry. I know, I’ve been gone—the mission, it…well, missions really. Took a while,” Steve replied with a air of uneasiness, shifting a bit where he stood clutching the bag of food.
It dawned on him with a sort of slow-moving humiliation burning through him that the man wasn’t going to signal him. That even though the man clearly was in need and Anto was the only Omega available, he still didn’t want Anto. He would rather deny himself than take Anto. Even a Clan Alpha, if his need was great enough and there wasn’t anyone else, would use Anto if he had to, but the man must find him so repulsive that he would prefer to suffer through his need than give his signal. Big, ugly, stupid, Anto’s head chanted to him. Even a man of the Others didn’t want him, even when he was the only Omega available. The man would rather ignore his need than take Anto. There was clearly something wrong with him. He had known it his whole life, but to have it made so plain for him…he must be truly revolting, not just to Clan, but to anyone.
“You borrowed five thousand dollars from Howard. Five thousand. And you...you bought...” Tony broke off, trying to see the scene again, without the emotional meltdown overlay. “You bought a TV. DVD player. X-Box. Microwave. And...towels? Were there towels?”
The alien hummed again, then moved down to the end of the table again and crawled up inside, laying next to Tony. Tony turned his head to look at him, caught again by the vivid blue eyes that watched him so carefully. “You’re dgoing to do the whole mind meldy thing again, aren’t y--oh, there we go,” Tony sighed as the alien leaned his head forward until their foreheads touched.
“I—” Steve started, then broke off. He had no idea what to say. He opened his mouth again, only to close it, shaking his head, a feeling of dismay settling heavily in his stomach. He could feel his legs tremble where he knelt. The pain was there again, pressing at the edges of his mind in dull, throbbing pulses. “Please,” he begged again, beseechingly this time. He needed something. He had no idea what. But, he trusted that Tony would know, and this was part of it, he knew, giving that over to Tony. “Please,” he said yet again, shaking his head, then tipping his chin to look up at Tony. “Please.” His voice was steady.
“You might have to throw a car or something to prove it to him,” Tony added, glancing back up at Steve and pursing his lips like he was considering the idea. “I’m just saying.”
“Vibration-absorbing-star-metal, huh?” Tony repeated. “Yeah, that name’s going to need some work. You really think this will work?” he asked, arching an eyebrow up at the alien, who nodded. “Wish I had JARVIS around to confirm. Got any more of it around here?”
The creature gave him a solemn nod, keeping its strangely warm gaze locked on Steve while he talked. He didn’t know why he was talking so much. It was like the words had all been stored up inside or something. It didn’t make sense. But, he hadn’t been lying. Shellhead was easy to talk to. Or maybe Steve just needed to talk. He wasn’t sure. It probably didn’t really make much difference.
A car door slammed, and Tony jumped, then laughed, low and breathy, warmth flooding his belly. Steve was here. Steve would take care of him. He might laugh, true. But, it would be one of those what-have-you-done-now kind of laughs, filled with fondness and a gentle sort of adoration that Tony didn’t always understand. Tony would tell him about how hard it was getting the garters on and how he thought his left shoulder might be a few centimeters shorter than his left or else this damn strap—ugh, he mentally ground out, pulling it back into place—was creating its own gravity, and they would curl up on the sofa and laugh about it, with Tony’s head buried in Steve’s chest so he didn’t have to look at him while he talked. Maybe they would watch one of those old movies. The ones with Hepburn and Tracy where they fell in love in the middle of arguing with each other. They had shown half a reel of Keeper of the Flame on the side of a tent somewhere in northern Italy, Steve once told him. They could watch that one, maybe, or something lighter, one of the screwball comedies.
Steve nodded once, jerkily, but that seemed to satisfy Cam as far as a response went. Luckily, the boy was largely content with his own conversation.
“How come little old ladies and hot billionaires never try to pick me up, huh?” Brock asked around a laugh as Steve followed him out of the casino, having related Millie’s attempt at matchmaking. “Must be the whole All-American thing you got going. Apple pie. Baseball. Fireworks. All that white-picket-fence shit. Not exactly what I would’ve thought would be Stark’s type, gotta admit.”
“Steve…” Tony began, then broke off and looked down at their hands. He could see the glint of dark gray metal around his finger. The heartline, he thought.
“Well,” Steve said after Tony finished some point related to dredging that Steve had stopped following. “I admit, building your own beach is pretty amazing. I, however, am going to construct the most badass sandcastle, excuse me,” Steve amended. “Sand fortification, that you have ever seen. Prepare to be impressed.”
“He stays,” Steve said in a puff of air that whited the oxygen mask. “Don’ touch ‘im.” Tony swallowed and looked around the room with what he hoped was a ‘So there’ look while the heartrate monitor beeped its own warning.
“All of you. Leave us,” Tony ordered. It wasn’t a suggestion. Steve recognized the tone of command, couldn’t help but respond to it, especially with the feel of movement, speed, muscle, bone, blood, all of that still pumping hard through his veins. “I wish to speak with our visitor.”
“My hands are meant for a sword and shield,” Steve muttered, sitting back against the cushion and looked out at the soldiers and riders in their armor, with their weapons and banners and horses built to charge and kick.
“So,” Tony began, clapping his hands together and snapping his fingers, then tapping at the center of his chest in his own version of a nervous tell.
The only way to fix any of it was to undo it with the combined power of the stones. That was one thing Bruce and Shuri agreed on. For Thanos to do what he did in a single snap of his fingers, he needed all of the stones.
“Well…” she stretched out the word, “I’ve been concerned for awhile now about the power dynamics here,” she answered.
“Three times. Okay,” Steve nodded, sucking in a sharp breath. He was really doing this. Somehow, the whole…
Tony reached up with his other hand and rubbed lightly over Steve’s nipple, the one that wasn’t currently being pulled into a line of throbbing, red flesh, and played with the neglected peak. “They are all out there, wondering what I’m doing with you, I’d wager.” Steve blinked and tried to swallow, a wave of humiliation turning his insides molten. “Yes, yes,” Tony continued, his voice low and teasing. “They know you must be punished, of course. Such a slight cannot be ignored. The Ul is certainly thinking about it. He suggested I bring you out and have you beaten before them all. I think he would have liked that very much. And Ross, too, the rotten bastard,” he growled, pushing his fingers deep.
Steve could do whatever he wanted, and Tony probably wouldn’t even know. If he could just touch himself, just once, just a little, maybe it would relieve the excruciating throbbing in his cock. Even if Tony finally paid enough attention to him to notice, it might be worth it. Steve didn’t mind Tony’s punishments. Maybe Tony would let him kneel beneath the desk and take Tony’s cock in his mouth while Tony worked. Steve’s own mouth watered at the thought. He brought one hand up and dipped two fingers between his lips. It wasn’t the same as Tony’s cock on his tongue, but he liked the weight of it. The sense of his mouth being almost too full, that lack of air was just a shift in movement away.
After shutting down his computer, Tony locked up the garage and headed back into the cabin and to his room. He could hear light movements from Steve’s room, where Steve was probably getting dressed, which Tony wasn’t going to think about.
Not that he could blame Steve for responding when an Omega practically jumps him. Who wouldn’t at least kiss back, right? For a minute, anyway. Before Steve stopped. Right. Because Steve had stopped. That was the part Tony’s mind hadn’t wanted to remember, in the hazy midst of replaying over and over again the way Steve’s mouth felt, the touch of his hands, the way his eyes had roamed over Tony like a caress. At least, that was how it had felt to Tony. How much of that had he projected onto Steve?
“At least drink some more water,” Steve said. Tony hummed agreeably, while Steve went to fill a glass from the kitchen tap. He brought it back and held it to Tony’s lips while he drank, until Tony smacked his lips in satisfaction and pushed Steve’s hands away.
“Put your hands on the mirror,” Tony ordered, voice sounding like the scrape of nails on a blackboard, bringing Steve’s gaze to the sound of it. Steve stared stupidly at him for a moment, trying to make the words make sense. “Steve,” Tony said softly, running a hand through Steve’s hair and down his cheek, mimicking the motion he’d used earlier, gentler, but just as insistent. “Put your hands on the mirror. I’m going to fuck you against it, and then I’m going to take you to bed and—and—if you stay,” Tony stopped, looking down and away from where Steve knelt on shaking limbs. Don’t say it, Steve thought, but the words to stop him wouldn’t come out. What could he say? There was nothing to say. He’d already fallen, and he couldn’t stop until he hit bottom. “If you stay, I’ll pay double,” Tony offered, dragging his gaze back to Steve’s. There was such desperate hope battling with the expectation of disappointment, something Steve knew all too well lately, that Steve didn’t need a mirror to see himself.
“My mom said I should be brave. When I left. That’s what she said,” Cam told him, still staring down at the crumb of bread between his fingers. “But, I’m not. Soldiers, people like you, they’re brave. I’m just—I’m what I am.”
No one would answer his questions, of course, either because they didn’t know or had been told not to tell him, since Howard seemed to want to play at fucking Wadsworth and cloak the whole thing in mystery. Tony wasn’t sure if Howard was just being a RuPaul-sized drama queen about it or if Rogers wanted Tony kept in the dark. Maybe there was some reason they didn’t want to tell Tony anything. Like…Rogers’ last Omega had been found dumped in a shallow ditch with his head shaved and fingernails pulled out.
“No.” Peter doesn’t hesitate. Nobody needs to know anything about that aspect of his personal life. He would rather have people not finding out about MJ. “There’s nobody.”
Peter has been silent the entire time, mostly enjoying the addition in the house for a moment. Even Vision is at the table, having finished his plate in record time. Apparently, the guy loves food, despite never having eaten before!
“Dad, I’ll do the drinks, okay?” Peter suggests, taking the bottle from the table. Tony nods. With a little brush, they clean up the shards. Harry, in the meantime, decides to go talking with Wanda and Vision for a while. If they mistrusted Harry at first, at least now they’re not showing it anymore. Though Harry might be getting a few moments where he’s just staring ahead, deep in thought, he’s done nothing more than prove that he’s back to his old self.
“He’s… eccentric to say the least,” he answers, honestly. No-one can ever really predict what Mr. Stark’s next move is, always surprising everybody. “I mean, when I had my interview for the internship he just told me to fix his gauntlet.”
“Don’t be an ass, okay?” she asks him. There’s a smirk on Tony’s lips, adding to the mask he’s put up the moment he put on his sunglasses. Peter looks down at his own sunglasses and wonders if that’s what they’re expecting of him, too. MJ didn’t get glasses, did she?
Seeing Cap, completely filthy from dirt where his mask hasn’t been, Tony finds his breath catching. He doesn’t know why his impulses brought him here. Hadn’t he just told himself days earlier that he wouldn’t think too much into whatever is happening between him and Steve? How is it that, now he’s right here again, those ideas have flown out the window without a single warning?
“You’re welcome!” Happy returns. Peter smiles. Thinking back of how much Happy never really used to speak to him a few weeks back, it now seems like they’ve really grown on each other. It’s good, he’s glad.
“Sakaar,” she said. “You dweebs accidentally took me with you during my holiday in Norway.” Thor chuckled with a grin and patted her shoulder roughly, though this time softer than before.
A large bandage is put on. It’s a bit bloodied, but it seems dry for now. When he touches it, he doesn’t feel pain but mostly just uneasiness.
“That’s true,” the man says. Then he starts looking for things on the computer, the keyboard not making any sounds at all. Peter leans forward a little bit and sees that the keyboard itself is holographic. Damn, that Stark never ceases to amaze him. “Well, if you want, he has a free slot on next Sunday about four. What exactly is the appointment for?”
“You never indicated which floor we need to go to,” he reveals. Johnny bites on his lip while he tries to hold in a laugh.
“How are you holding up, Tony?” Steve asks quietly, respecting the distance between them. Tony just shrugs.
“That’s not the point,” Clint says. Tony feels a bit confused here, why does Clint care so much all of the sudden? He thought the guy could barely stand him! “The fact remains that you’ve injected yourself with something that might as well have been lethal to the human body. The fact that you’re still alive is actually a miracle.”
“What’s the problem? She needed help with the test, she was even a little sad that you didn’t invite her, though of course she would never admit that,” Harry counters. Of course, he doesn’t see the problem, he’s completely head over heels for this girl!
spent a lot of time with the kid in the past few weeks. Even he knows that the intelligence Peter is showing is much more than what his mother had. But Tony never dared to hope, because he knows he’s always been careful about these sorts of things.
“Dude, you plannin’ on getting drunk?” Johnny asks all of the sudden. Peter turns to him, pulled out of his focus on the phone. It’s a good phone, too, with a nice screen. Probably a bit too expensive than what he would normally go for. It’s also rather large, and a miracle that it even fits in his pants.
“A dress?” she said dryly, before remembering that she shouldn’t be her usual dry self here. “Don’t you like it?” she threw him a sweet smile while blinking ‘flirtatious’. The man cocked his eyebrow, but Yaël saw twinkles of joy in his brown eyes. Was it working?
Tony drops the cube down on the table after finishing it twice. It’s not even noon yet, so he’s kind of proud of himself that he managed to be here. In fact, he’s missed only a few meetings since Steve. The board should be thanking
It takes him a few minutes to reach it. The firemen are already on the scene, desperately trying to put down the flames. There’s a large crowd of people surrounded around the perimeter that had been build up. Police agents are trying to hold people back as they scream for their loved ones that are still stuck in the building.
“So how is it going to go? Are you going to join us?” he asks. Steve startles at Peter’s sudden question, eyes open wide.
Everybody takes a moment to think about that. Bruce has his floor under the penthouse. The top three floors are actually smaller than the ones underneath, which is why Tony, Bruce and Nat (and Bucky) each get their own. From then on out, it’s two per floor. And Peter would just imagine Wanda would rather share with Yaël (she’s obviously too young to be rooming with Vision).
“I, uh- I don’t really like horrors,” he admits in embarrassment. He could just drop dead after this. Instead of warning her that he’s in this sort-of-thing with MJ he just uses the ‘I’m scared of horror-‘ card? That’s lame, to say the least.
He catches a glimpse of Adrian Toomes somewhere on his left. He frowns the moment he sees him sitting there. There’s nobody else, which is good. As long as nobody thinks about sitting with him, he can do this as discreetly as possible.
“No problem,” he said while scrolling “I know somebody who can.” Wade almost dropped his phone when it suddenly started ringing. “Well, what a 'coincidence',” he mumbled when he saw the name on the screen. “Yo, mister X, I just wanted to call you, you’re on speaker!”
After what must be minutes, Peter starts to pull back, quickly rubbing away a tear and trying not to show too much that he’s been crying. It’s a lost cause, of course, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t try it. Mr. Stark takes a step back as well, giving Peter a long look before turning his head away.
“Hmmmmnoooo, ten more minutes,” he grumbles. He hears somebody chuckle behind him. Then there’s a hand on his side and a pair of lips against his neck. “Steeeeeeeve.”
“Dr. Strange, are you alright?” Peter asks. The guy groans, looking bloody and beaten. Peter quickly runs up to him to check if he’s not too hurt. If so, he should probably carry him to a hospital or so.
But the seconds kept on ticking, and eventually, Gwen’s web was cut in two, causing for her to fall. Peter once more shot out for her, but he was too late. Even though his web caught her, she was too low. Her head still smacked against the ground, giving a loud cracking-noise that Peter could hear from even above.
“I would be insulted from your lack of knowledge, but it’s been my mission to stay in the shadows for a while now,” the girl says, scraping one gloved hand over the stone wall next to her. Her metal nails make a horrible sound in the process, causing for Peter to put his hands against his ears as he flinches.
Once the rain starts pouring, they decide it’s time to wrap it up again. Saying their goodbyes to everybody, Peter and MJ leave the shelter and head back into the streets of New York. With their arms linked together and the drops of rain pouring down on them, they look into the windows of all the closed stores on the street. Halloween hasn’t passed yet, so at least there aren’t Christmas-stuff already hanging out.
“Mr. Stark would never do that,” Vision counters, a bit insulted at the idea. Wanda assures him that she didn’t mean it by putting a hand on his arm. Paul and Betty ask for a quick update on who exactly that was. Peter gives them the short version of the story.
With each bird that Peter sees flying in the air, his mind immediately warns him that the Goblin has returned. As it turns out, having a cold means that his senses are all messed up, feeling danger whenever there isn’t any. Another cold chill passes him by, but nothing happens.
The shock stopped right in time for her to dodge the thing, only making a cut in her arm instead of stabbing her heart.
By the time he’s grabbed her hands to stop her, her lips are already pressed against his. She kisses him with heat, some sort of desire he can’t really understand. They barely know each other, and Peter’s never been one to just hook up with strangers unlike some of his peers (Johnny). Still, there’s a thrill going through him. His heart speeds up, feeling as if it’s about to jump out of his chest. Nothing inside of him tells him to pull away.
“It wasn’t even yours to begin with, now come, astronaut.” The woman turned around and walked out the door with straight back, taking big steps. Yaël quickly jumped off her chair and almost tripped in the hurry, ignoring the fact that she had already went through some kind of breakdown after pushing her body too far with too much training and way too little food to fuel herself not that long ago.
Here we have an example of how one shouldn't mess with Steve Rogers' unofficial son. At first I thought it would be a bit out of character, but then I thought; just imagine how Steve would react if anybody hurt his kid, and I thought of this exact situation, so I decided to keep it like this! It's a short one, but I wanted to bring it out there as well!
“Yeah, I’m probably going to regret this one day. FRIDAY, you’re free from my irresistible charm now.”
Tony stiffens a bit. He did say that, but he didn’t really mean it. Yeah, sure, he had been angry! Nobody can hold it against him, right?
“I thought I saw Pepper?” he asks in confusion. Peter points behind him, to the door that leads to the hallway.
Tony huffs out a breath. Yeah, that’s just putting it mildly. There’s so much he wants to tell her right now.
“So do I, but we have no choice. Surtur destroys Asgard, he destroys Hela, so that our people may live” Yaël just listened, not being able to be a part of their conversation. She was thankful that Thor wasn’t treating her like she was going to die or something, otherwise she’d think more about the pain than that she was doing right then. She didn’t want to get treated weirdly, say her goodbyes.
Bionic Punch: Tony meets a certain agent who got involved with the trouble in Midland Circle, and he decides to help her out.
“No, he isn’t,” Yaël replied while looking at the trunk of the nearby trees “Raido is not even his real name, but I call him that because of his obsession with horses. Since he was a little boy, he seemed to have a connection with them. He has a lot of respect and patience with horses so he joined the cavalry as soon as he grew up. Raido is not only a rune, it also stands for horseback riding, or just riding. It stands for a journey, well, at least it does here at Helvegen,” Yaël smiled when she finally found the right trees: two trees standing perfectly next to each other. A horse was carved into both of their trunks. “His real name is Rozenrød.”
Eventually, there’s Johnny, who is flaming again. He has his back facing the others, still holding his hands up as if he’s holding back the fire. Peter stares at him for a few seconds before he finally relaxes.
“Just leave him be for now. We should get you home, son,” Steve tells him. Peter’s heart aches a bit at hearing that, suddenly feeling like he doesn’t deserve to be called ‘son’ by Steve. Without thinking about it, he wraps his arms around Steve’s torso, pulling him into a strong, needy hug. Tears appear in his eyes again, rolling down his cheeks while the sobs leave his mouth. Steve, meanwhile, stays quiet, silently rubbing Peter’s shoulders. Though the gesture is supposed to be comforting, Peter still feels pretty much like crap.
“Hi, Yaël? Fancy a game of chess?” X gave her such a heart attack by suddenly rolling into the kitchen, she dropped Scott’s coffee. The cup shattered, and the coffee spilled everywhere.
“I’m mostly curious to see how you’ll drink it,” she jokes. Peter rolls his eyes, though she can’t exactly see that.
As soon as Steve let go again, he pulled the door behind him shut and looked at her confusedly. “How did you even survive?”
“We know that, Nat,” Sam defends himself. Right after that, the door opens, revealing Steve to walk inside. He looks sweaty, like he’s just been in the gym for the past two hours or so. He heads to the fridge and takes out a bottle of water. After that, he turns to look at the three on the couch.
Tony snorts, already imagining this girl sitting at her desk, playing with her hair as she chews her gum and talks on for hours in that annoyingly nasally voice.
“That’s so cool,” Peter interrupts. When Strange gives him an annoyed look, he apologizes and puts his hands in his lap.
“Oh, hi Mr. Stark! I just- I’m not-“ Peter starts, but he can’t find his words. He jumps back to his feet and starts walking away from the edge. “I was just getting some air, is all.”
“Instead of talking about me, I would like to know more about you,” she says with a knowing look on her face.
Maybe not, he figures. If anything, Peter is afraid that he’ll make it worse, instead. Better to keep it quiet.
It’s Sharon Carter, the grand-niece, who comes to them first. Not really knowing anything about Peter, she gives him a short nod before grabbing Tony and pulling him into a strong hug. Tony, who has been composed for the entire ceremony, ends up letting out a few tears against her shoulder as the emotions suddenly get the better of him.
The two kids nod, Andrew still with the top of his hand rubbing over his face. Peter passes a hand through his hair to comfort him a bit. After that, he gets to work. He guides Toby at the window, helps him over it. Then with the web stuck to the kid’s arms, Peter slowly but surely lowers him down until he’s on the ground. In the background, he can see a woman shout in relief. She, while carrying another baby in her arms, starts making her way to the boy.
Charles had noticed as soon as she came in, that Yaël wasn’t good at doing nothing. So he made sure she had something to do. Like cleaning or washing, which was kind of funny, because whenever she was stressing out she used to do those things too in her apartment. Charles had asked her if she didn’t feel like he was denigrating her with those tasks, but she felt comfortable doing it, it made her relax.
The call has lasted two hours before they finally say goodbye and hang up. Peter feels great, after that long conversation. It feels like he needed it, though he’s pretty sure he still had a whole lot more to tell the guy before he hung up the phone.
“You recognize her, don’t you? She’s been in SHIELD’s custody for a while before. How she got on the ship is unclear since last we knew she was still on Earth.”
“How did you-?” he starts to ask, but he can’t seem to finish. That’s alright, Steve knows the question.
Steve is holding on to Tony’s hand. It feels like it’s the only thing grounding the man from whatever seems to trouble his mind. For a moment, he wishes he could go back to only an hour ago, when they were still in their room, cuddled up against each other with Tony drawing patterns on his bare chest.
“Peter kind of urged me on to get here,” he admits. Steve chuckles. They don’t get close, keeping a good distance between themselves. Holy shit, it’s just like before they ever got together, always dancing around each other but never acting on it. “Want a drink? It’s without alcohol, don’t worry about my record.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. May laughs again before hanging up the phone. Tony closes his eyes, trying to see where everybody currently is in the tower. He keeps his mind open for incoming aircrafts as well, while at the same time trying to brainstorm for ideas to free his son from this parasitic suit he’s gotten himself with.
“Hah, gotcha!” Yaël grinned widely. Jason looked confusedly at his feet, but he didn’t seem panicked at all. She put her hands behind her back as she stepped in front of him confidently. She won. That was when she noticed everybody else who had been walking in the park, was quietly staring at her with big eyes.
“I mean, you looked like a drunk man, calling out for your hammer.” Jane points at Mjölnir, hanging on Thor’s belt. “But you took the time to teach me things that people thought me crazy for. You opened up my world, gave me explanations for things I couldn’t explain. And with each word that you used to feed my brain, my heart slowly fell harder and harder.
Giving Pepper the Rescue Suit was probably the best thing he could have done. Sure, the woman never really wanted
Peter sees the Goblin’s mouth move, but the voice doesn’t match the person. It sounds deeper, more sane. More…
The elevator ride to his office floor was too short, though that was probably good. One could only work up so much anxiety between three floors unless you were in The Raid. He could see Steve's tall shadow behind the frosted glass doors as he approached, standing and sort of shifting around in the twisting, awkward way Steve did when he wasn't sure what to do with a body that sometimes still wanted to think it was three sizes too big.
The creature disappeared under the water, though Steve could see its shadow gliding along the bottom. Its eyes popped up just to the right of Steve’s shoulder, and he felt the light brush of one of its tentacles under his neck and another just at his elbow. He would have thought they would be unpleasant and slimy by the look of the shine to them, and they
“I—I intended to thank you,” Steve said, then realized he had slurred the words into a nice jumble of sounds. “I wanted to thank you. For the tunic.”
Steve bent at the knee and lifted Tony enough to withdraw almost completely, then braced his hand by Tony’s head again, eyes shifting quickly to Tony’s face. Tony nodded, face already slackening, and Steve pushed up, seating himself fully again. Tony’s body juddered as Steve’s thrust found its mark, his cock bobbing between them spurting fluid.
“I—ah. Okay. That…doesn’t actually explain anything,” Steve replied as he looked around the room, like the answer to why he had been in Tony’s lap, bundled in noting but a towel would suddenly appear from the ether.
“No,” Ms. Potts said while Rhodes covered his laugh with his hand. “You two,” she continued, “have to get dressed. The gala starts at seven, and it is—almost six, which means if you are fashionably late, as usual, you still only have a couple of hours. Tony, your tux is in your closet. Steve, your suit is in your room.”
Nat and Barnes probably traded letters during his deployment. Sent emails. Skyped. They visited each other. She was there when Barnes was injured, at his bedside in the hospital. Took care of him afterwards.
“I...I hope so,” Steve replied. “I’d like to help. With...with whatever you need. The Harem, Stane, all of it, if you’ll let me.”
, Steve thought with a smile. When the phone buzzed at lunch, he picked it up immediately, expecting to hear Tony mocking him, but it was Ms. Romanov. He didn’t even bother to wonder how she’d gotten this number so fast.
It felt familiar and brand new, Tony’s mouth on his, like the memory of a dream. Steve moaned into the wet heat of Tony’s mouth, and Tony’s tongue slipped past the seam of Steve’s lips, delving deep, searching, sliding along Steve’s own. It felt like an invasion. A taking. A
Yet, here they were, on the side of a freaking mountain next to a stream because someone watched Dr. Phil while staying at a Holiday Inn Express last night and suddenly decided immersion therapy was the way to go. None of it made any sense. The puzzle pieces were all spread out on the table, but it was as if there were no pieces with straight lines or corners to get him started. Tony grabbed the dishsoap to clean the grease from his hands, watching the tiny bubbles that sprouted out of the top of the bottle float for a moment before popping, one after the other, like all the crazy theories that popped into his head.
“I believe I warned you once that you should not lie to me, did I not?” Tony asked. His voice was still light, almost nonchalant, but there was something darker that moved underneath the words, something that set Steve’s cock to pulsing and straining, and made air suddenly difficult to come by.
He watched Tony’s throat work with the effort of swallowing. His thrusts slowed, until he finally stilled, waiting.
Long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs has nothing on me, Tony thought grimly, but none of the Alphas so much as looked at him. He had his Steve-shaped invisibility cloak, he supposed. The absence of scrutiny still took some getting used to, but, dear God, it was nice to not have to plaster on a second skin, to not have to worry, even just for these few moments. He hadn’t realized how much energy it took to be constantly aware of himself and his surroundings until he didn’t have to be.
Steve’s stomach clenched and swooped, and a pool of heat bloomed low in his belly at the King’s words. His cock jumped and hardened. His hands were trembling as he undid the wrap and let it fall away. He looked up at the King, who was watching him and sipping his wine, then sat back on the bed, scooted up to the pillows and, remembering the night before, lay down, spread his legs wide and pulled his knees up toward his chest, leaving himself bare to Tony’s view. He breathed out a long hiss of air through his nose and looked up at the canopy overhead.
He clapped Steve on the shoulder, shook his head and sighed, which seemed to signal that whatever it was, it was Steve’s problem, not his, which Steve supposed it was. The Omega was unhappy about something, which did not make very much sense, given that his enemies were no more, he had a night of pleasure (and a morning), and a full belly. The Omega, though, was singularly confounding, Steve had realized sometime that morning when he presented the head of the Omega’s enemy to him, cleaved from his body by Steve’s own sword. This feat had not seemed to particularly impress the Omega, though he did not seem displeased either, and his pleasure was loud and sure in the time afterwards.
“I do, and I’m sitting here, and all that is true, but, honestly, you had me at nutso. Oh, and you’re fired, by the way,” Tony said, standing up and leaning his hands on the conference table. “To answer your question, Steve is the ‘nutso,’” Tony grated out, putting the word in air quotes. He could feel a thread of anger course through his voice, and his chest tighten with tension. “Great term, by the way. Classy. Steve is a highly decorated Army officer, one of the finest men I’ve ever known, someone I probably owe my life to, and Steve was the guy who offered to do anything and everything, including scrub your God-damned toilets, if you would help his friend, which, of course, you didn’t. Because of a lot of reasons, probably. Possibly even some good ones, I don’t know. Maybe once upon a time, maybe I was like you, and wouldn’t have cared. Had a bit of a laugh over the gall of it, you know? But, trust me, how we do this, it matters. When you take away all of this,” Tony said, gesturing around the room, “it’s the only thing that matters. Look, there’s plenty of money to be made. You can make it on the backs of the people you’re supposed to be helping or you can make it by lifting them up with you.”
Dammit. Now, the idea was becoming entrenched in Steve’s head, and fuck it all, the man could be intractably stubborn. Somehow, this was all going to be Tony’s fault when it blew up in his face one of these days. A box of ballots would spill out onto the roadway right in front of SHIELD where they are found by a passing van of reporters with handheld scanners, who stop at a gas station to call it in, whereupon a seagull lands next to their van with the corresponding voter list key in his beak. Or something. It could happen.
Tony stared at the scene for a long beat, then looked up at Steve, finding Steve’s eyes on him. Steve reached out and cupped Tony’s cheek, the back of thumb tracing across Tony’s cheekbone and down to the corner of his mouth before he dropped his hand, pivoted on his heel and walked out of the room. Tony opened his mouth to call out, but couldn’t get any sound to come.
“I—yeah. Yeah, it will be good, I guess,” Tony admitted. “It’s just…it’s hard to leave you. This…it’s so new. I don’t…I mean, what if…”
so much more for you. I should have. I see that now. When it is too late, of course. I let my debt to your father overshadow his failings for far too long. No, no, don’t,” Jarvis said, holding his palm out when Tony opened his mouth, a protest dying on his lips. “You know it is true. That is something I must live with, but I can do what I can now to rectify things as best as possible. Starting with why you are not at all fine, no matter your fancy car and your permit with a name.”
Steve could feel something inside him shatter at Tony’s words, and for a flash of a moment, he didn’t care about any prophecy, his friends back home, or the Free States and what they stood for. There was only Tony. Tony, beautiful and bright, and a deep well of giving that Steve knew he was going to poison one day.
“Good,” Tony said, giving Steve a small smile. Warmth burst into Steve’s chest at the praise, seeping across his skin, the way the sun did when you turned over while lying on the grass naming the shapes of the clouds, happening both slowly and all at once.
“That’s…unfortunate. I’m going to gather some people to fix that problem,” and with that, Thor left their company. Yaël was glad he took the problem seriously, instead of laughing it away. Thor had grown more mature, that was for sure.
Yaël jumped up again and before those dehydrated guards even had the chance to faint and crash down, she had already made a long whip from the water she had gained. The flabbergasted guards got wacked around, like they were toys. Some of them still tried to shoot at her, others tried to run away, but she smoothly dodged the bullets, whacked the whip around the guards, one by one, and smashed them against the walls.
Well, that must be Peter’s cue to leave, right? He holds the bag on his shoulder a bit tighter before clearing his throat.
Yaël grumbled something about wearing seatbelts as she saw Miek and others flying through the ship, bumping into each other and smashing against stuff.
“Dude, I spoke to her a moment ago, she’s my girl too!” another drunk guy ‘joined’ the ‘conversation’, like he didn’t even hear Wade’s weird exclamation. Other guys came buzzing around them too, talking about how Yaël somehow seemed to be their property.
the woman – Linda says. Peter nods even though the guy can’t see it. He clears away another lump in his throat.
“If he’s so against it, why does he go along with it, then? I am many things, you know, but I’m not planning on being a dirty little secret just because he doesn’t want to be seen with a man.”
Tony turns around, his bottle dropping on the floor before he even gets to open it. In his confusion, Dum-E rolls up his way and picks it back up, poking Tony in the side with it.
“Whatever dude,” he mutters out. Flash storms passed them, picking up his ball and then getting to the building Peter was headed to. Peter clears his throat, trying to get his shirt straight again. Had this been before he got his powers, he would have been shaking on the spot. As it is, he’s not feeling anything.
“It’s not for now; I still need to make sure you understand the gravity of you using your overrides like that. But, maybe in a while, you’ll convince me.”
With there being no empty seats, he stands in the hallway with his headphones on, eyes resting on the keyboard he’s currently using to send his texts. All in the while, his music keeps on playing.
Yaël hadn’t slept for a few days and she felt completely drained. Every night was a struggle; on one side, she wanted to sleep because she felt exhausted, but on the other hand she panicked about falling asleep, because what if she’d never wake up? What if she’d see other gruesome things?
Pushing himself off the ground, Tony passes Barnes’ by on the ground. He’s unmoving, but one look at him indicates that he’s still conscious. Whatever, Tony doesn’t really care anymore. He reaches to his sides searching for his manual handle to take off the suit. In one swift motion, it opens up, and out of it falls Tony.
Peter nodded. “Because he’s an alien too, right?” There was instant regret on Peter’s face as soon as he said that. His hand covered his mouth and with big eyes he stared at her. “I suppose so,” she shrugged. This was actually the first time someone randomly confronted her with it and she totally didn’t know how to react to it. Should she be ashamed of it? There had to be another alien somewhere on this planet, right? She couldn’t be the only one. Maybe if she stopped taking her sleeping pills, she’d discover how she ended up on Earth. Or maybe she’d get another attack of the conversion disorder.
“I don’t blame her,” Tony responds. It’s crappy, what happened. He can perfectly imagine she’s not feeling all that well for causing so much destruction. But on the other hand, he’s grateful that she rescued Steve when he was about to be blown up. And if that makes him the biggest hypocrite of them all, he doesn’t care.
they say simultaneously. After that, the call ends. Peter closes his eyes, lying back down with a loud sigh.
Everybody raises their eyebrows at him, simultaneously crossing their arms. It’s Tony who speaks up.
With his hands stuck in his hoodie, Peter turns to his left. His eyes are stuck to the floor, but he knows the way. Opening the door to the workshop, he passes Dum-E who pokes him in the side. He chuckles a bit, letting out his hand from his pocket to pet him on the ‘head’. Then he nods towards Tony, who hasn’t noticed his arrival, too busy with whatever he’s working on this time.
“I landed in New York about an hour ago or so. Traffic is still murder, despite the best chauffeurs coming to pick you up,” Harry explains. “So, what’s going on? MJ said you’ve broken up? And apparently something about a guy planning to kick your ass for embarrassing him at a party while also having stolen his girlfriend?”
“Yes, the lawyers finished up the paperwork only yesterday. I’m now officially Tony Stark’s son,” he answers.
“Ah come on!” Peter mutters out, getting himself back up and barely avoiding another blow on the head. Instead he shoots webs at the guy’s face, and pulls his phone back to him, finding it still ringing. Quickly he presses the green button, rests the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and finishes his work with the goon in front of him.
“Cool,” Tony says, putting the note away without responding to whatever the message says aside of the fact that he’s already picking his phone back up and starting to type down another number. “Just, be careful. If not, I might take Karen away from you so you’re less distracted.”
Peter looks up, seeing Francis standing there. He looks worried, as if he wants to carry Peter outside, himself. Peter just swallows and takes another deep breath. His hands are balled into fists – they have been ever since he dug into his bag in search of his medication, only to find that he doesn’t have the box with him.
,” Steve begs of him. Or at least, Tony thinks he does. He hears the words, but doesn’t really see Steve’s face move. Is he going mad?
bad, really. Instead he leans back in his seat, his hand holding the now-empty mug that had contained a cappuccino Natasha bought for him (Peter forgot his wallet in the tower…)
“So what, your way of apologizing is by asking me if I can arrange you a date with my friend?” Peter mutters out.
The sky is dark, which makes the thing all the more obvious. It looks like a comet, probably? A small one, surely. The only problem is that it’s headed straight for them.
“Steve?! How- wha- where are you?!” Peter calls out, almost unable to contain his excitement. It’s the first time he’s speaking to the man since… well, a few days at least. He’d almost forgotten how it feels to talk to him. “Steve, what’s going on there?”
For the following few days, Peter finds himself reading about four journals a day. There’s nothing productive he really does during the day, and Aunt May even scolds him a few times for it, but she never really manages to stay angry at him for too long. That’s one of the reasons he loves her so much.
It takes a few minutes for them to get out of the gardens. Natasha clearly prepared her whole path before coming here. Steve has to admire the way she’s prepared for it.
“I could explain it to you, if you want?” Peter tries. Steve just shakes his head. When they pass Wanda, the two nod at her before continuing their walk.
“Oh God,” Peter groans, feeling like he’s about to puke. He’s not feeling wonderful at all. He remembers slightly how ecstatic he’d been feeling the entire evening, but right now it must be about the exact opposite. His shoulders feel heavy, his heart feels like it’s been ripped out right again.
“Isn’t it?” Peter asks in a whisper, probably not wanting Tony to hear it. But the man does, and he looks up to him with wide eyes and a mouth fallen open.
“Can you blame me?” he asks. Looking up again, he gives Tony a hopeful look. Thankfully, amount of people in the park is thinning out, so there aren’t too many people listening along to this.
“I’m making money,” she says proudly, picking up a box from somewhere on her left and pushing it in front of the safe. Then she carefully puts whatever’s inside into the box and seals it.
And much like Thor suspected, the preparation of the great hall had been finished. There are white drapes all around, flowers, candles, and even a few golden ornaments. The many chairs don’t look that expensive, but the thrones on the other side of the room does.
Because that’s now actually a thing. Apparently, the date went well. Harry’s been in seventh heaven the entire school day, talking about how amazing it is to kiss her, or how soft her skin feels underneath his fingers. Peter and Ned just smirk at each other while rolling their eyes each time he brings it up.
Sometimes he came to visit her in her room afterwards. Those were the moments he had been caring for her, cleaning her wounds. After a while, Yaël refused to talk to him anymore. He was the reason why she ended up on that ship. But Loki never stopped talking to her, even though he knew she wouldn’t reply, he told her it was almost over, that she shouldn’t be afraid. But the joke was that on one point, she couldn’t feel afraid as she wasn’t able to feel a thing anymore. Just the way Thanos wanted her to be.
Steve lets out a loud breath. “It’s always serious business, honey. When else are we ever going to get a good night’s sleep with all this?”
FEAST is located in an old school. A couple of the old classrooms have been used as sleeping-quarters, but most of them serve for specific sessions. They could be something creative, or something informative. FEAST’s purpose isn’t just to give the homeless shelter, but to also help them back on their way.
It goes on, Tony joining in on the dancing much like they practiced until he grabs the shield back and strikes his final pose. He’s a bit out of breath, waiting for the lights to die down. He’s sweating like crazy, realizing that this suit is not really optimal for fighting at all. The fact that people believed Steve went into battle with this was to be honest the most disbelieving part of this all.
But it’s obvious who it’s going to be. Because why would Sam and Clint and Natasha be let out earlier, and he wouldn’t? Why would they keep him in longer when he’s been locked up before them? It wouldn’t be fair, after all.
Tony frowns. He never knew about that. How is that even possible? Did Peter’s parents know about him getting bitten, then? How could they possibly know about that?
“Bodyguards, am I right?” Peter jokes. Shuri laughs again. They leave the dancefloor when the DJ announces he’s about to play the last song. They take place at the table again, Peter takes out his wallet and heads up to get some of those waffles for everybody. He jumps in surprise when he turns around and somebody stands behind him all of the sudden.
“Aren’t you a bit too young to-“ the man starts, but then he sighs and shakes his head. Eventually he pats the backseat and waits for Peter to sit himself down, which he does. After that, they start driving again, this time with Peter making ‘whooosh’ noises in the back.
“Steve, my man, Barnes and I have been in a discussion about this for the past half hour or so. You can help us out,” Sam says with a wink towards Steve, who in return nods and leans against the couch while he waits for it.
“Hi, Yaël, didn’t really expect to see you here!” Peter said with a wide smile. “Who’s your friend?”
“What, you think I’m gonna smash this screwdriver in my chest, is that it?” Mr. Stark asks, sounding completely different at that point. “Think I might pop few pills too many? Electrocute myself?”
But now he can’t, because Steve is holding his wrist, and Tony’s skin is burning, and there’s this uneasy feeling in his stomach and chest. As if whatever’s inside wants to break back out. And Steve is still looking at him with those blue eyes. Blue, with little dots of green in them, expressing nothing but admiration and friendliness. And now worry as well.
Ned throws him a ball and Miles catches it – with his face. Sputtering out a muffled curse, Miles rubs his slightly painful cheek and throws Ned a small glare, only to get a wide grin in return.
“I live with my Aunt May. My Uncle used to live with us, but he passed away a few years ago,” Peter says, stumbling a little bit over his words. Tony takes another deep breath, wondering how many family-members one kid can lose at such a young age.
And yes, Peter thinks back of that week where he asked around to every person who had ever had a redheaded girlfriend how exactly he was supposed to ask MJ out. Those persons were Tony (who was with Pepper once), Bucky (who is currently with Nat), Bruce (who was with Nat once), Happy (who is currently with Pepper) and Harry (who was with MJ before they broke up).
“Korg, you and Miek keep going, I’ll keep these guys at work!” Korg nodded and took another passage while Yaël kept running forward.
“Peter, I understand that the subject concerning Mrs. Stacey is a sensitive one for you, but that doesn’t give you the right to start throwing punches,” Mr. Morita then starts. Mr. Stark stays awfully quiet next to Peter. “We always have somebody who would be willing to talk with you about these past happenings.”
At a certain point, someone had the genius idea to do certain activities to keep Wanda and Yaël occupied and distract them a bit, like doing a Tolkien-marathon, swimming and… playing a game of laser tag in the compound. Peter came to the compound more often now after he heard Wanda was kind of grounded. Yaël didn’t even tell Peter she was grounded too, she was still grumpy about it. That and Nilla was still taking over her mind, so Yaël forgot to talk about quite a lot.
“Yeah, thanks! I’m Peter,” he says as an introduction. The girl gives the hand an amused look before taking it.
Speaking to Wilson took less effort than he’d expected. The two of them respect each other, and they know where they stand. If Tony admits that he’s wrong, he knows that Sam will not take that lightly. Because Tony
Peter smiles back at him, glad that they have Dr. Strange in their lives. Sure, his personality pretty much clashes with Tony’s on very occasions and he’s not exactly the guy they would invite for the holidays, but he’s still a valuable friend to have.
Tony shakes his head, and puts the tablet down at last. With serious eyes, he faces his son, lips put in a tight line.
“I love you as well,” he says. They kiss shortly before pulling back again. Tony is then quickly ushered away by the wardrobe-team who seem intent on getting him into some decent-looking clothes. Peter, too, is dragged along. And as the two are put together, getting clothes thrown into their arms, Tony decides to ask at last.
FRIDAY suddenly says. Peter startles from the sudden noise and starts whimpering in the crib. Tony groans, rolling his eyes as he gets back to his boy and picks him back up.
The woman cleaned out her wounds, most of them had started infecting, which had been unavoidable as she had been laying in thrash for hours. While Dr. Cho was doing that, Yaël did her best not to jump off the stretcher, nor set the building on fire.
“AREN’T THEY ADORABLE??!!” she shouts, and once again the crowd starts cheering. Steve, next to him, clears his throat. Peter just takes a shaky breath.
Peter pulls a bit at the web, testing out its strength and resistance. When it appears to be sticking to the building in front of him, he lets go of the wall, letting himself fall down freely, swinging around. Instinctively, he shoots web after web, leaving the previous one hanging there until it should dissolve on itself. With a smooth movement, one he barely even understands, himself, he’s on the roof of a driving cab. A few people look up in surprise, pointing at him. He just waves, only wanting to be out of here as quickly as possible.
And they sit like that for a while, jumping together whenever there’s a scary part. When Wade suddenly hands them a glass of coke, they share it without any comment about it. It’s good, it’s pleasant, and for a moment Peter wishes they were alone, just the two of them.
“You found the place easily?” Peter asks. MJ clears her throat then, pointing towards the car that has by now disappeared.
Yaël noticed the warmth coming from her apartment as she opened the door. She stood there for a second, being pulled from her thoughts. There were no more powers needed to warm her water or her rooms, all thanks to mister X.
“You don’t know?” Eddie asks, sounding furious. There’s another punch in Peter’s face. MJ shouts somewhere in the distance. “Let me see; you steal my girlfriend, you get her killed – literally. Then you steal my best friend, and you humiliate me at a party where
, one wouldn’t say we’ve been dating for the past three and a half months by the look you’re giving me here,” Tony jokes, though it doesn’t help with the clenching inside of his heart. Has it only been three and a half? Tony would like to think they’re together for longer than that… Then he holds up the box. “Do you want to see something cool? I pulled it from dad’s archives a little while back.”
“Damn it!” Barnes curses. “Don’t stand together, you’re an easier target, idiots!” He runs away from the little group that has collected. Tony agrees, forcing himself to run off. He has since long lost the ability to fly. His link with FRIDAY is lost, too. But above him, he can see Rhodey and Pepper hover in the air.
They don’t even get a day before Tony is called away again. Only barely caught up on sleep, he comes with the news that he’s called away to Berlin. When Peter asks what’s up, all Tony does it put up the TV where a news channel is showing a live feed of something happening in Vienna.
As for the kid's deal; it's all part of Yaël's story and will be explained there. Just know that at one point there's a baby and it gets a reaction out of Tony and Steve.
Yaël had seen Scott talking fights out with the kids too, he had a lot of patience for them. She, on the other hand, was very bad at comforting people. It was like the students could feel that, because they never went to Yaël with their problems. Maybe that was for the best. Yaël could imagine herself panicky patting someone on his or her shoulder to comfort that person and then trying to get away from the conflict because she wouldn’t know how to handle.
“Uh, I don’t suppose it has anything to do with my science project?” Peter tries, only to receive a scowl from both Mr. Morita and Mr. Stark. Peter gulps, knowing this is not the right time to be funny. “Or maybe because I punched a bully in the face?”
But Steve doesn’t buy it. “You keep telling yourself that,” he says, and he drops the pen back down, giving Tony another glare. “Hate to break up the set.”
There’s a hand touching his arm in comfort, and that’s when Peter breaks. Tears stream down his face, sobs escape his mouth. Peter keeps on shaking, even as Yaël is trying her best to comfort him.
“That idiot made his brain into an actual super-computer in a way,” she explains. “I could explain it to you, but it’s way above my knowledge. I’m pretty savvy with computers but even I don’t know how he managed to do this shit.”
Peter starts walking around in the room, trying to take a good view of everything there is. He can see some sort of prototype for one of Widow’s weapons – Peter doesn’t know how it’s called. A bit further there are a pair of Falcon’s wings, but these obviously took a beat, damaged in combat. Peter wonders if it’s a result from fighting the Goblin.
“Tony, go to sleep,” he mutters sleepily. So he must have been awake all along then, probably just trying as well. Tony rolls his eyes, putting the tablet back down and turning back onto his side to look at Steve. The super-soldier doesn’t open his eyes.
“We can’t keep on using that Infinity Stone,” Peter returns. He scrapes his throat, sniffs through his nose one last time, and stands up straight. “I need to go, now.”
“Did you hear anything from Peter?” Wade asked her casually as he jumped off his horse. That name stung, that was how for this situation had become.
It’s an easy mistake, he thinks; he’s often fighting crime on the streets (which he still hasn’t been doing three weeks after getting wounded), building a super-suit with his father (which he’s also sure would have been finished already had Tony not waited for Peter every time), and going to actual
"I'm sure you've checked the news already?" Rhodey starts somewhere in the middle of their dinner. "Crowned favorite couple of the year, can't say it's really that much of a surprise, right?" Rhodey smirks at the couple seated next to Peter.
Peter shrugs. “Nauseated, my head also aches and my muscles don’t really seem to like me right now. Oh, and is it normal that I have trouble breathing?”
“Now, I see that’s a shock to you,” he states. Steve wasn’t surprised or impressed by her powers. He was used to it as she already had a few emotional burst outs around him. Or, like now, the powers sometimes unknowingly crept up, like they were an extra limb or anything, Steve had seen it all.
that’s still any of your business?” He should walk away now. Because, unknowingly, he’s getting closer again. Closer to that strong, muscular body. Closer to those perfect lips. Closer to Steve. “You aren’t my
Miles knows that ‘Mary-Jane’ is just MJ’s nickname. In her attempt to remain anonymous, she goes out as the journalist ‘Mary Jane Watson’ while in real life she stays Michelle Jones. Miles only knows this because he once heard her talk about it to Peter when the two of them thought they were alone.
“What do want me to learn those kids? Math? I can only do basic counting, the stuff you need to pay the bills and go to the store. Languages? My English sounds like I’m from gods-knows-where and I don’t think there are many kids here who want to learn Norwegian or Sil. I’m not a professor or scientist, Charles. Hell, I even never went to school.”
“I think that’s for the best,” he then says after a long pause. Tony nods, understanding where he’s coming from. Using the Iron Man armor surely isn’t the best idea at all right now. He’s too powerful over FRIDAY, and if he would be in actual danger, she wouldn’t be able to help him.
Peter remembers one of the codes FRIDAY gave him. Next to the override-one, there’s also a request for immediate help. It contains a certain combination of numbers that needs to be typed in on the phone, which would alert FRIDAY immediately. Peter can’t care too much right now that FRIDAY keeps watch on his phone in the first place.
“Yeah, that’s a piece of Steve you got in there, isn’t that cool?” Peter asks, clearly too enthusiastic about it. Next to Tony, Steve just shrugs.
Because if you run one internship at Stark Industries, you know everything about the man. Peter just shakes his head all the time, claiming that he isn’t working there anymore and that he doesn’t know. Some people seem to accept it, others… aren’t.
“I can go home,” he mutters out. He didn’t even have to build that machine. Hell, he’s been hacking through SHIELD’s files and he didn’t even need to. Quickly, he turns towards Steve, taking his hands into his own. “I need to go, Steve.”
Yaël looked around. The cage was sealed with another glass plate that also looked like it was unbreakable due to its thickness.
until now, has just been bought back by Stark Industries. At least that doesn’t mean they’ll have to move so soon after Peter just got here.
“Can Peter even have the MRI? Doesn’t he have that device in his head for his hearing?” Steve asks calmly. Bruce frowns slightly, turning to Tony who shrugs.
Then, suddenly, there’s a hand behind his head, stroking through his hair. It’s not coming from Aunt May’s side, so Peter figures it must be Mr. Stark. He shudders a bit before the first tear rolls over his cheek. With a small groan, he turns towards his Aunt with a questioning look. The woman nods.
As it turns out, even Mr. Stark has gotten curious as to what the ruckus has been outside of his tower. Still neatly in the suit (not the Iron Man suit, though), the billionaire starts walking towards the exits until he sees Peter standing there, looking the way he does with cuts and bruises all over his face.
Tony rolls his eyes. “Of course I can,” he objects. “Listen, this is nothing we can’t fix at home. I have a first-aid-kit back in the worksh-“
“C’mon, don’t hold back for me,” Tony tells him. Peter clears his throat again and then nods. At the same time, the two move forward. When Peter’s once again wrapped safely in Steve’s strong arms, he lets out a content sigh.
Maybe it would’ve been better to go outside, but Yaël really didn’t feel like it, so she quickly grabbed the vodka ant went back to her living room and sat down. This wasn’t right, she thought as she put her forehead onto the cap of the bottle. When she opened her eyes, she saw the number of Peter’s therapist laying on her small table. This was her last option, she had to make the phone call.
“Hovslagtrommataktenslær. Farasvint med flyg-førhov. Hjartetfylgjer, tveimblirein. Ber du meg, eglovar deg. Ri ut, Raido!” she sang on the rhythm of the ticking. Yaël could swear she sneakily heard the guy behind her humming it along. It was the song she and Raido used to call for each other. The others of the cavalry knew that when they heard it, they had to ignore it and ride to somewhere else. That was the only favor they wanted to do for Yaël, since she was the banished one, but they granted her talking to Raido, nothing more. And that was already behind the back of the king and the queen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to start the ceremony,” Loki then suddenly says, facing the audience and slightly bowing at them. People start shutting up, the ones who were standing are now starting to sit down.
“You have no idea,” Peter snorts. MJ looks impressed. Immediately after that, the King emerges from the craft, wearing a black suit. Peter remembers the few times he’s ever spoken to the man. It’s weird how he has no problem talking to Thor (a God!!) but can’t even manage a sentence with the King of Wakanda.
He’s starting to form a headache again. His thoughts are going much faster than before, and he finds that he can’t quite catch up to it after a while. With input coming from everywhere, he can understand what Peter meant when he said that the lenses on his suit help him focus more. It almost feels like Tony needs one of those of his own. Oh, shit, what has become of him…?
A photograph of Tony and Pepper together, the Eiffel-tower standing behind them. Pepper was kissing Tony on the cheek, and Tony looked… happy.
me, but it’s not like I’ll run in to him, right? Besides, if he’s so butthurt about it, he can just kiss my-“
His eyes fly open nonetheless. The shock stronger than whatever is keeping his eyelids down. He blinks a few times; the lights have been dimmed, which is good. Tony tries to lift up his head, to see where everybody is. The first person he catches is Peter, smiling at him. He looks pale, as if he hasn’t been sleeping at all. Tony pulls his hand out of his to put it against his cheek. Peter closes his eyes and leans into the touch.
Tony sighs. That’s exactly what he told himself not to do. But at the same time he doesn’t want to make Peter feel like he’s unwanted. Shit, he just can’t do anything right either way. In defeat, he nods against Steve’s chest. The man pulls back after that, putting a hand on Steve’s cheek and looking him into his eyes.
It’s empty. There’s no furniture in there. In his surprise, Peter takes a few steps back, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Why do you hate me so much? I can’t remember hurting you! We’re sisters!” Suddenly Nilla’s face came dangerously close to hers again.
“You sound like a dad, Steve,” Yaël grinned at him. Well, she surely hoped Steve was open-minded about kids. If he’d be with that Stark-guy, he’d have to accept Peter too. Not that Tony knew that Peter was his son… yet.
Without thinking further of it, Tony opens up the journal and starts going through it. He realizes quickly that, once again, this one is dated way too early. He puts it aside and reaches for the next one. By the time Steve returns, Tony already discarded five journals. It seems like Mary really had a lot to write down. When he has time, he’d love to read through them if Peter’s okay with that, but now he just doesn’t have that time.
“I’m sure we don’t,” she responds. She grabs for her bottle of water and takes a large gulp. Then she throws Harry a very unimpressed glare. “Listel pal, if you’re looking any longer I feel like I might combust into flames. Just say something or look somewhere else.”
“We were just saying, Mr. Stark, that we don’t think you’re taking the company’s best interest at heart,” Klaus says. Or, Tony thinks it’s Klaus. To be fair, he hasn’t been to these types of meetings in years. He’s still not really sure what he’s doing here right now.
“Everybody’s got some blood samples stacked here for occasions like these,” he explains. Peter frowns shortly but eventually he nods.
Trusting his spider-sense, Peter jumps forward in a roll, barely managing to escape another blow coming from the Goblin, who seems to have pried himself away from the battle just long enough to attempt and take Peter again.
Mr. Stark says before hanging up again. Peter’s mouth falls open as the phone still hangs next to his ear.
Tony smiles back at him before closing the space between them by pressing their mouths together. It’s been a few days since they’ve last been able to do that, and every time they’re separated, it seems like their need to be closer gets stronger.
It doesn’t take too long for Tony to find Peter. He never left the port. Tony can see the ship, where everybody is by now evacuated. The ship will be carried off, thrown away. There’s no possible way for them to permanently fix it. Tony’ll have to fund the making of a new ship, too.
He understands venom a little bit now. Eddie’s always been strong, he’s a jock after all. But he’s not agile, not fast. Venom heightens the person’s powers, meaning that Eddie’s not as fast as Peter. The best thing he can do is keep on moving, then.
Without knowing it, she must’ve fallen asleep, because suddenly she was standing in the woods again.
,” she said. Peter didn’t stop her when she grabbed his phone. Yaël walked out the bedroom, giving the teen some privacy to put on some clothes. It wasn’t so that Yaël cared about the sex-stuff. She wasn’t ashamed of that. It was the total package that made her feel horrible. This was her friend, and she used him, because somehow when she gets drunk, she can’t stay away from men.
Here comes the first official appearance of our original character, Yaël. She's a character created for the story we were originally writing. But as we were writing, inspiration came for a tie-in story about Peter. The two stories will be connected, but you don't particularly have to read one to understand the other (would be difficult, since we're still busy with writing the other story and it hasn't been posted anywhere yet).
Peter thinks for a moment, looking down at the arc reactor but then thinking better of it. He wants it to be a surprise, after all.
“Ah, Stark, always fun talking with ya,” Wolverine says, though his tone doesn’t sound like he finds it ‘fun’ indeed. Then, without a warning, he jumps out of the window to get back to Deadpool, but when Peter casts one third look, it seems like the guy has disappeared. How did he do that?
“Hello?” Peter asks. The door closes behind him. Whoever has been sitting there, startles up and jumps on his feet. His sandy blonde hair is cut short. He’s wearing a faded Superman shirt and sweatpants. His feet are covered by some warm-looking slippers.
Steve laughed, shaking his head again at the boy’s excited ramble of thoughts. “I am fine for the evening, Cam. Go on, now. Say goodbye to your mother. She will miss you terribly, you know.”
“Good. See? What? You need to talk about this shit, Steve, and if you won't with me, maybe you will with him. Now, climb down off your pyre there, Joan, and thank your husband, would you?” Barnes demanded with a somewhat fond, if pointed, look at Steve. “He’s doing us a solid, and that’s more than most would do. Pretty sure it isn’t because he just loves my witty repartee.”
Steve wasn’t sure why he was agreeing or what, exactly, he was agreeing to, but he didn’t want to leave. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t ready for this night to end. Maybe Tony wasn’t either, whatever his reasons were.
to keep you safe. I can’t lose you,” Tony ground out, standing up so quickly, the stool’s wheels spun it back into the legs of the worktable with a metallic clang. “I need to be ready,” he muttered, nodding his head for emphasis. “For the next time. For what’s coming. And it is coming, Steve. I’ve seen it. This wasn’t a one and done, dammit, you know that!”
“It’s good you’re here, Tony,” Natalie—Natasha--told him, giving him a measured look. Enigmatic. That was the word Tony’s brain kept trying to find when it could get past the blinking light that said Medical at the front of his mind. “Steve needs you.”
Steve was looking at some point on the far wall over Tony’s shoulder. His shoulders were pulled back and stiff with tension. Someone was a Grumpy Gus, Tony thought, physically restraining himself from rolling his eyes.
“You and I are really going to need to have a conversation about boundaries,” Steve said mildly. The armor, which apparently took after its creator, completely ignored him. He sighed and turned towards the coffee pot and pulled out the special blend from Italy that Tony liked. Steve got the coffee brewing, then prepared a plate of the foods he’d requested Jarvis order for the island, along with the coffee.
They strolled through the lobby at a leisurely pace this time, since the gauntlet of reporters had thankfully disappeared or gotten far better at blending in. Two young girls came up to ask Tony for an autograph, and he seemed happy enough to oblige, making quick work of the signing and small talk before agreeing to take a selfie with his admirers.
“Don’t you go getting ideas,” Maria scolded, carrying a laugh inside the words. A high-pitched squeal followed by a watery, gurgling giggle followed. “Oh dear, where did you find him this time? He’s supposed to be with Jarvis. You’re supposed to be with Jarvis, you silly boy! Obie, would you put him down? He just ate!”
A burst of saliva watered Steve’s mouth, and he tried to swallow, but couldn’t quite manage around Tony’s cock, making him cough, throat working to try to accommodate air and too much wetness and Tony’s cock filling him, not caring about either. Long, deep strokes that made Steve’s eyes water and shook the leaflike fringe of the veil until it clinked lightly together. The pendant swung wildly where it hung from his chest, tugging and pulling at the clamps, sending pings of stinging pain down his chest and groin as Tony used his mouth. Tears streamed from his eyes, and Steve blinked them back, lashes sticking together. Tony brush a silvery trail off Steve’s cheek with his thumb and brought it to his mouth, sucking Steve’s tears off his finger as if they were an elixir, even as his hips snapped hard, pounding his cock into Steve’s mouth while bright, white stars blurred against Steve’s eyes.
“I wish I had a harmonica,” Tony said, thumping his head against the back wall of the holding cell just above the fold-down metal cot where he was sitting. “I feel like I should have a harmonica.”
“I’ve stopped mentioning things out loud,” Steve cut in. “No, thanks, 26, I’m really okay,” Steve said quickly as the armor held a pillow out to him. Rather too hopefully, Tony thought in annoyance, rolling his eyes. He’d wanted to tear the damn thing apart for scraps, but now Steve was all sentimental about it.
Tony stood up in one quick motion and walked swiftly away from the table. He stopped when he reached the living room. Steve got up, too, not knowing what else to do, and started clearing the dishes.
“I don’t—that’s not--I wanted to…talk to you. About—” Steve broke off. About us? That sounded naïve and presumptuous, even in Steve’s mind. He let out a huff of air and drew in a deep breath. “About what I said. Before,” Steve added. “What I was trying to say, anyway.”
married. They were just…whatever it was they were doing. Liking each other. That hardly meant for as long as they both shall live. That kind of thinking was crazy, clearly, and he
He opened his eyes to brightness. No. Not brightness. A light. A sliver of blue light, cutting a bright line through the darkness. He blinked again. Not a line of light. Light escaping under a door, he realized. He was in the Tower. As soon as he thought it, it seemed crystal clear, and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. He was in a hallway in the Tower. The hallway outside Tony’s room. There was an Iron Man painting hanging next to his shoulder done by six-year-old Callie, who won a contest at her library in Scranton with it and gotten a fifty-dollar savings bond and a certificate. Iron Man was handing out glowing flowers to a group of people, two cats, and an iguana with a collar that said his name was Earl. Tony had asked for a copy and given her a full scholarship to the college of her choice one day. Steve remembered thinking how casual Tony could sometimes be with his generosity, throwing money around like it meant nothing. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to him. It was hard to tell with Tony, sometimes. It
“He didn’t move in. We had dinner. We were talking and then…my back, and Tony…he helped,” Steve explained. “Am I fired?”
Something was up, that much was clear, though damned if Tony knew what had changed between floral doodles and the hotel lobby. In the car ride over, Steve had been looking anywhere but at Tony, and all of Tony’s attempts at conversation fell flat. Tony couldn’t help but feel as if he’d done something to screw it up, though he couldn’t quite work out exactly what. One minute, they’d been bantering about the flower exchange, Steve being crazy-adorable and Tony probably acting like a besotted fool, and the next, they’d spilled out of the elevator into reality and…Steve had clammed up.
“Blood pressure is a bit elevated, and your pulse-ox is low,” the other medic said. “We’d like to take you in and run some tests, Mr. Stark. Just as a precaution.”
Tony slid into one of the barstools and picked up the coffee. Ah, heaven, he thought, inhaling the aroma and following it up with the first, glorious sip. It was just the way he liked it, strong, with just a bit of cream. He was oddly pleased that Steve remembered.
Steve's eyes, still blown wide, snapped to Tony's in what Tony would have called shock for lack of a better word, though that wasn't quite right, because there was pain in them, pain and regret and something else that slashed through Tony, bright and searing. Fear. There was fear there, too, lurking in the background, which made no sense, not really, but what in this did?
“I speak many languages,” the man said. “I am called Yinsen, by the way. His translator. And I do not think I will tell him what you have to say, for both our sakes.”
“--in town for the Department of Defense’s annual Defense Innovation Show, Stark was spotted enjoying the craps table at Wynn’s casino, alongside the Vegas mogul himself. Kelsey, I’m told Stark won a Picasso off Wynn in a side-bet,” the woman on TV announced with a smile in her voice before it went silent.
“Sounds good, Tony,” Steve replied, the tension visibly leeching out of his shoulders when he realized Tony really was going to let it go.
“I’m not here about your marriage, or whatever this is,” Everhart responded dismissively. “I’m here about this,” she said, holding up one of the pictures. “Recognize it? Should be familiar enough to both of you. It’s a town called Gulmira. Ever heard of it? The Ten Rings was holed up there with hundreds of human shields until you and your team showed up, Captain, and
But why, if Steve had feelings for him, why didn’t he say something? Why let it just be about sex, if he wanted something more? And then break it off without so much as even the fake kind of ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech? He would blame Barnes, if only because that seemed to be the party most responsible for Steve’s actions lately, but if it was Barnes’ potential return that led Steve to break things off, why agree to a set-up with dear Anne from R&D, who held two Master’s degrees from Caltech, liked hiking, riding her Harley and volunteered with animal rescue. Which Tony totally did not know about. Shame she accepted that offer of promotion at the facility in Shanghai.
“That’s—yeah, right, we didn’t have no clue, man, swear to fucking God,” Dominic pleaded. “You have to believe us. Tell him, tell Cap, we didn’t know. Besides, nothing—nothing happened, really. I mean, I got a little, you know, tazed or whatever. Which is cool. Totally fine. Had that coming, I see that now. And then he just, he kinda like fell or something, and hit his head, and see…we didn’t want to just leave him there for, you know, like anyone to come along and find him or something, so…”
“They used to show these news reels about the war in front of the picture shows,” Steve said, seemingly apropos of nothing. “One time, this guy was yelling at the screen, trying to get the projectionist to skip over the reels, get to the entertainment, you know? There was this woman there, watching it, and I could see her crying when they showed the soldiers. The more the guy shouted, the more upset she got. So, I told him to pipe down. Ended up in the alley behind the theater getting the stuffing knocked out of me until Bucky showed up.”
“Bucky said you came to Germany,” Steve said after a pause. He’d stopped, one hand on the door handle. His bad hand, Tony noticed, tightening, then releasing, like Steve couldn’t decide whether to hang on or let go. His eyes were fixed forward, locked on the doors, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Here there be dragons, Tony thought to himself.
“This is him,” Steve said, holding the phone out to Stark, who hesitated a moment, then plucked it from Steve’s hand before quickly handing it back.
Giving up on any of his plans for the evening actually coming to fruition, Steve headed to his own apartment. The temptation to check on Tony was strong, but do not disturb meant what it meant. If Tony wanted privacy, for whatever reason, then Steve wasn’t going to intrude. He was absolutely not going to think about the relief he’d felt when Deirdre had been at her desk in Marketing, instead of upstairs in Tony’s penthouse. Definitely not.
***************************************************************************************************************************
“Mad?” Tony repeated, sounding bewildered. “No. No, I’m not mad, Steve. I’m honestly relieved it wasn’t something worse. I could tell you have been twisting yourself into knots lately. I knew a storm was brewing in that head of yours, and if the night’s outburst was all it was, then I consider myself fortunate.”
“But?” Tony cajoled with a sigh. “I know there’s a but coming. That was entirely too vaguely complimentary for you. You do that when you’re about to tell me everything that’s wrong.”
“Probably play video games,” Kirk said, then huffed out a laugh. “You should see your face. No, I’m not going to play video games with my life. I will probably get supremely bored one day and hack Ubisoft so all their characters become butch lesbians. But, that’s more of a hobby than a career. I’m going to run a global weapons conglomerate and slowly transition it to clean energy, telecommunications, assistive technology—mostly for medical stuff--adaptive hardware and artificial intelligence.”
“I know that, Stark,” Fury said, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “I thought he was okay now?” Fury asked, directing the question at Steve and ignoring Tony’s disgruntled look.
“Everyone’s for sale,” Stark replied with a slight sigh that sounded almost sad, stepping towards him so that he stood just outside the pool of light from the balcony’s single bulb. He spread out his hands, an open gesture that seemed almost like a surrender. “It’s just about how much it will cost.”
“Tony—you—you do know that you can’t buy the Metropolitan Museum of Art so Steve will like you, right?” Pepper asked carefully, eyes narrowing.
“That you think yourself common makes you all the more remarkable. I assure you, there is nothing common about you. There is a force in you, this strength and certainty you have, and yes, righteousness, even in a world that refuses to bend to it. You are far from perfect, my soldier,” Tony breathed out, mouth quirking up at the corners, “but, you are a good man, and that is, perhaps, the hardest thing to be in a world that rewards those who can set that aside when it suits them. Not you, though. Never you. That much, I know. You have endured more than any one man should in such a meager span of years, my dearest one,” Tony said, glancing up at Steve, this time with heavy, liquid eyes that grew soft, almost pleading, as he looked at Steve. His hands found Steve’s hips, resting there, just beneath where the water lapped at Steve’s waist. “I would…consider it a great accomplishment if you did not have to endure anymore,” he said at long last.
“Again, my apologies,” Tabbert added, then sucked in a quick breath, nodded at some point between Tony and Steve, grabbed his tweed coat to hold in front of him and all but ran off towards the men’s room.
“Is Tony excited for MIT?” Peggy asked, drawing Steve’s wandering mind back to the screen. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to him at the party last night.”
That was crazy. Pepper was an idiot. A complete and utter idiot, and she was putting thoughts into Steve’s head. Bad thoughts, untrue thoughts and why would she do that? This was pure and true and right, and Steve shouldn’t be concerned about anything remotely like that. Now Steve was concerned and it was all Pepper’s fault. And Pepper needed to tell Steve, tell him right now, that she hadn’t meant it, that such a thing wasn’t possible, and that this was pure and true and right, and she really needed to use those words and then stop speaking, except maybe to tell Steve that this was pure and true and right, just in case he wasn’t sure. Maybe she could send some kind of expert over? Were there bonding doctors? Sure there were. There had to be. They could tell Steve that this was pure and true and right and Pepper didn’t know what she was talking about and--
This was good, Tony thought, somewhat dreamily, this thing where they became one for a time. It always felt a bit like a feather floating down, swaying back and forth on a gentle breeze as it settled on the ground. Hormones, sure, he knew that, but it felt like more. He reached a hand behind him and traced it lightly over Steve’s hip, cupping the curve of his ass. No one else could give Steve this, not like this. Not the way Tony could. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he was as sure of it as he was of any of his equations.
—what kind of shit went down over there. And these people want to make you feel dirty just for shaking your junk around? Come on, that’s bullshit,” Bucky protested.
“Ms. Potts,” Mitch said warmly in greeting. “Good to see you, as always. Colonel Rhodes, so nice to have you back in town.”
“And then I wouldn’t have met Tony, so—so don’t ask me to regret it, okay, Buck? Because I don’t,” Steve added, turning towards Tony. “I don’t.”
“I think we just need to let the lawyers handle it from here, Tony,” Steve answered, letting his head dip down to his chest where he leaned against the counter.
“Did you and Dave ever have kids?” Tony asked, turning to Charles, when the rest of the group seemed preoccupied with the choice of venue for someone named Tegan’s Bonding celebration.
“JARVIS, bath, please,” Tony called out. “And get us some food delivered. That Thai place. Say, four times my usual order. Do not let Clint bring it to us,” Tony commanded. He helped Steve to his feet, or at least held onto him while Steve managed just fine, whatever. His own legs were wobbly and weak from kneeling, so it was possible it was Steve who actually propelled them to the tub.
“You, ah,” Steve began, then stopped to clear his throat, looking down and away before finding Tony’s eyes again. A small, crooked smile ghosted over his expression before he seemed to catch himself and shutter it into something Tony recognized now as Steve’s stage-face. “You ready to go?” Steve asked, then looked down pointedly. Tony realized he had one hand clutched tightly on the sleeve of Steve’s jacket and the other wound into Steve’s hair, still trying to tug Steve’s mouth back down to his like his hand hadn’t quite gotten the message that they were done just yet.
“Stark just left you there, huh?” Brock asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. It looked almost like concern, but it didn’t feel like concern. There was an undercurrent of… implication in Brock’s words that made Steve’s jaw tighten and his back stiffen.
So why did it hurt to think about? Okay, the night itself didn’t hurt to think about. The night was… a lot to think about, but none of it bad. If he were honest with himself, what stung was not seeing Tony this morning. Even Brock could pick up on that, apparently, though it would have been nice if Brock had let that slide. Was it so obvious? Or did Brock just know him that well?
“You. Small hands. Here,” Tony said, pointing with the leather-gloved hand to his side. “Ah…chess losers have to wait,” Tony told him, eyes twinkling. Steve sucked in a breath and tried to hold his face still, though Tony’s smile only grew all the more satisfied as he watched Steve’s efforts. “There,” Tony said, pointing at Steve. “You see that? That’s the face. Where are my guards? They’ll tell you. They were silently pondering it all day. Does he do that with you? He does, doesn’t he? Poor attitude, that. Why do you think that is, when I have it on good authority that he is being
supplies. His hunger and thirst sated and almost dry from the breeze clipping across the island and rustling the few, sparse trees, Steve lumbered back down to the beach and donned his tattered clothes.
The alien made some kind of noise, high-pitched, chittering, and sonorous at the same time, like if you combined a whale song, a bird, and a dolphin and maybe threw in some electro-dance beat. Tony winced at it, frowning, and it hummed at him, soft and low and...soothing? Yeah, soothing, Tony decided. Tony found himself missing the contact of the alien’s hands, though the feeling of being at ease lingered, warming him, making him feel languid and weightless, the way he did when he was flying. He had a distant thought that it was odd, this feeling, but it was so good, so easy to just fall into, he couldn’t seem to latch on to the question.
“So,” Steve said, totally unsure now what he had done and trying to regroup before Tony fled from his presence for whatever reason, “I just thought that the poster, I mean, well, it should be you, right? Because you are Iron Man. You, I mean, not the suit,” and now he was just rambling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “And I just thought it would be better, you know, if people understood that…that someone who doesn’t have powers or serum or whatever can be a hero with just smarts and guts can be so brave, and…” and oh God, he was just making it worse, wasn’t he? By the look on Tony’s face, that was a definite yes. Unable to help himself and trying desperately to explain, Steve went on, “And, I don’t know, it just seemed wrong to only show the suit, but then I figured I should really talk to you and not just Deirdre because maybe you wanted it that way---“ and for Pete’s sake just stop Rogers. He clamped his jaw shut on whatever other words his brain wanted to supply. | [
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"I was planning to offer you some distraction but the tent came crashing down." Castiel says, trying not to smile.
"Is that what you've been tensed about for a couple of days?" Cas asked, his voice coming out breathy and more gravelly than usual.
Sam reached out and squeezed her shoulder, “You’re doing all you can. Now she herself has to find a way to heal.”
Sam sighed, wishing there was a way to get legal documents, a marriage certificate to be specific, for a legally dead convict and an ex-angel.
"Cas…" Dean feels the familiar sting behind his eyelids. "My life is not worth giving up your grace for."
“I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am.” Dean tells her, “If you could give us contact details of his employees, maybe a secretary or something, that would be helpful.”
"Nope, no buts. Come on." He steps out of the car and holds his hand out. Cas takes it and climbs out behind him.
Castiel notices the way Dean stiffens next to him. All of the other neighbors were welcoming and seemingly unfazed by him and Dean, two men, being in a relationship. Cas is familiar with the working of the world enough to understand Dean’s reservations with being perceived as a queer man, especially considering his upbringing. The fact that Linda is someone of the older generation must not be helping. Though the way Linda said
Dean didn't say anything in reply, just extended his hand for Cas to check. When Cas gripped his wrist, it was not like the time when Dean first got the mark, rough and angry. He never asked how Cas
“Talking about a guy behind his back and one’d think you’d have the basic decency to whisper,” Dean said from the other end of the room, awake and grinning wide for someone who was in grave danger. “Mornin’ sunshine. And Sam.”
indecipherable churns in his gaze, leaving Dean breathless. He's off the couch and walking towards Cas before his legs can register the movement. He reaches out to touch Cas, to offer some form of comfort, but his hand freezes mid-air like a broken branch sticking out of a tree when Cas visibly flinches at the prospect.
He lets his mind wander, the destination somehow being Cas. Dean can't comprehend how weird and uneasy it must feel—from being an
He cleared his throat, "It's fine, Dean. Actually I would love to meet them." He leaned against the arm of Dean's chair, squatting down to face the phone. "Hello, guys."
" Dean balks. His brain is buzzing with a million questions about anything and everything. "Wait, are aliens real?"
"Fine," Dean sighs. "Call me as soon as you hear something. Don't think too much and drive yourself crazy."
Dean huffs a laugh, "I tried," he says. "But a case would pop up and I couldn't turn a blind eye. Gotta keep myself in good shape."
“The officers looking into the case have not given me much, and I don’t have anything valuable to give them either,” she says. “I’m trusting you to remedy that.”
If she sees Dean bristle at the mention of his name, then she chooses to say nothing. She props her leg up on his lap and waits patiently.
Sam shrugged, “Two deaths with the same M.O which’s a little bit weird for a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Welcome back to this week's episode of Dean simping and Cas being ridiculously selfless. Hope you enjoy!
"Our subcontractors have received the preliminary project reports and we soon will begin the procedures for the final go ahead." Michael continued. "The team present here will be shifted to Rome temporarily, travel and stay paid. A special treat from Mr.Zachariah Novak"
"Didn't know he was this clingy," Sam snorted. Irene's ruins have faded and Castiel could see light pouring in and they followed the path.
Strong waves of tension roll out of Dean’s soul and Castiel’s grace responds equally. He contains the urge to have some sort of contact with the man; to ease away the discomfort.
"Sit down, Cas," Dean wiggled his fingers as though he was trying to grab him. Castiel lowered himself on the bed next to Dean, their shoulders brushing hesitantly.
“They led Sam away from us during the battle and before we could stop them, they left with Sam.” Ambriel said. “There were no fatalities among them but Nathaniel and Lailah are heavily injured.”
“So, you’re a guy with a few party tricks up his sleeve,” he says, the ghost of Cas’s touch buzzing on his palm as he pulls it back. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Thor does not have long hair,” Cas says, simply, picking up another sword that begins glowing slowly the moment Cas’ hands wrap around its hilt. “This one actually belongs to the Norse Gods. The sword of Surtr.”
"Let's check it out then. It's like an eight hour drive, if we leave now—" Dean paused, his eyes falling on Cas.
"That I can live with," Dean sighed, dropping his head to Castiel's shoulder. If Dean noticed the way Cas's borrowed heart was thudding hard against his ribs, he didn't say anything. "You gotta practice calling me husband, though.
Breakfast turns out to be him and Cas perched upon the kitchen counter eating cereal. Cas downs more caffeine than anyone should ever consume in their lifetime directly from the pot, grumbling about why there is never enough coffee. Dean thinks about buying Cas his own coffee machine and then remembers that Cas isn't his boyfriend and this isn't Full House.
"Don't move or the bullets going right in your chest," Dean kept his eyes trained on her, though his ears were focused on any sounds behind him. Hunter's instinct. He narrowed her eyes at her, “Going on a night prowl, Louisa?”
The sound of a tray clinking against the table caught their attention, and Castiel turned around in time to see the waiter walk away. Four glasses of tequila sunrise, along with a sheet of paper folded into a neat square.
His eyes caught something and Castiel followed Dean's line of vision in time to see Nadia surging forward to kiss Sam.
“Dean,” Cas looked up, wide eyed. The mixture of relief and despair in his eyes threw him off kilter. Cas shook his head slowly, his finger slipping away from the woman’s neck.
“Sometimes certain cases are puzzling enough that we are forced to consider the unnatural possibilities,” Cas tells her as she leads him to the morgue.
"Way out of your league, just saying," Dean pokes Jo in the side of her stomach. "How serious are we talking?"
“Who wouldn’t?” Dean stared at him like Castiel suddenly grew another head. “Why do you keep these locked up in here? Sell it online or if you don’t want that, put it up on the wall at least.”
“Ain’t no skin off my teeth,” he mumbles. “At least you were saving lives instead of deciding to turn your back on the life and shack up with a wife and two kids.”
—and Dean doesn't want Cas to leave so he keeps his mouth shut. The bridge ahead of them is one long road of potholes and thorns, getting closer and closer until the time to burn it will inevitably fall over their heads like an anvil, but for now, they're good.
“Hold your horses,” Luke- Gabriel waves his hand. “He’s gonna kick my ass for making you almost crash your car, but what can I say? I’ve got a flare for dramatics.”
They start from the opposite end, ruling out each end and Castiel ends up opening Mary Winchester’s door. Her memories are made of John, a young boy with blonde hair and unmistakable sparkling green eyes, with a bundle of towel in her arms from where two tiny fists poke out into the air. Mary Winchester is at peace, and in her memories, so are John, Sam and Dean. Castiel is relieved that Dean does not have to go through a reminder of his painful past at the sight. Meanwhile, Dean moves through the doors, making comments about the relatives of his he does not recognize and assigning them imaginary relations he makes up impromptu. Castiel shakes his head in dejection but laughs along as Dean secures himself a large number of aunts, uncles and cousins, until finally they meet in the middle, a single door left to be opened.
Castiel braves his eyes up to Dean, everything else being too difficult to focus on, "I don't know what is right, Dean." He says.
“Ted was working late that night,” Mrs. Steller says, wiping her face on a handkerchief, “We were supposed to go out for dinner, but he cancelled that last minute…” Tears stream down her face.
, Nemiah and Camael charge forward and Dean kicks his brain back into action and steps forward to stand between them and Ruby.
Castiel followed him back into the room, the warmth making him shudder. "You should lock your door. Anyone could have just walked in."
The joke falls flat, but Cas still smiles, and Dean wants to ask him a hundred million questions, but he can't seem to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Cas gets on his feet and extends a hand to him, helping Dean up. He flops down onto the bed and pats the mattress, gesturing for Cas to sit.
There was a time when Castiel would've been left confused—even terrified—of what he was feeling right now. When the duty of rescuing Michael's vessel from hell, it was nothing but a mere duty. But the moment he laid his hand on Dean's soul, he knew he would never feel anything that intense. The magnitude of beauty the hunter's soul held was unmatched to anything he had ever witnessed. Both Sam and Dean's souls were pure in their own way but no other responded to Castiel's grace the way Dean's soul did. The most devastating part of being human was that he couldn't see Dean's soul anymore, though it didn't matter. Now, he could concentrate on the sound of Dean's laughter and the twinkle in his eyes when he made a joke; and it was beautiful all the same.
"I'm still riding the high," Sam grins, waving his hand dismissively. "Once I crash, you'll have to drag me back home."
Dean felt a kiss being pressed to his temple, something like a reward, ’cause, yeah, Cas knew how hard it was for him.
“I went to get a few supplies, I hope you don’t mind,” Cas says, and then pauses. “Dean, are you drunk?”
Dean dragged him away to a corner away from where people were gathered and as soon as their legs came to a stop, Dean leaned closer, resting his forehead on Cas’s shoulder. Cas placed his palm on the nape of Dean’s neck and rubbed small circles with his thumb in an attempt to ease out the tension. He smiled when Dean sighed and pressed closer. Castiel was more than happy to be the comfort his friend needed.
Cas sits up straight instead, "Are we going to keep ignoring everything that has happened between us?"
He drops to his knees near the six tails that splay on the muddy ground, plaintive and unmoving at the brush of his fingers.
His friend, for all his tough exterior, was nothing but a man who lost and lost until he taught himself to numb his own heart. Yet he was so full of love, and if Castiel could give him even a part of what Dean poured out to the people he cared about, then Cas would consider himself worthy.
In the back of his mind Dean knew if Louisa was the one behind this, she’d have hexed him the moment her eyes fell on him. Besides, he could see it in her eyes. Call it experience, Dean could tell she wasn’t lying. He’d seen the way she and Terra looked at each other.
He will have to trust Cas here, because Cas knows better. He always does. Dean’s even more sure of it when Cas pulls him closer, guiding Dean’s head to his shoulder, because Dean needs this.
Ella wraps her whole fist around his forefinger and Dean all about loses it. He doesn't know if it's the days of repressed emotions or the relief of seeing his niece safe in his arms and her mother gleaming with joy, Dean swallows down a sob at the sight of his family.
They help Eileen up the backseat and Jo climbs in with her. Dean panics for another moment before Jo whacks him on the forehead, "Drive. I'll call Sam."
Sam walked into the kitchen to be greeted with the sight of an avalanche of pancakes sitting on the table, and if his brother and his friend were a part of the package then Sam will just have to ignore them. Not that it mattered because Dean was busy hip-checking Cas away from the sink to notice Sam’s arrival. He cleared his throat, and as expected, Dean jumped like a cat who just saw a cucumber and Cas stayed rooted where he was.
"My car is compromised. Cassie. Don’t ask too many questions.” Gabriel said. “Now give me the keys and I’ll get going.”
“I sent Sam off to the scene early, told him I’d catch up with you,” Dean turns around, walking out to the parking lot. “I’ll need a ride.”
“If you pull the right strings, you can be back in tops a month.” Gabriel grinned at him, “I will take care of this place like my own.”
Dean wrapped his arms around Cas' waist and rested his chin on his shoulder, "What's so special about this boyfriend?"
. Every time the thought that he's in love with an angel of the Lord ㅡ or even better, Cas loves him right back ㅡ comes to his head, Dean feels hot and cold all at once. There is this giant gaping pit in his stomach that never forgets to remind him how easy it is for him to lose Cas, just as easy as it is to forget all his worries in the angel's presence. Dean's inner monologue starts to turn eerily close to some Keats poem, so he shakes himself out of his own head.
He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a shake, “Cas, buddy, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up!”
It took him all his willpower to not crawl back into Cas' arms and stay there as long as could. Instead, he stepped out into the empty hallway, the cool morning air making him shiver. He wondered why it felt like a breakup even when they were not in a relationship. His chest felt heavy as he climbed down the stairs, drawing his jacket tighter around himself.
"He's in good shape, Sammy," Dean mumbled, eyes falling shut. "Y'nt tell 'cause of the stupid coat."
“He’s already all on board with getting the place, even after hearing about what happened there recently,” Dean nudges him. “Bit of a daredevil, this one.”
“There is no need to apologize, Dean,” Cas reached out, pressing a hand to Dean’s shoulder, right where his hand print stood burned. Dean felt his whole body light up like a Christmas tree, waves of crackling light buzzing down to his spine. Cas’s blue eyes kept him pinned to the spot, and Dean had never been more happier. “Your safety is of utmost importance to me,” he said.
"Don't put words in my mouth," Dean waggled a finger his way. "I'm just saying this is gonna be a disaster."
Cas' face is stone cold when he speaks, "Tell us what you know about Lilith, demon." Dean reminds himself the guy he cuddled up to last night is a literally celestial being, capable of squashing him like a bug. The thought makes him feel a bunch of things that warrants a visit to the psych ward.
"No." Castiel eyes the building. "I don't expect them to hold Sam captive anywhere obvious, considering how that could easily catch attention. Then again, they could be double bluffing."
Dean hopped up on the marble counter, drying his hair with one of Castiel's ridiculously fluffy towels. He's had his fair share of awkward incidents ranging from mild to Sammy walking in on him eating out his high school girlfriend. Then again, this is one big pickle.
In that night, in the hallway of a dingy motel, Dean has everything he ever wanted and everything he never deserved.
Dean notices the small smile on Sam’s face, probably from Cas’s newfound technical abilities. Dean chuckles softly, shaking his head, because his two favorite people in the whole goddamn world are both fucking nerds.
"Dean, I-" A knock echoes on the other side of the door. Sam peaks in, his eyes landing instantly on Castiel.
"Cas," Dean breathes, holding his hand out, only hoping Cas would take it. Cas does. Of course he does. "Cas, I'm so fucking sorry…"
“It doesn’t really matter, Cas,” Dean runs a hand through Cas’ hair, “Maybe he left to see what his kids would do with his creation. At least, I’m sure you didn’t disappoint him.”
It’s a good thing Dean has no answer to that question, because even if he did, he wouldn’t be saying much. Not when Cas looks so—just so
Fixing Baby was something Dean could do in his sleep so it barely took a few minutes before her engines were up and kicking. He pulled back into the city, driving past his apartment and down to Sam's place.
Cliffhanger again? I'm sorry ;) Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know in the comments! See you next week.
Dean is exhausted and broken and terrified of his own mind. Trying to breathe hurts, so he doesn't. Instead, he yanks Cas forward into a kiss, every inch of his being screaming at him to not to dump his pathetic self on the man. But, Dean might die if he doesn't. He will die.
“Fine. G’night.” The movie played on into a dull murmur in the back of his mind and Dean let him head drop to the back of the couch, a stream of air rushing out of his lungs.
“It’s office hours.” Castiel tossed the keys to his brother. “If I find any traffic offenses, I will end you.”
"That's the thing, I didn't." Dean said. "We met at a party yesterday and really clicked, you know. He was funny and smart and really fucking hot. The guy said he moved to town to join his family business and apparently it was the fucking Novak Contracting."
Dean whipped his head around, catching sight of a man holding a stack of files in his hand, frowning at them over the rim of his glasses.
The newlyweds kissed and the crowd broke into applause, as they walked down the aisle, hand in hand, followed by the rest of the congregation. Soon enough, the dreaded photo session — the sequel: this time it was personal — commenced. Dean smiled cheesily for the photos, dying inside every passing second. If the photographer had said 'let me see those smiles' one more time, Dean would have put his head through a wall.
"Optimism looks good on you," Cas stated simply. Dean could feel his eyes on the back of his head like a physical thing, but he kept his gaze on the road.
"You'll have to take that up with the big man upstairs," Dean shrugs. "'Sides I don't wanna wake up to find our goddamn plant can talk, so no, let them be the way they are."
"Well, I thought I was a freak of nature or some shit," Dean continues, not sure if he's got anything in reply to Cas' honest words. "Realized it wasn't that melodramatic when I went out to college. It's not been that bad since then, 'course there are times when things aren't that great but I turn around and I've got people who care, people who sees me for who."
The room was unusually quiet for a while. That was until, Ruby walked over to Vic and shoved a dollar bill into his pocket. Aaron sighed and handed another bill to Anna, mumbling under his breath.
He regarded the room around him, seemingly well furnished, though walls are pretty bare except for the long canvas lining the wall on his right. A naked charcoal figure crouched on the far end of the canvas, it’s frail body a mess of distorted smoke, knees pressed to it’s chest. A set of wings broke out from it’s back and extended to the other end. There was a sense of morbidity to the painting — the dark colours and the dystopian backdrop surrounding the angelic figure — still, it was gorgeous.
There is an apology bubbling on his tongue and he almost says it out loud, but Cas shakes his head with a smile and wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulder, tugging him down.
To have Cas close by and to know he’s alive is more than Dean deserved. If something he said messed it up and Cas ended up leaving, Dean couldn’t be able to live with the weight of that.
Castiel still doesn’t have a clue regarding the matter of ducks, but he says, “As long as you promise to be careful, you can punch a few angels.”
Dean’s eyes simmered with unshed tears as he drew in a deep breath, “I want—” his throat rippled as he swallowed. “Cas, I…”
Dean drops the man's deadweight onto the couch, his back popping as he straightens up. The man whines, his eyes fluttering under the effort to focus on the world around him.
"Dean, please…" Cas pants, eyes now open as he watches him. Dean takes a deep breath and swallows Cas down in one go, taking as much as he can without gagging. He's a bit out of practice but remembers enough tricks to make a guy's toes curl, courtesy of turning tricks. He grabs one of Cas' hands and guides it to his head, letting Cas fix the pace.
He wipes his face on a towel, tossing it on the sink counter and walks back into the room to find Cas curled up on the couch, only a mop of dark hair poking out of the blanket wrapped around him.
Sam bit down a smile at the genuine relief reflected in Dean's voice. His brother was right—everyone was alive and well for once and there was no apocalypse knocking on their door. Sam was more than willing to hold on to that as long as he could.
“You carried that weight, Dean. Ever since you were a child, all you knew about yourself was that you had to be strong enough to carry it,” Cas said softly, and Dean’s heart stuttered a little. “Now that you let me, even Sam, shoulder some of that weight, the love can emerge from within. All you have to do is keep your heart open, and I promise to never hurt you.”
"Cas, hey. No," Jaime tugs at his sleeve until he looks up at her. "You tried your best, it wasn't your fault."
Castiel rolled his eyes, knowing the conversation was over. “Only if you volunteer to be my first patient.”
Olivia giggles quietly, seemingly satisfied with her two new friends. She heads for the kitchen and Cas sees Linda’s gaze trail her with a sad smile on her face.
"Yeah, I ain't gonna do that," Joseph snorts. "Anyways, try not to get yourself killed out there, kid."
Cas pulls away first, though not before pressing a final kiss to Dean's lips, "I'm sorry for dropping by like this, but Gabriel–"
"Are these worn only by grandmothers?" Cas question, the genuine curiosity in his voice making it so hard not to laugh.
They each grabbed a beer and settled down on stools facing each other. Nadia was looking gorgeous as ever—the pale yellow glow of the hanging lights in the tent highlighting her sharp features. She caught him watching and smiled, a sliver of which he caught right before he ducked his head to hide the color in his cheeks.
"I love you," Dean tugged him forward, their lips meeting in a kiss that said what words could never. Words were never enough for them.
“If it were before I met you, I would have said ‘God works in mysterious ways’,” Cas huffs a small laugh, which is so fucking adorable on its own, except for the tint of sadness behind it. “Now, I’m not sure what his intentions are.”
The days were getting shorter, the sky turning a shade of crimson. As he drove past the row of houses decorated with hanging skeletons and Jack O'lanterns, Dean remembered the halloween back in Kansas, where everyone knew everyone else and life was easier.
“Who did this?” Cas asks, his tone burning with fury, so much so that Dean pulls his hand away on instinct.
“Dream on, Strawberry Shortcake.” Dean held his drink up, away from her reach, “This is for me and Meg. Should’ve thought about it before you ditched me at the bar.”
“I’m not the one to speak for Cas but giving up his grace was his own choice, Dean.” Sam snaps back. “And for what you did while you were a demon, even if I couldn’t forgive you, which I do by the way, he would still vouch for you.”
"Sure," Homer shrugged, heading for the door, "Everything inside of them is now in the fridge. Don't make a mess."
It’s an uneventful night for Cas from there on, but Dean’s having the worst time of his life, clutching the porcelain throne and evicting his guts out of his body. Fun times. Cas’s hand is still on his back, and there’s something cold pressing against Dean’s forehead. The favors Dean owes Cas is stockpiling, and he’ll have to die for Cas a couple of times to make up for all this.
“Good morning, Dean,” Cas greeted. He even had that little smile playing on his lips and Dean was sure it was somehow his birthday and Christmas.
“Yeah,” he laughed, sipping his beer. “We lost our mom when I was baby and Dean was just four. He’s been both my mom and dad since then.”
Castiel's heart ached at the tear lodged weight in Dean's voice. Charlie was his friend too but she was a sister to Dean, one of the constants in his life. With the way they cared about each other, it was unfair that Dean was not getting the time he needed to grieve, especially with the survivor's guilt he must be experiencing, having Charlie sacrifice her life to protect him.
"She's a demon, Dean. We kill demons." Sam states, "You think I care enough to vouch for her after we get what we need?"
"Dean, please…I want to see you." Cas pants after a while, dragging his hard length dragging between his cheeks.
“It’s because I’m his favorite, ‘van,” Jaime grins. “Besides, I have to go back to work tomorrow. I deserve it.”
"When he got really drunk he'd start mouthing off about how Mom should've been here instead of Sam," he breathes out. "I couldn't let the kid hear all that so I'd say something to piss him off enough to throw a punch or two at me, enough to distract him from saying all that shit."
"Sam, enough!" Dean cuts him off in a tone Sam knows is the final word. "I trust Cas. For one, he's been here for five days and he hasn't axed me yet. Second, he gave me the full story without shuffling around and if you met the guy you'd know how he is."
around like puppets just because you can.” He says, “When push comes to shove, you gotta pick a side, Cas.”
Dean lets out a muffled gasp, knuckles white as he curls his fingers into the sheets, holding on for dear life.
I'm uploading this chapter a day early because I've to go get vaccinated tomorrow and after the first dose I know I won't be able to open my eyes, forget updating. Anyways, hope you enjoy!
"Dean," he reached out, hands moving on its own accord as he pulled the hunter into a hug. Dean stilled a moment before settling in Cas's arms, a pained noise escaping his chest.
Dean Winchester is nothing more than witty one liners and carefully crafted bravado, but this time, nothing helps to stop the dam from breaking. When he meets Castiel's eyes, it takes him all of his strength to not blurt out the three precious words he's been nurturing in his chest for years on end.
“You know the story then.” She throws her head over her shoulder to look at him, her gaze icy. Cas had told him Nemiah had to leave heaven to live with the love of her life on earth, and was allowed back in only after Zachariah’s great regime fell. By then, her husband was long dead. “I was always the selfish black sheep but Castiel was the perfect soldier, and then he met you.”
“This is nothing compared to the time we went to Hawaii,” Hillary bellowed. “Poor Ben here had to get tetanus. Clumsy guy.” she chuckled, slapping her husband’s chest playfully.
“Alright, how about a rematch?” Castiel grins at his opponent, pulling out another hundred dollar bill. “All in?”
As soon as Sam, Ruby and Bobby step, Castiel watches Dean lock the door behind them, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"M'kay," Dean's eyelids fluttered open slowly. Even under the meek illumination of the flashlight, Castiel could see the flecks of gold that danced in Dean's irises, only on one of them though, since the other one was dilated almost to a full extent.
Secrets are another peculiar behavior exhibited by humans. They lie and come back to holy sanctuaries, begging for forgiveness. Yet, they never stop. The lies and mistrust are as strong as a part of humanity as is love and forgiveness.
The idea of Cas drowning a spider is not as amusing as the look of absolute remorse and sadness on his face—the same angel who is older than creation and has fought heavenly battles. Dean bites the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from laughing.
Sam sighs, frustration etched into his features, “That’s just bullshit, Dean. You didn’t go to Disneyland, you went to hell. Just talk to me, or someone, because keeping all that crap in is going to kill you.”
“Been trying for a while now. I don’t know what this bitch has me tied to,” Dean squirmed around, possibly trying to untie himself.
"Right." Dean walked over to the kitchen and sure enough, Sam was propped up on the kitchen counter, a book in one hand and a half eaten apple in the other. His shaggy hair was an even bigger mess and there were weeks worth of bags under his eyes.
The silence is not as unnerving as he had imagined, even the absence of something small but habitual, like the ticking of a clock somehow calming. Dean looks up at the ceiling as he lies back on the slightly dusty but soft mattress, wondering if the complete stillness would start to get eerie as the day grows dark.
"I do," Dean flicked Cas's arm. "Doesn't mean we gotta hop on the first case we find. You and Sam are here and alive, the world is not ending for once and I can live with that for now."
"Dean," an hand comes to rest on his arm, pulling an involuntary shudder out of Dean at the touch. "You are not a coward, quite the opposite, in fact. Existence is difficult no matter who you are and you're nothing but loving and considerate."
Dean voiced it so easily but they both knew it was not an option. At least, not to Castiel. There were many things Castiel did in the name of the greater good, but harming even a hair on Dean Winchester's head was not one of them. He simply could never.
“We all know how that went.” Charlie pointed out. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you two decide to elope one fine morning.”
“She’s really pretty,” Olivia walks closer, perching herself on the edge of the coffee table. “Her hair is really long and she always stands next to the window. I tried to wave at her but she won’t wave back. I think she’s lonely.”
“Pfft, you’ll always be my little bro, Cas,” he says, turning to fix his gaze on Dean. “You chuckles, if you ever hurt my brother, I’ll skin you alive.”
"It is quite romantic," Cas replies, deciding not to pay much attention to the tantrum Dean seems to be throwing.
Cas goes on to explain the different weapons and Dean contemplates going back and laying down on the bed as he feels his eyelids heavyㅡhe doesn’t even remember the last time he sleptㅡbut Cas is right there, so instead Dean wraps his hand around Cas’ waist and rests his chin on his shoulder. He talks about the Lance of Olyndicus, something called a
The figure that was leaning on the armchair next to the window was surely Cas, which was confirmed by the soft, "Dean," whispered his way.
“Right,” Sam rubs a hand across his face, “So what if we find Lilith and kill her before she gets to break any more of the seals?”
He spotted the redhead at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall as she waved her hand enthusiastically, chatting up the dark haired girl who watched her with fascination.
Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s out of the door even before it’s fully open, handing his card to Cindy.
"Woah, slow down. I didn't say that," Dean said quickly. "Just...let's not go looking for cases that hard. If something catches our eyes we'll work it."
It's too much of his soul he's baring to a stranger, but Cas is good. Cas wouldn't judge him, Dean knows.
"You didn't." Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Even if you did, it was probably another spur of the moment. Like when you said you liked me back then." He was dangerously close to spilling the truth but he had it enough being hung up on someone who he had no business even trying to get with.
"Good, you're alright," Dean said, simple, easy. Out of the corner of his vision he saw Sam roll his eyes and Dean knew better than to open that can of worms now. Or ever.
“Thoughts help fill the silence,” Cas gathered up his wrap, trying not to let any stray pieces of chicken fall down. “Human mind is so...quiet.”
Dean lifted his hand to squeeze Cas's shoulder, "We've got a case to workout and apparently that involves playing house," he sighed. "I don't wanna go out fighting. People might think I don't treat my man well."
"Huh, Nadia was right," Sam said, eyes fixed on the avalanche of gift baskets sitting on the porch steps.
Dean glared at him for a good ten seconds before dropping the Impala's key into his hand, "Not a scratch."
"I'm making breakfast today," Cas announces, and Dean doesn't know what to say to that, not when Cas's hand trails down Dean's arm—and that's not fair play. "Go sit down, Dean."
"Look, I know it's weird. Hell, I myself don't know how I'm here." Dean says, "So you test me all you want and keep the gun up. Shoot me if I attack you."
“I did not want any of you to hear this from any sources of rumor.” Cas began, “Dean and I are in a relationship.”
“Still alive and kicking,” he grunts, as if that’s disappointing. “As for me, I’ve got nothing interesting going on ’cept for an arthritis that’s getting worse.”
"Stop psychoanalyzing me, asshole," Dean chuckles, clearing his throat aiming for a more believable tone and says,"Seriously, I'm good."
"I'm glad you know how important it is that I leave," Cas says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I don't know about that but Dean is an amazing person. " Cas said. "He doesn't give himself enough credit."
Lunch is uncharacteristically quiet, Cas poking at his meatballs looking up only once in a while to throw cold glances Dean's way. Dean runs and reruns everything he said to Cas in his head, trying to figure out if he messed up somewhere.
“Fine, whatever.” Dean turns to Ruby, a finger right up to her face, “Pull some kind of trick and you will be real sorry.”
Night. “I still have some inventory left to take, I could do that and maybe translate a few books by the time you’re done.
Cas laughs softly, "Neither do I," he says. "I'm overwhelmed with the way I feel about you, and a huge part of it is way beyond my understanding…"
“All done,” Sam said, and moved to pack up the first aid kit. “I think you’ll be alright to sleep now. Though, I’m gonna wake you up every couple of hours just to be sure.”
Dean turns to face the angel, closing the distance between them with a kiss. He feels Cas melt into it, hands coming around to circle Dean’s waist. They stand there exploring each other’s mouths until Dean’s skin feels like it’s on fire. He pulls away, raising a hand to cup Cas’ jaw.
"Yeah, just like that," Dean shrugs. "Ever since mom died he's been a ghost, floating in and out of our lives whenever he felt like. We had a dad on paper, that's all. I was kinda relieved when he left, I was scared there would come a day when I slipped up and failed to protect Sammy from him…"
Cas cups the side of his face, running a thumb across the delicate skin under his eyes, “Are you alright with this, Dean?”
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he snapped, anger and panic taking over him. "This is not about any of that. We have a plan and we're gonna stick to it. If you're too good to be my– pretend to be my husband then just say it."
By the time the movie is over, Cas is yawning hard, catching himself in surprise at the foreign action.
“That son of a bitch,” Dean spits out. “If Sammy knew what was going on, his ninja turtle ass wouldn’t stand a chance.”
"Indeed." Castiel nods. "We cannot be sure regarding the effectiveness of the weapon, but everyone here, excluding Dean, witnessed the devil's fall and the damage said weapon induced."
"Three pairs of wings," Castiel replies, slightly confused by the tangent of their conversation. "Why did you ask?"
“So, how did you end up taking her under your wing?” he asks, not just as a desperate change of subject, but Cas hasn’t said much about what he has been up to in the past three years.
"Do you think you can trust everyone in there?" Dean asks, watching the angels gathered in small groups, murmuring and shooting glances at them..
When Cas drags himself and a half asleep Jaime into the house, Ivan is still awake, sitting upside down on the couch with his legs resting against the wall and his head hanging off the seat.
"Yeah, that's good," Dean nods to no one. "Don't work yourself up, she's a tough cookie. And if it's anything to go by their uncle, the baby is a tougher one."
Those things can work itself out in the morning. Right now, Dean had two options in front of him. Order a pizza and catch up on Ozark with his beer to keep him company or call Benny and head to a bar like a normal person on a weekend.
“I can’t tell you that a human being did this,” she purses her lips. “But, I don’t have a sane explanation for this from a medical point of view either.”
Castiel wrapped his hand around Dean's palm on his cheek, turning his head to press a kiss to it. "Come here, Dean."
and Dean gets onto his feet, mind resolute on exploring the place before it gets too dark to appreciate the beauty.
"It's nothing," Dean says, snatching his laptop from the coffee table. "You wanna take a shower before going to bed?"
“Keep your fetishes to yourself, Dean.” Cas said, and Dean could hear the grin in his voice. He just sat there staring at Cas like the useless bisexual he was, until Cas turned to look at him with an amused expression on his face. “Oh my God, I was joking, Dean. Though, it looks like-”
He reached out and placed his palm over Cas’s eyes, “You gotta close your eyes to fall asleep, asshat.”
“It symbolizes grief from separation…” Cas mused. “Not from separation itself, but the cost to be paid for earning the freedom.”
Dean forgets what he's supposed to do and why he's here when he sees the corpse of Alastair still strewn on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding it. Dean clenches his fist, the feeling of his blade passing clean through that demon's chest still livid in his memory. The heat surrounding them claws under Dean's skin, and his head is spinning and-
The door swings open, footsteps coming to stop behind him. Castiel looks up at the man behind him through the mirror, the bright overhead lights of the restroom highlighting his sandy brown hair and green eyes, familiar enough to stir an ache in Castiel. Still, it’s not the right shade of brown or green. It never is.
There were a lot of sleepless nights and visits to the porcelain God involved, but Cas soon adjusted. At least as well as an angel-turned-human could.
Castiel glances back at the demon through the rear view mirror, fidgeting slightly in her presence, the black smoke that is her soul twisting and bubbling. She looks equally uncomfortable, judging by her demeanor.
After four months, eight days and eighteen hours, Dean can finally breathe. Or he did for three whole seconds before his brain decided it was time to crash. Dean pinches his arm ones more, just to make sure this is not another fucked up version of Chuck's illusions.
Cas nods and places the now empty bowl on the coffee table, his hands instantly going back to his shoulders to pull the blanket close. Dean has to remind himself every few minutes that the man in front of him is literally an ancient cosmic being, but Cas makes it so easy to forget that. It doesn't take much to pretend like he's just a plain old Joe, though there is absolutely nothing plain or bland about him, every small feature standing out as quite peculiar in the best way possible. Dean knows if they had met under different circumstances, Cas would
"Thank God." Dean ushered. "I really didn't wanna ditch you here." He walked over to the passenger seat and held the door open. Cas smiled at him before climbing in, and Dean was already addicted to the way his eyes wrinkled and the barely there curve of his lips.
"We had a few visitors while you were out." Dean says, "Your buddy Uriel and some other douchebags."
“How are you holding up, Cas?” Dean asked suddenly, his head turned to face Cas where he leaned back against the wall.
“The chick from the morgue,” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, turning to look at Cas. “I told you there was something off about her.”
Cas’s chest rumbled softly as he breathed out a sigh. “How much alcohol were you planning to imbibe before you let me or Sam help?”
Camael looks at him and down at his hand before shaking it, grip to soft and unsteady, as though he's never done it before. Dean can't help but snort, knowing that's probably the case.
Dean wanted to argue, wanted to say it was impossible or it wasn’t worth it, but all he could do was believe Cas, “I know,” he breathed out. “Can’t thank you enough for it.”
"You've got me and Dean to help you through this, alright?" he offered, feeling more than grateful for Cas in that moment. They owed a hell lot of their lives to the guy. "It's not that bad, being human."
"If anything, Cas is a pain in my ass." Dean smirked, Castiel being the only one getting the innuendo behind it.
he wanted to hug him so bad. Part of him expected Cas to show up bloody and beaten up, just like how he did in Dean's nightmares.
“She’s all good, Sammy,” Dean pulls his flailing limbs down into a hug. “You might hear some screaming soon but it’s just contractions. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, piss off,” Sam rolled his eyes, digging into his breakfast, but not before saying, “You guys are in an awfully good mood today.”
“Thank you,” Cas ducks his head with a smile. It’s adorable. That’s twice in an hour Dean has thought of the word
"Dean, look at me," Cas tilts his face up, but Dean can't meet his eyes. The pity he would see in them—yeah, that will wreck him.
"Good, or else you'd have had no way to defend yourself when I tore you a new one," she pulled each of them into a hug.
"Yeah, she was hitting on you," Dean says absently, remembering how he was tempted to tip her less just out of sheer spite. "Anyways, do you wanna go there for lunch?"
“No, Dean. Wanting us safe is different from keeping us sheltered,” Cas counters. “We would have helped you. I would have, even if you couldn’t tell Sam about the angel possessing him. I would have been happy to remove myself from your vicinity if it meant Sam was alive and healthy.”
“You kidding me, Cas?” Dean exclaimed. “If that’s not impressive then I wanna know what impressive looks like to you. I mean, I get it, family business and everything but maybe when you get bored of all this, you could paint.”
Dean presses the heel of his hand against his hand against his eyes, sharp pressure building against his temples. An arm slides around his shoulder and Dean jumps, only remembering now that Cas has been in the room this whole time.
“It has to be-” Nemiah cuts herself off, her brows knitting together in concentration. “Dean, get behind me.”
Cas cups his cheek and leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He pulls away, a shy smile gracing his lips. “Is this okay?”
“It was a straight tunnel. I don’t remember taking any turns.” Dean says, “But it was dark in there and I couldn’t see shit.”
Dean woke up with a crick in his neck, having slept weird. Cas though, seemed unbothered as he shuffled closer to Dean, octopus grip around his waist. Dean chuckled, running his fingers through Cas' hair, leaning down to pepper kisses on his face.
"Heaven's loyalties are split right now. Most angels working under Zachariah's orders are too afraid to disobey from fear of falling." Cas says. "A few of my own garrison members now work for Zachariah and Uriel. They summoned me, faked an emergency and captured me. Luckily, a few of the other angels both in and out of my garrison were suspicious of the rulings. They helped me escape."
"Nah, Cas." Dean chokes out, drawing a deep breath and slapping on his best grin before turning around. "You gonna eat that burger or what?"
"I ain't gonna promise." Bobby grumbles and Dean wants to run forward and wrap the man in a hug but he also doesn't wanna die, so he stays put. "Silver bullets with a little surprise for demons carved in it. So whatever you are, it ain't gonna be fun."
"Hey," Dean slides his legs off Castiel's lap and drifts closer to Castiel's end of the couch. "So, help me understand. I know I've got a quarter of a brain of what's needed to get angelic discography into my head but you sound like you're having an identity crisis and I wanna help. So, talk to me."
Sam made a snorting noise before handing the phone to Castiel. "Just check to see if both his pupils are dilated differently," he instructed.
"If this seal can be broken only with Lilith actually being there, then chances are she's got high security around here." Sam says.
The moment Eileen's screams cut to a stop and a tiny sharp wailing noise takes its place, Dean lets out a huff of air.
If the Winchester’s had anything in common, it was caring about others all the time and lack of subtlety and Jess was checking all the boxes. When Dean told Sam and Jess his plans, they both almost yelled loud enough for Cas to hear it all the way at their place. That was the very same reason Dean didn’t tell them until the last minute after he had everything planned. Charlie was way better at acting cool than Dean imagined. Then again, Charlie was so many things.
"Awh, don't be like that," Dean grins, jostling the pan to spread the grease around. "I've developed tolerance and you're due for a lifetime of bacon. We'll be fine."
He ran a hand over his face, “I get you, Cas. But you know how Dean is. He thinks his own life is a guilty weight he should carry on his shoulders.”
Oh, he’s not even started. “This whole hell shindig was just another metal rod to my already busted up tail light of a life, man. I’m broken and no matter how hard you try to justify, it doesn’t magically fix squat.”
“The place is heavily warded against angels.” Castiel says, from the backseat. “You need to enter and break the warding.”
He waits for a little while longer, making sure Dean is not having any more nightmares and returns back to heaven, his fingertips tingling without reason.
"Shoulda just let me be." Dean spits out through gritted teeth. "I didn't ask you to drag me back here." A sick part of him enjoys the way Cas curls his palm into a fist, clearly restraining from punching Dean.
“I would find better ways if that were the case,” Rowena answers. “Now, how are you boys doing? Is the not-angel still with you?”
Dean gets some of his senses back at that, “You were at the hospital! Were you tailing me?” he barks.
"Dammit," he mutters, reaching for his phone. The caller id shows it's Sam and Dean remembers another crisis he has been temporarily averting for a while now. "Cas, I've to get this, you can pause if you don't wanna watch alone."
As Sam left to look for the entrance, Castiel slumped against the floor, shifting to make Dean more comfortable. He ran his fingers through the hunter's hair and quietly said, "That was incredibly stupid of you, Dean."
Dean runs a hand through his hair, a cold fist tightening around his heart. “I hear ya, Cas. Loud and clear,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Samuel. Don’t be upset, deary,” Rowena cooed. “I stayed out of trouble like a good little witch, didn’t I?”
When he met Dean’s gaze, those green eyes were looking back at him with an unreadable expression. Suddenly, Castiel was being pulled into an embrace, Dean’s body warm against his. Castiel stiffened, gently wrapping his arms around Dean’s torso.
Cas has his hand raised half way as though he was about to knock and Dean flushes head to toe, expertly swallowing his tongue when he needs it the most.
Emily was sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her, eyes filled with a far-away look, as though he registered nothing happening around her. They went over their routine questions, and Emily answered with shakes and nods of her head, only pausing to sob quietly into her palm. Whenever his attention slipped to Nadia, she was watching him with equal reverence. Sam ducked his head, trying to keep his mind from wandering.
Castiel led the two factions under his command into seclusion surrounding the building making up the office, far enough to stay out of the sight of enemy lines but close enough to witness any abrupt movements.
"If ya idjits done cuddling, get in here and help me with the dishes." Bobby walks off into the kitchen, ducking his head to hide the tears. Dean smiles.
“Give me your hand,” Cas says, and Dean holds his palm out without question, because if Cas wants to hold his hand, then who’s he to say no. Instead, Cas picks up a pen from the table and draws a small line across his palm. Dean watches as Cas sweeps a thumb over the blue ink, making the line vanish.
"You're starting to sound like the shrink I never had," Dean chuckles. "I've put him in my past, Cas. At least I try to. It ain't easy when I don't even know if that fucker is alive or not. All I've ever gotten from him is an email that I still can't bring myself to open."
"It's not that bad. I don't even think you need stitches. Cas healed most of it, now some bandages would do."
“Of course.” Dean shifted his drink to the other hand, extending his free one to Castiel, “I’m Dean.”
“You don’t have to, Dean.” Cas says. “You’re constantly beating yourself up over something or the other and every time I have a vague idea of what you’re going through. But this time I’m human, and my own emotions turned out to be more than I could handle.”
It was not like he had a choice. Between the general problem of insomnia along with the nightmares as a package meant not getting a full six hours in a stretch. There was no point mulling over all that.
“Dean,” Cas said softly, and Dean jumped when he felt a hand over his own where it was wrapped around Cas’s wrist. “Why would I get bored of you?”
“Oh, Mr. Winchester here works for our architecture department.” Michael said. “You see brother, our company had a program where we recruited young bloods, and Mr.Winchester here has proven to be a great asset to the firm.”
"Don't want that happening, do we?" the man grinned, his hand still holding Dean's forearm. "Oh, where's my manners. I'm Luke."
"Not now, Cas." Dean cut him off. Castiel dropped the subject, not wanting to make him more miserable that he already was.
"Lie down, Cas," Dean said, or at least he tried, but his tongue was feeling all slosh-y in his mouth.
Dean twirls the glass in his hand, the first and only drink he’ll probably have tonight. There are a lot of things he wants to tell Cas, starting with everything that happened after the trails, but Dean would take a whole vamps’ nest on his own instead of having to do this. Because, it’s important.
Dean stands there, staring at the curled up figure, not sure what to say next until Sam clears his throat from his bed. Dean sighs and heads back to the empty bed, feeling no better than he did in the past week. Sam flickers the lights off and Dean watches the dark silhouette of Cas on the couch, sound asleep. The sight does nothing to ease the pain in his chest, having Cas so close but knowing not an atom of him deserves to be anywhere near the former angel. Dean sometimes wishes he could start over, clean slate and everything. Spend another eternity trying to redeem himself worthy enough for Cas. But reality is a bitch.
It was fascinating as it was heartbreaking to watch the series of emotions that flitted across Dean's features. His eyebrows raised marginally and the muscles in his jaw clenched, all while those green eyes remained locked to Castiel's.
"You're not." Cas says, and there's no accusation in his tone. "Stop saying you're fine, Dean. It's alright to not be fine for once in your life."
“Glad you asked.” Sam says, “See, according to what Ruby said,” He glances at Dean and looks back at the laptop, “Lilith has kidnapped four girls from Kansas.”
“I never said you were,” Cas replies, peeking over the edge of his laptop. “I’m not calling you homophobic, Dean. What I’m trying to say is, you have always been rather… apprehensive when it comes to conveying how you feel.”
It could have been a second or a century before they gravitated closer, Dean doesn't know. He doesn't care. When Castiel's lips meet his, it's like the first ray of sunshine on a cold winter morning. It's oasis to a drained traveler, first drop of rain to a horn-bill, voice to the deaf and colors to the blind.
When Dean sat up with his shirt sticking to his sweaty chest, it was twenty minutes to six. He climbed out of his car, a whole team of construction workers pounding in his head, and somehow made his way over to their room without falling over.
"You're Castiel." Dean cups his face in his hands, "Beyond the fact that you're an angel, there is so much more to you. You're probably overdue for an identity crisis, but trust me when I tell you, you mean a lot to me and I'm not going to ask anything in return except for you to be safe. Whatever that might cost me."
"We will still have to return." Cas muttered, from where he was sitting on his chair doing the crossword from last week.
“I’m not that stupid, Winchester,” she whacked him lightly on his arm. “I’ll probably call you more times than you’d expect.”
Dean chuckles, "I don't know about stars, but driving like that sounds like a sure-fire way to see God."
Luckily for him, and not so much for her, she made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. Her legs stuttered and she fell to the ground. Dean pulled the safety back and pointed his gun at her, his finger away from the trigger.
“You know Cas,” Justin reaches out to tug at the lapel of his jacket, and Castiel clenches his jaw at the sweet drawl of his name. All he can think of is how it’s utterly different from the warm—almost awed—way in which Dean used to utter his name. The alcohol in him is not enough to drown out the twinge. “Owen usually rearranges people’s faces before he even gives out a warning,” Justin continues, unaware of Castiel’s inner turmoil.
A small smile pulled at the edge of Dean's lips. "You can't ask shit like that when you know I got no answer."
“Agent Gibbs and this is my partner Agent Winston.” The flashing of badges are no more than muscle memory at this point. “We would like to ask a few questions regarding your ex-husband’s death.”
"Had a nice nap?" Dean calls over his shoulder. When no response comes after a minute or so, Dean sets the flame on low and turns to the living room.
"Your father forced you into the role of a soldier at an inappropriately young age, Dean. You deserve to be angry and upset about it."
Cas' lips are slightly chapped, but warm against his own, and Dean all but melts into the kiss. It feels better than anything he has ever felt even while it feels like shards of glass are cutting into his chest. Cas takes less than a second to kiss him back, hands coming to cup his face on both sides.
Dean grimaced at that, throwing a glance at Cas. To his surprise, the said former angel in question had a small smile on his lips, "We could watch a movie if you'd like," Cas said.
"It wouldn't be this bad if you would just go to the hospital," Cas suggests, already anticipating the response.
"What we are meant to be...that's an interesting subject, Castiel," Michael says thoughtfully. "Nothing about anything is pre-written. The choices we make shape our outcomes, and yours have led to this. It isn't right or wrong, simply a fact."
They pulled up into Bettelheims' driveway within a couple of minutes and Dean saw Sam watch the neighboring house out of the corner of his eyes.
He thought, but those words felt like poison on his tongue. It didn't matter that he cared or not. Cas gave up everything he had and some more only to think he didn't have a place in their life. It hurt more than Dean thought it would. Dean would hand over his heart on a silver platter if Cas wanted him to, but the selfless son of a bitch would never ask.
Castiel couldn't help but smile, "No, Dean. I have not. Though, I have heard it is supposed to be a memorable moment of human life."
"Sam Winchester is going down a dangerous path." Castiel says, "If we intervene right now, any future repercussions can be nullified."
“Castiel!” Tamoah calls, and Castiel walks over to where Tamoah is kneeling next to a vessel. He recognizes the bloody form of the angel, his chest heaving as he struggles to hang on to the last bit of his essence.
He reaches for his gun the exact moment Sam makes a beeline for a candle stand on the mantelpiece, both efforts futile as Jenna sends them crashing into a wall with a flick of her wrist. She curls her hand into a fist and Cindy screams, clutching her stomach.
"Holy fucking shit, Sammy." Dean pulled his brother down for a hug, his face breaking into a grin. "Fuck, this is awesome."
are not doing anything," Dean says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Castiel's cheek. "Breakfast in bed, sweetheart."
“We went over the whole timeline, along with Jamie’s husband’s death until yesterday evening. The coroner's report of Susan’s body came in and it’s the same as the last two,” Sam continued, ignoring Dean. “So get this. When we consider only Trenton and Bettelheim, every lead comes to an open end. But, if we take the first death into account, there’s a detail that might be important.”
"What can I say, humans always find a way to sugarcoat everything," Dean shrugs. "Now go sit your ass down, breakfast will come right up."
"I hacked into the department files to get the reports," Sam began. "No progress from where we left off.”
Dean knocked on the door, bracing for whatever reaction was on its way. Nine out of ten times it was teary eyed dismissals, only rarely people let them come in. Which was why he was surprised when a woman in her late twenties opened the door, smiling softly at them.
But his thoughts packed up and left as soon as he spotted Cas coming out of the hall, his hands stuffed into his pant pockets. Dean took his time to eye him up and down, appreciating the view that was his boyfriend.
He tries hard to tunnel vision on to the task at hand. Orders, instructions and goals. This is his thing. But his brain seems to have a whole other agenda of its own as it keeps reminding Dean of the Cas shaped hole in his chest. For two weeks after Cas left, Dean spent the rest of his vacation driving aimlessly with nothing but his music and the rumble of Baby's engine to keep him company. He caught a few sights and ate good food, all while carrying that emptiness in him. He should be used to it by now but he just can't. He doesn't know if he'll ever get used to it.
Dean reaches out, but stops with his hand halfway in the air at the look of anger and confusion on Castiel's face.
Cas huffed a laugh and leaned back against the cold hallway door, scrubbing a hand over his face, "Should I thank you for the kind gesture?"
Sam and Eileen share a conspiratorial look, something Dean doesn't want to touch within a ten foot pole.
The drive is quiet, Dean leaving the music away for another time, not wanting to interject the blissful silence. Cas stares out of the window the whole ride as though he's relearning the world, only pausing to throw occasionally glances Dean's way, something he wouldn't have noticed if he himself wasn't glancing at Cas to begin with.
Bobby doesn’t call his name behind him and Dean thinks it’s fair. He’s a pile of pathetic mess better off left to rot in the corner.
"You don't have to," Castiel assures him. "We need all the help we can to do this, and I have to work with angels, but I'm not going to ask you to let them order you around."
Jo goes quiet and that's enough to know Dean must look worse than what he feels. Eileen is standing in front of the cart cradling three packets of Haribo in her hand like it is her yet to be born kid.
Castiel notices the way Dean hovers around him all throughout the morning as they prepare to go on the mission to rescue Sam. He prides himself for being able to understand human behaviors—or, at least Dean's—more accurately than before, as now he knows Dean's way of caring for the people he loves is keeping an eye on them at all times or making jokes as a way to cheer them up.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, "You'll be fine in the morning," he said, slapping Cas on the shoulder, moving to head down the hallway to his room. "Nothing a good night's sleep can't recharge."
“We heard the police hit a dead-end with the investigation of the deaths,” Cas said, the sudden shift of subject throwing them off, if it’s anything to say by the look on their faces. Dean didn’t even blink; he was used to Cas’s bluntness. “What do you think happened to the two men?”
"Dean…" Sam is by his side, untying the restraints from his wrist before pulling him into a bear hug. He lets himself be held for a minute, eyes scanning over the otherwise empty room. No trace of Castiel.
Dean huffed in annoyance, pulling his hand away. All this time Cas kept a hand on him, either on his shoulder or his arm, making Dean feel safe and grounded. He wanted Cas’s touch more than ever, just to know the angel wasn’t going anywhere, ’cause Cas always left and Dean couldn’t be sure if Cas wasn’t going to leave this time too.
This chapter is a little bit shorter than the usual ones. I wrote this one while I was at the brink of a writer's block and had a hard time working around it. Anyways, hope you enjoy!
"I trust all of you as much as you are willing to trust my judgement." Castiel says. "This is not a matter of trust, sister, it's about safety."
"Aaand we're done," Sam threw his hands up, but Cas could see him trying to hide a smile. "Seriously, I'm happy for you guys. By the way, I told you–"
𑁋has the audacity to pout like a kicked puppy. Dean almost caves in before knocking his upstairs brain back into function. He says, “Once you’re fine, we can do all the kissing you want,” and adds, “maybe even more.”
“And where do you think you belong?” Zachariah asks, “It’s pathetic of you to be this delusional, Castiel. You think those humans care for you? You think you have a place there?”
"You gotta drink it, you know." Dean jokes, his heart rattling like rocks in a tin can in his chest. Cas looks up at him, blue eyes cold and far away. Dean swallows with an audible click, "Heya, Sunshine."
Dean made a snorting noise, “I was kinda worried he was gonna go celibate for the rest of his life.”
“If serious is what you want then start looking for it,” Benny counters. “Or are you still waiting out for–”
"Damn right it does," Dean beamed, smiling so wide. He was beautiful like this. "You, me, Sam. Toes in the sand with stupid Hawaiian shirts and drinks with twirly straws…"
"How did he manage last year during the anniversary?" Cas asks, curling his fingers around his drink.
Dean tries his best not to give in—to push Cas away and flee to his room, clutching the last pint of his dignity tight to his heart. He doesn't have the nerve, or functioning legs for it. It doesn’t take that long for him to crumble like a deck of cards. It was a losing battle after all.
They are quite the experts at hiding how they really feel, but Castiel can see the vulnerability of two children who suffered the untimely demise of their parents in their eyes. He wishes he could stay, but there are cases to work and people to save. He's eternally grateful that these children are generous enough to give Castiel a place in their home whenever he visits, and it very much pains him to leave, but he has to do his job.
," Sam began, sitting up as much as he could against the pillar he was tied to. "I know you think what you're doing is right. But it's—"
“Those are the heavens for all the souls residing in here.” Cas says. “Each room inside the building opens into a region of its own where souls get to live out their good memories and fantasies.”
Once Dean crosses the threshold of the house, Castiel keeps his eyes straight ahead, watching the birds picking straws and carrying it over to their nests.
"The creation of life has always been fascinating, even when I have seen it happen over billions of years."
"Uh, yeah. Thanks" Dean nods, swallowing with an audible gulp. "I'm gonna go into the crypt. You guys stay right here."
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean." Castiel replied, calmly. "I can't help but care about you even when you don't want me to."
“Forget what we said, you should tell him how you feel.” Sam said. “I mean, look at you. I’ve never seen you look so whipped.”
"My grace is my life force, I should be able to recognize its presence, though I should be able to do so only while present closely to it," he explains. "I do not sense its presence anywhere nearby."
"Officer, what are you implying?" Louisa snapped. Dean opened his mouth to reply but Cas beat him to it.
"That's it, Dean. Let it out," Cas's warm gravelly voice was like air to a dying man but Dean didn't deserve to breathe.
"Thanks, baby," Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to Cas' stomach. "Look, the ship's about to hit the iceberg!"
"Strawberry picking?" Dean asks incredulously, as soon as they have stepped off the Kendall's front porch.
“How long has it been since the divorce?” It comes out a little harsher than intended, considering the glare Cas throws at him.
With that, Cas starts speed-walking back to the tents, disappearing into one a few tents after theirs. Dean follows behind him, his legs coming to a screeching halt when he sees another body on the floor, no older than twenty, eyes burned out and a stab wound passing clean through his chest. For a fleeting moment, Dean’s mind flickers to Sammy, but he shakes himself out of his thoughts. Cas needs him.
Castiel pulled Dean back by the elbow, keeping him grounded. He sees Ruby disappear through his peripheral vision and he turns to Ambriel,
Later that night as they fall into bed, bodies pressed close to each other, mouths slotted and hands dragging across skin, somewhere in the back of his mind Dean wonders his significance in this world. Dean is a lost bird and Castiel is the cosmos poured into a jar, alive and captivating under his arms, like strings of pure intangible wonder dragging him down the precipice of the unknown. When Cas murmurs his name like a prayer against his lips and follows with the most gentle kiss, Dean
“Not if we double cross her first.” Sam replies, “All this while, it’s not like I’ve been trusting her blindly. She keeps a tab on Lilith whenever she resurfaces and this is the first time in a long while, Dean.”
"Stupid fucking chicken," Dean mutters under his breath, stomping his way over to the oven. He grabs the tray and heads over to the counter looking anywhere but at Cas. It's stupid and childish but Dean never got the instruction manual regarding what to do when you almost kissed an angel of the lord.
"That girl had stuff all over the damn table, it was like an avalanche of papers!" Dean protests. "She's so messy I wonder how she still has her head on her neck."
Before Dean can figure out what Cas meant, he sees the man push past the tables and out of the front door. Dean throws a few bills on the counter and follows Cas out of the door.
Castiel nodded in agreement. The waitress stopped at their table for a little longer, asking if they needed anything else, though her complete attention was on Dean. The hunter gave an equally charming smile back to her but collected the cheque without another word.
There was nothing Dean could have said in that moment that would've possibly been enough to express how much he loved Cas. He was only hoping Cas would let Dean show it to him for the rest of their lives.
“I’m still here.” Cas says, and Dean would’ve punched him if he could find a spot that’s not soaked in blood. “This happened only once, Dean.”
“About what?” Dean asked. There was something about the way Dean was holding himself, taut and fidgety. Sam knew his brother well enough to know it was guilt. Cas looked almost as worse, and Sam realized he was living with two ticking time bombs, now the bet was on which one exploded first.
Dean doesn't hear any weird happenings for two whole weeks, which in itself is weird. His own head has been eating him alive with it’s matinee show of nightmares, the worst part of it being how on edge both Sam and Bobby are around him, treating him like a little kid about to have a breakdown. The general radio silence is relaxing as it is unnerving, the storm after the calm silently looming over them. That's until one Sunday afternoon, he's munching down his fifth slice of pizza when there's a
"There you go," Dean slid the plate of pancakes and coffee in front of Cas, sitting down on the chair next to him, looking like a kid waiting for his drawing to be hung on the fridge. "Dig in."
He tips his head down to press a kiss to Castiel's hair and lets his head fall back, the auburn glow of the ceiling filling his vision as he falls back asleep.
“We can leave the moment you feel like it’s too much,” Cas assured him. “I would never make you unnerved on purpose.”
"As you rightfully pointed out, this is not your concern, Michael." Castiel said. "I will handle this."
A few moments later, the fiery fire breathing creature seems to have subsided, as soft mewls and whimpers reach his ears. Castiel ducks out from underneath the branches, his shotgun aimed forward as he approaches the unmoving figure on the forest floor.
“It’s not the first time I saw your wings,” Dean says all of a sudden. “It was back in hell when you pulled me out.”
Dean stifled a laugh at that, "You gotta sleep better, Sam. You can't take your bar well if you die of sleep deprivation."
"Oh, yes. I almost forgot." Cas' face lit up. "I have some good news. Those of you who are not heads of any department can return to Chicago within a week."
“You’re always fine, Dean. I’ve known you since college and you’ve never said you’re not fine. That doesn’t mean I’m buying that crap.”
“Yeah, everyone’s got one. How you ended up here, who were you outside the job… that sort of thing,” she elaborated. “What’s yours?”
"Then, you're in the clear," he grins. "I salt all our food so you shoulda gone up in flames if you were one."
“Can anyone tell me what the fuck is going on here?” One of the residents—Jack, if Dean remembered correctly—questioned, moving forward to inspect the body.
"It's not exactly— nevermind," he clicked off the tab with no results. "At least you know it's not all just porn."
"It was nice getting to know you, Dean." Cas said, leaning against the door frame. "I will see you around at the office."
"You shouldn't have put yourself in the path of danger, Dean." Castiel remembers the time he thought protecting the Winchesters from harm would be an easy task.
“Get the husband out of the way so Terra doesn’t have to choose between him and Louisa. Makes sense," Dean said. “But what’s the deal with Emily?”
"Sometimes I think I should have picked a family member with a less notorious history to rescue from hell," Castiel joked.
The dots connected in Castiel's mind within another few seconds, and he couldn't hide his smile, "She was flirting with me, wasn't she?"
has to be the cause for the other two," Cas stated. "There was a time when these Eddnian Gods were a prominent presence. They have been subdued for so long, I never imagined I would meet one again."
The war finally ends and the gates are sealed. Threat dismantled and everyone's safe. It's time for Castiel to go home. He should be elated at the prospect, finally getting to see the one person who served as his driving force; his motivation. Yet, he finds himself pacing the stagnant white floors of heaven, experiencing an emotion he now knows is fear.
Cas obliges, lining up against his hole and pushing in agonizingly slow, giving Dean enough time to feel the stretch and burn. He shouldn't be enjoying this, but he can't help it.
Dean remembers the first time he was at the park. He can almost smell the fresh grass and water logged mud stuck to the bottom of his shoes, and the rust on the chains of the swingset. He was over the bump of three and heading towards four—the whole world just nothing but green and blue. He remembers climbing along the monkey bars with his dad’s hands around his waist, holding him up, and his mom watching from the bench, her hand on her belly where his baby brother was. If he closes his eyes and just
Everything was warm and familiar around him and before he knew, Dean felt the darkness pull him under, the ghost of a kiss being pressed to the top of his head being the last thing he remembered.
, but then Cas looks about three seconds away from throwing him against the nearest wall and that’s when Dean gives in. He pauses at the door to his room, turning around and reaching out to hold Cas by the shoulders. “’M sorry, okay? Shouldn’t have drank so much and dumped my crap on you.”
The angel stares back at him, probably confused by the nickname. Beside them, Cas clears his throat.
Sam grins. "You have no idea, dude," he chuckles, lowering his gun. "Holy shit, Dean's going to lose his mind."
Dean wiped his palm on his jeans and took his hand, walking out of the office together. Office hours started in another fifteen minutes and the staff were only filling in. Aaron and Vic were huddled around the coffee machine while Ruby and Anna sat at their respective desks, eyes on the monitor.
Castiel muffles his surprise against the man’s lips, reaching out to cup his jaw as he deepens the kiss. He refrains from closing his eyes for as long as he could, knowing where it would lead him. Eventually, his eyes fall shut as Justin slips a hand under his shirt, and the familiar sense of
Dean holds his breath, watching Cas's long fingers click around on the keyboard. The guy's got really nice hands.
He lets Dean run his fingers through his feathers for some more time before reminding him to go back to sleep.
“Cas...he pulled Dean out of a terrible place he was in,” Sam said, smiling fondly as he watched his brother and his best friend so relaxed for the first time in years, right where they belonged. “Since then he’s become family. A little more than that to Dean.”
A single shift of his feet would be enough to get them both killed. Castiel holds his breath, willing himself to not move a muscle as he focuses on the approaching sound of leaves crunching underneath paws. The closer it gets, the more he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand in attention. He dares to take a quick peek over the top of the boulder behind which they are hiding, seeing that the sun has already disappeared behind the horizon, leaving the forest around him cold and dark.
"Guys, be quiet," Sam pulled up Rowena's email through his phone. He read through the article and as far as he could tell, it sounded legitimate. "Two bodies found in Jerseyville, Illinois, both male, in their late thirties, married. Autopsy revealed no cause of death."
"Dean, don't hit him," Sam muttered from somewhere behind him, and Dean wasn't going to go around making any promises.
"I told him so many times we'd find something else…" Sam babbles. "You know how he is. He wouldn't have it any other way."
“Woah, back up big guy. Did you say you were with Sam and Dean?” she asks, skepticism clear in her voice. “
“Figured.” Dean murmurs. He rises on his feet, shifting uneasily. “I’d sleep better if you are close enough to keep an eye on.”
“That’s not—” Sam pursed his lips, “Dean, I know it’s none of my business but just think about it. Whatever you think you cost him, it’s not what he wanted. Angels have been nothing but assholes to him and now he’s happy. You can’t tell me you don’t see it.”
Sam grabbed his laptop, pulling it open because he felt like he was intruding on something he was not meant to witness. Maybe a solo hunt would be a good idea right then, that would give Dean and Cas the time to sort themselves out. Then again, the last time his attention was elsewhere, for all his insecurities about Cas leaving, Dean had somehow ended up kicking Cas out of the bunker and Sam was not willing to have a repeat of that. He had watched Dean mop around like a war widow way too many times by now. | [
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“Let’s not throw balls at possibly-alien holes of nothingness anymore, hm?” Tony suggested. He tossed the ball back, and the tallest of the kids belated caught it inches from his nose. Tony gave them a brief salute and the kids fled, fighting over the ball as they darted out of the crowd.
Steve’s bushy dog brows lowered over his eyes. He made a low rolling noise that accompanied the tossing of his head, and then hopped into the road.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Tony said. He slouched into a chair and put his forehead in his palm. “I’m just tired. Ignore me.”
Things had been quiet on the Avengers front since his and Steve’s blowout, and Tony hadn’t heard so much as a peep out of the other man in about three weeks. He vacillated between relieved that he’d finally said it, and angry that he’d ever opened his mouth. Mostly, stupidly, he missed Steve, even the very limited part of Steve he’d had. Maybe he could invite Steve back to the lab and they could pretend it hadn’t happened. Or he could make an end run around the invitation altogether and just pick a fight.
The lights from the village were visible through the trees for several hours before they started seeing signs of habitation. Steve’s stomach was trying to eat its way through his ribs, and Tony had become steadily crankier as the night had worn on. The first moon had already set, and though its absence had made the sky seem darker, the air somehow smelled like morning was fast on the approach.
He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach, like being rocked on the surface instead of insulated below the waves. Tony shook his head hard enough to make the helmet rattle, but he was suffocating inside of it, it was too close, and too small, and smelled like iron (really iron, not gold-titanium alloy 1:3). He gagged and tried to take it off, but his hands stayed firmly by his sides.
Steve nodded. He ducked his head to stare at his sock as if he was inspecting it for fibers out of place. He’d been weird since the first time they’d had sex on the couch. He wasn’t as aggressive with Tony anymore, they didn’t fight as much, and sex wasn’t always preceded by Steve getting red in the face with anger. It was nice, but it was also different. Tony knew enough about ‘different’ with relationships to know it meant a goodbye was coming around the corner. He was ready for it, but he wasn’t going to hurry it along either.
, Riverstones said contemptuously. When Steve barked out a protest, Riverstones just looked to the hoard of rats filling the hall. They had formed up into one mass, their eyes focused on Redskull with unnerving intensity.
Waking up in a strange body wasn’t exactly unfamiliar to him. It had taken him months after Project Rebirth to not wake up in a panic of frantically patting hands to make sure his new body hadn’t been a dream, and it had taken months and months more to get a handle on where his limbs were going to be at any given moment. Waking up as Not Human was something he’d had more than one nightmare about over the years. Despite all of that, it had taken only a few hours to go from the absolute horror of waking up in a four-legged creature’s body, to having some trouble conceptualizing walking on two feet. Licking Tony’s face had seemed natural, as natural as curling up next to him for warmth, and he was having increasing trouble stopping himself from sniffing Tony’s ass just to make sure he was healthy.
“There you two are!” Strange said. His words seemed to come slowly, as if they had to pass through a sheet of water before being morphed into barks. Tony’s head twitched, and Steve wondered if maybe the words sounded like meows to him. “Universe number 213. You couldn’t have stayed a
The village lights were burning brightly, and there was a great bustle of noise as he found his way back to the dogs’ house. He hopped over the fence with some trouble, unbalanced by the kitten in his jaws, and the suit still sitting on his shoulders. He had to put the kitten down for a second, and she immediately curled up by his feet, fighting to squirm under his belly. Tony let his weight rest on her, and she started to purr loudly. He found himself purring in response, the vibration in his chest making him feel better.
“You’re strangers!” the puppy announced excitedly. He wagged his tail so hard that he knocked himself over. “Hi! Are you here to see someone? Is it my mom? Do you want to see her? I’ll get her!” He scrambled up and made awkward progress back to his front door, yapping the whole time, and seeming to be unsure if he wanted to run or jump. He tripped three times before squirming through the opening in one of the larger houses. Steve could hear him frantically calling to his mom through the open window.
“It’s important for team morale and cohesion, Tony,” Sam said. “Just stop being a baby and sit down. An hour and you can get out of here.”
Looking troubled, Steve lowered him slowly back to the desk, and then leaned over Tony’s chest again, careful to keep his weight to himself as he slid the knots away from Tony’s wrists. Tony’s back instantly protested having his weight on his spine again, and his shoulders throbbed from the release of pressure as soon as the belt fell away. Steve didn’t let him suffer there for long. He slipped one arm under Tony’s shoulders, and the other under his knees. A soft breath was all he had to show for the exertion as he picked Tony up, and went down to the floor. They joined the sour coffee, Tony’s combat belt, and the rumpled remains of his paperwork.
He didn’t remember Natasha being next to him on the loveseat, but it was her hair tickling his forehead that woke him up. For just half a second, he wanted to fall into the delusion that it was Pepper’s shoulder he was drooling on, Pepper’s hair wisping across his skin, but Natasha’s shoulders were broader, her chest was bigger and sat higher, her hair was shorter, and she used a peppermint shampoo. Pepper had always used grapefruit.
“You do this on purpose,” Steve accused, holding Tony down with one big hand in the middle of his back. He yanked at Tony’s belt buckle and leaned down to bite at his shoulder. “You piss me off just for this.”
Steve snapped out a deafening bark that made Redskull cower briefly before sending him into another fit of meaningless howls.
Steve wobbled at a sharp burst of wind, and lost another foot of ground, but was apparently determined to keep his position. Meanwhile, trash flew by at speeds that made even the crumpled bits of paper dangerous. The crowd, at least, had willingly yielded to suggestions to run.
“Death is too good for him,” Bucky added in a chilly drawl. With Tony out of eyeshot, Steve finally let Sam drag him over to the armored follow truck. It was an ambulance that had been refitted in black armor plates, but the interior was much the same. Sam followed him into the back while Bucky and Natasha climbed into the big rig, and Clint took the wheel of the truck. Bruce waited inside with a pair of gloves on and a triage kit rolled out beside him, looking decidedly nervous. Steve was distantly angry that they’d brought Bruce within potential striking distance of Kilgrave. The thought of the Hulk under Kilgrave’s control would be enough to give Steve nightmares for decades, but he was just too tired. Bruce gave him a look that crossed somewhere between stubborn resolve and apology. Steve didn’t say anything. He sat down as directed and let Sam cut his uniform away. He tried very hard not to think about Tony with tears in his eyes and a .44 aimed at his chest.
Tony shook his head, growing annoyed and frightened at his day-time dreaming. Maybe he’d hit his head when he fell. “No, I’m fine. Just misheard.”
The kitten, quiet up to then, began to cry in sharp piercing bursts. Tony immediately moved out of the cover of the house as the terrified mother turned toward the sound. The rest of the villagers came running as well, and Tony hastily put the kitten down, afraid they might think he’d been trying to kidnap her.
Ears back and tail swishing rapidly through the wet grass, Tony glared at Steve. Sitting up in an awkward hunch, Steve glared back.
“Iron Man, War Machine, stand down!” he commanded. There was no answer. His lips thinned into a worried-angry-frightened line. “Tony, there is another way. Come back.”
“Why have you stopped coming to team movie nights?” Steve asked one afternoon, apropos of nothing, while Tony ‘caught his breath’ in Steve’s lap. Steve started tapping his fingers impatiently on Tony’s side, so Tony gave up and slid out of his lap. He didn’t settle on the couch, but climbed directly to his feet and started gathering clothes, putting some space between them.
People didn’t have paws. Tony was a human and shouldn’t have paws. The skin all the way down his spine tingled, and his face itched, and his tail lashed out.
Beneath the armor, his fur was moist and pressed down close to his body. He stretched, grateful to feel the breeze on his body. Hopping down, he made his way outside to relieve himself. The street was alive. Mostly dogs with their puppies, but he could see mice scurrying beneath their paws. He wondered briefly why he didn’t feel any particular urge to chase them, and then chastised himself silently. They were obviously thinking beings. Not wanting to run them down and pull them apart shouldn’t be a surprise.
Steve couldn’t manage to answer either of them, and just ended up stuck in a loop of growling and short snarls whenever he needed a breath.
The faceplate popped open and Tony’s lips moved, but Steve couldn’t hear a word. He tried to make himself a smaller package, sinking against Tony’s chest. He pulled the shield in tight, and Tony snapped the faceplate down. Steve felt a brief upward movement, and then a twist in the wind sent them into a tumbling spiral. Steve was torn out of Tony’s fingers, and dropped downward like he’d been caught in a vacuum.
Steve yanked away from him finally, and slammed a hand into the wall at Tony’s side, face a mask of conflict. “You infuriate me.”
Tony cracked his eyes open and the captain was right, of course he was. The sun was just barely above the horizon, one larger star among a sea of them. The sky was dark. Snow ghosted across a barren landscape of ice fields. He was wearing snowshoes. When he looked over his shoulder, the shore wasn’t even visible. They could have been walking for days. He remembered taking the boat in, taking a helicopter in, riding in on snowmobiles, a sled and a team of dogs.
Tony ended up in Steve’s lap as Steve settled himself against the wall with Tony’s chair level to his shoulder.
“Mr. Stark,” Jarvis repeated from somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling. Speakers, Tony thought, an intercom system (except that Jarvis was dead and this was JARVIS, who was not speaking through a computer, he
“Not that your body will let you, but if you pass out, I’ll just give the gun to your sweetheart and ask him to put a bullet in your skull,” Kilgrave noted. “Of course, you wouldn’t care anymore, being dead, but I think I would let him go after that. I think I would tell him to go sit on the edge of his bed and just think about what he’d done.”
Steve stopped him as they crossed into the kitchen, and turned to face him. Tony was aware of Steve’s hand on his arm, but he couldn’t feel it through the armor. He imagined he could, though, the warm expanse of his palm pressed into Tony’s skin, long artist’s fingers curled around his bicep.
“I have been having some performance and discipline issues with my support staff.” He clenched his teeth immediately after getting the words out, his gaze direct and hostile.
Tony’s jaw slackened. He closed his eyes tightly. The room rocked like they were on the ocean, and Tony’s memory shifted again.
“Captain Rogers is requesting entry to the lab, Sir,” Jarvis announced over the music. Tony thumbed the welder off and nudged his faceplate up. He glared at the hunk of metal on his workstation and set the welder aside. It wasn’t like he was getting anywhere with it.
Tony commented when they reached the top of a rise in the road and found the village spread out below them. He almost sounded more annoyed that it had been a shorter trip than he’d expected.
Unfazed by the insult, she dropped to the ground and rolled around, laughing. Steve’s ears flicked at the sound. It was both very clearly a laugh, and also just a collection of high-pitched yips. Tony made an unhappy
“Why don’t you spin the cylinder, Mr. Stark?” a soft voice suggested from the darkness. Steve’s eyes flashed over to the darkened corner. His quads bunched and he managed to lift himself an inch and a half off the chair, hands planted on the table while Tony’s nails scraped across the surface and the gun chittered as it shook.
Tony wondered how long the issues had been going on, and how badly they’d gotten that Steve felt the need to come to him. Steve had always taken the performance of his team personally. He’d always considered failings from a member of the team as a reflection on himself. Tony’s first instinct was to goad him into admitting that people made their own choices, bully him out of his bad mood, and then invite him out for some terrible street food. It took an almost physical effort to stop himself from smiling. He didn’t think Steve would appreciate his humor.
“I’m fine!” Tony interrupted the crewmen who’d just stepped around the corner. “Just… went down the wrong tube. Fine.” He pushed past the man (he had a name, Tony was sure), and hurried back to his cabin. It was probably a better idea if he just stayed there until the expedition left in the morning.
Neither Steve or Captain America had been able to argue, because of course Tony was right. He usually was when it counted.
“Yeah,” Tony agreed. He watched Steve walk away and stayed on the couch well past the point that the leather started getting gross.
Tony turned away before Steve could get anything else out. It was bad enough that he’d even managed to
“Come on, kids, jump down!” he urged. The girl who had come up to him hopped out readily, but the others stayed huddled in the back of the cage, shaking and terrified. If only he had hands. The girl huddled by his feet, reminding him of Nighteyes as she tried to get as close to him as possible.
” Tony shouted after him in frustration and tossed himself sideways. He landed on the cold floor in his cabin, tangled up in his sleeping bag, shivering and drenched in sweat once again. It was even worse than being trapped in the Iron Man suit, smothered by the fabric and trapped with his own heat, the sick scent of his sweat.
tell him. The temperature at the center of the anomaly was so low that he couldn’t measure it from the suit, and yet the temperature within centimeters of the anomaly’s perimeter was only fractions of a degree cooler than the air sixty feet away. The depth couldn’t be measured, and Tony didn’t have instruments sensitive enough to measure how much – if any – light was being reflected by the surface. For that matter, Tony wasn’t entirely sure it
He wondered if he’d ever been that obvious, but he suspected not. His Steve wouldn’t have stood for it.
smile at his counterpart. “It’s me! I love it.” He examined Anthony without making any effort to disguise his curiosity. They were nearly of a height, but it was hard to tell when Anthony was in dress shoes and Tony was in his undersuit.
Redskull took one look at the onrushing freight train of a few hundred pounds of canine fury, and turned to run. Green light soared over Steve’s back to hit the running man right on the ass. He stumbled forward, tried to regain his balance, but got Steve’s shield to the back of his legs before he could get more than a couple steps. He fell to one knee and Steve was on him in an instant.
He may have been raised Catholic, but his Irish mother had instilled a sometimes-contradictory, though just as fervently adhered-to respect for the wee folk. Looking around the village made the fur on the back of his neck stand up. For one moment, he wondered if the puddles of darkness had really been fairy rings. He’d inhaled enough dust and bugs while exploring the forest to make him wonder if it counted as eating.
Steve cleared his throat and blushed, squirming uncomfortably on the bed, though Tony noticed his cock twitch with interest as he did. “Preparation is very important. Tony, I really don’t want to hurt you. You look like you’ve been through a cement tumbler full of rocks.”
Finally sprawling out on his stomach, Tony listened for sounds of pursuit. The clearing was quiet except for insect noises and the labored panting of whatever he’d run from. Whatever it was, it was obviously hurt too badly to chase to him. Charging off blindly into an alien forest wouldn’t help him, and he still needed to find Steve. Thor had said the wind portal “smacked” of Loki’s magic, and Steve and Tony had fallen into some kind of portal themselves.
Tony eased himself sideways to be out of the way, but close enough to catch him if needed. Steve pressed the edge of the shield into the ground and vaulted upwards. Without the wind, it would have been an impressive leap, but with an 80 mph gust shooting up underneath him, it looked like he’d taken flight. Tony cursed and fired his thrusters to catch up. As if it were a sentient thing, the wind gusted at his knees to knock him sideways, and then another pushed him downwards with such force that he hit the pavement faceplate first.
Tony twisted to look at it, gaping as the thing swung around with a mind of its own. It was clad in armor plating, long and slender, and now that he knew it was there, he was aware of exactly how uncomfortable it was in the armor plating.
Tony decided to ignore him. Cats played the I’m Ignoring You as if You Do Not Exist game all the time. He was a cat (Temporarily, a cat-shaped person), he could play that game. On the other side of the small clearing, the wolf had her tongue lulling out of her mouth, lips stretched into a grin without a hint of teeth showing. She tilted her head to look at Tony quizzically.
“Me? How am I supposed to take ‘I want you to remember’ seriously, Steve? Do you even hear yourself? I know what I did! I might not remember it, but I know. Did you really think that I wouldn’t do the research? Study every scrap of information I could get my hands on? I
“So how does this go down?” Tony asked while Steve just stared up at him. “Should I suck you off?” At Steve’s scandalized expression, Tony laughed. “No? I’ve always thought that I could probably hold you down in the suit. Should we try that instead?”
He asked. The voice that translated in Steve’s head was low and gravelly. Steve noticed that he had a series of three parallel white streaks down his neck, and wondered what had happened.
Tony explained with a hint of a glare in his voice. He finally dropped back to all fours, and then walked underneath Steve, apparently just to be obtuse. He knocked his head against Steve’s ribs on the way through, and then continued up the road in a saunter, tail up.
The last she said uncertainly, as if she would rather not encourage their presence, but she was too polite to tell them to leave. Steve hurriedly stepped away from her so she didn’t feel crowded. She looked at him with undisguised curiosity as did.
Another of the dogs joined them. She got a lick on the face from Moonlight, and then was piled with puppies shouting, “Sister!”
It had developed into a pattern. The team invited him up for hey-we’re-all-awake-wanna-watch-X-Files? And Tony started out with perfectly good intentions of explaining why Scully was such a horrible example of a scientist, but he ended up curled against someone within a few minutes of the opening music. He’d managed to fall asleep in Bruce’s lap, tucked into Clint’s neck, twice on Natasha, once wedged between Sam’s back and the cushions, and woke up in the process of draping his leg over Rhodey’s knee twice. The one time he’d fallen asleep on Thor, the bigger man had gathered him up like a teddy bear and it had taken Tony ten minutes of squirming to get out of his grip. It had gotten out of hand, and he couldn’t keep doing it – even with ‘thank you for letting me force-cuddle you last night’ presents – or they would put it together. He was surprised they hadn’t already.
By the time he righted himself, the two canines had caught up. They leaped through the curtain, Steve’s shield somehow hovering above his back like a flying saucer, and Riverstone’s teeth, eyes, and claws glowing brilliant green. The both skidded to a halt, and Tony thumped to the ground at Steve’s side.
“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” he said softly, and then tore at the rope with his teeth. The kitten inside meowed piteously and began to shake. Tony started to purr just to let them know that he was still there, gnawing and tugging at the rope, annoyed all over again that he didn’t have opposable thumbs anymore.
“I’m trying,” Tony gritted out. “I’m looking for him. Jesus fucking Christ, just tell me where he is!”
Tony followed after him slowly, and the moment his knee touched the mattress, Steve’s legs parted without so much as a glance of suggestion. Tony laughed delightedly. Steve’s immediate reaction was to pull his legs together, but Tony reached out and caught him by one knee.
“There it is,” Tony groaned when he finally felt his own orgasm building like slow fire between his legs. “Fuck, Steve. Stay like that, just –” Steve obligingly held himself at the same angle, his hand working over his cock in fast jerks while he clenched tighter and tighter for a third time.
. He would smile, even covered in dirt, and sweat, and blood, and Tony would feel like he was flying with his feet firmly on the ground.
As if in answer, he heard the shuffle of boots somewhere above him and to his left, accompanied by the murmur of deliberate communication. He recognized the sound immediately as a trained fighter clearing a stairwell. He considered getting up and moving into a defensible position, but it just seemed like so much effort. He waited as the boots thumped down the stairs, and wished he had a drink. It had been a few hours. Or more, depending on how long he’d been unconscious.
“Well, she wasn’t going to just tell you my name, now was she?” Riverstones said calmly. He gave Steve an intense stare. “And you are from the realm of the Two Legs.” He let his tongue flop out of his mouth in a broad smile. “I suppose you want to go back there.”
Was he that much of an asshole that he really hadn’t noticed anyone else? No, one of Tony’s talents had always been in recognizing people, remembering names. He knew the names of most his employees at Stark Industries – Stark International – Stark… Jesus Christ, he couldn’t even remember the name of his own company. He made a desperate, trapped animal noise, and finally managed to struggle out of his sleeping bag, worming across the floor, and his legs suddenly didn’t work right, he needed the reactor in the workshop (Reactor?).
He reached out almost unwillingly and flipped the lever off. Cool air rushed in the moment the water turned off, and his skin pebbled up instantly. Slapping one arm across his chest, he snaked the other out of the shower and snagged his towel off the hook. As soon as he got home, he was installing heated floors – hell maybe heated walls, and heated toilet seats while he was at it – in every bathroom he owned. Theoretically, it was 72 degrees in the berths.
Tony’s finger, resting on the outside of the trigger guard, tugged in. Steve’s eyes flickered down and back up while Tony’s knuckle went white with the effort to pull the trigger through the guard. Annoyed, Kilgrave amended, “Put your finger on the trigger, and pull it!”
Tony fumbled a flashlight out of his pocket and swung it around the interior of the plane. Steve would have been in the pilot’s chair when he’d crashed. The impact would have thrown him forward. He could have been thrown out of the windows. He could be anywhere. Drifting under the water where only the submarines could find him, encased in a glacier and lost for another century or twenty.
Finally, Moonlight’s mate stepped gingerly over his puppies and walked the few steps to stand opposite Steve. Steve was the larger by a good margin, but the other dog had a look about him that made Steve wary all the same. He had a wide face, and smooth fur mottled chocolate and russet brown. He gave Steve a careful once over, and then leaned forward to sniff at him. Steve was caught between pulling away from the treatment, and leaning forward to do the same. Off to his side, Tony readied himself for a fight.
When he turned around, he was in some kind of lab with the other Avengers (who was driving the boat?), staring down at the body (Steve) laid out on a bunk. He was dressed in familiar red, blue, and white, with the shield on his chest, face relaxed in sleep, hands at his sides. His uniform was sparingly covered in scraps of tan cloth (he’d been frozen, nothing should have disintegrated) Tony also remembered an image of him encased in a block of ice, thawing slowly on a table, surrounded by SHIELD techs in biohazard gear (What was SHIELD? – Except he did remember Director, no Colonel Fury, a doughnut shop, a hostile takeover, a woman with red hair infiltrating his life,
Steve said his own goodbyes Riverstones and Moonlight’s litter. He exchanged nose bumps with the adult dogs, wuffed out farewells to crowds of mice, and stood on his back legs to shake paws with the kangaroo. She was delighted by this, and sat back on her tail while she shook his paws vigorously.
. He couldn’t remember ever not feeling so lost in his own skin. He must have, once, but maybe he’d just been lying to himself so there was a glimmer of hope that it might not always feel like this. “The sex is good, and I just thought it would be enough to.” He made a helpless noise against his teeth and pressed his hands in his eyes. “You hold me sometimes, and I thought. If I just didn’t say anything. Maybe you would stay like that.”
Eyes narrowed, the captain said, “Dr. Winslow is in the echo lab. Do you need to see the physician?”
Steve’s eyes glowed in the encroaching darkness. He tipped his head to one side and glanced back at the trio in the sand. “I guess that’s up to you.”
The door at the end of the hall swung open at a touch, and the boat abruptly stopped moving. He looked over his shoulder to the familiar corridors of the ship, to the captain just visible at the turn in the hallway, to Steve standing silently beside him, and then turned back to the door. Through the doorway was a shore of dark sand, the sullen blue of Atlantic Ocean with a storm gathering in the distance. The air was cold and electric with impending fury, and far above the water the sky had been torn open.
“Always,” Tony quipped, giving Steve a backwards wave on his way back to the first of the black puddles. He stopped just at the edge, and seemed to just stare at it. His shoulders were tilted opposite to his hips, and the set of his helmet suggested he was trying to look away.
So it shouldn’t have been anything new when he realized that Steve didn’t like to cuddle. In Steve’s defense, they were just fucking – and it was usually I-am-so-angry-with-you-that-if-we-don’t-handle-it-this-way-I-will-punch-you-in-the-face fucking, so. But if Tony stayed quiet after they finished and let Steve catch his breath, there were a few moments that Steve would keep his arms around Tony’s chest, his breath on the back of Tony’s neck, his heart beating strong and wild against Tony’s spine. It was almost like cuddling.
A moment passed in strained silence, and then a woman with a lab coat over her bullet-proof vest came into the room. She had a laptop curled in one arm, and was holding a wand out that was connected to the laptop by a curling cord. She didn’t look at Tony, but walked around the room, waving the wand slowly in front of her. Steve kept his eyes on Tony like a particularly ill-tempered bird of prey – Tony almost opened his mouth to call Steve a fluffy bald eagle of Freedom and Justice and The American Way, but ended up just laughing to himself instead.
Nails leaving gouges in the wood, Tony lifted his hand and spun the cylinder with a twitch. His shooting hand moved more smoothly, jerking the gun over so the cylinder clattered home. The stop hand locked into a notch and Tony let out a shaky breath. His shoulders relaxed once he’d fulfilled the order and he shuddered.
Before Tony could say anything, Steve was pressing him to the ground with his greater weight, licking his head, and sniffing him all over.
Steve said nothing for a long moment, still playing with the plastic cup and it’s lingering few drops of golden-red whiskey. Tony wondered what
of the respirator. A shiver ran up his spine, following a flush of warmth from his toes to his neck. He put a hand over his chest, the flat place where the reactor used to be. The pressure of Steve’s fingers around his hand stayed firm and constant.
Tony thumped down to the pavement, showboating for the appreciative audience. Steve rolled his eyes as he turned away from the display. A moment later, he heard Iron Man’s heavy steps behind him, and turned just enough to catch the flashy suit of armor in his peripheral vision.
“I love you,” Tony gasped through the stickiness in his throat. Tears streamed messily down his face, leaving cold streaks on his hot cheeks. “I always have, I’m sorry. It wasn’t worth it.”
For several beats, there was no sound, no movement. Tony felt the cold settling into his bones as he watched Captain America pace restlessly at the boarder of land and sea. When War Machine broke through the surface with an armor-less Tony in his arms, Steve splashed into the waves to meet him and practically tore Tony out of his grip. They crashed to the sand, water licking at their feet, and Steve yanked Tony’s mouth open to check his airway, tilted Tony’s head back and sealed their lips together. Rhodey dropped heavily on Tony’s other side, the faceplate of the armor looking absolutely murderous in the strange light.
This might have gone all night, but the plushy warmth abruptly stood up. Annoyed, Tony curled his neck to bring his head off the ground and glared at his retreating blanket.
A pained whimper made him automatically drop to his belly. His ears pricked forward to track the sound, and his tail went very still. For the first time, Tony took in his surroundings. The sky was a pale blue-gray, he was in grass that went over his head while he was crouched down, and surrounded by dark trees. The air smelled wet and sharp like ozone, and two faint shapes of moons were visible just over the trees.
. Next to it, another door stood next to it, innocuous medium-gold plywood installed in every hospital ever built.
“This looks like something Bugs Bunny drew on the ground,” Steve said, crouched down in the street to peer into the blackness on the sidewalk. It was an
Steve jumped, yelping at the sudden high-pitched voice. Tony cackled. The puppy standing at the edge of the road wagged his tail furiously.
“Watch your six, Cap,” Tony warned. He wished Steve would just get onto the opposite side of the dangerous puddle of
An alarm went off, and Tony whirled toward the source, automatically backing away from the slowly growing puddle of void at his feet. A burst of wind thundered down the street, screaming against the closely packed townhouses. He crossed his arms over his face on instinct, and felt his stabilizers flaring behind him as the wind smacked into him with sledgehammer force. Behind him, civilians screamed as the wind picked people up off their feet and threw them into the street.
“C-Captain Rogers…” she said, taking a step back from him even as she tried to smile comfortingly. “Please calm down.”
Rhodey pointed the way out. Tony shook his head. Sam pushed gently at Steve’s hip, avoiding his injuries while trying to get him to move. Steve shook his head. He stood side-by-side with Tony while Kilgrave was muzzled, sedated, and bound. Clint had given him a set of the noise-canceling headphones as well and Steve felt a sick flash of anger at the gesture. He clenched his fist so tightly around the bandage that he twisted the open wound beneath. Sam tried to get him to leave again and Steve stubbornly shook his head.
Steve stepped out of the doorway, but didn’t close the door. He stopped at Tony’s side and looked up. His expression was one of profound sadness as he watched, like he knew what was going to happen. Of course, he did know what was going to happen, because
Tony looked up at houses set higher along the trunks. His whiskers stretched forward in obvious longing, but he said,
Steve said like he was humoring Tony. He twisted to look at Tony over his shoulder, his tail curled up so it nearly rested on his back.
Steve finally took pity on his teammate and leaned down to pick Sunshine up. Without really knowing how he knew to do it, he got the puppy right away by the neck. Sunshine went obligingly limp in his grip, and Steve carried him back over to the beautiful mother dog. One of her puppies had pushed underneath her belly and was trying to get to a teat. Steve set Sunshine down, who promptly climbed over one of his brothers to muscle between his mom’s front legs. She bore up to their seeking noses gracefully.
Tony’s eyes flickered over to Steve, who still wasn’t looking at him. He sighed, grabbed a carton of pepper beef with broccoli, another of rice, and a pair of chopsticks. Steve didn’t tense up as Tony sat down next to him, but the space between them became suddenly charged. Tony wasn’t sure he could make it an hour, but he did. It was a game that he and Rhodey used to play at MIT, becoming more outlandish with each cheap beer they threw back. By the time the hour had passed and Clint had seamlessly switched Mystery Science Theatre 3000 for Scrubs, Tony had relaxed despite himself. It was the first decent meal he’d had in days, and the first time he’d been in the common area in more than a month.
Riverstones made an abrupt turn at a shallow creek. He led them upstream for what Steve gauged to be about a mile, though it was harder to judge distances in his canine form. While he missed the color vision, there was almost a sort of nostalgia about it that reminded him of being a child. The tradeoff for his missing color vision was night vision like he’d never experienced. He knew Tony’s eyes would be more acute than his in the dark, and wondered what the night time world looked like to him when it was so beautiful to Steve.
Steve sucked in a breath. It whistled past the blockage in his throat, filled up the hollow, hurting places in his chest. On his left side, three broken ribs protested the movement with sharp bites. He concentrated on the pain, pulled in another deep breath, tried to ignore Tony’s shaking hand, tried to keep his eyes locked on Tony’s face and not on the gun. His lips were dry and they drew apart reluctantly. “Look at me, Tony. We can get through this together.”
A high-pitched series of squeaks echoed abruptly off the walls, giving Tony a better idea of how big the corridor had to be – big. They all went stock still, and Tony tried to track the sound. The clicking nails and the drag of a heavy tail came from around the corner. Tony had a bare moments warning from the heat of the rat’s nose before it turned toward them.
Maybe the words startled him, or maybe Steve just finally realized that Tony couldn’t handle another moment of the torture. He slid his arms under Tony’s knees, wedged his hands under Tony’s lower back, and pulled him off the desk. It might have been the weight coming off his lower back as much as Steve’s implied permission, but Tony came with painful suddenness. He gasped and whimpered his way through the orgasm, and was left floating in the aftermath. He couldn’t feel the edge of the desk biting into his arms, he couldn’t feel the tingling in his hands, or the throb around his spine. Steve held his weight effortlessly, and let Tony drift through the haze. As vulnerable as he’d felt earlier, he felt equally protected and warm in the wake of his orgasm.
They fumbled together in the darkness, Steve’s hands skating carefully over Tony’s body like he was looking for each of the bruises. Under the alcohol, the pressure of his touch on each sore spot felt almost good, but he wasn’t in the mood to be coddled. He finally knocked Steve’s hands away, and leaned out of his reach.
Tony’s shoulders slumped. Pieces were slotting into place, the crazy knot that his mind was slowly unraveling, strands straightening out from the tangle of others. “You’re better off without me.”
“I wanted to talk to you about my operational support team,” Steve said after a moment of staring. His voice was gruff, the words clipped and bitten off, the way they always seemed to be when he talked to Tony lately.
Steve stood up abruptly. The girl jumped. “Who are you?” Steve demanded. He heard it when her tone overlaid with a fast shriek of fright, but her uneasiness just made him positive that something fishy was going on. “Where am I?”
Before he could gather up the nerves to eat the cooked food, a scratch at the door had heralded a big gray tomcat. He’d come in backwards, his tail up in the air, and holding a great flopping fish by the tail. Steve had shifted over, and the tom had joined them at the table, dropping the fish in front of Tony and inviting him to dig in.
Steve made an uncertain noise in the back of his throat. He’d been the first on scene, and the only one staring into that terrible darkness in person. Almost unwillingly, he stretched close to the abyss to grab a rock from the sidewalk, and then chucked it underhand into the perfectly round pit of darkness. It vanished silently into the pit as if it had never existed.
Steve became so embroiled in the wonderful world that had been living right under his nose his whole life, that he was startled into a leap when Tony dropped down from a low branch. Steve landed awkwardly and had to scramble back to his feet while Tony made a strange chuffing sound. For a moment, he was worried that he’d scared Tony into some kind of heart attack, but remembered that he’d heard the noise before.
Steve tossed his head in acknowledgement. “It’s nice to meet you, Walker. My friend’s name is Tony.”
Steve snorted. He pushed himself off the couch and started gathering up his clothing. He didn’t say anything else until he was tucked away and buttoned up, belt buckled and shoes back on. “I’ll see you for training tomorrow?”
know them. This was Bruce Banner, and also the Hulk, and Green Bean, and Meangreen, and Bruciebear, and Rage Monster.
Kittens came out by the dozens, some squirming in the grip of the green light, others hanging limply like they would when carried by an adult cat, and still others trying jump away. They were deposited in the tunnel, and then more kittens were brought down, and more yet. There had to be close to three hundred of them by the time all the cages had been emptied. Some of the kittens took off down the tunnel right away, but most of them stayed where they’d been set down, crying and huddled together.
There was a scrape of movement, and then a high pitched whine. Whatever it was, it was hurt, and probably bigger than Tony-the-freaking-cat, and it might want to eat him, armor and all. He tried to get the faceplate back up, but he couldn’t get his paws to reach between his shoulder blades. His pulse leapt up, and he dropped his mouth open to pant. Meanwhile, his back legs started to tingle with tension. Running would be a good idea if he knew what was out there, or how to run on four legs for that matter.
Natasha nodded and Rhodey stiffy opened a panel over his chest. Tony didn’t wait for him to retrieve the bracelets, but reached in himself and pulled them out. He snapped them over his wrists, but then gave Steve an uncertain look.
And in typical Stark fashion, Tony was turning his strange dream into a living obsession, out on the high seas just like the old man, searching for a corpse. Tony had no idea what he expected to find, or what he thought would happen once he did. So maybe he found
Tony looked helplessly at the hospital bed, Steve standing next to him, staring down the doctor giving him news he didn’t want to hear and refused to believe, as if his refusal to believe would make her
Cutting through the background noise of the plant life took some negotiating with his new suit, but he finally got the sense of an empty place behind the rock. It was marginally warmer than the surrounding stone, and came close to the surface. Tony dismissed the enhanced vision and sat down to stare at the cliff. Close to the surface was somewhat relative. There were still several feet of solid rock between them and the potential entrance to the cave system.
Steve would have thought of this version of himself. They looked similar – not identical, but very close. The Steve he knew better maybe had a more prominent jaw, a wider face. Tony thought that he was maybe a touch taller, and a bit broader too, but that could be the effects of the slimming bodysuit. This Steve was still packed with muscle, still looked like he could snap a tree trunk over his knee if he wanted, still looked like Captain America. He wasn’t though, that was someone else in this universe now. There had also never been such a thing as the Ultimates. They’d been called Avengers (God, that was stupid, but so was Ultimates).
When he woke up, the sun was sinking below the horizon. Tony yawned and dug his claws into the bark so he could stretch his spine out. He didn’t think he’d ever been so relaxed. Eyeing the darkening sky, Tony considered just going back to sleep. Another eight or twelve or twenty hours sounded nice.
Tony picked his way over and nudged unabashedly under Steve’s chin. He curled into a compact with his armored tail tucked around his nose, and promptly went to sleep. Riverstones joined them shortly after, lowering himself down slowly to the dirt and letting out a great sigh.
busy with the security contract, and was going to have to skip even the couch that night if he wanted it done on time.
“You can’t keep your temper with me because it gets you laid. Classical conditioning.” Tony shifted and stretched as well, arms and legs going wide. When he relaxed, they were pressed together from shoulder to elbow.
Tony shuffled into the room and pressed his hands to the foot of the bed. It didn’t move under his touch, the blankets didn’t pull tight over the feet beneath them.
“Where are you going, Shellhead?” Steve called from behind him. Tony stopped and knocked his head lightly against the wall. Steve’s footsteps caught up,
“…Tony?” Steve said hesitantly. He tilted his head slightly, and said, somewhat nonsensically, “Standby.”
Steve set a splayed hand on Tony’s chest, stilling the motion automatically and briefly covering the light from the RT. He waited only until Tony had subsiding into a trembling wreck on the desk before dragging his fingernails down Tony’s chest and straight into his boxers. He tugged sharply at the waistband. The fabric parted so quickly that it sounded more like a crack than a rip. Steve pulled the frayed ends of the boxers open and left them to rest on Tony's hips. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so vulnerable. He started to shake, uncontrollable tremors in his thighs and stomach making his shoulder holster rattle against the desk. The humiliation and pure
Tony woke in his bunk. The boat wasn’t just rocking up and down, side-to-side, it was spinning. He was cold and too exhausted to shiver, and he hadn’t zipped the bag up before falling asleep. His left side was even colder than his right, almost numb from his elbow to his shoulder. He struggled to get his arm back into the bag, but he couldn’t reach up to catch the zipper.
“Leave,” he snarled. The words fought across his tongue and his teeth almost bit them off. He sounded more animal than man, mad with anger and fear. “Leave. Go.”
One of the adult cats let out a mournful cry, and the others around her pressed in close, purring and licking her face and neck. Steve made a little
“Stop the engines, Iron Man!” an unfamiliar-but-familiar voice shouted. “There’s something out there!”
“Whatever happened to cutting the wire?” Steve asked gently from his side as they watched Iron Man disappear against the madness-inducing darkness of the portal. In the air, Rhodey was weaving drunkenly and turning shaky loops as he fought the auto-land protocol, and Captain America had his hands and jaw clenched equally tight.
Tony sat up, and patted Steve lightly on the thigh. “Home. Let’s just call this home for now, shall we, darling?” He pushed himself out of the wet mess of the bed, and crossed to the bathroom before Steve could ask him any pressing questions. He turned back at the door, reaching around the frame to turn the light on. “You’re welcome to join me.”
A moment later, Thor landed in the street with a rush of wind, startling Steve into a half turn. Noticing the flinch, Thor set his giant hand on Steve’s shoulder and tilted his chin down slightly. His voice lowered below his customary boom. “Are you well, my friend?”
Steve mouthed at the back of his neck, not a kiss, and not a bite. “I’m sure you’re busy,” he said, pulling away. He made a soft sound of discomfort as he slipped free of Tony’s body, and trailed a hand appreciatively over Tony’s hip as he stepped back.
“We’re going to drop a submersible mid-day and start a spiral while they’re checking the glaciers,” the captain explained. It was obvious from his tone that he didn’t like explaining anything to Tony, but he was aware of who signed his paychecks and resented the obligation even more for it. “You should go down below with Dr. Banner in the echo lab.”
She looked between the two of them silently. The first puppy left her shadow to race back over to Steve’s side. He stood up on his hind legs and bounced excitedly, pawing at Steve’s shoulder in a bid for attention. Not knowing what to do with the pup, Steve just stared at him.
The air seemed to sing and the world took on a strange, almost liquid quality. It happened faster than an eye could blink, but to Steve it seemed like minutes, hours. His muscles responded like they were fighting against steel bindings, but he’d bent steel before. He tossed all of his weight against the leg of the table, jerking sideways as he did.
If there was anything Tony was truly startled about, it was that he’d woken in his own bunk and hadn’t just been taken to medbay while unconscious. He couldn’t remember anything after finding Steve in the ice. Finally, finally finding Steve in the ice.
Fury turned his body to make an inviting gesture back toward one of the giant automobiles. “Come with me, and we’ll get it figured out.”
Steve couldn’t help a laugh as he hopped onto the log. Tony’s claws sank into his fur for purchase, but he didn’t complain at being jostled. Steve still took extra care getting from the log to the bolder, and stepped into the water rather than vaulting over it to reduce the risk of losing his small companion. Riverstones waited for them patiently on the opposite bank, his tongue hanging out of his mouth in a doggy grin. Steve recognized the sly look on his face as one of understanding, and felt himself ducking his head in slight embarrassment. Tony licked his ear once as a shorthand for
“I wasn’t laughing at you. If you had any kind of idea the sort of day I’ve head, you’d see why that was funny. Steve, I can’t give you a new support team. The personnel problems we are dealing with right now would make your head spin.” Tony leaned back in his chair, and might have continued, but Steve’s eyes had gone flat. He was so obviously not interested in the details of Tony’s problems that he may as well have said it out loud. “Suffice to say, you are going to have to find another way. What are the problems?”
long. He’d just made some laps, and chased that rabbit for a while, and barked at that stupid squirrel taunting him from the trees, and rolled in the grass.
Tony yowled with laughter. He felt his tail go up for the first time, curling up at the top in an expression of pleasure. Not half so pleased, Steve snarled at him again. He twisted around and started tearing at the fabric with his teeth. Tony suspected that he started having fun about half way through, growling and shaking his head to tear at the seams. Tony probably could have helped, but he was tired, and not interested in getting in between Steve and his chew toy.
Christ, his subconscious was on a (kind of) first name basis with Captain America – Tony was sure that he had to keep his identity a secret. Captain America was Steve and Tony was Iron Man.
From his new vantage point, he could see confused rats milling around the room, Steve fighting through the throngs of their bodies. They were no longer attacking, but they didn’t seem keen to get out of Steve and Riverstones’ way either, staring dumbfounded at the two dogs whenever their attention could be focused at all.
Tony felt himself twitch. He let go of Steve’s cock and dragged his knuckles down to press at the fabric covering Steve’s ass. The muscle fluttered against his finger as he pushed forward. Steve gasped.
With a triumphant noise, Steve dove into the hole. Tony watched curiously as he tried to wiggle his way further into it, and belated turned on the recording feature. If they were ever able to get home, and if the footage came along with them, the Internet was going to need to see Captain Ameriwolf squirming into a hole like a dog trying to get under a fence. His big bushy tail swished behind him, and his feet kicked comically in the air as he wormed further in.
, she observed. Whether it was just bad timing, or she did it on purpose, Steve didn’t know, but she chose that moment to lick her lips.
Kilgrave stepped away, heels clicking on the concrete. Tony ran out of breath and struggled not to draw in more air. He was trying to make himself pass out, his chest shuddering with increasingly frantic efforts to pull in oxygen. Steve felt sick watching him do it, but he couldn’t take his eyes away. He clenched his jaw shut.
How fucked up was that? He invented a dream world where his childhood hero was not only alive, but called him by affectionate pet names, and for some reason he didn’t want Steve to know his actual identity. Maybe it made sense. Maybe Steve wouldn’t call him by affectionate nicknames if he knew it was
Steve looked up at him sharply, but his legs tightened further like Tony might be trying to escape. Tony laughed again, and leaned forward to bite at Steve’s neck while he tugged the belt away and got the zipper open. He wanted to make a comment about how unpractical body suits were for day to day use, but Steve wore it so damn well that Tony couldn’t complain. He got a hand around Steve’s cock and pulled it out a little too roughly. Steve hissed, but pressed readily up against him.
“When I first found you…” Steve trailed off uncertainly. That was different. The Steve Tony knew didn’t do uncertain. Tony was pretty sure that Steve’s answer to uncertain was ‘punch it in the face until it dies.’ This Steve’s entire body radiated uncertainty, anxiety, maybe a touch of fear.
get to ask that,” Steve ground out. “You got to forget. I can’t, and it’s not my responsibility to make you understand.”
It was the captain, not Rhodey (Of course not Rhodey, James Rhodes was a classmate at MIT, and they were friends, they were best friends, but Rhodey wasn’t War Machine, wasn’t a colonel, wasn’t on the expedition, didn’t know Steve (yes, of course he did, he was a fucking Avenger, he’d been Iron Man and Iron Patriot, and he’d rescued Tony in Vietnam – no, Afghanistan. He’d been employee, friend, ally, adversary. They’d fought together and against each other, and rescued the president,
The left gauntlet arrived and Tony nodded once. He turned to face the rest of the suit as at came in more-or-less in one piece. The right gauntlet folded around him, and Tony lifted himself off the ground enough for the boots to fit to his feet. The rest of the suit encased him in a smooth movement and he hovered over the street for a slow three count before firing up into the clouds. Without a word, Rhodey snapped the faceplate down and followed.
, Tony complained, but he jumped out of the tree to land nearly silently on the fluffed earth, and then moved over to investigate the massive hole. He could hear the soft whistle of air, which must have been what had gotten Steve so excited. A quick look with the infrared showed where the stream was coming from, so Tony eased himself down into the pit to investigate.
Moving very slowly, Steve slipped his hand under Tony’s. When Tony didn’t pull away, he laced their fingers together. “Will you go on a date with me this Friday? Nothing fancy,” he added quickly, still whispering. “I thought we could talk? Out of the workshop.”
Temper deflating, Steve tried to dismiss the storm of annoyance. He gave Tony a nod of acknowledgement, and Tony nodded back without a word. Normally so graceful in the suit, he looked stiff as he turned away from the swelling pools of nothingness. Steve expected him to hover around the strange tears in reality, but Tony turned away from both of them and walked away to wave the gathered gawkers further back.
“What is that you want from him, hm?” Tony wondered, stroking Steve almost idly. He leaned forward enough to lick a stripe up Steve’s neck. “You want him to peel you out of this uniform?” He left Steve’s erection laying on his belly, and wedged a hand behind him to get to the zipper. What a gloriously useless uniform. Steve curled forward to give him access and let Tony pull it off his shoulders.
Riverstones blinked. The great bushy white brows over his eyes drew together, and he tipped his head sideways.
was a German bomber. A regular American soldier had boarded it and forced it down in the ocean to stop its perfectly normal bombs from reaching American soil. Captain America was a comic book hero created to punch Hitler at a time when America refused to get involved. He was a fantasy.
Steve kept his arms around Tony’s back to control their pace, and that was fine because cuddling during sex was almost as good as cuddling to cuddle. Tony legs were trembling by the time Steve finally pushed his forehead against Tony’s collarbone and shuddered his way through an orgasm, but it gave Tony the perfect excuse to put his arms around Steve’s shoulders and rest his cheek on the top of Steve’s head.
Tony gave him an uncertain look. He wasn’t technically ‘free’ any day. Between SI, tech for the Avengers, the occasional baddie who decided to upend his schedule, and the work he managed to squeeze in for his charities, he was always swamped. “Not sure,” he lied, equal parts uneasy and curious.
Steve felt the pressure on his spine ease marginally as Kilgrave focused his attention on Tony. It was barely noticeable, but there. He forced himself to relax, let all the tension out of his limbs. Behind Tony, Kilgrave kept talking, but Tony wasn’t listening. His eyes sharpened on Steve’s chest, noticing the release of tension instantly. His gaze flickered up, and Steve glanced down to the right corner of the table where his knee was still lodged against the leg. Tony didn’t follow his gaze. He swallowed hard and shivered.
Noise of pleading that Tony ignored, because he was ignoring Steve like Steve didn’t exist. As soon as Steve’s nose was out of Tony’s space, he twisted his hips so his back was to Steve, and then turned his attention back to the wolf.
On deck, the captain stood in a rainslicker with a dented tin mug in one hand and a pair of binoculars held up to his eyes with the other. Tony clutched the handrail and tucked his face closer to his shoulder. The ship reared up and came down tilted to one side, somehow at the exact angle to spray freezing water right into his hood. It soaked into his thick sweater, and wet wool smelled like piss. He would vow to burn every piece of wool-anything he owned when he got home, except that it would probably smell even worse on fire.
Steve just stared at him. “I thought you were being polite,” he said quietly. His expression had shifted from angry to devastated, and it just made Tony mad.
There was no arc reactor in his chest, but he felt heavy all the same, like he needed a charging port. His joints ached. He pinballed down the corridor, avoiding the shadowy forms of crewmen who had names (everyone did) but he couldn’t remember them.
They seemed to fight even more since they’d started solving their problems through mutually beneficial orgasms.
“Pretty busy with the security contract for the Pentagon,” Tony said for a pre-emptive excuse. Also not a lie. “Maybe,” he said when Steve didn’t respond or move for several seconds.
“Oh,” Tony rasped. Ridiculously, he felt himself relaxing as he recognized the familiar form. Steve, looking ghostly in the light of a glowing shield, was obviously dead. Ergo, Tony was dead. “This makes more sense.”
overhead before he had to come up with a rejoinder. The jet landed in the nearest intersection, Clint performing a crazy spiral to fit into the residential street.
The boat pitched sharply and Tony jerked awake. He was slumped forward on the bench of a motorboat. For several panicky seconds he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He remembered going to bed the night before, his dinner sitting heavy in stomach. He thought he remembered throwing up in the night. He definitely remembered fighting, fighting, fighting, endlessly. He remembered being in a wheelchair at one point, and in a HUMVEE the next, driving a race car, dancing with Pepper, fighting with Pepper, fighting with Steve.
Tony leaned into him and nodded, lips stretching into a smile. He was barely aware of the nurses moving around him over the warmth of Steve’s hand in his own.
Steve offered, ducking his head. His tail tucked slowly down between his legs, and he inched forward to nudge at Tony’s hindquarter with his giant, wet nose.
When the grizzled captain of Howard’s survey vessel had shown up asking where his grant had gone, Tony had considered throwing him out. Instead, he’d put on two layers of long underwear, bought a parka, and gotten on a creaky boat to go explore glaciers. Just like the old man had year-after-miserable-year.
Glancing up at Tony’s face one more time, Steve leaned over abruptly and took Tony’s cock into his mouth, straight down to the root. Tony jerked and gasped at the suddenness of it, legs kicking out automatically, knees lifting in an effort to wrap around Steve’s waist again, but Steve just looked up at him through his long lashes, and Tony instantly subsided. Without the leverage to even thrust upward, he couldn’t do more than flop helplessly. Steve was not gentle with him, as much teeth as tongue, sucking hard like he meant to pull Tony inside out. It was too intense to be exactly pleasurable, not painful enough to be anything else. Tony bit into his lip and screamed Steve’s name against his teeth, tasting fresh blood as his mind whited out.
Tony slammed a fist into the foot of the bed with a sudden burst of heat. For a moment, his cheeks flushed with warmth and his chest expanded sharply. For a moment, he felt the sun slanting across his body.
They stared at each other for several tense seconds, before Tony finally twitched his ears and twisted around the groom his tail back under the armor plates. Steve could tell that he was still pissed from the tension in his spine, and decided to explore while Tony got himself sorted out.
. He couldn’t stand, fine, so he would crawl. The nose of the plane had crashed into the water, frozen, and then been pushed out. There was thick coating of ice that extended from front console to the base of the pilot’s chair.
half-buried in the snow (did that make sense after seventy odd years? No, not seventy-odd, it hadn’t been that long. Just fifty? Maybe only twenty-four? He couldn’t keep it straight.) He finally managed to choke down the mouthful and hit himself hard in the chest to clear his airway (the reactor, Jesus – except, it wasn’t there. He didn’t have a heart problem, he’d never been to Afghanistan – no, Vietnam).
Tony didn’t mention that, impact gel or not, he probably looked like he’d been in the rock-filled cement mixer more often than not. He reached over and flicked off the lights, plunging them into near total darkness interrupted only by the faint glow of a few electronic clocks. Tony noted absently that he would have to put tape over all of them later if he wanted to get any sleep.
Steve huffed out a soft laugh, and Tony found his rhythm again. He pushed Steve through another orgasm, but didn’t stop to let him calm down again, and Steve rewarded him with loud curses as he reached up to grab the headboard. Tony started cursing himself, and the whiskey, as Steve built up a third time and was starting to sound a little frantic and over-sensitive.
“I look enough like someone you can’t have to make it worth your while?” Tony guessed, and just held down a laugh when Steve looked away from him in shame.
“We’re… well, we’re not from around here.” Steve wasn’t sure if he should tell her that they were from another planet, and that he wasn’t actually a wolf. For one, he didn’t know if she’d believe him, and for all he knew, humans were the enemy.
The first moon had just passed its zenith, and the second was hot on its tail when they made it to the base of a cliff. Riverstones stopped, and made a production out of sitting himself down. He tipped his muzzle straight up to follow its smooth surface up and up… and up.
He looked up to see Steve examining him. He had his hands on his hips, his head tipped to the left, eyes narrowed. Abruptly, he asked, “Why don’t you ever fall asleep on me?”
Tony answered. His voice was somehow still Tony, but it came along with a prickly sensation at the back of Steve’s neck.
“Sorry, Cap,” Tony whispered. He couldn’t hear Iron Man’s response through the comms, but he didn’t need to. He closed his eyes. “I’ll take it from here, Rhodey.”
Steve looked disappointed, but he took his hands away from Tony’s ass and moved back. “Sure,” he said with a shrug that he was trying to pass off as casual. He gave Tony a tight smile and turned away. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“STARK!” the captain shouted over the crash of the surf. “If you’re going to be sick, do it over the side!”
She opened her eyes, saw him crouched at the opening of the bag, and crept forward, crying wordlessly. Tony licked her face while she continued to squeak out tiny cries, and then nudged the bag back so he could clean her ears and neck. She quieted gradually, moving closer to him in tiny steps until she curled under his chin. Tony kept bathing her until she stopped shaking despite the acrid taste of urine on her fur.
The third ball just barely escaped his reach, hitting the ground by his left boot and shooting up behind him. He twisted to follow its progress, but Tony snagged the ball out of the air and fired his thrusters to bring it back to the boys. Steve saw the kids obviously struggling between cowering away from Iron Man as he hovered a few feet above the pavement, and gaping at him in awe.
The floor was smooth and even, obviously not naturally occurring, though he had a hard time getting an idea of the dimensions. It was pitch dark, and he was reluctant to turn the exterior lights on in case he’d come up in the middle of the rats’ burrow, and he found himself the center of a lot of unfriendly attention. Even with as stunning as his night vision was, even a cat couldn’t see in utter darkness.
Steve’s eyes slid shut. He shuddered, swallowed hard, and nodded. After a moment, he nodded again. “I missed you. I’ve missed you a lot.”
Steve came after him, nose so close to the ground that he had to be inhaling about as much dirt as oxygen. After a moment of watching their antics, Riverstones joined them. They must have looked ridiculous – a cat pounding on solid rock while a pair of canines sniffed around his feet. Tony tried the repulsors on the stone and ended up flinging himself back several feet. He hissed at the rock automatically, but before he could decide on his next course of action, Steve let out an excited whine and started digging at the base of the cliff.
face faltered and color rose up on his cheeks. He shuffled his feet and Tony was surprisingly turned on by his missing shoes. The red toes on his navy blue socks were somehow adorable.
. Maybe he brought Captain America home in a block of ice. What then? Display his shield at the Smithsonian? Send his body on tour like an Egyptian mummy? Maybe pick through Hydra’s allegedly magical weapons and find some new terror to unleash on the world?
Steve straightened up, squared his shoulders, and said, “I need a new support team. Complete rotation. Start fresh.”
He’d always supposed that he’d be interested in shoving himself down on the nearest flat surface if he ever occasioned to meet another him. Or that he’d punch the other him in the face. It was nice to know that he could want both simultaneously. Much like Steve,
Tony hopped up onto a boulder to get out of the range of Steve’s teeth, and Steve made a frustrated noise. He rolled onto his back and wiggled frantically, but the belt was holding the pants firmly in place. He started making the most pitiful yammering dog noises that Tony had ever heard. It reminded him of a husky. Tony laughed again, unable to help himself, and Steve’s ears twisted around at the chuffing.
“Mighty high opinion of yourself, Captain Anger-Management,” Tony snapped back, because he wasn’t in the mood for banter, and he was tired of being held face-down. He braced his hands against the table and shoved back hard. Not expecting it, Steve stumbled backward. When Tony twisted to look at him, his eyebrows were furrowed together.
Steve stared at the approaching dog in shock. She was… she was beautiful. Beautiful like Peggy had been beautiful. She had solemn dark brown eyes, and shapely legs, and her coat glistened in the early morning light. He blinked, and tossed his head, feeling intensely uncomfortable. The dog looked between them curiously, and then executed a surprisingly graceful bow of her shapely head.
“Jarvis?” Tony croaked, and then stopped because Jarvis was at home with the Avengers – no, dead – no, an AI – no, Vision (Vision?). Tony was starting to unravel, he couldn’t keep anything straight. “I’m fine!” he called out breathlessly. “I’m fine.”
Something big crashed through the brush to his left, and Tony was moving almost before he’d registered the noise. Paws digging into the damp soil, he sprang out of his hiding place and made a run for the trees. He’d never moved so fast in his life. For a moment, he forgot that he was running for his life and relished in the coordination and fluidity of his feline body. The moment he recognized how coordinated he was feeling, he promptly went tumbling tail-over-whiskers into the grass. His feet were quickly tangled up, and he lost track of which limb went where.
It took an embarrassingly long time to occur to him that if he was a cat, Steve might also be a cat. Or at least a something that wasn’t a human with opposable thumbs. Moving very slowly, he poked his head up over the grass. The sky had grown light enough to make out more details of the clearing. Everything was a very dull color, and all of the vegetation in the area was blue or gray. If nothing else, the lack of color made the giant form of the dog stand out.
Tony realized what was happening like a shock to the back of his neck. He felt his lips spreading in a grin, and considered that maybe all of the spy gear actually
Tony decided that he didn’t really like being called ‘cat,’ but they had bigger fish to fry. He slithered off Steve’s back to rush over to the stacks of cages. The kittens has been crammed in like furry sardines, hundreds of them huddled together and crying for their parents.
Tony huffed out a puff of air, and then turned without another word and disappeared over the next rise in the road. Steve reluctantly got up off the ground to trot after him. His uniform top was compressing his fur, and rolling about in the dirt had just gotten it all out of place. He wanted to get out of the uniform top, but then he wouldn’t be able to carry the shield, and he was not leaving it in this strange world. He was also reluctant to part with the last tangible thing reminding him that he was human.
Tony leaned into his shoulders, and together they shuffled out of the lab and back into the corridor. They passed the captain at the juncture that would lead back to his cabin. The man had his arms crossed over his chest and he stared Tony down as they came to a slow stop in front of him. Tony peered around the captain’s bulky form, and then back up the sign. MEDBAY.
Steve obligingly stopped for Tony to catch up, looking back at him curiously. Tony got up on his hind feet, planting his forepaws on Steve’s ribs to steady himself. For a moment, Steve thought that Tony was about to hop up on his back, but Tony just shoved his face against Steve’s shirt and rubbed vigorously.
He remembered Steve stepping into his arms and the two of them flying off together. Steve’s familiar weight low on his spine as he flew with Captain America on his back. The sound of Steve’s voice, whooping in childish joy and urging him
“Yeah, well you’re not very nice some-” It took Tony hunching up in a fighting stance to make Steve realize that the voice had been someone else’s. He spun to put himself between the sputtering cat and the intruder, and found himself faced with a scarred gray wolf.
His larger stride brought him even with Tony in a few moments. They walked quietly next to each other as the second moon crept toward the horizon, and the sky behind them grew steadily lighter. The road dipped down a hill the closer they got to the village, and Steve realized that what they had seen of the village from the top of the rise had been only the upper levels. He craned his neck back as they passed under an arch of slender braided trees wound with flowering vines. Mist wound between the trunks of the trees and stretched fine tendrils over the road. The main road was lined with oddly shaped buildings of various sizes, all squeezed in together without regard for relative size. Further back, more houses, larger, had been built against the massive tree trunks, and looked to drill directly into them. Crude steps wound up these trees to homes perched further up in the boughs. Rope bridges stretched between the higher levels, and glowing globes dropped down from branches and the undersides of bridges, giving the whole village an ethereal quality.
“I’m right here,” Tony said. He took a step around the table he’d been working at – Iron Man components spread out on the surface, not actually
Now that Steve was closer, Tony could see that the uniform was vastly different than Tony was used to, but it looked good on him. Wasn’t that the point? If Tony’s brain had dreamed Steve up, it had done a lovely job with the wardrobe. Looking wary, Steve knelt down next to him and lifted a flashlight. Tony moved out of the bright beam, and snaked a hand under Steve’s arm. Steve jumped, but didn’t immediately decapitate him when Tony boldly set a hand on the inside of his thigh.
Riverstones broke in, sounding a bit annoyed at their banter while he was struggling to get up the incline.
Tony got a faceful of dirt before he could move out of the way, but Steve didn’t even apologize. His tail wagged furiously as he dug, looking like nothing so much as a dog going after a bone. Tony got himself up the nearest tree to get out of the splash zone just as Riverstones joined Steve in digging. Together, the two of them kicked dirt at a mad pace, occasionally snapping at one another when they got in each other’s way. They were quickly buried up to the shoulder, Steve hopping over Riverstones at regular intervals so they could switch places while they widened the hole.
He pulled his head out of the pillow and looked around blurrily. He was in an unfamiliar bedroom – but it was his bedroom, at the tower in Manhattan. King-sized bed, because ‘comfortably sleeps three’ had been a plus at one point, tastefully decorated because Pepper (Pepper? PA – no, CEO – no, girlfriend – no, ex-girlfriend) had done it for him.
“However it happened,” she said gently, “The end result is the same. He’s… he’s like a computer without an operating system.”
At this announcement, dozens of cages behind the rat king’s throne that Tony hadn’t even noticed were filled with sudden motion and noise. Kittens cried for attention, calling for their mommies, begging for help. Tony took an automatic step forward, which seemed to break the rats’ stunned silence.
“It’s okay,” Steve said softly. As long as the bullet didn’t tear through his heart or hit an artery, there was a good chance he would survive it. Tony had managed to move the muzzle to point just slightly left of Steve’s heart. If he held it steady, the bullet would pass upward through Steve’s third and fourth ribs, and probably puncture his lung. It would be painful, but he could survive it if he got help. Once Tony shot him, he would be freed from the compulsion until Kilgrave issued another command. It might only be seconds, but there were still five bullets scattered on the floor and Tony was fast, and strong. He might be able to hold out long enough. “It’s okay,” he said again.
Five seconds later, there was a sudden crush of pressure that made Rhodey falter and Steve stumble two steps into the surf, and then an explosion of white-gold light that swallowed up the sky. Tony held a hand over his ears and flinched away from the light. He felt a sense of vertigo, twisting, pitching, falling, and then a smack on his shoulders like hitting concrete, the suit breaking away and water rushing in.
Shouting in frustration, Tony kicked and screamed his way out of the snow, slithered out on his belly, and crawled to the plane. The windows had been shattered out, and Tony could just see the shadow of the pilot’s chair beyond. The nose was buried several feet in the ice so the bottom lip of the window was only seven or eight feet off the ground. He jumped, missed the first time, and jumped again. He just managed to catch the edge of the window – he knew that the shards of glass were cutting through the gloves, but he couldn’t feel it. He heaved himself into the plane and spilled down a ramp of ice to the floor, which rattled under his weight. Shitty Hydra construction, bullshit cheap flooring panels.
Tony crossed his arms over his chest and watched dully as the spec that was Iron Man angled up into an even steeper climb. He had a bomb held to his chest, designed by Richards to close the tangled crossroads he’d inadvertently created between multiple universes. Between everyone on hand, only Iron Man and War Machine had the flight capability, speed, and shielding to carry the bomb, and between the two of them only Tony really understood how it worked. Most days, Tony really hated that he’d ever learned the
“You’re very nice to your friend,” Riverstones commented softly as they began to climb a steeper hill.
He remembered crawling on his knees through his room, shedding pieces of the armor as he went, feet away from the nearest outlet. It might as well have been miles, and there were people just down the hall. Steve, Jan, Hank, Thor – No, Steve, Clint, Natasha, Thor. All he had to do was shout and someone would come to help him across the last few feet to the outlet. He’d crawled on his own, and reached the outlet just in time, just like dozens of other times.)
“I’m allowed a few liberties,” Tony assured him. He gestured around to what might or might not be hell’s waiting room. “Considering the circumstances.”
Steve’s brows furrowed. “How do you know you’re not hunting down your neighbor?” he asked. The question had occurred to him before, but he’d been so distracted by all the activity, he hadn’t thought to ask.
Tony thought about challenging him, but subsided. They were in dangerous territory, and neither of them had ever been able to step back from a confrontation. Even when they’d been good together, they’d played off each other like fire and oil. Tony let his arm relax, and Steve wrapped the belt once around the buckle, protecting Tony’s wrist from the bite of it. Tony wondered briefly at the consideration, but it was Steve. Even when it was someone he so obviously hated, Tony didn’t think he was capable of intentionally harming a sex partner. At least not without permission.
“I will,” Kilgrave promised. He sounded very reasonable. “Just put that cute little red dot…” The fingers of his right hand walked down Steve’s chest to rest over his heart. “Right here.”
The door opened and Steve blustered in, mostly in uniform (different than the uniform on the submarine, different than the uniform in the mansion house, different again than the uniform on the helicarrier (Helicarrier?)), and carrying an armful of paper.
A chill spread out around his hips. He had a moment to think he’d managed to wet himself, and then a moment to be so relieved to be feeling anything that wetting himself seemed like the best thing that had ever happened to him, and then chill spread up his torso and down his legs. Pressure grabbed him around the base of the spine and pulled down sharply. The world exploded into sound and color and light. He screamed, and was abruptly plummeting through empty air being buffeted by wind. Icy cold rain hit him sideways as he fell through the darkness. This, at least, was just normal darkness. Night time darkness, with depth and dimension, and the occasional bright flicker of lightning.
He couldn’t see red. Tony tossed his head, looked down at himself, and realized that he’d landed on the dais at some point. The big rat loomed over him, the red glow (His eyes weren’t equipped to…) giving him the aspect of an avenging angel, terrible and beautiful… Tony could just… take a nap, bathe in the warmth, the red…
“Get a grip,” Tony told himself while he groomed his fur back into place, annoyed at the poor design that lead to his fur getting caught between plates whenever he puffed up.
Struggling out of Bucky’s grip, Steve stumbled the last feet to Tony’s side, reaching up to put a hand on his face. Tony went limp in Rhodey’s arms, and Rhodey finally let him go. Steve caught him with his good arm, but Tony didn’t fold into him. He snatched the flashlight away from Bucky and shined it on Steve’s chest. Steve looked down to see all the blood soaking through his torn uniform. He grabbed Tony’s hand and pushed his fingers into the bullet wound to help him find it amidst the mess of torn, bloody material. Throbbing heat radiated out from the contact and Tony jerked his hand away immediately. He took the bandage that Sam offered and pressed it over the leaking wound. Steve put his hand over Tony’s, but he didn’t try to hold him when Tony slipped away from him, leaving the bandage behind. Turning enough that he could see Steve, Kilgrave, and Rhodey, he held out his hands. Rhodey, secure behind the War Machine helmet, did nothing. Tony gestured to his wrist with a tightly controlled jerk of his fingers, and Rhodey shook his head. Tony wanted his Iron Man bracelets and Rhodey either didn’t have them or wasn’t giving them up.
, his head supplied nonsensically, but gold titanium alloy, 1:3 ratio. He slipped on a puddle of spilled water and hit the floor hard.
At the top of his rat lungs. He activated the suit’s external lights as he lunged forward in a great leap, but just missed the rat as he scampered out of the way. The three of them gave fast chase while the rat squeaked and shouted as loud as it could manage, staying just inches ahead of Tony’s flashing claws.
Steve’s ears went back, and then he turned away from Tony and resumed trying to get his pants off, paws scrabbling uselessly in an attempt to get to the belt.
A single lightbulb swung wildly above them, casting mad shadows along the floor and giving the nauseating impression of spinning. The muscles in Steve’s legs jumped and spasmed, twisting into tight knots, screaming at him to move, but his hips remained planted to the seat. Across a small table, Tony stared at him with wild eyes. His lips compressed into a tight line.
Tony’s ears went back in annoyance at himself. He didn’t know if the planet had red, but he had the evidence right in front of his face that he couldn’t see it. Steve’s stripes looked white and brown. He looked down at himself and saw brown interlocking panels with yellow accents. Yowling to get Steve’s attention, he slowly shifted his weight so he was balanced on his back legs, and reached his arms out.
have really thrown something if he’d had anything in reach that didn’t weigh at least a hundred and twelve pounds. He kicked his stool away instead and let it clatter on the concrete floor. Steve spun automatically, hands coming up like he thought Tony might be attacking him.
Steve didn’t think that dogs could blush, but ducking his head low so his jaw rested on his chest produced the same uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He resisted the sudden urge to whine.
“My name is Nick Fury,” the man said. He didn’t offer his hand, but he came close enough for Steve to hear his tone. Slow, measured, and undercut by a resounding bass pulse that Steve could feel in his bones. They didn’t resonate exactly, but they didn’t clash either.
…) “I am right here, Steve. I am trying to find you, I swear. I am… I am tearing up half the planet looking for you. Just tell me where you are, and I will come to you, please.”
. His ears twitched back and forth, and his tail drifted slowly downward. He was not in New York, and he was a
“We may have found something worth exploring,” the captain said when Tony finally made it to the mess for dinner. The food was so heavy and carb-rich, and Tony should weigh 300 pounds with mashed potatoes and bread and pasta every night, but he was losing weight faster than his belt could keep up.
“I might not remember the war we fought,” Tony said slowly, “But there is nothing in this universe or any other that could change
At his desk, Bruce sighed and reached under his glasses to rub at the inside corners of his eyes. “Were you doing that thing where you nod and make appropriate noises while you ignore me when I explained this last week?” he asked tiredly.
Following his gaze, Fury explained, “SHIELD is what the SSR became after you… well. Margaret Carter and Howard Stark had a reason for the name, I guess.” He nodded respectfully toward Steve.
of all people? Tony liked her – they’d more-or-less grown up together, but he couldn’t imagine her on a submarine.
Tony activated the thrusters. He shot into the air just as a great wall of rats rushed them from the side. He flung repulsor blasts into the mass, but it was like throwing pebbles into a tsunami. Green light flashed out to throw them back, but Tony couldn’t stay to see how the dog with mysterious talents handled the advance. He put on a burst of speed to get over the rats’ heads, flying for the raised dais, and the ruby glow of the controller rat.
The laugh exploded out of Tony’s chest before he could stop it. Steve reared back like he’d been struck, and Tony choked it down. He held up a hand to prevent Steve from storming out, and took a slow breath to re-center himself.
He didn’t remember getting up in the morning, or getting dressed, or getting on the boat, but he must have done because he was squished on a bench between the captain and a lump of a person obscured by heavy cold-weather gear.
Tony was quiet for a long beat. Steve expected him to say something snide and swim all the way across just to prove he could, but Tony surprised him by hopping lightly onto the shield and getting comfortable high on Steve’s shoulders. His chin rested on the top of Steve’s head, and his legs splayed out to either side of Steve’s neck for balance.
He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his face until purple and yellow lights exploded behind his eyelids. When he opened his eyes again, the room had solidified, and it was still his own body on the table, soaking wet and tinged blue with the cold, dozens of wounds that had frozen over.
Steve pulled Tony's other wrist over and bound it to the first. He watched Tony with almost unnerving intensity while he did so, barely glancing down long enough to be sure the knot was fast. Tony couldn’t be sure if Steve was daring him to protest, or watching him for any sign of indecision. He couldn’t guess which one Steve wanted more, or if he’d put Tony out of his mind altogether, if maybe Tony was just a body for the moment. Steve leaned over him, dragging the belt over the edge of the desk, and taking Tony’s hands with it. He let his weight rest on Tony’s chest as he looped the belt around one of the desk’s legs. Steve was heavy, and the weight of him pinning Tony to the desk was enough to drive his breath out of his chest. He gasped in sips of air, trying to hold as much of it in his lungs as he could, but he didn’t ask Steve to move, and Steve didn’t offer. The RT couldn’t be much more pleasant for Steve than it was for Tony, but he didn’t seem the least off-put by it. Adjusting the angle of his spine, Tony hiked his legs further up Steve’s hips, and held on tight.
He didn’t think he could have gotten a better response if he’d set a firecracker off at Steve’s feet. Steve yanked him forward to get him off balance, and then picked him up in one smooth motion, spun, and dropped Tony on his desk. The cold coffee flew off the edge, hitting the ugly industrial carpet with a dull smack, and papers went everywhere. Sorting out the stacks again would be a mess, and Tony did not care. He wrapped his legs around Steve’s hips, locked his ankles, and squeezed. Steve retaliated by digging a thumb into Tony’s inner thigh. Tony knew the trick, and he’d been on the receiving end of it more than once during sparring practice, but even though he’d been expecting it, the sudden pain at the pressure point made his grip loosen.
Riverstones said softly as they came to a natural bridge of accumulated logs and rocks that created a small trickle of a waterfall in the creek. He hopped nimbly up to the mossy log, jumped immediately to a large bolder, and then dropped into the creek and forded the last few lengths to the opposite shore.
Tony looked down at the belt, and then up to Steve’s face. His entire body was alive with anticipation, shuddering like he’d had too much caffeine and not enough calories. He swallowed hard and met Steve’s eyes. “My safeword is safeword.”
Using his grip on Steve’s wrist, Tony pulled him forward. Steve’s arm came up around him automatically, and
“Really?” Tony asked innocently. “Guess I didn’t notice. Busy, you know. SI, making everybody look cool, building things.” He shrugged.
She started to speak, but Steve’s pulse abruptly rose to overwhelm everything except the sound of their dissonant tones clashing – that was what had been wrong. It wasn’t what was
Tony watched him ease down the last few stairs into the room, and mused aloud, “I’ve had a few dreams that started this way.” Maybe it was the last gasp of his brain as he died, one final fantasy for the road. It might also be the much-fabled afterlife, but in that case, Tony was unsure if it was an unexpected reward for being a whole lot better than he’d thought, or if it was a creative punishment for being a whole lot worse than he’d thought.
“Haven’t I done enough?” Tony demanded. “Haven’t I crawled through enough shit to deserve to just… stop?”
The cold water made him shout, and his entire body seemed to convulse all at once. For several seconds, his lungs were frozen, and then he sucked in a breath. He was on a deep sea survey vessel that his father had commissioned a decade before. The captain had shown up at his mansion in Upstate New York to ask where his grant money had gone (he hadn’t even known that Dad was dead), and Tony had suited up and gone with him. They were ostensibly searching for the wreckage of
Tony did show up for Old Horror Movie Night. He sat in the recliner by himself, and managed to stay awake. Clint and Steve got into a fight over the popcorn halfway through and it ended up knocked into the air.
“I guess so,” Steve agreed. “Can you try, just a little harder, to listen to me in the field? I’m not going to expect you to respect me anywhere else, but just in the field, trust me to know what I’m doing. Help me make this team work.”
His lungs re-engaged with a jerk and he sucked in breath that felt like inhaling sand. His priorities realigned, complaints rearranging in order of intensity, and air shot to the top of the list, pushing
Steve hesitated for a long moment, but then rolled upright to a chorus of creaking springs, and stood. He crossed the room, and even with the heat gone and the light on, Steve still stopped at his side and wrapped Tony up in his arms. They shared a leisurely kiss, and Tony didn’t even bother to tease him that he was wasting his affection on the wrong Tony. He closed his eyes, and took a moment to breathe against Steve’s lips and pretend that they were both there for each other.
Steve stayed in the doorway for a few more minutes, and Tony finally looked up at him. His lips twitched in an anemic smile, and he turned to go.
Locking gazes with Tony, Steve breathed slowly through his mouth and made himself be calm, be stone. He’d faced down the Red Skull from his knees, he could manage this.
“Mr. Stark?” A hand landed on his shoulder. Tony felt it, but he shouldn’t have because the armor – “Mr. Stark?”
When Steve slid back several lengths in shock over the question, Riverstone’s nipped at his legs. With a yelp, Steve bounded forward again. He put his head down and concentrated in getting up the hill, mulling over the heart-racing flash of almost panic he’d experienced in response to the question.
Riverstones did not immediately reply, though Steve heard – or maybe felt – a sort of background humming that he interpreted as confusion, tinged slightly with suspicious.
Tony needed 5 minutes. In a battle, he knew that might as well have been a lifetime, and it was asking for a lot. Still, Steve’s answer to “I need 5 minutes” should have been something better than flying a jet right into Galactus’
The thing he missed the most about Pepper – okay, that was a lie, he missed almost everything about Pepper – but the thing he was really surprised that he missed was the cuddling. He hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed cuddling until he didn’t have the option anymore. Curling around a pillow wasn’t the same – even that ridiculous body pillow that had tentacle-y arms to cuddle back – and he didn’t sleep as well without the ghost of Pepper’s breath on the back of his neck. At first, he told himself that he would get over it. He hadn’t had anyone to cuddle with for the first forty years, he would get used to going to bed alone, waking up alone, gasping through the nightmares alone. Yet, almost a year later, he still dreaded going to bed, and mostly curled up on the couch in the lab when he just couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.
“I’m aware, Iron Man,” Steve gritted out. He leaned into the wind, dropped down to one knee to lower his profile, and hunched down behind the shield. His backwards process slowed and the shield softened the shriek of the sudden gale over his comm line. “Thor, where is the wind coming from?”
Tony disappeared in the swirling darkness, and Steve hit water on his back. He felt his lungs seize, and his hands searched for the plane’s controls while a voice in the back of his head gibbered in terror. He barely sucked in a breath before a wave crashed over his head.
Steve shook his head mutely, and squeezed Tony tighter to his chest. He nestled his forehead into Tony’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Tony’s collarbone. “I keep thinking that it’s not fair to apologize when you don’t remember what I’m apologizing for, but I can’t just. We can’t stay like this.”
Tony thought about pushing him, but didn’t. He shrugged. “Whatever you like, sweetheart. So? Up for a tumble? I can turn out the lights,” he offered, running a hand boldly up Steve’s body from his thigh to his chest. He flicked at the nipple poking against the skin-tight fabric, and Steve hissed a breath through his teeth, automatically pulling back and reaching up with his free hand to rub at his chest.
A tickle across his nose pulled him out of sleep. Tony was warm and comfortable, and sensed no immediate danger nearby. Without opening his eyes, he rolled into the soft warmth against his back. His paws reached out instinctively to press into piles of plush fur. He started to knead, and found the movement immediately and intensely pleasurable. Warmth settled in his chest, and then worked slowly up his throat. A deep, rumbling purr spilled out in its wake, and he shifted around so he could press the toes of his back feet into warmth as well.
Steve was quiet for several seconds, and then rolled onto his side and nuzzled against Tony’s shoulder. He set a gentle kiss to Tony’s neck. “I think that could be arranged. For as long as you’re here.”
“Fuck, Steve. Stop. I didn’t.” Tony ran a frustrated hand through his hair and tugged hard. Steve stopped and turned to look at him cautiously. “I’m just tired, and I haven’t showered since... Whatever today is, it wasn’t today. Just.” Tony clawed at the back of his neck, feeling grimy and jumpy. “Give me a few minutes to shower, okay?’
Steve opened his mouth to respond, but stopped and tilted his head as if listening. His uncertain expression twisted into confusion, and then slammed down into anger. The glowing shield came up hard and lightning fast. Tony managed to duck his head down and take the blow mostly on his shoulder, but it still set his ears to ringing. In the next breath, Steve had curled his knees up, and Tony got both heels to the gut. Even through the suit, the impact forced the air out of his lungs. He flew backwards, slid across the floor, and fetched up against a concrete column.
“Get these people out of here!” Steve shouted over the wind, but Clint and Natasha’s responses were barely more than blips in response.
The laser disappeared from Steve’s line of sight, but he didn’t need to be able to see it to trace the trajectory of the muzzle. Tony started cussing. Loud, snarling, vicious curses poured out in a dozen languages. He insulted Kilgrave’s manhood, mother, and sanity in a long string of creative expletives. His eyes were red with fatigue and tears, and his face was deep red with the blood pounding through his cheeks.
He had a pile of fourteen cameras ranging in size from a dime to a quarter, and three listening bugs. He probably hadn’t gotten them all, but he’d gotten enough to let them know that he
When Tony woke, the first thing he noticed was the ache in his joints. He groaned, and it came out as a low
Behind him, Redskull howled out something ugly and guttural. Tony spun around, but the man was still on his back, one of Steve’s massive paws planted on his chest. He pointed at Tony and babbled incoherently, eyes crazy, body vibrating with his rage. With a start, Tony realized that he was probably
, and he forced his lips to cover his teeth again. His heart fluttered so hard against his ribcage that it almost felt like some kind of fainting episode, but he managed to sit upright.
Still holding the kitten in his jaws, Tony looked over to the hapless monster. He was staring at the escaping kittens with burning, hate filled eyes, mute now in the grips of what Tony recognized was obsession.
seemed just a little softer, a little kinder. Anthony wouldn’t have survived Gregory, but Anthony had apparently gotten away without a twin. Maybe he’d been smarter than Tony and eaten his twin in the womb. Anthony’s eyes were the kind of expressive that Tony had worked very hard to grind out of his own reflection, and he showed his shock and reluctant interest clearly when they shook hands.
A hole just barely big enough for a cat was visible in the stone. He wasn’t sure how much he liked the idea of maybe getting stuck in the hole with only several million tons of rock on top of him, but they needed a way into that cave. He swallowed down his very rational and well-supported fear of caves, and darkness, and unknown depths, and then forged ahead.
Tony sucked in a loud breath, and another, his pulse visibly jumping in his throat. “You sick purple piece of shit, I am going to
Steve edged him mercilessly, brought him right up to the very tip of the precipice, and then reached up to pinch him hard enough to bring him crashing back down, only to build him quickly back up again. Tony begged silently, and then aloud, sobbing, and yanking against the hold of the belt. Steve would not be moved to cooperate, and Tony knew that he had enough stubbornness and stamina to outlast Tony’s sanity any day. Angry, he could have pulled Tony right through the apocalypse this way.
Tony’s ears pricked forward. The squeak came again, but more distinct this time. It was the cry of a very young kitten. Equal parts curious and concerned, Tony listened in for the direction of the noise. The dragging sound came closer, and then closer again. A gigantic, wiry gray rat limped across the ground, each step crunching over the dry leaves, while its fat tail dragged behind it. Over its back, it had a squirming, crying sack.
Steve snarled something in response, but he’d stopped squirming and eyed Tony speculatively. Tony abruptly remembered that dogs didn’t have full color vision, so maybe Tony just looked like a cat. He wracked his brain trying to remember if cats did, but it had never been a particular interest to him, just trivia. He looked around the clearing again, but he couldn’t definitively say what colors he could see when they were on an alien planet. For all he knew, there was no red on this planet.
The woman stopped where Tony had woken up and crouched down to hold the wand about six inches off the concrete. She shuffled forward awkwardly, but Tony had to admire her core strength as she stayed upright while she moved.
“If you weren’t already in a hospital bed, I would put you in a hospital bed,” Rhodey said, but his lips finally crawled out of his mouth and stretched into a smile.
. His throat was on fire, and his face felt itchy. He coughed and blinked several times, trying to get Jarvis’ attention, but the HUD remained dark. None of his limbs seemed to be working correctly. He tried to get to his knees, but his arms felt suddenly too long, his feet were too small, and he couldn’t balance correctly.
The rats were an unending wave, and he didn’t want to leave Steve alone to face the tide, but he could still hear the helpless cries of the kittens under all the clamor.
The familiar shape of Times Square finally brought him to a halt. He stared at it all in horror, turning useless circles. Ads playing actual resonate tones thundered above him, all the people with their clamoring tones, the cars, the impossibly bright, clear lights making the ads glow even in the middle of the day. Giant black automobiles like small, sleek tanks converged on him, and he didn’t even try to run. He was in New York, or dreaming, or this was someone’s version of the afterlife. Where was he supposed to run to? His legs felt suddenly weak.
How could he still be standing? He looked down at his hands. They were just like he remembered them, smooth and strong, free from even the faintest of scars.
He was not unaccustomed to being the smallest man in the room, but he’d never gone tromping through the woods before with someone who could fit half of his body in their mouth.
Tony snorted. “Nice show. I’m assuming all of this is to put me at ease so I won’t go looking for whatever spy equipment you didn’t take away?”
The next day, he had a pair of a Louis Vuitton’s custom built with hollow wedges, and then filled them with Super Spy Gadgets. And a phone. Just for fun. Natasha wore them to her next press event and it made Tony smile.
By the time he’d made it around the bush, Steve and the wolf were rolling in the dry leaves. They snarled at each other viciously while they tussled. The big wolf was on top of Steve, her front paws on his chest while he pushed up at her neck. She craned down like she meant to bite into his throat.
Across the table, Tony sobbed, wide eyes filling with moisture that spilled down his cheeks and made the blood and dirt run. He shifted in the chair, trying in vain to push away from the table.
“You could stay,” Tony offered stupidly, haltingly, one morning. The sex hadn’t been angry, hadn’t been the result of fighting, they were just both there and the tower was otherwise empty, so why not? If there was any time he was going to ask for it, good-mood-fucking seemed like the best option.
of the bots’ servos. He dropped his hands to his sides, the momentary burst of anger-born energy fading and just leaving him
“Whole new meaning to ‘don’t bite my head off.’” Tony started snickering to himself. He yawned hugely, and looked up to see the sun filtering down through the trees. He twisted back in the direction that Steve had gone off to with the wolf, and then down at the ground. It was a nice spot, and he could use a nap, but his teammate had wandered off with a stranger, and Tony should probably be more worried about that.
As Steve begged Tony’s lungs to give up the water and accept the air, it started to rain. Heavy sheets fell, dark and cold around them, and the world started to go black at the edges.
On the dais, a man stood, naked to the skin save a tangle of grotesque jewelry. His face was a parody of human features, twisted and sharp, with a strange texture, and an odd brown colored head.
In the next moment, Tony was flying through the air. He twisted, dizzyingly on four axes. He impacted hard with the wall, and crumpled down to the floor, still landing on all four feet for as much good as it did him. He felt the shock of landing shoot up his legs, and had to just lay still for a second to overcome the disorienting blow.
Steve knew that Tony was probably just running scans, but an uncomfortable tingle lodged in his spine and wouldn’t be moved, no matter how much he rolled his shoulders. He turned away from the unsettling darkness to greet the rest of his team as they unloaded from the Quinjet.
Steve couldn’t feel his lungs expanding. He couldn’t feel air around him, pressure against him, or a sense of falling. There was no up, down, or sideways. He flailed his arms and legs, but there was nothing around him for purchase. He squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them so wide that they hurt. The blackness was so complete that he couldn’t be sure that they were really open.
“Let’s get you home to mommy, okay?” he asked. He wanted to get her out of there in hurry in case the rat came back, maybe with friends.
Steve searched his grizzled face for a clue to what was going on. “Where…?” he asked, and nearly threw up when the man told him he was ‘home.’ “The war?”
getting in between Tony and someone who needed a thorough re-education about the nature of the universe.
Steve looked around again. He had no idea who Fury was, or what kind of organization he belonged to. They’d already tried to trick him once. The spectacle had gathered a crowd and people were watching them curiously, but the armed guards who’d jumped out of the cars were holding the onlookers back. No one seemed especially confused by their presence, and they were reacting as if these black-clad people were police of some kind. S.H.I.E.L.D was stamped on the side of one of the vehicles in a very official-looking gray logo.
Abruptly, the wiry hair of the rat dissolved. The tough skin seemed to melt under Tony’s tongue. Before he could process what was happening, a pair of hands (hands, not rat claws) reached up to grab him by in a crushing grip. He felt the armor plates compressing around his ribs while the other hand fought under Tony’s suit to get to his scruff.
Tony shoved himself up to his feet (he wasn’t paralyzed, not by Obadiah (what the fuck?) or the suit damaging his nervous system) and stumbled into the head like he was drunk (No, he’d been sober for a decade – no, he’d just been drinking the night before, he’d woken up hung over, hadn’t he?). He didn’t even recognize his own face in the mirror and smashed a fist against it, but it wasn’t actually glass and all it did was hurt his hand. He cursed, tripped over the toilet, bashed his elbow against the shower stall, and finally managed to get himself under the showerhead.
Tony was trying to come up with a decent fight to engineer when he felt a gentle brush of warmth against his hand. He looked down at where his and Steve’s hands almost touched, and then up to find Steve looking back at him.
Even with Riverstones’ tunnel to keep the kittens in a group, herding that many terrified, tired, hungry, and traumatized kittens out of the caves took the rest of the night. The sun was well over the horizon by the time they got the last of them out, and even Steve’s stamina was nearing the breaking point. They took a much longer, but far gentler path down the hill, urging the exhausted kittens around the cliff, and down its shallower incline toward the village.
“Anyone there?” Steve gasped out. There was no response. His own voice sounded like it was smothered with a dozen layers of wool. He sucked in a breath, and then another. No movement, no sound, no change in temperature. Maybe he was dead. Maybe death was just this disembodied non-existence until the end of time.
Tony jumped, ready to remind Jarvis that he didn’t like people sneaking up on him while he was sleeping, but the room was empty when he rolled over.
. Tony blinked against Steve's shoulder, not sure what to do with the contact. He’d meant to drag Steve into a sloppy kiss, get a hand into his tight suit, and walk him back to the bed. As he stood there indecisively, Steve freed his other hand and reached up to grab the back of Tony’s neck. He scooted in closer until Tony was completely engulfed in his arms, and then leaned down and buried his face against Tony’s neck.
“What’s the likelihood that Stark’s gonna tear through the truck and kill that purple bastard?” Clint asked idly.
“Modern art,” Tony answered. Steve frowned at him, but it wasn’t a lie. The goddamned thing wasn’t going to be good for anything other than decorating someone’s lawn at this rate. It was a mess – he just couldn’t get it to come together right. Surprise, fucking surprise.
his voice as colors, lines, equations written in the air. They faded, and he found Steve standing next to him, wide-eyed and glowing with equal parts worry and hope and fear and joy. He twisted and found Rhodey on the other side, eyes luminous in his face, lips practically disappearing into his mouth.
He got to his feet and waved a vague goodnight to the room. He considered the penthouse, but eventually asked Jarvis to take him to the workshop. Tony didn’t even bother with the pretense of working. He grabbed a blanket and pillow out of the cupboard and curled up in the spot where he and Steve had almost-kind-of cuddled.
Ahead of them, Captain America ran to the edge of the water, helpless on the ground, every line of his body expressing his frustration and fear. He put a hand to his ear.
Good enough. Tony put a hand on his pelvis to hold him down to the bed, moved into a position that would put less strain on his forearm, and went to work. Steve was fantastically responsive, his entire body twisting and pushing while Tony worked two, and then three fingers into him.
Almost immediately, there was a polite knock on the door. Tony took his time refilling his cup, and then opened the door with a grand gesture. The tech on the other side had the good grace to look embarrassed as she rushed into the room and retrieved the spy gear from the dryer. Steve marched in after her with his arms crossed over his chest, and then four other techs arrived to dig out the rest of their gear. Tony had somehow missed one in a picture frame, and another that had been embedded in the ceiling, but he’d gotten most of them.
. The phrase made him flinch automatically. He took a hesitant step backwards. The armed people all tensed. He was in some hellscape’s reimagining of ‘home’ and every tone around him screamed with foreign music. His bonds were all gone – there would be no Bucky coming around the corner, summoned by Steve's distress, no Peggy striding out of the alley with her handgun out in front of her. He was alone.
Alone in the corridor, he leaned against the bulkhead and struggled to swallow the last of his dinner. They were going to find Steve tomorrow,
Natasha turned into the wind and used the gust to carry her over the smaller of the two pools. Tony automatically held out a hand for her to catch, and they both stumbled backwards several feet before Natasha planted her heels on Tony’s hip and launched upwards. Tony wouldn’t have heard her whoop of pleasure if he didn’t have filters working overtime to cancel out the wind noise.
. They fought side-by-side, Steve in his familiar patriotic uniform, Tony in a suit of armor that let him fly. At the end of the fight, Steve would put a hand on his shoulder and call him
“You’re lost,” Steve said gently beside him. Tony pulled his attention away from the Steve at his bedside and took in the much more tired version. He seemed skinnier somehow, less. Worn down. “You’re caught in a storm, stuck between realities. They need you here.” He set a gentle hand down on Tony’s leg where it remained unmoving under the hospital blankets.
Steve split his time between antagonizing Tony while he was sleeping in the sun, and playing with Riverstone’s puppies so the two adults could focus on the massive influx of new mouths. Walker showed up irregularly to leave an animal carcass at the village gates, and usually disappeared before anyone could so much as say thank you.
“No sniffing!” he shouted, frantically scrabbling at the face plate as if he could drive all the scents away. All at once, the cacophony of scents ceased, making him feel like he’d lost his sense of smell altogether. “Looking,” Tony said firmly. “Seeing through the stupid rock to a tunnel.”
Her voice faded to a murmur as the sunlight got brighter, the beeps and ticks of the machines growing louder. Tony watched Steve’s expression set harder, his eyes narrowing, his lips turning down at the corners. He was terrifying in the intensity of his belief, his surety that Tony was going to manufacture a miracle and wake up. Maybe it was hard for Steve to accept considering what he’d woken up from.
Tony opened his eyes and found himself staring up at a woman. She had long, straight brown hair, and she was
. He watched her carefully as she smiled and let the door close, her faint resonance tone growing louder as she neared. She had a tone like no one he’d ever known. Something about it reminded him of Tesla coils and Howard’s strange devices. Her tone clashed so hard with his that it was actively repulsive. He found himself leaning away from her, and her smile faltered.
Wouldn’t it be better to be none of those things? Start over, go through a normal life in a world where superheroes were only on paper.
, the self-sacrificing bastard. After that, what did it matter if Tony made it out alive? Maybe there were some parts of the world that deserved to be saved, but none of it was
Tony lost his tenuous grip. He flew through the air, twisting over and over so he hit the ground on all fours, and then skidded another few feet through the dry brush. He ended up between Steve and the wolf, and crouched down to get his chest close to the dirt and his back paws under his belly. She might be able to swallow him in a bite and a half, but he’d at least take one of her eyes with him.
Still just barely ahead of him, the rat burst through a curtain of darkness that gave the corridor the appearance of a dead end. Moving too fast to stop in time, Tony twisted to take the impact on his shoulder and left side, but passing through the curtain was effortlessly painless. He tumbled through the air, off balance by both the curtain and the sudden light.
So when he actually woke up some indeterminate time later, the first thing that popped into his head was, “
They stayed several more days to help get the kittens sorted out. Tony turned out to be an effective fisherman, while Steve just enjoyed splashing around in the water and scaring all the trout. Every time Tony got wet and hissed at him, Steve splashed him some more just for the hell of it.
The terrain grew steeper still until Steve was fighting for each upward step, hopping up more than running. The smaller Riverstones took each step deliberately with grim determination. Far ahead of them, Tony bounced from tree trunk to stone to tree trunk, looking more like a squirrel than a cat as he made judicious use of his thrusters to sail between branches.
Watching Steve carefully, Tony descended from his boulder. Steve’s ears followed his motion, but his lips stayed firmly over his teeth, and he didn’t snarl when Tony got closer. He tried to squirm away when Tony reached a paw out for his belt, but Tony swatted him on the chest. In reply, Steve snapped at tail. Reacting automatically, Tony swiped his face, and they both sprung away from each other – Tony more gracefully than Steve.
“Not yet,” Tony broke in, but his eyes were glued to the shrinking margin between Steve’s right foot and the darkness. The space between the two pools was shrinking even faster. Another few minutes, and they would connect into a river of void.
While Steve jumped up to his feet, Tony flopped onto his back and started laughing again. Just his fucking luck. Dream, or after life, or whatever the hell it was, and he gets the Steve that would still rather punch him than fuck him. Typical.
If he opened his mouth, Tony was more than half sure that he’d start with the hysterical laughter, so he just curled his body until he could get his lips on Steve’s. Warm, and soft, and unexpectedly sweet, Steve opened up under him. He moaned against Tony’s mouth and pulled him up closer, big hands spreading on Tony’s back, fingers curling in and opening like he was trying knead. Whole new meaning to the term sex kitten.
Steve reached over suddenly and caught his hand, and Tony had the conflicting impressions that he was still writing and that his hand was immobile (and cold) under Steve’s grip. He wanted to turn his hand over and lace their fingers together, he wanted to pull his hand away, he wanted to see how the hell words were still appearing on the page when he wasn’t writing them.
Tony said nothing, but the wolf wasn’t stopping. Steve could follow her to the road, and then come back for Tony.
“Is it because of this?” Steve asked, motioning in between them. “You don’t want anyone else to suspect? Or you can only handle touching me when you’re pissed off?”
“This is definitely the origin of the readings,” she said, and then stood up and walked right over to Tony. The soldiers around Steve moved immediately, clearing her out of their line of fire and rushing forward to make sure Tony didn’t get any ideas about doing something nefarious. Steve took two great steps forward so that he was crowded against her back, glaring down at Tony over her shoulder.
Steve said, sounding less like a whiny husky and more like himself. He leapt down next to her with the casual grace that Tony had come to expect of Captain America, and then turned to look in the direction she had indicated.
When he opened his eyes, the captain was leaning over him, familiar weathered face pulled into an exasperated frown. “Mr. Stark?”
. The glowing shield arched over them and clanged to the floor in a burst of light, still clutched in Steve’s grip. Tony’s hips and back and neck and entire existence protested, but he twisted around to follow, crawling in between Steve’s legs and up his body. The Steve he knew, the Steve he’d been quietly, sometimes resentfully, in love with would have punched him in the face by now. This Steve seemed softer somehow.
“No,” Tony said, keeping his voice to a low grumble, “I’m fine. I’m just distracted and can’t seem to get my… sea legs, or whatever. I’m fine.” He shoveled the rest of the potatoes into his mouth and stuffed half of his meatloaf in after. His mouth was too full to even chew, but it was all off the tray, so he gathered up the dishes and hurried out of the mess.
His claws found new homes in the rat’s thick skin, and he threw the faceplate back so he could sink his teeth into the rodent’s neck. The rat roared. It was a sound so un-rat-like, and so terrifying that Tony felt his fur standing on end. There was a great clamor of noise behind him, but Tony couldn’t spare any attention from just hanging on as the rat flailed and tried to pry him off. He tasted blood, hot and rich, and doubled down, ripping his head sideways in a quest for more.
“What is this?” he demanded. When no one responded, he whirled around. The room spun and he fell back against the table, knocking the light askew. It swung wildly flickering yellow-dark-yellow-dark. He closed his eyes against the swell of dizzying nausea, and felt a sudden impact of cold metal on his shoulders. The ship continued to toss and roll, and Tony reached out to grab onto any solid surface.
“Okay.” If it had been anyone else, Tony might have looked at his watch to point out that it was after 8 at night, and it was a conversation that they could be having in twelve hours or more. If it had been anyone else, Tony might have picked up his pen and gotten back to work just to let them know that he was busy, and his time was valuable. Tony just waited, because it wasn’t anyone else– it was Steve, and goddamnit, but Tony was still stupidly in love with him.
a computer. Tony clearly remembered hundreds of hours of coding, and putting together composites of dozens of voices, tweaking and pushing, and dissolving into sobs when he finally got it right).
Tony looked up at the captain, afraid to realize that he’d been hearing things again. “Oh?” he ventured cautiously.
Steve snorted so loudly it sounded like a cough. Tony decided to ignore the comment, which was becoming more fun by the moment. Maybe when he got back to being a human, he could continue the gaming of just ignoring things. He’d always been good at selective hearing, but mostly that was obtained by talking over people. If he could master the cat-trick of pretending people didn’t exist, his life would be a lot easier.
Tony blinked, and then let his breath out in a great sigh. “Oh. Well, that’s certainly less fun than a dying fantasy.”
Tony winced. No one had called him Antonio in years, and it would take some getting used to. “Tony’s fine. When we’re alone like this.” He waited a breath for Steve to protest the idea that 'this' was anything more than a one-time deal. “Provided that you’d like to be alone like this again.”
“No,” Tony answered – it wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t avoiding anyone in particular. He was just avoiding them all.
They moved quietly through the woods, following on Riverstone’s heels as he wove confidently between tree trunks and navigated around protruding roots with the surety of a predator in his own territory. Steve kept one ear tilted toward Tony. He was able to track the cat only because Tony’s armor made the softest of noises as the metal plates whispered across each other. Otherwise, he was nearly invisible in the darkness.
“I can’t,” Steve said. He started to shake, body wracked with shivers that had nothing to do with the cold. His eyes rolled upward and to the left. “You don’t have to do this. Please.”
Steve blinked at him. “Antonio,” he said, voice a cross between disapproval and discomfort. It seemed that Steve expected to be implicitly obeyed in all universes.
Sometime after Howard died, Tony had started dreaming of Captain America. In his dreams, Tony called him
Steve’s ears swiveled side-to-side. “He’s a good friend,” he said finally, defensively, though he wasn’t sure what he was defending.
Tony looked away from the struggle in the sand and turned to the Steve who stood beside him. “Did I die?”
A moment later, Steve came slamming down after him and disappeared into the inky blackness without causing so much as ripple. Not even stopping to think of how much of a
Tony had fucked that up, of course. He fucked up even when he was at his best, and he definitely wasn’t at his best.
The commotion finally resolved into shouts of panic. Tony snagged the kitten and hurried to cover. He needed to see what was going on, but he couldn’t leave the kitten alone, and he couldn’t just take her out into a fight. She remained quiet and sweetly trusting as he crept around the house to peer into the street. There were no rats running rampant through the street, just the same villagers he’d seen earlier that day.
“Give it to him, War Machine,” Steve said finally. Rhodey looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed in calculation. Steve wasn’t really in the best condition to be giving orders and Rhodey knew it. “Iron Man is right, we need the air support. The sooner we get Kilgrave away from people, the better. We don’t have time to argue. Iron Man, scout ahead and keep an eye on the roads. I’m assuming SHIELD has a holding facility set up?”
The captain nodded his grizzled head. “Out on the ice. We’ll take a submersible out tomorrow if you want to go.”
Steve understood what had happened an instant before familiar hands closed over his. Bucky pried Steve’s hands away from his ears and Sam dropped to his knees in front of him with a pair of bulky headphones. He shoved them over Steve’s ears and the screaming abruptly cut off. His ears continued to ring like they’d been filled with cicadas, but he couldn’t hear the sonic tone anymore.
They would find Captain America, and Tony’s dreams would be banished along with the madness. Shivering violently, he reached up and turned the lever over to
“What do you mean?” he asked as he fished a shoe out from under his workshop stool. U helpfully offered him a sock. Tony threw it at Steve.
Tony reeled and the ship seemed to drop out from under his feet. When he landed, the deck of the ship had vanished and he was in some kind of science fiction lab. The displays around him where soft blue and floating in the air, a design for an Iron Man suit, but far more advanced than the one he saw in his dream-mirror. There was a man at one of the workstations on the opposite side of the room with rumpled clothes and mussed hair, and glasses sitting crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was staring at a magnified cell displayed on a transparent screen, one hand carefully adjusting a dial on a microscope and the other pushing his glasses up his nose every few seconds.
Kilgrave’s power pouring into Tony like the hum of a distance bass guitar. His feet tingled. He blinked twice. Tony’s eyes met his and Steve could see the terrible trust there, knew what he was asking Tony, and the price Tony would pay if they failed. Tony’s finger tightened, and Steve summoned up every ounce of rage he had in him. Kilgrave was just another bully, someone throwing around their weight because they could, and Steve
Tony asked. He was aware of the dogs’ ears twitching in response to his words, but he wasn’t going to take the time to translate himself just so the local canine population could understand him talking to his suit.
He shivered and reached for a pillow to pull across his lap, tapping the space next to him. Steve sat down with one knee tucked up on the bed. He spread the paperwork over Tony’s pillow – mission reports, and why did Steve still
Steve’s ears drooped, and his jaw hit his chest again. This time, he couldn’t stop the whine that rattled high in his throat. He
Steve took a tense step forward, one hand coming up, and then stepped back. He clenched his hand into a fist at his side, right arm coming up into a familiar posture that was only missing the shield. “You can’t ever take anything seriously.”
One of the dogs broke away from the group to meet Moonlight in the road. They touched noses, and then spent a couple seconds sniffing at each other’s mouths. The whole gaggle of puppies, even the sleepy little girl, went bounding over to them, barking out, “Dad! Dad’s back! Daddy!”
He could hear them just on the other side of a bush when there was a sharp snap of dry wood breaking, and then a throaty snarl. In the time it took Tony to register the noise, the soft chattering of dog-speak had descended into deep growls punctuated by loud barks. Tony bounded around the bush, cursing himself for letting Steve just walk off with a stranger. They might not get along all the time, but Steve was his teammate, and Tony shouldn’t have just trusted him the company of a strange wolf.
Staring at him, unblinking, Tony held a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum revolver with a laser sight. The gun trembled in his hand, the red laser cutting through the surrounding darkness like a macabre light show. His elbow was braced against the table, wrist twisted at an odd angle to keep the muzzle pointed approximately at Steve’s chest. His jaw clenched.
Tony quirked an eyebrow at him, but found himself petting Steve comfortingly, hands running up and down his thighs. The pressure of Steve’s grip on his sides was starting to hurt, but it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. He let Steve come down from what sounded like a truly fantastic experience, regretting turning out the lights. Steve’s breath finally calmed down to soft gasps, and his grip relaxed enough for Tony to feel like he could breathe steadily again. Tony was ready to slip out of him, but Steve shifted down, adjusted the position of his legs, and to Tony’s everlasting wonder, reached down and took himself in hand. In a few strokes, he was encouraging Tony to move again.
He was still in the suit, on his back on a concrete floor, staring up at a concrete ceiling that was crisscrossed by exposed pipes. Somewhere there was water dripping on the floor, and the air smelled like mildew. He lifted his head to see if there was anything nearby that he recognized, but it was just concrete and red emergency lights. He let his head thump back to the floor and felt a brief burst of pain at the back of his skull.
“Cap, maybe you could get over that puddle of death and darkness?” Tony suggested. “I’d feel a lot better if you were on this side of it.”
At the sound of traffic and honking horns, he turned his head to look out the window. The familiar press of New York buildings was just outside, but something about the view looked flat. The air through the open window smelled weird. A radio was playing softly on the sideboard, and even that sounded strange. Too clear, and too familiar. He put it down to déjà vu as he sat up and looked around. He was wearing an SSR t-shirt that stretched too tight across his chest. Even the material felt strange.
Rhodey’s thrusters abruptly cut out and he plummeted through the air toward the water below as deadweight. Clever, cutting suit power completely and rebooting. Before he’d fallen a dozen yards, power re-engaged and he threw his hands out to reverse his trajectory. It was too late, and Rhodey must have known it, but he rocketed straight up in pursuit of Iron Man anyway.
Moonlight added, stepping up next to her mate. She was the larger of the pair by far, but ducked her head sweetly to lick at his chin.
“Now you,” Tony explained patiently. If Steve was going to use him to release pent-up frustration, Tony at least deserved to see him naked. Steve didn’t protest. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and dropped it on the ground. Tony tossed him the lube and then folded down into his lap, curling over to tuck his face against Steve’s neck.
“That was silly of me,” Tony said, and crawled backwards off the mattress. He took a detour to refill his cup, and let Steve watch him drink it. The last of his headache had faded into a dull pressure behind his eyes, and the persistent ache in his joints and spine was fast on the way to joining it. He took his time stripping out of the borrowed clothing. He knew what he looked like, and he knew that he was covered shoulders-to-knees in bruises, but who knew? For someone like Steve, that might be a plus.
Steve said, the words coming out a mishmash of the strange telepathic communication, and the yips and barks of his vocalizations.
He remembered falling to his knees in the sand and Rhodey’s arms closing over his shoulders, and being so
Tony tried to rub at his face, but nothing seemed to be in the right place. Instead of rubbing his right eye, he hit his nose, leaving a stinging scratch. He hissed at the sudden pain, and then froze. The sound hadn’t been a sharp exhalation of breath, it had been a
Steve snapped his teeth, which made Tony jump back and hiss. Settling the weight of the shield on his shoulders again, Steve said,
A ripple went through Steve’s body, legs and arms moving restlessly. He moaned, arched his back, pushed down harder on Tony’s fingers. “I - … yes.”
should have been buried under decades of snow and ice, but it was completely exposed, debris from the crash littered all around it, streaks of soot turning the blue ice black. Tony struggled out of his snowshoes and ignored the shouts of the crew coming after him. The plane was surprisingly intact. If it had just hit, Steve could have still been alive. Tony scrambled on the ice and broke through the crust to plunge waist-deep into the snow, feet from the plane.
“Let him in.” Tony stepped out of the suit as Steve walked in. He looked like he’d just come from the gym shower, that sort of clean-damp that looked so good on him.
“It’s important to team morale to have you around,” Steve explained. “We like to see you off the battlefield too, you know? It’s your tower. You should join us. Come back.”
– and the armor plates from his shoulders to his tail folded up while the locks on his underbelly folded up toward his chest. In a matter of moments, the suit had compressed into a backpack piled up on his shoulders. The catch on his foreleg
“You’re just terrified,” Steve observed. “You’re scared that you’re going to wake up and find that this…” he gestured to the room around them, “Isn’t a dream.” He pointed at Steve. “He isn’t a dream.”
Steve looked mildly confused to find Tony down in the road instead up in the shallow scoop their bodies had made as they’d slept. For that matter, Tony didn’t remember inviting Steve into his scoop in the first place, so it wasn’t his fault if Steve didn’t like get his bladder massaged. Tony felt his tail start to thump in the packed soil as Steve just sat down at the top of the hill and stared down at him. | [
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“Light of my life,” he adds, tugging open the refrigerator door and sticking his head inside. “And still surprisingly well stocked, despite the carnage. When did I get so much food?”
Tony grabs a handful of popcorn while Thor is distracted by the show, shoving it into his mouth and speaking around it. “I’m telling you, it’s not magic. Really, it’s not. It’s just science. Say it with me, okay? Suh-eye-ence.”
“Yeah, yeah, stupid and reckless,” he says. “I guess I like my walls intact. See? I’m growing as a person. I blame you.”
Tony looks away first. He refills Steve’s glass with a concentration so absolute it can only be sarcastic.
,” Tony begins, before cutting himself off with a wave of his hand, shaking his head. “Wait, no, that didn’t come out right. I’m not saying I wanna make you all dance for me just because I’m bored. I’m not that much of an asshole.”
“Thanks,” Tony mutters. He takes the bundle of ice and flops back in his seat, strings cut. Steve hears him sigh as he presses the ice against his palm.
Steve could help him. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and grinds out, “I was thinking that the life of two untrained teenagers is more important than my own.”
“So I need to know who won all the World Series when you were a kid,” Tony says when Steve picks up the phone.
When Steve is six years old, and in bed with the flu, he dreams a man in a funny-looking suit appears in the middle of his bedroom.
Reappearing is never the easiest part. For a moment, Tony staggers, his knees jarring at the impact, and he sinks down onto the floor. He rests his elbows on his knees and then, letting out a slow breath, he rests his forehead on the backs of hands.
“It was annoying me at the time,” Tony says vaguely, but then he pauses. He lowers the communicator and lifts his head. “Is that bad? Are you shocked and horrified? I can rename it if you like, something Captain America friendly. Chuck? Earl? Larry?”
“I think that was the longest conversation I’ve ever had with people I wasn’t trying to sell something.”
For a moment, nobody speaks. Tony glances up at Steve, whose expression is grim. Then Bruce clears his throat, slipping his glasses off his nose. He cleans the lenses on the edge of his shirt and says, slowly, “Thor, what
He grins up at Steve until Steve, shaking his head, begins to laugh. The sound of it echoes around them, surrounding them, layer upon layer upon layer.
“Gotcha,” Tony mutters, drawing the screw out and dropping it into a Petri dish. He folds back the flap of loosened skin, revealing the circuitry beneath. It’s covered in a layer of silvery liquid, which Tony carefully wipes away with the towel. Then he glances up at Steve and grins. “Oh, don’t be such a baby. It only stings a little.”
“Can you tell me when I’m going to actually meet you?” he says, after a little while. “Or is that cheating?”
“Is it really so set in stone?” Steve says, but then he shakes his head again, slowly, as if clearing his thoughts, and he says, “Forty-three, I guess. You told me then you’d just seen me at six.”
Tony slips his hands back into his pockets and stands there, staring up at Steve. There’s a look in his eyes, one that seems to draw inward until he’s not really looking at Steve at all; his eyes are open but his face is closed, the conversation over. Steve takes it as a sign.
She looks smaller than she ought to, standing alone in that cavernous room with her arms around herself.
“Thank you,” Steve says automatically, reaching into the box and peeling the lone doughnut away from its sticky cardboard. He sniffs, rubs a hand across his face and takes a huge bite. The frosting is pink and sweet.
He tugs his communicator out of his pocket, activates it with his thumb and then, as the pictograms light up across the screen, swipes his palm across it. The pictures disappear, leaving the screen blank except for the Iron Man helmet in the corner.
Tony lifts his gaze at last, to meet Steve’s eyes. His mouth twists and he shrugs with one shoulder, lifting his hand in goodbye.
“Wait,” Steve says. “There’s something out there that you think actually stopped you travelling? Why aren’t you using it already?”
Steve is twelve, sprawled on his stomach on his bed, industriously colouring in a tiger’s dark stripes. He coughs. He had his tonsils out a couple weeks ago. He listens to the companionable scratch of Tony’s borrowed pencil on Tony’s borrowed paper, over the patter of the rain against the window.
He watches. When the clip ends, he zooms in further, dragging the image until the screen is filled with light.
“Not so different, then,” Tony says. “You, go sleep. Or whatever, I’m not the sleep police. JARVIS will tell you anything you need to know. I’ve got some work to do so I’ll be down in my lab all night. Have you been in my lab yet?”
Steve breathes out slowly, quietly. It’s good to know that they can do this, just about; talk about Howard and come out the other side still breathing. He watches the tension bleed out of the line of Tony’s back as he returns to his work.
The Hulk grunts and knuckles across the floor, flicking Clint out of the way – Clint yelps and almost falls over – and he picks the communicator up between finger and thumb. It looks tiny in his hand.
“I’m going to take this report back to Steve now,” he says. “I don’t think there’s much more I can do until we’ve got a clearer idea what’s going on.”
“When I die,” Fury says loudly, flatly, speaking over Tony until Tony shuts up, “or retire, I suppose, if I’m lucky, I don’t get much say in who takes over from me as Director. Used to, but things change. Oh, I get a vote. Sure, a vote... if I’m still alive to make it. Me and every member of the Council gets a vote.”
He looks around the workshop until he catches Steve’s eye and then he starts to laugh again, clutching his sides.
Thor beams. Hill thrusts a pen at him and Thor signs his agreement with a rune on the dotted line, still chuckling.
“My friends,” Thor say slowly, the laughter in the room trailing off as he rises to his feet; he towers larger than life over everyone in his helmet and cape. “My friends, can you feel-”
“Thank you. And - astrophysics. I’m actually in town for a conference, to present my findings on the bifrost. The bits of it that SHIELD haven’t classed as state secrets, anyway.”
Steve shrugs. “There are always repercussions and, no offence, it’s not usually billionaires bearing the brunt of them.”
He runs his hands over ach roll of fabric, pulls a face, pulls out the ends and rubs them between his finger and thumb. Clicking his tongue, he unwinds a larger strip from one of the rolls and cuts it off, quickly, with a laser.
“It’s – it’s okay?” Tony says, as if he doesn’t quite believe his own words. “I mean, I’m sorry. That she’s gone. And that I talked about doughnuts. Who cares about doughnuts? Doughnuts solve nothing.”
Steve expects him to leave the room at that, but instead Tony goes over to the work stations in the corner, pulling a small black box out from under one of the desks. He flips the lid.
Steve, drink halfway to his mouth, gapes. “Someone’s replicated your technology? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“You should give Van Dyne a call. You used to go on playdates with her, right? She’s with R&D now. Textiles are her specialty.”
“Sorry.” Steve looks up and meets Bruce’s quizzical gaze. He looks back down at the map again, focussing on the red circle Bruce has drawn in the fork of that junction. “I didn’t catch that. The highways?”
A beam of light passes across Tony’s face, shining on the smudge of nanite liquid and the curve of a cheekbone, the angle of his nose. The lights catches on the corner of his mouth as his lips part, drawing in a breath.
“Hey,” he says. He looks back up at the skyline before them, then down at the drawing again, and then he nudges Steve in the ribs. “Not half bad. You’ve really caught the, uh.”
“Obviously I don’t eat it regularly, with my training regime. But more regularly than Clint shoots sharks.”
Tony says something too soft for Steve to make out, but Pepper responds to it with a noise of pure frustration. He can picture her hands thrown up into the air at the sound of it.
The doors slide shut on the image of Tony chatting to his robot, cradled upside down on the bar top, as he carefully unscrews one of its wiggling limbs. And then Steve’s just staring at a shiny, black wall.
Tony trails off. He can feel Steve’s breath, even warmer, on the back of his neck. He can feel the fingers of Steve’s other hand trailing down between his shoulder blades.
“I can understand that,” Steve says slowly. “Needing a reason to still be here. For it to be worth it.”
He realises too late that the light isn’t moving forwards, but upwards – or rather, it isn’t moving at all, because Tony is the one moving.
to mark the difference, except maybe – and only maybe – a slight decrease in temperature. A coldness where the metal lies.
“I mean...” Tony huffs out a breath, fiddling with the corners of the metal box. “I will never say this again, so listen carefully, but – to give Fury some credit – to give him one tiny iota of credit, he made a good call. This thing. This whole – us – world-saving team thing. But I’m not going to sign my life over to them. They don’t get exclusive rights to point my suit at whatever Fury says needs pointing at.”
“-but he thinks it’s funny to give them personalities. Not even good personalities. Look at that little one.”
“I think it’s time you invented yourself some patience,” Bruce murmurs, but he nods again. With a click, his screen goes dark and the beam of light disappears back into the work surface.
After a little while, Steve gets up and heads back to the elevator, where he hits the button for the basement.
“I think my ego just crawled into a corner and died. Nothing I say to a girl will ever measure up to, ‘hey baby, wanna be queen of an alien realm where the streets are paved with gold and everyone’s really attractive?’”
“I never said it was,” Tony says, pointing his finger at Clint. “Never said that, actually. Not my fault my legions of adoring fans didn’t check their facts before they named me. Anyway,” he adds, taking a large, messy bite of the cone that leaves chocolate ice cream smeared on his nose, “watch your step, Barton. The Maria Stark Foundation helped fund this project, so I could legitimately tell you to get off my lawn.”
“Sure. Look, for a beginner, this is probably the easiest...” Tony beckons and Steve begins to step forward before he realises the hologram has moved too, sailing in the direction of Tony’s gesture and disappearing as smoothly as if it just stepped off camera. A new set of blueprints slide into place.
“Okay, fine,” he says, rotating his wrist. “This doesn’t need to be a two-man job from here, if you want out.”
She had turned back to her computer, but at that she looks up again, beaming. “I’d say the same to you, Captain, but,” and she leans across the desk towards him, dropping her voice to a whisper, “I’m afraid Mr Stark is in one of his moods.”
He backs up a step, closing his eyes in preparation. He can see Steve’s face on the insides of his eyelids. He opens his eyes and there Steve is.
And they leave. Steve watches the men slink away, waiting until they’ve all disappeared before he allows himself to drag a hand down his face, allows himself a humourless smirk. Score one for this world: the bad guys aren’t used to fighting adult superheroes anymore.
Leaning his head back against the wall, Steve closes his one good eye – the other too puffy and tender to open - and he grins. He listens to Bucky snort and mutter more insults, making Steve chuckle, and then Bucky touches his shoulder. Steve peels his eye open again and gazes up at him.
she keep those? In her hair? I need to work something into your suits. Give me your gloves one day, I’ll see what I can do with that–”
from? It’s – glowing, or something. How’d you find it? I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you don’t just climb down mine shafts for kicks.”
“My boots,” Steve says. At Tony’s perplexed look, he motions down at his biking gear, dusty and greasy, and adds, “Your floor.”
At some point in the night, probably while she’s fastening towels with safety pins with one hand and balancing some kind of fruity cocktail in her sling, Steve finds himself thinking of Agent Romanoff just as Natasha. He’s drinking mojitos and he’s only wearing his underpants under what’s essentially a very fluffy dress and he’s squeezed on a couch between two women who definitely aren’t his girls. If it’s not the most comfortable Steve’s ever been, it still beats the hell out of plenty of things. The Red Skull. Losing everyone he’s ever known. Asthma. Every single second of The Star-Spangled Man With A Plan.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tony move sharply, his hand lifting and then dropping in some aborted gesture.
His breath catches in his throat and his hand curls into a fist, slamming sideways into the wall. Tony flinches back a step. Steve feels something crunch beneath his skin, but the wall doesn’t give, the paint doesn’t even scratch, there’s only so much Captain America can do.
He lands in water, the heavy metal suit immediately dragging him down, but for a second he sees blue skies and grassy banks, a man standing in the shadows of the trees and a little girl with red hair running full pelt down towards the shoreline, while the water closes over his head and -
“That was just five minutes ago for me,” Tony is still saying. “Weird, I know. It’s like I’m the well-dressed bread on a time-travel sandwich. So, this is nineteen forty-three, huh?”
“I would have called back up if there’d been something serious,” Steve says. “I would’ve called Bruce back - or Thor, he can fly. So can you. I would’ve called you.”
He counts it off on his fingers. Pepper stares up at him, her face still too pale, her eyes still too wide and her gaze darting back and forth over his face. But slowly her expression relaxes into a wry smile.
He gapes in mock-outrage and Steve smiles. Grinning sidelong at him, Tony licks the hummus off his fingers. He contemplates, and then rocks back on his stool to dig a bag of chips out of the cupboard; when he rights himself, Steve has looked away again.
Steve lifts his head, looking up at Tony again. “I wasn’t waiting for you. You never really seemed real, back – back then, you know. You were like some crazy dream. I guess Peggy was, too. We never had
“What do you—” Steve pauses, looking down at the scrap metal still in his hands. He drops it abruptly. “The blood sample.”
“Stay,” Tony whispers as he crawls off the couch, his legs still numb, and measures the distance down the stairs and to the workshop door.
“Yeah. Well, I couldn’t hold onto my job.” Tony smiles wryly. “I couldn’t hold onto my company, I couldn’t hold onto my tech. I couldn’t hold onto the lives of the people who trusted me. Maybe I don’t give a damn about this... this war, or whatever the hell it is. I’m not a superhero. I’m just trying to extend our motley crew of superheroes’ stupid, heroic life expectancies.”
The shutters lower again. He spins back around to his face his desk and then, after a pause, drags down the computer hologram screen. He opens a folder and pulls the two video clips inside it, motioning for b-cam-001 to play.
to make sure those two don’t do any damage,” Steve says, resting his hands on his hips. Tony grins up at him, and grins, and grins, until Steve lowers his hands and adds, “I guess I could go for some ice cream as well.”
But it’s Tony Steve looks back to again, hunched down over this gun with his tongue sticking out in concentration. It’s Tony Steve can’t look away from, even as Tony glances at him out of the corner of his eye and Steve can’t decipher his expression.
“Some wannabe supervillain declares they’ve replicated my repulsor tech, public demo, mad with power, yada yada, save us from your bastardised technology, Iron Man! Day saved. Pepper, remind me to send a cheque for the broken fire hydrant.”
“I have – I don’t know where the laundry goes, or who even washes it, but I’m pretty sure I’m not a slave driver so they’re probably not washing right now, so you’re not gonna get your clothes back ‘till tomorrow.”
At that, Tony unfreezes. He takes a step forwards and makes some kind of sudden, jerky motion that Steve only barely catches, out of the corner of his eye.
Leaning in close, he can see the light crackle and bubble; it moves like a stop-motion capture of an icicle forming. Tendrils lick out from it, lightning fast even at this speed, reaching out towards the ceiling and the floor, searching for a surface to latch onto. It hits the wall at last and Butterfinger’s camera goes dark in a burst of static. The other clip keeps playing, the light spreading like frost across the wall. Tony stumbles back slowly, slowly into Steve and Steve lifts a hand up to Tony’s arm, the movement dreamlike.
“Ha, see, there we go. You were just buttering me up to get your hands on my awesome tech. This – this isn’t actually available for the public–”
Sitting on the stool next to him, Natasha lowers her cereal spoon from her mouth and looks them up and down. Her expression inscrutable, her gaze lingers on the gun in Tony’s hand and then moves on to Steve’s.
“I’ve never had freedom fries,” Steve murmurs automatically, but Tony barely seems to hear him, although his gaze drifts down to watch Steve’s mouth as it moves.
Steve smiles at the mirror, in lieu of a face to look at; or to direct his next question to, as he hefts his bundle of clothes and waves it uncertainly for the cameras. “Where should I dump these wet clothes?”
“You weren’t complaining last time,” Tony says, but although the words are harsh there’s a note of uncertainty. Steve lifts his head. Tony is still standing six feet away, body tense as if
Clearing his throat, Tony looks down at his wrists. He twists one of the glowing cufflinks around between finger and thumb. It’s warm to the touch.
He stands, abruptly, pushing away from the console and his chair rolls freely a few inches, the castor wheels rumbling too loud in a half-empty cave. “Conversation over. I’m going to bed.”
Steve scoots closer, craning up and ducking down till he’s eye-level with every part of the hologram he passes. Even up close, he has no idea what it’s a diagram of, but it’s one heck of a show. He can admire the shapes and the lines and the way it’s
Tony stands, stretches, rubs an aching joint or two. Rounding the coffee table, he reaches out a hand to Steve without really thinking about it. Steve has already grabbed hold and pulled himself smoothly up onto his feet before Tony remembers that Steve is a supersoldier, that Steve holds himself like a gymnast vacationing in a brick shithouse. Steve could probably stand up gracefully with both ankles tied behind his head.
Steve opens his mouth and the elevator glides to its silken halt, the doors sliding open onto the underground parking lot. Neither of them moves for a moment. Closing his mouth again, Steve rubs the back of his neck and looks out towards his motorcycle. Tony stares up at him.
“Could everyone who took any of the money floating around here hand it back to these folks here, please?”
Tony hesitates, looking away. He grabs the fabric sample back from Rhodey and, draping it around his neck, begins to pull the bolts off his desk and onto the floor.
“You wear too many shirts” Tony says, pulling a shirt sleeve out of the bag and holding it up to Bruce’s arm to compare. He gasps theatrically. “These are the same colour. Did you buy them in a
So he’s been out of the state for a week, when he opens his apartment door – shoving it with his shoulder when it jams; if he ever moves out of this place, he sure as heck isn’t getting the deposit back – and he finds his mail on the table. In among all the letters he sets aside for later, there’s a note on paper thicker than his credit card, embossed with a Stark Industries letterhead. It reads, in an unfamiliar hand, ‘Whatever you said to him to make him build something other than comedy robots,
Suddenly Obie’s voice is right down by Tony’s ear, his breath on Tony’s neck, and Tony’s heart jumps for all that the rest of him remains motionless.
Lifting his head, he stares up at Tony with those bright, sharp eyes, like that little kid who had stared angrily out at him from the dark.
“Deal.” Steve nods, holding out his free hand. It takes a moment, Tony just staring down at it, but then he’s grinning and he’s reaching out. They shake on it.
“It did good. It was handy. Not so good with stairs, though. Strong enough to fall down them, but it can’t throw itself
“I saw that, mister,” Tony says, bypassing the couch and making a beeline straight for the collection of desks and computers in the corner. He grabs a cardboard box from one of the desks before moving on to the bar.
They’re halfway to Breezy Point when Steve, still gazing out the open window at the world that rolls by, murmurs, “I kept that drawing for the longest time.”
Tony shifts again and the chair creaks. Steve looks up at him. Tony is sitting with his arms and legs crossed, staring at the wall opposite like he’s trying to see through it.
“Sorry,” Steve says. He reaches up to fumble with the safety pins, but Ms Potts taps him on the knuckles and undoes it herself.
Leaning back on his elbows, he watches her untangle herself from the sheets and move around the room, slipping on her bathrobe, gathering up her work cell and tablet. She pauses in front of the window to brush her hair in her reflection, her eyes finding his eyes in the glass.
Steve takes a deep breath. He cradles his hand. He stares down at Tony’s bare, incongruous toes, poking out under the ends of his jeans. “Tony, everyone and everything I’ve ever known or loved or, heck, even just plain hated is gone. Dead and gone. Do you – do you get that? Do you understand how damn lonely that is? I’m done fighting alone. I’m
Tony pauses, and they both turn to watch the line of people handing back their grabbed-up dollars. Not everyone will give it back, Steve knows, and maybe not even most will, but maybe it’ll be enough to make a difference.
Steve nods at her, and at the other who start to grab the flyaway notes and shove them back into the bag. He looks round at everyone else.
, nobody’s replicated my repulsors. This guy was all talk and no walk. All smoke and no fire – actually, the problem was too
Tony hesitates, pen to paper. The tip bleeds slowly onto the envelope, the letters behind it merging back into the spreading ink.
vacation,” Clint insists. “Nat got stabbed because she got made. Turns out it’s hard to be a spy once you’re a world famous, alien-ass-kicking hero. Sooner or later, someone puts two and two together and gets stabby. So we’re both benched while SHIELD figures out what to do with us.”
“What lies has he been telling you, ladies? Has he been letting you try to get him drunk? Sorry to disappoint, but it won’t work.”
“Agents Romanoff and Barton are currently located in the kitchen, sampling the range of coffee. Mr Odinson remains in New Mexico with Dr Foster.”
Steering clear of the door to the press conference, which is getting louder with every second, she slips out a side door into a plain stairwell, her phone to her ear. She says, “Mr Shaw, how can I – No, no, not interrupting at all,” and the door snaps shut behind her.
I had no idea it was going to be this long, or eat my life and heart and soul to such an extent, or get such a wonderful reception. I couldn't have asked for a better audience for my first proper go writing in this fandom, so thank you all very much.
Tony double-takes extravagantly, peering around with raised eyebrows, and he says, “Barton, I didn’t know you cared.”
Tony’s workstation is a mess, the desk drawers emptied all over the floor and the paperwork torn into shreds. Steve wishes he had a broom, wishes he could do something to fix the place up instead of just dismantling it further. As it is, he kicks the broken glass and metal and shattered lab equipment away, picks up and stacks the overturned drawers, then gathers the papers together into a neater pile.
Tony draws in a breath, straightening up and lifting his finger as if he’s about to answer Clint. He hangs like that for a moment, then begins to tap his chin in deep concentration, mouthing the question.
There is Sharon’s face, looming over him wherever he turns, sayings things he can’t hear. There is Sharon’s face. There is Sharon’s face.
“I am,” Steve says. He shifts to the side, keeping his foot against the edge of the door until Tony has passed through into the elevator. Tony presses his hand to the wall and drags a finger down to tap the blue light basement button.
Tony pauses, gaping up at him, his empty glass still suspended in the air a few inches from his face, like a mechanical game that’s used up its pennies.
“Three minutes is a long damn time to spend with a nuclear missile. I was ready for it. Hell, I was kinda
having another drink. You, I don’t know, you can bathe your teeth in it. Enjoy the flavour. Atomise it, whatever. Did people do that in the forties? Did anyone ever take Captain America wine-tasting?”
“-I’m limited by the technology of my time,” Howard says, “and I know now that I can’t wait for it to catch me up-”
“Yeah, this – this seemed like a better idea at the time,” Tony says. “Hey, it works! But I look like a fourth grade production of the Wizard of Oz.”
“What happened to your cufflinks?” Steve asks. At the man’s blank look, he adds, “They glowed. It was neat.”
He touches a thumb to a cufflink. He runs his fingers around the face of his watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Steve stand.
It’s not at all comfortable, being lugged through the sky like a sack of potatoes while he clings onto the all-too-smooth armour for dear life. He can’t even keep his eyes open long enough to admire the view, but it’s worth it for the sensations alone. For the wind in his hair.
Contrary to Tony’s dire predictions, Thor and the pretty woman who can only by his girlfriend – even in this century, buddies don’t sit that close together, surely? – aren’t doing anything untoward. They’re sitting on the couch; she’s reading a science magazine, with her legs slung over his and his cape tugged around her shoulders; he’s got hold of a little robot and is watching its wheels spin in the air. He quickly puts it down when he sees Tony enter the room.
Spreading his fingers, he rubs his palm over his pencils, so they roll back and forth together beneath the press of his hand. The orange gets caught in the folds of his bed linen, but Steve leaves it there. He pushes himself up onto his knees, craning his neck at Tony’s sheet of paper.
, anyway. Might have just been an alien space station. I don’t know. I didn’t exactly get a great look at it before I – you know, blew it all to hell.”
Steve is twenty-four, and he lingers too long at the suspended monorail, beneath the giant globe that shines in all the light and colour of the fireworks. When he lowers his head and looks around himself again, Bucky has disappeared.
Loose pieces of paper money drift past their faces. Steve, blinking dust and cold tears out of his eyes, squints down at the tableau Tony’s lowered them into: the street has ground to a standstill, the cars stuck at the back honking their horns angrily, although the drivers at the front all seem to have gotten out and joined in the show. The crowd must be at least a couple hundred strong, and in the middle of it Clint has half a dozen men on their knees, their hands on their heads while he points an arrow at them almost lazily.
“All is 100% well.” Tony steps back, holding the door open with his foot. “Let’s blow this Popsicle stand – it means go,” he adds automatically. “Let’s go.”
“Maybe I could have gotten a better doctor.” Flushing, Steve looks back down at his hands. “I mean, Doctor Harris, he – he did what he could, but he was so busy and mom wasn’t... important.”
There’s a clicking noise from somewhere overhead, a speaker turning on. Echoing slightly in the marble hall, Tony’s indignant voice says, “No, I’m not. Lies. I pay you to lie to idiotic businessmen, not Captain America.”
The blackout screens filter away from the windows and the sunlight streams through. News headlines and weather reports scroll across the glass faster than Tony cares to read them. Lying back, he puts his hand over his eyes. He looks through his fingers at the cracks of light, reddish with blood and skin where his fingers touch, fall gold in the gaps between.
Steve manages to sit up. It hurts, but there’s a sinking feeling in his guts and he needs to look Stark in the eyes and ask: “What year is it?”
“What-” he begins, but before he can get another word out Tony’s plucked it from his hands again and dropped it onto the floor upside down.
“When now?” he says. “Come on, you’re my guide to the future. Past. My future, your past, whatever you wanna call it.”
Tony nods, salutes. Standing where he is, he watches Steve circle around the table and the couch and head towards the elevator. Tony runs his hand across the back of the couch. They’ll need a bigger one. No, two. And a press conference, a publicist, a consultation with legal. He needs to call Rhodey. He needs –
, Tony thinks with delight – and Bruce slides the file partway across the table to her. She has to lean forwards to take it, still frowning at them, and then she flips the cover open. She takes in the first few lines and sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes darting back and forth across the page.
“Move,” Tony says. “Uncle Tony can tell you a story and work at the same time. Oh, and pass me that towel. This patch is mostly synthetic, but it can get messy.”
Steve frowns down at him, while Tony blinks again. He shakes his head and rubs at his eyes with clumsy fists – and then his head snaps up and he jerks upright, whipping around to stare at Steve.
Tony throws his straightened wires down onto the pile on the desk. Waving a hand, he leads Steve through the workshop and to the garage, to the car. He feels jittery. He thinks, too often, of Steve’s closed suitcase on the kitchen table, of Howard’s slightly open study door. When he glances back over his shoulder, with his hand on the car door handle, Steve has stopped walking. He’s standing and smiling at the car as if it’s the punchline to his favourite joke.
“And eighty years ago.” Steve shrugs, smiling faintly, a little wistfully. “And eleven. It’s fine. You did fine.”
She trails off and lifts her hand away. They look at each other in silence in the dark. The arc reactor light shines in her eyes.
“No, this is T’s – friend. He’s busy right now,” Steve adds, glancing to the side at Tony’s motionless form.
Although he did make the agent a cup of coffee first. He figures being self-reliant doesn’t mean being rude, wherever you might be.
“I should probably – go now,” he says. “I don’t want to take up anymore of your time. I know you’re a busy man.”
Steve spins around into a throw, feeling the momentum tug at the scrap metal in his grip. Then before he’s finished moving, he’s ducking down, aiming the shield to skim across the floor and take out an opponent’s ankles. When he straightens, he turns back to the camera.
“I saw that ending coming a mile off,” Tony mutters. His mouth slides into a crooked shit-eating kind of smile, but his voice is too flat, too strained, as if his vocal chords haven’t yet caught up with the brain’s command to make a joke. His eyes are grim, his face grey with exhaustion; the smile falls away before it’s even really begun.
It smells healthy and faintly of garlic. He’s about to dip a finger inside it in the spirit of discovery when Pepper touches his shoulder. She leans smoothly around him to look at the Tupperware in his hands, and when he breathes in he can smell her jasmine soap.
much better,” Bucky says, but he pats Steve on the knee, gentle this time, and tightly ties the loose ends of his bandage. “Idiot.”
“See?” Tony says, holding his arms out. He turns his hands over, palms up. The left cufflink, connected to the circuit, glows as well now, the same bluish-white as the arc reactor and pulsing, faintly, in time with his heartbeat.
scary option, because I wanted it to happen. Not like a death wish, been there, done that, bought the race car. I mean, I...”
He lets his breath out and leans back against the wall. He doesn’t look up, waiting for Tony to speak, and then when Tony doesn’t speak he adds, softer, “Why do you want this team so bad if you’re going to... to throw yourself at portals? That’s not how a team works.”
“Life used to be so simple, when I was just on the run from the military because my mutated alter-ego destroyed half of Harlem.”
Tony is shaking his head, pulling from Steve’s hand and Steve is tightening his grip and saying, “Tony, come on--”
She waves goodbye to the rest of the team. Bruce waves back and Barton tosses her a pretzel, which she catches one-handed as she walks by, her heels clacking imperiously against the tiled floor. The sound of her departure reverberates down the corridor long after she’s left the room.
“Obviously.” Tony tugs the loose ends of his shirt together and begins to button it back up, frowning down at his chest as the arc reactor disappears from view. “You’re not cars. Can’t slap a device to the underside of your engine. I mean, I could try, but it sounds messy-”
my robots. They named themselves, based on, I dunno, horoscopes, colour charts, patterns in my vocabulary. Dumbasses. They’re lucky they’re not all responding to liquors.” But Tony says it with something like affection, patting the nearest robot on the back of its long, shifting neck. “Dummy, you’re on fire safety again. I’m trusting you with this. Don’t ruin it.”
Barton watches her departing back, then glances at Tony. He nods towards the crack in the doors, nudging it open a little further with his boot, and through the gap they watch a group of SHIELD agents and paramedics pass by with an innocuous-looking man out cold on a gurney. He’s young and weedy. He looks like the sort of unassuming guy who works in tech support and spends his life instructing little old ladies to turn it off and then on again.
Tony’s fingers clench and release around the little horseshoe magnet still nestled against his palm. He huffs out a breath of laugher than earns him a questioning look from Steve.
Tony taps him on the arm. Steve jumps and swallows heavily, wrenching his gaze away from the sight of Thor and his girl. He meets Tony’s eyes and has to swallow again.
Steve gazes slides sideways to Tony. He looks startled for a moment, then raises an eyebrow. Tony realises that he’s frowning while he stares at Steve. He shrugs, looking away.
“I still can’t get a straight answer from this thing,” he says. Hitting a couple buttons on his brand new Stark computer, he transfers a folder of readings to Tony’s database.
She nods at Steve again, then turns and continues on her way – up the stairs, not down into the elevator, Steve notes, watching her red hair swinging a little longer than it had been the last time he saw her. Even in slippers, her footsteps are as steady and precise as a dancer’s.
“Asgard is well, then?” Steve asks, and when Thor beams and nods, he adds, slowly, “And how’s... your brother?”
“Hey,” he says. “Nice speech. I think I saw a biker gang crying at the back there. Big, hairy, tattooed, blowing their noses. It was moving, I was moved. Do you have a touching speech prepared for every occasion or did the super-duper serum come with a bonus SAT Writing paper?”
Working with Hill, Sofia gets a conference room booked and the eager press prepared within a matter of days. Standing in their impromptu dressing room, Tony can hear the excited voices building in the conference room next door, everyone slowly assembling for the Avengers debutante ball.
Drawing his hands back to himself, he pulls his gloves on again and straightens up, climbs quickly to his feet, portal gun held tight in his grip.
Tony is thirty-nine and there for barely a split second, choking on water and digging his fingers into the lawn so hard, tomorrow the gardeners will search for a stray dog.
He clears his throat, shakes his head and points a finger at Steve, saying, “You, stay. Hold that thought, stay there. There’s something important I need to do. I’ve been waiting for – but what the hell, I’ll do it now, while I know I can. These cufflinks could explode tomorrow or something, or-”
” Steve holds a hand up. “Stop talking. I know you’re a – a very rich man. I was joking. You looked like a coin-operated game that’d run out of coins.”
“Okay.” Tony shrugs, putting the bottle away again. “Good thing I didn’t start the party without you. Are we going now? Should I suit up?”
“Wow, you’re great for my ego. Or terrible, Pepper’d vote terrible. I need to have a time traveller in
Tony looks around to see Steve, deep in conversation with Romanoff and the harried-looking hotel manager. His gaze is skimming back and forth over the heads of the slowly dissipating crowd while he talks and when he catches Tony’s eye, he lifts his chin in question. Tony nods at him and holds up a finger, then turns back to Pepper. She is still smiling wryly.
“Aye, let us be merry!” Thor proclaims around his pastry. “And then tomorrow we shall rise early from our beds and seek the glories of knowledge with my dear Jane and her comrades!”
“Did you two ever see anything like this in SHIELD’s stores?” he asks. Drawing a stool out from next to Tony, he sits and looks back at her and then across at Clint. “Be careful, we don’t know for sure if it’s safe to touch.”
Looking around, Tony sees Barton step back from his post with a nod and a thumbs up. The doors open wide, the corridor beyond windowless and dark, and then Steve steps through into the light. Murmuring to Barton, he looks around for a moment until he spots Tony and Bruce and hurries over. Thor hangs back behind him, looking sheepish.
Rolling his eyes, Steve lifts his drinks and takes a sip through the straw at last. He swallows carefully, smacks his lip. “This is disgusting.”
, Steve had said, so uncertainly, because Tony’s meant to have a future; Tony’s meant to have Steve’s past, apparently.
He reappears an inch above the cot, in a cave in Afghanistan. He crashes down onto it, naked and wheezing and clawing at the thing in his chest, catching his fingers under the rim and pulling and –
“Sorry, I, uh, what was it? I save my glories of knowledge for after breakfast.” Tony crams half a doughnut into his mouth and adds, thickly, “And I don’t have breakfast before eleven am.”
Steve stops. He looks back at Tony again, who has dropped his arms. His hands hang by his sides, fingers curling and uncurling. He shrugs slightly when he meets Steve’s gaze and he says, “Steve. Come on, I – I’m trying to... I’m
“Well, that’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” Tony says, dropping his hand and backing away behind the bar.
Tony falls silent, turning his attention back to the street below. Sound drifts through into Steve’s apartment: the susurrus of a million voices and a million vehicles in motion. Someone in the street shouts to a friend. A car comes to a halt and a car door slams.
Shaking his head, Tony sidesteps Steve. The air in the workshop is cold and still and Tony moves quickly through it, removing the sensors and hissing when they pinch at his skin. He unplugs the wires and undoes the fastenings and slowly, slowly, sheds it like a skin, dropping it all piece-by-piece onto the floor behind him. He feels raw, pink and new underneath. He pulls a change of clothes from a desk drawer and tugs them on.
Tony, pen cap between his teeth as he signs a young lady’s t-shirt, looks up and around until he spots Steve. He caps the pen and says something to his fan, who says something back that makes him smile broadly, and then Tony moves away. He leans next to Steve, lowering his shades.
Ignoring him, ignoring Tony’s sniggers and the low, constant rumble of the Hulk’s growl, Steve focuses on the communicator in the Hulk’s hands.
“That’s your problem, Cap,” Tony says, swinging the gun up and pointing it at the window. “Impulse control. Not enough bad ideas.”
“I got in a fist fight with a spy up here,” Clint says, around a mouthful of his own ice cream sandwich. He smiles fondly, ice cream in the cracks between his teeth, and points into the nearby bushes. “Right there. About ten years ago, when the place was a dump. Bit his ear.”
Steve rolls up his sleeve while Tony searches in his desk, coming up with a plastic-wrapped scalpel and a test tube.
When he looks up again, Tony is watching him, still sitting on the coffee table, holding himself as quiet and still now as if he could be Natasha. There is an orange glow over his shoulder, and Steve shifts his gaze to watch the robot poking uselessly at the embers of the fire. A futile endeavour.
“Thanks, Mr Jarvis,” Steve says, stepping out. He hears the voice, the computer, murmur, “Not at all, sir,” as the elevator door shuts behind him.
“Well, you sure as hell lived up to his expectations, didn’t you? Pleased him enough he never shut up about it till the day he died. Hell, maybe his last words were ‘Captain America could drive better than you.’ Wouldn’t surprise me. Though, to be fair, that guy crashed the car five seconds later, so Captain America
He pulls over to the sidewalk in front of the tower and a car behind him honks its horn as it swerves past him. Stark Tower, the most high tech building Steve’s ever seen – and two months in the future is a lot of time to see a lot of buildings – doesn’t seem to have any parking.
Relaxing back into the couch, Clint rubs his eyes. He yawns and stretches and swings his feet up onto the coffee table, nudging coffee cups and random screwdrivers out of the way with his toes.
, Steve fills in silently as Tony trails off, picking his way through a clear path and out into the main chamber. It’s the same story the further into the cave they go; the delicate things crushed underfoot and everything too big to stamp on knocked over. Steve spots the piece of scrap metal that served as his temporary shield lodged in one of the surveillance monitors. He pulls it out, ignoring the glass that sprinkles down into his hair, and turns it over in his hands. It seems impossible that he was miming throws only yesterday.
Steve rubs a hand across his mouth. “This never seemed real from my end of things. You were such a strange part of my life, I don’t think I ever really thought of
Steve eases his boot off at last and leaves the pair standing against the wall again, with a grimace. His wet jeans rub against his legs as he stands.
The kitchen is vast, of course. Tiled floor; marble countertops; a whole, separate square of work surface in the middle of the floor, covered in drafting paper and screwdrivers and what looks like the remains of breakfast, which still leaves enough room around it for a small game of baseball. There are, Steve notices and then carefully chooses to ignore, three ovens.
“Authority figures love you. You’re the anti-me. You could probably get Obama to eat a cookie out of your hand. I mean it. Clinton, too.”
Tony comes easily, asleep on his feet, but when Steve tries to detach him and lower him down onto the cot, he twists a hand into Steve’s shirt and holds on tight.
“Remind me to give you a proper tour of the subbasements sometime,” Tony is saying, turning around to face forwards again, his voice and footsteps echoing as he leads Steve deeper inside. “This baby goes deep. And the arc reactor, she’s beautiful, you’ll probably cry a little bit.”
He reaches over Tony’s shoulder and turns the light off. He crosses the room, barely taking in the thick carpet, vast bed, armchair, tables, desk, bookshelves, and he stands in the front of the window. Through the glass it’s night time in New York City, which means so many streetlights, traffic lights, windows, fluorescent signs it’s almost brighter than daylight. It’s beautiful, of course, and it’s very alive.
“That was fun. I particularly enjoyed the part where the chief of police asked for your autograph. Right? Yes?”
Steve’s hand lingers in the air once Tony’s left it. His fingers curl in on themselves and for a second Steve just looks at them, frowning.
He frowns up at the faint, polluted stars. 1980 hangs above his head like a dividing line, over thirty years of missed time on either side of it. One day soon, he’ll stop learning about what came after his time and start learning about what came before
“Dr Banner is showering. Mr Odinson is in his quarters, experimenting with the verbal lighting commands. Captain Rogers fears he has broken the coffee machine and is thus making tea instead.”
“This is the last time you see me,” he says, barrelling on. “In your time, I mean. I’m still gonna see you – I know I still have a World Series to ruin for you – but that’s. All happened by now. To you.”
“Wow, ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ from an entire covert ops organisation?” Tony says. “I can’t tell if that’s a high point or a low point in my life, no, really, I genuinely can’t.”
Ignoring the headache, wondering about his dad’s arc reactor blueprints and how Tony would make it that small - because he knows he’d never trust anyone else to put something like that in his body – Tony barely feels it when Obie’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes affectionately.
“No, I’ve never been,” Steve says. His mouth has gone dry; he has to swallow heavily, trying not to think of the argument that he overhead, trying not to ask Tony why he didn’t go away with her. He controls the impulse. “Is she – gone long?”
?” he snarls. He twists away from Steve and ducks down to fiddle with the repulsor disc still lodged into his palm, breathing heavily as he twists it first one way and then the other with shaky fingers. “Fuck!”
“Dr Banner owns the tea, but there is a 93% probability that he has no objections to sharing. Agents Barton and Romanoff,” JARVIS adds, “are already at SHIELD’s New York headquarters.”
“We weren’t interested in giving ourselves new powers,” Tony says quickly. “Or in giving anyone new powers. Reed, and Hank Pym and I, we were just interested. We thought – you know, every time a new super villain pops up, he always manages to steal someone’s power somehow. What if we could just give it back to them? Or if we could break down the genetic code of someone’s abilitier, we could use it to design custom weaponry that truly works
Tony leans back in his seat, legs crossed so casually, propping his elbows up on the work surface behind him and for a moment he just looks at Steve. Then,
“Oh honey, the sweet talk.” Tony finishes tying his lace and leaves it this time, the façade dropped. He reaches for Steve’s hand instead, tucking his fingers up against the palm. “But I’m not. I’m just a really clever man with some thrilling computer components. This is… It’s always watching, and it’s always listening, and it…”
Yinsen, twisting wires together, shrugs and does not look up. His hands are quick and steady as he works. “I can honestly say I have no idea how it works. How can time travel work? How can you possibly exist?”
He should probably find another room for the night – the tower is huge, it would be easy – but instead he curls his toes into the bedspread. He leans back against the headboard, and laces his fingers over his stomach, and closes his eyes.
“Agent Romanoff is located in room four, sir, opposite Dr Banner’s room. Her legs do not currently appear to be homicidal, but I will be sure to inform you if this status changes.”
The first touch to the miniature Iron Man helmet turns it red; the second, bright white, and then the – the cell phone? Steve supposes – in Tony’s hand starts to beep, the picture of his shield flashing red on it.
There’s a pause. Steve lifts his head. He watches the man, frowning, scratch at a stain on the corner of the blanket.
“Here,” Steve says softly, dropping into the seat behind him. He scoops a handful of ice out of his drink and into the napkins. “For your hand.”
“Once in a while,” Steve echoes. “Once in a while? Tony, with your knowledge and surveillance you could be
” he retorts, motioning at her injured arm. She smirks. He ducks down to fiddle with his other lace.
Tony runs his tongue along his gums, sucking thoughtfully on his teeth with his head tilted to the side, as though tasting a fine wine. He smacks his lips.
“Not the first time I’ve heard that question,” Tony says. He smirks. The welding iron showers a steady rain of sparks over his fingers, each touch bright and biting. “What do you think would have happened – if I’d travelled without something holding the shrapnel in place?”
It’s the same receptionist as last time, five weeks ago. She clucks her tongue in sympathy at the sight of him.
He says it so quietly that Tony doesn’t know if he’s meant to have heard it or not, but he looks around anyway.
Tony snorts, shaking his head and picking his pen back up again. “Come on, do I seem like the kind of guy who works on his flaws?”
“My future. Come on, it’s not rocket science. Do I have to cross your palm with silver before you’ll let me in or what?”
Tony jumps in fright. When he looks back at the end of the corridor again, the ghost has disappeared. He’s going to be in so much trouble. He begins to push the study door open and he hears an unfamiliar voice.
It’s the sound of voices that draws him out of his uneasy sleep, jumbled and disoriented. He’s in the ice. He’s in the manor. He’s in the New Avengers’ hide out in the middle of the Civil War. He’s in a cold, dark cave in an alternate universe. Steve rubs his eyes, sitting up. It’s night time, probably, as the lights are out and twenty feet away the wall of surveillance monitors has cast an eerie glow on Tony’s face.
“Right.” Tony nods and, lifting up his hands, tug the blueprints apart again, flinging layers of technology away. Steve automatically dodges as bits of it fly past his face at a wave of Tony’s hands, and when he lifts his head again Tony is smirking at him and all that’s left of the Hulk’s ear piece is a simple framework of springs hanging in the air.
wanna find out,” Tony adds, taking a step back and watching, head tilted to one side, while Steve slowly tugs the strap over his head and pulls the goggles into position over his eyes. “Come on, it’s Captain America and Iron Man, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Take the left,” Tony is murmuring into a microphone, his eyes fixed on the screen. “No, I don’t care what your intel says. I know more than your intel and I say go left. Mr. O’s men are waiting for you on the right. Oh, that gets you going, doesn’t it? Hey, if I told you Mr. O was hiding in my dirty laundry would you guys come fight it for me?”
Sniggering, Tony turns back to Steve. He’s frowning, a hand over his mouth. He shakes his head when Tony catches his eye.
Standing dimly in the artificial light, Fury rests his knuckles on the conference table and leans forward to stare, slowly, at each of them in turn. Tony swivels around in his chair to watch everyone meet Fury’s eyes without flinching, although Thor is the only one to muster up an affable smile in the face of the stinkeye. Being an alien Viking god prince is one hell of a confidence boost. Who knew?
Finally, “You haven’t missed two years,” Stark says, softly. He sinks back down into his chair and pulls it closer to the bedside, close enough that he can reach out and touch Steve’s arm and Steve – Steve can see Stark’s face clearly now, every sharp line of it. It isn’t Stark’s face. It isn’t Steve’s Stark.
For a while, the baby, the hospital and Maria’s sickness consume everything, but when Howard comes back to himself, he’s holding his son in his arms. His greatest creation. Howard looks down into Anthony Edward’s eyes and knows with absolute certainty that he has seen these eyes before.
to go now. What’s the worst that could happen? Time and space crumbles and Steve Hawking sends me a really angry email? I can stay.”
Tony grins sharply and without humour. In the darkness, his eyes and his teeth shine brightly and for a disorienting second it’s all that Steve can see, as if he’s in conversation with the Cheshire Cat, or a shark, and whichever it is it’s about to bite Steve’s head off.
He glances sideways at Steve, who has lifted a hand up to shield his eyes, rubbing a knuckle against his eyebrow and squinting in the glare of the low hanging sun. He’s smiling to himself. The light is bright on his face.
Overhead, fireworks go off with a bang, and Steve tilts his head his head back to watch them. For once, he doesn’t hear the moment when Tony arrives.
“You can get away with the jeans, and we can hide your patriotic torso,” Tony says once Steve’s dressed, “but nobody in the world can get away with those pirate boots.”
“Oh, Steve?” Pepper calls him after when he’s halfway to the elevator. Steve turns quickly, to see her half rising from her desk, her hands braced on the edge of it. “Could you remind Tony the board wants the new designs by Friday? I won’t hold my breath, but I guess the more people tell him the higher the likelihood he might remember. This deadline’s important.”
“You’re a real charmer,” Tony says, taking his cell back. He holds it out in front of him so they’re both in frame, throws up a peace symbol and takes a photo. Glancing down at it before he sends it to Rhodey, he adds, “And you smile like a twelve-year-old at his first school dance. I can see why the ladies love you.”
“That’s it? Wow, even for T that’s pretty vague.” The background whisperer interrupts again – Jess? Steve thinks – and Peter mutters back. “Okay, thanks for the mysterious info, T’s mysterious friend. Over and out.”
He watches as the metal plates start to shift beneath it, opening like the petals of a flower and slowly, quietly, levering the little robot up onto its side.
“In my day,” he says, looking down into his still full glass, “we didn’t put miniature umbrellas in our drinks.”
He wakes slowly, drifting out of his dream inch by inch until only fragments remain: shadows and movement and voices, and the sensation of falling, all merging seamlessly into the cotton against his cheek and the soft sound of breathing.
“Our portal pea-shooter?” Tony pulls up the results and, scrolling quickly through them with the wave of a hand, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Yikes.”
“Yes, Captain, we have people and places. I didn’t bring you all the way back from the Arctic and thaw you out so nicely just so we could lurk underground in a post-apocalyptic wasteland for all eternity, fun though that sounds. Come over here.”
as real. Not properly. It’s a funny thing to wrap my head around, that I’m going to be sharing it with someone now.”
Tony’s voice is still not his own, and nor are his mouth, lips, tongue, forming words on their own over the white noise in his brain, the fireworks in his eyes.
Tony snaps his fingers, pausing in the doorway. “Come by sometime. No flying cars or monorails, nobody wants flying cars and monorails, I mean, nobody except you, sorry, Cap, but – In fact, come by in a couple weeks. I’ve been working on something, it’s a surprise. Okay? Okay.”
He can’t see Tony’s face, but he thinks he sees him nod. The shadow of Tony straightens, pushes away from the doorframe and for a second when he turns his head, Steve sees his profile in perfect silhouette.
Tony picks the portal gun back up off the floor and lays it down across his lap, running his hands back and forth over the barrel of the gun. He prises at a panel in the side, almost absentmindedly, fingers blunt in his leather gloves.
Tony moves back in again, grabbing hold of Steve’s face with clumsy, graceless hands and he pulls Steve down to him. Steve catches on in the same moment and his fingers close once again on the back of Tony’s neck, pulling him
Sniggering, Tony emerges from the cupboards with a big bag of potato chips. He tugs it open and pours a bunch straight into his mouth before tossing the bag at Clint. Clint catches it without turning around.
Tony scrubs his hands through his hair. His skin is tingling and his heart is thumping. His body, every inch of skin and hair and nails, cells and DNA, feels very, very -
Steve comes to a halt next to his bike. He runs his hand over the gas tank and draws in a slow breath.
“Jane Foster’s going to be Queen of Asgard. Unless those two break up, which – you’ve seen them now, you know that’s not going to happen this millennia. Dr Jane Foster, Queen of Asgard. It’s got a ring to it.”
Yawning and stretching, eyes screwed shut, Steve fumbles to the side for the light switch as he walks into his room and then he opens his eyes and he stops, with his hand frozen on the wall.
“You’re a waste, Tony,” Obie hisses right into his ear. He takes hold of Tony’s chin and turns his head towards him. “Your mind, your ability – my god, it’s irritating, but I have to admit it’s impressive. And you waste it! It’s like you’re not even trying. Six long, tedious years I waited until I just – couldn’t - wait – any longer.”
“This is my first time back in the city since everything that happened, so I thought I’d say hi.” Steve shrugs. Keeping half an eye on Tony, he finishes the rest of his drink in one long, slow gulp. “Hi, Tony.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Tony says, swiping the green away with a motion of his hand. He taps a finger to the restored black and enters a long code onto the keyboard that appears beneath his fingers.
“Right,” he breathes. Louder, “Tell her I’ll be up in five – no, ten. I just – I need to know what...”
When Steve turns around, Tony is already moving away again, back towards the bar to pour himself another drink.
Tony scoffs. “But you know the super secret military handshake. You’re in the clubhouse. You’re invited to the slumber parties.”
Shaking his head, Clint makes a scornful sound around his potato chips. Natasha keeps looking at Steve, unblinking, her head to one side.
Romanoff nods. She glances at Barton, who nods as well. With a strained smile at them both, Hill flips open the top folder and pulls out a stack of documents.
“Black Widow,” Tony says. “Were you laughing at her, back up there in our team bonding session? Humour me. I’m checking team morale.”
“The nanites keep the blood at bay,” Tony explains casually. He discards the screwdriver and slots the new circuit board into his arm, fixing it in place with a flurry of one-handed activity that Steve can’t decipher. Tony’s hand spasms and he hisses out a breath. “Okay, that stings a lot.”
Thor shakes his head, looking amused rather than offended by Tony’s patronising tone. Then, through the window of the microwave, the popcorn starts to rattle and generally live up to its name and Thor leaps forwards with a shout, yanks the door off and sticks his hand inside. The edge of the microwave door hits the countertop with a thud, dangling from Thor’s grip, the hinges ripped clean away from the oven.
Clint rubs his hands together with glee. “I wanna see how much we have to spend for Stark to actually notice – or not,” he adds, lowering his hands and straightening up as he takes in Steve and Bruce’s serious expressions. His face shifts into the man who shot an arrow at a demigod, rather than the man who wants to spend large amounts of a billionaire’s money on what – Steve suspects – would be very small portions of food.
“Neutral ground,” Romanoff says. “We don’t want people to think we’re working for Stark Industries.”
On the other side of Clint, the Hulk roars and smacks the railing with the palm of his hand, quite gently for the Hulk, as if just to remind them all that he’s still there and still – presumably – hungry. The railing crumples. Clint has to grab hold of the Hulk’s hair to keep from bowling over the edge.
Romanoff pats him on the shoulder. “Everyone is excited. Nobody is interested in hard-hitting questions today. They’ll ask about your favourite colour, not about Harlem.”
Stark Tower rises up above Steve like a sore thumb – or like, Steve can admit to himself in the privacy of his own brain, a much ruder digit. And isn’t that just Tony Stark all over? To throw up a giant middle finger to the gods and the city skyline and make the most ecologically friendly building in the city while you’re at it? In the two months since Steve last saw the tower, it’s been cleaned up and rebuilt to its former glory and, by the looks of things, had another couple floors added to the top.
Reaching his array of desks, Tony dumps the gun on top of one and tugs a drawer open. He pulls out goggles, ear defenders, thick leather gloves. He’s practically humming with excitement, the sight of it making Steve’s own hands tingle, Steve’s own heart rate pick up.
Steve pauses. Someone swears at him and he steps neatly into the entrance of a back alley, out of the way. He leans against the wall.
“I’ve got three PhDs, you know,” Tony says, emerging from the bar at last. He’s got a bottle of vodka in one hand and the box of doughnuts in the other. “I don’t like to brag-”
He frowns up at the frozen image. On screen, Tony’s mouth is open, his hands caught very, very slowly lowering the gun. He slashes a finger around the portal’s impact zone and drags that section forwards, enlarging it.
a missile, and he’s still more reliable than you.” Fury fixes Tony with a stare, then adds, gentler, “Look, you did good. I’m not denying the good you did. But suppose next time, you go temporal walkabout and that missile drops on my city. If you can’t control it, you sure as hell can’t guarantee it won’t happen.”
“Trust you to be a toddler with principles,” he says. “What happened, did the righteousness form in utero?”
It is a cakewalk. From the moment they step out and take their seats, amid a sea of flash photography, and Tony begins to read word-for-word their short statement, the buzz in the room is more excited than just about every press conference he’s ever attended. Including the one for his own return from the dead.
And then suddenly it’s gone. Steve whips around in time to see the pencil roll across the floor, the paper fluttering down to fill the space where Tony had been.
Steve nods against Tony’s hand and feels the grip loosen, although Tony leans in even closer. His voice drops to the barest hint of a whisper: “He’s alive, he’s fine, he lives close by.”
Tony’s head whips around and he leaps to his feet, shoving his communicator back into his pocket. Steve turns too, to see Bruce standing at the top of the stairs with a bag slung over his shoulder, looking down on them with a vaguely amused expression.
He sits down on the side of the bed, rests his chin on his hands, and stares out the window at his city. Bright lights, pigeons. Some things never change.
. Tony’s one of the most popular boy’s names in the world right now – what? Don’t give me that look, it is. Pepper showed me.”
She smirks around her mouthful of Pepper’s muesli. Tony flashes a toothy grin at her in return. He strolls around the table, patting Steve on the shoulder and ducking down to kiss Pepper on the cheek as he passes them by. He feels her smile under his lips. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he grabs the slice of toast from its plate and shoves it into his mouth as he moves away.
“You might as well keep hold of yours, right? Prototype StarkTech is better than no StarkTech at all.”
Steve looks at him. From this close, he can see every scar on Tony’s chest. He can feel Tony’s pulse against the hand still resting on his wrist.
Steve stares after him as Tony strides away. There seems no point in stopping him; Steve’s never known any Tony Stark to willingly keep talking after he’s pronounced a conversation so definitively
“It was just one guy,” Tony says, patting the back of her hand. “He sneaked in, shouted a bit, then Hill roundhouse kicked him in the face – I think Thor’s in love – and security came down on him like a tonne of bricks. He barely made it out of the elevator.”
The robot beeps at him. Its brush is black and bristly and looks, Steve thinks, like a goatee. He smirks. He kneels down to tug his boots on and carefully ties the laces, and wipes at the mud on the floor with his shirt cuff. When he straightens up again, the robot is gone. Tony is still standing at the bar, scribbling on what looks like a piece of glass, his tongue stuck out in concentration.
Looking up at Steve, he trails off. His voice sounds, to his ears, like someone else’s voice. A Tony from a different time, perhaps, staring across at Steve. Steve half-rises from the desk he’s sitting at, then lowers himself back down again, clearing his throat and looking away. He touches a hand, briefly, to his mouth.
“Nearing completion, sir. Only a few major projects are still in progress, all scheduled to be finished within the first week of October.”
He pulls his cell out of his pocket, still ringing. Pepper’s face stares up at him from the caller ID and he smiles down at her.
They emerge somewhere in the back of the cave, a storage area Steve recognises by the shape of the walls despite its transformation. The place has been torn apart. Systematically, he notes, taking in the totality of the debris on the floor. Everything had been taken from the shelves and destroyed before the shelves themselves were pushed over, for maximum destruction. It’s created an alien landscape in the glow of the nanites, metal shelves teetering against each other like dominoes. They’re lucky the doorway in the rock hadn’t been blocked altogether.
“And tell him,” Steve continues, unfazed, “that we’ll be willing to share our own information in return.”
“Well, Bruce now, obviously. Natasha might and if she does Barton might – or might not, girl likes her secrets. Thor... is a man of impeccable character and musculature, but he still can’t tell the difference between Midgardian tech and cinderblocks yet. Give it time, I believe in him. And then there’s you.”
“Okay, that didn’t come out right. That – was a joke. Funny ha-ha, remember? No? No, I guess not. In-joke. Pepper and Rhodey would be rolling in the aisles right now. It was funny in my head.”
Shrugging in acquiescence, Steve flicks through his sketchpad to find a blank page. Tony catches glimpses of park scenes, cityscapes, a few sketches of older buildings obviously drawn from memory, and then a few pages of loose, quick sketches of Romanoff stretching for a workout. Then Steve tugs a page out and passes it to Tony, and Tony pulls the pencil from its loose grip in Steve’s other hand.
“Did they have aardvarks in the forties? Here, I mean, not in general. We should take you to a zoo. D’you want to go to the zoo? Hey, do you want an
Tony stares at him for a long, long moment. Then his arm goes limp in Steve’s grasp, and he sighs. “There’s a group. I’m not a real part of it and I don’t know who they all are – most of them are after Iron Man’s time – but they call themselves the New Avengers. They’re trying to make a difference. I figure what’s the point in being part man, part machine if you can’t block Big S’s gaze once in a while and tell a kid he’s taking the wrong turning?”
“Okay, first off, you only need to know 1927. That’s the one you told me. New York Yankees. I was nine. I was pretty mad at you afterwards.”
The robot flips itself over onto its wheels again, the plates fluttering shut as it spins in a circle, reorienting itself.
Tony’s expression is unreadable, the cave thrown into shadow in the absence of the electrical glow, but there’s a faint, silvery light coming from – somewhere. From the cave walls themselves, Steve realises, craning to stare up at the shining roof.
“Results inconclusive. Immediate readings suggest it is not giving off anything harmful. Materials, unknown. Energy source, unknown. Origin, unknown. Shall I alert Mr Fury?”
“Our floor was hit hardest,” he says. “Everywhere else just... experienced some technical difficulties.”
They search the area inside and out, checking every room. Thor pulls the carpets up with one hand, to the consternation of the hotel manager until Tony promises the Foundation will cover all repair costs.
“You paranoid son of a bitch,” Steve breathes, impressed, before he steps back and gives Tony a rough shake and says loudly, “I shouldn’t have trusted you.”
Natasha, with her feet up on the coffee table, groans. Ms Potts found her a spare pair of slippers, but she’s still got knives strapped to both ankles. She says, “Don’t tell Stark that. He’ll take it as an invitation.”
Before he can answer, Tony snaps his fingers and exclaims, “Nope! Hold it! He’s not ready,” and dives under a side table, emerging a second later with the little reconnaissance robot clasped tightly between his hands. He sticks it back into the box still open on the floor, closing the latch tightly, and then he picks the box up and thrusts it out at Steve.
“My beloved Jane,” Thor says, “who is as wise and knowledgeable as she is beautiful, has travelled far across the lands of America to attend a meeting of great minds. She explained to me that when your travels bring you to this New City of York, it is a great and noble Midgardian custom to seek shelter with the richest warrior you know-”
Steve nods, although he’s frowning. He looks away from Tony, gazing out the window, before he speaks. “You told me once that you were trying to – measure what you did, somehow. You wore all these crazy wires. But...”
“Well, at least everyone’s staying clear of the Hulk,” he says into Steve’s ear piece. “That’s what I love about New York, the self-preservation instinct. Except for us, I guess.”
“I don’t know what you’re crying about, pal,” Clint throws over his shoulder, without taking his eyes off his own captives. “He got you out of the vehicle before he sat on it, didn’t he? That makes you one of the
Without looking around at him, Romanoff leans sideways and raps her spoon on his wrist, stilling his hand. Still catching his breath, Barton leans forward on his elbows and says, seriously, “You sure about this, Cap? With all respect and affection for my former colleagues, you give an inch, SHIELD takes a mile. We’re big, mean sharks.”
The other Tony’s eyes snap open and he grabs at his own chest, knocking Obie’s hands away, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath.
Bruce, still wincing at the fire alarm, shakes his head. “I couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary, but this isn’t really my area of expertise. Once we get the floor clear...”
Pulling his cell out again, Tony takes a few photos and sends them all to Rhodey. When he looks up from his cell, Steve is still frowning, gazing down at the sign in his hands.
“Communicators,” Tony says, cutting the call with a press of the shield. He bounces on his heels and stares at the - communicator in Steve’s hand. “Neat, huh? Beats the hell out of SHIELD’S tech – I don’t even know what those were made from, Lego? I’m pretty sure it was Lego. These are still just prototypes. Need to Hulk-proof them, coordinate with Thor, don’t think my network reaches all the way to Asgard just yet. They’re only touchscreen now, so you’d have to pull off your fabulous red gloves to press the buttons and that’s exhausting, I’m tired just thinking about it. Who cares about touchscreen anymore, anyway? Even grandmas use touchscreens, I’m just saying. Touch is over, I’m thinking earpieces, voice command. Give me a week and a copy of Neuroscience for Dummies and I could probably whip up an implant-”
Steve throws the pebble at him as hard as he can. It’s not so hard, all the same, because Steve is skinny and the doctor thinks he might have asthma, but it bounces off the man’s forehead and he stumbles back, exclaiming, “Ow! Dammit, Steve-”
“It looks disgusting,” Ms Potts say, staring at the drink he holds out to her as if it might bite, but with a sigh she takes it from his hands and puts it down on the coffee table. “How’d it go tonight?”
“Put it in my calendar. Look, see if you can find Pepper when you get downstairs. She’s in the lobby, she’s kinda freaked out. Tell her nobody’s dead. Buy her a martini or something.”
“If we can study it properly,” Bruce says, rubbing his chin, “we might be able to work out where it’s come from.”
Steve catches. He turns the thing over in his hands to look at it – it’s shaped like a small tortoise, flat on the bottom with three rotating wheels, and rounded on the top with a shell of shifting, overlapping metal plates. The whole thing is dark grey, matte and not much bigger than the palm of Steve’s hand.
There is one, barely two inches long and going blunt, nestled between sky blue and dark green. Steve plucks it out carefully and holds it out to Tony.
SORRY, THIS TOOK LONGER THAN EXPECTED. On the plus side, it took longer than expected because it's twice as long as I'd expected. So much so I had to split it into two to maintain some semblance of chapter length consistency, although it's one long chapter in spirit.
He mimes a basic throw. Drop the knees, flick the wrist. It’s all in the wrist. In his mind, he can feel the shield spin. It would have been a good throw.
“Tony Stark refuses to die,” he says, with a smirk. “I’m like a cockroach. I – One time, couple years ago, I thought I really
“JARVIS, where’s Romanoff? She might get confused and break your neck with her thighs if we put you in her room, and what a scandal
“JARVIS, retrieve video footage from cameras You and Butterfingers, upload to private server. Keep it locked for now, but ready to make available for whitelist uh, zero-zero-four through eight once I’ve reviewed it.”
He flashes Steve a bright, bright grin and watches as Steve’s eyes dart away. Smirking, Tony slots the end of the wire into position, then winds the coil down his arm to the sensors at his wrist. He stands back and spreads his arms.
Finally, Steve turns back to Romanoff and nods towards the main doors. Romanoff nods back and draws a handgun from a holster Tony hadn’t even realised she was wearing, hidden beneath the folds of her jacket. She moves forwards silently, keeping to the edge of the room. Steve lingers to cast an eye around him. People are beginning to whisper to each other again as they pick their way around the broken glass, the tension still running high but the initial shock wearing off.
“You’re telling me.” Tony waves his hand back and forth over the gun, still not touching, muttering under his breath. “Where’s the light source?”
Agent Romanoff snorts with what sounds like laughter. Steve glances at her, but her face is resolutely blank, one shoulder slightly lifted, one eyebrow slightly quirked.
“Sure,” Tony says vaguely as he wanders up and down the corridor. “He stops by sometimes, when he gets bored of the tropics. It’s hard to book hotel rooms when you might sometimes turn big and green and smash things. Here,” he adds, pointing at a door. “You can probably see your neighbourhood from this one. I’d say you could spot your apartment from up here, but it’s got to be revoltingly small, right?”
“Thor,” Tony points out, “calls the microwave magic. But he says he’s got a buddy in Asgard whose job is just to watch the entirety of space and time, or something? So there’s... that option.”
“Won, I mean,” Tony says distantly. He seems to shake himself as Steve watches him, his head jerking up to take in the rest of the destruction. “Perhaps they have already won. Come on, I need to see—”
The chair creaks; it’s the only sound in the silence that has descended on the conference room. Tony leans forwards and then back again, first with one shoulder and then the other, testing how the squeaky joint responds to different degrees of pressure. Next to him, Bruce winces and Clint mimes something enthusiastically violent from the other side of the table. Fury, frowning in thought, ignores it.
Steve has barely finished nodding before Barton turns around to stare at Romanoff. She raises her eyebrows and sits up a little straighter, her poker face firmly in place.
Natasha licks a drop of milk from the end of her spoon and says, levelly, “You want the team to be independent from SHIELD.”
Barton folds his arms and lifts up his chin. “I don’t, but you’ve been going clockwise consistently. So it’s your turn to answer a dumb question, if you’re doing this right.”
She nods and Tony ends the call, slipping his cell away. He peers around until he spots Sofia in the dwindling crowd and waves her over. She looks calm. He figures having your boss return from assumed death and build a flying robot suit really does make a few minor explosions seem like a walk in the park.
Tony is four and tip-toeing, in his matching bathrobe and slippers, past the door of his father’s study, when a ghost appears at the end of the corridor – a boy who looks a lot like Tony, except he’s pale and naked and covering his mouth with his hands like Tony does when he’s trying not to cry.
Steve stares down at him, turning to face him properly and blinking in surprise, and then he lets out a laugh. “Well, of course we are. I know that.”
Tony grins, hopping up out of his desk chair. He crosses the room swiftly, leaning over the couch as he goes to tug Barton’s magazine up out of his hands. Barton snatches it back barely a split second later, fast enough that Tony gets a papercut, but he’s still grinning when he licks the drop of blood from his thumb and pushes through the balcony door.
“JARVIS, remind me to invent a teleporter, already. It’s time. I think the world’s ready,” Tony says with a groan. He drops his forehead into his hands and shakes his head. “Bruce, just try to make it across the border and back into the US. I’ll send a jet to meet you. It’ll still take time but it might, if we’re lucky, be a less annoying time.”
“Jesus!” Steve shouts, reaching forward with his free hand to grab at the screwdriver, but Tony is hunched down over it, breathing deeply, his arm shaking and straining against Steve’s grip as he – Steve pauses, hand dropping – as he unscrews a tiny screw.
Clint makes a noise of profound disgust. He stalks away, drawing an arrow from his quiver as he goes and firing it straight into the target without a hitch in his step. And then, and again, a whole row of bull’s-eyes forming. The Hulk lumbers after him and swats at the arrows in the air, until Clint turns and starts firing them for him to catch – and to crush.
“Two months is like two years for technology. Get with the program, Cap.” Tony nudges the robot with his toes again, although there’s a hint of pride in his voice. “Useless hunk of junk. The great thing about being me is that when my shoes are dirty, I can just buy more shoes. You know how hard it is to program a bot to tell the difference between shoes and, I don’t know, hands, bottle, Mjolnir?”
Tony feels the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end. His ears pop. The lights flicker, once, and then,
One of the few other moviegoers shushes them loudly, so Steve settles back in his seat. The woman on screen is still alive, edging down a corridor with her back to the wall, her hair a mess and her nightdress torn, her panicked breathing filling the screenroom in surround sound. Steve watches the back of Tony’s head. The other Tony in the other world could easily plough through several days without sleep, without worry. This isn’t, he has to remind himself, keeps on having to remind himself, that same Tony.
“Can I just ask-?” Bruce begins, but Tony hushes him loudly, holding up a finger. Bruce sighs and sits back.
Steve grins, Tony can see it, that flash of white teeth at the corner of his vision. He can see Steve turn, slightly, to look at Tony.
of the light, Steve can’t tell, the wind so strong he has to grit his teeth and grab hold of Tony’s arm – until the light has covered the entirety of the far wall and begins to creep out over the edges, growing bright and brighter, and Steve has to close his eyes again.
Tony jumps, swears, dropping the mic. It skitters across the monitor console and onto the floor, chased by Tony’s hands. As Steve approaches, he can hear a tinny little voice drifting out of the radio.
“You know our names?” Billy squeaks. “But you’re Cap—” He cuts off with a gasp and then Teddy is shouting, “Look out!” and Steve spins around in time to see the disarmed soldier staggering to his feet, arm stretched out—
Tony smirks. He drums an arrhythmic tune against the bar top, then rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “Wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve heard that one before.”
“Cap.” He snaps his fingers again. “Favourite, uh... No, I’ve got it. Best thing you’ve hit with your shield. Personally,” he adds to Barton, sotto voce, “I’m rooting for killer whale.”
Steve lets Tony’s voice wash over him, barely understanding every other word but Tony sounds – beneath the bluster and the wisecracks that Steve is only starting to learn how to see through – as enthusiastic as a kid showing his mom a fingerpainting. He lifts his communicator up close to his face and examines each pictogram: a hammer; a little bow and arrow; a scowling face that can only mean the Hulk.
The lights sink back into the ground and Tony emerges from the shadows, jogging to the door. It opens for him.
“Now would be,” Tony grits out through clenched teeth, the armour rattling around him because it was built to blow up bombs, not to carry them. He can
Stark isn’t saying anything. Steve twists to look at him, to check that he hasn’t sneaked away and left Steve without answers again, but he hasn’t moved. Stark is just staring at him. His eyes are very, very wide.
He swallows. Tony’s pulse reverberates through his fingertips, so strong and steady it feels as if Tony’s heartbeat could seep straight into Steve’s skin and stay there. It feels as if it’s already there inside of him.
Tony grins at his own joke despite himself, sharp and bright, and Steve watches him. Steve stands and watches him, with something sharper and brighter in his eyes.
It takes days for Steve’s body to start feeling like his own again. The alien sensation creeps from his limbs in inches, until he is able to sit up without falling back down again seconds later and then, at last, able to stand and to walk. It’s Steve’s body, all right; fresh from fighting in the War. Steve’s mind, on the other hand, is fresh from a different war all together. He tries not to think about what’s happening in his absence, only about how to get back to it.
“Hey, you got your suit back!” Steve exclaims, then thinks and frowns. “Or... you only just got it?”
He keeps his eyes closed. He raps his knuckles blindly against the arc reactor. “What if I don’t make this? Go back to that past, knocking-on-heaven’s-door me empty handed?”
They stand in silence, but not uncomfortably. The elevator swoops downwards with a silken whisper and Tony can’t suppress the itch of pride that it barely feels like movement, as if the basement were the one rushing politely up to meet them. He thinks of his dream, that sensation of falling, for just one second and then he pushes it aside. Press conference, he tells himself, publicist, Rhodey, legal. He can feel that headache rising up again, like the beat of a heart between skull and skin.
“The situation’s under control,” Steve says. “Widow set the alarm off so we can clear the building quickly – just till we’re sure it’s secure. We’re heading back right now.”
Anyway, I just want to say, this is the longest thing I've ever written that wasn't a Nanowrimo. Somehow, when I started writing it in my head the night after watching the Avengers for the first time because I was too excited to sleep, it was just a glorified five times fic (times Steve stopped by the tower before he moved in) that I was expecting to be about 5,000 words long. LET US THROW BACK OUR HEADS AND LAUGH AT MY PAST FOOLISHNESS.
“All the menace of a pissed off gorilla, all the vocab of a two-year-old.” From behind Steve, there’s a familiar whine and a thud as the Iron Man suit makes it landing, and then Tony lifts his faceplate and in his own voice adds, “Let him down now, Hulk. He’s learned his lesson. You’ve taken him to a whole new level of learning his lesson, by the look of him.”
Turning around, Steve looks at Tony properly. “He... wasn’t. Not how I knew him, anyway. Hard-working, sure. Dedicated. But he always had time for...” He pauses, searching for the words. He hasn’t thought about Howard in a while. Time for rescue missions. Whiskey. Costume redesigns. “For fun. He always had time to help a fella out, I guess.”
“I remember them building this,” he says. “The construction workers were like superheroes to me and Bucky. One of them gave me a dollar once.”
There’s a pause, punctuated by Tony’s scribbling. Resting his chin on his hand, Steve watches Clint fire another arrow at the Hulk. It explodes when he catches it, and the Hulk roars indignantly, beating his chest while Clint laughs.
Tony smirks. He drops his hand and steps away, ignoring the itch deep beneath his skin. When he snaps his fingers, the doors to his closet glide open and he steps inside. Bypassing the rows of shoes and ties, he snaps his fingers again so the racks of shirts begin to slowly rotate, bringing new shirts up to the front until the cycle pulls them back again.
Hand still up and tongue still out, Tony lifts his eyes to stare at Steve. He licks the last of the ice cream up pointedly and says, “It’s my highly advanced armour and I’ll lick it if I want to.”
Steve looks down at him for a little while, his forehead creased and his lip twitching in some internal debate, but then he nods and holds out a hand. After a moment, Tony takes it, letting Steve heave him up onto his feet.
would happen, and it did. That was great, I’m not knocking that. Happiest I’ve ever been to have Black Widow stab me in the neck.”
“That’s it? I flew out here with government research for, what? ” He plucks the sample from Tony’s hand, pulling it taut. “Ten by forty inches?”
He takes Steve’s wrists and turns his hand over, dropping the magnet into his upturned palm. Steve’s fingers curl around it automatically, then slowly uncurl. Steve sucks in a breath.
He frowns up at the screens, watching himself pull the trigger from two different angles. The light bursts out so bright both images become, for a moment, entirely flooded with white. He watches the light on the second screen come rushing towards him, Butterfingers rolling backwards with the force of it. When the light hits the wall, the camera shakes and the screen goes blank.
“She likes it. I like it.” Tony slurps Steve’s drink, pulls a face, staring at Steve with wide, innocent eyes. “It’s a win-win situation. Good god, this
Steve can feel the very tips of Tony’s fingers brushing against his thigh, but Tony doesn’t move his hand. And Steve doesn’t move his leg. He’s waiting for something to happen. He’s waiting for
It’s dark and cold and quiet, beneath the pounding rhythm of the rain; the kind of quiet that comes from even the most hardened criminals taking a look outside and deciding to stay in for the night. Steve sprays water in an arching wave as he pulls over in front of Stark Tower. Through the haze of rain, he can see Mr Coulson dashing down the steps with a giant, red umbrella. They share a grim nod, and Steve passes him the keys to his bike wordlessly and trudges through the door into, at last, a little moment of warmth and of peace.
She laughs once and shakes her head and looks away again, shifting forwards to rest her chin on her knees. The movement dislodges Tony and he sits up straighter, looking over her shoulder, following her gaze up to – the sky, the few, faint stars. The blackness in between the stars.
Steve’s fists clench and pain jolts through his hand again, making him wince. Tony’s gaze jerks down to his knuckles for a second before it snaps back up to his face again, Tony’s eyes wide and bright. He stands his ground like he’s made of iron. His feet are bare, Steve realises with a jolt that leaves him almost as breathless as the pain in his hand.
for. Do you remember your Malibu house-warming? You might not, you were pretty drunk that night – but then again, I suppose your little gate-crashing was only a few months ago for
“You’re unsubtle. You gave Clint food, so you want him on your side. You argued with Steve this morning, though the two of you have become good friends—” and at this, her gaze swings around to Steve, although she keeps talking to Tony. “You’ve been frustrated by Fury’s silence for months. You seem cheerful today.”
Tony looks around himself and lets out a groan, which becomes a yawn. “Pep’s away. Couldn’t sleep without her icy feet kicking me every five minutes, so I went for a stroll.”
Tucking the communicator tighter between his ear and his shoulder, Steve picks up a box of oatmeal. He drops it into his basket and then, looking around him – Tony has satellites and highly advanced robots, Tony could probably watch his every move if he wanted to – grabs a box of what looks like tiny cookies and marshmallows and frowns down at it. It doesn’t look much like breakfast food.
Tony smiles at that, softly, as though it’s a private joke. Which, Steve realises with a flush of warmth, it is.
. But then again, this Tony isn’t Iron Man, and this Tony has hidden himself away in a cave, and this world is already so different.
“Look,” he says, sitting on the arm of the couch and crossing his arms. “Come on, you little bastard.”
Just as suddenly as the wind began, it starts to blow in the opposite direction, back towards the wall of light and energy which is shrinking in on itself. Tony shouts something Steve can’t hear, yanking the gun down so the stream of light breaks off at last, the tail end of it whipping away from the gun barrel as it’s pulled towards the wall. Tony shakes Steve’s hand off his arm and starts to run towards the light, already half the size it was, spiralling inwards like a whirlpool.
Tony – drawing a bundle wrapped in sweatshirts out of the bag – pauses. He glances sideways at Steve, raising his eyebrows, and sweeps his gaze up and down Steve’s body.
Steve does, running his hand down Tony’s forearm. There are no discernible edges, or changes in texture, or
Because if you’re right... if HYDRA have the technology to open portals we’re in for a whole heap of trouble.”
She pauses and frowns. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see Tony, tense, watching her as closely as he is.
“I – I know you are,” Steve hazards. He puts on his best Pepper Potts voice, her particular brand of sternness that never quite hides the river of affection running beneath it, and he says, “Now let go and
! Are you authorised to touch that?” Someone murmurs ‘no, ma’am, sorry, ma’am’ and Hill strides on, picking up the conversation again without a missed beat. “We have items scattered in various secure locations across the state. The Council and the Government both want control of the New York salvage, Fury... disagrees. This is classified.”
Tony leans his full weight against the buzzer and waits, ankles crossed, with his elbow on the button and his head propped up on his knuckles. He stares right back at all the passers-by who double-take at the sight of him.
He kicks the lid open, revealing a half dozen more communicators packed inside. Steve raises an eyebrow and pulls one out, examines it from all angles.
“Top of the morning to ya,” Clint declares as they enter, lifting up his coffee mug in greeting. He’s sitting on the edge of the island work surface, his feet up on a stool.
I was sleeping, and I was having an awesome dream, and now...” She pauses, blinking, and she shakes her head and screws her eyes up tight. When she opens them again, she says in a very faint voice, “Oh my god, you’re Tony Stark. Okay, deep breaths, Darcy, deep breaths.”
He pauses, taking a breath, and then when Fury – standing tall and silent, arms crossed – raises an eyebrow at him, Tony spreads his hands and shrugs. He slides back down into his empty seat, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table.
Bruce begins to laugh softly, helplessly, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe this is all happening. Consulting with aliens about parallel dimensions. The world’s gone crazy.”
“Doctor,” she says, looking up. She smiles and climbs to her feet, jumping over Thor’s long legs. “Dr Foster. But call me Jane, anyway. You’re Steve, right? Should that be Captain Rogers? Sorry, I spend half my life living in a van, chasing storms, and the other half with a Viking, so I’m not great at formalities.”
“Careful,” Steve begins, but Tony ignores him. He’s frowning in concentration and, as Steve watches, he sniffs the gun barrel and then passes the whole gun back and forth under his nose, inhaling deeply.
Right over Tony’s head, there’s a dent in the wall where the energy first struck it, three feet across and crumpled at the edges as if it were only cheap drywall. Steve eases off his own safety gear, letting it drop to the ground as he steps forward for a closer look. He presses his own palm to the wall.
They drift back into silence, watching the bag fill back up with its lost money. It’s a sunny day still, despite the approach of fall, and Steve can feel the Iron Man suit giving off heat next to him like a warm body.
Tony shrugs. “Tried it, fired it, basement remains one hundred per cent portal free. Sure, they’ve got the tech, but they haven’t got it working yet.”
He looks around, taking in the exits and the shape of the room. Back home this would have been the equipment storage room, he realises, but here the room is empty. Still, there is the familiar door to the familiar elevator.
That seems to do the trick; Tony blinks and shakes his head, lowering his hand. “Do I – what? No, I don’t need a cent. I’m a billionaire. You did know that, didn’t you? Stark Industries, remember? I mean, I know we were too busy fighting aliens for the small talk, but I kinda figured the tower with my name on it gave the game away? No? The robotic suit? The impeccably styled goatee?”
“All I’m saying is, I’ve never seen your arc reactor punch a, a – giant snake from space in the head and win.”
“Jesus,” he groans, flopping back onto his pillow. He kicks the sheets off the bed and onto the floor. Belatedly, he rolls over to check Pepper is already up and gone, which she is.
He lifts a metal box out of the breadbox and slides it across the work surface towards Steve. It hits up against his fingers, so he lifts his hands and tugs it in front of him. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of lock or catch, just a smooth, black panel on the top of the box. Tony leans against the cabinets and watches him study it, hip cocked, ankles crossed.
Tony raises an eyebrow, but he learned long ago to trust his future selves, so he thrusts the soldering iron at the other Tony and heads over to the car.
,” Tony says, gesturing between them. “Are you hearing this? This, the words coming out of your mouth? Remember when you told me you were in the wrong place at the wrong time – and now this? What are you waiting for, the okayish place at the so-so time?”
, I think. Shit scared and – and a whole load of other things, but glad, cause I knew it was gonna work. My one good deed. Nobody could call Tony Stark flying a bomb into space and dying alone selfish, right?”
Tony kicks the door shut behind him. Shoving his hands into his pockets, ruining the line of his $5000 dollar suit, he follows Steve down the corridor, taking 1.2 steps for each one of Steve’s. Steve glances sideways at him four times, but doesn’t say a word. Tony pretends he isn’t counting.
“Up, wake up,” Tony says. He snaps his fingers at one of the desks. “Vacation’s over, guys, back to work. JARVIS, rouse the chorus. And scan this thing too, while you’re at it. I want a full reading.”
“Cut his throat shaving a new shape into his bead,” Natasha suggests. “Forgot he wasn’t in the Iron Man suit and walked off the balcony.”
They look at each other again, in silence. Tony’s eyes are wide and his expression unreadable, as if he’s waiting for something he wants Steve to say. Steve is suddenly, abruptly uncertain. He puts his glass down on the countertop and clears his throat.
Tony, he can tell. The Tony who he knows so well from the past and can only barely catch a glimpse of in the present; with slightly longer hair and a slightly restyled goatee and the ability to stand comfortably in Steve’s presence.
Steve is climbing to his feet automatically to bid her goodnight, but when she turns to look back at him, what he says is, “Natasha, wait – what do you know of Fury’s plans?”
“He didn’t have anything on him,” she says, “and I couldn’t find any signs of a device or tampering out there just now. Lights didn’t blow out above or below, so it must be on this floor. But,” she adds, with a shrug. “I’m no scientist.”
“The station’s not far,” he says. “It’s a nice day. We can walk. First things first, ma’am, sir? Are you folks from the bank?”
Tony rubs his thumb along the rim of the arc reactor. He remembers, vaguely, Obie’s hand reaching down. He hears Yinsen let out a soft breath.
“But why?” Steve says. “You said yourself you weren’t a teamplayer. Nobody would have been offended if you took a step back from this after New York.”
Steve draws to a halt by the bar. He watches Tony pour generous helpings into two glasses. Here’s where Tony offered Loki a drink; there’s the window Loki threw him through; that’s the patch of floor Hulk beat Loki into. It’s like a particularly grotesque sight-seeing tour.
Pepper nods. She kisses him again quickly and pulls away, retrieving her cell phone and the threads of her conversation from Sofia and glancing back once over her shoulder as she goes. Tony watches until the doors have closed behind her, then he turns in the nearly empty lobby and heads back to the team.
“Or that works too,” he says, following the magical light display through the trees and into the park.
Rolling his eyes, Steve hands Tony the second screwdriver. It apparently signals the end of the conversation, as Tony twists away on his desk chair and sets about examining the circuitry from all angles. With a sigh, Steve turns to lean against the desk, sticking his hands in his pockets. He’s still wearing his uniform, in all its battle-worn, frozen and thawed glory. One day soon, he’ll need some new clothes. He’ll need to contact whatever scientists this world has to offer. He’ll need to leave.
Steve hopes briefly, fervently, that the grass is too damp to burn. Then he kicks the soldier in the head. The soldier drops to his knees heavily and his arm falls to his side, fire still sputtering out of his hand. The grass smokes and hisses. In one quick movement, Steve grabs the guy by the wrist and wrenches until the shoulder dislocates and the fire dies.
’ Barton quickly turns his face away, covering his mouth with his hand not quite fast enough to hide his choking snort of laughter.
The great unknown is, it turns out one elevator ride later, the Avengers’ Mansion basements. Steve gapes as Tony swings the metal wall panel back into place, hiding the elevator from view.
“They’re all important to her. That’s why she’s the CEO and I’m.” Tony hesitates, lowering his pen to mull it over. His mouth slips into a slow grin. “I’m the man behind the curtain.”
“You two,” he says. “You need to leave town. You were already on the bad guy’s radar and this little affair really hasn’t helped. Get out while you can. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going,” he adds sharply, raising his hand. Billy’s eyes are fixed on the burnt and peeling skin in the centre of Tony's palm, his face pale. “Don’t say it out loud. Someone might hear you. Got it?”
apartment they’re sitting in – kicked Steve out long ago, feels like an achievement. This is progress.
“It reaches logical conclusions,” Tony says. N. T. “It makes educated guesses. If it sees a bunch of people staring up into the sky, it starts to wonder what the hell they’re all looking at.”
“Well, how else’m I meant to know where you all are?” Tony spreads his arms and shrugs lopsidedly, looking truly baffled, as if secretly tracking your buddies really were the most logical step when you’re Tony Stark. “Two super spies, and Bruce is busy making hide-and-go-seek an Olympic sport or something, and then there’s you and Thor just bumbling around like America’s Next Top Tourists.”
“You’re an eternal disappointment, Brucie,” Tony says, patting Bruce on the side of the face. “Be good, eat your vegetables, if the other boys say mean things step on them.”
Steve clears his throat, refocusing. “And none of this is substantiated, right? Nothing you saw with your own eyes?”
“You listen up,” he says, voice low and quick. “Whatever the hell I apparently said or didn’t say in your past, it’s still
Steve dreams of the cave, and of Sharon’s face looking down on him, her mouth soundlessly moving while Steve loses himself in the labyrinth, searching for the steel door that keeps moving, that is just just just out of reach—
“Yeah, yeah, well done us, fighting the good fight, but-” Tony snaps his fingers as best he can while they’re encased in metal. He taps Steve on the wrist; the gauntlet is surprisingly warm. “We did it all without Fury telling us to jump and specifying how high. No being sent out like his extremely handsome flying monkeys. No near death experiences, or nuclear missiles, or Nick. Just us, doing our extremely handsome thing.”
This time, there’s no doorman, no secretary, no business folk passing by or catchy wireless tune in Steve’s head, although the door still springs open for him when he touches it, too tired to do little more than mumble his thanks to JARVIS. Of course, this city never truly sleeps, and the lights of Stark Tower never truly go out but it’s darker and quieter than Steve has ever seen it before. The sun will rise, soon.
Suddenly exhausted, Steve drops down into the desk chair. He turns the video camera over and over in his hands, thinking about erasing the video file or maybe just throwing it against the cave wall and storming away from Tony, storming all the way out into the streets of Manhattan to find – what? A Spider-man he can’t even look at. A city weighed down by the Sentry’s watch. He sighs and places the camera carefully on the desk.
He runs Steve through the locations he visited and the gossip he heard – a convoy of unmarked vans in the middle of the night; soldiers in the desert with strange uniforms; mysterious lights over the desert at night – and, “If Red Skull knew about the Tesseract then it’s possible he knew about other things too, right?” Bruce says.
“Of course.” She kisses him on the cheek and, casting a glance around the room with a rueful smile, she says, “Good luck, everyone.”
“Who, me?” Tony looks around the room exaggeratedly, and then points at himself. Steve nods. “Never better, Cap. Fine and dandy. Peachy and keen.”
“Not a lot,” she admits after a moment’s silence. “But I know he has plans. I know he’ll call us when he needs us. I know we all deserve a break after saving the world.”
“Nothing concrete. There are a few agents following me most days, but I pretend I don’t notice them now. They got a bit upset,” he adds with a rueful smile, “when I offered to buy them coffee.”
He jerks awake too quickly, wide-eyed, panting, tangled in his sheets. He throws his hands up in the dark, with his hands bent out and his palms forward. It takes him a moment to remember that he’s not wearing the suit’s gauntlets. Another moment to remember that he is awake, was asleep, has only had – for fuck’s sake – a freaky dream.
“Could you keep ahold of this for me?” he says. “I figure if I carry it through the desert with me, it’ll attract some unwelcome attention and – well, this tower is probably the safest place I know. So if you could just – keep it somewhere safe till I’m back for it?”
“A little further to the left,” the other Tony says without looking up from his soldering. “Trust me.”
At last, Tony throws down his screwdriver and exclaims, “What? Did you see someone being unpatriotic on the way here or something?”
“I dunno, maybe.” Tony pauses, then adds, “Don’t test this theory, okay? Especially not the moon part.”
Shoving the bag back at Bruce, with the zipper still half-open and the sleeve still dangling out, Tony straightens Bruce’s shirt collar.
Steve startles, frowns, opens his mouth to angrily retort – and hears the beeping before he sees the shoe-cleaning robot zip into view, circling Tony’s feet and plucking at his socks.
Tony grins. He grins around at them all, at Bruce’s slightly bashful expression now he’s stopped coughing and at Thor’s blatant relief that Romanoff isn’t a cannibal.
Scanning the room, Steve spots Tony standing by the window, glass of whiskey in hand and his back to Steve. Steve keeps on turning, taking in the penthouse and, in the habit borne of a lifetime, all possible escape routes. The place is much the same as it was last time he saw it, although then it was half-destroyed by Loki and the Chitauri. There are new staircases, new doorways, probably at least half a dozen ways out that Steve could take if they were under attack, and that was without a robotic armour or the tower’s blueprints.
“Okay, okay,” Tony says, holding up his hands, and Romanoff rolls her eyes but falls silent. “No more pirate jokes, let’s cut to the chase. You know as well as I do this isn’t going to work. The Avengers are currently the most famous group of loveable misfits in the world and SHIELD? I think officially you guys don’t even
Sitting down on the freshly cleared space on the table, Tony peers over at the mess of papers now spread across the floor. “It’s still in a pile. Technically.”
Steve feels Bucky’s fingers on his shoulder, and he hears Bucky whisper, “Hey, doesn’t he look like…?”
Someone with large hands delicately lifts Tony’s wrist up from the couch cushion he’s sprawled across and moves it into Tony’s lap. Tony opens his eyes to squint up at Thor.
Feeling suddenly foolish, Steve scrubs the cat away. He ties the towel around his waist, so big it’s practically a ball gown even on him – what does Tony
It’s a sunny day and Steve hums to himself as he jogs up the steps of Stark Tower, nodding to Mark and waving to Ms Clark and smiling at all the business folk in the lobby who shoot confused looks at him and his oddly-shaped gym bag – all he could find to fit his shield in at short notice – as he passes them by.
He grows louder and more forceful with every word, pacing towards Tony and then away again, but when he pauses for breath he goes still.
Nodding Tony pulls his shades out of his pocket and slips them on. Over his shoulder, he hears Thor mutter, “Should I not wear my helmet?”
“Reed and Sue were arrested, four, five years ago. Ben’s gone so far underground he’s probably dug all the way to China by now. I hear Johnny’s fine, though.”
She rolls her eyes, flapping her hand. “Go, go, oh my god. You don’t need my permission, I promise.”
Back by the elevator, a small, round robot the size of a dinner plate is trying to drag one of Steve’s boots away. Steve has big feet and he likes his boots sturdy, so the furiously beeping robot has only managed to move the boot a few inches, leaving a streak of mud across the floor. He has to kneel down and wrestle his boot from the robot’s appendages – flat hooks that were probably originally intended to scrape mud, but which the robot is now using more like pincers. It pinches his toe to prove the point, once he finally tugs the boot back, the brush set in its front whirring angrily.
this, a cape? Fashion tips from Thor?” Tony leans on the back of the couch, peering at him and tugging at the corner of one of the towels covering his shoulders. “These are attached. Good god, Pepper, what have you done?”
“What, did you think I was wearing all this for fun? It’s for science. I’m trying to, uh-” He waves a hand, motioning at the glowing circle in his chest. “Find a way to control myself. These wires are for measuring all the stuff that happens to my body when I go. Normally when I time travel, I leave everything behind, but because I have this magnet in my body now, any metal I connect to it becomes kind of a – part of me.”
Steve pauses, thinking. Learning the new layout of the city was strange and confusing, and even when thinking of
Natasha nods once. She crosses her arms. “Get back in touch with Banner, get his location. You can fly to him and bring him back with you.”
“Right.” With a nod, Steve lowers his bag onto the desk. He takes a step back, glancing across at Tony, who’s bouncing on his heels beside him like a kid at Christmas. “They’re definitely up to something. I found this at the bottom of a mineshaft.”
Tony grins at him. Pulling his arm back, he aims for the top of the next skyscraper along and throws the paper plane as hard as he can. The wind picks it up right away, tugging it from Tony’s fingers the second he lets go; the plane speeds away, spiralling downwards into the city.
He supposes some poor new recruit, signed up to SHIELD for a life of espionage and intrigue, got stuck with the job of redelivering the safe mail to him. He doesn’t know for sure, as he’s never seen them. He’s rarely there. It’s not his home.
“Oh, no, no. There’s no need for that. Mr Stark isn’t here, but Ms Potts is in. You’re authorised to come and go as you please, regardless.”
“I’ve had plenty of bad ideas,” he says, once the silence had stretched uncomfortably long. “But I always tried to point them at the bad guys instead of at my own home.”
“I mean, folks didn’t curse around civilians, and I was filmed a lot so I always had to be careful, got into the habit of just
Steve bites his cheek, not laughing. Ignoring Tony’s curses, he turns and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. He cranes his neck to look up at the top of the tower, unable to suppress the memory of how it had looked with a portal to another world torn into the sky above it.
He steps closer, bending down over it until his nose is barely an inch away from the surface, but he doesn’t just grab hold of it and start examining it like he would, Steve’s sure, with anything else. That, more than the slightly unsettled expression on his face, speaks volumes.
He lowers the pencil and thrusts the paper out at Steve. Steve takes it automatically, glancing down at its message: ‘HI, RHODEY xxx’
He climbs to his feet and heads for the exit, pausing to gather up the fallen pieces of paper as he passes them, finally balling the handful up in his fist and tossing it over his shoulder at the elevator doors. It’s a quick ride up to the penthouse and a quicker walk to the kitchen door.
super secret. Only three living people know it exists and you’re one of them.” Tony watches curiously as Steve leads the way into the elevator, all too familiar. “I take it you know Stark Manor, then.”
The Hulk shoots him a disgusted look, but whatever he was about to do, he – doesn’t do it. Instead, still growling, he turns the getaway driver the right way up again and lowers him carefully to the ground. The man’s legs fold underneath him and he sits down in the road, staring up at the Hulk, and the Hulk – leaning forwards on his knuckles and bending down, down – lowers his face to stare right back into the man’s eyes, their noses squashed together.
appreciates it.” Tony rubs a hand over the magnet. “I have a suit of armour I wear for... my work, but I can’t wear it all the time. A, it’s bulky and b, you wear armour all day and people start to question your sanity. So sometimes I just gotta go naked.”
Opening his eyes a fraction, the reflection of sun off the skyscrapers is dazzling. He squeezes his eyes shut again and laughs, and the wind snatches the sound of that away too.
“Okay, listen,” Tony says. “Once upon a time there was a little boy who was never on time. The boy’s you, in case that wasn’t obvious. It’s me, too. You’re going to have a weird life and parts of it are gonna suck. Sorry about that. It’s too late to change any of it now, so just... remember this moment, okay?”
It’s abrupt, rude even by Tony’s standards, with that strange look still on his face. Taking another sip of his drink, Steve feels his way along the edge of whatever conversational precipice he’s stumbled upon, resolves to reread Tony’s file – buried at the bottom of his bag with all the other notes on the Avengers he’s still unwilling to throw away – and takes a careful step back from the abyss.
“We’re very sorry,” says one of the men kneeling before Clint and Clint’s bow and arrow, “and we won’t do it again.”
He drifts into the centre of the room, picking up a few loose sheets of paper from the floor and moving an empty coffee mug off the bare table and onto a coaster. He glances down at the papers in his hand, which have on them Tony’s scruffy signature and a smear of what looks like ketchup. They look confidential -
Steve pushes his pencils and paper aside and sits up so he can peer at Tony. Tony frowns down at his drawing intently, tapping the point of his pencil against the paper. A dozen little marks form in its wake.
He goes soft again, saying, “And I chose to kiss you, didn’t I? I know, I know, how could have I, if you hadn’t
“Hey, Barton, aim for a hawk’s eye next time,” Tony says. “Make a thing of it. You wanted a new hobby, right?”
He steps out onto the floor. When he glances back over his shoulder, Tony’s face is obscured by the camera. The little red light is flashing where his eyes would be, so Steve focuses on that when he asks his next question. “Is Osborne trying to recreate the super soldier serum? He must know nobody’s ever managed it.”
“If not doing nothing makes me an idiot,” Steve says, “then I guess I’d… rather be an idiot than not not do nothing.”
Pepper, touching the edge of the helmet, whispers, “I’ve seen this before. Years ago. Have I really spent my whole life watching you almost die?”
“It’s been seventy years since I saw her, twenty since she passed. Whichever way, it’s long enough to...”
Steve looks over his shoulder. The crowd doesn’t seem to be dispersing so much as joining the back of the line. “I said the folks from the bank should come along, but I guess everyone else... wanted to come too.”
“That...” Tony trails off, staring, then snaps back into motion to nudge Steve in the ribs. “Pay attention now, Cap, I’m teaching you a vital twenty-first century phrase here – that shit ain’t right.”
“Thank you,” Steve says, climbing down from the car to take it from him. “That’s a brave thing you just did.”
She waves her glass at the robot by the fire. They sit and watch as it slowly drags a fresh log from the pile and, with a small chainsaw that unfolds from its body like a penknife, sets about cutting it up into manageable pieces.
“Okay. I... wasn’t the only person looking for you. I got there first because I’ve always been a bit of a Captain America fanboy,” he says with a smirk. “So I had a pretty accurate idea where in the ice you were. And I had to get to you first – I
“I love the smell of a consistent trend in the morning,” Tony says. He turns to Steve and raises an eyebrow. “Come on, I’m waiting.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says, although he isn’t, really. He ducks his head, still laughing, and he sees Tony crack a smile out of the corner of his eye. When Steve straightens up again, Tony’s looked away.
The lab is loud and busy, and in ten minutes a spy starts shooting and a simple case of mistaken identity leaves everyone’s minds. Howard thinks nothing of it.
“We should wait until Fury has assigned a SHIELD liaison,” Romanoff says. “The agent will need to know what we’re going to do and say.”
“I still don’t know enough about modern weaponry yet to tell what looks right,” Steve says. “But this definitely... didn’t look right.”
Tony draws in a deep breath. He holds up a hand and, “Let’s see. New armour, obviously,” he says, ticking it off on his fingers. “Got an electric car in development. Water filtration device, that’s our Wakanda contract, very hush-hush. Working on an airborne surveillance system. Upgrading JARVIS for his birthday.”
Lifting Tony’s dangling arm, he eases it back up onto the mattress, untangling the shirt. Tony’s breath catches at the movement and his eyes slit open.
After he lets his publicist know they need to organise the world’s first press conference for an honest to god superhero team and they need it fast - Sofia takes it in stride; he figures she can take anything in stride after dealing with ‘boss returns from assumed death and builds a flying robot suit’ – it takes less than ten minutes for the company gossip mill to reach Rhodey’s ears.
Back up in the penthouse, Tony leads Steve straight to the kitchen. It’s just as huge as Steve remembers it being, brightly lit in the mid-morning sunshine. Its two occupants are a new sight, though.
“I was never actually a boy scout,” Steve says, sticking with the only part of Tony’s speech he can even formulate a response to.
He spreads his palm over the miniature reactor. He can cover it with his whole hand. His fingers curl under the rim, digging in.
“Is this why you called me here today?” Steve asks, swinging his gym bag off his shoulder and leaning it against the side of the desk. “To play catch with the Hulk? Not that it doesn’t make for an interesting change, but...”
Steve fishes his communicator out of his pocket and makes a vague attempt to dig out the ear piece without dropping anything. It still feels so strange, having something in your ear like that. He gives up and answers it like a telephone, standing in the middle of the cereal aisle.
“I don’t want to be the kind of fella,” he says, slowly, shaping his words with extra care around his clumsy tongue, “that chooses to stand by and do nothing.”
“See this?” he says, tapping the blue line on the graph. “That’s the frequency of time travel. I should win a Nobel prize.”
Steve huffs out a breath of laughter. Billy Kaplan. And the other kid must be Teddy, holding himself in that slightly self-conscious way, for all his face is too shadowed, too indistinct to make out. There is no way the Young Avengers could exist in a world that doesn’t even have the Avengers, but somehow the two of them found each other anyway.
“Yeah?” Tony glances up at him with a crooked grin and a hint of pride. “Maybe it’s not one for the scrapheap, then. How’d it do?”
Steve sighs. Ignoring all the cameras that turn to flash in his direction the second he moves, he jumps down onto the Hulk’s shoulder and from there springs to the ground. Someone cheers, but Steve straightens up and rests his hands on his hips, and he frowns. At the on-lookers, and the Hulk and Clint, and at the men cowering at Clint’s feet.
Steve goes, and he gets in the elevator. Bruce is holding its door open, leaning against it while he waits, looking as quietly patient and amused as ever. He steps back to let Steve pass and shoots him a look that Steve can’t read.
“Your airborne surveillance,” Steve says, suddenly. “That’s the... the camera I took to Chacabuco, isn’t it?”
“It’s fine, really,” Steve says, but Tony shoots him a look and, rolling his eyes, Steve grips Tony’s hand as best he can, with a hiss and a wince. | [
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The excitement at Baker Street hasn't run it's course just yet. Jim Moriarty is about to learn a very unpleasant lesson: You don't mess with Sherlock Holmes and get away with it.
“Oh, you silly idiot! You bloody selfish thing!” She put her hands on her hips and gave him a familiar, mildly disgusted look, “You gave us a lot more trouble than you are worth, young man, I hope you have a good explanation for it all!”
, when he suddenly disappeared for a month and nine days. Judith spent more time than ever learning temporal spells, watched over by Stephen Strange. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen to Sherlock, but if she could keep him from doing something outrageous, she would be happy to do it blind-folded.
“And now my brother does it for both of you.” Judith shook her head and followed Greg down the quiet street. There were very few people out, even the dedicated runners had stayed inside this morning, but sometimes it was nice to have the city to themselves. No crimes to worry about, no phone-calls to dread, just themselves for company and the weather to deal with.
“It’s nothing, Captain. My apologies.” He shrugged uncomfortably. Judith narrowed her eyes and beckoned with one hand. He hesitated and she raised an eyebrow.
“Neurosurgery. Worked out of Metro-General Hospital until…this.” Strange wiggled his fingers for emphasis.
“I just want you to understand that Constable Robertson’s reaction was completely normal in the circumstances and does not reflect on his character in any way.”
“Your phone. It’s expensive, a smartphone, but you’re not a man of complicated taste – you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then.”John gave him his phone when he held out one hand for it, curious to know what Sherlock could tell him about the phone without ever having seen it or handled it before today.
“Oh, it’ll grow back!” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “And speak for yourself! What’s all of this, then?”
, and as much as I get on with Sherlock Holmes, I really don’t want to deal with his ... ” Anderson trailed off.
“John!” She flung the door open, having recognized John despite his current state, and stood with her hands on her hips, “Where have you been, young man?!”
“But, you were…” Sherlock trailed off, unwilling to point out that maybe she wasn’t in the right position to be offering them sanctuary from the likes of Moriarty. Who wouldn’t hesitate to have them both killed if and when he found out that Sherlock’s coat had not only been recovered but returned to him, and that by the clandestine Heir Apparent of the Summer Court.
“Oh, Christ. Sh…Sherlock…oh, god.” John grunted as a soft puff of warm air hit his not inadequate or entirely uninterested cock. “Please.”
Dalmatians, sir.” The constable who had spotted the dogs from the ground addressed his radio, stunned. John looked at Sherlock and smiled.
“I’ll fall asleep in a bath, but I need to get clean.” A bath would give him time to brainstorm a proper proposal for that ring in his pocket.
“Hmm. So, you can only imagine how thrilled I was when the Army gave me a way out of that house when I was sixteen.” She sniffed dismissively, wondering that she was talking about this with a complete stranger, and that without getting emotional about it.
“Hmm. He was a bit too fond of himself for that, but I guess not enough to fall for Jim Moriarty’s shill.”
an invitation to do just that, so don’t even ... oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t ... oh, there he goes again. Great.” With a frustrated sound, the man hung up on whoever he’d been talking to, or rather just hung up. Whoever he’d been talking to had clearly hung up first. John sighed and leaned against the cool glass of the window, glad he’d at least gotten out of MI6 before doing something stupid like getting into a bar-brawl and getting arrested.
pretty clearly whenever she came up with a take marked “Mystic/Metaphysical/Other”, but he hadn’t actually
Greg had taken dutiful notes and as he looked at what he had written already, he glanced at the pair of them as they crouched over the body, talking in quiet voices, conversing in French. John was very aware of the scrutiny and looked up.
“Not that I had any idea at the time.” John looked at Mycroft, who just smiled. “All I knew was that the pompous government lackey had gotten himself captured on my watch and it was going to be a
It was a quiet drive back to The Met for them and it didn’t take long to settle into Greg’s office. John didn’t miss the side-long looks and whispers, but he ignored most of them. He wasn’t a stranger here anyway. He was cursing the headache behind his eyes as he wrote down his statement, but he didn’t miss when Greg’s assistant popped her head in.
fired his weapon at her but the shot had gone wide and missed by a safe margin. The injury had been classified as a Grade II Strain and she had been on crutches for a week, prescribed triamcinolone once a week as needed and paracetamol as a buffer.
“I’m not sorry.” She stepped under the showerhead and leant her head back, “Ugh, that feels amazing.”
Frustrated and knowing he’d get into a brawl if he didn’t leave, John downed the contents of his glass and got up to visit the gents. Getting there didn’t bring any trouble, he did his business and left in peace, but as he made his way to the bar to close his tab for the night and then to the door to go home, the peace turned out to be short-lived. Some careless patron wasn’t quite paying attention and John was unceremoniously shoved sideways as he left the crowded bar. He staggered and bumped into someone else.
Despite the hour, the place was plenty busy and John noted every table and the people at each one, the exits, the location of every server on the floor, the kitchen and the loos. He was running an ongoing threat-assessment of every single person in the dining-room, and he knew Mycroft was doing the same thing. It was a long-learned habit that had kept them both alive in more than one instance. He had to smile a bit.
“I wouldn’t blame you at all if you did, though.” Sherlock’s voice was soft, “I never ever meant to hurt you like that, I just didn’t ... I didn’t think you would understand.”
It didn’t take long after that to reach Kitty Riley’s house, break in, and wait up for her to get home. About five minutes before she got home, he saw Judith’s Rover pull up and nodded.
“Oi! Take a cab home, you lot! Don’t let me catch you down the way a bit, right?” She called after one rather cheerful group of revellers who didn’t have a sober driver among them.
“No one wants to be treated by a doctor who is more broken than they are. I’m not the one who matters, I never have been.” He turned neatly on his heel and went to the door, looking over his shoulder as he opened the door. “Goodbye, Mycroft. It has not been a pleasure.” The door closing was very loud in the quiet office and Mycroft was left to consider many things that shouldn’t have mattered and suddenly were quite important. He had underestimated John Watson, but he wasn’t the one who would ultimately pay the price for that. Shaking his head, he turned to his work and spent the afternoon tracking an operative in Europe.
As they left London City Airport, Judith patted her leg holster and nodded when she felt the familiar, comfortable bulge of her service-weapon.
“Nicole will take you to your table, sirs.” The maître d’ indicated the young woman who had taken their coats for them.
Judith Watson sat her post outside of Kitty Riley’s apartment for half an hour, keeping company with Sally Donovan and waiting for something,
After they finished their reports, Greg gave them a ride back to Baker Street, and a case that had stumped The Met so completely it was sitting on back-burners buried under a lack of new leads or any movement at all. It was another serial case, but
Judith could just see the smug expression on his face as he typed that out. What kind of research required a night in the morgue? Best not to ask, she’d probably find out anyway.
“You are a father, with a four-year-old daughter, no one could realistically expect you to have enough time to yourself to maintain a military-strict exercise regimen.”
But learned habits died slowly, and every time they heard something slightly out of place, they both froze. Once, they saw lights and John stalked the window, staying out of sight with his pistol in one hand, pulling back the curtains just enough to look out.
“Ah, but it didn’t quite kill the mood, yeah?” Greg just smiled at her, picking up where they’d left off when Sherlock had decided to very inconveniently call them. Judith tugged on the elastic of his waistband, eager to make the most of this vacation. Back home in London, there was always a danger of being interrupted by either work or their consultant duo, but that wasn’t so much of a problem on Virgin Gorda. Two weeks away from the bustle and chaos of London would be splendid.
is Stephen Strange. Good friend of the Watsons.” He knew exactly what it was about the former neurosurgeon that had that precise expression on his boss’s face and couldn't help a mean chuckle.
The small, informal reception following the ceremony was short-lived but cheerful as the students mingled and chatted. Judith was absolutely
Locating the kettle without stickers, he set water to boil for tea and looked for his tea-box. Finding it in the uppers on a lower shelf, thankfully Mycroft knew John hated having to dig in high places for standard things like cups and plates, he pulled down the box and went back for a few mugs. He found his RAMC mug and set that aside for himself before pulling down a pair of matching white mugs. Miraculously, he also found biscuits. Mycroft’s people must have also done the shop, which he appreciated. Getting everything on a tray with a teabag apiece in each mug, he headed out to the sitting-room again. He wasn’t sure what had happened when Sherlock suddenly gave a yell.
“So, Judith Watson, will you make me one of the happiest people in London and give me the honour of changing your name?”
“Well, you would! And have! I can't let you do that again now, can I, Inspector?” Moriarty turned a slick, sickening smile on Lestrade, “You wouldn't want to put your own job in jeopardy again, would you?”
“Right.” He was curious to know what that entailed. Sherlock struck him as the sort to do just that very thing regardless of his precise mood, and he suspected it might happen a bit more frequently when he was on a strop.
“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. ’Cause I’d be surprised, Sherlock; really I would.” Jim looked over his shoulder and wrinkled his nose, “And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long.” He turned away from them again.
“Very much so.” He smiled, “You do us both a great favour letting her work here on the nights she needs somewhere to turn.” Like tonight. In the course of the past twenty-four hours, Judith had worked two cases with The Met as a consultant and managed a domestic between Gregory Lestrade and his ex-wife as well as a personal tragedy within her own family. He had particular plans for Claudia Mendez and Beverley Watson, insurance that they wouldn't harm anyone else ever again. Mycroft was rather
“Yes. I called a car for back-up with a Code 2. I’m not sure he’s figured it out yet, and I don’t want him to think the police are on to him. I left Constable Mitchell sitting on the house to wait for us to get back."
“Next time I think it’s a good idea to go Hulk-smash on a bunch of goons, don’t let me.” John lifted his head and groaned, “Ugh. I feel terrible.”
“Never leave without it.” She promised. She hadn’t left home without her sling-ring or her Browning. Experience in both worlds had taught her to be prepared for everything. Violence of any kind was unlikely where she was going, but it was better to be prepared than caught off-guard.
Word flew like wildfire and flowed like water around camp, so it wasn’t long before several of her men poked their heads in to see what was going on. As it became clear that she was getting a fast-track ticket home, they rallied and cleared out her barracks-room and her office. In under an hour, everything she owned in Afghanistan had been packed up and organised. She stacked her bags on the bed and checked to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. All of her personal effects and all of her clothes had been packed, everything was ready. Judith paced her small room, twirling an unlit cigarette between her fingers.
it, taste it in the back of his throat, metallic and dangerous. It was exciting. Time to go hunting, then. So, John found a good place to sit that was out of the way of foot-traffic and got comfortable. He could be here for a while.
she’ll pop out the minute we get that door open.” He chuckled, thinking of every time the two of them had stumbled home exhausted, trying to be quiet and failing, only to be caught like tardy children out past curfew by their very patient landlady. All she had ever really done was scold them for the hour and send them off to bed. Sometimes she had banished them upstairs and come up a bit later with tea and demanded a full telling of whatever misadventures they’d gotten up to that night.
This is mostly (if not 100%) from Greg’s POV, and it's pretty clear he’s smitten. He respects Judith, of course, but he’s still just a man with natural needs and an appreciation for a certain Watson. John, at this point (not Watson yet, but that’s coming!), kind of scares Greg, if he were to be completely honest. And really, with their unknown background except what he knows, can you really blame the man? It’s like Sherlock said in the first chapter: “I’m almost afraid to see what you’re like if you dedicate yourself to wooing someone.” But the question is: who’s doing the wooing here? Judith? Or Greg?
“Well, my husband isn’t due home anytime soon due to outstanding circumstances, and my brothers are more or less behaving themselves. For once.” Mycroft twirled that ever-present brolly of his, looking down for a moment before making eye-contact. “So, no, I really do not have better things to do.”
mess for a while.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, “And since the ex got herself permanently black-listed, I’m taking a very desirable alternate.”
“Calm down, dear sweet Watson. You can trust me. If I want to play a game, I’ll keep you and your friends safe.”
“Make that two, his drink’s on me.” A familiar voice spoke over his shoulder and John grinned as two pints were set on the bar-top.
“Rescuing a family of homeless cats.” She watched the footage as she emerged again carrying the box, through to when the cabbie appeared again from the trailer without Davenport, and her very brief exchange with him on the street. When she watched the footage of Robert and Louis, she realised she had kind of forgotten about them.
Both men propped their elbow on the table, holding their pill a few inches from their mouth. But Sherlock did not move to swallow his pill. Suddenly, something behind him got Hope’s attention and the man’s face drained of colour. Sherlock stayed still while Hope reacted with frantic violence, shoving away from the table and scrambling to his feet. He overturned his chair in the process, causing it to crash to the floor.
one, spends most of his time swimming to the bottom of whatever bottle he gets his grimy mitts on.” She looked at him sideways, “What do
“My dear son. I am so, so sorry.” Her voice was gentle, soothing, the scent of ancient forests overwhelming the stench of her work. “It has been so long. I have thought of you every day.”
“Yeah, pretty much. There’s not really a filter there, you know?” She sighed, “He doesn’t hate you, he just doesn’t fly at the same altitude the rest of us do.”
“Yes.” Sherlock pushed back and up on his elbows, making eye-contact. “I’m ... clean. I have been for quite some time. Please, John. I want this, I really do.”
“Be well, Judith.” He held her still by the shoulders and, with two amused witnesses, he kissed her. Well, maybe he was rubbish with wooing, but definitely not with kissing. A bit like Sherlock.
“No, Sherlock. Listen to me, John is not there, you won’t find him at Baker Street!” I don’t know where he is now. He thought dismally. “He’s…moved on.”
Over the months since she had come home to London and moved into his flat, they had maintained a fairly neutral relationship, never really getting beyond a few careful moments of passionate touching. She had started staking out his crime-scenes and providing extra presence whenever he called for back-up, run down a few suspects that got away from him and the boys when she had to.
They set the boxes down by the work-table and she pulled Sherlock away from his music long enough for a proper kiss. She tasted tea and chocolate and smirked.
interested in another date!” Donovan’s fingers tightened on the steering-wheel, “God I hated myself that night.”
“Oh, god, I have! But that doesn’t make this any less gruesome! Christ!” She was careful not to step on anything, “This was a crime of anger, the throat’s been slashed so deeply it nearly severed the head completely, and the skull’s been crushed, either by deliberate impact or when the victim fell against the tub. And the neck’s been broken, as well.” She crouched, studying splatter-patterns, “Whoever did this would have been forced to change clothes, they’ll be covered in blood. Where’s the weapon?”
“God bless you, Watson. You’re a rare one.” He pocketed her card and they shook hands again before she left to see where Holmes had gotten off to. There was no sign of him on the floor, Donovan wasn’t much help, and she didn’t see him outside. So the sod had gone and run off again. Fantastic. Shaking her head, Judith called Mycroft Holmes, who offered to have a car pick her up and take her anywhere she wanted to go. But she didn’t have anywhere to go, no residence in London, and only the clothes on her back.
“Oh, thank you much. My contacts are a bit thin in London just at the moment.” She pocketed the card and pulled her wallet, sliding out one of her own cards, “There’s all of my information, fair is fair. Same rules as yours apply.”
I used the “Unaired Pilot” instead of ASiP for the final showdown between Sherlock and Mr Hope, but this is where things veer a bit off-course. As if they haven’t already. But you’ll see why! Credit for ALL quotes from this and other episodes goes to the lovely Ariane DeVere ([email protected]), who painstakingly transcribed everything from ASiP (both versions, God bless her!) to TAB.
“You seem familiar to me somehow, but hell if I know why! Never mind, though.” She shrugged and sat down again, “So, what brings you gentlemen to this part of London so late?”
“Definitely bi-sexual, the second victim was a woman. Young, and rather pretty, I remember.” John shuffled and looked at their new victim, “Do you want our statements now, Greg?”
“Goodbye, handsome fellow. We’ll get your puppies back. You get on your barking-chain and we’ll work our side of things, right?” He got a soft woof and a paw. As they left the house, Sherlock looked at him curiously.
welcome, my dear Constable.” Greg leant down and nuzzled her cheek, “You’ve got to go all the way, Jude, start climbing the ladder. I can’t get caught dating a subordinate that far down.”
“I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, you see…” He looked surprised, as if he had only just realised the connection. “…like you!”
“Greg, you’re a cop, you see crazy stuff all the time. You look me in the face and tell me it’s not possible and I call you a liar.” She unwrapped her sandwich, “You never met my parents, did you?”
Judith smiled and sent off that last text. Setting her alarm for her usual time, she set her phone on the bed-side table and tugged on the covers, sliding into the warm cocoon. Almost as soon as she was settled, a weight landed on her shoulder and she grunted.
So when he got a two-top with a couple on his already-crowded roster, John sighed and looked to see if either of them were club-members. Oh. Yep. Yes, they were.
cab is our killer.” She handed the notebook to John and Sherlock, “I guarantee he’ll strike again. Not tonight, but soon. He’s not done.”
With that taken care of, and all the proof she needed that the driver of the cab she’d seen down in Soho was the killer, Judith decided to call it a night and go home. Thanking M for letting her use MI6’s rather valuable resources, and bidding the boys goodnight, she returned to her car and drove home to Kensington. She returned the car to the police station, marked the station-log for her time, and walked home to the flat. A light was on, so she guessed Greg was home, and when she got inside, the house was warm.
“Does Mycroft know?” John murmured against his coat. Sherlock shook his head and let out a slow, shaky breath. No, he brother did not know that John had, in fact, helped Sherlock on several dangerous missions.
“No, sir.” She shook her head, well-aware of the look Kendrick was giving her, “None at all.” The dark-haired one, the brother, snorted. These two weren't stupid. She narrowed her eyes and glanced sideways at Kendrick. Picking up on her reluctance to speak her mind, the dark-haired inspector turned to Kendrick.
She had taken refuge in the motor-pool, sitting on the bonnet of a parked truck with her feet resting against the engine-grille, when she heard footsteps on gravel and raised her head enough to see him but not his face.
After leaving Henry at his house, put down with a heavier than usual dose of a sleep-aid, they returned to The Crossed Keys Inn and went to bed themselves. John had out four doses of the same sleep-aid he’d given to Henry, they each downed two glasses of cold water, took the aid, and fell into a fitful, uneasy sleep. Judith ended up sleeping on the floor of the room she shared with Greg, listening to him toss and turn as nightmares of their experience in Dewer’s Hollow plagued his sleep. By the sound of things, John and Sherlock weren’t doing much better in the room next door. Finally, desperate to get some peace, she climbed up on the bed behind Greg and put an arm around him, her hand resting over his thundering heart.
Getting back to London, Judith and Greg settled back into a familiar routine, with Judith keeping an eye out for suspicious activity. They had a problem with Jim Moriarty, who had decided he was bored and wanted to play a bit. Judith pulled Sebastian Moran to look after him and share whatever he found out with them. Between March and October, they kept an eye on the feisty, clever criminal mastermind. In September, a jury passed down a verdict regarding his breaking into the Tower of London, the Bank of England, and Pentonville Prison all on the same day within a few minutes of each other. They were able to keep eyes on him until October 10
Returning the favour for John when it was his turn, paying special care to the scar on his shoulder and his hair, Sherlock got out first and waited for John, handing him a towel to dry off. After a brisk, efficient wipe-down, they were moving back towards the bedroom. Once there, John took the towel from Sherlock and took the time to properly dry him off. It was a slow process getting dressed, they kept touching. The near-constant contact was leaving very pleasant, faint trails on Sherlock’s skin where his magic and John’s merged and touched and blended. Sherlock
crossing hostile open desert and mountains, against orders, to save a man’s life because I felt a responsibility to make sure he didn’t get sent home in boxes. Or just one, a small box, if Al Qaida was feeling particularly cruel and spiteful.” He said evenly.
“Oh, please, I’ve done far stupider things than jump off a pedestrian bridge to go after a suspect.” Judith clenched her teeth, “I can still run, I can still dance. Even John told me it was better than any PT the hospital would have assigned me to.”
“After you, Doctor!” Sherlock grinned and followed John into the shower. The hot water felt absolutely glorious and despite John’s intimation that he had plans for post-shower antics, they took their sweet time. As he washed away the cares and grime of daily life, Sherlock noticed new and different scars on John’s body, scars that had not been there five years ago. Some were quite old and faded white, others were much newer and still healing up.
“No, God, no.” He sighed, “No, John and Sherlock have kept me company. Mycroft was here twice, and your friend Strange came by once.”
“We’re very sorry, Mrs Hudson. Really.” John looked up the stairs, “Everything upstairs as we left it?”
“We won’t be keeping all of them, or any of them, I don’t think. If I don’t keep the mother, Sherlock will take her in.” She smiled and looked into the box full of sleeping cats, “One bit of good I did for today.”
to annoy you.” John amended. Sherlock snorted but said nothing else as they headed back the way they’d come in. Sure enough, they saw Mycroft’s car idling along the kerb.
“Of course, 008.” She glanced up and made brief eye-contact as he went into the office beyond. “Good luck in the outside.”
“Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him at it with my own eyes. Uses a riding crop for it, I think.”
“Guess I’d better go thank him and get a name, then.” John got carefully to his feet, not because he was inebriated but just because he didn’t want to bump into anyone, and closed his tab before he picked up the drink and set off. When he got to the table, he set the glass down and studied the man seated there.
“Oh, god, there wouldn't be anything left of me after an hour!” She buried her face in the pillow, “Shit.”
“W-what are you doing?” He blinked as Sherlock shimmied down until he was between John’s thighs and then bumped his forehead against John’s pelvis, nuzzling the soft skin under his belly-button. Sherlock had to adjust his position a bit, but he shot John a look a split second before taking hold of John’s erection with one hand.
with Al Qaida just to make sure this insufferable government prick didn’t end up on CNN or BBC World getting himself beheaded or shot.”
“Don’t apologize, it keeps my job interesting!” Hooper waved off the apologies and took the log back, looking over the new entry, “Besides, I know I can rely on you to do
“I think so. We’ll get in touch with The Met and see about getting word to other local police, I guarantee you those puppies are well outside of London by now.” John rubbed the bony crest of Pongo’s head, “We’ll find out where she went and go there.”
He really wasn’t all that sure how long he had spent crying over Sherlock that first night. He just knew that he hadn’t returned to the Hounslow house for almost a week. It should have been a sign that something wasn’t quite right that Mary never called looking for him or really bothered to comfort him. When he finally did return home, she had asked, he had explained. Mary had declared that he would move on in time, he had a family to worry about. And now he wouldn’t be going back and forth from London so often.
to help on crime-scenes. Would introducing John Hughes to Sherlock Holmes really be a good idea? Or was that just asking of the kind of trouble he couldn’t afford? He already got some flak from his higher-ups for having Sherlock on the rosters, but Mycroft kept them in check, since the politician had a bit more than some influence on their paychecks.
“Oh, really? Are you serious?” Letting the keys hang in the lock long enough to answer her phone, she swiped into the incoming call and took it on the wireless headphones she wore while running.
“No. He’s a friend of mine, and I will thank you to refrain from further insulting either of us.” He reached back and took John’s hand in his, “Come on, John.”
She scrambled to her feet and reached for her Browning. It was instinct, long-ingrained instinct that countered an impression that any weapon she possessed would be of little use against what was on the other side of that door.
“It’s my job to pay close attention, but you’re the one who thought about a ring-band. Honestly, Doctor Watson, I’m not sure that would have occurred to me.” Anderson shrugged, “So, that eliminates an angry spouse.”
“Oh, gee, thanks for that.” He snorted and tossed his spent cigarette, stubbing it out with his shoe.
“What’s a bit less glamorous than arresting Sherlock Holmes for loitering and public nuisance and Big Brother shows up out of nowhere to “fix” everything and make your life a living hell?”
“Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she’s giving me a special deal. Owed me a favour.” Sherlock said, indicating the black door adorned with gold numbers.
Going back to The Met, Greg spent the next three hours working on the Watson case, grilling Beverley Watson on motives and such, sorting through stacks of reports and files and taking a phone-call from the hospital for an update on Harry Watson’s status. He didn’t check the number as the call rang through on his desk-phone, just answered automatically.
“Hmm.” And if that didn’t just make the tall git so bloody pleased with himself. John snorted and flipped onto his back, sitting up to read along with Sherlock.
“Are you okay?” Watson looked him over, concerned by the way Sherlock had appeared at the door like that.
“Yeah. Teaching at Bart’s now. Bright young things, like we used to be.” Stamford’s eyes crinkled behind his glasses, “God, I hate them.” John snorted. He could say a few things about “bright young things”, and most of them weren’t very nice.
“You’ll be safe until this is over, just do what you're told and keep your head down.” She ushered him out of the house and looked around as Greg held the back door of the BMW open for them, “Take a seat.”
“Not if you don’t. I usually run alone, but I never mind having a partner.” She smiled and held the door for him, holding her hand out once he’d locked the door. His keys went into her belt, along with his wallet. It was brisk and a bit foggy, but not an altogether terrible morning. They walked from the house to Earls Court Road, at which point Judith picked a direction and took the lead. It was early enough they didn’t have to jockey with traffic much, and when they reached the A315, she took off due north once they entered the park.
clear in your paperwork, apparently someone thinks we’re all a bunch of morons up in Criminal Investigations. Homicide and Major Crimes is populated by prancing
Judith looked over her shoulder at where she thought Seb might be posted. There was only one thing he could be talking about.
was in, then she had no doubt the others would be coming later. She smiled and tuned her awareness to the guests. She knew Mycroft was aware of her unspoken skillsets, the harmless and deadly alike, and wondered a bit where
“You have more faith in the system than I do, then.” He reached over and picked up a piece of equipment from the many items scattered along the worktable surface. One of Q’s new toys, a prototype perhaps.
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. Fine.” He turned to Judith, wide-eyed and breathless. “That, er…thing that you, er, that you did – that, um…” Greg cleared his throat, “… you offered to do. That was, um…good.”
After a late lunch, Judith said goodbye to Christine, who had to go back to work, and spent the rest of her afternoon with Stephen. They visited Kamar-Taj and practised a bit, Stephen worked her on temporal spells. The manipulation of time could be very handy in certain circumstances, as they had seen at Hong Kong, but he did tell her to feel free to call on him if she didn’t feel comfortable executing a spell like that on her own. And it was the kind of spell she would only know if it had worked when she executed it. She was afraid to practice that kind of spell without a reason to do so. It was a kind of magic she wasn’t comfortable using, especially without the Time Stone, and generally steered away from any practice of it without the guidance of a Master.
One morning, while she was off working on getting her Basic Keelboat Certification, he planned out his next move. He
“I remember faces, but you gave me a bit of trouble.” She smirked, “I could have sworn I knew you from somewhere before, but for some reason I never put you together with one of my old Army contacts.”
“Well, we found Doctor Hooper.” John murmured as they stood behind the double-doors separating them from the Chief Pathologist and her assistant.
“Oh, no! You’re a proper puzzle, John Watson, and I can’t wait to figure you out! You are one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met, never mind that you used to work for or with or do whatever with my stupid older brother. How could you
“Would you believe me if I told you that John and I are sorcerers? And every day I touch something so powerful it scares me to think that someone could misuse the power?”
“Nope. I made sure of that, too. About three weeks after the hospital, I caught the slimy fucker sneaking around.”
“Good riddance is more like it.” Sherlock muttered as the black car pulled away. Once it was gone, they headed for their original destination. Judith knew she would sleep at Baker Street tonight, she was just too worn out to drive back to Kensington.
“No, I don’t think I have to.” Judith wrinkled her nose, “Not with the heat you’re packing, anyway.”
“We do. Well, did.” John looked at Mycroft. “I guess I never actually got around to the rest of my story, did I?”
“I texted Mycroft to have someone come and get your car, they can drive it home for you, and we get a free ride wherever we need to go tonight.”
“Oh, for … ” He trailed off into a chuckle at the sight of Sherlock holding Kitty at arm’s length, a look of disgust on his face. Kitty, likewise, wasn’t entirely pleased.
“Think she’ll take anyone from our table tonight?” Lestrade murmured during one particularly enchanting number. Mycroft smiled into his wine.
She watched, giddy, as they circled a special helipad dock and touched down gently. Resort staff stood on hand, and she was offered a hand to the dock by a man in a white Havana button-down and pressed khakis. A golf-cart taxi shuttled them to the lobby building, where they were able to check-in and hand over their luggage. Room-keys and welcome-packets were handed over and Judith was twitching with excitement by the time they headed for their “room”. She remembered the little villas and was thrilled when they got a Reef Room. It didn’t take long for their luggage to arrive, and the first thing she did was grab a swim-suit and change.
“Bullshit.” Stormy eyes narrowed, “If I ever find out that you lied to me, about anything, not even your PA will be able to protect you. Sherlock was more than just my friend. He was my everything. My world shattered that day, for the second time in two years. And I was barely able to pick up the pieces the first time, never mind having to see my best friend laid to rest six feet underground because you sold him out!” A flash of light across dark eyes, his voice wavered, but he did not bend, “I don’t know who was holding Moriarty’s strings, or yours, for that matter, but you are responsible for every single damn thing that happened to Sherlock. I will never forgive you for that, I can’t. I’ve made arrangements and I’ll be going away soon. I haven’t decided where, or how long I’ll be gone, but I have arranged for my pension and savings to pay my half of the rent at Baker Street for Mrs Hudson’s sake. I’ve left everything there, including my gun. It’s locked in a safe in my closet, I gave the combination to Greg. If I come back to Baker Street and anything has been moved, of mine or Sherlock’s, I will take it back by whatever force is necessary.
Judith meets an unusual gentleman on the train. Things are about to get very interesting for Baker Street as Moriarty becomes a physical entity, more than just a name. And he's not exactly what Judith was expecting.
“Mycroft!” Sherlock saw the horror in his brother’s eyes. How had Moriarty found him? How had he known? About halfway down the stairs, Sherlock lashed out at Moriarty, but that only got him cross-eyed when Moriarty struck him.
“Come on, you great idiot.” John had him by the hand and was pulling him along. Tired and drunk, they made it as far as the stairs. One of them tripped, he wasn’t sure who went down first, but he felt the ground lurch and choked, grabbing hold of…something. It was John, who pitched over himself and they landed with a bit of commotion on the stairs.
“Mr. Hope, I have a question for you.” Greg piped in finally, rejoining the conversation. Hope looked over Judith’s head at Greg.
John wasn’t actually sure what he had expected out of someone like Sherlock Holmes, knowing what he did about the man’s two brothers, but when they couldn’t find him in the chem labs and ended up heading for the basement of the hospital where the Morgue was, he suspected he was in for something a bit out of the ordinary. That was fine, considering most of his life had been spent doing extraordinary things. A little normalcy and a slower pace would not be amiss, but John knew better to think that he was at all suited to a “normal” life, that standard civilian lifestyle would appeal to him at all. He did not like being bored.
“I’m sorry for your troubles, Mr. Hope, I really am. And I wish there was something we could do to help you but…I’m not even sure you
“John, your hands are shaking and if I didn’t think you’d drop in your tracks, I’d let go of you.” He kept his arm around John and led him in the right direction. “I had no idea you were the Aetherborn.”
“So, who’s your handsome friend, Molls?” Handsome? John didn’t particularly think so, but he was flattered.
“There’s a sanctuary in Kathmandu I go to, where John went when he dropped off the radar last year. You can go for healing, and stay for something far more than that.”
“Of course I will.” Mrs Hudson just smiled and went off again, leaving Sherlock to himself for a while.
“He’s upstairs. Fine. Shaken and a bit deaf in one ear, but not a scratch.” She held the tape for her brother, “The wards did their job.”
“Hmph.” Greg passed the water-bottle back, “Well, I tend to remember the people who put their lives on the line for my sake.”
John Watson finally meets Sherlock Holmes, and it's the beginning of something beautiful. If Sherlock can just behave himself for once.
After she had gotten dressed for the weather, she carried her shoes downstairs and sat on the bottom step to tie her shoes. Soft voices in the next room got her attention and she looked up to find the boys doing the same thing. She liked running with company anyway. Usually, she ran with Greg. Slipping out the front door, she waited on the street for the boys and once they had locked the door, she headed for Regent’s Park. They ran a four-and-a-half mile loop around Regent’s Park, making the return circuit on Ulster Terrace and Marylebone Road. They caught a quick breakfast at Speedy’s Cafe next-door after finishing their run, and Judith took a quick shower after checking her shift-roster. She was due for on-call duty at The Met, so it meant a day waiting for a call to come in. She’d rather be on the streets, but she wasn’t on patrol anymore.
. He would be just fine friends-only with the handsome young detective, but John would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t
The one on the right was taller than the one on the left, he easily stood above Sherlock, with dark blonde hair cropped close in a military cut, but grown out and due for a clean-up. He was built solid, with broad shoulders, and his bearing screamed military service. She looked at his partner, who looked like he knew his business and probably thought the rest of them were dumb plebes crawling along in blissful ignorance of bigger problems. A bit shorter than the blond menace, with dark auburn hair slicked back from his forehead, and bright, intense brown eyes. Men like that rubbed her a bit wrong, and there was something about the pair that prickled that part of her wired to danger. The blond carried a registered Browning concealed in a special holster on the back of his trousers, and two knives. The dark-haired one carried a Berretta in a shoulder-holster under his suit-jacket, she saw the slight tell-tale bulge.
The drive from Baker Street to their destination was quiet and Sherlock stroked the back of John’s hand, unwilling to demand more from his mate.
“Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.” He turned to the ledge and looked out. Below him, he saw a marked Range Rover pull into the round-about and stop next to the ambulance station. He had managed to shake a Met tail to meet Jim Moriarty on the roof, he was dead certain Sally Donovan had called Judith Watson once she lost sight of him. Now Judith had come back to Saint Bart’s, and he would be damned if John hadn’t followed his sister. Never underestimate the Watsons, it was usually one of the very last mistakes you had the misfortune of making. He had to keep playing along, just a while longer.
Greg led the way out of the waiting-room, and waited until the doors had closed before he put his question to words.
He must have fallen asleep, the sound of hollow knocking jolted him back to awareness sometime later. Startled, he pushed up on his elbows, having rolled onto his stomach, and looked around.
“Come on – who’d want me for a flatmate?” Mike made a noise, clearly amused by something. John just gave him a level look. “What?”
physical contact, it was rarely friendly and more rarely consensual, but John...he was different. He was safe and had only ever treated Sherlock respectfully. He wandered into the bathroom after a while to do something with his hair and caught John’s reflection in the mirror as he stood in the doorway with his jumper in one hand.
Once he reached Leicester Square, he stopped again and looked around. This time of night, the place was fairly buzzing. Street-musicians were performing for tips, people flowed past in crowds and clusters, laughing and chatting, going about their lives. But there was an energy here that had the fine hairs on John’s body standing up. Trouble. He could
Judith Watson knew the tension humming through her bones wasn’t just her own. Beside her, Sally Donovan was practically twitching with fury. She narrowed her eyes and looked sideways at the police sergeant as they walked away from the jail after booking in Claudia Hendricks. There had been a certain degree of satisfaction she got from handing the woman over to the constables and wardens, watching her rant and fight against them, screaming that this was outrageous and she would never see the inside of a prison cell or a day of a sentence if she had anything to say about it.
“M.” He squared his shoulders as he looked at the man sitting on the other side of the desk. “I came to return this to you.”
“Good of you notice. Not formally, but as a Medically Limited Reservist. I won’t be deploying for anything except my obligations for training and service. A few weeks, that’s all. Barring war breaking out, or an overseas training exercise, I’m staying in London to help Mr Holmes, just as I have since 2010.” He shrugged, entirely uninterested in talking about something that really wasn’t anyone else’s business but his and Sherlock’s. Finally, the press had the answers they needed, maybe not the ones they
“Just for a bit, lovey. Gotta go get more ice for Miss Lisa. You stay right here and be a good girl, okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Couldn’t miss that commotion, no ma’am.” Gerald shuffled around, tending to his grieving family, “Just one question for you girls.”
“Hey! Hey, no fights!” The barman shouted, a minute too late as the giant pulled his free hand back to punch John. John managed to duck at the last minute and winced as another patron took the full force of the giant’s fist. It turned out to be the man who had initially knocked into him and started this, so there was some kind of twisted justice there. John got himself out of the giant’s grip with a bit of dirty play, this wasn’t the first brawl he’d been in and it wasn’t going be the last, but he didn’t get very far before a blow from behind took him down. He hit the floor with a grunt and flipped onto his back, his vision swimming a bit, and tried to ward off the oncoming attack. A different patron had come after him but didn’t get more than a handful of John’s shirt to drag him back to his feet before he was bodily hauled away from John by someone else. There was so much commotion, so many people shouting and beating the shit out of each other, but John took the opportunity to scram and bolted for the door. One foot out the door and he was grabbed by the back of the shirt and shoved onto the pavement a split-second before someone was kneeling on his shoulders.
“If you want us to. Might have to touch a couple of strings and do some legwork, but whoever did this is still around.” He shrugged, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, “By the way, if you can keep it quiet that we’re both alive and back to work, that would be lovely.”
“More John than myself this time, Mrs Hudson. If anyone else comes, please do see them up, will you?”
“Like I said, there’s not much money to be made driving cabs and, well, even though I don’t see ‘em, after I die my kid’s will get
“Which means the use of the Cessna, and either a helicopter or a private boat. Excellent.” She chuckled, “Nice having friends like Mycroft Holmes, yeah?”
“I’d put money down on it.” He turned as the door clicked and was opened for them by a homely, kind woman about Mrs Hudson’s age. She was very sad, it didn’t take a pair of crack-shot street tecs to figure
“I went wheels-down at LCY about fifteen minutes ago, everything I own is being held in trust by Mycroft Holmes until I find somewhere to live.” Judith rolled her shoulders, “That flight’s going to catch up with me in a bit.”
“You don’t know everything about me, do you, Mr Holmes?” She smiled and got to her feet, looking around the office, “Come on, let’s go home.”
At one point, he caught her eye and hefted the bag with her change of clothes in it. She brightened up and excused herself from the cluster of students she had been chatting with. He kept his left hand in his pocket as he passed the bag to her.
“Good night, Sherlock.” He pulled the door closed but left it open a bit and climbed the stairs to a bedroom on the second floor. It was small but cosy and more than adequate for his needs. He usually slept on a Single, he had a Double here at Baker Street, and that was just fine with him. It was a very nice bed, and large enough for John’s needs. The bedding was brand new and freshly laundered, the mattress likewise new and quite soft. Getting ready for bed, he paid a quick visit to the water-closet at the end of the hall and took care of business before turning in for the night.
“Thanks.” John pulled them towards him as the door opened and Mary came back in with three takeaway cups of coffee. She set them on the desk and asked if anything else was needed.
They got past John, who watched in dismay as they advanced carefully on the open door of the flat. Inside, they found Sherlock shrugging into his coat.
“In my defence, I returned as much of my equipment intact as I reasonably could be expected to. And I always returned my weapons intact.”
“It has.” She tossed her gear into the lead truck and climbed onto the runner-board, “We’ll be back in a few hours.” As she dropped into her seat, he folded his arms with a scowl on his face, “Oh, what now, Will?”
“What? Besides drink myself stupid in crowded bars on weeknights and get into fist-fights with people twice my size but not my ability?”
“I imagine his Glamoured Other Form is exponentially less frightening, and still intimidating. A large dog of some appearance, judging by his pelt.”
“Because your mark didn’t realise who you really were until a moment too late. Don’t do that again, you’re too valuable.” She handed the file back to M, “Anyway, I have work to do with Q downstairs, so if you don’t need my assistance further, ma’am?”
“Stop it, you’re shaking so hard you can’t put words together.” He helped the man into his coat, “There.” He fastened it best as he could and waved down a passing taxi. Once he had the strange, frightened fey on his way home safely, John said goodnight to his co-workers and headed out. But he didn’t go home, instead, John went hunting. If he knew Moriarty, that coat was on the streets somewhere. John had every intention of rescuing it.
She had been thirteen, walking home from school with some friends, when she caught up with a group of boys from her school who were busy beating up on a younger boy who didn’t go to their school. He was from a private school, much better financial security than most of them. Judith, as a rule, avoided fighting with other children, especially boys, but she hadn’t been able to help herself when she’d found the older boys ganged up on Sherlock Holmes. She hadn’t even known his name that day, who he was or who his family was or what kind of money he might come from, but she had never been good about letting bullies get away with their cruelties and put herself in the way to take them on.
her. She leaned forward and glanced at the map above their heads that indicated their position on the system. They were coming up on Euston Square.
have a ring, it wasn’t something he’d come here to do anyway. But he had the feeling if he asked the right people, he’d find what he needed. He knew Judith’s ring-size, so that was the simple part. Going to the front desk, he begged the pretty clerk for help.
“Y-you’re ... ngh. Old man.” Sherlock gasped, arching under John, baring his throat. Oh, that was beautiful. Perfect.
“So, going by the victim’s stats, this was a vengeful ex of some romantic involvement, not sure if wife or a girlfriend. Someone quite a bit shorter than he was, even with a three-inch heel on her shoes, but not used to wearing the shoes, which threw her off-balance a bit. She might have been inebriated. Right-handed. Blonde or strawberry blonde, wearing…Clair de la Lune, and True Dimensions Firecracker lipstick.” Stripping off the gloves, she bundled them and dropped them in a marked container, “Need anything else, gentlemen?”
like in his Other Form. The fur was longer than standard, incredibly soft, and it smelled just the way John did, but stronger. It was pleasant and safe.
“Amazing.” Her brother was going over her with careful attention to her vitals, using a pen-torch to check the way her eyes dilated.
“Oh, John!” He stroked the soft fur, which interestingly enough matched his hair-colour, complete with the green tinges. It was primarily silver grey with a black/green sable. “You must be a sight to behold in your Other Forms! This pelt is...enormous!” He unfolded the pelt and stood up. Something clattered to the floor, but he didn’t really pay attention. The pelt, missing the pieces that lined the hood and collar of the parka, was about the side of a medium throw-blanket.
“I can’t leave. I’m...the only one left. My grandmother can’t live forever, doesn’t want to, and my sister’s not worth trying to save.” Sherlock saw a shimmer around John, similar to when he’d confronted Donovan, but different. “I tried and she burned me. Cursed me for “being a puppet”. I never forgave her for calling me a coward when I went to the Army.”
“Nothing obvious. The room wasn’t tossed, nothing was missing. But then again, Lestrade’s people are idiots and would trample vital evidence before they saw it. I’m sure they’ve missed every clue in front of them.”
“Because of your job with MI6, I assume.” Sherlock got out of the cab and stood on the kerb while John paid the fare.
John returned home to his flat, paid for and kept up by MI6, and looked around. He felt kind of ... lost, but he suspected that was just normal for someone in his position. He remembered feeling the same way the first time he’d found himself in this position, back in 2009, and how much he had
“Oh, you’re good!” Watson smiled and steered him into the bathroom after setting their coats on the bed. “Come on, into the bath with you.” It was a matter of minutes to get out of his clothes, and he tugged on Watson’s jumper, whining a bit.
she’s got Riley!” He shook his head and she slid into the front seat, “You kids are fast, you know? All quiet on your fronts?”
““Meet @ 36 Chester Close, looks like at least a 6, high 7. Two bodies, not sure if double-homicide or murder-suicide. Anderson on-location, be warned. – Lestrade”.” John frowned and gave back the phone, “You really do work for the police.”
“Oh my god.” She felt the blood rush from her face and the ground beneath her feet swayed a bit. “Oh, Mycroft.”
“Sure.” He knew Lestrade was trying to change the subject, knew why, and let him. Another round was promptly ordered, Lestrade paid for this one. The conversation moved on from how John and Mycroft had met to how Lestrade and Mycroft had met, which was a far more entertaining story.
“Stopped for it on the way in. Hospitals and police-stations always have the worst coffee.” Sherlock sighed. “She’ll come back, yeah?”
“Just something to make sure no one ever makes the mistake of thinking you’re free game for taking advantage of.” John gave him a slightly crooked smile and disappeared. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, but John was already out of sight. Eager to present his gift to the Sìth soldier, Sherlock finished up in the bathroom and went out through his bedroom. His coat was gone, but he knew John had it. Smiling, he went into his closet and took down a special case. Unlocking it, he took out the one item inside. He felt the edge where pieces had been cut off and used to line the collar and cuffs of his Belstaff coat. Anthea must have brought it back to Baker Street while he slept, it hadn’t been there that morning. His coat, along with the pelt itself, had both been stolen by Jim Moriarty back in 2011, it had been almost two years since that awful day. He could tell that the pelt had been purified of any dark magic, it felt normal, benign.
“Charmed, for sure, Captain.” The red-head smiled, a familiar tight smile she was used to giving people she didn’t necessarily like, “We’re very sorry to cause any disruptions.”
“Hush, I’m thinking.” She shoved to her feet, aware of someone putting a hand under her elbow in a kind but unnecessary gesture. Judith’s balance was quite good, excellent when she was focused and sober, a bit off-kilter when she’d had a bit to drink.
“I know you’re a soldier, you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. Happened quite a few years ago, 2008 or 2009 I would guess. I know you’ve got a sister who’s worried about you but you won’t go to her for help because you don’t approve of her – possibly because she’s an alcoholic; more likely because she recently walked out on her wife. Or did the wife do the walking this time? And I know that your therapist thought your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid. Shame it came back like it did, though.” John narrowed his eyes and looked over at the unused cane leaning against the wall beside him. Sherlock grinned, “That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?”
“What are you doing over here?” John had noticed his distraction, but he didn’t sound upset that he had been ignored, more like he was curious to know what had gotten Sherlock’s attention so completely.
“Full disclosure, in case you find yourself getting the second degree or are kidnapped off the streets by suspicious-looking black cars with tinted windows and pretty auburn-haired women in the backseat.”
“Jesus.” Judith blew out a slow breath, pacing the living-room, occasionally glancing out the window to the street. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled a number. It rang through a few times, and she listened for any sign of that phone ringing in the flat.
He quickly pulled down a white sundress and a pair of silver flats. He tossed the clothes and adequate small-clothes into a small bag and headed out.
to be Sherlock Holmes. If John hadn’t known any better, he would have thought for sure it was his Quartermaster. But Q wasn’t quite so … rude? Sassy, blunt, but not quite rude.
“Yes, sir.” Judith looked at the other two and smiled. Sherlock’s bed was big enough for the four of them, they’d shared it before in more peaceful days. Before Moriarty. Stripping to pants and vests or tee shirts, they curled up on the bed together, sleeping in a familiar tangle of bodies and sheets.
“Oh, god, don’t be sorry! You kind of turned my night around anyway, so I won’t complain!” He smiled and pushed her in the direction of the stairs, “Top of the stairs, second floor, alright? Either room you want is yours!”
“Thank you, oh god, thank you for this.” He sat down quietly and she closed the door on him, calling Moran to report in on the situation.
The vacation was nice, but duty is calling. Trust Sherlock Holmes to get into trouble in the name of case-work. This time, it's Judith who steps in to retrieve the Baker Street Detectives from a tight spot.
“Mm.” John looked for somewhere to sit and moved a stack of files from the faded red armchair. Putting his book down to hold his place, he looked for the kitchen.
“Very much aware, my dear. Apologies.” Mycroft sounded like he hadn’t slept in a week and looked a bit awful.
“I never said family was perfect, but you’ve got family. And they’ll see you through this. Alright?”
“You asked nicely.” He grinned, “But really, can we both just agree to never again mention your brother in the bedroom? Please?”
She knew it was very likely the boys were asleep right now, but she was still concerned. When it had been nearly ten minutes since her text and there had been no response, she was about to call for a house-check on the boys when her phone beeped. At the same time, footage streamed showing the boys debarking safely from the cab, unharmed and unaccompanied.
“This way, please, Mr Holmes!”She said brightly, collecting two menus before leading them into the dining-room. She kept up polite chit-chat as they were seen to their reserved table, extra place-settings were removed once they were seated and John did not miss how they both sat backs to the wall once seated. Their server appeared moments later, as was standard for this place. He was young, just out of university or … no, still working his way through, clean-cut and professional, but John saw a peek of ink on his forearms.
“John Watson is not in Baker Street anymore, brother.” He said carefully as he watched his brother get dressed, “He has not been for quite some time.”
“Thank you, sir. I knew a lot of good people in the Army, good friends of mine, a selfless lot all of them. Smart, selfless, braver than I’ll ever be.”
“Oh, I’ll teach you a bit of respect, boy.” He said gruffly as he shuffled a bit. “Put that tongue of yours to proper use.” Sherlock’s reaction was perfect, and John took great pleasure in the way his throat contracted on a reactive gulp, the shudder that sent a tremor from head to toe and caused goosebumps to rise on the fair skin. Before Sherlock could quite recover, he pushed home in one long, careful thrust, stopping only when he had bottomed out. Reaching down, he pulled Sherlock down a bit more and heard the soft grunt as the change of angle caused John’s erection to brush against Sherlock’s prostate. Inspired, John pulled back a bit and adjusted his own angle to apply regular pressure to that little gland.
“Not as often as I’d like, no. Wife won’t let me.” He shrugged, “But when I die, they won’t get much. Not much money driving cabs, yeah?”
“I like you, Constable. I’ll talk to you.” Hope said after a moment of weighing his options. “May not like my answers, but you asked nice-like. I got some respect for people like you.”
“Not a clue. Haven’t heard anything.” He shrugged, “Trust me, if they’d snagged her, we would have heard about it.” One of the constables took a call on his radio and his eyebrows went up.
“No, Mr Brook.” She held out one hand to him, “And I have strong words for the people who did this to you. Were you hurt at all last night?”
“Just follow me.” With that, Q was leading him … somewhere. It wasn’t long before he was stopped again.
it. John was distracted from getting too far stuck in his head by a soft pressure against his legs and he looked down to see that he had some company.
“Rick, this lovely angel is Martha Hudson. She’s the one who looks after my brother and his mad flat-mate.”
of them would get something useful done tonight. He felt bad for Judith and Sherlock, wondering how long Judith would stay on Everest, and if anyone would think to go looking for her out there.
“I don’t know what the two of you have done, but your brother is up there and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was waiting for the Queen!”
“Chester Terrace. Twenty minutes walk from here.” He passed John his phone and let him read the text.
John and his fellow Double-Ohs James Bond and Alec Trevelyan had always been the renegades of the lot, causing far more headaches and grief than they were worth and yet always getting the job done. John had come late to the agency, but he had been one of their best once he had a chance to prove himself. And Bond and Trevelyan had wasted no time bringing the clever, resourceful veteran into their fold. Olivia Mansfield had quite often bemoaned the cavalier, almost careless way the threesome operated, but she was always the first to vouch for them.
“Good night, boys!” Mrs Hudson called cheerfully from the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll have earplugs in!”
“I suspect, Mrs Hudson, that my mother would be delighted to visit Baker Street again.” John just smiled as he buttoned up his parka, brushing off the left sleeve. “So you may very well get your wish.”
“You wanna risk it?” The cabbie pulled his attention away as the phone beeped, going to voicemail. Sherlock looked down at the pills thoughtfully.
“No rush, Jude, take your time. This isn’t a small affair, anyway, and the press-con’s just for the sake of the press before word gets out somewhere else.” Greg followed her to the door and hugged her tight, wishing her luck as she set off on her own.
“Oh, god, that’s almost worse!” John chuckled in spite of his grief, “Let me guess. Sherrinford Holmes?”
“Nah, I remember you, Mr Roberts. You were just a misguided kid out to save the world.” Judith smiled, “I hated sending you home like that, I’m glad you found something to keep yourself busy.”
“You will be moved to a secure location immediately and remain there, under full guard, until the coast is clear.” Alexandra got to her feet and John and Sherlock followed. She straightened her uniform and looked at them, at John, who had stiffened and drawn himself tall. “I do not doubt your ability to defend yourself and your mate, John, but in this, you must trust me to keep you both safe. It will do no good if either of you is injured. Or worse, killed.”
“I suppose we might.” He got up and held out one hand, “We would love to help you find Pongo’s pups. How many were taken?”
interested in teaching at Saint Bart’s. I’ve seen way too much to be content teaching ungrateful little snots how to
“What if I don’t take either?” Sherlock’s gaze flickered briefly to the window but he quickly turned his attention back to the cabbie.
“Yeah, that’s...actually, yeah, that’s perfect. If you don’t mind carrying a couple bags of ice in your boot.”
. Nope. Come by when you’re off duty and see for yourself!” She grinned, “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“Oh, not anymore, I’m not.” She murmured, remembering something she’d gotten done today. For once, it had nothing to do with friends or relatives getting involved. She had done it herself, earned it herself with hours and hours of diligent hard work proving herself worthy. And for once, even James Roben didn’t have anything to bitch about. Puzzled, he pulled back and looked at her, eyes narrow.
“I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room ... said trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor – obvious. And while we were at Gabriel’s Wharf, you mentioned stitching up soldiers in Kandahar when I was a lad of six.” He paused to take a draw of his cigarette. “Were you any good?”
It seemed an eternity and no time at all before they heard the bell. John made a soft sound of distress as they listened to Mrs Hudson open the door to their expected royal guests and offer to see them upstairs. Sherlock instinctively put one hand on John’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze before he moved his hand to the back of his mate’s neck. John relaxed a bit at the touch, but not entirely. They listened to the sound of footsteps outside and he counted three besides Mrs Hudson. His sense of smell told him that three Lycans had entered the house, one of them exceptionally powerful. Two bodyguards for the exiled Queen? The door opened and Mrs Hudson let in their guests. Once they were all inside, she looked quickly at Sherlock and John and disappeared again, closing the door behind her. Anyone who had been seated when the door opened had gotten to their feet the instant Mrs Hudson opened the door, and Sherlock stood behind John as they faced the Lycan royals. The bodyguards weren’t royalty, but they were members of the Summer Court, Sherlock was able to mark them by the soft aura of gold around them. Two constables from Lestrade’s division, had they taken the job upon themselves or had they been assigned to the detail? But the one he was most interested in was the woman standing in the middle of the room. She looked unassumingly plain, like John, it was clear where he’d gotten his looks from. But the power she held was…unmistakable.
Follow my voice to the physical world. You've been trapped long enough. Your friends and family need you.
“Of course we do!” Mr Radcliffe looked tired and annoyed. Suddenly, his wife went stiff and her eyes widened.
“Yes. Please.” John stepped closer and he carefully removed the last pieces of clothing. The bullet-wound was not his only scar, but it was by far his most prominent. Exploring could happen later, shower now. John steered him under the water and took the time to properly wash Sherlock, going over every inch of him that he could reach, which included
“Of course you can! You clever, sneaky thing, you!” She got up, hauled him to his feet, and they went to the restaurant, where beaming staff showed them to a small table just for two people. Dinner was amazing, as it had been every night they had been here, but everything seemed to taste better tonight. Happiness had a funny way of changing your perspective on things.
“I’m not afraid to get my knuckles bloody.” Judith leant her head back, “I remember your mother being very kind to me.”
“‘Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line.’ Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?” Mrs Hudson gasped. Just then the Chief Superintendent walked in. Judith followed him up the stairs.
“What?” His voice was nearly an octave lower. If she’d been booted from The Met, he would have been the
It was a quiet drive from the Tesco to the Billingsley’s house, or as quiet as it could be with three squad-cars making a show of force with blues-and-twos on full. When they arrived, he got out of Hutchison’s car and looked over the roof at Sherlock.
“Oh, come now, Mycroft! Don’t be like that!” Moriarty said cheerfully, “Of course you know that’s not true. Besides, what with your brother’s coat stolen, and that really is quite a shame, someone has to make sure he doesn’t run afoul of any questionable characters.”
John! It was! Oh, saints be blessed, it was him! Sherlock stood there, staring up at the vision of John Watson in clubbing gear, chatting up and flirting with the man to his left.
“Sorry – you stopped her husband being executed?” It wasn’t that John was confused by the idea, he just wanted to make sure he didn’t get it wrong.
“Serial-killers, ma’am.” She wrinkled her nose, “Murder-for-hire, if I had to guess, judging by the looks of him. Fairly average, not of any extensive wealth, and not well-in with his family.” She shrugged, “I had Q pull a few cameras in Soho for me so I can go over the footage.”
“Yeah, for whatever a couple of pensions can get me these days.” He shrugged and took a sip of his drink.
“I don’t know if you understand exactly what my son has done for you, Sherlock, in an act of complete selflessness that is completely within his character to look after others before himself and defend those incapable of doing so for themselves.” Alexandra’s eyes darkened and he saw the now-familiar ripple around her that expressed a visual cue of displeasure or sadness. Her voice had hardened, but her displeasure was not with either of them.
“Molly!” The harried-looking police-officer was leading a small team pushing a gurney. They were from the Coroner’s Office, and that was a new dead body to add to Doctor Hooper’s already-full roster. John recognized the silver-haired man he had met briefly the other night.
Sherlock looked up again and made eye contact with John. He couldn’t tell if his clever friend had recognized him, but that hand-gesture was very familiar to him and he smiled brightly, waving to show he’d gotten the message. As he ducked into the queue of people waiting to get into the club, he heard a soft, shrill whistle and looked up yet again. This time just in time to catch something dropped from the balcony above. He caught it and opened the billfold, extracting an item from inside before closing it again. With practised ease, he tossed the billfold back up, waited until he saw it slide into John’s back pocket, and pocketed the card and the bills. With purpose in his stride, Sherlock headed for the front of the line. When he got there, he waved the card at the bouncers, who took the card and checked it against a list.
The after-theatre crowd had disappeared for the most part, which was fine considering the place was lit up in washes of white and blue because of the police vehicles. A different crowd had gathered, held behind barriers to keep them out until the scene was shut down. As soon as John and Sherlock appeared, the driver hopped out and held the door of the car for them.
, Corporal, or it’s your tags I’m taking! Are we clear on this?” She snarled, showing her credentials. The poor pilot couldn’t get into position fast enough, apologizing for the misunderstanding. She kissed Greg before she kicked the rope out and jumped, and as soon as her feet were on the ground, she unhooked from the belay and shed the harness.
for hindering police operations.” He turned and left the room. John turned to Sally who was standing near the door.
“Haven’t decided yet.” He leaned over and kissed John on the cheek, “Please don’t get mad at me, John.”
“We’ve always treated John like one of ours, and Judith too, after she came to the family when I married Beverley.” He said grimly. “But my wife at that time, she understood how important it was to keep John safe. No one ever asked, and if they did, we just told them where to put it.”
dead in the first place, and we move on with our lives.” John shrugged and found a pair of pyjama bottoms and a tee-shirt, tossing them at Sherlock, “Preferably together. I’ve had enough of living by myself or trying with someone who didn’t deserve it.”
“Grieving the loss of one of the most spectacular, talented women I’ve ever met, the woman closest to a mother to me and several other people. They wouldn’t let me near the Spectre and Nine-Eyes mess, which made sense in hindsight, but not at the time.” John shook his head, looking up at Sherlock from an angle as he dried his hair. “I spent three weeks shacked up in James’s flat while we kept each other from either swallowing our guns or taking off AWOL to hunt down the bastards and make them pay for what they’d done to us. When they let us loose, we were bound and determined to do our jobs so fucking well they couldn’t keep us out again. Q was a huge help.”
A few weeks later, she was on her way to Saint Bart’s to visit Sherlock. She was working that day, and was at the tail-end of a boring, uneventful on-call shift, and had decided to take the Tube to the hospital for a bit of excitement. No one really bothered her, a few riders said hello when they marked her a member of the police force, but for the most part it was a quiet ride. The hour helped, too. It was nearly midnight. There weren’t many people out at this hour, and no one who would risk bothering an armed constable just for kicks. And yet, Judith was aware of being under someone’s
When he showed himself on the work floor, it wasn’t hard to spot the young Quartermaster. Q, of course, saw him coming and just smiled brightly.
“I kind of suspected there was something about the two of you, and you keep disappearing on the weekends and on days you’re not slated for work. Where do you go?”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled and leaned across the console as he started the car, “All quiet and waiting for the storm to break.” He smirked and took a quick kiss.
it. Even on the days you all treated me like shite, I didn’t care.” He rubbed his jaw, feeling a stiffness there that always got worse on very cold days, “It was exciting and gave me a reason to get out of bed in the morning to write the next blog-post.” Sherlock squeezed his hand tightly and leant against his shoulder.
Greg called up the officers waiting outside and they had Hope transferred down to the station. As he was bundled into the waiting car, he had one more thing to say to Greg.
“How long did you say the fuse was?” John asked smugly as he took the pen and clicked it three times.
“Doctor Watson!” Major Kendrick’s hail was far too cheerful, and she grit her teeth. “I was wondering where on Earth you’d been hiding!”
Coming to the party had been a bad idea, and all he and Mary had really done was argue with each other and spend the rest of the party miserable (John) or chatting with friends like nothing was wrong (Mary). So, when Lisa Billingsly ran out of ice, John volunteered to go out and get some more. He needed the fresh air. He needed to think before he ended up doing something he regretted again. All he wanted was to go back to London, go back to…well, what was in London for him? He couldn’t very well go
“Hmm.” He finished his beer, “She’s rather fond of going up there when things get a bit hot like they did tonight.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s nothing I minded doing.” John put his hands in his coat-pockets and shrugged as they all three looked at Eurus Holmes’s grave-marker.
“Do you think you’ll be needing Sherlock?” An eyebrow went up in question as they walked back to the car.
one of those sorcerers! Useful trick that is.” The medic looked at her as he placed the line, “Yep, that’ll do the trick. You’ll feel better in a bit.”
“What’s that?” Sherlock didn’t really look up, instead reaching out with his free hand to give Kitty a scratch behind the left ear. He had a biro in that hand, tucked between two fingers, which he subsequently twirled almost carelessly. Another strange little habit of his? Setting down his cup, he used
“Then there you have it. Family is what you make of it, blood and genetics bedamned.” He reached across the console and took her hand, “You’ve got Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, you’ve got your grandmother, you’ve got me, for whatever it’s worth. That’s not bad for family.”
John Watson had never expected to be dismissed from one service, let alone two in his lifetime. And yet, the truth was staring him in the face in stark black and white. And it didn’t seem that either dismissal was voluntary. Not again. This could
The creature turned from Moriarty, who lay still on the pavement, and Sherlock got a good look at its face. The muzzle was stained red with blood, which dripped from its jaws, and it’s eyes…dear god, he’d never seen eyes like that in any manner of hound, Fey or otherwise. They were bright blue and seemed without end, as if he could fall into them and never reach the bottom. Sherlock was reminded of ice, for some reason. The massive creature took out the goons holding Sherlock with two swipes of massive paws, one blow spun Sherlock off his feet and he tumbled. Rolling, he felt a sharp pain in his back a split second before his world narrowed, went dark, and then reoriented itself. It took a moment for him to recover and at first, he thought he’d gone blind, but he hadn’t. He was stuck under his own coat. He had Phased, likely out of panic, and gotten trapped. Tapping into his magic, he let go of the Glamour and felt himself growing. It hurt, it always did, but it wasn’t crippling. In no time, his coat slipped off and he found himself standing on all fours beneath the chest and belly of an enormous Cù-Sìth. But it wasn’t purebred. It was…Hybrid? He glanced up, a little intimidated by the sheer bulk of the massive hound. It lowered its head and he touched noses. That magic felt familiar and he blinked.
“Yeah, I’ll say it did!” She was thinking of the people who had died in the flat-block explosion. And Jefferson Hope’s victims.
“No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are.” An eye-roll, a huff. The taxi began to slow and Stamford looked out the window. “But here we are, and you must form your own impressions about him.”
“Alright, you two, let’s get back to headquarters and get your statements.” Greg looked tired as he waved them to follow.
“Do you need them?” She blinked. He pointed at the bomb-vest and parka. She sighed, wishing her hands weren’t shaking.
tell me how to do my job, Holmes!” Anderson snarled, chest-to-chest with Sherlock, who looked rather unimpressed, “
“No, Mycroft, it’s alright.” Judith smiled at Sherlock’s brother, who wasn’t really all that different from how she remembered him, just…older. “Sherlock needs an assistant, and I, well, I sort of need a new job. So it works out for both of us. And I’ve seen enough in Afghanistan that I doubt anything your brother does is going to surprise me. Least of all a dead body.”
“More or less. I don’t care for most people or circumstances. But you know this.” He set the lock of the door and Judith glanced over her shoulder. He hadn’t given up his suit, but he had forsaken his jacket and the tie. Judith chuckled and listened as he shed the rest of his clothes to pants, doing the same and tossing her clothes out in a pile. She ran the water and sighed as it ran cool. There wasn’t really such a thing as hot water out here in the desert, but a shower was a shower.
“When they said bigger responsibilities, they weren’t joking. Roben put me in charge of John and Sherlock, just for spite’s sake.”
After finishing the coffee, which really did help wake him up, Greg headed for Judith’s room. He knew without question that the man sitting at her bedside was no one to be trifled with. The way he dressed was outlandish, almost like something out of a fairy-tale. There was something about him that reminded Greg of Sherlock, but he wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. He let the door close quietly behind him and leaned against the door to observe. It was quiet for a few minutes, the tense silence only broken by the beeping of the monitors and the soft murmuring of the man at Judith’s bedside.
you?” Sherlock finally got his head up and glared up at the man. He knew the man’s name, of course, thanks to Judith Watson. But the cabbie didn’t need to know that
with him at some point? Her name-tag was covered by her radio, so she didn’t think he’d seen her name like that. He might have gotten it off of her badge? No, he
But before John could start to feel sorry for himself, Sherlock was on him. It happened faster than he was able to react, and John found himself flat on his back, pinned to the mattress by the lean, surprisingly muscular body of his attractive young flat-mate, who looked down at him with mussed hair and bright lapis eyes.
activity out of that house, and you let me know, do you understand?” She said bluntly. “If Kitty Riley leaves that house, if her
This is my first Sherlock fanfic! Please read and review. It's complete, but it's still a WIP as I go back and edit for grammar and such. Please let me know if you see something that doesn't seem right, or doesn't make sense. Crossovers and AUs are not meant to follow the flow of canon, so things will probably be vastly different here. If this isn't your cup of tea, then brew a new pot.
“Roger that.” He smiled and started queuing up the requested cameras, “Oh, by the way, M wanted to see you.”
“While we were on vacation. He didn’t plan it at all, really, but it was the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen him do. He went for so long married to a woman who didn’t love him, and the divorce almost ruined him.”
She was distracted from recall by a shuffle and bit her lip to stifle the sounds getting caught in her chest.
“Because I’m the one who pulled the trigger on her. And I made sure she saw my face before she died so she would know exactly who had done the deed.”
“So sorry, Major, it’s been Hell in here.” She turned, drying her hands on a rag, “I’ve been staying busy.”
it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.” And really, it was quite amazing to hear someone lay that out for him.
“Our parents have no originality, unfortunately, and thought it was clever to name both of their sons William.”
“She staked out Sue Ling nine months ago, and she’s been systematically stealing Dalmatian puppies all over London.” John handed him the file they had started on the case, gesturing at the Evidence Wall, which was plastered with photographs, maps, and paperwork.
“This way.” He tugged on John’s hand, wondering when he had gone from being “Watson” to being “John” and decided it wasn’t that important, leading him into the bathroom. There, he ran the water as hot as he could handle it and turned to his companion, who was still in trousers and pants. “May I?” He asked, reaching for the belt.
“Well, I kind of abandoned you, didn’t I?” She didn’t miss how he came alongside her perch and leant against the front of the truck, “That doesn’t bother you?”
“Keep that. I’ll take the card.” He didn’t have to look to know John was smiling. “Thanks for the drink.”
“I’d like to.” He sighed, “You do not have to go with me to deal with Mary, Sherlock. I can’t ask that of you.”
“Until I get back to you regarding Jim Moriarty’s status. For now, he’s on our side.” She looked over her shoulder as she got ready to leave, “I don’t trust the Moriartys, but I have no reason to treat Richard Brook like a criminal. That could change, but for now, I need to protect him.” She reclaimed her Rover with Sally and took back her post at Saint Bart’s.
Sherlock Holmes.” All pretence of affability dropped and Moriarty’s demeanour changed and his hand on Sherlock’s tightened painfully, “His coat has been discarded, destroyed, and his pelt is mine! I own him, and you can’t stop me!”
“What do I tell them?” She kept her eyes closed. “Sherlock is going to read me like an open book, and we
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake! Come in, you two! Just like you to get caught out in the rain, hmm?” She practically dragged them into the house, as she had many times in the past when they got caught out on a case and forgot or lost their keys.
“Good,” John said briskly. One of the constables went ahead of them and held the door of Lestrade’s car for them. Didn’t say anything, didn’t look John in the eye.
“Disrespectful little brat.” He growled, bending his head to nip at the soft, pale skin. Sherlock just whined and John felt the sharp relief of fingernails digging into his shoulders. Thin, scarred fingers found their way into John’ hair and tightened.
She made herself scarce for most of the inspection, carefully dodging the suits while keeping them under surveillance. These two didn’t look half-bad, and her careful surveillance revealed that she might have gotten her wish for smart agents. She marked them for brothers or cousins, but siblings were far more likely between them, noting differences in stature and body-types. They were roughly the same height, give or take a couple of inches. Six-foot or taller, which kind of made her feel shorter than usual. There was an air of danger unknown to them. And the ginger looked familiar. Well, they both did, but where on Earth would she have met them? For the past twelve years, she had been all over the world, based in Afghanistan for the last four, so, when? She would have remembered them from other inspections, and had never once seen them on any of her bases.
Seeing him there by the doors, Judith came right over to him, John hard on her heels. It wasn’t just an illusion, he knew now, and it made his heart ache a bit for the clever, resourceful Watson twins.
, and everything else he thought we might need to know. He’s a bottom-rung gun-for-hire, but he knew enough to be useful. He knows his time is limited, if the aneurysm doesn’t off him then one of Moriarty’s insiders will.”
“Obviously. Come on, you, up you get.” Greg offered a hand to Sherlock and looked at the pair of them, “Jesus, you look like a pair of the Homeless Network.”
“Sort of? I mean, I’m a practical man, and magic doesn’t have much to do with my job or daily life, but…if I had to believe in something?”
“I’m in complete control, Sherlock.”And he was, surprisingly, he was absolutely in complete control of himself. What kind of power did John Watson really have? Who was he? A Cù-Sìth Lycan, but…who? What was the secret of the Watson family? Sherlock hadn’t noticed before because he had been otherwise occupied with practical concerns like staying away from Moriarty, getting his coat back, and finding John, but the magic he felt coming off of John was…alarming.
After she had been dismissed from the scene, she worked the rest of the day, went home to Baker Street that night. She helped John and Sherlock with the next set of clues the following day. It was her day off, so she wasn’t expected anywhere and could give her efforts to Baker Street. They stopped another bomb, solved another case, and as it got dark, Judith decided to head back to Kensington.
It was quiet as they drove back to base, and she got Brook booked into holding. If anyone was surprised to see him, they didn’t say anything. Once Brook was secure, she went to help Sally book in a very confrontational Kitty Riley, who didn’t seem to realize or care how much trouble she was actually in.
“Still. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine being alone like that, without family. I assume your parents are deceased?”
“Judith Watson. Detective Constable. Criminal Investigations Division, Homicide and Major Crimes.” The master of ceremonies called Judith’s name and even though she didn’t look at them, he did not miss the way his sister blushed when their little group made enough noise to deafen their half of the room.
“Mm. Not me who needs luck, A.” John just grinned at her after stealing a kiss that made her squeal.
Returning upstairs and collecting his tray from the dumbwaiter, he set down the wine and water on the table, laid out the glasses for each, and set down the bread and plates.
“I’ll send ‘em off again. No sense bothering you boys on a night like this. Can’t be any good reason for it, either.” She chuckled and wandered off again, muttering to herself about the sorry state of things and how the two of them could use a week of hot showers and a month’s worth of food.
“Oh, nice to meet you.” Judith shook hands with the charming man, wondering why his name sounded so familiar, “We…haven’t met before, have we?”
While his back was turned to the pool, a door opened halfway down the room. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, still holding the memory stick aloft. A slight figure walked through the door and into the pool area, wrapped snugly in a hooded jacket. Far too warm for the deck. It was a woman. Was it Judith? She turned and looked at them, and Sherlock recognized her right away. Oh, Christ, it
She was still compiling her daily reports when a tap on the window startled her. It was just Sherlock, who looked a bit better than he had earlier. She rolled her window down and smiled, “Hey, you.”
Once he was done throwing up, she knelt before him, pulling the bucket away, and touched his cheeks and forehead. She noted the blue tinge of his lips and tongue, and measured a thready, rapid pulse. All perfectly normal symptoms for a patient post-emetic episode.
warmer in Sanctorum, naturally, but Stephen could be a worry-wart when he felt like it. Judith found herself bundled in a dressing-gown and two blankets, relegated to the couch in front of a roaring fire, a mug of something hot shoved into her hands.
When she emerged ten minutes later, she wore the sun-dress and flats, her hair was braided loosely down her back, and her smile was blinding. He slyly pocketed the ring-box without her seeing it, and careful to conceal his own. She would catch on eventually, she was pretty damn smart after all.
“But…Jude, we can’t control temporal magic like that!” John wiped tears from his cheek, leaving a streak of red against his skin.
“Fantastic! Let’s go home, boys! I’m done with this place!” She hopped into the chopper and fastened her harness. As soon as the brothers were seated, they took off. Two hours later, she airborne bound for a place she hadn’t seen in two years.
“Not female. Well, not primary.” He leaned back on his heels. “Trans, couldn’t say which way, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if that was the cause for the murder.”
This meant he had to go looking for another job, and quite possibly a new place to live. He really wasn’t looking forward to that. Now, maybe if he worked this right, he could keep his current place as a safe-house of sorts, it wasn’t the only one of its kind he had and he didn’t really feel up to surrendering it if his employers weren’t going to demand it back. John rubbed his eyes briskly, knowing it would help no one to cry, or dwell on this for too long. Instead, he decided to put his grief to use and pack up another chapter of his life. He didn’t have much, a lifetime of living in Army housing both domestic and overseas had taught him to keep few material belongings. And in service to Section Six, he kept less than that. He was rarely home long enough to have more than the basic necessities in either service, but that was no longer his option. Retrieving a couple of boxes kept on hand for just this sort of thing, John began packing up his small office in MI6 Headquarters.
tan. But no sooner had they gotten home than Mycroft was calling on them to dispatch to Baskerville Research Facility, a top-level Ministry of Defense base located in Dartmoor just a few miles outside of Grimpen Village.
They got a few calls that day, but nothing terrible or anything warranting calling on their consultants. Between calls, she ran errands for Greg and Sally. She was the new girl, sitting at the bottom of the division ladder, so if
“Come on inside, you two.” Lestrade turned away from Donovan and looked at Sherlock and John. “Have any trouble getting here?”
“Oh my god.” They watched as Hope emerged from the taxi and went around to the passenger door, opening it and reaching in to help his fare onto the sidewalk.
your case, ain’t it? Holmes and Watson just happened to be on the job when things went south a bit.”
“Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket…or are you just pleased to see me?” He asked with a grin. Sherlock pulled the pistol from his waistband, taking careful aim at the madman.
“Oh, that was an awful day! And I don’t regret doing that, by the way, I really don’t. If I’d been of the mind, I probably would have decked that bitch for swinging at you like that.”
“Well, if it’s any difference to you, both places on several different occasions. Spent most of my service over there, see? Afghanistan, last station before I got myself shot and shipped home. Somebody didn’t do their research and thought Cù-Sìth meant Werewolf. Took a Quicksilver bullet to the shoulder while I was pulling one of my guys to cover in the middle of an ambush.” Watson turned to him. Sherlock saw the exit-wound and couldn’t stifle a horrified gasp.
“Well, your hair’s about four inches shorter than it was when you jumped, you’re a couple stone skinnier, and you’ve got a beard. If anyone actually
“Oh, sure you can, girls!” He smiled sadly and dragged them into the flat, which didn’t look that different from the last time she’d seen it, “Not much has really changed since you were home last, eh?”
He could see Sherlock’s fingers twitching, but it wasn’t a tremor, it was a nervous tic. John chuckled and dug a slightly-crumpled pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. After checking to make sure that the pack wasn’t empty, he gave a soft whistle and got Sherlock’s attention. When the young detective looked at him, he gestured with the pack in question. Already dilated eyes got wider and he just smiled as he tossed the pack to Sherlock, who caught the pack, flipped it open with a practised flick of his thumb, and extracted two cigarettes.
I saw his car on the street, I knew he couldn’t possibly keep his big fat nose out of business that’s certainly not his.”
It didn’t take long to catch up to the suspect and she took him out with a spell. Judith knelt on his back and slapped the hand-cuffs around his wrists. Searching him, she confiscated his sling-ring and added a charm to her hand-cuffs to keep him from using his own magic to break free.
“You had a wonderful voice, I remember.” Gerald was smiling, she didn’t need to see his face to know. She sighed, wondering if she should go for it here. She still planned to spend the rest of her evening at Maroush, but there were a few hours yet before she had to be anywhere.
“Your name sounds a bit familiar, like I’ve heard it before, seen you somewhere.” He studied the other man. “What did you do before your accident?”
“Just thinking back on a few things.” He smiled and looked over at his flat-mate, who was a bit more than that, “How long do you think it’ll be before Judith jumps to Sergeant?”
“I can be nice. These people lost their puppies, John, that’s serious business.” Sherlock batted snow from his coat, “Do you really think it was DeVil?”
“Only you would think that’s exciting, Sherlock Holmes. Bloody poncy git, too damn useful.” He shook his head and headed for the scene.
“I don’t trust you for a minute.” Donovan narrowed her eyes. Judith chuckled and leaned close, stealing a quick kiss.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Sherlock shrugged into his coat, not the Belstaff that had been replaced during his time away, “Whatever you’ve done, Mycroft, I do not forgive you. Not now.”
When he reached M’s office, he let himself in and spotted the Director’s secretary seated behind the curved reception desk, head bent to some task, an earpiece tucked subtly into one ear. John sighed and decided to get this over with. Approaching the desk, he knew the precise moment Eve Moneypenny registered his presence and identity and offered a small smile as she simply pointed at the closed door of the Director’s office.
“Hmm. Time’s quarter after seven. We have a nineteen-hour flight to San Juan.” He frowned thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against her collar-bone, “The jet’s on stand-by, all we really have to do is show up.”
“Q, you’re a marvel.” John carefully pressed his fingertips to the scanner. Sure enough, the locks popped less than three seconds later. He pulled the door open and ducked into the car for a quick peek before deciding to get in. John slid into the car, settling on the vented leather seat, and stroked the wheel and dash with reverent fingers. Everything looked just the way it had before Timothy Bennett had decided to “borrow” his car, and there were a few new goodies added. Q took him through every feature, what it did and how it worked, and told him to take care of it, but bring it back if it ever needed work done.
come from?” She looked over at him, “I’d put you somewhere on the American East Coast going by your accent.”
“Saw plenty of dead bodies in my day, son.” John smiled a bit. “I was responsible for a few of those bodies, of course, but I know what’s what.”
“And, there he goes.” John chuckled and followed Sherlock. They found the bullet in the bathroom sink, surrounded by broken glass. It had passed through the wall and smashed into the mirror above the sink before dropping into the basin. Using a piece of tissue, they collected the projectile and handed it over to Hutchison.
a good day!” She kept her eyes closed and her head back, “Roben would have booted me if he’d had the chance! Might still try, not that I
“Yes, sir.” He held out one hand, “Greg Lestrade, Homicide and Major Crimes. I’m taking your family’s case, sir, to make sure it gets done right.”
There was a click as he hung up first and she pocketed her phone, covering her mouth with one hand for a moment.
“Oh, what, you crabby old thing?” Sherlock looked down at her, making direct eye contact. “You think you can just play cute and I’ll like you?”
“Wrong, and wrong again. He’s here because he offered Greg and I a ride to wherever it is we happened to be going.” John folded his hands behind his back, studying the cocky, irritating young detective. “And before you get any ideas, I met Greg at Saint Bart’s. He’s a better man than you deserve to have as family.”
“I’ll wait until I hear that water go off before I bring up tea, you had better be decent when I do.”
“Thought you might be missing it. Beautiful coat, can’t believe that ghoul Moriarty got hold of you like that.” Watson’s voice was soft as Sherlock handled the material. He pushed on Sherlock’s shoulder, distracting him a bit.
“That one stormed out of here ten minutes ago without so much as a by your leave, could be anywhere in the building or in London,” John said carefully.
“Well, what are you good at? I get the feeling practising medicine doesn’t quite appeal if the idea of teaching makes you regret some of your life choices.”
“Yep. That was great.” John snickered and ruffled the silly Belstaff, “You look like Sherlock Holmes again.”
“We’ve got proper warrants, Mrs Hudson,” Judith called back, coming to a halt halfway up when she found her way blocked by her brother.
times. She turned towards Davies Street and took one step in that direction. Quickly setting her foot down again, Judith took stock. She was
make that milestone, it was kind of a big deal. A quiet one, but still important. And John was one of only a few surviving Double-Ohs who
“The gun!” John hesitated. Sherlock got a quick look at the approaching car and made a split-second decision.
“Because this case was sitting here when I came out after our shower. I didn’t see it before, but I found it on the red chair, so that’s probably why.” John patted the case sitting in front of him.
“We have leads to follow in Suffolk. Sherlock and I are going to fly out there right now and join the hunt. I promise we’ll find your puppies. And I wouldn’t worry too much about Pongo and Perdy.”
“Hmm, well, you aren’t missing anything.” Judith was very calm, surprisingly calm, as she ate, but he saw her fingers trembling a little. Her voice was steady and soft, but she wasn’t entirely unaffected.
“You won't have to wait very long. But while he is at large and you are both at risk, it is not safe for you in London.”
“Ta.” He took the offered hand and heaved himself to his feet. A pair of constables hustled Lachey to his feet and got him bundled into the back of the marked squad-car after making sure he didn’t need an ambulance.
“Uh, hang on a mo. Something’s just come up.” He was on a phone call and she winced, realizing how much noise she’d made just now, “Can I get back to you, sir? Yeah, thanks. Right away, sir.” He hung up the phone and cleared his desk faster than she’d expected him to.
“Alright, you, get up. You’re coming with me.” With very little ceremony, he was dragged to his feet and hustled away from the swarming pub.
“Because I was moving when they hit me, and when I initially felt the impact, I just thought a piece of brass had fallen under my armour and gotten caught*.” He shrugged, feeling the stretch and give of healed scar-tissue. “It wasn’t until I’d managed to call for help and gotten my men to safety that someone else noticed.”
“Donovan, as badly as I would love to see you put in your place once and for all, I’d rather you not provoke Colonel Watson any further. He would rip you to shreds.” Greg Lestrade stepped between them, breaking up the tension a bit more, “And I do not mean that in the figurative sense of publicly humiliating you with the kind of dressing-down you’ve deserved since 2011. You got away with a slap on the wrist and a month of desk-duty. I’d have taken your badge for what you did that day.”
, she had learned from James Bond. But no one knew that, and those that did never made the mistake of taking advantage of her.
“Them’s the breaks, love.” Greg squeezed her hand and kissed her on the cheek as he got up and went to the door. He wasn’t gone very long, and returned with Mike Stamford in tow. Now that she was awake, she was one step closer to getting out of here. She could go home soon. And she missed home. She missed her routine, she missed waking up next to Greg, she missed her cats.
“Says she’s got family in Kingsteignton. Her credentials were good and she cleared the probationary period without any problems.” Lestrade separated two files from the stacks on his desk, “There’s two of the files, I’ll have to do some hunting for the other one.”
“Wanna see some more?” Now he was smiling, like he knew the greatest secret in the world and he couldn’t wait to tell her.
“I like my job, the people I work with.” She couldn't help twisting the ring on her left hand, one that laid a subtle declaration to anyone who bothered to pay attention. Stephen noticed and took her hand. As soon as he saw the ring, his eyes lit up and he looked up at her.
“Thank you, Mrs Hudson.” He would look through the contracts tomorrow, but he did take the time to read and sign the pet agreement for Kitty. Who had apparently decided that Sherlock was worth a second chance and wound between his feet, making soft noises and occasionally lifting her front paws off the floor to rub against him. For a while, he ignored her, but as John knew she would, she didn’t much like that and eventually took matters into her own paws and got up on her back legs, front paws resting on Sherlock’s left knee. She looked right at him and made a loud noise to get his attention.
“Stay on guard, love. Be safe.” Moran hugged her and offered to hail a cab for her, but she didn’t let him.
The Hound of Baskerville takes front and centre. It goes about as well as any case can, with the boys getting into plenty of trouble with the wrong sorts of people and out of it again with some help.
, Judith.” Judith rolled her eyes and studied the three massive wall-mounted monitors in her grandmother’s office, each one showing a different bank of cameras, several feeds were still running live, and others were showing earlier footage from the hours she had specified.
“Mm, I seem to remember suggesting just that very thing and then we got distracted.” John chuckled, “My apologies.”
John drifted between wakefulness and sleep for what felt like hours and had no idea what time it was when he heard someone shouting for him.
“Because a charitable benefactor has forced this upon us, you get to babysit the consultants for Lestrade’s division.” Roben snarled. “Keep them
When they got back to his, John thanked Mycroft for the ride and waited until the car was out of sight before he made his next move. He had never opened the door, opting instead to wait. He didn’t know why he waited, or where he thought he was going at this hour, but John had the feeling it might not be a bad idea to do some walking. After double-checking his side-arm for readiness, he zipped up his coat and set off into the night by himself, hands in his pockets. No one bothered him, of course, and he traversed the city streets with little trouble.
“There’s a plane waiting to fly us back to London, stationed at the airport in Kabul!” Mycroft Holmes yelled over the whine of the engines.
“Sounds good to me!” She smiled and they followed the chatty hostess to a communal table. There were already a few people at the table, all of them in rather good spirits. Judith suspected it was the several bottles of wine and beer scattered along that section of the table that gave rise to their cheer. In a fit of alcohol-fueled goodwill, the businessman footing the bill for the other group at their table bought a round of drinks for everyone at the table, insisting that Judith and Lestrade consider themselves taken care of. Judith had never been one to turn down a free drink, and apparently, neither was Lestrade. Introductions were made and good times had by all. There was enough food, when that came, for twice the number of people at their table, but very little was left uneaten.
“You’re not going to need that.” A soft voice addressed her from the other side of the door. Judith almost dropped her phone.
Running the water as hot as he could stand it, John took a brief shower. He didn’t want to waste any unnecessary time, so he didn’t linger. Already aroused from the brief workout earlier, his body had reacted with shameful predictability to the sight of his naked young flat-mate, but John still didn’t bother with more than a stroke or two. Finishing up with his shower, he dried off quickly with a towel and wrapped it around his waist.
“I merely suggested that you were safe, but you would not listen, so I appealed to your subconscious.”
.” Kitty did not take that threat seriously, of course, and just sniffed the mug as Sherlock took another sip.
“Ah. Right you are.” That got a bit of a mischievous smile and Sherlock bumped noses with him. “Allow me to make good on my proposals.”
“That’s a gorgeous pelt, Colonel. The colouring is phenomenal, I’ve never seen the likes of it before.”
it.” He sniffed. Raised voices indicated trouble and he looked over to see Judith on her feet, the same light in her eye that he had seen at Baskerville as she took down Sherlock.
Warnings for mild canon-typical violence, language, and British slang. Not beta'd or Britpicked, so anything wrong with that is entirely my fault.
with the likes of Stephen and Sherlock. They were careful with her, always, knowing she belonged to Greg.
John and Sherlock come back from the dead, having never actually BEEN dead in the first place, and it's back to business as usual for Baker Street.
“That didn’t answer my question.” Greg had no idea she was related to Mycroft’s boss, and someone who probably had bit more than a little to do with seeing to it that Claudia Hendricks and Beverley Hughes were no longer a threat to either of their families.
“Yeah, figured I might as well own up to the name I was born with and give my bitch of a mother the middle finger at the same time.” John shrugged, “It’s good to see you, Seb. It’s been too long.”
The first time, it made perfect sense, he had been compromised and unfit for further active service. But he had little more to show for a decade and some of service in the Army than a couple of campaign medals, a few orders and honours likewise, and a scar on his left shoulder just a few centimetres shy of his heart. He had a fine pension, but it wasn’t good for much. His finances were bolstered by an additional income he received from the government as compensation for continuing service to Crown and Country through his work with Intelligence, thanks to the timely intervention of a mutual acquaintance who had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse when he was staring at a bleak future in a city that didn’t feel like home to him.
“Oh. I’m...sorry.” He’d forgotten that Watson was a Cù-Sìth, and his sense of smell would be far superior to any mortal’s.
“Ninety-eight per cent.” She narrowed her eyes, “Let’s see what he does.” To his credit, and fairly certain he knew which Met car was hers, the man known to the public as Richard Brook spent a while studying the Rover before he went inside.
you?! And know if you hurt Judith Watson, your head is mine!” Greg snarled, held at bay only by his discipline, years of training in hostage situations, and John’s hand on his shoulder. John, who could make a perfect kill-shot at a hundred yards without a thought for it, who held his service-weapon in one hand while restraining Greg with the other.
“I think I can handle London. Like I said, call or text if you need anything. I’ll have my phone on me.”
“Might have. We’ll see in a minute.” John slipped at the bottom of the stairs and Sherlock caught him. Somehow they both ended up on the wet sand, laughing like a pair of idiots with the breath knocked out of them.
“Claddagh.” He lifted one from the tray, “Oh, this is exactly what I wanted! Everything said in a ring!” He had written Judith’s ring-size on the back of the card that had gotten him to Magnus’s shop, and he flipped the card over to compare the size written down to the selection available. He knew his ring-size by heart, wouldn’t ever forget it, but hadn’t worn his band since Judith and Sally had pinned his vengeful, stupid ex-wife to his desk and taken her down without much of a fuss.
“Hmm, yes, that did occur to me.” That smile slipped a bit into something more genuine, “And in your division particularly. Do you take issue with inspectors, Captain Watson?” Ah, he preferred to address her as “Captain”, not “Doctor”. A bit of respect she didn’t get very often, she appreciated the courtesy.
He’d only been inside for a few minutes, but Greg sounded tired. Judith suspected it was because of Anderson, who stonewalled them when they reached the house. Sherlock had a few snappy deductions to make and spit them out with typical glee, Judith and the other two got to enjoy watching Anderson splutter and squirm while Sherlock picked him apart.
“I want you to have something.” He sat down next to John, needing to be close. “I’m not sure when my brother had this recovered from Moriarty’s keeping or how long he’s had it, but…it’s back where it belongs, it’s back with me.” He lifted the coat from the case and stroked the fur lining the hood and the collar. the entirety of the hood was lined with the fur, not just the edge, and the collar as well. | [
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I don't either. I've spent two years speaking to the memory of you, John. I don't know what to do now that you're in front of me. I don't say this. "I've missed you," is what I say, again.
I swallow thickly, trying not to dwell on what it means that even Mycroft knows nothing of this mysterious client or the man I’m meant to befriend and take down. I turn off my mobile, toss it on the coffee table, and curl up on the couch. I need to think. If I’m going to handle this case properly, I must prepare. Must attempt to tune out the rest of the world and work on quieting the noise.
A flood of pink and blue lights leap across the dance floor where swarms of people chat animatedly, sipping cocktails—few of them actually dancing. The pop music that’s accosting my ears has a heavy bass that thrums through my body, rattling my bones and provoking what will surely become a piercing headache. I’ve got to get out of here—need to make this quick.
“I should call Rosie,” He whispers, lips lightly brushing my neck. Yes, he should. We’re on our fourth day here and he hasn’t spoken to her once. I have failed—until now—to consider the sacrifice he’s made to be here with me. He’s an incredible father, and they’re very close. He must miss her immensely. “Don’t want to move,” I smile against his shoulder. Neither do I.
After two weeks of silence and increasingly desperate voicemails and text messages, never once returned—Mycroft had intervened. He’d scooped John off the street during one of his Tesco runs and made him listen, made him understand why Sherlock had left him.
John kisses him for tolerating his gentle teasing, then rests his cheek against the comforting expanse of his chest once more. John’s arms circle his narrow waist, palms flat against soft fabric.
He knows a dead end when he sees one, just as he knows there are things that Sherlock has been holding back. He can feel them trying to escape into the silence that so often surrounds them. He can see them when their eyes meet and hold for just a beat too long. He—
“Fabulous,” Ben says, watching as we shift around to lean on each other. “You two are fuckin’ cute, you know?” His finger dances through the air in our general direction. John lets out a huff of laughter as I scowl. Ben just grins, scribbling his number on a piece of paper and sliding it across the bar in front of John. “Text me for details,” He says. “I’m getting out of here before your new best friend stops staring from the corner and decides to come over,” He downs the last of his drink, leans over the bar to peck Adam on the lips, and strides out the door.
It’s probably why he misses Sherlock even when they're three miles apart, when they’re a stairway apart, when he’s two feet away. It’s habit, at this point, and logic be damned.
Silence falls over them, the moment stretching out a bit uncomfortably, with only the quiet splash of Rosie’s pebbles to interrupt the gradually building tension. John is sure that whatever the source of this unrest may be, it isn’t him. He happens to be beyond thrilled with this place, with this day, with the two people in his immediate vicinity—But he can feel it. And it’s growing impossible to ignore.
Now he stares at John, chest heaving, curls windswept where they tumble over his forehead, eyes bright and expectant. John stares back candidly, heart absolutely roaring, and allows Sherlock to see everything—to see exactly how he feels, to see exactly how his insides are lit like a bloody galactic nucleus. He wouldn’t have a clue what that meant, having deemed all knowledge of the cosmos beneath him, but the simile fits the scale of John’s feelings.
“No,” Sherlock says softly. “Not always. For years now, though. And tonight. Certainly tonight,” John combs his fingers through soft, dark curls.
We march down the stairs and out the door to the idling car at the kerb. Mycroft isn’t good for much, but his constant interference does save on cab fare. Our armed guards are waiting as we climb in the back. They nod at us, all sleek black suits and slicked back hair. I nod back, flinging my arm around John. We’ve been together mere days and I’m already showing signs of possessive behavior. I wonder if this sort of thing is acceptable. I make a mental note to ask John about his thoughts on public displays of affection. He just looks up at me and smiles.
“Ah—what?” It goes without saying that his brows are now raised in amused confusion. He has grown quite used to these random outbursts from the mind of Sherlock Holmes.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John shrugs, looking past her tense frame to the tiny room beyond. “Was only going to say that this pisspoor excuse for a bedroom is nicer than your entire flat,” She rolls her eyes, shoves at his shoulder.
John looks over and catches me staring at him. “It’s odd to be here, now,” He looks out of place. A fish out of water. “I feel like I’ve spent the last few days slowly walking out of the mist I’d been living in.” That I understand. Straddling reality. Only returning completely now that we’ve anchored each other down.
“Glad you boys could make it! Come in, grab a drink,” Ben says enthusiastically, nodding toward the house. “Hugo and Danny just got here. You’ll like them, they’re an easygoing sort, you know?” I don’t, really. I wouldn’t call anyone in my life
“Seen Mycroft lately?” He asks, turning to me with a smirk. I grin. The image had me thinking of my brother as well.
I know now that I’ll be ready to face whatever will come. Letting my cheek rest against his silver-gold hair, I’m as content as I’ve ever been. Calm. Quiet. I close my eyes.
We’re in motion again, ducking behind the husks of old cars, edging ever closer, prepared to intervene if it comes to that. But something feels--off. Jones isn’t moving.
everything had been installed and the chaos and power tools had vacated the cottage, thank you very much. She had been visibly impressed and coolly complimentary as she wandered around the house, taking it all in—but hadn’t asked a single question about the absolutely ridiculous (but surprisingly beautiful) custom copper slide wrapped around their spiral staircase, which should have been John’s next clue that this was coming. Molly is rarely so reticent these days. He sighs, following her outside, sharing a knowing look with Sherlock as he walks past their still-giggling forms.
“My feelings about--interpersonal relationships, in general--have changed, in my years away. Now that I’ve returned, it’s--important to me, to hold on to them. I am not an easy man to care for,” I hesitate, not entirely sure what I’m trying to say here. “I can’t lose John. Over this.” I sound a bit desperate. But that is the real issue, I suppose. How many panic attacks, how many tears, how many black moods will it take to drive him away? A person can only take so much.
John weaves our fingers together where they lie on his stomach. I smile against his skin as we fall contentedly into sleep.
I’m glad, too. I’ve never been one to make a fuss over Christmas, but this year I’ve so much to be grateful for. I can’t even begin to deny that I’m looking forward to it. “Let’s make it a tradition,” I say.
I stand staring down at my bed—hands on hips—at two very different options of apparel I’ve laid out. On the left, a black suit. My daily getup. Trustworthy attire. Also quite likely to make me stand out like a sore thumb in this town of bikinis and board shorts. On the right, slim black jeans and a fitted white t-shirt. I know which to choose. Obviously I do. But must I?
I scoff. “Please,” Not sure I could ever fully explain that one to him. But it certainly wasn’t love. Infatuation, perhaps. Something like that. A compelling adversary. And she did have a certain--something--underneath the desperation and false bravado. A certain warmth.
. And either response would be true--but I’m here to solve my problems, not just to imply that I may have them. “You know who I am? What I do?” He nods. No use pretending when my face is plastered all over the news. Will save me a lot of preamble. I’ll be blunt. “I’m here because while I was off feigning death for two years, I was captured, tortured and interrogated. Even before that, I was living in solitude with a constant sense of unease. Now that I’m back home, I’ve managed to find myself in a relationship with the man I’ve loved through all of it,” I pause, unsure how to phrase the last of it. “--and despite being hardly able to believe my good fortune--I’m a bit of a mess.” I conclude, lamely. But that about covers it.
“What about the two of you?” He says suddenly—cutting Hal off mid-sentence—the first words he’s spoken all night. “Tell us your story,” Hal looks briefly mutinous, but recovers quickly, agreeing enthusiastically and giving us the spotlight.
We’ve sat down for dinner, Lestrade finishing his long-winded explanation of the ongoing case that’s driving him up a wall. A series of bank heists by a group known to the Yard as the Waters gang. Apparently they leave no evidence, always disappearing without a trace. Boring.
I’ve no problem speaking up if for whatever reason I’m opposed, and I know that the same is true for you,” He pauses, returning John's growing grin, as he carefully considers his next words. “I’m—comfortable with the physical contact. All of it. But I find that my confidence falters when it comes to—well, sex. But I think it’s been—good,” He’d lowered his gaze to his once again fidgeting fingers during that last bit, and now he glances up at John through dark lashes.
“I only wanted you to see things from her perspective. I’d hoped you would understand that I do want this—all of it, everything—it was clear to her that I always have. I
“An elaborate plan to destroy Sherlock’s reputation. A game of wits—one that he clearly did not win. In the end there were three snipers, trained on Martha Hudson, Gregory Lestrade, and you, Dr. Watson. A grand finale to James Moriarty’s great game. An ultimatum. Sherlock jumped to spare your lives. An easy decision for him, I assure you,” John gapes, eyes wide, apparently absolutely horrified by this information. Oh, hell. He leaps up off the sofa, begins pacing the small room, both hands balled into tight fists at his sides. After several minutes of this, he stops, turns to face Mycroft head on.
say any of the more crude lingo, even inside his own head. Was originally going to only use the proper terminology for everything, but that's not really sexy, is it? Hope my mix of poetic verbiage, overuse of 'erection' and occasional use of 'cock' is working for you all. It's been fun. ✖‿✖
John knows it the moment he steps through the door of 221B, arms laden with Tesco bags and shoulders hunched with the weight of the day. It’s too quiet in the flat. Too bloody still. The clinic had been a madhouse. Flu season is upon them, and John is sick of it. Sick of sick. But (hallelujah) he himself is not ill. The man currently occupying the couch, however—
We tidy ourselves up as much as is possible with the limited resources of a medieval garden shed. Stride back out to face the world, a bit rumpled, bit wrecked, but hand in hand.
“Shall I open them?” Not entirely sure what is going on here. He nods, looking a bit wary. I tear open the envelope dated
She’s unimpressed, determined to push this. God, he needs another drink. Draining the last dregs of his pint, John sets the glass on the bar, watching (stalling) as the barman slowly makes his way through the shouted orders of the cluster of Yarders gathered to his right. The man spots his empty glass, they exchange a nod and a fresh pint appears at John’s elbow. He turns back to Molly, who’s waiting expectantly for a response. He lets out a resigned sigh.
After speaking with John about my fears, I feel sure that they can be conquered, with time. He’s right that nothing has really changed—I just have new demons looming, projecting an unfortunate past onto a promising future. I know now that I don’t want to hide away, to find something else, to play it safe. It isn’t who we are. It isn’t what we do. For now, we’ll take things slowly. We’ll prepare and acclimatize to our new reality. And eventually, gradually, we’ll get back to what we know.
“Greg,” John laughs. He scoops the soft bit of fabric up to look at the tag. “You’re a terrible liar. And you’ve picked one in my size,” He adds, folding it neatly and setting it back on the shelf. “You’re only buying this to be contrary,” Sherlock ignores this.
“Henry,” John nods in greeting as we approach. Hal slides into the booth next to Henry, and I follow, keeping a fair amount of distance between us. When John drops down to my right, his shoulder bumps mine, and we share a brief glance. He smiles. Leans in slightly and doesn’t move away when I reach for my pint and our arms brush. My heart leaps lightly at the contact. I’ve told myself that I’ll need to get used to it—that even if we’re going to be subtle about this, we’ll likely end up in these scenarios—closer than we’ve ever really been, regularly invading one another's personal space.
“Let’s retire that nickname, Sally. Bit uninspired at this point, don’t you think?” John bites out this touching display of defense before I can even formulate a retort. “And we can probably go ahead and stop questioning Sherlock’s ability to severely outwit the entire Met, while we’re at it.” His tone is clipped, unforgiving.
“You were behaving like an obnoxious dick,” John breaks through my desolate thoughts with this blunt statement.
We’ve settled into our chairs, John occasionally smiling at me over his laptop. He’s editing his blog entry again—nearly ready to click
Sherlock’s lips are so soft, so careful against his own. His tremulous breaths spill secrets he’s not yet dared to speak aloud. His delicate fingers loosen their grip on John’s shirt and make their way to his cheeks, cradling his face as he moves in again, seeking out John’s willing mouth.
) as she was leaving. I’m quite touched by this series of texts, despite a rather shocking absence of both capitalization and punctuation.
“Hi,” He almost whispers, clearing his throat and setting both mugs on the bedside table beside the digital alarm clock he’d bought Sherlock in their previous life together. He’s already made up his mind to be bold, so he hesitates for only a moment before slipping beneath the duvet and resuming his spot at Sherlock’s side.
“Hello,” Rosie says a bit shyly, dragging her gaze away from the telly where she’s been watching some claymation holiday programme from the seventies. She lights up when she sees the frankly massive bag of gifts that Harry has in tow. “Are they for me?” John rolls his eyes. It had taken a few visits for Rosie to warm up to Harry. They hadn’t spent much time together until this year. But things are better now. For Harry and for the rest of them. And Harry had learned early on that if she brought presents, she could simply bribe her way into Rosie’s heart.
John is still sleeping soundly when the sun begins to rise. He looks quite young when he sleeps. Face smoothed out and free of worry. I wake him by sitting at his side, running my fingers along his temples, through his hair. He stirs when I press my lips to his forehead, then the space between his eyes. “Time to get up,” I whisper when his eyelids flicker open. “
"I'll see you again, right? I'll see you soon?" I'm not going anywhere, John. Not again. Not ever.
“Thanks,” He accepts the mug and leans briefly against my side. I still haven’t said a word, I realize. Still a bit lost in thought. “All right?” He studies me for a moment, no doubt seeing the constant stream of questions written all over my face. “Want to talk?” I suppose we should. I nod toward the living room and he follows me to the couch, where we perch facing one another, coffees in hand. He watches me, waiting. I want to ask him, yet again, to move back to Baker Street—but I’m not sure I could handle another rejection. Especially not now. I want to know what’s next for us.
Molly is telling John and Mrs. Hudson about a body that recently came into the morgue, wearing two pairs of pants. “Just give me one good reason,” Molly breathes out between giggles, “Why a person would need to wear two pairs of pants.”
“I haven’t got anything for you to unwrap,” Sherlock says once he’s gotten his voice back a bit. “Since you
“Quite,” Sherlock grins, panting lightly and looking like he can hardly believe his good fortune—grey eyes alight in way they've never quite been before. “Home, I think.”
“I thought it would be nice,” Mummy says in a pale impersonation of innocence as she sets a plate in front of John. “All of us together.”
John’s mind supplies the well-known, well-loved, much-sung and oft-listened to lyrics. His feet carry him forward until he stands just before the man who’s currently accosting his senses from every bloody angle and gently pressing at the tender ache in his chest.
“This is humiliating,” Harry sits on her bed, glaring petulantly as John folds a pair of jeans and sets them neatly in her duffel. He rolls his eyes.
“That happened years ago,” John says, smiling wryly. “Sherlock, I don’t know what you’re so worried about. I know you. And I’ve already chosen to be with you—in whatever way works for us. I thought that you were just opposed to having a physical relationship—or, well—” He swallows, feeling awkward as ever. “—a sexual one. I had intended to tell you that wouldn't be a problem.”
“Harry,” Sherlock nods, stepping out of the kitchen where he’s just pulled a tray of mince pies from the oven, dropping it onto the giant butcher block island without much thought. He strides toward them, kisses her on the cheek before pulling her into a genuine embrace. They’d got on swimmingly from the start. They hadn’t really had occasion to meet in years prior, but the two of them had taken to each other instantly when she began coming around over the summer. They bonded, it seemed, over a shared love of relentlessly teasing John. “Rosie, say hello.”
He nods. “Yeah, Sherlock. Of course you are. You likely have PTSD from whatever you went through, although I don’t know the details, so it’s only a guess,” Could that be? Hadn’t considered it. Would explain many of my new habits and unfamiliar thought processes. “I’m no psychiatrist, so don’t take my word for it. But you know I have experience with such things. With trauma,” He does, doesn’t he. He’s been diagnosed with PTSD. He’d recognize the signs. “You have nightmares as well,” He adds, offhandedly. Do I? I thought they had abated since John and I began sharing a bed. Have I been waking him in the night?
“We’ll talk tonight,” Sherlock says quietly as he runs the towel through his hair, then tosses it to John. “But as far as boundaries go, I’m not sure that I have any with you,” John rolls his eyes, grinning and feeling warm all over. He doesn’t find that entirely impossible to believe—Sherlock’s idea of boundaries has always been more lax than the average human’s. But he remains certain that they’ll need to have a conversation—to decide what’s next for them, to maintain the open communication they’d worked so hard to achieve.
Sherlock slides a hand up John's chest, his neck—lingering for a moment along his jaw before combing long fingers through silver hair, nails dragging lightly over his scalp. He leans in, lips meeting John’s softly, briefly, then in one swift motion rolls right on top of him, the full weight of his body pinning John to the sheets. All his breath leaves him in a huff, followed by a fit of giggles—because this is ridiculous. Sherlock is
I stare intently at the screen where it rests in my shaky hand. Watch the three tiny dots appear, disappear, appear. I’m unsurprised that he’s struggling to respond. I didn’t expect this to be easy. The last time we saw one another we certainly couldn’t find the words, and it’s only gotten worse in the months of near silence that followed.
I start a pot of coffee while John fries up eggs and sausages. We hurriedly eat breakfast, discussing all that we have to do today to prepare for our guests. John and Mrs. Hudson decorated the flat on Monday, while I was at my session with Joel. When I returned, I was struck a bit dumb by their festive display, but the holiday cheer is undeniable. White fairy lights shine in the windows at all hours of the day, pine boughs line the mantel, a large wreath graces our door. And naturally, they’ve placed mistletoe just inside—forcing all who enter to pass beneath. In the two days since it appeared, John has dragged me over and snogged me senseless no less than seventeen times.
“Yeah, fine,” He nods, eyes flicking toward the barkeep who’s just approached, eyeing John with wide eyes and a raised brow. “Aoife,” He smiles at her hesitantly.
considered just marching in—I’m growing impatient with our lack of progress. He knows that he’s never been able to stop me when I’m determined, and my brother doesn’t have much pull here in America if we do get into a bind. Plus, it is clear from my research that these men have gone to great lengths to keep outsiders out. Even I can’t outwit an electric fence.
They touch, now. Beyond Sherlock’s general lack of regard for personal space, they touch. They touch with affection—a hand on the small of John’s back as they stride, side by side, into a restaurant for a not-date dinner. A squeeze to Sherlock’s shoulder as John hovers behind him to read the details of a case. Warm breath against skin. Fingers brushing unnecessarily but reassuringly nonetheless. Sherlock takes every opportunity to put his hands on John.
“Got a bit carried away,” Molly laughs, picking up some sort of furry creature clearly made by Rosie and handing it to me. “She’s very creative, you know,” This is directed at John, who grins.
“Yes well,” I clear my throat, tearing my eyes away from him reluctantly. Best not get distracted. “We still don’t know who. Or
succeed, with me—although I have a feeling I wasn’t his intended target,” His hand moves to the small of my back, pulling me closer. “Henry has made it clear to us that Hal is a violent, vengeful, manipulative man. We’ve known him all of a week and we’ve already seen some of that. What if he suspects you’re on to him? What if you piss him off? We can’t create a situation where he has a chance to hurt you. We’ll find another way,” I suspect John can’t help but consider the many times I’ve run off without him. It never does seem to end well, in situations such as this—a memorable example being the day I found myself alone with Moriarty and was forced to jump from a rooftop and disappear for several years. His concern is genuine, and I love him for it.
“I love you,” Another whisper. I turn my head to look at him, expecting to see some form of doubt on his face. Reluctance, remorse.
I won’t do this to myself. Abruptly I stand up, pulling my arm back and nearly tripping over the heavy stool in my haste to get away. A horrible scraping sound against the concrete floor as I shove it out of my path and flee, ignoring John’s protests and not looking back.
“He did it for us,” John croaks, removing his hands from his pockets to hover fisted at his sides once more. “He did it to save
“Yes, I—I’d noticed,” Sherlock nearly whispers. He takes a deep breath of salty air, shivers a bit in his thin silk shirt as a chill begins to creep in with the breeze. “You’ve seemed—”
She means it to be cruel. Accusatory. She wants to rile him up. But John is done with denying any part of himself or anything that he might feel for Sherlock, so she can take her negativity and go suck a fuck.
She’d thought they were just flatmates. Yeah, she’d read the blog—knew full well that he’d managed to become infatuated with the infuriating bastard. It was no secret that the man was a source of excitement for her battered and bored brother. He’d shown up in his life at a crucial juncture and pulled him out of a gaping pit of despair with the sheer force of his insufferable personality. But John had always shouted his heterosexuality from the rooftops. He’d made it crystal fucking clear that he was a solid zero on the bloody Kinsey scale and that despite Harry’s suspicions and incessant teasing in their youth, there was nothing more to be said on the matter. Eventually, she’d chosen to believe him—and therefore thought that the rumours of there being more between the two of them were just that.
“I’ve let you down,” John sobs quietly into his neck. Sherlock holds on tighter, deeply unsettled by the revelation that he’s felt this way, evidently for a very long time.
Rosie chooses this moment to abruptly fling open the door just beside them. John turns, startled, to find her grinning from ear to ear.
The week seems to roll by on a wave of tinsel and laughter and holiday movies on the telly and late-night gift wrapping and homemade sweets. Not to mention a rather memorable case involving a spouse-killer they’d tracked down, only to find him dead of exposure in his own back garden. John had chosen to title it
“I know,” Sherlock smiles his secret smile, weaving their fingers together and nudging the trolley forward. “Let’s get home. We’ve got three hours to hide all this and get the tree up.”
We lunge at each other. The wine, the joy of the evening--as well as the exhilarating feeling of being out to our friends--all combine to create a heavy cloud of lust around us. We’re scrabbling at one another, pulling at shirts and unbuttoning trousers with fumbling fingers.
I jerk awake—take in my surroundings. In bed. With John. The beach house. Right. A soft knock on the door. Must have been what woke me.
I look at him now, standing in this place he reluctantly chose as his home, and see exactly the state I left him in when I fell off that roof and out of his life. I wondered once--staring at the back of his head on that bench by the lake--if he had been lost, as I had been. I see clearly now that he had.
Harry’s up before us. We hear the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen and share a grin as we listen to the sounds of her trying to make breakfast. We decide to stay put and see what comes of her attempts..
encouraged me to respond,” A pained expression on his face. He had called me an idiot for not pursuing her, but I had been grappling with the fact that I was falling in love with
“Sherlock—” John sounds wrecked. They’ve not found their way here yet—talked about it, sure. Vaguely. Sherlock quickly made his interest in exploring the depths of his body known. But this is—
“What’s gotten into you two?” Lestrade mumbles, mouth full of eggs benedict. “You haven’t stopped bloody grinning since you showed up.” It’s true. We haven’t. But I’m not about to dignify his inane observations with a response. When we’d told the two of them of our new relationship they’d all but laughed in our faces—Lestrade claiming that he’d thought we’d been together for years. Molly was very happy for us, but not remotely surprised.
Mrs. Hudson, who had nearly fainted when we told her that John was moving back in, instructed us to donate his old bed if we didn’t want it—so we did. We’d let her know that we were creating a space for Rosie upstairs, but didn’t exactly elaborate on why one bed is suddenly enough for both adults in the flat. She didn’t ask. She’s always assumed that we were together, anyway.
As it turns out, Maxwell Chambers was a long time client of Esme Knoll. He had a rare and incurable respiratory insufficiency, and paid her well to keep his mind off of it.
“You do, don’t you,” A smirk. I roll my eyes. “He’ll be here soon,” He hesitates. “You haven’t been like this at all since you’ve been back, is everything all right?” He eyes my bouncing knee, my knuckles rapping impatiently on the round wooden table. Haven’t the faintest. Doesn’t seem like it though, does it? Is this not good? Should I be concerned? Bit wound up, aren’t I? “Sherlock?”
She had gotten into the second car and taken off in the other direction, while the first went back the way we’d come. A solid enough plan, when dealing with idiots. These men have the means to do whatever is necessary to take her down, and yet they’ve resorted to following her in circles and being fooled by the oldest trick in the book. No doubt, she has shown her superior intellect over the last two years—made it clear that she’s got some sort of failsafe in place. It’s why they went after Isla—her lover, her heart—and continue to keep their distance. They’re playing the long game.
with a man before. It’s hardly felt relevant—having loved Sherlock so deeply for such a long time—but in practice, he’s entirely out of his depth. And, in general—it’s been awhile. He hasn’t sought out any sort of relationship (or even a single sexual encounter) in four years, knowing full well that no one else would compare to the man who shares his home and holds his heart. Not even close, not ever. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. And so all of this feels a bit—novel—and, well—rather staggering, if he’s being honest (and he is—finally, he is). A scenario he’d deemed impossible ages ago is now materializing before his very eyes and beneath his trembling hands.
“Well, I—it’s—what do we do now, John?” That voice. Low, serious. Concerned, maybe even terrified. John can only smile. It seems he’s forgotten how to do much else.
“Yes,” This comes out as little more than a rasp. I clear my throat. “Obviously,” I say, with a bit more success. He smiles, then turns to rummage through his luggage for pyjamas. I head for the bedroom to do the same, mind reeling as I strip off my jeans and pull on a pair of silk pyjama bottoms. I can hardly believe that this began only yesterday. How is it possible that we were able to shift our relationship into this new realm so naturally? It’s as if once I let him in, the dam broke altogether. John knocks on the partially-ajar door just as I’m pulling a new t-shirt over my head. Respecting my boundaries. He doesn’t know that I wish to tear them all down. I want him to be able to see all of me—literally and figuratively. He already knows more of me than anyone else has ever cared to. I open the door, eyes lingering on his for a moment, before crawling beneath the covers. He follows.
Ruth has given us a phone number as well. I give it a call, false persona in place--prepared to tell him he’s won a local raffle. Stop by with his prize: an all expenses paid trip to prison. But there’s no answer. Default voicemail greeting--no information to be gained. I hang up. We’ll just have to drop in unannounced.
God, I love him, the idiot. He knew I needed to hear that. I cup my hand around his nape, hold him close. Pour all of my gratitude and staggering affection into a vehement kiss. When we break apart at last, he’s smiling. Resumes his gentle brushing through my curls. I begin at the end.
The reproduction medieval village is for reals. I've never been there--never been anywhere near the Vale or even the UK--but, as it turns out, the internet has a veritable wealth of information.
“Yeah, we will. There’s no timeline we need to follow—for any of this,” He stands, tired of the space between them that felt so necessary ten minutes ago. “Come on,” He heads for the chesterfield nearest the fire, drops down sideways against the armrest and pulls Sherlock into the V of his legs, cocooning his gangly body against his chest. John sighs under the warm weight of him, letting his fingers knead gently into the muscle of Sherlock’s shoulders. He presses several small kisses to his temple as his eyes fall closed and a comfortable silence envelops them.
He quickly shuffles closer, eliminating the space between us, and his tongue breaches my lips--hungrily. One hand leaves my face to grab roughly at my arse, quickly elevating the electricity that had been faintly fizzling through us. Bodies now charged, we carry on like this--movements growing frantic, mouths wide and wild. John breaks away, panting heavily. He looks at me for a long, blazing moment, before reaching behind him for the nightstand and rummaging through the drawer. His fingers now clutch a small bottle of lube--a remnant of a past life. Abandoned, left behind.
“Come in, John,” I retreat into the kitchen, hoping he’ll follow. He does. “Tea?” A nod. He leans against the worktop while I start the kettle. I keep my back to him for as long as I dare, trying to formulate a coherent thought without broadcasting my confusion all over my face. Can hardly believe he’s here. Is he actually considering accompanying me? Or perhaps he’s here to talk me out of it entirely. But why should he care if I leave? We don’t see each other anymore. I reach for two cups, and turn to face him at last. He’s watching me, his expression contemplative.
to know—immediately, if not sooner. A swell of pride rises unbidden in his chest at the thought of announcing their partnership. He is fiercely proud of what they have. Always has been. But now—
They come nearly simultaneously this time, John crying out into Sherlock’s neck as their bodies still against one another, spilling over their bellies as they melt into each other’s skin. Sherlock rests his forehead against John’s shoulder and sighs, groaning quietly when strong arms lock tightly around his slender waist.
“You know, there was a time when I believed that,” He says with a sad little smile that makes Sherlock’s heart sink and the air around them feel suddenly stifling. Things are still too precarious between them. It’s easy to forget that, when he’s spent the last hour dozing drunkenly against John’s chest. John sits down on the bed, their shoulders brushing.
“Don’t look at me like that,” John drops down on the couch, glancing up at my scowl. “You know that he and I speak,” I do know. They’ve had their little code words for my many moods since the very start of our acquaintanceship. It began because they believed I’d spiral out of control and turn back to the drugs. But that hasn’t happened in a long time, now. “I went to see him before I told you I was coming with you. I wanted to know how much trouble you were getting yourself into. I would have come either way,” He holds out his hand, pulling me down next to him when I take it. “I knew the moment I’d said
“I thought I’d be dead a decade ago,” John’s face falls at that. “Don’t, John—I only mean to say—” He pauses abruptly to kiss John soundly, clearly meaning for the action to amplify his next words. John kisses him back with all he’s got, pours himself into it. Then waits. Listens. “I had nothing. You gave me everything. I think sometimes you think it’s the other way ‘round,” He’s a bit drunk—they both are—cheeks flushed pink and words a bit rambling. He’s captivatingly earnest like this. Precious, truly. John feels warm all over. “You gave me everything,” He repeats.
What does that mean? We haven’t discussed it. If I’m being honest, I’m ready for anything—anything at all, whatever he can give me.
“Funny how a bloody coat could be such a part of a man’s identity. It was, though. I knew exactly what it was the second I opened the box. Was furious, at first.”
“Mm,” Molly replies, rolling her eyes. “He’s been at the Yard all weekend, obsessing over whatever case he’s got on. Has hardly slept.”
“Want to spend the day with Molly?” John asks on a whim, the words leaving his mouth before he can even think it through. He hasn’t spoken to her about potentially taking Rosie today, but to be fair she’s never once said no—and it happens to be her day off. Molly has been something like a friend, something like a third parent to Rosie from the very start. An invaluable presence in their lives. And she has made it known time and time again that she is just as thrilled to take her as Rosie is to go.
He’s certain that he never has. The few times a year he’s consumed by them generally result in an intolerable twelve hours of debilitating pain and an even more maddening sense of desperation and inefficacy.
. I can’t, John. I don’t want to look at him—don’t want to see the concern in his eyes. I take his hand but stay where I am. I can distantly hear him speaking with the driver, but the words sound foggy, faded.
think that her body spontaneously combusted?” I know that he didn’t. Lestrade isn’t actually an idiot. But he did lead with that theory, so it’s really as if he was
They watch the screen in silence, the rapid gunfire and constant shouting that seem to be prevalent in every tedious action film nearly drowned out by the distracting presence of John’s thumb tracing slow, comforting patterns across the arch of Sherlock’s foot. He feels secure, lulled into a contentment he has seldom felt in the past two years. Safe.
Rosie has always just called him by his name (or, well, a jumbled, one-syllabled version of it that sounds more like
“All right,” Harry nods distractedly, because she’s unable to conjure any sort of eloquent response for this. She isn’t equipped to handle this sort of thing at all, has never had to be the one who does the looking-after. She watches her brother on the other side of the room. He hasn’t moved—has shown no sign of noticing her presence at all. “Thank you—I—all right,” She rises, standing frozen for a moment as her mind tries to catch up with the current situation, eventually deciding there’s nothing for it and moving across the room to stand at his side. “John,” She says quietly, placing a tentative hand on his arm. He glances up at her as if in slow-motion, eyes glassy and unsettlingly detached.
I begrudgingly mentioned Eurus and her stupid grenade only because they DID redo the flat once already and it felt necessary to acknowledge that. But nothing about any of that ever made an ounce of sense to me, and I refuse to ever watch it again, so if it doesn't make sense just pretend it does and never tell me otherwise. <3
Is what I’d like to ask—is what I’ve been asking myself for over half a year—but I’d rather not put him on the spot. He sighs, dropping his head back to stare at the sky.
“Obvious. The original owner of the dog was abusive and likely neglectful. The neighbor, a card carrying member of PETA no doubt, witnessed this mistreatment from across the street, and decided to do something about it. Though the original owner surely could not care less about the animal, he is a petty git and wants his neighbor to pay. Hence, contacting us to prove it’s the same dog. The dog bit him because dogs are wise and protective companions, and he was defending his new home,” I rattle all this off and startle myself into a sitting position with the wave of relief I feel having solved a case, however mundane. “John!”
“It’s bothering you,” He says, palm landing gently on John’s war-wounded shoulder. John doesn’t flinch, looks up calmly into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock curls his long fingers, pressing carefully into the tense muscle beneath their grasp. “Let me,” He says.
“Oh my god,” John breathes out, entirely spellbound, gaze fixed on the ethereal being hovering above him.
And that’s still true. Mostly. And it’s fine. Because John is certain, even now, that he himself would not need much more than the intimacy that naturally exists between them. What he’s seeking is a more open version of it. Honesty, for one. Acknowledgement. Commitment. And physicality, maybe. Not sex, necessarily—he’s pretty positive that sex isn’t ever going to be something Sherlock wants—just...affection. Less of the forced distance between them. Permission to curl himself around the man, to reach for his hand, brush his fingers through his curls, press his lips to his temple. Things that he’s always felt a pull toward. Things John believes—now that he’s come back (a bit softer, a bit quieter)—that Sherlock wants too.
he likes—but if he keeps that up he’s going to get a lot more of a reaction that he’d bargained for. Unless—that’s—
John had been sure he couldn’t possibly feel any more for this man, his heart already bursting at the proverbial seams. He’d been wrong.
been mentioning John at all? Hugo laughs. “Don’t look so appalled. That little rat will say anything to anyone who’ll listen. I’m not generally one of those people—but he did make sure I heard that,” He smiles at John, who’s gone silent, listening intently. “I spent seven years of my life there with the Marine Corps. Let’s talk.”
“After I jumped—I flew straight to Tibet. Mycroft had everything in place. A new identity, a new appearance. There was a group of Moriarty’s—associates—there, that he’d decided would be the first to go,” A human trafficking ring. Time was of the essence.
me,” Sherlock huffs, shifting to meet John’s eye. “Donovan doesn’t know about us. No one seems to. In an inexplicable turn of events that contradicts his every personality flaw, Lestrade hasn’t told a single soul at Scotland Yard that you and I are finally
We stride into the Rainbow, side by side, at nine twenty-three. Our eyes are immediately drawn to the stage, where a small woman with short blonde hair is belting out a ballad that I’m not familiar with. She’s good. Very good, actually. Perhaps this won’t be quite the trainwreck I was imagining.
that he trusted and loved before he even knew I was out there. It’s never been easy to think about. He was the first person I ever let in, and it hurts to know that it’s not even remotely the same for him. And
John has always been the one to protect us. His lightning reflexes and soldier’s instincts have served us well. And while he’s still strong and capable, he’s out of practice and unarmed—and I’m no longer able to prevent sentiment and emotion from clouding my mind. Things have changed. Have they changed too much to keep doing this? I don’t know. I hope not.
I hurriedly break the kiss and swallow him down. Tongue darting rapidly--tasting, savouring--cheeks slightly hollowed as he hardens in my mouth
“You didn’t tell me,” John says quietly, eyes wide. When did Sherlock begin doing unbelievably thoughtful, massively selfless things without letting anyone know what he was up to? The answer to that fleeting question slams into John with the force of a rooftop fall and two subsequent years of misery. He carefully maneuvers Rosie’s sleeping form from his lap to the sofa beside him, then slides along the leather cushion until he and Sherlock are pressed together thigh to thigh, wrapping the man’s nearest hand in both of his own. “It’s a brilliant idea,” John adds, watching relief begin to bloom across Sherlock’s sharp features. Did he think that John would object?
“This place reminded me of you the moment I saw it, you know,” Sherlock says, unlocking the front door.
John gasps, gut lurching as Sherlock moans breathily against his lips. The sensations that this proximity brings are quite new—the feel of a rather impressive erection pressed against his own has his mind scrambling to catch up. He breaks the kiss, leaning back slightly to meet Sherlock’s eye—to check in, really—a final goodbye to the careful distance they had come to know. Staring resolutely into blackened depths, he sees unbridled affection, earnest desire—and an unspoken request for John to take control.
“Hello,” John whispers. Sherlock watches him in silence for what feels like a very long time. He watches back. Waits.
My mobile pings from across the room, causing my heart to lurch. It’s been quiet for the entire forty one hours since John walked out of that diner, leaving me to sit in silence with the noise in my head. I haven’t tried to contact him—his answer was clear. I scoop up the phone.
We’re in a cab on our way to pick her up at Molly and Lestrade’s flat, where she’s been staying while we were in Wales for the case. The two of them found each other just over two years ago, while both of them were at a low point in life—isolated and apathetic. They sought comfort in their friendship, and it quickly evolved into something more. They’re good together. And they’re both happier and more settled than I’ve ever seen them.
By the time six o’clock rolls around, we’ve got everything prepped and ready to go. Toppings chopped, dough rising, wine chilling. Molly is the first to arrive. I open the door to find her fidgeting and smiling nervously--same as it ever was--so I wrap her up in hug. “Hello, Molly. Please come in.”
“Thank you, John,” John only sighs, continues to card through Sherlock’s hair. He doesn’t need a thank you. They lie together in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts of the past. John dwells, as usual, on how far they’ve come. He’s thinking exactly that as he begins to drift, feeling warm, cherished, content. “Oh—I’ve extended our honeymoon by a week,” Sherlock blurts, dragging John back from the edge of sleep.
“What are you smirking at?” Sherlock asks pointedly, voice thick with suspicion. When John looks up, his eyes are narrowed to slits, leaning in further than is strictly proper in a not-at-all-subtle attempt at getting a look at the screen. John bursts into giggles, pocketing the phone and taking advantage of their proximity to peck Sherlock on his unjustly lush mouth.
“No,” I hope this is the answer she’s looking for. “Ms. Jones—Ruth—my name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. John Watson. We’re detectives, working on a case involving your brother. We could use your help locating him.”
Also, hi. I last updated this angsty little bugger in September. Oops! It's also my least popular WIP so naturally it's the one I was able to get back to first. Been feeling VERY ANGSTY so here's a full chapter of Molly being weird.
John had gone to the loo when we’d arrived back—and now he walks out purposefully, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the couch. He pushes me down onto the cushions and crawls right into my lap, straddling my thighs. His arms snake around my neck, cheek resting against mine. He’s startled me, a bit. His movements are intentional, deliberate—he’s got something on his mind. My arms gather him in, winding around the small of his back. He sighs, breath hot against my jaw.
“There’s a package under the sink,” She cuts him off, having made up her mind about it. “Fetch it, please,” She’s really not sure if this is wise. She is certain that it isn’t her place, that it isn’t her gift to give. But now that she’s seen what’s become of John Watson, it feels necessary—if a bit bloody reckless.
an admirer—you must join us. We’ve just been getting to know your boy. He’s a charming one, isn’t he?” I say nothing, eyes still locked on John’s. What is happening here? “How long have you two been together, then?” He continues, turning to John who reluctantly breaks our gaze.
Sherlock’s lips move against John’s neck, arms tucked beneath his shoulders, fingers still woven into short silver hair. Tugging lightly on mussed curls until he lifts his head, John kisses him hard—sharing this immense relief, this gratitude and reverence—the riotous swell of love that churns within his chest. Sherlock seems to dissolve into him entirely, responding in a way that has John lost once again.
My thoughts drift briefly to Mycroft. I wonder if we could have this with him. John and Harry have had years of conflict, and yet here we all are--a little family of misfits.
I shrug a shoulder. “I’ve never been. Somewhere new—together—sounds rather appealing. Don’t you think?” He nods, shuffles closer. I pull him in, tuck his head under my chin. “I’ve always traveled alone,” I add, quietly. His grip tightens around my waist, soft lips against my chest.
Grinning against Sherlock’s lips, John rolls them over, lying face to face on their sides once more. Without hesitation, he tucks fingertips into the waistband of tight black pants and pulls back slightly to look at the man in front of him.
“This is mad,” We’re perched on plush white seats, each on one side of the aisle, in the private plane that’s supposedly taking us to San Francisco. John’s got his chair reclined and is sprawled out, staring dazedly out the window at the clouds below. “Completely bloody barmy.” I ignore him, turning the page of the medical text I brought along to entertain myself.
asks John for assistance when he needs it, even on those occasions when he could easily just help himself. He never hesitates to pester John relentlessly at the first sign of injury or mild discomfort (or just an inconveniently placed mobile that he’s too lazy to retrieve), so what, then, is this?
In reality, he almost certainly looks hesitant, unsure of this unprecedented leap he’s about to take. Is taking. Has just now taken.
Really? When, then, did he stop being bothered by others’ faulty perceptions of him? He certainly used to care—quite a bit, actually. If I had a penny for every time I heard the words
Sherlock has set his microscope aside on the worktop, cleared up the detritus that had littered the table just ten minutes ago. Now he sits, hands folded in front of him, sharp grey eyes clocking John’s every move.
John is watching him softly, his features illuminated by a halo of bright, fiery light. His silver hair glows and his dark eyes beckon like the farthest reaches of the sea in this final hour of daylight. He is breathtaking like this, so open and free.
,” I grip his chest tightly and press my cheek to his shoulder blade. He brings his hands up to where mine rest and holds on.
I roll out from under him and sprint to the loo, intending to lock him out and take first shower. He catches me before I’ve even got the door shut, hands on my waist as he backs me up against the tiled wall. We kiss fiercely, stark naked, fingers roaming across flesh. Step under the hot spray and come together with practiced hands. By the time we step out, there’s a genuine grin plastered across my face—Happy Christmas, indeed.
Sherlock breathes. He closes his eyes, feels his way over the expanse of John’s broad back, working his fingers into heated skin through the fabric of his t-shirt and for once relying entirely on instinct and sense, trusting his transport. John is warm and real in front of him, solid beneath his roaming hands. His chest rises and falls as he gradually slumps forward, quiet but for his increasingly ragged breaths.
Fingers weaving their way into curls and eyes squeezing shut, John presses his lips to Sherlock’s forehead, his temple—scattering kiss after kiss across the surface of his skin—heart thrashing and inhibitions crumbling with each unrestrained show of affection. He can feel Sherlock shaking against him, breath quickening, long fingers threading through John’s own hair. He can feel, too, the moment when Sherlock sheds his doubt—tilting his head up to seek out John’s mouth.
“You wouldn’t,” The look of scorn on his face at the mention of a plastic tree dissolves the annoyance of a moment ago. John smiles. Just a small one. Sherlock has been behaving like an overgrown child since the second they stepped out of the Land Rover and wandered into this lot of chopped down, tied up fir trees. His enthusiasm is contagious and John finds it absurdly charming—mostly. It’s a bit bloody much, but he loves him for it. Loves him for the rather overwhelming excitement he’s shown in the last few days about the fast-approaching holidays.
“I know,” A wink. I roll my eyes, though I quite admire the confidence. Seems he’s perked up since we saw him last. “Been chatting with my man, I hear. You’ve got him on edge,” Ah yes. Naturally, Adam wasted no time texting Ben about our impromptu interrogation. “He’s worried he spilled a little too much information about our girl. Says you ambushed him,” He directs this at me, though his tone is lighthearted—teasing, not accusatory.
“Well actually,” John closes the laptop and sets it aside. “Greg mentioned he might have something for you. A new one that’s got them stumped. He can tell you about it tonight.”
I watch all of this unfold with a smug sense of glee. My mother is a complicated woman. She’s much like Mycroft in her cold set of beliefs and general mistrust of all living creatures--but with a warmer interior. She can’t help but question John’s motives when it comes to her frigid, unyielding youngest son; it’s in her nature after all. But I can see he’s already found his way through her walls. He does that, my John.
,” John whispers urgently as we crouch behind a hollowed out minivan, three metres away. Indeed, he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, both palms on the wheel, a shiny silver pistol clutched in his right hand. Hasn’t started the vehicle. Has made no move to open the gate. “What--”
it,” Lestrade slams his hand down on the table, causing Molly to jump. “I bloody well knew it. What the bollocksing hell took you so long?”
is the Talking Heads song that the story is named after. You know it. Everyone does. I used lyrics from the song throughout.
1. Sherlock had taken one look at the neat little row of vodka shots set before him, spared John a single glance, then downed them all in rapid succession.
world, want his focus on me—so I crawl into his lap, bury my face in his t-shirt—arms snaking around his back to pull him in. He huffs, carefully placing the book on the couch beside us and running his fingers through my hair. He says nothing, only continues to card through my curls, his other hand coming around to scratch lightly up and down my back. After a few minutes of this, he slips his hand beneath my shirt, continuing the soft scrape of his fingernails against my skin. It feels incredible—intimate—his cool hand brushing lightly against my flesh. It’s comforting, being held like this. To be able to turn to him in a moment of frustration and receive only consolation and calm in response—I never dared dream that such a thing was possible for us.
After a quiet hour on a train back to Sussex, we’re now sitting silently in the back of a cab. My forehead pressed against the cool window—I feel remote—detached and isolated. None of the post-case elation that usually courses through me. My mind is hung up on the fact that this path I’ve chosen could one day cost me John.
me? Elaborate. And tell us why you’re here, while you’re at it,” Henry looks up at me, slightly alarmed, tapping away on his mobile once more. “I’ll have the phone,” I say, holding out my hand. He hesitates, then quickly locks it and hands it over. What’s he hiding, then?
Kenneth Jones has proven to be a difficult man to find. He owned that house until 1987. Sold when he lost his job at the local industrial chemical plant. Obvious. The drum. Last known address was a rental property only a few kilometres from here, but he hasn’t lived there in nearly a decade. This is as far as the local police have gotten. I intend to go deeper.
anything,” He eyes John warily—he’s well aware of his stubborn determination when he gets an idea in his head.
Greg has seen the man only twice in the last year: Once when he’d apparently come storming into his office at the Yard, all thunder and lightning and frantic, manic rage—revealing that Mycroft had taken it upon himself to give up half the plot and send John into a tailspin. And once to give him an old DVD he’d found of Sherlock stumbling his way through a birthday greeting.
“Yes,” I breathe out. He slides off of me, lies down at my side. Rubs his palm up and down my spine.
“I don’t understand why you still give that bastard the time of day,” No, she wouldn’t understand. She never could. “He was a pompous prick even before he killed himself in front of you and left you to rot,” She’d met him only once. On John’s birthday that first year at Baker Street. It was immediate, mutual disdain. “And now you’ve ditched your bloody
“I’m not sure at the moment, I’m afraid,” I pause, suddenly needing to get out of this room. “I’d be happy to take a recommendation, if you have someone in mind for me.” She does. She hands me a shiny blue business card.
“We have a lead,” We know why Hal is here, and we know that he’s got a string of missing boyfriends. Ben, Hugo and Danny promised to ask around for their names.
“Can I really?” She asks, face lighting up. John glances at Sherlock, who gives him a look that says
“Indeed,” Sherlock brushes a hand through her mop of curls. “We’ve got plenty of space, and it’s the most logical solution,” John isn’t too sure about that, but he’s not exactly opposed to it either. Everything about this place is entirely mad—may as well throw a slide into the mix. “It’s scheduled to be installed day after tomorrow. Until then, you’re not to use the stairs without your daddy or me. Understood?” He looks down his nose at Rosie, his resemblance to Mycroft rather startling when he uses this tactic on her. John laughs quietly, causing them both to glance his way.
“All right,” John smiles as he stands, promising himself that he’ll find a way to bring this up with Sherlock later. “Lead on.”
“Bloody brilliant,” Oh, John. I’ll never tire of your praises. I look over my shoulder and we share a grin.
—whatever that means—that he’s taken under his wing. Apparently he’s had a whole string of live-in boyfriends who don’t seem to question his appalling personality. When I’d inquired about the whereabouts of the others, I was met with shrugs.
he’s tired of hearing that. He’d thought they were well past putting their feelings for one another into tidy boxes labeled with useless words.
“I’m an idiot,” Not exactly eloquent, but I think it’s what he needs to hear. “I’ve been awful,” He’s already shaking his head.
this feels good. This startling intimacy, the relief and the novelty and the newness mixed with an aching familiarity. This is John. This is
I slide into John’s (old) bed, tuck myself right up behind him. He stirs, then groans lightly. Remains still for a moment and then slowly turns to face me. “I’m sorry, John,” It’s just a whisper. I’m afraid he’ll throw me out if I say anything more. He looks at me strangely, then. His eyes look almost sad in the darkness of his (old) bedroom.
When have you ever had a best friend? Plus you’re like forty. I’d thought that was you trying to give it a name while still maintaining that you’re straight as a bloody board, which has never been true.”
“Don’t,” I snap, without looking at him. I’m not even sure why I’m so upset. A black mood has been creeping up on me all day—since last night, really—and I’m taking it out on John. I’ve been sniping at him all afternoon. It isn’t fair—I know that it isn’t. He’s done nothing wrong. “I’m sorry,” I say, quietly, to the street.
Eventually I stretch a bit, roll off of him to lie on my side. He slides down to face me. We silently stare at one another. Warm blue eyes, locked on mine.
“Not sure when you started listening to my demands, but I’m glad for it. I’ve got everything I need. Open it.”
I haven’t slept. Haven’t been able to quiet my mind. Once the sobs faded and I could breathe again, I began to consider every facet of this new development and what it will mean for us. I spent the night compiling mental lists of questions that will need to be addressed, playing out all possible scenarios for the future of our relationship, whatever it may become. I know that I’m getting ahead of myself, but this is the way that I am. I want to know what’s next—need to know what this changes for us. But I’m hesitant to break this temporary calm that we’ve found together.
the only one who seems to question it,” He turns his head toward me, removes his sunglasses, narrows his eyes. “And it isn’t as if I’ve never had to work for a living, idiot,” I add for good measure. “You know full well I was cut off for years during the drugs phase,” Not entirely sure I've managed to come across as anything but a privileged wanker, but at least I’ve said my piece. He continues to stare for an uncomfortably long moment, then abruptly stands, suddenly hovering right in front of me. Hands on my cheeks, he presses his lips to my forehead—sending my stomach through the floor and my heart spinning wildly into the ether—then drops back down in his seat, reaching for a menu.
“What’s his sudden gripe with me?” John asks, taking a sip and cringing when he burns his tongue. “Thought we were getting along fine on Saturday,” Henry sighs, looking between us.
He feels himself give into the grin cracking across his face. He’ll never be able to look at this absurd colour without jumping straight back to their first case together—their first
“What if everything changes?” Sherlock asks bluntly. John gives him a questioning look, not entirely sure what he means by it. “What if everything changes for the worse?”
I shrug. “It was nice. They adore John, as you know. And I’ve suddenly found myself the owner of our childhood home, which I’m sure you’re also aware of,” Another nod. “We expected you to make an appearance.”
The conversation flows easily as we pop open a third bottle of wine. Mrs. Hudson tells tales of her sister’s foul mouth (
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” John tries, burrowing under ridiculously soft linens until their faces are parallel. Sherlock sighs, softly, then swallows.
“Hello,” I rumble, turning toward the table, where John has set the two neatly wrapped presents Mycroft had left on the mantle last night. “I wonder what my brother has brought us this year. Perhaps a matching set of our very own umbrellas?” John turns to me and grins.
“Nine years,” she says. Loudly. Firmly. Accusatorily? John swallows around the unpleasant lump that’s forming in his throat. She’s attempted this conversation before—or some version of it, at least—rather recently. And he’d successfully dodged discussing it, because it’s
“I love you, too, John,” He rumbles, moving to lie back against his chest. “Even if you do happen to be plagued with an artless, ineffectual brain.”
He watches as the three little dots appear and disappear from the screen. Four minutes of silence. John sighs, decides on a bit of honesty.
He wonders if this new house will be safe for their precocious, insatiably curious daughter. Will Sherlock have already converted the kitchen into his personal laboratory? Will the water heater be ever unreliable and the staircase just a bit too steep? Will they need to spend years renovating—is the place even fit for human life? Why hadn’t he asked a single question? For all he knows, Sherlock could have bought a bloody pirate ship and dropped it on a plot of land in the middle of Chiswick.
shouldn’t be surprised that Sherlock refuses to abide by standard phone etiquette. And while he feels a bit bereft without
And when I’d read that you took your own life—” She cuts herself off, swallowing thickly, her throat doing a complicated dance as her eyes drift back to John. “Well. I suppose I’d spent a good amount of time after that wondering what the bloody hell I was doing. So when you came back, I reached out again. Imagine my surprise when you eventually reached back,” A sad smile. “I’m sorry I never did figure out how to be your friend. I moved around for years, doing what I do—
“I don’t, no. They’re family—they’ll have to know eventually. Why not now?” Perhaps because he only decided
It takes them two. After much cursing and grunting and a bit of exasperated shouting—not to mention a close call with a windowpane—they’ve managed to get the tree through the back door and into its stand. Once the twine was cut away and the branches freed, it was revealed to be a rather gorgeous specimen. Full and lush and lovely, its scent filling their large sitting room and making it feel unbearably cosy. John drug a ladder in from the garage and watched bemusedly as Sherlock wrapped string after string of sparkling white fairy lights around the towering tree, eventually stepping back to admire his work.
“No worries,” She beams. “Have a nice evening, then,” She disappears without another word. There was a time when he’d have accepted the invitation—would have jumped at the opportunity to spend the evening focussing on someone,
us anything, Sherlock. But I thought that we were in this together. I thought we’d established that a long time ago,” John can feel the tears welling up now. He turns away, watches Rosie carefully drawing shapes in the sand with a stick.
John holds his breath. He’d gone into this conversation planning to be bold—for once in his bloody life—and to learn where he stands. But he still feels like his heart might stop dead in his chest.
He presses his mouth to the top of my spine. Kisses a trail across my shoulder, rests his lips softly against my ear, and whispers. “Are you okay?”
Back in control, I rip his shirt off over his head. My fingers dance across his body, twist his nipples, lick his chest
“What do you need to speak to me about?” He asks, tone clipped. “I need to get back,” Fantastic—let’s add a ticking clock to this already impossible encounter. Better get right to it, then.
Sherlock takes his time. He lets his hands roam over planes of muscle, lingering in all of John’s softest places—then he turns John’s world inside out with relentless, competent fingers until he’s sobbing and wanting and pleading in his arms. When at last Sherlock presses himself into John’s body, he moves in tender waves, steady rolls of powerful hips—slow and deep and so impossibly fulfilling, entirely consuming—such a clear testament to everything they are and all that they share that John can hardly breathe.
We sit in silence for quite a long while. Each lost in our own maudlin minds. Eventually, he stands.
Things have been gradually falling into place for us, in ways that I never could have anticipated. Each day feels like progress, each moment in his presence a gift. “All I had in mind was a lifetime with you,” I respond. It’s the truth. It really doesn’t matter where we end up. He takes my hand, looks at me intently, and instantly I’m lost in eyes of deep blue.
We pick up Thai and head to 221B. We almost never spend time at John’s flat. It’s a nice place, and it’s been their home for years—but it never feels quite right. Tonight we forgo the kitchen—John and I sit side by side on the couch, boxes of food spread out on the coffee table. Rosie has gone straight for her stash of colouring books—I’ve kept a constant supply of them for her here—and sits crosslegged on the floor, eating noodles with one hand and colouring in a picture of a clown holding an umbrella with the other. John watches her.
Sherlock’s love for him is on full display, here—as though his heart has taken the form of this carefully chosen home. Eventually, Sherlock nods toward the bookshelves.
“I—had a bad night. He’s had his bloody underlings trailing me for months, and one of them evidently called my sister to come fetch me. I don’t know if Harry’s in on his little campaign to protect me or if Aoife just called her because they’re old mates. Anyway, I woke up on Harry’s couch to find Mycroft sitting there like a bloody statue, speaking in riddles and behaving like a complete tosser. Told me he wanted to
“A gift, obviously,” She nods at John and Greg raises his brows but hands it to the man, who looks more exhausted with each second he remains trapped in their entryway. “You don’t need to—just open it at home, John. And I—I’m sorry if I—well, Happy Christmas, anyway,” She leans in to kiss his cheek—tries not to react when he flinches slightly, then steps away from the door.
“Yes,” I say, turning my face into his shoulder—hiding, perhaps. Delaying the conversation that we must soon have. He huffs, quietly. Amused by my gracelessness. Rolls forward and takes me in his arms, enveloping my body once more. Immediately I feel the tension begin to fade. I allow myself to relax against him, to slide an arm around his back and clutch him to me—squeeze him, really—to fully return the embrace. He sighs, face tucked into the crook of my neck, and I shiver at the thrill of his breath against my skin. He seems to need this as much as I do—this physical reassurance. I wonder how much time has passed since he’s been close to someone like this. A long time, if I’m not mistaken. Quite a few years.
“A slide,” Sherlock is just behind him. John can feel a hint of breath on his neck and the heat of him at his back as they slowly spiral their way upward at a pace set by a clumsy three year old. He’s still not grasping how playground equipment fits into the conversation. Bit distracted, to be frank.
We rub up against one another, an unhurried, languid hump. My hands roam as my pelvis rocks, each small thrust planting a bloom of heat within my gut. Sprouting and growing, vining ever upward to snake around my ribcage and suffocate my heart.
John looks over at me now, and when our eyes meet I’m positive that he’s been thinking the same things. Thinking of our unconventional friendship, of our potential for something more. He’d remained still and quiet this morning while I held on to him, buried my face in the fabric of his shirt. He must have been beyond surprised to find me like that. He could have shaken me off, woken me up. But he didn’t.
the one person who stuck around to pick up the pieces. John pulls back, gasping, quickly realizing it’s come out as a sob.
“I did consider it,” He responds, scooping Rosie up and dropping her on the bed. “But it wouldn’t have had quite the right bounce,” She takes that statement as the invitation it is and jumps around, holding onto both of Sherlock’s hands—both of them giggling like fools.
“Oh God, it was Irene? Should have known that tricky bitch would be involved with this,” He smiles. “She must have known I could use the cash.”
didn’t think that was the conversation he’d strode unhesitatingly into. Bit blindsided, to be perfectly honest.
“You’ve got questions. Go on, then,” Straight to the point. I’ve always liked that about her, despite her incessant need to play games.
“Good morning, everyone,” I choke on the piece of toast I’d been in the process of ingesting as Mycroft strides in through the front door. “I trust you’re all well?”
It occurs to Sherlock, as he pushes the pads of his fingers into an old wound, as he loosens and unspools each tightly wound knot buried deep within the body of his best friend, that this—all of it,
“Hey,” John whispers, aeons later, once the sweat has begun cooling and the mess between them has been transferred to John’s plaid shirt and tossed to the floor. Sherlock lets his eyes drift open, turns his head to watch John where he lies beside him, under the same duvet. “All right?” He asks quietly, for the third time tonight. Sherlock finds his hand beneath the covers, weaves their fingers together.
He knows Sherlock. Obviously. He knows how he is when there’s a puzzle to solve. And it’s fine. All of it. But it still stings, a bit, to watch his own texts pile up, unread and unreturned. He wants to bask in this new sense of possibility hovering around them with the only person in the world who understands exactly what he’s feeling—what he’s nearly overflowing with, to be perfectly honest. Sentiment. Again, John smiles.
As I pace around the small, white-walled hotel room that John and I have been holed up in for the past two nights, I set aside my obsessive pondering of our current, seemingly inscrutable case, and let my mind drift. We do this often these days, share a room. I rarely sleep on cases—and we’ve grown so comfortable in one another’s presence over the past few years that we haven’t much need for space. It’s a comfort for me to keep him close while I’m consumed by the work. A comfort and an advantage—I think more clearly when he’s near. I told him once, years ago, that he was a conductor of light. A ridiculous turn of phrase, fuelled by my then untamed ego. Still, it’s remained true, despite everything we’ve gone through together. He remains the most extraordinary man I’ve ever known, hiding behind a façade of mediocrity.
“You’ll be the bloody death of me,” John pants from where he lies beneath me. “At least now I know what to do with you when you’re bouncing off the bleeding walls.”
He pulls the duvet over their heads and presses his lips to Sherlock’s brow, to each closed eyelid, sharp cheekbones, a strong, beloved jawline. He makes it a point, still, to do this often. It reassures them both, this small intimacy. He can feel it.
“Good,” He smiles at his laptop. “What about this one? This bloke’s dog runs away, and then two days later, the neighbor across the street is out in the yard with an
He stares up at me, all traces of indignation wiped from his face. “You’re right. It doesn’t bloody matter anyway. I set out to take her down and I have,” Shakes his head once, as if trying to physically clear his mind. “Were you able to crack both USB drives then?”
the question that’s been flashing in his head since the moment they got swept up into this whirlwind. “So—will you, then? Marry me?”
“Why didn’t you tell them, then?” Honestly, he knows full well why Sherlock didn’t tell them. It’s the same reason
--erupting into the sheets with a series of hoarse shouts. John moans loudly into my neck and pounds down once, twice, three times more. His hips jerk feverishly, body going rigid--sobbing and releasing all the tension he’s been holding onto--safely into the space between my thighs.
misguided notion in his head all these years? I hardly knew her. Admittedly, no one—aside from Moriarty, obviously—had ever caught my attention quite so thoroughly. I was fascinated by her intellect and how she chose to wield it—her provocative world was so foreign to me, at the time. But the excessive flirtation between us was only part of the game. She was accustomed to men eating out of the palm of her hand—then turning on them the moment she had something to hold over their heads. But she had failed to seduce me.
“John,” He whispers, and without a thought finds that one long arm has wound its way around to clutch at John’s back, the other following to wrap him up entirely—needing to comfort, to protect, like it’s somehow second nature to just reach for him. Like this is somehow easy for them. John accepts the embrace immediately, turning his body inward and tucking his legs up under him as he snugs up against Sherlock’s chest. “You can let it go,” He whispers fiercely into John’s hair. “It’s in the past.”
“Yes,” John sighs. More silence. Something bites inexorably at the back of his mind—a visceral prickle, a well-entrenched sense. He can feel words being held back, can hear the hesitance in Sherlock’s slightly unsteady breathing. “What is it?”
He’d liked it, and he’d told Sherlock as much. He had not, however, expected him to remember such a mundane statement, or even to be listening at all.
John tugs gently, urging Sherlock closer. He goes, pressing his forehead to John’s reassuringly solid shoulder and resting his palm atop his chest, allowing his fingers to graze over his skin, through the fine hairs there. He wonders if John will regret this. He wonders if they’ll be able to hold onto it at all.
Greg hasn’t got a clue what he’s on about, but can chance a pretty solid guess. All John has ever talked about is Sherlock—and vice versa, for that matter. The two of them were so clearly in love—it was excruciating to watch them dance around each other for over a bloody year. Never did get there, as far as he knows. A shame, really. A tragedy, even. They’d’ve both been much happier if they had. Greg gestures once more to the chairs, and this time he shuffles forward and collapses into one.
“Okay?” He breathes, wanting to be sure. Sherlock swallows, nodding and pressing his mouth to John’s forehead, sighing shakily against his skin. John takes him in hand a bit awkwardly, emboldened by the quiet gasp his touch elicits, and begins a slow, steady stroke. The drawn out moan pulled from somewhere deep in Sherlock’s chest resonates through John, rattling his rather dwindling sense of control and quickening his long, firm pulls.
We’ve decided to go traditional with dinner tonight. We’re roasting a(n enormous) turkey, and serving all of the holiday standards. John has also insisted on making pigs in blankets (ridiculous), and Mrs. Hudson is bringing Christmas pudding and mince pies. We’ll have a full house—Lestrade will be joining us, as well as Molly and her new fiancé, who we’ve yet to meet. Harry is coming, too, and John has been worrying himself sick over the presence of alcohol. She’s nearly five weeks sober, and he doesn’t want to tempt her. She’s been spending quite a bit of time at the flat as of late—it’s honestly been nice having her around. She’s found new employment at a café and has been doing quite well, all things considered. I want to believe that she’ll be perfectly fine tonight, but I suppose only time will tell.
“You’ve gone and found yourself a proper laboratory,” He breathes, his grin growing painfully wide as he takes it all in. “This is incredible, Sherlock, really,” He tightens his grip on Sherlock’s hand, feeling that familiar wave of affection and gratitude so often triggered by the man’s actions these days. While this is surely in part a selfish endeavor, it is also a secluded space where Sherlock can do whatever he damn well pleases—stockpile this very
She hadn’t been bold enough to give voice to these thoughts. He’d brushed her off anyway, heading straight into her office and slamming the door behind him.
“Hello.” He says, hushed, a grin spreading across his face. He looks so young, like this. Boyish. Happy. I can’t help but return his smile.
of all people, was able to win over the man he’d been pining for—when I was sure that I could never have John—had been a sore spot for me from the start. I was glad for them—really, I was—but it certainly came as a surprise.
Nevertheless, there’s a wall between us. I suspect its foundation is built on sexual confusion and an unwillingness to risk what we currently have. John doesn’t know if he could be sexually involved with a man, and I don’t know if I’m able to be interested in anyone in that way. I have thought about it. In an abstract sense, I’ve considered it. I can only imagine awkwardness and eventual rejection. Or a painful realization on my part that this sort of thing just isn’t for me. To me, it isn’t worth the risk. But I had failed to consider that we could still have some sort of physical contact. We’ve always carefully avoided it—but for a few stilted embraces—knowing full well that there’s something lurking beneath the surface between us and not wanting to stir it up. But now, thanks to my unconscious clinginess, it’s been undeniably stirred.
“He hasn’t said,” He shrugs. “Just says that they’ve not found much else on Mary. Or whatever her name was. But they’ve got details on the type of weapon used and where the gunman was located and all that rubbish that I frankly do not give a toss about.” He’s frustrated. Exhausted. “Sherlock, are you planning on looking into this? Are you going to help with the investigation?”
Letting out the gust of breath he’d been holding, John takes a final step forward and lets his forehead fall to Sherlock’s chest, palms landing carefully on either side of a slender waist. Immediately, Sherlock lets out a shaky, relieved laugh, coming alive beneath John’s hands. He winds his lanky arms around him tightly, tightly with no fear—none—no fear that he might flee or break. He presses his cheek to John’s temple, settling firmly into their embrace.
Tentative fingers, on the crook of my elbow, where it rests on the narrow table in front of us. I jerk my arm away in response, not quite able to process such an unexpected touch. John pulls his hand back, and when I turn to face him, he looks wounded. Offended, perhaps. What was that, then? We never touch. Not really. I was confused enough when he grabbed my wrist in the kitchen of 221B, but at least I could see that coming. When our eyes meet, though, his expression changes. Whatever he sees on my face has made him drop the affronted look for one of concern. He reaches out again, placing his hand on my forearm.
It’s nearly half two when the door swings open, revealing Mycroft—two perfectly wrapped presents in hand. “Say nothing,” He says in lieu of a greeting. Strides into the flat. “Open them later,” He sets the gifts on the mantle and glances around the room. “Happy Christmas,” He adds.
“Nothing, as far as I know. I did this for him once before. When we first got together. Asked some lady he had pointed out if I could crash on her couch, made coffee in the morning. She drank it—a lot of it—and I left. Saw her at the Rainbow that same night. She was fine,” He furrows his brow, thinking. Seemingly trying to recall any details he may have omitted. “Left town about a month later, I think. Nothing weird about that. Nobody stays here long.” I stare disbelievingly back at him, feeling a subtle rage begin to flow through me, simmering beneath the surface of my skin.
“All right, all right, my god,” Greg laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Christ, I’m about to have a bloody heart attack, give me a minute,” He looks between the two of them, smile nearly splitting his face in two. “You’ve got me struck a bit dumb here,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “How did this happen, then?”
Another hour passes in silence before a car stops, a block away to our right. Headlights flicker off. A figure emerges--a tall man, with broad shoulders. We watch silently as he slinks through the shadows and straight to the shop. The distant sound of jangling keys. He disappears behind a door on the side of the building.
I consider informing the local police that we’ve found a current address. We aren’t armed, and if we find Jones, we’ll be taking a considerable risk by confronting him. I dismiss the idea quickly, however--he’ll surely run. They’ll come rolling in, sirens blaring. He’ll be warned by his mates and we’ll lose the man for good. We have one chance to catch the idiot before he skips town, and we’re going to take it. We’ll just have to keep our guard up.
He turns on the balls of his feet to face Sherlock, placing both hands on the man’s bony knees to steady himself. Sherlock gives him a private smile, leaning in to place a swift kiss on John’s still-grinning lips.
He breathes, pressing his lips to mine again briefly. “Better check,” I reluctantly agree, rolling over to snatch my mobile off the floor as he digs his out of his jeans. Five new messages from Mycroft.
“It’s—I regret that I ever said it,” I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut and my heart trying to break free from my ribcage. I feel raw, and a bit lost. He shakes his head, looks down.
We stop for a late lunch at a small café, sharing a bacon and brie toastie and a bowl of Welsh cawl. We come across a man playing a melancholy tune on his violin, and I feel a sharp pang of regret that I’ve yet to pick up mine. We listen until the song is finished, nod in appreciation. We leave him a tenner in the open case at his feet and carry on down the pavement, hand in hand.
John stares, entirely bewildered by Sherlock’s raw words and shaking hands. He reaches out, grabbing hold of trembling fingers and squeezing—a gesture that’s almost starting to feel natural for them.
I head down to check on Mrs. Hudson and find her putting the finishing touches on the trifle she’s made for dessert. “Lovely,” I say.
want?” I’d like to know. He keeps surprising me with his willingness to show affection—even in public—not to mention his complete nonchalance about our families seeing us in bed together. His recent actions have been in complete contradiction of his stubborn silence the last few months. He lifts his head, chin resting on my chest, and meets my eyes.
His teeth scrape my skin now, and as the bruise beneath begins to form, marking me as his own, I lift my hips to meet his steady thrusts. A request for more. He presses his lips to the bruise, my jaw, my mouth, then sits up on top of me, straddling my thighs. He rocks his hips forward, both of us hard as rods and beginning to leak beneath the barrier of our trousers. His hands come down, unbutton, unzip. Freeing us both from our unfortunate confines. His palm glides through the moisture glistening at the head of his own cock, and he gives me a long, heated look as he takes us both in hand. I gasp, loudly, at the contact. It’s glorious. Our shafts pressed together as one in his grasp, he gradually begins to stroke—up, down—in a steady, torturous rhythm. Chests heaving, fire in our eyes, our hips begin to thrust of their own accord into the circle of his hand. In, out.
Observing them now—Sherlock crouched down on the floor, one arm around Rosie where she leans against his side and points at various objects of interest—he thinks that perhaps she already does.
“John,” An edge of impatience in her voice, now. He smiles, still not meeting her eye. Obviously she suspects. He wonders what Sherlock had said to her last night. He pictures him now, puttering around in his new laboratory after John had retreated outside to lie in the grass. At some point he’d made the decision to text Molly—to ask for more time. Time alone, no obligations—time to show John the letter, to find their way past that final barrier. There are certainly no barriers now—no boundaries at all, if Sherlock is to be believed.
It's approaching three o’clock, so I head straight for the park. All traces of my old bravado have fallen away now that I've left my brother's vicinity. I feel stripped down and raw, and as I stride purposefully through London the streets feel unfamiliar beneath my feet. The roaring sounds of life are foreign and overwhelming. How did I get here? I will fix this soon enough, reacquaint myself with my city. But first things first.
)--Joel--outlining what I can expect from our future sessions. He says he appreciates that I’m able to be forthright about my goals and concerns. He says that he’s optimistic. So am I. We make a standing appointment for Mondays at nine, shake hands, and I return to John in the waiting room.
Now my mouth—hot, warm, wet—slides up, down, up, down. Head bobbing swiftly like a cork in the water, tongue dancing madly along his hot flesh.
He sighs, shaking his head slightly. “She told me before I left that Mycroft had paid rent on the place two years out. I’d thought it was odd at the time, but assumed he’d just been buying himself time. He isn’t completely heartless—I’d thought—maybe he isn’t ready to deal with it all. With Sherlock’s stuff. But it’s exactly as I’d left it a bloody year ago.”
I’ll always regret the things I’ve done—how I’ve treated you when it could have been this,” He tilts his head up and kisses him, soft and sure. Sherlock responds instantly, sliding his hands to the small of John’s back, pulling him in and wrapping him up. Sherlock kisses without inhibition—candid and honest and John could drown in it if he let himself—
He comes with a desperate shout--body shaking, quaking. I follow close behind --collapsing, crumbling. We lie in a heap--breathing, buzzing--and a wave of relief washes over me.
But I never found the nerve. Never said a single fucking thing about it. He offed himself thinking I’d lost faith in him entirely,” Harry inhales deeply, her heart squeezing uncomfortably at the pain in his voice. She knows what it is to lose someone because you didn’t speak up, but this is far beyond her realm of experience. “I called him a machine,” Oh, John.
“Don’t,” Harry lets her mouth snap shut. His tone is dangerous, startlingly so. She hasn’t actually ever tried to speak to him about Holmes. When the two of them were living their little crime-fighting life together, she and John hardly saw one another at all. After his death, they’d spent a few awkward, unproductive afternoons in each others’ presence, but at the time John hadn't been able to even hear the man’s name spoken aloud without curling up into his impenetrable shell, and Harry hadn’t had the heart to push him. But
you, Sherlock—that was me making a statement of my own. It was no small thing, for me. And you didn’t want that—and honestly—that’s all right. I’m fine with it. It took me awhile, but I am. I like what we have. But now all this—the other night on the sofa—and by the water yesterday, you seemed—“ He cuts himself off with an exasperated huff.
“Sherlock--” A very long pause. Smoothes his jacket, glances around the room. “We should--talk.” Odd.
Hour after tedious hour of questioning six of the men on her client list, and nothing. Four of them had alibis—confirmed (eventually) by the Met. Two of them were imbeciles, albeit wealthy ones. They brought in their lawyers and were quickly released. They didn’t have the competence to pull it off anyway, that was immediately clear.
be like this,” He laces their fingers together, reading the understanding on Sherlock’s features and finding it suddenly a bit easier to vocalize his thoughts. “Um—another thing I feel should be said aloud while we’re on this topic,” The doctor in him insists. “We’re both clean. Obviously, we’ve never discussed this. But I have access to your charts and I know you’ve found your way to mine,” He’s opened his laptop on more than one occasion over the years to find his own medical records staring back at him. “Just—if we—I just wanted to acknowledge that,” Christ.
Now John sits close, very close, always very close. He smiles at Sherlock in their quiet moments together and lets their eyes lock and their gaze linger on and on and on and on. He’s never the first to break. It’s always Sherlock who begins to feel the fluttering panic, the palpitating heart, to sense that John has something more to say. But he never does. And Sherlock always, eventually, looks away.
They watch Rosie destroy the sitting room, one new toy at a time. At some point, John convinces her to swap her pyjamas for an emerald green tulle dress.
timeless recipe that Sherlock had used for the mince pies. They’ve put Rosie in a proper Christmas dress because she would have absolutely insisted upon it. Tomorrow they’ll have waffles and honey made from the waffle iron she’d made damn sure they keep. And really, she gave them this home that they’re now thriving in, against all odds.
I jolt awake, sit up quickly and scan the room. The sun is just beginning to set, meaning I’ve been asleep for nearly six hours. I suppose it was overdue. Feet on the stairs. Mrs. Hudson? No. Not Mycroft either. It couldn’t be—
Now I watch Rosie picking apart a dumpling and eating only the bits she deems worthy. I smile at her discerning nature. It will serve her well in life. Meanwhile, John is shoveling spring rolls into his mouth, looking down at his jumper as several flaky crumbs tumble onto his chest. When he glances up and sees me watching him, he grins.
Sherlock’s bed has never felt more welcoming. His thousand thread-count sheets have never been softer, never been warmer. The duvet pulled up over his head has never been the haven it is now—the safe, intimate space it transformed into the moment John crawled in beside him.
I wake up to an empty bed. A rare occurrence—John is nearly always there. Thrown off by his absence, I rise, grabbing a dressing gown on my way out the door. The flat smells of coffee and bacon, and I find John standing in front of the stove, scrambling eggs in a frying pan. I walk up behind him and envelop him in my arms. “Hi,” He says, leaning back against my chest as I press my lips to his temple.
My father greets John warmly, shaking his hand and patting his arm. “Siger Holmes. Very glad to meet you, John.” He then turns to me and we exchange a solemn nod.
“Bit of a prick, but he lived a notable life,” Sherlock says, walking up beside him and casually leaning against the wall to John’s left. Rosie has slumped against his shoulder, futilely fighting sleep. “It’s a memoir about his time in Paris, discovering his love of writing—as well as the people he met there who’d changed his life for the better,” John stares down at the book, carefully opening it to the first page. A first edition hardcover, published in 1964. “The title is in reference to a phrase originally of religious descent, meaning an observed holiday with no fixed date. Hemingway applied it to a place, an
“Budge up,” John says, his voice undeniably fond as he sets a soaking wet but tightly secured blue plastic bag onto the coffee table and prods at Sherlock’s knee. Sherlock grumbles a bit, mostly because it’s expected of him, as he unfurls his limbs and shuffles into a seated position. He flips on the telly while John drops down beside him—close, very close, always very close—then leans forward and digs a finger into the plastic, tearing the bag open to reveal the steaming styrofoam containers within. John hands Sherlock two boxes—garlic pak choi and lamb dumplings. He sets up his own shrimp dumplings and cucumber salad on the table, then casually (really very casually) sets a final box containing noodles on the table between them. Sherlock shoves a dumpling into his mouth to hide his smile. John knows him much too well.
Stella flings open the door the instant I knock. “Oh, thank you for coming,” She’s a petite woman in her thirties, strawberry blonde waves curling past her shoulders. Her daughter lurks behind her, an exact match in miniature. “This is Minnie,” Aptly named.
“Of course you have,” John huffs, feeling swarmed with fondness, with gratitude for the sudden ease of this new intimacy. He can hardly believe that this is now their reality, that they’ve made it here at last.
John stares and stares and stares and stares. He opens his mouth and closes it twice without a word. He clears his throat, parts his lips a third time, then gives up on trying to form a proper sentence, shakes his head and smiles. “Tonight?” He asks quietly. The relief Sherlock feels would send him to his knees, were he not curled up on the couch, pinned in place by the weight of John’s gaze and the press of John’s chin. John is asking for clarification. He is asking what Sherlock
“Well, I’m—I’ll pay rent through the month, of course, but—as soon as I can find something else. Within the week, I hope,” He needs to get out, she can see that now. It’s been torture for him, living amongst the memories. She squeezes his fingers tightly, trying to convey that she understands, that she doesn’t hold it against him one bit. “I’ll visit,” He says quietly. She won’t blame him if he doesn’t. Sherlock was what held them together—the common link between them. Now that he’s gone, they can’t look at one another without thinking of him. The difference between the two of them is that Martha
John’s free hand comes up slowly, unenthusiastically patting her on the back before dropping back down to his side. She doesn’t let go quite yet, pressing her cheek against his soft knit jumper and trying to form a single safe sentence. She wants to erase the lines from his face, lift the circles from his eyes. She wants to tell him that
to be anything but angry with him. At the time, I wasn’t ready to confront my own demons—my idiotic, irrational insecurities—and the certainty he had shown me that day had caused me to shut right down. He knew what we could become, and I couldn’t face it. Walls up, distance in place. Outrage where there should have been warmth. And God forbid I actually consider his words—set aside the preconceived notions I had adopted long ago and reconsider our dynamic, our connection. It took the thought of losing him—
“Is that Greg?” John has been tapping away at his own phone, propped up against the headboard and scowling at whatever he sees on the screen. “He’s been texting more details about Mary’s case. God, I’m not up for this today.”
much, much worse. And as Harry has smoked every last one of her friends down to the filter, it seems that this responsibility now falls on John. He’s found a rehab clinic in Leeds that can take her in six days—now five. And this time, she’s agreed to go.
“Did you know?” He demands, shoving his fisted hands into his jacket pockets. He’s bloody shaking. Eyes wild and hair windswept. Looks like shite. Not a man who can pull off such an untidy beard. Did he walk here? Bit of a trek from Baker Street. Greg hasn’t seen him in over a month. They’d tried a few times to go out for a pint, but John doesn’t have much to say these days. At first, Greg had assumed he was just angry with him for doubting Sherlock—rightfully so, he’d thought—but it had become clear rather quickly that he simply doesn’t speak much at all anymore. Greg had wanted to talk about Sherlock—had needed to talk to someone about it. He’d cared for the man, too. Misses him, even. Wanted to make sense of what happened. But John didn’t want to hear any of it, so he’d turned to Molly instead. He smiles inwardly at the thought of what’s begun to bloom between them. They’ve managed to find something pure and sweet in the bitterness of the last few months.
“I’ll take the couch,” Sherlock drawls, effortlessly slipping into an impeccable impression of boredom while in reality he stands scanning the back of John’s form obsessively for clues as to how he feels about this carefully chosen space. John turns to face him. | [
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Then, a tongue, warm and wet, met the skin just below the junction of Sherlock's jaw and made him dig his fingers into warm skin. He moaned, and John moaned in response.
Sherlock nodded slowly, on the verge to drifting off into thoughts again. He took a deep breath and focused his eyes on John’s once more. “But
She took a seat beside him and turned to face him. "Is something wrong with Harry?" she asked then, concern in her voice.
His mobile buzzed. Thankful for the distraction, he dug it free from his trouser pocket, realising too late that it was Sherlock who was most likely to send him a text.
“Yet there is evidence that speaks otherwise in the bathroom,” she replied calmly, her eyes never leaving his face. “Perhaps it is that you don’t
"I love you, John," the soft baritone echoed in his head. He'd said it, finally, after almost a year of being together, Sherlock had said those three (four) little words for the first time. And then, "Are you willing to belong with me for the rest of our lives, John? Through joy and sorrow and 'til death do us apart?"
"Yes, Sherlock. To me, it does," John said simply and fixed demanding eyes on his tall friend, who suddenly didn't seem so tall anymore, slumped down in his armchair.
Regardless, his heart sank a little when he sat down in a chair at the small cafe and looked around, not seeing anyone remotely looking like his best friend.
"Stop feeling that way towards me, now. Just...stop it." Sherlock's voice, barely above a whisper, cracked.
"Sherlock?" he asked into the darkness, his voice broken. He looked to the right to find his lover's spot empty and long since cooled.
), but nice. Just the idea of bumping into that Sherlock bloke at any moment gave her chills up and down her spine. There was no reason for her to be scared, yet she was. He didn’t sound like the most pleasant kind of person to put up with. And she didn’t want to put up with him, at all. Full stop.
"John, John, John, come home, don't leave me, please," he murmured into the emptiness. "Oh please, I'm so sorry, come back, I need you, I-"
Looking around the crowded airport lobby for anyone looking even remotely like John, Sherlock felt increasingly lost and overwhelmed. As soon as he’d stepped foot into the building, his resolve had crumbled and his first instinct had been to turn around and flee. But he couldn’t do that to himself and, more importantly, to John. But would John even want him to -- what actually was it that he was going to do here?
A moan reverberated from the walls as he watched Sherlock unbutton his purple shirt (John's favourite), deliberately slowly. Long, gentle fingers popped open the buttons one by one, revealing alabaster skin and pale rose nipples.
Sherlock closed his eyes, drew in as deep a breath as possible and exhaled slowly, trying to calm his painfully constricting heart. He felt drained of energy and devoid of all emotion except for the despair and loneliness his best friend had left him with.
He wished, prayed that he could just go out and get John back, his friend John, the only one who knew everything about him and still decided to stay, to put up with him, to care for him and never ask anything in return.
Again there was a slight increase of pressure on John’s back. He felt Sherlock’s hand as clearly as if he was touching his bare skin, felt the texture of his calloused violinist’s fingertips burning through the thick fabric of his jacket, through the wool of his jumper and the fine cotton of his button-down shirt, very nearly scorching his skin.
Clara parked the car in front of the airport to let John out. “You go on ahead, I’ll just quickly search for parking. I’ll meet you in the front hall by the coffee place.”
“Okay, stay calm, even if he’s here he’s not going to kill you. You’re just here to pick up John’s stuff and you’ll be out of here in a matter of minutes,” she murmured reassuringly to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes closed for a moment. Still, the uneasiness wouldn’t leave her alone and she stared up the stairs to John’s flat. She counted seventeen steps, but counting them didn’t help calming her nerves either. She counted them again. Giving up on it she sighed, and grabbing the balustrade tightly with her right hand she set foot on the stairwell.
John stared after her and gulped. Back to Baker Street to pick up his belongings? He wasn’t sure he could do that.
“Hey,” Clara scolded in mock-offense, “it’s cozy and fluffy and my little sister was conceived on that!”
He didn’t regard John with so much as a look when the good doctor entered the sitting room and dropped a plate full of toast, scrambled eggs, baked beans and sausages on the small coffee table next to Sherlock, a cup of tea following suit.
flatmate that would be fine, but not when the person you share a flat with is an easily bored genius named Sherlock Holmes, no."
She put the mugs down on the coffee table before she dismissively waved her hand. “Don’t mention it, hun. You’ve done so much for me and your sister, I’m glad that now
He sucked in a desperate breath, coughed and pressed his right hand to his sternum. The pressure snapped him out of his state of selfish grief.
The scene played out in front of him again, but Victor's dark, chocolate brown eyes and languid, promising smile were replaced with clear, ocean-coloured irises and a familiar half-frown-half-smile that mirrored John's worry and fondness for Sherlock.
"Interesting. Apparently it's fine to trust your life to me during cases, but I'm not trustworthy enough to make you coffee. Go ahead and brew yourself a new one, then." Sherlock continued to focus on his experiment.
John sat back up, just looking down at the other man for a moment. Their eyes met, Sherlock's half-lidded gaze glossed over, pleading him. "Please," they seemed to whisper, and it was then that John threw all consideration and caution over board.
to know what he was doing there - honestly, he was fine with whatever mischief Sherlock was up to, as long as it didn't involve hydrochloric acid and John's favourite jumper.
He felt like sighing, but swallowed instead. Setting one insecure foot in front of the other, he began walking towards the shops, turning his head every which way to see if he couldn’t find his blond friend.
And with that, he closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of rain water and smoke and wood and spring that was Sherlock, bathing in the delight of having his one true love back in his life. Nothing else mattered and nothing ever would.
“Are you sure you’ve got everything?” Clara asked, but John only turned around to wordlessly open the front door and take a few steps outside.
John saw her poking the screen with a tad of force and frowned. “Maybe it’s Harry. It could be something important.”
"Fuck," John managed after a while, breath still coming raggedly. He blinked against the dim light the moon poured into the room and saw the image of Sherlock fading with what could only be described as the sexiest grin in history, like a very adult version of the Cheshire Cat.
Two days later, Sherlock and John were bounding down the stairs of their flat on the way to a crime scene Lestrade had summoned them to.
John is...gone. You made him turn his back on you. Much like you made anyone else leave. Because you thought you're better off alone. Because you thought being alone would protect you from getting hurt. But if other's don't hurt you, the loneliness will. You can't...mustn't be alone. You're dangerous when you're alone." He took several shuddering breaths at the end of his monologue and bit his lip again, long fingers massaging his temples. John would come back. He was
Sherlock gave him a funny look and reached for the cigarette, but John drew back his hand before he could take it. "Ah, wait, have you eaten anything today? I won't let you smoke on an empty stomach."
Mycroft had once said. Oh, how right he was. Sherlock felt his body trembling, a shiver running up and down his spine, a chill claiming his heart. The hand above his sternum fisted the material of his shirt as more memories flooded his sharp mind.
John rolled his eyes. "Just because he's unable to bring himself to feel for others it doesn't make him oblivious to other people's feelings. He simply... he doesn't care...
He stared at his bleeding hand, mesmerised, feeling the blood roll warmly and soothingly over his pale skin, watching it drip onto the white porcelain of the sink. He smiled, breathing in and out calmly, peacefully.
A delicate eyebrow threatened to disappear into soft, brownish-black curls. "No, John," Sherlock answered, "don't see,
Sherlock fought the impulse to rest his head on John's back, fought the urge to wholly envelop him with his warmth, with his love. Instead he lay down next to him, as close as possible without disturbing him, he had no wish to wake him, to rob him of his sleep. Not now, not yet, no need to hurry, no need to rush - not anymore.
Clearing his throat, John managed to finally answer, “Of course you do. There’s no one left for you to experiment on, no one to do your cleaning and shopping and cooking for you, now, is there?” He surprised himself with how indifferent he was capable of sounding right then.
John? Why do you keep worrying about my health, or my dignity, or whatever else there is for you to worry about?”
John thought and balled his hands into tight fists. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. “I am not your bloody experiment, Sherlock. You don’t get to invade my personal space like that. Forget it.”
is supposed to mean.” She rolled her eyes and poked the screen again. “There, deleted,” she added and threw the phone on the sofa.
He dipped his tongue into the small wound, tasting his own blood. It reminded him of portions of his past he treasured, truly valued. It tasted like warm milk and honey, his mother's cure for sleepless nights.
She kissed his cheek. “Okay. We wait until tonight and if you’re still sure of it, I’ll email Joan and set a date. For now, I’ll go and make a proper breakfast -- coffee alone just doesn’t do -- and you make a list of things that you need from Baker Street. We need to pick up some clothes for you, at the very least.” She pressed a kiss to his other cheek and flung herself off the couch, bouncing out of the living room.
Several deep breaths and two sips of tea later, John answered, uneasiness giving way to outright anxiety - and sadness; did he not mean
from the moment I understood what was going on with me. God damn it, Sherlock, I know you're incapable of... feelings like this. Why do you think I tried to hide it in the first place?"
"M-m-more," Sherlock stuttered and it was the last coherent thing he was able to say as he felt hot lips closing around the tip of his erection, sucking lightly, almost carefully.
John looked down at him, his ocean eyes roaming the beauty that was Sherlock. His gaze followed down the length of an alabaster neck, up and down an exposed, creamy-white, slightly flushed chest, catching for mere moments on hardened, pink nipples. He bit his bottom lip and inhaled sharply. This exposed beauty right in front of his eyes? Yeah, that was Sherlock, just waiting for him to leave his mark on that perfect, white skin. A strong feeling of something very raw, very basic surged through his veins, curling at his fingertips and toes, tickling at the base of his spine.
Sherlock glowered, fingers clasped tightly around the fingerboard of his beloved instrument, the strings cutting deep through the calloused skin. Droplets of blood welled up and ran down his hand.
Whatever doubts had filled John's mind during the day, they certainly had vanished now, vaporised by hot fingers on clammy skin.
unspokenly travelling along with his words -- before he opened the door of the car again and got back in. Heaving a sigh, he tapped the handle of his umbrella against the partition to signal his driver to go.
It all narrowed down to one simple fact: John loved him. Now, what was he to do about that? With a grin he steepled his fingers under his chin once again and started setting up his plans for a new, promisingly intriguing experiment.
John looked back at him and shrugged. "It will be, eventually." He tried an optimistic smile, but failed miserably. Lestrade acknowledged it with a raised eyebrow but said nothing more.
He didn't let himself finish this train of thought. Instead, he shoved himself up and out of his chair, rubbing the sleeves of his plum-coloured shirt over his eyes and, with shaking legs, stalked across the room and into the bathroom.
He couldn't do this to himself. He couldn't do this to Mummy, who had always wanted him to live a long and happy life. He couldn't do this to John, who protected him to ensure just that.
“Oh, I beg to differ, brother dear. You may think you’ve put on your big boy pants earlier, but who will be there when you’ll eventually break down?” The words cut right into Sherlock’s heart, but the eyes fixed on him spoke a different language. There was pity in them, and a hint of… sadness?
"You made me coffee," John stated, blinking again in confusion. He looked back to his mug, filled to the brim with hot coffee and just the right amount of milk. Then his gaze wandered back to Sherlock - or rather, to the back of his head. "You never make me coffee. So I assume it's some special occasion or you want to drug me again."
“I’ll be expecting you in a week then?” John jokingly retorted, coaxing a soft giggle from the older woman. He was trying hard to suppress the bitter taste of the words that actually sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to jump out and admit to all the fears and second thoughts whirling around inside of him, so as to not worry Clara, who had done so much for him already, even more than he’d ever expected or thought he deserved.
John fell onto the neatly made bed of his hotel room and stared at the ceiling. He'd considered asking Mike or Greg for a place to kip until he found himself a flat, but he needed time alone, time to think, and he certainly didn't want the D.I. poking his nose into his private life. Not that Lestrade would pry, exactly, but staying at his place would raise questions. Questions of the sort John didn't want to answer, and frankly couldn't.
Sherlock squinted. Another, much smaller mole was right next to it, the two of them making an almost perfect pair. He leaned down to kiss the marks on John's skin, a feather light touch, far too weak to wake his sleeping lover. He hovered over the soft skin, widening his nostrils to inhale the scent clinging to John's skin. A mixture of sleep, sex and John's own scent - spicy and sweet.
"I'm confident we will find a fitting arrangement to ensure sufficient tea supply." Sherlock smiled with only the right corner of his mouth, and John couldn't help but stare for just a moment. When he realised his gaze was lingering, he felt his heart clench. Surely that hadn't slipped past Sherlock's all-observing eye, he thought, and the anxiety returned.
“Oh, Sherlock,” John interrupted, finally understanding what his friend was aiming for, fondness deeply edged into his words. He withdrew the hand resting on Sherlock’s shoulder and used it to force his friend’s face up by putting a finger under his chin. He shook his head. “Misinterpreted indeed, but the wrong thing.”
He answered with a half-hearted, lopsided grin. She ushered him inside and took his jacket off him, practically manhandling him onto the couch in the living room and popping into the kitchen. "I'm gonna make us a nice cuppa and then you'll tell me everything," she shouted from inside the fridge as she dug free a fresh carton of milk.
Sherlock shrugged. "Out of embarrassment. Seeing as you are probably the most heterosexual man walking this planet, it must have been a devastating experience to suddenly-"
So John, long-suffering best friend, housekeeper, and family doctor, got up from his just re-acquired seat and went to search for Sherlock's lighter in his bedroom. He found it ten minutes later underneath a pile of case notes and took it back into the living room, where Sherlock sat in the exact pose he had left him in, with the exact expression on his features. His face lit up when John held out the lighter.
He inhaled slowly and felt himself throb with arousal as she came closer, reaching around him and pressing her body full against his, right hand on the small of his back to hold him there.
Sherlock swallowed and looked away, turned his head to the right to stare at the skull on the mantle. “I can’t feel,” he eventually answered in a low voice, trying to hide the cracking in it.
“What are you going to tell him?” he asked, knowing that winning John back this time would probably not be an easy task for his younger brother.
Sherlock let his hand sink as he studied her features, and nodded ever so slightly, before turning around and stalking off to the kitchen. “Tea?” he asked over his shoulder, but didn’t wait for an answer as he filled the kettle.
Sherlock swallowed, shivered, gasped. He could physically feel the touch now; even after all this time, it was so distinctively
“Look, it’s just an offer. You don’t have to take it. There are a billion other places you could go without leaving the country. Whatever your decision is, I’ll support you. Always.”
all over my feelings, it's all right, it's fine," John ground out. "So I'm not even worthy of your friendship anymore, now, am I? Makes me wonder, Sherlock: have you ever valued me in any way? I don't imagine you did."
"The way you stare at me when you think I'm not looking, and the embarrassment written across your face when you realised I
Two - I know, I know, they didn't actually end up together with kisses and wild sex (even though that's what I had originally planned for this story), but I found it to be much more believeable if they reunited like this. After all, John took that trip to Australia because he wanted to
“What? No! Why? What if there’s an emergency and he needs me?” John protested, but Clara silenced him with a raised hand.
John snorted. "Why, thank you! Not everyone can look as fantastic as you do even after three nights without any sleep," he snapped.
from him, anyway, couldn’t expect it at all. He knew that, even granted him a certain amount of eccentricity, but there were boundaries to everything. And right now, John felt used, he felt dirty even, something he did not want to attribute to the feelings he harboured for Sherlock.
Sherlock nodded. John wasn't at all prepared for what the detective said next. "Under these circumstances it may be the most favourable outcome for both affected parties if you were to... move out."
He rounded a couple of corners and walked for about twenty minutes more, then found himself in a familiar neighbourhood. He looked around for a road sign, stopped in front of a very familiar white two-storey house right across the street from Montpelier Church, and blinked.
And with those words, John calmly put on his cardigan and his jacket, moving deliberately slowly to give Sherlock a chance to re-think and apologise, hoping against hope that he would do, that John wouldn't have to do this. As he should have expected, no such thing happened. Dying heart sinking inside his chest, he left the flat, once again leaving them both devastated.
John's gaze followed the soft lines and sharp angles of his lover's face, his left forefinger reaching out and grazing the soft, pale skin of a cheek. He bent forward and gently touched his lips to one closed eyelid. As he pulled back and resumed watching the sleeping figure, the glistening moonlight caressing raw, white skin, making it shine in an unusually beautiful way, he felt a single tear drip from his eyes.
"Touch me, John," Sherlock said, biting his bottom lip. But before John had a chance to reach out, Sherlock climbed onto his lap and pressed himself flush against him. Lips touched again, an urgent hand finding its way into John's lap, squeezing, rubbing, teasing the tip of his erection.
And that was when he heard it. The faint sound of a violin coming from the living room, caressing his ears, his heart, putting his body, mind and soul back in line. Like puzzle pieces being put together, the shattered remainders of his lonely, bleeding heart fit back together as if they'd never been apart.
John nodded his understanding and absentmindedly chewed his bottom lip. After several long moments that stretched into an eternity, he spoke again. “What kind of sentiment does it speak of, Sherlock?” he enquired, a hint of something pleasant, something Sherlock couldn’t quite decipher, lingering below his words.
John exhaled to calm down, to steady his nerves once again, to find his balance. He wiped his hands over his face. He was tired, he was flustered and more than a little bit unsettled. He heard the faint noises of Sherlock padding around in their living room, heard him walk from the sofa to their kitchen and back. Then there was silence.
He shook off the thought and stared at the curtain's slight wavering at the touch of the chilly air streaming in through the open window. He followed the movement with his eyes, trying to lull himself back into much-needed sleep.
She sat down next to him and began to tell him about Joan, a friend of hers from back at Uni, who worked as a doctor and would gladly provide him with housing and food for as long as necessary. “All you’d have to do is help her in her practise. They’re short on doctors all times of the year. You’d probably get paid less than you would be paid anywhere else, but then again, you won’t have to pay for groceries and the rent for a room or flat.”
Subconscious-Sherlock shook his head. "You know that's entirely untrue. You'll always be welcome at Baker Street. It will always be your home. I need you there.
between his legs, he turned to lie on his side. A glance at the clock on his phone told him it was barely three in the morning.
"Oh God," John bit out, voice rough with lust. His head fell back into the pillows and he exposed his neck to Sherlock, who clawed experimentally at the tanned skin - small, maddening kitten-scratches - biting at John's nape, pulling a needy groan from his throat.
He wanted the world to know Sherlock was his, and his alone. That the Consulting Detective was, in fact, spoken for. Even though no-one but Molly Hooper really attempted to ever flirt with Sherlock (he was a
Lastly, and most importantly yet, Sherlock -- we’re not sleeping together. Couples sleep together. We don’t. Okay. That makes us not-a-couple. We’re friends, colleagues, flatmates, but that’s it.”
For some reason, John’s posture had a wave of respect, with just the smallest amount of fear added to it, rushing through Sherlock’s body, tingling at his fingertips and toes, creeping up and back down his spine, and finally pooling in the pit of his stomach. Despite of being intrigued by the sensation, he swallowed thickly and bowed his head down in an obedient fashion.
He'd just ignore Sherlock from now on. Block his number, maybe. He shook his head; no, that was too harsh. What if Sherlock actually needed his help with something, maybe a particularly difficult (and therefore interesting) case? Or had got himself in mortal danger? What if he got shot or otherwise hurt?
John was in the kitchen making tea and breakfast, unconsciously humming a melody in the back of his throat. Sherlock didn’t recognise it, but then again, he wasn’t really listening. He was thinking, slumped down in his armchair, elbows resting on the armrests on either side of his body, fingers steepled under his chin.
The taller man raised an eyebrow and looked at his friend challengingly. "Oh, why don't you help me with that?"
Sherlock couldn’t fathom the reason just now, he decided, and shook his head. There was no use examining John’s reactions, he would have to file them away for later use. For now, he would settle for collecting more data.
"Why are you refusing to accept the evidence, John?" a deep baritone sounded and the good doctor jumped. He sat up and looked around frantically, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. What the...? Where was that bastard hiding?
"Yes, all right, fine, I have been embarrassed and I have been in denial, for God's sake," John cut him off. "But I eventually realised I can never have what I want no matter how desperately I want it, and I'll cope with that. Can we please drop it now?"
The doctor sighed and shook his head. This was as close to an apology as he would get. "Fine, it's fine. I'm fine," he muttered, staring down on the table.
John all but fell onto the couch, dropping two plates of Chinese takeaway on the coffee table in front of him.
A soft chuckle filled the room. "You're giving up hope too easily. But regardless of whether you can have him the way you want or not - use your imagination," not-really-Sherlock said, the wink audible in his voice. "I'm given to understand it's rather vivid."
Sherlock shook his head, staring down at his hands. "No use, I would know it again the moment I looked at you. Besides, I just can't delete you, or anything concerning you. Trust me, I've
“Sherlock,” John started, his voice cracking, and cleared his throat again. “It’s impolite to stare,” he continued rather witlessly and cursed himself only a split second after the words had left his mouth.
“No, don’t answer that, I know you do, John. I also know you tend to touch me when I sleep,” the unusually soft baritone said, and John felt as if it was piercing his lungs, all air fading from them.
There was silence for a few minutes, in which John resumed drinking (as in 'marvelling in') his tea. Then, suddenly, Sherlock spoke again.
“Why are you here?” John eventually asked after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, no longer able to bear the anticipation.
John was rendered speechless. His breath taken away, he was gaping at his friend-gone-lover. Then, after several blinks and hastily inhaled breaths, he took Sherlock's face in both his hands and kissed him, offering all his love and devotion to him with this one, simple touch, stroking his thumbs along those incredibly high cheekbones.
Sherlock bit his bottom lip to stop a strangled cry from pouring out, a reaction uncalled for - unnecessary, useless emotion.
He was bloody awful!” Clara paused, “Then again… he’s just a child, really, isn’t he?” she said, sitting up and looking at her brother-in-law with something akin to sadness in her eyes.
John followed her with his eyes for a moment before looking back up at his friend and motioning for him to sit in her chair. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Sherlock took off his coat and sat.
John fell back into the silk-covered pillows and closed his eyes with a sigh, playing with the silver band he still wore on his left ring finger. Touching this last gift, this forever unfulfilled promise Sherlock had given him was somewhat soothing.
“I know what it means now,” he continued, finally lifting his gaze and staring intently into John’s eyes.
He dropped the shard, eyes widening with shock and utter disbelief. What was he thinking? What was he
John blinked, then grinned. "If you keep making me tea as lovely as this every once in a while, then I might."
"You heard me," Sherlock responded, finally lifting his gaze, storm-grey eyes locking onto ocean-blue.
I feel like my writing style has changed a lot throughout the years I've worked on this story, and that I've somehow unlearned to write a convincing Sherlock -- he does feel very out of character in this chapter. I want to pin that on the fact that I have fallen off the Johnlock ship a while ago (because I really, really liked Mary) and that it literally took me years to write "Domestic" (so it's only natural my writing is different now than it was back when I started).
John groaned and turned off the telly. Five seconds later he switched it on again, zapping through channels restlessly until he found some documentary about wild cats. There. That should keep his mind occupied.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't feel like eating now, John. I feel like smoking. Give it here." When John raised his eyebrows and gave him The Look, he added, "Please."
Sherlock buried his nose in John's hair and closed his eyes. A sense of homecoming, of peace and calm settled over him, making his limbs heavy, pleasantly weighing him down.
He delicately stretched his fingers and plucked a shard of the mirror, eyeing it gratefully and smiling. He closed his eyes, took in a shuddering breath, and came to a decision. This was enough, finally, certainly enough, and he wouldn't go on like this. He didn't have to. The solution was right there, in his hand.
With a sigh she turned on her heels, looking around. She spotted two closed doors next to the stairs. One of which would probably be the bathroom, the other Sherlock’s bedroom.
Blinking her eyes open, she pushed herself off the wall and braced herself in front of the lime-green door that led to the sitting room of 221B Baker Street.
He'd been straight all his life. He knew it for certain. He was just confused because other people all seemed to think he and Sherlock- He'd get over it, wouldn't he? Get back to normal?
She nodded and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I’m one step ahead of you, dear. I’ve been thinking about that.”
The friction of John's arse rubbing against his erection had Sherlock gasp in surprise, but he instinctively lifted his pelvis to press up and create more contact still.
Sherlock said nothing. His hands were shaking slightly, John noticed, and so he made a decision and headed up the stairs. Digging free a pair of socks from one of his drawers, he retrieved a pack of Pall Mall Blues he kept there, hidden away from Sherlock, in case the need should ever arise. He didn't like Sherlock smoking, but sometimes, just very rarely, it seemed to be necessary to let him. He opened the small paperboard container and took one of the cigarettes, then put the pack back into its hiding place.
For the first time since John had left his former flat, he took a deep, deliberate breath and leaned back into the soft cushions to relax his taut muscles.
John gave her a tiny smile. “I’ll make us some tea, you sit and relax for a bit,” he said and before she could even think of objecting he was out of the living room and up to the task of finding some Darjeeling.
“I want to touch you, John. I want you to touch me.” Calm. Even. Dark. Somehow promising. Oh so tempting. John trembled in anticipation of what was to follow. What did follow, however, was nothing he would have expected. “Based on the evidence I found you interested in a physical relationship with me, John, and I suggest you start acting on it. Take me to bed.” Demanding, rough, detached.
The younger man nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing. John felt his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed there.
Sherlock clenched his jaw and balled his hands into tight fists. "I wanted you to come back because I thought you would've been over it by then. I wanted you to come back because I-" he bit off the words and drew a deep breath.
John let out the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and crossed the room to his chair, dropping the bag that held his dirty clothing along the way and peeling off his jacket and cardigan.
The fifteenth stair leading up to the flat creaked, followed by two short knocks of wood on wood. Mycroft’s umbrella handle.
He felt like a bloody idiot, standing there in front of his own flat, unable to open that goddamn door.
Sherlock blinked, puzzled, but then shrugged. "Fine," he said, and John couldn't determine if he sounded upset or if that was wishful thinking on his part.
"Again, Sherlock: I'm not sure I understand," John admitted. "If you were hurt because I wasn't here, then it should be better by now. I mean, I'm back, after all."
Sherlock’s eyes went wide for the briefest of moments, and if John had blinked, he’d have missed it. Faintly, the younger shook his head. “It’s not that.”
count as a date. Visiting crime scenes together also doesn’t meet the requirements for a date. Okay. We don’t go on dates together.
Before John could open his mouth to answer, the phone chimed again. They both looked at it, John in curiosity, Clara in something akin to annoyance. John reached out, but his hand was batted away by Clara. “Oh no, you’re not,” she scolded and picked it up.
Once upstairs and inside the living room, his gaze instantly fixed itself on Sherlock's tall figure in his armchair by the window. He sat with his feet on the seat, drawn so close to his body, his heels were almost touching his (plush, touchable, indecently sexy, especially in
With that, he hung up and put the device away inside his jacket before opening the door and stepping out of the car.
John stretched and yawned before he blinked up at her. “As good as your battered old sofa would allow,” he answered, grinning.
Closing his eyes for a brief moment and inhaling a deep breath, John at first didn’t even realise that a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’d waited for this for what felt like an eternity.
Sherlock blinked, then nodded. “You’re saying I’ve crossed a boundary tonight, too,” he murmured. Then fixed his eyes back on his food. “You don’t want me to touch you, then?”
It was Sherlock's turn to stare, opening and closing his mouth with not a single syllable falling from his lips. He licked them and swallowed around the lump in his throat, once, twice and a third time, blinked and finally found his words again. "John," he whispered, but nothing else would come to mind. "John," he said again, his voice shaking with too many feelings crushing down on him, making his heart burn pleasantly and leaving him in the acute need for closeness. He did the only one thing he could think of and pulled John back down into a mind-consuming kiss.
John returned to the flat forty minutes later carrying Tesco bags to find Sherlock at his microscope, examining something that looked like carpet fibre.
John shook his head and noted her relieved huff with a tiny smile. "In that case, Johnny, my sweet, what's up with you? You look like you cried yourself to sleep for the past week."
Sherlock noticed his inquisitive stare and nodded at him, curtly but friendly, a small smile lingering on his lips, his eyes twinkling with something John couldn’t quite place, before he turned his attention back to Lestrade, who was pointing out the assumed escape route of the murderer, walking away from them, further into the building.
“I don’t know, Sherlock, just don’t... I don’t know. You’re not supposed to hold my hand or put yours on the small of my back just so, in front of everyone, that’s... as far as affection goes, Sherlock, this implies we were more than just friends. But we are not. Okay?”
Sherlock was sitting opposite John, holding one of their delicate China teacups, gracefully balancing it between his long, pale index finger and thumb, blowing over the still scalding contents of it, his plush lips hovering over the liquid. The look he gave John over the rim of the cup held something feral. Behind all the posh manners and vocabulary, there was something raw and dangerous, hidden away from the public eye, but laid openly on the floor for John to see. The thought sent jolts of electricity down John’s spine and straight to his groin. He cleared his throat and shifted slightly in the chair to hide his unease.
Please be aware that only half of this chapter has been beta-read because I stopped writing on it midway and simply haven't worked up the courage to contact the friend that proof-read this story for me before, seeing as we haven't been in contact much after I've stopped writing. So I apologise in advance for any typos you may find.
The incident was never spoken of again, yet it wouldn't let go of John's heart, mind and soul, wouldn't stop burning him with white-hot passion.
John sighed, exasperated. He lifted his hands in defeat and shook his head once again. “I worry about you, Sherlock, and that a lot. That’s the reason why. I’m your doctor,
"Sher-" he managed to breathe, voice cracking, "is that - am I dreaming? Did I die and go to heaven?"
“Is it?” Sherlock asked with an amused quirk of one eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that my looking at you was discomforting. But then the faint blush and the disconcertment in your posture are clear signs I shouldn’t have missed.”
His phone buzzed, but the detective didn’t have the energy to sit up and look for it, much less get up and pick it up. Instead, he closed his green-grey eyes and inhaled another deep breath in a vain attempt to calm the storm inside of him.
The younger listened carefully, then nodded. “Go on then,” he said, genuine interest engraved in his rich baritone voice.
"You don't believe I would pull the same trick twice, do you? Also, can't one make a coffee for his flatmate without having any diabolical plots in mind?" Sherlock asked, and there was not the slightest bit of mock-innocence in his tone, as was so often the case when he tried to experiment on John.
John took a deep breath. "Look, Sherlock, I'm still your friend, okay? Just try to not think about the rest, and all will eventually go back to normal."
He shook himself out of it, pulling strands of his hair with all the force he could muster. "No, no, no, no, no," he shouted, "not true, that wasn't John, John didn't do that to you, John would never, John is there to catch you when you fall, John is - John is - he's-" His voice broke as he remembered
Sherlock took a deep breath, but paused. John waited, his hand still resting on his friend’s shoulder, thumb drawing absentminded circles on the purple cotton.
"He seems fairly clueless about how certain others feel towards him." A delicate brow rose towards the ceiling.
already! You're wrong, you're all wrong," he said into the empty room. "It's not like that. I'm not like that, I'm not. I'm just... not."
John swallowed thickly. "I can't believe I'm having this discussion with myself... about Sherlock," he muttered and squeezed his eyes shut. "You know what I'm thinking, how highly I think of him, and not just because of...
John finally curled his lips around the rim of the cup and took a sip, closing his eyes and rolling the liquid around in his mouth to savour the rich taste of it before swallowing and putting the cup back into its saucer. His heart jumped, swelling with a sudden rush of love for his lunatic flatmate as he stared at the tea.
John noticed the uncharacteristic shyness that seemed to have taken hold of Sherlock and his heart skipped a beat.
Sherlock's hands finally let go of his hair and he planted the soles of his feet on the seat of his armchair, pulling his long limbs in close and encircling them with his arms, locking his long fingers around his wrists to keep them in place. He buried his face in the hollow between his bony knees and felt the soft, black wool of his trousers grow damp in the spots right above them.
One day - Lestrade had summoned them to a crime scene near Hyde Park - Sherlock would completely ignore him. It was so obvious that the D.I. took John aside and asked him about it, genuinely concerned. He pretended to not care about Sherlock's wicked schemes, told Greg that his friend just was like that. "You know him," he said with a shrug.
"So," Sherlock said calmly once John was seated, resting tired eyes on the good doctor's face. He didn't utter anything else.
Going public was another case entirely. They hadn't taken that step yet, seven months into the game, but John certainly hoped they would, and soon. Because, even though he wouldn't admit it to himself or anyone else, he more and more felt like a pet to Sherlock. He didn't want to be his
Nimble violinist's fingers dug into John's shoulder blades. John tightened his grip on Sherlock's hips, lifted him off his feet and onto the kitchen table. Their lovemaking was passionate, hard and fast.
with them, John told himself, were two different things entirely. He was not, he told Irene's voice in his head,
Sherlock blinked in surprise. John was feeding him, making him sleep, dressing his wounds when he got himself injured, and generally took good care of him. John was also shooting evil cabbies and punching people worth less than the dirt below his shoes -- all for the sole purpose of protecting Sherlock. And, most importantly, John called it
Suddenly, the world came back into motion, people rushed by, talked, laughed, hugged their loved ones goodbye or hello, and John felt as though he was drowning in it and the rush of words spilling from the younger man’s lips and the feelings pouring down on him like raindrops in a storm. “I need you to come home. I feel… lost without you. You’re good to me, good
across the living room. He spreads his arms and before John understands what’s happening, his nose collides with his best friend’s collarbone. He drops his bag and returns the hug, inhales the familiar scent lingering somewhere between skin and shirt. He smiles.
With utmost care she sneaked up to the left of both doors and pushed the handle. Peeking into the room through the small gap between the door and its frame she could make out while tiles and sighed with relief. Nothing would’ve been worse than to unknowingly barge into the private space of the other (or rather, only) inhabitant of the flat.
And at that moment, right there in that hotel room, on the soft bed, staring at the ceiling, rubbing his forehead and feeling nothing but emotionally exhausted - right then, John wished for nothing more than to never have met Sherlock Holmes.
“Thanks for the input,” John said and winced, but then grinned up at her. They both chuckled. “But seriously, thank you for letting me kip here,” he added.
John shut his eyes and inhaled a deep, calming breath. "I can't help it, Sherlock. Not yet, anyway, but I promise I'll try to contain myself. I certainly won't jump you in your sleep."
Sherlock just shook his head no. When John’s gaze still reflected wariness, he sighed. “Not anymore, no. I’ll admit that it was, before I understood that even I am not superior to sentiment, that even I couldn’t block it out of my life forever. You won’t let me, John. I don’t know how you did it, but you--” he cut himself off, his words reduced to a stutter, and hung his head.
Right at the moment when he fell back into the cushions and closed his eyes, deciding to just ignore Mister Know-It-All wherever the hell he was hiding, the voice sounded again, close to his ear this time. "Come home," it said. "I miss you, John. I need you - just as much as you need me."
“The melody,” Sherlock explained evenly, “it’s you, John, your song. I wrote it for you a while ago, not knowing what it had to offer, what it wanted to tell me.” He inhaled a slightly shaking breath.
Sherlock,” he said, anger making his voice tremble, “it was one time, okay? One bloody time, and I only did it because you seemed so goddamn vulnerable, sprawled out on the couch, for once at peace with the world and yourself. At least, that’s what you looked like. I couldn’t resist, okay? That doesn’t give you the right to--”
Mycroft made a noise of disapproval. “My, my. Sarcasm? You’re even more insufferable than usual with all your
John flexed his shoulders and craned his chin upwards, suddenly seeming a lot taller than he really was, and glared down at Sherlock with demanding eyes. “Eat,” he growled at him, pointing at the food, and clenched his jaw tightly.
Sherlock pulled one of the plates to sit right in front of him, took the fork in his hand and dared to take a bite. He felt John watch him closely and when he turned his gaze to the left, he took in John’s slight, satisfied smile in pure contradiction to the raised eyebrow and questioning gaze he wore.
When Clara returned from John’s room, a bag full of his belongings in hand, she felt more than ready to leave. She hated it here. Oh, don’t get her wrong, it was a nice place. Bit stuffed and certainly not meeting her taste in wallpapers (and what was that yellow smiley-face doing there anyway? And were those
Sherlock blinked. "Desperately?" he repeated, and John wondered if he imagined the slight tremor in his voice.
The smile on Sherlock's lips spoke volumes as he crossed the room to envelope his lover in a tight embrace. "I've missed you, John, my John," he murmured into his ear and placed a chaste kiss on the lobe.
"I'm afraid it would end our friendship," he said after another long moment. "I don't want him to dislike me. I don't even particularly need him to love me back, but... I can't lose him. He means... everything to me, he's the reason I'm still alive."
“You ate half of the food I made you. That’s a huge improvement to the last couple of times. I’m proud of you, Sherlock, really, I am,” he eventually answered and turned around to take the remainders of Sherlock’s breakfast back into the kitchen. The detective just blinked stupidly at his friend’s retreating form, not understanding what John liked so much about seeing him indulge in something as mundane and dull as
Taking a deep breath, John looked the other deep in his grey-green eyes. “Then what is it?” He had to know, had to hear the words before he could allow himself to hold on to that faint glimmer of hope that was trying its hardest to bubble up inside of him.
Sherlock tore his gaze away and fixed it on his plate. “Unimportant,” he said, “I know you do and the reddening of your cheeks is evidence enough to tell me I’m right. Now, explain to me, John, why would you touch me when no one, not even I myself, can see, but wouldn’t let me touch you?”
John shivered just slightly, almost unnoticeably. Yet, Sherlock picked up on the tiny motion and filed it away in a folder labelled
"You're... throwing me out?" John was aware he was having a whinge, but he couldn't bring himself to give a flying fuck. Anger suddenly burned in the pit of his stomach. "What the bloody hell
"He needs you just as much, John. Without you, he'd probably be dead by now. Without you, he's lonely. He even told you that. Before you, he was all alone. Before you, there was no one to take care of him."
"Now you're just being irritable. I wasn't trying to offend you, I'm merely concerned about your health."
Finally, the good doctor twisted his body away from Sherlock again, and this time remained out of his reach. “Well, stop it,” he hissed, obviously distressed.
“Because I want to, John,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly, turning to look at him, but he didn’t take his hand away as if breaking the connection would mean much more than just that.
Returning to the living room and all but falling back onto the couch, he turned to face the backrest, drew his knees up to his chest and encircled them with his arms.
And once again, lying there in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling, his jeans unzipped and unbuttoned, cock still half-hard, Dr. John Watson wished for nothing more than to never have met Sherlock Holmes.
Mycroft opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. It wasn’t the right time to reprimand his little brother, nor the right place. Observing him, he noticed Sherlock’s sullen look, and the way his eyes gleamed with fear and regret and suddenly, he was scared for him, scared to see him cry again. So he did the only sensible thing he could think of, nodded at Sherlock and said, “It will be alright.”
And then, suddenly, he saw him, sitting with the woman who had visited him a while ago to pick up John’s belongings -- Clara. A coffee mug in his hand and a small smile on his face as he talked to her about something. She laughed and reached out to squeeze his wrist before picking up her own cup and taking a sip.
Sherlock groaned and tried to pull John back down to continue snogging him senseless, but the good doctor resisted. "Sherlock," he said, pushing the detective back into the seat with both his hands, and cleared his throat to steady his voice, "Sherlock, wait."
He looked down at it from the corner of his eye, his tongue still roaming Sherlock's mouth, moaning into the kiss. With a last suck on a hot tongue he sat back up, again just looking at his lover for a moment before taking the hot, swollen knob into his hand, appreciating the silky feel of it, the heaviness, the warmth. A bead of pre-cum had formed at its tip and John rubbed his thumb over it, smearing it across the glans.
“You’re not my experiment, John. Not now, not anymore. I want you to be part of me in every sense of the word,” he whispered into the empty darkness, loosening his grip around his knees and turning to lay on his back. He stared at the ceiling, his hands folded over his torso, sighing.
It was exactly the wrong thing for him to say at exactly the wrong time. "Oh, right," said John, smacking his mug down on the table.
Mrs Hudson had been the first to notice the plain silver ring on John's left hand and figure out its meaning. She even said something in the fashion of "Took you two long enough" and flashed a smile that was cross fondness and knowing. (Apparently, the walls weren't as thick as they'd thought.)
John blinked and tore his gaze away from his friend's demanding eyes. "I... I think I might... love you, Sherlock. As in being in love with you."
“But?” Clara pressed. “Did you expect Sherlock to show up like a knight in shining armour to rescue the princess? To come and snatch you away before you could leave?”
With a sigh, John put the cartons on the counter and grabbed his friend by the hips to push him out of the way. Sherlock stiffened. "Hands off," he demanded, startling John.
He didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs, didn’t sense the presence of his friend, hovering next to him, didn’t feel the gaze locked on him for a moment, before John also closed his eyes and took in all of the precious tune Sherlock was playing, bathing in it.
Sherlock was staring. It was not much of a disturbance at first, but now John started to feel his scrutiny like a heavy weight against his skin, pressing, burning, making him sweat. John squirmed slightly, uneasiness spreading through his system. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He opened them to find Sherlock continuing to fix his piercing, probing, enquiring eyes on John. Unwavering. Unnerving. It seemed like he was focusing him with utmost dedication and determination, but whatever the reason was, John couldn’t quite fathom. Neither did he actually want to know. All he knew was that it was disturbing.
"Yes, for God's sake, somebody does," he snarled, and then bit his lip. There was an unpleasant edge to his voice and it echoed from the walls.
The rooftop, the call Sherlock had given him, the tears both of them shed. The plain black headstone in that graveyard. The miracle he prayed for every godforsaken day and night, the one that never came, would never come.
Without actually thinking, John jumped to his feet and raced into the sitting room. He stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at the back of a familiar tall figure standing at the window, playing the violin, eliciting the sweetest tunes from it, extracting cries of love and hope and belonging and
Clara pried the mug from John's tightly clasped fingers and put it on the table, then pulled him in for a proper embrace. "Hush, Johnny, hush. It's okay, it's fine. I'm here, I've got you."
The smile on his face froze as he swallowed hard and turned his head to look up at the person standing right in front of their table, looking at them wordlessly.
Despite his insides still feeling tangled and twisted with hurt and rejection, the good doctor offered a smile in return and gave her a nod of his head by way of answering.
Their conversation died quite abruptly as a tall shadow loomed over them and a pair of long legs, clad in dress trousers, framed by a long, dark coat, entered John’s peripheral vision.
He moved to get up from the chair but was stopped by his flatmate's hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.
"How much longer are you planning to stand out there? Your tea is cooling." Sherlock's voice sounded from the other side of the door and John twitched involuntarily. Of course the madman would know he was standing here. John felt even more like an idiot. He shook off the embarrassment and inhaled deeply before he finally mustered up the courage to push the handle and follow his friend up the seventeen steps to the flat.
John, who had followed her into the living room, watching her every movement with enquiring eyes, gave a somewhat strangled laugh. “Oh, really,” he said, “he must’ve been In A Mood.”
John restlessly wandered the streets of London with no particular destination in mind. By the time he was tired and his feet were aching, he'd walked a solid 14 miles in five hours, from the City of Westminster through Lambeth and down to Croydon. At least that's what the GPS in his phone told him.
The ride was silent except for John’s occasional sighs. After a while, Clara couldn’t take it any longer. She cleared her throat and shot him a sideways glance.
John, sensing Sherlock’s discomfort, put a hand on his shoulder, trying to encourage him. He squeezed gently and smiled down at his friend even though Sherlock still didn’t look back up. “I, what, Sherlock? I need to know.”
“You’re not running away, John. You’re just putting distance between you and him. Distance you bloody well need
Correction: John would later very much hate himself, Sherlock, and the whole world for pressing the issue. "Get on with it."
When Sherlock ended and lowered his violin, John sighed contently, opening his eyes to look at his friend, smiling. “That was beautiful,” he whispered, trying not to disturb the peaceful cloak of stillness that surrounded them.
John felt like a zombie as he shuffled, yawning, into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Last night had been dreadful.
"Are you going to sniff it or drink it?" he enquired, never having seen John admire a cup of tea this way.
" He bit his bottom lip harshly enough to draw blood. "God, Clara, I don't know what to do, don't know where to go. He just...he found out and threw me out and..." His breath hitched.
Despite Sherlock’s threats, John smiled and rolled his eyes in a friendly fashion. “Sherlock, I made you a proper English breakfast, and
A finger on his lips cut him off. "Talk to much? Yes, indeed," Sherlock said with a smirk. Then, his face serious again, he added, "I never did this, or anything remotely like it with anyone before, John. I haven't the faintest idea how it's going to work." He took a shaky breath before he continued, "But I do know that I want you, every last bit of you, and I want to offer you everything I have to give. I want you to have me. Mark me, make me yours. I need you to."
Sherlock, however, seemed to understand, seemed to know. He'd absorbed John's every reaction. A smile decorated those perfect lips as they touched John's.
“Sod off,” Sherlock growled and bounded across the living room to his favourite window, picking up his violin.
Sherlock was pacing up and down the living room, circling the armchairs by the fireplace and back to the couch, stepping on and over the coffee table, then around it. When he accidentally stepped into the remainders of his cold Chinese and the shards of porcelain for yet the third time, he grudgingly decided to clean it up.
His gaze lingered on Sherlock. On his long, pale fingers adjusting the microscope, to be exact. A violinist's fingers, graceful and thin, skin soft except for the calloused fingertips.
"The reason you left Baker Street almost two weeks ago was probably my snappish remark following your rather rude exclamation of 'Fuck you' - it was the last straw, so to speak. My reaction was uncalled for, and I apologise for that. Yet, John, do me a favour and try to contain your...
"You were staring at my fingers the day you stormed out of our flat, undoubtedly imagining what they would feel like on you. Even now, you keep staring at my lips, implying you wish to kiss me."
The blond fixed his eyes on his friend, took in the desperation reflecting from Sherlock’s gaze. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak. “That’s all I ever wanted. I’ll always be your friend.”
A pair of lips replaced the wetness of John's tongue, kissing first, then sucking lightly. Teeth scraped over hot skin, making Sherlock moan again, having him turn his head to the other side to grant his lover a better access.
Pushing the door fully open she made to step inside, but paused. Her eyes fell to the shards of mirror glass on the floor and in the basin. Shocked, she dropped the bag she was clutching in her left.
John knit his brows together. He felt a feather-light touch at the small of his back, soon subtly morphing into an insistent one, applying more pressure, still slight, but unwavering. He glanced sideways at Sherlock, who was standing very close to him, so close, in fact, that their body heat mingled to a haze of all-enveloping warmth.
By the time Clara arrived and took a seat opposite from him at the table, John’s coffee was half empty and the one he ordered for her probably cold. She looked stressed out.
"John," the soothingly calm baritone lulled him again, "you said it yourself, John. You're lost without him. Perhaps that will be enough to go back home to him. Perhaps he even feels for you. Perhaps he is just waiting for you to make the first move."
Silence. Between them, even around them the busy airport seemed to quiet down. Time came to a halt as they simply looked at each other, one waiting, one trying to find his voice.
“Chances are he’s just going to give up on winning me back,” John said quietly. “Also, you’re making it sound as if we were a couple.”
She pushed the air she’d been unknowingly holding back out of her lungs in a relieved sigh as she opened the door to John and Sherlock’s flat and found the sitting room empty.
He gulped and looked back into those demanding green eyes (had they not been grey just a moment before?) and opened his mouth to say something. But words failed him, his brain wouldn't let him think of a proper response.
When he mentally stepped back and considered it, the silent bliss suddenly felt odd. Just minutes before he had felt nauseated and dizzy - hell, he'd been scared to enter his own damn flat. But now, with Sherlock sitting across from him, his eyes roaming John's face and body, no doubt making quick deductions and filing them away for later use, John was blissfully calm. | [
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It doesn’t take too long after that to Cas to finally fuck Dean. His thrusts aren’t as gentle as always, but they aren’t painful. Dean can feel Castiel’s fingers pressing on his skin, something that will leave some marks on his skin. Both of them need to forget about their crap and this is the way.
“It won’t work. I installed one of my programs that disable chips like that,” Charlie says grinning.
“Yes. On Sunday. You can go to the set and wait for me if you want to. We’re filming at Queen Elizabeth’s park.”
“I guess we should research the lore about different vampires,” Castiel says, sighing. “I can’t recall seeing this type of bite before.”
It’s quite cold in his apartment and much colder in the streets and Dean’s naked skin gets goosebumps. He quickly goes to the bathroom and starts the shower, thankful for the hot water drenching his skin. There’s nothing like a hot shower on a cold day.
Dean grabbed everything he needed for the tea; a cup, the tea and a kettle, which he filled with water and put it on the stove. Then he moved to his right and he started to cut something that Castiel couldn’t see, given that Dean was showing his back to him, covering what he was cutting. When he turned around, Dean was handing him a plate with a slice of apple pie and a fork.
Dean pulls away to breathe and he looks at Castiel’s eyes, letting himself drown in that sea. He isn’t sure when that sea drown him for the first time, but he knows that he let himself to be drowned. The thought finds him smiling and Cas mirrors it.
“You guys were in a middle of a date and I interrupted?” Charlie asks with regret as she walks towards the kitchen, making a guilty face.
Cas is fucking trembling. Dean kisses him sweetly and slowly, pushing his tongue to lick Cas’ lips. He feels Cas clenching around him and Dean gasps. His other hand is on one of Cas’ hips. He strokes that soft skin in a gentle way as he gets another finger inside Castiel. The moan Castiel makes is better than the ones before.
“Yes Dean, I am.” He says and Dean can almost hear Castiel’s smile. Dean’s grin gets wider. Cas is definitely coming for Christmas. “I’m in Pontiac, Illinois, once I wake up, I’ll drive to the bunker.”
Dean holds him tightly. His hands caress Castiel’s back soothingly and sweetly. He is really worried about Cas; he seems to be about to fall apart and break into million pieces. Dean kisses the top of his head and he rests his cheek on that spot.
The boy shrugged. “People barely come through these woods. And it’s easy to get lost in here if you don’t know it.”
Balthazar moves his arm towards Castiel so he can squeeze his arm to give him encouragement. Castiel forces a weak smile and nods before his friend leaves. He knows he has to cheer up, but it is so hard; the pain, the self-hatred and the regret don’t let him cheer up. And the worst of all it is knowing that Dean must be feeling even worse than him. All because of his fault.
“Well, I’m gonna go back to my room and sleep,” Sam comments, standing up. “Do you guys need anything else?”
Castiel takes a deep breath and he kisses Dean’s chest. “I had something different in mind for tonight, but—” He inhales sharply. “I wasn’t in the mood after talking with my sister.”
Dean grabs the notebook and stands up as well. He gets the pen from his pocket and waits for Cas to be done with the symbol. When that happens, Dean hands him both the notebook and the pen.
“You just drop them casually and you catch me off guard. But I like them.” He used to be a bit uncomfortable when Castiel praised him, but now he even likes it, because he knows that Castiel truly means what he says and there’s love and honesty in his praises. “And you love making me blush and I love that smile you always do when you manage to do so,” he adds with a mischievous grin and Castiel smiles. “So that’s worth it.”
Both of them parted their mouths, gasping and groaning as Dean slid into Castiel, overwhelmed by the feeling. Castiel loved how full he felt and how thick Dean felt. When Dean was fully settled inside him, Castiel let out a breath. Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s, breathing into each other, feeling how Castiel adjusted around Dean. They gazed at each other; their irises were a tiny ring around the dilated pupil, but their eyes were saying too many things. They always did.
Suddenly, Castiel starts to fuck Dean slowly, avoiding his prostate and Dean groans in disappointment. Castiel pulls the ropes, and Dean can feel it pressing it on his back and arms, the rough rope burning his skin. Castiel starts to kiss his neck and he keeps rocking his hips, pushing his cock in and out of Dean slowly, being very careful not to touch that sweet spot.
Dean exhales sharply, feeling his shaky breath. He looks up, trying to hold his tears. “Since she died, you stopped being our father! You were more like some commander! Look at yourself! Look at the things you have done to us! Look at all the things you’ve done to me!” He yells frustrated. He has still too many things locked inside him and he is letting them out right now. “What kind of father are you? And you still wonder why Sam and me try to avoid you?!” He lets out a sour chuckle. “Leave us alone. We made our life and not thanks to you. You never cared, so stop pretending that you do.”
Dean nods absently and draws his eyes away from Castiel’s. “I’m not that man, Cas. And you know it.”
“It'll hold,” Dean says, incredulous that his plan worked. “My mind, my rules. I got him. I'm the cage.”
Both are already naked. Cas is laying his back on the mattress, holding Dean where the handprints used to be, while Dean is above Cas, leaning his hands in the mattress, really close to Castiel’s shoulders. They are looking at each other in their broken way, with their eyes dark and filled with desire.
He is sitting on the bed, with his legs stretched on the mattress and his back leaning on the headboard. He is reading a book by Vonnegut. A calm dream like this one is what Dean was needing for a lot of days, even for a lot of weeks.
“And you are the one who tells me I have weird habits,” Castiel says as he goes out to the balcony. He knows how much Dean likes reading there.
When Castiel comes, he collapses onto Dean, burying his face in Dean’s neck. He mumbles something that Dean can’t understand, but he knows it must have been some praise. Dean smiles and kisses Cas’ head. They are skin to skin, feeling their sweat, Dean’s come, their shaky breathings and Dean feels fucking great.
“Dean?” Castiel says from the door. Dean looks at him; his hair is a mess, but Cas always looks handsome with bed hair. He is wearing his robe, too, and he is looking at Dean with that soft and worried look of his. “You had a nightmare, didn’t you?” he asks as he approaches him, sitting next to him and holding him tightly.
Dean’s nipple is the next thing that Castiel’s mouth pays attention to. He kisses it first, and then, his tongue swirls on it. With one of his hands, he pinches the other one. Dean smirks as he bites his lower lip, closing his eyes and moaning, his grip on Castiel’s hair tightening. Cas knows that Dean has really sensitive nipples and he uses that knowledge to make really awesome things. He even nibbles it and Dean moans louder, arching his back and rocking his hips.
Dean blushes at that. Damn Charlie, why did she have to say that? Castiel is blushing too and his eyes are wide opened. He looks at Dean again, but Dean just makes a nervous grimace and shrugs, unable to do or say anything, hoping that he looks casual. “It’s nice to meet you too Charlie.” He says as sweet and nice as possible, which makes Charlie to dedicate him a warm smile.
Suddenly, someone punched Dean’s temple and Dean fell onto the floor. The punch was followed by several kicks to Dean’s stomach and Dean could see his aggressor. It was John.
“Can you hold me tonight?” Dean asks. He sounds so broken, so small and he hates it. Lately, he’s always like that with Cas, he hates it. He doesn’t want to screw things up and he is definitely doing it. Cas is going to get tired of this sappy side of Dean.
Next to him, Castiel is quiet, looking at the moving landscape of Vermont, with its forests painted in different shades of red, orange and yellow. It almost looks like he is completely absorbed by the view, but his fingers drum on his thigh whenever the chorus of the Led Zeppelin songs they are listening to come by.
Dean looks at him with curious eyes as if he wasn’t expecting Castiel’s help. Dean smiles in that honest way of his before he says, “You peel and I cut.”
Yes, he did it. The pet name simply slipped out of his lips. “Yeah, I did,” he answers. “Not a word,” he says with a warning glare and Castiel presses his lips into a thin line, suppressing a grin. “Less talk and more fuck.”
Naomi walks the distance that separates them, only leaving a few inches in between them. She gives him her brand own sharp and pissed off look. “Listen to me very closely; that mister Winchester is a problem. Whenever you spend your time with him, you’re less focused on your job and your punctuality is less than satisfactory. Not to mention that when you came back to New York you were disgustingly pining over him and you were unfocused, and almost about to get a stupid depression.” She narrows her eyes, in an intimidating way. Castiel is about to snap her, but she keeps talking, “I don’t have any idea what your game with mister Winchester is, but it isn’t going to end up well for us.”
The lift stops and its doors open again. Dean walks to the left, followed by Castiel. When he is in his apartment’s door, he gets his keys and opens the door, stepping away so Castiel can be the first one to get into it. Dean gets in after him and switches on the lights.
“This is what you call a lesson? Tying up Sam and beating me?” It earned Dean a punch on his nose. Blood started to fall down his nose immediately and Dean knew that if his father wasn’t holding him against the wall, he would have fallen onto the floor.
Cas frowns. “Yes. That is the number of degrees needed to do a car spin, as you say. If I had done a three hundred sixty car spin, I would have found myself on the same spot that I was.”
“Bullshit,” Dean says, making Castiel look at him. “If anything, you’re the one who deserves better than a fucked up hunter.”
“Why?” He can’t let Cas to get away from his life again. Dean can’t live with that. He doesn’t want another fifteen years without him. “Why can’t we start again?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Cas!” he yells frustrated and irritated. They are looking at each other’s eyes. Both of them are really annoyed and pissed off, Dean more than Cas. “What the hell did I do?”
In the bunker, Sam manages to bring back Eileen, and after Eileen goes to sleep, Sam comes to the war room, where Dean is at, drinking. Sam is still hopeful about beating God, and he tells Dean that he needs his brother to defeat God. Dean just looks away and drinks.
They sit on the kitchen table and they start to eat the delicious meal Dean has made. As they have dinner, they talk about whatever they want to. They always have topics to talk about, from the meaningless to the most important ones. Castiel thought he would never have something like this, but here they are, living happily together. They have been living together for almost four months and they couldn’t be happier.
Castiel lets out an ironic and painful laugh. “But you were damn okay with breaking it anyways, right?! You just didn’t want to see it!”
Castiel opens his glassy and burning eyes and he looks at Gabriel. His big brother is right; he hasn’t recovered completely. “That’s why Dean and I have this,” Castiel keeps saying. He shies away from those golden eyes, because he feels small and delicate when Gabriel looks at him with those hurt and pitiful eyes. “I tried to live without him and it was a hell, you know that. I tried to forget him, to kick him out of my life and it was useless.” He takes a deep breath and feels how his heart aches more and more with every word he says. “And now Dean and I are friends, and I haven’t felt this happy for years.” He meets his brother’s eyes to show him that he is being honest, that everything he is saying is true. “All I want in my life is to be happy. I’m tired of being sad and angry. I just—” He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. “I just want to be happy again.”
Dean sighs. He feels his eyes getting glassy. He would give anything just to stop time, but he can’t. He looks at Cas, who is showing his back to him. He is so close to him but at the same time he feels he is so far. He hates this situation, he hates that everything has to be so damn complicated. And he hates himself for not taking a decision.
Dean blushes and huffs. “You sap.” Then, he looks at Cas, who also seems to be as happy as Dean. He walks towards the former angel and he presses a lingering kiss on his cheek. “It’s good to see you happy, too.”
After saying a few things, they both got up from their bed. Castiel stretched himself, taking a better look of the place. There were photos of the two of them in their wedding day. They looked really happy. He knew it wasn’t real, but it made his heart ache with longing. In real life they were never going to be that happy. Their lives didn’t allow such thing. Even if the world seemed to be quieter than usually, happiness wasn’t that easy to find. Their lives were a tragedy.
Dean simply stares at him, shocked about how natural this seems to Cas. Dean is sure that only couples do this kind of stuff. But then again, this is Cas; he doesn’t know about personal space nor he does understand some of the unspoken cultural rules humans have created over the years.
“He’s probably torturing that man upstairs,” Dean begins to say. “I’m gonna go after him while you take a look at the basement, heal whoever’s locked there, and then you come upstairs and find me, alright?”
Dean always suspected that if he ever met God, he was going to be pissed, but he never expected to feel as disappointed and hurt as he feels right now.
“And I love you, Dean.” He kissed him again, cupping his face with both hands as Dean got his on the small of his back, pulling him closer. When their lips parted from each other, they sighed. “I will see you in two nights, okay?”
“You too.” He hangs the phone and he walks back to the desk. As he approaches it, he sees and hears Charlie talking to someone, and the moment he recognizes that voice and that face from the person in front of her, Dean’s heart skips a beat. It’s Cas. “Cas,” he says, grinning.
“Don’t be sorry, after what Father did, that was the nicest death he could have,” Castiel said with some anger in his voice.
At the same time, Castiel felt relieved. For the first time in his life, he was the owner of his life. He wasn’t a puppet anymore, having to act and move like he was supposed to do. His strings had been cut off, and it felt marvelous and thrilling. He was now able to walk his own path. All his life he had been told how to talk, how to act, how to think, and he played the part he was supposed to play, hiding his true self from those who controlled his life, barely being who he truly was, only getting freedom when he was with Dean. But he still had to keep his façade for a little bit longer in order to change the laws he desperately needed to change.
A wave of shame runs through his body. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Cas,” Dean whispers into the dark. He feels Cas rolling onto his side next to him, aware of the seriousness in his voice. “I can be pretty cruel sometimes. You know that.”
“You wanted good quality pencils, so I got them for you. Well, stole them,” he says. Castiel smiles and looks down, hiding that pretty smile. There’s a small happy silence in between them before Dean speaks. “I thought that—” He starts to say, but he shuts up immediately.
Dean reaches the garage soon, parking his beloved Impala in the spot reserved for him. Lilly is waiting outside, smoking a cigarette. She has blue hair and is in her thirties. Dean likes her attitude. She’s charming and encouraging. She is also teasing with everyone who works there, but she also knows when she has to be serious.
“Sorry,” Dean apologizes. “I’m not used to people letting me talk during the job.” Clients usually want Dean to be quiet, except when it comes to moaning. They like to hear Dean moan and scream during sex. He isn’t sure if Cas allows him to talk or not.
“Are you trying to see how many shades of red my face can get?” Castiel says really embarrassed and flushing quickly. Soon, the blush arrives to his ears and Dean grins brightly, all gums and teeth.
Castiel knows that Dean is going to wake up, but this waiting is killing him. He wants Dean awake and fine. He knows that once he wakes up, he will still have a long way to go to get better; his wounds are severe and it will take him time until he is fully recovered and the wounds are fully healed.
Castiel needs to looks at those beautiful green eyes again, at that freckles face, trying to count every single one of the freckles that forms that huge galaxy, to see Dean smile, to hear him speak again, to look at him in that way that only Dean does. Maybe, if he is able to see him again, he will try to tell him what he really feels about him. He is scared of Dean’s reaction, but, he isn’t sure if he can hold back his feelings towards Dean anymore.
Before Cas can say anything about it, Dean sits on one of the chairs at the library, grabs his laptop and opens up his phone tracking program.
Cas rests on top of him, holding Dean tightly, caressing the left side of Dean’s chest slowly, with his head under Dean’s chin and the hunter holds him tightly, with his hands caressing soothingly Cas’ back. Both of them are exhausted, but they don’t want to fall asleep yet; it feels too good to cuddle together.
Dean rolls his eyes before he glare him. “Not yet, smartass, but it’s starting to get dark and cold, and I’d rather be warm. Not everything is about my stomach.”
After they finish their breakfast, Castiel begins to put on the rest of his clothes. He left them on the couch after picking up from the different places they were scattered and he left them carefully folded. Dean watches him getting dressed.
“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, Cas,” Dean says. He is confused about why Cas thinks he might find it uncomfortable; he actually loves having Cas like this, but it’s not like he can admit that out loud.
“What if I fuck things up again?” he asks in a sob, thinking about this fight and the time he got the Mark and almost killed Cas.
“We don’t know for how long we’re gonna be trapped in this town, do you wanna go back to that motel and sleep in those awful mattresses?”
Castiel closed his eyes as he got deeper inside Dean, overwhelmed with the warmth and tightness of Dean. He had been in this position for several times, but it still felt as if he was going to be burnt from his core when he felt Dean around his cock. Everything felt so intense and sensitive, and the closeness and intimacy they both felt with it couldn’t be described with words. The only thing Castiel could say was Dean’s name.
The Empty smirks. “Maybe. But your little speech has showed me how much you want Castiel, and I am going to use that to hurt you.”
Dean starts the car and the two of them take one last look to the cabin before they set their eyes on the road.
He sits on the bed and grabs his stack of photos, hoping that staring at them will ground him, that they will make him feel more like himself. He is sad to realize that he has no photos of Cas yet. He needs to fix that and print some of the few photos he has taken of Cas over the years, the ones he keeps on his phone.
“Dean!” Castiel exclaimed alarmed, running towards his friend. He cupped his face and took a look at the bruise. Dean tried to get away from Cas’ grip, but Cas held him tightly. “What happened?”
They stand up and start walking towards the main door, but Dean is slightly limping. Castiel notices and he gets Dean’s arm around his shoulders, letting Dean use him as his crutch.
By the time they end up, they are carrying a lot of bags. Dean decides to find a place where they can deliver the rest of the stuff they bought for Sam and Charlie. They find one and they put all the stuff they bought for their family in a box. They will have it in a day or two.
Dean glares her. He knows what Charlie wants to know and Dean is almost one hundred percent sure that she kind of knows that something between him and Cas happened. Dean started to spend the nights at Cas’ apartment two weeks ago, but Charlie still doesn’t know about it. They haven’t seen each other too much during those weeks. Dean was a bit busy with exams and so did Charlie, so they didn’t even see each other in the cafeteria.
“Thanks.” He gives Cas a brief kiss before he takes a sip, enjoying the taste of the coffee. Then, he starts the waffle maker and starts cooking the bacon and the eggs while Cas peels some fruit. “You always have to eat fruit for breakfast?”
“Sam, we don't have a choice. Jack's about to blow!” Dean yells, feeling the same desperation Sam feels.
“Did you find something about why there was light coming from the grave when we destroyed the oak’s symbol?” Castiel asks.
“Like this?” Dean places his thumbs on his nipples and he starts to make soothing circles around them, as slowly as he can. He even pinches one of them and he bites his lower lip. It isn’t as pleasurable as if Cas was the one doing it, but Dean knows where and how he needs to be touched to feel pleasure.
Dean hums contently. The darkness in their bedroom hides his blush and his wide grin. “You are such a sap.”
With tears in his eyes, but with a soft smile on his lips, Cas takes a step forward. “I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what— what it could be? What my true happiness could even look like.”
“Crap.” Dean says. He knows that Cas only gets on well with his sister. The rest of his family hates him for being gay. Cas barely talks or sees his family. Dean knows that Cas only sees Anna, but once in a while.
Castiel begins to walk away, so he can puts the cheap jeans on their bedroom, but Dean says, “Cas, would you mind driving me somewhere?”
Castiel just shakes his head and tries so hard not to laugh right now. Like Sam said, Dean suddenly trips over and his face goes directly into the mud. Now, Castiel can’t hold his laughter anymore because seeing it it’s more hilarious than imagining it, so Castiel laughs and laughs. Jess does the same, although not as loud as Castiel. Charlie and Sam chuckle in a really cocky way, and Dean just blushes and squeezes his lips, almost in a pout.
For the first time in a lot of weeks, Dean goes to bed alone, and he hates how cold and lonely it feels. The bed seems bigger and emptier than always, and it sucks. Dean rolls to the other side, showing his back to the empty space that belongs to Castiel. He has been trying to fall asleep but he can’t. Not only because everything feels colder than it should be, but also because in the back of his mind, there is a voice telling him that he fucked things up. Dean ignores it, keeping it as quieter as he can, but it doesn’t shut up.
“I had to run away, Dean,” Cas says with a pained voice. “I had to protect you from the leviathans.”
Dean complies and he turns over. He is now facing the mirror. He sees that Cas opens one drawer and he gets a condom and lube. He starts to finger Dean, opening him as he bites the tender skin of Dean’s neck, leaving some bruises. Dean closes his eyes and moans, fucking into Cas’ fingers and tilting his head to one side so Castiel can have a better access to his neck.
Even though she is still shocked, Naomi manages to get back to her fierce look. “Or what? What will you do, Castiel? You are nothing. You are only here because of me. Because I’m the one who got you all those roles. Thanks to me, you are someone. Without me, without all the acting, you are nothing.”
“You made me a pie?” The smile he makes is priceless and Dean loves it. It is pure happiness and joy. He smells the pie and he makes a satisfactory sound. “This smells wonderful.”
Castiel pulled his hand away, wiping it on the sheets. Dean immediately brought his legs around his waist and he pushed him down. Castiel settled in between Dean’s legs, aligning himself as he placed his hands on Dean’s shoulders. Dean rested his hands on his blades and they shared a sweet kiss before Castiel pushed inside him.
Dean takes a deep breath. The way Cas is looking at him means that there isn’t anything that Dean can say that will make Cas change his mind and come back home. Dean doesn’t even care to hide the hurt and disappointment in his face.
Dean can’t help smiling brightly and happily. His family is altogether in the bunker, and not because something terrible has happened, because they are going to celebrate Christmas. He feels so heartwarming and happy that he could cry of happiness. He has wished to have this for so long, that it is hard to believe that it is happening.
Dean stares at him for a moment before he bursts into laughter. Cas gives him that frown of his with his squinty look, wanting to ask him what is so funny, but Dean kisses him before he can ask anything. “I love you so damn much.”
He goes to the garage and gets in the Impala. He drives to Lebanon, towards a place he knows that is open this late, where he can buy a couple of bottles of whiskey and get himself drunk in his bedroom. He could just go to a bar, but he doesn’t want to risk getting into a fight or driving back home drunk. That wouldn’t be recommendable.
“You know,” Sam begins to say, leaning on the front seat to look at Dean. “I’m glad that you’re finally who you truly are and not trying to fulfill dad’s expectations.”
“Dean—” Castiel hisses, moaning. He rests his forehead on Dean’s and closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath and trying to keep the speed of his thrusts, but Dean tightens again and Castiel shudders and moans again. “Fuck, oh, fuck, Dean.”
It makes Dean wonder if dealing with the Mark would be easier if Cas was here and if he and Sam were on good terms. Now Dean is completely alone, and the feelings of desperation and misery only seem to fuel the rage of the Mark.
“Because I’m awesome,” she says stroking her long red hair in a proud way. “I’m master Yoda and you are my padawan.”
“I said I wanted closure for you. That’s what you deserved. For me? I don’t know what I want.” Dean starts to explain. Castiel seems to be about to say something, but Dean keeps talking. “I’m just giving you my number just in case someday, you need something.”
Dean is relieved to find Cas in the bunker the two times he comes back home after a hunt. A part of him wants to believe that Cas will definitely stay this time, but a big part of him is waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“My skin is tanner than yours,” Castiel explains, giving Dean an exasperated look. “And it isn’t as sensitive as yours.”
Cas’ thrusts are hard but sweet, full of desperation. Dean gets his hands on Cas’ back, moving them restlessly, not knowing where to rest them; he has the urge to touch everywhere, to feel Cas in every tiny inch of his body. They keep moaning each other’s names the whole time. There’s a moment when Cas finds his mouth and they kiss, and Cas cups his face and looks at Dean with devotion, and it is too much for the green eyed man, but he missed the way Cas looks at him, as if he was someone full of worth.
“I always leave you exhausted too. Don’t get that cocky.” Dean remarks with a glare in his eyes. Castiel kisses him with a smile. After the kiss Dean hums and then, he speaks. “You are hard.”
Dean can’t help laughing. He untangles from Cas, who grunts, and he starts to press kisses on his face, on his neck, on his ears, on his hair, encouraging him to wake up. “C’mon Cas,” he says in between kisses. “It’s time to wake up.”
“Well, if we’re being honest here… You should know that I fucking love it when you smile and when you laugh,” Dean admits. It is something he can’t say in the real world, because he doesn’t know how Cas would react and because the words never make it out pass his tongue. It is so hard to say the things he wants to say in the real world, but here in dreamland, they come out easily. Probably because he isn’t scared of losing Cas in this reality. “You look fucking beautiful when you smile and when you laugh.”
The burritos are soon gone, but they keep talking for a while. Their conversation ends this time because Dean has to go back to the bookstore and open it. He knows he has to do it, but he can’t help feeling a little bit sad, because he was having a really good time with Cas. That’s what Cas might feel whenever he has to leave because of his job.
And the worst part is that it isn’t a thought that it is only making his cock twitch, there’s something more, and he definitely doesn’t want to open that door. He is so screwed up.
“No, Cas, you aren’t,” Dean said as he placed his hand on Castiel’s back, stroking it sweetly and soothingly. “You’re so fucking good for them. I can’t believe you’re part of that family, to be honest.”
It isn’t raining today, but the temperature is still low, and they need to warm up the cabin. They need some wood for the chimney, but for that, the wood must be as dry as possible, but most of the trees as still damp from all the rain from yesterday.
Castiel chuckles and with his other hand, he grips the rope around Dean’s chest, lifting Dean a little, who opens his eyes. Castiel presses their foreheads together. The finger gets inside Dean easily and Dean lets out a humming sound, which makes Castiel to chuckle. He grips the rope harder, making Dean to feel it harder against his skin, burning it a little, and Castiel starts to kiss his neck as his finger keeps moving inside Dean.
“Yeah, but I was a douchebag. You were trying to protect me. To protect you and your brother and I was selfish, but at the same time I was hurt and I—” Castiel takes a deep breath and looks ashamed at Dean’s eyes, which show empathy. “It was a mess of feelings and I was really hurt and I overreacted and I thought that leaving was the best option, but I guess I made the same mistake you did.”
Dean uses his tongue too and increases his speed, matching Castiel’s hips rhythm. He tastes Cas’ length, enjoying the feeling of Cas’ dick in his mouth, feeling how it twitches. He knows that Cas is really close, so he swallows deeper and bobs his head faster. Every once in a while, Dean looks through his eyelashes at the faces Cas is making whenever he moans his name; it is a wonderful sight.
It is incredible to think how big Sam has gotten. He has a girlfriend and soon he’ll go to California to study law. And if everything goes well, Sam will marry Jess. He knows it is too soon, but by the way both of them were looking at each other, he knows that she is the right girl for Sam. His brother would be stupid if he ever loses that girl; she is perfect for him and so wonderful.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. But you were freaking intelligent,” he explains. “Why did you ever pay attention to me?”
“Oh,” Dean says arching his eyebrows. “Well, thanks,” he adds. Castiel simply nods and turns around, walking towards the bathroom. “You can’t stop worrying about me, don’t you?” Dean says from behind.
When they finish, Cas gets into Dean’s personal space, pressing the small of his back against the counter. One of his hands is on Dean’s hip, his thumb moving in circles, while the other hand cups Dean’s face. Dean leans into the touch and they spend some seconds looking at each other’s eyes before Cas leans closer and Dean removes the remaining space so their lips meet in a sweet and slow kiss.
“Sam!” Charlie yells, turning her face to her left. “Dean and Cas are on skype, move your butt here!”
Dean thanks the feel of Castiel’s warm skin under his palms as he traces down his back, and he is even more grateful for feeling Cas’ skin on the rest of his body. His hands soon arrive to his buttocks and he grips them tightly, making Castiel move his lips from Dean’s to let out a gasp.
Castiel studies him with that intense gaze of his, trying to know what is going on. “Aren’t you going to tell me anything about where we are going?”
Dean doesn’t know where the hell Cas is. He hasn’t talked with him since he walked away from that bridge, after kicking Gadreel out of Sam. They didn’t say a word to each other; they just looked at each other with sadness and pain. Dean wanted Cas to go with him, but he didn’t deserve it. He kicked Castiel out of the bunker without any explanation at all and Dean couldn’t be with him; he is poison and he would only hurt Castiel. Also, Sam needed Cas to take care of him while Dean was away.
“Fuck, Cas—” His voice comes out breathy and he feels his eyes getting glassy. “Holy fuck, I— shit—” He takes a deep breath. He wants to say so many different things, but he doesn’t know where he can start. “I— wow. I didn’t know it.”
“Not really. We need to get rid of Ion.” Castiel looks at both sides of the street. As they walk, they can hear Ion’s steps behind them. “I have a crazy idea.”
Cas takes Dean’s silence as an acceptance, so he presses his fingers on Dean’s forehead and heals him. Dean suppresses a moan at the familiar and comforting feeling of Cas’ grace running through his body. It is always brief and it always leaves Dean wanting more. The Mark of Cain, however, doesn’t like Cas’ grace and it throbs in his arm painfully, making Dean want to hiss, but he suppresses that too, not wanting to worry Cas.
“Fuck!” Dean wails. He repeatedly hits the wheel, hurting himself, but he doesn’t care; physical pain is always more bearable than emotional pain.
“You’ve been drawing?” Dean asks pointing at the sketchbook. There’s only a sketch of what it seems to be some eyes.
“Cas,” Dean says. Castiel hums and he tilts his head up to look at Dean. “This week you’ve been mad at me because of a kiss?”
They keep kissing for a while, stroking each other and cuddling. When their lips are swollen, they pull away and they look at each other. Cas smiles and nuzzles Dean’s nose before he kisses it. His hand moves from Dean’s hand to the feather that belonged to him. Dean knows that the ex-angel is more than happy to see that Dean is carrying it all the time, that he never takes it off.
Dean laughs. He moves his right hand and finds Castiel’s lacing their fingers together one more time. Both of them smile. “Awesome,” he murmurs as he drives away from the bookstore, going to the hotel. “Because I’m not letting you go.”
But Cas is still ashes spread on a beautiful meadow. And Dean is still a man grieving the love of his life.
“Do you miss it?” Dean asks with a soft voice. He looks at Cas’ intrigued face. “Being an angel?” It is a question that has been in the back of his mind for a while, but he has never let it out until now.
“Yeah. I’m fucking terrible.” He grins and puts the beaten whites with chive in the oven. In a couple of minutes he will get the tray and put the yolks on top of it. Meanwhile, he grabs some bread and puts it in the toaster. “So, do you have any plans for today?”
After Dean pulls his fingers out and wipes them off, Castiel brings his legs around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer. They look at each other as Dean gets his cock inside Cas, biting his lower lip as he feels that awesome tightness and warmth around him. When he is fully settled, both of them leave out a breath and stare at each other intensely, as if they wanted to say with their eyes more than both can let out with words. Dean cups Cas’ face and kisses him, not sure about what he is trying to mean with this kiss, but Cas reciprocates it in the same way, and it feels extraordinary. When they pull away, both of them are still looking at each other like that, and it is too much, but they keep their eyes locked together as they start moving together.
“I don’t know,” Dean answers, shrugging. He takes off his plaid shirt and puts it inside the wardrobe. “Our choices are limited.”
“C’mon, you kind of like it.” Balthazar says rising his eyebrows several times in a teasing way. Castiel simply glares him. “It’s been a long time since I saw you and we work in the same freaking hospital.”
Castiel kisses him and Dean kisses him back in a hard way, desperate and needy. He doesn’t deserve Cas’ gentle and sweet touches, he deserves something hard and painful. That’s what he deserves, that’s what life is always giving him, so he should just take it and accept it. It is what Dean deserves, for being too much crap, for not being a decent person.
Breakfast is served; coffee, pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs and some fruit. And everything tastes delicious. Castiel doesn’t miss the happy and proud grin Dean makes every time Castiel lets out a small moan when he eats something. Dean cooks extraordinarily good.
“They never disappeared,” Dean admits without meeting the younger Winchester’s eyes. “But Cas’ feelings for me did,” he adds. Finally he meets Sam’s eyes, all filled with sadness and pain. “Can’t blame him; I left without a reason and he didn’t know about me for years. I broke his heart.” His voice breaks slightly with that last sentence. “At least we are friends. I mean, after everything, I’m surprised that he didn’t kick my ass and he offered to be friends instead. It’s more than I deserve.”
“Wow, you dare to call us scum when you’re the most disgusting person in this whole building?” Dean said with a pissed off and sassy voice.
“Then, you have to keep fighting for him, Cassie. It’s going to be hard, because you fucked it up, but if he truly loves you, you’ll still have a chance,” Balthazar says with a comforting smile.
Eventually, they find Sam and then, Crowley starts to “hack” the angel, so they can find some answers about who he is and how to save Sam.
“You earned it,” he says with a smirk. Then, he sighs again. “I love him a lot. More than anything. I just want him to be happy. I know I don’t deserve him, but— I wish we could be together again and made him smile and laugh and happy as I used to do a long time ago.” He makes a small pause and grimace. Charlie’s eyes get glassy. “Don’t say anything like it was cheesy, sappy or I’ll kill you.”
Dean smiles and kisses Cas tenderly and fondly. He can’t imagine how things would be if he didn’t have Cas in his life. “I’m a drama queen.”
Castiel grabs Dean’s hand and kisses his palm, making Dean gasp and blush. “I need to leave for a while, Dean.”
Even after they have eaten, they remain seated around the table, talking and laughing, enjoying each other’s company. Dean can’t help feeling so damn happy, because he never thought he would ever have a house like this, a house that he could call home, living with the man he loves and enjoying a nice evening with him, his brother and his future sister-in-law.
“’Cause after everything that you’ve done, you owe us, you son of a bitch,” Dean adds, letting his anger come out, because it is easier to handle than his pain. “So you get your ass down here and you make this right, right here and right now.”
“Fuck yeah.” He turns his face to dedicate him a big grin before pressing a kiss on his temple. Then, they look at the beautiful landscape for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and being pressed together. “We should grab our supper, don’t you think?”
The moment they are both completely naked, Dean gets his hands around both of their cocks and he starts to jerk them off at the same time.
Castiel takes off Dean’s t-shirt, pulling their mouths away as the t-shirt is being pulling off. The moment he has taken it off, Castiel sees a tattoo on Dean’s skin and he opens his eyes widely at it. A star circled by what it must be a sun. He looks at Dean’s face first, and by Dean’s expression, Castiel knows that it is a sun and a star; what Castiel called Dean. He got inked too. Castiel looks then at the tattoo and his hand touches the inked skin. Dean’s hand comes to hold Castiel’s hand, tangling their fingers together, squeezing it soothingly. Then, Dean leans over Castiel and they kiss again, pressing their naked chests together, almost feeling the beating of their hearts.
Once they finish their breakfast, they wash and they dry, and then Cas starts getting dressed in the living room, while Dean watches him.
Castiel hums a sweet noise. “Dean—” Castiel’s hand is on Dean’s shoulder while the other is on Dean’s hair. He rocks his hips on Dean’s lap, rubbing his half hard cock against Dean’s; it is surprisingly that after coming some minutes ago Cas is already half hard again. “Do you want to finger me?”
Once again, Castiel rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder, but this time, he also places his left hand on Dean’s chest, stroking it in a gentle but in an arousing way. “Are you sure you want to try that Dean?”
Castiel takes his time praising the sensitive skin, leaving several hickeys and soothing them with gentle kisses.
His grip around Dean becomes tighter and he begins to jerk off Dean, who groans and moans. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead onto Castiel as he thrusts into Castiel’s fist. Cas keeps moving his hand on Dean’s cock with quick movements, changing the angle a little, knowing exactly how Dean likes it.
“Alright, I’m ready,” Dean says, clapping and rubbing his hands in anticipation, but also as a way to stim.
His thrusts are sweet, slow and delicate but really arousing and passionate. They are making love and Castiel feels overwhelmed by it. He looks at Dean and with one of his hands, he cups his face so they can kiss until both of them have to moan and pull away.
Dean comes with a loud moan, and Castiel comes almost immediately. He keeps fucking Dean through their releases, until his hips give up and he collapses onto Dean, burying his face on Dean’s neck, breathing as hard as Dean. Both of them are exhausted, but they are still seeing stars behind their eyes. Dean drops his sore legs from Cas’ waist, stretching them as best as he can on the backseat, and he holds Cas’ tighter.
Cas doesn’t move until his breathing has calmed down. That’s when he pulls away from Dean and takes off the condom, knotting it. Dean indicates him that there’s a plastic bag in the glovebox and he can put it there, that he will toss it away when he is at home. Castiel does as he is told and he also grabs some tissues to clean the mess of Dean’s come on their bellies. He first cleans Dean, doing it with all his fondness. Then he cleans himself, and when they are both clean, Cas lies onto Dean again, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder and spreading his arm on his chest, his hand caressing Dean’s chest slowly but sweetly. Dean presses his chin on top of Cas’ head and he holds him, one of his thumbs making soothing circles on his hip while the other does it on his left shoulder.
“’m tired for that,” he mumbles against the pillow. He almost hears Cas rolling his eyes. “Freaking Wichita’s too fucking far.”
Dean smiles a feels how his cheeks blush. “Yeah, it does.” He knows what Cas means. They have sex, but it always feels as something deeper and more intimate. There is something about it that they can’t describe with words. “Why are we talking about this?” he asks, chuckling shyly.
“Well, I— I’m free during lunch time,” Dean says to Castiel as he scans the barcodes of the couple of books the customer has handed him. “But that won’t be ‘til two.” He looks at the wall where the clock is and sees that it is only 11:54 A.M. That clock is one of the most popular decorations in the store. It consists on a black stain where it looks as if butterflies came out of it. Dean really likes it.
Castiel looked at Dean with a concerned voice. Something in his voice and in his face wasn’t right. He wanted to ask, but Dean stood up from the chair and handed Castiel the letter. Castiel grabbed it and looked at the envelope. It was from Charlie, but the addressee was Dean. The envelope was open, and Castiel looked at Dean, who was standing next to him, resting the small of his back against the counter.
They arrive to the Ritz Hotel soon, sooner than Dean wanted to, but he can’t do anything about it. Cas looks sleepy and he looks really cute. He sits properly on the seat and stares as the hotel as Dean stops in front of it.
When Castiel pulled away, Dean turned to look at his brother, who had wide eyes and looked in between Castiel and Dean. “Sam, this is—”
Dean starts the engine and drives towards said park. It is one of his favorites. It was the first park he and Sam visited when they arrived to Vancouver. He can’t help smiling at the memory. It’s been a long time since they arrived to the city and since then, both of them have made memories in this city. Dean wasn’t very sure about how his life would develop in Canada, but it turned out to be a nice surprise.
Dean laughed. They walked towards the kitchen and they got out to the backyard, where Emmanuel was. Castiel took his horse with him so it would be easier for him to go to palace every time he had to attend a meeting with his brother. Even he and Dean went on that horse where both were needed.
Dean hums in agreement. “I do.” He knows that Cas is about to ask something, but he kisses him briefly. “Like to feel your cock in my ass.” With that, Castiel blushes deeply and Dean can’t help the happy smile his own lips draw. “So cute when you blush.”
“So you’ve told me a million times,” Dean says, hiding a smirk as he drinks his coffee. He got it in a cheap coffee shop in front of the motel. He is actually surprised by the taste. Not that the flavor is great, but he was expecting something that tasted like water with colorant.
Sometimes Dean wishes it was like that. That he was the one who died instead of Mary. That the crappiest son on earth died instead of the best mother that this world has ever seen.
But there’s nothing holding Cas in Vancouver, right? Of course that there isn’t. His life is in New York. He hasn’t lost anything here.
Cas follows, and Dean does so after a moment. He can feel the rapid beating of his heart hammering against his chest.
“Yeah.” He sighs and then he looks at Cas. “Keeping such a huge secret sucks, and it makes you feel guilty constantly, but when you love someone, you don’t want that person to have to deal with that load you carry. By not telling them, they can have a normal and happy life, without having to worry about that stuff. And that’s something every hunter wishes for themselves at one point.”
“Dean—!” He places his hand on Dean’s nape, bringing their faces together, until their foreheads are touching and they are breathing into each other. Dean doesn’t stop his riding for a moment and he holds himself tighter on Cas’ shoulders. “Think you can come without being touched?” he asks hurriedly.
They keep walking in a comfortable silence. Soon, they arrive to a small park. The leafless trees are almost hidden in the dark, like the benches from the park. Despite of that, Dean thinks that the park is pretty. In spring, when all those trees have recovered their leaves, it must look beautiful. There must be different shades of green in the park and a lot of different colors from the flowers that are gone now in winter, but they are waiting for the warmth of spring to bring them back to life.
Dean held him tightly and kissed his temple. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Cas. I get it, really. I never wanted to become like my father, and there are things about him I haven’t told anyone, so I shouldn’t be this hard on you. Fuck, I’m such a jerk.”
“Thank you, Dean. That is a really nice compliment.” He steals a quick kiss from his lips, leaving Dean with a soft smile on his face. “You are the fucking best as well.”
He knows that Cas is really accepting and open minded, but Dean hasn’t found the courage to tell Cas about that. He fears that Cas would find it weird or uncomfortable, even if Cas has never felt like that when it comes to Dean, but Dean also feels embarrassed about admitting that he likes wearing panties and that he owns a pair of them that he actually bought for himself because he loves the feeling of it.
Cas reaches Dean’s cock and he starts to blow him. His hands immediately go to Cas’ hair, gripping it tightly as he rocks his hips. The ex-angel sucks in deeper, pressing his sinful lips tighter and swirling his tongue, making Dean groan and moan, fucking into his mouth as if there was no tomorrow. Cas fucking moans around his cock when it hits the back of his throat.
Castiel sighs, relieved, and he lets go of Dean’s wrist, leaving the ghost of his touch on Dean’s skin. “Thank you, Dean.”
I'm updating a few hours before my usal hour because I don't know if I'm going to be able to upload it later, so there you go. Thank you so much for reading, for the kudos, the comments, the bookmarks and the subscriptions :)
“Trust me, he’s not exaggerating at all,” Sam says with a grimace. “Rock concerts are really loud. And smelly.” He laughs with the last word and Cas’ frown only deepens.
Castiel rolled his eyes but smiled. He lined himself and he started pressing the head of his cock inside Dean’s tight hole, moaning at the sensation. He got a bit further, feeling the muscle give in and he started to push inside, making the two of them moan. As he got in deeper, Dean’s tightness and warmth increased, and it was maddening. The feeling of Dean around him was marvelous.
But Dean chuckles, easily and calmly. “It’s nothing related with the supernatural world, Cas,” he explains, and Castiel feels relieved by that. “It’s something related with—” he sighs and lifts his eyes, shyly. “With my personal life.”
Dean frowns at that. He knows that Cas is telling the truth. “Then, why did you called saying that you needed me?”
Dean nods and begins to eat his breakfast. An idea comes into his mind, but he keeps it to himself, because he knows Cas would reject the idea. “Are you gonna work on the garden today?” he asks, curiously.
Billie glares him. “That’s asking too much. You three and Rowena are alive. The Empty isn’t after Jack nor Castiel. You won’t have to fight against God nor angels nor demons anymore. I think that you three have gained more than you expected.”
Castiel took a deep breath and looked down, feeling how his heart was hurting. It never felt like that before. He always liked being staying in town because, as Gabriel said, it gave them a little bit of freedom, but now that Castiel had a best friend and he got to experience what freedom really was, he didn’t want to leave. But he knew he couldn’t stay. He had to leave. His parents said so and he had to obey.
There is a long pause. Cas looks at Dean while Dean thinks about what he has said. Then, Cas looks at Sam, who also looks worried. Finally, Cas looks at himself, covered in dirt and monster’s blood.
When he opens his eyes, he catches sight of Cas’ trench coat. He put it in the trunk the moment they left the reservoir. He didn’t care that it was still soaking; he just needed to keep it safe. He couldn’t part without it.
Cas always makes coffee. He is great at it. Dean doesn’t know what his secret is, but no one in the bunker knows how to make a coffee as great as Castiel.
“Got any plans for tonight?” Dean asks, trying to change the subject. He always tries to avoid talking about his job as much as he can, usually to avoid questions that will screw his front. Sometimes he mentions something, he makes up something convincing, but nothing else. The less people that know about his fake job, the better.
“Of course I can. But I will need something of him to make the locating spell. Like a hair or something he wore.”
Dean hides his smile behind the menu. “That sounds delicious. Everything sounds delicious to be honest.”
Castiel smiles. Then, he lifts Dean’s hand and he kisses his palm, which makes Dean blush like he hasn’t blushed in years or maybe in forever.
Dean stares at him, shocked. “Oh, no, you can't do that. Sam's not well enough. If you leave his body...”
“He was about everything else. He—” He stops talking, noticing all the hostile looks from the angels. He is starting to lose them, Dean can see it. Then, he looks at Hannah. “You believe me, don't you?”
There was a vitality in Dean’s eyes that Castiel never saw before. His eyes were full of life and they were so expressive. He liked them. He was used to cold and expressionless stares, but Dean’s eyes were warm and inviting. “Okay,” Castiel finally said, standing up, not missing the happy and beautiful smile of Dean.
“I’m sorry,” Dean apologizes. He reaches Castiel’s hands and they hold hands. “I didn’t want to upset you like this.”
Dean turns his face and looks at him, with pain in his eyes. “I’m not talking about this moment, Cas!”
“Do you really want to picture my punch in your face?” he snaps sassily, and Dean starts laughing uncontrollably at that. “I’m being serious, I don’t understand why you are laughing at all.”
Dean looks down, making a shy smile, because Charlie is right. It was about time that Dean could be selfish and have some happiness. It has taken its time, but with all those things that were going on before those two big gates were closed and the Darkness was defeated, happiness wasn’t something that Dean could think about. Saving people was on top of it. Of course that he still wants to save people, but now things are quieter, and there isn’t that heavy load of stopping a huge massacre resting on his shoulders. Hunts aren’t as frequent as they used to, and Dean can have a good life without thinking that today might be his last day because some big bad is going to kill him.
Sam appears a few seconds after that with what Dean thinks it must be half of the vegetables from the supermarket.
Castiel begins to kiss Dean’s jaw, feeling his stubble against his lips. Dean closes his eyes and moans when Cas begins to suck the skin of his neck while his hands linger on Dean’s nipples, touching and rubbing them in the way Dean loves it. He rolls his hips, wanting to give Cas that pressure of their cocks together, and it earns him a wonderful moan.
“Come back in three hours, please,” Castiel said to the coachman, who nodded and left the place. Castiel approached Dean and got into the house, closing the door behind him, looking at Dean with a tender look. “Hello, Dean,” he said with a sweet voice.
Sam is taken by surprise for the second time. He probably never thought that Dean would ever be honest about that.
“Let’s make a toast,” Sam proposes, raising his glass with wine, everybody mirroring the motion. “For Kevin, the youngest one of us who’s gonna have no trouble at all in that PhD.”
Once Sam has gone to bed, Dean decides to get out of the cabin and pray to Cas. He has been thinking about praying to him for a while, but given that they had painted Enochian sigils around the cabin to discuss what the hell was going on with Cas, to avoid him from eavesdropping, Dean has to get out of the cabin to pray.
“How many times do I have to tell you that I love you before you start believing that I do and that you are full of worth?”
“What?” Sam asks, clearly alarmed. He looks at Dean, who gives him an innocent look and smirks. Then, he looks at Eileen, who is feigning innocence. Dean really hopes that his brother doesn’t let go Eileen.
“Chicken fajitas,” Dean answers. “I was thinking about cooking some bell peppers, but since my stomach is only a few minutes away from eating itself, I’m just gonna add some lettuce, tomato, bacon and some slices of cheese.”
Dean started kissing his jaw and Castiel closed his eyes, moaning lowly. “Do you wanna go upstairs so you can completely relax?” Dean murmured into his ear before catching his earlobe in between his teeth.
Dean’s eyes look for a brief moment Castiel’s hand as they walk out of the Roadhouse. His hand itches to just feel again how their hands felt like when they were tangled together. But he can’t do that. So he just places his hands inside the pockets of his leather jacket, fisting them.
“Yeah, you told me that you were a coffee freak,” he says casually and shrugging. “It’s just some normal coffee, not that expensive thing you like,” he teases with a wicked grin.
“Yeah, whatever.” He sighs. He doesn’t want to get into that territory. “Have you learnt how to cook something or do you keep burning stuff?”
Dean grabs his jacket and storms out of his bedroom. He needs to drown himself in alcohol tonight. He needs to get rid of the pain. Just for a little while. That’s all he needs. To be unable to feel a goddamn thing. Just for an hour of two. He can’t keep going on with this pain in his heart. Not tonight.
“No,” Dean says with a warning look. But Cas starts to tickle Dean’s feet and the hunter starts to squirm. “You son of a bitch!” He pulls his feet away from Cas’ hands, but the ex-angel is soon onto him and his hands start to tickle him everywhere. “Cas!” he giggles.
Dean runs towards Cas, who is lying on the floor. “Hey, hey,” Dean says kneeling next to him. “Hey, you with me?”
They brush their teeth after it and they go straight to bed, because Dean still needs to rest and Castiel likes going to bed with Dean. He could read or watch some TV, but he prefers going to bed with Dean.
Dean breathes relieved. If Rowena has been able to locate him, it means that Cas is alive. “Thank you,” Dean says before leaving the room.
They soon find the sheriff, Rose Morris, a woman in her late thirties with strawberry blond hair and grey eyes, who is sitting at her table and watches their approaching with a frown.
“Your burgers are delicious. But they would be even better if they had a good cheese,” Castiel says bitterly. He turns right, going straight to the cheese section. He looks around and then he grabs some Swiss cheese and drops it into the cart.
Dean began his thrusts and Castiel pressed the back of his head against the pillow, moaning Dean’s name loudly and digging his nails on Dean’s blade as his hips rolled with Dean’s, matching his rhythm. He grinded onto him, fucking into his cock. Their movements were sweet and slow, and Castiel felt really loved. Whenever they had sex, he always felt loved, but tonight he felt it even more, because Dean knew he needed it.
This is their last chance, Dean knows it. And it can end up with both of them together or never seeing each other ever again. This time, there isn’t a thing in between both options. But Dean is going to do whatever he can to get Castiel’s love and trust again.
Dean nods. “Now we’re gonna spread some olive oil onto the dough so it doesn’t get soggy.” He pours the golden liquid and then brushes it along the top. “Get the marinara sauce and spread it.”
Charlie sticks out her tongue and Dean laughs. “ I come every single day because I don’t like leaving you alone with these muggles,” she explains with an obvious look. Dean chuckles. “I didn’t attempt all the classes last year, and I’m not attempting all of them this year either. I come because of you and the fast internet connection.”
Dean presses closer against Castiel, who gets his arms around Dean and embraces him, tightly. Dean sighs, happily, burying his face in the curve of Castiel’s neck as he holds his husband as well, feeling loved and safe in Castiel’s strong arms.
“No.” He shakes his head and looks through the window too. The streets are dark already, only lightened up by the streetlights and the weak moonlight. “And you?” He knows he is a bad person for hoping that Cas will say no. He wants Castiel to be happy, he deserves it after Dean broke his heart, but Dean wants to be that person, he wants to be the reason behind Castiel’s smile, like he used to be decades ago.
Cas lets out a happy sigh and his hands are on Dean’s hair and on the space in between his blades, caressing him. “Happy birthday, Dean,” Castiel whispers before kissing the top of his head.
Castiel kissed him again, never stopping his thrusts. Dean’s cock touched his sweet spot and he moaned, loudly, and clenched around Dean, who moaned really loud too. Their bodies trembled, but they held each other. Castiel’s other hand kept cupping Dean’s face and his fingers brushed his short hair, and Dean leaned onto the touch before he kissed his lips.
“I know, Cas. I know,” Dean admits. “He was also my responsibility, too. And Sam’s. We all screwed it up somehow. And I know that you tried to do your best, even though it wasn’t the best choice.”
Castiel turns his face and looks at Dean, smiling. “Hello, Dean,” he says. Dean hands him one of the bottles and he stands up. “Thank you.” He takes a long sip and sighs happily.
“You are less tense now.” He opens his eyes at that; the eyelids revealing the blue treasure that was hidden. Dean could kiss him right now, it would be so easy, but all he does is smile and close his eyes, letting Cas’ soft humming to lull him and relax him. They stay like that for several minutes, and Dean feels warmer the more time that passes. “It seems that your temperature is back to normal,” he states. Dean hums in agreement and he hears Cas chuckling. Then, Cas is moving from Dean, who opens his eyes to look at him, seeing his impressive chest, and Dean feels his face flushing. “We should go back home.”
Cas gives his hands a reassuring squeeze. Dean senses he wants to say more, but Cas doesn’t. Probably the dream doesn’t want to disrupt Dean’s happiness. The dream wants to keep him here, so every time something makes the happiness falter, or every time the dream senses Dean’s will to leave, it quickly adapts and gives something to either calm Dean or to make him want to stay there.
Castiel blushes and nods. “Yes, I did. Every time I was under the same roof as you and you were having nightmares, I stopped them.”
Castiel sighs and looks at Dean, finally opening both eyes. “I’m fine, Dean. There is nothing to worry about.”
As soon as Dean switches on the lights, he looks in his drawers for a pair of pajamas that will fit Cas. He finds one that will fit Cas perfectly after a moment, and then he hands it to Cas, who thanks him.
Dawning arrived and Dean and Ash left the house, walking towards Ash store. Dean put the paper with the names in his pants’ pocket, keeping it safe. He knew that Charlie would use that information very well.
After a while, Dean finally moves his tongue to Cas’ hole, pressing a kiss on it before flattening his tongue and fucking Cas with it. When he does that, Cas lets out a really loud moan mixed with a wail, and Dean knows that if he was hard, he could be easily coming with just that sound.
Castiel keeps thrusting in and out of him, and Dean clenches around him, tightly, making Castiel’s whole body tremble.
Castiel nods and pulls away from him, walking towards the coffee machine and he starts it, grabbing their mugs as he waits for the coffee to be ready. Dean watches him, with a soft smile on his lips, feeling how his eyes are still glassy. He loves Cas so fucking much. And this is all he wants; to have Cas like this, sharing little moments like this, moments that don’t seem to be special or important, but they are it because they love each other.
Dean tries not to get too affected by those words; they are just words, nothing else, so he acts casually and he puts the bowls on the counter, being very careful not to burn his hands and he turns off the oven after closing its door. His heart is beating painfully against his chest and he tries to take small breaths to ease this pressure that it is trapping his chest.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. We’re gonna be late to our meeting with the sheriff.” He pecks his lips and kneels in front of him.
Dean makes an affirmative sound and looks at his surroundings. “It can’t be coincidence that this tree is just right where the shield appears.”
“I—” Dean tries to say. After confessing his love to Cas, it feels like he can talk about stuff he hasn’t talked about before. It is still hard, but at least, the words aren’t piling up in his throat to die, unable to reach pass his tongue. It is still scary to say the things he wants to say, but he needs to say them. He takes a deep breath, and says, “Cas, I’m just a fucked up hunter. I can’t offer you much, you know that.”
Castiel chuckles. He really likes Dean’s personality. “Anyway, why don’t you just come over? That way, you won’t be too rushed. When you finish your exam come over here.”
“What he did wasn't bad. It was the absence of good,” Cas keeps going saying. “And I saw that in him. But we were a family, and I didn't want to lose that, so I thought I could fix it on my own. Felt like it was my responsibility.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean begins to say, blushing, and he looks directly at Cas, still busy with his flowers. “I don’t wanna die like that anymore.”
“You can be a real pain the ass sometimes, Dean,” Castiel says as a tiny smile starts to form in his lips.
They sit on a booth and check the menu. Dean’s mouth waters at all the many fried goods. “Man, there’s so many good stuff.”
Dean kisses him. He cups his face and gives his boyfriend the loveliest and most passionate kiss he has ever given him. When they pull away, both of them are breathless. “Neither have I.”
Dean has to look away at that moment. It has been years since he saw Lucifer kill Cas, but that memory still haunts him and hurts him. Cas might remember leaving with Kelly as something good, but for Dean, it is one of his worst memories, because he watched Cas die, and it destroyed him. He knows that Cas is there, sitting in front of him, alive, but that memory is still too vivid for Dean.
Dean covers his face in embarrassment while Charlie and Castiel laugh. “Don’t worry, Cas,” Charlie says. “We’ve got plenty of that.”
Dean frowns at first and then he remembers the bandage on his left shoulder blade. “A ghost threw me against some wall that had old nails on it from hanging frames and they got through my clothes and skin.” He looks at Cas as he explains it, and his heart melts when he sees Cas’ concern. “I’ve had worse,” Dean asks, shrugging casually.
“I’ll come home to eat,” Castiel answers before biting the toast. He makes an appreciative moan and Dean grins. “I don’t have much left to do, so I’ll be back here in time for lunch.”
Cas moves away, going to press several kisses on the inner of Dean’s thighs. Dean likes how Cas’ stubble feels against his sensitive skin. He also leaves some hickeys there that make Dean fist the sheets. A few more kisses and Castiel is lying onto Dean and leaning to kiss him. Dean seizes the moment and places his hand on Cas’ nape, bringing him closer so he can give him a dirty and breathless kiss. When they pull away, Cas is panting.
Dean starts walking again and Cas follows him. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Dean knows that Cas is intrigued.
Castiel arrives not so later after that and he starts to prepare coffee. “Are you going to do those wonderful pancakes?” Castiel asks curious.
“Yeah,” Dean says. Words don’t come out as well as they should. He is still processing the fact that Cas is back and standing right in front of him. Dean has been through a lot to forget Cas, but everything has gone to hell the moment he has seen Cas again. What the hell is wrong with him? “What are you doing here?” He hates how soft and weak his voice comes. Dean Winchester is such a mess.
“That’s a low punch, Cassie.” Balthazar makes a hurt face and he smirks. “Then, what’s wrong between you and Dean-o?”
“Dean!” Castiel yells shaking. His whole body shivers as Castiel gets the snowball out of his boxers. He turns to look at Dean, who is smirking. “Assbutt.” Castiel grabs Dean’s t-shirt to pull him closer and he smashes the remaining of that snowball on Dean’s face, something that Castiel finds hilarious.
Dean smiles and grabs Cas’ hand. “I mean about everything.” His boyfriend still looks at him with his brows knitted together. “I barely say it, but—” He takes a deep breath and his thumb caresses the back of Cas’ palm. “Thanks for being with me, for taking care of me, for knowing what to do even when I don’t say a word.”
Suddenly, he feels Castiel moving, until he is lying on top of him, and he gets both of his hands on each sides of Dean’s face, cradling it delicately. Dean opens his eyes and looks at him, confused, but Castiel leans closer, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ve got you,” Castiel murmurs with a calmed voice. He kisses him sweetly, and Dean feels himself relaxing. But another thunder comes, its light getting under his closed eyes, and the sound gets into his bones, and he pulls away from the kiss. “Hey, hey,” Castiel keeps murmuring, keeping Dean in place. “I’m with you.” He looks right into Dean’s eyes as his thumbs caress his cheeks. “I’m going to distract you, okay?”
He gets in their latest stolen car. The moment he closes the door, he takes a generous sip of his recently purchased whiskey.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dean mutters in between broken sobs. He throws what it is like the tenth gauze soaked with Castiel’s blood, not caring where it ends or if it is going to stain the damn floor. The wound is still bleeding and it doesn’t matter what Dean does, it keeps bleeding. He needs to sew it, but every time he tries it, the wound opens up again, spilling more blood.
“Look at you two being so happy and in love.” Charlie’s voice is full of fondness and happiness, making Dean and Cas blush slightly. “It’s great to see you like this, guys.” And Dean couldn’t agree more with her.
“What?” Dean asks, not knowing why Cas is smiling like that. He is still learning some of his expressions, as well as Cas is learning his. There are so many gestures that they still don’t know about each other, things that they only do when they are alone. It is an amazing learning process.
Castiel moves his hand on Dean’s chest to Dean’s mouth. His fingers press onto Dean’s lips, making Dean open his eyes widely. He has fantasized about licking Cas’ fingers more times than he likes to admit.
Seventeen years had passed since the first time he met Dean, and Castiel still had to lie to protect both of them.
Castiel exhales sharply and he rubs his face, looking so human. “I don’t know. We should just take things one step at a time. For now, we will work with what we have. We will go to that McDonalds tomorrow to see if it has anything to do with the shield. We can also tell Sam to find a spell that can reveal if there are any dangerous spells in the witch’s house. Depending of the outcome of those things, we will decide what to do. We can’t keep speculating on these numerous hypotheses unless we have more information.”
Castiel rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Okay.” He leans to kiss Dean’s lips. “Switch off the lights. I need to sleep, after all, you woke me up extremely early today.”
Dean still has nightmares and the pain in his heart is still there, and in his opinion, that constant hurt in his heart is only getting worse. Just like his alcoholism. There is not a single day in which Dean isn’t drinking. He starts early and continues drinking until he goes to sleep.
“No problem,” Dean says, feeling really nervous. “Hey, I, uh, I— I wanted to give you something, if that’s okay.”
His blue eyes soften and his smile is no longer sad. He clears his throat and starts to talk, “As I told you, I was born in Pontiac, Illinois. When I was six years old, both of my parents died in a car accident. My grandfather raised me, but he died when I was fifteen.” His voice is sad and it is slightly filled with pain. “I didn’t have anywhere to go and I needed money to eat so one of my grandfather’s friends hired me as a waiter. My actual agent, Naomi, found me and thought that I was pretty enough to be part of the film world. She got me my first role at that year and since then, I’ve been working in the film industry.”
Dean just stares at him and clenches his jaw. “That was my mistake,” he says, a little bit calmed, but still pissed. He doesn’t want to tell Cas the truth about why he didn’t pray to him. “But at least my mistake doesn’t involve cosmic consequences.”
“Well, yeah.” Dean starts to say. Castiel’s brows make a confused frown. “That’s one of the most complicated things, it takes a lot of years and experience, it is strange to find a neurosurgeon as young as you. You must be fucking awesome.”
“Because I wanted to show you this house,” Dean begins to say. He had been feeling slightly nervous about this, but now that he has to finally tell Cas, he is feeling extremely nervous. He knows it is ridiculous, because he is pretty sure that Cas will agree to this, but Dean’s self-doubt is something he still needs to work on. He’s getting better, though.
It doesn’t take them too long to start moving towards their bedroom, leaving on the floor some of the clothes they are taking off as they walk, only stopping kissing when it is needed.
“Hey,” Dean says with a squeaky voice. He clears his throat, hoping that his next words sound more normal. “I can move them if they bother you.”
Castiel’s heart is opening old wounds; wounds that Castiel really made sure to heal completely. But as he watches Dean, that happy, singing, dancing and cooking, with a pretty smirk on his lips, Castiel feels a heartwarming feeling that spreads through his body, running rushed and wildly, making him smile without any effort at all and in an honest way.
Cas’ cheeks blush immediately, acquiring that lovely red shade Dean adores. “You are welcome, Dean. And you would do the same with me. Actually, you have done it several times.”
Castiel still gives him that worried look. “I would prefer it if you took a nap in the car. I don’t want you to get tired.”
Dean hums. “Really. I wanted to tell you right away, but the word still didn’t come out.” He sighs, and then points with his head a stall of honey. “I guess you’re looking for honey, right?”
He isn’t sure how he collapses down on the mattress, but he thanks having his back pressed on it and having Cas above him. After some minutes, Cas starts to move tiredly and he starts to untie Dean’s legs. Dean stretches them and he breathes happily and relieved, feeling that tingling buzzing feeling running down his legs once they are freed.
“Yeah, she is.” He opens the Impala’s door and he gets in it. Cas walks towards the other door and gets in as well. “But don’t piss her off, trust me.” Both of them chuckle. “Have you been in Queen Elizabeth Park?”
Cas smiles in a lovely way, the one that makes Dean feel so lucky for being able to see it and even luckier for being the reason behind that smile.
“What are you thinking?” Dean wonders, resting the back of his head on the top of the backrest, tilting his head to his right so he can see Cas’ pensive expression.
“Why do you say so?” Dean is confused right now. He doesn’t understand what it is going on with Cas right now.
He feels Cas’ hand on his shoulder, because Cas knows that what Dean needs now is a small touch, and Cas’ touches are never small, even if they are it. Dean opens his eyes and smiles. “And I also know you are a good man because you promised me not to look at your present.”
Both of them chuckle as they look at each other. In moments like this, it is easy to forget about the world and the reality that separates them. Dean gets lost in those eyes and he forgets about everything. That has always been the problem; he gets too lost.
“You know, if Sam wasn’t here right now, we could have some phone sex to make you feel less lonely.”
The brownies arrive; they are covered with hot chocolate and there’s a ball of vanilla ice cream on a side. Dean licks his lips and enjoys the smell of chocolate and vanilla, making his mouth to water.
“I don’t understand why we are here in plain daylight,” Castiel comments as he and Dean walk among the tombstones. “You always insist on discretion.”
Dean’s sitting on a chair next to his father’s bed. He’s been there for a couple of minutes. “I skipped it,” Dean says. “It wasn’t important. Today we were gonna watch some videos about mechanics on youtube. I didn’t want to stay there,” he explains as Sam grabs the other chair and places it next to Dean’s.
Castiel turns around, surprised and a bit startled. He clearly wasn’t expecting Dean to be awake. “I can’t,” Castiel recognizes with a tiny, shy smile. “And you?”
He knows he has to kill Lucifer, and the only way to do so, is to let Michael possess him. Cas tries to stop him, but Dean insists that he has no choice. If he doesn’t do that, they will lose their little family. Cas knows that and he looks at Dean in pain, because he knows Dean is right, but he doesn’t want Dean to say yes to Michael.
Cas looks touched and lost at the same time. He can clearly see that Dean means what he is saying. “Dean...”
“I’m a fast reader,” Castiel answers. Dean hums and leans down, kissing Castiel softly. “Did you enjoy your swim?” he asks as Dean sits next to him, dropping his t-shirt onto the couch. He brings his hand to his hair, caressing it, feeling the remaining of the salty water.
“I’m gonna get the medical supplies,” Dean announces, looking at Cas. “I’ll be right back. Meanwhile, if you can, take off your trench coat, your jacket and your shirt.”
“I think the guy was a fucking lazy ass that day and he did that. Or that lights went out and that’s all he could see at that moment.”
Dean rolls his eyes and drinks the remaining of his whiskey. “Can I ask you something a bit personal?”
It is raining in New York. It isn’t a surprise; there were gray clouds during the whole morning and it was just a matter of time before the rain decided to appear on the big city. Castiel looks how it rains through the window, hearing the soft sounds of the raindrops against the glass of the window. He loves rainy days. He loves being in his apartment, sitting in his comfortable armchair, having a latte while he stares at the rain. It brings him peace.
“Singing, playing the guitar,” Dean starts to say with a thoughtful grimace. Sam makes a confused frowns at that. “Sleep. Then you came and I started crying because of Cas. And then I fall sleep, again.”
He grabs everything Cas asked for and he walks back to the bathroom, where Cas is already showering. The temperature is high and the air is filled with steam. He leaves Cas’ clothes on the sink, hearing how the water stops. All Cas needed was some quick shower to remove the sweat. He steps out of the shower and Dean can’t help grinning at looking at his beautiful, naked body, making Cas blush.
“Yeah. I’m fan-freaking-tastic,” Dean says, with what he hopes is a convincing pout, but he can see in Cas’ eyes that he knows that something is going on with Dean. He clears his throat and says, “We should check it out.”
Castiel sighs and walks towards the bedside table. Dean hears the sound of a dish being placed on it, and by the smell, he knows it’s the lasagna he made.
Castiel grins happily and he kneels on the mattress, cupping Dean’s face, pulling him towards the mattress, forcing him to kneel on it as well and meeting him in a lovely kiss that Dean melts on it. When they pull away, Cas hugs him tightly, burying his face in Dean’s neck. “I love you too, Dean,” Cas says really happy. “You finally said it.”
“You aren’t a baby, Cas. But you’ve got low intolerance to these things. It’s normal. Sam used to be knocked out with one beer when he started drinking.”
Dean arrives home the moment Sam gets out of it. Sam seems glad to see him and he gets into the car. The moment he sees his brother, Sam’s face turns into a scared and worried one.
Dean hits that spot over and over again, and Cas moans and arches his back off the bed, clenching really tight around Dean that it is maddening. Dean comes in one of those times, but he keeps thrusting in and out of Cas until he is coming too, not so long after him, moaning Dean’s name really loud.
“Look, I don't need to feel like hell for failing you, okay?” Dean says, almost wailing his words as he approaches Cas. “For failing you like I've failed every other godforsaken thing that I care about! I don't need it!”
Dean begins to map Castiel’s amazing body with his hands as he deepens the kiss. Castiel does the same, wanting to touch every part of Dean’s body. They roll their hips together, feeling their hard cocks and the amazing friction that comes with it.
Dean keeps bobbing his head and swirling his tongue around the shaft, swallowing his cheeks. Castiel tries to make his moans sound lower than usually, but they still echo against the walls of the bathroom. Dean moans around Castiel’s cock, loving the feeling of it, increasing the speed, feeling how Castiel tenses with every bob of his head and how he starts moaning in enochian. Dean knows it is only a matter of seconds until Castiel comes in his mouth, so he takes all of Castiel in one movement, pressing his lips and hollowing his cheeks to make it happen faster.
Castiel mumbles something in enochian and he begins to kiss Dean’s collarbone, slowly ascending until he finds Dean’s lips and they kiss, lazily but sweetly. Dean buries his fingers in Castiel’s hair, pulling him even closer.
But things don’t go as planned, and Dean returns to the bunker without his mother or Jack, but at least he knows they aren’t with Michael anymore. However, his good news is short lived when Sam and Cas tell him that after Gabriel killed Asmodeus, he left the bunker, and they don’t have any more archangel grace to come back to the other world.
“Let me bottom-line it for you,” Dean says, because he knows he needs to make his intentions clear. “I'm not leaving here without you. Understand?
Dean hums into it, getting lost in the press of Cas’ lips against his. “It’s nice to have you here this early.”
Later, after sharing some kisses, they wash each other’s hairs and bodies. Dean loves when they do this, when they wash each other with all their care and they share some kisses and light touches. He feels so relaxed and clean when they come out of the shower.
Cas seems willing to say something, but he doesn’t. His eyes look moved by Dean’s gift, and so does the beautiful smile he is making. He throws himself at Dean, pulling him into a tight hug that catches Dean by surprise, but he reciprocates, holding Cas tightly. He doesn’t miss the faces Sam and Charlie make, but he ignores them and focuses on Cas, hugging him like he is doing.
Castiel nods and sits on the bed while Dean starts removing all his clothes, except for his boxers, showing his back to Cas.
Dean keeps leaving a trail of kisses on Cas’ jaw, feeling the soft burn of his stubble. “That would mean leaving bed, and you aren’t willing to do that.”
Dean shakes his head and lets out a long sigh. He will never understand why Cas and Sam love running so much, but to each their own. He keeps looking for soup recipes on the internet, trying to find an appetizing one for their lunch. They both could really use some hot food for today.
“We really need to buy Jody a gift or something,” Dean says. “Remind me that the next time we’re headed to Sioux Falls to pay her a visit.”
“Oh, yeah? When?” Cas snaps. He keeps groaning, and Dean can’t do anything but stare at him, worried. “Dean, something’s wrong. I... I can’t heal myself. I think the— I think the demon’s spear was poisoned. I don’t— I— I think I’m dying.”
During the whole time, they remain pressed together. There’s a time when Cas places his arm around the small of Dean’s back. It feels so intimate to be this close, and it feels so right.
“No,” he spits out. “It’s been a fucking week, Cas! And all I’ve managed it’s to push you away! Clearly, I’m the one who has fucked things up!” He is raising his voice more than he should, but he is really pissed off with Cas’ behavior. “So why don’t you just fucking tell me what I did so we can stop with all this crap?!”
It’s like Cas gives him something to wait for. Dean has the feeling that he is somehow stuck in his life. He likes his life, he has a job he adores and a wonderful family and wonderful friends, but he has that feeling that there’s something missing to complete the puzzle of his life. Everyone he knows is achieving things one way or another, it feels as if everyone was advancing with their lives but Dean couldn’t. But after all, Dean has never fit in this world, not completely. Maybe seeing Cas gives him a sense of moving.
Dean opens his eyes widely. Sleeping with Cas in the same bed? He hasn’t slept in the same bed with anyone for years; it would be a bit weird to do that. Dean has been considering sleeping in the same bed as Cas when they have just had sex, but not in this situation. “Cas, it’s your bed—” He starts to say.
“Cas, I’ve gotta ask you something,” Dean said, sounding really shy. He bit his bottom lip, something that Castiel knew it meant that his friend was worried about something. “It’s okay if you say no.”
Castiel grunts and he grabs two mugs to pour coffee in them. He grabs one and takes a long sip before handing Dean his.
Charlie grins and squeezes his shoulder, shaking him in that friendly and enthusiastic way of hers. “We’re so proud of you. You’re growing up so fast!”
By the time they are on the stairs of the garage, Sam catches them up and the three of them walk to the Impala. Sam gets in the front seat. He and Cas have a deal; when they leave the bunker, Sam rides shotgun, when they drive back home, Cas rides shotgun. Dean is always the driver.
Dean shrugs one of his shoulders casually. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” It feels good knowing that Dean is going to wake up and find Cas there in the bunker. Going to bed knowing that Cas is staying and he will be there, it warms Dean’s heart.
“You are insane if you think I should be the one apologizing.” He moves away a little, but not too much. This is a queen size bed, not a king one like the one in their bedroom. “You are the one who made me look downstairs because you didn’t want me with the vampires.”
The Mark remembers something that happened a long time ago, when Colette asked Cain to stop and Cain did. But the Mark has learned from the past and its mistakes, and this time, the Mark isn’t going to make the same mistake. He buries Dean, deeper than before, so it can’t surface again. It knows that Cas is the only one who will make Dean stop, because Dean is in love with him, and that is the Mark’s only weakness.
“Who are you talking to?” Castiel asks confused, making his brand own confused face; squinted eyes, titling his head to one side and a frown.
Castiel hummed in affirmation. “He is even aware of his situation.” His uncle always tried to pretend that he was doing better, but since the last two weeks, he had finally acknowledged that he could no longer pretend and he had decided to do as little as possible. “Lucifer must be aware of his health condition as well, so he must be already planning my murder. Have Dorothy and Kevin found anything?”
Silently and slowly, just in case something is waiting for them inside, Dean and Castiel advance through the place until they find the files of the deceased people in the morgue. Castiel holds the flashlight while Dean looks through the files, trying to find the most recent corpse.
“Yeah, it is,” Dean says happily. “Do you want to take another one? This time looking at the camera?” he asks laughing.
“Cas,” Dean says, worried, because he knows the reason behind those tears. He walks as fast as he can towards Cas and Castiel buries his face in Dean’s stomach while Dean holds him. “I’m here, love, I’m here.” He tries to keep his voice sweet and calm, but it breaks him to see Cas like this; feeling how a part of his memory fades away and being unable to do anything against it. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here, Cas. Just let the tears out. I’m not leaving, I’m here, beloved, I’m here.”
“I know, but—” He takes a deep breath and he rubs his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done any of that, and I feel like shit for doing all of that. I’m sorry and ashamed and I want to apologize properly. I want to redeem myself.”
Dean is about to tell Cas about his hair when the ex-angel speaks, “Yes, I know you love my messy hair.”
“I missed you, too, Cas.” He caresses Castiel’s cheeks and prompts him to move up so they can share a sweet kiss.
Castiel chuckles and Dean averts his eyes from the road to look at Cas and dedicate him a sweet and playful smile. Then he looks back at the road, enjoying the feeling of Cas sitting next to him and the sun warming his skin as he drives.
“I spy, the theme song game, road trip bingo, license plate game, twenty questions… Other times we just read books or comics.”
“How are you, Dean?” Cas asks, sweetly and worriedly. One of his hands lingers on Dean’s shoulder, where the handprint used to be. It brings comfort to Dean.
As Dean came, Castiel kept swallowing Dean, letting the warm liquid fill his mouth. When Dean was done, Castiel licked the head of Dean’s cock, not wanting to waste any of it. Dean was smirking at him when he looked at him, and Castiel couldn’t help blushing. Dean cupped his face and brought him up so they could meet into a sweet kiss. Castiel could feel Dean’s happy and sated smile in it, and it made him smile as well.
“I can’t believe you made a fruit salad,” Sam says as he sits down, taking Dean away from his thoughts.
“And you’re still you, despite the mistakes we both made in the past,” Castiel assures with a half-smile.
Castiel nodded. “It helps having you as a brother. Everyone is keeping an eye on you because you are restless, while everybody thinks that I’m being a good kid in my bedroom.”
Chuck nodded and watched how the servant left the house. Castiel knew he was up to something. “So, this is where you have been lately, right, Castiel?” he asked with a curious look. There wasn’t anything mischievous in his voice, but Castiel could sense that the King wasn’t happy with him spending some time with Dean.
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, and he means it. Then, he sighs. “But there's something Ephraim said. The angels, they need help. Can I really sit this out? Shouldn't I be searching for a way to get them home?”
Dean clicks his tongue. “Nope. We think it’s some sort of pagan god, but we’re not sure. The one behind of these two kills is smart and cautious. There are no previous records of deaths like these ones. For some reason, this god made some mistakes, but for the rest, it’s almost as if it was perfect at killing.” He tilts up his head and looks at the roof of the Impala. “The second victim had some kind of wound that looked as if a snake had bitten him, but we finally were able to get the files of the first victim today, and the photograph of the wound looks like a trident. Apart for both victims having missed parts, nothing makes sense.”
He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Dean. During classes it seems that he manages to get Dean out of his mind and focus on the things he has to teach, but once the class is over, his mind goes back to the freckled and green eyed man he saw on Monday. He wishes he could forget him as easy as he does while he is teaching. But things aren’t that easy, right?
“Yeah. But I saw that the guy wasn’t as good as he thought he was on the first game, so I knew I could easily beat him,” Dean explains as he grabs some of the reaming food. “If I saw he was better, I would’ve only bet five hundred.”
He worked as an inventor and as a repairer, although he didn’t look like it. Ash had a really weird hairdo that he referred to it as business in the front and party in the back. He dressed with weird clothes that most of the times were really colorful. He was a picturesque being; maybe that’s why Dean liked him that much.
Castiel’s lips draw a pretty smile. “It’s nice to hear that.” He makes a small pause. “Is there anything else you want to discuss or talk about?”
Dean has known the news for almost a month and he has tried so hard to tell Castiel, he has really tried to tell him, but he couldn’t. Castiel was so happy that every time that Dean seemed to find the strength to finally tell him, he couldn’t. Just the picture of Castiel being hurt by the news, it breaks Dean’s heart. And he knows he is going to have to face it tonight. He kept delaying the news, but he can’t delay them anymore.
“Pre-cooked meals still have to be cooked, and I always end up making something that’s burned and frozen at the same time.”
“I wouldn’t say delusional,” Cas says, pouting, and Dean thinks he looks really cute right now. “Perhaps the term ‘unlikely’ seems more fit.”
“It was necessary. He always gets in the way when I have to teach you a lesson,” John answered really calm and angry.
They kept spending their summer like they always did, talking, playing, drawing, walking around, taking a bath when it was too hot… And Castiel kept falling more and more in love with Dean and he kept keeping it as a secret, treasuring the moments when they were close, when Dean initiated a soft touch, when Dean looked at him in that warm way of his. Castiel wanted to tell him, but he was not only afraid of ruining his friendship with Dean, there was also the fact that loving a person of the same sex was a crime. He didn’t believe it was a crime, but the law said so and he was taught to believe homosexuality and loving a person of the same sex was both a crime and a sin, but Castiel didn’t think so. Loving Dean was beautiful, there was nothing wrong on it. Like many of the rules of the country, Castiel found no sense in that stupid law.
It takes them a while to catch their breaths, and when they do, they look at each other and they grin. Dean loves seeing Cas all blushed, with a gummy smile, with his eyes shining bright and his hair being a wild mess that is stuck to his forehead because of the sweat. Dean kisses him, happily, because for a moment, he completely forgets about reality and he just thinks about him and Cas, exhausted from making love, but both being really happy and satisfied.
“I thought that too. I wanted too but— I’m glad you made me change my mind.” He is so glad that he decided to open the envelope and that Dean made that video and he sang that song. Being in Dean’s arms, holding each other, feeling Dean’s warmth feels better than anything. Castiel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting himself get drunk with the overwhelming smell of Dean and his warmth, feeling Dean pressed against him. “Damn, I forgot how good hugging you was.”
He finally falls asleep, but while he is working at the garage during the next day, he can’t focus properly. He has fixed engines thousands of times, but right now, it seems as if this was the first time he did such thing; like if he was incapable of doing a task he can do almost with his eyes closed.
Sam is still dealing with Lucifer’s hallucinations, but for now, at least he is getting some sleep, unlike Dean, who is constantly waking up from nightmares.
Jessica shook her head. “No. It will take him a couple of days to wake up. He lost a lot of blood, but we sew his wound and stopped the hemorrhage. He only needs to rest. I think that in less than a week he will wake up. He is quite weak, but it’s understandable, given that the wound was very deep, but he is good, all things considered.”
Dean pulls away after a while and brings his lips to kiss Castiel, who groans at the loss of Dean’s mouth on his dick, but he is content the moment they kiss and even more content when Dean, after lubing his fingers, starts to finger Cas, loosening him slowly, feeling the happy moans and hums Cas makes as Dean works his fingers inside him. He avoids his prostate until he has four fingers inside, and Cas moans deliciously at it, closing his eyes and parting his pretty lips, squirming under Dean’s body.
They reach the motel and they get inside the room. Castiel walks slowly, as if every step he takes was the hardest task in the world.
But he finally found some strength and kept going. It took him a long time, a lot of work, so many efforts, but he finally kept going without Dean, carrying his broken heart and trying to put all the broken pieces back together as well as he could. And now, Dean shows up and it feels as if all that work Castiel did disappeared immediately. What is wrong with him?
“Morning, sunshine,” Dean mumbles as he rolls in Cas’ arms, wanting to face him so they can kiss properly.
“Dean,” Castiel interrupts. “You needed me. Besides, talking to you about the universe has helped me.”
Now it is time for Dean to blush. “You’re the worst.” He starts to remove the sheets from the bed with Cas’ help.
After Rowena departs, Dean decides to remain in his bedroom, reading one of the books he purchased a few weeks ago. He tries to put all of his attention into the words, to let himself be immersed in the fictional world, but his mind keeps thinking about Cas, worrying about him, knowing that something’s going on with him.
Castiel huffed. It was obvious that Dean knew that information because of Charlie. “I can’t believe you get to know about that but you didn’t know that I was the Prince of Arpret during all these years.” He made a sassy smirk and took a sip.
They end up preparing a huge salad that consist of tomatoes, lettuce, arugula, apples, pine nuts and some ricotta cheese mixed up with dried tomatoes. Dean doesn’t know where this ingredient came from and much less how his mind thought about it, but he is so dam glad about it, because it tastes really good.
Dean’s breathing is ragged and he’s moaning loud, but he doesn’t care. He wants to last as long as he can, but it’s so hard, because damn it, Castiel makes it so difficult. Dean clenches around Castiel’s cock and the man lets out a wonderful moan, making Dean feel how the body above him trembles and shakes.
“We didn’t last too much longer,” Castiel says laughing. He hands Dean one and Dean thanks him with a wink. He feels the juice soaking his tongue the moment he bites it. It is sweet and a bit acid; simply perfect.
Dean rolls his eyes and he almost runs to the bathroom because he can’t hold any longer. The bunker is quiet and his barefoot make sounds against the cold floor. Sam and Charlie are still sleeping. Dean knows none of them will wake up until quite late in the morning. Somehow they decided to make a marathon of
He makes puppy eyes, and although Dean has experience with that stare, thanks to his brother Sam, he doesn’t have any experience with Castiel’s. Those eyes are too powerful. “Fine. But only tonight. I don’t like that you’re inviting me.”
The next few days without Cas, Dean realizes how much he misses him, and the anger inside him starts to leave him, getting replaced by pain, longing and also grief, because he is sure that it was his shitty behavior what made Cas leave this time.
“Do you think you can leave me like this without any explanation at all?” Dean asks, his voice full of pain and hurt.
Castiel followed him and they walked towards the studio. That room always smelled of paint and oil, mixed with the smell of the few flowers that Dean had inside. Castiel had become fond of that smell.
Naomi smirks bitterly, proud that she managed to piss off Castiel but not so happy at hearing Castiel defending Dean. “This man is a terrible distraction for you and—”
Dean chuckles. “We should get up. We still need to go and deal with that fucking symbol in that oak.”
“Dean—” Castiel starts to say breathless. “You have an extraordinary mouth.” His smile goes wider. He opens his eyes and he looks at Dean. He passes his thumb along Dean’s wet bottom lip. Castiel bites his lip. “You have been so good to me.” He cups Dean’s face with both of his hands and he leans over to kiss Dean. “You have surprised me with your sexy lingerie and now you have blown me so fucking great. I want to reward it to you.” He says before kissing Dean again.
Castiel sighed and rubbed his wet fingers on his tired eyes. The sound of his sigh sounded louder in the marble walls of the bathroom. He was taking a hot bath. The servants always added some oils that left a subtle smell of orange blossom that always relaxed Castiel. He liked the smell of that flower. He sighed again, the sound echoing in the walls and he slid further into the bathtub, letting the water cover his shoulders and soothe the ache of his muscles. He had been working on some paperwork and he had to deal with Meg, and his body and mind were drained.
“How on earth did you know I was here?” Castiel asks. The lift opens its door and both of them step out of the building, where a black car is waiting for them.
“Hey,” Kevin says and Dean looks at the screen again. “There’s a pocket size version of this book, should I order it too?”
His stomach grumbles and he decides to go to the kitchen and grab something to eat. For that, he needs to pass by the library, finding Sam in there, immersed in the book he is reading. He hears Cas’ footsteps and he lifts his eyes from the book, smiling at Cas.
Naturally, everything is eaten and not a single thing is left. Even they don’t leave a single slice of pie, despite of being quite full after dinner. That’s why all of them don’t move from the table for a while; because they are really full and no one of them seems to have enough strength or will to move a single muscle.
After some long moments of fingering, Dean is opened up, so Castiel pushes his fingers out of Dean, in a slow way. He grabs one condom and puts it on. Dean puts his legs around Cas’ waist and he kisses him in a sweet but needy way, placing his hands on Cas’ blades. After the kiss, Castiel starts to push his cock in Dean. He cups Dean’s face and parts his lips, looking at Dean as if nothing else in the world mattered.
“Right, while you track down one of the most powerful beings in existence and lie to her face,” Cas snaps.
“Yes, Dean, I really like it,” he answers with a sweet smile. “What did you do with the old one?” he asks as he folds one of his t-shirts.
Dean kisses him briefly before he rolls onto his side, showing his back to the window. Castiel immediately places himself behind him, covering them with the sheet and pressing his chest against Dean’s freckled back and getting his arms around Dean, resting his hands onto Dean’s tummy, and Dean brings his to rest them onto Castiel’s lacing their fingers together. They are covered in sweat and come, but they don’t care.
Castiel traced Dean’s sides with his hands, loving the feeling of Dean’s body under his palms, feeling the shapes of his muscles and the sharp curves of his body, how his skin was too warm and Castiel loved it. He deepened the kiss and Dean nailed his back, moaning into it as his body squirmed under him.
Dean chuckles. “And you were wondering why I wanted to make a drive that long to only taste a pizza. What do you say now, Cas?”
“You should thank me, Castiel! He was making you waste your time and you were starting to drift away from your job! Now that he is definitely gone, things will be as good as they used to be before you two met!” She gives him a cocky grimace and opens the closet again, but Castiel closes it with a smash, startling her a little.
Castiel smiles and looks at Dean, who turns his face to see him. “It means that I pull away all that shit in my head.”
Dean put his drawing stuff away and approached Cas, cupping his face and looking directly at his eyes. “You told me that, not mattered what, you’ll come back to me. All I ask you is to keep that promise, okay? I don’t care for how long I have to wait, okay?” He gave Castiel an intense look, wanting him to know that he meant every word.
“Are you sure?” he asks as he turns around, facing Dean, giving him that intense look of his, the one he does when he is trying to put all his attention in one task. “Because I know how amusing you find my hair when it is messy.”
“Tired.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. “They don’t tell us anything and all I see is that he’s getting worse.” He bounces to his other leg in a nervous way and then, he gets closer to Castiel. “Hey, Cas, I— I was wondering if you would mind if I didn’t go to your apartment tomorrow and on Saturday, I’m not in the best condition to—”
Dean keeps running, with tears in his eyes. Everyone is looking at him with odd looks, but he doesn’t care, he only wants to reach his Impala and drive back home so he can get in his bed and try to forget that all of this ever happened.
“Okay,” Dean finally manages to say, overwhelmed by those wonderful words Cas has just said. “Okay, yeah, that’s— That’s good.”
“Everybody will be very scandalized when we get married,” Castiel said, shaking his head. He didn’t know how the people and all the nobles would react to him getting married to another man. He suspected that some nobles would immediately hate him for it and that most of the people from the country would support him, but he knew it was going to be polemic, but Castiel didn’t care. He loved Dean and he wanted to be with him.
“You misunderstood me!” Dean yells furiously and he looks more hurt. “You can’t feel like that for someone like me!” It hurts to know that Dean thinks he is still lying.
“Fuck, Cas, it doesn’t bother me.” He chuckles and walks towards the kitchen. “For all I know, you are about to pay me for letting you sleep here tonight.” He knows Cas; he might have changed in some aspects, but like Dean, there are a lot of things about him that haven’t changed at all.
They don’t say anything else about it. They keep eating their lunches. Their conversation is about Cas’ work and things like that. Then it switches to the classes Dean has after lunch.
Dean laughs. “As if I ever needed an excuse for that.” They share a sweet kiss, feeling their smiles. “And if I’m not wrong, you really like it, don’t you?” he asks, pressing even closer and rolling his hips slightly.
He is being delusional, but it’s not like Dean can do anything else. He had hopes and dreams for when the world was quiet, but those involved Cas, and Dean hurt Cas and Cas left, so now, Dean has to do something with his little, meaningless and miserable life. But nothing feels right anymore. He just goes through the motions and makes it to another day. That’s his objective; making it to another day. He tries to find some joy in anything, but he doesn’t. It is getting harder and harder to get a tiny amount of happiness.
“We won’t mail them,” Sam explains. “I’ve talked to Claire and she says that she can go there, to Jody’s cabin, and give them to you. She knows where you are and she knows the area, so she might be able to give you a hand. Meanwhile, me and Eileen will keep looking for something in case there are dangerous spells in that house.”
“But it is quite healed,” he murmurs as he takes off the bandage. “I think that in two days it will be fully healed.” He tosses the taken bandage away and he grabs a new one from the drawer.
Castiel chuckles. “It wasn’t that awkward.” He sounds so happy about that and Dean bites his lower lip and smiles.
Castiel releases Dean’s wrist and sees how Dean finishes getting dressed. Castiel is devastated and broken. He could have everything he and Dean had a long time ago but Dean, like always, pulled away.
Dean turns over, tears have fallen down his beautiful face. The white in his eyes has been replaced by red, and his eyes look greener than usually. “Of course you meant it. That’s what I am, Cas. A fucking whore!” he yells angrily, clenching his teeth and Castiel hates being the reason behind Dean’s pain. “You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t think so.” He walks the small space left from where he stands and the door and he opens the door, he turns to give Castiel another painful sight. “Goodbye, Castiel.”
“Yes, I am,” Castiel answered with a soft smile. “We can change things, finally.” He sounded touched and relieved. Dean understood him; he was going to have a lot of power, but Castiel couldn’t change what he truly needed to change, but now he could. “Thanks to you, to Sam and to Charlie, we have the methods to change things. I know we will have to wait for the King’s decease, but—” He smiled and grabbed Dean’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “But this is happening.”
“That’s ‘cause it’s a habit from when I was a kid. Whenever we had plenty of food, I ate as much as I could because I didn’t know when I was gonna be able to eat again. Days could pass after I had something more than a protein bar or a bowl of cereals.”
Dean wasn’t expecting that. How is that someone as awesome as Cas doesn’t have friends? Working as an actor means having so little time to hang around friends, he knew that, but he didn’t know that Cas could be that alone.
Since they were kids, Castiel had always loved nature and its colors. He knew a lot of stuff about plants and Dean had learnt so many things from his friend. Fifteen years had passed, but Castiel still was passionate about plants. Dean couldn’t help making a nostalgic smile. He was glad to know that some things didn’t change.
He rolls his hips, lining up both of their cocks, making the two of them moan. Castiel moves his mouth until he catches Dean’s earlobe and sucks. Dean’s whole body arches and he rolls his hips harder and faster, matching the pace of Castiel’s movements.
He knows that he shouldn’t have been that sharp with Dean, that Dean wanted him to stay, but Cas couldn’t. He only wants to lie down on the couch and sleep, hoping that when he wakes up tomorrow, he will feel better, that this would be part of a dream that never happened. Maybe his feelings will calm down when he wakes up.
Soon, their movements start to become desperate. Dean can feel the cocks of their lovers twitching inside him, and he knows they are close; just like him. He loves knowing that he is getting all that amazing pleasure from his lovers and that at the same time, he is giving them so much pleasure too.
Dean looked at him. There was something different about him. Something in his eyes was clearly different, but Castiel didn’t know what it was exactly. He looked more like the Dean he knew, and Castiel thought that it was because his dream was shifting to accommodate itself to give Castiel a Dean as close as the real Dean; to make it harder for Castiel to leave.
“If you ever need them,” Castiel intervenes. “Just come by the bunker or call us. We have all of those ingredients.”
“She’s fast,” Dean says quite impressed. Eileen left five days ago and she already has the two ingredients they needed for the spell.
“To Castiel’s.” Dean stopped in front of Moseley’s pretty house and held his little brother’s shoulders. “We need to stay out of home for tonight. Miss Moseley will take care of you and she will bring you to school tomorrow. I will spend the night at Cas’ and then, I will go back home and see how dad’s doing and go to high school.”
“It was great to meet you, Charlie. See you,” Castiel says. Charlie walks away, leaving both of them at the table. “She’s really nice,” Castiel murmurs with a happy smile.
Now, Cas is gone and he didn’t get to know that Dean loves him back. He poured all his heart in front of Dean, he gave it to him, without caring that it would cost him his life, and all Dean could do was remain still and quiet, unable to unleash the truth in his heart. Cas deserved to know that his love was reciprocated. But Dean couldn’t even do that.
“Balls! No!” Bobby says with a disgusted face. He knows about Dean’s sexuality, but he doesn’t like picturing Dean having sex with anyone.
“Dean, it's a human portal,” Cas insists. Dean hates it every time Cas brings that topic. It feels almost as if he didn’t want the portal to work on him. “There's still no proof that an angel can pass—”
It is a long drive and Dean steps on the gas, wanting to go get to the hospital as soon as possible. He would drive faster, but Sam gives him a couple of sideway glances that tell him to slow down a little.
They keep making lunch, teasing each other once in a while, singing along the songs that play in the radio. They have a great time as they cook. Soon, lunch is ready and they eat together, sitting next to each other. Like always, eating takes much less time than cooking, so they are soon washing and drying the dishes. When they finish, Dean decides to go to bed and take a nap while Castiel decides to stay in the living room and read a book.
“Agree.” Dean stands up and Castiel does the same. They walk towards the hall that leads to the bedrooms; Dean’s is the closest one. “Goodnight, Cas,” he says once he is in front of his bedroom door.
Dean walks backwards towards the bed, pulling Castiel with him, never breaking the kiss. They take off each other’s shirts, dropping them onto the floor. When Dean feels the edge of the bed against his calves, Castiel quickly takes off his t-shirt. Once the item of clothing is gone, Dean takes off Castiel’s, and before Castiel can go back to kissing him, Dean falls onto the mattress and grins at Castiel.
Dean feels boneless, and so does Cas. Both of them are panting and unwilling to move yet. Dean is still buried deep inside Cas. He knows he should pull away soon, but he can’t find the strength in his body to do such a simple task like that one. When his breathing has calmed down, he finally does it, both regretting the loss of their joined bodies. He knots the condom and throws it at the bin before collapsing onto Cas’ body, kissing his neck and making Cas chuckle.
Sam and Cas untie Dean. As he does so, Dean has a hard time trying to accept what happened. He was a demon, and he is aware of what happened during all that time, of what he did. He feels like most of the memories he has belong to someone else, but he knows that they are his memories, that he did all that bad stuff.
Usually, it takes time for Dean to know a person and built a friendship, but this thing with Cas is going faster than with any other person and it is going better. The more Dean tries to find the reason, the more confused he gets.
“Do you want me to leave you alone with the car so you can take it to a hotel room?” he asks really sassy.
Grunting, Cas moves his hand, and Dean looks at the ugly wound on Cas’ stomach. He can even see some of his grace trying to get out.
Knowing that he is going to die, Dean decides to visit his mother’s grave before going to face Amara.
Like always there’s a fight for picking the cards, even if nobody knows which card they are picking. Once everyone has their card, they turn it around to see which their fortune is.
“Thanks, Cas,” she says blushing. Then she looks at Dean. “You should have introduced me to him a long time ago, he is so nice!” At least that makes Cas blush too and Dean smiles because he isn’t going to be the only one blushing!
Castiel gets his tongue inside Dean’s mouth, finding his tongue and swirling it with his. Dean moans into the kiss and his knees start trembling, almost as if they had suddenly become jelly. He grips Castiel tightly, avoiding himself from falling. Castiel begins to take off Dean’s t-shirt, having to pull away their mouths from each other. Dean grins and takes off Castiel’s t-shirt, getting his lips back on Castiel’s once they are both topless, placing his hands on his torso, feeling his addictive warmth.
Benny’s surprised stare doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean. He knows that his friend wants to say something about it, but Dean can see Sam is making a long stare, and he is sure that his brother is telling Benny with that stare not to ask Dean about it, which Dean appreciates a lot.
Castiel blushes a lot and he presses his lips into a thin line. “You are talented.” He simply says with a small glare in his eyes.
The carriage stopped and Dean opened the door, the sound of the heavy rain getting louder. “Have a good day, Your Majesty,” he said, softly.
“Cas, I don’t, what— what are you trying to tell me?” He grabs Castiel’s arms, squeezing them a little comfortingly. It makes Castiel’s eyes get closed.
The carriage stopped in front of Dean’s house and Castiel got out of it. Usually, the driver had to open the door, but Castiel didn’t like that. It was a bit arduous for the driver to get off to open the door and then to go up again, so Castiel tried to avoid making him do such task.
“Hello, Cas,” Ellen says turning to Castiel. She hugs him, something that Castiel wasn’t expecting by the shocking look he shoots at Dean. But Castiel hugs Ellen back and he smiles. Dean smiles at well. “Good to see you boy. I’m glad you came.”
Besides, Cas was a fucking angel of the lord. There was no way he could ever feel the way Dean felt about him. Angels weren’t supposed to fall in love, and even if they could, they wouldn’t fall for fucked up hunters whose only purpose in life is to kill monsters.
Castiel kisses him and smiles. As he walks away from the greenhouse Dean watches him, with a grin on his face. He is really happy. If someone told him that he would get something like this back when he was twenty something, he wouldn’t have believed it.
Dean chuckles. “Look at us. The two of us being rebels and living in a way that was considered something shameful or disgusting for the ones that were around us.”
Dean licked his rim, making sure that Castiel felt it, and it was maddening. Castiel fisted the sheets and rubbed his cock against the sheets, alternating his movement in between Dean’s mouth and the friction of the sheets against his cock, moaning Dean’s name loudly.
Eventually, Castiel pulled away, telling Dean that it was his time to go. Dean kissed him and nodded and they began to get dressed. They went downstairs and walked towards the kitchen, where the backyard door was. Castiel was about to kiss Dean, but Dean stopped him and grabbed something from a bowl.
Dean sits down on the ground, too, next to Castiel, and covers himself with the blanket. “It’s fucking December and you’re out here wanting to see the sunrise. You’re fucking nuts.”
Castiel takes a deep breath, feeling irritated. “Well, this is…” Castiel starts to say, but then he stops and touches Dean’s shoulder. “Dean.”
Dean falls onto the floor, his legs failing him. He can’t go on. He can’t. His heart hurts too much. He should be used to such pain after having his heart broken and tore away too many times, but this pain is just too much.
Dean started to climb the house without any trouble at all and he soon reached Castiel’s bedroom window. He stood on the ledge of the window and he saw that Cas was in his bed, already sleeping. Dean started to knock on the window, loud enough for Cas but low enough for no one else in the house to hear it. After a few knockings, Castiel got up from his bed and walked towards the window to open it.
“Here,” Sam says offering him another gauze. Dean looks at him. He doesn’t know when Sam showed up in the bathroom. Dean nods and picks up the gauze, cleaning that terrible wound. “Do you need anything else?” His voice is heartbreaking and shaking. Dean makes a grimace. He can’t even talk; there’s a limp in his throat and his tongue feels too heavy and useless. He looks at the wound, wishing that it could simply stop for once. Cas is losing too much blood, and that isn’t good. “Dean?”
“From Dad, from Lucifer, from everything,” Sam adds. “I didn't always like it, you know, but... it's the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on.” Sam starts crying then, and Dean knows he is going to be crying soon too. “It's the only thing I've ever known that was true. So please... put the gun away.”
The night was chill and the breeze didn’t caress Castiel’s face gently, but he didn’t mind it. The night sky was covered with dark clouds, hiding the shining stars, but the moon could be seen, shining brightly, painting the forest in blue shades with white gleams. His horse rode as fast as he could, decelerating once Dean’s house could be seen in the distance.
By the time they talk to the last family, Dean and Castiel drive towards a Chinese restaurant, grab some take out, and head back to the motel to eat together. Cas still protests every once in a while about the taste of molecules on certain foods, but overall, he eats most of the food Dean and Sam eat. He also seems to enjoy a lot anything that Dean cooks, something that Dean secretly loves.
“How could I tell you that, Cas? You are fucking awesome. You are a neurosurgeon, an artist, so handsome, so smart, so nice, a bit awkward and sometimes a bit of a dick, but—” Both of them chuckle with that. “But you are awesome.” He looks at Cas with all the love of his heart and Cas makes a tiny timid smile. “And what was I? Just a fucking whore. I didn’t deserve you. You were too good for me.”
“What?” Dean says with a full mouth. He swallows the food before he keeps talking, “You’re not the only one allowed to moan over food.”
He is in love with Dean, he has been it for an eternity, or what it feels like it. He doesn’t know when it happened, but it happened. But Dean just sees him as a friend, and if that’s what Dean wants, Castiel will respect it. He will do whatever that makes Dean happy. Dean will never return Castiel’s feelings; Castiel isn’t good enough for Dean. After all, Dean is the righteous man and Castiel is just a fallen angel who has screwed things up more than anyone in this universe.
“And you are such a sassy son of a bitch,” he snaps sweetly. Both of them laugh. “Okay, I’ll park right there,” he says pointing with his head the free spot.
“You know I’m older than him, right?” Sam asks annoyed. Dean knows how much his little brother hates that he still treats him like a little kid. But Sam has grown up a lot, and he had to grow up fast too, but not as fucking fast as Dean, not at that scary speed. He had a proper childhood, but when Sam became a teenager, he had to grow up fast and he was the one who faced John first.
Future Cas leans slightly so they can share a lazy but tender kiss. When they are done, present Cas meets Dean’s lips and they share a kiss that is also lazy and tender.
. He looks at the file perplexed. Dean made a video? Seriously? He was expecting something very different from this, to be honest. He has already opened the envelope, so it would be a nonsense to not play the video right now. Castiel takes a deep breath and clicks on the video, wondering what the content might be.
Dean threatens the leviathan to shoot him if he doesn’t help them find the blossom, so the leviathan agrees to show them where it is, but before he starts walking, Dean asks him if he knows where Benny is. The leviathan tells him that Benny died years ago, ripped by his own kind.
“Everything?” Like ignoring us?” He knows he is being mean, but he doesn’t care because Cas hurt him badly. Because Cas chose to leave him for the millionth time.
“Dean,” Cas says softly, and Dean is hoping that he will finally say something about the real problem and not about the game. “It's your move.”
“Because you love me.” Dean simply answers. Castiel closes his eyes. His chest is starting to feel oppressed, difficult his breathing. “And I love you too.”
Without wasting any other second, they kiss again, with the same passion as before, but there is a hint of desperation in the kiss, something that says that they are worried about what is waiting ahead of them.
Dean looked at him with a curious frown. “Why did you ask me if I thought that loving someone of the same sex was wrong, Cas?”
Dean immediately turns his face and glares Charlie, who is staring at him with an intrigued look. Of course that she knows. She has known Cas for a while, and she has seen them interact together, and Dean isn’t subtle at all, he is freaking obvious.
Dean still has a hard time accepting that there is something worthy in him. But Cas believes that there is. Dean is working hard to see himself the same way Cas sees him. It is a slow and difficult process, but he is slowly getting there.
Even though the music is really loud, Dean hopes that Cas won’t read too much into the situation, even if the lyrics are depicting what Dean feels.
“And you got a blanket because you didn’t want to stain your car,” Castiel adds, with a sassy smile.
He walks back to his room and takes his trench coat off. He wipes his face and sighs, tired and sad. He is about to get back under the sheets when his phone beeps, indicating that he has a text message.
But Dean doesn’t kiss him. He still has to keep his love in his heart locked, until he can be free to live his life. Until his dreams can be something more than just dreams.
“I mean, how the hell are we supposed to even know what we're looking for here?” Dean asks as he looks around. Everything is too damn dark, which complicates their task. “You know, Michael coulda done us a solid and drawn us a picture.”
As he opens the door, he glances at his friend, who is leaning against the wall, and sees that he is uptight and Dean is soon concerned. Did he upset him?
Castiel smirks, and for the first time in his life, he feels calm and determined to do something he should have done a long time ago. “Yes, you might be right,” he begins to say with an extremely calm that catches Naomi by surprised. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. You have been controlling my life since you discovered me and thanks to you, I’m right where we are now. But you know what?” he asks, sassily, taking a step closer. “I’m done with it. I’m done with you controlling my life, with everyone telling me what to do.” He gives her a fierce look and Naomi keeps challenging him with her cold eyes. “I’m so fucking tired of it. So I’m firing you and I’m going to live my life for the first fucking time in my life.”
“Yeah,” he said casually. He wanted to ask other things, mostly related with his feelings, but he knew he shouldn’t ask that. After all, Castiel was engaged.
“Yeah, I would have to let my hair grow and put flowers on it to become her type,” Dean jokes before he takes a sip of his coffee.
He closes the door and rests his forehead against the wooden surface, trying to calm himself, but it is useless. He rubs his face, wiping the trail of tears, and then he takes a deep breath. With shaky legs, he approaches the shower and starts it. As he waits for the water to warm up, he takes off his sweaty clothes, realizing that he didn’t bring any clean clothes, but he supposes it doesn’t matter; he can get dressed up later in the bedroom.
The only visits he got were from his friends, that is why he was surprised when one of the servants came to his bedroom, announcing that he had an unexpected visitor.
When they are done with their releases, Castiel collapses onto Dean, burying his face in the curve of his neck. Dean sinks onto the mattress. He slides down his legs, stretching them onto the mattress. He gives Cas’ hand a soft squeeze and then places the other one on Castiel’s back. They both let out a content sigh at the same time.
He only manages to control his tears when he picks up the phone and he is able to keep his voice steady. Sam tells him where he has to drive to and then hangs up. Dean barely notices the fear in his brother’s voice; he wonders if Sam could hear the despair in Dean’s voice, but he is sure he didn’t. When you spend all your life burying your feelings because you are forced to, you become an expert in pretending to be okay. You wear a mask to hide your real face so often that you wonder if that mask has embedded into your skin. You wonder if that mask is more you than your real face.
He collapses onto Cas, who slides his legs down and stretches them. Dean buries his face on Cas’ neck, feeling how both of them are panting, how they are covered in sweat and how there’s Cas’ come on both of their bellies.
Dean stares at him for a moment. “We can look for him together. We can search for some signs, news and that stuff while we’re home.”
Castiel gets his mouth out of Dean and he cleans it, then, he grabs a condom, he puts it on, he applies some lube on his cock, and he starts to fuck Dean, who moans harder and places his hands on Castiel’s blades, scratching Cas’ back a little, but without causing him any pain at all.
“I don't know.” They stop walking and Dean turns to face Sam. “Hey, you remember... remember when you asked if we could stop it? All the evil in the world?”
Castiel looks as gorgeous as he looked before in the garage. He is wearing a blazer, a white shirt and dark jeans. And his hair is a wild mess. Dean can’t help making a soft and tiny smile when Castiel arrives to the table Dean is and he sits down, in front of him.
He spends more time than usually on picking up his clothes. He might want to look pretty in front of Cas. But if he dresses a bit differently than he usually does, he will be very obvious and everyone will start teasing him and he knows that there’s going to be enough teasing already without him wearing something special.
“Your mug with coffee is in the microwave,” Castiel says. “All you have to do is heat it as much as you want.”
Dean can’t stop thinking about that moment, replaying it all the time, constantly thinking about what he should have done to get Cas out of there, so that the two of them could get out together.
“Screw you, Sammy!” Dean exclaims and he kicks his brother leg under the table, but it only makes Sam’s laughter increase and Castiel starts laughing too. “You had to tell that, huh?”
Dean leans in an angry way to kiss Castiel. It is a dirty and desperate kiss, but both of them enjoy it. Castiel nails his fingers in Dean’s shoulders, and soon, he moves his hands to place them in Dean’s hair, running them in a frustrated way as Dean’s kisses start to move from his mouth to his neck.
“No problem,” Sam said. “I got you this,” he added as he handed him a book. Castiel grabbed it and gave it a curious look. “That’s where I found about that law. You should read it to know how to deal with all the legal and political stuff. I’m pretty sure you’re aware of most of it, but it doesn’t hurt to know a little bit more.”
Suddenly, someone knocks on the door and Dean turns his face to look at the doorstep. “Hello, Dean,” Castiel says.
Castiel smiles and pecks his lips. “I can’t read you mind, Dean. It’s just that I know you so well.”
Dean wants to tell her to fuck off, to tell her that she is lying, but instead, he remains quiet, holding the tears in his eyes. He wants to believe that what she said are lies, but she is telling him the truth. Cas always leaves, no matter what, and he never tries to stay in contact, using any excuse about how Naomi would avoid it. Everything Naomi has told him are things that Dean has always suspected and now are being confirmed by her. Part of him knows that she’s manipulating him, but another part knows that she is right. The pieces are putting themselves together, revealing Dean a truth he has always refused to believe.
He finds Cas putting some leafs inside a jar. Dean watches him with a smile. The sky is cloudy, but the rays of sun that leak through those clouds and end up in the greenhouse, make Castiel look more gorgeous than he already is.
“Are we going to stop for lunch before we go to the morgue?” Castiel asks, dragging Dean away from his thoughts again.
Castiel swims for a while, until he feels the muscles of his body getting tired, that’s when he decides to step out of the sea and go back to Dean. He walks slowly, his legs feeling numb as he walks. It is a funny feeling. After swimming and floating on the sea, it feels almost as if his legs have momentarily forgotten how to walk. But the moment his feet abandon the sea, his legs seem to have remembered the motion.
“No. The moment you shower it will fade away. And I’m quite sure that your sweat will make it fade away as well,” Castiel answers without stopping the brushstrokes.
“No, you’re not,” Dean insists, more sure this time. This isn’t Cas; this is something different. “You’re something that the magic in the relics created.”
“I like my car,” Castiel protests annoyed. Dean is always messing with his car. It might not be a nice car as Dean’s Impala, but Castiel still likes his car. “And why are you lending us your Impala?”
Castiel chuckles. “Assbutt.” He cups Dean’s face and they share a sweet kiss that makes Dean make little, happy moans. “What are you doing for dinner?”
Castiel sighs, happily and rolls to his side, freeing Dean, who quickly gets out of bed, just in case Cas changes his mind. “You are the best, Dean. You are what you humans wrongly call, an angel.”
“Sorry I made it longer by coming here later than usually.” Dean apologizes with a sorrow grimace. Poor Cas had a long day and he had to wait for him, even for having dinner.
“No. I didn’t. I knew things weren’t right with him, but I didn’t expect him to do something like that.”
Dean bites his lower lip guiltily, and old habit of his and he shakes his head. “Not really.” He sounds a bit frustrated, but then, he chuckles. “Fuck, do we need a fucking movie so we can talk about something else?”
Before they get down to business, they share a kiss. Castiel slices the vegetables while Dean slices the chicken. Wraps aren’t too hard to cook and they are fun to make. Still, Dean is the one in charge with cooking the mix of vegetables and chicken in a pan. Cas watches him and Dean gives him a few notes. When it is cooked, Dean puts the mix in a bowl and grabs some tortillas to put said mix in it.
“A little. But I’m also thinking about all the times people have told me the same thing.” He offers his beer and Castiel shakes his head, so Dean drinks the remaining of the can and tosses it away. “Back when I was a teenager, I started to realize I liked boys too, but thought it was a bad thing ‘cause my dad made me think that, and it was hard for me to come to terms with the whole thing of being bisexual. Even the first times I was with a guy, I felt ashamed about how much I liked it. I liked it as much as I liked being with girls. And I felt bad about it because I was raised to believe that. It took me so long to realize there wasn’t anything bad about it. And I’m more than okay with being bisexual. Hell, I love being with you, and I love the fact that I love you and that you love me, it’s fucking awesome, I don’t feel ashamed about any of that. And I hate it when people say that being bisexual or that being in love with you is bad and disgusting. I can’t take it. And it hits me hard ‘cause you’re the best thing that’s ever happened in my life and these people try to twist things to make me feel bad about loving you, and I fucking hate it.”
“Of course I’m gonna do that!” He joins Castiel’s chuckles. Fuck, this feels great, as if they were a couple, and it is so heartwarming and happy. Dean is going to treasure this moment because it feels so natural and good that he loves it so much.
Sam nods and makes an agreement pout. “We thought about letting people know once I’m fully settled in,” Castiel murmurs.
Before he turns around, Dean remembers to get the vial with Cas’ grace. He needs to find a place to keep it. Maybe he can wear it as a necklace. But until then, he needs to keep it somewhere.
There’s a small silence in between them. The only sound coming from the nature. Dean likes the quietness of the place. If this house wasn’t in the outskirts of Sioux Falls, it wouldn’t be this quiet.
“Hey. Wait a second,” Sam says when they reach Cas, who pauses and turns around to face them. “Where you off to?”
Dean can’t believe this is his life. He never pictured coming back from a fair with his brother and with his boyfriend and eating strawberries. He thought that his life was always going to be only about hunting, that he was never going to get something like this. He is glad that he was wrong.
Dean makes an acid laughter. “Yeah, sure.” He moves his gaze away. He feels uncomfortable when someone praises him. He isn’t used to hear compliments. “You say that because you are a terrible cook.”
“Castiel,” Lucifer said with his pompous voice. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.” He made a fake reverence and Castiel couldn’t help rolling his eyes.
Dean searches for the footage from last night, and the moment he finds the footage that shows he and Cas walking in, running from Billie, he immediately presses play and drinks the last of his beer before opening another bottle.
He throws him to the floor. This time, Cas can’t stand up nor fight. Dean rolls him until he can see his face. Cas is almost unconscious and he is coughing up blood. His angel blade has slipped up from his sleeve, and the Mark is pleased at seeing that weapon, so it makes Dean take it.
Dean walks around until he finds the dayroom. Cas is there, with his back to the entrance. Dean looks at him and takes a deep breath.
“I wasn’t gonna ask you that,” he snaps. And it is the truth; he was going to tell him that if he wasn’t sleeping, maybe he could make him a hot chocolate, which is something that always helped Sam to get back to sleep as a kid.
This is the safest way for Dean to tell Cas that he loves him. He doesn’t know what will happen next, if Cas will realize what the mixtape means and then have a conversation with Dean that will either lead to Cas’ rejection or Cas returning his feelings, or if Cas will not get the meaning or if he will ignore what the mixtape represents.
“You are welcome.” He kisses Dean again, sweetly, and Dean’s heart keeps skipping beats. This feels as if they were a couple. Cas knew what Dean wanted, what Dean liked. And Castiel loves all Dean’s presents as well. Dean is more than happy. “And thank you for your awesome presents as well.”
Dean rolls his hips slowly at first, sharing sweet kisses with Castiel. Then, he increases the speed of his thrusts, and both of them moan and groan at the feeling. His body slides onto Cas perfectly, as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that slot together perfectly. His hips roll steadily, increasing his pace, fucking in and out of Cas eagerly, almost desperately, matching the rhythm of Castiel’s hips.
They run back to the Impala, being quite careful with their steps, not wanting to slip. The shovels are uncomfortable to carry as they run, but they don’t stop at all.
“I suppose it is,” Dean says shrugging. They look at each other, like they used to do a long time ago; just staring without saying a word, without noticing how time passes by. The sea meeting the woods. Their eyes are saying so many things right now, but they don’t understand the language hidden in each other’s eyes anymore. “Is it too late to say that I’m sorry?” He says with a heartbreaking voice. Dean can feel his eyes getting glassier and burning.
Sam rolls his eyes and gives him a bitch face. “Since never. But you clearly have feelings for Cas. We all saw it last week. And knowing that you two are together—”
The ex-angel makes a tiny, soft smile and Dean melts. He places his hands on top of Castiel’s lacing their fingers together. He sighs and ducks his face, feeling embarrassed. Cas always puts up with all his crap. Dean knows he is broken, and he knows that Cas is well aware of that fact, and yet, there he is, calming Dean, being patient with him and helping him.
It is a song that doesn’t suit Dean. He usually sings rock songs, even if they are ballads, they are from rock. But this song sounds so indie for Dean, so sweet and slow. Castiel never imagined Dean singing something like this. It’s not Dean’s style. And yet, Dean’s voice sounds beautiful.
“Yes. Although if you insist too much in some particular spot, I might shake my leg and hit you accidentally.” He warns.
Every night that Dean is in his bedroom, he prays to Cas, and it all feels just like Purgatory, only that this time Dean has no idea about where Cas is and he can’t promise him to find him. Here on Earth, Dean can’t fight his way against monsters to find information about Cas’ whereabouts. Here on Earth, Dean is condemned to wait for Cas’ return.
“I know it isn’t something that he likes too much, but—” Dean takes a deep breath and looks down at the envelope. “But this way I know he will see it.”
Castiel walks towards the cupboard and gets himself a glass. Before he sits in front of Dean, Dean grabs the empty glass and pours him a generous quantity of whiskey. Castiel immediately takes a sip. Dean watches him drink, admiring how his apple bobbles as he drinks.
“When I came to the bunker that night,” Cas begins to say as he sits down on the bed, next to Dean. “I knew that I wasn’t going to find the Dean Winchester I knew. And when I saw you, I could see that, because I could see your soul, corrupted by the darkness of the Mark of Cain. However, I could still see a small part of the real you in your soul, still fighting against the Mark’s corruption. So I tried to reach to that part of your soul that was still the real you, but unfortunately, the Mark had a tighter grip on you than I had anticipated.”
“Are we going to buy Christmas gifts?” Castiel asks with curiosity and Dean can detect a hint of excitement in his voice.
The door opens and Charlie gets in. He looks at Dean expectantly, with a silent question in her eyes that Dean answers by shaking his head and letting out a couple more tears. “Oh, Dean,” Charlie says devastated and walking towards him to pull him into a hug, and Dean’s crying intensifies. “I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice cracking. She places her hand on Dean’s hair and tightens her grip. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know that Dean needs someone, but you need someone too,” Castiel remarks with an obvious face. The kettle starts to sound and Castiel quickly removes it from the stove, pouring the boiling water in his mug.
“Knowing one thing and proving the same thing it’s not the same, Dean,” Sam said, trying to keep his brother calmed down. Castiel knew that Dean was still a bit disturbed by the whole thing and he was sure that Sam had noticed it too. “Just because we know what they’re up to, doesn’t mean that’s solid proof. We have guesses, even if we’re aware what Meg being Lucifer’s lover involves. But that isn’t enough to arrest them and much less to convict them. You need solid proof. You need a witness that can prove that they plan on killing Cas. But for now, all we know is that they are sleeping together and that Lucifer asks Meg about Cas.”
“Hey,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’ hand and caressing the inner of his wrist. “You’re right, okay?” He tries to sound as soft as possible. He doesn’t like it when he and Cas argue. They barely argue. Sometimes they get a small pissed off moment, but that’s all, nothing too serious. “I just wanted us to get a bed, y’know? Something comfortable. Sleeping in the Impala can be painful.”
“Not a single hello or merry Christmas?” Dean asks sassily and arching his eyebrow. He knows that Ellen is teasing him, but he likes to follow her lead. “I’m glad you only love me for that.”
Castiel slides his sore legs down Dean’s body until he can stretch them, panting as well. His chest goes up and down with every breath he takes, Dean moving along with it. The ex-angel gives Dean’s hands a light squeeze, and Dean smiles against his husband’s face, returning the soft squeeze.
Dean knew things weren’t going to go easy in between them, but he wasn’t expecting Cas to end things this quickly. “Cas, just—”
“Please, call me Jamie. Miss Armstrong makes me feel extremely old. I’m old, but not that much,” she protests with a beautiful smile. Dean can’t help chuckling. “Where is that beautiful boyfriend of yours?”
Dean can’t take his eyes of his boyfriend, he is so fucking beautiful. Every time he has to tilt his head up and moan his name, Dean pulls him closer and tries to kiss his mouth. It comes a moment when Cas cups his face and presses their foreheads together. Their eyes are locked and Dean’s hands come to his lover’s back, holding him as Cas never stops moving. They breathe into each other, feeling their bodies being just one.
However his pain quickly turns into anger as he realizes that Cas is dead because of Jack, the Nephilim. So Dean stands up, and with gun in his hand, he goes towards the house, ready to kill the person who got Cas killed. Cas fought to let Jack be born, and that got Cas dead.
Dean kicked his leg. “Dick.” He huffed and rolled his eyes. “I wish I could’ve known sooner, y’know?”
“Babe, I’m really good at anything that involves touching you.” He smirks and Cas shakes his other leg, trying to kick him. “Don’t be such a child.”
Dean keeps crying and crying. The sounds of his wails break the silence in the dungeon, but it only manages to accentuate the loneliness and the devastation.
“Right now they are telling me to fuck off,” he says with a serious pout. Castiel makes an agreement face and his friend chuckles. “But before that, they were telling me that Dean of yours is more than a fuck buddy to you.”
Cas has a really long and thick cock, but Dean keeps swallowing it all, from the top to the bottom, pressing it hard against his throat, moaning when that happens. Then, Dean starts to play with the head of it, making circles with his tongue, sucking the head of the cock with enthusiasm.
Cas gets the first finger easily and Dean mewls and closes his eyes, feeling how Cas gets his finger deeper. Suddenly, a second finger gets in and Cas is also wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. Dean opens his eyes and gasps.
“Hey, you all right?” Dean asks worried. He looks how the moonlight paints Cas’ skin. He looks paler with it, but he looks so beautiful. Even his eyes look more stunning than usually with the moonlight. Cas is really beautiful.
“Shut up, assbutt,” he protests, chuckling and punching Dean, who laughs. “Deep down you agree with me.”
Dean doesn’t know what to do but hold Cas in his arms. This shouldn’t be happening at all. All he can do is watch in horror.
“No, you are definitely not a ridiculous idiot.” Castiel says smiling. He pushes Dean down, until he is sitting on his lap and he kisses him passionately. “Thank you so much Dean.” Castiel says so happy.
He walks back to the fridge, taking a quick look at Cas, whose eyes are fixed on the coffee maker, almost glaring it for making him wait for his dose of caffeine. Dean opens the freezer and grabs an ice cube, feeling the sharp coldness of it. Then, he quickly walks towards Cas and presses a kiss on his cheek before he slips the ice cube under Cas’ t-shirt.
“Yeah, Sam I know.” Dean says rising his hand to stop Sam from talking. “That was pretty hard, I’ve got enough for a year or so.” He says. Sam grimaces him. “But if something happens, or if I need some advice, I’ll tell you.”
Dean’s left knee has started to hurt on some humid days. Things of getting older. “No, it didn’t. You know it only hurts when it’s fucking humid and it rains a lot.”
The ex-angel keeps adding more fingers inside Dean, stretching them inside him, loosening the muscle. By the time he has four fingers buried inside Dean, he touches his prostate and Dean lets out a loud moan and fucks into Cas’ slender fingers, searching for that feeling again. Castiel doesn’t tease him and touches that spot again before pulling them away.
The summer breeze gets into the Impala and caresses their sweaty skins. It’s too damn hot outside and the sun keeps shining bright. Dean turns his eyes from the road to take a quick look at Cas, who is looking through the window and his fingers are drumming on his thigh, following the beat of the music. Dean can’t help smiling when Cas catches his stare and blushes.
Dean gets so angry that he yells and tells them that he shouldn’t have come back. Then, he throws the books on the table to the floor, scattering. He knows he is getting his anger and his frustration get the better of him, but he is just so tired of things falling apart once they get too close to anything.
Dean nods and walks away. The sound of Castiel’s door being closed sounds behind him and Dean doesn’t look back. He never looks back. Just in case; he doesn’t want to do something stupid. Because that’s what he is, a stupid guy who has fallen for Castiel.
They come at the same time. Dean falls onto the headboard and Castiel falls onto him. Their bodies are trembling, they are panting and they are covered with sweat. Dean gets his fingers out of Castiel, who whines at the loss and Dean presses his hand on Cas’ hip, pulling him closer.
“Awesome.” Dean grinned and got his hands on Castiel’s hips, pulling him closer. Castiel immediately smiled and blushed at the contact and he rested his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “I’ll go to the city tomorrow and I’ll tell Sam and also Charlie.”
“Cas?” Dean asks, worried and scared as Cas drops onto his knees, still shaking uncontrollably. He falls onto the floor, and keeps shaking uncontrollably. It doesn’t look good and Dean is fucking scared. “Cas?” Dean asks again. His hand is holding Cas in place, not wanting to let him go. Then Cas stops shaking and lies still onto the floor, unconscious. “Cas!” Dean exclaims. He cups Cas’ face, wanting to get any reaction from him. He doesn’t care about the tenderness or the desperation of his touch. “Hey.” He shakes him desperately, wanting Cas to wake up.
“You aren’t gonna do anything to me because you don’t want to wake him up,” he whispers cockily before leaving the bedroom.
Castiel gets out of Dean, who thinks Cas might have thrown away the condom, but he isn’t sure; he is still panting and his eyes are closed. What Dean knows is that Cas kisses his back and presses his cheek on it. He even embraces tightly Dean’s waist.
Dean used to drive for hours and sleep in the Impala while Sam drove and then wake up to drive some more, but now, he is over forty, and his eyesight isn’t what it used to be and his eyes get tired quicker than before. Not to mention that his body aches every time he sleeps in the car, especially his back and neck.
Castiel tries to make a mad grimace but he ends up making an adorable face, trying to fight back a smile. “You are an assbutt.”
Castiel hums. “How about if I tell you about how stars are born and how galaxies are formed and the universe in itself?”
The walk back to the Novak’s house is spent in silence. They always walk back to their houses in silence, exhausted from the make out session and holding their hands until they can see the Novak’s house the moment they turn the corner.
“Just let it go, Cas. It’s some stupid human thing that doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t miss his brother’s silent questioning look and Dean gives him a warning glare that makes his brother chuckle. “Okay, then, let’s talk about those zombies, because when have we not talked about monsters while eating?” He makes a wicked smile.
“You make it look as if you didn’t adore the fact that I do enjoy it,” he snaps with a challenging smirk.
He is soon back leaning onto Dean and he gets one finger inside him. Dean gasps and fucks into it, making Cas smirk. The second finger comes in easily, loosening the tightness. His movements are slow, but it feels really good. Dean likes it when they go slow as much as he likes it when they go fast. It doesn’t matter how they do it, if they fuck or if they make love; it always feels awesome.
Dean pulled his face from the curve of Castiel’s neck and they kissed, tenderly and lazily, feeling each other’s smiles into the kiss. Those were some of Castiel’s favorite kisses.
“You just want to watch the country burn like Nero did in the old Rome. That isn’t ruling. That is love for destruction. You only think about yourself. Your thirst comes from power and death. How can you think that qualifies you as a King?”
Castiel puts the omelette on a plate and he walks towards the kitchen table, where the salad is already waiting for him. He eats in silence, like he always does. He could put some music, but of course, every single song reminds him of Dean. From Queen to Mozart. It doesn’t matter if the lyrics don’t have to do with love, or if there aren’t lyrics at all.
“Do you think he will be fine one day?” Sam asks with a trembling voice. Dean thinks that if he opens his eyes, he will see his little brother with glassy eyes.
Castiel smiles. That beautiful smile of his. “Hello, Dean.” There’s a small silence that they spend looking at each other’s eyes. Old habits die hard, so they say. “Do you want to go somewhere in particular?”
Castiel sighs. “I would appreciate it, but I don’t think my clothes are already dried.” He makes a grimace. His eyes wander through the terrace, seeing how the rain keeps falling heavily.
The woman smiles. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard much worse,” she says as she writes down Dean’s order. “And for you sir?”
Castiel tilts his head up and looks at Dean’s eyes. “I have to do things in the greenhouse, like plant new seeds, check out the plants and stuff like that. Sorry.”
There’s an unusual cold getting over Dean, something that wakes him up. He turns his face and he sees that Cas’ side is empty. Dean frowns at it in the darkness of the bedroom. He turns his face to the other side and he sees that Cas is sitting on a chair, looking through the window.
No one of them moves while they recover their breaths. Their hands are still joined and their foreheads are still pressed together. Suddenly, Cas smiles and he starts to press little kisses on Dean’s lips. The green eyed man is soon smiling too, adoring the little giggles Castiel makes.
Castiel smiles because right now, he can’t answer him with words. His stomach hurts from laughter, but he doesn’t care. The sound of this hysterical laughter seems weird and even unrecognizable to him after so many years of not hearing it. He takes a deep breath as he tries to calm down his laugh. “You should see yourself,” Castiel says, still laughing. He wipes a tear from his eye, a tear from happiness. That’s even odder.
“But then he got his revenge and he put glue on stuff and dye my underwear in pink,” Dean says as he glares at Sam, who laughs at the memory. “And don’t get me started with the pranks.”
For a moment, Dean pulls away his mouth from Cas, leaving some space in between their faces. He looks at Cas, who is panting and flushed. Dean looks at those eyes, overflowing warmth. He places his hand on Castiel’s face, cupping it, caressing with his thumb his cheek, without taking his green eyes from the blue ones that are looking back at him. It is as if they were saying with them what they can’t say with words. Castiel’s hand goes to Dean’s and he presses his palm against the back of Dean’s hand, fingers interlacing together. Dean doesn’t waste more time and he kisses Cas again, as he pulls away their hands from Cas’ face, keeping them locked together.
“We happen to enjoy the same books, and it is nice to find someone who I can discuss literature with.”
“I told you, Castiel is bound to the Empty because of that deal. The cosmic entity has him hidden and I can’t find him at all. The deal he made is what has given the Empty enough power to keep him hidden, even from me.”
The movie ends sooner that Dean expects. He blinks perplexed when Sam stops it and puts the DVD back in its box. If Sam hadn’t stopped it, Dean is sure that he would have stared to the screen during the long credits.
“Trust me, it makes sense,” Dean says with a grimace. “We’re not only trapped, we’re isolated. Awesome, fucking awesome.” He turns around, shaking his head in frustration. “How are we gonna get the things we need for the spell if we’re isolated?”
The moment they have their weapons, they both realize that Rose and Seth have stopped arguing. They can hear someone coming down the stairs, probably wanting to check on Dean and Cas.
Castiel and Dean pulled away and looked at the direction where the voice came from. Castiel’s blood froze the moment he had heard that voice, but he was hoping that his mind was playing tricks on him, but it wasn’t; in front of them there was his Father, looking angrier than in his whole life. He had caught Dean and Castiel kissing, and his face was full of disgust and rage.
Dean closes his eyes and tries to push all those thoughts away, trying to only think about how good it feels to be like this with Cas. He kisses him, until both of them moan. When Dean opens his eyes, he can see the love and the lust that fills Castiel’s eyes. And Dean wants to cry, he really wants to, but he holds his tears and keeps moving his hand with Castiel along their cocks, rubbing and pressing them together, searching for friction desperately.
The moment Cas’ chest is freed from that shirt, Dean displaces his mouth from Cas’ neck to his chest, kissing it sweetly, admiring the beauty of it. This time they can relish the moment, not like the first time, when everything happened so fast and so rushed; now they can take their sweet time. That’s why Dean worships with his mouth Cas’ perfect torso, enjoying the sounds the fallen angel makes and how he digs his nails on Dean’s scalp the moment Dean’s tongue licks his nipple. Cas freaking shivers and moans really loud. With his thumb, Dean caresses the other nipple and for a moment Cas seems breathless.
Dean hummed in agreement. “I’ve seen your face a lot of times, so I know all of your features.” He immediately blushed after those words. Castiel did, too. “Wanna see it?” he asked timidly.
“I know,” Cas says as he takes the beer Dean gives him. “But I can watch the stars better from the stairs.”
Dean chuckles. Yes, he remembers saying that and he remembers how embarrassed he felt after saying it. “Damn, I wanted to sew my mouth for saying that out loud.”
Bobby shrugs. “Dean’s fault.” He looks directly at Dean. “Don’t cook that well so I ain’t eating it all.”
“Me.” Dean says as he searches in the bag for the two gifts. “This isn’t wrapped, because I wasn’t going to wrap a pie.” He starts to say as he blushes.
“I can’t sleep on my back or my left side,” Dean explains. “It’s uncomfortable.” To further explain, he points at his wound.
“I do. But you enjoy them. I’m sure that watching one will make you feel better. And it is a good way to make you follow the doctor’s instructions and take some rest.”
When they pull away, Dean is blushing and smiling as if he finally kissed his crush after hiding his emotions for so long. Castiel is like Dean too. “See you then, Dean,” Castiel says.
“Okay,” Dean mumbles, pulling his hand away from Cas. “Just be careful. And call if you need anything.”
The bedroom was silent except for the chirping of the birds outside. It was quiet and peaceful, and Castiel loved it as much as Dean did.
“I’m fine, don’t worry,” he says careless and looks back at the city. “I can see my hotel from here.”
“Cas, don’t you dare make that deal!” Dean yells, with tears in his eyes that get mixed with the rivers of blood. Right now, the pain the Empty is inflicting to him is nothing compared to the pain he is feeling in his chest by knowing that Cas is one again willing to sacrifice himself in order to save Dean. “I’m not let—”
“Assbutt,” he murmurs. Dean smiles. “I should start calling you something different instead of ‘assbutt’, because you enjoy it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam says, not too pleased. He takes a long sip of his beer and he looks away from his brother.
Fireworks keep being exploded into the night sky in different colors and in different shapes. Castiel keeps smiling in that beautiful way and Dean’s hand itches with the urge to grab Castiel’s hand and tangle their fingers together. But he puts his hand inside his leather jacket’s pocket to avoid any temptation.
“Do you see anyone around here?” He arches his brow. “It’s two a.m., everyone’s sleeping and we’re alone.” He kisses Castiel, deeply, loving how Castiel moans into it. He manages to pull down Castiel’s pants and then he sneaks his hands under the elastic band of his boxers. “Just try to be quiet,” he adds with a smirk.
Sam clears his throat, but neither of them pays him any attention. “You look awesome,” Dean says when they pull away, loving the way Cas’ eyes shine brightly and the pretty pink shade of his flush that has appeared.
“Yeah,” he says with an agreement face. He runs one hand through his hair, messing it. “You do know that I left him because I didn’t want dad to hurt him, right?”
And now, he has lost Dean forever, and it’s his fault. Because he never told him how he felt, because he always left, because it was easier for him to go back to his life, the one he hates, than to pursue what he truly wants, because he is too afraid of getting himself hurt in the process. And at the end, he got hurt, and the worst of all is that he hurt Dean too. | [
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Panic and Pudding had actual names, but Dean didn’t bother to learn them. The bookies were still holding out even odds that he’d have to kill these two morons, being spellcasters working for Crowley and all.
Charlie is staring at his midsection, currently covered with a Zep t-shirt Dean pulled on at random. It’s the classic Hindenburg-going-down-in-flames one. Of course it is.
Dean’s fingers convulsed on the hilt. “He’s helping me find my brother, Balthazar, I’m not about to harm him.”
He yelled for his brother upstairs and downstairs, briefly rifled through the papers on Sam’s desk looking for clues, glanced into the bedroom just in case-
Dean sighed as he leaned back. ‘Was it…was it on purpose?’ he asked. ‘I mean…you didn’t sabotage my research, did you?’
Of course, the setting here is much different, greener—he thinks of Dean’s eyes—and more lively, as he knows that there are likely animals roaming amongst the trees, rather than just creatures thirsty for blood or just eager to kill. There are monsters here too, of course. There are monsters everywhere.
As they passed house after house, they were quiet. Dean kept wondering which one was his. Why it was his. Did Castiel have one? With Jack, maybe?
As for the presents, they were all more than satisfied. Cas bought Dean a cookbook that had nothing but recipes for different kinds of pie. They looked forward to using it together. The angel got Sam a fairly thick stack of books on old lore. Sam got Cas a shirt that read, "I'm with Stupid," earning an eye roll from Dean. Dean's annoyance faded when Sam handed him some band shirts. Dean got Sam a giant blanket because he knew that his tallness made it hard for him to be completely covered, as well as some workout clothes. Dean got his boyfriend a leather bracelet with "Castiel" on the outside and "Dean's Angel" on the inside. With a heart, of course.
Dean blinked a few times, and then bowed his head a little. It was understandable, he thought. Now, he wasn’t sure exactly what kind of trust Cas was talking about. If Cas couldn’t trust Dean to be there for him. To talk to him. To be a decent person. Or if maybe Cas thought that Dean’s loyalty to him had wavered. That hurt.
Dean never actually told anyone about what had happened with him and Cas. So he was thrown off, but not surprised, when Sam called him up, talking about how excited he was to see them, the happy couple, as he’d put it, at Eileen’s upcoming birthday party. He could have corrected his brother, but he didn’t, because he was desperate for it to be true, for him and Cas to be that happy couple that they once had been.
Castiel went to his family, to his old room. Everything was the same as it had been on his last day there, the day he’d moved in with Dean. So happy, that day had been.
The biggest difference between this situation, and Purgatory, is that he is in his world, not in danger of being left behind anywhere. There is no rush to get back to a portal.
In the morning, before anyone had been allowed inside, Castiel was in his room, eating cherries. And he was not alone. No, he had many companions. He had rabbits and squirrels by his side, he had lingering birds perched on his window, which was almost always open. Even a few deer, he had as company. All of these creatures, and others, often visited him. His father did not mind having a door constantly open for the animals, and ensured that the guards would allow them passage, while also preventing anyone from taking advantage of the entrance. Everything was right, when Castiel was with his feathered and furry friends.
Castiel is sitting at a table, a few other djinn lingering close by. A small squeeze to his bicep causes him to jump a little and glance next to him quickly.
Castiel’s eyes were slightly glassy. Just slightly. Enough for one to know that he really was saying goodbye. Again. Possibly trying to conceal the pain from Dean, the angel began to walk away.
At some point further along, in their groping each other, and moaning against the other’s skin, they fell off the bed, Dean getting the worst of the impact. Castiel started laughing, though he was in pain as well. Dean just rolled his eyes as he stood up, rubbing his head.
This was certainly one of the better responses that Dean had gotten from Castiel lately, so he just teared up a little bit before moving forward and hugging him. And as he held Castiel for the first time in too long, he confirmed that he was not trying to threaten him and would never want him to feel alone or scared again. Castiel held him, too.
Castiel chuckled lightly and went back to kissing his...fiance? The way their mouths fit together reminded him of how they danced together, like they were simply meant to be close like this.
Dean’s brain stopped working. Any answer to that question seemed out of reach. He was reaching for it, though. As his month moved, failing to form words.
Dean cleared his throat. “And uh, how’re you feeling? Do they still hurt? Looks like you mostly healed up, because of, you know, but...you okay?”
He already knew what it felt like losing Cas when he hadn’t said it, though. And it sucked. Dean had been just about ready to give up on just about everything. One of the many emotions that came up during that dark period, mixed in somewhere with the grief, was regret. Not that he wanted there to be a next time for that, but if there was, he didn’t want to think about what he hadn’t done. It would hurt like a bitch, no matter what he did. But maybe, just maybe, it would be better if, instead, he would be able to look back on what he
that Castiel, this celestial being that was still somehow more human than most actual humans, loved him and wanted to be with him. And that they were both equally impossibly happy together.
"Castiel! I've already checked with your king about everything. He said that you may pick whatever cake you'd like."
After turning a corner, he was met by the sight of his brothers, and was immediately taking a step back. Unfortunately, he had already been seen.
being wet and cold...he kind of did. Cas loved the cold. As long as he was dressed. And as long as it meant Dean would hold him. Or that’s how it used to be, anyways. Dean wasn’t exactly sure where Cas stood now.
Castiel feels at a loss for another reason. It is not a suspicion, but it is resignation that he feels, as he is certain that Dean sent him on this errand just to get rid of him. He doesn’t blame him, but he does feel guilty that he has been making him uncomfortable. This was never his goal. What was his goal, really? To get to stay by Dean’s side until his final death, even if just as his best friend? Maybe Dean would want to settle down. Obviously, with someone else. Castiel isn’t sure how he could possibly fit into that. He still feels like he hardly fits into the Winchesters’ lives as it is. Castiel wonders if he has been foolish.
“Cas, of course you can stay. This is your home.” Dean really wouldn’t have minded Cas just keeping his wings out permanently. Not if it meant he would never leave again. He didn’t want Cas to feel like a prisoner, of course. Dean just wanted him safe, and there. To always know where he was.
Castiel had nothing to worry about, though. Nothing was going to be scaring Dean away. The only thing Dean was scared of now was the thought of Cas leaving him, of not knowing how needed, how wanted he was. After getting used to the feeling of the angel’s mouth, Dean brought his other hand up so that Castiel’s face was being held on both sides. Dean’s kisses were becoming more insistent, and he was moving closer, nearly pressing Castiel against the white fence. A quiet gasp from Castiel, and it wasn’t just lips on lips anymore. On every level, Dean was all in now. This former soldier of Heaven was his, and he was finally touching him like he’d only dreamt about, hands moving from his face, slipping under that coat, that jacket. There were no complaints about this.
Eventually they’re holding hands again and making their way to Dean’s room, and then they’re embracing again, but this time, they kiss, and then they’re on the bed, and they realize at the same time that they left the groceries at the Djinn hideout. They don’t really care. Holding hands is what they’re doing the next time they go to the store, Dean insists that it should be this way every time from then on, even though he had always been eager to pass on the chore to Sam. Dean likes for everyone to see him holding Castiel’s hand.
"I'm sure you'll find some way to make it up to me," he said, rubbing his hand over Dean's in a way that really shouldn't have been so stimulating.
“I understand if you want me to move on from you, but this isn’t helping,” Castiel whispers. “I appreciate that you want me to be happy with someone. I am sorry. I am not going to love anyone that isn’t you.”
Castiel was as quick as he could be in getting his pants off, revealing that his underwear was adorned with cartoon bees. He soon felt a hand on his rear, gently kneading his flesh through the cotton. Turning back and looking up, he could see clearly that Dean’s eyes were trained on the bees. Or his ass, depending on how one wished to look at it.
The pair ended up outside of a nice house, not that the whole neighborhood, or whatever it could be called, wasn’t just nice house, nice house, nice house. The paint was clean and cream. A pretty big yard, peppered with little yellow flowers. White fence.
Any questions about that were answered when they were halfway between the car and the door of the Novaks’ house, when Castiel suddenly stopped and hugged Dean tightly. While they were getting attacked by the rain. Dean swallowed, much more affected by Cas than by how wet they were getting, and he put his arms around him too, just as tightly. Maybe a little bit more. And when Castiel peeked up at him, it took a lot of Dean’s willpower to not put his hands in his wild, wet hair and kiss him.
That night, Dean held Cas extra tight. He never wanted to lose him again. With time he hoped that he would lose his fear about losing him, or hurting him, and he hoped the voices in his head would quiet down. The voice of his father. The voices were wrong, he knew that. What was right was being in bed with Castiel’s head tucked under his chin, their legs mingling.
The older son, Dean, was a different story. He was the only one that gave Castiel orders. Castiel had to clean all of the other prince's messes, prepare his food, bring him anything that he requested, including towels, clothing, and weapons. He was basically a personal servant for Dean. Of course, Castiel had his own servants at his disposal at some point, he had not called on them nearly as much as Dean called him.
The ring of his dead lover was displayed on a pillow in the center of the castle, an ideal spot for all to gaze upon its stylish silver. The new law held that whoever the ring fit perfectly would become married to the King. Many journeyed to the castle for the chance to try on the ring. And they were not just women, for Chuck had always been open about his sexuality with his people.
During this happy state, Dean continued to get Castiel flowers, and maybe he seemed especially affectionate, even more flirtatious than usual, so full of joy because of how it was real, them spending their whole future together, the idea of that, it was solid and right there.
There was a small relieved smile on Dean’s face when he got the message from Castiel that he was home. It was small, but it was something.
Resolution number three had been complete since the moment he wrote it down. There was no way he would risk losing this. He would cherish Cas. There was no room for being a dick anymore.
Speaking of Sam, he was watching the two dance from a table with a knowing smile on his face. He was glad to see his brother so happy. He could see that Dean wasn't a prince at the moment, he was just Dean.
“Um. To my knowledge, no such being has been born as of yet. I imagine it would be...powerful.” Which, he realizes, must be exactly what Melinda is looking for. “But, but I highly doubt any will ever exist, as there are so few angels left in existence, and most are not interested in that type of, of activity,” he adds quickly, scooting away somewhat. Of course, he is an angel, possibly the only angel left, that
Castiel knew that Dean, deep down, was a good person. He knew the prince had a lot of pressure on his shoulders as the heir to the throne. And he didn't get to have a very close relationship with his parents, as far as he could see. In fact, as far as he knew, the only person Dean really spoke to was Samuel. Castiel admired the adoration that Dean showed towards his brother. It warmed his heart. He was never able to have that with Lucifer or Michael.
Castiel mumbled something else with his eyes closed. Dean thought he looked like a sleepy kitten. A few moments later though, Castiel smiled and peeked up at the man he was ready to spend the rest of his life with. Eventually they were in bed, tangled together, and gossiping about Castiel’s family.
One night Dean got back from work, he looked around his house, checked the time, and was right out the door again, heading straight to Castiel’s work, which was a nice library. He was pretty positive that no one else would be there at this time.
Dean noticed now that Sam was wearing a wedding ring, and Eileen was as well. Of course, he knew that they’d gotten married at some point. But seeing those rings, actually seeing them together and happy, that was different. He longed to have that. And with the expression on Castiel’s face, he was pretty sure he did too. There was no hope in Castiel’s eyes, though.
Castiel just smiled and extended his hand. Dean took it and they danced together again. After only a few notes, the prince continued talking.
Taken aback by the words, Castiel hesitated. He cupped Dean's face gently and said, "I promise that you will see me tomorrow." It wasn't a lie. They would probably see each other every day for the rest of their lives, he thought. Just not like this. But the words made Dean smile, and he allowed him to leave. But Castiel left behind a golden shoe in his haste to get away.
Dean started drinking, a lot, about two months after the engagement. Castiel didn’t know why, and though it did concern him, and he expressed this concern, he knew it was Dean’s choice. He tried to make it as clear as possible that he would always be there for Dean, that he would listen, that he could offer him a distraction from whatever may have been plaguing his mind, that he could try to come up with a possible solution or way to get some type of relief. Whatever it was that would help Dean the most, that was what Castiel wanted to give. And he did end up giving it, because even though it wasn’t anything that he had offered, it was made obvious to Castiel that what the man he had to hold back from constantly smothering in love and affection wanted, was space. So he gave that to him. Still sending sweet smiles his way, giving him little lingering touches whenever he could, but Dean didn’t seem as responsive as usual, starting to just look at him with a blank expression. Castiel tried not to be disheartened.
And then Dean cupped his face and finally kissed him. They just let their lips press against each other for half a minute, but after that their tongues met and soon enough Dean was pulling Cas into his lap. Dean's mouth moved underneath Cas's chin and he felt his flannel being grabbed at.
"You're the light of my life," he said, and while he had thought that for years, he had expected to choke on his words if he ever attempted to get it out of his mouth.
After the prince opened the door, he smiled and brought the dress into his room. While he did that, the door was only barely ajar, not allowing anyone to see into his room, or even see much of himself. He then explained this by insisting that he needed privacy before he became married.
“I was um, real worried about you, Cas,” Dean said softly as he moved his thumb, starting to caress Cas’s fingers rather than his wrist. Being away from Cas and not knowing what was happening to him solidified in his mind that he always needed Cas to be close, with him. Safe.
It was summer. He should have been outside, and relishing the feeling of the sun on his skin, or perhaps enjoying some melon, which he knew could be prepared for him if requested. Never would he have seen himself in his current predicament. He was expecting the wedding planner to come by at any moment. Wiping at his face, he tried to pull himself together.
‘Do you have it?’ Jody asked, wiping at her eyes. ‘Please say you have it! We can watch it tonight.’
‘And I wanted to see the tattoo,’ she said as she stepped closer and bent down to get a better look. ‘Your sex tape doesn’t do you justice.’
‘I’ll buy you some popsicle sticks and glue. We’ll put it on the fridge,’ Castiel said dryly. ‘Better yet, I’ll just take you to a rave. Get you some glow sticks. Maybe I’ll even get you some body glitter…’
‘We went to some of the same…parties,’ Castiel replied. He could feel his face heating up. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember if really had slept with any of the three Kismet sisters.
Castiel was having a wonderful dream. It probably had something to do with Gabriel insisting that he loom over Dean and wait for the Hunter to wake up. After about an hour, sleep had finally caught up to him. He'd had plenty of wet dreams before, but this one felt a little more real than the others. Someone was stroking his wings. Not just grooming them, but full on stroking. Fingers were running through his feathers, lightly displacing them, seeking out every last erogenous zone.
Gabriel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he slouched down. ‘Well, if that’s how you’re gonna be, then you can sleep on the cot and wake
Castiel carefully tucked his wings behind him and coughed awkwardly. ‘S-someone will eventually notice,’ he stuttered.
‘I never told him. He found out,’ Crowley replied as he sifted through more papers and placed new lines. ‘Do you remember when he went through puberty?’
‘Not today. You can have it tomorrow,’ Crowley replied. ‘Jody and I have a dive booked for tomorrow.’
‘You needn’t worry about them,’ Lucifer said as he stood behind Castiel. ‘None of them will be harmed. For now, at least.’
?! Dean, you are playing with fire here!’ Sam quickly strode to his window and shut it then drew the curtains before facing Dean.
‘Why are you studying history? Are you gonna at least add in some archaeology? Maybe get a whip?’ Dean asked with a grin as he drove. ‘I think you’d look good in a leather jacket and fedora.’
‘Well, at least the view’s good,’ he said, cocking his head to the side. He held his hand out to where he assumed Castiel was. ‘Gimme the binoculars.’
‘Yes, wonderful. You ruined the surprise,’ Crowley said, his voice becoming louder as he regained control of the phone.
Castiel hugged himself and edged along the counter to the door to outside. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I tried… I-I can’t… Please stop me,’ he said, no longer able to fight Lucifer’s command. He darted out the door, leaving Gabriel alone in the kitchen.
Sam looked at Castiel in confusion then at Dean. ‘What? Why…why didn’t you say anything?’ he asked, hurt by his brother’s mistrust.
Dean rolled his eyes and scoffed. ‘Just ‘cuz the Campbell family business was Hunting, doesn’t mean none of them could have lived a perfectly normal life.’
The man disappeared without a word. A moment later, a rope ladder was thrown over the side. ‘Come on up, then.’
‘This isn’t the same,’ Castiel said reassuringly. ‘No one died. I didn’t find any dead bodies. It’s just…something different.’
Gabriel stared at the floor and let himself be pulled into Sam’s arms. He clung tightly to Sam, reminding himself that he was still there. He wasn’t gone. Not yet.
Dean was beginning to wonder if he was going crazy or if the man was a ghost. But that wasn’t possible. He had to be a spy. Probably some rookie sent to follow him and Sam on their missions. But, every time Dean went to confront the man, he was never there. Eye contact was never made, so Dean couldn’t send him any threatening gestures. Or obscene ones. The more he saw the man on the streets, the more Dean saw of him in his dreams. It was getting ridiculous.
In an instant, Castiel was bare, moaning helplessly with his face buried in his arms. He was having a hard time not moving, but the longer he stayed, the more intense the cuff rewarded him. ‘P-please,’ he begged. ‘Can’t hold on… Can’t… Please, Dean!’
It wasn’t until he was in the tub and enjoying the distraction of the burning, stretching itch of bones shifting and scales growing that he realized he had been holding his breath. He slowly released his held breath and leaned back, wincing as a spine caught the faucet as he tried to find a comfortable position.
Castiel shook his head. ‘You can keep my gear. Just come get me tomorrow morning. The earlier, the better,’ he replied. Balthazar nodded his head at Sam, and Castiel frowned in confusion. What would he need to say to the hotel worker? Was he supposed to say something? Did he need something? Just because his brother was dating— ‘Oh! Tell Dean that I won’t be able to see him tonight. I have a lot to deal with, and his presence would only make things worse.’ Satisfied, he left the hotel.
'Blowjobs,' Dean automatically replied. He elaborated after Gabriel's indignant squawk. 'Y'see, Cas, some girls—or guys—just don't like the taste of cum, so they'll give blowjobs with a condom. Normal condoms don't taste or smell too good, so...flavored condoms.'
‘No, you’re not,’ Dean replied. ‘Think I woulda noticed if you were a lady. Unless… Is there something I don’t know about humans that I
Sam ran up and carefully walked around the frozen ghost. 'Wow! That's...amazing!' he said, looking from the ghost to Gabriel.
Castiel nodded. Later was safe. Later could be years. He looked at his phone. All of the old texts had been deleted. It was just as well. He was about to put it away when the screen flashed with a new message.
‘So, Dean… Why are you swimming around naked if you’re meeting up with your brother? Or is that just an excuse for getting caught?’ Castiel looked over Dean’s arms and chest, and he really liked what he saw. The small part of his mind that was possibly sober reminded him that he didn’t know anything about the man in front of him. Another part reminded him of his college years. Years that he had tried to leave far behind. Not even Gabriel knew what he had gotten up to.
‘He likes Castiel,’ she replied. ‘He apologized for asking Cas a question. Never seen a Hunter do that before.’
Dean could feel the tension building. He still didn’t quite trust Crowley, but he really liked Jody. And if she could put Crowley in his place with just a few words, then that was all right by him. Even if those words went right over his head. He glanced at Castiel and frowned when he saw the panicked look on Castiel’s face. ‘Cas? You okay?’
Castiel knew that saying this would cause himself to lose more blood, and possibly grace, but at that moment he didn’t care. He thought about humans, how some of them were good, but some of them were more monstrous than the creatures that many were taught to be afraid of. Controlling, needing everything to be their way, blind to the truth and insistent on victimizing themselves. Asmodeus was like this.
, they were not close enough. With one hand in the angel's black hair, he slotted their mouths together so they could taste as much of each other as they could.
There was no excuse for Dean’s actions, he knew that, but he was giving Castiel a piece of what he knew he needed, understanding.
“So no one has fit it perfectly as of yet,” Michael commented softly. Standing at his full height, he appeared as just the prince he was.
Cas had looked up. That was something. For the first time, Dean noticed the redness around his eyes. He was crying before Dean burst in. And it was because of him. There was no room for any other thought, and Dean couldn't measure the amount of regret that it made him feel.
"Me neither," Castiel replied bluntly, and Dean laughed. And then they danced. This time, there really was no one else, and no piano in the background, but it didn't really matter to either of them.
Castiel nodded, and his eyes drifted to their hands. His was still being held in Dean’s. What was he to make of that?
Cas had been there for sure, and left, with everything he’d bought in one bag. It suddenly occurs to Dean that even if Cas isn’t answering his phone, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have it. He curses himself for being so rash, though he is not surprised. Cas just made him lose his sense sometimes.
Castiel smiled. The underwear had been a comfort to himself while being apart from Dean, but he was pleased with the positive response they were getting now. He reached out undid his boyfriend’s pants button, letting his hand linger as he pulled down the zipper.
Another ball occurred that night, and Dean was anxious. His eyes darted around the room and his hands were starting to sweat.
Ruby responded immediately by flipping him off, otherwise unmoving from her spot, letting Anna pet her hair.
Later on though, while Dean was still eating breakfast, Cas got up, told Dean not to come into their room for the rest of the day, and walked away. Dean would have been concerned if not for the exaggerated wink that was thrown his way, causing him to choke on his coffee.
“I feel that too,” Dean blurted out. “I, if I said it right now, it wouldn’t sound good, and I want it to sound good.” Still holding Cas’s hand, Dean lowered himself onto the space of the bed next to him, on his side so they could continue to look at each other. “I do, though. A lot.”
Castiel’s breathing quickened, and he squeezed Dean’s hand. He truly didn’t need anything more than what he heard. It was already much more than he expected. What was even more was when Dean released his hand in favor of wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight. It hurt a little, but he didn’t care. They closed their eyes. Castiel returned the embrace. They both could have used some more time to rest, so they took it. They would wake up later, and Dean would stroke Castiel’s wings as gently as he could, and as soon as he could see the blue of the angel’s eyes, he would tell him he loved him. And suddenly, saying it would seem like the easiest thing in the world.
noise,’ he said. He shrugged as he grabbed Sam’s hand. ‘C’mon, Sam! I’ve got some free time. We should go for a walk! Maybe find a secluded thicket or something.’
Dean opened his eyes in confusion. He had felt a warm pulse on his forehead, but nothing more. He stared up at Castiel, and a smile formed on his lips. ‘Hey.’
Dean patted Sam’s shoulder. ‘Long story short? That’s my stalker,’ he said, pointing at Castiel and receiving and scowl in return, ‘and we’re milking the benefits of Mom having been an agent with Angel Corp.’
Sam pulled himself over the railing, giving a quick flick of his tail to give himself an extra boost. He dropped onto the cushioned seating on the back of the boat and let his tail trail over the railing. ‘Gabriel?’
Sam laughed softly and moved so that he was leaning over the side of the tub in front of Gabriel. He wrapped his tail behind him and let it drape over his shoulder. ‘I’ve had girlfriends and boyfriends that were human, but I never told them. And I…I had a mate once, but…she’s gone now.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Castiel cut in. He knew Dean was mad at him. Anger, annoyance, irritation…it flared up as he spoke.
‘I suppose that works, too,’ Gabriel relented. He looked down at his lap and bit his lip as he thought. ‘Not to seem like I’m pushing the subject, but uh…I think you’d be great at scouting locations. Some of those places you showed me? Straight out of a movie or something!’
‘Well, it was pretty surprisin’… Ash here came out of his room around lunchtime and just…set the cuff on the bar. Said he needed a new one.’ Jo shrugged as Ash nodded along. ‘We have no idea what’s goin’ on. Hunters have been showin’ up all day since it happened, and, well… Everyone’s real confused. Some are real scared.’
‘Did I do it wrong?’ Dean asked. He looked up at Castiel, radiating complete misery. ‘Did I get the spell wrong? Was I supposed to
Dean moved forward, eyes trained on Castiel, but he’d only moved just a step before he heard a thud, something getting thrown against a wall, sounding like it came from another room, or a hallway.
Sam watched his brother get into the back with Cas and close the door. He knew that he didn’t really need to respond to what Dean said. That Dean was mostly trying to convince himself. Still, he really hoped that Dean was right and that Cas would be able to recover. He got into the front seat and started the car, knowing that he was going to get yelled at if he didn’t get them out of there as soon as possible. Even as he was doing that, he couldn’t help but be aware that Dean had pulled Cas’s head into his lap and was running his fingers through his hair, ever so gently. Sam wondered how aware
It turned out that the supposed king of demons had quite the appetite. Asmodeus ate without care, probably using some kind of charm to ensure that no stains would come onto his blinding white suit. Castiel was certain that he did not need to eat, and assumed he was only doing what all creatures do. Filling themselves with something as a way to pass the time while they sought after what they believed would grant them relief. And Castiel was starting to think that was just what life was for everyone. In his own life, however, he had been stuffed. He had not quite indulged in his love for God and order, it had been force fed to him, as he had finally learned after his meetings with Naomi. If not for Dean, he would still be choking on it.
Agile were Castiel’s bare feet as he wandered through the halls, his path illuminated by lavender candles, burning bright. Castiel had always been drawn to bright things.
Dean actually takes a moment to think about that, and he finds that he does understand. Who wouldn’t get married to get the job done, when you have no hope of being married to the one that you want? There is no point in reserving yourself if you are not wanted. Except, he knows that Cas
Dean went on to say that he hadn’t been able to sleep lately, and that he knew he owed Castiel an explanation and a lot more, that he was messed up and had issues and was hoping to work them out, that he knew he'd sabotaged their relationship. He promised that he’d stopped drinking, and that he was working on his anger issues, and just his general issues. And he was aware that it was going to be a journey, but he was going to really put the effort in. The way he said all of this came off a little aggressively, which may have had something to do with the fact that he was determined, so much so that his face was turning a little pink with how little pauses for air he allowed himself. His chest was heaving a little bit too. And it was pretty clear that he wasn’t going to stop trying to win Castiel back. He ended this long rant, jabbing his finger at Castiel, not really knowing what to do with himself, and sweating a little bit, as he told him that he loved him and really wanted him to come home. Home.
Castiel felt that he was very good with Jack, and Kelly and Lucifer couldn’t help but agree. It was rather obvious. He continued to go with Lucifer on his visits, and eventually, he started to go on his own. He honestly had no idea if Lucifer and Kelly were still on, if they were still together, or if they were having yet another bump in their relationship. And even more honestly than that, he started to feel like Kelly could do better. Jack too.
Nearly knocking over his bucket of soap, Castiel sputtered. He looked down. Has he? Ever been in love? For most of his life, he had not even considered romantic love. It wasn't like he had the opportunity to really get to know anyone, or to even interact with anyone outside of the castle. He thought about the night before, the connection that he had felt with Dean. It definitely hadn't been nothing. And...he knew Dean. The good and the bad.
Dean had some doubts, and as usual they were all being aimed towards himself. He didn't want to waste any more time. If there was even a chance that he could be happy, he'd take it. Especially given that Sam gave him the heads up that it seemed like Cas was getting ready to leave, and for good this time.
Dean knew there was something off about Castiel’s voice on the phone. Not off in the same way it had been off earlier, that adorable awkwardness. It was more than that. Dean just knew. Or more accurately, he had a strong feeling. A voice in his head said that maybe he couldn’t accept that Cas simply wasn’t that eager to talk to him, or to see him. He pushed that away. And maybe Ketch’s arrival and the memories of Mary he brought along with him made Dean even more on edge, made him even more hesitant to trust what he heard. He wasn’t sure. That was what he’d said, too, when Ketch had asked him about his angel. His. Dean tried not to think about how the words were so clearly meant just for him, how Sam didn’t even attempt to answer, instead looking at him, waiting for him to. It must have been obvious that he was supposed to. And Dean had indeed answered, no denying. It might have been because he was too worried, or maybe he just didn’t feel like pretending he was put off by the idea of Cas being his, which, had he ever really? No. But in that instance, answering Ketch’s question, he was not only very much
"We are still under mistletoe, Dean. I believe you are supposed to keep kissing me," Cas said, pulling Dean down by his collar.
"I will always forgive you," Cas said, with a full smile this time. "And there is no one better than you, Dean Winchester. I will be by your side for as long as you want me here."
Castiel blinked. His eyes started to water, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he just gave a slight nod.
Castiel is staring, and if Dean thinks that if Cas was anything but...well, Cas, an angel, he’d be worried about whether or not he was breathing okay. Maybe Cas has developed human breathing problems. Dean is sure that if that’s true, it must be his fault.
While Castiel didn’t feel bad for Lucifer at all in relation to what Jack had called him, he did feel the need to inform Kelly. Thankfully, she just thought it was cute, and let him know that Jack had already called her mommy a while back, not that Lucifer was aware of it. She seemed a little hesitant to bring up his brother’s name at all, but Castiel didn’t press her for why.
Castiel had successfully escaped his former life. He missed his father dearly, but he hoped for the best for him, and for his brothers too, even. He was now in disguise as a servant for the Winchester family, working for King John and Queen Mary. He never really had to interact with them though. No, his duties were focused elsewhere.
“We get the perks, but also a lotta crap you beta boneheads don’t have to deal with,” Jesse points out. And no, he’s not alluding to the dispersing, they’re just shooting the shit here, no need to dredge up the pain every parent around this fire has felt and will feel again in the future.
“She is not the most maternal person,” says the sorcerer with as much dryness as the great Salt Desert of the far north.
The Hunters are an oddball squadron, the very opposite of Heaven’s regimented ranks, and they are the best of humanity. They come from all corners of the earth, from all religions and with a plethora of beliefs and preferences, the kind of principles over which humans have been thumping each other for centuries, and yet in the Hunters the only creed is: “Can you fight? Do you hate demons? Yeah? Then welcome to the crew.”
“Nobody knows for sure. It's historic originally. It marks a mystery from hundreds of years ago. But to the sufferers of the virus, or the survivors, I imagine it only meant one thing: there is no one left here. They are all gone.”
“There’s camps dotted here and there, of course, but nothing fresh. Just scavengers like us, I wager.”
“But now that the tablets are reintegrated...” Castiel said slowly, ignoring the noises of irritation his husband was making.
“Shit, we’re bloody married, call me Dean. What I’m saying, Cas, is that your duties don’t extend to the mattress.”
In 1838 - not that dates mattered anymore - Colt was leading a few dozen refugees to safety. Or that was the plan, though safety was a very relative term these days.
As they approach the circle of soldiers, he sees others in the same uniform running to and fro. Those coming into the circle are carrying wounded men and women, some from the Hunters and Sam’s troops, and a few of their own white-clad knights. Then they come back out empty handed. Is the large carriage ahead the rolling infirmary of some army healers? Were they able to get to Sir Robert in time…?
Dean is incensed. It's come to him that he's not being taken seriously. The big cat’s limp swipe and scream was an obvious scare tactic, the bird had only been trying to throw him from the tower window - and this being the second floor, you couldn't even call that a truly lethal attack either - and the cow, well the cow was just an insult, man. It seems this fucking warlock doesn’t think Dean is that much of a threat and just wants him to pick up his toys and go away.
Luke seems to think the answer is blindingly obvious. “I was trying to get you out of the Winchester pack.”
“In the time I have come to know you, know you both, I have, that is, I would like to think we have become friends, and I… I would not wish to see you come to harm.”
The situation burst onto Dean in all its complexity. Was Jo still an operator? No, surely she’d been retired - forcibly - by Bobby and Ellen’s choice. And that’d go down like a weighed anchor as far as she was concerned. Her mother had welcomed Cas, but angels had killed her father and the rules of hospitality didn’t trump that in any way. And the worst tangle... how would she see Dean now? Jo was like a sister to him. But if Sam had had the occasional hard time swallowing this situation- had he lost Jo?
“S’good… S’all good then… Time for bed?” the king added with a side-eye and a hint of a hopeful grin.
Cas breaks off with a gasp as Dean claps him on the backside. “Yeah, you’ll be fine.” Being alpha isn’t always about being toughest, especially nowadays and in the kind of community the Winchesters aim to become; it’s about organisation, responsibility and wanting the best for the pack, and Cas is already there without even noticing.
of a golden coin hitting flagstones and a few gasps, Castiel’s voice is pitched low for her ears alone.
John looks like he’s about to point out that Dean’s normally the loudest of the bunch, but then he’s silent instead.
“Yes. You never really said what, though.” And it wasn’t as if Castiel had not had lots to distract him after that brief conversation.
“That doesn’t help,” Castiel says, mind spinning over what they’ve learned. “God is gone, not that he was ever in your church to begin with. Your Christ The Lamb Pentecostal congregation is too small-minded and clannish.”
They were at Donna’s today for another routine that revolved around her, the annual cleaning of her kitchen and bakery. Castiel, radiating confusion, managed not to point out that the Machine rewrote the place spotless every other day or so, and thus this annual ritual of giving the place a thorough spring cleaning by humans ‘to get it right’ was useless.
There are muffled words on the other end of the phone, regular thump of footsteps, then a creak. He hears Dean grunt, a tired constrained noise. Castiel frowns.
From seemingly far away, he heard a gravely voice say: “This man has broken no decree. It’s the brother you’re looking for. Uriel. Go put out a search warrant for Dean Winchester. Then come talk to me in private. I have words for you.”
“It doesn’t seem to be broken,” he says acidly. “Dean, what the hell happened to you? And why are you carrying around a bird, for crying out loud?”
He would only have to watch Jack for one night, and during that time, starting from when Kelly left, he and Jack engaged in several conversations. Well, on Jack’s part it was mostly babbling, but Castiel always replied to him with a smile.
Then all eyes turned again to the door like they had the previous night. It was the same man, but with a gown adorned with what must have been thousands of jewels. Like the stars. Dean was out of his seat in seconds.
Castiel smiled slightly at the mention of his son and nodded. “Yes. It has been going quite well...I actually came here to deliver the two of you to your homes. To where you can rest. Eileen has been waiting for you, Sam.”
Castiel shrugs. “It was easiest. Didn’t seem like a big deal to me...You must understand why. I had no reason to refuse.”
“Castiel,” she purrs before releasing her hold on him. “You seem distracted by something. I would like to know what has stolen your attention.” He opens his mouth, and closes it again. “I do hope that you would like to stay here with us. We could certainly use your strength. And...I cannot help but wonder...what would be born from a night between an angel and a djinn?”
Sam opened the back door and moved so Dean could lay Cas down inside. Cas, who still had his eyes closed.
But what he wanted to hope for was that people in love wouldn’t do anything to prevent their beloved from being happy. There were a lot of things he wanted to hope for, that he was sure would only lead to disappointment.
Without a doubt, he would make all of his New Year's resolutions about Cas for the rest of his life if he stayed.
He was right, and Castiel sure looked surprised when he was rushing in. Dean hadn’t even reached him yet when Cas reminded him of the closing time. Which Dean knew, of course. He insisted that there was a book that he really wanted. Which they both knew wasn’t true. Not that Dean didn’t like books. He loved them, actually. But he couldn’t come up with a title at that moment, which he decided to try using this to his advantage, saying that he needed more time to remember what it was.
They continue to hold hands, Castiel’s left often in Dean’s right, when they get rings. Dean lifts their hands to display Castiel’s ring whenever he finds it necessary, and Castiel just smiles with a soft blush.
The shreds of fabric were discarded, and as Dean dabbed at the punctures, he noticed the dim, fading light of Castiel’s grace beneath some of the worst of them. The injuries already looked a little better than they had before. Some blood got onto Dean’s bed, coming from Castiel’s back, but it wasn’t minded. Most of the cuts in Cas’s back were pretty shallow, thankfully. Dean put some ointment around them and placed a large bandage over his skin. He’d never been filled with so much tenderness while treating wounds. The urge to hold Cas in his arms and kiss his forehead was powerful, but he knew he had to just leave him be and let him rest.
He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck as he felt his face heat up. It wasn't the love confession that he'd been going for, that Cas deserved, but it was a start. He'd get there.
They'd both missed this eye contact. It changed the way that they breathed. The presence of the other had always made them feel stronger, and yet weak in the knees, in a way that had only been described before in books.
Dean nodded and sighed. "Yep. That's it. I met someone last night and...wow. I mean, this is crazy! I know I just met them, but I really did feel something, and I feel like I've known them forever, like...my soul has been waiting for them my whole life. And now that it's been reunited with its other half, its making sure that I know that I need that other half, if that even makes sense...Uh, you tell anyone I told you this crap and you'll be sorry."
Castiel must marry his father? He can't marry his father! But the ring fits...but he just can't! But...the kingdom! The ring...his father?! But the ring...is the ring...is...the ring.
Castiel's foot fit into the shoe perfectly despite the dark fur he was covered in. The brothers looked angry but Dean was just looking at him, trying to look into his eyes, it seemed. They were the only part of Castiel even partially visible through the disguise.
Castiel’s wings were spread out, and bent over the chair. They weren’t full and fluffy, no. They were rather thinned out, with large bald spots. He blinked his eyes open, looking around a little before seeing Asmodeus, who strode over and turned Castiel’s chair to the side. Asmodeus grabbed one of his wings, forcefully stretching it out over the table.
Castiel made dinner every night. He wouldn’t let Dean go hungry. Breakfast too, and they still ate that together at least. Castiel missed seeing Dean smile during that time, though. He missed getting good morning kisses. Or just kisses, in general. Just to hold Dean’s hand again, he would have given anything. It didn’t even feel like they were engaged anymore. He was starting to wonder if he had imagined that in the first place, that happy day that Dean had proposed. He was living a different life now.
Castiel turned a little too quickly and frowned, letting out a soft curse. He had not been expecting to see Ketch so soon. Their relationship had seemed devoid of any affection not long into it, but the man still thought he had some type of claim over him. It made Castiel feel gross. He knew that he had to do something when he felt those cold eyes finding his. He forced a smile on his face as he looked back to Meg and stated that he was in trouble. In her usual fashion, Meg suggested that they make out.
And he found himself telling Meg that he was going to go mingle. Which wasn’t his intention at all, as he had just one destination. Never in his life had Castiel imagined himself marching right up to a hot guy, but this situation was giving him the perfect excuse. He didn’t even know if the guy liked men, he knew nothing about him. But he still felt a pull to him that he wasn’t going to ignore. He really was getting out of his comfort zone. When he reached Dean, he didn’t introduce himself. He just smiled, leaned forward, and spoke a little quietly.
“Are these flowers for me?” Castiel had just returned home from work to find a bouquet of lavender lilies on the dining room table. Getting flowers from Dean always brightened his day.
Dean walked up to him, having started to come down the stairs when he heard the door open, and nodded, mumbling about how he had thought they were pretty, and how the flowers apparently bloomed really nice around this time.
Castiel ended up leaving. He couldn’t get away fast enough. Dean didn’t stop him, but he did make sure to get another drink. And another. And another. A bitter voice inside of him, and inside of Castiel too, said that it was a good thing that they had not gotten rings for each other yet.
He really thought that Dean had been fully separated from that man’s claws, but no, not yet. Apparently John had not responded well when Dean had told him about their engagement. John had always had a problem with their relationship, ever since Dean had told him about it. Dean had reverted to his old ways of putting his own feelings on a shelf and putting on the cold armor that his father had forced upon him. It suffocated him. It had been like he couldn’t stop, he just lost himself.
Yes, the flavor of the pie had been cherry. Castiel had gotten pretty good at figuring out the flavors of whatever pie Dean had been eating. With two fingers, Dean dragged over the container of the dessert he’d been enjoying when Cas had come home. He fed Cas, bite by bite, and he would be kidding himself if he thought that he was not getting
As if he were under a spell, not in control of himself, Castiel made what one may have been either the best or worst decision of his life, and he slipped the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly.
Dean was moaning quietly, unable to help himself as his mouth was slowly worked open. When Cas let his tongue slide across the inside of Dean's bottom lip, the moaning got louder. Dean grabbed Cas's face because
“Cas, I know your wings...are hurt really bad, and that they probably looked way different before you met me. But I think they’re awesome. Seriously. And they’re the best wings out there, if you ask me.”
He thought of Benny, and swallowed. Even at his drunkest nights with that man, nothing had happened, but there had been a look in Benny’s eyes a few times that made Dean question things. He didn’t go for it, but he hadn’t run away from it either. He never would have cheated, though. Never. And he had completely cut Benny off a few days after Cas had left.
Pressing his lips together, Dean bumps his shoulder against Castiel’s. “Maybe it won’t be necessary. And you’ll be completely yourself. And you’ll just...want it. It’ll just make you happy.”
This dress of Castiel's was golden, of course, and Dean wondered if it was made of actual gold. It made the man look like the shining sun in the darkness of the night.
A few moments more, and Castiel’s hand was covering the one on his face, keeping it there. This was real. Castiel felt that this was something delicate, something he had to be careful about, so he was slow as he brushed his lips along Dean’s. The last thing he wanted was to scare him away. He didn’t need anything, not really, and had not expected anything to happen, so this chasteness was more than enough for him.
The final ball had been over for about twenty minutes when Castiel finally showed up. Dean had been sitting on the steps that led to the castle entrance. Even after spending the entire ball sulking, he had not given up.
Apparently it was already enough to get Cas's eyes watering, and he spoke for the first time since Dean had entered the room.
Castiel wonders briefly if this could be another trap, and any internal response he has to this is rather detached. Oh well, he thinks. That is the main sentiment.
Sam took care of it, always the one more eager to handle John, and Dean was still really grateful for the way that it had all worked out, though he did wish he had stood up to his father more often.
Dean blinked. And then he shrugged, making a comment about how it wasn’t like he was stopping Cas from going out with some friends. If he had any.
“Well,” Asmodeus began, “all you need to know is that I’m gonna get those...pretty wings of yours out. I have been given a resource I would like to test. Of course, I would like to do this to Lucifer, eventually, but...A test, as I said. Why not test it out on a uh, littler angel?”
It was risky, of course, doing this. If he were to be recognized as the prince that had gone missing a few kingdoms away, it was entirely possible that word would get out, and he would end up getting dragged back to his family. Surely his father had been able to find someone else that could fit the ring, which he'd left behind, but he didn't trust the law. He had been the first to fit the ring. That could override the fact that someone else was wearing it now. Castiel wasn't entirely sure.
Castiel has much to say in response, but before he can choose what to start with, a woman is walking up to them with a panicked expression. “Forgive me, we tried to stop him, but…”
attracted to you, okay? So much more than I've ever been to anyone else. And this?" He raised their hands. "This means a hell of a lot more to me than all the sex I've ever had in my life."
Sam, having been a little behind Dean, turned his head. His eyes widened when he saw Lucifer storm in, eyes red and glowing. There was anger there he knew he’d seen before. An expression that he tried to keep out of his thoughts. He had less control over those in his dreams, his nightmares, of course. The anger was not aimed at him, though. And naturally, not at Michael, as it had been for the majority of their shared time in the cage. It was aimed at Asmodeus. Still, it took Sam a second to recover and look away.
What was wrong was the way that his older brothers, the princes Lucifer and Michael, treated him. They picked on him and criticized all of his behaviors, mocking his relationship with the animals, which they enjoyed hunting for sport. This left Castiel’s heart in a distressed condition, each time they flaunted their so-called winnings. It was painfully unnecessary, especially considering the fact that they had a cook, they had several cooks, and surely were able to eat better than anyone else in the kingdom.
“You know, um,” Dean, blushing, starts, “Cas just actually recently died, so. Marriage invalid. Nulled. Whatever. Cas, let’s go.” He walks over to the couch and pulls Cas up by the arm before walking towards the exit, not letting go. Castiel doesn’t turn back, and just lets Dean lead him, enjoying the grip on his arm.
And Castiel just looked more confused, trying to meet Dean’s eyes, looking for an answer. Meanwhile, Dean was staring down at their hands, wondering if this was enough. Cas loved him. He loved Cas. And they were holding hands. Or he was holding Castiel’s hand, at least. Castiel was rather still. Maybe this wasn’t enough.
Eileen looked just as she had the last time Dean had seen her. She opened the door with a smile, quick to go into Sam’s arms. And then, of course, to kiss him. Dean wondered how long she had been waiting for. He looked over at Cas.
When Castiel told all of this to Dean, still holding his face, Dean let out a quick breath, and his grip on Castiel tightened further. With everything that they’d gone through, that they'd told each other, and still had to work through, he just had one question.
“Sam’s already looking into the lore on angel wings, I’m sure. Undo that Men of Letters spell crap.”
Castiel stopped, and turned to Dean with a bittersweet smile. It reminded Dean of the moments before the Empty had taken him.
Asmodeus narrowed his eyes at Castiel’s outburst, not knowing how to respond and not eager to admit it. But he didn’t need to, he was the one in control. That was the way he liked it. He didn’t need to use his words. He only needed to when it was him telling the story. And he would continue to tell it his way. He would continue to remember it his way, and Castiel knew that.
Castiel tugged their hands down, and kissed Dean’s palm. “Okay, but you don’t have to. I love you, Dean,” he whispered against his skin.
The whole time, he’d had the opportunity to have something worth holding onto. Everyone must have been afraid of loss. Nothing was completely in anyone’s control. Their lives were insane, but even normal people had to deal with more or less of the same thing, right? A single, seemingly harmless choice could lead to an early death. That was just the way the world worked. Dean could lose Cas. They would always be able to lose each other, no matter what they did. Maybe it would hurt a little more if they were actually together. If Dean said it, those three words that would really only be an attempt to sum up how he felt, and then wouldn’t be able to say it anymore, it’d hurt.
It wasn't broken, so that was a relief. From the looks of it, Cas had been holding it with both hands. Dean couldn't think too hard about why, for he was focused on how the angel's blue eyes had widened, and were concentrated on the fallen object.
Castiel looked up at Dean and saw no disgust. Just radiance, warmth. Having that directed at him was mesmerizing.
Dean realized too late that it was long before the evil of the being they called Chuck was revealed that he had not given the angel the appreciation that he deserved. Saying that he was dead to him surely didn't help either.
"Cas, I might have considered myself to be straight for a long time, but your vessel doesn't bother me in the slightest. I've never been in love before, just so you know. You're it for me. And...I am very,
That didn’t matter though, because it was all wrong, Cas was wrong, Dean knew. Because what he wanted was not in that house, it was right in front of him. Had been, for years. Why was it still so hard for him to open his damn mouth?
“I am sorry, Dean. I am alright. My presence was requested here. This is the djinn queen.” He looks back at her again, breifly. Melinda’s eyes move between the two. She knows of Dean Winchester, of course, and the bond that exists with him and Castiel. Some rumors about them, she has imagined in the past, were just that. Rumors. Now she is having doubts.
“Just in case anyone else tries to whisk you away again,” he says with a squeeze to the angel’s palm.
Ketch couldn’t help but be annoyed. Of course the spell worked. It came from the British Men of Letters, after all. He’d been hoarding it for some time, and while it was true it had never been tested on an angel before, he’d always been confident that it would work, and eager to see it in action.
Had he listened to it? Did it remind him of Dean? Did it make him want to stay? Or did looking at it make him wish to be even farther away from the bunker, from Dean?
Castiel stared at Dean for just a moment longer before he walked over to him and did just that. Immediately, he felt his boyfriend’s hands settle on his waist, beneath his coat. He wasn’t sure which one of them parted their lips first, but soon enough they were tasting each other, and soon enough after that Castiel found his back pressed against the kitchen counter. A few minutes later found the two of them resting their foreheads together, sharing soft breaths.
While Castiel definitely had some of the most remarkable features he’d ever seen, he soon learned that the guy liked to talk a lot too. And stare. Intensely. And he seemed smart, Dean could see why he was in the same school as Sam, and he was down to Earth. He mentioned something about bees, and Dean just nodded along, distracted by the bit of hair that curled against the guy’s forehead. Dean thought Cas was special. He hadn’t looked at anyone else since they met, he realized, even though some of the girls walking past were hardly decently dressed, which he usually would have been all over. That was kind of dangerous, too. Dean told himself that the only reason he wasn’t giving the ladies as much attention as he usually would was because he was putting in the effort to look like a good boyfriend, to get paid. Yep. Getting paid. He was not falling for someone that he had just met. But when a Led Zeppelin song played at some point, he couldn’t help but think that it sure seemed like it was meant to be, they were meant to meet.
So Dean let Cas rest, watching over him and surveying how as time went on his breaths got deeper. The more he could see the rise and fall of his chest, the better Dean felt. A good while after Castiel had been thoroughly cleaned, Dean settled himself in a chair, dragging it close. As much as he wanted to lie down beside Cas on the bed, he feared he would end up rolling onto his wings. He was thinking of them like butterfly wings, so delicate that even just touching them could reduce their functionality. And to hurt Cas after what he’d just been through was something Dean wasn’t willing to risk.
Castiel’s eyes opened. His wings were already pitiful. He didn’t even want them to be seen, much less vulnerable to being touched by Asmodeus’s hands, or his blade. Castiel swallowed.
“It’s,” Dean said quietly, looking up at Cas, into those eyes that had always truly seen him. The only eyes that had ever truly seen him, his bare soul, his regret, his loathing. He knew everything, and yet still loved him. Loved him because of it, even, and that wasn’t a small thing at all. It was a really big thing, to know that the love was real, that Castiel loved the real Dean Winchester.
interested in that type of activity, but only to engage in it with one particular person, who could never want the same. So Castiel tries to keep these thoughts locked away.
And so they did. Dean was not aware of what symphony it was that played as they moved, and had no idea who composed it, but he was pretty sure that it became his favorite at that moment. It wasn’t
Of course, no one called him that here. Here, he was known as Straggled Hag. Dean usually didn't even call him that. He just barked orders. Once, he even threw a bucket at him.
“Big difference between can, should, and will. Now answer the question.” In what Ketch would describe as his usual fashion, Dean aimed a gun at him. Ketch weighed his options. Naturally, he wanted to be on the winning side. He firmly believed that he was still on it. Prince of Hell versus two greasy Americans? No contest.
So Dean did, and he couldn't stop his mouth from opening when he saw the ceiling, which was completely covered with mistletoe.
“What do you want from me?” It was the first time Castiel had said anything since Asmodeus had set him up at the table.
Castiel was tired of Dean not saying anything. He knew that Dean wasn’t as open as some other people. But he didn’t like being out of the loop, having no idea what Dean was going through, what had brought this all on. Maybe Benny knew. That thought hurt. He knew he was just thinking like that because he was already hurt, though. He didn’t mean to say anything right when Dean’s mouth looked like it might just open, but Castiel felt like it needed to be said.
distracted by Castiel’s lips every time they wrapped around the fork. And they inevitably ended up kissing again.
Luckily, Sam was there to distract him with talk about food for later, so he ended up not thinking about it too much. Then Cas came out, looking pleased with himself.
"I am so sorry. And I know that I'm being selfish, but I don't want to enter this new year without you."
Castiel sat at one end of a long table, Asmodeus on the other end. His own plate was empty, and his wrists were locked into his seat. Asmodeus paused every once in a while to smile at him. Castiel understood the game. Force him to watch him eat, slowly, not knowing what would happen once the meal was over. Keeping a straight face, just staring ahead, Castiel hoped to appear unbothered.
So he left the library after getting one last look at Cas, and letting him know that he would do whatever he could to earn that trust back.
Hours later, after the castle was once again only inhabited by the royal family, Lucifer and Michael were looking at the ring, close enough that Michael could pick it up. And he did. He examined it, as if it would tell him what to do about their father’s need to marry. It didn’t.
“I just can’t get enough of you.” That was Dean’s excuse for keeping Castiel to himself until it was time for them to head out. No one really minded this, though Ruby appeared annoyed, while clinging to Anna herself.
Suddenly Castiel felt a little weak, and it wasn't just because his brothers were trying to stick their big feet into his shoe while smiling at the prince.
The prince actually rolled his eyes. Why was this man so cheerful? Didn't he understand what was happening? What was wrong with this kingdom? Why would anyone allow this?
"You f-find me...attractive?" It was difficult for Cas to speak as Dean was having his way with his neck, but it was understood. The angel felt Dean scoff against his skin.
Gabriel let them in with a grin, and led them to the living room, where Anna was sitting on the couch, her girlfriend Ruby on her lap. Ruby didn’t really get along with a lot of people, but she was definitely a softie when it came to Anna.
“Cas, I...This isn’t what I want. Lisa, she’s not...I don’t want to be with her.” Castiel’s eyebrows moved together, forming a question, but Dean ignored it, choosing instead to do something that he’d imagined himself countless times before. The hand he had on Castiel’s arm slowly slid down, down, fingers circling the angel’s wrist, and then he was gingerly holding his hand.
Another time, it was hot towels. It was at that point that Castiel realized why he was assigned to Dean in particular, and why it was only him. Surely every other person that had taken on the job before had left, unable to put up with the man any longer.
At some point Dean had stood up from one of the couches where they’d been deep in conversation, and extended a hand to Castiel.
Perhaps it was the fear of rejection that had held Dean back for so long. Or of losing Cas soon afterwards, if they really allowed what existed between them to blossom.
Dean stayed quiet for a few seconds. And then he elaborated. It was a mixture of multiple things that he loved most about Cas, all really meaning the same thing in the end. The way Cas reacted to him, looked at him, always made him feel so special. So loved. Castiel was so sweet. An angel, his angel, always. Dean had always had problems with the idea of asking people to stay, as for a long time it had seemed like nothing but a weakness, admitting that he needed someone else. And he had never really given anything else, anything romantic, a chance before Cas. Because Cas just made him throw everything out the window. Dean was asking him to stay, to marry him.
Ketch sighed, carefully putting his phone into his pocket as he accepted that he was going to have to deal with Dean. And that Asmodeus might have to as well, earlier than expected.
They learn that Dean was right. Castiel’s third and final marriage, to one Dean Winchester, when it happens, is not necessary. But they both want it, and they are happy.
It was all Dean's parents' idea after they found out about what had happened. The prince had been very upset when he had not seen Castiel within a day following the last ball, or at least, was not aware that he had seen him. Dean insisted that the whole shoe fitting ordeal was unnecessary because he would know by looking at the man's face. But
Castiel told them that the engagement was off, because that’s just how it seemed. He assumed that Dean had told the same news to his own family.
Castiel kissed Dean. Just a firm but careful press of lips, and then he was whispering his answer, which was rather obvious by this point. There was never anywhere that he wanted to be that wasn’t in Dean’s arms, or that’s what he was thinking in that moment anyways. They may not have seemed like a perfect match to any outsiders, but Castiel was certain that they were meant to be together.
When the song ended, Castiel tore out of Dean's grasp and ran away, silver silk flowing behind him. Dean followed, calling out, running to the doorway, but the man was gone. He stayed there for a while, just looking out and wondering where that man had come from. That beautiful man. There was hope in his heart that he would see him again.
Just like the hug, it had been rather uncharacteristic of Lucifer to ask Castiel if he wanted to accompany him on a visit to his girlfriend Kelly and their child. But it was definitely appreciated. What would be better to distract him from Dean than an adorable baby?
Castiel got Dean flowers a few times as well. Among other things, which Dean considered to be more Cas-like gifts.
When everyone returned again with the second dress the planner said, "I've done everything you asked. You must be married soon."
“She, she wanted to have kids with you? Cas, you seriously need to stop marrying random chicks. I mean, I get that you did it to get the forbidden fruit or whatever, and I appreciate that, but you could have just ganked ‘em all. The whole clan. You didn’t need to agree to that.”
His family comforted him when he told them what happened. Castiel had never been that close with them, really, but even Lucifer gave him a hug. That was definitely not something that happened every day. The youngest Novak must have looked as broken as he felt. Novak. It looked like he would be staying that way now.
He did find out later though, sitting on the couch beside Kelly, that Lucifer had cheated on her. With some woman named Anael, she said. Lucifer apparently was pretty careless when it came to hiding hickeys.
Since there wasn't any actual music playing, Castiel wasn't sure when to leave. But then Dean started leaning forward with his eyes trained on his lips, and he considered that his cue. When he pulled away the prince looked hurt.
They meet shadows at the entrance of the cave, and Castiel can sense around twenty Djinn in the vicinity. Oliver’s eyes glow as he walks in, to illuminate the way, and Castiel knows that his own eyes are capable of shining even brighter, of burning, but he feels no need to demonstrate this. He follows Oliver, and they pass a large room with a long table piled with food. Anyone else would not have noticed this, but Castiel does even though they are not moving slowly, and he barely glances around as they do so. He has excellent vision. They eventually arrive at a door, which Oliver knocks on, or rather, taps on, timidly.
The truth is that he has had the time, but he likes to think that since they were busy checking in with everyone, those that had simply stopped existing for a little while, that it was just best for him to wait. That it made sense he had yet to acknowledge Castiel’s final words to him before what was hopefully his last death. Dean isn’t actually sure if he considers it a death. If he went to Heaven, that wouldn’t necessarily mean he was dead, right? Regardless, even if Castiel did not die that day, a great part of
Dean lifted Castiel’s hand to his lips, to kiss his knuckles. “That’s what it means. You know? If that’s okay.”
Thankfully, no one had fit the shoe yet. The next people that came in made Castiel's jaw drop, though.
With his whole world standing in front of him, Dean had to hope that he wouldn't be forced to lose it all.
It is a good thing that he is an exceptional multitasker, or else he would never be leaving the store, stuck wandering down the aisles, getting lost in them in addition to his thoughts. When he was raised from the Empty, and Dean had not mentioned his confession, he took it for what it was. Dean was being kind. And was this not one of the man’s characteristics that Castiel found so dear?
This high was not disturbed until later that day when they stopped by a gas station to both get gas and to get snacks. Dean was the one getting the snacks, of course, as Cas wandered around the car a little, just to be putting his legs to use.
The two kept flirting with Dean and talking about their supposedly sad lives, and about a war that happened in their old kingdom, and their father had died, and...
This was actually Dean’s first time really getting involved with a guy in some way. He knew he’d liked them for a while, but his dad. His dad. That was why. Following Sam to this party, it had been like a breath of fresh air. It was his first moment of really understanding that for a long time, he had been suffocated. And he didn’t want to feel like that anymore.
There were moments, when Dean was laughing with his brother, that Castiel saw someone who was not an entirely different man from the one that he worked under, but another layer of him. And, well, Castiel overheard things. Like the sound of King John raising his voice at Dean, mirroring the way that Dean did it to him.
"Sit," he said. Of course, Dean obeyed. They were incredibly close. Cas placed his hand gently on top of Dean's. The hunter's heart filled with hope and without thinking about it he let his thumb lightly caress Cas's hand.
So Castiel did not hate Dean for the way he treated him, not even a little. He found himself feeling for him, and wishing he could do something to make him feel better, to bring out that smile he saw so rarely.
Castiel was not responding. His eyes were still closed, and his body was still as he was lifted up from the chair, wings dragging on the floor. Dean grunted as he tried to keep him balanced, before just picking him up, one arm under his thighs and the other over his lower back. In an ideal situation, Castiel would have his arms around Dean’s neck, and his legs wrapped around his waist. This was not an ideal situation. Dean still managed to hold him. It was the best way he could think of to do so while creating the smallest amount of pressure on the angel’s wings as possible.
Castiel just kept staring at him, the way he used to. There was no empty mask on his face, that blank expression that he’d tried to have recently whenever he was met with Dean. Castiel felt overwhelmed with how much he’d missed Dean. He’d missed him so much, and being in his arms now, feeling how solid he was, he knew that they would be happy. He knew they were in love. He knew he wanted to go home, his real one. That really, he was already home.
Cas thought that this, Lisa, was what he wanted. Cas arranged this for him, believing that he couldn’t possibly have Dean. Loving Dean, just wanting him to be happy. Regardless of who he was with, or if that meant Cas himself would probably be alone. Maybe he’d have Jack at least, Dean wasn’t sure.
As a response, Castiel threw his arms around Dean and kissed him. Their lips had only been touching for two seconds when Dean moaned and put both of his hands in Castiel's hair. He let his fingers weave through it and the other man happily hummed against his mouth. Dean smiled and murmured, "It's so fluffy."
Dean swam in lazy circles beneath Benny’s boat, surfacing every thirty minutes or so for air. He had been scaring up a variety of fish for Benny, chasing them into the fishing nets. Benny had shown him pictures of the fish he wanted and the ones he didn’t. When he had started helping Benny out, Benny had asked what Dean wanted in return.
When Charlie reached the lobby, she was a little surprised to see Sam sitting behind the front desk, bent over a map and making marks with a Sharpie. She smiled awkwardly as she approached him. She cleared her throat and Sam looked up. ‘Hey,’ she said, waving her hand.
The next day, everyone was gathered at the table for breakfast. Anna and Balthazar were keeping a close eye on Castiel, and Gabriel desperately wanted to see everyone’s reactions.
Dean opened the door to his room. Castiel wished him goodnight and kept heading down the hallway. ‘Cas?’
have tried saving Jess, instead of focusing on Sam. But Sam was with him now. He could keep an eye on Sam. Keep him on the right path. Make certain that he made the right choice in the end. It did not help that Sam was a constant reminder of the brother he once knew. Lucifer, brave and beautiful, so loving, and always questioning Father.
‘Sorry,’ Bobby apologized. ‘But it’s the truth. Besides, you would have been too old for their tastes anyway.’
Gabriel looked out the window of the room he would be sharing with Castiel for the time being. He stared longingly at the bungalows across the lagoon—mere blobs in the distance, but he knew what they were. How they sat on wooden stilts in the middle of the water. He desperately wanted that luxury to be his own. Sighing, he let his gaze fall down to the dirt path that led to the front of the small hotel.
Dean shrugged and tapped his fingers on the wood of the pier. ‘Yeah, you caught me… Just out havin’ some fun and uh…had to hide when you showed up.’
With Mary's death, John took up the title of Hunter. He needed to find the demon that killed Mary and avenge her death. His two sons were living the life that every young boy wanted. Traveling, seeing the world, and hunting monsters. John quickly earned a name for himself. He was an excellent Hunter. And he did it all without the aid of an angel. At least, that was what the outside world saw. What Sam and Dean saw was another story. Their father was desperate to find an angel. An angel would be able to help him track down the demon that killed his wife.
‘What?’ Dean glanced up and frowned at Castiel. He reran what he had said through his head, but wasn’t able to find anything wrong with it. He shrugged it off as Castiel shook his head. He figured that if he ever said anything
Dean smiled incredulously up at Sam. ‘No way! I thought she just moved to the southern…uh… What word do I use?’
‘What? No, you haven’t!’ Dean argued. ‘Sure, you’ve been kinda annoying, but… Well, you’ve made me feel so…so special. I don’t get much of that, so it kinda balances out, I guess.’ He laid his head on Castiel’s knee and smiled up at him.
Dean nodded in agreement as he looked out the window. He regretted not getting his kissing buddy’s phone number. Not that it mattered. He and Sam would be out of the country by nightfall.
Dean frowned at the prospect. ‘I don’t think he’d do that. Sure, he’s really into exploring my body right now, and he’s got lots of questions, but… No. He wouldn’t do that. He’s my
They stayed like that until Dean's phone rang. Dean jumped and pulled his phone out, reading Sam's name on the small screen. He cleared his throat and plastered a big smile on his face before answering. 'Sammy! Hey, I was just on my way.'
‘I don’t know who has your contract. Not me, and not Anna. That’s all I know,’ Balthazar said, shutting the door.
Dean hoped his confusion didn’t show as he watched Crowley and Jody share a kiss. He glanced at Castiel and found no indication of anything strange having been said. None of his TV shows had prepared him for the oddity that was humanity. As outrageous as the television characters were, he was finding real humans to be even moreso—they were just more subtle about it, and it was sometimes hard for him to keep up.
‘Cas. Cassie. Hey, Cassie-belle!’ Balthazar tapped his glass on the table in front of Castiel to get his attention. He grinned when Castiel’s head shot up and the notebook snapped shut loudly. ‘Welcome back.’
Sam began to walk around the desk just as Gabriel was picking himself up. He clipped the corner as he was distracted by the way Gabriel’s cut-offs rode up his ass. He clutched the desk, unable to pull his eyes away.
Castiel ducked his head and hugged himself. He looked up when an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Dean had taken Gabriel’s seat and was send Crowley a challenging stare.
Dean grinned at Sam. ‘Such a long list, isn’t it? All the ones I could have saved, but didn’t bother with. How many hunts did we go on where there could have been no casualties? If I had just said one word?’
real, then…would that outweigh the stigma of being on Gabriel’s show? A new species. It would certainly be more fun to be back in the water instead of being stuck behind a desk… He could always work on a personal project on Gabriel’s dime if it didn’t pan out. ‘I’ll do it,’ he heard himself say.
Gabriel fumbled with the CD case as he picked up his suitcase. What was he supposed to do? Should he give the disc to Castiel? Should he even
‘Your ex seemed to like finding out,’ Dean said hesitantly. ‘Do you really think everyone else is going to care that much?’
‘It’s Cas,’ Gabriel weakly replied. ‘Nothing big…just a couple light bulbs. Anna probably said something. She’s good at that.’ He looked up at Sam uncertainly.
Dean crossed his arms. He hadn't been tempted to abuse his power over the bond yet, not until that moment. The text had to be about him. 'Will you tell me later?' he asked.
Muffin finished and hopped off the bed to sit in the window, and Castiel pushed himself up onto his elbows. He looked around the room in dismay. It was still a mess from when he had torn everything apart, searching for the contract. He felt a pang of guilt, but refused to clean the room. He looked at the other bed, finding it vacant, and wondered how long Gabriel would be avoiding him.
He sighed and looked over at Dean, who was still asleep. He wondered if he should wake the Hunter. He settled on pulling out his phone and sending a text. As he waited for a reply, he watched Dean sleep.
Gabriel was fanning himself with Samandriel’s notebook as he sat on a bench, looking out at the lagoon. It had started drizzling again, and Charlie had to leave due to her ‘condition.’ He knew it was bullshit. She didn’t have a skin condition. She just didn’t want her hair to frizz. The last time he had called her out on it, he had ended up with large bruise on his arm and glue in his hair product. He whined when Samandriel reclaimed the notebook.
‘No! I’m not…’ Castiel backed away as Gabriel drew closer. He glanced around the room, feeling annoyed at how everyone was just watching the pair in amusement. It was bad enough that he had been wrangled into doing drunken rants, but he would not let Gabriel manipulate him into doing drag for his show. He needed to cut this line of thought immediately, and he only knew of one topic that would work quickly and effectively. ‘Michael and Lucifer know about mermaids!’ he shouted.
Lucifer smiled widely and nodded. ‘Very true. But…I will need you leave your Hunter. I have a car waiting just outside the front gate.’
Castiel sat at the foot of Dean’s bed. He waited patiently while Dean drew a few symbols onto the door in chalk.
Sam smiled at Gabriel as he lay next to him. ‘So you liked that?’ he asked as he trailed his fingers over Gabriel’s wings. He dug deeper, feeling around where each wing connected to Gabriel’s back.
Dean suddenly felt very self-conscious of his own tattered wings that would never heal, so he kept them well hidden. How did a lowly soldier end up with such beautiful wings? It made him so angry and jealous. He lashed out the only way he could. He lashed out like a human. Bullets did nothing, but he didn't care. He wasn't thinking straight.
Dean found Sam waiting for him inside the small motel room. 'Ready to head out?' he asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage.
Anna made to follow, but Karen stood in her way. Karen gave Anna an even stare and handed her a plate of food.
'Sorry, I already promised him we'd help,' Sam said a little too cheerfully for Dean's taste. 'Besides, I thought we could use a break from demons and hunting.'
paying, right? Cas didn’t just say that?’ Gabriel asked Crowley with a suspicious frown. ‘I better not get stuck with the bill. Again.’
. They don’t believe in…’ He sighed as he ran his eyes over Dean’s naked form. ‘They don’t believe in creatures like you.’
‘The building’s warded against most of Gabriel’s tampering,’ Anna explained. She looked to Crowley and tilted her head in question. ‘If we could get to the warding…it could potentially tip this fight in our favor.’
Castiel looked up from his scribblings and stared at Benny in wonder. ‘Really? Thank you! Thank you so much!’
‘You understand each other,’ Karen said softly in realization, her eyes drifting to just past Anna’s shoulder. Anna remained silent, but she continued. ‘His wing color… Your
‘Unfortunately,’ Castiel said as he pushed off the door and approached Dean, ‘I don’t have any money… Maybe we could,’ he ran his hands along Dean’s chest and settled them on top of the pizza box, ‘work something out?’
Dean laughed and leaned against the wall for support. ‘You told him we haven’t done that much yet, right?’
Sam chose to keep his mouth shut. Especially when a certain angel's leg draped itself across his lap.
!’ Gabriel huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the ladder and Sam’s feet. ‘And now Bal’s tryin’ to get back with him!’
Castiel slowly spread his wings, drawing out the sensations the cuff was giving him. He whined as he fully extended them, displaying every feather for Dean to see. He gasped as Dean very lightly caressed the length of his right wing. His arms shook as he dropped his head, panting for breath as Dean carefully ran his fingers along the other wing.
Sam waved at Charlie. ‘Head down the beach about half a mile. There’s a…good spot.’ He didn’t hear Charlie’s reply as Gabriel opened the door to his room, and he was dragged inside.
. They can have blurry photos and mysterious sonar readings. I’m already a laughing stock. I don’t have a career to ruin.’
Crowley was met with three confused stares. He tilted his head slightly. He gave a short, disbelieving laugh as he shook his head. ‘You don’t know, do you?’
Dean ran a hand through his hair. ‘Well… I was kinda worried you were like the rest of your family,’ he admitted.
‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ Castiel asked, glancing from Sam to Dean. He grimaced when he noticed that Dean was primping in front of a mirror.
‘It’s just copy and paste, right? You’re moving stuff from a disc to the computer. Shouldn’t take that long,’ Gabriel said as he watched Balthazar.
The emotions slotted into place for Castiel. He would have spoken to Dean earlier had he known everything would have been this simple. All the knots were slowly unraveling, and he could begin to trace where some of Dean’s stronger feelings lead—a great bit of annoyance was set aside just for Gabriel, and there was a strong love for Sam.
need to talk about it. If I’m gonna be on Gabriel’s show, and we’re gonna be together, then we… We need to figure this all out. Preferably
‘Trust me, I’m being nowhere near as rude as a dolphin,’ Dean said as he held his hand out to Castiel and helped him into the tub.
‘It doesn’t have to be wrong,’ Castiel replied as he loosened his wings. He offered Dean an uncertain smile. ‘I’m just a little different. There’s nothing wrong with that, right?’
Dean looked over as movement caught his eye, and his smile grew wider. Crowley had been right—it looked like all Castiel really needed was a good night’s sleep. Castiel
Gabriel laughed. 'Yeah, I remember hearing shouting through the door. Didn't he threaten to wring your scrawny little neck if you ever got cuffed?' he asked with a smirk.
‘I can see that!’ Balthazar glared at Dean as the other bent over to grab a pair of discarded jeans.
‘I don’t know!’ Benny shouted. He took a deep breath and gave Dean an apologetic look. ‘I don’t know. You look fine. You look…normal.’
‘What? No!’ Castiel quickly shook his head. ‘Archangels… Gabriel does it all the time with…with Father. It’s uh…er…a display of power,’ he said, stumbling over his words. ‘I shouldn’t be capable of… What’s
Casitel sighed in frustration. Crowley was going to find out sooner or later. ‘I’ve met someone, and he has expressed interest in seeing me in it…’
Sam stared on in shock. Why couldn’t Karen sense what Crowley was? And, for that matter, why did the demon’s eyes look human? Was he possessing some poor human? And, if that was the case, why were Castiel and Gabriel perfectly fine with it?
Sam waved Dean over as he headed to the partially opened door next to his closet. ‘C’mon. I’ll explain toilets and save you some of the embarrassment of figuring it out on your own.’
theme was playing. Very loudly, and a little too close to Castiel’s ear. He rolled over, ignoring the tune as he snuggled against Dean’s chest. Dean. Dean the mermaid. Or merman, rather. He still couldn’t quite believe it. He felt better when he didn’t actively think about it—unless he was completely focused on studying Dean’s marine features.
‘So can you,’ Balthazar pointed out, turning away. ‘This may be a minor setback, but I haven’t given up.’
Lucifer shrugged as he crossed out what he had just written. ‘I would say… It’s worth the risk. Just don’t put him in a position of power, and he’s easy to deal with.’
Gabriel groaned in frustration. He stared at the engine and frowned. He could feel traces of Balthazar’s energy lingering. ‘What’s wrong with your car?’
‘One…? Oh. Oh!’ Gabriel’s eyes darted down, remembering what Castiel had told him. ‘This is gonna sound weird, but… Um… Er… Fuck. What’s your cock look like?’
‘Not an oyster,’ Sam said in amusement. ‘I never dwelled on how it works… I’d say ask your brother.’ He leaned over the edge of the tub and touched Gabriel’s cheek. ‘Everything’s gonna be okay,’ he promised.
Sam shook his head and looked at the silent angel waiting in the hallway. For Gabriel's supposed brother, the two looked nothing alike. Dark hair, blue eyes, black wings... 'Why are your wings black?' he asked. Nothing he had read or heard of had ever mentioned black wings.
After a good hour of being yelled at, Bobby saved the boys by presenting Karen with a beautiful gold ring that had the new binding spell engraved on it. He had even presented it on one knee. Bobby could not recall a time he had seen his angel so happy.
Sam opened the door to find Gabriel smiling up at him. ‘Gabe, this really isn’t a good time,’ he said quietly.
Dean looked to where Castiel was pointing and nodded. ‘Sure. If you don’t mind it getting’ dropped.’
‘You may wish to burn this,’ Castiel said as he dropped the shirt he held onto Gabriel’s lap. ‘Along with everything else in Sam’s closet. We found snow globes and tacky knickknacks. They don’t even qualify as kitsch.’
Gabriel gasped and sagged as the cuff’s spell ended. He wrapped his wings tightly around himself as he cried into his hands. ‘Don’t tell anyone. Please don’t tell anyone!’ he begged. ‘Don’t let them kill him. Don’t let them take him from me! He’s all I have left!’
‘I finally have something in common with my brother, and he’s managed to out-whore me,’ Gabriel complained before taking a long swig of his drink. ‘Something’s wrong with me. Sam, what’s wrong with me?’ he asked, tilting his head back as Sam passed by, collecting empty glasses.
Dean breathed in sharply as Castiel’s head came free from the shirt. Short, dark hair stuck out in every direction. Dean wanted to touch it, to feel it beneath his fingers. He swallowed and didn’t move when Castiel leaned in close, inches from his face.
Dean pulled the car into Pamela's driveway. 'Trust me, Pam. You don't wanna know the things I've done.'
Dean opened his eyes and groggily stared at the messy brown hair pressing into his chest. ‘You okay there, Cas?’
‘Come, now, Castiel,’ Lucifer said as he sat next to Castiel. ‘Don’t be like this. I’ve done everything to make you comfortable.’
‘You’d rather swim there,’ Castiel said. ‘Naked. I distinctly remember you saying you were skinny dipping.’
There was no reason for his heart to be beating so quickly. It was just an email. It was just business. He nodded to himself and set to work.
‘Yeah,’ Gabriel quietly replied. ‘I didn’t fake it. I swear! I was in Bora Bora, doin’ some preliminary photos for the show. I didn’t even think it was something weird when I took the picture. Thought a shark was swimming by or something. And that’s not the only one…but it’s the clearest photo I got.’
kinda long. Hey! It looks like I’m not wearing pants!’ He noticed the broken glass on the floor and stooped to pick up the pieces. He heard a choked sound come from behind him as he gathered up the larger pieces. He looked back and saw Sam rummaging in the first-aid kit and Charlie staring at his ass. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked as he stood up and dropped the glass on the desk.
‘She’s lying,’ Dean said as Castiel set his shirt on a nearby rock. ‘She just wants to see your ass.’
Gabriel smiled up at Sam. ‘Yeah! Long, scaly thing that’s been sighted around the island for the past few months.’
‘Do you like that?’ Dean asked, and Castiel nodded. ‘You like showing me your wings? Letting me touch them? Showing them off…like a little peacock attracting a mate?’
He pulled away and slowed as he drew up next to the older pier. He could still remember how the weathered wood felt under his hands…beneath his back… He shook his head hard, reminding himself that it was just a drunken fantasy. He really needed to stop drinking so much. He wasn’t in college anymore. No more going to class high or hung over. He was an adult. He had responsibilities. He needed his wits about him if he was going to survive this ordeal.
‘Cas!’ Gabriel’s confused feelings about Charlie vanished as he took in his brother—completely absorbed with making notes in a battered and water-splotched notebook. ‘How’re ya’ doin’?’
knew what sort of motel they were staying in—the kind that catered to Hunters and the hourly crowd—but how could they explain it to the two angels without giving the wrong impression?
Dean sat up and crossed his arms. He tried to control his fins. Benny wasn’t challenging him. He was just looking out for him. ‘I don’t think he’d do that,’ he said quietly.
Sam stiffened and quickly looked down. ‘She’s…there was a shark,’ he said quietly. ‘Wasn’t there when it happened.’
Gabriel stuck out his hand. ‘Hand it over,’ he said. He dropped his suitcase and reached for Balthazar’s bag when the other made no move to retrieve the sex tape. ‘Give it here, or you’re fired!’
‘I’d like it if you were there, too,’ Castiel said before placing his hand behind Dean’s neck and pulling him down for a soft kiss. He smiled as he pulled back. ‘You’re so…different.’
Dean licked his lips and decided to push his luck. ‘It seems like you’re the only one that’s not into this show. Spot, uh…Charlie loves it. She says it’s the best job she’s had in a long time,’ he said. ‘So… I say, do the show. Have fun. Charlie said she could justify having an assistant, so
Sam blushed under the attention and gave Jody a friendly smile. ‘That’s not the kind of image we’re trying to promote,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure there are a few of our regulars that wish it was.’
Gabriel smiled easily as he nodded. ‘That boat next our rental, right?’ Sam nodded, and his smile dropped a little. ‘Is that thing…safe?’ he asked, recalling the older boat that was tied up next to their own. It was barely as big as the rental, and looked a little worse for the wear.
Azazel was going to make a move on Sam. Damage and corrupt him. Manipulate him into Lucifer's perfect vessel. It all centered on Sam's girlfriend. The date was coming up. How could he protect Sam? It would be suspicious if he suddenly popped up and killed off every demon on campus. It would draw too much attention from the demons. And if the demons were readying to make their move, then the angels wouldn’t be far behind.
Castiel shifted his wings, and Dean pulled him more tightly against his chest. Castiel’s heart sped up. He slowly brought his hands up between them and rested them on Dean’s bare chest. Dean didn’t wake up, so Castiel gently pressed his lips against Dean’s chest. He felt a pang of regret. Dean was quickly running out of time. They had agreed to a week. It was already the third day, and Dean had made no progress. He had no idea of what to do. How could he help Dean?
He remembered how it was easier for Dean to transform with his tail laid straight. He stood and joined Dean on the landing. Leaning down, he looped his arms under Dean and tried to drag him up a few steps, stumbling in the process.
Dean stared at Castiel in horror. ‘That’s a shitty ending! Who came up with that?!’ He huffed indignantly when Castiel began laughing. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he leaned back against the couch, torn between embarrassment and loving the sound of Castiel’s laughter. He jumped when a hand lightly caressed his chest.
‘That explains why he reeks of cologne,’ Anna said. ‘You told him getting back with Cas is a bad idea, right?’
Disappointment filled Dean, and he leaned back against his pillow. His face scrunched up as he thought about what Castiel had said about flirting. ‘Were you trained for sex?’
Castiel blushed and looked away. He wanted to. He wanted to sleep, wrapped tightly in Dean’s arms. To let Dean hold him and whisper away any doubts he had. He swallowed as Dean approached him. ‘I…’
Castiel spun around and pressed back against the car as much as he could. He could feel his cheeks heat up. ‘H-hello, Dean.’
manage to reach you.’ Lucifer gently lifted Castiel’s chin. ‘Castiel, you will not leave this spot. You will remain where you are, and if anyone that is not me approaches you, you are to smite them.’
Karen looked up from her magazine as the bell on the lobby door chimed. She smiled as Castiel and a young man she didn’t recognize entered. ‘Change your mind?’ she asked.
'Son of a bitch!' Dean emerged from the woods, brushing leaves and twigs from his person. He froze in his ministrations and looked up at Castiel like a deer caught in headlights.
right now!’ Castiel shouted. He set down his gear at the edge of the pier and looked around in desperation. ‘Where is it?’ he mumbled.
‘Everything, apparently!’ Castiel turned and almost started walking onto the pier, but stopped himself as he realized he would be trapped. He needed to get away. He needed to hide. In the distance he could hear his name being shouted. He turned around to shout back at Balthazar. ‘Just fuck…’ He quickly trailed off when he noticed that Balthazar wasn’t even looking at him, and his name was still being shouted. He looked to where Balthazar was staring and froze.
‘Kinda diggin’ the view from up here. How’s about you do a little backstroke?’ Gabriel said with a laugh, covering up the nervous strain in his voice. ‘Besides, sea water and clothes aren’t the best mix. Makes me chafe.’
‘I’m not giving you a choice,’ Crowley said in an exasperated tone. ‘You begin tomorrow. Anna, do what you have to. If you need any targets, I’ll arrange for them to be sent.’
‘We already spoke to him, Gabriel,’ Sam said as he stroked his angel’s hair. ‘Michael’s not going to kill Crowley
‘We dress ourselves up and lie,’ Castiel said bitterly. ‘I’ve lied to everyone about who I really am. I’m
‘A lot better than human me,’ Dean admitted. ‘How can you stand i—oh!’ He bit off a cry as Castiel’s fingers pressed along the sides of his slit, and he slipped down, sending Castiel falling forward onto his chest.
Gabriel stumbled and tried to catch the vase, failing miserably as he hit the ground and the vase shattered.
‘Doesn’t take much,’ Dean replied. ‘I’m ridin’ a damned good high of demon energy myself right now. Only reason I’m able to keep it together is the thought of Sammy…’
‘Better than coffee,’ Gabriel replied. He bit his lip at the sight of Sam smiling up at him from between his thighs. ‘You can wake me up with a blowjob anytime you want. You make an amazing alarm clock.’
Dean stared at the cat. None of the shows he had seen had a cat on them. A few mentioned cats, but this was the first time he had seen one. He handed the bag of scuba gear to Castiel and knelt down to get a closer look.
Karen let the blades vanish. ‘Good choice.’ She looked back at Anna. ‘And that was your one warning, dear.’
Dean left Sam at a motel just outside of a small town. He was thankful that Sam didn’t question him when he said he’d be back by morning. He let Sam think it was stress over being reminded of Hell and losing a relationship with Anna—was he really that much of a horndog? Yeah. He was. He had his vices.
Dean opened his arms wide and grinned at the man in the tan over coat. ‘Liebling!’ he happily greeted.
‘You kids may have grown up around this shit, but you didn’t have to join up,’ Bobby replied. ‘They…they’re selected. They get their first mission around the age of ten. Not anything easy like surveillance… Straight up assassination.’
Balthazar pulled up short when he looked up from his camera and his eyes fell on Sam. ‘Hello, Charlie’s friend,’ he greeted.
Dean spat up more blood and whined lowly as he curled more into himself. That was it. There wasn’t much left anymore. He wouldn’t be able keep his vessel alive any longer. Maybe a couple hours if he was lucky. Slowly, he looked up at Bobby. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered.
Castiel laughed as he stood up. ‘How about a movie, then? The kitchen’s pretty well-stocked, so… We’ll have that coffee then some popcorn.’
‘Clothes, bathrooms, money… Basic stuff, I guess,’ Dean replied. ‘A lot of it I already knew from TV.’
Gabriel ushered Castiel back to the other bed. Specks of blood were already staining his brother’s shirt around a small tear. He lifted the shirt and hissed at the sight that greeted him. His eyes were drawn downward to the tattoo that was peeking over the edge of Castiel’s jeans. How did his baby brother manage to keep so many things secret from him?
to do it. He got sick of being tortured himself. And wasn't that the reason souls went to Hell? To be tortured?
The song faded into more of a low hum, and Castiel turned to face Sam and Bobby. He frowned at the pained expressions the humans wore. ‘He was singing,’ he explained. ‘You may not fully understand, but…to hear Dean…
‘How long can you hold your breath?’ Dean asked as he stared at Castiel’s balls. They looked so strange to him. Everything was external. It made no sense. It was weird.
‘While I…while I was in his head, I saw…’ Gabriel turned so that he was straddling the window sill. His eyes kept darting up to meet Sam’s then away. ‘Dean’s gonna make him a new cuff,’ he said quietly. ‘Go back to the way things were…’
When Bobby returned home, he automatically assumed it was Dean who had caught the angel. He tried not to laugh at Sam's dumb luck and the irritated face Dean was making when the situation was explained to him.
‘Against my better judgment, I vouched for Crowley,’ Dean said as he looked at the door. ‘Why did you…?’
Gabriel rubbed Castiel’s back soothingly. ‘Hey…you’re doing me a big favor here,’ he said. ‘If…if this really does ruin your career, then…I’ll take care of you. Your horoscope said good things are coming.’
‘And your brother didn’t have anything that would work?’ Benny asked as Dean handed him the scales. He was surprised at how tough the scales actually were, and he had a little trouble making the holes.
Castiel shifted uncomfortably at the images Dean was sending him. Cakes declaring ‘Congrats on the killing!’ littered his mind. ‘He’s just upset that Mother made a cake when I hadn’t actually had a breakthrough.’
‘You said “dragon.” We’re calling it “serpent,” remember?’ Samandriel said, shaking his journal at Gabriel.
‘Please forgive Gabriel’s behavior,’ Castiel said. It was his automatic response for when his brother turned to rudeness around other angels. He looked up at Balthazar. ‘But, I do agree with him. Your help is neither needed nor wanted. We’re not helpless.
All eyes turned to Karen, and she puffed her wings slightly. ‘We’ve never had a problem until you. And, yes, I should have kept a closer eye on those two,’ she said, indicating Anna and Balthazar. ‘But I did a sweep of the property after finding out about you, and the only tampering that’s been done has been on the main path leadin’ up to here. My home
Dean pulled back, admiring the shy smile Castiel gave him. ‘Sure thing,’ he promised. ‘Now, let’s test that flexibility of yours.’
‘I’ll say,’ Castiel moaned. ‘I have whipped cream and a list of my favorite porns,’ he said as he lifted his shopping bag. He groaned as Balthazar nipped at his neck. ‘H-here…’ He held out the bag to Dean.
Dean doesn’t look away from the woman for a whole ten seconds. He seems amazed at her appearance. But eventually the green eyes twitch towards Castiel.
In the surprisingly short time it takes for the place to empty, Castiel can’t think of a good reason to get rid of Sam while he interrogates the demon by himself. He suggests Sam walk out with the last DMV employees just to be sure they stay out, and to hold any other law enforcement agents at bay, but Sam immediately turns around and suggests Castiel do that and let him ‘crack’ the demon by himself. They’re still arguing about who should leave when the demon in the devil trap starts to rant and rave, having gotten tired of waiting.
These humans, these interesting, kind people...his way of seeing them had changed in the past few weeks. He’d always been their guardian, responsible for their protection, but in truth, he’d been more concerned about their souls first and foremost, and then their safety, their overall health and numbers. But these weren’t faceless humans anymore. Bobby had invited Castiel into his home because the older man loved Dean like a son. Ellen had given him a look of surprised approval last Sunday when Castiel ate all of the savory pie she’d made (Dean had coached him on table manners). Rufus treated him like someone ordinary, it was strangely refreshing. Jo had given him that small crooked smile tonight, and Sam and Dean had shared a look of warmth and happiness that had included him when she’d finally unbent a little. All of these things could have been extinguished two days ago. Assassination? Murder? Sin? There had to be a worse name for the crime that had almost happened here, it should have a name that would make the stars cry out in horror.
The rod rams into the gun’s barrel a little harder than usual. “I’m just saying, Cas, I’m getting a funny vibe off all this extra-curricular hunting you’re doing, and if you’d stop for just a second, I think you would too.”
Now Castiel has picked up that torch in his new mortal form, and with considerably more intent. It’s not theoretical anymore; he’s seen the devastation these creatures cause, the depraved sins, the rotting corpses of the possessed, the bereaved families, the pain and terror, no longer from the bird’s eye view of an angel but down here in the trenches of mortality. Castiel destroys demons not because of an absent father’s command or for duty or divinity, he destroys them because he really doesn’t like them very much.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” says Dean expansively, though he’s relaxed very abruptly for someone who seems so very sure of himself now, to the point where he almost drops his coronet. There’s a bit of fumbling and Castiel’s awkward assistance almost sends the gold circlet flying, but then it’s once more in Dean’s grasp. Dean inspects it carefully as if he’s unfamiliar with it. They’re still not moving any closer to Dean’s pavilion, and the silence, lingering, seems to grow denser as Dean glances his way and then back at the crown.
She looks at him probingly in return. “I see. I… see. Tell me, dear, have you tried any other means of removing that Mark?”
For some reason it was here and now, with Maurice trying hard not to stare, and that poor dame hightailing out of the junction with her pot firmly clenched in her arms, that it was really sinking in. How much his life had just flipped over like a griddle cake last night, alienating him from everything and everyone he’d previously known.
But Cas is already shaking his head. “No, no, listen to me. You’re committing a scientist’s cardinal sin, you’re letting prejudice blind you to all angles of the problem, all possible solutions. This is the gentle way forward. Our communities are simpler than the Old World we admire, yes, it’s rougher and it’s crude at times, but it’s
This fic made me browse through so many survivalist sites to figure out what crude technology our society would have after Shit Hits The Fan, that now google will eternally have me flagged as a nutjob who’ll only be interested in ads on personalized bunkers, canned food and self-made toilet paper. My hobby takes me to strange places...
“...Right.” Dean isn’t great at handling this sort of thing. Beta instincts come to his rescue. If there is something troubling his omega (that is, his pack’s omega- you know what he means) then remove it. “So, you don’t need me for this bit, right? I’ll take Charlie with me and go for a walk.”
Dean grits his teeth as molten pain lances up and down his right arm, until every bone from wrist to shoulder aches with it. Around the edges of the table, protective runes designed to cushion the blowback from the Mark crackle and smoke, making Dean’s eyes water.
“You look different in jeans and stuff,” Dean says out of the blue, as if the incoming traffic had distracted him enough for that unattended comment to slip out. "Not that you didn't look very good in the suit- very- I mean- right."
Ben burst out into an incoherent noise of fury. “I’m not- Agh! Just go back to your stuffy old kingdom and DIE ALREADY!”
“Bobby tried to get me to tell him too. His reason is more rational: if I get hit in the head and forget, somebody else should know as a caution. Seems a stretch, but I do get hit in the head a good deal.”
“Uh, Dean, you’re going to change. I mean physically.” Sam gives Dean’s stomach a significant look. Then he shakes himself. “Why not tell him? He’s not the same angel he was back when we met Jesse, Cas would help us this time around.” He meets Dean’s hard stare, licks his lips. “I...I think.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, happened during the battle. I got cornered like an idiot and poisoned like a roach.” Dean rolls his eyes in self-deprecation, but then a warm smile takes its place. “If you heard about that, you’ll have also heard about my angel, right? Uh, Cas? You okay? Here, I’ll get you some water.”
“But you know, let’s not fiddle with the leash’s directives right now, it might prove dangerous. It’s a demon spell, anything can go wrong when you monkey with those. You tell me: Dean, you can kill anyone while we’re in this dimension, and who knows, either I suddenly lose my shit and go on a rampage, or else I lock up and can’t hurt a fly, so, yeah, just keep it like it is. We’ll sort it out on the flipside if we need to.”
The other passengers in the train stare at him with uniformly startled expressions. He’s in England, heading towards the borders of Scotland, and there’s an art to riding trains in this country: proper passengers are expected to not once catch the eye of their fellow travelers or stand out in any way for the entire six hour trip.
Rufus stood up slowly, walked a few paces towards the garden gate and the street. He paused as he passed near Castiel and glanced at him, but only up to his chest.
There’s been times Castiel wished he could have Dean all to himself; no duties, no soldiers, no campaign against demons, no court, no clucking dowager duchess looking at them as if she knows
have been keeping a discreet eye on you two during your trek, in case you ran into more trouble than you could handle. And also to see how you behaved, since that kind of jaunt would have had Romeo and Juliet at each other's throats after a fortnight. But here you are, stuck together like a ship and a barnacle… So, in final, Dean, if you were hoping for an easy annulment of the ol’ matrimonial shackles, you’re out of luck. You and Cas just happen to be made for each other - believe it or not. Dad just made sure you two got together in time to have a wedding instead of a funeral.” | [
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“Dean? What happened? You feel upset,” Cas called from a hall leading into the room. As soon as he came through the door and looked up, he froze, obviously recognizing Claire immediately, despite her having changed a lot in the years since he’d last seen her.
“Morning,” Dean rumbles out from behind his coffee cup, watching from the kitchen table as Cas pours his own.
Surprisingly, having a man (or, man-shaped being) looming over him in such an intimate position didn’t freak Dean out in the least. They’d been slowly edging toward more intimacy as their bond continued to settle anyway, so ever since they’d started
Cas shrugged. “Maybe? It’s been interesting seeing the different regions of the U.S. while hunting with you. This country is so varied and fascinating.”
A few weeks into their new life, Dean and Cas were sitting in their reading nook in the library, the one with the loveseat, absentmindedly checking out some boxes from the archives. Sam was on a new kick to check that everything was catalogued correctly, and they were supposedly helping, but were instead mostly goofing off. Well, Dean was goofing off. Cas was working.
“Right, so.” Sam flipped between a few pages, and Dean was ninety-nine percent sure it was a stalling tactic. He gave his brother a warning look, and Sam slumped in defeat. “This bond … it’s not just meant to share strength between an angel and a human. Or, I guess, for the original ritual it would’ve been two angels.”
“Still not my dad, huh?” she asked, and if this fact upset her, she did a good job hiding it. She had that same bored face every teenager since the beginning of time wore when talking to adults.
After dinner, Sam went back to his latest pile of research. Cas started walking to one of the archive rooms, and when Dean didn’t follow, he turned around to stare curiously at him.
Dean echoes the thought. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you do. Not unless I’m on your grumpy ass, practically shoving you in a bed.”
“Fine. Okay. It was just a thought.” He tried to stop his voice shaking at the emotional barrage but didn’t really succeed.
“I’m gonna buy a TV today. I’m tired of crowding around a laptop to watch movies, and if Cas an’ I are stuck here for a while, I’m gonna need some quality entertainment. Can you imagine watching Furiosa stalking across the desert in 1080p HD? So hot.”
“He’s going to get my brother. Let’s get settled down at the table.” Dean tried to take her duffle, but she yanked it back and hauled it over her shoulder and made her way down the stairs, Dean following with an eyeroll. She was obviously in that independent teen phase he remembered Sam going through. He sent a mental note for Cas to gird his loins and get ready for some major ‘tude.
He started looking through the sweaters once Dean pointed him to the right section for his size. Dean encouraged him to grab anything that he liked the look of, and then he’d try everything on and see what suited him. It was weird to Dean to think about having to try on clothes—he’d been dressing himself for so long and had stopped growing ages ago, so he was comfortable just grabbing and buying—but he figured Cas needed to see and feel the clothes to know what he wanted. They selected some t-shirts and even a few flannels, plus some jeans, then headed for the changing rooms. Dean waited outside while Cas went into a room. Dean thought he’d mojo a clothing change, but was surprised to hear rustling, like he was actually changing clothes by hand. He liked it when Cas tried to do things the human way. Cas’s love for humanity was one of the things that made him so special, and he was glad Cas was getting to experience this life, even if the situation itself was far from ideal.
“I agree, on keeping the bond to our immediate family. Need-to-know only.” It was quiet for a moment. “And you’re sure you want the hunter community to know about us, if it comes up?”
Cas slipped in too quick for even Dean’s increased reflexes to avoid, and less than a second later, he had been slammed on his back, grateful for the soft mat. “You’re getting better. It took me thirty seconds longer to defeat you this time.”
When he let himself really dwell on it, he still felt a little off kilter at the blurry line they walked between platonic and romantic. They held hands and sometimes even cuddled as Dean slept (though he’d never admit that to anyone), and they now talked a lot more than they ever had, but otherwise they were the same platonic friends they’d always been, hidden pining from Dean notwithstanding. And for the most part, he was happy with their new normal. But every once in a while, longing twined up his spine, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Cas’s neck, to kiss his cheek when he was being especially adorable, to shout to the world that he was Cas’s and Cas was his. But they weren’t like that, even though because of the bond, they kinda were. As happy as he was with their life, it still kinda sucked.
Dean watched her rant in amusement, and a touch of nausea. He’d need to find Cas soon. “How’d you know that?”
By the time they got settled—Claire dropping her duffel on the chair next to her but not letting go, and Dean sitting across from her so he and Cas could face her head on—Cas returned with Sam. Sam settled at the head of the table between Claire and Dean, and Cas of course took the seat next to Dean. He fumbled under the table and grabbed Dean’s hand, slotting their fingers together. It had been about ten minutes since they’d last touched, and the connection calmed Dean.
Cas shrugs. “I haven’ tuned in in a while. Been tryin’ to ‘gnore it as much as possible.” He’s starting to slur just a bit, and Dean hopes he’s just falling asleep. One new symptom a day is more than enough. Cas is quiet for a minute or so. “No, nothin’ on angel radio.”
“All talk, no action.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “You need my advice, which, by the way, will consist of whacking you upside the head and tell you to forking go for it already. But go on.”
His fingers played with Dean’s on the bench seat between them. Allowing that action and the many others that platonic friends generally didn’t do, it didn’t freak him out anymore. Hadn’t for months now. So why was he freaking out at this one last step? Well, really, a few steps: kissing, the L-word, and possibly, maybe, sex. But he thought if he could do one, he’d be able to make the rest happen too. If he could conquer the fear that he’d take things too far only for them to fall apart later, he’d be golden. But that fear … it was a doozy, and he didn’t know how to get over it, even after Charlie’s pep talk.
This time, though, he found he was ready to reenter the world after just a day. That was progress, wasn’t it? All those discussions on feelings he and Cas had been having lately, they must be working at least a little. He felt like if he could just get over this last hump, they’d be golden. Cas would know how Dean felt, and they’d be able to really start living their lives. If only he could do that one last thing …
get better, if it’s the last thing Dean does—so he isn’t going to let himself get used to this, even as he revels in this temporary closeness between them. Cas just needs physical comfort right now, like Sammy when he had the flu as a kid, it has nothing to do with feelings he might possibly (but probably does not) harbor for Dean.
After that, they don’t even try sleeping apart. Cas is less grumpy, and truth be told, so is Dean. Sam watches them with a knowing eye but says nothing, thank goodness. He can be an annoying little shit most of the time, but sometimes he’s not half bad.
He texts the others, and when Dean arrives a few minutes after Cas, Sam has researched enough to develop at least a basic theory.
Cas slumps onto the seat across from him, still frowning. He shakes his head no and stares into his coffee like it holds the world’s secrets. Wouldn’t that be nice? Dean’d love to get a break for once. He’s tired of angels, demons, gods, and whatever other big bads are waiting in the woodwork to come after them. He’d really love to just hunt a fucking rugaru for once.
“Of Kevin or of the latest Claire spotting?” Cas asked as they walked onto the practice mat. Not that either really needed a soft landing pad, but it was nice fighting on something with no tree roots to trip them up or hard concrete to face plant on. Dean swung the first punch, and they were off.
“That angel couldn’t have bonded with anyone but you. He’s been following you around like a puppy since the Lucifer ordeal. Hell, he built you from the soul up and marked you with his own handprint. You two already have a bond deeper than any two humans have, and most certainly more than any angel and human. I have a feeling that if you asked him, Cas would tell you that the ritual wouldn’t have even worked if there wasn’t some measure of compatibility between the two of you.”
They work as a team, and they joke like they only do when it’s just the two of them, and when they sit down to eat, the air around them is soft and warm. Dean is telling a story, and it takes him six minutes to realize he hasn’t eaten a single bite. Castiel teases him gently for it. After they finish, Castiel thinks it’s time.
He pulled the leftovers from the fridge, opened the lid, and sniffed. Smelled okay. And angel mojo seemed to be doing a decent job keeping him in good health, when he wasn’t pretending it didn’t exist, so he probably wouldn’t die from it, or even puke from food poisoning. He decided to chance it, and threw it in the microwave to heat. He found the bread and cut off a huge slice, then went hunting for whatever else he could find. All he could scrounge up was an apple, and while it wasn’t in pie form, it was better than nothing. When the microwave beeped, he brought everything over to the table and dug in. After a while, he realized it was awfully quiet, and he looked up to see Cas and Sam staring at him—Sam with his usual “Dean is a pig” disgusted expression, and Cas in confusion, mixed with a slight interest, which was new.
Dean interrupts his thoughts by shoving some clothes in his face. Castiel leans back and stares first at the bundle, then up at Dean.
Cas picks at the edges of the book cover. “What if this is something that’s never happened before? We might not be able to find an answer.”
“What the hell,” he mumbles to himself, but it’s plucked from his fingers before he can look more. He glances up to see Cas stuffing it into his trench coat that’s crumpled on the floor. He connects the dots. “Cas? Is that your feather?”
“It’s odd that I’ve never heard of such a ritual,” Cas said through the bad connection. It sounded to Dean like he was in a tunnel.
“If not, we’ve got lots of guest rooms to choose from,” Dean added, dropping Cas’s hand and standing up. “But I made my famous chili, so you really don’t want to miss out.”
And Dean was right, it’s nice to have a place to call his own. He keeps his few possessions on the shelf and bedside table. It’s nice seeing them, instead of having them hidden away until they’re needed. Now, he can pick them up, run his fingers over them, turn them over in his hands, and let himself think about why he keeps them. He places his new laptop neatly on his desk, along with a framed picture of him, Dean, and Sam. He keeps his favorite books on the shelf above the bed. He places his few extra clothes that he’s picked up over the years in the dresser. He has a special drawer in his bedside table just for the mixtapes Dean’s given to him, along with an ancient Walkman to listen to them with. And on the door, he’d sticks a carefully crafted sign that reads “Castiel’s room – Do not enter.” He’s seen it on people’s bedroom doors in movies, and he likes it. Dean had said it was his space, and he wants to make sure everyone knows that. Sam had looked confused the first time he noticed it and told him only kids did that, but Dean had slung an arm over Castiel’s shoulder and said that it was charmingly human and that he liked it, so Castiel didn’t take it down. And now when he sees the sign, he remembers the warmth he felt from Dean’s arm around him, and that soft, fond smile on his face—so rare these days, and all the more precious for it.
Dean was edgy the entire drive back, which was not unheard of after a big fight, and was less surprising when coupled with the angel mojo running through him. He tapped repeatedly on the wheel until Sam gives him bitchface for the third time, so he cranked the radio and sang along with AC/DC for the rest of the (thankfully short) trip.
Castiel has been molting for almost a month when Dean points out that it seems to be slowing. He’s been grumbling for days that he doesn’t understand how mostly burnt and mangled wings can have so many feathers, and Castiel has to explain that just because the projection shows only two wings does not mean that’s all he has. Dean takes the news with his usual aplomb, but he seems relieved when the shedding slows.
Sam comes into the kitchen and grabs his own lunch, and after some meaningless chatter, they decide to play board games, because apparently it’s preposterous that Castiel has never done so (though who would he have played them with, if not the Winchester brothers? They are his family). They hang out in the library the rest of the afternoon with Scattergories (Castiel wins), Risk (Sam), and Trivial Pursuit (Dean), then close it out with Parcheesi, which absolutely none of them understand and so no one wins. They drink a few beers and make nachos, and it’s the most at home Castiel has felt since he arrived at the bunker, apart from his nights with Dean. He never wants this warm, comfortable feeling to end, and when he looks deep into Dean’s eyes, he thinks he sees that feeling reflected there.
Whoa, words were actually said, folks. Are you as surprised as I am? Probably not, if you’re reading a fic you know has a happy ending. But whatever, it’s still fun getting there, isn’t it?
Both of the others looked at him in confusion, but neither asked him to explain, knowing too well where that rabbit hole could go.
clothes. He also kept his eyes firmly on the blanket covering his legs, just in case Cas didn’t twinkle his way into the new clothes rather than putting them on the human way. However, with that now-familiar tingle at the back of his brain and the more familiar flap of wings, Cas was out of his uniform and into a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and gray pants, and he was sitting on the bed.
Cas hummed. “True. But I think it was down to you that any of this worked. You wished so hard for a home that when the possibility presented itself, you fought for it. You made the bunker a home, rather than just a place to sleep at night. The comfort you imbued the space with made Claire and Kevin seek us out.”
“No. I mean, no adult clothes. Keep those jammies on, sport. It’s like a snow day without the snow.”
list. He wasn’t Sam, the big dork. Of course, if he’d had a real list, he wouldn’t have forgotten socks this time.
“It’s not like you’ve read every book the world, man. If you did, you’d understand my Harry Potter references.” Dean tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder so he could rifle through his bag. He knew he’d packed socks. He always packed socks. They were right up there with underwear and rock salt on his Hunt Necessities list. No, he didn’t have an
“Whatever, Sam. Basically, we probably won’t still be hunting the next time this guy rolls into town, and I’d like to take care of it myself. It’s a bitch to fight, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
As if reading Sam’s mind, Cas glances toward the corridor leading to the bedrooms, where Dean currently sleeps. He opens his mouth and closes it again without speaking.
“Apparently being angel married means we gotta touch every so often, otherwise the bond freaks out,” Dean said, gruffer than he wanted, but he was still annoyed at this whole shitshow and couldn’t keep the feeling out of his voice. Cas pulled away slightly, and Dean hated the feeling of loss the bond was forcing on him. He could miss Cas well enough on his own; he didn’t need a bond to pile it on more.
“Come on, twitchy, we’re going for a walk,” Dean announces the next afternoon. Cas has been complaining crankily for the last ten minutes that the library chairs are uncomfortable (he’s not wrong), and if Dean reads another word, the English language will cease to have any meaning to him. Unlike the past two mornings, sleep failed to settle a restless Cas this morning.
“Me?” Cas still looks stunned, and Sam has to admit he’s enjoying watching it. It’s kind of endearing when it’s not completely frustrating.
Castiel wakes feeling completely relaxed, which is apparently a thing now. He’d felt much the same when he’d woken yesterday, in the three seconds before Dean bolted from the bed like it was filled with bees (or just Castiel). The thought makes him frown, and he banishes it. No unhappy thoughts right now, not when he feels so nice. He knows that it’s Dean pressed up against him that makes him feel so safe and warm. He tells himself he can have five more seconds to soak up the feeling before he pulls away, but before he can move, there’s a rumble under his ear, which is apparently pressed on top of Dean’s chest.
Sam was trying to explain Scooby Doo to a confused Cas when Dean returned, waving the packets triumphantly. “Mochas, anyone?”
They stopped at the fridge and then went to sit at the kitchen table while Dean expounded on the roadside attractions they’d been able to hit on the way back home. Once Dean had exhausted his pictures, he gave a quick rundown of the hunt, which Sam noted down for the archives he was building onto.
Dean is trying to remember if he’s ever heard of something similar when there’s a thump on the bottom of his seat. A few seconds later it comes again. He glares in the rearview mirror. Cas is fidgeting
“Dean, I have no experience with human clothing, other than what I’m currently wearing. I don’t know what ‘seems comfortable.’”
Claire showed up two days after Kevin. Dean and Kevin had just finished a session at the shooting range—if he was going to live at the bunker, he needed to have at least the basics of gun safety and use—and they had decided to head to the library where Dean knew Cas was. He’d felt a ping of surprise through the connection earlier, but since Cas sometimes got very excited over books, Dean hadn’t thought much of it.
see them. The blast that accompanies an angel’s death completely charrs all of the feathers. The black, wing-shaped outline you see is the ashes from the feathers.”
She settled back in her own chair, crossed her legs, and transferred her gaze to Cas, who met her stare head on.
Dean and Cas stop staring at each other goofily just long enough to roll their eyes and give Sam the stink eye. But Dean ducks his head in that shy way he somehow still has, even after all they’ve been through and seen and done. Cas bites his lip to hold back a grin, but it doesn’t work. Then the two of them are laughing. Sam just shakes his head, but he smiles and kicks his brother’s foot.
Cas lowered his gaze to his lap. The move alerted Dean to the fact that his own hand on his knee was covered by Cas’s hand. He jerked back in surprise and frowned up at Cas, who blushed. Wait, blushed? Angels didn’t blush. They were shameless, and emotionless. Well, Cas had feelings now, but he’d yet to come close to blushing or showing other physical discomfort.
He had to admit it was nice, doing this domestic morning thing with someone. Sam was a run-at-dawn, gulp-down-a-smoothie kind of guy most mornings they stayed at the bunker, which made Dean sad. One of his few clear memories of Mary Winchester was her making pancakes on Saturday mornings—chocolate chip with whip cream if she was in a particularly generous mood—and he missed having that with someone. And sure, Cas wouldn’t eat the pancakes, but he’d sit at the table and hold a mug of fragrant coffee while they chatted about whatever. Yeah, it was definitely nice.
“We were about to sit down for dinner. Are you hungry?” he asked. If they could get her to stay a few days, they might have more success persuading her to stop hunting and settle down.
“Ohhhh.” She nodded knowingly. “Angels are asexual. Makes sense.” She wrinkled her nose. “Cas doesn’t exactly seem like a normal angel, though. His face is way more expressive than it was the first time I met him. Not to mention I was his vessel for a hot second, and he’s definitely more emotional now. But whatever. You do you, dude. Who am I to tell boyfriends how to have a relationship.”
“Then shut your piehole, walk around the path a few times, get your head out of your ass, and come back when you’re done pouting, okay?”
“Greedy,” Dean teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I think the rest … just as or if it comes up. We won’t ask anyone to keep it quiet, but I don’t think we need to start each phone call with ‘by the way, me and Cas are shacking up now.’ And I’m not sure how much I want knowledge of the bond to get out. It could be dangerous, since we still don’t know much about it.”
Kevin nodded. “Yeah, I’m here in my capacity as a nerd who has had a couple of brushes with the supernatural and now can’t just go back to my ‘normal’ life.”
Finally, Cas rescued him. “Dean?” he asked, coming to stand in Sam’s door. He looked concerned. Must’ve felt something through the bond.
“Oh, hey, there you two are.” Sam walked into the map room and nodded at them. “Did you have trouble on the drive back? I expected you hours ago.”
They don’t talk about the nights they shared a bed at the motel, and they haven’t repeated the setup since they returned to the bunker. And Dean hates it. He misses the warmth and comfort of a bed companion—or if he’s being honest, he just plain misses Cas.
Cas pulled the chair away slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard Dean correctly. After the chair was back in the corner, he looked at Dean again in question, and Dean nodded before realizing Cas was pulling at his shirt collar again. “Wait, change out of that ridiculous accountant-in-the-rain get-up and put on some normal clothes first. I’m uncomfortable just looking at you.”
(God, he hated that word; cuddling was what puppies did), he’d begun to just accept whatever new aspect cropped up between them, no matter how much he’d have shied from it a mere year ago. Amazing what being magically bonded to another being did for your sense of normalcy.
.” Dean took hold of Cas’s face and turned it to face him, then he let his fingers play at his features like he’d been aching to do for so long. “Castiel, I love you. Like,
“No!” Seemingly surprised by his own intensity, Cas paused, then tried again. “I don’t fit in Heaven anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I played the obedient son and soldier, but something always felt like it was missing. It wasn’t until I came to Earth that I began to understand. We angels were made to love and revere humanity, and somewhere in Heaven’s single-mindedness to defeat Hell, we forgot that. I love humanity and Earth, and I think I belong here now. I probably always did.”
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s just, um, you know, uh, breakfast?” Well. that came out great. Dean grabs his keys and heads for the door, not looking to see if he’s being followed. Breakfast by himself might be a good idea anyway.
By evening, Dean was tired of waiting for the inevitable conversation, and so when everyone split up for some free time after dinner, he told Cas he wanted to catch up with Charlie alone, and that he’d come find him when they were done. This was a conversation he needed to focus on, and not worry about Cas walking in and hearing something Dean wasn’t ready for him to hear.
Well, Cas, at least, doesn’t feel those things for Dean. Dean’s own feelings for his best friend are a little more complicated. Okay, fine, they’re like every single drama-filled romantic plot on
As they neared the library entrance, Dean picked up on a higher-pitched voice than he was used to hearing in the bunker, and they walked in to find Claire and Cas talking at the library table.
“Ah, no. No version of … sex is required for the bond. Just some physical connection, I would say skin to skin. Hand holding,” Cas added after seeing Dean’s still panicked expression,” should be enough.”
Sam leans forward to look Cas in the eyes. “But seriously, you won’t be a burden. You hunt and research, same as we do, and you’ve got way more lore knowledge and language skills than Dean and I combined. Plus, we’ve chosen you as part of our family. That should clue you in to how much we like you. All you need to do to stay here is be yourself.”
Sam stifles a laugh. He kind of loves how Cas can rile him up without even trying. And anything that pushes at Dean’s distorted ideas of masculinity is a win in Sam’s book.
Dean glanced at Sam, who for once didn’t look constipated at the bunker being called home. Instead, he nodded at Dean. Dean grinned back. “Cas did his part too, putting up with our dumb asses and schlepping furniture around.”
“Nah. Sam, you take the car. I think we’ll fly.” Dean kissed Cas again. “I need my angel to take me home and ravish me right now.”
Dean shook head and went back to the pancakes. “You’re too much, you know that, angel? Just don’t feel like you need to, for my sake. I’m likely to turn into a lazy son of a bitch if you pamper me too much.” He shot Cas a wink at that last bit, then grabbed the whisk to mix up the batter.
Dean keeps cleaning up the bunker, and it’s almost three weeks after their last hunt before he thinks of the term “nesting.” He laughs to himself at how true it seems to be, but he keeps doing it. It makes him feel good, making this place more of a home for his family. His culinary skills, already pretty decent after living in the bunker for several years, improve even more with his constant cooking and baking, and Sam complains about having to run more to keep the weight off, though he doesn’t stop eating three helpings of everything.
“Maybe soon I won’t wake up being poked by these infernal feathers in my bed,” he grumbles as he gathers up the night’s new feathers from their nest of blankets.
monster. It’ll go into hibernation after tonight, and the next chance to gank it is in like four hundred years.”
Dean flipped him off as he bent to scrape some paint off the trap. Cas sighed and stepped out of it, but he didn’t touch Dean. Instead he studied him with a frown, as if trying to read his soul.
” warred with Garth’s much more enthusiastic “that’s great, you guys!” (including hugs) and Jody’s more sedate but still warm “congratulations.” The adults were spread out in the library, relaxing with drinks while waiting for the kids to finish dinner.
room. She came and went as she pleased, and yeah, he considered her family now, and always welcomed her in the bunker, but he didn’t know she felt the same. He always thought she considered them a waystation. A practical (and free) place to sleep and eat between jobs.
“Do you want to tell your brother? And Kevin?” Cas asked later, when they lay blissed out in bed, more intertwined than usual, following a spectacular make-out session that had proceeded to spectacular sex.
“Humans are annoying,” is what comes out, even though Castiel had wanted to say how good it is to see them. He’d been in neighborhoods with the houses that all look exactly alike and were too clean on the inside, and everyone was fake polite, and it reminds him of Heaven, which is the last place he wants to be reminded of. But this motel room is closer to what home feels like. No, being near Dean is what makes it feel like home. Why he doesn’t say that, he doesn’t know. Probably because he doesn’t want to deal with Dean getting his hackles up over such an emotional statement. He can’t cope with that right now. He just wants to relax. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt.
“Nah, I think I’ve got enough room for your two pairs of fuzzy socks and three items of clothing,” Dean replied sarcastically. The dude was a really easy roommate to have. “You want me to put your books on the shelves while you do your clothes?”
And Cas—gorgeous, amazing, ridiculous, smart, clueless angel who had changed Dean’s life in the best of ways—simply smiled and answered “yes.” Like it was nothing. And everything.
Sam nods with extra earnestness. “Oh yeah. Major yearning. It’s pretty pathetic. I mean, not that you’re not great or that I don’t want you two to be happy, but holy shit, the dude is a bit codependent. He has no chill.”
Not wanting his eyes to stray back to Cas’s body, Dean nudged him back to the changing room. “Git back in there. Let’s see what else you’ve got.”
“You’re definitely old enough. Also, you’re not-dating-but-maybe-married-to the guy using the vessel that was my dad, so …” She shrugged, then looked faintly alarmed. “Also, ew, he’s a billion years old? So, he saw, like, when Earth formed? That is the grossest age gap
With the largest crowd they’d had at the bunker yet, Dean decided to go all out on dinner that night. They had burgers with lots of fancy topping choices, homemade fries, Caesar salads for the rabbits, and blueberry crumble for dessert. Cas helped with the veg chopping and made the croutons for the salad. Dean loved that they worked in the kitchen together almost as well as they fought bad guys together. There was a fluidity to their movements around each other that predated the bond that just made him plain happy. He’d get in the zone and just
bed?” Dean’s voice is even higher now. “You- You’re getting the pillow all wet. And you took all the sheets.”
Dean still wasn’t sure what to think of those two. Claire had obviously recovered from hating him, but Cas still felt extremely guilty for what he’d done to her family, and she definitely felt that on some level. So far, they were going for politely distant. It’d be interesting to see where it went from there, though.
“How do I know what clothing matches my personality?” Cas asked, looking overwhelmed at the racks of clothes in front of them. They’d wandered the store a bit before finding the men’s section and were now standing between the shirts and jeans racks.
Sam’s eyebrows go up. “Oh yeah, I guess you did. I suppose I sort of … forget that? To me, you were just my brother. But yeah, it wasn’t like Dad was really raising us.”
Sam surreptitiously watches the pair through the first episode of the show. They keep a respectful amount of space between them for the first twenty minutes or so, but then Dean gets up to grab Cas a pair of socks, and when he settles back down, they’re closer together. Cas gets up ten minutes later to make more tea, and when he sits again, the space between them is gone. Sam gets up after the episode is over because he remembers a book in his room that might help them out, and when he returns, Cas’s head is on Dean’s shoulder, and his knees are tucked up against his chest as he twitches his shoulders in involuntary irritation. The next time he glances over, Dean’s arm is over Cas’s shoulder, and his hand sweeps slowly up and down Cas’s arm. Sam keeps his thoughts to himself, but he smiles down at his book. He thinks they’ll be okay.
Claire shrugged at Cas’s words. Were her only expressions shrug, smirk, and eyeroll? Well, she was a teenager, so probably.
The fucker snatching people ends up being a minor protection deity who settles in a place and helps it out until something goes FUBAR and he gets mad. Then he takes a whole bunch of people and moves on to the next town. Apparently, he needs the connection from a current group of people before he can form a new one in a new town, hence the kidnapping before he moves on. He zaps them with some hypno-whatever, and they become his adoring public in his new home. Pretty fucked up, if you ask Dean, but he won’t be a problem anymore. They take him out with a stake formed from a tree of his homeland (aka, Kansas City) and are back at the motel by midnight, covered in god goo (ew).
Dean waved his hands. “Wait, what? I thought this ritual was specifically meant to be between an angel and human. How are there no accounts of it?”
“Sounds good. Be there soon.” He turned his head and placed a quick kiss on the palm of Dean’s hand, then let go.
“I cheated a little,” Cas confessed. “I wasn’t always available to make it by hand, so sometimes I just set it up from afar and asked it to start brewing when you woke up.” He looked worried, and that just wouldn’t do.
He’s relieved to have a case to focus on, but getting there is a trial. He feels cramped in the small backseat space, and his shirt is rough on his skin, and the sun is too hot. But he squirms when Dean suggests he make his own way there. The thought of being so far from Dean for any protracted length of time makes him want to curl up in a ball.
“Yeah. ‘Course. That’s way smarter.” Dean rubbed his eyes, and realized he was tired. The power nap on the garage floor had helped in the short term, but it wasn’t a full night’s sleep. Not that he’d had one of those in years. But it’d be nice to conk out for a few hours at least.
“You use a bow and arrow then?” he asked, trying to feel out her style. “Not a fan myself, but some hunters make it work.”
Uncomfortable with the amount of feels he was feeling, Dean pointed to the cup. “Drink your tea, nerd.”
. He’d already said it. But he suddenly felt like a blushing Catholic school girl. Fuck this whole situation. It was. So. Messed. Up.
“Yeah, ‘course. Just Bobby mother henning, like he does. Even if we quit hunting today, he’d find a way to worry about cancer or lightning strikes or something else just as unlikely to hurt us.” Dean opened a cardboard box with his free hand and peeked inside. It looked like a hand of glory, so he grimaced and closed the box again. “Any luck in the archives?”
He avoids the thought and watches the fields flash by out of the window. Watching the scenery is soothing, usually. Meditative. He can ordinarily tune out the Winchesters’ talk and Dean’s music du jour and allow it to become background noise to think by. It makes him happy and feel a part of something. But today—or for the last few weeks to be honest—every noise and touch maddens him to no end. The men’s voices are grating, the car rumbles under him in a way that makes his skin crawl, the music beats atonally against his ear drums. Even the Legos rattling in the vent, a sound that’s good for at least one fond smile, bother him.
“I’ll get it booked. I assume you want to drive, not fly? Fly with your wings, that is. I’m not flying in a tin can.”
Dean thinks a minute. “Huh. I mean, I’ve been making him nap when he gets extra cranky lately, but yeah, he doesn’t usually just conk out on his own.”
“Well, ya look good, man. I cannot tell you how long I’ve wanted to get you out of those damn clothes.”
Dean waved to Sam and put his phone on speaker. Sam lit the incense (they’d smell like patchouli for fucking days after this, on top of swamp smell) and held up the book.
“I’d rather not, thanks.” Dean tried to stand to go search for more alcohol, but Cas grabbed his arm to stop him. A rush of …
“Why d’you get embarrassed when you see your feathers?” Dean asks. He likes seeing them, seeing a part of Cas that he’s never been able to before, even if the sight reminds him that there’s something wrong.
“Yeah, well, until we figure out what’s going on, that will have to do. I can’t watch you squirm anymore.”
“And you?” Dean reloaded his gun, pointed to the earmuffs, and squeezed off the round. They lowered their ear protection again.
“Geeze. Right, okay. It’s …” he rubbed his brow, then went back to his work. It’d be easier while not looking at them. “So, about six months back, Sam and I were on a hunt for this weird yeti-cabra hybrid, and nothing we tried worked on it. By the time we each had a host of injuries from fighting the damn thing, we decided to resort to magic.”
. So excuse me for not wanting to try again, okay? Just …” he sighed and shrugged. “Just let me live my life how I want to.”
“I am not watching you two make moon eyes at each other for the five-hour drive back home, you know.”
His automatic defense system in place, Dean dropped Cas’s hand like it was a hot brick as soon as he saw Sam come around the corner. And by the time he realized how Cas might take the move—that’d he’d think Dean was ashamed of touching him—it was too late to grab it again. Shit.
Dean choked on air. “What the fuck, Cas? One, that’s not an estimate, that’s throwing numbers against a wall and seeing what sticks, and two, how can you say that so casually? We’re going to be angel handcuffed together for some unknown amount of time, and you act like we’re discussing where to go for taco Tuesday. This is our fucking lives we’re talking about here. You can’t just act like it’s no biggie.”
The odd words, still rumbling against his ear, surprise him enough to make him do as asked. Dean gazes down at him from where he lies higher up at the head of the bed. Castiel is curled into him, and his head lies on Dean’s chest. A warm, comforting hand sweeps up his back.
Sam had noticed Cas and Dean sniping at each other more than usual starting a few weeks back, but he’d thought it was either avoidance of the sexual tension that the two were intent on ignoring or irritability at being stuck at the bunker without anything to do. But then Sam had noticed the little twitches Cas does when he sits still for more than a few minutes, and the way he hunches his shoulders when Dean and Sam’s voices get above a whisper, and the way that he’s become so clingy, especially with Dean. It’s more than chafing at inactivity. He’d started looking for a case so that he could see what happened once Cas had something to do besides mope around the bunker. If his complaints about the backseat weren’t enough, the nap for the second half of the drive sealed it. And now his clothes and distraction. Something is really wrong with Cas. He wonders if they’d be better off giving the case to another hunter and going back to the bunker to focus on researching angels.
Sam feels his brows rise. “Really?” He doesn’t think he’d ever want to become immortal, but that isn’t something an already-immortal being has to contend with, so immortality probably doesn’t seem as unendingly boring to an angel. But angel powers kinda rock, so he’s surprised Cas would give that up.
“Find anything?” He yawned, reluctantly let go of Cas’s hand, and stretched. When he finished, his right hand landed very close to where Cas’s left lay on the bed between them, though he didn’t grab it again—no need to get greedy.
“Sure, Sammy. Oh,” Dean snapped his fingers. “Change in plan. Focus on effects of the bond, rather than trying to break it.”
“It’ll be good for you,” he added, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “I mean, I finally talked to Cas, and that ended up with a spectacular …” he glanced at her, “make-out session.”
Dean really was a damn ogre, wasn’t he? “I really do want you around. When I say I need some space, I mean just for a little while. I’ve always been like this. I learned to find little hideaways when me and Sammy were cooped up in a single motel room, waiting for Dad to come back from a hunt. Sometimes I can be a little bit of an introvert, ya know? I just need some peace and quiet to recharge for a minute. It’s not about you at all. Promise. So, what do you say we go on a bookshelf hunt, huh? And then maybe you can help me search the storage rooms to make sure there are no angel books layin’ around?”
Claire shrugged, reloading her own gun. She was getting pretty good at it. Way more comfortable with funs than she’d been the first couple of times they’d gone to the range.
“I always make it all the way home only to realize I forgot toothpaste,” Dean muttered defensively. “Cas thought a list might help.”
“I’m … feeling much better today. My new feathers are coming in, and while I’m still not sure I’ll ever be able to fly again, the irritation is gone, and I don’t feel fatigued anymore. I think I can transition back to normal life now.” He thinks it’s a good way to begin, so that Dean understands that his feelings are his own, and not something caused by the molting or otherwise stemming from a biological imperative.
Taking his own advice, Dean dug into his combo plate and groaned in food ecstasy. “Oh yeah, that hits the spot. Cas, you gotta try to this falafel. It’s amazing.”
“Cas, you don’t get hot. You don’t feel discomfort at all. At least, you’ve never thought to tell us if you did.”
“My taste buds seem to be interacting with the world the same way my temperature receptors are. I can … actually taste the coffee now.” He frowned at the mug. “I don’t think I like it. It tastes nothing like it smells.” He set the mug on the table and pushed it away, still frowning. “Why are there so many Starbucks if that’s how coffee tastes?”
Cas keeps to his side, wrapping himself up like a burrito the same as he’d done the night before. He sighs and wriggles. A few minutes later, he wriggles again. And again.
“Well, if we could take a moment to talk about the other reason we’re all here, today,” began Jody, looking around. “I have to say this place is looking pretty spiffy, boys. Considering it was closed up for decades, what you’ve managed to do in just a few months is amazing.”
He straightens up and holds out a hand. Castiel takes it tentatively, not used to such a gesture. He likes it, though, so he doesn’t question it. Dean pulls him out of the car and stays in place as Castiel stretches and orients himself. He wonders when Dean stopped caring about the lack of space between them, but again, he doesn’t question it. And for the first time in weeks, he feels calm, relaxed. He smiles up at Dean, whose eyes are soft and bracketed by the crow’s feet Castiel loves.
with a shaved head). Sam gave him a few funny looks every time Dean passed by his library table, where he was
“I’m fine, Dean. I’ll be fine. I’ve been checking my grace reserves. There’s an infinitesimal amount flowing to you, but it’s being replaced as usual by my connection to Heaven. And I won’t fall because of this bond. If I was going to, it would have happened immediately. I’m more worried what my grace will do to you. There’s no record of anything close to this being performed on a human before. I’ll need to watch you closely for the next few months. I hope that the amount of grace you’re in contact with is so small that it won’t affect you any more than my healing you would. I expect that your wounds will heal much faster, if not immediately from now on.”
“Pied is an old word for multicolored, it derives from the same root as magpie, from the Latin,” Cas explains, and for once, he doesn’t seem annoyed. Sam has noticed that any time the two of them are separated, Cas is initially happy to see Dean again. He wonders if there’s a link from the spell—or whatever has a hold of Cas—to Dean, or if it’s just Cas’s instinct to feel most comfortable around Dean. Either is just as likely. He’s keeping a list of questions to research once they’re done with this hunt.
Dean dropped his head back and scrunched his face up. “Yes, absolutely.” Cas was a great dude, but he worried too much. Dean caught a glance at the setting sun in the window and swore. “Cas, we gotta do this
“I’m not walking over a hundred miles,” he says, arms still crossed and his lip sticking out like a petulant (word of the day, score) four-year-old.
This is me making a lazy effort at a case fic while also making Sam watch these two idiots pine a lot.
Dean nods with pink cheeks. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and when Cas slides a hand over his, he turns his own over to lock their fingers together.
“Yes, I think I’d like that.” Cas gave him a small smile, touched his wrist, and opened the car door. Dean followed.
. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if his being a weak human weakened Cas in return. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t an even exchange. If Dean got super strength, Cas should get something good in return, though what that might be, Dean had no clue.
“No, it’s a tale that began during the plague years,” Cas argues. “But rats have nothing to do with this case.”
For the first time since he was four years old, Dean finally felt like he had a place to call home. There’d been Bobby’s place, but they’d visited only rarely, so that wasn’t quite it. But the bunker, it was his. No, it was
Dean paused from whatever quip he wanted to blurt out to relax the tension in the room. Fuck, there Cas went again,
“Yeah, no, got that.” He contorted his head until he could see Cas’s face. “Why would you think that? You were here a while ago when you gave me that mind-blowing orgasm, right?”
And now that he was out and they were together, he was having a hard time keeping it in. He’d almost blurted it out to Bobby twice, and he’d accidentally told Garth a story that implied that he and Cas were together, but since Garth knew about the bond, the implication went right by him. He could’ve told them both on the phone, and they’d have been plenty pleased about it, but he wanted to do this in person, formal like.
Cas hummed. Following his instinct, Dean placed a soft kiss on his bondmate’s head. His hair was soft and smelled like home—like the air before it rains, old books, gun oil, and fresh baked bread. It was the first time his lips had touched Cas in any way, and he wondered why he’d been avoiding it when it felt so natural. He didn’t even question if that was just the bond talking. The bond was them, and they were the bond; it came from their needs and emotions, not from some unseen hand playing them like chess pieces. He closed his eyes and let Cas’s calming presence lull him to sleep.
“Never said I was gonna watch the movie. Watching you two squabble during a movie is much more entertaining. I might make popcorn.”
As if conjured, Cas opened the door to the room. He looked slightly confused to find them sitting on the cold, hard floor, but he merely held his hand out, which Dean took and allowed himself to be hauled up. Dean did the same for Claire, then he turned and hugged Cas, sighing as the bond calmed him. The bond was great, and he loved the feeling that came over him when he first touched Cas after time apart, but it’d be really great to finally be able to have heart-to-hearts with someone that could last longer than half an hour.
types of bets? Not cool. Just for that, Cas and I are making out the rest of the night, and you have to watch.”
“Umm.” Sam’s face morphed from determined to squirrely, his eyes darting to the side and his fingers tapping on the book he was still holding. “We’ve maybe got just a
“Well, no, because they’re all different foods. But I guess if you liked the spices, try the gyro meat.”
Dean sighed, trying to gather himself. Knowing the nerd twins, he figured he had eight minutes at most before Cas and Sam showed up. He’d need to keep this brief. He turned to get the loaf of bread for slicing, when he saw Claire and Kevin standing stock still, watching him with avid interest.
“What are we, a halfway house for wannabe hunters?” Dean muttered, leading the wide-eyed teen down the stairs and alerting Cas to their visitor.
Dean and Sam make Cas go last in the shower. Sam is already passed out by the time Dean finishes cleaning up, and he crawls under the covers while Cas shuts himself in the bathroom. He tries to make himself fall asleep before Cas gets back, which shouldn’t be hard given how long the dude spends under a showerhead these days, but twenty minutes later, he’s still restless and twitchy. It’s always been hard for him to fall asleep after a hunt, but he’d been really hoping for a miracle this time. If he can avoid being awake, then he won’t be forced to lodge a protest when Cas crawls into his bed later. And he has to protest, because … well, because he
Castiel shuts the door, not letting himself think of what it’d be like to have Dean burst in on him naked in the shower.
He wasn’t even sure why Cas was acting so hurt. He had to be as pissed at this whole thing as Dean was, maybe more. At least Dean got increased strength and speed. What did Cas get out of it? A babysitting job, a bond with a useless human, and even more problems to worry about. It wasn’t exactly even-steven.
“Ah, yes. Heaven isn’t particularly happy with me these days, and I find more fulfilment in helping humans here on Earth. As a hunter yourself, I’m sure you understand that drive.”
he know Cas was alright? He wasn’t sure, but the knowledge sat firm in him all the same. Cas was perfectly safe. He frowned at his brother. “What went wrong? Did you say the words wrong?”
be happy. He was already uncomfortable with doing this …” Dean leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his eyes. He hoped it didn’t hurt, but it’d likely burn him up from the inside out, like Cas had worried it would do. Not pleasant, based on what he’d seen from Pamela’s eyes getting seared out of their sockets when she saw Cas’s true form, a million years ago, before he realized angels even existed.
By the time he’d pulled out the pie—smelling amazing, if he did say so himself—and set it on the counter to cool, Sam and Cas had found the empty shelves: tall, real wood shelves, sturdy and with a nice stain on them. They really didn’t make things like they used to. These days they’d have to hunt high and low and pay out the nose for quality like that. Quality was heavy though, and they needed all three of them to transfer the chosen shelf from storage to the bedroom.
“Hmm,” Dean hums. “I used to rub Sammy’s back when he got sick as a kid. I dunno that it actually helps anything, but I guess the contact can be comforting.”
“Uh, yeah. If it’s just me and him, he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t talk just to talk, he definitely doesn’t sleep. He just does the angel stare or reads. Usually, he wanders off to find you, especially these last few weeks.”
Thanks so much to everyone who read my fluffy little story. I really love the bond trope and the magically stuck together trope, and as I started writing, this whole home-family subplot sort of inserted itself on its own. I hope it worked out for y'all. :)
What does it all mean? It’s as if a switch flipped last night, and the defensiveness that’s powered Dean’s every move for his whole life is gone. He’s stopped shying from being close to Castiel, he winks at him, he doesn’t defend himself when Sam sees them touching, and he lets Castiel keep the clothes that have brought him comfort even though they’re his favorites. He’s not a completely different man, because he’s always been caring to those around him. It’s more like he’s letting his real self out now. He’s letting Castiel and Sam finally see the real him, one hundred percent. But is it more than that? Is it just comfort, the same as he’d provide Sam if he were ill? Or is it something else, something just for Castiel?
Dean leans back and lifts a corner of his mouth like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “I reckon that’d annoy anyone. But that doesn’t explain the sleeping or you shedding clothes like a stripper.”
Cas came out a few moments later wearing a t-shirt, flannel shirt, and jeans. It was weird seeing Cas in patterned clothes, and the green and blue of the flannel was so different from his drab suit and trench coat. It didn’t look
He choked on air, then pointed a finger at her. “No. One, you’re thirteen, you can’t make sex jokes. Two, that’s not- we’re not- it’s not like that for us.”
And that’s a strange thought. He does enjoy being around Dean and Sam, and he’s always very happy to see them after some time apart, but he also enjoys being alone sometimes. He likes silence, time to think and be. He’s an independent being with his own interests and needs. He is capable of operating a vehicle and enjoys drives by himself. So why does the thought of being away from Dean for only a few hours fill him with anxiety?
He tried to distract himself with strategizing and then gun practice. He and Cas sparred, but only briefly, since he couldn’t concentrate. When Cas asked what was wrong, Dean waved it off and decided to go make a loaf of sourdough. Cas followed but sat at the kitchen worktop with a book rather than helping. But that part was at least pretty normal. Dean liked the calming rhythms of breadmaking. It was like meditation, and he liked to do it by himself, as much as he loved cooking with Cas. Once the dough was rising under a towel, they joined the others in the library. Everyone was in separate corners, doing their own thing, which suited Dean’s mood just fine. He picked up a book on medieval fighting styles he’d been working on for the last few weeks and settled on the loveseat with Cas.
She pulled up her muffs and Dean followed suit. When she’d finished shooting, she reloaded and went again. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “It’s still really weird, you know? He
Dean mentally shook himself from his stupor to concentrate on the conversation. “Um, nothing too concrete. Thought you could help with that. And Sam too. We should all meet up tomorrow to discuss. My thoughts so far are getting Claire and Kevin trained up with the basics of various weaponry—Charlie can take archery, and I’m sure she’ll bring her LARP sword, so probably a bit of that, for fun—you can take hand-to-hand combat, Sam’ll do knives, and I’ll do guns. Then all of you can get together and do smart person stuff in the library and archives, while I keep everyone fed, I reckon.”
“Gotta figure out what’s wrong with you, buddy,” Dean adds, clapping him softly on the shoulder as he grabs his own coffee and rifles through the plastic bag for a burrito. “Fuck yeah, sausage and potato.” He rips off the top of the foil and takes a huge bite. “Shanks, Shammy,” he adds with an egg-filled grin.
Cas’s face softens a little, and he gives a nod of acknowledgement. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She leveled him with a stern stare. “Look, I don’t want to tell this story twice. Is Castiel here? I hear he’s been bunking here these days.”
Sam’s head jerked up, brow wrinkled. Dean shot him a smile and thumbs up, then let out a relieved breath as he found a spare pair of socks in the side pocket of his bag that he swore he never used.
“Ugh. Right. This is going to be a fun drive.” He dug into his pocket. “What the fuck. Where are my–”
“I dunno,” Dean says, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “I think I’m gonna have to be the mature one for once and say it’s not up to us to decide. And if we even bring the idea up to him, he’ll probably go all bull-headed and insist we keep working the job. But maybe …” he sighs, “maybe not pick up another one after this? I don’t like the idea of him passing out during a fight or something.”
Dean stares in a hilarious mix of horror, confusion, panic, and annoyance. “Come on, man,” he mutters, burying his face back in the book he was reading earlier. “So messed up,” Sam thinks he hears him add to himself.
Dean sighed, and leaned against the nearest shelf, fiddling with some sort of jewelry box. It was probably cursed, and he shouldn’t touch it, but that didn’t stop him.
“Dean,” he begins, then stops. How does one go about confessing their everlasting love for their best friend? Or for anyone, really.
, right? Quirks and habits and flaws. Well, to us humans, clothing is an extension of our personality. It matches our likes and our lives. So a goth wears all back, elaborate clothing. Someone really perky and happy wears bright clothes. Fancy people wear fancy clothes. Joe Schmoes like me wear jeans and flannel. Get it?”
Dean’s chuckle turned into a sigh as he settled down. “I’m sure you realize there’s more to Cas and me’s story,” he began.
He then directed Cas to dump a quarter of the mix into his coffee and stir it, then try the coffee again. Cas took a sip, and he looked at it contemplatively before dumping in the rest of the mix and stirring again. He pronounced his next sip ‘palatable,” and settled back into his chair. Dean doctored his own coffee with (much less) of the second packet, then hit play on the Netflix screen.
Sam stays out of it. Dean has been in lowkey gay panic mode for years, and it’s kind of funny watching it really kick into gear. Of course, it’s also really tragic, how deeply he’s buried it all—his feelings in general, his interest in men, his preoccupation with Cas—and Sam hopes again that something will finally change. He doesn’t think Cas will ever make a move unless he knows Dean has finally come to grips with it all, but if Dean is left to his own devices, he may never get there. That angel-trapped locked room is sounding more and more appealing. But before then, they need to figure out what’s wrong with Cas, and before
The air quotes and the curse passing Cas’s angelic lips succeeded in drawing a laugh from Dean, and Cas smirked in return. Then he shook cinnamon into the grounds before closing the lid.
They settled back into their pre-Claire routine, things a little more tense between the brothers, but still manageable, and the bond continued to keep Cas and Dean in close proximity. How they shared space changed though—more hugs, a couple of head kisses, and Dean had taken to slinging an arm over Cas’s shoulders when they watched TV. They were already touching enough to keep the bond happy, but the new closeness made Dean happy, and he thought, hoped, maybe Cas as well.
The bathroom door opens, and they both tense, but Dean doesn’t move, so Castiel doesn’t either. What does
“No, Cas, not at all. Look, I know my actions so far haven’t been particularly welcoming. But you know me, I don’t handle change well, and I feel really bad that we’ve saddled you with this problem. I’m trying to adjust, but as Bobby let me know, I’m being an idiot to you in the process. I keep thinking I know what you want, but we haven’t really talked about this. What do
With Sam gone, they decide on burgers. Castiel, of course, doesn’t need to eat, but he sometimes enjoys it when Dean is there, because Dean enjoys it. And he remembers fondly how good burgers tasted when he was human, and wishes he could still taste whole meals, rather than the particles that make them up. But still, he does take pleasure in eating with Dean from time to time. It’s more the communal cooking and the breaking of bread that Castiel finds meaningful.
Sam looked between the two of them and said, “I’ll let you two talk it out. I’m going to bed for real this time.” He got up and headed out as quickly as possible while not actually running. Wuss.
Sam shrugs. “It’s a possibility. Or some other magical being that likes wandering from town to town helping people out but gets annoyed when he’s not paid? Is there any creature that has hypnotic abilities that fit the M.O.?”
“No! No. I mean, angel sex isn’t exactly a thing, though there is a dance that melds graces that is often done by angels who share a romantic bond, and I have heard it
“Yeah, ‘course. They’re great. Love the color. Are all angels’ feathers the same?” He can’t believe he’s never asked before, but it had always seemed like something they shouldn’t talk about, especially after the Fall.
His words are cut off by warm lips on his, and even though he saw Dean surge forward, he still gasps in surprise. Dean pulls back just far enough to see his eyes. He studies him for a few seconds. “Okay?” The word is gruff but soft, just like the man himself.
“Missed us already, kiddo?” Dean asked, rubbing her head with his knuckles until she glared and pulled away.
Dean gave his brother bitchface but didn’t argue. As much as he hated Sam driving Baby, he’d hate it if he himself crashed her just because he was being a stubborn ass.
“You bet your ass I am. And now, I’m going to go be the greatest chef who ever lived and start on dinner.” He stood and stretched.
“Okay then. I think I can provide you with hunting, seeing more of humanity, and plenty of bickering between me and Sammy, so if that’s really what you want …” It was hard to believe, but he wouldn’t fight it, seeing as he wanted Cas to stay too.
He was contemplating a drunk nap when Cas started his pacing, and after a few dizzying turns, he came to sit next to Dean in one of the reading nooks. Which was good, because he was starting to feel a little sick. Maybe he should slow down the drinking. Cas did that staring-at-Dean-from-too-close thing, then spared a short glance for Sam.
“Fine, fine. But that’s not why I’m calling. I’d like you to come to the bunker and give archery lessons to a couple of newbies. And maybe go over some basic internet and hacking tips.”
“Look, Dean,” Cas began, and only then did Dean realize they were leaning against each other’s shoulders again. He didn’t like this bond unconsciously doing touchy things. He had free will, damn it, and no amount of fondness for his friend would make him wish otherwise. No matter how good it felt.
“My wings aren’t infernal, they’re celestial,” Castiel protests, but it’s half-hearted. He has bigger worries.
While he was searching a dusty set of shelves a few minutes later, his phone vibrated. When he saw it was a call from Bobby, he answered.
“Even though I’m …” Cas looks down at his body, and Sam knows he means the male body thing. He tries to put his friend at ease.
Cas’s words were soft but firm, and Dean felt like shit for about the eight thousandth time that day. Why couldn’t Cas have been saddled with someone who could do this shit better—the give and take, the caution, the noticing of feelings before he put his foot straight into his mouth. Someone whole who could be there for him. Granted, anyone fitting that description would not get themselves in this mess to begin with. They’d be home, raising their two-point-whatever children—white picket fence and apple pie life firmly in place.
He laughed. “Just make sure you get in some time at the range while you’re here. I won’t let it be known that a hunter I taught can’t use a gun correctly.” He thought a moment, then continued. “Maybe we should get Charlie in here for some archery lessons too. She does it for her roleplaying.”
Sam must have a similar (though hopefully much less graphic) thought, because he teases Dean, whose incredibly intelligent comeback of “shut up, Samantha” only makes Sam laugh.
OMG we made it to the end. How exciting. I hope you enjoyed coming along with me on this journey to love with a grumpy angel and equally as crabby hunter.
sorry, Dean. We were in a bit of a rush, but it’s my fault I didn’t take the time to read everything thoroughly. And I will work nonstop until I find a way to undo it, okay? There’s got to be a way out of this.”
“I see how it is.” Dean put a mock-offended hand on his chest. “I cook and clean for you, and you don’t even appreciate me trying to make this house a home.” He wiped away a fake tear.
“What the actual fuck, Cas?” Dean explodes in a stage whisper after the tenth wriggle. “Stop moving.”
to ask. So then why was he? A courtesy? Didn’t seem likely, as human emotions were not his strong suit. Granted, this wasn’t just any old human, it was Dean, who Cas cared about, for whatever unknown reason. But in any case, he doubted courtesy was the answer. Perhaps to make Dean voice his own feelings?
Castiel looks over to Sam, who is studying him carefully with a similar expression of worry. He assesses his body and grace. No, he still feels his connection to Heaven and the Angelic Host. Angel radio—which he mostly tunes out these days—still works just fine. He reaches out and taps Dean’s forehead to rid him of the headache he knows he has by the way he squints one eye, and his brow smooths in relief.
“So yeah, I got moved from shitty foster home to shitty foster home. When the group home I was in got attacked by vampires and I managed to escape, I used the chance to go off the grid and get out of the system. I’ve been hunting since then.” She shrugged and crossed her arms. “Your turn.”
Cas sighs, exasperated. “Yes, Dean. I still only have the same symptoms I’ve exhibited the last few days, nothing new. I’ve still got angel radio, and my connection to Heaven is strong as ever.”
The morning they wake to only a single feather in the bed with them, Castiel decides he has to say or do something. He doesn’t like this not knowing. He hasn’t mentioned that his other symptoms have started to abate as well, or that new feathers have started growing, but it’s only a matter of time before Dean asks.
Cas tenses. “Yes, I’m aware that I’m losing feathers, Dean.” He gestures to the bouquet of feathers in Dean’s hands. “It’s a bit difficult to forget.” His voice is tight.
wrong with him? Is it just that he’s taken on more human characteristics from spending extended time on Earth? Or is it something else? Something worrying. Something dangerous.
Sam’s reply had something to do with hearing Castiel’s words and accepting them. He nodded at Dean, who said his line, which mirrored Cas’s, and Sam said his line again.
“Whoa, no. Cas, where’d you get an idea like that?” Dean felt a stab of hurt that Cas thought Dean thought so little of his worth, but he supposed it made sense, considering Cas’s sense of self-worth wasn’t that much better than Dean’s. “Any money spent on you isn’t a waste. If you want to go to a fancy store and get anything else, you just let me know. Whatever you want, we’ll get it.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a time, Claire sending a few texts but not moving from her spot, so Dean stayed too.
Dean sighed. “Then I guess this next bit won’t come as a shock to you.” He turned his hand over and laced his fingers with Cas’s, who tightened his grip and smiled sweetly at Dean. “Cas and I are … together now. Like, not just angel married, but also human romantic relationship together.”
“Yuck,” Dean says sympathetically. “Sounds kinda like the flu.” He pauses. “Can you get the flu? Is there an angel flu?”
Bobby sighed, and Dean knew he’d be taking off his cap to scratch his head. “Look, if you wanna keep certain things to yourself, you’re allowed. But you hafta know Sam and I will support you no matter what. We love you, idjit that you are.”
“I dunno, dude. He’s been like that for weeks. He acts like he hates being here, but he also refuses to leave. It’s like a toddler fighting a nap.” Dean rubs a hand over his face.
Cas looks quietly pleased for a moment before looking back to Sam. “Are you thinking a local protective god?”
“It’s currently eleven twenty-three. I didn’t wake you up because you looked like you could use it, and who knows what physical toll this bond is taking on you,” Cas explained, and he sounded sad. Dean hated that tone.
Cas pulled himself up to rest on his elbow. “I’m glad you like it, but also …” He pursed his lips (lips Dean tried
The news relaxes Dean slightly, but he points behind them, where three large feathers glint in the dappled sunlight. “You’re losing more feathers, though.”
So why does everything at the bunker suddenly irritate him? Dean and Sam are far from perfect, and they’ve always done things that annoy Castiel, but now it’s every little thing. Every open-mouthed smacking of food, every ‘well, actually’ from Sam, every loud guffaw, just
As if conjured, the bathroom door opens, and warm steam rolls out. Cas emerges with his hair plastered to his head, water dripping onto Dean’s Rush shirt.
Dean enjoyed watching the kids at archery practice. You could be a little less serious around arrows than with guns. Not that he downplayed the serious injuries that could come from them, but you’d really have to fuck things up to accidentally kill someone with a shot. You had to be more intentional with arrows than with bullets. Still, though he let them goof a bit, he made sure they followed the usual safety protocols, and Cas was on hand in case anyone was shot.
Sam cocks his head. “Dean, we’ve been over this before. You two ‘share a more profound bond.’ He answers every time you call. He tells you way more than he tells me. He follows you around like a puppy. And don’t get me started on the eye sex.”
The gust from Cas’s sigh was almost strong enough to travel through the radio waves or whatever cell phones transmitted through and tickle Dean’s ear on the other side. He pushed the notion away, not wanting to think about Cas’s breath and his ear in the same thought.
They agree to watch the angel, and several days pass with no break in the case and with Cas getting neither better nor worse. The bickering gets to be too much three days in, and Sam orders Dean to take a drive and Castiel a walk, leaving him to blessed silence. They’ve continued to lose a person a night to whatever they’re hunting, with zero clues other than that the perp seems to be working their way in an inward spiral around the Kansas City metro area. They’d started out in the eastern Missouri area and had worked counterclockwise, landing most recently just north of the Mississippi River. They’d be in the center soon, and then what? Was it a ritual? Why did they kidnap so many people? Why was there no struggle? It was like someone was pied pipering people out of their beds … The thought brings his mind to a screeching halt. Of course.
“Except that’s not true.” Sam peeks over the screen still turned to face Dean and Cas and selects another tab in his browser. The headline that pops up reads “City Breaks Deal with Contractor Tasked with Upgrading the Metro Area’s Sewer System.” He scrolls down a bit so they can read the first part of the article. “Apparently the system is starting to cause noxious gases. I’d noticed the smell a few times, and I thought it was a localized problem, but it’s the whole metro area.”
Though he feels much better than the bone-deep ache from the night before, Castiel decides a shower is a good idea before being stuck in the car for four hours. He grabs his (Dean’s) day clothes and heads for the bathroom.
am married, sorta, and we do have one kid running around; or, at least we did. Just, between me ‘n Cas always needing to be around each other, and doing a fair amount of hunting, and then with Claire here, I feel like we haven’t talked in ages. You doin’ okay?”
When they returned, it was the day before the party and guests were arriving. Bobby, Jody, and Jody’s daughter Alex got in just before Dean, Cas, and Claire got back, and Garth followed not long after. Charlie would arrive around dinner, and a few other trusted hunters would land the next day. Claire, Kevin, and Alex surprised Dean by offering to make dinner, since he’d be doing the bulk of the food for tomorrow’s shindig. This also gave him and Cas time to take the others aside and tell them their news.
It was the more romantic leaning that had him walking on eggshells around what they had. Some days he reveled in their new closeness, but others he worried that they’d get close enough that he’d show his hand, and he’d learn that Cas didn’t feel the same. And the thing was, they were already kinda like an old married couple. They shared jokes and fond looks, they discussed their future together, they worried over Cas’s not-daughter, they enjoyed a fairly nice non-sex life, they bickered easily. Overall, it was way more apple pie than Dean had thought he’d ever get, so he really shouldn’t complain. And, for the most part, he didn’t. He was happy, he really was. It was just that, some days … he’d look and Cas and Cas would look at him, and he’d think about what they could be. Plus, he really missed sex. Like, a lot. But he pushed that particular longing away, guilty that maybe Cas’s one reason for not confessing his love for Dean was fear of having to turn down sex, that Claire had been right to say angels were asexual (yeah, he’d had to Google that one). So, he stifled his hopes and hid his morning wood, and just let things go on as they had been.
She looked at him closely for a moment, and with her big blue eyes, she reminded him a lot of Cas again. After half a minute, she said, “Alright, don’t tell me,” and held her hand out. He pulled the gun closer to himself instead of handing it over.
The others both shook their heads, and Dean power walked over to the fridge. He stood for a minute with the door open, trying to cool his heated face.
“Good morning, Dean,” came the reply from his side. He glanced over to see Cas in much the same position as the night before—pajamas on, sitting up, book in lap. His hair had that same just-woke-up-but-artful way that Dean had always envied, plus the five-o-clock shadow he had no matter what time of day it was. It was annoyingly hot. And he did
Within fifteen minutes, they’re leaving again to do interviews. They split up, because there have been fifteen disappearances in fifteen days, and time is against them. Castiel has grown comfortable with interviewing over the years. He knows he still overlooks idioms and obvious references to human culture, but it’s subdued enough that most people simply think he doesn’t get out much. Which is true enough. Today, though, he has trouble concentrating. The texture of his clothes still bothers him, and he feels like he’s standing in front of a heater on a summer day. He wishes Dean were here, or even Sam, anyone familiar. He wishes he were at the bunker, hiding in his room or watching a movie with his family. The voices of the interviewees chafe at his eardrums, and they all say nothing but inane things. He sighs in relief when he’s finally done, and he makes his way to the motel.
Pleasantly exhausted from the fight, they happily headed back to the hotel after grabbing dinner. Dean ordered twice as much as usual for himself, as Cas still liked to pretend he didn’t enjoy eating but ended up stealing food anyways. Cas, of course, realized what Dean was doing, but dutifully ignored it and instead gently teased Dean at how hungry he must be to order so much food for just himself. It was so adorable of an act, Dean almost kissed him. Might have done so if the fast-food employee hadn’t leaned out of the window just then to give Dean the food.
Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. Hand holding was better than the alternative, true, but it was still difficult to take in. He had a feeling he’d need to confront some long-buried feelings very soon, whether he wanted to or not. Close proximity to his best friend for weeks would
The hunt was actually interesting: a nachz-something that Dean thought could be better named a ghoul‑pire. This one apparently took after the ghoul side of the family and was chomping on the recently deceased at night. Defeating it went more easily than expected. As soon as they (Cas) realized it wasn’t a pure ghoul, they (Cas) acquired the coin necessary to kill it, Dean stabbed it a few times with a silver knife to distract it, Cas popped in and put the coin in its mouth, and then Dean chopped its head off. As always, they worked like a well-oiled machine and accumulated few injuries, all of which healed in minutes.
“Damn,” Cas replied. “My guy just left his house. I need to follow. Yes, fine. Do the ritual. Do I say the words now?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if this ritual cribbed the words from another one. People love their shortcuts. Why reinvent the wheel?”
“This isn’t a home, Dean. It’s where we work, same as it’s always been. Only difference is the digs are nicer.”
They’d received a couple of quick calls from her asking for information, including a recent one on werewolves that now made sense, but no other communication.
Sam nods, eyes wide, like he can’t believe Castiel. “Of course. You’re family. We’ll do everything, exhaust every avenue and then some, until we find an answer.” He pauses and scrunches his nose, then continues. “I mean, I think I’ll leave the physical comfort to Garfield here, but yeah, whatever else it takes, I’m on it.” He winks at Castiel, who feels his face heat.
Castiel takes them cautiously. It’s a black Rush shirt and a pair of soft, gray sleep pants. They’re Dean’s. He looks back up at Dean. “I don’t need to shower or change clothes.”
“Okay, uh, right.” Sam closed the book he was reading, stacked a few more on top of it, and picked them all up. “I’ll, uh,” he nodded his head toward the rooms, “go to bed now?”
Charlie, though, continued to stand in thoughtful silence. Dean caught her staring at him a couple of times, but he wasn’t eager to answer her deeper questions, and luckily Sam and Cas entered the kitchen then, and they all settled in for a boisterous lunch.
Happy land. Plus, maybe Sam would be the one to find his unconscious body and feel really bad about it. Bitch.
A few months after their first post-bond hunt, they came home to find that Sam had been busy setting the place up as another hunter hub like Bobby’s. He answered phone calls to corroborate hunters’ backstories, did research, and occasionally offered up one of the many spare rooms when a hunter friend was passing through the area. Bobby started dropping by from time to time, as did Garth, when they wanted to confer with Sam over this amulet or that cursed knife or when they were passing through on a hunt, and soon enough, it didn’t feel weird to come back from a hunt to find a guest hanging out.
“Try again. You haven’t been able to sit still in the two hours since we left home. Something is obviously wrong, ‘cause usually you’re as still as a statue.” Cas gives an aborted wiggle. Dean’s hands tighten on Baby’s wheel.
“Uhh.” Dean looked over at his brother, who was now muttering to himself and looking confused. “Sam. What’s he need to do?”
She looked fit to bursting to talk about her findings, but she was a pretty smart cookie, and it took her only a single look to know Dean wasn’t there to talk to her about computers.
Still looking disbelieving, Dean speaks up. “Okay, but this place isn’t having issues. No buildings falling apart, no famine, the plants all look okay.”
“Dean, you’ve made it once before. You can’t call it famous.” Sam sent him bitchface. It might be best to keep him and Claire apart, for fear she’d learn new annoying facial expressions.
“Claire, I’m so sorry to hear that I’ve caused you so much pain in the last few years. I never meant for any of this to happen, truly.”
Charlie was, as Claire had predicted, ecstatic to learn that they’d finally bit the bullet—because she was their friend, but more than a little because she won the betting pool and also got to lord over him the title of Dean Winchester’s Ultimate Wingwoman every time they talked.
Castiel wishes he could speak, but words have deserted him. So he simply nods. Dean leans forward again, and he cups Castiel’s jaw in one hand as he presses his lips back to Castiel’s, back where they belong. Castiel closes his eyes and savors the contact. He breathes Dean in and begins the hopefully very long process of learning every inch of this amazing man.
“That Cas is not like anyone else. And not just because he’s an angel with a literal unbreakable bond to you. He’s seen you at your best and worst, and he’s stayed. He understands you on a fundamental level that I think only Sam can come close to matching. He gripped you tight and raised you from perdition!”
Castiel frowns. This isn’t the reaction he had hoped for. Perhaps he has read it wrong, and Dean just wants to be friends, and because he knows Castiel so well—better than any being has ever known him—he sees that Castiel is about to profess his love, and he’s dreading it.
Dean grunts. “Well, we’ll keep an eye on ya. You feeling okay to go over what we’ve learned so far?”
“But it’s different now. We’ve got an actual home! No more being stuck in cramped motel rooms with questionable sheets and even more questionable carpets. No more spending free time driving hours to the next gig. We’ve got the mancave and a real kitchen and our own rooms now!”
, even though he backtracked on it. He said it without thought, like it was so easy to think of something jointly belonging to them. It was nice. Taking at least a tiny hint of Bobby’s advice, he talked.
But things in the supernatural world seem to be staying calm these days, and Cas doesn’t show signs of flitting off to somewhere away from Dean, and he’s afraid to question that, in case it all comes crashing down yet again. So he watches.
Castiel smiles, big and bright, because with truth comes freedom. “Love. I have never loved anything in creation as much as I’ve loved you. And I’d hop–”
“Suffice it to say, I went with the materials available, which include a basic coffee maker, cheap beans, and cinnamon.”
He’s about to say no but changes his mind. “Some jasmine tea would be nice.” He likes the way it smells. It’s comforting.
love. And I’ve done so for years. You get me like no one else has, and I like to think I get you too, and- and we fight well together and we’ve made this beautiful home and we have a family and we were lucky enough to get to share this amazing bond that no other human has ever had with another being, and our lives are fucking
By the time he was done, he was finally on his way to (but not yet) drunk, but he had gained quite a few other physical symptoms, and none of them fun. He felt nauseous, and his head had started pounding about ten minutes back. His skin felt like it had ants crawling under it, and the pull to find Cas was so strong, he had to physically stop himself from moving. Dean wasn’t sure why he was being so stubborn about this. He couldn’t win. Cas said the symptoms would increase the longer they were apart, and no amount of mule-headedness would stop them. But he felt the need to test those limits as far as he could, in part because that’s what he did, but also because he needed it to be known how much he hated what was happening, and plant his flag in I Am
Sam shrugs and shakes his head, then gets a big grin on his face. “Especially given the way he was plastered behind you this morning.”
wrapped around Cas the next morning. He was facing toward him, and they were holding hands rather tightly, but that was as risqué as it got. He used his free hand to rub the sleep from his eyes and the drool from his mouth (very minimal, thank goodness) as he turned on his back and sighed. | [
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Dean laughed. “But in my defence: You did smell like horseshit. Your natural scent is so much more becoming. And you looked cute, in those too big clothes and the way your hair was a real mess after that bath.”
Benny cleared his throat. “Vic could hardly believe it had been Dagon, but I thought she might be capable of something like that.” Strangely, Benny sounded almost ashamed. “But Victor asked me to talk to her at the office, with him present. And I agreed. Honestly, I thought it could even help to have him there. And it probably did. Dagon is hard to crack, but I think she is loyal to her boss and she wanted to help him get to the bottom of this as much as save her own hide.”
He turned around, assuming it would most likely be Naomi who’d tell him he should have made bigger or smaller slices of pie – and stopped in his movement when he saw Dick Roman, standing only a few feet away from him.
“Of course.” Dean said it with such conviction that it was now Castiel’s turn to look shocked. But before this could end up in an argument about omega labour rights, Dean went on. “Come on, Cas, when was the last time you called in sick? Just one day. They can’t be that strict to not grant you
Hesitantly, Meg nodded. “All right, I guess I’ll have to live with that.” She then smirked. “But don’t complain to me when your mate gets all overprotective and won’t allow you to go anywhere on your own anymore.”
Castiel still stared at the birds with wide eyes – Dean, however, did not seem as surprised, but he was obviously still touched.
Castiel felt restless and left the tent to get some fresh air. He pulled the canvas aside, and in the light glow of their campfire, he could make out Claire, lying on a blanket on the ground. She was rolled up, almost like a cat, and seemingly fast asleep; her light hair gleamed in the night.
Betas seemed to feel their wolves as a different personality as well, but they usually had them better under control than alphas. And just like omegas, they were not quite as strong. Castiel sometimes thought that betas were the ones with submissive, or at least the most compliant wolves – not that he would ever dare to say it out loud.
Being turned into a werewolf came with some obvious benefits: Like his new-found strength or the fact that he could turn into an actual wolf. When he changed form, Castiel’s fur was mostly white, with black ears and black paws, like he was wearing socks. He thought he looked a bit odd – there were no other wolves in his pack so white – and the colouring seemed unfortunate, if only because it could be easily detected in the dark. But he probably had to get used to it since a wolf would never change his appearance. In human form, Castiel looked into the mirror differently now, knowing that he would never age. His hair might still grow, but the colour would remain the same, just like the soft wrinkles around his eyes would not vanish nor deepen. He assumed he should be glad that he had been Changed in his late thirties instead of as a young boy or an old man. And even though he had to get used to the strange look of his wolf, he still loved changing form and running around in the wild. His inner wolf yipped out happily anytime he was allowed to come out. Even though that didn’t happen very often.
Dean let out a growl at her words. She was right. He would not trust any other alpha with Castiel right now. Someone like this Bernard who had tried to take Castiel from Dean after they had arrived. Still, Dean had very conflicting feelings about Rowena’s proposal. On the one hand, he had wanted to be with Castiel since they had arrived – on the other hand, what Rowena proposed sounded like pure torture.
Back at home, the couple prepared some sandwiches together. Dean looked at his mate questioningly whenever he caught Castiel staring at him intently. The omega was trying to figure out what Lisa had meant by
. For a second, he thought about asking Meg about mating procedures in this pack – but he did not really feel like it. She would doubtlessly answer all his questions, in full detail, but not without her sardonic humour. And Castiel had a feeling she would make quite a bit of fun of him and his naïveté.
“That’s not true.” Alfie’s voice was stern, even though his lower lip quivered. “He just thinks that I should look for someone closer to my age. Stupid alpha. And he has never joined any claiming fights over me, because they don’t mean anything yet.”
Before he could yell, however, there was a wet piece of cloth pressed on his mouth, and Castiel quickly lost consciousness.
At night, Dean would knock at Castiel’s door and accompany him to the loud and genial family dinners; and the omega grew more and more fond of the Winchester pack with every passing day. They were kind and funny, and Castiel enjoyed how they interacted with each other. There was an obvious hierarchy in the pack, but not nearly as ostentatious as it had been in Heavensgate. For example, no one seemed to be scared to approach Dean. Yes, most alphas would avoid direct eye-contact for longer than a second – other than Bobby, maybe –, and Castiel noticed how careful they were in phrasing a request, but no one seemed to outright
When Dean and Castiel knocked at their neighbour’s door, Meg seemed very surprised to see Sam and Eileen as well. Castiel had deliberately forgotten to mention he would bring more guests. They had discussed whether to invite the Crowleys over or visit them, but Dean had argued that the other alpha might feel more comfortable in his own territory while he was surrounded by strangers. Also, in his own house, he could not simply leave. Castiel had to admit Dean was right about that last fact – the way he looked at the group in front of him, Crowley would probably have bolted before he’d stepped through their front door.
The alpha turned to Castiel, his brows drawn together. Castiel straightened and opened his mouth to respond to Dean’s reprimand for breaking his promise that would sure come. And the omega was not so sure he had done the right thing anymore. Maybe his friends would have been able to save themselves without his help.
Castiel had understood that Benny had not wanted to make a move until Alfie was old enough to mate, had even understood that he wanted to make sure Alfie kept an open mind about other options and was not led by childlike infatuation, but by now, the whole thing was almost ridiculous. A few months ago, Castiel might have thought that the alpha was just not that interested, but by now, he had caught Benny watching Alfie from afar too often to doubt his feelings.
“I know, this sounds a bit ridiculous. And there have been times, growing up, when I thought the elders were just making up some stories to scare us kids. Dean had never doubted them, though. And as I grew older, I had to admit there was probably more truth to it than I wanted to believe. Dad used to say the Wild Lands tie us closer to nature. For example, we seem to have our wolves better in check; we also shift easier than most. And for generations, the lead alpha was born into the Winchester family.”
“Of course, he did not claim you yet!” Said Sam indignantly at the same time as Meg leaned forwards, with an even brighter smirk than before, and asked: “What do you mean, he never
“I am so sorry, Cas. I’m sorry I was stupid enough to meet with Uriel. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about his texts. I’m sorry I punched him. I’m sorry I…”
me? As your brother, he will probably want the best mate for you. And I am not nearly pretty enough and I’m kind of old and …
Like Dean had planned for them this morning, he and Castiel were on their way to a diner to meet with Benny and Victor for lunch. The place did not seem too inviting and looked a bit dingy overall – certainly not like Dean’s usual choice, the Roadhouse, nor was it the kind of place you would normally choose to meet your best friend’s new partner for the first time. But Castiel had to agree that it would be unlikely for some officer to stumble in on them in such a place, and Benny would probably agree. Hopefully, Victor would see the benefits as well.
Castiel felt another growl, but he wasn’t sure whether it had been his irritable wolf, or just his stomach again. Either way, he should try to figure out where he could find breakfast. A hungry wolf was always testy.
Dean looked at Castiel intently and the omega understood. Dean did not want to be outed as the leader of the rebels right now – not until they knew Gabriel was on their side, or at least not opposing them. Castiel did not blame him. He would make a good hostage, and Gabriel had not presented himself in a way that would endear him to Dean. The alpha probably wondered right now why Castiel had thought that this spoiled nobleman had been a good idea for a surrogate-king in the first place.
“I just meant… you keep saying that you want to mate.” Castiel pulled back, staring at Dean in doubt, so that the alpha quickly went on: “And I want that too, of course. But I would also like to get married. Afterwards. But soon. I wouldn’t want us to wait indefinitely, like Sammy.”
– at the same time as Dean shoved his cock into the omega. And Castiel who had never been particularly fond of possessive behaviour just melted a bit more. Dean’s movements were sharp and fast – and Castiel answered in kind, meeting each of Dean’s thrusts eagerly. Neither man had the patience to drag this out any longer than necessary – and Castiel could feel the beginning of his release after only a couple of strokes.
Castiel rushed up the stairs, convinced he would not have any problems to find Dean’s bedroom by scent – but in the end, he did not get that far since Dean had caught him in the hallway of the upper floor. He pushed Castiel against the wall, both hands on either side of him as he let out a victorious growl. His alpha had obviously enjoyed the little chase. Good to know. Castiel would keep that in mind for later use. Meanwhile, he bared his throat a little to demonstrate he acknowledged the alpha had caught him fair and square.
A few seconds later, he had shifted, and Dean had the presence of mind to open the door for the small wolf.
Dean breathed in deeply and let out another groan – at the same time as the annoying sound of the doorbell echoed through the room again. This time, the alpha surrendered and stood. He grabbed a shirt on the way out and went downstairs. After a hesitant pause, Castiel did the same and followed his alpha to see who was making such a ruckus this early.
“I… just… I didn’t want to stay with Lucifer and I… I managed to break the bond. But I didn’t know what to do, or where to turn to. Castiel… he was my only friend in the pack, and when I overheard that the Father had sent him here, I just… I didn’t know where else to go. I tried living on my own at first, but…” He stopped and shivered.
right away. He’d already prepared everything for the night, so I don’t mind the change of plans too much.”
“I agree with Jody.” Jess piped in before the alpha could snap back. “Castiel’s story is coherent. There is no reason why we should distrust him.”
Sam leaned back and looked down at him: “Huh. So that’s why you were always so insistent on personal space. You didn’t want Dean to be able to smell you on me.”
A stunned silence followed his words and Castiel feared that maybe he had gone too far. Maybe Dean felt like he was expecting something from him now. He opened his mouth to tell the alpha they would just go from there and see what happened, but stopped when Dean started laughing. Not just laughing – it looked like the alpha was having a hysterical meltdown, tears rolling down his face, whole body shaking. Castiel sat up and looked down at Dean with a hurt expression. As he moved he felt that pain again, and by now, he had a pretty good idea where it came from.
Dean pecked him on the lips and then turned back to the administrator. The man’s face had turned an even deeper shade of red and he still held his head slightly to the side and refrained from any sort of eye contact. “Sir… Alpha… I apologise for any…”
When Dean looked unsure, and maybe even a bit disappointed at the omega’s wordless reply, Castiel explained: “I would love to get married, Dean, if
“Baby, you are already over-stimulated and you will be sore as it is. If I knot you again, you will be really hurting tomorrow.”
“We talked about this, sweetheart. I just found you. And it’s too risky. I’d rather have you here. At least let them find out that I am mated before I present you.”
“I don’t… I don’t have any money,” Castiel said in hardly more than a whisper. He had seen the phone and the laptop on the desk in his room, but hadn’t been sure they were his to use. He still didn’t know whether he was supposed to pay for them.
As soon as they left the Hall, he stopped Dean in his steps and announced: “I would like to see your quarters, Dean.”
“Isn’t that too complicated?” Castiel asked with a cheeky grin, remembering something Dean had said months ago, even though they had taken advantage of their bathroom countless times before.
“Were you watching me? At the well?” The thought was troubling – but better Sam than anyone Castiel did not even know. Like a strange alpha.
“Oh, Castiel, are you feeling unwell?” Alastair’s tone was inappropriately cheery for the worried question.
Castiel felt a pool of warmth spread from his chest through his whole body, not only by the alpha’s words but also the serious expression in his eyes. When Dean left him alone a few minutes later, his wolf still rumbled happily.
“It’s okay, Cas. You have a right to know.” Sam had a concentrated look as he folded the newspaper in front of him. He probably only did it so accurately to gain time to think about his next words. “No, Dean did not turn me. And he never would’ve. Being an alpha, and being as dominant as he is, Dean had a really hard time changing into a werewolf. I think it took him at least two decades to finally come to terms with his new nature. He still seems to think he is some kind of monster. It certainly did not help that he got Changed by an Alpha named Alastair, who was cruel and vicious and expected all his alphas to be like him. One day, Dean got free of him however, and eventually landed in Bobby’s pack.” Castiel opened his mouth to ask a load of questions, but Sam held up a hand. “That’s not my story to tell, Cas. You’d have to ask Dean about it. I wish you good luck, because he usually refuses to talk about the first years after his Change. All I’ll say is that Alastair seemed to have been obsessed with the idea of turning Dean into some sadistic bastard like himself.” Sam licked his lips. “But like I said, he freed himself; then Bobby found him and took him in. And with Dean’s dominance levels, he quickly became the Second of the Pack. And I think he was content in that position. Bobby was like a father to him, and taught him about a different way to lead, and a different way to look at those around you. The whole pack thrived under them.” Sam paused, and Castiel thought about the man he had met two days ago. From the first moment, it had been obvious how much Dean cared about Bobby, and vice versa. Yesterday, the old wolf had even joined them on their feast, to everyone’s obvious surprise. Castiel had been a little intimidated by the former Alpha – he had looked his way the whole night, not in a malicious way, but Castiel had still been nervous. Like when you met the parent of your boyfriend for the first time, which was probably not that far from the truth. After Dean had had his little outburst, Castiel had gently tugged on his bond and then Dean had settled at his side, between Castiel and Kevin, one arm around each. Then Bobby had almost smiled at him, and Castiel had felt relieved; like he had his approval. Seeing them together last night, Castiel could easily depicture Bobby teaching Dean about being a wolf.
Otherwise, the time passed uneventfully, with Castiel mostly lying on the bed, recovering from the loss of the pack bond, and his wounds. He even indulged in hours of self-pity that turned into anger at some point, because Chuck had not told him what his plans were, exactly. At least there was some food, juice and water stored in the motel room, so Castiel did not starve.
And just like during the other times before, Dean cuddled, hold and gently stroked over Castiel until his knot went down. By that time, Castiel was usually too drowsy or even already asleep, so he hardly noticed when Dean fetched a washcloth and some water. He only grumbled when Dean made him drink before he could slumber away again. Every time he had been filled, Castiel felt not only sated but also like he was ready to doze off into a coma for weeks; but in reality, he just woke up an hour later, ready for his alpha to take him again.
Castiel looked up and saw Dean had an eyebrow raised at him. Then the alpha chuckled – and Castiel’s eyes widened. He had somehow unconsciously leaned over to Dean, to breathe in his scent deeper. It was not like he had buried his nose in the crock of the alpha’s neck, but he was not that far from it.
Castiel smiled as Dean brushed his lips over his nape, brief and light, hardly noticeable. Then Dean let out a low, rumbling chuckle, and Castiel turned his head a little to watch Kevin tackle Jack to the ground, a ball rolling out between their feet. Just two weeks ago, the two young men had both started at university together; different majors, different classes and schedules, but they left the house at the same time and returned home together every day. They seemed to have gotten even closer than they had been before; so much so that Castiel sometimes watched them with something close to suspicion. He had once tried to talk to Dean about it, but his Alpha had only shrugged and said: “Jack’s still a pup, Cas. Both his wolf and his human side. Leave them be, for now.” Castiel did not really know what to make of that. But he had the daunting feeling that Dean understood something he did not.
would be the nicest word. He also had to admit that he felt tempted. The alpha opposite him was handsome as hell. Gosh, he would have never even thought about approaching someone so attractive, believing he would not have a chance anyway. And now, this day of all days, a man like that just walked up to him and offered to help him through his heat. He almost assumed that Gabriel had called some heat services after all – but he would never be so cruel to let the guy pretend he had just coincidentally started to flirt with Castiel on the first day of his heat.
But Dean was not only a good hunter or simply handsome. He had also made him feel safe. Castiel trusted the alpha somehow, and his comforting scent smelled like
“This isn’t funny, Dean!” Castiel almost yelled, horrified at the outlook that Dean might have to spend any length of time in prison.
“Ha!” Said Dean and looked at Castiel – who only raised his eyebrow. “Told you he was the most likely suspect.”
Castiel quickly looked around the living room as well as the modern open-space kitchen with the too wide dinner table and scrunched his nose. It was all glass and shiny metal, no wood or other warm and grounding material. Even the leather couch looked like it would stay cold no matter how long you sat on it. If Castiel had stepped into that home in any other context, he would have disliked the owners right away. So he guessed his colleagues had done a good job – for he was sure he could never like anyone who lived in a community like Little Heaven.
“For encouraging me to talk to Claire. I think you might have been right and it helps to just have someone who understands.”
At the gate of the castle, Charlie, Kevin, Alfie, Benny and Jo as well as the alpha Victor were already waiting. Jo was the only one still in human form, but as soon as Dean and Castiel joined them, she began to take off her tunic. Castiel fixed his gaze to the floor. By the time, Dean started to open his pants, he practically examined the pebbles beneath his nose.
Castiel could only blink in confusion. Abruptly, Crowley sat down on the chair next to him and mumbled, more to himself than anyone else: “I wonder… when is the next time Kevin will be in heat… maybe I could bring him to that meeting with Dick Roman…Ow!”
This story will be about 14 chapters long, with roughly 60k words in total. I have already written a complete first draft and only need to edit bits and pieces. I plan to update once or twice a week (depending on how much time I find).
He walked into the kitchen, somewhat hesitantly, and found a young man sitting at the table, reading what seemed to be a comic book. He looked up and had a warm smile on his face. A subtle sniff told Castiel that the young man was another omega. He felt instantly relieved. He had hoped he would be all alone for his late breakfast, but if he had to deal with a stranger –
The bear looked at Castiel then back at the man who was running away from them. The unknown alpha had managed to put some distance between him and the beast already, but Castiel was convinced that Dean could easily catch him in a few quick moves. He had never seen one in the flesh before, but Castiel had heard that bears could be surprisingly fast for something so bulky. Dean let out a low snarl, seemingly ready to pounce. But then Castiel looked at the dead man on the ground. And he remembered when Dean had told him he did not enjoy killing. The memory felt like a warm flame in Castiel’s chest.
“…so there should be no risk anyway. I don’t want you two to deliberately provoke an attack. Just settle in and see what you can find out. I have already called Garth Fitzgerald, who will help you to act as a believable couple. Charlie will fake all the documents you need. And then there is Rowena McLeod.” Jody grimaced. “She works with the Federal Investigators and will give you more insight about the deceased couples and how to mimic them. You are scheduled to work with her for the next two days.”
“No harm in being thorough,” Sam insisted. “You two just wait here and let us have a look.” He raised from the sofa, and because Dean had not made any attempt to follow so far, maybe hoping Eileen would interrupt again, he added: “Dean. Outside. Now.”
“So what? You think that he was secretly trying to ogle your goods? That he had been in love with you for years, because no one who would be remotely interested in alphas could possibly resist you? That he savoured every fleeting touch?” Castiel asked with a lifted eyebrow.
. Jack was almost always in a good mood; he laughed easily and would often be content to just sit on someone’s lap and watch the adults around him. Claire was a lot more demanding. If she did not get a change of scenery every fifteen minutes or so, she would get bored. And when Claire got bored, she tried to entertain herself. Currently, she was reaching for every glass, plate or cutlery in her vicinity. Preferably a knife or something equally dangerous. Which meant that Castiel hardly managed to eat anything at all. He would just have to wait for someone to finish their food first and take the little she-devil off his hands – one benefit of having a big family was that you could always rely on someone for help.
While they were walking back in the direction of the precinct, Castiel mulled over Roman’s alibi. He had not really considered him a suspect before – mostly because for the last two days he had only been interested to prove who had
In the end, Dean and Benny even set a date for the night, intending to meet at the Roadhouse and talking over a few beers. Castiel had frowned a bit at the idea – he himself didn’t like to go out on a Full Moon. There were usually more brawls and quarrels than any other nights. But he had wanted the two men to talk, so he was not going to argue now. Besides, Dean could take care of himself. But it seemed like the alpha had only realised
Castiel was one of the teachers and he enjoyed his time with the pups. With him being an omega, he thought this was about the only thing he was supposed to do. Although Dean sometimes asked him if he was happy with his work, and Castiel usually affirmed he was very content in this new pack. He also explained to Dean that he really would not know what else to do, as he had spent the last years housekeeping for Michael and reading books he could now narrate to the children.
“Yes. I departed from Veenah ten days ago and agreed with Michael that his brother would follow in less than a week. Without a carriage and much luggage, the journey should take about five days. Maybe longer if they don’t all ride on horseback.”
Castiel took a deep breath – he had no reason to be afraid of accidental claiming. He was on the strongest suppressors pharmacy ever came up with. With one weekly pill, he dampened his scent (at a distance he could even go by as a beta and thus be not harassed as much), deferred his heat to only once a year (and not having to call in sick every 6-8 weeks), prevented getting pregnant or being accidentally claimed by an alpha. Of course, there were downsides to the medication such as heavy migraines, emotional and mental stress and after a while your chances of getting with child became pretty slim. Newer studies also indicated an increased risk for brain cancer if you took the medication for an extended period.
He walked out without another word and resisted the temptation to turn around again, just to see their dumbfounded faces.
Again, with the pleading eyes. Dean certainly did not want to have Lucifer’s son in his pack – even if it was only an imagined one – but maybe it was worth observing him for a while. If he kept him close, he could make sure he was not passing on any information. And maybe he would make a usable hostage one day. Or maybe Jack was telling the truth and his supposed father would want him back. He could be useful, his wolf thought. Or a danger to the whole pack, Dean added.
It had taken a while for the alphas in the courtyard to notice the two omegas, but in an instant, their training just got more aggressive. Most of them were about Alfie’s age and they seemingly tried to impress the omega. Benny, however, did not once look up, completely focused on the training session. Alfie’s birthday had been last week and after that, most of the younger alphas had started to act up again. Alfie had not talked about their behaviour to Castiel though. And suddenly, he wondered about that.
He would not have imagined waiting. To dance around each other in a way that sometimes almost pained him. His wolf was still patient, but Dean wanted to touch and kiss – to protect. To have the right to do so. He wanted to rub himself all over Castiel so his scent would stick to him, and everyone would know he belonged to him. In that matter, the wolf was even more urgent than the human part of him, considering how much scent meant to the beast. He didn’t mind seeing Castiel with other pack members – he was even glad that he seemed to have found his place so fast – but when he watched Castiel sparring with Ketch or get some combat tips from Cole, he would definitely prefer if the omega smelled like him. But he had a feeling that Castiel would just tense up again if he tried to scent mark him in human form. It
“Of course it matters. And of course it still rattles you. You’d hardly be human if it didn’t. So, again, I’m sorry. It will not happen again.”
There was an awkward silence for a couple of minutes in which Castiel had to process what he just heard. He couldn’t say that he liked the idea of his mate sleeping around and beating up anyone who gave him the slightest reason – no matter how capable they might have been to defend themselves – but he also believed that Dean had never been deliberately cruel.
Dean laughed again, this time more honest. He had heard from Gabriel personally that most Veenahians seemed to think the people of Winchester were not too interested in hygiene. But he had no idea how they could be any better if they did not even want to take off their clothes.
While Castiel still wondered if paranoia was infectious, the two officers sat down at a window. Charlie still watched him intently and finally stated:
He had tried to sound amused, but Castiel could see that Lucifer was really irritated that his son had such a simple, common name. It brought a smug smile on Castiel’s face. He came from a religious family with mostly strange names from the Book – Gabriel had just lucked out. It had been some form of rebellion to name his son simply
? He, Castiel? His heartbeat picked up again. Could it be that easy, and he just had to pretend to still be unconscious until Dean had enough time to find him?
he wanted to talk to. And soon Castiel had found a new favourite pastime: Whenever he saw Dean with one of his friends, Castiel decided to sneak up on the alpha. He knew he was quiet – Gabriel often threatened to put a bell around his neck – and he had to admit he enjoyed it immensely whenever he could make the pack leader twitch. He knew he should not feel so smug about it, but he was. It helped that though Dean often grumbled a little, he never seemed angry. Sometimes he even made a joke about Castiel’s stealthiness.
It was not only Castiel who looked at Benny with sudden suspicion, but Dean frowned at him, and Charlie even leaned forwards and whispered to him: “Are you planning to change your profession, Benny?”
He registered that someone opened the door – and then his nose picked up an unknown scent. From an unclaimed werewolf. He growled in frustration. Damn, of course they would get interrupted. Things never got smoothly in the life of Dean Winchester. He pushed Castiel back, in an unconscious attempt to keep him safe from whatever was about to happen, and ran down the stairs; his senses now fully alert and focused on the newcomer. The disappointment of having to break away from his Mate probably made him more edgy than the situation would have called for.
Castiel caught himself various times while he was thinking about a life where he had to visit his mate in a cell. He almost desperately looked forward to his next heat and hoped it would come unusually early, because if Rogers managed to take Dean away from him, Castiel at least wanted to wear the alpha’s mark. He knew he was not being his rational self in that regard, but he didn’t really care. Of course, he never talked about it with Dean anymore, because he knew that the alpha did not want him to be claimed if there was no hope for them to be together in the future. Castiel thought it was more likely that Dean would try to persuade him to start a new life if he ever got convicted. But Castiel did not want to think about that possible argument just yet.
“There has been a slight change of plans. Mr. Crowley will not be joining us today. However, we are delighted to be accompanied by Mr. Dean Winchester, the CEO of WinSec himself. Mr. Winchester, may I introduce you to Castiel Novak, one of our counsels. He helped with the project.”
if he refused. And he did not want Jack to feel more like an outsider than was absolutely necessary. Fortunately, the young alpha seemed to be oblivious at the other’s attempts to keep their eyes on him, or maybe he did not think it was unusual that wolves would only run in groups, especially when there was an omega involved. But Castiel could see right through Dean’s genius plan to never leave Castiel alone with the young alpha, at least not outside the house. Even though he tried to be understanding, Castiel got a little testy anytime someone trotted along with them.
Castiel nodded, grateful that he didn’t have to ask. He would not take anyone home if he had not smelled them before.
Again, Castiel nodded, this time clearly embarrassed, but Jody just pointed her head to some nearby bushes.
Dean! In front of everyone! Suddenly, all the cat calls and lewd remarks made sense. He remembered that the alpha almost always leaned in towards him, even scent-marked him when they were alone, but he had never gone further than that. Intending to be as honest as possible, Castiel asked his question out loud, his complexion a deep red by now.
But instead of the soppy reply Castiel had almost expected, Dean had just turned completely quiet. And Castiel had panicked. Had it been too soon? But he had just moved in. That was not too soon, was it? What was the right timing here?
“Just take it and think about it.” True to her reputation, the beta doctor obviously wanted the omega to be able to make his own decision – without the interference from his alpha mate.
But Castiel did not even look at him. Following his instincts, he marched straight toward the bed and took the phone. It had a sticker of Scooby Doo on the back. Castiel frowned at it and it took another while until he connected the dots. But Jack’s fevered expression made it clear that Castiel had just discovered something important. Then he realised he had seen that exact phone before. Months ago.
Castiel imagined he would have forgotten all about a possible meeting with Uriel, would have stayed patiently at his desk until Dean was done and they would both leave for home in the alpha’s Impala – if not for Dean’s reaction. The alpha stood up, and then looked down at Castiel with a mixture of worry and … pity?
They dug a hole together and buried their clothes. It would still be easy enough to detect, but they hardly had another option. When they were done covering their tracks as well as possible, Anna once licked over Castiel’s ear encouragingly, turned around and ran straight into the wide forest, followed by Balthazar.
He would be lying if he denied that he was anxious to arrive at Loki as quickly as possible – and he was more than a little scared that he and Dean would run into Michael’s guards again.
Castiel briefly glanced at Dean as they both took chairs opposite Gabriel’s. The alpha was not able to hide his disdain – and Castiel could hardly explain to him right now that he believed this spoiled rich man attitude was just an act. Gabriel did not mind when people underrated him – it made it easier for him to stab them in the back. Or rather in the front, preferably with a wide smile. Loki was only a small city state – but it was wealthy. Made so by cunning trading deals with other countries that usually favoured Loki’s economy.
But Garth shook his head vigorously. “No. We heard you and your men arrive a minute ago, and Lord John specifically told me to get you and bring you to him
. Even with his alpha fully pressed against him, he was not in the slightest aroused. After all, he had just been in a life-threatening situation, was hurting and still in the room with a wolf’s body and head – spread to two ends of the room. Not to mention the stench of blood around. But even though his mind was definitely not in the mood for mating – he could imagine a week of cuddling with his alpha however – his body obviously had other ideas.
“So, is this how the application procedure works around here? Someone picks a fight with you and then you evaluate their abilities?” Castiel was surprised how easy it came to him to tease his alpha in front of his friends. If only a little.
The three of them were seated at the kitchen table again, and Jody had accepted a cup of coffee like the peace offering Dean had meant it to be.
“Now that you know that your True Heat has started over Dean Winchester, the very man you came here to marry --- how about we call him up? So he can do his duty and take care of you.”
“Ah, the beekeeper leaves. It is really fortunate that both your neighbours decided to be away for the weekend – so no one will mind if things get a little bit loud.”
This was so embarrassing. No matter what Dean had said about the cold and such. And what had the alpha even meant when he had mumbled that it had not been
“Alright, alright.” Dean got off the bed and walked stark naked towards the door. “You take a shower, while I make some toast and coffee.” He turned around again and put a quick kiss on Castiel’s forehead, palming his cheek gently. “This is gonna be all right, Cas. I promise.” When he finally left for the stairs, Castiel instantly missed the alpha.
. I know you are the leaders of said rebels, kiddo, and I have a mind of chopping your head off for getting my baby nephew into trouble. Using him like that to get to me. And who knows what could have happened to him on the way.” Gabriel crossed his arms with a triumphant glint in his eyes. “I just hope Meg has shot you full of silver – I really wouldn’t want an angry bear in here, ruining all this precious porcelain.”
But then his smile just widened, because he might not actually need a keepsake for future daydreams. Dean had said he would like to take him out on a date. And he had not seemed to be deterred by the fact that Castiel had a child. The omega felt just a little queasy because they had not yet set a date. But in all honesty, Castiel would not know what to propose if Dean asked him right now – Jack liked staying with one of his uncles well enough, but after a whole weekend he was sometimes a bit miffed, and Castiel did not want to call in a babysitter next week again already.
deserves better? Together, we could send him to the best schools and universities while you could support him without having to work. I’m sure he could accomplish great things. Has he presented yet?”
Dean grunted as he kept pushing up into Castiel’s tight heat. He almost seemed to wait for something. The omega was still dazed from his orgasm, but he realised --- there was still something missing.
As he looked at Dean and the set table, he suddenly noticed how small his room was. Tiny, really. Actually, there seemed no space for anything else but Dean. And the bed.
“Are you full?” Jack hardly dared to nod. “Good. Sam will find you some clean clothes and then show you to your room. Be down here for breakfast at seven sharp tomorrow. You come with me to the garage and earn your stay. Until then, you should get some sleep.”
Dean was about to give a sharp reply, but then he made the mistake of looking at the two men next to him. Castiel watched him with pleading eyes, and Sam had his puppy-look on his face.
“My lord, I am Ambriel and here to look after your needs. Prince Gabriel would like to welcome you to his palace. But only if you are well. Otherwise, I will send you some lunch up and you can rest until dinner.”
Castiel sat up and moved to the side, not touching Dean anymore, and the alpha rose to a sitting position as well, frowning.
But since he was about to leave his newly claimed omega alone with a stranger – Castiel thought Dean was rather collected for an alpha in this kind of situation.
His inner omega purred at the mere thought, and Castiel felt like he lost the ground beneath his feet again. Luckily, it was only metaphorically this time and he did not stumble. What was happening? He could feel himself getting attached to that alpha in front of him, an alpha he had only known for one day. And yes, it might have been impressive how Dean had caught that rabbit in one quick move or how he strived through the forest with a confidence like he owned the place and every beast would just politely keep out of his way – but surely that was not enough reason for his omega to start
The guard beamed at the omega and suddenly embraced Dean, which looked more than a bit awkward since the alpha did not move a muscle. “Good for you, Dean! I knew there was someone who could melt that big heart beneath your tough-guy-façade. You deserve someone who makes you happy!”
call you to my bed in the future.” Lucifer looked at his hands like he was polishing his nails. “That is, assuming there will be something left of you.”
Gabriel dismounted, and he and Dean walked towards each other. They halted at a short distance, nodded almost unnoticeably and avoided direct eye-contact.
Castiel looked down at the sparring alpha and felt the strange desire to hit him with a heavy brick. Then, he tried to picture the scene with Bela in his mind. Suddenly, he had a thought.
There was a smile in Benny’s eyes and Castiel returned it. While they walked back to the palace, Castiel felt almost bad for having been anything but amiable to the alpha for the last month. He did not seem as scary to him anymore.
The omega felt slightly guilty, because as much as he would have wanted to see the play with Sam under normal circumstances, he knew he had agreed to meet with the beta the next day mostly because he could not bear to lose the only lead to his Mate.
And Castiel followed Dean hesitantly. They trotted up the stairs, Dean glancing at Castiel every other second as Castiel’s steps slowed down involuntarily. His mouth had turned as dry as a desert.
“Hey, Cas.” The alpha flashed a smile that had his eyes crinkle – and made him look even more attractive than before. “You feeling better?”
Naomi walked to her side of the desk and looked out the window when she started talking without preamble: “So, this new status of yours came as a surprise. I am sure, none of us would have expected for you to get mated in this lifetime.” She said those words in such a matter-of-fact tone that Castiel didn’t know if the subtle insult was even intended. “I am guessing you are here to…” Naomi sniffed, then she obviously forgot what she was about to say and sneered instead: “Winchester.” She bared her teeth for a second, glaring at Castiel. “Is that what happens when I allow omegas to participate in a meeting? They throw themselves at the next best client?”
Then suddenly, Castiel’s ears twitched. He shoved the alpha off him and vanished into darker woods, leaving behind a dumbfounded Dean. For a second, he hoped it was an invitation to chase, but Castiel had not acted like that at all. Dean rather feared he had taken things too far – he had rubbed himself all over Castiel after all. While Dean was still undecided what he should do – run after him, or sent someone else to look for his omega, which would have been more than a little bit embarrassing, to be honest – Castiel already returned, with a squirrel in his mouth. He let the dead animal fall to the ground and looked proudly at Dean.
Castiel could feel a smile tug at his lips. He had to admit most people would have already shied away from his look. He knew people thought he was a bit ----
With a soft shake of his head, he tried to evoke some more happy memories. Of Claire, who had been so confident and excited on her first Full Moon and who was relentlessly improving her skills. He had known after a week that he would someday lose her to her own pack. He just hoped he would have enough time to teach her everything she needed to know to find her own way until then. He also hoped his heart would not break if she took Alex and Jody with her, maybe even Kevin. Then he thought about Garth who was a bit clumsy but still made a surprisingly good catch on every other hunt. And of course, he had also run along Crowley who seemed to believe that hunting deer was simply beneath him – Dean knew better than to trust the rumours that Crowley just wasn’t capable to catch anything – but who would always prepare a delicious meal for the whole pack. And at last, he thought about hunting through his territory with Castiel. Who had looked so proud with that puny squirrel between his fangs. At that memory, Dean let out a low chuckle.
Castiel thought about that for a moment, surprised. “No, I thought you were just gushing about your wonderful partner.”
kid had had quite an effect on Dean’s own food choices. It was not like he completely resigned from eating meat these days – thankfully, Jack did not expect the grown-ups to follow his good example, and Castiel enjoyed a good steak or a cheeseburger himself every once in a while – but more often than he liked, Dean found himself eating some vegan curry or vegetable lasagne or potatoes au gratin. And sometimes, even when it was his turn to cook, Dean found himself too lazy to add some greasy bacon or any other
“Other eng…? Of course not. I just mean we could go tomorrow. Maybe have a quick lunch.” Dean drew a deep breath like he was about to make some extensive plans for the next day. However, Castiel did not give him the chance.
Sam, who stood behind the pretend couple looked at his brother in obvious surprise, but there was also a smile tugging at his mouth. Eileen just looked at Crowley with a deep frown. She did not seem to be impressed by him.
“Good morning, Castiel. Where are you heading to?” Castiel had never met the alpha before so he was a bit surprised to be addressed by name.
we are only to tell if we get busted as not-actually-mated. Or when someone notices you sneaking around.”
“Leave him be, Crowley. This is not your concern.” It was Ellen who rescued Castiel, Bobby close behind her. But the older alpha studied the omega with a frown of his own.
“My fault? My fault you hid evidence or blackmailed people for police protection? My fault you couldn’t keep a new job without getting too greedy for your own good? My fault you
He pushed Dean back and got rid of his own pants, wanting nothing more than have Dean’s hands on his skin – and it did feel so much better when Dean’s hands wandered over his undressed thighs. He hardly noticed when the alpha pushed him back down on the bed, too distracted by the overload of sensations Dean sparked throughout his body. Dean was lying on top of him, hands everywhere, teeth on Castiel’s neck and the omega could do nothing but hold onto Dean’s shoulders while their cocks brushed against each other in a wonderful teasing feeling. It was too much and not enough.
“Yeah, I had just lost in a fight against Dean when Jess told me she wanted to be my mate. And that brings me to a very important fact, Castiel: The omega is always the one who chooses their mate. Alphas might challenge each other as much as they like – the omega picks whomever they want from the group of alphas and betas which are trying to win them over. And that might be the strongest or most aggressive one – or it might be the most sensitive or the smartest. And the omega always sets the pace – whether there will be a short courtship, or the omega chooses to wait for years. And usually, an omega has a whole line of admirers, waiting for a chance to win them over.”
Jack frowned, and then quickly looked up at Castiel. The omega gave a quick nod at the question in his son’s eyes.
“Well, more than we could have hoped for.” Balthazar lifted a hand, and for the first time, Castiel could see how crippled the fingers on his left hand were.
“No, don’t say anything. I don’t want you to. Take your time.” Dean had still tried to say something, but Castiel interrupted him again. “I would feel like I forced you to say it now.”
With inhuman speed, he walked two doors over, where Charlie, Claire and Rowena stood in the doorframe to Charlie’s apartment and didn’t manage to close the door in time.
“No, not yet.” Alfie answered. Castiel looked around the courtyard and only now noticed that, in the last ten minutes or so, shifters had gathered around at the sides of the yard below as well as among the wall.
But Dean’s touch had made him tingle all over even before his heat, had it not? And Castiel was not so stupid to completely ignore the way he had reacted to every smile of Dean with one of his own.
From day one, Castiel had lived in peace with his wolf and changing form had come easily to him – a typical trait on an omega, as he had learned.
. Can you believe that? There’s also… Dean gave me a few tips to control my wolf. Like when I get angry, I should rather just focus on something to
Castiel noticed he was rambling and stopped mid-speech as Dean had started to laugh. Then the alpha winked, walked towards Castiel and pulled his arms around his waist again. “You saying you want me here, naked and ready, the whole weekend?”
“Company policy?” Dean asked with a sneer. “Which company would that be? As far as I know, you are unemployed at the moment.”
“Then let’s go. We’ll need at least two more days before we arrive at the border.” He glanced Castiel over with a calculating look. “Maybe three. And we should use the daylight as long as we can. We’ll rest at night.”
When Castiel was finished, Crowley clapped a few times in his hands, slowly, and then asked: “Well that was all very interesting. Aren’t we lucky that Castiel here knows so much about the Western territories? Where was your pack originally from, Castiel? What did you say?”
“You want me to show you to Garth and the pups or would you rather sit in some actual lessons with the bigger kids?”
Cesar and Jesse had kept a wide distance from Castiel too as they left a rabbit and packed up a few things, doing everything possible to make this no more embarrassing for Castiel than necessary.
The stranger noticed his look and held the horn up. “Wisent are smart. They know the sound from Crowley’s hunts and usually run as fast as they can whenever they hear it. That is what you get when you turn a hunt into a circus. No prize.” Before Castiel could reply anything to that statement – not that he knew what he would have said – the green-eyed man added: “You’re Castiel, I assume? Royal omega of Veenah?”
“Yeah, I know.” Sam smiled tensely. “But even so, I should at least have listened to my brother and not just dispatch his arguments as jealousy or possessiveness. Of course, Dean’s arguments weren’t that easy to pick out between the yelling.” Sam chuckled without humour.
Castiel felt panic rise inside him, and he hurried back to the bedroom. Listening to his instincts, he pulled a chair beneath the door handle. But he did not feel any safer – he felt trapped.
Castiel held himself up on his elbows and looked down at the alpha with a look of outrage on his face. He wanted to get up? Now?
“No!” She took a deep breath. “No. I should do this alone. It is my fault, after all. I should have told you… I just thought you would ask Dean after the Counsel. You know, in more private surroundings. I just wanted to see his face when…” Suddenly, she let out a nervous chuckle. “But I will be honest with you: That look on Dean’s face was almost worth it.”
the police station, at least not at normal office hours. Half of the time he came in at erratic intervals, the other half he stayed at home altogether – Castiel assumed his paranoia hindered him to even leave his house some days. But he could not be sure, because even when they were in the office at the same time, Frank hardly ever talked to Castiel about personal matters. Or to anyone, really.
“But … do you want children? Hypothetically?” Castiel could not believe he had just asked that. But it seemed utterly important right now. And, considering their situation, it was a legitimate question.
Unlike last night, this time Castiel did not try to rush things. He breathed in deeply, letting the alpha’s arousal overwhelm his senses and rubbed his cheek along the thick cock. Dean rumbled appreciatively. Then Castiel opened his mouth and took him in, slowly, inch by inch.
was not thinking with his upstairs head and made us a bad deal.” Crowley turned to Castiel, bowing oddly to the side since the omega was standing behind Dean. “Not that I blame you, of course. To be honest, I think this was a brilliant scheme.”
“Oh no. Actually, Michael has told me specifically that this is my decision to make.” Castiel was still baffled by that statement. He was not sure what Dean had cleared up with him, though. It had to wait for another time. “But it was them who just informed me about your courtship to begin with.”
Dean absent-mindedly stirred the dinner he had prepared for Jack, frowning slightly at the pot before him – filled only with vegetables.
Six hours later, Castiel felt exhausted. Who would have thought that arguing with your uncle whilst sitting in a comfortable chair could be just as strenuous as hiking through rough forest ground for days.
As it turned out, Crowley had been Gavin Prince’s biological father, even though he had never taken any active role in the boy’s life. He told it like it was no big deal, because he had no love for this boy who he had never known – but Castiel assumed there was more sentiment to him than he wanted to let on. After all, he had hired a detective, switched jobs and moved to Little Heaven to find his son’s murderer. That didn’t exactly sound like he was indifferent.
Castiel tried to sit up, but either he was still too tired, or his body didn’t like to listen to him anymore. Either way, his limbs felt too heavy to move. He did not know how long he had lain here, but maybe Dean was already aware what had happened. Maybe he had called back-up. Castiel tried to cling to the hope that Dean would soon burst through the door like a knight in shining armour. He might even let him make fun of the helpless omega afterwards. Castiel looked at Alastair again, and only now noticed the big knife in his hands. He thought he had seen it before but could not remember where or when.
Involuntarily, Castiel smiled. He liked the thought that he would not be alone with his worries – because Alfie was right: Dean would sure cause him some sleepless nights, voluntarily and other wise.
“I am not a child that needs you to make the right decision for them. I know I should not go out alone, I am not stupid or reckless. But neither do I need you to keep an eye on me all the time, assuming the brainless omega will place himself in danger elsewise.”
Dean slowly raised from the floor, and Castiel and Sam stood up as well. Dean took Castiel’s hand in his. “I was reckless, and stupid. I was not prepared for two people and wanted to get the gun from the kitchen – but then Lilith dropped a vase on my head and I only remember waking up tied to a chair. Still, I thought I could stall until Sammy would come.” He let a hand wander over Castiel’s chest in a featherlight touch. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”
The question surprised Castiel: Dean wondered if he had a good doctor? It was a widely known secret that many students who failed their exams settled for being omega physicians since the requirements weren’t as strict. Society was alright with that.
“I don’t think so. If your strong alpha would come home any moment, why did you arrive with his brother? He’s probably too busy to take care of your heat.” Alastair sighed. “Lilith has often been too busy. And your alpha must have sent Sammy here so you wouldn’t get any ideas and open your legs for another man. You know, I’m almost sad that he isn’t here. I might have let him help you with your heat. Sometimes, I like to watch. You remember when I watched the two of you before?” Alastair chuckled. “Oh, yes, you told other people you’ve always been
“It’s not about him… I mean…” Castiel paused, not knowing how to explain his situation without making it worse.
“What’s up, Cas? Had another great conversation with Mr. Super-Alpha? Did you tell him again he pronounced
Castiel’s body twitched, but not in the way he had intended to. And the next second, he felt a knife at his throat.
As Benny slowly walked away, Castiel could see that everyone was watching the scene, no one daring to move. Apart from their group, there were about a dozen people around, some of them baring their necks in Dean’s direction. And some were glaring at Castiel with open hostility. The omega cowered in on himself as much as possible, almost like he was trying to make himself invisible.
Suddenly, Castiel could hardly smell the sharp spices around him anymore, his own bitter scent overshadowing anything else.
will ask you to marry them once I claimed you, I might just punch them. That’s really bad taste. Asking a mated omega to marry
“Some of your colleagues were here. They had a search warrant and were obviously looked for something. But I don’t think they found it.”
“But maybe… maybe…” Castiel licked his lips but before he could remember what he wanted to say, he was interrupted:
“Allrighty,” said Donna, and led Castiel back to the camp. She had an arm around his shoulder, which felt nice if not as good as Dean’s had.
“I gave her the fight she wanted.” He shrugged and Jody looked more than a little bit shocked. “Hey, no bones were broken. We also took a long run and I had her chop some wood. Turns out, this is surprisingly effective. After that, we also might have talked a bit.”
“Not gonna tell you that,” Dean replied with a grin, like he was pleased with the question. “But to have someone in the royal family on our side would be a great advantage.”
Castiel did not feel embarrassed anymore. He felt like there was suddenly a hole where his stomach had been.
This time, Dean’s smile seemed real and there was honest amusement glinting in the alpha’s eyes. But Castiel did not give him a moment to comment further as he rushed upstairs to get changed.
, it was not of their concern anyway. Everyone knew that werewolves lived by their own rules, and as long as no humans got hurt, they would be left to their own understanding of justice. Humans never got involved in the politics of the werewolf world. But even so, Castiel was marvelled that the people of their city seemed to be surprisingly underwhelmed by the whole affair. He had assumed that they would be scared, or at least reluctant, for some time, towards their local wolves – after two dozen shifters had been found dead near the pack quarters. But since the strangers had come to their territory, everyone seemed to believe that the Winchesters had only defended themselves after they had been attacked without further provocation – and as much as the werewolves liked to keep pack life secret, even the most ignorant humans knew that shifters were very proprietorial of their lands, and did not tolerate any strange wolves to pass through. Much less a whole pack. So, obviously, the stranger’s intentions couldn’t have been good. It probably also helped that some wolves, like Jody, had worked in the police force for decades, which made the communication a lot easier than it might have been otherwise. And of course, Crowley had managed to let only the right kind of information seep through to the press, the kind that painted a repugnant – but still realistic – picture of the attacking wolves. Castiel had seen various headlines about the brave shifters who had defended their home against the evil sort of werewolves. And there had been once again much speculation as to who might be the local pack Alpha. Crowley still seemed to be most people’s first guess. But Jody obviously had climbed up in the rankings and made a close second – to her dismay. Dean still got hardly mentioned, which puzzled Castiel because it was so obvious to every
“You seem awfully well informed – for a nomad. As I understand, the Wandering Wolves are not that interested in larger packs’ politics. You just roam the country and try to find work.”
“And to be beaten to death with granddad’s old cane? That is just poetic. Anyways, Castiel, it was nice talking to you again. Tell you alpha thanks from me.”
Immediately, Jack sat up straight and looked at his father with wide eyes: “Someone stole the key to the training cabin! You know, where all our equipment is.”
“Are you both uninjured?” Castiel nearly stumbled over the words; he had been anxious to ask ever since he had looked into Anna’s eyes.
Six months ago, the couple had moved out from the spacious apartment in the city to a nice house in the suburbs. And Castiel loved it – the house generated a much more domestic atmosphere than a flat ever could. And he liked the big garden where they let flowers and bushes grow in disarray, unlike the other homes around them which were surrounded by artfully planted flower beds. Castiel enjoyed being surprised which flower would join which and he still didn’t know much about gardening, so when the first leaves would crawl out of the ground, he had no idea what kind of blossom it might get. Next spring though, Missouri would probably put an end to the flower bed chaos. Or so he feared.
Castiel raised his chin. He did not like the condescending tone. He had fought off Abaddon, then managed to survive in the wild for five days. And who was to say he would not have been able to deal with the wisent himself. Maybe they would have even left him alone. He was about to say as much, even though he had been fairly certain that they had been about to attack, but Castiel did not get the chance as the stranger spoke again.
“As you already know, Uriel died from a blow to the back of his head with a hard object. We don’t know for sure what the murder weapon is yet, but:” He made a pause for dramatic reasons, but Castiel only wanted to strangle him, “we have an idea of what it might have been. Uriel’s assistant came in today, and according to her, the only thing that’s missing is Uriel’s cane. Seriously, a cane? You once fell for a guy who occasionally uses a cane? Without needing it for medical reasons?” After another angry look from Castiel, Balthazar went on: “Anyway, it might have been the murder weapon. The size and the weight seem to fit.”
“True. But just because I am ready to do anything for my pack, doesn’t mean I would always enjoy doing it.”
Beside him, Dean huffed out a laugh and squeezed Castiel’s hand a little tighter, but the omega frowned.
, and partly because Sam was another omega. There were not many of those in this line of work, and Castiel was glad to have some form of role-model. Because that was how he saw Sam Winchester. The tall man was confident and even worked as a detective instead of hiding behind a desk. On top of that, he was not using any scent blockers. And Castiel envied him this boldness.
When he felt strong arms around his waist, Castiel turned quickly around, ready to defend himself against any possible attacker, even though he did not feel threatened at all.
“I saw Naomi giving you the talk,” she said in a tone that indicated she had suffered the same fate.
his brother involved in the operation – and by that, he had someone he could share his personal difficulties with as well as the professional ones. Dean cleared his throat, then added: “I just told him everything is fine and well, and we already met a suspect.”
Castiel was glad someone acknowledged what he was going through, but he did not want her to worry. “At least I already know Dean. It had been a lot worse when I was still imagining I would have to marry some barbaric demon.”
“What!” Castiel choked on the last bite of his sandwich and coughed for a whole minute while Balthazar looked smug. “You know about the murder weapon?”
“Yes, please, Castiel. Go and tell our Alpha that you are in favour of his courtship. It is not becoming of a brother of mine to act like a … tease.”
“An anonymous tip, called in this morning. And like the caller claimed, we just found the murder weapon in a container behind your apartment building. Must say, I thought you were smarter than that, Winchester.”
“Of course I’m happy to see you,” Castiel mumbled as he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. Now that he knew Dean had not done anything stupid – though Crowley still might have – he allowed himself to relax in Dean’s embrace. “I just… this is a bit sudden. I talked to Crowley this morning and he wouldn’t tell me anything. No one would. I was so sure they would keep you under arrest for a while. And now you’ve already been waiting here for me… you should have told me as soon as they let you go. I could’ve picked you up. Or at least I would have been at home when you arrived.”
Winchester had sounded a lot more agreeable when Gabriel had talked about the place than what Michael and Uriel had had to offer about the people. Moreover, Castiel would be allowed to make a choice – and Alpha Samuel had not sounded too awful.
Castiel realised that this was as much as Dean was willing to give – so he settled for it. When he lay back on the alpha’s chest, he sent out a silent prayer that he would never cross paths with Alastair again.
It was still odd to Castiel that Dean let every pack member decide for themselves if they wanted to come out as wolves in their work places. Just as much as it felt odd that they all worked in different jobs to begin with, and not for the one big Alpha-owned company. But the only pack members who worked for Dean at his garage were Mick and Pam. The fact that everyone’s pack marks were so far down made it easy to hide them, made it possible. On top of that, they were all allowed to interact with humans, to befriend them. Jody´s best friend was another police woman. Castiel thought about how different his life might be now if only Zachariah had allowed Meg to be his friend. Maybe he would not have chased after her. Maybe he would still be human.
When the pair finally stood in front of each other, both men were out of breath, even Dean, who had not been running at all – and at first, they both just looked their fill.
But as Dean was pressed against him now, Castiel was suddenly very curious to try it himself. To see how it all worked. And Dean smelled so nice, a little pain might not be too high a price to keep him close. Besides, right now, Castiel felt heavenly. With Dean’s lips still on his neck, the alpha’s arms roaming up and town his back, occasionally squeezing his butt.
Dean looked a bit hurt but chose not to reply, which was probably smart, and followed Donna out of the room. And then, without thinking about anything other than how Dean had handled him with kid gloves for the whole day, in an attempt to show himself he was an adult and he could make his own decisions, Castiel pulled on his coat and was out on the street and down to Uriel’s hotel in less than ten minutes.
Ten days on the road, constantly moving, training sessions in the evening, and even a heat thrown into the mix eventually gnawed on Castiel. He had even volunteered to their new system of rotating sentry duties last night – happy to grant Dean a few hours of sleep. But now he was even more tired, his feet had blisters, and there were soft bruises all over his body. And he wanted to eat something other than grilled rabbit, dried sausages or oatmeal for a change.
“Oh!” Dean suddenly exclaimed. “You’re having an affair.” He then chuckled – the idea seemed to amuse him. “This is probably your kind of adventure. Sneaking out of the castle and meeting with that pretty lad from the bakery. Or is it some soldier you watched from afar while he was training in the courtyard?”
in a loud tone and Castiel rolled his eyes to an invisible audience. Dean. Always changing his ringtone when he wasn’t looking. And the alpha thought he was hilarious; especially because Castiel had always trouble to change it back to something more neutral – technology was not his strong point. By now, he mostly left his phone on mute.
But a lot had happened concerning omega rights in the last decades. They were not prohibited to any workplace anymore, they had the right to vote and could even join the army or become doctors and politicians, and neither were they dependent on their mates any more.
They tried to keep running, but the harsh weather had made it harder to move, and Castiel’s paws felt heavier with every step. Being as small as he was, his belly was scratching over the snow-covered ground. Soon, Anna was running ahead again, looking for a place where they could find shelter and wait out the worst of the storm.
There were tears in Dean’s eyes. Castiel did not have to ask what happened next. When a wolf in his pack snapped, it was the Alpha’s responsibility to take care of it. And Castiel knew Dean would never shy away from that task, never shy away from keeping the pack safe, even if it broke his heart.
Dean drove to Castiel’s old place and the two men packed up a few more items – which turned out to go a lot faster than they had anticipated. The omega really did not have that much since after they had crammed the Impala a second time, the apartment was virtually empty.
It was not uncommon for prestigious alphas to bring their omegas to work and have them serve on their mates. Castiel shuddered at the thought.
“Don’t mind Naomi. There are some tricks to avoid her.” Tessa chuckled as Billy and Dean stepped to the two omegas.
Dean did not roll off Castiel as he usually would but held himself up to not crush the omega while he still covered him with his body. He had his nose buried at the crook of Castiel’s neck, drinking in his scent. And Castiel felt good with Dean’s weight on top of him. After days apart, both men were happy to just be able to scent and touch each other again. They stayed locked together for over an hour, neither man saying a word. Castiel had even dozed off again. After his knot had come down, Dean finally shifted their position until he was on his back and Castiel rested his head on the alpha’s chest.
“You really have no idea who it might be?” Dean asked, still glaring, but at least the alphas no longer looked directly into each other’s eyes.
“Please make sure this will be delivered to King Dean within the week.” Balthazar kept looking at the parchment, and Castiel sighed. “I understand what you are saying, Balthazar. And I trust your judgement. But I already have my own councilmen try and tell me I should forget about the idea of an omega ruling a kingdom and rather let my husband be in charge. I will not have said husband come into this marriage with the same ideas.”
With Sam and Castiel in tow, Dean walked to the kitchen where Jack just finished his food. Cesar sat next to him, chatting hospitably, while Ketch cleaned his nails with a knife and shot the newcomer occasional glances from narrowed eyes. Jack twitched every time.
There was a warm glint in the omega’s eyes as he looked between the two of them. Dean let out a little groan. This was not how he had planned things. And Jack, in his excitement, just made it worse by crying out:
Five days ago, Castiel’s heat had been in full term. They had visited their cabin again, like they nearly always did when Castiel was in heat. And Dean had been constantly talking about how fertile Castiel smelled, or how he would put a baby in him, how beautiful he would look, carrying his child. Castiel had not minded this talk at the time, to be honest it had quite aroused him. It was only when he sat on the plane to Ehrfield when he was starting to ask himself what would happen if it hadn’t worked. How disappointed Dean would be. How disappointed Castiel himself would be.
Castiel sat up in his bed and stared at Dean, who was only wearing a pair of boxers, and had his head halfway turned away from Castiel. But it was too late, the omega had already seen the bruise around the alpha’s right eye. He hurried towards Dean and gently stroked over his face. Dean pulled back with a low hiss but said: “It’s not that bad.”
The men explored each other for a long time, Dean’s fingers probing inside Castiel constantly – until finally, Dean lifted the omega’s legs and wrapped them around his waist. When he pushed his cock inside the omega’s hole, Castiel went stiff, just for a second. It was long enough for Dean to stop his movements.
“Another place? What, so you will still work – but for someone else?” Naomi huffed out a disbelieving laugh.
Castiel frowned. Dean was right, he supposed. But he could not help the feeling that he would be more at ease with a permanent mark on him. No one would want to drag him back and claim him then, they would probably just kill him for his defiance.
to talk about her. At the same time, he knew this kind of thinking was just stupid. If anything, he should be angry at Dean for not telling him and not at this stranger for advising him to do so.
And Dean did the only thing he was capable of in that moment: He rushed forwards and sank his teeth into Jack’s neck.
He could not open his eyes, even though he did not feel like he was blindfolded. He smelled rotten eggs and coughed at the harsh scent. There was something cold running up and down his naked chest.
“You said that I did not have to leave?” Castiel tried to bring their conversation back to when they had been interrupted by their audience.
“Oh, relax, Cassie. Our Alpha doesn’t know.” Castiel narrowed his eyes at Gabriel. Had his brother learned to read minds? But Gabriel just waggled his eyebrows. “Which is actually why we’re here. To end this torture, for all of us.”
He pulled Dean by the arm, stepping in front of him, closer to Gordon, trying to force his partner away, but it was Gordon who broke eye contact, side-tracked by Castiel’s movements.
But before Charlie responded in any way, the front door opened and Castiel knew instantly who had arrived – even if his wolf had not basically waggled his tail in his mind. But Castiel was not the only one who seemed to enjoy the return of the Alpha; most shifters around the table relaxed noticeably, especially Rowena and Ketch.
When they finally sat in the car, there was a long silence between the men. As the scenery went by the window, Sam looked over at Castiel more and more often, with a concerned frown. Castiel had still not replied in whole sentences even once. While they were driving, he could not help but noticing that the beta smelled good. He even seemed genuinely nice, which almost unsettled Castiel for some strange reason. It would have been easier for him if Sam was not the pack’s Second but rather someone less important who had been given the ungrateful task to pick the omega up.
“There is a cave just a little way back. It’s almost unnoticeable from the outside but should be big enough for five people. I found it on my first scout this morning,” Jack said in a small voice, like he had admitted defeat. It was obvious that he felt guilty for having their group split up. But Castiel agreed with Dean. It would be easier to go on with just the two of them. And Jack needed to rest, just as much as others of their group. Castiel slowly realised that he and Dean seemed to be the only ones who had hardly a scratch on them.
He saw Alfie dance gracefully with Victor and was mildly envious of his posture. Castiel himself felt like he bounced around like the children had, trying to mimic Jo’s movements as best as he could. No matter how stupid it must have looked, Castiel soon had a bright smile on his face. Until they changed partners – he was comfortable enough with Jo to look like a dork, but he did not know Victor that well. He should not have worried. The alpha had such a silly smile on his face, he probably did not notice anything but the fact that he was now bonded to the woman of his dreams.
Sam took a deep breath and Castiel had problems to compose himself in turn. He knew this treatment all too well. “A few days later, he came home and proclaimed he had found me a mate – some other drunk whom he owed money.
She was wearing a pink dress with small white ribbons – and just like in church, Castiel was reminded of a little girl’s look. She smiled at Dean, and the white of her teeth was blinding.
an omega. Dean never mentioned it and I was somehow expecting an alpha.” Castiel pondered for a bit. “I mean, I have seen a picture of you. But Dean never said anything that indicated…”
Castiel had done his research on the painting as well as helped on two other cases today, and everything he had left to do was mostly paperwork. So he shrugged and said to Donna: “Well, I guess you’re right. Thank you,” he added with emphasis and hoped she would get that he was mostly talking about Dean – who already closed his laptop and collected his things. By the way Donna’s smile widened Castiel assumed she understood.
Dean let out a low growl, not nearly as playful as the ones he had made before when he had tried to tackle Castiel, and attacked the omega from behind. They were now basically pressed against each other front to back, and Castiel found it hard to concentrate. He almost forgot that they were in a training session – he just wanted to roll to the ground and bare his neck to Dean. But some part of his brain kicked in and convinced him that was a bad idea. With a soft grunt, Castiel tried to throw Dean to the ground instead, in a move Jody had taught him.
But that was beside the point. What was impressive was the way they pulled two stags and a doe behind them. As soon as they were through the gates, men were rushing in to take the load. Castiel’s eyes turned wide as he stared down at the group – how had four wolves, no matter how big, been able to slay three animals this size? Suddenly, Dean looked up and as soon as his gaze met Castiel’s, he postured with a puffed-out chest, tail and ears high, and then he howled. The other three wolves joined in and Castiel smiled widely, excited at the scene below.
He noticed there were more horses in the building than was common. But he quickly remembered why. This might be the secluded
The blond woman chuckled, and the lanky man, Garth, murmured: “Well, you know, Rowena never said he was
Castiel chuckled as Jack disappeared somewhere between the trees to check if they were being followed or if there was some other threat nearby. Donna stared at the place where Jack had just disappeared. There was longing on her usually cheery features.
“Now, what had you so shocked when I came in? The fact that I do not look like your stereotypical omega?” There was no edge to the question, Sam just seemed curious.
He pushed Dean back a little and made to turn around on all fours like he had seen on pictures. But Dean stopped him.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. At least, we had some training. With Sam’s twins and Hannah’s little girl, we already know how to change diapers and that babies absolutely hate to be put in any kind of clothes.”
“Good. Because, you know, I’d rather have you for myself first…” Dean’s smile turned relieved, but there still seemed to be something missing. And although Castiel’s scent was back to normal, Dean’s still seemed a little --- dulled.
“You said that you were turned into a wolf some years after Dean. I never heard about actual family members being shifters. Did Dean turn you? Were you sick?” Castiel regretted asking as soon as he looked into Sam’s stony face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”
tonight as he had been yesterday. True, it had been a long day and Castiel was tired, but at the same time he wanted to feel close to his mate. Acting on impulse, Castiel pulled down his boxers and lay on the bed. On his back, above the covers, so his alpha could see all of him. Castiel had learned by now that Dean liked to just look at him. But – of course – as soon as he had lain down, he felt self-conscious. He was just about to cover himself when Dean returned to the room. Too late now.
“How did you get Dean Winchester to claim you? So many omegas have tried before and they all failed. What is so special about you?” She smirked. “Did you not let him into your panties unless he bit you? Or did you tell him you were under medication? But no, that would not work… you could not possibly lie to him during heat. Maybe you just crept into his bed at night, naked and wanton, and he could not resist…”
for days. Until both Bobby gave us a piece of his mind and we hesitantly started to explain and apologise.
Dean blinked a few times like he had lost orientation for a moment. “Bobby. I am so sorry. I guess I kind of got carried away.” He flashed an apologetic smile and took a few steps towards this
But he was not too concerned and convinced himself the other man was just worth looking at – and he was by far not the only one who seemed to enjoy Dean’s presence. Pamela Barnes took any excuse to touch him, the consulting psychologist Garth shot him love-sick glances almost every day and even Mildred, the nice lady who helped out on the 911-line, flirted constantly with him. And Dean flirted right back, with about anyone.
“You know, Dean, for someone who always says that anyone can love anyone, you seem very wrought up by the idea of Benny dating another alpha.”
“Also, some alphas are so pampered, they hardly know how to shift and would never be able to keep running for longer than a few hours,” Meg murmured, tone condescending. It was obvious she thought alphas should be able to fight their way through any challenges thrown at them – otherwise, they weren’t worth much. She suddenly realised who stood beside her and added apologetically, with a sheepish side-glance at Anna: “Or so I have heard.”
“But it is still so confusing. I never wanted a mate; I had constant nightmares about this. On Monday, I thought this big a change in my life would take months to get used to. But waking up next to Dean, having his scent around, simply watching TV together or even meeting with his friends – it already feels so normal. I feel like I’m trapped in a spiral of being happy and then confused about it and then I’m angry at myself for being content to be dependent on an alpha!”
Dean raised his head to look down at Castiel, and the omega could see the gold of Dean’s wolf flash in the alpha’s eyes. He shivered involuntarily in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Dean rolled down from him again, pulling the omega with him so both men were lying on their sides, faces mere inches apart.
Castiel tipped his head to the side and wished he could give a different answer. “If he believes you are a threat. So, please Jack, control your wolf.” Before Jack could ask another uncomfortable question, Castiel gave the watch a pointed look and said: “Let’s go down; better be a few minutes early than one late.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Dean at least reacted to the first request and sat down next to Castiel.
But the alien wolves who had started circling the scene from a distance didn’t know, couldn’t know, what Castiel felt. They relied too much on their eyes. And so, when Jack laid his head back and howled out in victory, the strangers joined in enthusiastically.
Dean bit into the cookie with a loud crunch and moaned slightly before he answered: “I forgot this is not what you usually do. Not even close.” There was a short pause, and Castiel rubbed his hands against each other, trying to find a topic. But Dean beat him to the punch, as usual: “I ah… I am sorry about your parents, Cas. But maybe… you know, maybe they had their reasons. Other than being SOBs.”
But Dean just let out a chuckle of his own and squeezed Castiel’s hand. The omega wondered at the brothers’ companionship. The way these two interacted as equals was so very different from his own upbringing.
It seemed unlikely that he would win against Dean – and then even Gabriel and Castiel would certainly have to leave.
“No, thank you. I will go back and help Missouri for a while. If you could just point me in the direction of the next gate.”
“Balthazar!” Castiel growled and threw the next thing he could reach, a copper bowl, at the man. It was his friend’s luck that the omega’s aim had always been off. Balthazar cackled and closed the door behind him.
When he had introduced himself as Dean, of Winchester, Castiel had for a split-second thought this might be Lord John’s son – but then his brain had started to work again. It was unlikely that the heir of the throne would chase through the wild, alone, to find some missing omega. He had also said he was a hunter – not a very kingly profession. Moreover, he did not look like any nobleman Castiel had ever seen. At all. His clothes were much too simple, and even the weaponry – a large and heavy sword on his back, a dagger on his belt, and a knife in his boot, as far as Castiel could see – had no ornaments or even a small jewel. And it was not uncommon for people to name their newborns after the royal family – there were a lot of Michaels running around in Veenah. Castiel’s gaze flickered to the man’s face again. He had never met any nobleman who wore a beard either, at least not one younger than fifty winters.
Though, to be fair, most of the packs arrived with a few horses – who pulled carriages with their luggage. But the usual arrangement was two humans, the rest wolves; not the other way around.
On his way out, he heard Gordon say something to Crowley, and the alpha answered loud enough to entertain the whole room: “You could never afford me, Walker. Besides, I only take clients who aren’t so stupid to confess to a room full of police officers.”
“Watching us? Right now?” Charlie whispered even though there was no secrecy in her suspicious glances.
But Castiel looked a lot more friendly when Dean returned a few moments later with a half-asleep Jack in his arms. He laid the boy down in the middle of the bed – who had not even protested even though he only very rarely sneaked up to them at night – and then the alpha put an arm around Castiel and Jack.
He was blissfully smiling at the ceiling when the alpha returned. Two bottles and a washcloth in hands. He handed the omega both bottles – one water, one orange juice.
Naomi noticeably tried to put on a more composed face and shrugged nonchalantly. “Whatever you say. We must honour our contracts, after all. I am glad you see it the same way. I admit, it would cause troubles to lose you overnight.”
By that time, Castiel had already started to enjoy the game. It was funny, and the children seemed happy to hear any answer Castiel would give.
“Doesn’t matter now. We can’t do anything until he wakes up.” A pause. “But seriously, how much did you use? He should be awake by now.”
“And you would make me the happiest alpha if you allowed me to put my mark on you, just as I would be happy to wear yours.”
Castiel had tried to use the time he had to spend with Naomi to get some information about her mate, but she refused to say anything other about Mr Roman than what a perfect alpha he was. But at least she was a helpful source on some of the other alphas in Little Heaven as she gossiped about them quite a bit: Crowley, unlike her own mate, was a horrible example of an alpha, and once she even saw him lurking outside Lilith’s house. Cain would sometimes pack a bag and be gone for a day or two, not telling anyone where he went – and even his housekeeper kept quiet about it. Of course, that irritated Naomi, who seemed to take it personal that she was uninformed about anything that went on in her home town. According to Naomi, everyone wondered why Lilith did not divorce from Alastair – since he was just useless, and the alpha obviously was more interested in alpha men, or so she had heard. But her parents had arranged the mating and obviously, it was just good upbringing that she refused to leave her mate. Naomi seemed a bit divided about Lilith – she apparently respected her as an alpha, but the indication she might be more interested in Lucifer than her omega mate did not fit into her worldview. She was more definite about Billy though, who just did not belong in a respectable neighbourhood like Little Heaven, and who had completely ruined the nice and compliable girl Tessa once had been.
“That’s impressive. I mean, I like kids. But I have no idea how to teach them anything.” Neither, in fact, did Castiel. But he kept that information to himself. Instead, he studied Charlie for a moment, trying to figure out whether the omega was sad to not have any children of her own. But the woman seemed just as cheery as she had last night.
Castiel gazed up at Dean. “I want you, Dean. And I want you tonight.” He noticed himself that this had not sounded like a passionate declaration, but more like an order. Dean let go of his hands and rested his own on each side of Castiel’s face.
Neither Charlie nor Balthazar found any evidence of another visitor to Uriel’s hotel room that night, and Victor and Benny were no closer to catching the thief. After a while, Castiel even started to doubt if the two cases – the stolen jewellery and the painting – were connected. And Uriel might have been killed by a complete stranger. Maybe Eileen was right, and someone had followed Uriel from Arlington to Peaceful Haven without being noticed by anyone. False name in a cheep hotel, avoiding cameras, far away from home with no witnesses – Dean claimed it’s how he might do it. Castiel wished the alpha would just stop talking about murdering people. What if Rogers overheard them one day while Dean was plotting imaginary crimes?
“I… ah…” Castiel was fairly sure no one in this room would believe him, if he told them he had been looking for the merchant Balthazar to make plans about sharing food for Michael’s celebration with the common people. “Sometimes I sneak out. To walk around the town. The palace can get … stuffy,” he ended weakly.
He saw a movement in the corner of his eye and fixated a spot right behind Castiel, standing completely still for a moment. For some reason, Castiel mirrored his motionless state. Then Dean took his knife from his boot without making any noise. Castiel’s eyes widened, but this time, he did not stumble backwards nor did he grip his own dagger. Dean quickly threw his knife to the ground and impaled a rabbit with it.
“I know you can, baby. Doesn’t mean I’m not worried. Or that I didn’t want to call in sick and stay with you all week. You know, as badass as you might be, sometimes things just go wrong. Can happen to all of us.”
Sam gave Balthazar a nod, who then stood and looked down at Castiel with one of his trademark smirks. “Some advice for the future, your highness: Never trust a man you have to pay for a good deed. Others might pay him better. With me, you just got lucky.” With those words, the beta left the two omegas alone. Sam took his place and sat down on a rock next to Castiel’s.
Charlie announced with a full mouth: “But before you take Castiel to the kids, Garth, I promised to show him around the castle.”
“All right. Get on with it, then,” Castiel said with a cold glare. He might not be able to do much for himself, but he could very well help Dean. He would not let himself be slaughtered in vain. He could still scream before Abaddon ended him – Dean might not be able to open the door in time to save Castiel, but at least he would be warned there was something wrong. And Abaddon would hopefully not react fast enough to get from him to Dean in time to hurt the alpha.
Dean ducked his head, and Castiel used the opportunity to change form as well. He knew his wounds would be easier treated in this shape. He held out a hand to the last remaining wolf in the room, and Dean nosed at him, whining lowly. Charlie handed Castiel another blanket.
“Castiel, this is not as we see it here.” Sam leaned forwards and looked Castiel directly in the eyes, obviously anxious that the other man understood every word he was about to say. “Omegas are…
But even if he had tried to reprimand Dean for his inappropriate humour with a subtle hand on the alpha’s knee, Castiel had to oppress his own chuckle of disbelief when the alphas left the omegas after dinner, to drink some scotch in the parlour. Castiel could have sworn that this old-fashioned separating-by-gender was not a thing anymore, but obviously he was wrong. There was one unfortunate beta mate in their group, and Castiel might have pitied the man, just for the misfortune of sticking out so much, remembering how that felt from police school – but there was just too much of a sneer on Bartholomew’s face to make Castiel feel sorry for him. He was not upset he was the only beta in the group. He was outraged he had to sit with the omegas instead of the alphas.
It was the strangest thing: Roughly forty years ago, an abundance of omega medication had been developed. Suddenly, it was possible to prevent pregnancy with a pill as well as oppress heats and the usually strong omega scents. The scent-blockers did not work a hundred percent – but you needed to get very close to someone to recognise them as an omega. From a distance you would smell as neutral as betas. Quickly, scent-blockers had become a sign of modern-day omegas who were not content to attract a mate and cook them dinner for the rest of their lives. Every working omega had used them – especially those who were not mated. But since a couple of years now, a lot of progressive omegas had suddenly stopped using the medication – they claimed that there was nothing wrong with being an omega, and thus, you should not have to hide it. Castiel agreed wholeheartedly. But at the same time, he was not brave enough to go out without dampening his scent. There were enough alphas thinking they could take liberties as it was – he feared the enticing omega scent would only invite them to make a pass at him. Lots of alphas thought that as soon as an omega did not hide their scent, they
“Yes, Castiel, we know that. But --- since your omega already picked Dean as his mate, you can just as easily let him stay with you. I mean, not even the king would object. It is the law. Not to mention that he had urged Dean to get married for years now. And as for your brother, he does not even have to know. Don’t let Dean put a mark on you yet and no one will be the wiser. Just tell Michael that you picked Dean once you arrived at the palace, and then everyone’s happy. I mean… you want to mate Dean, don’t you?”
Castiel was confused for a second, until the obvious hit him. First lesson in omega class: Never run from an aroused alpha. Unless you wanted to be chased and have a knot shoved inside you as soon as you got caught. Apparently, it was nearly impossible for an alpha to resist the impulse to run after the omega.
Like most days, the omega joined Meg at her table. The last couple of weeks, the alpha had been on guard duty during the nights, and she usually headed straight to breakfast after her shift. Castiel felt oddly relaxed with the alpha – despite her occasional flirting. She never seemed very serious in her advances, though, just wickedly enjoyed making him blush. That was one of the reasons the omega sat down wordlessly and started to eat without looking the alpha in the eyes right now – he knew it was ridiculous, but he was afraid everyone who only looked at him would instantly know what kind of images were still running through his mind. Obviously, Meg noticed there was something off this morning, but just as she opened her mouth to say something, she was interrupted.
And Dean seemed decent. He had not tried to mount him while Castiel had been weak. They had even talked about getting him something to eat. And if Dean was possessive enough, as most alphas were, he would not share Castiel with anyone else. And after a while, he could try to escape – after some in-depth planning.
And then Dean’s fingers were not so much kneading his cheeks anymore but two fingers slowly wandered to Castiel’s hole, dipping in – and Castiel forgot to think altogether.
Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but then he ran down the stairs after one meaningful glance at his brother. Dean knew that look; it usually meant something between
Then Dean reached out and the two men shook hands. “It is nice to meet you, Gabriel. Please, come in.”
Castiel felt like he should object, but he feared he might hyperventilate while he waited for news on Uriel.
After some time, Dean closed his computer, leaned back and pulled Castiel on his lap, back to chest. He let both hands run over the smaller man’s thighs, stroking up and down, massaging the inside. Castiel started to twitch impatiently, rubbing his behind over Dean’s crotch. By the time Dean’s hands wandered under his shirt and up his torso, Castiel had dampened both men’s pants with his slick. He felt Dean’s fingers over his nipples, rubbing both at the same time.
By now, it was almost February, and the couple had found some sort of compromise. In other words, Dean had loosened his in-my-company-only-rules slightly: He was no longer glued to Castiel’s side, but a guard wolf was to follow Castiel around at all times. And he was to be accompanied by at least two alphas whenever he left the Castle to go into town. Leaving the town walls to any other parts of Winchester, however, was only allowed with Dean.
She paused, to let the words sink in. By that time, Castiel had already guessed where this conversation was headed, but he was still puzzled. Before he had to say anything, Jody Mills continued:
Dean scoffed: “Yeah, some people skills he has, I am sure. I’m sorry, kiddo, but anyone who employs someone of the likes of Gordon Walker clearly does not care about decency in his staff.”
– they raised the children in a way that was fifty years behind the times, and as soon as they came of age, they practically sold them to a conservative alpha for a generous donation. Castiel was glad that those sorts of homes were dying out by the minute. “It was a good home. There were only about thirty children, of all ages, and we were well educated. The headmaster, Mr Shurely – or Chuck as we all called him – was nice and caring. We are still in contact and I send him a Christmas card every year. Honestly, I believe it was better than growing up with parents who would have been disappointed after finding out I was an omega.”
“What? No!” He swallowed down the awkwardness to talk about personal things with a virtual stranger. “And I probably will not go into heat for some weeks, maybe even months, according to my doctor. She indicated that after terminating medication, it would often either hit directly afterwards or take a long while.”
. He had not really expected the leader of the nobility-hating rebels to call him by his proper title, but this shortened version seemed oddly personal. Like friends might call him. Gabriel had called him
Castiel took a deep breath. He had already wondered how Uriel could believe they would make it out of the territory. But of course, with a considerable head-start, he might have managed it. And gained a new pack on top.
Dean looked agitated – and it only worsened when he noticed the clear scent of fear and distress coming off Castiel. The alpha seemed to grow and exude
They played for a while, Gabriel leading his team to the pole position with one strike after another. Once when it was Dean’s turn, Gabriel walked up close behind him and made some distinct moves with his hips – earning catcalls of both Balthazar and Sam. Dean was so concentrated on the task – another thing that was endearing to Castiel and why he loved bowling nights – and did not notice what was going on behind his back. And then, for the first time in his short bowling career, Dean managed to drop down five pins at his first try. He turned around with a proud expression and only now realised how Gabriel was nearly touching his butt.
. It was not exactly his strong point. He more likely scared people off with his habit of getting straight to the point instead of wasting time with idle chit-chat. And he completely lacked Dean’s ability to charm people into giving anything away without noticing it. On the other hand, he also lacked Dean’s tendency of trying to solve any problem with sheer force. That might actually be an advantage in their current situation.
“…than you?” The alpha smirked at the cheesy line and leaned closer to Castiel. A firm hand on his thigh holding him to his chair. “I assure you, Cas, that whatever plans I had for this weekend – having magnificent sex with a gorgeous omega trumps it all.” He pecked Castiel quickly on the lips. “So, what would you like to do now – until our hormones get the best of us again, that is?”
“You mean Meg?” Castiel asked, feeling an uncomfortable flutter in his stomach. Dean had made a way better job in keeping in touch with Cain than Castiel had with Meg.
“What? No!” Castiel realised his reaction might have been a bit vehement, so he modulated his tone to something more reasonable and added: “I mean, my heat will last at least one more day and night… and I thought… that is if you are still free…”
Castiel managed to not raise his eyebrows at the specific order and was inwardly grateful he had both things stocked. Naomi followed Castiel to the kitchen and then frowned at the table which still showed the remnants of breakfast.
“So, listen, I know we kind of started off on the wrong foot. But I do hope we can all be friends here,” Dean announced. There was an awkward silence, then: “So, how are the two of you? How did you meet? I hear you go way back to the time when Benny served in the military.”
. His alpha was everywhere. His scent stronger than ever, like he was emitting an overdose of pheromones. Castiel could feel the firm chest and strong arms of his mate around him. And it made him feel so safe and sheltered and
“Cas? You all right?” Castiel’s gaze focused on the door, and he could see the handle being pushed down. There was just the tiniest crack open, then Dean’s voice: “I’m coming in, Cas.”
During the night and for most of the day, Alfie, Castiel and Charlie had been hurdled together on the small bed and tried not to fret too much. Castiel was still uncomfortably hot and slick – but he was much too anxious to feel arousal. Even though, during the night, he had dreamed about Dean – and for two hours after waking up, he had hardly been able to look his friends in the eyes, not sure what they might have witnessed while he was asleep.
“I guess it’s because the food is so hot,” Sam explained to his son. “And Castiel had been getting up a lot so maybe he feels a little exhausted. Like when your face heats up after running around with Petra.”
“You know, I liked that play,” Dean whispered to Castiel, for once sitting next to him instead of standing behind. “Maybe we could, you know, reenact it once we get home. In a more mature version.”
Castiel awoke feeling positively --- famished. Just to underline that feeling, his stomach growled impatiently. Still drowsy, Castiel wondered if maybe he could get one of those wonderful cinnamon buns he seemed to have been dreaming about so vividly just minutes ago. He swore he could even smell them. Maybe Jack had somehow sneaked out of the house and got some for breakfast – he often went to the bakery on Saturday mornings. But never without asking first, and he shouldn’t. Castiel shifted a little, just to notice that there was something rather heavy on him that made it hard to move. He felt like too hot and absolutely perfect at the same time. And the scent in his room was just wonderful this morning. It smelled like books, and leather and pine and…
“Maybe Uriel wanted to sue SecCo? Making them responsible for the robbery? Sounds like something he would do, right?” Eileen asked no one in particular.
Suddenly, all children talked at once. “Did he fight him off?” “I heard there was more than one alpha.” “Dean could easily fight off a whole pack!” “And Benny was with him!” “Were you scared?”
“Thank God, there is coffee. I swear, this is the first time this week I did not have to put on a new one. This might just be a sign that after a rough week, there is a slow and happy weekend awaiting me. No emergencies. Just me and my baby on the road. What about you, Cas? You got any plans?”
But then he wouldn’t have met Dean, at least not as a wolf. Castiel felt a painful sting at the thought. He wished a lot of things had gone different in his life, he wished Meg was still with him, but he would not want to be anywhere else right now than in the Winchester pack.
“She’s right, Cas.” Dean pinched his nose. “That might be a good idea. We won’t be able to arrest anyone without evidence, but maybe we could talk to Jody. Get some police stationed around the place who will follow anyone who leaves.”
Just as the alpha had reached Castiel and Charlie, there was a little commotion when one of the many horses suddenly startled and its rider nearly fell to the ground. Someone pumped into Charlie, probably startled by the horse, but Castiel did not look closer as Dean turned to the rider with an indignant glare. However, Castiel did not want his mate to chew out his guards in front of him at the same moment they first met their new prince. It might fall back on Castiel and they would resent
Castiel had thanked her and sat down on the bed after she had closed the door. Undoubtedly to go and report to Dean how his new wolf had been behaving.
Being reminded of the present by his wolf, Dean suddenly felt watched, like he had on occasion for the last couple of months, like someone was lurking in the forest, waiting. He suddenly remembered what Gabriel had told him last weekend, and a shiver ran down his back. He had learned how Gabriel had wandered as a lone wolf for centuries, walked in and out of pack territories, without anyone noticing him. Which should be impossible. Obviously, there were a few advantages of being one of the First. And Dean might not mind if his almost-friend had the power of invisibility, but he definitely did not like to think that it was just as easy for Lucifer or Rafael to move unnoticed through claimed territories.
“I said that it was too late now to do anything. Dean wanted you as a mate and there was nothing I could do. He is Alpha, after all. And stubborn.”
Castiel felt Dean’s gaze on him again. He still didn’t meet the alpha’s eyes, but he noticed how Dean’s shoulders slumped and Castiel could sense the worry and fear and disappointment coming from him. But there was also anger, and then Dean finally said, sounding as impassive as he was talking about the weather: “I probably should not say anything else without a lawyer. Why don’t you tell me what exactly I am being accused of instead?”
program, and, despite his lack of skill, Castiel had finally managed something that reminded a scarf as well as he was capable of. There had been an auction afterwards, and Dean, despite him being the only bidder for the piece, had paid five times the price the auctioneer had asked for. It warmed Castiel’s heart to think back to that day – he and Dean had not even started their relationship back then, even though Castiel had already been head over heels for the alpha. And during the last winter, Dean had actually worn this thing on cold days. In public.
“No, not exactly. But they tell you to not come off too forceful, to be respectful. And I know from Sammy how much shit some omegas have to take from knotheaded alphas. So I tried to talk to you, without too much flirting until I knew you were interested as well. And I am sorry, Cas, but you’ve never seemed particularly infatuated with me. You hardly said hello – and when I asked you out for lunch with the gang, I feared you might have a panic attack. Once I even saw you hitting your head on your desk when you thought I couldn’t see you anymore. That was quite discouraging. I thought my ego would never recover. And then there is that forensics guy always sniffing around you. I swear you talk to him more in five minutes than you have ever said to me before we took this job.”
Castiel was about to say something else, but then Deana suddenly ran towards him, wrapped both her arms around his legs and screamed “gotya!” with an excited yelp.
After he had silently suffered in the kitchen for over an hour, Castiel excused himself to the bathroom. He took the opportunity to
“I’m Kevin, by the way. I live right next to you.” The man stood up, walked towards Castiel and embraced him in a lose hug. Castiel tensed for a second, but then he put both his arms around the other omega and held on tight for a period of time that was probably way too long to be considered anything remotely polite to greet a stranger, pack or not.
?” Sam scoffed. “Cas, what is going on here? You smelled Dean, right? You knew he was your True Mate when you entered the car last week. That’s why you’ve been acting so strange the last couple of days, right? I mean you had to smell him – Dean just opened the door days after you were in there for only a few minutes, and he nearly had a fit. Nearly strangled me in an attempt to find out where you are.”
When they finally sat down at the table, Castiel noticed that Dean was still watching him with a calculating expression.
The beta slowly approached Castiel, like one would a nervous animal – and Castiel assumed he looked about as anxious as he felt.
He had no idea how many seconds, minutes or hours had passed until Dean pulled back again and without pause started to kiss down Castiel’s throat. When he reached Castiel’s collarbone, he slowly opened his shirt, one button at a time, until his lips and hands had reached Castiel’s stomach. He had spent great attention to Castiel’s nipples as well as his belly button and was currently sucking on his right hip bone. By that time, Castiel’s shirt had landed somewhere on the ground, and he noticed his trousers had become sticky with the amount of slick that had been running out of his cleft already. Dean must have noticed this as well, if the low rumbling sounds coming off his chest were any indication. As soon as the alpha moved upwards Castiel’s body again, the omega started to tug at his shirt, impatient to get a good look himself.
Castiel believed that his capturers were three men; one alpha and two betas. He could not be sure, though. Two had talked occasionally, so there was at least more than one. But by the time someone pulled him from the horse, he heard more voices and footsteps around. Castiel assumed he was brought into some kind of village or camp. He smelled dried ash from fireplaces. But before he could concentrate more on his new surroundings, he was dragged away by a tight grip on his arm. His own two feet hardly managed to carry him in his state of angst. And it was not exactly easy to follow someone when he could not even see. But his attackers did not seem to sympathise.
Castiel felt the revulsion tighten his throat, thinking about how Alastair might have watched him and Dean. And even more so at the thought of what Alastair was planning to do to him. Judging from the light hold on him, Castiel assumed that the other omega obviously thought Castiel was still too weak – or maybe just too scared – to do anything, and he decided to use the momentum of surprise as long as he had it on his side. He tried to use his fear as much as his anger to make his body follow his orders.
Castiel frowned, but he tried to do what Charlie asked. He stared to the ground, not really seeing the bumble bee humming happily around a bell flower while Castiel was lost in memories.
Hesitantly, Castiel faced Dean again – because, what else could he do? Running away would be just as embarrassing. He was an adult. He could handle this. Fortunately, Dean had lowered his body back into the water, so Castiel could only see the alpha’s shoulders and chest. Which was bad enough. Water kept dropping from the Dean’s short hair and onto those broad shoulders, trailing down…
Dean had seemed relieved over his answer but had still sighed. “Ketch needs to make a decision, Cas. And I cannot do that for him. We don’t have any high position for him and his wolf. If rising in ranks is really that important to him, he needs to leave. But if he decides that family is enough for now, he can stay. For as long as he likes. But he has to make up his mind himself. Either way, it will be all right.”
Dean loved the Full Moon. The wolves might be acting up more than usual, but if you gave them something to do, there was no other day when human and beast would be so much in balance. He looked over his pack – an unusual large one with nearly fifty shifters – and locked eyes with all of them for a moment. He felt pride swell in his chest, like on almost every Full Moon. His pack was strong and healthy. The bond vibrating with life and eagerness. He had not lost anyone to their wolves since Benny, not even the young ones like Claire or Pamela. Old wolves like Rowena, Crowley, Gadreel or Alex grounded everyone, almost as much as his omegas. The pack was well-balanced. They were a family. And even though Dean had only taken the mantle as Alpha around thirty years ago – and he had been a new wolf at the time, in their world – and most of his pack have found their way to the Winchesters after that, they worked surprisingly well together.
And due to that presumption alone, dominant male alphas liked to pick omegas as their mates – since they would get almost always pregnant while in heat. And they hardly ever lost a child during pregnancy. Also, common belief suggested that omegas would only give birth to exceptionally skilful warriors – though Castiel was convinced this was more superstition than anything else.
When the two omegas finally separated around noon, Castiel felt a lot closer to his brother-in-law than he had before. They hugged tightly, both of them not wanting to let go for some moments.
He took in another deep breath and exited the car. The cool air of the late evening did nothing to make him more comfortable. He doubted anything would be able to do that, despite maybe taking his Mate to bed.
“What?” Anna squeaked. She had always been grumpy that female alphas had a lower rank than male ones – and one of the reasons for their supposed inferiority had been that they could not sire strong offspring with omegas. Being an
heat. But then the omega would not have been so shocked, would he? It would have been a joyful event.
Castiel only nodded – and was grateful that the beta next to him would hardly be able to pick up on Castiel’s agitated scent. Or that light whiff of his slick in the air. Goodness, he had not been prepared for how overwhelming that scent would be.
could use someone fun and daring, someone who manages to coax you out of your shell a bit, but still serious enough to make you feel safe. You fit each other perfectly. There is a reason why some of us made a bet on how long it would take the two of you to dance around each other. We started it when Dean brought you to have lunch with us that first time. Man, I have never seen that alpha so smitten with anyone. You know, it was so funny – you blushed and stared at your hands whenever Dean even looked your direction, and Dean always looked so disappointed when you didn’t react in any way to his bad attempts at flirting.”
“Dean,” Donna replied, before Castiel could abruptly change the subject. He liked Claire, but she also enjoyed teasing him a little too much for his taste. He did not want to give her any more reason than necessary.
Castiel had spent a mentionable amount of his life, from the age of six to sixteen, in constant training to become a soldier one day. Which meant that now, even though he was a royal omega – and those usually spent more time learning how to wield a needle than a sword – he still had some skills at fighting off an opponent. Even more important at the moment was that he was physically fit because he still spent hours riding out or fencing with Balthasar on some lonely meadow, where no one could see them. But all his training had never prepared him for being alone in a deep, never-ending forest with nothing but dark shadows and eerie sounds to keep him company. And things started to look grim. He had not eaten in nearly five days. A few times, he had attempted to catch something that looked like a ferret, but it had been too fast for him. Unfortunately, Castiel had never learned how to hunt properly – especially not armed only with a knife and his own two legs. Michael and the other nobles in Veenah usually hunted on horseback, with dogs to run down their prey for them. Even if an omega had ever been invited to those occasions, it would probably not have helped Castiel right now. Not to mention that he would not know what to do with it even if he did catch some small animal – because he could not imagine eating it raw. Unfortunately, he had not yet managed to make a fire; with no glimstones and nothing but damp wood around, it seemed impossible to manage. Castiel did not dare to eat anything else either – he did not know any of the few fruits and berries he found; maybe they were all poisonous. Or maybe none of them were, and he starved to death in the middle of a forest full of eatable bark and vegetables. But he was not yet so desperate to take that risk.
“Then why did you ask two more times?” Castiel still rubbed his shoulder, a bit dramatically maybe. But living with Gabriel was not always easy – and sometimes Castiel liked to emphasise his suffering.
Jack’s eyes widened, but after Castiel gave him an encouraging nod, he followed Ketch into the kitchen. Dean did not stick around to watch them but walked into the nearest office. Castiel and Sam followed him. He pulled himself a glass of whiskey, preparing for the onslaught of both his brother and his Mate.
?” Castiel cried out in a high-pitched voice. He could see Dean as many things – a cougar maybe, or a stag like Michael --- but a squirrel?
“Dean is not my lover,” Castiel said, despite his determination to stay quiet the whole way. But Dean was not his lover. For one, they had not done any of the things he should have done with a lover, and at the same time, his relationship with Dean felt --- deeper. More substantial than a brief affair. Hell, he had just dreamed about being engaged to Dean. And it had doubtlessly been a very happy dream.
“I’m sorry, that was a dick move.” The alpha leaned forward and took Castiel’s hand again. “I hired Kevin because he is fucking brilliant, not because I consider him a compliant omega. I also think of him as a friend – which for me is quite important since we
“Relax, Cas,” Dean chuckled. “I usually stay out of people’s private business. Would blow my mind if I didn’t. And when I concentrate on someone, I hear they notice my presence as well. So, there is no sneaking up on anyone, really. But, you know, with a Mate…” His smile turned wolfish. “I might take some liberties.”
“Winchester… is a harsh land, in some ways. The climate is not as balanced as here – in summer, it gets really hot, and the winters are ice-cold. You remember how I snuck out with you anytime it snowed when you were just a little pup?” Castiel smiled warmly; those were some of his fondest childhood memories. “Well, I hope you still like the snow, because as much as it happens here one time a year, if we are lucky, snow will be all you see from November to March once you move to Winchester.” Gabriel shivered, but Castiel was not too upset. He did not mind the cold as much as the heat. “And in spring, you can have wonderful warm days, but as soon as the sun is gone, the ground feels like it turned to ice. So I don’t advise any nightly strolls when you arrive next week.
Castiel hesitantly stepped in. He had never been in Alfie’s room before. It looked very much like his own, but twice as large. He sniffed and could easily detect the scent of heat and slick, but not as much as his old room had always reeked. The sheets seemed to be freshly changed as well as the casual clothes Alfie was wearing. There was also a bitter scent in the air – Castiel assumed it came from the tea his friend held in hands.
“But sometimes, things just happen. You’re a good Alpha, Dean. You do everything you can. But you cannot protect everyone, no one can. Just because you’re Alpha, doesn’t mean their death is your fault.”
To all of you lovely people who read regularly and wait for updates: I am very sorry, but I won´t be able to keep up with my schedule any more. Work is very busy at the moment – I have to make a few short trips over the next weeks – so I am pretty stressed (I try not to use words like disturbed or terrified). So (at least) for the next three weeks, I will post new chapters only on Thursdays. Again, sorry for that – but this way I am optimistic that I will be able to update at least once a week till the end of the story.
On top of all that, Castiel did not want anyone else to think he was too scared to deal with his ex-boyfriend, nor did he want them to believe he would back down from a case because of his current, jealous partner. Because he was pretty sure that was what it looked like to most of their spectators.
He could see light on the other side of the house (more a cabin, really). He walked determinedly up to the veranda and towards the mailbox.
Castiel leaned into his alpha’s touch and mumbled: “It’s all right. I actually enjoy baking very much.”
Dean rolled around and threw Jack off him, but the young wolf hardly took a second of recovery before he jumped at him again. Dean soon realised that his lessons had paid off a lot more than he would have believed. In other surroundings, he might have been proud of the boy. Still, Jack was obviously not as skilled as Dean, but he certainly made up for it in effort. There was almost despair in the way Jack moved. Both wolves were slashing into fur and skin, pushing each other around for a while. None of the by-standing shifters interrupted, which told Dean that they were at least somehow in control. Or maybe even their wolves knew that it was prohibited to interrupt an Alpha fight.
He was constantly on edge. He could not guess if Dean would be able to smell him in his car. Probably not. But maybe. Though with every passing day, the probability decreased.
“The murders were everywhere – you could hardly turn on the TV without stumbling over it. And when Dean had decided we would move to this community, a friend had tried to convince me it was a bad idea. Showed me articles about the killings. He is a bit paranoid and was sure I would end up dead in Little Heaven.” He did not know if Meg would believe any of his lies and so he tried to deflect her with a question of his own. Just to give his story a bit more credibility, he made sure his voice shook when he asked like a frightened rabbit: “Why do you have a picture of this man in your office, Meg?”
Castiel narrowed his eyes at Michael, so did Charlie. She had only known the alpha a couple of months, but that had seemingly been a long enough time for her to realise this was at least very out of character for Michael. It was not like he had ever wanted anything
After Sam left, the newly mated couple stashed more of Castiel’s things (i.e. mainly books) in shelves and cupboards around the flat. They prepared dinner together and even though they had known each other for just a couple of days, Castiel wondered at how in tune they seemed to be. For the first time in his life he felt truly at home. He was still anxious about his future but at the same time he felt weirdly liberated. He even joked with Dean and was overjoyed every time he made the alpha laugh.
While Sam was away to pick up one Castiel Novak, Dean walked down to the second floor of the huge pack quarter. He picked one door and entered the small apartment right beneath his own bedroom. It wasn’t that much, but it should offer enough space for one person for a while. The apartment consisted basically of one large room with a bed, a closet, a table with four chairs, a narrow sofa and even a small kitchenette. There was a TV, and a shelve with books, DVDs and CDs of various tastes that made it look a little bit more like a home. Dean did not know what their newcomer would bring with him; in his experience, they often had no more than the clothes on their body. It was a wide misconception by most humans that werewolves were all rich – usually, the packs had money, but not necessarily its members. Dean quickly stepped into the bathroom next door. It could only be entered through the living room and not the big hallway, to grant the new shifters some privacy. All in all, the apartments in the house were meant to give a new wolf enough room to spend as much time by themselves as they wanted to if they weren’t in the mood for company. Or if they simply weren’t ready.
“I know. And see--- that knowledge is quite liberating. I promised my king I would take revenge. And as it turned out,
The door was being closed behind him with a soft sound as Castiel examined the room. It was far bigger than his own guest room, of course, but he was sure Michael would still have called it a shabby accommodation for a pack head. But fortunately, Castiel was not like his uncle. To him, Dean’s place seemed warm and cosy. It was furnished in dark wood; the sheets and drapery were held in dark green and red as well as a brownish gold. It looked earthy, grounded and safe. It suited Dean. The multiple lit candles added a warm light that made the whole place look inviting.
As the group slowly dissolved, Castiel hesitantly stepped towards the alpha, but was stopped in his tracks when Claire suddenly snapped at him. There was nothing playful in the gesture. Castiel was shocked and looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but no one seemed interested in them, other than Alex who gave Castiel an apologetic look.
Dean sighed. “Lady Harvelle would doubtlessly make a great leader, but unfortunately, she is a woman
? I hope you’ll make that asshat stop sending Cas creepy presents. Preferably by putting him behind bars. There is enough on our plates as it is.”
“This could have been horrible, I know. You could have gotten claimed by a vicious alpha or simply someone who steals himself away from the responsibility while you had to suffer through claiming-abandonment. But your Dean was obviously ready to step up.
After that, his phone stopped ringing. Gabriel always seemed to think food could make everything better – he was very much like Dean that way.
Then came the horrible part. Or rather, the part of the day Castiel had feared the most. He had to share a dance with every guest. But it turned out to be rather fun. There were also quite a few pack members who did not seem to enjoy dancing too much – Crowley, for example, hardly took Castiel’s hands before he let go again and mumbled “all right, that will do to bless you with a litter of pups”. Meg on the other hand flirted with him like she had not done for a long time, reminding him that now they would never be able to share a passionate fling – Castiel’s face had turned so red, he was glad when Dean finally cut Meg off with a jealous growl.
“Aye. But Castiel has been through a lot. It would be irresponsible to confront him with a strange alpha on top of everything else. But he already knows you, and from what I’ve seen he trusts you.” She quirked an eyebrow at Dean. “And honestly, judging from your behaviour when you got here, I thought you wouldn’t like the idea of Castiel with another alpha. In heat.”
He still had his eyes closed when Dean finally turned off the water and wrapped him in a big, soft towel. The alpha picked him up and soon he felt the soft bed beneath him, Dean lying down next to him, arms still closely wrapped around him. Castiel snuggled closer, rested his head on Dean’s chest and started purring. It was not the first time he experienced how soothing Dean’s mere presence was to his heat. There was nothing sexual in the way they held each other at the moment, but Dean’s touch and scent still did wonders to his sensitive body.
Castiel nodded, and, with a sigh, Alfie sat down on his other side, all three omegas now leaning against the headboard, cuddled together tightly on the narrow bed.
There was a long pause in which all three tried to sort their thoughts. Castiel could hardly comprehend how he misunderstood Dean’s intentions so profoundly – there was a huge difference between owning someone and trying to court them. Castiel admitted it was mostly his own fault. For one, he had been raised in a very different pack, so he naturally applied their rules to the Winchesters without thinking much about it. And then he had been desperately trying to fit in. He had observed rather than asked questions and he had always tried to appear like he fully understood the ways of the Eastern packs. After all, he did not want to draw too much attention to himself, did not want to be asked too many questions in turn – always scared that someone would easily detect his lies beneath his ignorance.
“How do you know Uriel Garrison, Mr Roman?” Balthazar asked when Castiel still only stared at the alpha. His clenched fists showed that the beta would much rather punch him, but he settled for changing the subject.
Suddenly, Dean pushed the breaks a little too hard on a red light and both men slightly fell forward, caught by their seat-belts.
think that was his fault.” Sam shrugged, an oddly mundane gesture for the heavy topic. “But eventually, we became brothers again.”
“Not only a pretty face, but also smart. I knew there’s a reason I like you so much,” Dean kept teasing. But when he noticed Castiel’s uncertain frown, he sighed and sobered up. “Look, Cas, I did not knot you because we have not talked about this before. And it has been your first time. No use to rush all experiences into one night. And we alphas do not actually need to pop a knot to feel good.”
Castiel looked at the guard with surprise on his face. He had always assumed the man did not like him much, so despite his lack of dancing skills, he was pleased by the request. But still, he was about to decline politely – alas, he did not get the chance.
Castiel blinked at the sudden turn of events. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but Sam interrupted him: “No, I wasn’t sick, nor was I dying. She just did it. Because Lucifer had ordered her to do so, I am now convinced, even though the Alpha had always denied it and washed his hands of responsibility. Probably to avoid getting into trouble with the Father. Ten days later, I woke up in Lucifer’s house and got claimed by the Alpha.” Castiel’s eyes widened. “Yes, Cas, you were not the only one who had once served in that pack. Though my time with him was a bit longer. And probably friendlier.” Castiel’s brows furrowed – he felt deceived because Sam had never mentioned Lucifer before. It might have been easier for him on that first day if Sam had told him they had a similar history. “I’m sorry I never mentioned this before, Cas. It is not something I like to talk about – and as I’m sure you know by now: Most wolves don’t enjoy talking about the past, especially not the bad stuff. Anyway, it was a long time ago.” They locked eyes for a moment, and after Castiel nodded in acceptance of the apology, Sam picked up his story: “When I woke up, disoriented and hurt, Ruby was still at my side, telling me about how she loved me and how she had only Changed me so we could be together. And I believed her.” He scoffed. “I’m pretty sure Lucifer was disappointed with me from the beginning though – his plans had probably foreseen that I would turn into an equally dominant alpha as my brother, and for us to engage in some epic fight for leadership.”
When he realized there would be no reaction from the omega in the near future, Dean strolled slowly towards the smaller man. He smirked. “What brings you here to my private retreat after dark? Are you up for a little celebrating after all?”
“But I admit I am surprised. I thought you were not interested. You behaved odd since our family dinner. Distant.”
So instead, Castiel jumped back onto the bed, curled up, and dozed off with a comforting feeling in his stomach.
But Dean only moved his hands into fists. Then he roared so loud that a few birds flew away from their hideouts in the trees around the pair.
“Hey. Claire.” When she looked back up at him, Dean pulled her into an abrupt hug. It broke Castiel’s heart to see her slump against Dean in a way she would have never allowed herself before. At the same time, Castiel was happy that she accepted the comfort her alpha could offer. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Claire. You protected yourself and your friends. I wish we had more time right now, but I need you to keep going. I need you to keep them safe. Don’t engage in any other fight if you can avoid it. Wait until you are all well rested – maybe even until both you and Jack can shift again, if the hide-out proves to be safe enough. Keep watch constantly but change shifts – you all need to sleep. Including you.” Dean looked at Castiel over Claire’s head for a moment, then he added with a soft smile: “You’re no use to them if you die from exhaustion, you know.”
“For the first time in weeks, I was feeling like I could breathe again. It helped to have Dean’s scent around me, omnipresent in the car, as well as Bobby who is also an alpha and as close to me as a father. Then, after mere seconds or long hours, I felt something in me break. But despite the pain, I felt calm.”
After another round of cuddling, Dean turned the movie back on and excused himself to the kitchen to make some sandwiches. Naturally, Castiel was supposed to stay on the couch and enjoy the show.
A minute later, his brother Sam found him like that in his private office: rubbing his hands over his temples like he was fighting a migraine. As if werewolves could have those. It was one of the upsides of sharing your body with a beast – you never got sick, and even most injuries healed quickly.
“Definitely an alpha. No beta would be able to get this nuanced. I mean, it’s not perfect, but close enough. Maybe even as close as you can get.” Dean looked directly at Castiel for the first time since he had entered the kitchen, and his pose changed instantly. Instead of looking like he was going to punch someone anymore, his expression softened, and he slowly walked towards Castiel to stroke a hand up and down his back until the omega leaned forwards and let his head rest on Dean’s shoulder. The alpha hugged strong arms around Castiel and the omega instantly felt better. After a few minutes, Dean said in a teasing tone that doubtlessly was supposed to lift Castiel’s spirits. “I guess I should be jealous now. Someone really seems to have taken an interest in you. Maybe he is rich and handsome – and you’ll leave me for a boring gardener with a big mansion and his own library.”
“Oh? Maybe my fingers are good enough after all?” He asked with a smug smile and rubbed over that spot again.
When Castiel walked down the stairs, the giddiness he was feeling since waking up slowly gave way to nervousness. No matter how wonderful last night had been for him – he was still alone in the house with an alpha he had known for less than 24 hours. Maybe Dean had lost interest. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed their mating as much as Castiel had. Maybe he wanted him to leave right away. Coming to think of it, he had not behaved like an omega should. Dean had spent so much time pleasing
Castiel turned around, unsure if Uriel would try again to physically hold him back. But almost at the same time as Castiel walked away, there was a yell of “Mr Garrison” and Castiel quickened his steps while the voice continued: “How fortunate to meet you again. Maybe we can have a drink and pick up our conversation from last night.”
When they finished eating, Rowena, Garth and his Mate Bess started to clear the table and cleaned up. Castiel was surprised that the division of work seemed so effortless here, and even more was he surprised when Dean joined in.
Back at his tent, Castiel pleasured himself again. He had not expected it, had feared he would be tense and afraid once he was alone, but the only thing he could think about was how Dean had felt pressed against him. How good he had smelled giving out an overload of pheromones. Castiel moaned out his release with three fingers in his hole, imagining it were Dean’s. And this time, he refused to feel ashamed for it.
There was a pause before Gabriel responded: “Well, I do. Don’t ever tell him I said that, but you made a good catch there, little brother. Dean is not some asshole who is too overwhelmed by his own alphaness that he walks around killing people just because he doesn’t like them.”
Castiel felt dizzy. Until this moment he had somehow hoped (feared?) that this was just some kind of side effect; that everything would go back to normal. But obviously his
The omega heard the voice in his head but was not able to make sense of it for a few seconds. Sam, he slowly registered. He had a feeling that the beta had tried to get his attention for quite a while now.
Dean chuckled and pecked Castiel on the tip of his nose. With that simple gesture, the tension left both men’s bodies. They might need to reconsider some choices, but it felt like they would be all right, eventually. Castiel shifted so that he was now straddling Dean, face-to-face. The omega slowly tipped his head to the side and this time, Dean leaned in without hesitation. The alpha breathed in deeply and Castiel could feel lips and a hot tongue wander over his throat. When Dean nipped lightly at a sensitive spot, Castiel let out a low moan. He tangled his hands into Dean’s short hair and pulled his head back slightly, so he could kiss the alpha. He simply pressed his lips on the other man’s, without finesse, until Dean started to move slowly, and licked and nipped at Castiel’s mouth. The omega soon mimicked Dean’s actions until their tongues chased each other.
nonetheless – he would never hear the end of it. How an omega was unfit for such responsible assignments. How easily they got overpowered by their nature. Frail and spineless.
“No,” Dean replied in a firm voice. “Pool. Maybe darts. But I won’t have him at bowling night. It’s horrible enough as it is.”
“Castiel,” Hannah’s head appeared at the door, but instead of coming in, she just waved at him. “Come on. The Winchesters are arriving. Let’s take a look!”
“Oh, this is all such a mess. Castiel, what does it mean to you when an alpha hands an omega food from their own hands?”
Castiel wondered at that. He didn’t know what puzzled him more – that Dean was so obviously worried about him or that he admitted his fear. Alphas didn’t do that. They were fearless warriors – or at least that is what they broadcasted. After a few more heartbeats, Castiel decided to tell the truth – and live with whatever consequences.
Castiel had tried not to think about the Alpha yet, and he was not surprised when he felt his wolf purr at the thought of him. He noticed that some other part why he liked the house was the fact that there seemed to be a light trace of Dean around the whole place. And Castiel really liked how his Mate smelled.
The door opened and in walked a sturdy looking woman. Behind her was a whole league of servants and Castiel quickly pulled a blanked over himself to cover his still naked body.
“Cas, I… I am proud of your progress in self-defence, but that does not make you a trained fighter.” Dean talked slowly, overthinking every word beforehand. “Yes, you have some skills, but you have never been in a real fight. And I feel safer with a
Only, it was not Gabriel anymore. It was Michael, unsheathing his sword and staring down at Castiel. The omega instinctively bared his neck in submission, but Dean stepped in front of him, to protect him. Castiel’s heartbeat quickened in his fear.
Now it was Castiel’s turn to nearly suffocate in a tight embrace. Afterwards, he managed to mumble out a
Castiel had finally reached the cabin. He pushed the door open and was inside in an instant; and without hesitating, he slammed the door shut behind him. He could hear Dean growl outside, irritated at the slowdown. When the door flew open again with a loud crack, Castiel was already running for the stairs. But before he had even reached the first step, he felt strong arms around him, dragging him down to the floor. Castiel instantly went pliant under the alpha and bared his neck again. Overwhelmed by the excitement of being caught by his mate.
From the soft strokes on his back he could tell that Dean was already awake. He contemplated for a moment to pretend to be still asleep, but obviously the alpha wouldn’t be fooled that easily.
Jack looked at him with a dubious expression. Then he said slowly: “Sam said… he said I should be punctual, and I should work hard. That it might impress him.”
“Because you need to train how to fight in your human form just as much as in your Second Skin. You might not always be able to change, in a real fight. You might be too tired, or hurt, or otherwise weakened. And most of all: Because I told you to train in human form only. If you can’t listen to a simple request, you might as well piss off.”
It was even worse than that first day when he had believed that his feet would fall off. Right now, he was just as exhausted as he had been then – after all, he had turned into a magpie a few hours ago and that would usually be enough to wear him out for the rest of the day – and to make it harder, the path Dean had chosen was even more rough and uneven than before. Added to the physical challenge was a new fear that Castiel had not felt before; at least it had never been quite so tangible. Mostly, he was afraid that they would run into some heavily armed opponents again. Those who had managed to retreat after the fight might have run back to their village or patrol station to alarm their fellow soldiers and would come looking for them. To make it worse, Castiel was not only scared for his own safety, and Dean’s – but who was to say that the wannabe soldiers would not find their friends as well? Maybe they had already caught them. With Jack so wounded and the rest of them quite tattered, Castiel could only hope they had arrived at their supposed hide-out place quickly enough. But he could not know for certain that his friends were safe.
“Please, come with me. I would very much like to get to know you. And I promise a good roast beef for dinner – assuming everyone will be alive by then.”
Not for the first time in the last 24 hours did Castiel think he was behaving like a teenager. But he didn’t care one bit as he had waited all his life to find his Mate. It seemed appropriate to act a little over the top on such an event.
The tall wolf in front of them kept his eyes fixed on Castiel, hardly glancing at his two companions. He took in a deep breath and Castiel was sure he could smell that he was an omega – probably even that he was not claimed. Anna subtly stepped in front of her brother, bristling and curling back her lips.
Castiel did not want to know what exactly she had never thought of him, so he interrupted her. “I did not elope! And Dean and I are not… we are not here … together… well…We did travel together, but…”
“Don’t thank me yet. This is far from over. She needs a lot of exercise. Have her join some martial arts team. Get a fireplace and let her take care of the firewood. And I will try to come by more often.”
“Well, yes, he’s the reason we know so much about the journey to Loki. He trades with the city all the time.” Dean sighed and glared at the wall again. “Come on, Cas. Let’s just hope we’re walking away from the gate, and not towards it.”
“Of course I look forward to getting to know you, Samuel, as well as Adam. But as brothers, not potential mates.” Castiel announced in a friendly tone. He looked so composed, no one would have guessed his life had been in danger a mere hour ago. The omega turned to John and looked him straight in the eye in a way even Dean seldom dared. “I have already made my choice, Lord John.” Castiel took Dean’s hand and surprised not only the alpha with the sudden announcement. “I want Dean.”
By the time Claire had packed up her things and some of the food, she had found her usual cheekiness again. She now seemed to think it was hilarious how their fearless leader needed to hide somewhere in the forest, because Castiel’s scent had triggered a rut. At least she did tell Castiel she felt sorry for him and not to worry. “It’s not your fault, really. A heat will not ask if the time is right before it hits.” Obviously, her amusement was solely fixated on Dean’s discomfort. And how his rut had started even before Castiel’s heat had fully peaked. “He’s probably humping against a tree right now, imagining it was you.”
He thought he might have been right before. This arranged marriage thing seemed not like such a bad idea after all.
They had discussed that from now on, Dean would go back to work every day for a couple of hours. Castiel was more than okay with that – it surely eased his guilt. After all, Dean had needed to take one whole week off already, and without warning. Castiel imagined, with him being the CEO, that might have caused some troubles. On the other hand, no one had seemed panicked or overworked when Castiel hat visited WinSec yesterday. But he still thought it was a good idea for Dean to show up at the office again, if only for a couple of hours.
let himself be lured into a fight. One he had tried to keep secret from Castiel, if only for a few hours.
“Wait a moment… Castiel, you said you met Dean before.” Sam rubbed his hand over his face like he suffered from the beginning of a headache. “In the stables, right?” He turned to the alpha guard with a disbelieving expression and pointed at Castiel. “Dean, is
Castiel would have assumed that the fight would leave the pack bond in chaos for some while, but the Winchesters did not have too many problems getting back in order. Most even seemed to have enjoyed the fighting, even though Castiel could not fully comprehend why. He had talked to Dean about it, but the Alpha had only laughed at him and proclaimed that maybe an omega could never really understand the thrill of a good fight. Castiel was not amused by that remark. He did not think it had anything to do with his second gender, but he could well live without another battle for the next century or so. Same counted for Charlie, and she was an alpha, like Castiel had pointed out to Dean. While Jody, another omega, always seemed to enjoy a little challenge. Castiel had not liked stereotypes while he had been fully human, and he had not changed his mind since he became a werewolf. Sometimes, he felt like Dean needed to be reminded of that fact.
As he stepped over the threshold, Castiel felt a rush of adrenaline. He tried to think of Dean, and how casually the alpha would snoop around, excuse always ready on his lips in case he got caught. But Castiel was not half as relaxed, and his heart beat so loud he was scared he would not even hear anyone following him upstairs over the drumming sound.
When Alastair made another step, Castiel knew he had to hurry. He pushed down the handle behind him and ran backwards into the living room.
As it turned out, his worries were unnecessary. As soon as the broad woman saw Castiel, her features softened and she regarded him with a warm smile. “There you are, sweetie. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Just like Charlie had before, the beta walked up to Castiel and pulled him into a tight embrace. Within the last four days, Castiel had received more physical contact than in the ten years before. When the omega was able to breathe again, Dean was standing beside him.
Castiel cocked his head to the side, confused. Was Gabriel here to tell him that he should wake up and get in touch with reality, because the alpha of Pack Winchester would never want an omega who is much older and has no noteworthy qualities to bring to any relationship? Like an intervention. Castiel had read that some people did this kind of thing. But Gabriel seemed in such a good mood. True, the short beta liked to prank people, and he sometimes had difficulties to realise when he crossed a line – but he was never intentionally cruel. He would not grin like that if he intended to break Castiel’s heart.
The next week passed slowly, and yet, at the same time, Castiel felt like the days flew away too quickly. They were still searching for clues, trying to find a thief and a killer, but after a while the omega had to fight with his growing frustration. Some tasks took a lot of time and still led nowhere. Like watching hours and hours of surveillance footage. Even though they shared the work between quite a number of people – Castiel and Dean, Sam, Eileen, Benny and Charlie – they did not seem to get anywhere. And sometimes they communicated not as well as they should have. For example that time, when first Sam and Eileen, then Benny, and even Castiel himself tried to find any camera that might have caught a picture of whoever had used that secluded telephone box to call Uriel just before Dean had arrived at the hotel. But it was probably best to have something triple-checked than to forget about it altogether. But still, no one had managed to find out who the secret caller was.
ready. If I am going to be any more ready, I’ll explode!” Castiel had no time to be shocked at his outburst – with a low chuckle Dean finally entered him in one slow relentless move. Castiel let go of a loud moan. This was how he was supposed to be. Filled up with the length of Dean’s cock. His alpha.
“What I am saying, baby…” Dean sat up as well and licked lightly over the crook of Castiel’s neck – a move, as he had learned last night, that made the omega melt into the mattress “… I have been interested in you for a long time as well. I’m a full-grown alpha, but I am not ashamed to admit I nearly fainted when I realised you were the omega who would go on an undercover mission with me, to be my pretend-mate. I was sure I would not make it through a day without embarrassing myself.”
Castiel suddenly stopped, not able or wanting to finish his line of thought. Now it was Dean’s turn to press Castiel’s head under his chin, pulling him close to his chest in a protective manner. The alpha growled lowly and Castiel was reminded that they were still alone in their bedroom with who knows how many shifters waiting outside for Dean to calm down and not attack them.
asked him, had he? Even though Castiel had been with child, the alpha had told him there was no future for them. At least not with a child in the mix. So what had changed his mind now?
“Well, you should have told me, instead of humiliating me in front of the whole school.” Alex’ tone was a lot gentler than her words would imply.
However, Dean had been surprised that he himself had wanted to flirt a little. There was something in the way Castiel looked when he was blushing that made Dean want to make it happen again. But then he had picked up on a light trace of fear – in that otherwise very pleasant scent of the omega; spicy and only a little sweet, not too flowery – and Dean did not want to smell that kind of fear on him again. So he would behave for the next few days, and he would not try to make him blush again by bringing up their eventual mating bond. Probably.
“And by the way, have you told Captain Mills that you don’t think a woman could be capable of overpowering a male alpha? I am sure she would love to hear about that.”
Afterwards, Dean brought Castiel to Claire. They met the girl in the quarters Jody shared with her adopted daughters. Dean left the two alone, and Castiel looked at Claire questioningly. Dean had not told him what was going on, and he was surprised to see the girl looking so --- fragile. She always appeared so fierce, it was easy to forget how young she still was. Not to mention, the last times they had met, Claire had seemed ready to lunge at him. But not today. Dean had told him that it was Claire who had asked to see Castiel, but now, she did not say a word. Castiel cleared his throat.
for an omega to change shape – the only time they were expected to do so, was during the claiming. To mark an omega irrevocably as theirs, the alpha needed to be in wolf form – and it would be excruciatingly painful for the omega to stay human during the ordeal.
After he had quickly pulled on some fresh tunic – and Rowena had snickered in a way that really irritated him – he followed her to the heat tract.
“Thank you, Dean. For spelling everything out for me.” Castiel smiled softly. He wondered about how much he had been doing this since he met Dean, smiling and even laughing. “I fear my encounters with alphas have never been… pleasant. I will try to be less prejudiced.”
of Dean…” He thought – if he took the job, he would have to tell Gabriel some part of it anyway. “The captain asked me to… take a seminar. An important one. But I would have to be accompanied by an alpha. And Dean is the only one I would feel comfortable with.” He raised a hand as Gabriel opened his mouth. “No! Because I feel safe with him and I trust him. Nothing else.”
An hour before dinner time, Ellen knocked at the door and offered to show them around the Castle. Castiel was relieved – he had not been sure whether or not he was allowed to do so. Dean had welcomed his friends as guests – but Castiel did not really know about protocol when it came to visitors.
He took off his coat and his shoes, walked to the living room and looked out the window, watching the sunset as the apartment turned dark.
And then Castiel changed into his wolf form as well. He was quick, and Dean was still slow from his wounds and a bit heavy minded from the burden of what he had to do.
“Yes! No, I mean… I don’t think you want to. But the result is the same.” Castiel took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “I want to go out, Dean. And I should be allowed to. I should not have to ask for your permission to do… anything. I can see you want to keep me safe, but I don’t want to sit around and wait anymore. I want to see if the crocuses bloom already, or chase after some squirrels.”
. Castiel did not know why he felt so disappointed that Sam obviously did not consider that path for him anymore.
“Do all alphas have to ask permission if they want to mate anyone in the pack?” Castiel whispered towards Meg.
Dean looked pleased – and relieved. “Good. I really want you to get along with my brother and my closest friends. Would be kind of awkward if you didn’t.” Dean groaned. “But I can only imagine what they will gossip about at the office now. Just don’t be surprised if all my co-workers know more about you than I do when we finally visit.”
Castiel blushed deeply, but Dean only grinned: “Well, you lot have been asking me for years when I will finally sire strong alpha pups.”
She waved her head dismissively in Dean’s direction who had stopped and watched Castiel with an amused smirk in his eyes.
Dean let out a mixture of a scoff and a growl. “We are True Mates, Cas. I am sure that whoever you are betrothed to will understand that things have changed.”
Sam smiled sadly. “That is probably the thing he regrets the most. You know, he always wanted to be a mechanic and I think he would have been more than happy to take over Bobby’s garage one day. But he was convinced, that he needed to provide… better. And when my brother sets his mind to something, stupid as it might be, there is no force on earth that will stop him.” He chuckled, this time real amusement in his eyes. “He even started to read up on omegas and helped me through my heats as best as he could. And believe me, I truly am grateful for my brother – he adjusted his whole life to care for me and protect me. Even after I had been a horrible brother to him.” Castiel looked up, surprised, but Sam just continued. “But that is a story for another time.”
“Ah, there you are, Castiel.” The shifted attention of their client made Naomi and Uriel finally notice their employee and walk towards him. The betas were unaware of Castiel’s condition since his heat was just beginning – nonetheless Naomi eyed him curiously for a moment.
Dean laughed, the sound was rough and honest, sending a shiver down Castiel’s back. “I make you a deal: I will try to sleep when you go back to your tent.”
“Wait it out, Castiel,” Cole mumbled, though Castiel could practically feel how much the alpha wanted to rush out as well and help his pack mates. | [
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“I noticed you're only working part time? Are you easing your way back into the work force? That's what I had to do too, initially.”
He spent the day in her hiding place, feeling more and more like himself the more rest he got. It struck him how incredibly lucky he was that he was given a chance to recover at all. And Molly did whatever she could to help, even if most of the time that was just hanging around to talk, usually in quiet voices just in case there were other tributes nearby.
can go fuck yourself. I'm used to your jabs and insults. Try harder.” He cut his eyes away from his father to his phone, which flashed with a new message. He picked it up, lighting up the screen, never having been more relieved to see Sherlock's name. The message was nothing out of the ordinary, just more of their casual day-to-day conversation, but it felt like redemption in that moment.
My phone chimed from my bedside table. A request for help from Lestrade, as was always the case nowadays.
“Then by your own definition, you were never in a relationship with Mary.” John paused, struck by the remark. “And by your own definition, many of the people who are getting married and having children or whatever it is people do aren't in relationships either. They're merely following a script. Better to be unconventional than hollow. Stop worrying about it.” Sherlock looked back down at his slides.
A mischievous light seemed to turn on behind Sherlock's eyes, and a smile spread across his face. He brushed his lips against John's cheek, and said in a low whisper. "Well,
"So, that's more or less the same conversation I had with Cathy. And I realized that I'd been having some version of that conversation with every woman I've gone out with, and they've all been right. None of them are ever going to compare."
He had only gone into Sherlock's room once after he died. Before, it had actually been a surprisingly common occurrence, usually for the sake of dragging him out of bed, or forcing him to get in it. Sherlock's sleeping patterns were notoriously inconsistent, given that he would work for days on end like an obsessive, and then would fall into long periods of physical lassitude when not otherwise occupied. There had been countless times that John had had to force him to sleep, physically pushing him down the hall telling him to go to bed. Sherlock always protested of course, claiming he was perfectly rested, and would always, without fail, be unconscious within minutes of his head hitting the pillow.
When John tried to sleep that night, Sherlock didn't leave, didn't go outside to keep watch. He stayed, leaning against the cave wall beside John. After a while of trying to get comfortable on the rock, John sat up, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks, and sat back against the wall as well.
“Tragedy has stricken down one of London's most beloved citizens today. While investigating threats made against several museums and galleries in Italy, detective Sherlock Holmes was killed, gunned down in the Piazza della Minerva in Rome. Police reports state that the bullets were of military quality, likely shot from a long-distance sniper-style rifle. The shooting is quickly becoming the most talked about and questioned shooting since Kennedy. Many have speculated on who the shooter could be, comprising lists of all sorts, from James Moriarty's private army to an inside job organized by Holmes' own brother. Moriarty himself was also found dead from what appeared to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. The bullet in Moriarty, however, did not match those found in Sherlock Holmes.
John hesitated, hating his hands for being empty, for having nothing to fidget with. “You compared me to a dog the first day I met you.”
“Let me know when you're in town,” Clara said. John held the phone above his face, staring at the screen, the light emanating from it the harshest thing in the room. Aside from himself.
A man burst out of the trees. Sherlock remembered him. Henry, a tribute from one of the richer districts. Even in the dim light, Sherlock could see the blood. The man was raving, on the verge of screaming but never making a sound. He was hyperventilating, bleeding profusely from multiple places, and when he raised his arms out in front of him toward them, there was a bloody stump where his hand should have been. He was crying, desperately trying to get the words out.
Sherlock's eyes became animalistic then, violent and enraged. He took one step toward them – Moriarty standing calmly at the end of the sofa – and the red spots of sniper sights bloomed across his chest in a dizzying spray.
John stayed for a while longer, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock would talk if and when he wanted to, even if it wasn't tonight. They were both too tired to do much more than lean into one another, bookended together on the sofa. John began to fall in and out of a light sleep, jerking himself awake every time he felt himself nodding off. Sherlock was always still beside him, wide awake, and apparently, deep in thought.
The music stopped, rather abruptly. "Use your brain, John. As always, you see but you do not observe." Sherlock realized instantly what he had said, and shut his eyes briefly, mad at himself.
Middle of the night, and a room that felt like an oven from the open balcony doors. John hadn't even tried to sleep, really, and none of his usual distractions were worth much in the heat and the glow of city lights. Sherlock had given up getting what he wanted from his phone, and had been reduced to smoking while pacing the balcony. John had chided him at first,
Sherlock didn't startle at his voice. In all likelihood, he'd known John was there since the second he walked in the room. He answered without looking at him. “I have never been one for long nights of sleep. They are a waste of valuable time.”
John followed him upstairs – slowly with the way his leg had been today – and Sherlock led him into the flat. It was a homey place, felt like a place Mrs. Hudson would own. It was certainly a step up from the bleak industrial strength beige of his current rooms. Better location too. He was so distracted thinking about moving that he didn't notice at first that Sherlock was standing by the window, staring at him like a science project.
Things settled into something like stability over the following days. Mary made frequent appearances, much to John's chagrin, and she always made such a clear effort to be pleasant that it sometimes made John want to shout at her to make her leave. But he still didn't know what to say, and wasn't entirely sure that telling her the truth would keep her from coming round to see them, anyway.
The sound of tires on gravel grew fainter behind him as the cab drove away. Sherlock had come up on a pair of officers whose backs were to John. He spoke with them, his lips moving rapidly and his face wearing the expression it always did when he felt intellectually superior, a sort of condescending tilt of the head that most people found insufferable. It only made John smile.
Sherlock stared down at the pavement beneath his feet as they crossed the street. “Running jokes require multiple encounters.”
“I'll explain it all soon, I promise. There isn't time right now. Have you ever had a reason to doubt me?”
John stopped in front of a large black and gold piece attached to one of the columns, deliberately warped in its carving to look like cloth. The effect was something like a Dali painting, a memorial that could melt off the column like the candles melted down till they extinguished themselves.
“Because I left the scene. You know how the police have interviewed everyone who was there and survived? Trying to piece things together? I left. I got out through a back door when they were busy defusing the second bomb. And I couldn't imagine sitting down to talk to the police about the explosion. I didn't want anything to do with it. None of them know I was even there. And I'd like it to stay that way. I just don't want to be dragged back into all of that, Sherlock. It was bad enough the first time. I'd really like to avoid reliving it for the sake of a police report.”
There were tourists wandering around just like them, most of them bubbly and laughing, completely unburdened by the things that seemed to follow John and Sherlock wherever they went. But even Sherlock seemed oddly at ease here, tolerating John's slow pace, enduring his enchantment with a city that he had probably seen a hundred times, mostly in silence.
The Hickman was one of the smaller galleries in London, certainly not as famous or as popular as the National Gallery or even the Royal Academy of Arts. It could never afford very prestigious pieces, so its acquisition of a piece of art as important and valuable as a lost Vermeer made the news for weeks during the buildup to the opening of the exhibit. John knew little about Vermeer, an artist who he hadn't seen much of compared to others, but as always, he couldn't keep himself away from the temperature-controlled, hermetic feel of the galleries.
“Yes, and I remember where you said you put your mobile number should a catastrophe arise in your absence. Goodnight, Dr. Watson.”
“Yeah. Most kids here spend their lives trying to sneak in,” he said with a smirk. “Very few are successful.”
Sherlock shrugged. “We are all incapable of escaping certain nostalgic aspects of our youths.” He paused, on the verge of saying something more, but no words came.
Sherlock stood in front of him, inches between their faces, resting his hand on John's cheek. He looked at him with a soft expression, eyes half-open again. John stared back at him, his laughter fading as he met the blue eyes.
“I'm a slow mover, Mary.” At least that was true. He now believed it was part of why he kept Sherlock at arm's length for so long.
I saw so much of their fundamental wrongness as a child. I watched my parents argue with each other, watched my father try to compensate for his indiscretions with flashy gifts. Mycroft tried to hide me from the fighting. He failed miserably.
They walked to the theater, mostly in silence. John never minded silence with Sherlock. When he was with any member of his procession of girlfriends, he always felt like the silence needed to be filled, that the absence of conversation was just making the tension build between them. But with Sherlock, every silence was comfortable. There was no malice in it. Sherlock of all people knew how unnecessary empty talking was. It was a trait that had initially thrown John off guard. He was not accustomed to peace and quiet in his life. And then he'd moved in with someone who could literally go the entire day without uttering a word. And he'd discovered he enjoyed it.
“What is this thing, Dr. Watson? How do they put entire worlds inside this box?” Sherlock walked closer to the television, his finger reaching out for the “on” button. John reached out and grabbed his arm.
"We sent a team up to the roof," he said, dropping his things on the desk. "There was a body up there. Richard Brook, self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head."
So many nights, he spoke to a skull on his mantel, because there was no one else to regale with his motivations and back stories.
"Yes, Sherlock." John led him a few more blocks and turned into a small restaurant. It was the sort of place they always loved to go to. Tonight there were only a few other people there. On any other day, it probably would have been filled to the brim. John took a seat at a table by the window. Sherlock sat opposite him, against the wall. He always preferred his back against the wall, literally and figuratively. He stared out the window as the waiter passed their table.
Maybe the obsession with the night was just another of the supposedly universal human experiences that he didn't understand – and likely never would. It was honestly the least troubling answer. But now and then it would be nice, to understand the things everyone else did. The things he understood the general public didn't care about. No one wants to chat about iambic tetrameter or idioms in ancient Greek over dinner. They want to talk about their husbands and wives and children and what television show they're watching this week and how romantic their date was.
"You had me bloody worried, you know that! You weren't answering your damn phone! Did you not go to the hospital? We're going."
Sherlock wanted to turn and run the other way, but the fog was the other way. He was frozen in his place, watching John go in and out like the other tributes had, reappearing a little bit closer every time.
“What on earth did she want from you of all people? Usually it's the other way around, people always kidnapping and threatening you to get to me.”
"Jesus Christ, Sherlock!" The tone was both concerned and admonishing. "Where have you been? What the hell happened?"
Sherlock groaned as London stopped. It was happening more and more often of late. He had determined that there
“I have no illusions that I'm victor material. But I'm not going to do anymore damage than I have to. I've just been hiding. It's my only chance, hiding and hoping everyone else gets killed first. No offense.”
It was a slow few weeks, a marathon rather than a sprint toward recovery. Sherlock was a little foggy from the pain pills and generally seemed content to stay home rather than chase after criminals for a change. And thankfully, Sherlock didn't argue with John about hardly anything, actually listening when John would tell him to eat something or go to sleep.
If he was going to develop an addiction to cope with the way his life had turned out, then he thought that Sherlock Holmes was a pretty good one to have.
Of course there was a logical reason behind his choice. Wasn't there always? Even if it was self-serving, Sherlock Holmes always had a reason.
Sherlock was not one to grow sentimental, but he had woken up that morning with a terrible sense of solitude and found himself in one of his blacker moods. What was the point of doing and creating extraordinary things if no one was there to bear witness to the creative process? In a fit of annoyance with himself and the world, Sherlock drew someone he considered to be the ideal audience.
Later that night there was a knock at the door. John thought about ignoring it, even though Mrs. Hudson wasn't back yet to answer it for him. He even considered opening the door to whomever it was and telling them to kindly go the hell away. He was beyond not in the mood to interact with other people. But thankfully, the person didn't knock again. John sank deeper into his chair, relieved.
Throughout the day, Sherlock kept his distance. He hadn't spoken at all at dinner the night before, and had slammed his bedroom door without even a passing glance to anyone else. The parade had seemed to exhaust him more than any amount of physical activity would have. And all day, John had watched him go from station to station. He split his time evenly between all of them, not giving anyone any indication what his strengths or weaknesses were. John wasn't sure that it was a calculated move, or if Sherlock genuinely felt he needed practice in all areas. If so, John hoped he had a steep learning curve.
I thought I had gotten away with it, that he would let it slide, until, nearly an hour later, he spoke again.
Sherlock led John back away from the falls' edge, his hand on his back. He still had the gun in his other hand, and he almost dropped it in the water when he realized.
Sherlock ignored the comment. Mike was always convinced he'd get along with one person or another. He hadn't been right yet. Although that was more Sherlock's fault than Mike's. There had been Sebastian, a literary agent who worked primarily with young adult fiction who appeared to be in a state of suspended adolescence himself. There had been Greg Lestrade, who wrote true crime books, but whose writing was so basic and his choice of cases so banal that Sherlock couldn't stand discussing crimes with him at all. He had gotten along half-decently with Molly Hooper, who wrote science textbooks, but she had been so clearly infatuated with him that it was physically painful. Oddly enough, the one he had gotten along with the most was Martha Hudson, his landlady, who wrote little domestic columns and articles for women's magazines. But generally, Sherlock dreaded any introduction of Mike's. He managed to find the strangest people. He also couldn't believe that Mike knew this novelist well enough to know how they'd get on.
Sherlock was grateful when he saw the slow even breathing that told him John was asleep again. He sighed in relief. It was getting harder to remain detached in all this. He was glad John couldn't see his face. He couldn't guarantee that his eyes wouldn't betray him. He was supposed to be a sociopath, not someone who practically moved into a hospital room to keep someone from having to wake up alone.
“If that was true, you wouldn't spend so much of your free time in here while I rehearse the shows.”
Normally, he would avoid drinking after work, given his sister's history, but there were some days that were so long and so awful that any sane person would reach for a bottle.
“Look,” he said, setting his silverware down, “can you please just, not mention to anyone that I was there that night?”
Once the fire burned strongly enough to his satisfaction, he moved to the bookcases. All he was missing was a glass of whiskey, he thought.
“What do you mean?” Sherlock sat back from his microscope, removing the slide and replacing it with a new one.
A change came over the man's face, something like awe. “Oh my god. I know who you are.” John waited for the inevitable association with Sherlock. He had grown used to his name being tacked on in all the stories about Sherlock's victories, and though it didn't happen every day, there were always people who read the news stories closely enough that they had heard of him. “James has talked about you a lot. He speaks so highly of you. Christ, I owe you one.”
"Thank god," Sherlock mumbled, using his free hand to pull John's face those last few inches closer, sinking into a kiss. They could feel the breath pass between them. John sighed, and he felt the curve of Sherlock's lips against his as the detective smiled. "The Christmas gift sufficed, then?"
Sherlock didn't answer right away, but did fall silent for a few seconds, a grin at the edge of his lips. He smiled more when he was drunk, John noticed. Or at least, he wore more of those unpracticed, uncontrolled smiles that were always such a rare occurrence on any given day. When Sherlock spoke, he did so with a dismissive little shake of his head. “Just an old song I used to hear when I was a child.”
What if the police started really trying to account for all the art? For the status of the lost Vermeer? What if instead of assuming it had been destroyed they believed it was stolen? What if they had a call line and what if this man remembered John, remembered him walking away with the painting. What if the man saw it as an opportunity to make cash from reward money? But surely he wouldn't remember John, right? It was busy and dark and crowded. People get distracted during disasters. What were the chances of some random bystander remembering him?
“Anyone you want to say hello to while you're up here, Sherlock? Girlfriend or boyfriend?” Lestrade gave him a teasing grin.
Lestrade sidled up next to Sherlock, another drink in his hand. He had been going at it steadily all evening, high on his successful interactions with Molly. He smiled at her from across the room while Sherlock looked in the opposite direction. John, talking to Mary.
Sherlock refused to let John leave, despite his comment about needing to get home. Finally, John gave up, accepting Sherlock's offer of one of the guest bedrooms. “Just in case,” Sherlock said. “Just in case there are delayed effects.”
Sherlock held the book above his head, the cover displayed for all the eyes that had turned to him. “Harry?”
John wasn't sure what Sherlock was expecting. Shock? Horror? Disgust? But it was clear he hadn't anticipated calm. John walked up to him slowly as if he were an easily startled animal. He reached out and took hold of Sherlock's arm, layers of shirt and coat sleeves between them so their skin wouldn't touch. Sherlock let himself be led back to the house, watching John warily for the entire walk.
instead, when there was adventure and heartache and redemption and art come to life and all his wildest dreams realized at last in reality.
Mary blinked back a few stubborn tears and shook her head. “I wish I believed that.” She knew that if there were women or children from the other Districts left in the arena with him that he would sooner kill himself than them.
Even though his body was gone, Sherlock could almost see an imprint of him like a ghost, still standing by John holding a knife to his neck.
“To do something like this over a fight with a girlfriend. Anytime you argue with anyone you usually just brood for a few minutes and change the subject. If you're really angry, you might walk away for five or ten minutes to get some air, but you don't take a train ride out of the city over a fight with your girlfriend.”
Sherlock glanced at John's vacant chair. Why did it feel like he was somewhere much farther away than any New Year's Eve party?
He didn't say so, but the remark relieved him. There was something to be said for always having at least one person you could count on to want your company, someone happy to see you at the end of the day, to share that morning coffee with.
“Big day's finally here,” Mrs. Hudson said, setting the tray down. She'd been excited about the wedding for weeks, though Sherlock couldn't possibly imagine why. “I think it's nice that you're bringing John.”
One night, John walked with Sherlock around the grounds of the estate. The gardens became even stranger at night, with the patches of shadowy barberry shrubs creating dark, threatening spaces throughout, contrasting sharply with the occasional hibiscus plants. Moonlight gave an eerie sort of feeling to the greenhouses, which although they were by no means abandoned or unused, certainly looked that way in the dim light.
Sherlock's mother came for him, and after many thanks, she led him out of the house. As the door fell shut behind them, he heard the boy say, “Can I go to sleep for a while?”
“Who did you get it for?” John asked from behind him. Sherlock turned to find John glancing around the room, taking in even the strangest aspects of his décor with cool detachment. At least one of them was succeeding at nonchalance.
He took the cloth and clean water, grateful she had thought of such a small detail, and washed away the blood and dirt. He could see the wound more clearly after that. It wasn't quite a puncture or a tear, but it was a nasty wound either way, and all he could hope for was that it didn't get infected. He took a liberal amount of the cream and smeared it over the wound, trying to work it into the cuts as best as he could. He could almost feel it take effect. Whatever Irene had managed to get for him wasn't just to heal the wound, but to numb the pain a little as well. It seemed to have some type of anesthetic properties. John gave a relieved laugh, resting his head against the rock behind him, the desperation he had felt all day fading some.
John waited for the inevitable, the explosion that always followed. In these dreams, it was always him, always appearing in Baker Street or a museum, or even on the streets. It was always him, in the same dark coat with the same small smile on his face, always looking like a better work of art than any man could create. And it would always be destroyed in the flash of an instant, taken away in a brief, miserable fire that would set of the sounds of cannons in John's head and leave alone in his bed, awake and shaking and holding his head in his hands. Sometimes he would try to resist looking at him, but he rarely could. Even if it wasn't real, it was still seeing him again.
Moran was an imposing man, fairly new to the office. He was tall and tan with sandy hair that he had slicked back neatly across his head. He had a sculpted square jaw and cold eyes. Whenever he smiled, even Sherlock, with all his limited insight into the subtleties of human expression, could tell it was insincere.
What year is it?” The man stood up, his coat billowing around him. He began pacing around the room, occasionally inspecting things that caught his interest. John watched him, his mouth hanging open.
He shook his head. "Nothing. Come on. You look like a mess." He gently took me by the arm and walked me to the toilet, sitting me down on the edge of the tub and rummaging around for the first aid kit. Holding it out like a display, he said, "You know, I never had cause to keep one of these around till you came along." He set it to the side and looked down at me. "Coat off. I can't work around it."
John laughed. "No. I can't imagine there being a woman who would understand. And I can't blame them, I suppose. But it's not your fault."
They went back to Rome without telling anyone, without giving any warning besides a cursory explanation to Mrs. Hudson on their way out the door.
Sherlock glared at the dairy section of the Tesco. He was quickly growing frustrated by the ludicrous amount of milk.
They went upstairs, Sherlock throwing his coat over one of the chairs at the kitchen table rather than hanging it up neatly like he usually did. He was still drunk enough to not care. John reached for the only bottle they had in the flat, grabbing two glasses. He filled them, and handed one to Sherlock, who drank it without question or pause as he walked into the living room.
Henry had run into a bedroom and hid under the bed, and John thought to himself that if this bastard dared to hurt that fucking dog that he would end him himself.
“It led you to Sherlock. Sherlock, he always pretended to be happy being alone, but I always thought that underneath all that bluster he was actually an incredibly lonely man. And even with his reputation, you know, aloof, no feeling, I still didn't quite believe that was really who he was. I've known Sherlock for a long time, John. He's been hurt so frequently, and finally he's happy.” She smiled, that warm expression that John associated solely with well-meaning grandmothers. “We owe you for that. For staying, for being responsible for him finally being so happy.”
Within days, new evidence was uncovered, evidence more or less exonerating Sherlock of the worst of the crimes people had begun to accuse him of. Everyone walked around pretending that they hadn't believed it, even for a moment, not wanting to be the person who doubted a martyr. The press turned as quickly as it had the first time. Now he was a hero, an innocent wrapped up in a madman's scheme.
Sherlock carefully got out of bed, doing everything he could to not wake John. He gathered his own clothes and dressed before quietly opening his bedroom door and stepping outside.
He set his glass down. “When I came back to England, a few months after the fact when my name wasn't in the papers all the time anymore, you know I dated this nice person for a while.”
Sherlock smiled, a little laugh. “I think it's well known that the only reason this building hasn't burned to the ground, the only reason the money is handled properly, the only reason that the kitchen isn't a toxic wasteland, is you. You keep this fortress from falling apart.”
“I'm not sure where my phone is, exactly, now that you mention it. I haven't picked it up for days.”
“I know what you meant. However I don't know why you felt the need to break into my house to tell me that.”
The thing about Baker Street was that it only felt like it really existed if Sherlock Holmes was in it. Sure, it was home even in the terrible interim, but it could have been any flat, anywhere. But his return, heavenly and surreal, brought the light back to the building.
"This is why I don't speak figuratively. No one ever seems to pick up on it," he said, voice trailing off toward the end of the sentence. John tried to work through his brain fog. Of course. Sherlock meant his own. Moriarty had said that he'd burn out Sherlock's heart, and had implied that that meant John. And now Sherlock was his eyes, until further notice. Were they really so close that their very bodies were interchangeable?
He got down on one knee, bracing himself as he aimed, the dusty, metallic target of the mine taunting him. One chance. One shot, and then run.
John shook his head, and didn't say what he wanted to, that he had trouble seeing his life far into the future. He always got like that when bad things happened. It seemed arrogant to presume he would survive very long, that to imagine himself being alive at sixty or even fifty seemed preposterous. So he kept things short term, fairly certain he could survive smaller intervals, even if the idea of surviving for longer than that was absurd. After Afghanistan he had lived only imagining a few weeks into the future. After the Hickman, a few days. Since Sherlock had been killed, he only allowed himself to see his life a few hours ahead. It was all just about getting through the next few hours, and then the next, and then the next.
So many of the night blooming flowers were white, and looked like stars that had been dropped from the sky to try and shine through the overgrown grass. Night gladiolas, lilies, and the distinct bell shape of the moonflowers. Sherlock pointed out all of these, naming those that John didn't know:
“Oh my God.” Her eyes scanned his face. “I'm so sorry, you have the advantage, I don't remember seeing you anyplace after the fact, you know, ambulances and police interviews? Most of the people in our room who lived were all sort of kept together when they were triaging us. There weren't many either, just a handful of people from the Vermeer room who survived.”
John could only find it endearing, and smiled at him, all the while running a hand across his cheek, his other reaching blindly for Sherlock's hand, any shred of open skin. He never wanted to take his hands away.
He stood over it for a while, hands in his pockets, staring at the bloom, at the way the harsh and bare greenhouse light cut at the soft shade of purple. It was a shame, really.
When she'd said, “I have something to tell you,” to their parents – John had long since figured out what her secret was – their father immediately laughed and said:
John only gave him a small nod, incapable of further speech. He went outside to wait for the cab in the fresh air. It was as sunny as one could expect from rural England, but natural light had never been as satisfying to him as artificial. He felt the book in his pocket, a talisman against evil, somehow, new to his life as it was.
John had said something to that effect to Mary, and when she insisted that the only solution would just be to go to Sherlock and actually
to speak. He stared at the rug under his feet and took a deep breath. “If you aren't comfortable with pursuing this case, I'll gladly tell Mycroft to go to hell.”
It wasn't an ugly painting either, and would have looked nice on the wall, even if he was the only one who ever saw it. But the jittery feeling in him still had horrible thoughts about police breaking down his door and arresting him for having it. So he knew that within hours he would banish it back to its suitcase in the back of the closet.
They froze, their gaze turning downriver where Jim Moriarty stood holding a bow, its arrow pointed at John. He was backed by the distant roar of the falls behind him, an elaborate backdrop in the masquerade.
“You have wings. Why do you have wings? Are you a ghost? Or were you always one? Are you an angel? Or is this part of a near death experience?” He spoke quickly, his words coming out tense and manic. John grabbed Sherlock's wrist and felt no pulse. He began to feel sick. Why was there still no pulse if he was standing right here?!
secrets he had. What if they encountered him somewhere, and he was exposed? What would he say? How could he ever explain any of this to a man who had never known the slightest bit of fear?
I mirrored him, my hand finding the base of his neck, and pulled him closer to me. His own hand dropped from its place, sliding to a halt on my arm. Again he said, "I'm sorry," and a few inches closer, he said only my name, but in such a way that his entire heart was in that one word. I responded in the only way I could.
John wanted desperately to know who the second person was. He wondered where they were, what type of person they were. He wondered if they used this ability for good things or not. And most of all, the longer he had the ability himself, he wondered what it would be like to be in this still world with someone else beside him, instead of alone.
Of course, there were still days made up of darkness and fear, days where he couldn't sleep because the painting would haunt him, but they grew fewer with each passing week. Besides, even people who had been through nothing but the trials of an average human life had dark days where all their demons caught up with them.
He was over the worst of it. All that was left was to play this damn waltz and get the hell out. Everything ached, a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.
John had thought about going out somewhere, or getting some things crossed off his to do list, but after standing in the kitchen doorway for a while, he decided to just sit and listen to Sherlock play. He could be ridiculous and baffling, but he was still intriguing.
Initially he thought his ears were playing tricks on him, somehow modulating someone else's voice, turning it into the voice he wanted to hear. But no, there he was, standing in the back behind all the seated audience members, the same cocky smile on his face that had so infuriated John the night they met.
John crossed the room and sat beside Sherlock on the sofa. He felt a twinge of pain in his leg as he walked the last few feet. Probably the beginning of all the aches and pains he would have now that the adrenaline was gone. Everything would hurt.
“I've been thinking. And I realized something. It's always been you. From day one, from that stupid car ride.”
The growls surrounded them as they crashed through the forest, a trick of the way the sound carried, making it sound like there were hundreds of hounds at their heels. They stumbled through the woods, trying to find their way, but really just running blind. More than once they had to grab on to each other to stabilize themselves.
John waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn't, Sherlock nervously glanced around the street. No cars to jump in front of, no reason to enter any of the stores and restaurants. He hadn't thought this through.
He wasn't looking at John, but at the Monet on the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, his face blank. It was rare for him to do that. Usually, John's subconscious could at least concoct a scenario where Sherlock would actually see him for a change. But maybe this was just another sign that even this small reprieve was fading, and would soon leave him entirely alone.
"Glad you like it," John murmured, distracted. He laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder as he leaned closer to get a better look at the article Sherlock was reading. "I guess I was lucky Ms. Hudson was on holiday. Had she been here, you never would have been desperate enough to end up at Tesco. For a genius, you looked positively clueless that day."
John was sitting reading the paper when I stumbled in, and upon seeing me, his eyes widened in that sudden protective instinct he always assumed when I was injured. He crossed the room in a flash, arm instantly around me, supporting me and guiding me to the sofa.
“What's wrong?” he asked, coming to stand by John, looking over his shoulder at the photo, Mycroft's folder in his hand.
The alcohol affected John differently. Harry was used to it running through her blood, but her brother wasn't. It made him sullen and angry. But he was beginning to come out of it. It was nearing ten at night, and he had slowed himself down considerably, perhaps taking into account that he would have to get himself home eventually. She knew he'd never stay here for the night.
. But then when he asked himself why he still had it, all logical answers about arrests aside, his most frequent thought was:
John tried to get up. He had to get to his medical kit to try and help the other soldiers. But he could barely move. He could feel the blood soaking through his clothes, and he realized that one of the groans he was hearing was his own. He started growing dizzy, and knew he wouldn't maintain consciousness for much longer.
Sherlock stared back at the tabletop. “What am I going to do if there are delayed effects?” He spoke more to himself than to John.
“Hopefully.” He shook himself out of whatever dark corner he'd been in all evening. “I'm thinking Henry.”
It had felt like ages since he'd looked at the painting. It had become harder for the Vermeer to haunt him in the wake of Sherlock's return, now that Moriarty was dead as well. But Sherlock's words
,” John said, a little too loudly. A few of the nearby patrons cut their eyes to him. He sighed and lowered his voice. “Look, it's really not that complicated. We like the same things, we know the same people. She's smart and she's beautiful.”
When he came to, his hands were cuffed behind him and his legs and torso tied to the chair he was seated in. His head ached, and the cuffs were digging into the skin of his wrists. There was a man in front of him in a tailored suit, grinning maliciously. As the fog cleared from John's brain, he recognized the man from Bart's.
John was standing at the end of the bench, his arms crossed, staring at the floor. He nervously shifted on his feet.
“Can you imagine that conversation? Sorry our relationship isn't what it should be, Mary, it's just that I'm in love with my dead best friend still. Christ, maybe I'll luck out and she'll just break up with me.”
John stood and crossed the room without thinking, leaning one open hand on the arm rest of Sherlock's chair. He stared down at him, at his questioning face, and was filled with a sudden, irrepressible joy that there was no longer a need to stay safely on the other side of the gallery.
He walked over to her, kneeling beside her. She didn't cringe away from him; he wasn't even sure she could. Her blue eyes stared up blindly for a few seconds, the filtered slants of light coming through the trees making her squint, before they shifted just a little bit, to watch John. He had never seen such hopelessness. Her hand pressed against her stomach, trying either to futilely stop the bleeding or trying to somehow dull the pain.
John laughed a little, smiling at Sherlock. “Well thank god now I won't look like a complete moron at least.”
People were often described as being like drugs, but knowing John Watson made the comparison even more confusing to him than it already was. Drugs led to addiction, addiction led to pain, pain led to resentment, and on and on and on. But how else could people convey the sense of
"Sherlock had only been a child when it happened, his mother skirting around the word “hanged” like it was poison on her lips."
They were staging an intervention, all of them. They had had to do this once or twice in the past with Harry, and it usually guaranteed them a few good years where Harry kept her shit together, but the process itself was always arduous and usually involved at least three good shouting matches. He loved his family, as much as one can, anyway, but being around them never seemed to go well. Any interactions he had with his father were especially malicious, and at family events in recent years, John had grown very talented at avoiding speaking to his father while still maintaining something like a loving relationship with the rest of them. John would never forgive him for the way he reacted when Harry had first come out as a teenager. It had stripped all the trust from their relationship, and frankly, John wondered why Harry had any fondness for their father at all after that. Perhaps it was just a case of proximity; they all lived within the same few miles they had grown up in. That life had never been enough for John.
Sherlock looked up from the floor tiles, almost confused. He wasn't used to people worrying about what happened to him. People usually assumed that since he kept to himself so much that he needed nothing from anyone. More than once, he'd been convinced that he was only a brain to the Met, a hired hand for Mycroft. Not really a person. Being worried about, not for the sake of his skill, but for the sake of himself, was an earth-shattering notion.
The Vermeer was hanging on the wall. Plain sight. Staring him down. There was an instant panic rising in his throat. Found out when he was actually planning on coming clean about it. But his panics never could last very long in Sherlock's presence, and so he only sighed and said with resignation, “How long have you known?”
John sat in the cafe with Mycroft, eyeing the evidence bag on the table between them. He had always been suspicious of Sherlock's older brother, and this was not improving his opinion of the man.
“Why are they all fawning over him though? It's not like he's a Pulitzer winner.” Mike said nothing. Anytime the answer to a question should have been common knowledge, he wouldn't answer.
When the front door opened a few days later, John thought at first that it was Harry before he remembered she'd long since passed out in her room upstairs. Her methods of getting through the day were sounding more and more appealing.
“I'm at the Laurelwood shop for a reading and signing, and instead of preparing myself for it I'm becoming an accomplice in your literary homicides.”
“Yeah, Sherlock. The human heart wasn't exactly your most subtle move. Or the idiomatic use of 'struck by lightning.' ”
, James. Neither of us are used to that. It's strange, being around someone who is living life with so much enthusiasm. But it's nice.”
It took him far too long to realize that the shuddering explosion that coursed through the gallery wasn't a flashback.
Suddenly John felt like there was a palpable tension hovering in the air in the space between him and the corner. After too long a pause, Sherlock said, "Well at the very least, you will have a very interesting story to tell on your blog."
John looked up at him. He almost spoke, almost tried to come up with some sort of answer, but nothing would come. Finally, he just shook his head.
It was one of the child tributes, a little girl of maybe nine or ten years old. She had been stabbed in the stomach, a wound that would cause a slow bleed, a long death. Whoever had done it could have put her out of her misery, but had decided instead to let her linger, to let pain etch years into her young face before she died. John looked around, almost hoping that the other tribute was still nearby, that John had only interrupted their killing. But there was no sign of anyone. Just the little girl, in too much pain even for tears, her tiny body soaked in blood.
Mycroft looked back at him. “He has a point. People have been murdered for twenty pounds. People have been murdered for fun. It's not that great a stretch of imagination to think that a megalomaniac is bombing art galleries and stealing his favorite pieces. I've heard stranger things.”
But the man who opened the door didn't look a thing like any cook, driver, or maid that John had ever seen. In fact, he looked like any salt-of-the-earth type that one could find in well-meaning small towns all over the country, dark hair and bright eyes and an ease of motion that made him seem fluid and soothing.
Sherlock dragged a microscope across the tabletop, reaching blindly for mortar and pestle, for slides. He spent far too long examining the petals of the flower under the microscope, comparing the slides to others from previous generations, trying to find the difference, the thing that had allowed this single rose immunity to all his poison. Even the regular garden roses he had created that crawled across the grounds killed the bugs that landed on them.
“I think part of me is hoping she'll leave me and never look back, instead of trying to help and sticking around.”
Sherlock rubbed his finger across the paper, fixing a shadow on the man's cheek, like someone putting a darker shade on a lamp to soften the light. This man could never appear too harsh. He was not a creature of sharp angles like Sherlock.
He scanned his eyes over the room, looking at his weapon options. He had debated what to show them, and thought it best to play it safe, maybe show them some hunting, hitting moving targets with a bow or thrown knives. He had access to any weapon he could want. Part of him looked at the different racks of items trying to deduce what Sherlock had shown them, but there was no way to tell.
The room had almost as little furniture as John's, but it didn't feel so temporary. It felt comfortable, homey, like the rest of the flat. All over were little details that made the place so distinctly Sherlock's, like the periodic table on the wall. This room was
Sherlock looked back up at him, turning his whole body finally, genuine confusion on his face. “No. I thought that if you wanted to beat the hell out of me that badly that you would do it no matter the location. I picked this place because these museums were always stress free environments for you when other places might not have been.” He shrugged one shoulder, not grasping the gravity of his own consideration. “By all means, punch the lights out of me if it will help, because I don't really know what
“The entirety of the literary world,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. The dark planetarium floor's carpet seemed more relevant than the supernovas. It was still, and silent, and empty. He had to force his eyes away from it. He stood to leave, but paused next to Cairns' podium, looking up at the simulated supernova on the ceiling, an artist's reconstruction in icy blue. “So what is that?”
saying, that he was successfully reading in between the lines. Just as Felix had never once explicitly said, “I am in a relationship with James Sholto,” John had never once explicitly said, “The love of my life came back from the dead.” But neither of them had needed to.
"Great. Just great." John couldn't help but feel a little annoyed that he was lying in a hospital bed for nothing. "How much longer will I be stuck in here?"
He was stranded in a crowd of people who were pretending to be his audience, when he knew that not a single one of them really understood his methods. They all fawned over the end result and congratulated him on his skills. He became less tactful as the night dragged on, and Mycroft chided him more than once.
“Don't you think it's odd?” He refilled his glass. “Two random people having a joint income, like we essentially do?”
“That's the general idea, I suppose.” Sherlock said nothing else, and John was beginning to think that he had had all he could take of conversation for the night. He was considering going back inside, maybe trying to lie down at least. Sherlock wasn't even looking in his direction anymore. He was staring off at the lit Acropolis. But finally he asked, “Was that the worst day of your life? That incident with Harry and your parents?”
– echoed so loudly in his mind that a sort of paranoia rose up in him until he saw that the painting was in fact still where he had left it. He hadn't realized just how fast his heart had pounded until he held the Vermeer in his own hands. It was safe. Of course it was.
“Absolutely. A writer such as yourself knows how to treat a book. I trust you've found it good reading?”
John cleared his throat and stepped away from Sherlock, letting go of his hand. Sherlock put his hands in his pockets, seemingly unfazed by the landlady's presence.
What could he really say to her? That he'd been broken so many times, and was finally beginning to feel whole again when everything was taken away? That Rome was harder for him to live with than the Hickman and Afghanistan combined? That his frequent solitary trips to art galleries were the only ways he could find anything remotely close to silence in a world that seemed to never shut up? That he had somehow fallen in love with the most extraordinary person on the planet, and that even more remarkably, the person had likely loved him back?
John slept fitfully that night, despite being on the most comfortable bed he'd ever known inside the darkest, calmest bedroom ever built. Even the slight motion from the train couldn't lull him into a restful sleep. He just lay awake staring into the dark, thinking about how less than a day ago, he'd been sitting at home with Harry, eating their meager dinner and planning the next hunt.
When he looked at John, he almost wished that he had been right in the first place. Being friends seemed to cause nothing but problems.
Even as he said it, the doors opened again and a woman in a long bathrobe came in and took a seat across from John and Sherlock at the table. She had a great mass of dark hair hanging loose around her and was wearing a self-satisfied smirk on her face. John had heard stories about Irene Adler. She was considered wild and uncontrollable back in the District. But she had at some point had enough of a handle on life to win the Games, at least. John could remember the year she was chosen. She had been fourteen at the time and had gone into it with all the confidence and vitality of a Career. John didn't watch the footage, but he had seen her after she came back. She spent her life as a victor drowning in debauchery and drug use. He'd seen her around the District with her “friend” Kate and her collection of syringes. But John was sure that was her way of coping with what she must have seen in the arena, so he couldn't really fault her.
The hands were so easy to finish. Sherlock felt like he knew them better than anything. Some nights he was sure he knew exactly what those hands felt like, so warm and strong, that he grew frustrated that the marble hands were cold and still.
“My mother studied mathematics, of course, and she taught it wherever we went. My father worked in foreign embassies, so we traveled a great deal. We never stayed in one place for more than a year, generally. I'm convinced that this upbringing is what initially led Mycroft to seek employment in the government.”
It was one thing when John operated under the belief that no one could place him at the Hickman that night. But the very thought of a single man out there possibly holding the key to his hypothetical arrest was staggering.
He nodded, his throat feeling tight, waiting for the news he had convinced himself he would have to receive.
I glanced at the blue scarf on top of the dresser. It really was not cold enough outside to justify it. But it seemed the best option.
At one point, they crossed through a piazza, and John laughed before he could stop himself, at the strange statue of an elephant with an obelisk rising up out of his back.
With her free hand, she reached out and pushed a small cup toward him without saying a word. When he picked it up, he saw it was water. She had dry ration food nearby as well, tucked into an open backpack. Cornucopia bounty, no doubt. He drank, not even knowing how parched he was until the water hit his throat. It almost hurt. Once Molly watched him drain the entire cup, she finally resumed her spot next to him, sitting comfortably rather than crouching in preparation of fight. He held the cup out to her, and she took it with her free hand, setting it down on the dirt and refilling it before handing it back.
Both of their heads turned to the hole above them, their eyes tracking the sound as it got closer to the ground outside. Sherlock's hands fell to his sides. They looked back at one another, and Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.
When Sherlock looked up at him, he smiled, such a loving turn of expression that John could never understand how anyone ever believed that Sherlock was anything but human. Perfectly, beautifully human.
“I didn't. They killed themselves. Those kids from the good districts, they think they're so much better than everyone else. Think they're smarter, stronger, better trained. They may be a couple of those things, but they aren't smarter.
It was a cold, clear night in London, and the two of them were out walking through the city. Mycroft had called earlier in the day, wanting Sherlock to come meet him to discuss a case, so naturally, Sherlock had put it off for as long as he could, and walked right past Mycroft's hired car to kill some more time. Mycroft had texted him, annoyed that he was so obviously indifferent to the case. Sherlock knew what the case was about, but he hadn't mentioned it to John, which wasn't unusual, since he had a great habit of dragging John off with him and explaining why after the fact. Whatever it was probably didn't involve multiple homicides, since he seemed to want nothing to do with it. John tried to narrow down possibilities in his head – fraud, protecting someone from the upper class, government issues, international crime.
His first few weeks with Sherlock had been such a whirlwind that it took him longer than planned to get truly settled in Baker Street. When he'd left his old rooms, he had done so quickly, throwing most of his things into various bags and suitcases with little thought. The only thing he had packed carefully was the painting, still cushioned by clothing in its suitcase. After meeting Sherlock, he had spent only a single night in his old rooms before leaving entirely, and as soon as that place was behind him, he felt that maybe, even if only in some very small way, the Hickman was behind him too.
Whenever the hovercraft would come to retrieve bodies, they would take whatever weapons were lodged in them as well. And Sherlock decided that the old man's sponsor should have to suffer the loss of his stash. After all, his player had lost the game.
John was just approaching his front door when Sherlock opened it, and, without a word, grabbed John by the shoulder and turned him around, forcing him down their front steps back onto the pavement.
"You know, Sherlock, Victor was your friend. You continue this way, you won't have any friends left."
And all this wasn't even taking into account the fact that John was trying his hardest not to mention The Man.
There were few things that could shock Sherlock Holmes, but he felt his jaw drop as he watched the healer push his way through to his sister. Harry began sobbing and shaking her head, trying to get him to take it back, but he wouldn't, and eventually one of the Peacekeepers grabbed her by the arms while the other led John up the rest of the way to the stage. Harry went into hysterics as she was being pulled away.
"Sure, whatever you say. Just try not to scream when there's a knock at the door. We don't want to scare the kids."
All he said in return was, “Of course.” There was no sense in him shooting the whole thing dead this early in the distancing stage. Even if this was the first of many harbingers, there was still some joy left to be had here, for however long the world allowed him to have it. That should have still brought him a certain amount of sadness. But any days he had left with John Watson were worth it.
“Okay. But you didn't die. You're here again. So now what?” Sherlock always had a plan, always knew what the next step was, accounted for every possible outcome. So what had been on his list on the off chance he survived?
“You said Harry was your sister. The inscription led me to believe Clara was a brother's past romantic attachment.”
John did not realize at first what he had done. He had heard the sound every soldier dreads, the sound of incoming projectiles. There had been gunshots and then the whirring of what he could only assume was a bomb. He had thrown himself to the ground, covering his head and bracing for the explosion, and begging it not to come.
“I'm glad you're not living alone, even if it is just with a friend. I worried about you, when you first came back. That solitude wasn't good for you.”
“Well, I hope it will suffice tomorrow as well. I have to go into work, and I don't want you running all over London alone. So stay in, play your violin, and try not to set anything on fire.” John stood and said, “Oh, by the way, Mrs. Hudson wants to know if you want the upstairs bedroom? Have you slept at all since you got here?”
The empty branches of trees cut at his face as he rushed through the woods, his heart pounding in his ears, only barely overshadowed by the distant booming of cannons, tally marks of the dead.
John scoffed, smiling a little. He stared at the ground for a minute and said quietly, “Fine. What are binary stars, anyway?” John had once told Sherlock that oftentimes, when people asked a question, they were actually asking something else entirely. Sherlock had a feeling this was one of those times.
“Can't reveal all the mysteries, now can I?” As always, such remarks were universally beloved by his over-eager fans. Cleverness was a low bar for most of them.
John let out a somewhat frustrated sigh and shrugged as he crossed the room to take a seat in the second chair. “He sounded...desperate.”
He was so well-practiced that I hardly felt the twinge of the needle through my skin. His eyes took on a languid quality of concentration.
Sherlock heard the split second pause, the author waiting for the next question. And although there were people sheepishly raising their hands, gearing themselves up to speak, he ignored them and stole their moment from them.
Three in the morning, and Sherlock was walking around one of his greenhouses after making rounds to check on John. He continued to be baffled at the lack of illness or injury, but was all the same grateful for it.
“You're never in here this early unless you're on a case. And if it's a case, you're here with John.” Sherlock said nothing, though he tried to speak, and failed. “So you must be avoiding him.” Sherlock gave her a small tilt of his head. “Oh, Sherlock, you –”
Irene turned to John. “Oh, he's just being moody. From what I understand, he's like that even on the best of days.”
John set down his fork, pasta still hanging from it, and sighed. “Did you just look up all the dedications in all my books?”
John had more or less ceased using his own ability, because he didn't need to. He didn't want the world to freeze when he was with Sherlock. Sherlock was a creature of nearly constant motion, and John never wanted that to stop. The longer he lived at Baker Street, the more his panics faded, the more at home he felt. He was still saving people, just in a different way.
Sherlock ran his bare hands over the plants, sighing and feeling incredibly weighted down. So many things that shouldn't be poisonous, but were. Just like him. He wanted to hate the plants for their poison, even though he created them, but every time he tried to muster that rage, the desire to smash every pot in the greenhouse, he was reminded of the fact that they were the only things like him in the world. And he couldn't destroy exceptions to the rule.
All day though, John would ask Sherlock questions here or there, about what he remembered of the night, Sherlock always giving him predetermined answers. Once, after one such remark, John said, “Are you sure? I could have sworn...” Sherlock waited tensely, watching John try to work through the night. Finally, he conceded, and Sherlock was flooded with relief. There was no reason John should go into a marriage with a guilty conscience.
“I don't know. I thought I'd be in a better place by now. And what the fuck am I going to do about Mary?” He rested his forehead on his open palm.
He shut the office door behind him and cast a distasteful glance at his brother, who stood across the room wearing an absolutely atrocious dark blue suit textured to look like snakeskin.
Two faces appeared above him. One was a soldier, trying to talk to him. When he didn't respond, the man yelled for help. The other face was a pale man with dark hair. He wasn't in the familiar army fatigues. Instead he was wearing a black suit, minus the tie. John thought he was hallucinating, that the dessert and the blood loss were playing tricks on him. He shut his eyes for a moment, but when he reopened them, the man was still there. He had a strange look in his eyes. Concern, yes, but also...irritation?
Sholto had gone around turning all the lights on, especially in the living room, which he lit up brightly enough that it felt like daytime despite the encroaching night outside. Before he'd even bothered with that, though, he handed John a glass and a bottle, without question. It had been so long since John had come to see him, back before Rome, and part of him felt guilty for showing up now for such a selfish reason. But Sholto didn't seem to notice. He acted like he'd seen John yesterday.
John looked around the dirty little room, eyes lingering on the cracks running through the window. The wind seeped through them. They would have to be fixed before winter. There was only the faintest hint of sunlight forcing its way through the dirt and grime on the glass. John pushed himself up and reached for his bag. He would have to hurry if he wanted to get past the fences unseen.
Sherlock waited, waited to be struck down. The Capitol would never kill a fan favorite like John. Just as well. That's who Sherlock would have chosen to go home too. Would their death blow come from another hound? No, too tricky, too unpredictable. Might kill John too. Same went for a flash flood in the river. Lightning? Even that was imprecise at best.
John stood there for a moment, hand on the door frame, an unconscious block. He had to force himself to step aside and let her in.
Mary nodded. “Of course. I'll do whatever I can.” She gave him a kiss on his cheek and said, “As long as you promise me that you'll try to win.”
Pause. John felt slightly smug that he was able to leave Sherlock unsure what to say. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
John expected him to begin looking up local papers to see what sort of murders were being investigated, anything of interest, but instead, he just turned it off entirely, something he had never intentionally done in all the time John had known him.
A few minutes later, I felt a hand on my arm. "Sherlock?" Victor had a look on his face that mice usually reserve for cats.
John stayed in bed for a while after he left, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. A sense of the surreal crept over him, and he smiled to himself, the happy ache still deep in his chest and the comforting fact that Sherlock would come back, not vanish into death, made him nearly sigh in relief.
He hated the cemetery. He hated the birds that still managed to sing despite all the suffering that surrounded them. He hated the people who had told him how sorry they were. He hated the people who had made less than kind remarks about the "freak detective."
“Naturally. The company must be equally tedious, or you wouldn't be talking to me. Aren't people supposed to mingle at these things? Go out for nice dinners and drinks and pretend to be interested in each other's work?”
Sherlock knew John was at Harry's, and he arrived just as the doctor was leaving. He didn't look well. When Harriet Watson's face shows concern, then it's a given that the situation is bad.
John felt fine, but he had absolutely no clue what to do. He'd asked himself the same question multiple times during the night. He couldn't stay here forever. Eventually, there wouldn't be enough tributes in the arena to keep people entertained. Something would ruin the quiet safe haven. He had considered leaving as soon as she woke up, but couldn't.
"One moment, and I'll get some menus for you and your date," he said to John. Sherlock waited for the inevitable rebuttal. But it never came. When he looked at John, he was picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth. He was trying to keep his face blank.
Who in their right mind, when provided a perfect opportunity, uses it to bring up someone being set on fire? Of all time periods, he had to be playing a
I felt my back slammed against the bricks of the alley wall, hands running over me, grabbing my wrists. There were lips tracing my jaw, feverish kisses planted all over my neck and face.
“It won't even take that long. I don't really know how to say this, though. But I feel like I should just go ahead and apologize now.”
After being told who the poet was, John had hated how silent his phone had been. No additional messages or information.
"The music is about me, isn't it?" John had let the words slip out before he could stop them. He had grown steadily more convinced that this was the case, and he decided if it wasn't that he could blame the enormous amount of drugs in his system. He waited for a response, and when it came, the voice was much closer, standing by his bedside.
Speeches like these always allowed one to say things that under any other circumstances would draw attention and be the precursor to a serious conversation. People expected sentimentality at a wedding. They expected heartfelt speeches. No one would think anything of it. Including John, who, as always, remained delightfully oblivious to all that
Sherlock reached up to the top of John's shirt and undid the top button. He pushed the material to one side and John saw his eyes suddenly grow pensive. The detective ran his hand along John's shoulder, right below his collarbone, and then John understood. He looked down and saw the familiar long fingers tracing the remnants of the gunshot wound, like someone reading braille for the first time after going blind.
"Sure, John. Go home, get some rest. We'll talk later. Or rather, you'll talk to whoever they fill my place with." John stood to leave, and as he did, he glanced over Lestrade's desk at the evidence bags.
“You don't have to involve yourself in all this, you know. If it makes things unnecessarily complicated for you.” John looked up from the carpet and saw Sherlock absently fidgeting with a loose string on the curtain.
John slowly rose to his feet, the hound forgotten. Sherlock saw him glance down at his gun, a fleeting glance.
Sherlock expected John to look away, to roll his eyes and go on with his night, but he didn't. It felt like forever before he let his eyes be drawn back to the storm outside their window, but Sherlock was flooded with relief when he wasn't under that gaze anymore. Part of him hoped that John would get up and leave entirely, but he didn't.
“Normally, I wouldn't bother you with this,” he said as he walked Sherlock and John over to the body. “But honest to God, we just don't have the time to devote to it. We're way too busy.”
Sherlock remained frozen in place for the longest time. Finally he walked to his own tombstone, laying his hand where John's had been only minutes ago. And he decided to stop in the coffee shop across the street to gather his thoughts. For one of the few times in his life, Sherlock Holmes had no idea how to proceed.
John could hardly argue with that logic, and since Sherlock was already heading down the stairs, he thought it best to follow.
When I was finishing writing the part in the Pantheon, I was sending Clem messages about how preoccupied I was with the rain still being able to come in through the oculus, and naturally she understood this preoccupation and had a perfect response about how she saw these children dancing in the rain inside the Pantheon. Clem is too much, but I'm glad she's in some of the same preoccupation hells as me.
"Yeah well, if you need it back so badly, you can take it up with your brother, because I'm certainly not going to help you retrieve Irene Adler's phone. Not after what he's been through because of her." Mycroft made a face, not pleased by the prospect of fighting through the issue with Sherlock.
The kiss was never supposed to happen. There had been so many long glances, so many times eyes had flitted to mouths and hands. There had been the steadily lessening space between them. There had been more than one instance of breath catching, but still, it wasn't supposed to have happened. But it had, and so easily.
He locked eyes with me again, a slight furrow across his brow, as if he were deliberating something with himself. No doubt it had something to do with one of my injuries. He reached a hand up toward my face. I expected it to land across the bandaged cut, but instead it snaked its way around and cupped the back of my neck, gently pulling me closer to him.
Standing in the lab at Bart's, Sherlock flipped through a very thick forensics file while John sat at another bench, watching him, wondering what the hell was going through his head this time. John had attempted to talk to him more once they reached the hospital, but Sherlock wouldn't be distracted, not even by John.
John sat down on the sofa and knocked back a whiskey in one gulp, and poured another. Eventually, Sholto sat down in the chair opposite him, not speaking, just watching him carefully like he was a human trip wire.
. What all have you done in the Games? Because I bet it can't hold a candle to the things I've done. So calculated, so well-executed, if you'll pardon my word choice. What would you say the highlight will be? I'm going to say it was that girl. That little thing I gutted. They'll be talking about that for a long time, I think.”
“You don't have to. It's not a secret, John. You were never good at keeping secrets, it's just not in your nature. You wear everything you're thinking on your face. I knew the why as soon as I walked into Baker Street the other day.”
seem tonally different from all your other work? Why was it published during the off season with little publicity and marketing? Why does it seem to me that that is the only book you're thinking about while you answer questions about your newest release? Why was there such a massive time gap on either side of that particular novel?”
John pulled his phone out of his pocket, staring at it in his hand for a minute before typing out a message to one of his friends, an excuse about not feeling well. He hit “send.”
John sat quietly on the train, staring out the window without really seeing anything. The fact that he had no car of his own to drive had been one of his favorite excuses for not seeing his family more regularly, but this time it was unavoidable. He may have a loving but strained relationship with his mother, ambivalence toward his father, and a sense of exhausted pity for his sister, but they needed help.
“He's been traumatized, Sherlock. We don't want to risk pushing him over the edge by making him think he's hallucinating again.”
“As teams scour the Hickman site in desperate attempts to recover some of the paintings, the crown jewel of the gallery, a newly discovered Vermeer, remains missing, presumed destroyed.”
He was about halfway through his drink, the world already dark outside the windows, when he heard the familiar footsteps on the stairs, and he cursed to himself that his peace was so soon shattered.
John kept to himself, working with the spears, when he heard voices nearby. He paused, spear still in hand, and slowly he made his way around the corner, and saw the man from District 1 towering over the girl from District 8. He had her backed up against the wall, and she was trying to hold her own, but every time she attempted to get away from him, he would push her back, just gently enough to not draw attention.
He felt anger begin to bubble back to the surface. “Excuse me?” They continued to carry on as if he wasn't there.
The front cover of the book was a portrait of a girl's face, maybe thirteen, with her features partially obscured by the artistic equivalent of a camera blur.
He jumped up, whirling around at the sound of the voice. He stared at the rock face of the cliff, his brow furrowing in confusion. Residual hallucinations? No, the drug should have been long gone from his system. Was this it, then? Had the arena simply broken him?
She smiled. “He was a bit of a flirt, to tell you the truth. He would talk about buying me jewelry if he ever had that kind of income. And sometimes when he would talk like that he would say things like, 'Since I might not ever have that kind of money, I should just give you this.' ” She picked the ring up, turning it around in her hand. “It became a sort of joke with us, about this ring. It was the only article of jewelry he owned as far as I know. I'll check and see if his family wants it.”
Her face, usually a mix of playfulness and scheming, was suddenly very dark and sad. But it only lasted a second, and just as quickly, she glanced at Mycroft as she rose from her seat. She said to him, putting on a hollow version of her usual closed-lip smile, “What do you think we should all wear when we get back to the district, Mr. Holmes? I'm leaning toward my battle dress.” She turned and winked at John and Sherlock before walking out of the room.
, Sarah?” a voice asked. John glanced to the side, seeing a baffled looking man standing next to a pretty woman, her brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. John had seen the look on the man's face before, someone who didn't understand the appeal of art, and likely never would. But he couldn't crush the woman's enthusiasm. She smiled more fondly at the painting than she probably ever did at the man.
John laughed, and Sherlock glanced at him for a second, surprised by the reaction. “So you're going to London for uni? That's what Mike said.”
“So, what? You think threatening me will force me into some emotional baring of the heart? I regret to inform you that it will not.”
“Sherlock. What the hell is going on?” He forced himself to speak calmly, tried not to devolve into shouting.
John disregarded the various messages he had gotten from Ella while he was out with Sherlock. He was sure she'd be livid whenever he finally reconnected, but periodically, there had to be evenings that weren't consumed with work, with deadlines and tour schedules, and offers from movie producers who would beg for film rights and then butcher the adaptation entirely. There were some nights where he just needed to be a regular person again, like he was before he ever set pen to paper.
Suddenly the prospect of beating Moriarty was not nearly so enticing. It would rattle their still world, and potentially put them both in danger again. Sherlock's smile faded to a frown as soon as John turned away, standing and going to the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock dreaded the shattering of the calm created by this steady little army doctor, and then, finally, he understood.
“And you couldn't even begin to solve all of the issues within your own family, no matter how vocal you had been. Things that are destined to fall apart will, whether you intervene or not.”
Suddenly Sherlock was filled with a panic. He had not foreseen this defeated confession. And now he was struck with a rare insecurity and doubt. Maybe Mycroft was right. Maybe tonight was a bad choice.
One such day, he came home to find Sherlock standing in their living room staring at the wall above the gray sofa. John followed his line of sight as Sherlock said, “It is rather nice looking, isn't it?”
“Precisely. So you can quite easily turn around and walk out it.” He gave a wave of his hand. She remained seated, unimpressed.
John paused, waiting to see if he would say more, but he didn't. “So Rome was what? In case you died or never saw me again or something?” Sherlock only shrugged, a familiar gesture that translated most closely to
Sherlock's face simultaneously wore both fear and elation, and had he been anyone else there would have been tears in his eyes. John was suddenly aware of how Sherlock's life had really just been one long lonely night after the next; no wonder he had no idea what to make of happy endings like the stories promised to every child except him. Sherlock kept glancing at John's lips, awestruck that anyone would do something like cross a room to kiss him and knowing that those lips were on his and could be for years to come. Unprecedented, all of this. It was no wonder that so many people went around going on and on about love and happy endings and all the things that Sherlock always disdainfully called cliches.
John and Sherlock shifted, standing back to back, rotating as they heard the growls, the vicious snaps of unseen teeth. John held the gun out, aiming at nothing. It never stayed in view long enough to get a lock on it, always vanishing from sight.
Sherlock only said, “There was no sense in telling you till it became an actual issue. It would have only had you walking around upset. You know that.”
Sometime – the minutes all blurred together – Sherlock reached for John's hand, holding it between the two of them, flattening out their fingers so their hands were palm to palm. He kept them like that for a while, John never once moving, and finally he slid their fingers together, running his thumb along John's hand.
The cab finally came to a stop near a car park, cordoned off with tape. There were multiple police cars and what looked like hoards of law enforcement and forensics officials wandering around. Everything seemed to be a shade of gray, the sky fading into the asphalt, even the police officers' clothes bled into the puddles of standing water. The only spot of true color came from the bright blue shirt of the dead man lying in the middle of the car park. John watched as Sherlock got out of the cab, his coat becoming another point of gray in the monochrome sea. This time he didn't wait to see if John followed; he knew damn well he would.
.” Sherlock pushed himself away from the wall, taking one or two steps and grabbing the edge of the bannister. He sat down on the stairs, leaning against the railing beside him, eyes closed.
“Solving crimes. And currently my brother is inside trying to talk me into assisting him with some foreign affair.”
"There are few intelligent people in the world. It would be a disservice to let one of them get killed."
Sherlock sat in his chair, reading and mostly ignoring the other guests. There weren't too many, of course. Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mike. Sherlock couldn't help but notice the lack of John's most recent girlfriend. Another woman, left in John Watson's wake.
Sherlock's hand shifted from John's shoulder to the back of his neck, John's expression shifting to confusion for one second before Sherlock kissed him.
John woke up to the deafening blare of the television. He jumped out of bed, running into the living room. Sherlock stood holding the remote, his head cocked to the side as he watched the action movie that dominated the screen. John reached out and grabbed the remote out of his hands and shut the television off.
He had been unable to make himself move from the sofa, the remote still sitting on it next to him. Every tiny sound was amplified, every minor irritation a thousand times more glaring.
“Then there isn't really any sense in me telling them, is there? If I told them, all that would do is make them take up your time, and since you work with me, that would be most inconvenient in the grand scheme of things. Imagine, you always getting called away for questioning and picking people out of lineups when we're trying to work.”
With a roll of his eyes, he pulled into the restaurant's lot and parked, following John sullenly inside, hands in his pockets. It was a quiet little place, the kind that had homey menus and old music piped in over the speakers. There was a dinner crowd, a whole slew of what looked like terribly ordinary people.
The sadness he'd been able to handle – mostly. But he'd had no idea how to deal with the anger that had slowly risen in him more and more with every passing week, the cold rage that made him want to scream at the world. He wanted to hit someone, anyone would do, even a stranger who just pushed past him on the street. There had to be
Sherlock gave a small nod, the pensive veil lifting from his face, a smile creeping into his expression for the first time that day, like a sunrise.
“Of course most of the Careers are dead, so the competition is blessedly –” John had stopped in his place and was staring at something on the ground. “John?”
John couldn't believe the line. It was risky, reminding everyone there about what they would all be doing in a few days. But it also made John look good to the people, more so than it did Sherlock. Which begged the question of why someone so self-serving would say anything that might benefit someone who was technically his opponent.
Sherlock thought it was irrational, and yet, he was doing it anyway. It was a few days later, and he had spent many hours loitering around the Tesco, on the off chance that he would run into the same man again. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something about him was important. That was irrational, too. After all, the man was not very tall or striking, walked with a cane, and wore the blandest clothing. And yet...
Sherlock jerked his head around, glaring. But he saw John looking at his shaking hands, and scoffed. “Body's betraying me.”
what to do with you.” She gave him a pursed-lip smile and, electronics still in hand, said, “Let's get started.”
John finally let go of Sherlock's hand, staring off into the woods. No flocks of birds, no sound from the forest at all.
"Despite the fact that a part of me really wants to punch you in the face again, there isn't anyone else I've wanted to see so badly in years." Sherlock could hear a tiny trace of John's usual self in his voice. He allowed himself a small smile.
. It was a weak answer, and he knew it, but his times of greatest anxiety had been when he wasn't near the painting, like that first night when he'd gone to the pharmacy, or the fleeting seconds in the hallway picking up the newspaper. The more distance between himself and the Vermeer, the worse the entire situation made him feel.
When Sherlock broke back into the hollow, it was chaos. The tributes stood raving, the two men at each other, the woman at nothing. She was on her knees, her hands clapped over her ears. They were surrounded by morning fog.
John wrapped the last of the lights around the top of the tree. "You really are the paragon of holiday cheer. You have a case?"
“What about Rome?” Sherlock repeated. John only nodded. Sherlock cut his eyes away, tracing a finger along the arm rest of his chair. “While I was relatively certain that I wouldn't end up actually dying while closing Moriarty's network, I wasn't one hundred percent sure. That kind of certainty is never smart, and I'm not one for absolutes.”
Sherlock came to an old house, one long since abandoned. It had belonged to a tribute's family, and when their child had not returned, neither parent had been able to cope. The memories in the house had only made them hurt worse. Sherlock had only been a child when it happened, his mother skirting around the word “hanged” like it was poison on her lips. All the children regarded the house with a sort of morbid fascination, which grew into a reverent respect as they aged. The house had never been filled with another family. Instead, it was allowed to fall to ruin. Sherlock had come to it before, even though everyone else steered clear of it. Even the neighbors would have nothing to do with it, letting the wood rot and the grass grow too tall.
John's ears perked up. The tone of the music was all he'd been able to think about. "Well, it's structured in four parts. I could hear the differences."
“Of course.” She grinned before she turned and walked away. She stopped at her own door and turned back to John. “For what it's worth, I rather like him.”
Looking down into it he could see the fountain, the soft bubbling of the running water audible even on their balcony, and the scattered wrought iron tables and chairs. There were only a few people taking advantage, sitting around talking softly to each other, one group whispering over a carafe of red wine, everyone seeming to respect the hushed nature of the location. The interior nature of the courtyard blocked most of the noise from the city; only occasionally would a lone car horn or shouting tourist be loud enough for anyone to hear. The exterior balcony would surely be louder, but this one turned the city from a roar to a whisper, and the sense of being lost in the silence of a place surrounded by life and vivacity was oddly soothing.
The tone in his voice set off all the warning alarms in Sherlock's head. But all he said was, “Fine. If you insist.”
The train ride cooled him down some, at least, enough for him to put his head in his hands and feel pathetic for even getting on the train in the first place. But he couldn't go back to Mary, and he couldn't bear the silence of the empty flat tonight. The train ride had been an impulse, one he was sure to pay for later, but he had no idea where else he could go where no one would ask him prying questions or tell him how sorry they were.
Now and then there would be a noise, rustling in the leaves or a twig breaking, and it would set them off a bit, even though it always turned out to be something innocuous.
“It's trying, isn't it? Every year when they bring you all in, it makes my heart ache seeing how tired and scared some of you are.” John was surprised. He had never heard a Capitol resident talk that way before. “But we do what we can to make it a little easier.”
“Well, they arrested her. That's all I know right now. Maybe I'll luck out and someone will kill her.”
The search for information about John Watson had been equally futile. He had hoped that the internet would be able to provide more information than the blurb on the dust jacket had, but details about the author were notably sparse no matter where he looked. No details about his early days except the same note of him being from Somerset. There was a fair bit about his military service, but nothing about his family or personal life. Yet somehow, this man had cultivated his public image in such a way that his fans viewed him as family and felt like they knew him. He had an easy charm in his interviews that made him seem so personable, but Sherlock noticed that mostly his answers seemed designed to keep everyone safely at arm's length. Certain topics he avoided more than others. Any questions about his youth were immediately and skillfully redirected into another avenue of discussion, so expertly that the interviewers didn't seem to realize they'd been played. Questions about the military he answered, unless they were questions about the actual people he served with. Unlike most military men he seemed reluctant to talk about other soldiers he knew, giving no sentimental tales of brothers in arms and rescues and miracles. But he talked very casually about some of the terrible things he saw, as if the deaths and bombings didn't seem nearly as emotionally demanding as simple questions about his favorite movie or whether he was married or whether he came from a large family or – god forbid – questions about why he chose the subject matter he chose.
And then the texts came, one after another on Sherlock's phone, all signed with JM. Names. Names of every last person in the building. Names of their children. Names of all the priceless pieces collected under the museum's roof. And the riddles, the taunts, they had sent Sherlock into a frenzy. The threats he didn't mind, but the riddles drove him mad, especially when punctuated by the numerical countdown texts, the occasional message of, “Tick tock, Mr. Holmes.”
The man was still alive, but only barely, his skin clammy and his hands shaking, his eyes wide and wild and terrified. The look was familiar. The man knew damn well how this was going to end. He reached out a hand, grabbing John by the arm, panicked and insistent, leaving a bloody hand print on the dark cloth of John's jacket. But he did this to get John's attention, not John's comfort, and once John looked down at him he drew his hand away. Both of his hands held out in front of him, the man shakily twisted a ring off one of his fingers, pushing it toward John, the blood-smeared gold giving off the faintest glint in the dim light.
One night, John almost went back to the church, perhaps wanting to somehow recreate that moment of peace and silence they had achieved just a few nights before. But he lost his nerve. Sherlock would see through something like that.
The atmosphere grew steadily more awkward, and was blessedly broken by Molly's return. She had her mobile phone in her hand, which she held out toward the both of them.
While he sat on the edge of his bed, wondering how much longer he could stay in his room before John noticed how long he'd been gone, he replayed the afternoon over and over in his head. The way John had said the word
The New Year's Eve party was at a rather fancy hotel along the river. Everyone was there. Most of the Yard, most of the people from Bart's, even a few journalists that they were all on relatively good terms with.
John and Mary met up on the way to the Reaping later that day. Harry trailed behind them, hands trembling from nerves and withdrawal. She had that spacey look in her eyes that told John she wasn't truly all there.
“What did you want me to do, Mary? I wasn't going to send in a sad alcoholic like Harry. I stand a better chance than she does.”
Sherlock spared one glance to John before standing from the bench and taking the phone from Molly, his face flooded with relief. He paced around the room, asking a question here or there, occasionally with a tense clench of his jaw. The look was familiar, that moment where his brain took over, kicking everything else, all the petty things that most people found so important, out of his head until further notice. John would have been lying if he said he wasn't grateful for the intrusion, especially with the worried looks Molly kept giving them.
He rounded some rocks, his hand grabbing them for balance, and then jerking away when he saw his hand covered in blood. He spun around, trying to figure out where to go, when he saw the body.
The days were short, and it seemed John only blinked and it was late in the afternoon. Had he fallen asleep? He felt hungover and miserable, and his arm still protested at the slightest provocation.
John turned to see Sherlock standing beside him, hands clasped behind his back, staring off at the street.
“So you didn't say anything to me for days because Sherlock Holmes is alive. Why did you wait to tell me that your best friend was back from the dead? Didn't you think that was information worth sharing?”
One of them was particularly vitriolic. So John stopped the world and twisted his arm behind his back, not enough to dislocate his shoulder, but enough so that when he started the world again, the man cringed at the sudden and unexplained pain.
John was nearly deafened by the cheers. The stadium was filled to the brim with Capitol citizens, all hollering and screaming as the tributes made their way through. John could see the tributes from District 8 a few chariots ahead of them. As they emerged into the stadium, they both waved to all the Capitol citizens, and the man wrapped his arm around the woman protectively like an older brother would. They would no doubt be fan favorites.
“No, I mean you are out of hers. At best she'll be a teacher to a hoard of annoying six year olds, with a plain, boring little flat somewhere. You have more potential. So why are you wasting your time with her?”
"People go on and on about first sights. The reality is that it's the second meeting, the third, the fourth, whichever one turns lamplight into starlight, that actually matters."
John and Sherlock stood backstage with Irene, Mycroft, and the stylists. Irene gazed longingly at a passing tray of drinks. She had finally forced herself to get dressed in real clothes and was wearing an oddly textured black dress and heels so sharp that John thought they could be used as weapons in the arena. She had on the deepest shade of red lipstick he'd ever seen and had her hair piled high up on her head. She looked like she was going to be the one paraded in front of thousands.
“Seriously?” Donovan looked between Sherlock and Lestrade. “You don't know what we've been working on?”
.” He wasn't speaking authoritatively anymore. He was all desperation and quiet words, no longer wild, but begging.
had done, until it happened time after time, always at his bidding. And while many young men would have panicked, Sherlock instead instantly recognized the potential of such an ability. He seized every opportunity. At first he took joy in some simple pleasures, mostly involving causing minor and humorous injuries to Mycroft. Occasionally he would only read for hours on end. Then he realized he could do whatever he wanted. There were no rules anymore.
But abruptly, Sherlock jerked away, realizing what he had done. John had never seen eyes so filled with fear, and for a moment, Sherlock seemed incapable of even the slightest movement, frozen like someone who had stumbled across a vicious predator.
But no number of pieces would erase the image from his brain, and no number of nights would wipe The Man from his dreams.
“You're very lucky,” a voice said. “The neighbors saw you go in, so they went looking for you when they heard the house collapse.”
John smiled a little. He heard Sherlock's footsteps stop in an annoyed huff for a minute before resuming, ignoring Molly's request at stillness. Whether Sherlock would admit it or not, he was just as concerned as John was. Concern would be the only thing that would make him show his trust in Molly Hooper.
“Admittedly, I will likely be bored as well. I've grown rather fond of your technology,” he said, finally looking up from his puzzle. But if his face was any indication, John was just as much of a puzzle as the Rubik's cub had been.
Lestrade looked at the phone. As far as the records were concerned, this phone didn't exist as evidence. And Lestrade decided he was already in trouble anyway. How much more damage to his career could he cause at this point? He picked up the phone, turning it over in his hands for a minute like it held the answer to why Sherlock had done it. But the screen stayed black and gave him no closure. He held it out to John, who took it and put it in the evidence bag, tucking it away inside his coat.
"You asked me to be nice," he said matter-of-factly. Sherlock paused, picked up his bow. "And although it's unfortunate that the dull nurse won't be able to join you, I'm sure you'll find someone to go with."
John stared blankly at him for a moment before turning the television on, quickly muting it. He began clicking through the different channels. Sherlock watched in amazement. Finally, John stopped on a documentary about bees. He turned the volume on low. “Look, see?” He drew Sherlock's attention to the buttons on the remote. “This lets you go between channels, and
“Nothing, nothing.” Sherlock followed him into Baker Street, stepping out of the way so John could lock the door. He leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, looking like he was barely able to remain standing. John held out his keys, and Sherlock stared at them in confusion for a second before holding out his hand, palm-up. John almost let them drop into his open palm, but instead placed them there carefully, and folded Sherlock's fingers back over them.
rise in his head, but John silenced it with a kiss, gentle and easy, his hand holding onto Sherlock's arm. “I am perfectly content being your companion star.”
“I heard you.” He continued to stare straight ahead, but never did speak again. John didn't much appreciate being ignored so blatantly, but he wasn't going to keep making an effort if Sherlock was going to be like that. John looked away from him, feeling himself settling into a bad mood as they called Sherlock's name. He left without even glancing at John, completely caught up in his own head.
don't. People can't be friends, really. Human beings are naturally self-serving, and that is not conducive to friendship. Eventually, everyone turns on each other. You may have business associates or acquaintances, but
“John, you idiot, you are going to get yourself killed.” She stood a few feet in front of him, arms crossed.
“You do. Everyone knows. Even Mary Morstan knows it isn't an act, so I wish the two of you would just quit pretending that it is. Especially you.”
“You know.” He gave a little wave of his hand. “He's one of those people who thinks emotions are a waste of time. So I don't think he feels things that way.” He tried to shrug, to brush it all off, and from the look on Sholto's face, he knew he had failed miserably. John waited, expecting a joke or a quick retort, an old-fashioned army jab, but Sholto just watched him quietly, slowly nodding his head. He wasn't even looking at John when he finally decided to speak.
When John shut his sister's bedroom door behind him, he saw her sitting on the floor by her bed, her liquid courage beside her. She was trembling, her arms wrapped around her knees, and after all the years of verbal outbursts and her mouth getting her in trouble, it seemed that speech had been taken from her entirely. She blinked back tears, not very successfully, and wiped them away with the back of her hand. No matter what John said to her, she wouldn't speak, and eventually he had to settle for sitting next to her with his arm around her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder, in perfect silence for hours.
Behind him, he saw Kitty gaining speed, planning to jump the water too, and he pushed himself a few feet back away from the water's edge, trying to force himself again and again to stand, but tripping over cracks and stones in his rush.
JW: Yes and no. There's a certain catharsis, in fictionalizing things. I think it's one of the ways human beings cope with all the horrible things we have to see and hear. But the real world gets exhausting, even when it's your version of it. I needed a break from all that. It was time to get back to my roots, I suppose.
Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him. “Really, though John. Suicide over sentiment. How very human of you.”
But the first week or so he was back, he enjoyed it. He had seen so many terrible things in Afghanistan, things that would be burned on his memory forever. So he would stop his world when he felt the panic rise in him, and would go walk through Hyde Park, or along the Thames, and remind himself that there was goodness and beauty in this world. He felt like he had to keep reminding himself of this one fact. Not everything was blood and death. There were children playing in the park with their parents. There were gardens and beautiful homes. There was an entire world of art and music. And there was more goodness than evil.
“I had to consider its properties, its color, shape, had to think seriously about including something about the immunity in the name, but of course that would be hard to explain to anyone else. Even thought about being simplistic, naming it after its place of origin, or something along those lines. In the end I decided to name it something else entirely, having really nothing to do with the bloom itself.” He fell silent, and John was about to ask again, to try and draw words out of him, when he said, “
John's hand slid down to his wrist. “What the hell are you doing?” He grinned, amused. Sherlock's face was just slightly flushed from all the drinks, and so close to John's that he thought he could feel the heat radiate off him.
Sherlock, of course, was just irritated with them. He remained upstairs, sulking on the sofa, reading through his stack of scientific journals. Every few minutes, his concentration would be broken by that infernal pounding on the door.
Perhaps pointedly, Mary never mentioned Sherlock. Surely she knew, since Sherlock had become such a public figure near the end of his life, since she was an avid reader of the news and had likely seen all the stories about the end in Rome. But she never spoke up, never asked John all those questions that any girlfriend would want to ask. For a while, he was grateful, but when Mary finally broke her silence and asked about it one night, John hated her months of silence, feeling like they'd only been a steady buildup to what devolved into a cold and distant conversation.
John listened to the cheers erupt from the spectators, smiling and waving at them. The stylists had put together an amazing display. Even Sherlock seemed mildly impressed. John locked eyes with the man, who had been staring at the trail of glowing fire following John. And underneath the awe, John could see the smallest hint of fear. It felt so much more final now that they were here in front of the world. John watched as Sherlock corrected himself, faced forward, and wiped all trace of expression from his face.
John was silent, but his clenched jaw slowly relaxed. He took a deep breath, his voice calmer when he spoke.
He spun around, trying to find the person who he had, in a way, silently communicated with since he was in Afghanistan. And finally he saw a figure near the trees, an unmistakable silhouette in a dark coat.
, someone who existed only to give the reader some sort of emotional closure. Mycroft said dedications humanized writers, made them feel more accessible to the public. But Sherlock had never liked that philosophy. And he had never liked being accessible. “They tend to lack sincerity or exist only for factual purposes. For instance, Ella getting a dedication since she was the reason the book was published in the first place. You can quantify her worth. Or the people who dedicate things to their parents out of some sense of familial obligation.”
"I lost my best friend," John snapped. He knew Lestrade was sad, having lost Sherlock and his job, but he couldn't make himself be sympathetic. John sighed and rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He looked back up at Lestrade, who was watching him intently, brow knit with concern.
He instantly recognized the phone, and when he laid eyes on it, it was as if the floor went out from under him. He put a hand on the edge of the desk to keep the room from spinning. When he looked up, Lestrade was staring at him, a terrified look on his face. He'd forgotten he'd had the phone, and he hadn't even considered the effect something like it would have on John.
“You say that as if it's unexpected.” Before John could speak, he added, “Though I suppose in all fairness, it probably is. But then again, so is immunity to poison.”
“London. You'll be there a while. We've assigned you to one person permanently. So you will be with him until he dies.” Sherlock groaned. “You will show yourself as human.”
One day soon after arriving, John called for a cab to take him back home from across town – no way he could walk that far with the ache in his leg – and the driver, a large jovial man, insisted on giving him a ride around the city, free of charge. New residents were so rare that the locals had been discussing John's arrival since they first laid eyes on him, the man told him. John smiled, accepting the impromptu tour, but was too distracted to listen to much of what the man was saying. He sat back in his seat, staring out at the scenery and trying to relax.
John gave a frustrated sigh. “Sherlock, soon we're going to be paraded around the entire country. If you can't manage to leave the house how are you going to manage that?”
"Why do you find it so hard, I wonder? To say what you're thinking. You like to dance around things." She crossed her legs and her eyes bore into me. "What did you tell your doctor, when you left? I doubt you casually said you were going to Karachi."
John was staring down at the tabletop, fiddling aimlessly with the silverware, when Sherlock said, “Why the dull education major?”
, which led to me meeting my agent, which led to years and years of sending out books. Most of them lost their heart, though.”
It was adrenaline. That was all. Just adrenaline and timing. Or, that's what John told himself. But when Sherlock looked back at him, trying to slow his breathing back to normal, he found that excuse harder and harder to believe.
“I really wouldn't.” Moriarty jerked his head toward John. “It's poetic justice, don't you think? Involving him in all this dramatic lost art business?”
He left his room, pacing around their floor, rubbing his hands over his eyes. When he walked into the living room, he stopped, staring at the figure in the window. Sherlock was sitting in the window seat, his back leaning against the wall and his arms resting on his knees. He was silhouetted by the lights of the Capitol, which he stared at with a blank indifference.
Nothing killed him more than standing there, watching them at the altar, and no words stung more than, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
John stopped walking, forcing Sherlock to stop as well. You would have thought Sherlock had just told him someone had died. “You asked what I was humming.” Sherlock watched as the memories crept back from their alcohol-induced amnesiac prison.
John was a healer, but there were limits to those skills. He couldn't heal Sherlock, and he couldn't heal himself. Things would never be all right, not really. These nights wouldn't last forever. Eventually, they would have to be public figures again, over and over for the rest of their lives. But at least they wouldn't have to face it all alone.
John didn't know what he expected his first encounter with the bystander to be like, but it wasn't this. The man was no bystander, was nothing close to an ordinary, average human. He was waiting for John and Henry when they'd come inside, dressed in an expensive suit and sporting a Kubrickian smile.
It was wonderful having John in Baker Street. Sherlock always had someone to go with him to crime scenes, someone to handle the day to day things that he found so tedious, someone to laugh with, someone who called him "extraordinary" and "fantastic," but also someone who didn't fear criticizing him. All those years, people had told him that no one would ever want to spend time with someone as blunt and difficult as him, but here was living proof to the contrary.
Closer, closer. “John...” His face was less than a foot from his. The eyes were still all wrong. Not John. The face flickered in and out, distorting as it did.
“Then why are you concerned with what she'll think?” John just shook his head. Sholto clapped him on the shoulder. “Go home, Watson. Keep in mind: if things can work out for someone like me, then certainly things will work out for you.”
John turned to Mike, dumbfounded for reasons he couldn't share with his friend. And all Mike could offer him in the way of explanation was, “Yeah. He's always like that.”
Sherlock stared at his outstretched hand, grabbing it with his own, holding it up in the weak light. As he reached for his other hand, doing the same, he said, “The weapons you have, there's too many to just be from the tributes you've killed, and I highly doubt you risked running into the cornucopia, so where did they come from?”
"John felt like he could see the entire world from this hotel room, and really, between Rome and Sherlock Holmes, how much more of the world could one really need?"
He was just raising his hand to lift the door knocker when the door swung open. John took a startled step back and glanced up at the tall, wiry looking man in front of him. He'd clearly been on his way out, his coat on and an umbrella hooked over his arm. He looked down at John with an amused quirk of his mouth.
"I never act without thinking." John knew that was true, but he was still surprised when he felt a pair of lips against his own. John mentally cursed the heart monitor. There was no way to hide the increase in his pulse.
“It's bad for you.” The only thing that had made him look more horrified than the illegality of cocaine had been when he'd stumbled across a children's television show earlier that day.
John filed away a bit of information: Sherlock Holmes is a sentimental drunk. And yet, it didn't entirely ring true. Sherlock may have been drinking, but his eyes had become clear, and his face looked as it always did. He likely wasn't completely drunk. But the softly spoken words only made John put up his mental defenses. He cursed himself for being just as emotionally useless as his sister.
John seemed relieved. Did he have faint memories of the night before that he had just explained away as a dream in his head? Sherlock hoped so. It was for the best in the long run.
And why couldn't John leave it behind, or return it, or at the very least allow it to rest for the night instead of letting it keep him awake?
Sholto tilted his head back just a few inches, but those few inches spoke volumes. “Oh, all right, that makes sense.”
As Sherlock left the planetarium, stepping out into the high contrast hell of the London night, he turned his head to the sky. In between the city lights, he could see one or two stubborn stars fighting their way through.
That night, John made an offhanded remark to Sherlock about how he had been nearly sociable all evening.
So Sherlock waited out the few days working in the lab at Bart's. He had his orders. There was a certain restaurant he was supposed to be at that Friday to try and befriend his charge. But until then he was content to work in peace.
John froze the world without another thought. It had been so long since he felt true panic, but now his vision was practically clouded by it. He stared at the man, his predatory smile unwavering in the stillness, like a figure in a wax museum.
She smiled. “The great Sherlock Holmes. Where's your pet? You two are very close, aren't you? Platonic?” She laughed. “How did you two get separated? Lose your way?” She made a face, a false expression of pity. “You know Jim? The man from my district? He's a big fan of you, too. You and your pet. He wanted you all to himself, Jim. He was hoping he'd...stumble across you in the arena.” She dragged the tip of the spear across his cheek. “Too bad. But at least if I see him again, I'll have one hell of a story for him. And if I get back to District 1, it will be the story of a
After what felt like an eternity, John reached into his pockets, fishing around for a scrap of paper and a pen, the two things a writer was never without. He scribbled something down and tucked the pen behind his ear as he closed the distance of the few feet between them. Seemingly without nervousness, John reached out for Sherlock's hand and put the piece of paper in it with no additional explanation, folding his fingers over it. Sherlock opened it and saw a line of numerical text. A phone number.
“This is the first time I've ever been in your place, and you seem really reluctant to show me any of it.”
“Yes.” He frowned at a single bloom that had had the nerve to die in the cool English weather. He reached out to inspect another section, but winced and jerked his hand back.
Their suite was upstairs, an elegant and lavish place with an enormous sitting room. Everything looked breakable, and it made John almost nostalgic for the simplicity and domesticity of Baker Street. But the suite was beautiful, and the view from their windows and balcony just as enchanting as every other facet of the city had been.
After the fact he would feel a little guilty for getting so much blood on the passenger's seat of Lestrade's car, but at the moment he wanted to paint the entire world in blood, a shouting proclamation of rage. Lestrade followed the distant lights of the ambulance far ahead of them, his own siren blaring. Over the high-pitched scream, Lestrade still attempted to talk, and said, “It's going to be okay, John.”
“Just because I'm a recluse doesn't mean I've lost my ability to read between the lines. I could always read you like a book, John.” The rare and casual use of his first name, something that Sholto only did when making it clear how serious he was about something, made John painfully aware of just how obvious it must seem to everyone. Except perhaps Sherlock.
her anything, without having to deal with that seemingly inevitable confrontation, without having to deal with her reaction. He wasn't sure what that reaction would even be. All he knew was that he wanted to avoid it. There was no need to answer questions, no need to get into a long conversation that had no chance of changing his mind, no need to deal with whatever cheap shots she might come up with as they fought.
“There's always that one District that thinks they're god's gift to the universe.” Sherlock looked down and saw John standing beside him. He smirked a bit before he could stop himself.
To their right was a table of twenty-somethings, likely university kids who already considered themselves literary scholars. Sherlock caught the sudden furrow to John's brow, irritated by the unwitting interruption. They listened in on the conversation as the students threw lines back and forth at each other out of what was presumably some sort of intellectual masochism. Drawn to painful poetry. Sherlock couldn't blame them. That sort of poetry had the ability to sublimate the human heart's darkest corners and wrap it up in a handful of lines. Even if you weren't a soldier, a victim of a crime, you had surely been affected by love, one way or another, whether you wanted to be or not. The universal language of people in pain.
John stared at him, wide eyed and terrified. There was someone standing there who looked like Sherlock, but that was impossible, wasn't it? This person's skin seemed to glow, and he had wings. John thought surely he was hallucinating, finally. Maybe the vision of The Man in Afghanistan had been a subconscious thing, like he'd seen Sherlock in passing once and projected the image of him as an angel in response to his imminent death. Maybe this was why he saw him now. But when he looked down, the gun was indeed gone from his hand.
The driver met his eyes in the mirror. “That place? That's the Holmes estate. Been there for well over a hundred years.”
Every night carried with it a sort of soft, bleary quality, the two of them so tired from the whole saga that they were more than content to just sleep curled close to one another, setting no alarms and taking no cases. The public asked when they would resume their work, but no one was pushy about it, everyone being polite enough to keep their distance. Now and then a well-wisher would leave flowers outside the building, and there was a nearly constant stream of cards and letters in their mail, but no one actively tried to draw them out, for which John was grateful.
“Perhaps. I would be more inclined to say that poets understand the stars far more than artists. Artists are only recording what they see, but poets are recording the
Things began to blur. John began losing any sense of time or place. Instead everything was one long single moment, all smashed together by a human memory that couldn't keep up. In a way, it felt unreal, like such a thing could never happen to them. But John remembered that it was unreal that he had ever even met Sherlock Holmes in the first place.
John listened to the mumbling from across the room. John wondered if he was slipping into one of his sullen moods, the relative mental inactivity finally getting to him. John knew that cold cases would only keep him occupied for so long. And he realized he wasn't really sure what to ask Sherlock, at least, not anything he would answer.
“You're smart and attractive, and you still manage to draw in people like the boring education major. Attributes are no guarantee of a suitable partner.”
It was hours since he'd stopped caring where he was. It was all the arena, so what did it really matter? He's just walked and walked. He'd tried to sleep a little the night before, which failed miserably. So as soon as there was enough light to safely move through the woods, he'd started walking again.
Sherlock's eyes were a little glassy. He'd drunk too much too quickly, and John wondered if he'd ever really drunk at all. “This and that. Mostly it was a good way to put my skills to use without getting in trouble for doing so. It's easy to be angry with a bratty child, but much less so when the child exposes theft or infidelity or even murder.”
“In all seriousness,” she continued, her smile still on her lips, “I hope you made good use of the day.”
She lunged at him, making her leap across the water. But Sherlock had half a foot on her in height, and he watched the change in her eyes as she realized her mistake. She hit the edge of the rocks on his side of the river, and though she scrambled, her hands clawing for a grip on the slick stone around her, she failed. The current was too strong, and soon she disappeared from view, falling into the river.
I have no doubts that people do not see me as a romantic person. Many have believed over the years that I am incapable of love. I wish that were true.
It was a crisp, cold night. The streets were fairly empty, most of the usual crowds either out of town or safely tucked away in their homes. There was a coating of snow over the ground. Sherlock always preferred the aftermath of snow more than the actual snowfall itself. After the fact, snow left everything calm and empty, always providing a sharp contrast to the conditions inside his brain.
“I need to go over a few schedules with you before we go home for the night. I'll be out of my office the rest of the week, so if you have a moment.” She glanced between the two of them, waiting to see if the man unknown to her would dare to speak. Instead Sherlock only held his hand out to John for the book, John's finger sliding out from its place as he gave it back.
She visibly lost the urge to throw around curse words and have shouting matches for a moment. Instead, she was stilled and gaping at him in disbelief. When she finally broke the silence, she said quietly, “Are you kidding me?”
"Because, when I last saw her in person, she said that even though I helped save her that if I was ever in a situation where it was her or you, that I would choose you without hesitation. She wasn't offended by it, just stating a fact. In fact, she accurately stated that I would choose you over anyone. It would appear the women in our lives are more observant than we are."
But there is no good or subtle way to ask someone if they'll leave you too like everyone else has. No way to beg someone to stay with you without coming off as an emotional manipulator. Instead, there were moments like this, where he could pretend it would be this way forever, that the seemingly inevitable fallout wasn't just around the corner, that somehow, miraculously, someone found his flaws endearing and decided to stay.
“I don't know why I'm surprised. You of all people would have a collection of carnivorous plants.” John shoved his hands into his pockets. Sometimes it was the only way to remind himself not to touch any of the plants. “What are the others?”
Her brow furrowed, confused when he didn't say anything back to her. “You're one of the new doctors, yeah?” she asked.
John kept waiting for the logical part of Sherlock to kick in, to question all of this, but it never did; Sherlock was far too undone for that. And John thought that this was what people meant when they talked about something being a masterpiece, this skin on skin and lips and hands shaking as they reached out for you, and the rest of the world melting away where all you could think about was the body flush with yours, and gasps and sighs and the feeling that it never had to end. There was no better taste than his skin, no better stars than his eyes, and no better art than his hands on John's back, holding them close to each other.
The man could feel Sherlock's eyes on him, and glancing over at him, smiled and said, "I wasn't away all that long, but it looks like they managed to come up with even more types of milk since I've been gone. Ridiculous, isn't it?"
In the harsh glare of the bathroom light, he looked himself over, finding cut after cut, including a very impressive one at his temple that made him wince when he brought a finger to it. But he supposed that he was untouched compared to a lot of people.
“Still awake?” The doors to the car whooshed closed behind John. The lights had been turned down, and Sherlock hadn't bothered to turn them back up. He sat on the sofa as he had earlier. The only indication that he had even moved was the change from his sleek clothes into cotton pajamas and a sweeping robe.
Sherlock had never minded Heaven before, but now it might as well have been hell. He was sent on a couple of small assignments, very tedious ones. Boring cases were always Mycroft's way of punishing him. He hadn't heard of anyone being assigned to John's case. And then Mycroft told him the case had been closed entirely.
Sherlock stared at him, glassy-eyed. John thought he saw his eyes glance at his lips, at which point he determined that yes, he was far drunker than he thought. Must be seeing things. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't stare at someone's lips.
The Neruda sonnet ran on loop in his brain to the point of obsession. He somehow answered another half hour of questions while thinking only about the third stanza. Was this what living felt like? He was approaching a manic energy he hadn't felt in years, an inexplicable high. Could the audience members tell, like Ella surely could? Did it matter if they could?
It took precisely five minutes for him to regret it. The Tesco was full of people. They packed the aisles and got in his way as he attempted to navigate the store. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd set foot in a place like this. By the time he reached the dairy section, he was already annoyed with everyone and everything around him. And then he saw the hundreds of different types of milk available and wondered why people felt they had to needlessly complicate such a simple dietary staple.
There rest of the house appeared to be blissfully unconscious, with the exception of one other insomniac traveler he came across on the room at the back of the building. Whoever occupied it had the curtains closed, but clearly was hell-bent on maxing out the power grid, light bleeding through the fabric onto the pavement at Sherlock's feet.
debuted, he shut the world out. He was sick of being the one who stayed, sick of being the person used but never loved by others. Of course he had his family and his small circle of acquaintances in his life, but would any of them choose him over someone else? Unlikely. So what was John's angle? What was in it for him?
Sherlock had stopped mid-sentence when he'd walked through their front door and saw John sitting on the sofa, a bomb strapped to his chest.
So he walked slowly through the woods, as quietly as he could manage. He stuck to sections of woods heavy with evergreens, fewer leaves to crunch beneath his feet and more cover should another tribute appear.
One night a few weeks later, John came home to find Sherlock sitting at his microscope in the kitchen, a James Bond movie playing on the television in the next room. He grinned as he walked up to the table, setting his keys down and pulling out a chair.
Instead, he ran a hand over it, thinking only of John and Michelangelo: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”
“If you didn't believe me you likely would have called in law enforcement at least fifteen minutes ago. Or you would have guaranteed some sort of defense for yourself, but instead you sat down and talked to me. I don't believe you have any doubt in your mind.”
The entire ride to his childhood home was spent reading it to avoid having to see reminders of his life fly by him. He knew if he looked up at any point he would recognize the shops, the restaurants, the streets, and the somehow ever-visible specter of the Tor in the distance.
John watched as the bird took off again, flying off into the woods till John could no longer see it.
The worst dreams weren't the ones of violence, though. At least he had seen enough violence that he knew what to expect from those. No, the worst ones were about skin on skin and hesitant fingers and brick-walled alleyways and shared breaths. Those were the ones that would wake him up and reduce him to a bitter, boiling rage and a sadness so heavy that it felt like an excavation in his chest.
Sometimes it is better to let a disease eat away at you inside than to chance killing another person with it.
“No!” Sherlock looked up and saw that John was no longer yelling at him. He glared up at the night sky, pointing at it accusingly. “You want your victor? Strike one of us down! I know you can! If you want it that badly, then
John raced to her side, falling to the ground beside her, his gun dropping to the dirt. This wasn't a slow bleed. At least one artery had been hit. There were so many open tears, so many wounds. Molly's breathing was rapid as she stared up at him, unable to speak. The blood was even in her hair, and, dammit, he was so sick of blood.
Outside, they heard the sound of the ambulance doors slamming shut, of the siren cutting on and tearing through the otherwise silent street. John cast one look at Mary and turned to Lestrade, saying in little more than a hoarse growl, “Keep me away from her or I
John took a single step back, Sherlock finally turning his head toward him. No matter how long it took for John to look him up and down, to shake his head, to go through a hundred false starts, Sherlock remained silent, waiting on him.
When they were about halfway to the stage, Sherlock saw a change come over John's face. The panic had vanished. And he called out, “I volunteer!”
John stopped a few feet away from him, growing serious all of a sudden. “The speech.” He paused, visibly debating what else to say, like he'd expected Sherlock to fill in the blanks for him like he usually did. “It was very good.” Sherlock shrugged. “No, seriously. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that.”
He mentally filled in the rest of the sentence that he couldn't bring himself to say out loud: something unfeeling like me.
The stairs were narrower than John remembered. When Sherlock sat up straight, they were shoulder to shoulder. Really not wide enough.
Mary overstayed her welcome very quickly, chatting with Sherlock as if they were old friends, and Sherlock was either genuinely happy to meet her or played the part well enough that she believed it. John mostly tried to stay out of the way and prayed to god that she didn't ask any questions they couldn't answer. Perhaps ironically, Mary seemed quite fond of Sherlock, and certainly looked on him with more generosity than she had with John all morning. John couldn't help but wonder if Mary was aware of the elephant in the room, the great unspoken from behind closed doors, and the more he thought about it the more he agonized over what he would eventually have to tell Mary.
KR: Over the past years you've built a reputation for yourself in the book world, and it all started with –
help a little. When asked how his day was, John just shook his head, and the owner seemed to understand the evasion, and unlike his father, did not press further.
Lestrade's face flooded with pity. He couldn't make himself look John in the eyes, so he stared at his desktop, trying to think of what he could say that wouldn't make it worse.
Sherlock stood and walked away, somehow knowing John would follow. He made his way through the shelves like it was pure muscle memory, passing by general fiction, self-help, humor, all the familiar signposts, weaving between various patrons. Poetry was in a back corner, an aisle partially hidden from the rest of the shop. It was one of Sherlock's favorite things about this particular store. Even though he could hear the other shoppers, the background noises of keys rattling in someone's purse, the whispered conversations, he felt isolated here, invisible.
“Now and then one stumbles upon a human being worthy of such a comparison. Not often. But sometimes.”
“Everything is just, well, dull by comparison after living with him so long. I don't know if I'm capable of a regular life. People talk about how extraordinary he was, and they're right. He really was extraordinary. His world wasn't like Mary's world, like everyone else's. I want
Sherlock watched him from behind his laptop across the room. He liked these calm evenings in Baker Street. True, it lacked the adrenaline and speed of the work, but now and again, he preferred this slice of domesticity.
Sherlock approached the cemetery after he was confident most of the people were gone, and so when he arrived, it was only John and Mrs. Hudson who remained. He let the world continue to move until Mrs. Hudson walked away. When it was only John left, talking to a tombstone, he stopped it.
She shrugged. “You suit each other. You make a good team. If any two people could have pulled off the impossible, it would be you. They wanted a good show and you provided.”
By the time he returned to his room, he was a nervous wreck, on the verge of a full panic, and it took nearly fifteen minutes for him to calm down.
"Yes, I am." I huffed out a sigh of frustration. "Many times, I have ignored other people's concern for me. Perhaps I shouldn't. Albeit, it is more difficult to ignore your concern."
"Yes," Sherlock said. "This sort of weather is wonderful. It always empties the streets of a large percentage of people, and therefore, a large percentage of stupid people." Sherlock saw John smile out of the corner of his eye. "So where are you dragging me to?"
Sherlock let out a little huff of a sigh. The Holmes equivalent of an eye roll. “Well it didn't seem worth discussing until there was actually something we could do. Art museum bombings aren't nearly as interesting as you would think. Since now it looks as if we'll actually be able to do something for this hopeless case, now you know. I didn't see any reason to mention it till now.”
The door opened and a Peacekeeper let Harry slink in. Her eyes were red from crying, and when John stood up, she rushed to him and collapsed against him, holding on to him like she had no intention of letting him go. He put his arms around her and tried to calm her down, to no avail.
Sherlock burst through the door as he always did, never considering that someone might want things quieter. John watched in silence as he went through his usual steps – gloves, scarf, coat – his irritation vanishing almost instantly. As much as he liked the idea of an empty flat, the simple fact of the matter was that Sherlock made everything feel so much more alive.
The next morning, I woke up, blessedly alone, in my own bed, wondering foggily how much of my sense of propriety I had lost the night before. I felt relief wash over me when I saw I had passed out fully clothed.
“I never asked for this. None of us did. I just want to go home and pretend this never happened. I want to go home, take care of my sister, and quietly live my life. The district is miserable some days, but it's better than this. And you're right, we'll both probably end up dead. And I'm glad Mary will look after Harry when the time comes, but she shouldn't have to. It shouldn't be like this.”
Sherlock couldn't manage a single act of productivity that night, although truthfully he felt as if he hadn't been genuinely productive in years. But all he had managed was a cursory search of the thriller novelist online and a great deal of staring at the ceiling agonizing over the forgotten book. Had he left it behind in the shop? Had he dropped it somewhere on the way home? He almost wanted to call Mike and wake him up just to ask him if he had seen it lying around anywhere, but showed – he thought – remarkable restraint in not doing so.
There had been many nights where John had sat in the same spot, debating whether or not he should take the painting out to look at it. He always ended up leaving it hidden. The chances that Sherlock would venture up to his room were slim; it wasn't a common occurrence, but it was
The museum he finally settled on was so untouched, so pristine and calm that he had to remind himself that not
They both jerked their heads toward the ballroom when they heard the shouting, an enthusiastic countdown ending with cheers and “Auld Lang Syne.” Everyone was pouring drinks and singing along, hugging and kissing people, all traditions Sherlock had never understood. Lestrade kissed Molly, who turned bright red before kissing him back. Typical. They were all so preoccupied they probably hadn't even realized that neither John nor Sherlock were even in the room anymore.
The man's head snapped up, looking terrified that he'd been seen for a split second before covering his face with his usual expression, a self-deprecating sort of smile. "Afraid so. Out of milk already?"
Black on black on black. John kept swinging the gun in the direction of the growls, praying they would stay in one place long enough for him to shoot. But then what if the noise was tricking him and he wasn't even aiming in the right direction?
“Well, it's still a new variety, right? Even if it isn't the one you were hoping for. Don't people name these things?”
As the night dragged on, his thoughts landed on Sherlock more than once, no matter how many times he told himself to quit worrying about someone who was no longer his friend, but his competition.
He ran into Sherlock in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock evidently on his way to check in himself. He looked miserable, still in yesterday's clothes, with dark circles under his eyes.
The world fell out from under him, but he forced himself to keep walking, grateful that Sherlock had slowed down. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground in front of him. “It's a city at night, I think.” When he finally mustered the nerve to look back at Sherlock, he realized that he probably hadn't ever taken his eyes off the sky.
They were all questions he had heard in some form or another posed to various novelists who had come through Mike's shop. On the rare occasion a poet was the center of the night, the questions were always markedly different, always about existential dread and catharsis.
Sherlock pulled his phone out and placed a call, talking quietly into it, and John sighed, resigning himself to the fact that they would be here a while.
He held pressure on his shoulder, waiting for the bleeding to stop. John had always wondered what it felt like to be shot, and now he was confident he had a good idea. The pain wouldn't subside, even after he had controlled the bleeding. It came at him with a vengeance, sharper and stronger every time he tried to move. Until now, his panic had been kept it at bay, long enough for him to get to safety. But now that he sat alone, half-concealed on his ledge, his body gave up, no longer able to pretend he hadn't had his shoulder torn apart. He teased away the ripped pieces of fabric to get a better look at the wound. Best-case scenario, he would have a bright star burst of a scar. But he was alive.
“Ideally, I suppose, you would find someone just as strange or broken as you. Unfortunately, the world doesn't seem to have many people like that around.”
As the fog cleared from his head he heard the rushed and panting breathing from a few feet away. The girl from eight, Molly, backed up against a nearby boulder, a knife held out in front of her. She tried to steel herself, but her hands trembled. As John looked around the little clearing, surrounded by thick brush, supplies and weapons scattered around, he finally pieced it all together. He propped himself up with one hand and held the other out, palm to Molly, a silent
When they wheeled his body away, John remained rooted to his place on the street, a single frozen person in a moving world.
A deathbed act, an admission that should have been whispered in a hotel room with the night breeze coming through the curtains. A moment that should have only been touched by early morning calm. A point of no return that should have been passed that first night in the church.
“I told you I knew what they liked.” Irene flashed them a pleased smirk. “Thank god for good stylists.” Hudson gave a dismissive wave of her hand. Anthea was too preoccupied with her gadget to notice. Irene looked between John and Sherlock. “Whose idea was the hand thing? Oh, don't tell me, it must have been you, John. Not really Sherlock's style, is it? It was a good move.”
Sherlock eyed the bottles and vials, his gaze lingering far too long on the syringe. He saw the boy out of the corner of his eye, following his line of sight before turning back to Sherlock, his expression tinged with disapproval.
Sherlock stopped at the table of bright cut flowers and took off his gloves, shoving them into his pocket before brushing the flowers to the side of the table.
When he searched for information about the oleander shrubs, he found that they shouldn't have even been able to grow in England at all. They were native to far off places like the Arabian peninsula and Portugal. It was tropical and subtropical, certainly not meant for the cool rainy climes in England. So why had it been flourishing? How?
John stood there for a few agonizing seconds, trying to make sense of too many things at once. He looked around the alley, hating his inability to focus on anything important, anything
“This may be worse than usual. I wouldn't blame you for staying out of it. In fact it may be a good idea.”
“Just stopping by for a visit. I don't see you at the clinic anymore, since you quit there. Thought it might be nice to say hello. Sorry Sherlock isn't here too. He amuses me.” She never sat down, always making rounds, her eyes falling on all the little details of their daily lives. “I came by last week, actually, to see you two. But Mrs. Hudson told me you were in Rome.” She halted her steps for a moment to turn and look at him over her shoulder. “I never could get you to go to Rome with me.” She didn't say this with the veiled malice she had had earlier, but instead faced this truth with a sort of affectionate chagrin. The tone of voice didn't match well with her posture, but John was grateful even for the attempted pleasantry. “It's a wonderful place, isn't it? When your loved ones aren't dying there?”
Both John and Sherlock closely watched the tributes from District 1, Jim and Kitty. They'd both been dressed like royalty again. A crown seemed to be Jim's token accessory. Whenever he spoke, the crowds fell in love with him a little bit more. And while he was superficially charming much in the way that Sherlock could be, he made John uneasy. There was something in the way he moved that wasn't quite right, and sometimes his sarcasm didn't sound quite so sarcastic. Kitty wasn't all that better, but her true self was more poorly concealed, and it was clear that that was what she intended. There was a sort of ruthlessness in her eyes that made John think she'd willingly chase down any one of them, and lose no sleep over doing so.
He hid successfully for a while, skulking around outside with his drink or wandering through the small tight rooms of the house, even resorting to sitting in his childhood room for a while with the door shut, pretending to not exist. But the room itself didn't allow for quite enough hiding, so for some time, he sat alone inside his closet, door shut in the oddly peaceful darkness, staring at his phone, willing Sherlock's name to appear on it, but unable to hasten that result by reaching out himself. He'd felt foolish, the way he'd talked last night, and he couldn't help but wonder what Sherlock must be thinking of him. Until now he had appeared relatively in control of his own emotions, but this business with his family had stripped away everything but the rawest parts of him. He should have kept his goddamn mouth shut. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that.
He'd never really been clear on what Mycroft did. He'd said once that he occupied a minor position in the government, and Sherlock had quickly refuted him, saying he
He looked downright pathetic then, so insecure, yet so hateful. I threw him a disdainful scowl and left the room.
“Prose or verse?” He stared at the bright light of the phone screen, glancing around the otherwise dimly lit room. Too harsh for the setting, and too harsh for John.
Sherlock actually spoke at dinner that night, but only to John. He ignored Mycroft entirely, and only communicated with Irene through a series of nods and occasional glares. Even to John, he only said a few words, but it was certainly a dramatic improvement.
Sherlock spent the rest of the night watching out the window as children came and went, always monitoring John's reactions. Mrs. Hudson came by at one point, but Sherlock didn't know what she'd wanted. He couldn't be bothered to pay attention to her tonight.
After the confrontation at the pool, we sat in Baker Street, John making tea, as always, no doubt in an effort to calm us both down.
This kiss was supposed to happen. No cameras, no ulterior motives, impossible to ever explain away with excuses about acts. No way to misinterpret, no way to pretend. The entire country had seen so much of them, but no one could see them now, finally. The world might as well have been only this room.
It was one of the announcements over the intercom that drew him back to the present, a calm but serious voice saying, “Code blue, OR 3. Code blue, OR 3.” When the message clicked off with a crushing sense of finality, John looked to Lestrade, knowing full well they were thinking the same thing.
John wasn't sure why he'd decided it was a good idea to go to Sherlock's room that night, drink in hand. It was very late, so late that it was almost pointless to even try to sleep, and he had been sitting up in their living room all night (he still found himself saying
“Is he past my time? He must be quite a man of note to have an entire production made to chronicle his life.”
“It wouldn't have been my first risky, stupid decision,” John said, pulling off his own gloves and shoving them in his pockets.
John finally started coming down once he was backstage where it was safe and he didn't have to smile for cameras or cheerily answer questions. The audience had loved him, or so said Mycroft and Irene, but he barely heard them. It was all becoming too real.
A new set of hands pulled at him, more strong and insistent than the Romans and the tourists. He saw the black car out of the corner of his eye – Mycroft's people, fucking of course – and the men, Mycroft's hired hands, grabbed at his arms and physically dragged him away despite his fighting.
They walked together through the terminal, Sherlock with his hands in his coat pockets, laughing at something John had said. When John stopped to go his own way to board his next flight, Sherlock paused beside him.
Sherlock didn't stop the world when John was home. He didn't feel he could risk it. John was not the most observant man, but he was certainly smart enough to notice if the layout of Sherlock's experiment in the kitchen had changed, or if Sherlock himself randomly disappeared from his place on the sofa. No, it was much too great a risk. John would either think he had something wrong with himself or would insist on an explanation from Sherlock.
Shortly after the incident with Lestrade, John determined he would attempt to live a bit of a normal life. He would still work cases with Sherlock, of course, but he thought it would do him good to do at least a little part time work in a clinic, just to stay in practice. Sherlock seemed less than thrilled with the idea, but then, Sherlock seemed less than thrilled with most things that regular people did.
He'd walked to this headstone so many times that he didn't even need to pay conscious attention to get there. It was just as much ingrained in his brain as the replays of the fall.
“I was planning on telling Mycroft once the news about Mary died down. I was going to get rid of it, I swear.”
They were deep in the woods when he finally said, “Sherlock, is there a point to all this?” The man was standing in the middle of the path, turning in circles, scanning the trees while he held his thumb over the puncture wound. His eyes finally settled on a patch of wildflowers, and he began to pick them like a child gathering a bouquet for a parent. When he held them out at arm's length toward John, he saw them wilt and die in his hands. Sherlock loosened his grip, letting the dead flowers fall to the ground. He turned around, glaring at the forest. He stepped off the path, laying his uninjured hand against the trunk of a large tree. When he drew away, there was a hand print left behind, the tree's wood rotting in that one place. Sherlock repeated the demonstration with other trees, sliding his hands over them and leaving marks behind like bloody hand prints at a crime scene. He tore leaves from thin branches, watched them all turn brown as they dropped to the forest floor.
Sherlock noticed the world stopped less after a while. Whoever had discovered their new power clearly didn't enjoy it or felt no reason to use it as he did. He was sure he annoyed the other person with his frequency of use, but he was also sure they wouldn't mind if they knew he was using it to catch murderers.
“Look, I don't need this, not from you. What's done is done. They could have just killed one of us if that's what they wanted so badly.”
“The man from my district is still alive too. Mike. I don't think there's many more where both of the people are still alive. I'm glad Sherlock's okay, as far as we know.”
Time passes differently when you're in a panic and are powerless to do anything. It passes quickly and slowly at the same time. Look at the clock, and an hour has passed. Spend an eternity pacing and wringing your hands, and it's been ten seconds. John briefly wondered if it was just as infuriating to Lestrade, but despite the ever-increasing time they spent in the waiting room together, John never opened his mouth to ask him anything, to comment on anything. And Lestrade blessedly allowed him his silence.
When he brought the food into the living room, handing Sherlock a plate, he noticed what he was watching. “Why are you watching that?”
Sherlock pulled his gloves off, dropping them on the table. He sighed as he rubbed his hands over his face.
“Where's Lila?” John asked from his usual chair, country sun cutting through the windows. “The woman who was cooking?”
When John woke up the next morning, Sherlock was still there, sleeping beside him, his fingers still loosely holding his wrist.
“Get right to the point, do you? She will be along shortly. She was rather, how shall we say, indisposed.”
“You give me too much credit. I'm difficult. The running after serial killers alone is a bit problematic.”
What was even more impressive was how Sherlock reached these results. His deductive process was astounding, the way he reasoned through things was just extraordinary.
“The worst day of my life was shortly after I got back from Afghanistan. I looked at my gun in my desk drawer, and it looked inviting.” Sherlock paused, cigarette halfway to his lips. Not quite pity, but something in that area. “Do you know what that's like?”
But there was no time for sentimental farewells. John had one passing thought that at least Sherlock would be able to cope easily with these final goodbyes, since he deplored sentiment so much.
So if this performance could speak for him, he prayed it would. There was no way to verbally convey desperation. No way to explain who Sherlock Holmes was.
In a very calm voice that belied how upset he was, he answered, “If statistics are to be believed, then my judgment is irrelevant. There's a reason you're the only victor our district has to offer, Miss Adler. The odds have never been in our favor, and I don't believe there's any hope of that changing any time soon.”
He felt like a poet cliché, potentially loving someone far more than the other person would ever be able to manage. And so once again, Auden and the stars were there to taunt him.
John nodded, running his hands over himself, not feeling the gun anywhere. He felt his heart start pounding when Molly handed it to him. The cold metal felt heavy in his hands, but at least it looked like it belonged there. It had only looked horrible in her hands. | [
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"Look," he said more quietly, "Cas, he's one of us. He's family." Dean said. Sam nodded, satisfied enough with his brother's answer, although he still didn't fully understand Dean's feelings. But he knew questioning him would cause a fight. Dean threw back the rest of his whiskey. His eyes stirring with thoughts and decisions.
The familiar patter of his Sam's feet approached. Dean quickly dried his face to avoid any odd looks from his brother. Sam yawned and grabbed another whiskey glass as he sauntered in.
"There it is, Cas!" They ran faster now, the walls weakening every moment they were there. A bead of sweat rolled down Dean's sharp brow. They finally made it and dove through the opening, collapsing at Jack's feet. Seeing them, Jack fell back, unable to hold the door open anymore. For a moment, they all stared at each other breathlessly. Then Jack crawled over to hug Cas and Dean in an exhausted embrace. He laughed incoherently, which turned into happy sobs.
"I know Sammy. I'll be careful. Quick in and out trip." He said with the most reassuring smile he could muster. Sam gave his doubting half-smirk. He knew whatever he said wouldn't stop Dean from putting his life on the line.
She looked shocked, "You all never cease to amaze me. You keep fighting even when the odds are against you," She said, deep in thought.
"Hey, Baby," he murmured, running his fingertip across the side of the car. He walked back to the trunk and popped it open to reveal his bountiful collection of weapons. He wasn't sure what would kill The Empty. The lore never specified. So he took a bit of everything. His demon blade and angel blade strapped to his left thigh in a holster, A pocket knife in his back pocket, and a pistol tucked into the back of his jeans, for safe measure. He was about to close the trunk when his eyes caught a glimpse of a bloody bundle of fabric. He unraveled it to reveal the jacket he was wearing the night Cas was killed. Before Cas was taken, he had pushed Dean aside with the bloody hand he'd used to put up the warding against Billie, leaving a bloody handprint. He let out a weary sigh as he traced the stain. It was so weird that the stain he left was a handprint on his shoulder of all places. A few years back, when Castiel had rescued Dean from hell, he had left a scorch mark at the exact same spot on Dean's broad shoulder. Cas had held onto Dean so tight while rescuing him, he'd marked him. Dean smiled, remember Cas' retelling of how he, "gripped him tight and raised him from perdition." He stared at the jacket a few moments more and decided he'd wear it for good luck. It felt like a piece of Cas in some way, and if he'd have to walk into the empty alone, he at least wanted to have a part of someone with him. He didn't even realize Sam was standing in the doorway, smiling at him. "Hey uh…the spell. It's ready." Dean nodded, slamming the trunk and heading off, ready to save his angel.
"Dean, I knew the moment you drew a gun on Sam that you were being controlled by Chuck. He made you so angry, you would have done or said anything. It was his design, for you to be a weapon of destruction, breaking anything in your path even if it hurt you to do or say it."
"Come here, kid." They embraced, something they only did if their lives were on the line. "I love you, Jack," Dean said.
"Cas, hey, can you hear me?" Dean shook the angel's shoulders, but Cas did not budge. He cupped his face in his palms.
Sam pitied his big brother, "I'm so sorry, Dean," Sam said, trying to comfort him. It had been a long time since he'd seen Dean in this bad a shape. Sam shifted uncomfortably, knowing what question he must ask for clarity, "I've gotta ask: Do you…feel the same way, Dean?" Sam asked carefully. Sexuality was a weird topic he couldn't remember ever talking about with Dean before. Dean's eyebrows knitted together in defense.
As if Sam could read his thoughts, he said, "Unless you don't...want to?" He knew Dean always took things that happened with Cas personally; maybe it had something to do with their 'profound bond' Cas always brought up.
"I guess you're right," Dean smiled, "Happy anniversary, angel." Cas grinned toothily at the nickname. Even if Cas wasn't an actual angel anymore, he'd always be Dean's.
Dean knew he was probably right. Jack had just reset the world and become God, after all. "He's being tortured every second he's there. We should at least ask him. Or maybe research. Faster we figure how to open a portal to the empty, faster we can save Cas' feathery ass and bring him home." Sam nodded. Dean looked at Cas' carved name once more.
"One year with Dean Winchester as my boyfriend…a sentence if you told me a decade ago… I'd probably just stab you with my angel blade out of spite." The table broke out in laughter. They looked like a big happy family, and truthfully, they were. Dean and Cas smiled at each other and leaned into a kiss.
Jack contemplated in his mind for a moment before a small grin covered his face, "You deserve this, Castiel; your wish is my command," Jack said. And with a snap, it was done: Castiel was human.
"We should celebrate. We have beers and apple pie in the kitchen. And we could order some pizzas," Sam agreed.
Dean composed himself, "Well, I'm glad you got to see them. I'm glad you got to make amends." He said, "But what I'm trying to tell you, Jack is…What I said, what I've put you through...you don't deserve that, and I'm truly sorry. You mean so much more to me than you will ever know. You're family."
Dean looked at him with reassurance, "We figured, kid… you've done well. We knew you'd be pretty spent. That's why Sammy and I did some research. We think we have a plan." Jack's eyes lit up, ready to hear this plan of theirs.
Sam, sensing his presence, said, "I thought I'd cook us some breakfast. We'll need our strength if we're going to pull this off." Dean nodded as he waltzed over to the stove, eyeing the sizzling bacon in the pan.
The early morning sky eventually turned to a sleepy pink-orange haze above the bunker as the sun rose on the horizon. Sam and Dean polished off the bottle of Jack Daniels before they headed back to their rooms to get what few hours of sleep they could. They had decided that they would summon Jack after they rested up for their confrontation with The Empty. Dean walked idly back to his room and collapsed on his bed. He didn't feel tired, but he knew that he needed to sleep to have enough strength to rescue Cas. He looked at the ceiling of the bunker and day-dreamed about what he'd say to the angel when they were reunited. He was drawing blanks: what could he possibly say that could relate to him how he felt? Thank you? No, that didn't feel right. It's not every day; your best friend sacrifices himself and confesses his feelings for you in one fatal blow. With thoughts tumbling in his mind, he fell into a light bout of sleep. It wasn't until he smelled a wave of bacon that he shot up out of his slumber. When he made it to the kitchen, Sam was at the stove, scrambling eggs and frying bacon. Dean smiled. Sometimes he forgot just how much he and Sam had grown up. Sometimes he failed to remember that they weren't kids anymore, fending for themselves. A sense of pride washed over him as he watched his baby brother cook, even if it was a mundane task. Not only could they slash monsters, but they could also cook, somewhat. And by Dean's standards, he'd say they turned out pretty alright, all things considered.
"Look Meg, Empty, whoever the hell you are, I don't know why you can't get your stupid beauty rest, but I'm here to get Cas, end of discussion."
When Dean didn't answer, she continued, "When the angel had woken me up, I thought surely, surely if he was dead again, I could sleep again. But here I am, awake. I'm supposed to be able to rest now!" She said, getting angrier with every word. "So tell me, Dean, why am I still awake?"
"I love you, Cas. I don't know why it's taken me this long to say it. Maybe a part of me never...allowed myself to feel that way for you. Maybe this is something I've pushed away for so long I don't recognize what love even looks like anymore. But who else do I constantly think about? Who else would I put myself on the line for? Who else do I love the way that I love you?"
They hugged their son back. Eventually, Sam joined them, and they all were hugging and crying into one another on the floor of the bunker.
"I've thought about this a very long time. And I didn't ever think I would ever be able to ask with Chuck in charge of things, given our relationship. But now that you're in charge, I might as well try. I want to be…human." The table went silent.
Sam was shocked. A rush of emotions ran across his face. He couldn't believe it. Had Castiel always loved Dean? All those times he answered Dean's prayers like it was his priority, their 'profound bond' was all that…love? He looked at Dean, holding back sobs now, and could tell that he was just as shocked by this revelation as he was.
Dean half-smiled fondly, but guilt weighed down his green eyes. "Cas had a plan to lure The Empty to take Billie. To do that, he told me about this deal he made. He…he said that to save Jack back up in heaven a few years back, he made a deal with The Empty… a deal that promised to take him when he was completely and totally happy."
Dean thought about how much he loved his life at this very moment. Everyone at this table, he loved. And they were happy. The world wasn't always in danger, and they were all together. He thought back to a year ago, how lost he was. He thought about that night where he couldn't sleep when he felt guilty and restless. He wasn't happy. Now look how much had changed. He knew tonight, with the world as it should be, his family happy and well, He would be able to find peace easily and rest assured that the man he loved was beside him. He knew he could lay his weary head to rest.
They were completely ignoring the red head at the moment, Dean watched delighted as Cas made his way over to him. Only standing about a foot away. Normally he’d be upset and give his usual lecture about personal space, but right now he didn’t mind the closeness.
Castiel wanted nothing more in this moment than to finally be with Dean the way they both clearly wanted. Dean made him feel safe, wanted. He never pushed too far and maintained a beautiful balance of soft and rough. He was the perfect partner in all aspects, always knew just what Castiel wanted in each moment. It was breathtaking, but more importantly it was easy. He didn’t have to think too much with Dean, but he couldn’t shake that dark feeling. Dick had been that way in the beginning….but then he took too much.
Dean took the chance of sneaking a glance at Sam and found him looking incredibly small and childlike sitting there. It drew Dean back to the days of their childhood.
cup he cut Cas off, he knows he’s a light weight. Gabe seemed to be on the same level as Dean. Both men were feeling it, but it hadn’t gotten quite where they needed to be.
Dean choked between bites. This was how he’d die, with bread and meat in his lungs. He looked Cas in the eye and winced as his inhibitions began to falter.
“Thank you so much Dean. This is awfully sweet of you, I love it.” He gave Dean his gummiest smile, and he could see the unshed tears in his eyes. Dean’s heart clenched at the sight of him, and he had his own rapid blinking to do so he wouldn’t cry. If this was his reaction to the first gift, Dean was ecstatic thinking about how he’d react to what he would give him tomorrow. Chuck must’ve read Dean’s mind as their eyes met and he gave him a knowing smile and nodded his head.
“Thanks Cas. You look good yourself.” He took his time looking Castiel up and down, not trying to hide his interest at all, much like that first night.
“Well I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” She smiled, setting down the burger he’d gotten the last few times he’d been here.
Dean lightly pushed Castiel until he was standing next to him. He loved how protective the younger man was of him, but he was sick of being shielded. His father’s hatred had no foundation, no real reason for it in the first place, and he was fully intent on crumbling it to pieces and blowing it out of his life.
By the third month of them living with Bobby he had been transferred into the local high school. The only thoughts he had walking through the doors that first day was he hoped no one started bullying Johnathan again. He hadn’t heard from the other boy in quite a while and it was messing with him. The thoughts that ran through his mind did nothing to help his weakened mental state. Sam did his best to try to distract Dean when he’d shut down, made every attempt to make him laugh. It helped a little, but that’s only when his brother was around. When alone the darkness threatened his mind and often times he gave in.
He sat at the table with a freshly opened beer in hand and sat with his eyes focused on the table as if it held all the answers he needed. His heart broke to watch his brother in such pain. He was in pain as well as he’d grown to think of Castiel as a friend and a part of the family.
Dean felt good as he woke up that morning. It was the light coming in through the gap between the heavy green curtains of Castiel’s bedroom window that dragged him into the land of the living. Their positions had shifted, but they didn’t drift apart at all through the night. He was facing the window with Cas clinging to his back, the heat of midmorning causing sweat to form between them. Normally he’d balk at the feeling of too much body heat, this time was different in so many ways. For one he hadn’t had sex with or was related to the person he was in bed with. This was the first time he’d ever seriously dated a man. He’d been around the block, sleeping with whoever caught his eye, he never did have much of a preference. To go horizontal with someone and not take their clothes off was a totally new thing for him though.
With all the feel-good energy he got from the room stored close to his heart, he was ready to take care of business. First, he needed to get out of these clothes and freshen up. He felt filthy and without even needing to take a whiff he knew he didn’t smell great. He took a shower, loving how quick the water heated up and how it didn’t go cold after the first 5 minutes. Second, he had to get food. Not having eaten since the afternoon prior his stomach was starting a mutiny. The room came with a mini refrigerator and microwave combo, plus a coffee machine. That was quite exciting for him and opened up possibilities for what he could eat while he stayed here.
Dick cut his sentence short as the door was flung open and 3 blurs rushed into the room. Kevin shook with immediate fear at what was transpiring around him before he grabbed Castiel and moved to the far wall. A tall man with longish hair grabbed one of the goons and pinned him to the wall while hitting him in the stomach repeatedly, a police officer quickly disarmed the other goon and held his gun towards his head. His hands shot up and he dropped to his knees shivering in fear.
He felt the chair being turned around and as he was now face to face with the last person on earth he wanted to see, so he averted his gaze elsewhere. Two of Roman’s goons were in the room, sitting at a ratty looking table playing cards. He felt like he was in a cliché kidnapping scene in some low budget action film. All he wanted was to escape this place and get back to Dean.
Castiel didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to think. All he knew in that moment was that Dean was probably going to kill Dick Roman and he had no clue how to stop him. He could feel himself shaking as he watched Dick take each blow worse than the last. His arms were up as he tried to shield his face, but that was utterly pointless. Dean put every fiber of his being into each punch and his one intention was to land them all. He could feel Dean’s anger from where he stood across the room, plastered against Kevin’s side. It was horrible to see his man in such a state of rage. He never wanted to see Dean like this ever again.
Anger bubbled up within him at the audacity this man had to not only talk to his father this way, but also to belittle his father’s reasoning to not wanting anything to do with him. He stomped over to the scene, pushing Gabriel and his father back with their smaller statures. Mr. Roman’s face dropped all signs of anger were wiped from his face and a look of surprise replaced it.
Several minutes later and he was faced with Dean in a suit. His gut swell with all the fuzzy feelings possible and something else dark and primal rang through as well. Dean looked incredible in all black. His tie matched his eye and it took a God level amount of self-control not to tug Dean inside and forget all about dinner.
It was cold, way too cold to be out here smoking like he was still in his rebellious teen phase. He relished in the buzz and leaned on the trunk of his car. It was clouding his head as he took another long drag letting the air flow slowly from his lips. He hadn’t even noticed the car that pulled up and parked a couple spaces away from his.
Castiel looked at his phone like it told him he was a billionaire. His father knew he smoked? This weekend was filled with too many firsts and it was only Saturday morning.
Once the bottle was finished Mark handed it back to him and wiggle trying to get off of his lap. He walked over, as best as his could on his little legs, over to his toy box in the corner. He pulled out a small red ball, about the size of his head and held it up walking back over to Castiel.
“You can stay if you want. I’m just grading some papers for my other classes. I may die if I have to read more terrible grammar alone.” He laughed.
“Are you gonna make me one?” Dean didn’t ask because he genuinely wanted one, he was more amused by his father’s antics than anything else.
Dean parked in the faculty lot and hesitantly got out of his car finally. He wracked his brain thinking of things he could possibly do with Cas while he babysat. Would he mind hanging out with Dean and the baby? Dean went into auto-pilot once inside his classroom. He taught as efficiently as he normally did with thoughts of Castiel lingering in the back of his mind. His eyes kept flickering to the clock on the wall praying that time would move faster and he could get to his phone to see if Cas texted him.
Cas: Hello Dean. Sorry I had to leave while you were still sleeping. Charlie wanted to have a study session. I cooked breakfast. Your plate is in the oven along with Sam’s. Have a good day J
“So I need you guys to read the next two chapters. I’ve already sent out the homework questions. They’re due the next time we meet. I want hard copies people. And for the love of God please spell check. You’re dismissed.”
Cas reached for Dean’s hand and once it was in his grasp he held it as if he was hoping Dean wouldn’t go anywhere. He tugged him towards the bed and he crawled back under the sheets with him, all while still holding his hand. He drew Castiel closer until he was laying on his chest. They laid in silence that was comfortable, no expectations for conversation, just enjoying each other’s presence. Dean knew he had a ton of things to do, but he wasn’t pressed to get any of it done in this moment.
“You—are you sure?” Castiel was taken by surprise. He shifts their intertwined position a little so that their eyes meet. “You don’t have too if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Dean hummed in response and Cas continued to lead him to his bedroom. Cas’ bedroom. He barely knew the dude a month and he was already getting to his bedroom. Cas opened the large black wooden door to reveal a room much like Dean’s but 3 times the size. He had a king size bed with black blankets and a million pillows of varying sizes and textures. He had two dressers. One with a tv on top, and his desk rested in the far corner of the room. Cas went to the opposite of the bed farthest away from the door and began to undress. Dean followed suite and he watched Cas…closely. His dick reminded him of its presence and he internally yelled at it to calm the hell down.
Dean then rushed out of the office and fled down the hall. Cas was crumbling on the inside. He just asked Dean the top question he promised himself not to ask. Charlie was a terrible influence on him. Giving him that friendly courage to go after everything he wanted. Supporting all his terrible decisions. But Dean was single . He didn’t have anyone.
Soooooooooooooooo sorry this is hella late. But my computer has been having some issues. Luckily I got that taken care of...for now. But I'm still alive and writing. I hand written the next couple chapters I just gotta type and edit them so updates will be quicker. As always thanks for reading. Please comment. It keeps my blood pumping! xoxo
She was right after all. Dean was mature enough to admit that much. Though he took everyone’s feelings into consideration he’d forgotten how they’d want to be a part of this with him. They loved him just as much as he loved Cas and it was in their right to come along and help Dean make sure his angel came back in one piece. Dean’s life was now a B rated action movie and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. Castiel was a stubborn son of a bitch and he assumed his family would be the same. They were all in this with him whether he liked it or not.
They both decided it was high time to go to sleep and not get ahead of themselves. Dean was just getting use to kissing another guy, going any further than that was downright terrifying.
“Well we were just hanging out watching movies and suddenly dad shows up. I thought it was you so I just opened the door. He said he had to tell me something then he noticed Cas and it just spiraled out of control from there. How did Cas even call you?”
“Yeah yeah, I can smell the weed from here. I’ll talk to you later son. Love you.” And with that he hung up.
“I don’t have a mirror in my shower Dean! And it wasn’t shampoo, I was deep conditioning my hair so it just sat on my head while I washed the rest of my body.”
Dean slipped from the room and went into his bedroom. Castiel let out a quiet sigh. He’d have to tell Dean all the things he discussed with Sam and he really wasn’t sure that he wanted to do that. But it would be for the best not to keep secrets between them. He looked at his phone hoping something interesting would pop up that would distract him. What he found was another text from Dick that he would happily ignore.
Sometime later everyone he loved was seated around the table and digging into the food he helped make. His heart swelled at the plethora of happy eating sounds, especially from Cas who hadn’t looked up from his plate since it was sat in front of him. It was bitter sweet that John wasn’t there, on one hand he wished that his Dad would just get his shit together and finally be the solid figure that a parent was supposed to be, but on the other he was glad he wasn’t there throwing around all the drama he came packaged with.
Castiel nodded in response and followed Dean towards the living room. They ended up with Sam and Ruby, holding Mark, chatting happily about all of their careers. This caused Dean to go in a whirlwind of a rant about his students’ lack of basic grammar knowledge, it was funny to listen to, so they laughed. Castiel noticed that even though Dean was down, seeing other’s happy and light caused him to be the same. Sure he could still feel the dark cloud that loomed over his boyfriend’s head, but Dean seemed much better now than he was in the kitchen. It warmed his heart to see that his loved ones had such a positive effect on him.
Missouri herself was a stern, but friendly woman, he also suspected had a great deal of patience. She trained him on everything he needed to know to do his job efficiently. He was grateful for her thoroughness, so it left little room for error on his part. It also made him happy to know that he’d be receiving his paycheck weekly, so he could closely budget himself.
The joint was empty for the most part and with Cas being who he was didn’t talk much just kinda sat there sipping on his water. This gave Dean’s mind too much room to wander. He was happy to be here with the man, but he had no idea if their intentions lined up. Cas must’ve felt Dean staring. He looked up and a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“If you aren’t ready to tell me that’s fine. We all have our demons.” Cas spoke in between hefty bites of the plate of food. “This is amazing by the way. The best plate of eggs I’ve ever had.”
The giant man—Sam—stepped aside letting him step into the entry way. On the left wall behind the door was a large mirror and a coat rack, a bowl containing varied amounts of keys sat on a little end table. As he stepped further inside, feet gliding under him on the shining wood floors, he was assaulted with the heavy, happy scent of home cooking and family. It was a heavenly smell that wrapped its warm arms around him as he was greeted by Mary and an older man, he assumed was her husband. The smiles on these people’s faces were so open and honest that all the nervous energy that pent up inside him was now melting away. Of course, it was reinstated as he saw Dean walk through the front door.
“So Dean, I know it might not mean much coming from me,” his father began, “But I think I got a way to help your boyfriend.”
“No—I was just told about the two he’s keeping close. The 3 of them are armed, not sure about the others.”
They walked in and were immediately greeted by Jo and her bouncy personality. She hugged them both and whispered something inaudible in Dean’s ear. He couldn’t hear her over the blaring music erupting from the speakers at each corner of the room. He made a mental note to ask her about it later. He scanned the room carefully looking for those striking blue eyes and the messy bedroom hair, instead he spotted Charlie furiously waving him over.
After plating up there food they sat in mainly silence watching a documentary on the Animal Planet and chewing their food. Castiel happily ate and texted Dean trying to offer comfort for the man’s boredom. In mid conversation he received a phone call from an unknown number. Reluctantly he answered and was stunned at how much noise was happening on the other end.
The most beautiful hue of pink rose up on the man’s cheeks, his full lips formed a tight line in embarrassment. “Shut your damned mouth Joanna Beth.”
“I’ll drive you and your car home. Dean you can take Cas right? Just pick me up from Charlie’s house.” Sam shot him a knowing look.
“I don’t do it often if you can’t tell. I only do that when I feel I can trust someone else with that kind of control over me. Now that I know you’re an awesome top I’m down for it whenever you are.”
“While it was sitting right next to you?” Cas looked at the device sitting on the couch. Precisely right next to where Dean had been sitting.
Castiel was now having a mini internal freak out. He’d never been around kids since he was the youngest of his brothers who were all much older than him. He didn’t know the first thing about keeping a child company. He walked to the playpen and looked down on the child who looked up at him with wide wonderous eyes. Immediately a smile spread on his small face and he put his arms up like he was reaching for Castiel.
“Hey now. Sure your mom didn’t raise you to be a liar.” Dean chuckled and shoved the smaller woman playfully.
With the wine bag in hand he took his time making his way over there. He was nervous and could feel the evidence of it in his shaking hands. What was expected of him? Surely these people were quite friendly and talkative if he were going by what he’d experienced from two members of the family. They’d talk and he couldn’t just sit there and listen like he usually did; he’d have to participate like a regular person and that was daunting in itself. His people skills were extremely rusty outside of commonplace politeness. Castiel was a loner, use to the life of solitude. He wasn’t happy about it, but he was certainly use to it, having no one but himself to keep him company.
“Charlie. We need to talk. Can you meet me in the back lot?” Cas talked into the phone keeping his eyes out in case Dean could spot him.
“Dean I was—actually wondering if you um wanted to stay the night?” he could feel the heat on his face and sweat in his clenched hands.
“Yeah it was a riot in there. I tried to go after you, but when all of that broke out I had to break it up. I couldn’t leave Ellen there all by herself. Then Jo came home and it escalated from there.”
“You trying to cop a feel over here?” Dean joked, but his voice sounded much deeper than his usual tone.
“I just want you to know I’m here for you.” Cas buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and stayed there.
As he imagined it, he found that he liked that idea the best. Now he just had to bring it up to the other man.
“Sam—you were too young to know this. Dean was even too small to know. Your mom and I,” he paused to let out a heavy sigh, “We didn’t mean for her to get pregnant, different time back then. I married her in her 4th month of the pregnancy. Don’t get me wrong I loved your mother for a long time before she had Dean, but we were both so young back then. Barely knew how to take care of ourselves let alone a newborn baby. But I had a plan and that plan required going to school so I did. For business. Wanted to open my own shop so I could provide for the little family I created. Worked all the way through school and graduated a couple months after you were born.”
“You’ve been so into Dorothy we haven’t had time to sit down and talk.” He took a sip from his hot coffee.
It didn’t sit right with Castiel that Dean had given him that wonderful dinner and bath time for their 6 month anniversary and he hadn’t done anything in return. He spoke about this with Balthazar, which of course the man jumped on the opportunity for them to go shopping together. The possibilities were endless on what Castiel could buy for him, but he couldn’t settle for just one. His friend would hardly be any help since he didn’t know Dean very well. He decided a good course of action would be to text Sam, see if he could offer some guidance. He’d suggested that he got Dean some clothes, that could work.
Castiel picked the Saturday after he moved in. His space was finally coming together. He got his meditation corner set, groceries and small cooked meals in his fridge, decorative pillows on his couch, and even some fresh flowers in a vase on his coffee table. Tonight, was his first night in the apartment, Dean had just left not too long ago. Why he was nervous about sleeping he wasn’t too sure. The man had insisted on helping to clean up after dinner, but he’d shooed him out since he had to work early in the morning. Missouri had given him the Monday off, saying that he needed time to get acquainted with his new living quarters. How she knew that was a custom for him, he didn’t know, but nonetheless it was nice that she was willing to give him time to do so. The plan was to get a full night’s sleep, then first thing in the morning he was to have an intense meditation session, in thanks for the blessings of shelter. Then he was to eat a full breakfast and go commune with nature. A nice walk to the library would suffice. He was overdue for some research, finally find out what that spirit was that visited him. The last time he’d been there he didn’t find much, but he was also heavily distracted by thoughts of a certain sandy-haired man. The only issue was that he couldn’t yet fall asleep. Tea, some reading, even a little relaxing music he was able to play on his phone didn’t help him get any more tired.
Armed with grocery bags of different sizes, and a duffle bag, he waltzed right inside Castiel’s apartment with that confident gait that drew him in like a moth to a flame. He could see the distinct shape of beer bottles through the plastic of one of the bags, but he couldn’t tell what was inside the others.
Forever seeking to please he complied instantly, plowing into the heat of Dean’s flushed body. He felt the tell-tale signs of his impending orgasm. As much as he wanted to stay like this forever he wanted the climax to happen. He’d never experienced such heights as this with any of his past partners.
Shopping? Dean had barely realized it was December until it was brought up. He would have to buy for Bobby and Ellen, they would of course being throwing another family dinner he’d have to attend. He’d have to get Sam something, he already had an idea of what he would get him. He’d have to buy for Mark, he was only 1 ½ so he’d be the easiest to shop for. Then there’s Castiel, what on Earth would he get him?! Dean was silently panicking as he took a sip from his beer and nonchalantly nodding his head. Of course he had no idea what to get the other man, and yes Dean just needed more stress to add to the forever growing pile. He hadn’t even thought about what he wanted. Usually he’d have a shiny neat list written out on some notebook paper that he would give Sam to spread the ideas around. This year he was severely lacking in Holiday organization.
Since Castiel’s arrival it’s been a time for many a new thing for Dean. He’d taken the man on a date ( just one so they should probably go on another), he took a very roundabout way of introducing the man to his family, though much of that credit should go to his mother’s insistent nature. Cas was growing to be important, definitely beyond what the prophecy called for. No one questioned his quickly enlarging attachment to the man, his duty to befriend him was enough and it was finished, but they just let him keep going. There was no stopping Dean, even if they hadn’t approved, this would be the direction they were headed for and at this point only Cas had the power to put a stop to the progress. Missouri always smiled at him with that knowing smirk of hers, Mom thought he was the cutest thing since Sam was a baby, Dad didn’t say much but he seemed to like him just fine, and Sam threatened him for crying out loud. All of this was his mashed up family’s way of giving their blessing.
“Well I’m glad you’re doing something you love. I should’ve known the shop wouldn’t keep you forever.” He smiled.
Hands appeared on his backside as those full set of lips went back to work against his own. He ground down on Dean’s arousal, swirling his hips as the heat between them began to rise. Hands gripping his hips tightly, Dean began to rise off the couch. Instinctively he wrapped his legs and arms tighter around the other man. Castiel knew he was strong, but they were relatively close in size so he never expected the man to be able to lift him like this. With careful steps he carried him to the bedroom, laying him down softly atop the blankets and pillows as if he was a precious thing. He climbed on top of him, hands braced around his cheeks, body flat on top of the other. His kisses took on a softer nature, not as hurried as before. On one arm he propped himself up on his elbow and with the other he trailed down Castiel’s chest.
“Hey, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He kneeled on the floor in front of his man where he sat on the bed. He took both his hands in his, tangling long, soft fingers with his calloused ones.
A small scuffle could be heard on the floor above him. Guessing Dean was upstairs he went up and followed the noise to a slightly ajar door. Should he just enter? Why wasn’t Dean answering him? His answer came in the sound of a breathy low moan. He should probably make himself known, to the man, but maybe he would look for just a second. Moving slowly he turned his body to look through the couple inches of view. It turned out to be perfect as it was right in line with the bed. Dean’s back was to him, one hand holding the headboard, the other one busy with a dildo in his hand.
“Any activities that you can possibly do with another person?” he cackles and heads around the room turn in their direction.
“Well I get off in a few, if you wanna wait we could head over to that diner by the Inn. Get some dinner. Have you eaten?”
None the wiser the two men raised from their seats, Castiel trailing behind Dean towards the back of the house. Later the man would look back on this moment and remember it as Mary’s thinly veiled attempt at getting the two of them alone. The night was calm here, that’s the first thing he’d noticed as he began living here. It was all hustle and lazy bustle during the day, but once the sun went down, so did everyone else. He was glad for the change of pace this place brought as compared to the other places he’d travelled to. Always cities, where he was just a face in the crowd. He hadn’t settled in a country-like setting since the night he ran for good. Couldn’t take the quiet, and people knowing his name. He didn’t know why he stayed here, could’ve easily stayed the night, and continued on. Here he stood in the backyard of a common mother, and with him was her gorgeous son. He’d spent dinner with these people, probably would be invited back once more. Dean explained all that he planned for his mother’s garden, he spoke with such passion and ease that you would only expose to a friend or a lover. With those grass green eyes, alluring frame, and vibrant sense of being Castiel could easily seeing himself being one or the other.
Dean laughed at the scene playing out in front of him. His giant little brother always tried to sneak his big ass in the kitchen every year in search of some scraps he could steal before dinner was served. Each and every time he was chased out with nothing to show for it. Yet another Christmas tradition that he thoroughly enjoyed.
“Yeah that you would be his ‘undoing’, again his words.” Bobby laughed again due to the obvious confusion on Castiel’s face. “He was worried about liking you and whether you’d want to partake in the taboo of dating your teacher. Either way it worked out for the both of you. What you studying?”
“Any time Cas. But although this leaf water was good I should probably go home and get ready for our date. Shower and all that.” Dean untangled his legs from around his boyfriend and stood up walking towards the door.
“Yeah I thought it would be fun to kick back and just be young for awhile. Do you want me to push you on the swings?”
Dean shot Sam his meanest glare. He loved Bobby and Ellen, but he hadn’t wanted to discuss such a disappointing moment. Sam didn’t buckle under it though, he stood firm knowing he was right in letting them know.
“The one and only. Sorry I just kind of pulled off. It didn’t dawn on me that you were there until I was halfway down the road.”
And there it was. Dropped from a sunny sky was the one question he never wanted to be asked. It was why he didn’t get close to people. It wasn’t that he didn’t have an explanation, he certainly did and a tragic backstory to go along with it. The kicker was, he wanted to be close to Dean, far more than he’s wanted anything in a long time. This man was so full of light, raw, and genuine compassion. He put his whole being into caring about the ones around him, and somehow he deemed Castiel to be a part of that small group of people.
“You shouldn’t have. But what would this entail? I just film you at a random location and that’s it?”
Ken had cleaned himself up and caught Gabriel, who just returned from who know where, in conversation. Dean had gone to the bathroom to do the same. He took the opportunity to hot tail it out of there.
“I’ve been texting that girl I met last night and we have a date set up for tonight. So I have every right to be happy.”
“Yeah and while you’re apologizing you could be fixing this piece of junk you call an air conditioner.”
“Of course. If your mother’s cooking comes anywhere close to yours I’d be an idiot to say no.” he smiled.
Dean ignored his brother’s scrambling around the kitchen for formula and pulled out his phone to text Cas.
“Oh right…sorry I—“ she stammered, “Well what does Dean like? Do you think he’d be into the romantic style of doing things or rough, edgy stuff?”
Now they were in the car, driving in silence, nothing but the sound of the wind ripping through the cracked windows. Castiel shivered a bit at the cold air, but he wouldn’t complain. The mood in the car was so dead it matched the November air, and he didn’t want to ruin the silence, for fear that it would either set Dean off or he would shut down entirely. He certainly would not question the things he had heard tonight. Those were very personal matters that Dean hadn’t told him about, he felt in due time they would have that conversation, but Dean wasn’t ready. For it to just burst out like that, he had no preparation, no mental readying before diving into something like that. Castiel had many questions, but he kept them quiet.
They had breakfast an reminisced about last night. Dean knew how not thrilled he was going into it but was glad that he eventually enjoyed himself. Thankfully the man let him know that while they had events often this was the only one that was mandatory, therefore, the only one he showed to. The topic of the slimy man came up of course, he now learned his name was Alistair.
“The shop’s not the same without you son.” Dean heard the voice of his father and every muscle in his body locked up. If Bobby wasn’t still hugging him he was sure he would’ve fell to the floor like a pile of broken bricks. Bobby let go of him and stood at his side now, offering silent, solid support. Sam rejoined them and stood at Dean’s other side. John stood on the other side of everyone in the doorway of the kitchen.
“You give me way too much credit Cas.” Dean squeezed his arm around Cas’ waist and kissed the top of his head.
“Don’t you dare call me that. And don’t come near me again.” His voice deep and bellowing. He was never more serious about the words that left his mouth then he had been at this moment.
There’s something to be said about Dean being in his apartment. The union blessing/housewarming went much better than he anticipated. He didn’t realize so many people wanted to celebrate him getting his own space. They were essentially celebrating the fact that he was going to stay in Lawrence. It felt ore like an initiation into their family than anything else. Castiel now had more food than he knew what to do with. That’s how he found himself here, watching Dean once again moving around his kitchen like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. Packing some of the foods people brought into Tupperware that would be stored in the freezer for later and others that would be used as lunches for work and dinner. Since they started the furnishing of this place Castiel had enjoyed Dean being her more and more each time. He enjoyed it so much so that though the party was over, he didn’t want the other man to leave. He hadn’t even realized Dean was finished until he started talking.
Gabriel was talking to Dean in the corner. That was all fine and dandy, but the co-star, Ken (because of course that was his name), seemed to latch on to himself and would not stop talking. He was shirtless and bright eyed, clearly excited to shoot with Dean and it was at this point that he reached his peak of uncomfortability.
If Sam were here he’d shoot him bitch face #57 and revel in the fact that he was right. Dean internally rolled his eyes at the thought.
“You zoomed in on my hole Cas?” he sighed. “Did you like how it looked? All that shiny lube, bright blue dildo going in and out of me.”
“Oh Cassie come on don’t be like that. And you Balthazar, I’m surprised at. Treating me like a leper are we?” he slowly took steps towards them.
For the remainder of the night they sat on the living room couch, hand in hand and a nursing a beer in their free ones. Dean was filled with warmth of spending such a beautiful time with all those closest to him. Conversations took place among the adults, while the children loudly played with all their new toys. The heavily spiked eggnog raised the overall volume in the room, but Dean was welcoming of it all. Cas was engrossed in an environmental conversation with Sam, while he playfully joked around with Bobby.
“While being…intimate some things I just can’t bring myself to do. It just takes me back to that night.”
Castiel’s heart swelled at the friendly way his father was acting towards Dean. He’d never been a hard man to be around, but to see him so accepting of Dean was a nice sight to see. The kitchen looked a mess, there was goop on the walls that looked like potato guts, there was grime on the counter where it looked like something was spilled. It looked like his father had went on a food rampage and poor Dean had to hold it all together. He could smell the wonderful scents that flooded the air from whatever was in the oven so it truly couldn’t have been that bad. He walked around to where Dean was explaining to his father how to make sure the collard greens don’t burn and wrapped an arm around his waist.
“So have you…found someone here that you like?” Dean nervously played with the hem of his worn t-shirt. Since the day he first met the guy and they’d began to spend more and more time together, Dean was slowly beginning to see him in another light. First it was the boy’s gestures and mannerisms that would get to him, then it was the lingering touches that sent electricity flowing through his fingers, then it was his eyes that made him weak, and the smile that made him feel warm. At first it was a shock to him, to find another guy attractive, he’d resisted it at first, but he just couldn’t separate himself from his friend. Now he was trying to find out information, as lightly as he could.
“He’s a tough cookie. He’ll make it through this. I’m just happy he has such a caring boyfriend like you Dean.”
“You look stressed.” Dean chuckled at the whole ordeal. “You’ve gotta cut the vegatables with some fruit so they’ll eat it.”
As Dean assumed would happen Cas woke up before him. He opened his eyes and looked at the bare part of the bed and missed the warmth of the body next to him. He heard groaning coming from his bathroom and that drew him out of bed. He found Cas cuddled up with the toilet half conscious. Poor thing was so hungover he didn’t know what to do with himself. Dean got the awesome idea of trying to princess carry Cas back to bed. As he bundled up his limp body and tried to stand he could feel his legs screaming for relief. Cas was way more solid than he thought. But he grinned and bared it and dumped his boyfriends body in bed.
“Bottoming is messy.” He grimaced, no doubt feeling the after effects of letting Castiel come inside him.
He sat there until the tears had all dried up and he just shivered in his wrecked state. That’s when he spotted the bottles of his medication. He’d heard how people could die from taking too many pills, he just wasn’t sure which one would work. Willing all of his limbs to work for him, he reached up and grabbed the handful of bottles, figuring if he took a bunch of each they would do the trick.
“Alright love birds show me the way.” Gabe sighed. “Since you two are getting some I might as well use one of the numbers I got at that place.” He grumbled.
Finally dressed in some gym clothes he sat down to tie his new running shoes on and decided it was a good time to check his phone. Emotions beyond glad overcame him as he glanced at the messages he’d received from Dean. It was a picture of the sunrise, all the beautiful warm hues, and the moon’s lingering image. It looked like a painting on Dean’s fancy smart phone and Castiel immediately saved the image to his own photos. Under it the caption read: Ain’t this a pretty country sunrise? Wish you were here to see it with me. For someone who claimed they weren’t good with words, Dean always managed to say the most genuine things to him. A small smile crept onto his face as he thought of what to say back. Their date was tonight and he was equal parts terrified and excited. His biggest hope was that he didn’t make a fool of himself. It was a small comfort that the man seemed highly understanding of his horrid people skills and lack of pop culture knowledge. With that in mind he replied: Looking forward to seeing the sunset with you tonight.
Castiel knew that it was customary to end a date with a kiss so he leaned into the man’s space to do just that. Those full lips found their way into many of his thoughts since he’d first seen Dean. He wasn’t sure where all this confidence came from, probably the ease that Dean carried himself with was rubbing off on him. As their lips met it took a second for Dean to get on board with the program but when he did it was glorious. His plush lips were warm and slid against his with ease. This was far better than his first kiss. Dean was practiced and not nervous at all. He coaxed his lips open with his tongue and when they met, well that changed everything. A soft, long moan filled the car and it took a moment for Castiel to realize it was his own voice. A heat bloomed within him that he never knew before. Dean must’ve felt it too because his kisses grew deeper and more forceful. It was such an honest, raw sense of bliss. As Dean pulled away, he tried to chase his lips to keep that feeling.
If it wasn’t so dark in there Dean was sure Cas’ penetrating gaze would cause him to blush all shades of red, but for now he was sporting a soft crimson. Cas bent to kiss Dean’s chin and he could feel the smile on his lips.
Rushing to the kitchen, he repeated all the steps that Sam had shown him and heated up the bottle. He fiddled around trying to hold the squirming child still against his hip so that he could test the temperature on his arm. It felt ok and with a shrug he took it to the couch and sat down. Mark laid back on his right arm and laid the rest of his body across Castiel’s lap before reaching for the bottle in his hand. When he popped it into his mouth he held it and drank quickly. Castiel looked down into his big brown eyes and sighed in relief that the boy didn’t cry. Maybe he wasn’t as clueless as he thought he was. Mark was obviously comfortable enough with him that he failed to realize that his father was nowhere around.
“You told the camera before you started that you hadn’t jerked off in two weeks. That was very apparent by the amount that came out of you.”
Yes Gabriel just needed to add his two cents in. Even though it was highly unwanted and Castiel couldn’t even figure out why he was even in his room right now.
Dean quirked up his eyebrows at that. He never pegged Cas as a phone conversation kind of person. He stepped out of the kitchen into the living room and dialed his number. It rang a couple times then the line connected.
He went back and fixed bits and pieces of the video, and he felt Dean subtly shift closer. As the part with the small vibrator played, Castiel was completely aroused. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. The heat from his laptop was getting to him, and the weight of it did nothing to dampen his arousal. He made a point not to move, any bit of friction and he was done for.
“Well her name is Ruby. She’s a nurse. She’s really into her job but hates her boss. She’s pretty intense but I can tell she has this soft tender side about her and…”
“Well usually I wouldn’t deny hanging out with you, but a couple of Charlie’s friends wanted to study later, and she begged me to come so I had to say yes.”
A sensation he was familiar with, but unaccustomed to waking up to. As his brain caught up to what was happening he looked down to find the pants and boxers he was wearing were around his knees and Dean’s head was between his legs. On a particularly strong amount of suction he had no choice but to moan at, the man finally noticed he was awake.
“So what brings you to Lawrence Castiel?” John took a sip of his whiskey filled glass, fixing Castiel with a serious expression.
Dean. Such a simple name, but tied to this man gave it such powerful weight. It didn’t help with all the bass in the man’s voice as he spoke it. Castiel’s stomach fluttered as Dean motioned for him to sit in the lone chair that stood in front of his desk.
“Enough about me. Who’s this lady you’ve been seeing?” Castiel got up and tossed the half smoked blunt in his ash tray for later.
Dean reached up and ruffled Sam’s long hair like he did when they were kids. He hesitated before answering. Almost taking Sam up on his offer, but his mind flashed back to how Cas had told his own story, not a crack in sight. He needed to see this all the way through.
“Which reminds me I should probably take mine.” Dean reluctantly withdrew himself from Cas remembering the only thing masking his horrid morning breathe was a cup of coffee and a plate of food.
“I don’t know how you do it Cas. Somehow you manage to turn me on, look adorable, and crack me up with the wild things you say.”
Hugging his coat tighter around his body he waited for the bus to come. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, just knew that they were getting closer and he needed to leave immediately. Wherever this bus’s last stop was, was where he’d get off. The wind whipped around him, telling him it was time to go. He’d seen it in his latest vision, but the weather was further confirmation that he needed to get out of there. He’d tried ignoring it once, and almost met his demise.
He should’ve known Sam would be the only one to treat him so abrasively. His skin was going numb, but all in all it actually felt good. The sweat from the alcohol and overall stress was being washed away. The bottom of the tub was starting to fill and because of body heat it was much warmer than the icicles that were falling from above. The contrasting temperatures were doing his body good. He looked up at his brother to find him with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a disapproving gaze on his face. Dean was in for it now.
Once all clothes were removed, both men gingerly stepped into the oversized tub sitting opposite of one another. Dean handed Castiel a washcloth and began dipping his own into the water, starting with his chest he watched as the man began cleaning himself. They were quiet for the most part, Castiel stuck in his thoughts, so he hadn’t noticed that Dean had moved to his side. He was on hands and knees between his own outstretched thighs, face open and eyes glistening. He went in for a kiss slow and tender their lips slid against one another. Dean slid forward so he was sitting on his heels. Damp, calloused hands slid their way from the backs of his calves up to the tops of his thighs. Bracing his hands on the other man’s shoulders, he leaned forward to continue the kiss. The water was warm but the hands roaming his chest were even hotter. He wasn’t sure if it was the actual temperature of Dean’s skin or if it was the effect his skin left as they made contact. Castiel could feel the usual spatters of arousal began forming down below. It ratcheted upwards quickly as his nipples were pinched by experienced fingers. He’d never tried this on himself and it could be just because it was Dean, but the sensation between pain and pleasure was driving him mad with excitement.
Dean looked up, and when he did he was definitely looking at Castiel now and not the camera. Unconsciously he had moved forward even more, standing right at the edge of the bed. His legs were no longer in the shot now, it was just his furiously moving toy hand and everything above it. His moans were constant now, the man was clearly about to orgasm.
Dean watched Cas leave sad that he couldn’t stay and talk longer. Not that Dean really had anything to say. For Cas being practically a stranger he wanted him around him so badly. Wanting to be closer to his student. Closer than close.
Head thrown back, he mewled, probably from the overstimulation. He wasted no time just like before and began to ride Castiel slowly. Hips swiveled as he rose and turned the opposite direction as he lowered back down. He was gorgeous and phenomenal in his movement.
Castiel felt like a man possessed. He was almost trembling now, the need to move, to get something, was getting to be too much for him. Like a coil pushed down tight, he was bound to spring the second the pressure eased up.
“Dean I can’t—you got me a car!” Dean could hear the tears in his voice. Well I guess he likes it, he thought.
“Usually no one really comes out here. This is our smoking spot. But the more the merrier.” She spoke pulling a blunt and lighter from her coat pocket. She handed Dean his own blunt and flashed that sneaky grin again.
Dean agreed, he could take the straightaway edge to Dean by himself. It would be harder to do the turns so they’d work on that after. He skated away until he was just before the turn and moved to face the other man. His death grip was back, but this time it was the wall. Dean watched as several emotions passed across his face until it was set at sheer determination. His hand loosened until just his fingertips grazed the material and when he got his balance he glided one foot in front of the other and moved forward. He was still quite slow, but his strides were strong. The confidence shown on his face and he grinned. Dean watched in awe, not so much at his skating ability, but at how much he wanted to be by Castiel’s side as he discovered all the things he was capable of. The too bright spotlights spun above their heads, a stark contrast to the darkness of the building. Blues, reds, and greens flashed over Castiel’s face, but nothing was brighter than his eyes in that moment.
He was now tied with his arms at his front and his legs were tied together, plus he was laying down. He was much more comfortable like this, except for the fact that how his mouth was gagged again and his eyes were covered. By the random bumps and interval like stopping he could tell he was in some sort of vehicle. Where in the hell were they taking him??! He tried to ignore the swelling dread within him, and the fact that there wasn’t enough air in here. He couldn’t panic. Not now. He decided to think of Dean and what he would say if he were here right now. Of course he wouldn’t be in this situation if Dean was here, but that wasn’t the point.
“Yeah no I get that. I don’t mind driving you. I could find something else to do while you hangout.”
“What do you think is happening Dean?” Cas couldn’t bring himself to make the first move like he had that night after the club. It was so out of his territory. He’d always been the one to be approached. Never made a decision without being prompted first.
“I understand Dean. I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk about it. I’m not ready to talk about…Dick ,so you shouldn’t feel pressured to talk about your dad.”
Dean was halfway to the car when he realized that he admitted to Cas being his boyfriend. ‘Dammit Dean!’ he cursed to himself. He drove the short distance towards the man’s house to find Charlie’s car not outside. It was pretty late so Cas must’ve sent her home. He wasn’t even sure if that’s what Cas wanted and he could possibly imposing on him. With that whole ex business happening today he probably wasn’t ready for another relationship. And if it’s as messy as Charlie said then was Dean sure he wanted to jump right into that?
After getting dressed in a thin sweater and some worn out jeans, he took a deep breathe before heading out towards the lobby of the Inn. Missouri had instructed that he wear regular clothes because he’d ‘looked like he was gonna take over the world’ in his interview clothes. He was thankful for the relaxed dress clothes, gave him much less to fuss about every day.
“You will change your tone and speak to me with respect.” His voice boomed. “I didn’t raise you to talk to me like that.”
It was raining the day he left. Not a violent rain like this one, just as if the sky was crying. It was cold that night he packed what little belongings he had and fled for the first time. This particular night it was warm and humid, the heat stuck to him just as his damp clothes did. The rain itself was like ice, a complete contrast for the heat of an early summer evening. Thunder like war drums sounded overhead, consistent lightening went off like a flickering light bulb. Today was a miserable day for travel. He’d much rather be in a warm bed with a book in his hand and a warm cup of tea sitting nearby. The choice was no longer his though. The last words of his mother rung in his head as it always did when it was time to leave.
Hot tears welled up in his eyes. He blinked rapidly trying to hold them back. Dick didn’t deserve any more tears from him. His mind flashed back to that terrible night. The forcefulness around him, the helplessness inside him.
“For two?” he questioned. “I think it’s only fair if you take yours off too. Can’t leave me high and dry.”
“You did so good for me Cas.” He said as he lifted on his knees, positioning Cas’ dick and sank down on top of him.
Cas’ eyebrows knitted together in the center of his forehead at this. He sat up fully keeping his dissecting gaze on Dean. Dean mouthed that he was talking to Sam and Cas smiled slightly.
Dean got dressed with a quickness so by the time Cas came over he was already ready. The younger man knocked on the door and when he opened it he was met with a pair of wide, bright eyes. A warmness fell over him at the sight. Cas looked happy which in turn made Dean happy as well. He placed a kiss on those plump smiling lips as he ushered him into the apartment.
“I—um—“ Castiel was burning with embarrassment now, post-orgasmic glow ruined as he was now mortified by his words.
A random patron stumbled behind Cas pushing him into Dean’s side. He practically fell on him. Dean reached out sitting his hand on his back to keep him steady. The thought crossed his mind to remove it once the man was good, but he fought against it, holding Cas close to him now.
“Alright, then maybe we can tone it down and when you’re ready we can take this party somewhere else.” Dean smiled as he retracted his leg.
He spun around too quickly to see the one person he’d hoped he’d never see again. He looked the man in front of him up and down. Anger began to swell within him and threatened to burst out. He knew the day stared off too well to be true, but couldn’t help being slightly optimistic seeing how the rest of his week had gone just as well.
“How do you like working for Missouri?” John asked, immediately eyeing Dean for approval of the subject change.
He walked away and it felt like time started to flow again. Castiel could barely breathe and he just said hello and shook the man’s hand. How the hell was he supposed to film the scene?! He turned to find Gabriel smirking with his hands on his hips.
Most of the students immediately left the room, giving Dean thanks and wishing him a happy thanksgiving. One student did drag along a bit, Castiel knew him as Kevin. He’d never talked to the individual except for the few times they were paired up in his Biology class. He was nice enough, a little strange but Castiel didn’t dislike him.
Dean wasn’t ready to admit it was a good plan. He didn’t want to give his Dad the satisfaction of hearing Dean say he did a good job. You don’t reward a bad person, or at least that’s how he looked at it.
Tentatively he put his plush lips to the bottle and took a generous sip. Dean chuckled watching the other boy shiver and pucker his lips like he was tasting a lemon for the first time.
“He’s my boyfriend, long story and I’m not going to explain it. Can you contact him and tell him you have me? Also tell him Dick has two people armed with him, and who knows who else he has lurking around the school.”
He began retelling what happened the night before. The plan when he walked in was to start up a nice long conversation, introduce the guy to Jo and Ellen, but he’d frozen up. The face and the voice bested him, and he fled as fast as he possibly could.
The night air hit him as soon as he stepped outside. It was much chillier than it should have been considering how hot it was throughout the day. He ran back in to grab his corduroy jacket to battle against it. Before the end of the workday, Missouri had approached him asking if he could come by her house for a talk after closing. At first, he didn’t think anything of it, but as he was getting ready he realized he was being invited to his boss’ house. She is good friends with Mary and part of the Winchester clan, but it still felt odd going there. It was another quirk that made this town so different from the others. It was a bit of a walk away, and though she did offer him a ride, he’d declined. The night was nice enough, the sky so clear you could actually see the moon and stars. This was the kind of night he’d missed when he lived in large cities. All the air pollution and general chaos of the night life starting up made nights like these impossible. There was something so pure about a cloudless sky. He took comfort in the mostly quiet surroundings. Outside of the Roadhouse and that awful club the next town over there wasn’t much in the way of pubs and clubs.
Shortly following Ellen made the announcement of dinner being served. As they walked over to the table Sam quickly came to Dean’s opposite side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Cas shrugged off the gesture until he noticed the caged animal look on Dean’s face once again. He followed his trail of vision to find none other than his father coming in through the back door. He had a smile on his face and sat at the end of the table. Sam and Cas ushered Dean over to the side opposing him. Sam sat to his father’s left, Castiel sat in the middle of Sam and Dean keeping Dean boxed between him and Bobby who sat at the other head of the table. Dean was as far away from his father as he possibly could be while still sitting at the table. The silence was palpable, hanging in the air like an invisible fog. If Castiel wasn’t in such a protective mode right now, he’d probably choke on that silence.
That was something to think about. Gabriel’s muddy intentions aside he really did enjoy shooting Dean. The man was made to be beyond the lens. With the right lighting he was a masterpiece to beheld. The sight of all sights when he was in action. He definitely wanted that to happen again and soon, but he had to let his brother stew for a little bit.
“I think we should be studying as we intended to do.” The words came out much more aggressive than they were supposed to be, but it was effective as everyone shut up and put their heads in their books.
The shoot itself wasn’t until the following week, so Gabriel told him he had time to decide. He’d actually said ‘discuss it with your boy’, but he’s already decided he wasn’t doing that. if all else fails he could say no and Bal could step in. if not…
“Saturday. I don’t want to get too heavy. It may scare him off.” Castiel stared down at his drink and half eaten croissant. There were a lot of things he should discuss with Dean, but he knew in his heart of hearts that he just couldn’t. Things between the two barely started and he was already staring off at the cliffs ahead.
Dean merely winked at Cas as he hollowed out his cheeks putting so much pressure on his shaft and he watched in awe as Cas’ orgasm came crashing through him. He screamed Dean’s name and some other obscenities as his body trembled. It was profound how Dean had reduced such a strong and straightforward individual into a shivering mess. His checks were flushed and his head tossed back half buried in the pillows. Dean pulled off and slid up Cas’ body to watch the beautiful state he was in.
He walks off back to his room thinking about what Mary offered him. It’s terrifying to think about it, but his gut is telling him Missouri will want to talk about it Monday and he’ll have no choice but to give her an answer. On one hand having his own space would be amazing. He’s missed cooking and having more than a bed and a bathroom. Mary was right, he’d love to entertain the people in his life, not just Dean but the whole Winchester clan. To return the lovely dinner they gave to him.
“That’s awesome Cas. Go on and get inside you irresistible thing.” He chuckled, playfully pushing Castiel’s shoulder.
When they finished the both of them were hungry and exhausted so Dean ended up ordering two pizzas, and left to get a pack of beer. Castiel himself wasn’t much of an alcohol drinker, but celebrations were in order.
He wasn’t sure if he was permitted to make his own suggestions. That wasn’t specified in the rules Dean had given him, but he didn’t think it was much of a deviation from them. He couldn’t touch, but nowhere was it established that he couldn’t join in the dialogue.
While he was happy that the man asked his permission before really starting something it was a little regrettable that the direction their conversation was going was cut short. The man got up to get another coffee and their talk went to ‘getting to know you’ stuff. Dean didn’t have many people in the way of blood relatives left, just his brother, but he did have many adopted family and they were just as important to him. Castiel talked about his own relatives, the other man was already familiar with Gabriel and Balthazar, but he talked about his sister Anna who was a famous artist overseas. They told silly stories of their younger years involving their siblings. Gabriel was a nightmare to deal with and Bal wasn’t much better. They were tough in different ways, one with his constant pranking and both with their wild partying. Instead of taking Anna who’d actually want to attend these things they always sought him out and forced him into the most uncomfortable situations possible.
“So you the Cas I’ve heard so much about?” a surly man with grizzled features and a ball cap approaches him with a beer to offer and a handshake. “I’m Bobby, Dean’s uncle and his dumbass father’s brother. Nothing like him I can assure you.”
All Sam got in response was a half harrumph and nothing else. Before Castiel could react Bobby announced for everyone to dig in and hands went flying. He’d never seen people dart that quickly towards food. He was lucky he didn’t reach for anything or he’s sure he would draw back a nub. Dean noticed the sight and grabbed Castiel’s plate and began spooning different things onto it. Some of them he wanted and some were mere suggestions because Dean thought he should try them. His plate was handed back to him moderately full.
“Yeah he’s coming. I think that day did the complete opposite of that.” He laughed. “I think he wanted to punch Dad more than I did. You saw the way I had to drag him out of here.”
All of his excitement was brought to a halt as he was greeted by Meg’s dry voice from the counter. Turns out the inn wasn’t her only job then. She sat there with a magazine and at first didn’t look up at him, her eyes scanning whatever she was reading and smacking the ever present gum in her mouth.
Dick tried to shove back, he was brave for that in Kevin’s mind. If he saw Dean in the street and didn’t know him, with that look on his face, he’d run the other way. Despite him though Dean kept his hold on Dick and proceeded to body slam him onto the floor. Kevin’s eyes shot to what else was now happening in the room. A few other officers had now come into the room and the goons were cuffed and being escorted out. Dean was on top of Dick and throwing blow after blow on the man’s face. He looked terrifying, like nothing else in the world was as important as turning the man into a bloodied pulp.
Castiel was getting paranoid now. Sitting in a coffee shop with Charlie was a nice way to spend a Sunday morning. Huddled over a hot cup of caffeine talking about nothing and everything with his best friend was where he wanted to be, besides hanging with Dean. But he couldn’t be with Dean right now since he kicked him out to grade finals and claimed Castiel’s mere presence was way too distracting. He had rolled his eyes at his boyfriend in half annoyance and half amused. He wasn’t trying to be distracting, but Dean was a dramatic weirdo so he just rolled with it. Now he’s sorta listening to Charlie about the issues she’s having with her girlfriend. He feels a little bad about not being completely attentive but he feels like someone is watching him. Every now and again his eyes will look elsewhere hoping to catch someone in the act, but every time he does he sees that everyone surrounding them has their attention placed elsewhere. He wished he could just chalk it up to the slight paranoia that always comes when he’s too high, but they’d barely finished a blunt between the two of them, so that’s out the door. No, someone really is watching him and it’s bothering him entirely too much.
“It certainly is.” He gave Castiel a plain in sight once over before hopping off of the stool. “See ya round Cas.” He waved and sauntered off.
“Bottom or top I’m going to still point out your ridiculous behavior.” He smirked. “Start making breakfast. I’m starving.”
Sam took Dean to Bobby’s because that was the best thing to do for his brother. He knew how much the both of them valued the little family they had left and thought it best for Dean to be surrounded by the people who love him the most. Plus with him taking half of Bobby’s weapon collection he thought he deserved to be filled in on the situation. Sam knew Dean had half a liquor store in his house and the last thing he wanted to do was leave him alone with it. Dean would not turn out like their father if he had some say in it.
He walked to the bathroom on shaky legs and wet a corner of his shower towel and brought it back to Dean. Gingerly he cleaned up his entrance and the back of his thighs before he cleaned himself off. Tossing the towel in the hamper he crawled up the bed facing Dean and wrapping him in his arms.
This chapter is a little short....partly because I really wanted to get something up and because the next chapter is pretty long. Plus I really like the title I came up with for the next chapter *corny, evil chuckle ensues*. No warnings for this one. It's pure gushy fluff. An honest Thanks to every one that's read this fic so far and a extra special thanks to all the comments and kudos. You guys truly warm my cold heart with every word. The next chapter is already written and will be posted in the next day or so. I'm just editing and fixing the timeline. Enjoy xoxo
“So you made out with Green eyes and didn’t think to tell me about it? I’m hurt Castiel.” She fake sniffled and took another sip of her coffee.
“I’m not listening to anymore of this!” and with that he stomped out of the door and was on his way.
The rest of their time together was spent with their lips locked, and arms wrapped around one another. Both of them keeping their hands above the waist, Castiel, because he was clueless, and Dean, because he didn’t want to push too far. It was quite an experience, he could feel arousal course around his veins for the first time in such a long time. He was no stranger to the feeling as a whole, but to this level, it was overwhelming. Dean must be on the same wavelength because he pulled back entirely.
In the kitchen, Castiel and Eileen were flipping burgers and laughing about a joke one of them had told.
He wandered aimlessly through the blackness of the empty. Every now and again, he'd hear a faint scream in the distance and change course to find the screamer. It led him nowhere. He was feeling guilty. He hoped Sam and Jack were holding up alright. In his desperation, he decided to yell.
"Uh-huh..." Sam said, not sure what they had gotten into...and not sure if he wanted to know. He was pretty sure he knew what 'pizza-man' was code for.
Afterwhile, the boys sat around the table, enjoying the last few pieces of pizza and polishing off the beer and pie. Once they got Castiel up to speed on what had happened after he died, he asked, "So Jack…your God?"
Dean looked at Sam with grief-worn eyes and said, "And now he's gone. Because he thought I was worth saving. Because he saw something in me, no one else could! Because something about me was worth loving! And I didn't even say anything back, Sammy! Not even a goodbye. He gave himself to The Empty for me, and I didn't even say a word. Not a damn word!"
"No, no, I do. What I said about you…about you not being family..." Dean's voice caught in his throat; he couldn't believe his past actions. They didn't even feel like him. "I can't ever apologize enough for what I put you through. I was just so angry. About my mom, about Chuck, about the world. You didn't deserve to be the punching bag for what you couldn't control."
"Dean, I was happy to die for you! You saved the world like I knew you would. You have the biggest heart of any human I know. You've given me so much. You taught to be human, how to have compassion. How to love..." Tears started to fall from Cas' eyes, "You asked me in the empty: Did I mean what I said. Of course, I meant it. I didn't know it was possible for someone like me to feel like that. I've spent eons thinking that I was practically invincible. Until I met you. You are my vulnerability, Dean. Since I've met you, you have been my Achille's heel, my blind spot. It took me so long to realize why that was. It took me years to realize that everything, every decision I made, it was for you. It took me years to realize that...I am completely and hopelessly in love with you, Dean Winchester."
Jack smiled slightly, "it's..different. Not bad, but there's a lot of work to be done." He answered. Sam and Dean nodded at him. "Did you..need me?" "Yeah, actually…we were wondering about Cas." Dean began.
"It's settled." Dean smiled. Sam, Jack, and Cas walked into the kitchen, while Dean called the pizza parlor to make their order: One large cheese, and one large meat-lovers: his favorite. After ordering, he sauntered into the kitchen to see his little family already sipping on beers.
"Hey, no talking crap about the Winchester-surprise, and no, it's burger night," Dean said, laying an arm around Jack's shoulder, both smiling.
"Actually, I was hoping you could tell me about…Cas? We never really had a chance to talk about what happened in all the chaos with Chuck...and I'd like to know how he...went out." Sam said, a tinge of sorrow in his voice; he had lost a friend too, a brother. Dean's face tightened. Of all things to ask, Sam wanted to know about what was torturing him the most?
"Keep on fighting, Jack. I'll is home with Cas soon." Dean said, passing Jack, nearing the portal. Jack nodded but said nothing as to keep all his attention on the empty. Dean walked to the portal and looked back at the boys.
"I've decided. We've gotta go get him. We can't just leave him in the empty, Sammy. It's not right for him to sacrifice himself for me. I can't just…let him die."
Dean gently rapped his knuckles on the door and shoved his hands in his pockets. His breath caught as a grinning Castiel opened the door.
After a silent moment Dean raised his hands to take his helmet off and when he found his eyes, Castiel was taken aback by how soft they were, how they glowed dimly in the street light.
Getting closer and closer to almost 70 miles per hour, his engine revved protests as he made some very tight curves. Around and around the school they went.
Dean stopped short a couple feet away from Castiel and blinked a couple times, he looked around him for maybe a book or sign or anything but he just saw endless ceiling high bookshelves. The silence of the library felt lighter there as Castiel watched him with narrowed eyes.
At the last second, Dean looked into Castiel's eyes. He tried to convey all of his emotions in that simple, one second gaze.
His ears perked at the sound of a motorcycle - loud and annoying and clear - and he felt his whole body flood with warmth, but he couldn't get ahead of himself.
"See you at check out." Castiel smiled wide at him and pivoted to walk away, leaving Dean alone to try to collect himself between the bookshelves of the library.
His hand lightly worm it's way into the bottom of Castiel's hair and he started playing with it as the kiss continued when Castiel moaned softly into Dean's mouth, pulling harder on his jacket, and his entire body vibrated along with it.
Dean clenches his fists on top of his thighs. He’s prepared for the puff of warm breath that escapes Castiel’s nose, skirting across his exposed neck. He’s
When Dean was just about to give up on his stupid plan, Castiel came out from the back and walked towards him, stopping right on the other side of the counter. Dean's breath caught when he smiled wide and said, "Hello. How can I help you?"
Castiel was unsure what to do. He knew he should probably let go of Dean and thank him and walk home and never interact with him again. But Castiel didn't have a single bone in his body that wanted to do that.
Dean would be lying if he didn't say he was a rollercoaster of emotions right now. He was both relieved it was Castiel and that he was still alive and suspicious of the circumstances. Also his heart thudded faster as he processed the extreme proximity of the other male. He also couldn't say he wasn't slightly flustered. Dean concluded Castiel was very close.
Sam shrugged and waved his hand in the air, "Ah, I think he said he was just going, out somewhere. Don't know about hunting. Who knows what Cas gets up to when he does this kinda stuff?" He chuckled dryly, dimples showing, and brushed his hair back.
Dean tensed but seemed to understand, and he steered back to a more secluded street not far away from Castiel's own, but somewhere they couldn't be seen. Castiel wasn't comfortable with the thought of his family catching him with a boy after he snuck out, he preferred to be as discreet as possible.
He looked at the back seat, where two packs of his favorite beer, Sam's salad and a whole apple pie lay. Dean knew it wasn't good for the food, but it was better to get it before than come home empty handed after; and have to explain to Sam why he spent hours out with no proof of a reasonable explanation for it. Dean's memory wasn't the best after meetings with Castiel.
Castiel kissed Dean's forehead, inhaling his intoxicating smell before raising his arm from around his lover and pulling away.
Dean was almost breathless. Here was the most beautiful, intelligent, kind and amazing man he had ever met and they were pressed against each other and he was declaring that he felt something for Dean too? Something so strong, it brought them here to this box, cramped together and having chick-flick moments?
Red and tear streaked. All Dean could see now was how lost and horrible Sam felt about all of this. How utterly tired he was of losing his brother over and over again.
“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, so quiet and hushed, Dean has to convince himself he said something. “I’m going to bite you now.”
As she raised it over her head, Chuck sneered as the motorcycles revved, "Anna baby, wanna get outta here after I win? I'll let you drive my sweet ride..."
Castiel cleared his throat, he didn't expect to be received like this. He was expecting a little more love and gratefulness if he was honest. In any way, Castiel was extremely happy to even be with Dean at this moment.
Their eyes met for the first time that day, mossy green and sky blue colliding in the intensity of unspoken feelings.
Dean left home at 4:15 with a plan. He would arrive at the library and Castiel would be there. Then he would ask for Castiel and when the rest of the workers found him he would say that he lost his library card and he wants to get a new one. He knows the standard procedure for a lost card because when his little brother, Sam, was actually little and not as tall as a moose, Dean would do whatever he could to take him to get some books in the library. Dean understood that someone with his bother's brains should be constantly challenged and never bored so he did what he had to do to keep Sam occupied even after he finished his schoolwork at home.
Dean is almost vibrating with the effort of holding himself still. His hands have left his tight fists to clutch at his jeans. He has his eyes closed, so he feels one of Castiel’s hands move up to so very gently squeeze itself under his armpit and come out the other side to hold his shoulder. He tightens his grip on Dean, and pulls them close, chests touching. Their knees bump together, so Dean acts reflexively, opening his legs, but when Castiel slots a knee in between them, Dean regrets it
Since he had dedicated this race to him, it was only fair he took Dean's side. Castiel just hoped he would be safe.
Dean audibly gulped, "No!! Thanks." He almost ran to the door, then stopped and turned around quickly, "I'll see you around?"
Dean literally took matters into his own hands as he started touching Castiel, who grunted at the stimulation and rutted against Dean.
Dean's mind had wondered off about Castiel's smirking mouth and he blurted, "I need a, uh, book," cringing, he nodded awkwardly.
Castiel frowned as he looked at it and suddenly his face lit up, "I have an idea. Follow me." He started to the left and turned into more shelves of books, going deeper into the library.
He pivoted to the king sized bed and sat down, cringing when the mattress slightly creaked under him. Castiel followed, and sat only inches away next to him. He started talking.
Dean knew how tired Sam was. He knew how angry and unforgiving he would be once they did this. How alone he would be. But the pounding in his head?
Just as he was cleaning the flask to start, Dean briskly walks in. He stops at the door and looks around the room, his eyes eventually settling on Castiel who stands there holding a wet glass flask and paper towel. Smug as ever, Dean smirks at him and walks closer.
Dean nodded, and Castiel seemed satisfied, "Yeah, he's in my 4th period AP Chem class. I actually walk right behind you two until I get there..."
Dean’s hand comes to grasp around Castiel’s wrist. He’s still doozy, so he kisses the inside of his wrist, over his tendon, without thinking much about it.
"SAMMY! I'M HOOOOME!" Dean shouted from the door as he slammed it open, creating an echo in the bunker. Sam shook his head and sighed to himself.
. Barely inches away from his face. He already looks better, blue eyes brighter, eye bags softer, cheeks pink and full again. The effect is immediate, and Dean feels relieved.
Sam nodded, his hair falling a little in his face, "Yeah they're all on a, uh, camping trip. Decided to take a break from hunting for a couple weeks. Can't blame them." He groaned a little as he stood up and put his hands on his hips.
As the crowd gathered excitedly, a skinny redhead with shorts too short for the early spring weather walked to stand in front of Dean and Chuck and their bikes. She held a bright red scarf. | [
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The angel had his arms crossed and was leaning against a folding table in front of a dryer. The way Cas never took his eyes off of it, you'd think the answers to the Universe were inside, tumbling around with the brothers' jeans and flannels.
Everyone got a decent laugh from the exchange, though Cas still looked confused. Meg took pity on him and explained. “It’s called a pick-up line, Castiel. Guys usually use them to win over a girl’s affection, but it usually just makes them look like an ass,” she said, looking Dean right in the eyes as she said so, though the crinkles around her eyes ruined any seriousness she tried to convey. “Besides, Dean,” she said a little louder, “don’t you think that line would be more appropriate for the ‘Angel’ you already have?”
“Actually, I was wondering…do you think you could come home? I know Jo gets winter vacations—do you, too?”
“Well, the demons are easy. You can hear everything the other side is cooking. You’re an angelic wiretap, sweetheart.”
Castiel spoke, but did not look up. “Well, I was in weapon form for the most part, but Dean did drop me a few times.”
It confirmed Dean’s suspicion, though, that Cas had no skin in the game except for in a sexy way. In some ways, it was a relief. They could go back to the way things were. In others, that felt so much worse becuase it meant he was the only boat on the ocean, and that was a whole new level of loneliness.
“We know, Dean. We’re all proud of you, no matter how much of a fit she might throw,” Ellen said reassuringly. Suddenly, another phone on the wall started to ring, which Bobby grabbed quickly. After a moment of hearing the person on the other end, Bobby rolled his eyes. After confirming that he was the F.B.I. and yes, that particular person was an actual agent, he hung up and grumbled about Rufus giving the wrong number to the local law enforcement once again.
His eyes. They were a brilliant shade of blue, somewhere between sky and ocean, that Dean had never seen before. And they bored into his soul with an intensity that made Dean’s throat dry.
“Alright, alright, knock yourself out.” Dean walked over to his partner and handed the bowl to him. “Bon appetit Cas.”
"I thought it would be easier to interact with me if I didn't look like you. He also resembled the last vessel I had on Earth, James Novak." Castiel glanced at the magazine, then at Dean, and his eyes widened just a touch in realization. “You find this form...pleasing.”
The groups of teenagers around the table looked like a strange hodge podge. Gabriel, with his prankster attitude and mountain of sugary food in front of him, was wearing ripped jeans and a plain t-shirt. There was a permanent smirk on his mouth and a mischievous glint in his amber, almost golden eyes.
“Excellent usage of your low center of gravity, Gabriel,” Sid said loudly, signaling the end of the fight. “Dean, I think it’s obvious you need to pay more attention to your opponents and…talk less.”
Sam was sketching something on his paper, so he wouldn’t see the blush lighting up Dean’s cheeks, but he had to know something. Mental talking was so much easier in some ways.
“Somewhere safe,” Sam said in his soothing, professional, good-guy voice. “A family friend’s place that supernatural entities can’t touch. It’s a bit of a drive, though, so you might as well get comfortable.”
The bed above him creaked, and Castiel looked down over the railing at him. “Dean? Are you alright? You seem tense,” the weapon said simply.
“I—I—yeah, I got the picture,” Sam stuttered, unable to stop his hands from shaking or his words from sounding slurred. The fear and adrenaline coursing through his body was making it impossible to think clearly.
For a second, a little, wondrous smile crossed Sam’s face before he schooled himself. Dean couldn’t blame him for the reaction--he didn’t believe in angels not too long ago, either. Sam nodded his understanding and they checked their handguns, safety’s off, and a bullet in the chamber. Sam had the demon knife tucked in his belt loop.
Both Spirit and Gabriel watched her curiously. She seemed conflicted; she kept glancing quickly at Gabriel, but couldn’t seem to bring herself to actually face him. “I didn’t mean to hit you with that book,” she said. “Your hard head almost broke the spine, and that was a collector’s edition.”
Cas’s check-ins made him feel both appreciative and demoralized. Sam dutifully sought him out and let him know Cas’s update every hour. For the first few hours, Dean decided that chores would be a welcome distraction--he didn’t want to be tapping his foot waiting for the text. So, he did multiple batches of laundry of everyone’s clothes and their bedsheets.
Sam’s eyes were bulging from his head in total awe--Dean suspected he had a similar expression when Cas showed them to him the first time. Something so wholly
Dean cleared his throat to catch their attention. "I hate to be a Debbie Downer here, but before we start skipping down this yellow brick road, we need to figure out why Ruby lied about Cas.”
Cas could always rock the o'clock shadow, but Dean felt too weird and itchy to try and grow it out more often. Hell, he’d taken time to scrape his cheeks clean every day in Purgatory. However, Cas did rock the outlaw bandit beard nicely, though. Maybe he could talk Cas into No-shave November and see who grew the best beard.
Sam looked up at Bobby, then Dean, and finally Cas who was hovering just out of arm’s reach behind the couch. All three looked at him with concern, and for the first time in his life he felt it—the connection to Dean and Bobby Dean knew had been there all along. But now it wasn’t some factoid—Sam could feel it in his bones.
Dean leaned forward towards Sam, grinning earnestly. “Head up, Sam! You guys will be fine. No one else here at this school had me sparring with them every day for a week, and they’ve lived their own hunts just fine. So, eat up! You’re gonna need the energy,” Dean said.
“We don’t need to go that far. I was just starting to like you,” Gabriel chuckled. “Get some sleep, bookworm! And don’t overthink things with Dean. Just do like you’ve been doing.”
Dean sighed. “Look, Sam, I know you try to keep an open mind, but this is not the Disney ending you think it is.”
No, that wasn’t true. Being the holder of Cas’s v-card was always going to hold a special place in Dean’s heart, if nowhere else. He would hold onto them fiercely because they were some of the few good memories he had in his life.
“I wasn’t staring. I was trying to determine if the freckles on your face made any similar patterns to the constellations.”
“Home sweet home!” Dean answered back with a happy howl to the ceiling, not even caring that he whipped around the corner faster than necessary and tossed gravel from his tires as he hit the dirt road that wound around to a old two-story house. A few cars were parked in front of it, including a huge black vehicle that looked incredibly well-kept considering the rest of the junkers littered around behind a chain link fence.
Sam scrubbed his face and pushed his hair from his face, deeply regretting every life decision that got him to this point. “Try again. Keep trying until you can hold onto it.”
“You’re awake,” Carlos said, entering the lab with a cup of coffee and a glass of water in his hands.
Dean nodded immediately but managed a proud smirk when Sam shook his head. Travis had made his point about the depth of the rugaru’s hunger. But Dean couldn’t bring himself to shut down Sam’s idea, either.
Dinner was delivery pizza and a 6-pack from the nearest gas station. Sam told them that some demons had been spotted in town, so they agreed to deal with them tomorrow. Dean hadn’t figured out how to bring up the weird hallucinations, so he decided to wait to see if Pamela could figure out anything first.
If Carlos had been holding anything, it would have slipped from his hands and smashed to the floor. Luckily, he was not. Although the look of absolute shock on the scientists face seemed to suggest his jaw was not far from smashing apart on the floor.
Dean and Castiel suddenly found themselves the center of attention for the next few weeks. Girl were suddenly flirting with both of them (much to Castiel’s horror—he never actually spoke to any of them, he got too nervous to utter any sound). Guys were suddenly Dean’s friends, and for a guy who had never really had many friends, it was a lot of fun. Although Dean did not mean for it to happen, Castiel was slightly forgotten in all the attention, and he ended up spending much of his time for the next few weeks with Sam, Ruby, and Meg.
“Since when?” Dean asked quietly. Cas nudged him in the ribs a little harder than necessary to quiet him.
Cas shook his head. “No. But, as I’ve been told, angel blades manifest our second forms differently.”
Dean gave his most potent death glare, but Castiel shook his head. "You can't fight them all--not by yourself and succeed. We need each other, Dean."
Dean snuck a look over at the fallen angel in his passenger seat, talking with his kid brother like old friends. He couldn’t help the little smirk that grew as he watched them.
Dean looked at Cas suspiciously. “But…you’re sure? You don’t eat this stuff. It’s bad for your chi or whatever.”
Sam grabbed the cup of coffee in its little disposable cup once his meal was finished and, finding it cool enough to drink, pressed it to his lips. Halfway through the sip, his face scrunched up into a horrible visage of pain and disgust, and he actually had to cover his mouth to not spit the liquid out. He was able to swallow the disgusting liquid, but just barely.
“We’ve gotta go find them!” Sam said, about to jump up, and the others nodded. Cas transformed into his Angel Blade form and Gabriel returned to his water pistol shape, Kali looking nonplussed and barely concerned with their current predicament.
They circled him, poking and stretching the skin of and around his anti-possession tattoo to make sure it was actually intact. Then they checked around his arms, legs, back, even the soles of his feet for any strange markings.
“I need to talk to him after the show, Kali!” Gabriel said in a hurried whisper. He looked at her. “Please!”
“You two are the beginning and the end to an Ineffable Plan that has been in the works since the dawn of time. Selling your soul to save your brother makes you a Righteous Man. You were supposed to break while in Hell and take up the knife, dealing torture to others as you received it.”
Surprising him once again, Cas sat up and pulled Dean into a sloppy, bruising kiss; entwining their tongues, he squeezed his thighs hard around Dean’s and--
Dean moved the arm he’d flopped over his face and peeked at his partner. Castiel looked totally serious. “Dude, you were trying to see if my freckles looked like constellations? That’s weird.”
Dean and Cas shared a look, apparently discussing it via meister/weapon radio. Gabriel fidgeted in his seat, and started playing with his fork, pretending not the notice their little pow-wow.
Sam went to the opposite canyon wall and with a small piece of sandpaper scratched away a small section of the trap. Crowley stepped forward and snapped up a small glass vile of red liquid appeared in his hand, which he tossed to Sam. The boy caught it flawlessly and peered at it, unable to believe he’d actually managed this crazy plan.
“The demon blood in your veins has but one master Sam, and it’s not you,” Crowley said. He pulled his hand out of his overcoat pocket and curled him fingers into claws. Sam let out a yelp. A red-hot knife was twisting his insides around; it was enough to make him almost vomit.
Dean pushed himself off his car and away from Cas. “Dude, you might not care about genders and shit, but other people do! Plus, if someone sees me making out with thin air, they’re going to get me carted off to the mental ward!”
When he nodded, Dean kissed him again, enjoying the scrape of the stubble against his lips as he nipped down Cas’s jawline to his neck. Cas tilted his head away to give Dean more skin to lick and suck on. Once he got to the collar of Cas’s button-up, he tugged the tie out from the waistcoat and pulled it until undone. He popped the first few buttons on his dress shirt, just enough to expose the pulse point. Breathing deeply, Dean got a scent between a rainy, ancient forest and ozone, like lightning. It mingled with his own sweaty scent of cinnamon, gun oil, and leather.
“What the hell is that?” Gabriel asked fearfully as he stared out the windshield in alarm. Sam and Kali squished into the middle in order to see what Gabriel saw.
A pillow smacking into his face ripped Dean from his rest. His hand was already under his pillow, fingers around his gun until he heard Sam cackling.
“Got it, Castiel? I’m your friend, you’re my friend, and we’re in this together. We’re the dynamic duo. I’m Batman and you’re Robin, and nothing’s gonna stop us from defending our little slice of Gotham from any kishin-eggs or boogey-men.”
Many of the students in the gym had never handled a weapon before, and almost all of the weapons had never been handled as such. Most of the students were complete novices and a cacophony of swears filled the air as people dropped, tripped over, and stumbled over one another.
“To Night Vale,” Castiel finished, causing Death and Spirit to turn and look at him. As the musical introduction continued, Cas ducked his head so he didn’t have to see them staring. “I listen to the show sometimes at night when I can’t sleep.” He looked up at Dean and shrugged. “Cecil’s voice is very soothing.”
secrets,” he said, looking down, feeling shameful. Mentally he winced at the hypocritical statement he’d just uttered.
“That’s a low blow,” Gabrial complained. He wrenched away from Cas’s grip and dramatically groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. “You know what? No! I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to listen to a word you knuckleheads have to say; in fact, you can’t keep me here at all.”
The weapon shrugged. “I don’t have book radar, Dean. Let’s just go see if someone’s checked it out.”
He could see the potential there, he always could. They could redeem each other if they’d let themselves. The love was there--they just needed to let it show. Needed to let their guard down one more time for each other. That might have been too tall of an order after all the crap these past few years.
Despite the damn afterglow, Cas still managed to roll his eyes. "Good thing impiety is one of the perks I get to fully enjoy as a Fallen."
The kishin tried to backhand Dean away, but he managed to roll to the left, getting away from those long machete-like claws. At least, he thought he did.
Mills looked down at the card once more. “Viktor Henrickson, huh? I’ll definitely call. In the meantime, you and yours need to get out of here. You’ve got about ten minutes before the ambulances get here. Thank God all the kids are alive.”
Dean smacked Sam’s shoulder, grinning as he did so to show he held no hard feelings towards the boy. “Partners, man. They can be a pain, I know,” he said cheerfully. “Anyways, thanks again for the book. And hey, maybe we’ll catch each other around.”
Except for them, he didn’t recognize anyone. Before he could look around further, a familiar visage walked into the room. Spirit Alban came in, and the quiet hum of the classroom immediately silenced. Everyone watched him curiously, as he came to lean on the desk in front of the room. Dean assumed that everyone, just like him, was contacted by Spirit about their weapon or meister abilities.
Bobby ran a hand over his face and grunted. "I'm tellin’ ya, one match, and I can be on the beach in the Dominican by tomorrow."
Cas grabbed Dean and frantically pulled them together. He pulled on the hairs on Dean’s neck and licked his way inside when the hunter gasped. Dean knew he had more experience than Cas when it came to sex, but holy shit Cas was clearly the one in charge at the moment.
to do with me?” Castiel asked quietly. “They like you just fine, you’re handsome and interesting. Me? I’m just the quiet, stoic partner with a gravelly voice who burned several people’s hands at Orientation. Remember that? People gave me a wide berth after that.”
The lines around Meg’s dark brown eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Well, thanks for that, Casanova,” she chuckled, though it sounded a little hollow. “But being a shield isn’t that impressive.”
Nextus said scornfully, “You’ll have to forgive me, but the word of a Fallen is barely worth more than that of the lowest demon in the Pit. At least the demon sticks to a side,” he alleged. “If you stand for nothing, you’ll Fall for it every time.”
Cursing the fact that he needed to breathe, Dean regretfully broke the kiss. Cas pulled back looking just as shell-shocked as he felt. “I thought you were a virgin?” Dean huffed.
Dean thought deliriously, holding onto Cas’s hair with both hands for dear fucking life as the angel bobbed his head vigorously.
Several seconds of silence passed as Dean tried to figure out what to say. “You know, I might be able to get away this weekend if you need another pair of hands,” Dean offered.
Sam ran up to the hood of a truck and managed to leap onto a kishin-eggs back and used that as a spring-board to leap up and grab the mangled metal of what was left of the fire escape still attached to the building. He started to pull himself up but a powerful tentacle wrapped around his leg and started to pull him back down. He yelped in pain—another tug like that and he was pretty sure his leg was going to come
“Um, yeah. Thank god the Chevelle isn’t a manual,” Dean said. He moved forward to help with Gabby, but Castiel scooped her up in his arms easily. They made their way slowly back to the car, and slid her into the backseat while Dean and Cas got in front. More colorful swearing on Dean’s part, but he didn’t seem in danger of dying from blood loss.
“Dad, it’s me,” Dean said, cutting him off with a chuckle. “Did you even bother to look at the caller I.D.?”
“Relax, Winchester,” Gabriel pointed between him and Cas. “I literally do not care about who’s on base or whatever’s going on in this dugout.”
“We have half a cow in the freezer downstairs, how much more in the way of supplies do you think we’ll need?” Bobby asked, puzzled.
Crowley shook his head, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Demons? Yeah, right. Demons and kishin-eggs are cats and dogs, and have nothing to do with each other.”
“OW!” Gabby yelped, thrashing forward and almost smacking Cas in the face. Luckily he had fast reflexes, and pulled away without injury from her flying fists. She instantly burst into tears, crying and screaming, her thrashing making the car wobbly erratically.
A flash of light and a scream came from the wastes. Black clouds swirled overhead, blocking out the stars, and myriads of voices assaulted them, carried on the winds buffeting them.
“A civil war between the two most powerful factions in Hell, and they’re using kishin-eggs as cannon fodder,” Cas mumbled, shaking his head. “We should warn Death as soon as we get back.”
, Sam mouthed, and the archangel shrugged nonchalantly. For several minutes Sam was taking diligent notes and Dean's leg was bouncing under the table. He was impatient to see what was so interesting. Finally, Sam hung up and huffed in disbelief. “So, um, got a bit of a weird situation,” he started.
Sam ended up migrating up the stairs and into Dean’s bedroom, wishing for a touch of privacy. “Why do you sound so muffled?” he asked.
Cas spoke with humility--though it had been a fact at the time, his years on Earth had worn down the edges of his angelic pride.
Eileen and Sam were signing back and forth out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t pay them much mind. He liked watching Dean work, enjoyed seeing the finished results from the chaos cooking usually entailed. It was one of many skills he wasn’t good at, but Dean just took the angel’s lack of culinary talent as an excuse to cook for him. Or teach him when Cas felt up to it.
“No,” Sam tried to say adamantly, though it sounded more like a whine from the bone deep exhaustion. “I should—*yawn*—have done better to protect you two.”
Cas leaned back and pulled off of Dean. The utter lack of sensation was going to drive him insane, but he hated the idea of Cas doing all the work and getting nothing in return.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Cas murmured, and his shoulders dropped. He cleared his throat and withdrew to a respectable distance. When Cas returned his gaze, his eyes were cool and closed off. The stoic mask Cas usually wore, which had slipped ever so slightly, slammed back into place. "My apologies, Dean."
The words that poured from the radio host’s lips immediately sent a chill up each teenager’s spine. These words weren’t words, they were spoken elements. A hurricane compressed into a few guttural and whimsical noises from the human larynx. An exploding sun poorly explained in an alien tongue that no one could wrap their mind around. Sam, who considered himself fairly smart, found his mind racing with ideas and images no human could comprehend, all the while trying to make his tongue and lips form these weird, impossible syllables.
“Shit,” he said aloud in realization. “I haven’t slept since I got out of Hell. Except for the one nap...wonder why?”
“What’s the point? We’re alive, we’re not crippled, and people are alive. That’s a win in my book no matter if you’re a Hunter or a Meister.”
The bunker was a sight for sore eyes, and Dean practically bounded down the stairs so he could tackle his brother in the library. “Army! Blase word wire on starlight?”
Dean stumbled out of the bedroom towards the kitchen, only to see Castiel sitting at the small counter, reading a book. In front of him was a plate with the remains of eggs on it.
“Don’t touch that,” she said when Gabriel paused to look at it. “We’ve been so busy upstairs I haven’t gotten a chance to put any of those items in protective curse boxes yet.”
Gabriel shrugged casually. “Well, I speak from experience when I say random family members popping back into your life can leave your noodle well and truly scrambled. Thought you’d appreciate having this conversation with someone who can relate.”
For a brief second, Dean panicked because he just left that wide open for Cas to ask why, and he didn’t have a good answer.
“I ain’t sleep-walking,” Bobby growled. He sat up and let out a little groan as he stretched. “Hate being old,” he muttered under his breath. He looked over and saw Sam was still asleep—he’d been that way for most of the return trip. Every once in a while he let out a little whimper, but the talking didn’t seem to wake him.
“Sammy! Watch out!” Dean shouted, ducking past Cecil. A kishin-egg was about to bring its two-foot long claws down on Sam’s turned back. Dean leapt onto the kishin-egg’s back, its body like solidified shadows, and when it turned its head to try and bite at Dean’s face, orange eyes bored into emerald.
Sam dropped his gaze. “Yeah, well, our mom is the reason our dad became a hunter. Demon got her.” Dean made sure not to glance at Sam unconsciously, but he could still hear the tilt of guilt in his little brother’s voice.
Cas bucked up under him, head falling back against the mattress. “Fuck, Dean…” That harsh whisper made Dean’s dick pulse in his jeans, painfully straining against denim and the teeth of the zipper, but he was ignoring that. He only wanted to focus on Cas, on memorizing the pleasure on his face, the pleasure Dean was giving him.
Dean couldn’t help himself; tears of utter relief fell down his cheeks. “Thank you, Cas,” he whispered, burying his face into Cas’s stubbly neck. The scents of Cas, of ozone and old forest, mixed with fire, blood, and sulfur but Dean kept holding on and breathing deeply.
Castiel glared at his partner, trying to silent him with the power of his stare, but Dean seemed unaffected. Cas didn’t even bother to try and stifle the laughter from Sam, the girls, or Gabriel.
“I know it’s grating, but being away from you is going to be hard on me as well. You can tease me all you want once you’re cured.” Cas admitted, surprising Dean. Usually, Cas kept his cards close to his chest until absolutely necessary. Maybe Cas was trying to turn over a new leaf and break some bad habits, too.
Kali had been eating her food with her eyes closed, mouth drawn into a line; however, as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin, Gabriel caught the edge of her mouth turn up into a grin.
“Well, I saw a midnight diner about a mile that way. We could go hit it up together.” Dean playfully elbowed Sam in the side, grinning. “I’ll never say no to midnight pancakes with my favorite brother.”
“Dean!” Sam shouted, seeing the other Winchester go flying. Forgetting the kishin-eggs he was tangling with, he ran to the storefront as quick as lightning.
Dean tossed his trash, and shoved his hands in his jean pockets, clearly unsure where to start next.
Crowley frowned and looked down, but he was still several feet away from the Devil’s Trap on the rocky ground. “Excuse me?”
Outside the fogged-up windows, the rain had stopped; the air was still and silent around them. He breathed in the scent of the Impala’s leather seats and sex, which helped to cement that this had actually happened.
“Uh...hadn’t seen you in a while. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t curl up and die in my brain somewhere,” Dean said with an awkward chuckle.
“Yeah, well, it was only a matter of time ‘til he caught onto health-nut’s routine,” Meg said, shooting a knowing smirk at her meister who blushed slightly.
Castiel’s orders were concise and rapid-fire; he must've been a commander or a leader, at some point. Dean sat up a little straighter as if John were giving him orders once more.
Comments and kudos are most appreciated, my fine readers. They are the only payment I get for this after all! ;-)
There was a flash of light, and Cecil was no longer running in tandem with his scientist boyfriend with perfect hair. He was now running with an old-school broadcasting radio in his hands that connected to a pair of oversized headphones around his neck.
Dean glanced over and unconsciously shuffled away from Cas slightly because he furiously glowered at the being before them.
The smell of the ashes made Dean’s nose twitch, but Sam shrugged and left the ashtray near Dean's take-out container out of pure pettiness. Dean was distracted from his sandwich because he saw black transparent things when he glanced up at Sam.
Dean’s grin never faltered as he turned to his partner. He threw is arms up towards the sky, which was a beautiful blue with a few wispy white clouds, the sun hanging overhead. It was a warm day, not hot or cold, with a cooling breeze playing with Dean’s open over-shirt. “Dude, it’s a perfect day! The weather is perfect, and we kicked Sid’s ass at his own game!” He threw an arm around Cas’s shoulders and laughed. “Dude, we’re
Sarah motioned around the shelves. “Feel free to poke your noses anyway. Just don’t open any boxes. Or any jars. Or, yeah, what Bella said, don’t touch anything at all. I’ll be right back.”
“He’s the current King of Hell. He’s been ruling Hell for the past several hundred years, and the last recorded sighing of Samhein is about that long ago, so I’m thinking he locked Samhein in the Pitt in the first place. But get this—
“I slept like a log. I think Meg heard you more than anything, but she seems to be feeling fine, so you must not have been too loud.” Ruby walked over to tiny table with a single cup coffee maker, and a minute later brought him a Styrofoam cup. The mocha-colored liquid inside was still steaming and warmed his hands. “Thanks,” he said, still not looking at her. He tried not to imagine his two female partners curled up around him, tried not to think about how beautiful and cool he thought they were or anything. Sam had managed to forget he lived with two girls for the past few months, but suddenly realizing he’d slept in the same bed with them….
He obediently followed Dean out the door as they ran towards their class, jogging and eating the Pop-Tarts along the way. They got the classroom just in time. As the bell struck 9:00 A.M., Dean looked to see all of his friends were also in the classroom. Kali looked tired but determined; Gabriel seemed more bored than anything. Bookworm was looking carefully contemplative, and both the girls looked annoyed.
“Meisters and Weapons have to have a deep trust in order to work as a partnership. After all, a weapon is useless without a meister, and generally vice versa. In battle, both must have each other’s back in order for either to come back alive,” Sid said, watching Dean get back to his feet.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You think I can do a better job explaining because of the demon blood stuff?”
Cas cleared his throat and explained helpfully, “Dean said that since ‘I’d gotten laid, I should lighten up.’”
Meg’s return snapped Castiel from the dark thoughts, and she looked…contemplative. Her brow was wrinkled in concentration as she came back to sit next to him on the couch.
Dean couldn’t understand how Sam could be so casual about it. Then again, all the blood in Dean’s body was going in one direction, and it wasn’t towards his brain.
Gabriel didn’t bother to hide his pout. “Come on, Kali. Live a little! Speaking to other kids who aren’t worth a few million bucks is good for you.”
“Gabriel,” Sam said, his voice quiet. “What, did Dean send you? I told him to leave me alone. I’m not in the mood.”
His mother sighed. “We’re not completely sure. Children are disappearing around the area. Could be fae, changlings, shifters…we’re not sure. There is something up, though.”
Pamela gave him a reassuring grin as she took his hands into her own. “I don’t poke around anywhere, I promise. Just think of this as a little psychic sonar sweep of the bottom of a lake. This is just to get a lay of the land.”
It had taken several weeks of preparation, of late-night research and several trips to the library alone and under the cover of night. It had taken a few weeks to get all the supplies together—he had to visit a few different apothecary shops in Death City, and he may or may not have “borrowed” a few ingredients from the Academy itself. Finally,
Sorry, not sorry, lovely readers. I got REALLY EXCITED and posted this chapter a day earlier than usual. :D
Dean bowed his head so he could cover his face with his hands. His words were muffled when he spoke. “Think I’ll uh, let sleeping dogs lie on this one, Cas.”
“So’s your crush on your partner, yet we don’t bring that up in public, do we?” Gabe shot back. Castiel fixed his intense star on Gabe, and blue eyes stared into bronze ones for several seconds until Gabe jerked backwards. He looked down under the table, then at Cas accusingly. “Seriously, did you just
Cas rolled his eyes and reached into the inner pocket of his trenchcoat. He pulled out a familiar-looking cassette tape and pushed it into the tape deck. Then, he lay his weary head to rest on Dean's shoulder.
Gabriel turned the pendant over once again, listening to her words while trying to figure out if that’s what was happening. The idea the pendant was somehow choosing him wasn’t as nerve-wrecking as it probably should have been on a normal day.
“Meg, Ruby, stay back!” Sam barked, but he didn’t hear any sort of movement coming from the girls’ room. Even as tired as they were, they should’ve reacted at least a little!
The stupid candles and the rain. Cas, like a force of nature in human form, making him see stars. And afterward, when Cas curled around him and held onto him so tightly, kissed him so sweetly, like he cared. Like he gave a damn at all…?
Dean snaked his hands around the sides of Cas’s face, cupping his cheeks in his palms. “You better have your ears on because I’m only going to say this once, got it?”
“Just the way it goes,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Instead of accepting it, accepting me, you try to make me vomit before the whole class!”
More, even, than the Mormons who kept knocking on the door to their super-secret underground bunker. (Seriously, how did they keep finding it?!)
“They’re perfect sitting ducks over there, man! Come on, let’s have some fun with this!” Gabriel said. That mischievous twinkle was back in his amber eyes.
Gabriel reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Snickers and offered it to Dean. “Here. You turn into a whiny little bitch when you’re hungry,” Gabriel teased. Dean snatched the bar before Gabe could change his mind. “Bite me,” Dean grumbled.
Meg looked at Castiel, quietly eating his salad, her eyes traveling over him. “How come it doesn’t look like you went a few rounds with Apollo Creed?” she asked.
He was quickly distracted from the sensation that his body was moving. Cas was at the controls now, and they looked down at their hands as Cas opened and closed the fists. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and curiously looked down at himself before around the junkyard. Dean felt nauseous from the disconnect.
Castiel looked calm, but Raphael caught the sight of his slightly shaking fists, and the hard edge to his blue eyes that had never been there before.
Tears fell from the corners of his eyes as Dean scooped Cas into a back-breaking hug. He didn’t care that his voice cracked when he spoke. “You stole my line, you dumbass.”
Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder, hard enough that he was going to leave bruises in the shape of his fingertips.“He’s a specialist. The kind that kills all the oldest sons in Egypt or destroys the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, as God commands it.”
His voice was captivating, and as the singer peered out into the audience it felt like he was singing not to a crowd, but to every single person that watched him. His baritone was both soulful and joyous and he snapped his fingers in time to the music as he paused.
Once alone, the muscles in his arms and legs uncoiled from their death grip. Continuing to breathe deeply, he slowly worked the kinks out of his limbs until he no longer shook. Dean glanced around the car, but what had been a cocoon of safety just a few hours ago felt cold and cavernous. Just outside the windshield, he could see Bobby’s porch light as a wavy blob of yellow in the distance.
Jo returned with a wicked grin on her face and a long pink dress, covered in rhinestones and embroidery. She held it out to the boy, who held it as it were a bomb.
Carlos raised his eyebrows at the young man. “That’s a pretty cynical thing to say for someone so young.”
“I try,” Sam said with a grin. After that, even Sam’s impressive mind couldn’t keep going; within a minute he was snoring gently on the couch.
He stood up and turned around, a small smile on his lips, but an unfathomable sadness in his hazel eyes. “Come on, you two, let’s go get some breakfast. I’m starving, aren’t you?” he with false cheerfulness.
"Alright, fine--" The words were barely out of his mouth before Cas lavished a series of bruises starting at the sensitive spot under his ear. The trail meandered down his chest, pausing as Cas worked over his nipples again with dogged determination. Dean arched up, whining at the sensations of teeth and beard burn and a wet tongue to soothe afterward. He was babbling about how hot Cas was, how good everything felt. His skin was left tingling and hypersensitive.
Sam was about to respond when Dean cleared his throat and stared at them from the entrance to the alley. He slowly strode inside, hands in his pockets, a forced casual air about him.
Bobby scratched under his trucker’s cap and sighed. “Not like we got a lot of options. Do have to admit that he is the strongest Trickster I’ve ever come across, so it could be worth a shot. Just make sure you take a forest’s worth of bloody pine branches with you.”
Sam looked at him curiously. “Yeah, that’s right, you haven’t been there since the first day of class, right?”
Dean got up and walked over towards Cas before he realized what he was doing. His hands were suddenly on Castiel’s blue tie, the silk sliding over his fingertips. No matter how much Castiel tried, the tie would never sit straight. They were only a foot away from each other; with those hawk-like blue eyes staring at him so intently, Dean figured Cas could see the terrible images flashing through his mind.
“The knife kills the victim, but I’ll be able to pull the demon and save them!” Sam ran his hands through his hair. “I know I’m tainted and corrupted, Dean. I have nothing else to offer the world--let me at least use this fucking curse to do something good.”
"Apparently, your old man has a sense of humor. He thought it would be hilarious to watch the three of us on an empty planet," Dean explained. Michael dryly chuckled.
"Cas?" He asked, his voice breaking saying his name out loud. Tears filled his eyes as he already knew he wouldn't be getting a response. He slowly dropped his head down to think about his father. After taking a few moments to think, he straightened himself up and started heading towards the entrance of the restaurant, those tears in his eyes dropping down his face. He felt a sudden sense of weird power while walking, but he brushed it off.
"Wow. Really?! Great," Dean exclaimed, very much confused and frustrated at Lucifer's confusion to kill the reaper.
"Well this...this is great! All you need to do is absorb as much power as possible and then maybe you'll be able to overpower Chuck! We need to get you all the goddamn plants in the world!" Dean exclaimed, already getting ahead of himself.
"Watch," he stabbed Betty in her chest, the wound and her eyes glowing white as it did for every supernatural being that died. She fell the the floor painfully, the chains around her chest and waist rattling noisily.
"As far as we know, only Death can open it. But, um...we're hoping, uh...maybe you can, too." Michael turned to look at the desperate family in need of his assistance. He looked down at the book once more before attempting to open it. He stuck a shaky hand and raised it a few inches above the book. The books delicate handiwork glowed white and just as the boys gained hope, Michael ran out of power, gasping for breath and lowering his still shaky hand.
"One of you will take's Chuck's left arm in your right arm and the other take's Chuck's right arm in their left arm. Then, draw blood in your free palm and start a chant. I will take your free arms in my own and start to drain Chuck's power...while also draining your lives away." The brothers nodded their heads acceptingly. This would be their destiny. Their one last ride. Their last moment to give everything they've got and go down swinging. Butch and Sundance style.
"Dean, do you think we're it? All that's left?" Dean went over to shut off the annoying noise that was the dripping of beer. He tiredly chuckled.
"I've been waitin' for you two idjits," Bobby gave them a toothy grin after pulling away from the hug. "Come sit, come sit," he walked over and grabbed a couple chairs from the side of his cabin for the boys to sit in. "You guys wanna beer?" The boys said yes and thanked him while walking over to their chairs. As they sat in the chairs, they felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. They had zero worries. They could just be themselves.
"Dean?" Cas tries, although his voice is uncertain and he knows something is really wrong. Sam tilts his head to the right, waiting for something, but he doesn't know what. Jack remains still as a board, terrified of what is going on in front of him.
"You're my big brother," Sam began, getting serious again. "-and you are the strongest person I know. There's nothing you can't do. There's no doubt in my mind you're able to fight Michael off. All you have to do is fight. Fight like you've been doing your whole life. I
"I think it's a good plan," Jack started off, his voice hesitant. "But I don't think I have enough mojo to beat both Chuck and Michael. I could
"Hey, you did good." Cas tells him with a small smile. Jack tries relaying it, but Cas can tell it's forced. He drops his arm from Jack's and turns back his focus on Michael and Sam.
"Gone," Michael stated, anger in his voice. "I'm sorry to say. Exterminated by my father, like everyone else."
"In there or very nearby," he said hesitantly, but that was enough for the brothers to head in. "Guys, I have no idea what we're walking into," Jack admitted as they walked into the church. The scary atmosphere was almost out of a movie. Thunderstorms came crashing down as the rain drops were also loud and annoying. The church was abandoned, but there was something odd that made it seem like someone had been there recently. Candles were lit around them.
Cas' eyes are extremely wide, his hand finds Dean's and he squeezes it hard. He lets out a soft sob at Dean's confession. He's known this man for so long, knows how that must've been hard for him. He feels his heart strings tug at Dean squeezing his hand back. He leans forward slowly and looks into Dean's eyes. He sees the way they light up slightly. He sees that as his cue and he leans in forward enough so that their foreheads touch. They remain in that position for a couple seconds, gathering a couple good breaths. That's when Cas moves his chin forward enough and his lips meet Dean's. Dean's lips are bloody and chapped, and the kiss is desperate, but it's passionate and full of love. Cas pulls away after a couple seconds and let's out a chuckle, his eyes still locked on Dean's. He sees the life fading from them. They move over toward Jack.
"How's, uh, Sam doing? Any progress?" Michael asked Dean, pacing around the room with a book in his hand.
The group of four hopped out of Baby, carrying the ingredients needed for the spell. But what Michael didn't know was that this spell was not the one Sam had explained to him earlier. It was simply meant to set off a powerful force into the sky to get Chuck's attention if they were wrong and Michael hadn't actually warned Chuck about all of this.
"Yes, I noticed it around the same time you guys did," Jack admitted. "But I don't know why. Or how," Jack furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think of any possible solution. Sam and Dean did the same.
"When God left Heaven, I was certain of his return. So I made sure all of the angels and prophets burnished his image on Earth. The all-knowing, all-seeing, all-caring God."
"Don't worry about him. He'll warm up to you," Dean talked to his new furry friend. "Maybe we'll let you sleep in his room," he chuckled. "Here we go. Good boy," Dean praised as he set Miracle into the backseat of his beloved Impala. "Hey. Come here," he cooed, giving the dog some scratches. "You know, believe it or not, you're the best thing that's happened in the last few days," Dean stated the sad fact while continuing to pet his new dog. "Yeah, you are. Good boy." Dean rose from his kneeled position and laughed at the sight of the dog. He never once pictured himself with a dog but here he was about to take one home. But before he knew it, Miracle vanished into thin air. Dean's face dropped immediately, confusion and frustration spread on it. He looked beyond Baby's roof to see Chuck giving him a salute before he was gone in a second. Dean sighed a disappointed sigh. Guess he wasn't going home with a new furry friend after all. "Unbelievable."
"No, you're not our 'pal.'" Sam fumed, trying to keep his shock in check so Lucifer wouldn't see him as weak. He clenched his jaw and fists, preparing for whatever Lucifer was going to throw at them.
"No, no, no," he whispers, really panicking now. "My grace it's not-" his voice cracks. "I'm too weak... I can't save him," fresh tears roll down his cheeks.
"We'll take you back to the bunker, get you in some, uh, angel cuffs? And then, uh, we'll figure it out from there," Sam says, clearly unsure of his own plan. Dean wears the disappointed face Sam expected him to. His eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"And Adam?" Sam asked with curiousness, but he unfortunately already knew the answer. Michael looked down, remembering the boy he had grown a liking to.
Sam and Jack run up next to Cas, hope in their eyes watching Michael struggle to keep control. Michael's struggling goes on for another thirty seconds before it abruptly stops. There's silence for a couple seconds before they hear panting.
"Alright, well, that's a good thing, 'cause the man had no love to give -- not to you, not to me, not to...humanity. You see that now, right?" Michael simply stared at his brother with pure anger. Abruptly, Betty appeared in front of the group, clearing her throat.
Sam, Cas, and Jack can only watch in horror as the last of Michael's grace is destroyed, leaving only Dean bleeding out from his chest. Sam quickly grabs his backpack from the ground and uses it to put out the flames still surrounding Dean. As soon as Sam clears a path with no flames, the three men rush to Dean's side.
"Welcome to Heaven, my sons," she backed away from them and squeezed their arms, admiration seen on her face. They just smiled at her, so grateful to have seen their mother again. She steps aside to let the boys see everyone who had come to see them once again.
Sam's head is immediately pressed against Dean's chest, searching for some sort of breathing. Cas checks for a pulse. He finds one, it's extremely weak, but it's there. Dean's breathing is uneven - Sam suspects he punctured a lung with the damage of the spear. He knows Dean doesn't have much time left. He looks to Cas, silently telling him ‘hurry up and fix him!’ Cas quickly presses his fingers to Dean's forehead. His eyebrows furrow after a couple seconds. He begins to shake. He shakes more and more before he pulls away with a gasp and a horrified face. Sam and Jack's faces look just as horrified. They look to him for answers. Cas had maybe suspected that he was too weak to use his angel grace, but he had pushed that thought way down because he'd know the consequences if it wouldn't work. And now, he's facing them. He shakes his head in denial, eyes practically bugging out of his head.
"Uh, Jack, you wanna go first?" Sam gulps, trying to keep his voice steady. Jack hesitantly nods. He steps just a bit closer to Michael, showing hardly any fear. Michael looks him up and down, clearly not intimidated by him.
"You sure about this, Jack? Whatever you're picking up on is in there?" Sam asked the kid for confirmation.
"Thanks again, Tessa," Dean smiled at his long time friend. "I would've thought you'd hold a grudge against me for you know...killing you." Tessa chuckled.
"The spell." Michael's eyebrows raised in confusion. "There's a spell. It has to be done at a particular place...at an exact angle from the sun. But it will release an unstoppable force that will find Chuck...and finish him.
"When I gave up Dean, you didn't think to question it, to ask why? Dean was...," Michael pauses for a second to think of the right word. 'Fight' was giving Dean too much credit, but he certainly didn't remain calm. A light blub goes off in his head.
The boys spent their time looking at everyone who had attended. There were so many people who they hadn't seen in awhile who had changed drastically. And so many familiar faces. Then came time to burn their bodies and the brothers knew their time was up.
"Dean. I'm here," he groaned painfully. "I'm hurt. Can you let me in?" That was all Dean needed to race out to the bunker's opening, wanting more than anything in the world for Cas to be on the other side. He knew it was incredibly stupid to open the door with no hesitation, but at that point anything was possible and there was a chance it could've be Cas. He didn't think twice about opening the door, but he realized that was a mistake seeing who was on the other side of it.
"How are you sensing anything? I thought you were all powered down," Dean asked, already kind of knowing the answer.
Before Sam and Dean could even attempt anything, Chuck sent them flying backwards towards the water. He did the same with Jack just a moment after that, leaving him to face his son.
"You know, ever since we met and ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me." The tears in Cas' eyes have only grown more and more, threatening to pour out by the second. "Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean." The tears have fallen and are strolling down Cas' cheek slowly. Cas takes a shuddering breath.
"And everyone who knows you sees it," Cas continues. "Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love," Cas' eyes are beginning to water, emotions overwhelming him. He's pouring his heart out. "You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are," his eyebrows raise with emphasis. Michael -
"I'm sorry," he muttered, but his apology did seem sincere. The boys sighed heavily as yet another plan went down the drain.
He assumed right and opened the door to the War Room to see Sam standing and Dean sitting at the table, a computer in front of him and alcohol naturally scattered around it.
"I mean, she's got the whole Death starter kit going with the decoder ring. Isn't that awesome? And that, whatever that is. Yeah. I'm good, right?
"Trust me," Dean speaks and Michael's head whips up. "That's gonna leave a scar," Dean references his own scar from previously being Michael's vessel and being injured by the very same spear in almost the same spot on his arm. Michael barely cracks a smile. He stands up straight, all the confidence in the world. Dean's face turns confused, almost surprised.
"...resisting me. He was too attached to you," Michael makes an annoyed face motioning to Sam. He thinks for a second, remembering how Cas-filled Dean's mind was about all the love and feeling he has for him. He fixes his mistake. "...to all of you. He wouldn't stop squirming -" Michael rolls his shoulder back, as if remembering what all of Dean's clawing and prying felt like. "-to get out, to get back. So I left...," he reaches down to pick up a glass of alcohol he had been pouring himself earlier while waiting for TFW 2.0, or more specifically Dean, to arrive.
Sam and Dean stared out the window of the restaurant in confusion. They were both concerned and curious seeing Jack kill those plants by just walking near them, but that was a topic of conversation for a later time.
"Dean?" Dean slowly picked his head up and out of his thoughts to see his brother and Jack giving him questioning looks.
"G-goodbye. I-I l-love you a-all," his words are muffled and difficult to understand, but they all do anyways.
"It is, Sam. I think everyone's gone." Sam looked at his big brother in disbelief but deep down knew he was right. He turned again to take a look at the empty road before taking a few steps back and fishing his phone out of his coat pocket. He quickly called Jody's phone, which immediately went to voicemail. He hung up the phone, a look of frustration on his face. He searched his contacts and spotted Garth's name. Like Jody's phone, Garth's immediately went to voicemail.
"I hope so. He's been in there a long time," Dean's growled, his hand on his head as he looked through a book in the lore. Sam appeared in the doorframe, clearing his throat to get the group's attention. "Oh. Why don't you ask him yourself."
"It's an expression, Cas. Just- bring him back to us." Cas' expression softens. He nods slowly and gives Sam a reassuring look before turning towards Michael.
"He's upset that Chuck brought back Lucifer and made him the favorite. Michael’s going to want to be the favorite again. But anyways, the plan is for Sam to tell us there is a spell to defeat Chuck. Then, once we get there, hopefully you'll have enough mojo to gut both their asses. Whaddya say, kid?" Jack processed the plan for a moment. There were some flaws, but this was a risk he was willing to take. To save the world. To make up for all the pain he's caused Sam and Dean.
"Hey, everyone," Jack held up a microphone to his mouth and grabbed everyone's attention as he stood in front of Sam and Dean's bodies with a lighter. "I'm Jack. And today we're here to celebrate the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester. They've saved the world on more than one occasion. They died saving the world. So let's remember them as the most badass, courageous, lovable, self-sacrificing, loyal, strong, determined, and brave human beings to ever walk this earth," Jack held up the lighter in comparison to the beers everyone else was holding. "To Sam and Dean."
"And it's in here... all that you want." Dean gave a look of hopefulness to Sam, who returned it with equal hopefulness. "I know how God ends."
"I'm so happy to see y'all. And you're looking much better without having to carry all that emotional baggage on your shoulder's," she looked at Dean saying that last part, referencing the time she visited him on earth for a brief period of time. The two looked at each other with care in their eyes. They never established what their relationship was, but it was certain that the two cared for each other very much.
Outside, the cicadas in the garden, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of flowers, sing them to sleep.
. It’s filled with hundreds of breakfast recipes from all over the world, from waffles to ebelskivers to chilaquiles. Dean pauses on a picture for a recipe of what have to be the fluffiest, gooiest cinnamon rolls he’s ever seen.
Dean isn’t sure how long he lays there steeping in his pure, unbridled contentment. (Peace, contentment 𑁋 they are feelings that he has only recently begun to tentatively accept as something he is deserving of.) At some point, however, Dean’s stomach gives a great rumble, and he decides that such a perfect Sunday morning calls for the perfect breakfast to go along with it.
“I am older than many galaxies. I have witnessed creation. I was made from colors that humans could never even dream of. And yet . . .” Here Cas pauses, turning his head to look back at Dean, gently holding Dean’s gaze with his own. “I have never known anything as beautiful as sitting here with you, surrounded by our garden.”
“Are you saying you wanna get hitched, Cas?” Dean asks cheekily, angling his head up to look at him.
As ridiculous as the dream was, Dean realizes that he legitimately could have died like that if he had chosen to stay in the life, to keep hunting. Obviously, Cas realizes that too. Something was bound to get him eventually, and who’s to say it couldn’t have been a couple of vampires wearing stupid masks? Or, more accurately, a poorly placed piece of metal sticking out from the wall that said vampires shoved him into.
Eventually, he and Cas fully retire, closing down their bed and breakfast. They spend many of their days with Sam and Eileen, enjoying the beautiful Vermont countryside and the familiar company of each other. Dean still bakes and cooks – he could write his own cookbook, at this point – and Cas still works in their garden, planting endless varieties of flowers, vegetables, and herbs.
Besides, Dean’s also curious about the house, if he’s being honest. It almost looks like something out of a fairytale.
, so instead he reaches up, takes Cas’ face in his hands, and kisses him. Time slows to a crawl, stretching out eons in either direction, allowing Dean to drink Cas in, the taste of his lips, the feel of his skin under Dean’s fingers. Cas makes a small noise of surprise before returning the kiss, a little uncoordinated but with so much fervor that Dean’s head spins. It’s as simple as they come; just a press of lips on lips, no tongue, no teeth, but it’s also the best kiss Dean’s ever had.
There’s a section on sweet peas about halfway through that spans multiple pages, full of Cas’ notes detailing his many years of trial and error. At the very bottom of one of the pages, Cas, in his strong, slanted hand, has written:
Spectacular. Beautiful. Ravishing. Part of Dean wants to say fuck the wedding and take Cas to bed right now.
Through no choice of his own, Dean feels his breathing start to increase and an intense pressure that builds behind his eyes. Objectively, he knows that he is going to cry, that he needs to cry, but there’s a horrible, clawing fear rising in his chest that makes him feel like a skittish animal, makes him want nothing more than to cower in a corner of his mind far away from whatever emotions he’s kept buried for so long that are about to surface. All of a sudden, the room feels suffocating, like the oxygen has been sucked clean from the air, and his breathing picks up once more. He tries to breathe through his mouth and a pitiful, choked-off wheezing comes out instead. When he tries to swallow, it feels like he’s gulping around a large rock that has lodged itself in his throat, painful in its size.
“I really liked Florence and Arthur’s house earlier,” Cas says after a while, breaking the hushed quiet of the night. “Especially their garden.”
He can’t stop thinking about how he could – should – be back with Sam and Eileen, helping them on hunts. Saving people’s lives. Instead, he spends his days weeding the garden, vacuuming the floors, or getting lunch with Cas at trendy restaurants in town. Which is all well and good, except that those activities don’t really benefit anyone but himself. He’s helped Sam out on a couple of cases over the phone, but even still, he feels like he should be doing more. If Dean’s honest with himself, he doesn’t feel like his life is worth anything, like
“Dean,” Cas greets, turning around to face him. Dean’s eyes snap up to Cas’ face, feeling caught, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Cas’ eyes are laughing, totally amused at Dean being completely obvious. Dean tries to scowl at him, to show Cas that he doesn’t appreciate being laughed at
Cas just smiles that blinding smile again, bringing a gentle hand to Dean’s chin and lifting his face, encouraging him to meet his eyes. “I do know,” he says. “I feel the same way about you, Dean. From the moment I pulled you from Hell, there was never any other choice for me either.”
Once the edges of the pancake start to bubble and brown up a bit, he grabs a spatula from the frequently used utensils jar off to his right and flips the pancake, feeling a small but potent sense of accomplishment at the perfectly browned side that he reveals. After a few more minutes, he flips the pancake once more to ensure that it is fully cooked before transferring it onto a waiting plate to cool. He repeats this process several times: pour a dollop batter onto the pan, add blueberries, wait, flip, wait, flip, transfer. On the very last pancake, he arranges the blueberries in the shape of a smiley face. It makes him feel like his mother is beside him, if only for a brief moment.
Turning around, Dean is faced with the seemingly endless expanse of the large kitchen island. He drums his fingertips against the countertop, wondering what he should make for breakfast. Cinnamon rolls are a good option; Dean has perfected the recipe by now, and Cas has always had a voracious fondness for them.
Cas’ face melts into a warm smile and he leans in to steal a quick kiss, squeezing Dean’s hand as he settles back in his seat.
Maybe Dean is crying because it isn’t blood, it is blueberry juice, and the mess of blueberry juice can be easily washed off with a wet paper towel followed by a kiss from his mama. And maybe Dean is crying because his hands will never drip with blood again 𑁋 because he lives in Vermont in this quiet life that he built with Cas, and he doesn’t make his way in the world by killing things, not anymore. Now, his fingers will only ever be stained red by blueberries; his fingers will only ever be stained because he was creating, not destroying.
Still, Sam and Cas had both insisted that they all go to check it out, which is why Dean finds himself on the road to Missouri early one Friday morning with a snoring brother in the backseat and a fiancé in the passenger’s seat.
“Bobby, stop eating the dough,” is what he says instead, brandishing the wooden mixing spoon at him, and Bobby laughs.
my mug with the bees on it, Dean.” – they finally pull into the driveway of the house. It’s a bright, sunny Tuesday and the early afternoon air is already warm and slightly sticky with humidity. Dean’s sweating a little as they walk up to the front door where Florence and Arthur are waiting for them, suitcases in hand. Florence pulls them both in for a quick hug.
worth anything, if he’s not hunting. If he’s not making the world at least a little bit of a better place.
They eventually make their way back out of the house, briefly popping into the two downstairs bedrooms just off of the living room. Florence and Arthur greet them again when they step outside, Cas shutting the door gently behind them.
“I found something.” Sam makes his way over to Dean’s bed and plops himself on the edge on it. “Something that could help us get Cas back.” He carefully sets the book he’s holding down – damn, the book looks
Dean heads over to Cas’ bedside table instead and opens the drawer, reaching in and pulling out the old notebook with the bee on the cover that he had bought for Cas all those years ago. Cas had used it until the very end.
Dean thanks the delivery boy and tips him before heading back upstairs, two bags of food in his hands. They don’t have a kitchen table yet – Dean makes a mental note to go out and buy one tomorrow – so eating on the bed it is.
Dean pulls back further, placing his hand on Cas’ chest, resting it there. It calms him to feel the steady
Sam shifts his weight slightly from foot to foot, a small movement but one that Dean catches nonetheless. He knows Sam wants to know what happened, but all Sam says after many more beats of silence is, “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” His voice is a little watery but firm. Sam’s shoes appear in his periphery, and Dean lifts his head to see Sam standing next to him, right hand outstretched, and Dean would normally refuse but his body feels like it’s made of lead. He takes Sam’s hand and lets himself be lifted up. He has a fleeting memory of his childhood, of helping Sam up when he fell off of his bike and scraped his knees and palms up good, tears carving shiny tracks down his dirty face. As soon as he’s standing, Sam pulls him into a tight hug before he can refuse. The knowledge that at least Sam is here, alive, allows him to breathe a little easier, and Dean returns the embrace. Sam eventually steps back, keeping him at arm’s length, eyes resting on his left shoulder. There’s a horrible sadness in his eyes as he looks at the red handprint, muted against the green of his jacket, and Dean feels like somehow Sam has put the puzzle pieces together, that he knows what Cas said to him before he died. Mercifully, Sam says nothing, just looks at Dean before silently inclining his head towards the door, and they head out of the room together.
Using the meanings of flowers as a form of communication becomes sort of a thing between them. It starts when Cas, after a heated argument where they had both said things they didn’t mean, hands Dean a single cut from the garden that has a burst of small, deep purple flowers clustered at the end. Dean takes the offering, looking at Cas uncertainly.
“Are you guys kidding me?!” Sam says, breaking the triangle to lunge at a vamp. “Because I think we’ve got bigger things – seven – to worry about right now!”
He’ll bring their breakfast back upstairs after he makes it, Dean decides once he’s finally managed to shimmy out of Cas’ embrace, and he and Cas will have breakfast in bed, a special treat on this perfectly ordinary but absolutely perfect Sunday morning. Dean throws the comforter off of himself and stands up, arching his back until it makes a satisfying
“I ever tell you how sexy you are, Cas?” Dean says, giving him a smirk that quickly devolves into a grimace as his arm gives a throb of pain.
His cries ring out through the room, reverberating through his skull, as he sits, sobbing into his hands. He can’t stop
“Dean?” Cas says, sniffing the air, as he toes off his shoes and hangs up his coat. “What are you –” Cas stops talking as he enters the kitchen, eyes falling to the tray of steaming cinnamon rolls on the counter.
“Cas told me he loves me,” says Dean, feeling like his voice is too loud in the pressing quiet that has always seemed to permeate the bunker when Cas isn’t there. He keeps his eyes on the table in front of him, studiously avoiding looking at Sam. He wonders what Sam is thinking, what the expression he wears on his face is, but doesn’t know if he can bear it, so he keeps his eyes on the table. “Then the Empty took him.”
Cas smiles back at him, a soft, easy thing, before returning to his sorting. He drops a small vibrator into the same pile as the lube and Dean really,
There, right against the fence where Cas had decided to plant it on that rainy November day, is a small sweet pea sprout, alive and green and impossible.
“Why did you decide to move, then?” Dean can’t help but ask. “It sounds like this place is pretty important to you guys.” He can’t imagine wanting to move away from a place like this, a beautiful house with a beautiful garden, a kitchen with lots of counter space, and the person he loves by his side.
Dean sits up on his forearms, holding Cas’ gaze with his own. “Of course I’ll have you, Cas,” he says, putting as much sincerity as he can into each word, and kisses him.
Michael slow claps, eyes rolling far back into his head. "Bravo," he smirks. "Really, a great show. So entertaining. Too bad I have Dean buried so deep in my mind he couldn't watch," Michael raises his hands to his eyes and mocks tears falling down.
"Dean?" Sam calls out to his brother, but Dean is far gone. The three of them are confused as to why Dean hasn't struck and killed Michael yet. This is all they've wanted since Michael left Dean.
- looks up at them. The three of them are frozen in place, not knowing whether or not Dean is okay. Dean cracks a smile and chuckles, his face relieved more than ever before.
"Guys, come on. That's enough!" Chuck yelled frustratingly as the Winchester's helped each other up after minutes of endless beating. Chuck went to roll his eyes at the boys and that's when they attacked. Before Chuck knew it he was on the ground, as Sam and Dean had tackled him. They sat him up and kneeled beside him. Dean took Chuck's left arm in his right arm and Sam took Chuck's right arm in his left. They let their blood that dripped from their faces fall into their free palms before beginning the chant.
In a dramatic fashion, he turns to face Sam, Jack and Cas, eyes glowing and all to confirm their worst fears. They all freeze up, unable to hide the utter devastation in their body movements.
Sam and Dean showed her to the storage room where the book was being kept. She walked inside and smiled just at the sight of it. She quickly went back to shut the door for some privacy.
"As you've already figured out, Heaven ain't just reliving your golden oldies anymore. It's what it always should have been. Everyone happy. Everyone together. Rufus lives about 5 miles that way -- with Aretha." The brothers looked at him weird. "Yeah, thought she'd have better taste," Bobby chuckled. "And your mom -- she's got a place over yonder. She has over lot's of guests. I visit her, Ketch visits her-" Dean cut Bobby off with a cough.
The first thing they saw was a roadhouse. But not just any roadhouse. Harvelle's Roadhouse. And none other than Bobby Singer himself was sitting on the porch. He was drinking a beer and just staring off into the sky. He turned his head and his eyes lit up. He jumped up from his chair and gave his boys the biggest hug. Sam and Dean melted into the hug, as they had missed Bobby so much. Having Apocalypseverse Bobby was nice, but it wasn't nearly the same.
"Jack, have you noticed that you've been, uh, draining the life out of plants lately? Because Sam and I watched as those plants a few days ago died as you walked by them. Do you have any idea what that's about?" Jack's eyes grew wide at the realization he had been caught. He deemed his plant-killing ability to be a bad thing, which was why he had been keeping it from Sam and Dean in the first place.
"Yeah. The thing is, it's kind of late in the game. You did side with the Winchesters. I can't forgive that."
Jack could feel almost all of Chuck's powers were drained, so he tilted his head up and let the final bits of the power sink into his body. The three of them cried out all at once, and then they all fell backwards from the intensity of the situation. Only, two of them weren't getting up. Chuck remained on the ground for a few moments to steady his breathing. Jack sat up immediately and looked at Sam and Dean, who were laid on their sides, facing each other. More tears streamed down his face as he heard the heartfelt goodbye of Sam and Dean.
After walking down the road for a little while, they decided to head inside a restaurant, which greeted Sam and Dean with country music and the sweet smell of beer the second they stepped foot in the door. They turned to their right to see deserted tables loaded with beer and food. The sound of beer dripping was in the background of the cheery music.
"Are we seriously thinking about trusting him?" Michael kept his finger pointed at the guy he once cast down to Hell.
"T-take care of," he gasps, it's more painful this time. "-of yourself, S-Sammy," he sobs, which hurts his chest a lot. He's in agonizing pain at this point. But Dean being Dean doesn't dwell on it.
Jack, being his caring self, couldn't help but think. He mostly thought about losing Cas. He also thought about what he was going to do now that it was just himself, Sam and Dean. He couldn't hunt, so what was there really to do?
"When the rapture first began, I took refuge here. It is St. Michael's, you may have noticed," he waved his arm around and had a cocky smile on his face.
"Oh, no, this is -- this is the first reaper to check out since Billie, right? So...wait for it. Wait for it. Ohhh... And... Meet the new Death," Lucifer held his hand out at Betty, who had gasped a breath and opened her eyes. She arose from the floor quickly. Dean walked around Sam to untie the scarf that kept her from talking. As a weird thank you, she looked into his eyes and then headbutted him. In a few swift movements, she yanked the chains off her body in a dramatic fashion.
"And now... I have a whole army out there," his arms stretch out wide. "-waiting, ready for my command," Cas' eyes scan the ground, desperately thinking of someway they can get out of this one. As if on cue Sam nudges his foot. Cas subtly looks down to see some holy oil and a lighter that was kicked out of their backpack by Sam. Cas nudges Jack and gives him the hand signal they worked on for 'attack.' "-ready... for this," Michael hold's up his hand, fingers in perfect position and ready to be snapped.
The three guys hopped out of Baby, as they had arrived at a gas station. Sam started pumping gas into Baby as Dean and Jack wandered away. Dean walked up to the men's bathroom before hearing whimpers. He turned and looked down to see a beautiful golden doodle laying beside some wood and a trash can.
Michael smirks, and now Dean knows something is really wrong. His vision goes too blurry for his liking. Flashbacks of all the things Michael did in his body are shown in his mind as if he were at a drive-in movie. It horrifies him.
"What...what is going on? What is happening? Why can't I move?" Chuck yelled frantically, struggling under the brothers grasp that was growing stronger by the second. In a matter of seconds, Chuck was completely frozen and helpless. That's when Jack knew it was time. He approached Chuck, who remained frozen and wide eyed. Sam and Dean looked at each other with some nerves, but mostly determination. Jack took each of their free palms into his own arms. He began his part of the spell with a chant. Sam and Dean's blood soaked into his skin and the energy transfusion began. All four screamed out in pain and intensity. A tear slid down Jack's face, knowing he was killing Sam and Dean. The guys who had shown him the ways of life. Who had taught him to be good after he went off the grid. Who were able to get past all his wrong-doings. Who loved him.
Sam shoved his phone back in his pocket and started walking down the road, Dean and Jack at his sides. They didn't bother asking if anyone had picked up because they knew the answer. At a last attempt to find any form of life, the three walked down the road, scanning their surroundings.
"Well...sure. I always do. Me being me. Is that it or..." Chuck raised his hands, expecting more from the boys he claimed were his favorites.
"Okay, well I should probably head back to the library to find the chant you'll need," Jack waved an arm and left, leaving the brothers alone in the kitchen.
"Remember when I talked about paradise, Dean? Back when I tried to convince you to say 'yes' to Michael." Dean nodded, his expression curious as to what Cas was going to say. "This is it, Dean. This is paradise. You can finally feel peace. And know that you granted all of Earth's people freedom," Cas smiled at him, taking his hand. Dean nodded, happy tears in his eyes just the way Cas's eyes had looked right before he died.
A few days had gone by since the Winchester's meeting with Chuck. Since then they had just been staying at the Bunker, thinking about everything that had gone down, or, in Dean's case, try not to think about everything and drown yourself in alcohol.
"Yeah." Michael's face is relaxed, so unnatural on Dean's face: as Dean's real face is almost never relaxed.
"Oh, good. I get to listen to you three give long, sappy speeches for who knows how long," Michael quips, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "You know once I get out of here, which could be any time now, all I'll have to do is snap my fingers and my monsters will
Not an inch of regret was on Chuck's face. It was more like relief and frustration. He turned to address the Winchesters, who were standing up to face him.
Sam pats his back and then whispers, "Knock 'em dead." Cas gives him an almost shocked face. "I'm not going to
He laid in bed thinking about all of that when suddenly felt something. He sat up and draped his legs over the side of his bed, trying to focus on what this feeling could be. His hands flew to the sides of his head to try an steady himself, but the sensation continued. After a few moments of confirmation that it wasn't just a headache he was feeling, he headed towards the War room, where he assumed Sam and Dean would be, to tell them about this feeling.
you. Or, better yet, they'll end all of your little friends while I end you myself. Don't worry, I'm not impolite. I'll let Dean watch as I do it," he smiles, teeth very much viewable. Sam shivers, shifting in place.
Dean looked down to also remember his half-brother. "Poor bastard never caught a break." Understatement.
"Oh, but I doubt I'm going to be able to get close enough to defeat Chuck anyways. That'd be nearly impossible. Even with me absorbing his energy, he'll still be powerful," Jack explained.
"We did it," Jack said to them, remembering what Dean had told Sam and himself after killing Lucifer. It was a team effort and they all worked collectively to get to this point.
"We can what? There's nothing left, Dean," Sam interrupted his brother, angry and frustrated, but not at Dean. "No one left to save. Everybody's gone!"
Bobby handed the brothers some beer and sat back down in his own chair. "So, fill us in on everything, Bobby. What's this new Heaven like?" Sam asked.
"Okay, the end of God is in the special book, and if you give Betty the book, Betty can read it. Understand?" Betty talked to Sam and Dean as if they were five year old's like Lucifer just had minutes before. But she got a hesitant nod out of the Winchesters.
"And you two. You know, eternal suffering sounds good on paper, but as a viewing experience it's just kind of...eh. So we're done. I'm canceling your show."
"Let's light it up," Dean told Sam after they had finished setting it up. Sam tossed the match into one of the three bowls they had set up, resulting in blue flames to burst into the sky. This lasted a few seconds before the flames stopped and the bowls were tossed a few feet back by the force. Just as they had planned. And just as they thought the spell didn't work, Chuck appeared before them. His face looked bored and smug.
He wants more than anything to take control and warn Sam, Cas, and Jack, but the flashbacks keep on coming. More and more disturbing things that he never wanted to find out about. He begs Michael to make them stop, and as if on cue they do stop. There's quietness for a second before darkness.
"Uh...yeah, not so much. Um, after pop nutted out and murdered pretty much everyone in the world, the Empty booted me with orders to find the missing God Book and use it on Chuck. Uh, normally, I'm not very good at following orders, as you guys know, but uh, you do not want to mess with the Empty, man. Total 'B,' especially after Jack blew up all over her, and she killed Death. I mean, guys, never a dull moment. But that's the past. What's up?!" He raised his hands in celebration with a big smile plastered on his face. "We're a team again, guys."
Jack tried to remain cool, calm, and collected as he rose from his seat at the table in the library.
"Yeah. Alright, team. I don't want to bring ants to your picnic, but that ain't gonna cut it. Okay, think about it. If the Empty pulled me off the bench, it's 'cause the Winchester charm ain't enough, right? And I did anticipate a little bit of pushback, so I did bring a token of good faith. Voila." And just like that a woman, tied by her mouth and in chains was in the bunker. She looked very confused.
nothing changed he was untethered in his own skin he was floating he was gone he was panicking he was worse than dead he was trapped he was
“She’s gonna be right on our asses,” Bobby said before flinging the door open and gesturing angrily at the black man that climbed out of the truck’s cab. “Rufus! Act drunk!”
Somehow, Dean shoved Cas out of the driver’s seat and stormed up to the stunned demon, manifesting the angel blade in his hand. “You will not touch him!” Dean snarled, shoving the point down into Alastair’s chest as hard as possible. Despite being brained by a marble statue, the demon was able to grab Dean’s wrist and stop the blade from actually stabbing him.
Saying nothing, Cas just reached out and touched his forehead with two fingers. With that gentle tap, the headache was gone along with a few other aches and stiff muscles.
Still panting, he led his head thunk back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Thanks for being my player 2, Cas,” he grinned. “You probably had other angelly business to do, but--”
“I’m not the kind of man to spoil a surprise,” Sid said. “Go to the Death Room as quickly as possible, and behave yourselves in Death’s presence,” he said.
Cas nodded. “It was very informative. However, the lyrics to some of the songs are lost on me. For example, Dean won’t explain how women with large buttocks help the earth maintain its spin on its axis.”
“Dean, this is your body,” Cas said, freezing in place, sensing his discomfort. “Anytime you want to switch back, we’ll switch.”
Castiel took the initiative. “Station Management!” he yelled at the door to the left after everyone was past it. “You’re previously fired interns are attempting to resurrect themselves and return to their posts,” Castiel yelled again.
“Only been here a few weeks and already undermining my authority, huh Dean?” Sid asked. “I’m curious what makes you think you’re qualified to teach other students when you can hardly handle me?”
Dean’s heart pounded painfully in his chest. He was barely able to keep himself grounded at the moment. His mind kept replaying it...that black tar reaching out for Castiel...his Cas, gone. Nothing left behind but a bloody handprint.
Dean was expecting something, but he was not imagining anything in that particular ballpark. He almost fell out of his chair in utter shock. “Wha—wha—what the
A bitter chuckle escaped Dean’s lips, and he pushed his palms into his eyes. Cas slowly walked forward to stand in front of him, head-tilted as he studied Dean for a moment.
Bobby studied Dean with a calm and practiced eye. “Sam filled me in. A trio of demons get offed with white light, and you’re acting like someone’s there. Then
Dean barely had the energy to nod, and between Castiel and Carlos they helped him to said room with the said cot. Dean was snoring before he hit the cot. When Carlos came back with some blankets and a pillow, Castiel was already asleep, sitting on the floor, his back against the cot. The scientist gently placed the blanket on Dean, and the pillow in Castiel’s lap before draping the other blanket on him. He smiled at them, then pulled the door closed quietly, leaving them to sleep off the night’s adventures.
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Carlos was able to get all the fabric away, and he used a pair of shears to cut away a few inches of denim to reveal the kishin’s damage. The gash was about six inches long, and almost half and each deep. “You’re lucky this wasn’t deeper. If that kishin-egg had hit one of the arteries in your leg, you’d be dead a few times over by now,” the scientist said.
Cas swallowed hard. “A few hours, I think?” He trailed off with a guilty look. “Honestly, I thought your brother was just making exceptionally dense references at first.”
“This happened when I was really little, three or four, I can’t quite remember which. A monster called a Rakshasa broke into our house and tried to kill me and my parents. Rufus was actually the hunter who was tracking it—he killed it and saved our lives. After that Mom and Dad pressed him into teaching them everything he knew, and they taught me. I think the idea was to protect me, but I ended up liking hunting. When I got old enough and asked Rufus for him to start teaching me to be a proper hunter, it wasn’t like they could deny me. I was basically trained ever since the attack how to hunt, track, and kill monsters.”
Sam glanced around, and Crowley chuckled. “Oh, I promise, Growly’s around. Whether or not you’ll see him before he rips your throat out remains to be seen. Depends on why exactly I’m here.”
“Ah, I see you’re awake,” came a female voice. Dean caught sight of a Sheriff standing outside of the cell’s bars. She had brown hair pulled into a ponytail under her stiff-brimmed hat. She wore a brown uniform, and her hands were on her hips and an annoyed expression on her face.
point this evening also,” Kali said as she pulled out a pan of cupcakes from the oven. Her red dress was skin tight, sleeveless and mid-thigh length. It was embroidered with black skulls and orange flames, while the chain of silver skulls slung low on her hips made her easily the most beautiful and over-dressed one in the room.
Meeting Cas’s eyes, he said loudly, “Cas, once upon a time, you saved my ass. Think you can help my pain-in-the-ass little brother?"
Both hands ran over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs before Cas firmly pushed them apart and leaned down to lick up his tightened balls.
“They have every right to ask questions,” Castiel said. “But, though I have nothing to hide, the summoning won’t work.”
It was then he noticed Cas was curled up on the floor next to the cot, still sleeping. During the night Cas had squished his blanket into a ball and was using it as a pillow, the actual one ignored.
“Good morning, Agent Forge,” she said, disapproval in her voice. “What’s an FBI agent doing getting smashed in Sioux Falls, South Dakota?”
Cas’s eyes darkened and he stomped off to the locker room, leaving Dean bewildered and alone. “You’re welcome, asshat!” he yelled but his partner was already gone.
The shower warmed him up and loosened his stiffened muscles. He felt a lot better until he got out and got dressed and realized his sleeping pants ended at his ankles.
“How are you still going?” Dean managed to whisper, completely awed. “I mean, this is the best blow job I’ve ever had. You’re feeling it, too--because same dick, right?”
He followed an alley behind the storefront to a nondescript door that led to the arcade shop. Glancing around and seeing no one, Dean picked the lock and let himself in with relative ease.
“My ass doesn’t have feathers,” was the gruff reply, and Dean automatically grinned to himself. With Castiel sitting in the back seat, Dean was more relieved than he wanted to admit about the hallucinangel’s return.
“…That asinine observation couldn’t wait until a more acceptable hour? Like noon?” Cas asked. His voice was unnaturally gruff anyways, but first thing in the morning he sounded like an 80-year-old man who smoked two packs a day for most of his life.
“We need to move fast,” Sam agreed. "Luckily, it seems like she's only about three hours from here."
“Oh, hey, Cas,” Dean said, and tried to stuff the picture under his pillow. Cas nodded towards it, and asked “What is that picture?”
Cas certainly looked relaxed and ready. He took the same stance Dean had, bouncing on his toes, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. Dean almost felt sorry for Sam, for anyone who had to spar with him or Castiel. They were at the top of the sparring game amongst all their classmates.
They wandered around to stretch out their legs and try to get feeling back into their backs and butts. They argued over chips and had to explain the Castiel what the magazines with the naked girls on them were.
“Aw, thanks for the permission, Dean! You’ve only known Sam was related to you for twenty minutes and you’re already become an overprotective idiot about it. Cute.”
Dean let her go and stepped back, not listening as she and Sam whispered final words before she disappeared again.
"More than," Cas said. When Dean tightened his grip on the tie and slowly dragged him down until just before they touched and stopped, Cas huffed in annoyance. "Why'd you stop?"
“Yeah, felt that too. Maybe the lack of hunting is getting to him,” Dean said. “Cas, you sure you’re okay?” He asked as they walked.
“Ugh, they did! That’s what we get for hiring a contractor without checking their Yelp reviews first,” Cecil bemoaned.
It was close to midnight, so he chucked the keys to his brother. “You know the rules, Sammy. Use protection and put a sock on the doorknob if you have company over. If it's twins, then you gotta share."
Crowley let out a bark of amused laughter. “You’ve got a bigger pair than Growly does! So, that’s your brilliant plan: demon blood for kishin-egg locations?”
“Oh, come on! Seriously? A silver stake? I was expecting something a lot….heavier,” he said, although impressive was what he really thought. After a moment, a panicked look came over him. “Wait, wait! No cute girl, no freckles, no glasses? I got gypped on this whole partner deal.”
It felt like a ghost passing through his mind, a slight breeze that caressed everything in its path. It was the weirdest thing he’d ever felt, and he tried not to squirm.
They came from the desert wastes, following after the woman in white and the possessed hooded figure like demented ducklings, right into the heart of Night Vale. They slowly washed over the town of Night Vale with little concern for any attempt to stop them. The Sheriff’s Secret Police were unsuccessful in every attempt they tried to subdue the monsters. Placing black bags over their heads did not, as commonsense and animal documentaries suggested, calm the monsters in placidity so they could be transported elsewhere. It only seemed to anger the kishins and a few officers died in the attempts.
The Zippo was in his jeans pocket; he managed to wiggle his hand down enough to fish it out. After a couple of sparks, a tiny flame confirmed his growing suspicion.
“I don’t think she got you.” His angel’s hand is on his shoulder, a comforting presence. Cas held out a hand and helped Dean back to his feet. When the room stopped spinning, Dean made sure to check over Cas, just in case. While the former angel was used to Dean’s propensity to mother hen others, he still let out an annoyed huff. “Dean, I’m fine.”
“Well, well, well, bookworm and company!” Dean said happily. His tone was more enthusiastic than he meant, but he ignored Gabriel’s arching his eyebrows at him.
“Bobby, Ellen, and Dean rushed Jo inside so they could check the extent of her injuries,” Castiel provided. His eyes narrowed in concern as he looked Sam up and down. “Are you alright?”
Before he started to eat, he pulled out his new Bluetooth and handed Sam one. He’d grabbed them at one of their various pit-stops; the magenta pink earpiece was worth Sam’s middle finger. Still, they slipped them on at the same time. Dean shuffled, so the tips of their boots touched under the table.
Dean was lying in a pre-treated pine box barely large enough to fit him. He could smell the overwhelming earthiness, could sense the pressure that seemed to surround him. Tapping the lid of the box dislodged some dirt on his face, making him cough and sputter. The truth hit home:
The idea of watching movies and cracking snarky remarks at each other did sound pretty fun to Sam’s tired brain. It didn’t help Gabriel was already pulling off his coat by that point. Sam’s suddenly exhausted brain just wanted sleep, and Gabriel’s couch would allow him to do that the fastest. So, he pulled out his keys, wallet, phone and put them on the table and flopped onto the couch.
“What happened?” Sam asked, sitting up to find the others also sitting up and looking confused. Sam looked up to see the sun was fully up now, but his forehead creased in confusion when his eyes locked over one particular spot over their heads. It was as if he was expecting something to be there, and was confused when it wasn’t. He felt a little less silly when Dean mirrored his scowl.
Between one blink and the next, Castiel appeared behind the demon--he reached over her shoulder to wrap his long fingers around the front of her throat. With a graceful yank, he flung her into the wall across the room; she barely had time to hit the ground in a heap before Castiel was on her. Her body left a dent in the drywall when he held her aloft by her throat and slammed her into it.
Something about Cas’s tone caught Sam’s attention; he sat up on his elbows. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Now you listen here,” Cecil snarled in his most thunderous voice, and the Intern-Michael Kishin-egg was pummeled by the sound waves Carlos created with Cecil’s voice. Its face was nothing more than disfigured shadowy flesh under Carlos’ assualt. Despite this, the kishin ran forward and attempted to snatch Cecil up, clearing wanting to do nothing more than cut him in half.
He crawled into his side of the bed and fluffed his pillows so he could sit up. Dean used Cas’s momentary distraction to drink in the sight of his lover. Hard to believe under the suits and trench coat was a muscled, tan body. Dean refused to believe Jimmy had been ripped the whole time. Since when did Cas, the dorky, sensible-shoe-wearing angel, have
There was, what Dean could only really mentally interpret, as Cas holding his hand and stroking the back of it.
Cecil’s words fell on deaf ears. Sam could see the confusion on everyone faces. He looked up at the sky and…why did he feel like he was missing something? He only remembered the chanting and then…nothing.
“Remedial classes starting the first day? It takes a special kind of idiot to pull that off,” Meg said.
He grimaced in pain. “Yeah, hey Cas, next time don’t pull your punches or anything. I might think you’re going soft on me,” Dean said sarcastically.
The road was a lonely two lane bit of asphalt, completely devoid of any other traffic. Around them was expansive desert, complete with high rock twisted by millennia of wind, and sparse vegetation. The real show was overhead, however; there being not a single sign of civilization aside from the road, so the stars were the only lights. They shone clearly in the clear night, a billion pinpricks of light through an ebony cloth. Castiel had spent most of the ride looking up into the night sky, Dean in charge of driving his Chevelle towards Night Vale.
“You think I like the idea of my kids’ lives being on the line like that? It’s not exactly doing anything good for my ticker,” Bobby growled back. He then shot a glare at Rufus. “And you! I know you haven’t heard of it, but there’s this newfangled idea called ‘subtly’ you might want to look into for future reference.”
Dean looked up at him and grinned. “Call it hunter’s paranoia,” he said. He took a flask of holy water and stuffed it in his jacket pocket, along with a silver knife, an iron shiv, a small baggie of salt. They parked on the edge of town, both doors open and they listened to the smooth voice of the broadcaster coming from the interior speakers.
Sam and Dean turned to see a thick line of salt was preventing her from leaving. “Cas salted the outside while I held that dick’s attention,” Dean explained.
“Me neither,” Sam admitted after a long time of stunned silence. “So, not only am I a corrupted asshole, but I’m a stupid, corrupted asshole, too.” His hazel eyes bored into Dean with an impressive intensity despite being glazed over with fever. “You knew and wouldn’t tell me?”
Castiel looked down at himself and rolled his eyes. “Your sister demanded I wear this, as it was proper kitchen attire,” he said seriously.
“Welcome to the wonderful world of hunting. It’s a disgusting job that requires more bodily fluids and other disgusting things than you ever wanted to know about,” Dean said simply with a shrug.
“Yeah, I think so. We only hunted on Halloween, and neither Mom nor Dad were going to let me or Jo run around taking candy from strangers. Witches love Halloween,” Dean admitted with a shudder at the stories he’d heard. “It was the holiday of choice for monsters to cause havoc. But, we sometimes got to watch bad movies if we weren’t hunting.”
. I was self-righteous, too proud and narcissistic to see the chaos I was sowing. In the end, I was branded the same as
Dean wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the outburst between the three of them but seeing Gabriel gape like a goldfish was a little validating. “Excuse me? You do remember I can squash you like a pancake? Just because I haven’t been home doesn’t mean I’m not connected to the office.”
When Sam narrowed his eyes in curiosity, Crowley sighed in annoyance. “Alright, fine, puppy-eyes. The
Sam took up the back and Kali was between Cecil and Dean. Castiel noticed her hands were shaking violently until Gabriel returned to his weapon form in his hands. Even Kali wasn’t immune to the non-stop fighting.
Castiel turned around and motioned towards the dessert. “Your mother wanted to make a pie, since you like them so much.”
Still, Sam didn’t let go of Dean’s arm. Smirking at Dean, he asked Castiel innocently, “Why do you look like Dean’s celebrity crush?”
“A few thousand years ago, an old woman noticed me outside her home. Though she couldn’t afford to, she offered me food, purely out of kindness. I’d never been seen by a human who wasn’t specifically chosen by God for some divine purpose. I took her up on her offer out of curiosity. When I revealed what I was, I was expecting supplication.”
He draped a blanket over the body and sat on the end of his bed. His fingers tried to scratch the marks, but he’d bitten his nails down too far, and they offered no relief. The scratch was getting worse, and there was whispering around him now.
Kali rolled her eyes. “If you must throw a couple Cs in there, fine. The majority of your grades have to be Bs, though. Deal?”
Missouri sighed and went into her tiny kitchen, returning apronless (and spoonless, much to Dean’s relief). She shooed Cas and Dean off the couch and motioned for Sam to lay down. She moved a chair to where his head was so she could reach him.
“You wound me,” Gabriel retorted, putting a hand over his heart after the script poofing away. “Still see you’re on the high horse as usual.”
“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, giving him a tiny smile. Castiel looked at him for a moment, that strange magnetism sparking every time their eyes met. Looking away, he returned to the table and leaned against the edge.
She handed him a small jewelry box. Gabriel put the pendant safely inside and tucked it into his inner jacket pocket. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s almost like it…wanted us to take it. Wow, aloud that sounds really crazy…”
“Actually, Dean might be onto something,” Sam said, standing up to face his cousin. “Do you know of any women in white that match this woman’s description?” Sam asked.
The blood drained from his face slightly as he realized her meaning. He opened his mouth but she shook her head. “Just something you need to think about, Sam,” she said simply. “I’d say you’re in good hands, wouldn’t you?”
“Seriously? Wow, that’s, uh, okay. Yeah, uh, give me a minute too, uh…” Sam frantically patted his pockets for a pen or something, but Gabriel snapped once more and handed Sam a brand new legal pad and a pen.
Dean turned from Sam and took several deep breaths. “If it weren’t for the Apocalypse, I’d still be in Hell. And now I have an angel in my head, and who knows what he’s capable of doing! Because as you keep reminding me, he came from Hell too.”
“Within reason,” he added. He looked at Rufus, then outside the window. “Come on, Rufus. We’ll chain the truck, and you can take the kids into Sioux Falls, grab some supplies and get back here. The snow’s only going to get worst as the day goes on,” he said.
The feeling of a presence wasn’t scary now that Dean had a name and face. And considering how Castiel had taken out those demons, Dean found himself feeling a new sensation: a warmth, like a thick blanket, draped around him; he rubbed the back of his neck where it seemed to emanate.
He didn’t know what to say in response, so instead, he focused on the feeling of Cas’s clothes under his fingers. The smooth fabric of the black waistcoat and the dress pants felt so realistic he could feel the individual fibers of the cloth.
“Well, excuse me for not just sitting on my butt while people died,” Dean said angrily. “When a Hunter in on a case, we don’t always have the full picture, but we do what we can anyway. We don’t have the luxury to wait around for backup, when people start dying, we
Somehow, desperate to change her lot in life, Marnie found an actual old magic grimoire donated to a thrift store. She’d stolen the book and discovered a ritual to raise something akin to an eldritch demi-god. The deaths had been fulfilling the ritualistic sacrifices needed to reach the entity, and she had planned to reach out to this being and beg it to give her money and power.
Bobby was in his library and flipping through a notebook stuffed with papers, business cards, and other random bits of notation when Ellen came up to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, taking a steadying breathe. He could feel her shake slightly.
Sid grinned. “So far, you two are the best in your class, and you haven’t even finished your first day here. Instead of wasting your time, I’ll get you up to speed. The faster you train, the sooner you can go into the field and start hunting on your own for kishin eggs.”
“The Kishin-eggs have the entire place surrounded,” Dean said, hissing and groaning in pain. Everything hurt.
Kali looked at him, a boy of 16 who was, adorably, a few inches shorter than her. He gave her his most winning smile, and winked at her. Finally, finally, she uncrossed her arms and shook his hand. “Kali Shivan.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “No more pranks, alright?” | [
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“It’s called a distraction, bitch…” Sam growled out as Dean twisted around and pushed away. Naomi’s blade sliced across his neck at the release and Dean clasped a hand to his throat and stumbled back, facing Naomi as he fell on his backside. He only had a moment to stare up at her before an Angel blade pierced through her back, the tip glinting with fresh, crimson blood as she screamed, her eyes and mouth alight with her fading grace. Dean screwed his eyes shut, unable to use his hands to shield himself from the dying light of her Grace. As she fell dead to the ground, Aberia was revealed behind her. She threw her blade down in disgust and looked down at Dean. Castiel ran toward him and hit the ground hard on his knees. Blood was pouring out between Dean’s fingers and panic was in his eyes now that he could afford to have them open.
Dean sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the comforting pressure of Cas’ hands on his shoulders. He just needed a moment to think. There had to be a logical response that he could give to talk Cas out of it. Before he could think of anything, however, he felt Cas’ hands move from his shoulders to slide up his neck and pull him forward, their mouths pressing together fiercely. Dean responded equally to Cas’ fevered kiss, unfolding his arms and wrapping them around Cas’ back, his fingertips skating across wing tips as he went. It wasn’t as if he had the willpower to turn him down. Cas may have just been praising his strength, but he wasn’t that damn strong, and it wasn't as if they had had much time alone recently.
The laugh that erupted from Dean made Cas smile in return. “Fair point but we’re not on a case. This is purely recreational. The website said they have a restaurant and a bar on site and the nicer suites have hot tubs. Let’s live a little. We can bring the gear inside in case of a problem...” He pretended to pout and batted his eyelashes at Cas in a teasing way.
“You’re a lying sack of shit,” Dean yelled out as he fought to break free of Sam and Jack’s grip. Mary stepped between them and put a hand on Dean’s chest.
Dean held the phone in one hand while leaning against the tv stand with the other. He hadn’t expected to hear Cas’ voice today and his knees went weak at the sound. “We went on a road trip. Dallas. Where the Hell are you?!” Dean said, his voice rising even as Sam shushed him. It was extremely late but there was absolutely something wrong. Dean could hear it in the pinched tone of Cas’ voice. He was controlling his tone carefully…
Today, though, he found himself lingering in his room. Sam and Dean seemed unusually busy and he didn’t want to find himself in the way, so he pulled one of the lore tomes off his nightstand and flipped to the page he’d stuck the ribbon marker in, and began to read again. It was so much easier to focus on reading when he’d been an Angel. Now his mind constantly tried to wander, and every time he heard footfalls outside his door, he would have to mentally stop and figure out which brother it was. Sam’s were slightly heavier with his added height, while Dean’s always seemed to slow down around his door. He wasn’t sure why. With his new humanity came so much more he noticed about Sam and Dean that he couldn’t explain but didn’t dare ask. That was where Eileen came in. Ever helpful but not always able to enlighten him on the quirks of humanity.
Dean knelt down and began fiddling with the knobs of the hot tub. He read the instructions the hotel had embossed on a plaque and he sighed in disappointment. “It takes a while to heat up.”
“Only now you know there are less than a dozen of us. Even fewer now that the Empty..” Naomi was cut off as Dean stepped shoulder to shoulder with Cas.
Cas buckled and sighed softly as he looked to Dean. “You know we really do need to head home in a day or two. Jack needs me. His power IS returning, and he’ll need guidance.”
“Here, let me grab the door,” Dean said with a new kind of smile as he opened the door with a squeal. Cas chose not to argue and stepped inside as Dean hollered over his shoulder. “We’re BACK!”
Cas scolded him with his eyes for teasing him, communicating without words. “Not until I have my Grace back. You’ll slip and crack your head open and I’m not making that call to your mother. She’s about to have access to our surplus Angel blades.”
“Dean, I HAVE to be strong enough to defend myself and the others if Naomi and the others come here. We don’t know what happened after we left. We don’t know if Naomi maintained control and swayed the others to her side. I have to be strong, and I cannot fight if my body is as broken as it is now.”Cas' voice drew Dean's gaze back up to him. He tried to wipe his visible anxiety at the wings and he sighed in defeat. He would argue if he could, but Cas had a very valid point.
From behind them, the first stirring of doubt was voiced by Debriel. “Castiel…what Naomi said….” He began before Aberia delivered a frightening glare toward his comment, her hair whipping around as her gaze found him.
He looked to Dean, his hands clasped in front of him as he gave him an arrogant, controlled smile. “In our defense, the swelling around the eye was decided to be less critical than the stomach wound that exited out of his back…which is what we have been working on for the last four hours…”
Dean stiffened as if someone had shocked him. “Oh.” His eyes widened and he fidgeted in discomfort, letting his fingers wrap around the headphone cord. His swallowed nervously once and a tiny flush of embarrassment colored his face.
“Humans have to wear too many layers,” Castiel grumbled as he was left in his underwear now as well.
Dean made sure the line hung up properly before tossing it gently back onto the nightstand and leaning back, letting his back press against Cas’ chest. “That was rude,” Dean grumbled as he rested his head against Cas’ shoulder, letting him lay kisses along his outstretched throat.
The girl let out a ragged breath, her bravado fading. “You were very clear, Commander. I apologize for my insolence,” She stammered as she dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Cas holstered his blade and looked down at her. “I also made it clear you were not to remove your armor. Do you know how many Angels I have seen murdered by our own weapons?” Castiel said, his voice becoming calmer as he spoke.
“Got it…” Dean said with an anticipatory tightness in his stomach. He put his foot on the gas and made sure to only go 5 over the speed limit.
Dean gasped as goosebumps raced across his skin. Cas felt like a contained storm beside him. He’d felt it before, but never when he was in such close proximity. “Cas, you okay?” Dean grabbed Cas face softly between his hands and forced eye contact as he ended the kiss. Cas’ eyes swam dark with contained emotion. Anger and lust combined inside him in a confusing assemblage. Dean studied him, his eyes narrowing. He could always read him better than anyone. “Earth to Castiel.”
Castiel rolled his eyes and tried to cross his arms defiantly but the anger went out of him when the movement pulled at one of his wounds. He winced and threw up a calming hand as Jack and Dean both leaned it to help, stopping them in their tracks.
Castiel shifted nervously, a very human gesture he’d picked up in his time on Earth. “Well, no. That was God…Chuck…G… Whatever he wants to be called,” Cas added with a dismissive gesture. “He knew you were in trouble, so he sent me down to assist.”
“I know, Cas. I know…” Dean said as he pressed them together more tightly, his lips whispering softly into Cas’ ear. “But with our time limited, let’s explore that last one a bit more. I’m always angry. Sad…yeah a lot, but with you here, I’m much more interested in that last one.” He nipped lightly at his ear before pressing soft kisses along Cas’ neck line.
Cas nodded and laid down on his right side, patting for Dean to join him. Dean crawled over and stretched out on his right side, spooning into him. Castiel admired the hard lines of his body with his fingertips as he worked to relax him. He marveled that this deadly creature was giving himself to him. His fingers danced at his hips and spread his legs with his knee. He popped the top of the lube and slicked up a finger. He traced a small wet trail down his ass and found the spot he was looking for.
“What’s wrong?” Sam said as he and Dean surveyed the room from their separate locations. Dean had one hand on the light and the other gripping his own pistol that he always tucked under his pillow.
The sun was just beginning its descent when the two opposing sides met. Cas and the others had thought it best to intercept the group before they came any closer to the bunker. It had taken some coordination and Dean was still feeling the aftereffects of Angel travel in his gut but they’d made good time. They’d had only a few minutes to wait before Naomi and her group emerged from the woods, faces stoic. Without a word, the other Angels formed a formation mirroring Cas’ group, with Naomi in the center of it. Cas stood in the center of his own group with Dean behind and to the right. The other humans of their party were flanked by other Angels. The Angels coming toward them were sterile, all greys and white and devoid of anything but focused purpose. In contrast, Castiel and his tan coat and blue tie could be deemed almost exotic. Compile that with the sprinkling of humans into the motley assortment, and there was no mistaking who was on what side once the fighting began, and for that, they could at least be thankful.
“Damn it…” Dean growled out as he pushed out of the chair and tapped on the door. “Cas? Don’t do anything stupid…” He jumped back as he felt something hard plunk against the wood door. “Shit. Cas, just…you’re mad. I get it. I’m an idiot.” There was silence in the room as Dean talked. “Okay, I’ll take your silence as agreeance. I’m sorry…I just…” Dean looked behind him at his eavesdropping family and he groaned. “Don’t make me do this in front of them, Cas…”
“You need leadership. Solid, morally sound leadership,” Castiel added. He wished he had more time to have spent with Dean, but he’d been given more than he’d ever thought he’d have again. The sooner he helped Chuck design more Angels, the sooner he’d be back there. With Dean. With his family.
Cas’ black eye was already turning purple and his split lip was all the puffier with Dean sucking it between his own before letting his teeth tug on the split, making Cas moan out. Dean’s hand was wrapped with Cas’ tie, his fist pressed against the open collar of his shirt as he rutted them together, both rock hard through their pants.
“We’re fixing up one of the cars in the garage for him. He wanted to drive Baby,” Dean said as he leaned on Cas’ shoulder to get a look at the license. Cas could smell the whiskey on his breath and it brought him back to their first kiss in the woods. His eyes met Deans, and his were similar to his own. They both knew this might be the only time they had together for who knew how long…months…years…
“Picked it up from a thrift shop in Phoenix. It’s vintage, just like you old man,” She grinned. “Try it on.”
“Your steak. Hungry?” Castiel’s stomach growled loudly in confirmation and Dean grinned widely. He gave a quick peck to Cas' lips as the microwave beeped and he turned back to it to remove it. “Steak, shower, sleep. We’ll get you all sorted out, okay?”
Cas blinked rapidly and a tear rolled down his cheek, which Dean abruptly put a thumb up to brush away. He swallowed hard and they nodded to one another, the once uncomfortable personal space issue not being one now. Cas’ voice was a soft growl as he nodded. “I hear you, Dean.”
“You should have told me. I can’t…I could never…You should go…” Dean said as he turned to dig clothes out of his duffel bag.
“She has her own motives for everything she does, Jack. I don’t try to understand them,” Castiel added hastily, avoiding making eye contact with Jack as he said it.
“Geez, you have no poker face now. I kind of love it. All I’m saying is, I’ll be gentle…” Dean said with a chuckle and Cas rolled his eyes at him, tempted to call the whole thing off to spite him and his cocky attitude.
Dean waited another long space of time before rubbing his neck nervously. “You gonna share of leave me in suspense?”
Mary frowned, lines forming on her forehead as it creased in concern. “You don’t remember? They did hit you really hard…. We were at the bunker and the wardings failed somehow. Demons came in and took us all away. There were dozens of them. Why didn’t they just kill us?”
“Oh. That was where Naomi removed my tattoo….” Castiel said with some insecurity seeping in. I am sorry. It’s not very nice to look at.” The anger that sparked into Dean’s eyes would have taken a lesser being’s breath away.
“CASTIEL!” Naomi boomed. Her voice screamed in the ears of the humans and the fighting froze. Castiel, having knocked two Angels to the ground, found Naomi. He'd heard Dean's cry over the cacophony of the fight. His eyes were dangerous as he saw her bring her Angel blade up and press it against Dean's exposed throat.
Dean was forced to shield his eyes as the shadow of Cas’ wings enveloped the room, reflected in the bright glow of blue radiating from within him. Chuck repeated the phrase again.
“It’s perfect, Cas…” Dean said softly as he walked in and ran his hand along the comforter, pressing down on the bed to study its softness.
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As he walked along and read the names, all in long forgotten languages, he stopped abruptly. The door on his right was a name written in clear English, and there was no birth or death date. Only the words C. Shurley on the simple plaque.
Enid, Josiah, and Kirah sat nervously at one end of the War Room table as Castiel entered, flanked by Aberia and Debriel. Dean had not been happy with the decision but Castiel had explained that every move he made from here on out had to be a calculated show of force and flaunting their relationship in front of neutral Angels was not a good plan. Dean had grumbled but nodded his hesitant acceptance. Cas had left his chest bare, displaying the still healing wounds along with the burn on his side from Naomi’s handiwork. Another calculated move that Dean had frowned at. The conversation before they left the bedroom had left him frustrated but accepting that Cas knew what he was doing.
Chuck leaned forward and rose. “Okay. Let’s get moving, then. First, though,’ Chuck snapped his fingers and Dean and Castiel stared, confused. “Oh, sorry, yeah I just took care of that nasty tracking sigil on your back and put your anti-angel tracking tattoo back. You’ll probably find that handy.” Castiel lifted the left side of his shirt up and confirmed what Chuck said as the black Enochian letters peeked out from his exposed skin.
“Hey there, we don’t have a reservation but we're hoping you’ve got something available. Check out would be in, I guess, three days. Not totally sure yet.”
Dean shook his head adamantly, glancing to Cas as he did so. “No. I didn't even know it was possible until Cas told me about what Metatron did to him.”
He truly felt for the remaining Angels and the loss of their wings, and he understood why they hated him so much for it. Though it had never been his intent, he had taken something from them he couldn't give back and they were reminded of it every time they looked at him and the new Angels. He could feel their resentment and their thinly veiled hostility at every turn. However, now the air was thick with the promise of a tipping point. He was relieved in a way. Watching his back at every turn, being constantly on edge, and having no one around him who he could trust, it was exhausting. He’d been impatiently waiting for this day for months now…
“Why, Cas? Heaven has enough Angels to run it…Chuck’s there…. Can’t he train them? What would happen if you just didn’t go back?” Dean leaned forward in his chair, intent.
“What the Hell is going on…” Mary said as she too saw the car move before Dean tumbled out…or may have been shoved out, his hands flying to pull his shirt over his fly as he tugged his clothes to rights to hide the damp spot in his jeans. “Dean! What is going on? We’ve been trying to call you. We were worried sick.”
Castiel came around the corner with a raised eyebrow. “One. I heard the holster Velcro. Two. I never enter where you or Sam are without assuming one of you is armed.”
“Those people aren’t here, Dean. There is no place in Heaven for the likes of that.” Cas gave him a knowing look before Dean nodded his approval, a close mouthed smile forming on his face.
Cas' face fell slightly and a hint of disapproval slid into his voice as he shook his head slowly. “I’ve noticed…I can’t say I don’t agree but isn’t it irresponsible to..”
“So, it’s true that Gingers don’t have souls huh?” Dean said with a smirk as he finished clicking the magical cuffs into place and stepping in front of the demon.
“I wondered how long it would take you to wander this way, my way word son….” Came a familiar voice from the plaid couch.
Dean opened the door to the bunker and tossed his duffel at Jack, who was waiting at the foot of the stairs. “Lucy, I’m home!” Dean crowed out as he made his way down.
“It wasn’t my proudest moment,” Dean said with a shrug as he picked up the empty whiskey glass and fiddled with it to avoid the disapproving glare of the Angel.
Sam shifted uncomfortably. This was far out of their comfort zone. “Who…If Cas is who you want, I support you like I always have. I’m just a little surprised is all…”
“I’ve already fallen, Dean. You just didn’t notice, did you? Treated as an outcast by the other Angels, my wings destroyed, hunted by my Angelic family. Did you think that was normal? I already fell….I fell for you. To save you and your brother. How dare you scold me now. How dare you dismiss me, after everything I have given up for you, Dean Winchester.”
“What the hell are you doing here?!” Dean almost yelled out. He glanced behind Sam to see Aberia, Jack, and Mary with him. “Bring the whole crew, huh?”
Deans’ bones ached as Chuck murmured the ancient language. He felt pressure in his mind, his body, like chains holding him down. So very heavy. Thousands upon thousands of years of knowledge, existence, bloodshed, and battle. he felt Cas...no, he felt Castiel. There was a definitive difference he'd never realized before. He squinted his eyes and watched as the grace formed a blue shimmery stream as it flowed from within Cas. It was beautiful and flowed as a living river. It was strong and bright and…good. Dean could feel the goodness to the point he felt tears pricking at his eyes, and just as bright and dramatic as it had been, it was all but gone. Dean blinked and the room was normal again, except for the stream of light shimmering and hovering near Chuck now. Castiel crumpled to the floor and Dean rushed to throw an arm around him, Chuck all but forgotten in the face of Cas needing help. Dean helped him stumble over to the bed, though he was more dead weight than help. As soon as Dean had Cas on the bed, he turned to see Chuck holding out a small glass bottle that Cas’ grace seemed slightly hesitant to go fully into.
“This world…will be better without you. We…will be better without you,” Naomi said as she raised the blade, this time with the blade itself pointed directly at his heart. As her hand made its way to the target, chaos broke loose. More Angels than could be counted broke ranks and Naomi was knocked away from him, her blade sliding far away from her target. The din of noise was deafening as bodies clashed against one another. Castiel, still handcuffed, had been tossed to the floor by his captors as the others fell upon them. He scooted toward the hall door, being half trampled as he went. His wings dragged behind him uselessly, a dozen or more feet stampeding upon them and ripping out feathers from his wings in their haste. He made it to the door and took in the chaos before him, slumped against the door frame as he pulled himself to standing. There was no making sense of the bodies…but luckily it seemed to be mostly fists, no blades being allowed by anyone except Naomi and a few of her most trusted of late. He blinked blood out of his eyes as it cascaded from a forehead cut that would not stop bleeding. He tried to stand steady, ready to defend himself as he saw Angels heading toward him in the crowd. His vision obscured, he couldn’t make out Aberia and Debriel until they were right upon him. Several other Angels fell behind them, blocking and guarding their backs.
Dean considered continuing to pout, but that wasn’t the attitude to bring into a new year. He sighed and looked toward the door. Castiel was standing sheepishly in the doorway with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders rolled in. He had the sad puppy dog eyes Dean was far too familiar with.
“Oh,” Cas said softly as he continued. He saw every touch, every brush of their hands, every shoulder pat, every lock of their eyes over the many years, from Dean’s point of view. He felt Dean’s heart stutter when he walked through the bunker door, when he’d call his cell phone, when they’d sat side by side in the Impala. This…this was not brotherly love. This…Cas could understand this. Castiel felt this as well.
“Nothing, except the want to do other things I suppose,” Cas said with a soft laugh as Dean’s eyes widened.
“Is…is it gonna be like that every time?” Dean was awash in a mixture of nervousness and anticipation at the prospect.
“There are several bedrooms upstairs in case you decide to have company. There’s never any need for people to house in groups, but many choose it. It truly is whatever makes them happy now. I have procured a spot for Sam and Eileen’s home right across the tree line for when the time comes. Here, this is the main bedroom. There is a master bath off of it, though there won’t be a toilet. No need of course. However, we found people requested bathtubs and showers as it was said to be more than a means of getting clean and seen as a pleasure of sorts, so we added them in.”
Dean let a heavy sigh escape and he ran his hand through his hair. “You’re right. She’s just doing what she’s told. I don’t want either of you to get in trouble because of me, and I know. I trust you, Cas. I’ll be safe. You be safe. Everything will work out eventually. It has to, right?”
?” Cas and Dean both shrugged apologetically and Sam shook his head. “I cannot believe you two assholes. You couldn’t trust
“Dean, I’m sorry but my time is extremely short and unpredictable, and there are things I have to say.” Castiel leaned closely and looked into Dean’s eyes. He nodded slowly and Cas removed his hand. “Dean, the time may come when I can return here. There are events happening that might make it so. I can’t tell you why or even when, but please trust me. I need to know if there is a reason for me to come back here, to you. Am I better off where I am? If so, I will accept that answer but I cannot continue on with the hope of returning to you not knowing…not knowing if I am wanted. If I am better staying in Heaven and serving them, I will do it. I don’t want to be a burden. Do you understand what I am asking you?”
Cas looked over at him, his eyes heavy-lidded as they raked over him. "Oh yes. I would...I would close my eyes and imagine you touching me. You wanting me the way I wanted you."
“Castiel belongs in Heaven. It is his true home, no matter how you all have turned him against us. His celestial essence could be the difference between Heaven continuing to function and the end of it all. Do you realize what would happen if Heaven fell? We’re talking about billions of souls being unleashed upon this planet you both claim to care so much about. Billions of restless spirits with nowhere to go. Souls that belong to people you care about…Your friends Ellen and Jo Harvell…the Prophet Kevin…your little friend Charlie…Bobby Singer…John Winchester….” Naomi said as she continued to stare at Dean. “Their souls will be doomed to roam the earth as restless, angry spirits. Never allowed to rest, and everyone who dies from then on would meet the same fate, and we all know the damage one angry spirit can do. Imagine millions…”
The demon smiled, eerily flashing bright white teeth. “I’m in good company then. All the demons know you and your brother have lost your souls before. Whoopsie….” The demon hissed out with amusement. “Slippery things, souls, aren’t they? Pretty overrated too. You, boy, yours is looking a little slippery too.” He spoke to Jack, his eyebrow quirking. Jack looked worriedly from Sam to Dean until Dean stepped in front of him, blocking the demon's view of him.
Castiel shook his head forcefully. “No, it’s nothing like that. Nothing like my connection with you either, Jack. I am not their creator. Much more their teacher. I feel the same for them as I used to feel for my flock. There is a comfort to being around those of my own kind…. but nothing like being home, with you.” He looked to the Winchesters as a whole.
Dean shook his head, a smile pulling one side of his mouth up. “No, this only ends one way. You dead, but you get to choose how easy or hard that is.” Dean shrugged calmly as he picked up a bag of rock salt. “Now if you know me, you know….I’m pretty good at this…” Dean growled out as he tossed the bag of salt from hand to hand.
“I love you,” Cas breathed out softly as his lips brushed Dean’s Adam’s apple, making a desperate sound escape his lips he’d never heard before. In response, Dean cupped Cas’ face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing the corners of his mouth, brushing against the rough stubble as he beckoned his lips open with his tongue, softly asking permission to explore his mouth, which Cas freely gave with a groan of his own. Dean’s thighs straddled Cas’ lap and they rutted against one another as the kiss deepened. Cas’ nails bit softly into the smooth expanse of his back as Dean moved his fingers to twine in his hair, desperate to keep them as close as possible. It was as if a fine layer of metal had kept them apart, an unwanted and unasked for shield, but the sheer power of their skin touching was turning the metal to molten fire against their skin, burning them in the most pleasant of ways, molding them into one creature made of nothing but want.
Dean locked eyes with Cas as he opened them and the relief he felt at the understanding in the Angel’s eyes was palpable. “I love you, Cas. We’re finally on the same page here, you see. No more walls. No more obstacles. No more misunderstandings. You see?”
“I do. Those three were chosen to come to us to send a very clear message. I know the new Angels more than anyone, and those three had the most difficulty with Naomi from the start. The choir took Heaven. Let’s see what they have to say,” Cas said as he struggled to sit up and Dean and Debriel both dove to assist him. The two locked eyes over Cas' shoulder and they shared a moment of understanding between them. They'd follow Cas' lead, but both had their own trepidations.
“The Hell I can’t when you wince away from the slightest contact with me. You don’t do it to Sam. Or mom. Just little old me. Was it the Mark? Or the demon eyes? Or me saying yes to Michael…I know how much you fought for me to say no. I just didn’t know another way or…”
Dean grunted out in rhythm with Castiel’s movements behind him. “Cas!” Dean yelled as he felt the build up of a prostate orgasm wash over him, making his muscles rigid as the feeling overtook him. Cas’ mouth never stopped moving, as if he could swallow every sound Dean made through his dick.
Dean and the others make it home to find Castiel injured and they discuss the events that happened in Heaven and what that means for them now.
Dean's forehead was creased with concern and the crow's feet around his eyes could not have been more prominent as he frowned. “And you could die…”
Naomi stood in front of the Heaven portal, Castiel by her side. His shoulders were slumped in defeat and he hadn’t spoken one word since they left Dean in the dark. The sun was beginning to rise, leaving a soft glow on the horizon. “For what it’s worth, Castiel, I do acknowledge your sacrifice, though I also know it isn’t for our benefit.”
Dean was only gone a matter of minutes and came back around the corner dressed and ready to go. Though the Angel blade was concealed, Cas could see by the way Dean’s dark green canvas jacket hung heavier on one side that he had it.
Dean let out a husky, relieved laugh. He felt weightless, almost drunk. “Way to make me sound like a ho. Cas. Not to put too much pressure on the situation here but I’ve never been with another man…only you.” Cas’ face gave away his shock. “Well, don’t look so stunned. You might insult me.” Dean kissed his chin, enjoying the soft stubble against his lips. “I wasn’t opposed to the idea...just never found the right one, but there are other ways to...” Dean began as he reached between them and gently cupped their dicks together in his hand. Pressing them together felt overwhelmingly good. He was biblically familiar with his own shaft obviously, but holding Cas in his hand, next to his own, was exciting. His heart raced at the mere thought. When he began to stroke them in unison, he thought Castiel might fall out of the bed. His eyes were swimming and he joined Dean in his task, wrapping his hand around his own.
Castiel leaned in and let Dean’s fingers stroke along the glossy black feathers. His eyes closed in contentment, like a cat. “They healed in Heaven.”
“And we don’t?” Aberia spat back as she walked toward the group. “We gave up everything to help get him here.”
Naomi had been calm and compliant as the time passed, doing nothing to raise alarm with him…which in itself was alarming. She had been downright cordial to him…on the surface. However, Castiel knew Naomi well enough and he could all but taste the disdain in her voice for him. To the younger Angels, however, she put on a good show. He thought all of this as the door to her office closed behind him and he was left seemingly alone with her. Naomi stood and gestured toward the chair, which Castiel politely shook his head to decline. Her shoulders moved in a hint of frustration, a movement that would have flowed into her wing movement…if she’d had wings left to move.
“I’m not asking for your support or your understanding, Sammy. You want to give it, that’s great, but you don’t have to understand. This has been building for a long time but both of us were damn cowards about it, and that’s done.”
“Look time’s relative up there. If I leave now, I may not come back for weeks, months, years. You get the idea. Gotta settle this now. You think this isn’t awkward for me too? Angels aren’t supposed to find the slightest appeal in you humans. I built them that way, yet he keeps proving me wrong, and I’m GOD. Talk about awkward.” Chuck rolled his eyes and continued his texting as if he hadn't spoken at all.
Chuck’s smile was a kind and understanding one. “One thing at a time, Castiel…. but once we get this design right and I can create more Angels, yes. You deserve to be happy after all you have done for me, for Heaven, and for Earth.”
Castiel closed his eyes and his face softened. “I’m sorry, Jack. I just….I don’t want to go but I have to. Please, don’t make it harder than it already is.” The atmosphere in the room was dimmed by the realization and they did not bring it up again, much to Cas’ relief.
“We got your back, Cas,” Sam said as he gave a level gaze to the other Angels, challenge in his tone and his face stoic.
“Speaking of which…”Dean led in as he slid glasses to everyone. He hesitated at Jack, shrugged and slid him one as well. “You’ve earned it kid.” He sat down, kicked the chair out beside him, nodded to Cas, and poured himself whiskey before sliding the bottle to his mom. Castiel sat down in the offered chair and leaned his elbows on the table, leaning like he had not been able to relax in a long time.
“Okay…don’t die,” Dean growled out, his hand already on the door to load the Impala. Sam and Jack were scurrying behind him, throwing every miscellaneous item of theirs in any open bag they had.
He slowed as he saw a soft spark of blue behind Cas’ eyes and he immediately pulled away to leave a chaste kiss on his inner thigh. “Uh uh. If you blow the bulbs again, Sam’s not going to speak to either of us for a week. We promised.”
“Because I said you must!” Naomi boomed with authority. “We need his help, and we will accept it to keep the souls entrusted to our care, safe! Now, everyone go back to their stations!” Castiel watched the other Angels file out slowly, grumbling to themselves as they went.
“Cas, while blunt, wasn’t wrong about what he said about dad, and I will make my own choices. Cas and I…we…” Jody grinned proudly and crossed her arms over her chest as Dean struggled to find the words. He looked to Cas, who nodded encouragingly. Dean looked to him for help.
Naomi sighed dramatically. “Can’t we get past that? There is a much greater picture to deal with now. It’s time…” She said as the Heaven Portal began to glow in the sand box sigils. “It’s time…to go home.” Cas threw one desperate glance around him, knowing he might never be able to walk Earth again. He stared at the sunrise, his face beginning to be illuminated by the orange glow. He took in a breath, knowing there was a chance this was his last moment ever on Earth.
Mary bit her lip softly, hesitating on her words. She knew this conversation would most likely not go well. “Dean, you know, we could use some expert advice…Maybe Castiel would know what the increase in demonic activity is about….”
“True, but Castiel does!” Jack chimed in again, looking at Cas earnestly. Castiel couldn't help but smile in return at his protege, which made Aberia's frown deepen into her soft olive complexion.
Dean stayed waiting until they were completely out of sight. His feet felt cemented to the parking lot and he still had Cas’ keys clenched in one fist. How did this go so sideways? What would he tell Jack and Sam? How could he go back and explain all of this when he didn’t even understand himself? He finally pulled away from the spot he’d been glued to and slid into Cas’ car. He’d just been here...right here…and now…. Dean buckled up and clenched the wheel. He started to shift out of park but stopped and banged both hands against the wheel, cursing. After a few minutes he composed himself and headed back to deliver the news.
Castiel nodded once. “She has gotten sloppy and let her anger get the best of her. She is very dangerous right now.”
Dean side eyed Cas and noted his sour expression. “I mean, I was going to go with Jack and Sam but the no booze rule was kind of a buzz kill. You didn’t spoil anything….” He trailed off.
Jack nodded solemnly. “Sam talked to me about what it was like…to be soulless. I think I understand now why you were so upset with me.”
Dean took one shaky step forward, clearing his throat and almost smiling as Cas took a step back. “Are you scared of me, Cas? You’re running like you are.”
“How did you know…” Aberia said with a raised eyebrow as she kicked the cuffs down another hallway. Cas let Aberia pull his left arm around her shoulders for support as they continued toward the portal.
Castiel’s mouth tightened in a sad smile. He shook his head, speaking to Jack but knowing Dean needed to hear this as well. “I’m sorry, Jack. That was removed by Naomi when I agreed to return, and I had to agree to be warded with a tracking sigil. I truly have no choice without bringing the wrath of Heaven down on you all, and I won’t do that.”
“Yes?” Cas called as he closed the tome with a dull thud as he turned the handle of his unlocked door.
“Adrenaline rush?” Dean said as he kneeled next to the chair. Cas' eyes were wide as he nodded silently. “Just breathe through it. Your heart will stop racing in a minute, when your body realizes your not in danger anymore." Cas gripped Dean’s hand and Dean squeezed back reassuringly.
Chuck crossed his arms and leaned back, the picture of ease and oozing confidence. “Not dealing. Just pointing out what you already know. Jack was half human when he died. Your claim on him, that you used to make your deal with Castiel, isn't valid."
Sam sighed and ignored his barking tone. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t understand. I think I do a little more now thanks to Jack.” Dean raised an eyebrow in a gesture to continue.
Debriel was looking on with a mixture of confusion and concern on this face as Castiel argued his case. “Aberia is only staying a couple of weeks, Debriel. I have no intention of her staying on Earth.”
Debriel froze with his hand on the railing of the stairs as he looked down. “You truly would ask us for help, correct?”
Once inside, Mary had her arms crossed and pointed to Dean and Cas. “Sit.” They both came in and sat down heavily on the bed, almost in unison. Cas still had his belt folded in his hands and Mary looked down at it with a frown. “Now explain.” Dean and Cas looked at each other then back to Mary without a word, before Claire piped up from beside Jody. “Well, when two people…”
“Different….” Mary said with a nod as she stared at the door Dean had walked out of. A look of realization came across her face, but Sam missed it.
“Yes, how are we supposed to be forgiving of what he and his humans have done to us?” added Fedrien, a dark-haired female Angel.
Dean rolled his eyes playfully. “Fine. You’re not wrong, and no I don’t wanna talk about it. What’s my bill?” She smiled and wrote up his tab. He got his wallet out of his back pocket, fished out a few bills and tossed them on top of the bill. “Have a good night,” Dean said before gesturing to Mary he was heading to the hotel. She nodded and went back to talking to Bobby, a bright smile on her face. Dean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion before shrugging and heading out the door. The hotel was only a parking lot away from the bar. It was all but abandoned, this being a sparse strip of highway. He made his way slowly across the lot, his hand in his pocket to grab up his hotel key. He crossed the grassy barrier between the parking lots when he froze in place, a familiar voice grabbing his attention.
“Dean, he said someday. It could be years…it’s really not fair of him to dangle that in front of you like that. I really…I really hoped you’d found something else to cheer you up…I mean…It’s great that Cas has the chance to come home, but you can’t hang all your hopes on that…” Sam said with a frown as he shook his head in concern. Jack looked from Sam to Dean, growing tension in his body.
know it doesn’t help. I promise we get through today and you and I can eat Ben and Jerry’s and swap stories about all the things we feel shitty about, but not today, okay?”
“Was it something I said?” The demon purred out as Mary stepped into the circle, a blade flashing in her hand.
Castiel let out a sigh. “Eventually. These Angels are not ready to be cut loose, especially considering their main influence when I leave will be Naomi. I must make my impression upon them before that time comes. The last thing we need is hundreds of Angels like her running around.”
Sam shook his head and tried to put a gentle hand on her arm, but she took a step away. “Because I know them both better than
Unexpectantly, the man-creature collapsed as if he was a puppet whose strings had been cut. Dean’s arms collapsed with the sudden dead weight and the head of the creature rolled to the side. Mary got on her knees and pushed the body off Dean. They both were breathing hard as they looked over at the newly deceased creature. Its eye had already begun to glaze over in death.
“What do you think?” Cas asked as he looked around. The group gave an affirmative through thumbs-up, wolf whistles, and teasing but Dean looked away and studied his own shoes until Cas moved on.
Chuck nodded his head and turned on his stool and jotted down notes on a notepad beside his sketch pad. “These are all great observations. So, what do you think made you different?”
Pamela smiled then and wiggled her eyebrows. “Of course, he has. I’d like to keep him around more with those pretty blue eyes of his.” Dean pretended to smile but a snarl of jealousy reared up in his gut again. Pamela winked at Dean and added, “Hey, like I ever stood a chance, right?”
Cas closed his eyes and Dean watched as his breathing slowed. He watched in rapt fascination as his wings smoothed and settled in rhythm with his calming breaths. When he opened his startling blue eyes, he arched one eyebrow playfully. “That you did. They give our thoughts away. Another reason we prefer to keep them tucked away.”
“Then we,” Aberia gestured to herself and the surrounding Angels, “got to Castiel before he was trampled to death and we all left through the Heaven portal before anyone else was wise to our escape.”
Castiel’s frown deepened. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m not that important to anyone. He doesn’t need to risk himself."
Sam looked to Dean again, looking for guidance and finding none. “What do we do? What does that mean?”
That left Castiel and Dean alone in the quiet living room. Dean was tired but there was no way he was going to miss out on what little time they had left till who knew when.
Sam stood in the doorway, his hands tucked in his pockets and his shoulders rolled in, his demeanor nothing if not apologetic. “Can we talk?”
Castiel moved his left hand to rub circles on Dean’s back now. “Well I’ve always found myself to have a vested interest in your ass.”
Dean sighed softly, “I’m going to get you some water, Cas. Coffee will just make it worse.” He padded softly to the kitchen, grabbed a paper cup and filled it with cool tap water. As he handed it to him, he addressed the others. “I’m sorry, but one, you absolutely still would have come. You’d want to help him too, which is expected. He’s family.” Cas sipped quietly and leaned his head back against the chair. “Two. I debated on texting you or calling but how was I going to explain this without a full conversation? I just thought it could wait three days…It’s literally only been a few hours. I was trying to do the right thing here.”
Aberia was about to speak but Debriel put his hand over her mouth, flashed a smile that could barely be seen due to the helmet, and they disappeared. Finally, the only Angel left was Castiel.
“Angel or human, you are mine, Dean Winchester. Body and soul,” Cas said with a teeth-clenched growl as he slid out and back in, hard, making Dean whine. Cas slid his hands up his sides, gripping Dean’s hands in his own and holding them on either side of his head as he continued his thrusts. Dean moved with him, their warm breaths mingling together as their noses brushed.
“If you’d kept your phones charged, we’d all be asleep right now…” Mary said with an eye roll as she leaned against the back of the couch and glanced at the watch on her wrist.
“Pretty sure all of that was blasphemy, Angel,” Dean said with a mirrored smile, his eyelids heavy and content.
“Okay, now let’s move on to offensive moves…” He said to take the attention away from him. An excited murmur ran through the eager young Angels and Castiel willed himself to focus on the task at hand. He wondered if Dean thought of him as often as he did him. Of course, Dean had his family and hunting to distract him. Castiel felt alone even though he was surrounded by a hundred others. He snatched up his Angel blade, ready to show them attack moves. The sooner he got them up to speed, the sooner he could go home and ask Dean for himself.
“What? What will happen?” Dean looked to Aberia and the other Angels for answers as he felt Cas glare at him. Cas then turned his gaze to the other Angels and raised his eyebrow and shook his head in a silent order of silence.
was. The only one didn’t just see a killer, a drunk, a hunter, his father's protege, or a broken man. He saw
“Naomi…I… ”Cas said as he turned to face her. There she stood in her grey pants suit, looking sure of herself, but Naomi’s eyes suddenly tightened as she studied him, her gaze suddenly far too studious.
Cas shrugged and gave Dean a knowing look, his eyebrow raised in question. “With you around? Always.”
Dean cringed to himself and patted his back, “Thousands of Angels…She’s killed one. And is far younger than you. Jack has been through this crisis a lot more recently than you. Let him help her for a few days. We deserve a few moments of peace. Anyway, she was one of the ones that asked you to get the hell out.”
“Not THAT scandalous….Now, key cards?” Castiel asked and Dean swiped up his wallet, passing one to him and confirming his own was tucked away inside before he stuffed in his back pocket. "Should we call home to give Sam and them a heads up."
Nights that Sam wasn’t there, Dean lured him out of his room with the promise of snacks and a movie, using his own loneliness with Sam gone as an excuse to make Cas watch one of his westerns. They’d sit in the Dean Cave, a small wooden table separating the cheap plaid chairs, and their hands would brush as they both reached for popcorn or their beer at the same time…but neither said a word, about anything.
“You need help with the chest piece? Everyone else is suited up and ready to go. We found a few extra Angel blades stashed in the armory. I thought I remembered tucking some of them away after some of our Angel issues before. There were enough for us measly humans to each get one.” Dean laughed softly but Castiel finally turned and his laughter died away. Dean's heart immediately began to race at the seriousness on Cas' face. “What’s wrong?”
Naomi looked over at him, a bit of pity in her face. He preferred the others' hostility. “You can’t have imagined they would welcome you with open arms, Castiel. Not after what you’ve done.”
“They ARE our equals. They have more than proven themselves in battle. Many more times than you have, and without all of our advantanges” Castiel said as he looked toward their group, his voice a dangerous growl that made the other Angels all drop their eyes, hoping to soften his temper. Castiel knew the need to defend his family was torn by an equally great urge to protect them. His two views were at war with one another as he shook his head, unable to make peace with one or other. He turned his disapproving look to Dean now, who, unlike the Angels, refused to bend to his will. “However, I’ve made my views clear on this Dean…”
“Castiel, if you don’t let us work on those wounds soon….” Aberia said as she rested her chin on her knuckles as she propped her elbow on her knee. She looked between Cas and Dean with obvious bemusement that she was trying very hard to keep to herself.
!” Claire yelled and the crowd froze. “Everyone shut up! One. Mary, no offense but your homophobia is showing. Let’s call it what it
“Yes, Heaven is failing. That’s why I’m here…” Chuck said as he walked hurriedly over to his drawing table. “I need to design more Angels, but better than before obviously. However, I’m running into some issues…” He tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the pad before bringing it between his teeth for a moment.
“Violence sounds like a good option about now…Cas!” Dean growled out as he leaned against the door. “At least let me know you haven’t taken your Grace back and poofed out on me…Shit… Seriously, Cas. Answer me.” Dean’s voice took on a worried tone as he realized that was a possibility.
Castiel looked to Duma and he could see the conflict in her eyes, but he knew she’d do what Naomi wanted in the end because they all feared her. They were sheep without a shepherd and Naomi was the closest they had to leadership. Duma stepped over and removed his coat with the help of the other Angels then two more Angels came and turned him roughly so that his face was against the wall. They stretched his wings out of the way and Naomi again lifted his shirt but this time the pain radiated in waves as she drew out the tracking sigil, much larger than he knew it had to be. His body shook with the effort not to make a sound, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. It seemed to go on forever before Naomi stepped back and the hands holding him released him. He closed his eyes a moment, swallowed hard and turned around. The group was gone. They must have anticipated him lashing out after the deed was done. He saw a tan piece of cloth peeking out from around the corner. Duma had dropped his coat, whether intentionally or not. He picked it up, dusted it off, winced at the pain he was in, and carefully put it back on. He would remember this moment, and he would not be stuck in this place forever. In that, he could assure himself. He would find a way home.
Cas slowly slid his arms into it and fixed the collar and when he looked up, Dean’s eyes were saucers and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.
“Cas, you never told us some of that.” Sam finally spoke, breaking the heavy air that had filled the room. He looked distraught as he swallowed hard.
Sam smiled bigger and scratched the back of his neck with nervous energy. “Yeah. Uh, tell Dean to not forget the Spring Mix. He may not eat rabbit food but the rest of us do.”
“Those Angels were trying to restart the Apocalypse and destroy the world….” Castiel said with barely veiled hostility.
“Thank you…you too, listen Dean…” Castiel began, his voice firm and his eyes avoiding his gaze. “I don’t know what’s about to happen…but I can’t run from him, you know that. I actually thought he would listen to the Angels and leave me be…It was stupid of me to believe..”
Castiel dragged open the bunker door. It made an angry screech of protest that made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck hackle. He felt vulnerable and exposed and realized too late he was weaponless, his usual gear still tucked under his pillow. His eyes widened in alarm as he realized he wasn’t the only one unarmed. Castiel was clearly unarmed and opening the door to an unknown situation. At least he had Sam and Mom at his back. Dean looked over to Sam and watched as he reassuringly nodded, knowing his brother’s thought process. His eyes went to Mary, who also nodded and had her hand at the small of her back. Jack’s forehead was scrunched in thought as he looked between Dean and Castiel. Dean smiled softly to himself. He’d beg out of that conversation. Sam could handle that.
Sam came in from the Library and raised an eyebrow and a shared look with Jack. “Well, you’re in much better spirits.”
Cas, his shoulders rolled forward menacingly and his eyes tight with anger, raised an eyebrow as he locked eyes her with. “Though I have no more authority in Heaven or over you, I suggest for your sake you take it as such.”
Chuck smiled and went to sit next to Castiel on the couch. “Castiel, I created you but I afraid I cannot take credit for who you have become. You are humble, full of contrition, and always striving to be better than you were. You have fallen down and instead of giving up, you got up and tried harder. You have sacrificed so much for the greater good, and you are still sacrificing. You have given up so much…more than you admit to anyone. But I can see you, Castiel, and no matter what you have done, those things have made you who you are….and I am proud of who you have become. You should be too.”
A minute or so of this went by and Dean softly breathed out, “More.” Castiel slid out and slicked up two fingers and slid them back into his tight heat. His dick was quickly rebounding from the clock blocking phone call and Dean could feel it growing against his thigh. He had to admit the more Cas pumped into him, the better it felt. Soon he was working himself onto his fingers and Cas was breathing huskily in his ear in anticipation. “Cas…you now,” Dean gasped out and he felt his skin flush in embarrassment and nervousness.
“Fair enough,” Castiel said as a true, tooth flashing smile appeared on his face, one Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seen grace his features before. It was carefree and he was almost purring in contentment.
Dean looked up, surprised at his forthcoming attitude. He'd never thought to ask why Castiel had been the one sent to save him. He'd always made the assumption he'd drawn the short straw. Who would want that gig? “Why him? Why was he chosen for it?”
Naomi's face screwed up into a bitter scowl, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Yes, which just proves there is no justice in this world…after all the Angels you killed…after everything you’ve done…Only a monster such as yourself would stand here and brag about the slaughter of your true family.”
Castiel shook his head, his eyes scanning the cluster of Angels. “I can’t control it, Naomi. I had no clue it would happen by returning to Heaven…”
“No, I mean…” Jack began but Sam’s phone rang at that moment and he held up a finger to silence Jack before he stood up and walked out to take the call.
“It was an accidental oversight. Dean has been distracted with caring for me. I know it seems strange, but going from Angel to human, my senses are overwhelmed…As an Angel I was able to just file away unnecessary sounds, feelings, etc., As a human, it’s more of a learned skill to be able to control my emotions and be able to process things. The air conditioner blowing on my skin, an itch on my arm. None of these were things I dealt with before. I can’t fully help anyone to understand and though I have been through this once before, it does not seem to be making it any easier. Having someone around has helped though.” Cas looked to Dean then, his face radiating gratefulness to the point that those on the couch squirmed in discomfort at the intimacy. Everyone was quiet, letting Cas' body catch up to the current events that they were safe until Jack cleared his throat.
Castiel looked thoughtfully at Aberia and nodded as they walked. His forehead lowered and his eyebrow raised in consideration of her carefully chosen words. “Accepting something that you do not understand is very good growth for you.”
Dean laughed nervously, cussing as the key-card kept blinking red at him. He had repeatedly had to convince Cas…and himself that pulling over on the side of the road was neither safe nor smart. Toward the end he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more. Cas kissed his neck, pressing their weight into the door as Dean finally got the key-card to work and they stumbled in. Dean let Cas push him against the door as they came in, letting their weight close it. He groaned softly as their mouths finally found one another. Cas hands felt so hot as he hungrily pushed them under Dean’s shirt.
“Thank you Enid…” Castiel said with genuine feeling as he stood, laying his hands palms down on the table. “How many of the new choir went with her?”
she opened and closed her mouth several times, deciding the best words to choose. “Very well. We have regular training with the choir. Same schedule as before. You’re both dismissed…” with a wave of her hand she dismissed them both from her office. Castiel sighed in obvious relief at the lack of a fight and she studied his back as he left. His wings were sullen, droopy even. She knew spending time on Earth was a bad idea, but it wasn’t like she could argue with God…. even if she wanted to, she wasn’t that stupid. She had not survived as long as she had by making foolish moves. The day would come when she would no longer need Castiel. The new Angels were growing stronger and more disciplined, but she certainly didn’t need him on Earth causing more havoc…What to do…His negative influence on the Angels now could be disastrous in the future. They certainly didn’t need more rogue Angels running around, and though he was a good teacher and strong fighter, at his core he would forever be a renegade. She needed a plan…
Suddenly it was Dean’s turn to deny, his eyes still bleary with the effects of the alcohol. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Castiel slowly scooted back on the pillows to appease the grouchy Angels around him. His heart felt like it could slow down now that he heard Dean’s voice, momentarily assured of his safety or at the very least being alive. “Dean, where are you?”
“And humans go to Heaven…” Chuck smiled back, cooly crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back in the booth.
“Why didn’t they just kill us?” Mary added again, pulling on her chains again, more urgency in her tone now.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, when you’ve got a king size bed to fool around on, you use it. Come on, Angel…” Dean stuttered over the last word and his face froze, studying Cas. “Sorry…if that bothers you…I didn’t…”
“That story can’t be true…that’d mean….” Aberia said with a frown as her wings shrunk to her side in a show of insecurity. Suddenly, silence fell across the Coliseum.
,” Dean said with a nervous laugh, his own insecurities bubbling up despite the after-effects of whatever they were experiencing.
“I have no other friends. No social life. No hobbies. Don’t I deserve a drink sometimes?” He stared at Cas’ extended hand a moment before instead reaching for an open bottle on the nightstand. Cas reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. They stared at one another a moment before Cas let go and stepped back.
“These humans are better warriors than you may ever be, and they do it with no special powers or wings. Dean and Sam were both chosen by Heaven as hosts to Archangels. Jack is the child of an Archangel. Mary is one of the best hunters in the world through sheer training and willpower. I do not have time to list all the ways they could best you. Let that be enough. You would do well to show them some respect.” Castiel nodded to Dean and he lowered the blade and stepped to Cas’ side.
“Sammy, the ever-present cock blocker,” Dean growled out as he gently pulled away. Castiel blinked like he’d been in a daze and Dean smiled proudly. “Dude, you are not at all presentable.” He looked him up and down and his clothes were a jumbled mass of wrinkles and his hair was a disheveled mess.
Cas read his first. “Sam and Jack have left the park but are going downtown to watch the small ball drop they are doing. Sounds like they are having a good time,” He said with a smile as he looked at the photo of Jack watching the fireworks that Sam had sent them both.
“It wasn’t your time, Dean…” Cas said with a deepening frown that made him shuffle his feet and look around them at the others watching them. He coughed and Cas turned to look at everyone, who stopped watching and went back to their mingling. “We can talk about that another time, though. I would like to show you some things, if you are willing to come with me.”
Dean let the silence linger longer than he liked as he and Cas looked at each other across the kitchen space. “You know that’s not true,” he said as he averted his eyes and took a loud swallow of the soda.
“Enid, Josiah, Kirah…” Castiel said as he entered, doing his best not to limp or show any signs of the pain his wings were still causing him. He fought to hold them at their natural angle and negate the muscular tremors. It was one thing to have his wounds on display, but he did not want to broadcast the pain he was still in. He truly believed showing his injuries was a strategic move but even he could not bring himself to look like an easy target in front of Angels who might not have his best interests at heart. Cas could feel Dean's eyes on him even now. Yes, he couldn't have him by his side but he gave in to allow him to linger in the background. After all, this was his home they were in, and Cas would always find a way to compromise when it came to Dean.
Dean let out a frustrated sigh as he ran a hand through his short hair. “You're right. It's not your business and this isn’t the place for this, and even if he doesn’t come back, what do you want me to do? Sign up for Tinder? I’m a 40-year-old hunter that’s in love with an Angel. All my friends are dead and I live in an unground bunker with my brother and my sorta-not-son that’s half Angel. You see the line of people ready to sign up for that? Cause I sure don’t. So, yeah, I think I'll wait for Cas. He’s the only one I want anyway, so now that we’ve got that covered, can we go smite a demon or two?” Mary nodded, embarrassed and they went to load up on weapons. Sam raised an eyebrow as Dean stormed over but Mary shook her head.
“Hey, you wanna drive on the way home?” Dean blurted out and seemed almost as surprised as Cas was that he’d said it. They stared at one another as Dean gripped the keys in his fist.
He quietly padded to the bathroom in the other side of the suite, his feet making little sound on the light tan carpet. Cas rolled out of the bed gracefully and pulled off the bed sheets. He could have mojo’d them clean perhaps but he hated wasting grace on such small things. After being without his grace or with low grace for so many years, he’d learned to not use it needlessly. He put them in a heap at the floor of the closet and grabbed up a new set from the dresser he’d spied it earlier when unpacking. He worked to make the bed as he heard the shower come on in the other room. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as an overwhelming urge to slip into the shower with him came over him. He let a breath out and opened his eyes and forced himself to continue his task, knowing Dean needed recovery time and food. Just as he was pulling the comforter back into place and tossing the pillows back on the bed, his own phone, discarded on his nightstand, began to ring. He picked it up and shook his head at the unknown number, but he hesitated and hit the green phone button to answer. As he held it up to his ear, Dean appeared, smiling and with a towel wrapped around his waist, not yet damp from the shower...He froze as he saw the look on Cas’ face and the one finger held up toward him. Dean studied his face, which had become hard and his eyes tight. As Castiel hung up without saying a word, he cocked his own head in confusion.
“Okay, great, yeah. That’s…okay, let’s get the rest of the list and head out.” Dean stumbled in his hurry to turn around and Cas remained more puzzled. Dean’s flustered mood seemed to die down by the time they were loading the groceries into the trunk, placing the paper sacks over the weapons like it was normal to have machetes and Enochian brass knuckles riding alongside turkey hot dogs and sodas. Dean even seemed in a much better mood on their way to the bakery after they’d stopped for gas. He watched as Dean grabbed up a cassette tape and read the handwritten label before popping it in. They didn’t talk as Dean pulled out and drove toward the bakery, but Dean drummed his hands on the wheel and jiggled his knee to the music, which was normal for him. However, Cas looked at him with further confusion when Dean gave a snorty laugh through his nose as a song came on. “Zeppelin,” Dean murmured as he glanced at Cas.
“The Empty invaded Heaven to retrieve Jack’s Soul..” Castiel spoke up before Naomi could. He spoke without looking toward Dean, afraid to give away more than he was willing to tell. “The Empty put a claim on his Soul because he was part Angel.”
Cas stood still, frozen in place by a mixture of disappointment and hope, hope that Dean would look his way again, and fear that he would.
“Are both things I have lived without before,” Cas said calmly as he nervously tugged at his tie to straighten it as Chuck watched the two of them silently.
Mary came walking out of the warehouse a few minutes later, blood splattering her canvas jacket. “We’ve got problems….”
Dean and the others fidgeted nervously as Castiel’s voice rose, echoing with the vaulted ceilings. “I do not need an escort, especially not one that is but a child. I am very aware of where the Heaven portal is and it is not as if I could hide if I wanted to, thanks to Naomi’s handiwork. You know what she is and yet you choose to follow her. I truly thought you had more sense than that…” The disappointment in his tone could be felt even by the humans below. They watched Aberia's bravado falter before their very eyes as her shoulders rolled slightly in and her chin dropped ever so slightly.
He’d just let his mind drift, studying the planes of Dean’s sleeping face when a soft knock came at the bedroom door. He’d dismissed the Angels to rest and recharge before healing him so he assumed they were ready to get back at it. However, one look at Debriel’s face said otherwise.
Cas came and leaned shoulder to shoulder with Dean against the counter. “Well, I have noticed you have been drinking far less since we’ve all been back home together…” Castiel stumbled only once on the word home, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice. He did.
“His bunker…” Aberia nodded to Cas as she steadied him with one arm slung around his shoulders and his ruined wing bases. Though he was larger in form than her, she was still an Angel and she did not buckle under his weight. Her face was hard and determined as she strode as quickly as she could. “and we’ve got to get these cuffs off…”
“Will this place really keep us safe from the others?” spoke up a blonde, small boned Angel that had entered reluctantly, feeling the cave-like quality of the building as she entered.
“Hmm. You know, Gabriel liked sweets. Do you think your…siblings and you might be more prone to sweets? Not that I like all that sugary crap, but a mocha or caramel coffee might be up your alley.”
“Well, since this is your first time, why don’t I make you an assortment, so you can find out what you like?” Dean choked behind him and Cas turned around with a questioning look.
The Angel studied the ground a moment, as if suddenly shy, and nodded his head slowly before raising his eyes to meet Deans, the heat between them on Earth apparently still present in Heaven. “None of them are finished. I wanted you to do that. To build them yourself. You can scrap them and start from the ground up if you would like. Whatever would make you happy, Dean. You deserve happiness here.”
Debriel lowered his head and his wings tucked closer to his shoulders. “We apologize, Commander, but our orders were specific.”
“You know, two eyes would be super useful in a fight…” Dean murmured as he cut his eyes toward Castiel.
Dean grumbled as he typed in another text and waved his credit card at Cas, who took it quickly. “My friend also wanted the apple pie.”
Dean swallowed and took the swig of whiskey she slid over the bar top to him, throwing it back before asking, “Is he…Is he here now?”
Dean attempted to stand, and Cas didn’t stop him. He shucked off his pants and underwear in one heap and crawled onto the end of the bed, smiling slyly. He ran his hands along Cas’ muscular thighs and smiled more as Cas parted them for him. His fingers traced gently into the softer flesh of his inner thigh and he ran his hands up to Cas’ knees. He leaned down and kissed his stomach, under the navel, feeling the soft trail of dark hair there brush his lips. Cas pulled his hand away from his dick and lifted his pelvis in silent request and Dean grinned as he looked up at him through his lashes. Cas may have been feeling cocky before, but with Dean between his legs offering him up his favorite thing, he was putty in his hands…and Dean loved it. He licked his lips, making sure Cas’ eyes were locked on him, and he was rewarded by seeing Cas’ breath hitch in his throat as he slid just the tip of his tongue out of his mouth and traced a wet line along his cock.
“You have both gone so far off the rails…” Mary murmured as she clenched her jaw, biting back more hurtful words.
Chuck lifted an eyebrow and one side of his mouth quirked up. “You really are a mouthy one…Wow. I never noticed before…” Chuck said as he circled Castiel. He tapped a pencil to his chin as he walked. “What do you think? Is that Sam and Dean’s influence or your own development of Free Will?”
Dean rolled his eyes and laid his head back against the headrest, giving a lazy grin as he did so, his hand stretching out to find Cas' and squeezing it gently. “Are you expecting a fight?”
Finally, the blinding sensation passed and Dean felt Cas slide his finger out, only to double down on sucking him off. He’d never seen anything more beautiful than Cas looking up at him with one raised eyebrow, satisfaction oozing from his features. As their eyes locked, he moaned as he felt his orgasm building low in his gut. Where the prostate orgasm was a full body experience, this one, the one he knew, started low inside him and built. Cas could sense the change because instead of pulling off like Dean expected him to, to avoid it, Castiel pumped him with his hand, staring transfixed.
Cas was already snapping his chest plate back into place as he entered the room. Dean walked up to him, but Cas kept his back to him and hung his head.
Castiel looked in Dean’s eyes, knowing more than Dean said. “That’s unsurprising considering how often they were hunting together before I left. I’m glad your mother has found happiness in this life again.”
“Sounds good, Sam, then tomorrow we can deal with your witch.” Jody popped Dean on the shoulder with a wink and followed him out the door.
nonplatonic way but I didn’t say anything because when I came back you seemed fine the way we were.”
“Hmm…. Perhaps. The other Angels won’t like that at all since you were the one assisting Metatron. It is probably best for you to continue to avoid interactions with any other Angels than me. I understand your motives behind working with Metatron, though misguided, were not to cause us to Fall. The other Angels are not so understanding….”
“I promise, truly…and Thank you, for everything.” As the door to the bunker closed with a ringing edge of finality, Castiel closed his eyes and sighed as he ran hand through his hair. It was if his own mask had finally been allowed to slip and he sunk into a chair as if his strings had been cut.
Dean let a half smile slip. “Shut up, Cas.” Castiel tilted his head to the side before Dean gripped his tie and pulled him in close. “I’ve been losing my damn mind, you know that? Wondering if you were okay, then you poof here and start talking…and talking…and talking. God, I missed that.” Castiel stiffened when Dean said God but he didn’t notice. Dean’s hands shook when he reached one up to touch his fingertips lightly to Cas’ face, as if he still wasn’t sure he was real. “I took you for granted, took for granted you’d always be around and we’d have time for…. you know, talking all this shit out. You do what you need to come back to me. You hear me? You get the chance to come home, you damn well come home. This…this thing we’ve been dancing around? I think I’m ready to stop dancing. This year has been Hell…and I’d known what Hell feels like. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Again!” Castiel barked out at the formational lines of Angels. They each had an Angel blade in their hand and were practicing blocking techniques. He’d had to temporarily retire his trench coat. The Angels needed to be able to see how he moved his body with each movement he taught them. The older Angels may have seen the coat as a joke, but they didn’t know it’s usefulness. Not only did it hold sentimental value to him, but it camouflaged his movements, which kept the enemy off balance and unable to predict his next move. It also made it much easier to conceal his Angel Blades…but for now it sat folded neatly on the dais. He walked around, his dress shirt untucked for the same reasons. He felt vulnerable but really had no choice. Sam and Dean would have laughed at him teaching fighting techniques in dress pants and a tie, but he had a harder time imagining having the Angels dress in human sparring clothing. He’d seen Dean and Sam spar more times than he could count, and the sleeveless shirts and loose pants helped them move more quickly but were unnecessary for Angels…but Castiel couldn’t help but be distracted by the image.
Dean slid his knee over to Cas' side of the bed and they jostled around for a comfortable leg position. “For how long I’ve wanted to do this, maybe
“Oh, go to Hell, Debriel,” Aberia barked back. Debriel laughed and playfully brushed her with his wings. “Nah, but the Commander’s been I hear. Like to actual Hell and back!” he added with excitement in his tone.
“I saw it in your eyes, Dean, not your mind.” Castiel laid back and peeled off his pants and underwear, leaving him bare now as well. He sat back on his haunches and hesitated. Dean had a satisfied smile as he saw Castiel breathing harder without them even touching.
They stretched out beside one another, only inches between them, and that alone was enough to make Dean feel like electricity was coursing through him. Cas had yet to touch him, as if he was holding back, and so Dean ever so tentatively brought his hand up to place it on his stubbled cheek and was rewarded with a soft, nervous smile. “I don’t know how to be this close to you, Cas.”
Cas felt a hunger he’d never felt and it had nothing to do with food. He’d had sex as a human and as an Angel but what he felt now was sheer, raw, need. This man made him feel such extreme emotions. Him being in charge of him as he transitioned to his human life might be a terrible mistake, but one Cas willing to make.
Dean grunted in pain and ground his teeth together, mustering a laugh through the haze of pain taking him over. “It really bothers you doesn’t it? You’re really hung up on us doing the whoopee. It’s kind of getting creepy at this point, I gotta be honest…” As Naomi glanced down at him, Castiel took another calculated step forward.
She wasn’t wrong, Castiel admitted to himself. He didn’t look forward to eternity missing his friends…his family…but he preferred it to never remembering they existed and the life he had with them. Remembering there was life outside of this sterile, cold place was all that kept him sane some days.
“You know as well as I do that you like the extra butter. No shame in your snack game, Cas. Own it.”
Naomi's hand was gripping visibly tighter to the Angel bade in her hand now and Cas knew the talk would soon transition to fighting. She only had so many words left to spew toward him. “You chose to fraternize with humans over your own kind. Humans! Violent chimps with advanced vocal patterns for Heaven’s sake! You let the…you let HIM poison you against us. He is the snake that tempted you and took you from us. All you had to do was do as you were told like the rest of us!” Naomi hissed out her words in Dean’s direction, staggering one step forward toward Dean, but Castiel stepped in front of him as he continued to speak.
“Okay…” Dean growled out now, not feeling very at peace in the moment. “Why don’t you show me what you wanted to show me?” He all but pushed Cas out the front door into the sunlight, ignoring the soft peel of laughter Pamela left behind them.
The petite Angel looked like she wanted to argue but she shrugged and hovered her hand over Castiel’s swollen eye. When she laid her hand down, the swelling was all but gone and the cut was a faint red line. She stepped back and Debriel stepped forward.
As they settled on a leg position, Cas hummed in thought. “Hmm. I have to think about how I can top your present. Your birthday
“God has been in the design process for new Angels since he saw the dilemma Heaven was facing. He is away creating more Angels and should return with them in…well, I’m not sure how long it takes…”
“Well I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that look in your eyes,” Dean said as he felt am involuntary shiver run down his spine.
Dean’s eyes widened. He had really not expected that explanation. Now he felt like an ass…Well, that wasn’t really a new feeling. He stepped closer to him, very much in his personal space now. “Cas…you were staying away from me…to..to
Sam laughed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Yes, God forbid there be a dip in ruthless killings and disappearances.”
Dean let his relief flood through him, his head hitting the headrest as his eyes closed for a moment. A small smile found it’s way home on him. “I knew he’d find a way to let me know…So, he can communicate with you?”
Cas' face fell as he considered Dean's hesitance. “Dean…are you not interested in me if I’m not an Angel?” He quirked his head and frown lines formed on his face, concern flashing in his eyes now.
Dean rolled his eyes and stormed off to the bathroom, shutting the door harder than he needed to. Castiel stared at the flaking white painted door and frowned. This was not how he expected the drunken text he’d received to lead to. He should slip out now while Dean was occupied…but he couldn’t do that to him...nor did he want to in a selfish part of himself he kept buried deep. He walked away and opened the curtains to watch the encroaching thunderstorm, lightning flashing in the distance. His mind was everywhere and nowhere. He could feel the lonely feet between himself and Dean, who had apparently decided to take a shower as he heard the old pipes groan to life within the walls. Great. Just great. He had enough self-control issues with him fully clothed but to imagine him mere steps away, naked and…No. He was an Angel and Dean was human. It was their most sacred law…His mind raced with the possibilities. If he let himself feel these feelings deep inside of him that he’d fought for so, so long…would it put Dean and his family in danger? Would the Angels pursue them further or was it only the creation of a Nephilim that made it so forbidden? It wasn’t worth the risk. It truly wasn’t…but he could still feel the heat of Dean’s skin on his hands as if he’d been burned. He could feel his heart beginning to race under his palm, the feel of his tongue on his lips…No, his feelings for Dean were like nothing he’d experienced in his many many years of life. He felt as magnetically drawn to him as the tides to the shore and felt just as helpless to the pull of it. He let his mind wander, remembering every missed opportunity, every stolen glance, every almost moment they had ever had…and he watched the storm outside move closer and closer. Weren’t humans supposed to avoid bathing during lightning storms? Perhaps he should…
Mary took a step back and opened the driver's door, seeing a tan coat and belt slung to the front. “Where…where is the girl?”
“You did what you did to protect Sam, and you’ve already apologized ten times over. You can’t carry that guilt around forever. And it worked out in the end, didn’t it?” Cas spoke softly, and Dean could even note a change in his voice. That gravelly tone was still there, but softer. He was so much softer...so fragile.
Dean closed the door to his room and was only temporarily distracted as Cas dropped the sheet onto the concrete floor. Seeing Castiel so comfortably exposed to him made him feel a deep possessiveness. The scars on the Angel’s body didn’t mar the view but made him feel a deep burning in his gut to get him away from the toxic relationship he had with the other Angels. Castiel looked up from grabbing his pants that had been discarded on the floor and their eyes locked. Dean couldn’t deny he’d been staring but the self-satisfied look on Cas’ face wouldn’t have let him deny it if he wanted to. He crossed his arms over his chest and did a half smile as he shook his head. “Well, that could have gone worse I guess,” He added as he leaned against the bedroom door.
Sam took all of this in, every minute change confirming what Jack had suspected. “Son of a bitch… It is true, isn’t it? You and Cas….”
Dean’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water for a few seconds while he tried to figure out his response. “Cas…I didn’t…I can’t help they hang on me in the bars. I didn’t…” Dean stammered out before his face went red and he became the one with crossed arms and an angry glare. “Why the fuck do you care anyway? You stuck your tongue down my throat one damn time last week then ignored me the rest of it. Maybe I
Dean froze, a white t-shirt in hand, and looked momentarily concerned. Perhaps he had read things wrong, and in a matter of seconds his old insecurities rushed in to whisper doubt in his mind. “I mean, yeah, if that’s okay…”
“Well, what can we do while we wait?” Dean turned, hearing the odd inflection in Cas' tone, and narrowed his eyes in immediate suspicion. His tone dripped of false innocence. He caught Cas' eyes staring at him as he leaned over the tub. He didn't feel particularly sexy in his t-shirt and flannel pajama pants but by Cas' expression, you'd have thought he was parading around naked.
“I wouldn’t leave you, Dean,” Cas said as he swallowed hard, his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, fists clenched again.
“Anything?” Dean asked hopefully to Sam as he leaned back and stretched, making the library chair squeak in protest, as if it too had been sitting too long
“Castiel…” Dean moaned as he turned to the window, seeing the storm outside intensify and the cheap windowpanes rattle again with the nearness of the storm. Cas slid a hand to where the hand-print he’d left years ago had been and he took the righteous man in every way a man could be taken. He had taken him from Hell’s clutches, taken him from Heaven’s plan, and now took him as his own. A last, glorious, blasphemy. A middle finger to Heaven, as Dean would say…
“Oh, I didn’t hurt him,” The Shadow said with a raised eyebrow as he rested his head in his hands and stared at Dean. “I did get this whole thing wrong though, didn’t I?” He said as he waved his hand back and forth between them.
They ate in the car, avoiding the large crowd of people shoved into the too small gas station/diner. Cas chewed thoughtfully on the chili cheese French fries Dean had insisted he order…and then stolen half of.
He’d waste hours arguing with Dean, and it was hard to argue when he knew Dean was right. Going alone was reckless and stupid. He would be glad for the company but taking Dean anywhere near the other Angels was a dangerous situation he would never willing put him in. Which was why he’d chosen to meet her late at night and try to avoid an argument. Well, it was a moot point now.
“Then why did you? It didn’t have to be you, Aberia," Cas said softly as he laid a hand on her shoulder, both their eyes studying the body below them.
“I didn’t know I was a biter either…” He said with a gravelly, deep, laugh as his hand moved to Dean’s pants. He quickly unsnapped the button of his jeans. Dean broke away and leaned back on the bed as Cas grabbed the end of his pants and whipped them off his legs. He threw the pants off the bed and leaned over him on his arms, smiling with all the possessiveness he felt in that moment.
. You gotta get over that, and if you think that way cause of me for some reason…well, I’m sorry. The past couple of years haven’t been my best, I admit. But, we’re okay, right?” Dean glanced over at him as they turned to the next aisle.
“I’ve never been in a hot tub. I’ve actually never even taken a bath. There were only showers at the shelter,” Castiel said matter of factly as he set aside his now empty Styrofoam take out box and took a deep swig of his refilled water bottle.
“Exactly right, Sam,” Castiel said quickly as he raised his head to rejoin the conversation. “So, I was safe from having to fulfill my end of the deal, however, the Shadow made it very clear that when I died as a Angel, my after life would be anything but peaceful. Angels, when they die, go to the Empty. Its simply how it is. However, it is supposed to be sleep. The Shadow wasn’t going to let me sleep...Every moment would be torture. So, my choices were to remain an Angel and be tortured by the Shadow when I die or choose to become human and have the chance to let my actions choose where I go when I die, as humans do.”
“But we’ll have to carry them down the spiral staircase…” Cas began to argue but Dean waved dismissively and loaded down one arm with bags while Cas carried the sweets.
“Oh, no doubt…but it would have been worth it,” Dean said as he leaned up and brushed a kiss on the edge of Cas’ lips.
Castiel cocked his head to the side, considering Dean for a moment. “That is a very valid point,” and suddenly Dean was being shoved up against one of the bookcases, his hands sliding over the slick spines of the hardcovers. Cas’ tongue was in his mouth, his deft fingers already sliding under Dean’s t-shirt in search of warm skin. It took Dean’s brain a moment to catch up but moments later he was shucking Cas’ trench coat from his shoulders. He slid his hand down the silky expanse of his tie, yanking him closer to him with it as a leash.
That soft sentence was enough to make Dean shake off his own feelings and he spun around, his arms crossed over his chest. “OH, it was only for a second. I know. I was there, remember? Only dead for a second…” Dean grumbled as he stomped out of the room.
Dean was speechless a moment before laughing softly. “Damn that took me off guard. I had a whole argument ready. Well…. good. I’ll leave a note for Sam in case anything happens, and I’ll grab my shoes and my Angel blade.”
Sam shook his head slowly. “No, that doesn’t mean they are…a thing. They just have a really close friendship. They’ve been through a lot together. A lot I've missed.”
Cas ran his hand down the soft flesh of Dean’s stomach and gently stroked his fingers along his legs, his eyes finding a single-minded focus Dean hadn’t seen before. “This was worth waiting for…and I believe answering our earlier question about events repeating to be very important…right now.”
Sam leaned back and crossed his arms, a half smile forming on his face. “I’m not enjoying watching you grovel at all.”
“Dean.” That one word had Dean stupidly stepping further into the wooded area. He heard movement behind him and he whirled to see…. It wasn’t Cas. His heart fell in disappointment and raced with adrenaline at the same time. He was in danger. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he laid eyes on her. The woman had scraggly brown hair, hanging below her shoulders. It hung heavily, greasy and unwashed. Her eyes were deep-sunken and full of a rage he could relate to. Her face appeared pinched as if she hadn’t had a good meal in weeks.....Her mouth stretched wide, flashing rows and rows of teeth, a smile that made Dean step back.
“I think you’ve confused charm with arrogance, Commander,” Aberia said with a growl. The laughter from Cas that followed echoed down the bunker halls.
you want." Dean nodded against Cas’ shoulder and sat up, searching the room with his eyes and Cas caught on quickly enough. “There’s no need for any kind of prep... Not here.”
He hadn’t had a moment alone with Cas since everything went down, not with five angels crowded around him at all times. He eventually given it up and gone to his own bedroom last night, hoping that Cas would come to him when the work was done but when he awoke the next morning, it was clear his Angel had not come to him in the night. He was further disappointed when he found Cas and Aberia talking softly in a corner of the library. It had taken Dean a bit by surprise when Castiel had pulled him aside and asked his permission to let Aberia stay with them a couple of weeks.
Chuck cleared his throat and stood, waving them both to sit down. “Come come now. Everyone have a seat.” Castiel took a hesitant step forward, allow Dean to finally see the other member of the dinner party.
“What a bitch…” Dean growled out as he pulled an extra chair beside the bed, careful to avoid stepping on the part of his wing that was draped across the floor.
Dean rolled his eyes and continued packing for him as he huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Apparently everyone in the bunker has decided we are insufferable and unbearable with the heart eyes and have requested we leave for a few days and get away for a bit.”
Dean ran his hands through his hair and laughed lightly as he put the tape in with the other hand. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m feeling a little off, I guess.”
Bobby sunk down in his comfy, worn recliner, his body radiating relief. “Oh, thank God. When I saw you here I thought…Wait.. Why ARE you here?” He said with suspicious eyes. “I barely got back in the good graces of the Angels the last time you needed my help.”
Naomi stopped short, letting out an angered breath. “I suppose we will leave this conversation for now…. but we will discuss this further Castiel. Eternity wandering the halls is going to get very lonely pining for a human you’ll never see again…” Naomi said with a raised eyebrow as she spun on her heal and stalked away.
Except he was here…somewhere…and once again not showing himself. The damned dick. Dean’s mind flashed to the last time they’d been together, how the lack of time had stolen any chance for a reply to Cas’ words…and maybe Cas didn’t want to be seen. Maybe he had mistaken Dean’s silence for disapproval. Maybe he thought Dean didn’t want to see him. Damn it. Where was that dorky little Angel? He closed his eyes a moment and thought about wanting to see him and when he opened them, there was a break in the trees lining the lonely highway and a gravel road turning off from it…leading to a tin roofed roadhouse with a few cars parked in front. Dean raised an eyebrow but quirked his mouth in a shrug of “Why not” and turned in, feeling the crunch of gravel under his tires, and watching plumes of dust puff up behind the Impala as he turned in. He put the car in park and took in the sight of it. It was the first building he’d seen since he started driving.
Castiel blinked sleepily, his eyes widening with surprise and grabbed up their phones. “Your assumption is correct.” He worked his way out of the bed, his legs wrapped up in the comforter, and rubbed his eyes.
“Not really true, but I just had to ask, cause you’ve been pretty, you know...standoffish since we got you back.” Dean turned and began to push the cart down the aisle again as Cas followed behind.
Castiel spent his days wandering the halls, visiting with Bobby, and avoiding the other Angels. He’d found the Heavens of their other friends and allies, but he hesitated to bother them. He knew Bobby was awake enough to know he was in Heaven. He knew what happened when people who didn’t know they were dead found out they were. It did not always go well, and he would not bring that pain upon their friends. Cas had even found Dean and Sam’s heavens. He’d laughed to himself at the death dates on the doors. There were very few in all the numbers of heaven that had multiple plaques with multiple death dates on them. His hand slid softly along their names. This feeling in his gut would go away eventually, right? The more time he spent in Heaven, he’d once again become more of the Angel he had been, right?
“Castiel, their futures were already written before you intervened. They’d have fought as Micheal and Lucifer. They’d have burned this world the ground, and Sam and Dean as you know them would have ceased to be. Do you really not understand what you did? Has no one ever explained? You’re breaking with the Angels to help them, it saved the world Castiel. Sam and Dean could not have won without you. Now then, are we going to design Angels or what? The sooner we get this done, the sooner I send you home to the Winchesters.”
“Everything?” Dean said with a smirk. “You have no idea what sacrifice is. Talk to me after you've died...more than once.”
Castiel leaned his head against his pillow and latched onto Mary’s question to avoid further discussion about the previous topic. “Chuck is currently not in Heaven. He’s off doing…whatever it is he does..to create more Angels. It’s quite a long process. He has been gone since before I returned to Heaven from my last visit, hence why Naomi sent others to retrieve me. She was cool but cordial since then until today, when she requested me to come to her office. I knew then it was a set up. She ordered me to bring Jack to Heaven. I refused, and when she insisted and I again refused, she handcuffed me and they brought me before the new Choir of Angels as a show of force and a lesson in the consequences of disobedience. She made sure to announce to the entire assemblage that I was singlehandedly responsible for the shortage of Angels. Then she proceeded to become quite violent…”
“I’m afraid not. Tanira and Badriel, please hold his arms.” Naomi came forward as the other two stepped forward and grabbed him roughly by the arms. Naomi shoved the trench coat aside and roughly pulled his white dress shirt up before laying a hand on his anti-tracking tattoo. Castiel locked eyes with Naomi and refused to give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream, so he ground his teeth in pain as she burned the tattoo from his skin. He could have fought but he knew if he killed the other Angels he would absolutely be trapped here or killed. He would stay alive for those he'd left behind, and he let Naomi see it in his eyes.
Naomi put a hand to her chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Castiel. I thought we were past this after all that ugliness with The Empty and Jack. I did tell you we appreciated your sacrifice, even if you didn’t do it for Heaven…” Naomi trailed off as she lifted an eyebrow and acknowledged Dean for the first time. Dean looked over at Cas then, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
He sighed. “I do trust you.” He looked to his family and he swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “And I love you and you damn well know it. Now, please open the door, Cas. I’m sorry for being a stupid idiot.” The three spectators’ eyes were wide at Dean’s heartfelt declaration. They’d known the obvious but hearing him say it so openly was very much not typical Dean behavior.
Castiel’s shoulders rolled in in such a way that Dean could guess that would have tucked his wings closer to him…if they weren’t so damaged. “Dean, I’ve lived without wings for years. I can do it again if necessary.”
Castiel laughed and it took Dean off guard. He wasn’t sure how to feel until Cas put a hand on his thigh and squeezed. “Of course, I’ll move my things into your room, you ass. Now get back to the hotel room. I feel another need arising.” Dean first looked with concern until he saw the look in Cas’ eyes and felt his hand drift over the bulge in his jeans and away from his thigh.
Dean grimaced and sighed as he stood up to get fresh coffee. “It’s true. In general, our lives are pretty miserable. Blood, guts, death, a laugh a minute.”
“No big deal,” Dean mumbled, his own cheeks pinker than Cas would have expected. They both turned away until Dean gasped. “Dude! Mr. List forgot to write down coffee. We were getting low last week. Sam’s got a death wish. You know how I get without my coffee.”
Dean sighed loudly as he fiddled with the knobs of the radio. “Yeah, yeah. Jack said Angel Radio is pretty quiet, but not static…So Yeah, Cas must be okay.”
Castiel tilted his head to the side and lowered his eyes in a small fit of embarrassment. “Dean, I don’t sleep. I have to find something to occupy my time. The internet is quite the educational place.”
Instead, he shook his head and smiled. “Don’t be stupid. It’s 2am. Only people out right now are crooks and monsters. You’re sleep schedule’s gonna be a bitch, but I’m fine. I actually had a thought about how to help your aches and pains….” He shot a look to the hot tub and Castiel followed his eyes and his own widened.
“I don’t have to…?” Dean’s face burned in embarrassment intermingled with wanton need and Cas’ reassuring head shake made him release the shaky breath he’d been holding. He moved his hands to hook Cas’ legs up by the thigh as it drug his head down off the pillow, hesitantly lining himself up with Cas’ entrance. He was hard and ready as he looked down at him. They locked eyes and Cas’ heavy-lidded ones fluttered as Dean sheathed himself inside of him, slowly, wanting to trust what Cas had said but hesitant. He met no resistance, only a tight heat he thought might be the second death of him. Cas, body relaxed and trusting in him, whimpered softly in the back of his throat, a sound that flared a deep possession in him. He felt himself trembling as he looked down at them joined together, Cas' dick pressed between their stomachs.
“I guess with two in the bed, you can watch my back. I should have taken you up on that offer to watch over me when I slept sooner,” Dean said as he yawned and stretched his arms above his head.
3/17/19 Due to computer issues, new chapter will be up Monday or Tuesday. Sorry for the inconvenience guys.
Cas looked over and Dean fondly took a mental image of the wind gently blowing the dark strands of hair off his forehead and the sunrise casting brilliant shades of pink and gold across his features. When Cas looked over and smiled softly, excitement and adventure sparkling in his eyes, Dean felt the first taste of freedom on the wind. “It looks good on you, Cas.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You made me cum so hard I thought I’d died for a minute…and you know, I kind of, you know….love you too, so there’s that…” Dean grumbled softly as he buried his nose in Castiel’s neck, leaving small kisses against his skin. “Sorry it took me so long to say it back…”
The Angels plan their return to Heaven and Cas and Dean must decide to do with their first tastes of freedom
“grace c ol eol, zacam lrasd oi izizop. Niis de a el ds g aboapri. noan gone lrasd oi noco g etharzi,grace of my making, go from this vessel. Come to the one who you serve. be gone from this servant in peace”
I'm so sorry for leaving this story hanging for so very long. Life, depression, and an insane work schedule are the only excuses I can give. This chapter isn't long but it was all I had time to edit today. I have the entirety of the story written out with just some editing needed. I promise I will get another chapter out by the end of the week. I never wanted to abandon this work and I've been determined to get back to it. I apologize to you that subscribed to this expecting regular updates. I still love you guys!
Bobby rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Okay, Cas. If you say so. Say, aren’t you gonna to get in trouble for coming here? Shouldn’t you be off doing Angel stuff?”
“Hmmm. Should have known after the pizza man incident you’d be looking into that more,” Dean said with a humored smirk as he ran his hand down Cas’ back. “I can show you my collection some time if you’d like. We could watch it together…”
“Dean, It’s Cas. You know him better than anyone. More so now…okay, no. Not going there,” Sam shuddered and wrinkled his nose. “You’re just gonna have to get through to him like you always have, minus violence or spells. You're the one who can always get through to him. You two speak your own language.”
“He’s…. Cas is the commander?” Dean voiced aloud as everyone together took a greater interest in the black winged Angel who seemed to have a much larger portion of demons than anyone else. Dean had felt a familiarity in the way he moved….but to think that was Cas?
Naomi bristled at that, all but vibrating in outrage. “Shut up! If you won’t shut up, Ill just have to make you…” Naomi growled out and she went to slide the blade across Dean’s neck.
“Cas…” Dean said as he went to put a hand on his right shoulder but Cas turned around too quickly. His face was a mix of emotions. Dean knew him well enough to see anger, sadness, and fear. He understood those too. Castiel’s eyes were wild as he spoke.
“If you like your humans scarred and screwed up,” Dean said with a shake of his head but Cas raised an eyebrow, making a face that made something low tighten inside him.
“Being bored has never been something I’ve been lucky enough to experience. You rest. I’ll be content,” Castiel said softly as he picked up his duffle and began hanging everything in the closet.
Cas’ temper was beginning to fray but he endeavored to control it considering his audience. “Can’t be a winner? She literally drilled holes in my brain to make me toe the line…not just me! Countless others, and where were you during that? Where have you been for all of this?”
“Hey there, good lookin. What can I get for you?” Pamela said as she walked up slowly from behind the bar, her hands tucked in the pocket of her jeans.
“Sometimes people lie to make others look better, even when they don't deserve it. It's not your fault, kid.” Dean huffed out as he stared daggers at the closed bedroom door.
“Sorry, I got distracted for a second…” Dean then moved his hand to Cas’ inner thigh, rubbing gentle circles that made Cas stifle a whine that left Dean squirming just as much. “You really feel it like I do, don’t you? I never…I thought you wouldn’t want it…want this...as much, being an Angel and all.”
Castiel studied her face and followed her logic, finishing her thought. “As opposed to living in Heaven?”
do this…but that was him still thinking like he used to. He’d had to talk himself out of embarrassing himself with Cas so many times when he was alive. So many times he’d almost, wanted to, thought about it, almost said the words…but never let himself go that far for fear of Cas not feeling the same, and fear of what those closest to him might think…but that was behind them. The times of miscommunication and fear were over…so why did Dean feel so
“Not alone you’re not,” Dean said, all but forgetting his family waiting impatiently in the other room. Castiel gave him a look that he was sure many a demon had seen right before they died. He cleared this throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “What I meant to say was, I’m sure we could all use some breakfast. We could come with you.”
“Oh, you know I never agreed with it, but you and I both knew it was temporary. She always was a bit too much…” Dean raised an eyebrow at his understatement as he lifted the back of Cas’ shirt to confirm the tracking sigil was gone. Castiel looked over his shoulder and Dean nodded as he let his shirt fall back into place. “Now, for the slightly trickier part…” Chuck cracked his knuckles and looked around him. “Now might be a good time to mention I’ve never actually removed Grace before…”
Mary sighed as she laid her towel on the sink vanity and crossed her arms over her flannel. “I still can’t believe that witch had Angel proofing. Damned inconvenient to have such a useful tool like an Angel in your arsenal and not be able to use it.”
Castiel chuckled and Dean felt it vibrate down to his core. He groaned like he’d been punched then felt Cas’ finger sliding into him. The sensation was a relatively new one for him, though he teased himself this way in the shower sometimes when he was alone. He froze, fear creeping in, when Castiel slid his finger tip inside, feeling for that nub, that special place inside of him. Oh…oh there it was. Dean cried out as Castiel flicked across it while continuing to blow him with his surprisingly talented mouth. It wasn’t going to take much to push him over the edge but Castiel was damn well going to do it. His body was alternating thrusting forward into that hot mouth and riding back on the finger that was bringing him white hot pleasure. Shit, how did he even know how to do this?
“Sam, Cas and Dean aren’t in the roo-“ Mary began as she opened the door but Jody and Claire were already there waiting.
“That is a correct statement,” Aberia mumbled as she stumbled back, gasping for breath as another Angel slid a chair under her. She sagged against the back of the chair, her face pale.
Castiel was thankful they’d installed an alarm system that didn’t require a key. Just a fingerprint and a code. To be fair, he’d still had to wipe his bloodied hands on his shirt before it would accept it, but at least he didn’t have to worry about picking a lock. He stumbled down the stairs alone, his wings dragging behind him, too damaged to be put away in the other plane, and his grace too low to even attempt to heal them. He winced as one of the feathers, bent out of shape, snagged on one of the stairs.
Cas raised an eyebrow and walked closer to him, peering into the duffel with concern. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time for me, but why?”
“This is all very interesting, but shouldn’t we be focused on healing the commander in case of such circumstances? We’ve all rested. We need to continue…” the small statured angel looked at the humans and gestured for them to leave.
‘I’m sure we’ll all stumble into somewhere soft to sleep when we’re ready,” Donna added as she took a sip from her cup.
“What? You’re driving me crazy. What is it?” Dean said loudly as he dropped his fork on his now empty plate, the clatter sounding thunderous in the silence. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to Dean then. Most had been oblivious to Aberia’s scrutinous stare.
“Well, I had to know you would come. We both know Heaven isn’t your priority, now is it? Some of us still believe in serving our true purpose,” Naomi said with disdain evident in her tone, her hands clasped in front of her.
Dean let out a breath and put an arm behind his head to prop himself up slightly. “That’s not what my dad thought. He thought relationships were distractions. He said we needed to be focused on the work.”
Dean saw his frown and dropped his hands, laughing harder than he had in years. “It fucking is! This is all so goddamn ridiculous. You, with your blue eyes and your hair and you stupid tie and your fucking perfect things you say and this house and sacrificing yourself to save me only for me to get fucking impaled in a vamp fight, and being kind of okay with going because I hoped I’d see your stupid, goddamn OBLIVIOUS face again and after everything, after all of that, I can’t fucking SAY IT!” Cas tilted his head in confusion and Dean stormed over and pressed both his palms to Cas’ face. “You said I didn’t need walls to protect me anymore, right?”
“No…you all have a right to know…” Castiel said as he studied his wounds and looked around the corner. He stopped and turned to the assemblage. “If you leave with me, you may very well not be allowed to return. What Naomi said was true…but everything I did was to protect all the people of Earth…not just the Winchesters. The Angels wanted to start the apocalypse early because they were tired of running Heaven with nothing else to do…It was selfish, short sighted, and they were working in tandem with Hell to make it happen. My Winchesters were pawns in their game…and Dean made me see what they were doing was wrong. I did things I regret…but I did them for the right reasons. The humans…they don’t deserve to suffer because of us. They suffer enough for what they do to each other…Now, I know the way to the portal. None of you need return with me. Heaven is going to need you in the aftermath of this..." Cas made the effort to grasp Debriel's hand in a gesture of thanks and attempted to turn to head away on his own but he stumbled, his ragged wings leaving an obvious trail of blood behind him with every painful step.
Dean pushed away from the door and scooped up the discarded sheet, tossing it haphazardly onto the bed they'd left a wreck from the night before. “The kid seems to be pretty good at deescalating things. It seems to be hard for anyone not to like him,” Dean added with a laugh as he went to his dresser to pull out a soft, heather grey Henley. He pulled it over his head with his back to Cas. After he tugged on the hem to let it sit just so, he leaned against the dresser, glancing in the mirror it held. His fingers bit into the wood as Castiel stared into his reflection. Dean’s eyes flitted away to study the ancient dresser top’s lightly marred surface, the scratches and dents proof of years of use before their arrival. Dean sighed and screwed his eyes shut, willing the words out that he didn't want to say. “Look, we both know you have to leave today. There’s no sense getting yourself in deeper by making Aberia pissed.”
“The commander will be angry you’ve removed your helmet…” spoke the other Angel loud enough for Dean to hear. He was peering around the cream and gold feathers, trying desperately to see the battle.
“Bossy...” Dean said as he licked his lips again before kissing the head of Cas’ cock. He slid the tip into his mouth and slowly worked his way to make it spit slick, holding Cas’ trembling thighs apart with his broad hands and stealing glances up to make sure they weren’t about to be covered in shattered glass. Cas had his fist held up to his lips and was biting down on his knuckle, and Dean felt his own dick jump at the sight, laying swollen and sensitive between his legs, pressed against the mattress. He slowly worked to bottom out, feeling Cas’ cock fill his throat and he breathed slowly through his nose, working through his gag reflex. He heard Cas swear under his breath as he deepthroated him and his brain went fuzzy as it always did when he drug such filthy noises out of his Angel. His Angel, he thought with rabid possession as he slid up and back down quickly before pulling off and nipping at Cas’ thighs. He felt Cas grip his hair tight enough that he gasped out in combined pleasure and pain before Cas pushed him back down, making Dean’s brain fuzz up again as he did as Cas was asking and took him back in his mouth. God, he loved when he got forceful about what felt good to him. It had been a rocky road to that, and Dean still found it so sexy when he could wrestle out of Cas what made him feel good….and this, this was his favorite.
“Dean! Took you long enough!” came the combined voices of Ellen and Jo and Dean was swamped in a hug from Ash as he came from beside him.
Dean smiled but quickly scrubbed his face with his palm and it was gone when he dropped it. “Don’t worry about that. So, did you pick up what she was putting down?”
And Castiel and Dean knew none of it as they lay together, lost only in the freedom of loving one another. Despite them all.
As they headed to the grocery store, Cas glanced at Sam’s neatly written grocery list with curiosity. “This is a very long list. How long is Eileen staying?”
“You really didn’t think the idea of you in bed with me every morning would get to me? That’s the one thing that I’ve been denied and wanted so, very badly for so very long…” Castiel murmured out against the skin of Dean’s collarbone as he pulled the neckline aside before frustratedly pulling it above Dean’s head. He frowned when Dean pulled away, until Dean grabbed him by the waistband and pulled him toward the bedroom, walking backwards.
“The Hell you can’t. A year, Cas!” Dean hissed out. Cas heard Mary and Bobby coming and knew his time would be up sooner than he’d like with nothing to show for it, other than Dean being alive of course. He threw his hand over Dean’s mouth and pushed him against the tree again.
phone began to ring now, but where he’d left it, safely on the passenger seat to avoid awkward butt dials, it was now muffled by Cas’ coat and the sound was lost to the squeak of the leather and Dean’s pleasured groans. “Mm, nhh, faster Angel. Yeah, ohh fuck.” Cas gripped the side of his pants and tugged with his inhuman strength, leaving them around his thighs, giving him more room to move his stroking hand before he move his free hand to take a grip on Dean's asscheek through his underwear.
“We do not want to shed anyone’s blood, except yours. Young ones,” Naomi turned her gaze to the other Angels behind Castiel now. “Please. Do not let him lead you to your deaths as he has done so many others. You can still walk away from this. From him.” She turned her eyes to meet those she spoke to but none of them budged as their faces remained devoid of emotion. Naomi waited a moment, expecting some movement from someone, but seeing none, she huffed and her jaw flexed in irritation. “Fine. Have it your way…” She held her arm up and the Angels around her gripped their angel blades more tightly. The Angels surrounding Castiel followed a similar motion and Cas stepped one step closer to Dean subconsciously.
Sam sat a moment, thinking to himself before bringing up something he knew Dean would not want to discuss. “So, Jack can still hear Angel Radio…do you think his powers are coming back a little or he’s using the soul magic to...”
“A gunshot wound to the stomach never could keep me down for long. I'm just sorry it took all my Grace to heal it for a while,” Cas said softly as he ran his thumb over Dean’s bottom lip before Dean grabbed his wrist and slid his thumb into his warm, wet mouth. Cas laid his head back and watched him through possessive, heavy-lidded eyes as he sucked his thumb like it was a very different part of his anatomy. “If you really want something in your mouth, Dean, I have a much better idea…”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait another breath. I’ve missed you. It’s been so long…. I….If you’ve changed your mind…” Cas began, insecurity finally seeping in as he went to put a bit of distance between them.
“Look, Sam, I get why you’re concerned. It is really open-ended when Cas can come back, but it’s what I’ve got to hold onto right now, and I’m going to take it. Yeah, it might disappoint me in the end. I’m not stupid, but it’s what I’ve got, and I’m willing to take that risk.” The room was silent a moment while Sam truly absorbed Dean’s words.
Dean slid him out of his mouth, gave an apologetic smile and turned toward the night stand that he’d left his phone on. He glanced down at the familiar number. “Jack? Everything okay?” Castiel tensed behind him, waiting for news. He watched Dean’s shoulders relax and without hearing the other end of the conversation he knew everything was okay. He stretched out his legs and leaned back on the pillows behind him, admiring the view of Dean lying on his stomach with the phone cradled to his ear. “Okay, get a piece of paper and I’ll give you all the streaming passwords. Never delete site data unless you know all your passwords….and I’m not gonna ask who was looking at what to delete all the cookies and history. Just not on my laptop, kid.”
He stormed toward the door and Mary followed at his heels, refusing to let him go in alone. She reached for the knob, but Dean reared back and kicked the door in, all subtlety be damned. There was a lone light illuminating the ramshackle cabin. It buzzed in protest as a moth batted against it’s dimming light. The room was quiet. Mary stood back to back with Dean as they turned in a circle. Suddenly out of the darkness, a humanoid shape swooped in, its pearlescent white teeth shining in the darkness. It’s mouth unhinged in a twisted smile, revealing rows and rows of teeth.
Dean had passed out an hour ago. He had fought it as long as he could, and Castiel had assured him it would be fine to just go to sleep, but he knew their time was limited. After they’d made love they’d whispered softly into the very early morning hours. Dean’s head rested on Cas’ left arm and Cas’ free arm was thrown over Dean’s side, slowly drifting up and down his back with his fingertips. Castiel could not remember ever being this content and relaxed. It didn’t matter, though. In all too soon a time, he’d have to leave. He stared at Dean’s restful face, enjoying seeing the hard lines of his face fall away in sleep. Cas had thrown the sheet over them both as best he could, but it was bunched up around their waists, tucked and twisted in the jumble of their limbs. He laid there listening to Dean breath, feeling his heart beating steady and sure, until he lost track of time. His mind was all but shut down to everything except the sound of Dean.
“Oh, those are just stories,” she said as she crossed her arms across her metal clad chest clumsily.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, a smile coming to his lips despite the annoyance visible in his eyes. Dean quickly closed the space between them and wrapped him in a hard hug that Cas slowly brought his arms up to reciprocate. Dean could feel the hesitance in his touch and nervousness pooled in his gut again.
one answered?” Jody asked in genuine concern now. “Come on. Let’s see if the car is here. If it’s gone, maybe they-“
Dean shrugged and smiled apologetically. “Oh, uh, mom doesn’t know. About any of it. Cas, or the almost dying part. Anyway, …he said there is something happening in Heaven and he may be able to come home someday…”Dean mumbled toward the end, realizing how open-ended and vague it seemed when he said it out loud.
DeN leaned in a tired, happy smile on his face. “Wasn’t just me, but you’re welcome. You deserve it. Hey, wait. I’ll be right back," and like that Dean was shuffling back to the War Room.
Again, silence filled the car but this time it felt different. Cas had laid his sexuality out for Dean to reject…and he hadn’t. He’d been overwhelmingly accepting…and admitted he was attracted to men too…The atmosphere in the car was interesting as they made their way back to the bunker.
“I understand. I am very glad to see you too, all of you. This has been a wonderful evening. I….I wish I did not have to go back.” Castiel looked around him and he reveled in the familiarity, the family. He couldn’t express how it felt to be able to put his metaphorical and physical armor down and just be himself.
Immediately, Castiel tried to shut down the worry and emotion obviously painted on his face, trying to find the right balance in the moment. He cleared his throat unnecessarily as he braced for Dean's reaction. “I’m not wearing the chest piece today, Dean. You are.”
“I’m doing my job, like everyone else,” Dean said with a tone that implied he’d repeated this line numerous times.
“You did good, Cas…” Dean said with emotion in his voice as he hit his knuckles on one of the tables and brushed his sleeve across his eyes. Why did he keep almost crying today? “You really did. You and Jack.”
“Try me. You trust me?” Dean's hand brushed Cas' as they say so closely together and Cas glanced down at the sensation.
“That is a weird compliment, but I’ll take it. Okay…so now my entire family knows we did…” Dean gestured between himself and Cas, unable to say the words but knowing he would understand. “Except maybe Jack. Not it on that conversation, by the way.”
“You’re sure it’s a demon?” Mary asked as they spoke outside the warehouse. The towering building with it's cracked and boarded up windows cast an eerie shadow over the group.
Naomi lowered her voice barely above a whisper. “Castiel, you realize if your wings continue to heal, you will be the only Angel left with the ability to fly…. That would make you almost as powerful as me….”
Dean found himself an active participant, moving with every thrust. He surprised himself by moving to deepen the thrusts. He wanted deeper, closer, faster. He’d been unsurprised that he’d enjoyed doing this to Cas. He’d always enjoyed sex, but he’d been unsure if he could do this. It wasn’t some macho thing. He’d simply worried he wouldn’t like it. Oh, how wrong he’d been. There was a small bit of pain along with it, but that apparently wasn’t a problem. His brain swirled with pleasure and pain as Cas was a comforting pressure at his back. He’d never had sex this way. This was far too intimate for one-night stands. This was almost too intimate for him now. Cas could feel every tremor, his racing heart, his deep moans unable to be hidden when his mouth was against his partner’s ear. This felt almost worshipful and he damn well didn’t deserve it. As if Cas could hear him, he held him more tightly against him, changing the movement to longer, smooth strokes and he kissed his sweat dewed neck. Dean hooked his leg behind Cas’, leaving Cas' left hand free to grip his dick. He could feel himself getting closer to his own orgasm and he stroked him to get him there as well. He moaned loudly again when Dean grinded against him with enthusiasm in response.
“I know, Dean. I get it,” Castiel sat down beside him, trying to pretend Chuck wasn’t there. “I’ve never gotten to choose this, and you weren’t there the last time.” Castiel held up his hand as Dean began to argue. “I told you before I understood why you kicked me out, Dean. You do not have to continue to defend it, but I have a right to say that it hurt me. Your family is all that I have should I choose this, and that is terrifying to me after last time. I could choose the Heaven option, spend the rest of eternity training Angels and serving as the head of the Angelic forces, quell demonic uprisings, fight Heavenly battles…I did it for centuries, millenia. But I was never, not once genuinely happy until I met you. Naomi stated many times I never truly did as I was told. I never truly fit in. I never truly belonged there…. but living on Earth as an Angel, I still don’t truly belong. I am not fully committed to any one life, and this could all be taken away from me if another group of Angels takes over and decides that all Angels remaining on Earth must return to Heaven…I would never truly be free. Ever….” Dean sighed and shyly picked up Cas’ hand. Castiel squeezed it and continued. “If I am lucky enough to spend the rest of my days hunting on Earth as a human…that is the most freedom I will ever have had. Think…no more Angel Radio...no one able to track me by my Grace….”
“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She said with a small smile on her face. Castiel could see the satisfaction behind her eyes. She liked to cause pain. “Now I’m afraid the tracking sigil itself will be a bit more uncomfortable. Duma, remove his coat please.”
“You might be right,” Dean said softly before his eyes lit on the stack of presents. “Did you ever look in your journal?” He was already up and grabbing it before Cas could answer in the negative. “I didn’t want to be sappy in front of everyone.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long, Jack. I never wanted this….” Cas said soothingly before Jack released him from the hug. “Let me take you all home. You are quite a way form the bunker. My way Is much faster….”
Dean and the others have another interesting hunt and begin to notice a disturbing trend, while Castiel finds a way to reach out.
With Angels back in the picture, the WInchesters find themselves with little to do. Meanwhile, Cas waits for Naomi's next inevitable move.
“The as of yet unfinished basement. It has what I would describe as an obscenely large television, surround sound, a mini bar, a Foosball table and all the streaming networks. You can’t imagine how happy everyone was when we got Netflix.” Dean shook his head at the absurdity of it all and smiled as he navigated the open floor plan to walk into the kitchen.
"Oh no, Dean. My motives are purely selfish," Cas growled out as he leaned down and kissed his stomach, looking up at him with renewed hunger.
“They’re missing?” Jody said immediately as she picked up on Mary’s words, checking herself for her gun even before getting confirmation.
Cas went to take a step forward but Dean laid a steady hand on his shoulder, holding him back without strain. Cas ruffled his feathers and leveled a heavy gaze on the offending Angel. “Then I will add you to the lengthy list of Angels I killed who also refused to take their drama off this planet.”
business. Here, and your receipt. Thank you, and sorry if I put him in a mood. Let him know I really was only joking, not flirting.”
They were surrounded by old oak trees on a small dirt path. The weather was perfect, warm with a soft breeze making the dandelions he saw blow softly. He could hear bird song and the occasional soft buzz of a non-blood sucking insect nearby. He looked around him more and there were what appeared to be fruit trees on his left, heavy with picture perfect apples and pears, and a structure, a house, could be viewed in the gap of tree down the road.
Castiel and Aberia stared one another down for what felt like eternity but was more like twenty seconds, until Jack suddenly walked up the stairs with purpose. Castiel turned his head to speak but Jack stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, smiling in such a charming way as to stop two Angels from arguing.
Castiel’s face was a mass of conflicted emotion and it made Dean feel as if he had swallowed a stone and it was settled deep in his gut. “I would want nothing more than to spend some alone time with you Dean..”
“Being condemned to Earth, living as neither truly human nor truly Angel, never feeling the freedom to fly when one has touched the stars themselves, my true form confined to this small, limited body, being denied human pleasures while feeling the want of those experiences…tell me, what else would one call such a life, other than Hell?”
“Wait…” Dean looked back at the bar and frowned. “Wait. This is…You made this for me? This is mine?”
“But it’s for science, Cas,” Dean said with a smile as he moved his mouth to his neck. “Got to find all the sensitive spots you’ve been hiding from me when you were an Angel.” Cas exposed his neck to Dean’s soft lips and murmured words in Enochian Dean was fairly sure were swear words. He was prepared to make him say a lot more but as he was kissing along his neck, Castiel yawned into the pillow. Dean froze, feeling only mildly insulted.
Dean forgot what he’d been so flustered about and nodded solemnly. “I will. I mean…this won’t be forever, right?” Dean looked up at Naomi then, panic suddenly in his eyes. “It won’t will it?”
“And if what that one in there said was true, we’re going to be dealing with a lot more of them in the days to come…” Mary added in the back. She cared for Castiel but she knew the moment before was for the boys.
Mary knocked on the hotel room door. Nothing. She knocked again, louder, as her impatience and nervous energy manifested. Speaking through the door, she let her voice carry. “Dean. Castiel. It’s me. I was checking on you since it’s been a minute…” Still nothing. She pressed her ear to the door and silence was her only answer. She hummed in question and picked up her phone. Still no responses from her text message from five minutes ago. “Where the
Dean shook his head, lowering his body onto Cas. “If we do this and you don’t come back home again..”
“I’m an Angel, you idiot. Bullets don’t hurt me,” Naomi said with a smug smile as she wrenched Dean's arm again.
“If Handriel has something to say, she has my permission to say it,” Castiel said as he raised an eyebrow calmly but the other Angels in the room took a step back, sensing the false calm by the set of his wings and the timbre of his voice. The growl all but made the room itself tremble. No one would ever know he agreed with Handriel...in his own way. She saw the humans as weak, and in that she was wrong. However, he was sure Dean at least would be targeted quickly. His mind raced with every possible way this day could go wrong, even as he stood defending his family being here...even while he wanted them nowhere near the battle when it began. Emotions were a complicated matter.
"What's her deal?" Dean turned to ask as they watched her go to Kaia and whisper in her air. Kaia looked over at them and shook her head before Claire leaned over and kissed her cheek and slid a hand around her waist and pulled her to sit down.
“Your face tells me you have a few ideas…but really, is that a good idea right now?" Dean crouched as he watched the water fill the hot tub quickly and he looked back to Cas...who looked positively heartbroken. Dean quickly shut off the water and stood, wrapping him in his arms immediately. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just meant you're already sore and super overstimulated..." Dean murmured softly in his ear as Cas stood somewhat stiffly, his chin dug into his shoulder.
Dean huffed and crossed his arms as he leaned back in the chair he’d pulled to the side of the bed. “Then continue on. I’m not stopping you…”
“Where did Dean and Castiel go?” Mary asked as she came out of the shower donning fresh clothes and scrubbing her damp hair with the hotel towel.
“They’re having all the fun,” sulked Aberia and Dean almost felt sorry for her. She was pouting like a teenager not allowed to go out on Friday night. By this time, the two Angels were so enamored with watching the battle that Sam, Jack, and Mary had wormed their way up to join Dean in watching.
“That is one of the easier questions I can answer. I never fell, not in the same way the rest of the Angels did when Metatron’s spell was enacted. I was essentially human when the Angels fell, so I had no wings to be destroyed. When I received my Grace back, my wings were restored, but damaged beyond use due to Metatron’s mistreatment of my grace for his spell, and the fact that there was so little of it remaining.”
"How am I suddenly the responsible one?" Dean said with an attempt at humor even as he felt his argument running dry in his throat. When Cas mashed their mouths together, messy and desperate, he caved completely. He slid his hands possessively along the curve of Cas' ass and felt a desperation of his own growing. He nipped at his ear and Cas’ knees almost went out from under him. Dean quickly caught him and walked him over to the bed, even as Cas apologized. “Sorry…I’m easily overwhelmed right now…Maybe you’re right that it’s not the best idea…” Cas was breathless, his pupils blown to comical proportions...and all Dean could think in the moment was that he wanted to claim this soft human Cas as his. His only. It was very primitive thinking, but his brain was sharing blood with another part of his anatomy and he couldn't help it. That was his story and he was sticking to it.
Dean laid the menu down on the dresser to his left and toed off his shoes. “Nah, let’s get unpacked first. I’m still good from the snack stop we had when we got gas. Sam dragged my ass out of bed so early, I might just like to watch some tv for a bit….unless you want to go do something? I don’t want you to be bored.”
Dean grinned and felt his face redden. “Almost as much” You sweet talker you…” he wrapped the tie around his fist and pulled Castiel in for a kiss. It was soft and hesitant at first, their lips trying to remember their last stolen moment. Cas rutted up against Dean, his hands sliding up his back, and Dean groaned. “You really do like a good battle, don’t you? Duly noted…” He nipped at Castiel’s neck, which made the Angel dig his nails into the small of Dean’s back and the kiss became one of desperation and urgency. Cas’ hand slid up to cup the base of Dean’s head, his fingers sliding through his hair.
It wasn’t an hour later that Dean, Sam, and Jack were in the Impala, the windows down and wind whistling past them as they hit the highway. Jack sat in Cas’ typical spot in the middle of the backseat, which put a small pang in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He loved Jack, but he felt like they’d just moved on to a different Angel. Of course, he knew that wasn’t true, more so for him than anyone else, but it didn’t feel right.
"We gotta make time for that later," Dean groaned out. "A handy doesn't compare to-ahh, ah," Dean moaned as Cas changed his grip and slipped a finger down to fondle him lower.
“Love you too,” Dean said, his voice shaking only slightly. The intimacy made him shudder and he buried his face in Cas’ shoulder, sighing as Cas ran his hand along his spine. He rolled to the side, bringing him with him as he found his lips. Dean lazily ran his hand along the length of him, smiling as he felt him shudder under his fingertips again. He softly parted Cas’ lips with his, running his tongue along his lower lip, coaxing Cas’ tongue to play with his own. It was definitely different than it was earlier. Cas was softer, more pliable in his hands. His body responded with more earnestness and he felt warmer under his touch. These were not bad things, only observations as he and Cas lazily made out, hands softly roaming across any bare skin they could reach, under shirts, dipping into waist bands. The pace was unhurried, simply enjoying the closeness now. Dean found Castiel to be much more responsive to his touches, which he took full advantage of as he once again nipped Cas’ earlobe between his teeth, making Cas’ groan loudly into his mouth.
Aberia nodded slowly in understanding, her dark hair hiding the confusion and turmoil in her eyes. “Are we just going to leave her here?”
Cas looked down at him, a happiness behind his eyes. No more hiding. “You threw your back out two weeks ago and I had to heal it before you could sit up, Dean. There’s something to be said for a bed.”
“What’s that smell?” Cas said as he put a hand on his side reflexively as he stood behind him. Dean was momentarily distracted as he took in the soft familiarity of such a simple gesture...something they'd been denied for so long...He cleared his throat of emotion as he glanced back at him. | [
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Two weeks, that's how long Steve and Tony had been in their honeymoon phase; two weeks since they flow to one of the Stark/Carbonell family villas and homes in Italy to enjoy themselves before returning to their life back in the USA. Two weeks the mated couple spent their time together, getting to know the other intimately in bed, gasping and moaning and sharing pleasure and happiness at the thought of finally being together and alone to enjoy their time while being uninterrupted.
"We are here…" Tony said which made the Omega hum at that and look at the hospital in front of him, sighing as he unclasps his seatbelt and gets out of the car, opening the backseat for his pup and smiling when the pup's sparkling eyes fell on him, the three of them walked toward the receptionist where the woman looked at them, smiling happily when Tony asked about Anna's whereabouts, dragging Peter and Steve with him when they were done.
But Steve never came back, he never returned and Anthony hated the desperation he felt every day that passed, when he was interviewed one day, he hoped against all hope that Steve will come back when he saw the changing man he becomes, when the woman interviewed him and called him Anthony, something in him snapped, he didn't want to be called by that name, because it made his Omega run away from him, so what use it was? Maybe choosing another name will bring Steve back. So he told the woman to call him "Tony" Anthony became Tony Stark that day, Tony Stark was a billionaire, playboy, genius. Tony Stark was superior, he was the king, he was everything that Anthony was not, and the most important, he wasn't weak…
Tony then went to the messages icon and pause a little, what was he going to write? He doesn't know his location, though he suspects it was under Stane's house, but that was just a suspicion, the man could have changed his house or he was in a fucking cabin in the woods for all he knows! After a little pause, his eyes light up, of course! How did he forget! The only sentence that was Tony and Aunt Peggy's secret! When she read it she will know who he was and she will make Shield track the message!
“Where are Steve and Peter, aren’t they coming?” Pepper asked after she stood up and hugged Tony tightly before letting go and pulling Megan from Tony’s leg, getting a grateful look from the Omega, who could finally walk freely without fear of hurting the children. “I don’t see them.” Pepper pouted causing Tony to let out a soft chuckle, everyone knows about Pepper’s puppy crush on Steve, something that everyone including Happy always teases her about.
"Oh look, Megan, there is Pepper," Tony said with a smile, letting Megan go after she screamed in joy and run toward her mother. "Hey Pep." Tony greets his friend hugging her when he reached the woman, making her hold into him tightly.
Maria wondered if she can have the courage to get out of the car, she wondered if she could go toward the house and knock on the door and introduce herself to her grandchild and Tony's Omega, but every time she put her hand on the car handle to open the door she freezes in her place not knowing what to do… secretly she was thanking to Happy, for the Beta didn't rush her or do anything of that sort, he was just waiting for her to decide on her own… the house's door was opened, and an Omega got out which made the pup look at the Omega and stand up when the Omega told him something, rushing toward the house, while the Omega was still outside, it made Maria's breath hitch a little especially when the Omega looked at her from his place, she didn't know what to do, frozen in her place with the Omega's icy stare, but then the Omega turns away from her and returned to the house which made Maria sigh in disappointment.
"And what? Let Tony destroy his life by shackling himself to Rogers? Bucky is alive Steven and as soon as Rogers knows that he will not only break Tony's heart he will destroy him! Who was the fucker who gave Tony the idea of courting that… that…. Ah!" Peggy let out a frustrated scream, which made Steven sigh at that and tilts his head at the woman, with a frown.
The hand running through his hair though made him scrunch his nose because something was weird; for one, Tony was sure that no one was in the same room as him, it was just Tony and Steve, everyone else left them alone, the Avengers on a mission to catch Hydra, and his mother and the Jarvis family to watch over his son. For another, Howard informed them all that Steve may be in a coma, and it's unknown when he will wake up.
At his father's words, Tony laughed which made Howard frown deeply. "Well, unfortunately, father, this is me, sorry to disappoint." Tony spate as he opens the seatbelt and got out of the car ignoring his father's calls as he continued his way to his home on foot…
"Who… who are you?" Steve ended up whispering, not knowing how to act around the woman that clearly seemed to know him, while Steve on the other hand can't even place where he saw her or if he even knew her. At his words, the woman's face fell, and a sob left her, the distress she was emitting was causing the baby in her arms to let out discomfort noises which made Steve's attention zone to the baby immediately.
"I forced myself to fall out of love." Sara ends up saying after a while which made him give a mocking smile knowing that this was nearly impossible. "It hurt, yes, it may seem impossible, but it is possible, you just need time, time to heal, and that could only happen if you stop gazing at Midgard, set your sight on something higher that won't perish, you won't gain the same heartbreak." Sara said gently as she turns his face to Asgard, kissing his forehead before she floats away. It made him laugh, at how easily she said those words, it made him angry and sad and so many other things, but the thing is he couldn't, wouldn't!
"You cannot change everything though, for sooner or later you will have to face the consequences of your choice." Loki said as he picked up his book from where he left it on the table. "Was it worth it though? Being forced to be frozen in time, unchangeable, while everyone else ages and dies off, was it worth it seeing your husband die, in a few short decades when you could have had centuries here with him?" Loki asked curiously as he opened his book once more, looking at Steven.
Steve had been hard at work since eight in the morning it was reaching the stroke of twelve and Steve was happy with his progress he had mopped the floors and cleaned the kitchen along with dusting and changing all the sheets and curtains. Steve doesn't want to brag but he could see his reflection on the floors after he was done with them, and now all that was left was vacuuming the upstairs carpet and the restrooms.
"About what?" Tony asked, deciding to fuck it and take one of the tubs in front of him, his hand going automatically to the blueberry ice cream tub; so what if Tony got poisoned and died? So what if he didn't get to witness his thirty-sixth birthday? It's not like it matter, at least Tony will be able to run away from the unwanted marriage he was trapped in. Tony opened the ice-cream tub, thanking Serpentine when she gave him a spoon and he started digging in earnest in his ice cream hoping to get poisoned and fast at that.
"Something wrong?" Bucky asked with worry shining in his eyes, which caused Steve to shake his head and turn the table on their conversation, getting back to it while ignoring his phone that was buzzing like crazy, serve his Alpha right for ignoring him and their baby on the most important day in their life, after all, how many times was someone going to be a parent for the first time?
Tony sat on the floor for what could have been hours; he sat on the floor and take in the perfectly clean room with empty eyes, wondering where were the blood and the broken furniture that was here not a few hours ago. Part of Tony was wondering if he finally lost his mind, if what he saw last night was nothing but his imagination, throwing him into a nightmare with no way out. Another part, the one that was going through his interaction with Bucky and Peggy pointed out that Tony was clearly the insane one in all of this, even more, insane than the town and their monster in the lake. Since getting to the living room after catching up to him, not once did Bucky and Peggy showed an expression that informed Tony about them seeing the destroyed living room. The two of them moved as they would normally do in his house, no fear of blood, no sidestepping furniture, no wide eyes at the insanity that was in his house… nothing.
Reaching Peter's room, Tony let out a hum when he finally managed to put Harley in bed ruffling the boy's hair before he went to Peter's closet looking through it before he finally took out soft pajamas with cars all over it, returning to Harley's side shortly after. Changing Harley's clothes while the boy slept was difficult, especially when the boy kept grumbling and moving around; in the end, Tony managed to do it and change Harley's dirty clothes with the clean ones, having practiced on Peter for two years to gain this skill. Tony though couldn't stop smiling when Harley let out a happy purr before he turned around and snuggle into the pillow. The sight made Tony's heart give a pang, to think that the small boy who made a place for himself in the Rogers family would run away; just the thought alone broke Tony's heart; especially when the boy didn't even think of contacting them.
"Why thank you for having so little faith in me, Tony." Steve answered in a sarcastic tone, giving Tony a mocking glare, causing the man to laugh nervously. "You know, I have been alive for nearly three thousand years, I saw things that your stomachs can't handle, even being the heroes that you are, and you think that a horror movie will put me off?" All of the Avengers' eyes were wide as they gazed at Steve who was pouting, looking toward Thor, the quilty look on his face informed everyone that Thor informed Steve of the first time he watched a movie.
Howard could only gaze at his son; his son that looks the happiest that Howard saw, his son that Howard was sure the last time he smiled like that was when he was pregnant. Howard's eyes could only take Tony in; gazing at how happy and at ease he was, listening to him humming whatever song that was on the radio this morning with a skip in his steps. The smell of the delicious breakfast filled the kitchen, causing Howard to blink his eyes when he was thrown back into an old memory; an old memory just like this, with Howard sitting on the dining table with his newspaper and coffee, Maria standing over the stove just like Tony was, humming happily as she twirled around while preparing whatever Italian dish that she fancy that day, Jarvis as always, was shaking his head at the mess, but the smile refused to leave his face as he cleaned the dishes that Maria caused with her spontaneous cooking, and Tony, small, not older than five years being a ball of energy, does nothing but rush toward Maria and hold her tightly as he called her Mama with the biggest smile a five years old can have.
/Warning/: This Chapter contains, cursing, sadness, fluff, horror elements, poor Tony, and finally, the baby is here! All reviews are appreciated.
The man stopped knocking, and Steve had to hold his shiver at the cold look he was at the end of, Steve slowly inched his hand toward the bat behind the door, hoping that it won't come to it. "Are you Steven Rogers?" The older man asked making Steve press his lip into a thin line nodding his head after a while. "I am Anthony's father; I came to take to you about an urgent matter." The older man said making Steve nearly stop in his chest for a second as different scenarios start going off inside of Steve's mind.
"His name is Anthony Carbonell." The small pup said which brought Maria's attention to the pup, heart dropping at the last name Anthony choose because she wondered if the pup will ever consider Tony as his father when the pup looked at the picture in her hands with happiness and pride. "Mommy said he is the best inventor in the world, Mommy said he is even smarter than Tony Stark himself!" The pup said making Maria take a deep breath at that, it seems that her fear was true in the end, the pup will never recognize his father 'Tony Stark' as anything but a celebrity on the news. "Mommy also said that Wakanda, a place in South Africa asked for his help, so he is there right now he will return home after he is done working there." The small child chattered happily, making Maria clench the frame a little tight in her hands, but she smiled at the pup who was talking animatedly with all of his body just like Tony when he was excited, something she hasn't seen for over a decade now… she cursed Howard to hell and back even as she held her tears and sobs by sheer will so to not scare the pup who was talking happily about his father and the stories the pup's mother told him… she wondered if Tony can really undo the damage that Howard has done…
His body that was full of scars and bruises and pain, his body that sometimes hurt him when it moves, his body's that had scars mapping his life, was new as a porcelain doll. Gone the huge scare that covered his whole chest, thanks to a car accident when he was ten, that day he got kidnaped by someone, and the car crashed, he remembered how he thought he was going to die, he remembered the fear he felt. Gone his bad knee that hurt every time it became cold outside; the bad knee was thanks to his father getting angry at him when he was thirteen, he doesn't remember what he did that day, but Tony remembered how his father took the closest metal pipe to him and hit him on his leg as a lesson, he remembered crying all night that day, his father didn't even take him to the hospital. Gone most of his childhood scars that was either caused by his father throwing something at him when he was angry or drunk, or the scares that were because of Tony hurting himself when he tried to invent something that will make his father's proud… everything was gone… Everything was gone, but not the memories of it, never the memories of it.
/Warning/: This chapter contains, cursing, sadness, feelings, a little bit of fluff, crying! And who knows what! All reviews are appreciated.
So here Tony was, checking himself in the mirror, trying to see if he forgot something (Well, he was mainly trying to see if the suit he was showing his butt in a better light, making it perky and irresistible) the suit, unsurprisingly was all black; looking closely, anyone can confirm that the suit Tony was wearing was more suited for a funeral than a wedding. Who was Tony kidding though? The Addams family had always had a strange sense of fashion and love for the color black; the only color Tony has on his person was the red tie, which resembles the color of blood closely. If Tony had to say, he would swear that Serpentine dipped this tie in blood before forcing Tony to wear it; not that Tony was complaining, especially when his butt was looking great.
In the end, Steve was able to get all the information he wanted from Natalia, with the promise of her gaining his protection from the Red Room and Hydra… he was sure he gain the teen's respect that day… if he thought that the teen was a fierce redhead Alpha? No one needs to know… with Natalia's help who wanted to be named Natasha… a name she heard Steve loved…?! They were able to know every Hydra sleeping agent that hid in Shield and the American government… they were able to take them out slowly, without drawing someone's attention to what they were doing…
The creature blinked his eyes and got closer to the boy, as close as he has the first time he went to see the person who dared to live in his house after years. The creature let out a loud chirp this time, puffs of breath leaving him, causing a cloud of white to leave his lips; the creature was planning on waking the boy up, which the creature knows will end up with screaming and pleading and crying. To the creature surprise though, the boy did not wake up, he just shivers and curled on himself rocking the boat with him, but not waking up.
, Clint was sitting in front of her snapping his fingers, trying to snap her out of the trance she was in or stop her whimpering… which was a feat considering that she was a scary assassin and was reduced to a whimpering mess by Steve, no less… he now knows how Rogers put the fear of God in that woman.
It didn't help Steve from being concern about his fiancé, knowing Anthony he will ace whatever presentation it was, even if it was a big one as Anthony said to him, Steve sighed as he stood in the apartment complex's front door waving goodbye at Anthony who was waving happily before the car speed away leaving the Omega looking at the car until it was out of his view.
Whatever Howard was planning to say, it was cut by the high shrill sound that made everyone raise their heads in a panic to gaze at the sky. The hair on Steve’s body raises on its ends, for the sound was almost familiar… like the sound of missiles… and panic sized his heart when he saw something falling in his front yard with a crash, throwing dirt and dust everywhere and causing a large hole to form in his front yard. When the cloud of dust finally settled, Steve lowered his arms that were covering his face to see what caused the destruction in his garden, only for his breath to hitch when he saw Tony, his poor Alpha looked like death warmed him over even with the suit covering him, half of the metal on his arms and chest were melted to some degree.
"I know…" Tony's voice cracked as he said that looking at the roses in his hands, nearly squeezing the roses tightly in his hands from how nervous he was, but he was able to calm himself a little in the last minute fearing that any wrong move will push Steve farther away from him. "But I… I…" Tony's voice got stuck in his throat, and Tony nearly start sobbing hysterically at that, finally, after having Steve listen to him without screaming his head off, after getting a chance he knows that he will never get another one no matter how much he will try, finally after all that time… and Tony's voice decided to vanish now of all times?
"Did you forget that you are half an Irish?" Steve teased the boy a little causing the boy stopped in his place; eyes widen at that and his little mouth to fall in shock. "Yup, baby, I am Irish." Steve said causing the boy's eyes to widen more than they already were, causing Steve to smile happily at the change of topic. "So the right count is that you are half an Irish, quarter Italian, and quarter American." Steve said which made Peter blink at that a little like he couldn't believe it.
Anton let out a tired sigh, gazing at the sky counting how much time he had before he forces himself back into civilization and back into being a king once more; seeing that he had a few more hours before the sun left the sky. Anton decided to go deep into the woods near the mountainside. Unknowing to many who won't usually brave the forest as much as Anton; there was a lake not an hour from his home. It was a beautiful place to be in, a relaxing one when Anton want it to be; if he went now, he was sure that he can take a dip in the lake and enjoy himself, maybe the cold water would wake him up from this nightmare. Wistful thinking on Anton's part, he knew. (1)
Blinking, Steven's lips curl into a snarl when his ears caught a noise that wasn't normally associated with the forest; controlling himself, Steven huffed as he turned around and started to walk deeper into the forest, frowning darkly when the faint sound continued to follow him. Whoever was the person following Steven, the person was no doubt trying to hide his presence; any other person wouldn't have noticed the shadow, but not Steven, for the Omega spent years mastering how to catch the enemies and the shadows the Hydra king send after him.
Nicolaus paused at the question, causing Steven to clench his fists tightly as he looked at the tree…
Jarvis… he was an interested person. A man who saw everything, losing everything, that every time Steve's eyes fell on him, he could only see a soldier who was at his last wit. Jarvis always limps, Steve sees it, even when no one wants to comments on it, he sees how Jarvis tries to hold himself off of his left leg as much as he can, how when he passed a certain hall in the house, he would step on his left leg hard… as if he was punishing himself for something. Jarvis was always kind to him, always looking after him like he had to do it to keep his sanity… sometimes Steve felt Jarvis eyes on him, questioning him, pleading with him… blaming him… and always asking… "
“Hello to you too, honey bear, now come and help me before I decided that the floor is a good place for your birthday presents.” Tony called out, sending a mock glare toward the Alpha, trying to hide the laughter that wanted to get out, when Rhodey let out a yelp and rush toward his presents, afraid that Tony will go through his threat.
"You know, Tones, it makes it… less hard to go back to New York. Knowing that you probably won't be dead in a ditch before the week's out." That was Rhodey who continued, causing Pepper to send him a knowing smile, and for Tony to pout, shoving food inside of his mouth, swallowing it before giving his answer.
The silence between them continued until Steve crossed the few feet between them to stand before Tony. "Tony, are you sure?" Tony's mouth was on his prevented him from repeating his question. Stunned, Steve could only stand there, before he pulled Tony gently to his chest, letting out a shuddered breath as the scent of pre-heat intensifies, making Steve hold into his growls lest he scared the Omega. Tony pulled away from the kids and mumbled something, before once again rigorously staring at his feet; face flush bright red both from arousal and from embarrassment. The action causing Steve's lips to twitched up as he cupped Tony's face in one hand to tilt it up. "This is unlike you, Tones." He spoke calmly.
It was silly, it was insane, it was impossible, but so was the monster living in the lake near his house. Just the thought of it being real made Tony snort and nearly laugh himself silly at that; but after days and days of witnessing so many unexplained incidents, Tony decided to give it a little bit of faith.
"Just leave me alone!" Steve snarled, rushing his wheelchair toward the elevator, wanting to get some fresh air or he would really lose it this time. "I won't see him, and I never want to see him again; he can go and fuck himself!" Steve huffed as he reached the elevator, getting inside and closing the door, behind him, going to the ground floor, hoping that the garden outside would calm his frazzled nerves enough that he doesn't wish to kill and maim whoever comes to talk with him.
"You don't understand, Bucky," Steve stated before letting go of his clothes, turning to the angry Alpha, and trying to ignore the hurt he can see in the man's eyes. "Tony… we both know what he did was wrong, we both know that it was unforgivable and couldn't be forgiven easily… but he is my child's father, and I… I can take him away from Morgan; it's not fair to her." Steve tried to explain, trying to ignore that he felt like he was trying to convince himself more than Bucky.
She walked to the seat and sat down pushing her dress under her legs then crossed her legs in front. “Thank you, Is there any questions I can answer before or would you like me to start with the story?”
“You are in the compound. Professor X’s school is here now along with a hospital for the mutants. We brought you here so she wouldn’t find you and freak out. Luna… she’s getting married in a week. I wanted you to be ready to see her again. I’m ready to help you nonstop.”
Bruce helped her to her feet. “We can order pizza and watch a movie. Nat, Clint, and Bucky are joining us. We can cook tomorrow for Happy. I promise.”
“We have to figure something out!” Steve screamed back and blocked another of Tony’s punches. “They deserve to be in a stable home!”
Steve felt his heart clench and looked at Tony then quickly to Luna pulling her closer to his chest. “No! We are not ashamed of you. We just didn’t want to put your identity out in the open for people to see you yet. Maybe that’s what we will do at the grand opening. Be open about us married and our daughter.”
“Okay. Let’s get you home.” Steve rubbed his cheek and walked him to the car. Not commenting on our future comment. “I have you. It’s okay to cry or anything you want to do.”
One the phone read her the text message she teared up. She sat on the bench leaning forward gripping her knees. “Great. Look how stupid I am!”
Violet wrapped her arms around Peter tight with no signs of letting him go. She started to relax which made everyone else in the room relax a bit more. “I will always make my way back to you. Can I take a bath…?”
The drive was quiet. Everyone to her was familiar. Like she knew how this was going to go… oh yeah. She did. She was upset and felt alone, but it was helping her move on. The last time she spoke she blamed her family for not going to help him at the school. Since then she hasn’t spoken.
Luna skipped to the table and sat down smiling at her plate. After everyone ate they walked to the dorm room which was hidden next to the library doors. Everyone had there own little ‘room’ within the bigger room. Luna has one in the back with all of the first years, Smiling she closed the door to her room and laid on the bed. She sat down her book bag and pulled out her phone hitting play on her playlist.
Peter jumped down and ran back to Tony’s side dragging Violet behind him. Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s leg and cried hard. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me again!” Tony just rubbed his back and cooed at the boy.
Luna leaned into him and cried. “I-I don’t know what to say… thank you! I’m so excited! Dad, Papa this is the greatest news I’ve gotten all day! Who are we gonna dress as?”
When she reached the beach Steve was standing there watching the sunrise fully. Steve was leaning into Bucky while holding his hand. “I have you,” he kept whispering into Steve’s ear.
“This is the best birthday ever!” Peter yelled and ran over to her. “She doesn’t look changed at all. My birthday wishes finally came true. I can’t wait for her to wake up!”
Tony leaned into Steve as they walked into the living room. There sat the other three of their friends.
Tony handed her the wand again and she held it in her hand. “I can it. It’s almost like it’s glowing. I can’t see, sir, how can I see this?”
Walking back to her bedroom Violet grabbed her real violin and a dress in a cover bag. She changed into the school uniform and walked out of the house. Without saying goodbye or anything she ran to the bus stop.
“I miss you all. I wanna be home again. I want to be in the penthouse with you and Violet,” Peter cried into Tony’s shoulder.
“Tony, are you doing alright?” Clint asked and sat next to him on the couch. “You're looking a bit paler than usual.”
“Tony let the kids do this. We got men on the ground that need their asses kicked anyway. Spiderman clearly can handle himself.” Dr. Strange told them and started making a circle with his magic. “Both of you go through my portal. It will bring you the closet humanly possible without flight.”
Steve stood when the doctor came out of the room. “Doctor Cho, how is he? Is everything okay from our trip?”
Luna nodded and laid her head on his shoulder curling into him closer. The blood in her hair went on his shirt.
“I am staying here with you. My two kids are more than happy. Let’s find coffee together.” Clint got up and shook Nat, “Hey, we are getting coffee. Did you need something?”
“In America. New York to be exact. You have a very concern husband waiting for you.” Sam held Tony up by the arm as they walked out of the plane.
Tony watched the boy and got into the limo after his friends and husband. “Can we just go to the store and buy beer to go home with? I just want to hang out with you guys. At home so then Jarvis can drink as well.”
“Why don’t you go play with Pepper as well? She can help you find a better hiding spot after you find your sister.” Tony looked up at Pepper. “Please, take him out of here.”
“Yes. Decides a few things that we will worry about in the future, but for right now they want you.” Bruce smiled at the couple as they each picked up one of the babies.
"Get the fuck away…" Growled Stane as he pushed Tony hard, no one notices the sound of ripped clothes, as for Stane he starts his daily beating making Tony curl into a small ball trying to protect his head as much as he can. After what seems like eternity Stane huffed as he straightened himself, he then left the cell closing the door with him.
All of Steve’s hope of Tony calming down was thrown away in the wind when he let out a snarl after spotting Howard. “You!” Tony tried to move toward Howard, probably planning to kill him, after all, the Alpha was growling and hissing and planning to kill someone, and Steve wasn’t petty enough to stay still and allow his mate to kill his father, even when the said father was an asshole.
." She sneered, causing Johann to shiver in his place as she walked back into formation, looking at the huge blond and his black hair companion, newcomers, Steven noticed.
"I saved someone's life, and gained them in the process." The Omega said shortly, which made the Alpha scowl at the answer but he ended up crossing his arms and looking at the Omega for a long time before he tilted his head to the side as if thinking hard about something, the Omega's heart pounded in his chest, waiting for the Alpha's final words, praying for Frigga and Loki that they will listen to him and help him save the innocent lives of his friends.
"Hey, let's take you to your room, you can sleep if you want, it will make the pain go away." Steve said gently, making sure to keep his voice down, the Alpha only blinked at that and turned to Steve like only now he realized that Steve was in the same room with him, something that the Omega didn't blame the Alpha for knowing that he had a tough time already, Steve was able to lead the man to his room and put him to bed, he was finally able to breathe, the whole journey Steve had to support the Alpha's weight, and the man was not small at all, and not to forget how the man kept staring at his face nonstop, which did make the Omega a little uncomfortable. After making sure the Alpha was situated on his bed, in a dark room, he left the Alpha to sleep, taking his phone out and sending a text to Tony, informing the man to go to the drug store and bring medicine for migraine, hoping that James will wake up without pain…
"I… I brought you something…" Steve said, his happiness shifted into nervousness, which made the Omega's heart pound in his chest, part intrigue and another part scared, wondering what was the reason that turned his Alpha into this nervous mess. Steve though only pulled him to the sofa, and pulled Tony in his arms making the Omega shift until he was sitting sideways in the Alpha's embrace gazing at the man with big eyes waiting to see what was going to take place. "Here…" Steve murmured as he gave a covered book to the Omega, something that caused the Omega to raise his eyebrow at that.
"Mr. Stark… am hungry." The pup said after the two of them finished their work in the lab, Peter's words made Tony blink and look up from his cleaning.
"Tony, where are you? Tell me what the hell happened outside, were you attacked by the enemy?" Rhodey asked as he power walked to where Dum-E was wheeling around the place. Crutching down Rhodey raised his brow at the sight Tony was making, covered by the fuzzy pink blanket with the equal fuzzy baby blue pajamas, the ice-cream containers not that far from his leg. "Tones what happened?" Rhodey asked, concern coloring his voice as he took Tony in, probably wondering why Tony looked like this, the only time Rhodey ever saw Tony like this was the day that his parents turned into zombies.
"I… I have a child…" Steve choked out, tears running down his face as Bucky tightened his hold, even more, not allowing Steve to move his body away, not even an inch; as much as Steve ordered his body to move, his legs were frozen in place, terror coursing through his body.
The Alpha shook his head and sighed as he hanged up the phone looking at Peter then Tony. "I'm fine… I'm just stressed up." The Alpha ran his hand through his beard with a thoughtful look on his face as his eyes went to Peter who was playing not paying the adults any attention. "I came to drop Peter off, but it seems like my mother was called to work, Bucky and his family aren't home, and I can't take Peter with me because today I have to finish the latest chapter of my comic… oh God, this is a nightmare." Steve said as he runs his hand through his hair, looking like his mind was going a mile a second, which made Tony wince at that.
He should get rid of the child, it will be so easy, getting rid of a child that will bring nothing but pain and hurt and possibly hurt his friends and James. What need did Steven have for a child that didn't take its first break? A child that was the Hydra King's… but that will be a little biased, after all, he did have a child from that monster, a child with a big heart and even big dreams and hopes… a child that was the reason Steven was sane until this moment…
"You don't need to love someone to fuck them, Mr. Rogers." Mr. Stark replied which made the Omega bit his cheek to stop him from screaming at the man. "Well, that was Anthony's case, it was funny how you really believed that he could ever love you… a child. You have three days to leave before you will be evacuated by force or worse." The Alpha said as he turned around to leave but he paused a little and turned toward Steve who was shaking so badly he thought he was going to fall. "A word of advice Mr. Rogers, A child can't know what love is." That was Mr. Start's last words before leaving Steve in the living room.
It took a few seconds before everyone finally saw him, and when they did everyone become quiet as they took him in various degrees of surprise and not so surprisingly pleasant expression (Natasha and Bucky) "Tony… what happened?" Bruce asked, adjusting his glass and blinked hard as if the image in front of him will be banished if he did that and the real Tony will show up.
Tony wasn't sleek and silent like Rogers was, he didn't move through the land and then later lake with agile grace. With every step Tony took inside the lake after he reached it, the water froths and churns around him, stirring up mud and debris. His action did nothing but cause Rogers to tilt his head, humming when Tony came to stand in front of him, treading through the water to keep afloat.
Bruce presses his lips into a thin line trying to think of something. "Steve, I can't tell you what to do and what not to do, that's your thing, but tell me honestly, do you see yourself with the Omega and his pup in the distant future?" The Beta asked gently making Steve pause at that. "If you can answer that question than you know the answer to your question, as for you not being able to take care of the Omega… have you seen yourself when you volunteer in the clinic or in the hospital, people adore you, especially children, you are a good man Steve, don't let your doubts ruin that for you." Bruce's words made a smile take over Steve's face and he looked at the Beta.
As the worst thing anyone can do is forbid Steve from doing something, his spine straightened at that comment. “Thank you for your expert advice into my love life, Mr. Stark, but I believe I can manage myself.”
“And yet, time marches on,” Tony said with a sigh. “Explain to me how anything gets fixed by telling Triangle Steve that I’m dying.”
Tony hoped it was too dark to see the blush that he knew had crept onto his face at the mention of Triangle Steve, the Sexy Cellist. “My pleasure. He’s one of our default performers for SI events, and Pep said he’s a dream to work with.”
Harold and Coraline looked at each other for a second, and Steve’s heart skipped a beat that maybe he and Tony would still be like that in fifty years. “You can put us down for five hundred thousand over the next five years,” Harold said decisively.
Steve gestured to the open rocks next to him. He’d situated himself on the wide rocks that formed a jetty in the part of the island in order to catch the sunrise over the ocean. In the three weeks he’d been working with Tony, he’d only caught sunrises so far when Tony worked up to them. Tony had completed one of the stages of the prototype the day before and had released Steve on a four-day weekend.
It had started about a year and a half ago, when he found out that Steve donated his fee from the Maria Stark Gala to the foundation with a note that said, “It’s my policy to not take money from cancer research. Thank you for the honor of providing your entertainment.” Pepper and Tony had immediately booked him for the next eight Stark Industries events, and began to talk him up to everyone they knew that ran galas and the like.
Bucky clasped Steve on the shoulder. “Just because you can’t fuck Tony, doesn’t mean you need to be fucking Random McGee. Dildos exist.”
Tony heard from everyone that Steve was polite, professional, and absolutely never went home with anyone, no matter how hard the person flirted. He lived in an apartment in Red Hook with four other people, had put himself through Berklee Conservatory of Music in Boston by working at a UPS sorting facility - which was colosassly idiotic for someone whose hands were going to be his living - and then had immediately moved back to the block he was born on.
It took another few moments for the man to fully be able to take a deep breath without a shudder, but as soon as he did, he began to shiver. “Oh, pal, take my coat.” Steve peeled off his worn leather jacket and placed it around the man’s (smaller but no less muscular, and
“No, me and Ma, Buck and Erskine, they’re the only ones,” Steve said, with a tone of sadness. “So now, it’s just me.”
“No one bullies Tricia into anything,” Tony replied as he took a slow sip of his drink. “She was looking for a cello player. I know a good one.”
Without opening his eyes, Tony said. “Great, there’s a cake shop about three blocks down. Pull in there.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, simply holding hands and sitting in the silence. Finally, Tony spoke.
Tony decided to let it go- this time. “Yes, I did. I figured it would be something fun for me and Petey-pie to do once I get some more practice. Jarvis cooked with me, back in the day. Ana, too. I hope you enjoy it!” With that, Tony presented Steve his actual plate, and Peter the plastic plate with Dora the Explorer on it.
Steve had met Peter when he and Tony had been official for about six months. Peter knew his dad had a boyfriend - he was ten and not stupid, as he casually informed Tony - and was most excited that Mr. Steve knew how to draw. Born with underdeveloped lungs, Peter was always looking for new indoor activities to do while his breathing treatments ran their course.
“It’s warm,” Tony countered, pushing up the sleeves again. Steve was at least three sizes bigger than Tony in the shoulders, based on the way the leather jacket hung off Tony’s frame.
"Daddy! You won't believe what Uncle Bucky d… Daddy, why is Mr. Steve in bed with you?" Peter's innocent question made Tony and Steve speechless, the embarrassment and horror muting their voice as they turned to Peter who was gazing at them with a confused look hugging his bear in his arms as he looked from Tony to Steve and back again.
The king swallowed, his eyes darted from side to side before stilling on Steven who shuffled in his bed until he was sitting up, pushing the furs away from him and relaxing when he saw that his clothes were still on. "What… what kind of information?" The king finally gathered the courage to ask, and part of Steven wanted to scream and curse at how the king was playing the innocent game, why would he lie about the information that Steven gave to the king? Information that made him win most of his wars against Johann.
"Are you sure about this?" Steve asked after breaking the kiss, pulling Tony toward him, getting nothing but a cheeky smile from the Omega who then crawled in his lap and start kissing him once again, causing Steve to let out a happy sigh, nuzzling Tony's cheek after they broke the kiss.
"How dare you say I will do of such a sinister act?" Thor snarled, only to decide to calm himself when Steven throws him an alarming glance, requesting of him to quit this right now. "To answer your questions…" Thor sends a deadly glare at Clint who frets at being exposed to such an expression from a friend. "Stars are the grandest and the most powerful being in the universe, no one can match or dream of acquiring magic like theirs, they are also the realms keepers who recorded the history since the dawn of time, every act performed since the dawn of the universe are recorded in their archives. Because of their divine magic, evil forces tried everything in their capacity to gain their powers, but it is futile to best the stars when they are in their true form or their astral forms. Because of that, a number of spells, curses, and enchantments were created to bound the stars in frail bodies, like Midgardian, to be able to best them. Out of all the spells only one worked, and it bounded the star in a body that suppressed their magic and capabilities, that way, the caster of the spell can overpower the stars, with that, it's simply the matter of ripping the heart and consuming it. My father made certain to wipe out every spell or enchantment that work in an identical way, not only stars' magic should remain as theirs, but those who dare to obtain it in such a loathsome way shall be burdened with madness for the rest of their long life, the last star that fell was six thousand years ago, and ever since then Asgard took it as our duty to protect the Ancient one from such a destiny, I dread how the Witch of Scarlet got her hand on an enchantment that bound the Ancient One in this body, I am certain that my mother and father were already warned by Heimdall, it's merely the matter of time before they discover a means to Midgard." Thor gives an encouraging smile to Steven, overlooking how wide everyone's eyes were at the knowledge they obtained, Mrs. Carter though had a decided expression on her face, as if she was bracing to go in a battle for him which made Steven feel a little sad for her.
Finally reaching the town, Tony's lips were pulled into a snarl when he saw everyone stand still and gaze at him with wide eyes like they couldn't believe he was there. Part of Tony wanted to snarl and turn back, ignoring the people around him and ignoring how they start whispering to each other while pointing at him; the other part, the dominating part, hissed and spat as Tony continued his way, promising hell to everyone coming near him. right now, Tony was on a hunt, a hunt that will determent if he was going to stay here or to flee, this time, this time he was going to fly out of the country, maybe to France or Italy, hell even Ireland sounded good.
"Got moving you, runt!" One of the men shouted as he pushed the pup hard, making him fall to the ground only to stand up and bite the man's hand, which made the man backhanded the pup, something that Steven never saw anyone do, considering that most people fear hurting their kings' children least their punishment was death.
"Is that so?" Stane whispered in Tony's ear and he flinched at the closeness of the bigger man, and he took an unconscious step toward the lake. Suddenly a strong wind came and nearly knocked Tony down, trees rustled and leaves start falling down the trees who were shaking like they were going to fall; when Tony strained his ear his body froze when he heard the familiar rustling he usually hears under his house, Stane seemed to pick up on it too, because when he turned around and gaze at the place with a strange look on his face. "Who is there?" Stane snarled as he turns around waving his gun.
"Stop here, please," Tony told the taxi driver, paying the man his fee when they stopped in front of his house. Getting out of the car, Tony relaxed when he saw Steve and Peter already waiting for him outside. "Steve…" Tony whispered tiredly, walking toward his husband who rushed toward them. It was a few seconds later before Steve stood in front of Tony and Harley, checking them both for injuries before pulling them to his embrace.
"Yes, just yours and mine, no one else." Steve smiled as he said those words, which caused Peter's eyes to widen in delight, and for a small 'Oh' to leave him. "Why don't we go inside? I'm sure, that Tony will love to have your answer." Steve offer, getting a shy nod from Peter who took his hand when the two of them stood up, Steve doesn't even know what Tony will think of how bashful his son starts acting as, it was as if it was the first time he met Tony again.
OK, so it wasn't Tony's fault, to begin with, it was Howard? Right? After all who in their right mind would let their twenty years old kid live on while believing that his parents are dead? It is too cruel! It was true that Tony was not all that warm and chummy with his parents, but he loved them, he always seeks their approval one way or another; Tony even when he was angry with his parents for abandoning him most of his childhood and teenage years, he was proud to be their son. So for his parents to give him away like a used doll and abandoning Tony without even a word of goodbye is unforgivable! No matter what anyone was going to say, this was something that Tony couldn't (Wouldn't) forgive.
…" The king hummed behind him, his right hand ran on Steven's left arm, taking a hold of the sleeve's top and pulls it harshly ripping it gazing at the sleeve as it flutters until it falls on the ground, showing Steven's bicep, the harsh and shocked exclaims coming from the Vikings made the servants shiver and look at the queen whose face became dark. "I see, so you are nothing but a stolen relic." The king said as he circled Steven once more and gazing at his arms frowning at the bruises he saw and the traces of shackles on the Omega's wrist, but his eyes didn't stay long, his eyes found what they searched for, the rune that was engraved in the Omega's bicep.
A hushed voice murmured, causing the hair on the back of Steve's neck to stand on its ends; Steve shifted in his place, gazing at his side and shook Tony causing the Alpha to open his eyes and frown at Steve, only to wake up when Steve's terrified eyes gaze back at him. "Who are you?" Steve hissed, trying not to stutter as he opened the speaker on Tony's cue.
Steve could only stare at his hands in shock, his mind refusing to make a sense of what he was told a few hours ago; part of Steve was still thinking that he was crazy, that this was all just a dream, and that he would wake up once more in the bathroom, fearing for his life as his stalker knocked on the door to scare him. Johann Schmitt, that's the name of the man who stalked him, a known serial killer and rapist, who targets male Omegas, was shot and killed when the police managed to come just in time... A stalker who managed to stay hidden for over eight years ago was caught and killed yesterday.
"Can we talk Tony?" Bucky asked, the tired look on his face made Tony shift and shuffle uncomfortably in his stand. "Please… we gave you as much time as you wanted to clear your mind, now allow us to tell our side of the story." Bucky pleads, causing Tony to frown and look at his legs.
Tony doesn't know how long he stayed sitting in his chair after Peggy throws him and Bucky on them, glaring at them until they stopped with their plan of breaking into the operation room; all that Tony knows is he is one step closer to a mental breakdown. He can't do it, he can't, Tony can't live without Steve; if anything happened to Steve, Tony can't go on, he can't, he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know how to take care of Peter. Oh God, Peter! What would the little boy do when he realizes that his mother was dead, that the only family he knew is gone forever, his son will hate him for the rest of his life, he will blame Tony for what happened, and he was not wrong in his blame either, because it was Tony's fault, it was Tony's fault, if only he paid more attention, this wouldn't have happened. Tony was sure he was crying; he was sure that he shed tears as he tried to stop his shaking, he knew that he was one minute away from doing something stupid… if Steve didn't survive, then he will… he will…
She wasn't aware of the eyes that were watching her, and when the lightning lit the room once more, the shape of a person sitting on the ceiling could be seen, and it was looking at the woman with wide red eyes, taking her in. Natasha turned around fast when she felt eyes on her, but she didn't see anyone in the kitchen no matter where she looked, the lights start flickering on and off, making the woman's breath speed up and she gulped… what was going on?
Though Steve could do without his son taking Tony Stark as his rule model in the engineering world, his pup took a strange fascination to the man, always telling Steve about the invents that the Alpha made, it made Steve concern that Peter recognize his father, but the pup only had an old picture of his father, and Anthony looked so different from Tony Stark that someone might consider them two different people. Steve let it go to the fact that Tony Stark was considered the most genius inventor in all of America after his father, that when he wasn't chasing skirts half of the times, May thought that it was cute how the pup got someone to look up to, so after May persuading him, he finally let it go.
"Help me!" A banshee shrieked which made Thor whine and take a step back, shaking like a leaf, wishing desperately that he had Mjolnir with him but unfortunately for him, he saw the hammer fall into the lava, which meant that it either melted if the lava before him was that of Hel, or that it will burn his hands to even touch the hammer if this was one of Loki's illusions.
The king's eyes narrowed when he saw that Loki and Nattalegg were waiting for him near the cellar's door, an amused smile taking over Loki's face, while Nattalegg's eyes were wide with disbelieve. "Asgardian protects their people, no matter who they are, you shouldn't have made the Omega into a slave my king… I hope you enjoy burned food for the rest of his stay." Loki said with laughter in his voice, which made the king snarl at the Alpha and push him out of his way, continuing his plan of going to the deck and calming himself before returning to the Omega and kill him for his foolish decision.
Even his friends who were shocked about Howard finally showed up, couldn't help but laugh when he and Sarah start trying to one-up each other to be Peter's favorite; the little brat seemed to be enjoying it, which was good. Peter had pout for a whole hour when he realized that Harley couldn't come with them to their outing, he nearly starts crying about how unfair it was, only calming down when Steve promised him that they all could take Harley to the movies next week, all of them even Tony, so he could finally meet the boy who seemed to be Peter's best friend.
"Sorry brat, you do not have anything I am interested to tread you the Shield for, thank you for the story though, it was fun." Anton grinned, herding the kids outside of his workshop and ignoring the complaints about him being mean and a trickster…
"Well, tell your fucking boss to go and fuck himself, because I ain't coming with you." Steve hissed and was about to slam the door shut but was stopped by the Alpha who put his hand on the door to keep it open, which caused Steve to growl at that and hiss at the man. "What the fuck do you want?" Steve snapped hoping that his voice wasn't loud enough to attract the attention of his family and son.
"Why are you asking? It's not like you Addams aren't planning on killing me after I marry Steve; isn't that why you told me about your husband, a subtle threat?" Tony asked, raising his head, glaring at Serpentine daring the woman to say no to his words, after all, Tony never heard of a Normal marrying an Addams in the twenty-one century, and even if they did, their relationship would probably be doomed just like Serpentine and her husband; the crazy ghost giggled (Giggled!) when she talked about killing him! So what would make his marriage with Steve any different?
"You are awake my queen." He turned his head when he heard the familiar voice talk, a small smile taking over his face as he saw who the speaker was, the young adult who called him was bowing for him, but he can see the small relieved smile on her face, and the happiness of seeing him shining in her eyes.
It took time before the four of them finally got comfortable in their own home without the shadows of Peggy Carter dominating their minds. Tony making sure not only to redecorate the house from top to bottom, replacing the broken picture frames, the china, and even the furniture; but also updating their security and J.A.R.V.I.S. giving the A.I. and the house another power source to function on, a power source that no can temper with, no matter how smart they think they are… the Arc-Reactor.
With a stuttering breath, Tony wrenched the closet door open the rest of the way, his heart pounding madly in his chest at the thought of him catching the person who entered his own home without permission. Instead of finding someone inside, Tony was confused at the empty closet in front of him; it wasn't strange that the closet was empty, not when Tony still hasn't unpacked his baby's clothes yet. At least Tony thought that there will be someone there, not the closet being empty and all.
is not home at this moment, and you shouldn't be here either, especially with you having a restraining order against you," Tony stated as he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the woman whose eyes widen and a dark look taking over her face in the following seconds.
/Warning/: This chapter contains, cursing, sadness, blood and violence, and a lot of crying! And who knows what! All reviews are appreciated.
After a long time of silence, Zemo hummed a nasty smile taking over his face which made Tony tense unconsciously. "As you wish, Mr. Stark… to cut this short, you are going to help me get all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s data and information, oh, and let's not forget about the nuclear codes that I know you can hack for me." These words made Tony pause before he started laughing hard, his actions causing the man to frown.
"He didn't mean it, you know?" Tony said which made Steve look at him with a frown, which caused the Omega flush and look at his hands that were twisted together, a nervous habit he notice the Omega use more often than not. "He is just stress, everyone knows that he doesn't sleep, and prefer to walk in the halls at night." Tony said in his way to defend Steven, which made the Alpha suppress the urge to roll his eyes and look away from the Omega.
"What did you just say?" Tony hissed, leaving his cup on the counter and came to face Rogers who was looking at him with boredom in his eyes, something that scared Tony as much as it made him angry. "Am I done? Are you even listening to yourself? What's wrong with you? You are my boyfriend, it's within my right to ask about your wellbeing and question why you have been holing yourself into your room with a fucking Omega who by the way isn't me!" Tony wasn't shouting, but he might as well have been with how loud his voice was.
Tony looks out over the lake, the water still and dark... he should get out, he knows that he should go back into town with the brunette, apologize for taking up her time and gets the fuck out of Shield… but where would he go? Tony looked down at his hands, at the bruises on his knuckles, and sets his jaw. "Can someone give me a hand moving the stuff outside? Hopefully tomorrow…" Tony asked the woman seeing her eyes widen at his words as she looked at him like he lost his mind, but her face returns neutral a second later.
"You talk like you have the right to decide your fate." The king said as his eyes gazed at the Omega with an amused look in them which made the Omega growl and hiss at the Alpha, causing the Alpha to smirks darkly. "You amuse me Omega, especially with the way you think, what will you even do when you are behind the bars?" The king asked as he took a step toward the Omega, a laugh leaving him when the Omega snarled and thrust his hand through the bars hoping to catch the Alpha and choke him to death but the man was fast to avoid the raging Omega.
The only thing Tony could feel though was pain and hurt; how could he? How could Rogers say that to him after six months? After he told him he loved him! It was the anger that won in the end, the anger at Rogers for what he did, and the anger at himself for falling for that Alpha, he should have listened to Peggy and Steven when they warned him. "You are a bastard Rogers!" Tony screamed and took the closet thing next to him and throws it at the Alpha, which was his cup that was full of hot coffee.
/Warning/: This Chapter contains, a little bit of sadness, fluff, and cuteness, time-skips, family bonding together, a little bit of violence, unexpected events, and short smut at the beginning! And who knows what? All reviews are appreciated.
/Warning/: This chapter contains cursing, darkness, horror elements, creepiness, a little bit of violence, sad Steve! And we will meet surprising characters! And who knows what! All reviews are appreciated.
Bucky looked at the Alpha before him shuffling his feet, he doesn't know how to act around Stark anymore, it was surprising to know that the Alpha that finally gains his respect was Steve's ex-Alpha, and he wondered if a day of truths will make decades of hate go away, but seeing the Alpha suffering before his eyes, crying out for his mate and child, it made Bucky swallow, because as much as Tony and him didn't deserve Steve, the Omega needed them, him and his small pup need them. "The hospital that Peter goes to was destroyed in the attack; I gathered that Steve was largely indebted to them, and he is looking for another hospital for Peter, look Stark if you don't want to pay child support I get it, but think about-" Bucky was cut from his rant by a snarling Tony who looked at Bucky like he was ready to kill him.
So he did what he did in the past, he learned about the boy, the All-Tongue helped him to understand the boy's language, he learned that Anton goes by the name Tonton, he was the son of the tribe's chieftain, the place now Anton lives in… he should call him Tonton, it's not fair hanging on someone who was long dead, even if he was reincarnated… will be called north Germany years later.
After Steve took the file from Fury he spent a whole week, investigating what was called the evil league. He got to know a lot of things about its six members, their habits, schedules, and other things he should know about before he launches into his mission. It was easy getting in, that should have been his first clue, but he was too deep into grieve and want to end this mission that he simply didn't care. It ends up with them attacking him all at once, and Steve ends up fighting them all for hours, he was still surprised that he was the last one standing. But unfortunately one of the idiots activated the portal before breaking the control panel, and now the portal was open with no way to close it, and if Steve didn't want the portal to go 'Boom' and do some unsavory damage, he had to do something and fast…
A Viking said pulling the king and Steven's gaze toward the people who were huddling together away from everyone, looking at the queen in confusion and fear, making the king hum at that and turn his eyes to Steven and his child.
"Thanks, Buck, but I think I am done." Grumbled Steve as he stood up, frowning a little when Peggy and Bucky's living room became a little darker, did a lamp broke and he didn't hear? Looking around Steve grumbled as he shuffled on his legs planning on going to his room and hide for the rest of the day; no, Steve will hide in his room until the ball is over and done, he will not show his face even after everything is said and done!
Getting out of the room, Steve saw Tony waiting for the two of them, he didn't mention the Alpha' puffy eyes, which made him think that the Alpha was grateful for that as he stood up and gave them a strained smile when they reached him. "Baby, I am going to go and talk with the doctor, why don't you stay with Mr. Stark for a little bit?" Steve asked which got him a hesitant nod, which made Steve smile and kisses his son on the forehead while giving the Alpha a pointed look, before going to talk with the doctor.
"Damn, I need to get me one of those." Peggy muttered to herself which made everyone blink and look at her, her face was blank but you can see the fascination and amusement in her eyes. "I never saw an Omega shake an Alpha's voice like that; I guess I now knew who wore the pants in that relationship." She said sending Tony a knowing look which the Alpha flush a little but a smile took over his face.
"Drive!" Snapped Steve as he saw everyone look at him with shock, Steve's scream made everyone squeak and drive through the gates to the mansion. When Steve reached the mansion, he had to stop himself from breaking the door.
"I couldn't do it, not without you." Tony stated, making Steve feeling a little flush with embarrassment and pleasure, Tony was always so considerate when he decided to drop the mask he protects himself with; the Alpha was so sweet, and Steve wanted to kiss him like his life depended on it.
… kept chanting inside his head over and over again, causing Steven's breath to pick up. "He…" Whatever harsh reality Nicolaus was going to inform Steven of was cut by the sound of Petrus and James coming near the clearing, calling Steven's name as they squealed and laughed while searching for Steven, no doubt the two of them were roughhousing as they tried to find him.
/Warning/: This chapter contains, cursing, sadness, anxiety, asthma attack, near mental breakdown, and who knows what! All reviews are appreciated.
"…I felt like shit, especially when the Omega came into my office with a gift bag, hoping to see his pup, a gift bag! That contains a toy, and when I ran to return it, the Omega took it and ran away!" Sam sniffed taking another swing, Bucky nods his head not caring that much, after all, he heard a lot more sad stories when he was overseas, and this one was just like any other he heard… or maybe that was his drank mind as the Alpha had gone for the strong stuff first, trying to lessen the horror he felt when his Ma told him about how he should date Steve, and that he and the Alpha will make a great couple, especially raising Peter who adored Bucky… he needs another drink… Steve, on the other hand, runs his hand through his beard thinking, he hasn't drunk anything other than that one beer Loki gave, so he was left to listen to Sam and hopefully give a piece of advice that wouldn't make him feel like shit. "And then… and then I found this paper lying on the floor, and felt even more like a shit!" Sam said as he took the paper from his pocket and slammed in on the bar, the loud noise made everyone look at the trio, and Steve had to sigh and throw Loki an apologetic look which made the Alpha roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath.
/Warning/: This chapter contains, cursing, sadness, anxiety, fluff, Peter is a precious bean, Tony nearly crying his eyes out the whole chapter, and Steve is a BAMF, and who knows what! All reviews are appreciated.
"But Nat, I'm pregnant not an invalid person!" Tony whined, complaining about how everyone in the town practically babysat him and doesn't allow him to do anything just because he was pregnant, which made the woman growl at him, making the teen pout, even more, when Clint snorted and drank his coffee.
That caused Tony to ponder, and he ended up feeling even more like shit when he realized that ever since he met Rogers he did nothing but scream in his face, insult him, and threat him, and yesterday it turned out to physical harm, something that Tony never ever did! Sure Rogers destroyed his mansion, but his teammates done worse to the house than Rogers ever did, sure he turned his beautiful gardens into a Pet Cemetery, at least it was better than Loki trying to rise all those demons possessed cats against them and sure, Rogers had everyone Tony knew under a spell that caused them to fall in love with him, but he never acted physically with them or use them even when they were more than willing.
Zola chuckled at his words, making Steven grind his teeth until they hurt even with the serum running inside his body. "You see Commander, for years now, we have sought to recreate the same serum running inside of your counterpart body; the closest we got to create it was the Winter Soldier…" Steven saw how Zola pulled the rope in his hand roughly, making Bucky stumble before correcting himself as quickly as he can, loathe and fury built up inside Steven. "All of our experiments after that failed, and with your counterpart crushing the Valkyrie in the arctic, all of our hope of recreating stronger soldiers dashed with it. Imagine our surprise though when the dear Captain's body was retrieved from the arctic a year and a half ago, alive even! By that point we realized we can't recreate the serum without Dr. Erskine, who regrettably died years and years ago; but I didn't give up faith, I know that with the strong super-soldier Omega we have and Captain America, we could create the perfect soldiers! Imagine my thrill when you showed up, you! The purest form the serum ever conceived! With no instincts, no werewolves gens, no secondary gender to oppose you, you are the ideal candidate to help Hydra rise from the ashes!" Zola crow in triumphant, causing Steven's eyebrow to twitch in irritation, his glare increases ten volts daring Zola to try something.
Steve looked at him with soft eyes. "Oh, Tony…" Steve whispered his voice raw, and then Steve kissed him, kissed more love into his cheeks and lips and hair. Tony trembled as Steve held him through it too. The overwhelming sensation of it all threatens to lull Tony into a sweet sleep, but the Omega fought it, wanting to soak in every second of the moment. Steve though must have felt his fatigue, because he smoothed Tony's hair back and kisses him one last time as he held him.
Thor on the other hand instead of smiling and patting Peter's head and accepting the story as a childish dream like how Tony's family and friends did, he did the opposite; Thor was frowning, there was a thoughtful look on his face, which caused everyone who was sitting in the living room (All the Avengers minus Bucky and Steven who were training in hand to hand this time) to tilt their heads in confusion. "It seems that the youngling is truthful in his words, you have a great fortune of good luck brother Stark… it seems that you are blessed!" Thor called out with a smile on his face, which made Tony give a dumb 'Huh?' and gaze at Thor with a raised eyebrow, silently ordering him to continue.
Steve heard someone call out, making him groan and try to open his eyes, which made whoever was in the room, with his talk in a frantic voice putting their hands on his shoulders trying to ease him into the soft mattress he was lying on. That made Steve opens his eyes then closes them, hearing voices talking above him. Steve tried to open his eyes one more time, and when he did his breath hitch in his lungs. "T…Tony…" Steve whispered brokenly raising his trembling hand toward the figure that was looking at him with a strange look…
Margaret squeaked at Steven, which made Steve get rid of the top of the dress and look at Margaret only wearing his pants and pendant which made everyone squeak in embarrassment as they turn around to give him privacy, only Margaret who spent that time looking at him, having looked at Steven while he was naked numerous of times.
"You are an evil man, I hate you." Clint whined as he turned toward Tony, sending him the most pitiful look there was, causing Tony to snort and sit on the loveseat that Steve occupied before, it was only a few minutes later that Steve and Peter returned, taking their seat near Tony. "Now we are going to have a Disney marathon! I really wanted to watch an action movie that we finally had a downtime." Clint pout, sitting on the sofa with Natasha, Bruce, and Thor sitting on the floor, while Bucky and Peggy were occupying the other loveseat, too bad Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy didn't make it tonight.
"I… I failed… 'im… ya know?" Howard slurred then shook his head and blink once again like only now he was seeing Steve… "He like ya… alw… always runnin' after Peg to hear you-r storiesss…" Howard sniffed and hiccupped. "Used to tell 'er new story about ya, so she can tell 'im… I wonder… would he be 'ere iff I follow Peg's plan? Would he, cap?" Howard asked pointing at the room, making Steve look at the door then sigh…
"I'm so tired, Steve, so, so tired…" Tony whispered tiredly, hiding his face in the Alpha's neck, shivering when the Alpha kissed his forehead, causing him to let out a shaky sigh as he let the Alpha's comforting scent surround him, his muscle relaxing in the Alpha's embrace.
Violet walked up to the stand looking at the ground and got help from Peter to sit in the chair. No one could even see her from behind the stand since the table was too high up,
“We can’t believe we are here. We have our own land, well world. Fun rides and everything. All of us have ridden every single ride at least four times,” Rhodey smiled.
Bruce knocked on the door then went in smiling. “I take it that this is her,” He slowly walked over and stood in front of the two women. “Hello, I’m Bruce and I see you already met Nat..”
“Where did she go?” Steve asked them with his red puffy eyes. He leaned into Bucky slightly trying to keep his balance. Steve knew he needed to be strong in front of his daughter, so he would save the tears for later.
He nodded and closed his eyes biting the rag. Since the serum was at play Steve couldn’t have any pain medications or anything. “Alright, thank you, ma’am,”
Steve pulled Tony close by the wrist and kissed his head. “I know. It’s okay. I have you. It’s okay to cry.”
“When I brought her here she was told what to say. While I went and shoot the man that kills you two. When I go away… she will remember a loving home here with you two. I copied everything from Peter’s memories and added her in them and vise-versa. You all will remember her and this conversation.” Violet took a deep breath and sighed. “I never wanted to hurt you, dad, pops. Truly.”
“You want to adopt a baby? Where did this come from?” Steve asked him while he ate Steve’s homemade lemon chicken and potatoes.
The man with the long beard came off the elevator and stood in a long blue cloak. “Good afternoon. I am Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, Hogwarts is a school of wizarding.”
Luna skipped up to the stage and smiled. “Present!” she yelled before Professor McGonagall got her last name out.
“FUCK YOU! Your such a fucking asshole! NO one will ever love you! You will never get a family, a job or anything! You’ll be the ugliest homeless person alive.”
“There’s the love of my life. Get your ass in here!” Tony told him in a drunk manner. Steve clearly didn’t win the ‘when we can drink again age’.
Everyone in the school was around watching the two embrace one another while whispering. Reporters were already showing up at the school wanting to get information. Pepper was already handling the reporters telling them to leave. The crowd getting even more excited when the rest of the Avengers (but Spider-Man) came into the school.
“She’s trained herself to protect, Peter,” Bucky told him. “It’s crazy that she's done that. Trust me. It’s hard to do.”
“My obgyn told me I was pregnant last month when I went to see her. I didn’t believe her until last week. I bought out the pregnancy tests from the drug store. I used all 400 I bought when you guys were on your mission. I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him he’s gonna be a father when we’re not even married!” Luna sobbed out and held her shirt in her fingers while shaking. “Uncle Bruce, I need him. I need him like we need air. I can’t lose someone again. Please, don’t tell him.”
“Absolutely. Stay with Peter for me, babe.” Tony kissed Steve and took the blonde hair, blue eye girl down to the lab.
“Pepper, she didn’t want to go to Comic-Con, even though she was jumping out of her skin happy. She said that being blind it would be more like babysitting her. Then she asked us if we were ashamed of her for being our daughter. I don’t know what to do. She was so excited talking about it two months ago that I just figured she would want to go.”
“T-Tony…” Luna yelled from the couch walking slowly around to the living room going as fast as she could to the table holding the Ferby. “Purple!”
“Peter Joseph Rogers-Stark and Violet Maria Rogers-Stark.” Steve smiled and stood above the twins. “Are they healthy?”
Bruce started taking her pulse. “Thank you for being honest. Neither of your dads were ever honest with me. They are even worst patience’s than Aunt Nat, and that’s saying something.”
Getting chemo wasn’t Tony’s favorite thing in the world. Everything hurt from his hair down to his toenails. He didn’t even want to get out of bed most days but forced himself to get up. Tony wanted to live his life with his family while he still had them.
Luna began trembling while running into his arms wrapping her arms around him. Newt rubbed the back of her leg licking the skin on her leg that was visible. “Happy…”
“Queens is in big poverty right now so many homes are being targeted for crime,” Peter told him and looked around. “The little guy deserves to be helped as well as the whole world.”
“Pops!” Luna yelled and grabbed the metal part on Newt’s collar and walked out of the classroom with everything in her hands. The crowds in the hallway were already thick enough that she tripped and went on to her knees letting go of Newt’s metal guide collar.
“Bucky!” I wrapped my arms around him tightly. “We gotta get my things then we need to go. We can fly.”
Tony sighed and nodded. “Alright. Let’s see who we can bribe to let me go home. I can fix myself up from here.”
“Sir, they are outside waiting for you,” Jarvis told him and put his hand on his shoulder. After a minute he turned the boy around into his arms hugging him tightly. “It’s alright, Tony. No one left you here. I have you, my boy.”
Bruce looked at the couple not wanting to get in the middle of there fight, but he knew that they wanted her to be happy. If that meant that she was dulling herself down, then that’s what it was. They just needed to argue about it.
“Just like your, Papa,” Tony told her and got up from the computer going into the kitchen grabbing plates out.
“She will be…” Natasha told him closing the door behind her. “I didn’t believe them when they said you were alive. Man! Now I owe, Bucky, fifty bucks.”
Steve stopped in his tracks and looked down at the girl sleeping in his arms. “Jarvis, just call her Violet. Don’t tell anyone about her being our daughter yet.”
“Peter. That won’t bring her home. I’ve already tried.” Tony told him and walked over to his son slowly. “Come here.”
When the van parked at S.H.I.E.L.D. everyone got out looking at one another. Steve’s plan was crazy, but it had to work.
The rest of the drive was quiet while AC/DC played in the background. Everyone sang along laughing. They weren’t laughing when the front end of the car got shot at. Blood splattered the divider. The limo flipped on to its’ side causing Steve and Tony to land on top of Bucky, Sam, and Rhodey.
Two weeks later the couple were parents in the real world. They landed in New York two hours before their friends came over to meet the newest addition to there family.
“Hey, how is everyone?” Steve walked in straight to the kids not speaking to anyone else. “Are you both okay?”
Tony looked hurt but held back his emotions when he spoke. “Why wouldn’t she invite us? We never get to see her play.”
“Give us an hour with the girl, then we will talk about who gets her,” Steve told him and looked over at the girl who hasn’t moved since they sat down.
She nodded and helped him sit on the bench then climbed up herself. Peter yawned and curled into Violet sucking his thumb.
After an hour and a half of shushing and rocking both of the twins were back to sleep leaving Tony and Steve in their room. “I can not believe that the kids have powers. I love it! They are the next generation of the Avengers!”
“Not sure… I’m not so sure. She’s not gonna be the same! It’s my fault. ” Tony told him and leaned back in the chair. It was obvious that he hasn’t slept in the past two days.
The whole room was decorated in fake flowers. Each flower had a different character from movies and tv shows they watched together. The tables were decorated as different Disney princesses. Everything was glittery. Just looking anyone could tell it was there wedding. Piano and violin players were playing theme songs to their favorite movies and shows as well.
Bucky wrapped his arms around her tight and kissed her head. His metal arm holding her bottom. She hated being carried, but she liked feeling safe in his arms. “I’ve got you. I have you, Luna.”
Luna bit her lip and stared at the bed. “Bruce, I need to be honest with you then. Though I need you to promise me you won’t tell Peter anything.”
“Jarvis!” Tony screamed and crawled over Steve to break the divider. “JARVIS!” Tony screamed louder and crawled through the hole he made. “I didn’t give you permission to die!”
“Daddy wait!” Peter wiggled out of Tony’s arms and ran up to one of the female reporters. “Ma’am you took Violet's jacket and that’s called stealing. Can we please have it back? She has her dolly in the pocket that Papa gave her.”
Luna leaned into his touch and pulled his face down and kissed him. “I have the biggest crush on you… I need you to distract me, Peter.”
Tony bit his bottom lip and lied through his teeth. “Steve has emotions he needs to figure out so if we separate for a while it’ll be okay…”
The men started fighting in the back not sparing anything in the booths to throw at one another. Once they ran out of things they started getting physical. It all ended with one blow. Steve punched Tony in the arc breaking the top of it. Shocking Steve back to reality.
Violet made visual on her fathers with Rhodey and Sam, and Aunt Nat, Aunt Wadna with Uncle Vision then looked seeing who else was fighting. The god Thor, Hawkeye, Dr. Strange and Ant-Man with his sidekick the Wasp.
“Violet, you know that your our daughter and Peter is your brother, don’t you?” Tony asked hoping that she did.
“Yes. It’s just good to know we have family everywhere. Magical and real world. It’ll help for the future. What everything has to offer us. We can do anything we wish for now on.”
Luna stood with the others away from the scene letting the two have their moment. Once he was gone she snapped. She sat in the sand looking at the water. Natasha walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s gone.”
“Peter, baby doll, how did a spider do this to you?” Steve picked the baby up being careful of Violet’s head. When he roved the web from Peter’s finger it just grew back on his finger while the baby just giggled. “M-m D-d” Peter mumbled.
Soon enough Luna went downstairs holding the rail. She could hear Steve and Tony talking in the kitchen louder. She hid behind the wall listening in on her parent's conversation with Aunt Pepper on the phone.
“I’ll go get the helicopter setup…” Luna told him and went out into the hall. She was happy that no one seemed to notice how badly she was hurt. She didn’t want to talk about it or even about how she was involved with something that stupid.
“Take it easy. Peter take her down to the medics. Make sure she eats. We are in big trouble with S.H.I.E.L.D. If we aren’t home by eight tomorrow go to the compound.” Tony kissed both of there heads and laid Violet in Peter’s arms. “Be safe.” He flew off the others.
“This has to be my favorite holiday!” Luna squealed and took a sip of her water. “Ever since I got my eyesight it’s been even more amazing.”
“I think we're alone now. It doesn’t seem like no one else is around!” Peter sang back and did the robot.
Tony sighed. “I said I can’t wait to see everything with you. Do think you think that's what made her upset?”
Taking a deep breath she sat up and got back on the broomstick. “For every minute you are angry you lose sixty seconds of happiness,” she took a deep breath and flew off back to the beach.
The prisoner looked up from his legs and at her with his green eyes. “Thank goodness I was so worried about you,” he whispered.
They walked in silence until they reached the front of the falcon staircase. She gripped her arms tighter looking up at the man. “I can make it back to my room from here. Thank you so much, Hagrid.”
“Come on! We need to dance, Luna.” Peter told her while taking her hand into his. When she turned around Peter tapped his watch while walking off with her.
The landed the plane into the water. Was he dead? How am I alive? Luna did she know where he was? Where is she?! “Hello?”
I walked out of the home I built with my bare hands and got in the car. The five-minute drive to Peter’s house was quiet. I parked the car outside of the building and went into the elevator. “Karen, please bring me to Peter.”
Tony just kept walking gripping Steve’s hand. “We’ll be okay. Just keep walking Pete. We can play a game of I spy until we get to the car.”
“I know it is. But I have a company to run as well. Peter, what if I screw up? I hate this!” Luna yelled and laid her head into her hands. “I’m sorry I yelled.”
Tony watched his twins walk around the expo smiling and walking around. Peter held MJ’s hand in one hand and his first born sons in the other. Violet walked behind him alone holding her prosthetic arms that’s she’s had since she was six looking at the floor like she was thinking hard about something.
“Can you even find your way back to the school?” Hagrid asked and put his hand on his hips. When she never responded he helped her on to her feet.
“Dad! Papa! Look it’s the glass plates of your faces! The stand should be here somewhere,” She giggled and set them both on the island. “So how do you know my parents, Peter?” Luna asked him and smiled pushing her hair back behind her ear. Peter couldn’t stop looking at her. He loved how innocent she was to the world. She clearly understood more than others but pretended not to.
“Any time my love. “But just know, I call dibs on being called dad!” Tony kissed his head and went into the living where he found Bruce. “Well, Bruce. I guess the next generation will have Avengers that come from Cap and me.” He sighed and sat down. “Promise me he will be alright.”
Luna skipped out in a purple dress with three layers of sparkles while holding her glasses in her hand. Tony had made the glasses that spoke to her when no one was around to tell her where everything was. The glasses are pink with butterfly wings going towards her hair. The left lens was cloudy blue and the other cloudy red.
Going into Babies ‘R’ Us made Tony feel like he was in heaven. He was picking things out left and right for the twins. Steve smiled watching him going back and forth taking Peter after Tony started holding a ton of things in his arms. He had at least six outfits for each of the twins.
Steve sighed and pulled his family in closer. “We want to go with you, but we can’t. We have to help here and take care of your dad. You know that right?”
It took her twenty minutes to get one arm then another five to get the other arm on. She got dressed in the black dress but left her hair the mess it was. She wasn’t even going to try getting her new fingers stuck in her hair.
“Hi, all of you. Come on in. Sorry if things are a mess we just came back from England.” Tony told them and walked into the house with everyone behind them. “This is my husband, Steve and are friends. Sam, Rhodey, and Bucky. Since we are just talking shop you probably won’t meet screaming beauty.”
After cooking for over an hour and burning two spatulas breakfast was finally ready to serve. “Kids, breakfast! Come on!” Tony yelled and could hear the pitter patter of feet running to the kitchen.
With knowing everything Tony did he began to transfer a copy his mind into the computer system. Between treatments, he would go down into the lab and recorded videos of him talking about anything he could think about. Mainly to Luna on her wedding day, and graduating college and high school. Things he was never going to be able to attend. He was never going to see his baby girl in her wedding dress. Never walk her down the aisle. He hated that more than anything else. He wasn’t going to be there for his family.
Violet looked at her hands. “My powers. I have made a serum that was to trigger her memory and send me back when she figured out who you all were. She is using her powers without even knowing she is using them. Though she will be worn out tomorrow. These are my normal arms. When I was born I had no bones in my arms. So, Dr. Banner, you cut my arms off and gave me these prosthetics. I have always had these and learned that it’s okay to have them. Though teasing at the music school did get a bit rough.” She laughed nervously.
Walking to the elevator, I went down to the car and drove to the graveyard and parked in front of our father's statues. Slamming the car door I sat on the grass laying back having my body being across both of the graves.
They had taken him to the park once, but Peter stood there and cried watching the other kids not knowing how to react to them. The husbands also realized that they couldn’t take him to school because he didn’t know how to control his powers. They didn’t know how to help their son grow up without using his powers in public.
“Bye, kids! Have a good birthday at school! Did we forget something?” Steve asked looking at his husband.
I helped Bruce get us out of my father then down to the lab. After Bruce went upstairs to tell Steve, Pops, that everything was done I went over and took DNA samples of each of the eggs. Once I found out which one was me I made the vitals resemble death and took myself out of the lab and into a lab out of the country before Bruce or dad found out I stole myself.
“I-I can’t choose that.” Peter rubbed his eyes trying to keep the tears away. “I love them both. It’s not fair. Mrs. Judge… promise me that Violet will be with me this time?”
Newt jumped off the couch and ran over to the girl and licked her hand. “It’s a puppy!” Luna squealed and sat down petting the dog.
Steve took a deep breath and sighed. “I wanted to say that I was sorry. For everything. I mean it. Before we go into court today just know that I will let the twins live up here no matter what. They deserve you as a parent.”
“Thank you,” Tony held the scorched Ferby looking at it carefully. He walked back to the room and found Steve playing with her and the other doll in the room. He walked close enough for her to see and spoke. “Look what I have.”
They didn’t hear Bucky’s warning. When they walked out the paparazzi were swarming them. Cameras kept going off and people were yelling their questions.
Tony went downstairs and looked around. When he didn’t see Steve or any of the others he started to have a panic attack. “Steve?!” Tony ran into every room on the first floor yelling out each of their names.
“What should I do?” I asked myself and looked over to see the illusion of my parents. After they died I imagined that every time I came to the graveyard that I would be able to see them. I enjoy it, though sometimes they don’t talk like themselves. But, it’s what I thought of and I can’t take it back.
“Hey one step at a time, kiddo,” Bruce told her and set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You need to get looked at yourself. Let’s just get back to the helicopter and get you looked at. It’ll just be a minute, I promise.”
Violet and Peter looked up at Steve and got out of there seats. Running to the front where the waiters were. They took immediate action on getting everyone safe.
Everything was how it was when he left so many years ago including the furniture. Everything was old fashion and floral from his mothers taste. The living room had the biggest TV he has ever seen since he woke up from the ice. “Damn, I remember when we bought this. It took my father, Bucky and me to carry the TV in. It was right before we left I bought it for them before I left for the war.”
Steve looked at his shoulder. “Your bleeding. Luna what the hell happened?! Luna, you said you wouldn’t do anything stupid!”
Tony sat down in the chair and looked at the paper in front of him. Pepper put her hand on his shoulder. In his opinion, Pepper was his best lawyer and didn’t want anyone else to represent him. He slowly picked up the pen and signed his name on the X.
The Avengers went off the stage waving while everyone was still asking questions. Tony held Steve’s hand close. “Lu, what do you wanna do first?”
“Tony, she’s gonna be frozen at this age if she can’t remember anything,” Bruce told him and poured her more juice in the cup.
All of Luna’s clothes were covered with the flour. She kept her eyes closed and kept still while Crab and Goyle kept her still. ‘Just stay quiet, it’ll be over soon’ was all she kept thinking.
“We can’t do that, tell her that Friday. That’s soon. We can go and watch other performances so then it doesn't look like we are there for her.” Tony smiled. “We can make out in the back if we get bored.”
Happy drove them in the limo with May who was dressed as Elsa from Frozen. Happy was dressed in a limo driver, so she just assumed that was his costume. Newt jumped into the car and laid on his bed. He was dressed up as the cat Happy. The most adorable costume of the year if you asked Peter.
Tony fell to his knees and began to tear up. “S-Steve…?” He began to wheeze and grip his tie. “Steve? Is it really you? Please tell me I’m not dreaming again. It isn’t fair. Steve?!”
“Violet, you can’t do this,” Peter yelled at me and stood up. “We are fifty-seven years old! We are both married and soon to be married! And we both have kids! Why do you want to give that up?!”
“Go ahead and have some!” Peter smiled and pushed the chocolate chip cookie closer to her. “If you not hungry we can play instead.”
“Can we see her? If we decide she does go? I don’t want her to feel abandoned.” Steve asked and grabbed Tony’s hand tightly.
“Then I will go talk to him and Bruce.” Steve sighed and sat on the bed rubbing her cheek. “We love you, Violet.”
They went into the empty shop and saw rows and rows of black boxes behind the desk. “Hello?” Tony yelled into the shop.
“Peter is starting to wake up. He is in a bit of pain, but his body keeps healing to fast for us to give him anything. We think he will be able to be going home by tomorrow. He regrew his finger while in sugary.” Dr. Dessie told them and looked at the chairs. “How about we sit down to continue?”
“Steve, remember the last mission you were on?” Bucky asked him and sat on the bed with Steve pulling him close to him. Steve automatically laid his head on top of his shoulder curling into him taking up the protection.
“I didn’t do this,” Tony whispered and Steve shrugged his shoulders going with it. Steve and Tony sat down on the couch. “What did you get kiddo?”
Violet followed staying quit griping Peter’s hand tight. Tony and Steve followed them down the elevator. Peter kept sobbing.
“Don’t you dare.” Steve started but it was too late. The twins went through the portal to the rooftop.
It took Tony twenty minutes after the interrogation to get Jarvis backup online. He had called Bruce to come up from the lab to get the body out of the gym and to look over Violet. All he could do was sit and watch her lay in the bed just like they did after the battle of New York. She laid so still very frail. They had changed her into one of the old pairs of PJs she had up in her room.
“She’s not in her head. Please. Steve. Let’s do this the right way.” Tony begged. “What if she tries to hurt Peter?”
Steve couldn’t tell if Peter was just hurt or truly didn’t believe. “No. We are just different. And different is okay. Santa has nothing to do with everything happening.”
“I don’t hate you. I’m mad that you put your life on the line.” Steve told her and sighed. “Just get some sleep. I’m gonna go check on Tony. Thor is gonna stay with you. I love you both. Please behave. I mean it.”
“Sir, Violet is starting to become unconscious and Peter’s suit is becoming too overheat and will need to land ASAP,” Friday spoke into the headset.
“Leaving where baby girl?” Tony asked and put a hand to her forehead getting Jarvis to scan her brain waves.
“I see two humans. I bet the Avengers would come here faster knowing that I had you.” Loki told them and held up his staff.
The pair disappeared into her bedroom. Her room was painted yellow with butterflies hanging around the room. Trees were painted on the walls with clouds and the sun shining above her crib. Fairies were flying around and unicorns standing in the background. Perfect for this little girls imagination.
She nodded and kissed both of them on the cheek and walked through the portal to the platform. She kept her glittery Hello Kitty bookbag close along with her cane.
“She really loves Halloween,” MJ commented leaning on her husband Ned. They got married six weeks ago and just came back from there honeymoon. They start working for S.R.I. next week. “I thought she was excited on a daily base, but this is crazy.”
“SHE’s not going anywhere without us,” Steve told him and took Luna’s hand handing her to Rhodey. “Take her to the house.”
Tony took Steve’s hand and smiled. “We wanted to announce to everyone that we have been married for the past eight years. A lot of our fans are happy to hear this. I know. I’ve read some of the things you genius things have written. We also have a ten-year-old daughter.”
“We’re gonna go to Britain. They're gonna teach you, magic sweetheart. It’ll be great. You can see us anytime. We’ll leave in the morning to get your stuff,” Tony told her and rubbed her cheek. “After a week of you sleeping, I’m glad to see your beautiful grey eyes.”
“There are still single husbands that need to change there kid! Why don’t you bring up your fucking manager.” Steve yelled grabbing the attention of everyone in the store.
“I am six, but if I am going, to be honest, I am six and…” Peter stuck his tongue out while he was doing the math in his head. “Two hundred and seventy-four days old. So is Violet! We are twins. She’s my best friend too! Well except when she gets mad at me.”
“OH YES! Dads pleeassssee?! It will be so much fun!” Peter asked jumping up and down on top of the table.
“Shut up…” Tony stood in shock trying to comprehend everything. “What do we do?” He finally asked after five minutes of silence.
Luna got up and leaned into Tony’s chest. Taking both of her father’s hands. “Anything you guys want. We can go talk to the press if you need to.”
I looked over at the teenager. His brown eyes staring into mine. His hair was sloppy just like dads use to be. Just looking at him I knew…
After an hour child protective services showed up and walked the twins up the penthouse. With agents standing outside of the door making sure Tony and Steve didn’t harass them.
“Hey! Come on, knock it off,” Peter told him and pushed Flash off of him lightly not wanting to expose himself.
When we both started running Stark Industries we made sure everyone that lost their job with S.H.I.E.L.D. got: a home and was 100% taken care of for two years until they found another profession. After the president that made us go into hiding term ended Dr. Strange went for office and won (surprisingly, he wasn’t very liked by many). So we were allowed out in the open again, but Miss. Imagine never returned to the light of day. Spider-Man did for a year and then hid when Mary Jane came into the picture.
Violet got off the seat and placed the plate in the skin. She pulled the chair over and cleaned her dish along with the dishes in the sink.
“Because then they will know I am a freak of nature and want to get to know me just because I have powers. We have killed people, with our actions that were flawed.” She grabbed the bottom of her chair. “We can not pretend anymore, Peter.”
“I understand that, but me? We lost her once in that future and when she was first born though I don’t think it ever happened. But, we knew we weren’t going to lose her again! Then she ran!” Steve screamed running into Tony’s back.
After ten minutes of dancing to fast up pace songs, a slower version of Beautiful by Bazzi and Camilla Cabello came on. Peter spun the girl smiling and pulled her close and whispered each of the words to her.
Steve stood up. “Your honor it is clear Peter is having separation anxiety can one of our friends go with the caretakers to help calm their nerves.”
“Okay we will, we can get everyone ready to go. We can go in the rain.” Steve told him and kissed his head.
Peter carried her down the stairs out on to the streets and ran to the nearest medic. “Someone, please help her!”
Steve always walked with Luna hand in hand so then she didn’t have to use her cane. Luna decided that if she was going to be using a cane that it had to be stylish. So, she took colored paints, washi-tape and glitter and stickers to design her cane.
“Stop don’t attack! She’s dreaming…” Tony grabbed his shoulder and walked over to the bed pushing the men out of the way for Steve.
The rest of the team sat down wanting to hear about their niece and nephews conditions. Once everyone was nicely seated and comfortable everyone went quiet, Bruce began.
“Remember everyone, smile. We are here for kids who have cancer.” Steve told them and opened the door to the chaos.
Tony flew as fast as the suit would let him, but it wasn’t enough. The suit planed on the roof breaking through three floors until it came to a complete stop. “Kid! No! No! NO!”
I put on my shoes when we landed leaving my glasses behind on the chair next to mine. We were at the tower. Not a hospital so that was making my nerves a lot better. I ran off the Quinjet before the ramp could fully go down. Happy was waving at me.
“Did you adopt? What’s her name?! Do her parents get paid for not telling about who adopted her?! Why does she have a cane?”
Steve put his hand on Peter’s shoulders and walked with everyone behind them. Cameras flashed every step they took. Once they got in the van and out of sight they handcuffed every single one of them.
“Vi, it’s dinner. Come on.” Steve told her from the doorway. He held his hand out for the girl who took his hand and skipped off with.
The press was taking pictures. Yelling a million questions there way. The flashes never ended making everyone start to blind them.
“Papa!” Violet wiggled out of Bucky’s arms and sprinted down the hall into Steve’s arms crying. “We thought you no wanted us anymore!” She punched his shoulder the hardest she could (which was only a tap compared to what he’s gotten in the past). “We thought you want us to die alone!”
“I could have told you that there was no changing table in any of the men's rooms! It’s been like that since probably before you, Steve. Not many men take their kids out anymore. I think now that they should since there are many gay couples like us with small children needing to change them is a thing. We can talk calmly about it to someone. But, let’s first focus on getting them both changed. I will go back in there and pay for the clothes I picked out. Calm down… okay?”
With Violet noticing that Peter was gone she began to wake up and wine. The moment her eyes opened all of the butterflies disappeared. “Da…”
“Couldn’t think of anything else…” Clint told them and smiled cheekily at them. “I promise I tried.”
“What the hell just happened?! H-How could she do that?!” Peter asked them with his hands up in the air. He was in more shock than any of them.
They kept kissing while walking up the stairs. While undressing one another until they reached the bedroom only in boxers each.
“We tried to work things out. We even tried a polyamorous relationship. It didn’t work.” Steve told them and sighed rubbing his face watching the twins react.
“Packing? Where are we going” Luna asked and sat her seeing-eye cane down next to the elevator door.
She spun around and laid on the ground. “Only for a minute! I want to change my mind cause this just don’t feel right to me!”
Luna sat on the broomstick and watched the sunrise. Tears running down her red puffy face. She stopped when she made it to the rooftop of the tower. Sitting on her knees she screamed until her face was blue. She had to be happy and okay for her Papa. She had to be.
“I don’t want to cry! I want to fight! I want to fight for my family. My husband and my daughter. For the adults who act like our kids! I will fight it. I swear I will.”
Tony nodded and leaned back into the seat. “I missed you guys so much. I think all the excitement is just...” Tony didn’t really know what was going on. He felt happier than he has in years. His chest was being filled by love making the sadness go away.
Peter sat in the middle of the living room with everyone around him, except for the love of his life, Luna. He bounced his foot up and down trying to keep himself composed. “T-thank you for everyone coming to sit with me… I know I need to hurry up, but I need your permission for something. Something huge.”
“I can sober up before then. Let’s go get changed.” Tony paused the concert and walked back to Violet’s room before he went to his. “Hey, kid...” Tony waved his arm getting her attention.
One thing you taste: “My blueberry pancakes this morning. Which tasted great. Everyone loved them with everything.”
“Tony we did our best. She just stepped in. And we have to punish her! She left the hospital!” Steve yelled. “What if she brought Peter into it? What if she passed out on stage?”
Pepper handed the paper to Steve and watched him sign. “So, both of you need to decide what you're splitting.”
Steve was up there before Tony. They took one another’s hand and looked at Dr. Dessie. “How are they?”
Bucky opened the door slowly and looked up him and down slowly. “Captain Steven Grant Stark-Rogers. How are you feeling?”
Everyone separated and went into there own floors following where Friday was telling them to go. Tony had Steve follow him down the stairs. “I have a confession to make Steve.”
“Then you will go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. and I will stay here with the kids. Just promise you won’t die.”
She grinned into his neck leaning into him more. “You make a hot Natsu. Now let’s get going. Happy will have my neck if I’m late to something again. Newt let’s go, buddy!”
The rest of the Avengers watched with wide eyes as Steve took Hammer by the back of his neck with his metal arm, pointing the knife at his jugular and pointing his head to the camera that seemed to be shaking along with Hammer. "I… I w-would l-like to… to a-apologize to Mr. Stark." Hammer whimpered pitifully, squeaking when the knife pressed at his neck more harshly as if trying to order him to do a better job. "I lied OK! It was me! I was the one playing with SI's taxes and falsify their reports, please don't kill meeee! I didn't mean it; I only wanted to see Stark's downfall yahhhhhh!" Hammer let out a girlish scream when Steve stabbed the knife on the wooden table near Hammer's hand that was on the said table.
Steve rushed toward his baby, taking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood off his boy’s face, but Peter pushed him away, taking a few shaky steps back, before throwing up on Steve’s shirt and the floor, causing a shocked silence to fall on the place, only to be broken by Peter’s sobs as he starts crying loudly at the mess he made on his mother shirt more than the blood that was still flowing down his nose. “Shush, baby, it’s OK, it’s OK, nothing bad happened baby, it’s OK, Mommy going to handle it, just breath baby…” Steve rushed toward his sobbing baby, trying to calm him down but only succeeded in getting louder wails from his boy, as Peter starts pushing him away.
The sound stopped halfway through the room, and for a long time, Tony heard nothing, which made him relax.
"James, relax…" Steve whispered to the brunt gently as he gently moved the man's head and put it in his lap, removing the Alpha's hands that were squeezing tightly, exchanging them for his as he starts massaging the Alpha's temples gently, moving from the temples to James's forehead and then back, letting out his scent hoping to calm the man down.
"How our children grow up fast…" Tony mumbled, gaining a soft chuckle from Steve as the Alpha kissed his forehead, causing a purr to leave Tony's throat as he snuggle into his husband's chest, his muscles relaxed at the scent of his mate being close by.
"J.A.R.V.I.S. you have one minute to find them or else…" Tony hissed, his fingers twitching madly to have something in it, either to swing it and break something (Preferably someone's skull) or to throw it at Steve for being an asshole and hiding something like this from him. "Tell me, Rogers, did the deal you made with them include hiding the truth from me?" Tony asked/hissed wanting to know the answer because surely, there must be something in the deal that prevents his parents from coming in contact with him, especially after Afghanistan, the Iron Man fiasco, and New York.
"OK, fellas, take care of yourselves and be good, and I mean you, Peter, no more fight today and don't encourage him, Steve." Tony said as he kissed Peter and Steve on the cheek before waving to them as he got into his car and drove away, smiling happily at the thought of returning home later and seeing his boyfriend and the small pup, already planning what the three of them could do today, and tomorrow, considering that tomorrow was his day off…
"So? It doesn't matter! Tonight is about bonding between the two of us, understood?" The sweet smile left Serpentine's face, causing the woman to look at him with a dark threatening look; the killing intent coming from the ghost in waves caused Tony to snap his mouth shut and nod his head mechanically, hoping that he won't die today of all day, not now… Tony should have never agreed with Fury to housing Steve, he should have let him rot in the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s holding cells. "Excellent!" Serpentine chirped, the smile returning back to her face as she looked around the room, scrunching her nose at the decor. "Let's go to the kitchen and get some ice cream then." Serpentine send Tony a sharp look ordering him to move his ass fast, which Tony did, not wanting to be killed by a ghost, not now, not when he didn't even reach thirty-six, not when his birthday was nearly two weeks from now.
"It can't be…" Tony breathed out as he ripped the envelope, his breath hitching when the ultrasound pictures greeted him, making Tony pale as realization painted itself over his face, when he raised his eyes toward James; the Alpha was looking at him with his emotionless face, causing something inside Tony to snap at that. "You! Ever since you came here, ever since you showed your goddamn face here… all of this is your fault!" Tony snarled as he rushed toward James, punching him with all of his strength causing the Alpha to stumble and fall down.
If only he knew that he was one of those Omegas that can carry pups out of heat, then he wouldn't even allow Rogers to stay within ten feet radar of his whereabouts. Tony let out a sniff, looking at his belly in deep thoughts, wondering what is he going to do now, for he knows he can't raise the baby all on his own, in fact, Tony was sure he will break any second now, he can't even take care of himself probably, but a crying, sniffling, too much work baby? Tony will kill himself now just to get rid of the mounting pressure that seemed to increase.
"Y-yes, I… I do. I'm actually Italian." Maria said as she finally get a grip of herself and looked at the pup that was now standing in front of her and she only then noticed how small he was for his age, wasn't the pup supposed to be nine or ten years old? The pup looks younger though like he was seven or eight, too small…
Steve could only shake in his place, his breath getting faster and faster as a panic attack nearly sink its claws in him; there were a few other gunshots that were heard, causing Steve to whimper as he hid his face in Bucky's neck. Bucky, who was shushing him softly and rushing toward Steve's car, planning on driving them as far away from the supermarket as they can.
Waddling fast, Steve ignored Bucky as he slammed his fists on the door, ordering Steve to get back and open the door for him. Finally, Steve managed to reach his car, getting in there fast as he started the car, hoping that he will manage to escape before Bucky catch up to him. Steve's tears couldn't stop falling down his face, blurred his vision, and causing Steve to blink faster and faster to stop the blurriness; his mind was still in shock, refusing to believe what happened not a few minutes ago. Desperately, Steve turned his eyes toward his phone, deciding to call Tony in hope of his Alpha coming to save him from this madness. "Come on, Tony pick up!" Steve snarled to no one in particular when his phone rang for the third time with no one picking it up, his heart pounding in his chest in fear, the thought of Bucky managing to catch up to him was making his heart skip beats in his chest.
"You will be the first to say that, I don't think Steve had the same courage to say what you just said." Peggy said as she looked down at Asgard once more, her mind kept drifting to what Steven said to her, the smile refused to leave her face. "How was Tony in his last years? You said he lived until he was ninety-five, right?" Her question made Steven smile at that, eyes going distant a little as he remembered his late husband with a small smile on his face; he then opened his mouth…
"So what are your ideas for the heat?" Peggy finally asked when everyone proceeded to the family room, Tony pursed his lips in thoughts, gazing at Peter who was drawing with no care in the world, deep in thought struggling to determine what he was going to do, Natasha though offered him a smug grin and asked in an innocent tone that was anything but.
“And then, I wasn’t able to breathe right and I started walking, figuring it was a cramp or something, so I kept walking until I ended up in the butterfly garden.”
“Can it, Rhodey. I’m not kidding. I’m not fucking the help when I could literally die while inside of him.”
He settled into a steady routine over the following days. He’d video chat with Bucky as soon as Bucky woke up, then go for a run. When he was back from the run, he’d settle onto the sofa next to Tony’s bed and spend the rest of the day using that as his homebase. All the nurses knew him well, and knew no one was moving him from that spot without his consent. He read out loud to Tony, told him stories, chattered to Pepper whenever she came in, provided updates to Jim Rhodes, and generally made himself as useful as possible.
The final Tuesday that Steve was under contract dawned, therefore, like most of the previous days had been. Steve went to the kitchen to be told by JARVIS that, “Sir was abed and not planning on leaving in the near term.”
“And me,” Tony said softly. He wound an arm under Steve so that Steve could see the inside of his wrist.
Steve put the car into gear and started to navigate the directions he was given. Tony leaned over and turned up the radio, and the sounds of AC/DC rolled through the speakers. That was one of Tony’s signals for ‘no talking’ and usually it happened because they’d bickered, or because he was making a point.
JARVIS stayed silent, and Tony shifted his body a few times to try to find some position that might possibly be comfortable. After attempting that for a few moments - and realizing the futility in it - he heaved himself to an upright position.
“You are the best strategist on the team,” Bucky replied. “You have always known exactly how much your body can take, exactly how to position all of us in a scrum to make sure that we get the maximum velocity with the minimum injury. And then you go and basically do a kamikaze mission on a tackle that Thor had handled.”
“I’m heading out for a walk,” he called towards the kitchen, where he could hear the giggling that would lead to groaning any minute. He winced slightly, knowing he was being an ass. While Steve had been working on sustainable irrigation projects in most of East Africa, Bucky had been a POW in Afghanistan for eight months. Sarah Wilson had been an absolute godsend and Steve felt slightly gross for being so negative about them, but…
Steve laughed, and was gratified to hear that the man had stopped reciting. His fingers were still flying and his breathing needed work, so Steve forged on. “I couldn’t’ve found Tanzania on a map, but I said sure and started applying. I’ve always been obsessed with water - how powerful it is, how much we need to have power over it to live, so the idea of putting off college for a little while and learning about water in places that didn’t have water treatment plants sounded pretty cool.
Tony wondered why he hadn’t done this before. He hadn’t tried cooking since he was a kid, with Jarvis and Ana, but being here, in the kitchen, was bringing back all the memories of the happy times, before Howard had said it wasn’t ‘suitable’ for him to be in the kitchen. Given that he wanted to be nothing like Howard as a father, he was going to cook, and when Petey-pie was old enough, he’d cook with his son. Jarvis was a much better paternal model than Howard, anyway.
“I’m sure it will,” Tony said with a sigh. “But it could damage his liver in the process, and that’s a big organ to have fucked with.”
Steve nearly collapsed against the wall he was leaning on. He put his phone back in his pocket so both of his hands were free to grasp his head. It was spinning and heavy all at once. So much of his summer made sense now.
“Let me get this straight,” Steve started. “I agree to work for you for a few months, and you’ll let Sam and Bucky have their weirdo dream wedding?”
Steve curled his hands into fists, and then uncurled them in an attempt to calm himself down. “Listen, pal, we didn’t know, but his fiancé and the officiant are on their way, so can we -”
For all of Tony’s bluster that nothing was wrong, Steve knew something was. When he first started working for Tony, the man had driven himself everywhere. Now, Steve was chauffeur. Tony made some excuse about wanting to work on his phone while they ran errands… but Tony hadn’t picked up his phone.
“A high grade epoxy that can withstand water, pressure, fire, and 500 pounds, but be dissolved with vinegar is a pretty big deal, kiddo,” Tony said warmly. “You just rewrote Elmers being a household name.”
“Well, congratulations,” Tony said, “you managed to turn a hypothetical into an unnecessary reality.”
“Sorry, that sounds like a terrible pick-up line,” the man laughed. “It’s just that this is so off the beaten path only a handful of us come here.”
“You think he deserves to be in jail for being an assassin for hire,” Steve stated as he took a step closer to Tony.
“No, none of that unless you’re enlisted,” Jim said. “I get enough ‘sir’s and shit up at Dix. Jim is fine.”
All of Tony’s focus went to problem solving, because that’s what he did best. “JARVIS, how quickly can the chopper get here?”
Steve finally made full eye contact with Tony, and all of Tony’s nerves felt alive and dulled simultaneously. To be the center of Steve Rogers’ full focus was nothing to sneeze at, and every time he had over the past few months, Tony’s world slowed to taffy pulling speed.
Dr. Cho, Pepper, and some other doctors began to talk back and forth, using a lot of words and phrases Steve didn’t understand, so he just made sure to keep his eyes on Tony. A few moments later, Tony called for him.
“The orgy disguised as a Tupperware party that you should not have gone to but did anyway because your sense of self-preservation never fully developed? Yes, I recall,” Rhodey replied.
Tony was waiting patiently for Steve to return from his run, so when the door opened, he was ready to prop himself up on a few pillows and start a conversation. JARIVS hadn't mentioned that he'd gotten a hold of Steve, but he obviously had. “Hey Steve -”
It was on statues, in history books, a huge part of the Smithsonian exhibit. The stories about how he got bullied when he was small because alphas weren’t supposed to be small. He got called a violation of nature, told he’d never keep an omega, Sarah was told she should have left him on the rocks on the Hudson. But then - so the history books told - Dr. Erskine recognized his inner Alpha and gave him the serum.
“Keep it,” Steve replied. “I run hot anyway. Living near the Equator was brutal, I’m fucking delighted to be cold again.”
They exchanged details, and then Steve followed orders and led Tony to the dance floor. He kissed him gently, and then pressed their foreheads together as the music swirled around them.
About a month previous, a video of Steve playing cello in the park had gone slightly viral. SI’s PR team had jumped on it, and replied that Steve would be playing at that year’s Maria Stark Gala if anyone wanted to hear a full performance, there were still a few tickets available.
In the few hours he’d been in Philadelphia and glued to Steve’s side, the only emotion it had brought Steve was annoyance. Brock was too loud, too much, too… everything. He also had this tendency to talk to the doctors like he and Steve were married and so he had some sort of say about everything happening with Bucky.
Humming to himself, Tony started to pull out the ingredients. Steve was busy with SHIELD today, and Peter was having fun with Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Bucky. Sometimes he felt he only saw his kid for dinner and bedtime because every single one of the Avengers, plus a few of the associated people, had become aunt or uncle. Peter loved it, though, so Tony just made sure they all knew the rules, and sometimes he learned more about his fellow Avengers than he ever thought he would. (Apparently Sam was the best Avenger at reading with all the voices and Clint was the best with singalongs. He would not have thought that).
After Steve called Tony out in the yoga studio that day, he’d gone back to Bucky and Steve’s and learned all the things he thought he already knew. Bucky was a vigilante assassin, but for hire for Universal Balance Causes only - which all had to be run through Steve’s membership in the Warlock Council. While Bucky had been freed from the brainwashing that came courtesy of Vlad’s torture, he wasn’t fully free of the trauma - since no one ever was. Finding a way to redeem the skill set he now had and had never wanted was part of his recovery.
“I’m positive,” the man said. “I’m Tony, by the way. Since I know your name, figured you might want mine.”
Bucky ticked his fingers. “One, you’re at the shop on a Tuesday, which is usually family night. Two, you’re moping, which means you’re feeling sad and guilty. Three, I’ve met you.”
“Still in Philly, then,” Pepper said and Steve could hear some clicking. “A car will collect you from the south entrance of City Hall in 20 minutes. Can you get there by then?”
“You guys have been married for eight years,” Bucky said, “and sniffing around each other for, what, five years before that? And that whole time, you’ve both been in professional and personal pressure cookers. Youse had a plan, and you fucked with the plan, and neither of you react well when the other one does that.”
Tony bit into the piece of day-old pizza that was serving as his dinner and swiped at the alert on his phone.
“Now I need a full knee replacement, and Pepper’s due in four-ish months. Tony will have a screaming newborn, a husband who can’t help much, and only three weeks of paternity leave,” Steve recounted.
“I think Sam might protest that sacrifice,” Steve quipped. Bucky opened his mouth to respond when Sam’s voice called out across the dunes.
The mind fuck of the past month was a lot, and so Steve was willing to let himself be pushed against a bathroom wall by a man who was probably a poor decision, but who didn’t kiss like one.
“And gave him my jacket,” Steve muttered. “It’s cheap leather I found at a souk in Morocco, and I gave it to someone who probably could buy his own jacket factory.”
“You can put this smoothie nonsense in your pie hole, Tony,” Steve snapped. “You’ve had smoothies for the past six meals, and unless you tell me a medical reason why you can’t chew solid food, you’re eating this instead.”
Brock kept trying to contact him, and Steve simply said that he’d had fun, but he wasn’t interested in anything else. Security for the building told Steve that a man fitting Brock’s description had been seen skulking around, but Steve didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with it all. JARVIS assured him that “Mister Rumlow will be handled in a manner befitting his person” and that was good enough for Steve.
Tony struggled but got himself fully upright. “Steven, you are in no condition to drive, and we both know I can’t drive you. Alec is on call for times like this. Get in the chopper, let him fly you to….?”
They made small talk for a little while - Steve asked a few questions about sunfish and the other species around the island, Brock asked about how Steve knew what medium to use when. Steve was debating working up the courage to ask for Brock’s number when Brock beat him to it.
“Mr. Rogers replied that you haven’t had substantive protein all day, and recommends he grill some fish.”
Peter Quill shrugged. “Gammy hates when I sit around the house for too long, and it’s always fun to play with you all.”
If he’d stolen some magic from his mother’s people to make it work, no one needed to be any the wiser.
Bucky had offered to mate with him in the tents, to settle the narrative once and for all. Bucky had always wanted a family, far more than he wanted to be a sniper, so it would have worked. Bucky was his best friend, they could have built a good life together based on companionship and secret-keeping, but before Steve could have settled into that mental future, a train interrupted those dreams.
“What does that mean? Of course you know who I am,” Tony said. “I’m Colin Maxsted, aspiring author and yoga enthusiast.”
Tony stared out the window and ignored the pain radiating in his chest. The palladium was slowly eating him alive, and everything he’d tried to use to stop it had failed. He knew it was only a matter of time, now. He’d talked to Pepper that morning, made sure all his affairs were in order. By his and Dr. Cho’s calculations, he had about two months left. Perfect to finish the last prototype of the reactor to send to NASA and then die in peace.
“You’re past that,” Tony said. “Thor had that tackle, you monumental martyr. Rumlow wasn’t getting across the touch line, why did you have to pile on?”
Steve let out a deep sigh and put both of his hands on the kitchen counter. “He looks worse every day, Buck.”
It wasn’t just that he was gorgeous - gorgeous men are a dime a dozen in Manhattan and Tony should know, as he’d slept with most of them. It wasn’t just that he was an incredible musician - they weren’t exactly hard to come by. No, there was something more about Steve Rogers. He was a puzzle that Tony craved to solve.
Tony wasn’t sure - he’d been racking his brain for two weeks wondering why he couldn’t get Peace Corps Steve off of his mind. “He was kind.”
Rhodey snorted. “The walking triangle with the cello. He’s been at the last eight of these things you’ve dragged me to, and Pep said you bullied Tricia into hiring him for her thing last week.”
“Baby,” Sarah said from her place on the opposite couch, where she was going through a pile of cookbooks to decide what to make for the boys’ homecoming dinner the following weekend. “Steve has helped a few hundred thousand people have access to sustainable water, can we cut him some slack that he doesn’t know about Iron Man and his magic reactor?”
As soon as Steve pulled away, Tony let out a gasp. It shocked Steve so much that he fell backwards, his eyes frantically searching the room and landing on Dr. Cho. “Did I…?”
Bucky didn’t say anything in return, and Steve felt the flood of tears breach the emotional damn he’d been relying on for the past several hours.
The ‘Master Rogers’ was new since the fight. JARVIS had always called him ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Rogers’ or something along the lines of ‘hey you.’ This insane formality only added to the frostiness of the house - as though winter was setting in.
One of the perks of working an event Pepper Potts was in charge of was that she always sent a car to collect him. He slid his instrument into the back seat of the Town Car ahead of him, and climbed in behind it.
“I’ve wasted enough of your time,” the man said, as he retrieved a phone from his pajama pocket and punched the screen a few times. Steve knew a non-answer when he heard one, and responded in kind.
Steve answered him by sealing his mouth over Tony’s, and hauling the smaller man on top of his body.
Harley snuggled into his arms, his mind drifted toward what happened a week ago; part of Harley was still in disbelieve, wondering how and why Mr. Tony didn't punish him for breaking the glass even when it was an accident, another part of Harley was wondering if Mr. Tony was afraid of Mr. Steve leaving if he raised a hand on Harley so that's why he didn't touch him. The idea of not being punished for an accident was unheard and unthinkable to Harley, it was like a joke that his mind refuse to make sense of.
"Mr. Wilson." Tony acknowledge the man with a nod, it took Sam Wilson only a few seconds to snap out of his shock and return the greeting before turning to scold the children that cower behind Tony when Sam Wilson gave them the 'I'm so disappointed in you' look; which to be honest wasn't as bad as the look Steve has because his Alpha (God bless him) has perfected that look to another level.
So forward he marched, already planning on how to bring the meteor with him, wondering what he will find in it, or maybe it would just be a useless rock that he will bring with him just to spit on the universe and give it as a gift to his baby who was going on and on about that space show he was watching for like forever, wondering if bringing a meteor home for his son will give him the father of the year award.
Feeling guilty for being the reason Harley's only parent was killed, Tony adopted the boy and start raising him with the help of Steven; Steven who stayed with Tony and helped him raise his Peter and now Harley from the start. The night after everyone returned to the tower, was the night that Tony finally confesses to Steven, him not being able to hold it in anymore.
As much as Tony pouted a storm today and tried to convince his friends to stay with him for the unforeseeable future, the two of them needed to go back to New York, not only to keep an eye on Howard and Obadiah, but they also have their jobs to return too, Tony was so thankful that the two of them came to see him as soon as they can even when Howard was watching them trying to find where they hide Tony, not knowing that Tony was able to run away thanks to his mother, who according to his friends, was seeing a therapist, trying to get better, which made Tony sigh in relieve at the thought of his mother finally defeating her depression, maybe one day, Tony will take his daughter so she will meet her grandmamma.
“I do. He’s in custody now.” Rhodey told them. “He’s in handcuffs. Tony, what do you want me to do? It is your tower.”
“Yes. Papa had relations with ex-uncle Bucky and he broke the family. I wanna go home. No offense May! But I like my room better it has my legos.”
Tony ran in fast enough to see Peter’s first steps in action. “My baby boy! Look how big and strong you are!” He threw Peter into the air then caught him.
Tony picked her up and kissed her head. “Hi, Lu. Meet your family. Papa and I love you. All of our family love you. You’ll meet everyone else later. I promise. I’ll take her and you guys can keep talking about whatever it is you need to do.”
Violet walked in slowly and climbed into the chair. “Good morning sir. When will Natasha and Bruce be back from the mission, sir?”
Bruce smiled at the couple sitting next to one another at the head of the table. It’s been ten months since they had sat at the end of the table together. “It’s nice to see you both together. We have all missed you, Tony.”
Luna just nodded and sat on the couch. She closed her eyes sniffling. “Pops just started acting normal. Why did he leave? He needs more time. More time to heal mentally. I need him… I need my Pops.”
Steve pulled Luna off Tony and held her close not wanting her being wet make him colder than he already was. “We’re gonna go to the beach. We’ll be together for the last time. I’m sorry sugar pie.”
“If Peter signs I will sign. But, I do have a question. Are going to be able to change our real names for protection? I had no choice in my identity coming out into the real world. No one knew about us, but Peter’s friend, Ned. We went to different schools so it never mattered to me. But now that they have identified me as a Rogers-Stark, instead of Evergarden. I fear that someone might notice.” She whispered and looked up at him. “If you cannot protect my identity I will walk away.”
Steve and Tony got Luna an IQ test once the school she was going to said that she was bored in class. A week later they found out that she had the IQ score of 175 which was off the charts for genius. The husbands decided that they wouldn’t tell her until she was ten so she could decide what she wanted to do with her life. He was happy he going to spend a bit more time with his family than just dying.
Walking out into the kitchen he found Steve sitting on the bar stool on the island. Tony rolled his eyes and walked straight to the fridge and grabbed the fudge pop tarts. Ripping open the silver paper he looked up at Steve and spoke for the first time that month: “The fuck you want, Steve?”
With that, they walked into the building. “Hello I’m Tony Stark-Rogers and this is my husband Steve. We are here to see Luna.”
Tony just smiled. “This is my computer A.I. now. Jarvis is going to be the eye in the sky. Magic man in the mirror. He’s gonna help me with the company.”
Steve nodded and sank down to his knees holding his head in hands. He left his twins. That’s all he could think about. Was that he LEFT his twins on the train.
“You were all stupid fools today. Could have gotten people killed! You ruined homes and blew up monsters with unidentified bombs. How did you even get that kind of bombs they haven’t been made since the 1940’s?” Fury looked at all of them.
“Sounds great. Feed me.” Tony laid his head back on the seat closing his eyes. Steve went to let go of his hand, but Tony gripped his hand tighter. “Don’t! Don’t let go of my hand. Please, Steve I fucking beg you.”
“At least give them a week to get used to being around everyone then we will go ahead. I would wait to move everything until they recover.”
“The Stark Industry robots are already out fixing everything. I called them out when we were on the way back here.” Tony told him and stood up.
Steve walked over to Tony and slid his boxers off him slowly. Kissing all over his chest and down his waistline. “Do you trust me?”
“Not your fault. Bastards wanted me to build a bomb. Let’s go home. Please. We have things to talk about. Our future especially.”
Peter slumped back in his seat and sucked his thumb. Curling into Violet’s lap. Violet put her hands on top of his head playing with his curls and yawned. “Daddy and Papa will come back.”
The battle of New York caught everyone by surprise. Tony and Steve didn’t expect that Loki would take over the tower where the twins where. The twins at the time being only six years old. They also didn’t expect Loki to hurt the twins and threaten their lives against them. It was a bloodbath, but they won with many things lost. To the husbands, everything was a blur.
Hawkeye looked up and rubbed his chin. “The last time we used handcuffs we had an indent inside the circle part.”
“Try and sleep. We are right next door if something starts to happen. Though it would be funny to see Fury see your dreams.” Tony chuckled and kissed his head. “Night.”
“Sir, we have an odd problem in the nursery. I do not know how to describe it. Maybe my camera is going bad.” Jarvis told them.
“But, Violet once you found out she wasn’t your mom why did you stay with her?” Steve asked this time picking her up so she would face them.
Flash kept taunting him. “What you don’t want your orphaned and blind girlfriend know how much of a pussy you are Parker?”
It was a good thing she didn’t move from the stair. If she could see them she would have known that there was a booby trap in front of her with blades when you stepped on the second step. She was going the wrong way.
There time slowly coming to end they had to decide which one was going to go back to playing superhero while the other lived twenty miles away from the compound. To Steve, it was scary to think that one would be on the field and the other would be at home.
Denice stood up first. “Captain Steven Grant Rogers has been a veteran since, well before any of us where born. He has strived in this world to become a great husband and father as time went. Though when he disappeared on his family he went to search for his first love. James “Bucky” Barnes who he thought was dead but saw him alive during one of his classified missions. He left his family to bring home a family member not knowing if he would make it out alive. Steven stated that if he got the twins in his custody he would quit being an Avenger to care for them. Thank you, your honor.”
Tony laid there with the bed sitting up and him looking over at the door. He has only two monitors and was trying to get out of bed. “Hey, baby boys.”
“Don’t fight one another! It’s okay. I have to study for my exams anyway. Peter, I’ll walk you out before there is a world war four here.”
Peter slammed his fist down on the piano which just made an angry noise. “They said you could be dead, but I can’t believe that! I need you here! You need to come home! UNDERSTAND ME!”
After wallowing for an hour on the floor Tony finally stood up and went into the dining room where the bar was set up. Grabbing out a bottle of vodka he began to drink out of the bottle. “Jarvis, get the court to make a date for the twins. ASAP. I don’t want them gone too long.”
“You guys look so young… I’m sorry I put you through hell.” She told them and walked over a bit more. “I am V.M.R-S. better known as Violet Maria Rogers-Stark, CEO and runner of Stark Industries from the year 2022 to 2061 when I ended the company.” She held out her hand, but no one took it.
“Daddy!” Peter squealed and ran into the room laughing. “Did you see, daddy? I was on TV again with Thor!”
Steve blushed and walked over to him. “Not in front of the kids.” Steve pecked his lips and smiled. “Later you can have the rest. Not in front of the four-year-olds.”
"We only want what's good for you Tony; for you and Morgan, we just want to protect you." Pepper whispered, stretching her free hand toward Tony, which Tony took and gave a comforting squeeze. "The thought of you and Morgan getting hurt because of this… of this stupid ghost and the stupid town is too much, especially when we are miles away, with no way of reaching you as fast as we want." Tony gave Pepper a sad smile, holding her hand tightly giving it a last squeeze before letting go.
Over and over again while kissing his head, rocking him back and forth until Peter finally calmed down and wiped his face in the Alpha's shirt, something that will get him an ear tug from his mother, but the Alpha in front of him only pulled Peter tightly in his arms and kissed his forehead.
Stane ends up being prohibited from coming to their mansion again, and Tony was thankful for his father for that. Stane, on the other hand, took it differently, the idiot tried to lock his father out of his own company, which really it ends up with Stane getting his ass handed to him and getting fired for his offers, Tony was happy he wouldn't have to deal with that creep again.
A chill went down Tony's spine, and this time it wasn't from the cold or from the fear he felt from Stane, no this was different… someone, no, some
It was two years since Tony inherited SI after Howard's went 'Missing' as people claimed, Tony being grateful to take reign of the company that was his by birthright, being grateful to be able to stop the weapon manufacturing, getting rid of the dark stain that painted Tony's life since he was a child, a stain he won't allow to touch his child's life. It was the most freeing experience in Tony's life, when he appointed Pepper as the CEO, not wanting to get involved with something that touched Howard with a fifty-meter poll, thought, Pepper was too happy to keep his seat occupied until Morgan was out of college and ready to take the world by a storm, a thought that did nothing but made Tony smile happily.
"Stane…" Steve called out making the man turn to him and glare even more with a dark look in his eyes. "You know why you are here, don't make this hard for you and tell me what I want to know," Steve said making Stane snort at that.
"S-Steve what are you doing here?" Tony asked as he opened the door which caused Steve to snap out of his daze and look at the Omega with a small smile, he entered the room without being invited because if he gathered one thing, Tony will take a mile if you gave him one millimeter, he knows that it was wrong of him to barge on the Omega and his pup's domain, but he was tired of hearing Tony's heartbreaking cries and seeing his pup silent tears.
Even… even if Tony starts obeying Stane, letting the man use him for more food, so he can produce more milk for his starving baby, for little clothes to hide his baby with, letting the man use him just so he would stop hurting Tony, whose body was going weak and weak day after day, even if Tony feared that Stane will finally give him the blow that will kill him… he had to live for his baby, he had to…
"About that… the father doesn't know about Peter…." Steve said which made Bucky let go of him and for his mouth to open in shock. "I didn't tell him." Steve shrugged as he let go of Bucky returning to drying the dishes.
/Warning/: This chapter contains cursing, darkness (The last part of the chapter is pretty dark so…), horror elements, creepiness, torture (Mentioned); fluff, Steve is so in love! And who knows what! All reviews are appreciated...
Steven was about to stop Peggy, after all, no matter what Tony did he was sure he didn't deserve to be treated like that, but before Steve could react Tony thrust his fist toward Steve and open it to show a small silver chain with two rings… two rings that Steve immediately memorized, Steve's hand went to his chest immediately only to discover that they weren't there, Steve had been so consumed by protecting Edith and making sure that no one took her that he forget about the most important thing to him. "Oh…" Steven breathed out as he extends his hand shakily to take the rings from Tony.
"Oh, God, you are finally awake…" Peggy's voice cracked as she ran her hand over his face and hair, trying to reassure herself no doubt that Steve was awake; the action was so familiar that it brought tears into his eyes, causing Steve to sob, taking shuddered breathes as he tried to calm himself.
Steve hummed as he saw the Bifrost open and pull Thor to Asgard, leaving Steve behind in the presence of the Avengers. "What a strange goodbye…" Natasha asked with a sly smile, her smile not reaching her eyes that were watching him like a hawk watching its prey.
The sound of a piercing scream made Steve jump from his bed and run outside of the room, Steve rushed toward the source of the sound which turned out to be Tony's room, that made Steve's heart nearly stop and he fastens his footsteps to reach the door faster, he nearly broke the door, but suddenly it was opened, and Steve's heart jump when he saw Peter standing on a stack of books clutching his bear in one hand and the other on the door handle, Steve gasped softly at the teary eyes that Peter was sporting, and he picked the small pup when he whimpered and pointed at his Mama who was thrashing in his bed choking on his screams.
For Tony the only mistake he made was not adopting Harley sooner, maybe if he did this wouldn't have happened and the boy wouldn't have spent those awful days sleeping in the streets. "Betty, you are my friend, I respect you and Bruce like hell, that's why I am telling you about my plan of adopting Harley instead of just doing it… I don't want to enforce my status on the clinic you know it will get messy if I did." Tony whispered causing Betty to bite her bottom lip, his words no doubt hitting her hard; being the main benefactor of the clinic did have its advantage, especially when Tony donate millions every month for the clinic.
with what looked like a map on the back of the paper housing the sketch of Wakanda and her Black Panther, but something deep down told Steve that he shouldn't trust anyone with this information even if he didn't fully know the meaning behind it, he doesn't know why, he can tell Captain Carter he was sure of that, she was Captain America after all, but something stopped him, and the Omega gave an apologetic smile to the woman. "I am really sorry Ma'am, but other than the house, I haven't heard from the doctor or his lawyer in years." Steve said with sadness itching in his feature at not being able to tell anyone of the little secret that he and the kind doctor had shared years and years ago, and the woman seemed to have bought it, as she let out a tired sigh…
Steve raised his eyebrow at Thor's description and snorted a little. "This is where dead people go to Thor, you know heaven or Valhalla, I don't know what you call it exactly, but I think that's right." Steve waved his hand offhandedly and looked at his right hand that was still shackled to the bed, it only made him sigh and tug the restraining with a little bit of strength which made the shackles break.
As fast as he can, Tony tried to slam the door shut in the person's face, hoping that his sudden action would gain him a few more seconds to escape. The man on the other side though only held the door open and pushed the door with his shoulder, causing Tony to curse as he stumbled back and nearly fell on the floor if he didn't move in the last second. "How rude, is this how you treat your father after years of absence?" Howard sneer as he took a step inside the house, ignoring how Tony shivered and tried to cover his baby from Howard's sight. "So this was the place that Obadiah talked about… at least you knew where you belong," Howard stated in disgust, his eyes not straying too far from Tony who was frozen in his place, not knowing what to do or how to react.
The sound of something firing before falling made Steve jump and look in front of him only for his jaw to fall, he couldn't believe his eyes… because there stood Iron Man standing up from his kneeling position turning his helmet cover head to Steve. Steve could do nothing but look in a daze at the armored man as he took a step after step toward him until he was standing in front of him towering him completely, which made Steve stand up looking at the armor with dazed look.
, why you must take my breath every time I see you?" Steve sighed happily, which only succeeded in causing Tony's left eye to twitch.
"Wha…" Steve murmured, his voice was so faint and hoarse that Steve winced when he heard it; his voice sounded like he spent hours and hours screaming until his voice vanishes into thin air, it was a miracle that Steve was even able to give out that faint sound.
As soon as they reached the pup's bed, Tony tried to raise himself and lie beside his pup, feeling the Alpha's hands trying to get him back to his seat made Tony lose it. "Let me go!" He snapped hissing at the Alpha making the Alpha let go like he was burned. That made Tony turn to his son, using his shaky hands to raise himself and by a miracle he was able to get his body on the bed, gasping for air after that tiring move. Once he was on the bed, he gazed at his sleeping baby, tears start gathering in his eyes making his vision blurry, his baby was so small in this big bed, he was as pale as the sheets and walls around him, that made Tony whine and hold into the child that was lying on the bed. "It's your entire fault…" He whispered to himself but that made the Alpha behind him pause. "I'm so sorry, baby, Mama didn't mean to, I didn't forget you, Mama is so sorry, baby." Tony choked as he held his baby tightly saying sorry over and over again, caressing his baby's cheek and kissing his forehead gently.
"I am happy to learn that Tony was loved here…" Steven said as his voice cracked making Peggy look at Steven with wide eyes, not believing what she heard. "I wish to tell you that Howard treated Tony like how yours did, but I have to regrettably say that he was the farthest of an ideal father, my husband always told me that neglect and verbal abuse were Howard's favorite, that he wanted to please his father so much when he was young, that he drank his first alcoholic drink when he was nine after his father served him… Maria, Tony didn't talk about her much, and when he does, it was always in passing, mainly her depression, and how Tony never saw much of her when he turned ten, Jarvis and Anna were the ones who raised him…" Steven said which made Peggy hide her face behind her hands shaking, which made Steven take a deep breath.
"Anton! Are you hurt?" Jamti called out as he came running toward Anton, helping the Alpha to stand as they both gazed at the dead bear, before Jamti starts checking over Anton's injuries, the hunters rushed toward Anton surrounding him and the bear, gazing at Anton with concern. "I saw the bear try to claw your chest… what is this?" Jamti concerned voice trailed off when he saw something hanging by a cord over the Alpha's chest. "Is that… Goddess Eir amulet…" Jamti's awed voice caused Anton to lower his head to see the amulet, only for his eyes to widen when he noticed how the amulet had claw marks over it, informing Anton that the amulet had barely survived the bear's attack, but the surprise being that Anton's chest was bare of any scar or damage.
"You won't torture anyone in front of me?" Steve nods his head at Tony's question, his eyes serious as he gazed at him. "You won't kill, burn, bewitch, mental torture, curse, stab, hit, and terrify innocent people in front of me?" Tony pressed, causing Steve to press his lips tightly before he nodded his head in acceptance. "You won't hurt my family, friends, and the Avengers or curse them, even when they act out?" Tony raised his eyebrow when Steve looked like he swallowed a bitter lemon at this request; a few moments later Steve ended up sighing and nodding his head. "You will do all the major creepiness you Addams do and I can't handle behind my back, or where I can never see or witness by a chance?" Steve nodded his head happily before pausing looking at Tony with a look like with a frown like he was played. "Look, you can stab, kill, sacrifice, and do whatever an Addams do, but not in front of me. Creepy dolls? I can handle, ghost around the mansion? Fine. But never ever do something in front of me or it's over." Tony tried to ignore the star-struck look Steve send his way, walking faster trying to ignore the man behind him.
The Omega took a shaky breath before saying fuck it when he saw a tear slip down the Alpha cheek which made the Omega rush toward the man while trying to be quiet lest he scared him. "James, do you hear me?" Steve asked which made the Alpha flinch at that and curl around himself tightly while trying to cover his ears. "James?" Steve lowered his voice as he places his hand on the man's shoulder gently, knowing that if Sam was here he would have snapped at Steve for being an idiot and touching a vet that was in one of his panic attack which would have given Steve a broken nose if James was violent.
"From today, this will be your room." The king stated, leading him to a bedroom on the first floor; the action made Steven blink his eyes trying not to look confused, he knows that the rooms on the first floor were that of the king of his son, so it gave the king no reason to give him such a room.
"Crazy? This isn't even me being crazy! We have just started!" Tony snarled as he threw the second ax at Howard, letting out an insane giggle he couldn't hold back, at the sight of Howard turning as pale as a corpse when he barely dodged the flying ax heading for his neck. Tony ran after his father, letting out mad laughs that mixed will with the thunder outside as the sky decided that this time was the best to start up a storm that shook the trees. "Run, bitch, run! Because when I catch you, it is game over for you!" Tony laughed as he pulled the ax from the wall it lodges in, jumping after Howard and ignoring his mother's scream as he steps on her cat's tail. | [
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Sam had gone first, placing a small purple star he had found in a Montana thrift store on the bottom left corner of the tree. it caught the light as it turned and sparkled, a tiny thing, in direct contrast to Sam’s hulking form.
Benny, Charlie, and Cas are all standing in the dimly lit alley next to the bar, Cas smoking his shitty cigarettes, Benny and Charlie berating him for smoking. The usual.
“Sammy, breathe,” Dean grabs his shoulders, careful not to wrinkle his suit, which he had ironed himself that morning, “You’re gonna be fine, they’ll be lucky to have you.”
“You’ve known me for twelve years, for twelve fucking years Dean. And you think that I’m trying to turn you gay? The whole agreement was your idea!”
It’s way too cold to sit outside, but they get a nice table by the window, and get to watch the boats go by. It’s a swankier place than they would normally go to, but nothing beats seafood right by the water. Charlie doesn’t even participate in the conversation until she’s eaten almost an entire basket of bread, but then she comes back to her usual self.
“Ha ha,” Cas rolls his eyes. He switches gears immediately when he sees Charlie, who looks at Cas like she’s seeing a literal angel, which, let’s face it, Cas kinda is.
Cas doesn’t say anything, he looks at the floor, trying to deflect the question, but Dean wasn’t having it.
"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed." - A.S. Byatt
“What are you talking about?” Pamela says, having just finished her consultation. She plops down in the chair next to Dean and puts her feet on the tattoo table, she cuts Dean off before he can say anything,
“You will be when I finish with you,” Dean raises his eyebrows suggestively, making Cas roll his eyes.
“He’s done that before, Cas,” Sam pipes up from the corner, where he and Eileen are curled up on the couch.
“Something was weird last night. It’s been weird since I got home. And I have a hard time believing it’s about Lisa, you broke up more than you were together.”
“It’s okay Dean, I told you, I swear there’s going to be tons of people there. My DND group and my book club all RSVP’d, so that’s at least like…ten people.”
“I don’t know,” Cas had no idea why he couldn’t talk at a normal volume, but it felt like it would be far too loud, “My eyes are falling down.”
“You’re grumpy this morning,” Charlie frowns, clearly upset that Dean had burst their peaceful morning bubble.
“Should I tell you happy birthday?” Cas eventually asks, looking at him directly, not out of the corner of his eyes, “Or is that not appropriate anymore?”
“No, but I did want to enjoy my eggs without thinking about demon powered meat-suits for ten minutes.”
Dean had gotten over his attitude to Cas’ new stoner personality as he called it, but he would never smoke with him and Andrei, and he would never be with Cas if he was high. It was a preference, he had said once, when he had consumed too much of Bobby’s whiskey,
“Fuck, Cas,” Dean comes up for air, because lazy morning kisses were becoming less and less lazy and more and more heated by the second.
They end up back at the Dean’s apartment which is, mercifully, empty. Cas has a dreamy smile on his face, the kind of smile that Dean doesn’t want to do anything to mess with, but panic is rising in his throat, the sneers of his siblings’ faces etched in his mind. He’s angry, he’s humiliated and he can’t fucking do this anymore.
“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Cas pats his cheek, thumb lingering by his mouth, “Good luck with Lisa. I feel like you’ll need it.”
“If you were kinkier I might,” Cas teases, sliding his hand lightly up Dean’s arm, making him shiver.
Charlie wraps up with her client right as Pamela comes in for the day. She slaps Dean on the back when he looks up from his sketch.
Perfect timing, really, because whoever was inside started screaming, Cas made to open the door but Risa stood in front of him, blocking him.
Debrief was in the armory, as usual. Risa nodded to him, Yaeger clapped him on the back, and Chuck scurried in and out of the room, trying to pick Dean’s brain about supplies at truly the worst possible time. For a Prophet, he really had bad timing. Dean ended almost forcing Chuck out the door and slammed it, like a judge’s gavel bringing them all to order. Cas rolled his eyes and put his feet up on the table.
A feeling pools at the base of Dean’s stomach, that longing, that ache for Cas, something that almost made him look forward to the end of a relationship, because it meant that he got to experience a little bit of the thrill that he felt with Cas. He always felt that thrill, but the physical aspect, the way Cas was when they had sex, the way he held Dean, the way he tugged his hair, lefts marks all over him, it almost made Dean want to quit everything and fuck him for a living. Or jump off a cliff, whichever one was closer.
Dean laughs softly, still holding Castiel by the front of his coat. Castiel keeps looking for a long minute, and then, with a soft smile, he opens the door, causing the bell to ding again, leaving Dean with his heart beating erratically, and the feeling of Castiel’s chapped lips burned into his skin.
“Ain’t that the truth,” snarks Pamela, flopping down on the couch by the front door. Charlie sits down next to her, giving Dean the puppy dog eyes she knows that he can’t resist.
“I hate you so much. Happy birthday,” he yells at her, and she grins before sprinting off to the jungle juice container, which had to be the size of a small boat.
“Uh thanks,” Dean doesn’t want to be pushy, but he really can’t help the words that follow, “So, um, sorry but, what’re you doing here?”
“You do know I don’t live here, right? Take it up with your roommates, or maybe the bar you live under.”
. That’s what John has always spit at him when he had made a mistake. Whether that was on a hunt or by not making Sam breakfast, that was John’s go to word for Dean. And Dean believed him. Everyone he had ever loved had either died or left him, pretty clear evidence that he really was unloveable.
“What do you propose? I crawl out the window? My shoes and coat are out there. He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine. Plus, I’m sure this is not the first time he’s heard you having sex.”
“Yes he did, he said he wanted to celebrate,” Charlie stomps over to him and shows him the text “Can’t wait!” with a smiley emoticon and everything. Damn.
“It is not fate,” he can’t think of anything quippy to change the subject, he’s moving slower, his reflexes are down. Damn these two, they did this on purpose.
In the time that followed, he finished almost half the bottle. Any time he saw someone with jet black hair, he took a shot. Every time he closed his eyes and saw blue eyes, he took a shot. Every time he inhaled and didn’t smell the stale beer of the bar, but smelled the Bunker’s kitchen where he and Cas would cook, he took a shot.
He thinks, fleetingly, about being honest with Jo. He thinks about telling her that he feels…something for Cas, and it has been changing, he doesn’t even know what it is, and he’s too afraid to look too deep into it because what if it was something scary, something that could change them. Dean didn’t want to change them.
The siblings all laugh uproariously at that, and Dean is saved from trying to not sound like the most awkward human being alive by the very nice waitress bringing the checks.
Cas smiles. They stay there for just a moment longer and then pull apart. Dean headed back to the house, walking with a sort of swagger that made Cas want to laugh out loud. Dean turned back towards him and said,
Dean laughs loudly, tossing Cas’ shoes into the corner by the door. He stands up, rummaging through his dresser drawers for the pack of makeup wipes he had stolen from Charlie for occasions just like this. He turns back to Cas with a wipe in his hand, grinning at him.
The worst ones were not that of his own pain, but of others. When he couldn’t save someone in camp, when he couldn’t save Bobby, when he couldn’t save Sam, and, of course, when he couldn’t save Dean. He hadn’t slept for three days when he had had the most horrifically vivid dream about a demon ripping out Chuck’s throat, leaving him bleeding and convulsing on the ground, and when Cas kneeled down next to him, all he could gurgle out was
Sam passes out in his chair, as usual, around three am, and when Dean feels his own eyes start to get heavy, he makes the concerted effort not to fall asleep on the couch, and drags himself up and into the shower, falling face first onto his bed immediately after.
“Cas,” he had said, leaning against the bed, “I just don’t want to do anything with you then because… because I feel like then that’s the only way you’d want me? You know? You know what I mean, Cas. Like you’d realize it’s only good when you’re on something.”
Anna glances over at Cas, who is talking animatedly to Samandriel, throwing looks over their way occasionally, giving Dean glimpses of his favorite crooked smile.
Dean tries to steal a Sour Patch Kid from Cas and ends up nearly punching the box across the theater.
He and Cas break apart milliseconds before Sam and Jo burst through the door to the bar, spilling warm, honey-colored light onto the cold pavement where snow is beginning to collect.
His appointments fly by that day, he registers his clients sometimes by piece, not by name, which probably wasn’t a great customer service thing, but they seemed to like it when they’d come back for a second piece and he’d greet them with a loud “guillotine! How the hell are ya?”
Dean privately thinks that he didn’t have a relationship this dysfunctional with Sam. There are some seriously malicious undertones to everything they’re saying to each other, like they had to watch every step they took, lest they set off a land mine. Dean remembers Cas saying that he really loved spending time with his siblings. What the hell is Dean missing here? He doesn’t like to judge, but the vibes he’s getting from them are not of a family that really enjoys being around each other. More like a pack of wolves that’s starving, searching for the weakest link, ready to attack as soon as any weakness was shown.
“You have thoroughly rocked my world with that one. I told Sam he was a nerd for seeing it, I better beg for his forgiveness.”
Cas manages to wipe all the worries out of his mind with a goddamn amazing blowjob the second he walks into Cas’ place. He must’ve been banking on Dean’s nerves. He knows him better than he knows himself sometimes.
“Needs to cool,” Dean is back in front of Cas, sinking to his knees and pulling Cas’ sweatpants off in one fluid motion.
Cas knew what he should say. He should tell the truth and he should tell Dean that yes, he did think that Sam would say yes to Lucifer, and he thought it was probably going to be soon. Sam was strong, so so strong, but none of them could possibly understand Lucifer’s power of persuasion. He wanted so badly to be honest with Dean, but at the same time, he wanted to protect him? That was beyond foolish, Dean didn’t need protection. Dean was the one that was always doing the protecting. His strength was beyond almost any of the angels, and his soul was far more pure…
Dean’s standing at the edge of the cliff, looking down into a deep ravine. He could either throw caution to the winds and jump, letting himself keep falling for Cas, with no way to catch himself, and no way over knowing whether there would be a soft landing, or he could keep standing at the edge, looking over, not taking the risk but not able to move forward. He doesn’t know which one is worse.
Castiel. Fucking gorgeous art dealer Castiel. Art dealer Castiel who Dean has repeatedly dreamt about because his brain is fucked up and he can’t be normal for ten seconds. Dressed as a doctor in scrubs and everything because the powers that be just know that Dean has a thing for guys in scrubs and he’s being punished for something.
“I’ll miss you, kid,” he kisses the top of her head and she doesn’t push him away, even though she hates when he calls her kid.
“Dean! You’ll never guess what happened this weekend! Me and Travis went to this birthday party at a friend’s house and I met this really cool girl and I think we may have a date this weekend.”
Predictably, he loses Sam and Eileen pretty quickly, as usual they’re in their own little world. Probably looking for a painting with plants they can discuss or something, the nerds. Dean finds himself wandering around, staring at the paintings he’s been looking at for like three weeks, since Cas needed him there morning, noon, and night to set things up, hear his opinions on placement, things that Dean would never in a million years had an opinion on before he met Cas.
Dean looked down the street, broken apart by the end of the world. Cas saw him desperately trying to make eye contact, to connect with Sam, but Sam was long gone.
“Oh yeah, it’s friggin fascinating. Now,” Dean claps his hands, expectant, “Why don’t you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar.”
“Yes,” Castiel whispers, but Dean is in tune with him, he can hear him even over the music and the chattering of the still-crowded bar.
Dean surveys him, the top of his hair was still bright orange, at odds with the black underneath of his natural hair. It was sticking up in all directions, looking exactly like a traffic cone if you put it through an industrial shredder. Dean definitely doesn’t pay attention to the way his muscles tighten and strain as he stretches.
“Barely,” his voice was gravelly and rough. She laughed at him, and maybe hearing another person laugh helped the knot in his chest ease a little.
“Those are your grumpy shoulders,” Charlie’s steering Cas to the couch, and Cas gives him a smile that puts that familiar ache in his chest.
It’s not cold enough yet for his winter coat, so he opts for his Metallica t shirt and one of his favorite flannels, red and black checkered, and throws on one of his “pre-fall” jackets, just because there was enough of a chill in the air that he knew he’d regret it if he just wore the flannel. It only takes him about five minutes to successfully latch the door (he could fix it himself, but he’d been too lazy to actually get around to it), and then starts walking back towards Dumbo to open the shop. Yeah yeah, trendy ass Dumbo, don’t judge, it brought in enough of the old Brooklyn crowds and the new agey hipsters to make business actually really good. Plus, even though it was super trendy, he actually loved the area, it’s right by the water and is surrounded on all sides by good restaurants, good art, and the best damn organic grocery store Dean has ever set foot in. So yeah, Dumbo definitely has its perks.
He finds himself feeling it a little harder to shake the weekend after the breakup off than normal. When they were in college, it had been easy to just go back to normal, to push whatever feelings may have arisen back into the little box he kept them in, somewhere in his body that was far away from his heart or brain or cock, maybe like his big toe or something. But this feels different, maybe since it had been so long since the last time (three years since he had dumped Lisa over a forgotten birthday and spend three full days in bed with Cas, leaving only to fuck in the tub). He feels himself drawn to Cas now, more aware of when they were close to each other, more aware of the electricity on the surface of each other’s skin, crackling at the slightest touch. He does his best to force it into the little box, but every time he meets Cas’ eyes a little part of how much he just feels about Cas slips out.
Dean stripped off his t shirt and nearly yelped as Cas dragged him to his mattress, sitting on a couple of wooden palettes because Cas is an artsy little bitch and doesn’t believe in real beds or something like that. Cas pushed Dean down, he fell into Cas’ mattress, sinking and then springing back, eyes trained on Cas as he crawled up Dean’s body, Dean didn’t feel that drunk anymore when Cas held his gaze, his pupils so dilated Dean could barely see the baby blue of his irises.
Dean hummed as he worked, scrambling the eggs and frying the bacon. It felt nice, like the world outside wasn’t full of zombies made by demons that were trying to kill everything in their sight. You know, peaceful.
Cas rolls his eyes and speed walks toward his door. Okay, he was wearing slides again, probably not the best for the middle of winter in Connecticut.
“You’ll leave this on for at least an hour, since it’s so late you can sleep with it on, but take it off in the morning. For the first two weeks, wash it twice a day with a low-fragrance soap and water, and then you can get a bottle of Aquaphor at the store, I can give you some for tonight, and you’ll put that on three times a day for two weeks. Then you can move to a non-fragrance lotion for three more weeks twice a day. Don’t soak it for at least two weeks, so no baths or swimming, showers are obviously fine. It’s gonna itch, do your best not to scratch it, pressing on it is okay and I think that helps if it’s real bad. I’ll give you an aftercare card and kit, and if you have any questions, you, well, you know where to find me.”
“Too bad you couldn’t afford the bill Dean, but if I had all those things on your arms and face, I wouldn’t be able to hold down a job either,” Anna’s smile is sickeningly sweet, covering up the poison of her words to Cas, who can’t hear them, with a smile, “You don’t deserve him, and I think he’ll realize that, so don’t get to comfortable in that apartment on Park Avenue.”
“Fascinating. I’m always interested to hear what people say about the art, and not just the bullshit ‘it makes me think of life and death’ or whatever it is people think I want to hear.”
Eventually, after much deliberation whether or not he should simply become a statue exactly where he was standing, he uproots himself and gets the ice, returning to the shop with a smile on his face that they can all see through, but when asked about it, he does what he’s always done best, he pushes it away, turns his head, makes a joke. It’s easier that way. It’s easier that way. It’s easier that way.
Dean balks. No way, he wasn’t going into this random guy’s house of horrors to get his kidney cut out or worse. His fear clearly shows on his face, because the guy turns around and calls behind him,
The cab dropped him off at the end of the road, and Dean stumbled into the Bunker, shushing himself as he gripped the handrail with both hands.
Dean tries not to feel viscerally uncomfortable at the idea of how obvious he was clearly being, especially with the way all three of them were looking at him.
“She’s been complaining like this for the last hour, please can we get her some food before I go crazy?”
Dean searched for answers in his face. It’s not like he was going to find any, Cas didn’t even know what was going on.
“Dean, I am so tired of this. I am exhausted from fighting with you all the time. Fuck who you want, I don’t care, but don’t make me see it, that was our deal.”
The cut is deep, and stings worse than ever when Dean starts cleaning the blood away with the peroxide. He stiffens and sucks a breath in.
“You can take it if you want, Cas. I was just going to toss it in my book at the shop, but if you like it you keep it.”
“Don’t turn this around on me, it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault that I broke my foot, it’s not my fault that the stick is out of my ass and I can actually enjoy things now, and it’s not my fault that you don’t have the Colt.”
He breaks out of his reverie when he pulls up to Lisa’s house, takes the steps up to the door two at a time and knocks gently on the door. He knows Ben had left for school and Lisa was due at the studio any minute.
“We, um, we’re sleeping with each other, and he said some shit I didn’t agree with, it got heated, and I hit him. But he was on duty so he took me in.”
Dean looked down at him, and though Cas always prided himself on being put together, for the millionth time, it all went out the door when it came to Dean. Dean ran a hand through Ca’s hair.
“It’s just newer, we aren’t as comfortable with it. Plus Charlie and I haven’t figured out the duet part yet.”
on repeat and Cas curled up next to Dean on the couch, Dean’s hand in his hair, breathing in slowly and deeply.
The sanitarium was easy enough to find, and old fence with razor wire all around it, but it, too, seemed deserted. Dean seemed unphased, but Risa and the others looked nervous.
“You’re not helping me much with that,” Cas gasped as Dean pressed his lips to his neck, carotid thundering under the pressure of skin on skin.
“Yeah,” Dean leans into her touch a little, “Gonna go for a drive this weekend, clear my head. Not sure what I’ll get up to.”
It’s a simple statement from Cas, something neither of them had ever actually said to each other, though Dean at least had thought it around ten million times. And for the first time in his too-long life, Dean does not want to run in the other direction. He wants to plant his feet and stay in this warm moment for the rest of eternity, with the man who looks like an angel, who has the purest heart, the strongest mind. And Dean leans in to kiss him, not to lead into anything else, just to kiss him, and when they break apart, before their little bubble can get broken by the noise of the crowd, of the city they both love, Dean says,
He starts hyperventilating, dissolving into a full blown panic attack. Cas holds him through the worst of it, telling him quietly to control his breathing. It suddenly hits him what she had been asking of him, the sheer idea of losing Cas sent him into a panic.
Dean breaks away from Cas after hiccupping his way into silence, and Cas looks at him with an edge of that thing he hates so much, that thing that he wishes didn’t fucking exist. Cas looks at him with pity, which, fuck, if Dean had had the stones to really fess up about his fucked past, Cas would never look at him the same way again.
Cas hummed a little and let his eyes fall closed. It was a strange thing, to finally experience one of the only human things he had lacked. He had daydreamed about sleeping, about dreams, but the ones he had were very strange, and far more vivid then what Dean and Sam had described to him.
“I’ve never had sex this good,” Dean sighs, breaking the silence after a while, playing with Cas’ hands.
But what’s scarier, telling Cas that he may have falling head over heels over a cliff for him, or not having Cas in his life? One gives him butterflies, the other gives him anxiety. So that answers that question.
“What vibe? What vibe does Cas put out. And taking a break doesn’t mean I’d stop talking to him forever, he’s my best friend.”
The picture turns out great, and Ellen loudly tells them all that it’ll get framed and go behind the bar.
Cas has a warm, steadying hand on his arm under the table. Grounding him. He wants another drink. Or maybe a fucking Xanax.
Predictably, the next morning is fucking brutal. Dean is the type of guy who needs at least seven hours of sleep a night. He didn’t used to, but the older he got, the happier he was sleeping the day away. He forces himself out of bed and into his work clothes, banging on Sam’s door as he heads towards the bathroom. He avoids the mirror as he brushes his teeth, washes his face, goes through his morning routine. He tries not to think about the lingering ache from the night before, and the nervousness already building in his chest as he thinks about later today.
It doesn’t go away, not even back at the bunker, not when he tells Sam they’ll find another way, not when Sam gives him a tight smile and leaves to shut himself in his room, not in the silence that follows between him and Cas. So, what can he do?
Dean blushes, his cheeks burning in the cold December air, and when Cas’ hand finds its way to his knee, then his thigh, Dean shifts, eyes staring towards the towering mass of buildings in front of him.
He tries not to think about it, but his anniversary with Lisa is looming closer, and they’re going back to the rocky-ish way they were before he missed their date. A constant fucking seesaw that he can’t seem to get off of.
They’re inches away from each other now. It’s not like they ever had any idea of personal space, but there is something different about this, like someone has picked up a barrier between them. Cas is desperately aware of the heat coming off of Dean, how hard they are both breathing, how the tips of his fingers tingle with energy, longing to reach out and touch.
This was not at all smooth but Dean didn’t know how else to handle it. Barring falling to his knees and begging to get Cas back, which would be a bad look.
“Our fearless leader, I’m afraid, is all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth,” Cas didn’t bother to hide the anger and disgust in his words.
“Any proof? The fact that you come in two minutes when I fuck you? Or maybe just how good you are at giving head. Sorry to break it to you, but straight men don’t suck dick like you do.”
Okay, Cas wasn’t imagining it, Dean was creeping his way closer, bridging the gap between them, and it was all Cas could do, once he realized this, not to take matters into his own hands. He had learned long ago, however, that Dean had to move at his own pace, or he would never move at all.
“I’m glad you have it too. You sit like a damn rock I’ll tell you that. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone that sat through a full rib piece with as much coloring as yours in one sitting. I should’ve made you get up and take a break.”
Sam rolls his eyes, still angry at Dean, but not angry enough to fully give him the silent treatment.
“So, Gabriel, tell us about the new show,” Anna swills her wine, watching Gabriel as he downs pretty much an entire vodka soda in one second, clicking his fingers at the waitress for another one. If he was one of those people that treated waitstaff like shit, they were gonna have words.
Jo turns to hug him before she goes to check her bags, and when she pulls back, he can tell they’re about to get to the reason why she didn’t want Charlie and Ellen coming with them.
Dean and Cas are both breathing hard, but no one seems to suspect what just happened, they weren’t paying attention to the steadiest couple in the room, the constants, the ones that never changed.
He makes the mistake of looking at her this time, and she’s leaning against the sink, potato suspended above it in her hand. It doesn’t look like she believes him. It really sucks sometimes that he has such great friends, you can’t hide anything from them.
They stay up way too late after closing, eating cheese fries, listening to punk music, and swapping stories that they had all heard at least a hundred times before.
“I’m not letting go until you do this breathing exercise with me. This is the exercise that got Sam through his bar exam. Trust me.”
“It’s, um, it’s a botany club in Central Park. We go out and study the local plant life, talk about it. It’s fun.”
“It seems I overestimated my siblings,” he spits, tossing his coat in the coat closet, not seeming to care that it fell on a heap on the floor.
playing quietly as he waited. He’s decided to be a coward and follow Cas’ lead in not talking about what happened. He doesn’t want things to change, and he doesn’t want to have to think about how he felt for longer than ten seconds.
The encounter with Cas on the street lasts only a few seconds, a blip on the radar, something that most people would surely forget when they went to sleep that night, the sun rising on a new day, but it haunts Dean for much longer than it probably should, and each time he thinks of Cas refusing to look at him, of how deliberately he made sure that they didn’t touch, he felt himself sleeping deeper into the pit of inadequacy that he had dug himself, burying himself to the neck, the eyes, the hairline, so that maybe one day he wouldn’t have to be seen anymore.
“Hello Dean,” Cas won’t look at him, he won’t meet his eyes, even though that is quite literally the only thing Dean wants in the world. It was their connection, the eyes, and Dean wanted to see Cas the way he had seen him so many times. But no such luck. Cas pulls the bag from Dean’s hands, takes his tumbler carefully, so carefully, so their fingers don’t touch, and slides away from Dean, not looking back as he speed-walks down the cobblestone sidewalk.
He can be honest with Cas, hell, he’s been more honest with Cas about random shit in his life than he had been with anyone he put his dick near in years, so he guessed he kinda owed it to the guy to sort of explain just how fucked over he had been and how…not eager he was to do that again.
Dean gets a little lost in his thoughts for the rest of the shopping trip, skimming up and down the aisles, bickering with Cas about what brand of sliced bread is best, because they’re at that point, apparently. He thinks about how Cas is one of the only people on earth, barring Sam, that can calm him down when he almost gets drowned by anxiety and doubt. He’s never had anyone that can just, cover his mouth with their hands and make him listen, make him see what was real and what his mind created, like lighting up a maze, helping him find his way out. He was realizing, the more time he spends with Cas, the more he bickers with him, the more he hears him cry out his name in bed, the more he feels like this is less of a long term hookup and more of a relationship. That’s scary as hell, but there’s almost a comfort there, even though he had told himself that he was not going to get into another thing, not after Lisa.
Jo had insisted on having a small party, with only the people she knew and liked best, who just happened to be the people that Dean knew and liked best. Pamela and Ash and talking to Ellen at the bar, Benny and Sam are arm wrestling, with Charlie and Jo cheering them on like they’re watching the Superbowl. And yet, Dean still feels like he wants to turn around and run until he hits the ocean.
“I, where did you want it, or whereabouts were you thinking?” Dean feels like he can’t breathe, like he should tell Cas that he’s sorry, or tell him to get the fuck out, or make some joke about that tall handsome guy Dean had seen at Cas’ apartment, something, but he can’t bring himself to do it, this feels like something a little too important for something like that.
Cas bites his lip, staring at Dean’s mouth, and Dean feels the color rising in his face. They’re staring at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move, when Benny appears in the doorway.
“Fences,” Dean said, hitting the steering wheel in frustration, “We need somewhere with good, strong, fences.”
“They’re right to be protective of you. They don’t know me, not really, they don’t know I’m serious about you, they probably just think I want to fuck you up again. But we have time, even if they don’t like me they can at least get used to me,” he squeezes Cas’ hand, “Listen, don’t worry about it, just crash here, we’ve got tons of food and beer and wine and bad movies. Let’s just hang out. Chill, not worry about anything. Okay?”
Sam is sitting on the couch, watching TV, some National Geographic show that Dean can’t stand, and he only looks up when Dean clears his throat. They were both brick red.
Dean hears thundering steps, following loud, affably arguing voices coming down the out of sight stairwell. Two boys, both around his age, come bursting through the door, with all the manic energy of two tornadoes. The taller one is skinny, a little gangly, maybe older by a year or two, and has an honest to God mullet. The shorter one also has long hair, but it was dark, and he has these clear blue eyes that immediately go to Dean’s face, and he feels himself turning a little red, which was the exact shit that got him thrown out onto the fucking streets.
“Thursday night works for me,” Dean doesn’t even bother to disguise his excitement, “I can cook dinner.”
Dean spends another two full days cooking his Christmas meal. Cas dyes his hair red and green with Dean’s help on Christmas Eve.
It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to come, and when he did Cas swallows like he had been doing it all his life, hollowing out his cheeks and Dean shuddered underneath him.
“I feel like I need to apologize,” Cas’ looks a little downcast now, eyes glued to the starched white tablecloth.
He clocks out, heads home, takes a long and blessedly warm shower, scrubbing the dirt and the grit and the grime off of himself before he shaves for the first time in like ten days, throws on a pair of his “nice” pants and a dressy printed shirt that Charlie had bought him after binging three seasons of
“Hers,” she was seeing all of time, because the Heptapods taught her their way of seeing time, their language.”
Halfway through an episode of a shitty cop show, Sam comes out of his room, headphones on and moving gently to whatever folky music he’s clearly listening to. His face brightens when he sees Dean sprawled out on the couch, and pulls his headphones down around his neck, grinning at the cacophony downstairs.
His heart was going to burst out of his chest. He was going to die. Cas was fucking everywhere, all over the place, exactly in all the right places, a puzzle piece that Dean couldn’t live without, and he comes hard with Cas’ name on his lips, Cas matching him with his own name and his own climax.
“Dean! So glad we didn’t scare your off with our alcoholism and drug habits,” Gabriel winks at him, grabbing him in a hug that Dean is not at all prepared for. He’s followed immediately by Balthazar who, supposedly because he went to Europe for graduate school loved to pretend to be a “real European” and kisses Dean on the cheeks.
“The ideal time for punk rock,” Cas grins, his eyes sweeping around the room, checking for acquaintances and friends. Cas was friends with everyone, it came to him as easy as drawing breath. Where Dean struggled to find things to say when he met someone new, Cas was across the room, entertaining them with a story he had told a thousand times and when Dean inevitably heard it later in the evening, he laughed too, never getting tired of the vigor, the life, the vibrancy that radiated from Cas, the way he could light up a room with his smile and his crazy hair, a beacon that Dean always went looking for.
Kissing Cas is one of his favorite post-breakup activities. That and fucking Cas. And sucking Cas’ dick and…well, you get the picture. Cas has this full, plush mouth, something that all the celebrities paid hundreds of dollars to get, and it was Cas’ by design, and he tasted sweet when they kissed, no matter what he had been eating. Cas was always the one to start the process, pulling Dean forward for the first time and the last, always taking the initiative when Dean was too afraid to, even when it was just the two of them in his studio. And then they were off to the races, Dean pulling Cas’ hair, Cas leaving marks down the side of Dean’s neck, down his chest, a thousand tiny marks that didn’t fade for days and made Dean think of Cas and the cheap shampoo he uses every time he looked at them.
Dean looks up, and at the top of the escalator, hair flat from a full day of travel, wearing sweatpants and his usual long trench coat stands Cas. He sees Dean and a grin spreads across his face, and when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, Dean wastes no time, bridging the distance between them, wrapping Cas in a hug that would probably crush his ribs, and Cas responds in kind, holding Dean, and Dean hadn’t really realized how much he missed Cas, even though he’d only been gone a week.
They were about a mile down the road, the last few bars of “Ramble On” fading off the stereo when the light hit them. Even Cas was blinded by it, but he knew exactly who it was. The tries screeched, gouging black marks into the grey pavement. The light was blinding, piercing into Cas’ eyes. It cut out at suddenly as it had begun, Cas had to blink fast to get his bearings. He realized his arm was stretched towards Dean, pressed against his stomach. He and Dean looked at each other.
“What did you do?” Sam asks accusingly, and the sting of his anger is easier for Dean to process. It’s easy to be angry because the alternative might kill him.
“Will you stay the night?” Cas asks, an edge of nervousness to his voice, and Dean can’t help but smile, because he feels like he’s in middle school with a crush on someone, in that awkward phase where talking to them would mean certain death, so any interaction was stilted and weird, but he didn’t mind it. The crush phase was highly underrated.
ten minutes before midnight. His Dean comes up to the truck, where Cas was laid up in the passenger side, eyes closed, feet on the dash. He expected him to make an appearance, but was surprised to find him alone.
“Where the hell have you been? It’s one in the morning.” Charlie and Sam say in unison as he walks in the door of the apartment, which warm and homey and also completely alien, like Dean doesn’t recognize anything in there.
He can practically see Sam’s heart beating out of his chest. Charlie steps up next, giving Sam a gentle hug and pushing something into his hand. It’s a lego minifigure of Aragorn, Sam’s favorite
The hall leading to Pamela’s studio is brightly lit, with bright splotches of her artwork on the walls here too. It was one of the things he had always loved about Pamela, that her art didn’t stop with the skin, but was on the walls as well. She had painted him a stylized modern art piece for his thirtieth birthday that hung proudly in the living room, and she always looked so proud every time she saw it.
“Okay,” Pamela says in between bites of her veggie burger, “If you got ten million dollars tomorrow, would you go vegan for the rest of your life?”
“How’s the tattoo healing, then?” Dean asks over his second glass of wine and the low chatter of the restaurant, the shadows of the candles at the tables casting dancing shadows along the walls, along Cas’ face. Things are a little different, it’s not like they’re back to normal, and Dean knows that Cas is still reserved around him, after everything, and he’s learned, in the past few days, that he shouldn’t push too hard. That he needs to be patient, even if it makes him want to run off the end of a pier leading to the Hudson.
“Dean! Cas!” Jo comes running towards them, and Dean breaks contact with Cas just long enough to spin Jo around in a hug.
Charlie approaches Dean, puts her hands on his shoulders, looking at him seriously, Benny and Pamela watching from the other side of the shop, all of them wondering whether this was going to be serious or a meme.
“That makes sense I guess,” Dean avoids her eyes, toying with the edge of an afghan she has hanging over the couch.
building from where they were. He was fucked up, but he had the greatest family you could ever ask for, and when Pamela handed him a red solo cup filled with sangria, he accepted it gratefully, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks, months really.
Entering the apartment is like walking into the middle of where a tornado had just touched down. Charlie’s costume lay in the middle of their living room floor, and she’s clearly trying to decide exactly what pieces would work best for their party. Sam is already clearly ready to go, but bounces up as soon as Dean comes in and grabs him in a bear hug.
Cas scoffed, moving as far away from Dean as was possible, the corpse of the demon still slightly smoking between them.
“What do you mean?” he feigns innocence, trying to put off what he knew was going to turn into an argument. Sometimes he felt like they were married already, the way they argued over everything. But that’s normal, right? They’ve been together for so long.
“That can be a tough spot for a first tattoo, especially with all the black. I think it’d be a good spot but I just want to make sure you know what you’re in for.”
Why does Balthazar get to call him Cas? That was Dean’s name for him, he had said so a couple months into them dating. Dean was fiercely proud of that. He didn’t want this asshole taking Dean’s name for him, even if that asshole was Cas’ brother.
Dean hears Benny whistle quietly and sees Pamela’s jaw drop. Charlie was a badass, but was usually the friend that coddled and comforted rather than hitting with hard truths.
Dean leans back into the worn fabric of the couch, struggling to find breath, struggling to think of anything but Cas and that guy. The image of them is burned into his mind, like someone branded it to his subconscious, and he can’t close his eyes without seeing them, without hearing him call him Cas.
In hindsight, Dean knew with certainty that his father was a bastard, who hated him just for being, especially just for being who he was, and it was Dean’s greatest regret, to call Bobby and leave Lee to pick up the pieces of their life together, to start over and ignore calls that came day after day, week after week, month after month.
Cas walks him to the door, and, in spite of the agreement that they had just reminded each other of, Dean leans forward to kiss the side of his mouth, warm skin brushing against the cool metal in his lip. He desperately wants to stay the night, and not have to stew in his anger and hurt and terrifying sense of relief that he and Lisa might actually be really over this time, but the agreement had been notarized, so he couldn’t break it now.
Dean thinks of the different hotel rooms every few weeks, each the same with different coloring: the dirty sheets, the broken windows, the TV with nothing but static, the empty fridges save for a case of beer and two bottles of whiskey.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be true to you, which it will be. You’re a great cook and a great host.”
Dean shakes his head, grinning as she turns back to the movie. Her words resonate, they hit him in ways that he didn’t know he could be hit. He shouldn’t be surprised, she knows him better than almost anyone, but being called out on your shit in a way that hits this deep, especially by someone who just poked herself in the eye by dabbing too hard, is not anything that he expected.
She leaves it at that, going back to the potatoes and the Macy’s Parade. Before Dean can say anything else, Charlie pokes her head around her doorframe.
Sam and Charlie don’t look sad, they look angry, which throws Dean for a loop, it’s not what he was expecting.
They end the evening by cramming into Ellen’s place next door, she makes them all coffee and they watch rom coms of Charlie and Jo’s choosing until they fall asleep in her living room. Sam ends up curled up next to Dean, sleeping like he did when he was little, and Cas ends up on his other side, his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s not super comfortable, but he wouldn’t move an inch. As the credits for
“Well then maybe you and I can stick together, since we’ve both been abandoned by our respective groups.”
Dean had sworn he would never fall in love like that again. It was too fast, too intense, too all-consuming, not like the deep simmer thing he had with Lisa. See how that worked out? Dean remembered Lee’s eyes, his hair, the way he said Dean’s name, and he had promised himself that he had found something better, and when Lisa had left the cold shores of New York for the perpetually temperate climate of San Diego, it took everything in him to not drive straight through the night, fall to his knees, beg for Lee’s forgiveness. But you move on, you know, that wasn’t his life anymore, that wasn’t Lee’s life, and he moved on with the memory of Lee etched onto his skin: the rose, the letter L on his shoulder blade, the memories as fresh and sharp as if they had been inked on his heart. His skin was his history, and he was unashamed of that, but showing his history, his soul, to all those that met him, that was something he had never gotten used to. So he’d make up stories on their backgrounds. He just really liked roses, he’d say, not telling them that the man that had put the ink on his neck had planned it for weeks, at stenciled it thirteen times, placed it four, had kept him in the chair in one session, only taking breaks to kiss him, to check that he was alright. The rose was a visible piece of his heart that would never really heal, same as Lisa’s delicate name on his ribs that he had never had the heart to get covered. He was terrified of falling back into that, of Cas becoming a piece of his history, a memory on his skin that he would never be allowed to forget.
He basically falls down the back stairs and out into the alley connecting their apartment to the outside world. He calls Lisa again, she picks up after two rings.
Camp Chitaqua was slowly becoming a home, and every survivor was looking to Dean. Cas started calling him “fearless leader” when they were alone, just to piss Dean off. It worked, he always got a smack on the back of the head when he called Dean by the name. But really, it was true, Dean was the leader of the place. People came to him with all their problems: rations, rooming, fears about the Croats, everything.
“Glad I could make it a little better, and you’ll fix it. Just show up to her house with a dozen roses and her favorite takeout and she’ll be fine. You never bail on stuff like this, if you just explain it-”
“A lot of fine line, mostly black and grey, I’ll throw some red in there sometimes, if you’re nice to me. Maybe that’s why I like your painting over there, kinda the color scheme that I use.”
He’s broken out of his thoughts by Charlie sitting down next to him, in sweatpants and a t-shirt. She hands him a large glass of water, knowing that they would both thank her in the morning. Dean drains it, letting a few drops run down his chin, and then says,
He takes Sam aside almost immediately, but before he can get into his speech he’s prepared for the last two days, Sam cuts him off with another hug, and some words that nearly knock him flat on his back,
“It’s perfect,” Cas had breathed, turning the little cow over in his hands and giving Eileen one of those radiant smiles he usually reserved for Dean, “This one is my favorite by far too.”
Dean thinks about that, the silly gift exchange they always have at the apartment, with their shitty Christmas tree and Christmas movies playing on the TV the whole day. He thinks of Cas and the way their gag gifts would probably make his nose crinkle with laughter, how Charlie and Eileen would love him, how they could doze on the couch after Dean made a kick ass Christmas dinner, and he finds himself craving that intimacy, the domesticity of it all.
“You’re all so beautiful,” he said as they left he and Dean alone. Cas was waiting for Dean to jump him, so he stood up without looking at him, stretching and cracking his back, you had to loosen up those joints, you know?
He heads to the florist before work, picking up a bouquet of sunflowers and forget-me-nots for Lisa to drop at her door. He hasn’t done something like this since they were in college and Dean had spent two days with Charlie and Cas at the lake and had completely forgotten to tell her about it. They had broken up for two weeks until he had showed up at her apartment in a rainstorm (a nice touch from nature itself) and whisper-begged for her to take him back so as not to wake a sleeping Ben.
“Excuse me, ladies, I think I need to confer with out fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy?”
“Relax sweetheart, you can take it. If you love it then I want you to have it,” and Dean had folded it up carefully and pressed it into Cas’ hand, and Cas had given him the radiant smile that had settled in his chest like someone had slipped a little bit of the sun there.
The next few weeks are awful, but less awful than Dean honestly expected when he had his heart ripped out by the roots. He gets lost in work again, booking himself completely six days a week, and spending every available minute with Charlie or Sam. Tattooing is really becoming his security blanket, which is definitely not a healthy coping mechanism, but at least it brings in serious coin. Being alone, however, that was when he was at his worst. He isnt’t sleeping, up until the sun came up most nights, drawing at his desk and listening to his “heartbreak playlist” on Spotify. He looks at his last texts to Cas almost obsessively during these hours, praying, begging that he might see the three little dots pop up, that Cas might reach out, but he never does. Again…not healthy. Sam sits him down at least once a week to tells him he needs to talk to someone, which is always met with,
“He’s not exactly the type for that, huh? He’ll probably just study all weekend. We need to get him laid.”
“Cas!” Dean scrambles out of the car, nearly falling in the rocky driveway that flows seamlessly into sand, “Cas wait.”
He loves Christmastime, he really does, he loves shopping for others and the bad movies and that clients are always bringing them good food, but he’s never really had to stress about buying a perfect gift before. Sam, Charlie, Pam, Benny, Andrea, even Celeste, they were easy to shop for because they had no expectations, but there was a level of stakes with Cas that he wasn’t used to.
Charlie, Benny, Pamela, and Dean go to dinner one night after the shop closes, sitting outside, taking in the spring whether by the water, the snaking lines of cars they can see across the bridge, the towering, glittering city an omnipresent shadow.
They walk him to the door, and Sam seems more relaxed now, a little more like himself. Before he leaves, Dean gives him a long hug.
“Yeah. I’d like that,” he pauses for a second, steeling himself, “Can I tell you something stupid?”
“They can wait,” Dean had growled, pressing his knee in between Cas’ legs for better leverage. Hands on his chest put space between their skin, and Dean pushed back, trying to just get one more kiss, one more lingering touch of Cas’ skin on his.
He trails off, clearly not wanting to finish his sentence. Is he embarrassed or just afraid. Cas is definitely afraid, he’s always afraid when it comes to losing Dean. Who would have thought, Heaven’s most devoted soldier turned into something Heaven never intended for him, something almost human.
Dean takes a second to just look at Cas. Look at everything from his blue hair to his blue eyes, which are full of concern for Dean.
“That I’m sorry that you hated yourself so much that you didn’t think you deserved him. That you didn’t think you deserved me, or Lisa. You do.”
“Not that, but selling drugs? Also not a great look. Both of em’ll land you in jail too. I get it, it’s cold, you’re desperate. I’ve been there.”
“It’s fine. The theatre is up my ass at all times about it, and the director is just a complete douchebag, but it should do well.”
“You know there’s a clock on the wall right there?” Benny points out, a smirk on his face that only widens when Dean mimics him.
Cas, Charlie, and Benny immediately all start talking over each other, about how this is their big break, how the set list needed to be perfect, how Charlie was definitely going to find a girlfriend in Boston and leave the rest of them in the dust.
Cas looked at him and he knew that what he said next would quite literally change the outcome of their lives. It may sound dramatic, Dean and Bobby often said that he sounded like he’d been ripped from a dystopian novel. He didn’t understand that reference at first until Dean had thrust Cormac McCarthy’s
Dean waits for Pamela to sketch the piece, making small talk with Ash and challenging him to a Mario Kart tournament the next week that he knows they’ll all lose, it was stupid to ever challenge Ash to anything, because he always crushed at whatever he attempted, even if he had never tried it before.
“Don’t flatter yourself, fearless leader, I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed. You could die of exposure out there.”
Cas wished he didn’t have to hear what Michael said to Dean, but he was still an angel. He wished he could turn on the radio and listen to something Dean put on. Some Zeppelin, maybe some Black Sabbath. But he had to listen. He had to hear Dean make his choice.
“Hey Dean!” Sam grins brightly at him when he steps in the door, “Can you help me with this problem? I’ve been working on it for half an hour and can’t get anywhere.”
He’s not sure how long they stand there, pressed flush against each other, but it’s long enough that they hear Sam stirring in the room next to them. They pull away, Cas missing Dean’s touch immediately. Dean reaches up and brushes his thumb along Cas bottom lip. Cas leans into him, and they stay that way for several moments, before they hear Sam stumbling down the hallway, calling their names.
The words are enough to make Dean stand straight up, forgetting Bobby, forgetting the beer in his hand, forgetting everything in the whole Universe except for the angel. He was finally done searching for him.
“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, he really doesn’t want to talk about this in front of Cas, “Yeah I was thinking of getting something small on my bicep. Easy to cover, the suits at the plant probably wouldn’t be into a face tattoo.”
Dean ignores the little jolt in his heart when Cas says he looked up Kashmir because of him, but instead looks over at him, shaking his head.
After this revelation, he finds himself outside in the cool evening air a little while later, trying to pull himself together. (He just keeps randomly crying, how weird is that?)
It sounds lame even to him, but he’s not about to just roll over on this question, it’s a little too loaded for him and he thinks Cas knows that, but he’s always been great at pulling shit out of Dean that he didn’t want to deal with.
“That’s fine, but we aren’t cancelling our plans, I need you to dick me down at least three times today.”
“I love you,” Dean had rasped, losing his voice as the weight of Cas’ words settled into his chest. Cas kissed him again, and Dean may have been imagining the sweetness of Cas’ mouth, the taste of honey on his tongue, but he didn’t think so.
Dean responds by kissing him again, pulling him close, learning and relearning the geography of Cas’ mouth.
When Dean turned twenty-one, he got shitfaced at some seedy bar while Sam studied for the SATs and John was on a hunt turned binge drinking session. They hadn’t seen him in two weeks, but that was becoming more and more routine, as every time he was home, he and Sam would fight. Dean would always get in between, always protect Sam, and if that earned him a black eye or two, so be it, he would do anything when it came to Sam. They had thrown him out of the bar when last call came around, and Dean had sung happy birthday to himself as he stumbled back to their hotel, ignoring Sam’s bitchface as he focused on his flashcards, determined to escape the life that Dean knew he was stuck with.
Benny and Charlie head to their respective rooms a few minutes later, seeming to understand, almost subconsciously, that he and Sam needed one of those Brotherly Bonding Moments.
“Who’s paying?” Balthazar looks from Cas to Dean, like he already knows the answer. Dean feels the familiar pit in his stomach, the familiar sensation like he’s moving and his stomach is staying firmly in place. He could afford it, probably. He’s not fucking broke, like this smarmy fucking asshole is implying. He grabs the bill before Cas can move, and he can feel Cas’ eyes on him.
“I haven’t moved on,” Cas breathes, eyes darting everywhere, everywhere but Dean, “I can’t move on from you.”
Cas moves over to the sink. Dean had always loved his house, a tiny cottage right on the ocean that was painted sky blue with white shutters. It was tiny and yet he still managed to force a piano in the corner where the “dining room” should have been, and it always felt warm even when it was cold outside. Dean had always loved this place. He always loved that you could always hear the ocean, sometimes lapping, sometimes roaring against the sand and the rocks outside.
Dean snorts and Charlie’s smile is a little too soft, because she definitely knows exactly what he’s asking.
Sam gets the job at that law firm, the one from the art gallery. He calls Dean at the shop on Halloween and after they all get on the phone to congratulate them, Charlie calls for a celebration at some bar in Willamsburg that’s throwing the “best Halloween party in the city.”
Cas didn’t say anything else, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t going to make it out of there in one piece. Dean was too reckless to listen to reason, especially since Sam might be in town. The little group of survivors trekked into downtown Detroit, past the burnt out and blown up old houses and cars. A great city once, Cas though, pushing a car door out of the way with his foot. Dean gave him a look, full fearless leader mode. Cas looked at him, pursed his lips, and rolled his eyes.
The next morning, Dean ends up at Cas’ apartment, checking in with the security guy and being let up with an early morning grumble and a special code. He always feels like he’s visiting the president or the head of the KGB when he has to go through this process, but his heart is in a vice-grip, the crushing fingers unrelenting until he talks to Cas.
The brows don’t unknit with his words, so Dean reaches out and places his thumb gently on the space between Cas’ eyebrows, trying to smooth with physical touch.
“Dean’s being a baby about a hot guy,” Charlie says, dodging the balled-up napkin that Dean throws at her.
“It was good, the studio’s getting a lot of attention which is great. I think more hipsters are moving out this way so here’s hoping.”
“Look at you, already so desperate for it,” Cas’ voice is deeper, still teasing, but with an edge to it that makes all the blood rush out of Dean’s head and into…elsewhere.
He gets lost in the world of color, coral, water, and animals, and by the time he leaves the otter exhibit, the aquarium is closing and he’s got ten texts from Cas telling him he needs to get his ass back to the hotel so he, Sam, and Jo can take an uber to the venue. He pops into the gift shop and gets a little stuffed otter for Cas, which he will most certainly be wrapping and including in his Christmas presents this year. Dean’s so happy with his aquarium time that he doesn’t even care that Sam is giving him a serious bitchface for being late.
He takes his time with Dean’s thighs, taking in every inch of the woman tattooed on the right, her face completely black save for her bright white eyes, standing in water, a spider crawling up her arm, and worships the ship caught in a violent storm, the hulking outline of a decrepit lighthouse visible in the shadows, and Dean feels like he’s losing his mind, fingers clenching around the feathery soft duvet.
thing for you, it just needs a few more minutes,” Dean grins at Cas, trying to make it clear that he could stare at his pie on his own, he didn’t need a babysitter.
“He, um,” Sam sighs, shakes his head, Dean wants to die, “You know that job offer? He was telling me about it.”
Cas had left hours ago, and Dean, once he had peeled himself away from the Bunker’s table, he had headed straight for the Impala, turning the key and pulling out of the garage, fighting back the ache in his chest that threatened to overwhelm him if he thought about Cas too much.
He gets trapped with the very chatty group for fifteen or so minutes as Cas gets pulled away by his assistant Hannah, something about someone wanting to know the price and history of one of the main sculptures. He gives Dean another one of those smiles, and Dean can’t stop smiling himself as the group chatters at him, asking him a million questions until he’s saved by Eileen and Sam walking in.
“And second, if you know where hot art guy works, and Sam impressing stuck up lawyers isn’t an issue anymore so…”
Dean thought he was smart. He thought he could hide things from Cas. Dumbass. Even with his weird new personality, Cas could tell that Dean had been hiding something from him. He almost never went out on runs, “missions” as Chuck now called them anymore, preferring to stay behind and teach the survivors some bullshit about meditation. He had done more yoga than he had ever wanted to in his whole life, but people enjoyed it, and it gave Cas a sort of purpose. But Dean? Dean would come back with bloody knuckles and wounds all over his face. Cas would see him, try and greet him but he would just…disappear. No one talked about it, but they knew he was getting suspicious, because whatever was happening was happening on the camp grounds.
Dean’s nightmare of the painting is more vivid that night. He dreams that the monster that crushes him doesn’t look like a monster, but has the face of an angel, with blue eyes and dark hair. It crushes him, whispering promises of love and stability in his ears. He is afraid, terribly afraid.
“I see things are going well out here,” Dean breaks into the argument with ease. One of the many benefits of having friends that are more family than anything else is that he can just butt into arguments to break them up. It had worked for years.
Dean lets Cas talk, hand resting on his chin, taking it all in. How he was ever stupid enough to let this go was completely beyond him. Cas was so much more than an art dealer, than a guy he met at a bar, than a guy whose smile could probably cure cancer. He was an activist, a lover, a terrible artist, though he tries, a great listener, a good friend, the best damn sex Dean Winchester had ever had, and it had taken Dean far too long to notice that.
It’s just like he had always dreamed, one of those things that really made him believe this was Heaven and not just some made-up djinn dream. Everyone was there, everyone he had loved and lost and found again in the sprawling eternity that was this place. They had his favorite food, his favorite music, his favorite beer…everything was perfect. Well, he thought so anyway, until his mother came out of the kitchen with a steaming apple pie with a candle in it and set it in front of Dean. They all sang happy birthday, and he took the first bite of his birthday pie with a smile so wide he thought his face might split in two.
He waits for around an hour until Cas’ shitty car pulls up next to him. Dean sees his outline in his porch light as he considers the Impala, and then carefully moves towards his front door.
“Tell me what’s wrong? What happened? If we talk we can fix it, but if you’re going to be huffy and silent there’s not much that I can do.”
“Yeah, and his wife Andrea and daughter Celeste. She’s my goddaughter,” he adds proudly. It’s pretty much his greatest achievement.
Dean takes a breath and sits down next to Pamela. Of course, he immediately starts bouncing his leg. Pamela puts a hand on his knee, stopping the shaking.
“Okay, okay, can we lighten the mood a little, boys?” Ellen rolls her eyes good naturedly, “I’m trying to run a bar, not a funeral home.”
Dean didn’t even try to stop him. He heard the tires of the Impala pull out of the garage and he tried really really hard not to collapse to the floor.
He doesn’t like airports. Not only does he hate flying, but the crowds and the air of stress and desperation coming out of the place made him feel like he needed to crawl out of his skin and live under a lake where there were no flying metal tubes that could crash at any second. He pushes all this from his mind, however, and hangs out at the bottom of the escalator, watching people reunite, or business people walking, exhausted towards the exit, clutching only shiny briefcases. A little girl went running full tilt towards her grandparents, yelling with joy.
Cas whined and Dean gave him a wicked grin before returning before the task at hand. Within minutes Dean had Cas in the palm of his hand, a whiny mess, begging for Dean to get him that inch closer to release.
“You know as well as I do that I can’t tell you what to do,” Cas smiles, “But I think Ellen might like it if you came to the Roadhouse today.”
“Going to meet my siblings. We have a tradition after thanksgiving to go shopping for Christmas together, and as angry as I am at them, I don’t want to miss it. So I have to go.”
His appointments are booked for the next six months, with people begging him over Instagram to open his books for them, swearing up and down that they have the next great project for him. He doesn’t even really need to market himself anymore, the shop’s reputation, and his, have never been better, and he relishes in the idea that he doesn’t have to try so hard, that his work had paid off.
If there wasn’t enormity in those words, Cas would have laughed. Instead, he kissed the top of Dean’s head.
Running into Cas in Central Park was like taking several long strides backwards for Dean. He had been doing well, accepting his mistakes, trying to move forward. He starts dreaming about that stupid fucking painting again, which is just cosmic punishment since it seems to be completely burned into his psyche. Then he starts dreaming about Chicago, and then Cas, and those nights are so bad he almost wishes he could be a cyborg and never have to sleep again, just be powered off to charge every so often, that would be easier.
“You have said no so many times, Dean. I implore you to consider what you’re doing now, just this once.”
Cas wasn’t sure how long they were locked together, leaning into each other, the rest of the world not even a thought. Dean tasted surprisingly sweet. Cas pushed his tongue into Dean’s mouth. In the very dim back of his mind, he hoped that he was doing this right. There were a lot of opportunities for kissing in Heaven, and he knew Dean had more than enough experience. He just didn’t want to…fuck this up.
Dean doesn’t answer reflexively, because at this point he was liable to say something really stupid and not be able to talk his way out of it. He takes his time, thinking that he might as well take the blond girl home, she’s pretty and clearly into him. He doesn’t look back at Cas, just mutters,
They finish the dumb Netflix original rom com and Dean gets Charlie a blanket and a pillow, and she curls up on the couch. He kisses the top of her head as he pads to his room, and she calls after him,
“In theory that attention sounds great,” Charlie shakes her head, “but really I feel like I’d just be suffocated.”
“What do you want, baby?” Cas positively purrs and, that’s it, Dean’s going to have a heart attack, “Do you want me to let you come?”
“You’re a little bit anal, you know that right?” Jo is staring at him as she gets a bottle of water out of the fridge.
He had pushed Dean into a corner. Cas knew that Dean would never refuse Bobby if it was a choice between Bobby going with them and Bobby going with a stranger.
“So um. I just wanted you all to know something. And some of you know it already, but I wanted to tell you all because you’re my best friends, my family. I’m bi.”
“I’m crazy,” Dean says, head in his hands, three days after Castiel had shown up in the shop. Three days after a two second kiss that Dean couldn’t help but think about every time he closed his eyes.
“Uh,” Dean feels his face betraying him, turning red against his will, “I don’t know, maybe. Sam’s there so probably not.”
And then, you know those movies where the character realizes the other person has moved on, and they look like they got stabbed in the heart? Yeah, Dean hadn’t understood that until now. Behind Cas comes some very tall, very handsome dude and Dean literally feels like the biggest idiot in the whole world, because of course Cas already moved on, of course this was all the stupidest thing he’d ever done. He can’t even look at the guy, who’s standing behind Cas and looking at Dean with interest, he can’t look at Cas, who looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know what to say, so Dean’ll save him the trouble.
As always, the drive to Camp Chitaqua was nothing if not eventful. They were always having to find new ways around the military. This time they had blocked the main road, and the Impala wasn’t really meant for off-roading. Dean sighed in frustration as they almost got stuck for the tenth time.
Castiel laughs at that. The throw back your head, full throated laugh that invites anyone in its proximity to join in. And Dean does, they laugh together in the secluded corner of the gallery, Dean suddenly very aware that Castiel was sort of in his personal space which he normally hated, but maybe it's his eyes or the way he licks his lips when he looks at Dean, Dean doesn't mind.
“It’s not just an alien movie, it’s a commentary on the choices we make, and whether we’ll alter them if we know the future.”
“I’ll see you on Thursday then,” Dean says, a little breathless when they break apart. Cas smiles and runs his thumb along Dean’s bottom lip, catching a little at the silver metal.
Cas is already out of his shirt when Dean pushes the door open, and he’s wiggling out of his jeans right in front of Dean’s eyes, and Dean suddenly wishes he had had fifteen more beers so he wouldn’t have to remember this in the morning, because it would keep him up at night.
Charlie, Sam, Jo, and Benny are waiting for them in the swanky lobby, Charlie tapping her foot impatiently on the shiny tile floor.
Cas laughed, he couldn’t help it, this whole situation was so fucking absurd, and now he had to explain to Dean, the one person who knew everything about him, what the hell had happened to him, why he was drug-addicted, broken down, useless.
One night, a particularly bad one shook the walls of the house. Dean had caught Cas following him out to the clearing Cas had had no choice but to drag him back to the house before Dean woke the whole place up with his shouting.
Eileen, like Charlie, goes straight in for the hug, and Cas is about as shy as Dean’s ever seen him. He’s got that small smile on his face, eyes a little downcast, Dean can tell he’s giving that puppy dog look that could make a stone statue melt into a puddle of goo. He knows because it’s happened to him at least five times a week since he and Cas started dating.
They make their way to the train, all of them in a little group, chattering about the day’s clients, tattoos, consultations, the fact that Benny’s client had almost passed out in the chair and Benny nearly threw out his back trying to catch the guy before he fell.
The ride back to the city isn’t nearly as enjoyable as the one on the way there. Cas and Dean sit in huffy silence, not even playing music to break the sounds of the road and their occasional sniffs or sighs. Dean is still royally pissed off by the whole thing, which went about as badly as first family meetings can be, and he just knew it, he knew they’d hate him because of the way that he looked and the way that he was and the way that he didn’t have any money and the way he had tattoos in visible places and a lip ring and the way he was defiling their precious rich-boy brother.
“He can read clocks, ladies and gentlemen!” Charlie dodges away from Dean, who tries a playful jab at her, and he sees she has something in her hands.
“Do you think you’re a big man when you kick things over or throw things? You can’t stop me from doing what I want.”
“Every time you look at it, you see something new, like it’s changing in front of you, never the same each time, you know?”
“It’s just going to be on mute,” Dean points out, finally making an appearance, all his prep in the kitchen finally done. He just had to check the turkey around seventy-five more times before he was satisfied with everything. Cas slides over to him immediately, and Dean feels all warm inside, happy to see Cas so relaxed and happy, especially since Dean really really really wants this to go well.
Sam tells Dean all about the girl he’s now been on three dates with, Jessica, and how he was hoping to ask her to his winter formal at the end of the year. Dean listens intently, trying to come up with the best way to ask her. Nothing too cheesy, nothing too over the top. Dean remembers the time he had asked Lisa to a fancy dinner in a tuxedo, but Sam nixes that, they would be hanging out in a few weeks with their friends, and a full tuxedo might give the game away.
lmaooooo that THIS is the chapter that gets posted on Valentine's Day. So uh yeah, this would be the angst I've been referring too, and my boy Dean is gonna have to do some serious growing amiright? In spite of the ~angst~ I hope you guys enjoy, and I'd love to talk about it! :)
Dean trails off sort of lamely, not sure what to do with his hands since his heart was literally coming out of his throat in the form of word-vomit about his insecurities over a painting to Cas. Cas stares at him blankly, head cocked a little to one side, fork still suspended in midair, green pesto pasta getting colder by the second.
Dean stomps to the bathroom and stares at himself, unrecognizable. He looks good yeah, but good enough for the rich and probably famous that are going to be at this thing tomorrow?
“Thanks for not finishing it,” Dean collapses into the chair next to Sam at their rickety table in his boxers, as Cas slides a literal mountain of eggs on his plate, “It’s okay man, we’ll figure it out.”
“Okay okay, one more thing,” Dean steels himself, he’s not sure he wants to know the answer to this question, but it’s going to eat at him if he doesn’t ask, “And you have to be honest.”
Anger begins to bubble in his chest again, stronger and stronger and stronger this time. Why the fuck did Cas bring him to this if he was just going to leave him here to get shit-talked by his family? He’s exposed in the open air, like a deer caught in the crosshairs of a gun, and Cas’, Castiel’s whole family is aiming at him. Gabriel with his smug laughter, Anna with her coldness, Samandriel with his simpering gaze, Balthazar with his accent and his v-neck. He hasn’t even met Gadreel but he hates him too. Dean is drowning, drowning in how badly this is going, how much he wants to leave, how much he wants to strip off this costume and just leave, just go, take the Impala and drive back to Brooklyn with Pamela and Benny and Sam and Charlie and Eileen and not ever set foot in Westchester again.
Dean snorts at that. It’s rich guy humor, sure, but Dean can appreciate a joke, no matter who it comes from.
He’s so lost in the new experience he’s having that he almost forgets to look at Cas’ face to read his reaction. It’s an expression he knows well, Cas has the look on his face that usually came when Dean kissed him: a level of softness that Dean never thought could be directed towards him.
“Fine, fine,” Dean relents, but before he can make another move, Castiel’s hand is running down his arm, lacing their fingers together and Dean seriously thinks he might be in the early stages of a heart attack, because it keeps beating off kilter every time he looks at Castiel.
He walked out of the bar, got into the Impala, and headed back to the Bunker, desperately hoping when he opened the door, that Cas would be there, waiting for him. But no such luck. The Bunker was empty when he got back, and Dean shut himself in his room, hoping that his headache would distract from the pieces of broken heart that he left laying on the floor.
“I sure do, let me put my money where my mouth is,” Dean takes Cas in his mouth in a fluid motion, and it takes less than four minutes before Cas is coming in his mouth again, moaning Dean’s name in a way that would make literally anyone come apart at the seams. It was always that way with Cas. Always that way.
“Unloveable”, he would sneer, sticking a knife into Dean’s heaving chest, “Your daddy really hated you Dean. And why not? What have you ever done? You break everything you touch. You’re unloveable.”
They checked on the camp almost every day, and the improvements were coming along, but it wasn’t secure enough to move everyone over yet. And then, there was the greater problem: how the hell do they get everyone out when it was finally ready. Every day they stayed it was more and more dangerous to take people out. They were running out of time.
Dean does his best not to freeze over the turkey, but there’s not controlling the blush that creeps up his ears.
“Cas doesn’t want his hair to burn off,” Cas yells from the bathroom, and Sam cracks open the door at his words, still giggling as he holds out the mixer.
Dean blushes, knowing that Cas is going to press on this button until something happens. He sighs. Fucking relentless, with his hair and his eyes and his hands and his shoulders.
Not long after, Cas’ breathing turns slow and deep and steady, and Dean takes a moment before he falls asleep to watch the window, where the rain is streaking down the glass, to feel the heat of Cas pressed up against him, to hear the sound of his breath, to smell Cas’ expensive shampoo and laundry detergent on his sheets, to taste Cas on his tongue, to use every one of his senses to appreciate the moment that he’s in. He may be a little tiny dot of a person in this great big world, a tiny dot that struggles to feel worthy, worthwhile, but he, at least, found another tiny dot of a person that he can struggle with. He’s grateful for that.
“You must be Charlie,” Cas extends his hand, which Charlie bypasses and goes straight in for the hug. Cas returns it immediately, and Dean knows, he just knows that these two are going to get along just fine.
He lets out a shaky breath, thinking about how warm Cas is, how much Dean likes behind held by him, tries not to think about how little he fucking deserves to be held by him, by a man who can purchase the place that he lives like it’s nothing, who takes UberBlack for god’s sake.
Cas is staring at Dean with a funny look on his face, which is weird because Dean knows every single one of Cas’ expressions, so to surprise him is kinda like surprising the dictionary with a new word: it just doesn’t happen.
He nearly breaks into a panic attack when he sees what looks like a trench coat piled next to a tree. He scrambles to it, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to it. He grabs at the pile, terrified of seeing blank blue eyes staring up at him.
Dean nearly rear-ends the cab in front of him and has to slam on the brakes, jolting them both forward.
“Will do,” Dean calls as he throws some things into a duffel bag, including a few things he’d usually take camping, because, you know, he’s a stealth master.
“Hmm?” Cas runs his hands through Dean’s hair again, making him sigh and lean into his touch. He knew it was only for a week, but he was selfish by nature, and he was really desperately going to miss this.
“Yeah, he passed the bar a couple of months back, he’s starting out as a second chair for a smaller team, but they’re taking him to court a lot which he’s excited about.
“He started work last week, he likes it. Man, he comes home and he talks about work and I just nod along and pretend like I know what a deposition or a mediation or a trial checklist is. He loves it though, it’s always been his passion, to help people. Plus, he was the first one in the family to go to college so I’m proud of him. I’d never tell him this, but it’s nice to have him back, we spent something like twelve years not living in the same place, and it’s just been nice to have him be my roommate.”
“It was just some script work on his arm! The guy was huge!” Benny complains as they get on the A headed towards Harlem. Dean’s emotions key more keyed up with every stop, he sort of feels like he’s going to throw up. Or have a heart attack. He’s not sure which one is going to win out at the moment.
Jesus Christ, he hasn’t even gone on this date yet and it’s already crushing his fragile self-esteem. This was a bad idea, right? But he shouldn’t worry, it’ll probably go badly and that’ll be the end of it. He’s never been good at first dates anyway, why should he worry about this?
“I’ve tried, Dean, you know that. You know I’ve tried. They won’t listen to me. I don’t even think they can hear me,” the next words pained Cas to say, “I’m not an angel anymore, Dean. there’s no ifs ands or buts about it. I don’t think I can help you, and I’m sorry for that.”
Sam is, of course, thrilled that Dean is going on another date, since he , as Sam pointed out, hadn’t been on a “real date” in over a year, and that had ended with nothing but a diner he wasn’t allowed to frequent and a black eye that hadn’t healed for nearly three weeks.
The tension leaves Cas’ muscles by degrees, and Dean’s glad they’re talking now because he does not like them being in a fight, not at all.
“You broke up at least four for a while, and then the random times you called it quits for like three days.”
The picnic is bomb, as expected, and as Benny and Andrea lay back on their picnic blanket, they let Dean take Celeste to get rid of some of her boundless energy. Celeste was beautiful, the perfect split between her mother and father, with Benny’s blue eyes and Andrea’s beautiful bone structure. She was already as smart as Andrea and as kind as Benny, which made Dean her absolute slave, which she knew, so she had started to ask for “dates” with him, where they would go see a movie, eat way too much popcorn and candy, and just tear around the city, Celeste leading the way, pulling Dean by the hand.
He’s such a fucking coward, part of him wishes that this’ll go badly, that there won’t be the spark he feel when he’s within ten feet of Castiel, that they’ll be able to go their separate ways at the end of the night and Dean will be able to drink to the memory of his hair, the way he laughs, but leave it at that. No strings attached, no messiness, no falling into something so deep that he’ll never be able to crawl out, and, most importantly, not having to deal with the inevitable fallout due to his own crippling inadequacy and Castiel’s realization that Dean is not good enough for him.
After weeks of a whole lot of nothing, Dean had tracked down a lead on the Colt once again. Even after the disastrous last attempt, Cas insisted on going. And, of course, this sparked another round of intense bickering in their cabin.
Dean is so stunned by the words that he can’t form a coherent comeback. Because not only is it the shittiest thing he’s heard since high school but it confirms the terrible fear that had curled its hands around Dean’s mind: he is not good enough for Cas. And it wasn’t even true, the tiny voice of reason in his mind screams from the dark corner that Dean had stuffed it: he has a great job, a successful job doing something that he really loves.
She, Dean, and Sam all stare at each other, before scrambling to pay their meager tab and walk nonchalantly out the door, didn’t want any of the circling vultures to pick up on them leaving and try to follow them or something.
Against his better judgement, he lets Cas leave, he lets him walk quickly down the street and round the corner.
Charlie rolls her eyes, and switches back immediately to Dean’s date, which is what he’d been trying to scoot her away from. It’s not like he didn’t want to talk about it, hell, he wanted to shout about it from the rooftops if he could, but it almost felt like, if he talked about it, it wouldn’t actually be real. Or, that talking about it could make it more real, which, let’s be honest, was just as scary.
Charlie looks softly at him, something he can’t read in her face. He doesn’t want to think about it, he just wants to see Cas again. He picks up his phone absentmindedly, swiping until his messages with Cas pop up.
“Smells good,” Sam grins, going straight towards Cas, pulling Eileen by the hand, “Cas, this is Eileen. Eileen, Cas.”
“Listen Cas, I know that all this crap is crazy and that I should be out there taking care of all those people, but I can’t- I can’t leave this room until you wake up man because I need you. I need you, Cas.”
“I’m not leavin my home,” Bobby cuts through the silence with about as much subtlety as a freight train.
, Dean thinks, but smiles at Cas as he takes his hand, pulling up the mask that he was so adept at, that not even Dean could tell it was a mask sometimes.
Castiel swills his own wine, sniffing it before he takes a sip. Dean remembered seeing that technique in
Sam bounds into his room and immediately closes the door to facetime Jessica (his official girlfriend which definitely doesn’t make Dean emotional when he thinks about it too much).
“Save my seat,” he tells Jo and Sam, and he steps back towards where he thinks the backstage area would be. Benny pokes his head around a door down the hall and motions Dean towards him. Dean lengthens his stride.
He and Dean walked to the armory in silence. Cas knew that Dean knew that he was angry. Well, angry wasn’t the right word, he was well past angry.
He waves goodbye and hits the dirty pavement, heading toward the store and moving like a man on a mission, knowing what brands of everything he needed. He hoped Cas had at least
“Oh yeah, of course,” Dean says, trying to cover his awkwardness with macho bravado, which definitely does not work, “You looking to get something done?”
And then, when he was 30, Castiel had entered the scene; with cracking lightning and bright blue eyes, he had stood too close to Dean, essentially not moving for eleven years. They had been through everything together. Allistair, the Apocalypse, Sam losing his soul, Cas’ betrayal, the Leviathin, Cas’ death, Purgatory, Naomi, Cas’ death....again, Metatron, Amara, Lucifer possessing Cas, the Mark of Cain, losing Cas again, raising Jack, losing Mary, losing Jack.....the list goes on.
Dean had expected to stay at the bar for at least a couple of hours after their set. He figured they’d all want to be the center of attention for a while, they’d earned at least that much. He thought that Charlie and Benny would monopolize the crowds of fans that were swarming like ants around the green room door, that he might just have a few seconds to try and express to Cas just how he felt about that new song.
“You know,” Dean calls over, still swaying to the pop music that Cas had put on, “for a guy that’s in a screamo punk band, you’re really into top 40 music.”
He finishes up with Christian after about four hours, and he’s so excited about the finished product that he swears he’ll be back in a few weeks to talk about another piece. Dean’s excited too, it’s always so nice when someone loves the work so much that they want to come back right away. It looks good on him too, so Dean snaps a picture so he can put it on his Instagram, maybe throw it up on the website if the mood strikes him right.
His voice echoes across the clearing. He knows he’s drawing too much attention to himself. It’s not like he’s alone here, there are god knows how many monsters that want his blood lurking in every shadow. But, he never had much sense when it comes to Cas.
“What are you, stoned?” Dean asked, and Cas wished he could just tell him everything that happened in the past five years, let him know just how much they had lost, how much he had lost, but now’s not the time for blaring honesty.
“Ha ha,” says Sam, punching Dean on the shoulder, “Seriously though, Dean, thanks for coming tonight."
Sam beams as soon as he sees them, and Dean’s general annoyance at their very loud existence melts away. It’s easy to be happy when Sam is happy, still the baby of the family even though he’s taller than any of them at seventeen years old.
Cas’ eyes are cold, he’s set in the doorway, arms crossed, body hunched away from Dean to protect himself. It breaks Dean’s heart a little.
Dean sprawled out on the bed, and Cas settled in next to him, as though the last few days hadn’t happened. A rare argument that didn’t end in a grudge.
Dean’s moving like he’s in a dream, like he’s running through this thick molasses, his movements slow but deliberate.
They lay there again, languidly kissing, as Dean’s own hands wander down towards Cas’ already hard cock. He likes to think he’s pretty good at this, as he moves his hand lightly over the head of Cas’ cock, and the way Cas throws his head back with a loud moan makes a self-satisfied grin spread over Dean’s face as he continues, playing Cas’ rhythm game on himself, changing it up right when he can feel Cas’ muscles go tense.
That sounded lame, even to Cas. Of course he wasn’t fine and Cas was a fool to even ask. Dean didn’t have to say as much.
It’s really one of the better thanksgivings they’ve ever had, Eileen fits in seamlessly, and Dean and Charlie eat so much food that they have to lie on the floor for thirty minutes after their third helping, Charlie sticking her arms in the air, having read in some magazine that that helps the food digest faster.
The agreement had been in place since they were twenty-two, now, at nearly thirty-one, it still stood strong. It didn’t happen so much anymore, they were either perpetually single or in a committed relationship, so it was less of an excuse to fuck and more an actual grieving process.
Cas’ shoulders visibly relax when he hears Dean’s voice. He looks up, his eyes worried and almost glassed over with panic.
“You have a lot of learning to do,” Charlie takes his hand, “And while I’m not the most qualified, I can help you through this. It’s a weird time, but you know I’ve got you no matter what right?”
was his favorite album, Dean played it on repeat for about three weeks, until he and Cas knew every second of every song. The album became their thing, Cas didn’t have a voice like Dean, but he held his own with “Houses of the Holy,” (which Dean found unduly funny), and Dean could steal hearts with “Kashmir.” They sang and sang and sang, until the album was around them wherever they went. Cas found himself humming it when Dean was passed out, reading whichever book Dean had pushed into his hands that day.
Dean’s heard Cas sing a lot, it’s not like he doesn’t know what his voice sounds like, but there was something about this, about the way he sways as he sings, about the way he and Charlie occasionally look at each other, about the way his hair keeps falling in his face, about the way Dean can see the goosebumps on his arms, that makes Dean think that he might have to evaporate on the spot. His chest feels weird and tight but he doesn’t want Cas to ever stop singing like this, they had to do this song in every set forever, Dean would demand it.
There are only two of Cas’ siblings at the table when they approach. Anna, sitting primly upright in a green dress that, even Dean had to admit, looked pretty stunning, even though the bitter taste of their last encounter still stung his mouth, and Gadreel, who was in a suit and tie, clearly not coming from work, Dean had expected scrubs.
Cas leans up, experimentally, slowly, like Dean is a startled deer, make a sudden move and he’ll bolt. There’s probably a lot of truth to that. Cas’ lips brush the shell of Dean’s ear, then the side of his jaw, then the ridge of his collarbone. Dean feels like he can’t breathe. But his brain has disconnected, and he straightens up. Cas, backs up immediately, thinking he’s gone too far, but Dean leans forward, grabs Cas’ hand, and drags him as fast as he can towards his bedroom.
Cas hangs out with them for a while, sitting on the floor between Dean’s legs, back resting on the couch as they channel surf, Sam and Dean bickering about whether Hulu or Netflix has a better selection of holiday movies to choose from. Charlie passes out in her chair, Dean’s half convinced she’s more bear than human with the way she sleeps, and Eileen pulls out a book a few minutes into the new Netflix Christmas movie they decide on. Dean finds himself running his fingers through Cas’ hair, his head resting on Dean’s knee.
It sounds stupid, childish to say it out loud, like he thought it was going to be some big confession or some big moment, but even though he had spent more than one sleepless night thinking about exactly what his kinks were, now it kinda seemed stupid, especially stupid to be saying it out loud, and even stupid to be saying it out loud to Cas.
“You can’t rush perfection,” Cas takes one last look in the mirror by his closet, “But yeah, I’m good.”
Cas stands there, hands on his hips, his lower jaw jutting out, clearly readying for a fight that Dean knew that he would lose if it came to it.
Dean waits for the punchline, but Lisa is standing across the bed from him, arms folded, hair flying, hips set.
“Holy fuck,” Dean breathes, running his fingers reverently over the black ink covering parts of the windows, red lettering in the windows.
“Yeah well, you dye your hair depending on the weather, so forgive me for not thinking you want the apple pie life.”
“Oh I know how long it lasted. Trust me. I think there’s a couple of people in Russia that didn’t hear you if you want to go for round two.”
“Because, I gotta open up shop, someone has to keep us all fed,” Bobby grumbles, but Dean can tell there’s no malice behind it. He stands up from his chair and takes Dean’s dishes from him, stretching out a calloused, tattooed hand, “Come on now, you got a room upstairs and I’ve already got your stuff up there.”
Cas knows something’s up, he can always tell when Dean is off. But what the hell is he supposed to say? That he thinks he might be catching feelings for him? There are several problems with that theory: one, Dean is straight, two, the whole point of the agreement was to not catch feelings, three, they’re best friends, and Dean wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that, and four, he’s not catching feelings for Cas, that would be so dumb. Plus, refer to point one. He’s straight.
“They’re all staying a few more days, but I have some business to attend to so I came back early,” Cas leads the way over to the baggage carousel, looking for his suitcase.
“Sam um, he managed to slip me a burner phone, that’s the only reason we were able to keep in touch, he-”
“You can be honest with me,” Cas’ hand slides, warm and solid onto his shoulder and Dean jumps, so caught up in the feeling that he’s drowning, invisible water filling his lungs, dragging him down that he almost forgot Cas was even there.
“It’s beautiful,” Cas whispers, his eyes flicking towards the backseat and his tongue wetting his bottom lip. The meaning there was something that Dean did not miss.
, and he had been forced into a stiff button down, he wasn’t even allowed to wear one of his t shirts, and a fucking tie, how disgusting.
Cas ends up splayed across Dean in the morning, and Dean pressed his nose into his hair, smelling the cheap shampoo and faint smell of bad cigarettes that he hates. He forces himself to get out of bed and accept that things had to go back to normal, that the weekend was just part of the agreement, that it couldn’t be anything more. Not that Cas would want anything more with him.
“Yeah, celebrating for sure. Mostly Charlie and I came to get fucked up, but she ditched me for the first girl she could find so I guess I’m on my own.”
So, Cas did what any self-respecting human person would do when it was all going to shit: he did more drugs. First it was little white pills, of every shape you can imagine. Some of them made him jittery, some made him giggly, some made him sleepy, but he never really knew what would happen when he took them, which was exciting, put him on edge, but not in a “I’m about to get killed” kind of way. Then, when just a couple weren’t giving him what he needed, he started mixing them. He almost felt like one of those ancient…alchemists, finding out what mixing one and another would cause. He had some really really really bad experiences, but the good ones made up for it. Sometimes, if he really hit on something good, he would be on the perfect high for almost twelve hours.
“I haven’t had my coffee,” Dean drains his mug as if to prove of point, and he sorta thinks he can feel his throat blistering.
He had seen a future with Lisa, but with Lee? They lived only in the moment, whether that moment was tattooing or tasting the best burgers they could find or singing too loud on a road trip or dancing in their apartment or fucking or kissing. There were, there had never been any expectations with Lee, he had been, for the first time in his life, allowed to just be, and didn’t have to put on his persona, the cool guy persona that guarded his heart carefully and protected him from the angers in the dirty sheets and peeling paint in the hotels he had stayed in too often.
Dean holds his breath, because why the fuck would Cas let him up there, but the guy smiles at him and gives him the code to get to Cas’ floor.
“Have you, oh I don’t know, seen the state of your neck, Dean?” Charlie asks, raising her eyebrows at him.
The words echo in his head, bouncing off the walls like one of those shitty 2000s screensavers that he and Sam would stare at when the research had been stalled.
“What’s that Taylor Swift song you love?” Charlie asks before he can leave, “That early one she did about Romeo and Juliet? That’s you tonight. Star-crossed lovers.”
“Holy shit,” Charlie gasps when they round the corner. There are people lined up around the block, waiting for the gallery to open. It looks stunning from the outside, with every pride flag hung in front, soft lighting visible from the outside. Warm, inviting, safe. Dean stares in disbelief at the crowd outside.
“Come here,” Cas tosses away his cigarette and says the words like an order, and Dean’s feet drag him forward, crashing into Cas, pressing him into the wall, kissing him with a voracity that normally came only in their dark bedrooms, not to be seen in the light of day. Dean is too drunk on Cas to care, only seeking more of Cas’ flush skin under his stupid thin tank top, licking his bottom lip until his mouth gasps open, kissing him with the kind of fervor that he only kissed him with every other time they kissed.
Cas leans forward and presses his lips into Dean’s hair. It’s a simple gesture, something that they usually don’t do unless the other is really fucked up. So Dean must be really fucked up.
They spend most of the rest of the weekend in bed, lounging around between rounds, Cas insisting on playing this dumb game on his phone where you matched colored blocks and made bombs go off or something. Dean had never been into those games (except
“You can complain as much as you want. I don’t think anyone is expecting anything different from you, anyway.”
Dean is in a haze as he rides the train home, a hickey or two visible on his neck as he thinks about Castiel’s hot breath and his hands and the noises he made when Dean kissed his neck. He doesn’t even mind the trek back to his apartment from the station, he sort of feels like he’s walking on air, like he’s moving faster than usual. He gets to his own apartment, worlds away from Cas’ high rise on Park Avenue, and he tries to shut the door quietly, kicking off his boots at the door. He doesn’t even shower, just collapses into bed, plugging in his phone and sees he has a message from Cas.
When he returned to earth, to Dean, he put off telling him about it, it wasn’t anything he didn’t already know.
Dean sort of wants to explode at the word partner, but he just smiles the professional smile he reserves for the landlord at the shop.
Cas was sprawled out on his bed, snoring loudly. He had pulled off his shirt and wriggled out of his pants since Dean had left him, and he did his best not to stare at him in the dim light. He really wanted to trace the tattoo of the Teton mountains that was visible on his hip, but resisted the temptation. He got a lot of self-control, thank you very much. Dean set the water, the aspirin, and the Gatorade by the bedside table nearest him, stripped down to his boxers, and went to brush his teeth. He collapses right next to Cas, trying to resist curling closer to him. It doesn’t work, and he falls asleep as they match each other’s breathing
“Are we really arguing right now?” he asks, setting his jaw in a way that makes sure that Dean knows he’s pissed him off.
Finding his things intact made it a little easier to relax, and he slumps down on the pillows, and ends up sleeping for what feels like about three days. When he wakes up, it’s with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in the pitch-black room and looking for a way out. His heart rates slows when his brain catches up with his surroundings, and he remembers Bobby, Ash, Lee, the tattoo shop he had almost frozen to death in front of. He looks around for his backpack, and sees its outline on the floor, still packed and ready to go in case he needed to make a getaway. There’s a dim light coming from underneath the doorframe, and Dean stands, groaning as his muscles protest him moving at all. The door is creaky, but Dean has spent his life knowing how to avoid people if he needed to, especially in cramped spaces, so he eases it open and looks up and down the dark hallway. He sees his goal: the slightly ajar bathroom door to the right, two doors down, and he begins the slow journey, half due to his unwillingness to makes any noise and half due to the fact that he couldn’t run anywhere even if he had wanted to.
He doesn’t think he can speak, he feels like Cas took his voice when he walked out the door. All those months of openness, of emotional honesty, they were put into the tiny box where they belonged, and Dean was taken back to the person he used to be: unattached, uncaring.
He pulls on a ragged Stanford sweatshirt and falls into bed, feeling warm and cozy and more content than worried now, even though the worry still scratched at the back of his mind. He reminds himself of the promise he made himself, that he made Pamela: just go with the flow. Too bad he always liked to go against the current.
Cas pauses and lets out a long breath, running a hand through his hair before locking eyes with Dean.
“Yeah, it reminds me of the making the fog out of your breath or whatever. The two opposites sort of thing.”
“Well the only ones that I want to speak to left as well so we have nothing more to say to each other,” Cas pauses, “Gadreel and Samandriel are the least of my problems…Gabriel is in there too, if you want to play bitch games you’ll win bitch prizes. I don’t want to hear it Balthazar. And really, tell Anna to fuck off.”
“You care about Cas, honey, that’s why you’re nervous,” Pamela smiles at him from the other side of the subway car, and Dean is struck by just how fucking lucky he is to have them all in his life at the moment.
He makes the copies he needs, hands Cas his ID back, and leads him back to his station, going through and doing a disinfectant wipe down of all the surfaces, getting his inks in order, trying as hard as he can to not pay attention to Cas leaning against the wall, his legs and arms crossed casually, looking like an absolute vision.
Before he can blink, Cas is between his legs, deft and delicate fingers making him achingly hard in seconds, preparing him for what he could already tell was going to be one of the better blowjobs of his life. Cas starts slow, tongue swirling over the head of his cock, drawing a weird sigh out of Dean, unlike any noise he usually made, and Cas just continues, wet mouth running up and down his cock, hollowed out cheeks taking it in, hands gripping Dean’s already shaking hips, but as soon as he gets close, really unbearably close, Cas stops, not cold, but changes or slows his rhythm so that Dean is on the edge of a knife, wanting to fall so bad he can hardly stand it, but really, he’s in the palm of Cas’ hand, and he’s playing right into it.
“No, not since a couple of years ago, like I told you about. Bobby told me that he’s married now, which I’m glad for. I thought about going back to see him, but whenever I swing through I just see the guys, I think Bobby makes sure he’s not there now. We almost got into a fist fight the last time, so I think it’s better for us both.”
Dean looks up at Cas from the magazine he’s flipping through as Cas works on his computer, wearing these dorky reading glasses that Dean really loves, in an oversized sweatshirt and his boxers, Dean swears he could mainline this look and never need anything else ever again.
“Come on,” Cas stands, stretching, giving Dean the view of the millennia with the way he arches his back, his stomach exposed to the air as he lifts his arms above his head. Fuck. He’s hot.
“I’d rather hang with you and Celeste than go out to a bar with a bunch of Brooklyn hipsters who can’t handle their liquor.”
“It’s not that and you know it, but this fear you have of what everyone would think about you if they knew all that is so stupid, and I have never been able to figure out a way to help you with that.”
Cas rolls his eyes and lobs a piping hot half of a bagel at Dean’s head. His aim has always been deadly.
The fourth time Dean wakes, he goes from lying down to half standing, starting to run from nothing again, even though there were no dreams to make him run, he knows he has to. He collapses on the ground, his foot twisted in the sheets, and he tries to free himself, acting less like a human and more like a trapped deer caught in a barbed wire fence.
Dean doesn’t say anything to that, it sorta hurts too much to think about it. He feels like he is a ghost, like he’s turned into a ghost. He didn’t know who he was when he thought about how he felt about Cas, and now he doesn’t know who he is when he doesn’t have Cas. So either way, he’s fucked.
“Really,” Gadreel looks really interested for the first time tonight, of course they’d be more interested in Sam than they were in him. But he could talk about Sam for hours, so maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing.
Dean’s stomach drops to his shoes. It’s not like he thought, he definitely didn’t think that Cas meant. Fuck, it doesn’t matter.
One benefit to their whole demon fight? Dean made Cas come out on missions all the time. There was still time to teach people the “way of a peaceful life,” but Cas was once again Dean’s second in command, his voice of reason, his true shot. Cas was still a terrible shot, it was more about the metaphor of the thing. Cas didn’t mind being out in the open air, even though the company was terrible. But then again, all he and Dean had left was each other, so when Dean said let’s go, Cas was always right behind him.
Cas is clearly trying to ignore Dean, who begins kissing delicately down his bicep. Cas stills a little.
Cas had spent the whole night listening to the tape over and over, making notes in a notebook, and he knocked on Dean’s door the next morning.
Dean did what he always did, he swayed from foot to foot, shrugged his shoulders, and looked at the ground. Never one to accept a compliment, every time Cas said this, Dean always ended up walking away. But Cas was never far behind him.
Cas crosses to the mirror again, and even from where he is, Dean can hear him inhale as he looks at it. Dean isn’t sure if this is a good idea, but he goes over to Cas, and realizes, with a pang in his chest, that Cas is crying.
“But Cas and I aren’t growing apart, you literally want me to stop seeing my best friend because you don’t like the vibe he gives off. And what vibe is that Lisa, you haven’t explained to me what vibe that is.”
“They’re a little bit older, got their peak in the nineties maybe? The lead guy, Crowley, he’s a friend of mine. I think you’ll like their vibe, it’s a little less screamo and a little more hard rock.”
“I ain’t goin,” he said one afternoon, after Dean had spent the better part of two hours trying to convince him to leave. Cas sat and listened to them argue, his feet on Bobby’s table.
“Whatever. He’s cute and fun and it’s not like I’m gonna marry him. We’re going to some Halloween parade in Harlem I think. Anyway Benny, no one’s having a night as exciting as you.”
Cas cocked his head a little to the side and backed off. He knew Dean well enough to know that Dean would knock him flat if he pushed too far.
“Remember the agreement,” Cas reminds him, leaning into his touch anyway, “On the weekend. Can you get someone to watch Sam?”
“I think it looks nice this way,” Dean watches Castiel’s back as his broad shoulders strained the fabric of his sweater. Dean takes off his flannel, draping it over the back of one of the island chairs. He sees Castiel’s entertainment center, a flatscreen hung over the white fireplace, which is surrounded by so many movies it almost makes his eyes water. Dean approaches the oak shelves and is not at all surprised to see a seriously wide range of movies.
“Your cooking is very good,” he continues, dragging his fingers slowly down the side of Dean’s neck, which, if Dean wasn’t so tired, would be enough to get him going again.
They essentially pretend that nothing is different. They’re busy all the time so it’s easy enough to do. They still do everything the same way, they move people to Camp Chitaqua bit by bit, kill Croats, try and keep the remaining people at Bobby’s calm and happy, the same old same old. Except when Dean would push Cas up against the Impala when they were looking for Croats, pushing his shirt up, greedy hands searching for skin under layers of worn clothes. After their first, almost embarrassingly innocent kiss, Dean was not messing around. And Cas was certainly not going to argue.
“I was thinking maybe we could all go to dinner together sometime? Maybe after work and me and Charlie close down the shop?”
like everyone else and almost quit on the spot when he saw the makeup on the plant workers and had two panic attacks that he was going to get radiation sickness and die. But then again, it was pretty cool to say that he was a nuclear engineer at the Millstone Power Station, plus they got to live near the beach. So you know, good trade off to potentially looking like an over-microwaved hotdog if something went wrong.
Charlie gets him a pillow and a blanket and, because she’s the best, she turns on some original Scooby-Doo for him to fall asleep to. As he curls up on her couch, watching the gang catch the bad guy, Charlie runs her fingers lightly through his hair as she heads back to bed. He closes his eyes at her touch, still desperately afraid of being crushed under the foot of the monster that’s the way he feels about Cas.
“Not in the cards, love,” Pamela pats him gently on the back and he looks over to Benny for some support, only to get a shrug in return. Damn them, it was like having four siblings instead of one sometimes.
He can tell he’s balanced more precariously on the edge of the knife than ever before, but he’s too drunk on the whiskey and the weight of Cas’ eyes to care much about that right now.
“My dad kicked me out when I was sixteen. I told you our whole, well, that he was kinda shitty but yeah. He um, well um, he caught me. Caught me and this kid, this guy, from the town we were in, and he kicked me out.”
Dean leads Cas to his room, once again, as he does every time Cas comes over to his place, like he should have seen this coming and he should have cleaned up, it always feels weird to be bringing Cas, with his perfect huge beautiful expensive apartment into his room, which is small and kinda dark and the desk takes up most of the room. Like Cas deserves better than this. Dean tries to pull up Spotify on his phone, having carefully turned off the record player before they made their way down the hall. Spotify is “loading” and Dean sighs in frustration, eager to get Cas back in bed.
Dean’s alarm goes off at nine the next morning which, if you asked him, was way way too early. He cuts the annoying blaring of the stock alarm noise off with a heavy hand, rubbing too-little sleep from his eyes and groaning as he pulls back his blackout curtains, shying away from the sunlight like Dracula emerging from a coffin. Hell, he fucking feels like Dracula today, four hours of sleep was not enough, he prefers to hibernate. But staying up until four am watching Bake Off with Sam wasn’t a bad way to spend a night, especially since they got to start marathoning the holiday seasons, which were Dean’s favorite. Sam doesn’t have a job yet, damn him, but Dean’s opening today and has a consultation at 10:15 so he can’t actually be late.
Cas’ eyes narrow, and he bites his lip in a way that he cannot know makes Dean feel some type of way.
“If you get us thrown out of here and keep me from these clams,” Benny threatens, looking less like their friend and more like a father trying to keep his unruly children in line, “I will refuse to play tonight.”
He’s never really allowed to get comfortable though, because right when he starts relaxing, when his shoulders stop tensing and he shares a laugh with their little group, one of the other three will pop in, pushing a button they can only know subconsciously will bother him, and he’s right back to square one. Cas does his best, handing out insults that cut his siblings whenever they’re rude, but there’s only so much he can do. And Balthazar and Anna’s disdain for Dean grows more apparent with every word they speak to him.
“Are you seriously okay? I told you we were going to get you laid this weekend, or did you forget?”
Dean ducks out as soon as he can escape, needing the cold air on his face for a second, even just to sober up. Of course, because they’re one in the same, he finds Cas out there too, in nothing but a tank top and sweatpants and sliders, smoking a cigarette and staring at the dark sky, only warmed with light pollution of the bustling town. Snow is starting to fall and it’s bitterly cold, Dean has no idea how Cas isn’t turning into an icicle before his very eyes.
Cas grabbed the rifle and pointed it towards another target. He cocked and loaded the gun, aimed, and fired.
They each had a favorite ornament, and they each placed their favorite on a place of honor on the tree, which stood tall and beautiful in the corner of the map room, casting rainbow dots of light on the wall and polished floor.
The rest of their evening is filled with good food (this new Italian place is definitely going to be in their regular rotation), laughter, and probably a little too much wine. Charlie, as usual, comes back to the apartment with them, whining about her apartment being too far away and too cold, not that she ever had to convince them to let her come crash on their couch.
“Alright, fine, we’ll take it from there, but we have to keep an eye on it,” Dean jerked him out of his thoughts, “Can I talk to you?”
“That was pretty crazy,” Benny leans against the wall, staring at the wall of the bar like he can see through it, “we came out here because they warned us about the crowd.”
Cas remembered the way the earth shook when the angels left, how it felt like his wings were being torn out of his back, leaving him bloody and broken on the ground. He remembered Michael’s parting words, “You’ll die with them.” Now he knew that to be true.
“Didn’t mean to offend,” Balthazar says, clearly not used to Cas calling him out when he, in Dean’s opinion, roundly deserved it.
Dean searches Castiel’s face, looking for the sign of a lie, like, that’s too nice, too generous for a first date right? But Castiel seems to be nothing but honest, the oceans of his eyes are clear, like a calm sea.
Dean rubs the back of his neck distractedly, looking around for Sam. He kinda wants to leave, even though super-hot sex hair Castiel had asked him not to. It’s not like he’s nervous, don’t be fucking ridiculous, he doesn’t get nervous, but it
Cas found Risa in front of a more secluded part of camp. A cabin that was off to the side, out of sight to most of the survivors. Convenient.
His apartment feels lonely without Sam there, but he’s at work and Dean knew he’d say the same thing Charlie, Pamela, and Benny did, “you aren’t cancelling this date.” Sometimes he wished his friends didn’t care so much about his goddamn love life.
“Wow you guys really saved me,” Charlie rolls her eyes, “Like I was going to just go into the void right when credits roll on this movie.”
“Ha ha, yuck it up,” Dean throws himself on Cas’ couch, throwing his flannel in the general direction of Cas’ bed.
Cas sighs, crossing his arms. Dean is getting his wish, he’s pissing Cas off, starting a fight. He learned a long time ago that fighting and anger are easier than almost anything else.
He stumbles, trying not to fall asleep after he realizes that there’s nowhere to go that won’t get him arrested. As much as he desperately wanted somewhere warm, some food, somewhere dry, he knew that if he was arrested John would know, and he would find him. Kill him probably, and, idiot that he was, he wanted to live.
Charlie sighs again, turning down the volume on the Battle of Helm’s Deep, so you know it’s serious.
He’s lucky Cas works nine to five as a graphic designer and not shift work like Benny and Charlie, or else he could look like a real creep, pulling into Cas’ driveway when he wasn’t even home.
Charlie heads out the door, Pamela following with a wave. Dean stares at Benny, hoping he can rescue him.
Dean placed his ornament, his mother’s angel topper, with as much care as Cas had seen people handle newborn babies. He had to lean up on his tiptoes to place her tenderly on the very top of the tree, and had asked them all repeatedly to see if she needed shifting, if she was facing the correct direction. It was a labor of love, as if his own mother was watching over them. Despite everything, Cas liked to believe that she was.
“It’s going very well, we actually found a space recently and should be up in a month or two. This has been a much longer project than I intended when I started it, but I do think it’ll do some good for the charity, plus exposure and commission for the artists, which is always important.”
Cas turned around and walked away towards the bed, their bed, but before he could turn around and say anything else, the door slammed, and Dean was gone. | [
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Sherlock said nothing. He'd already put those out of his mind; they were done, dead, useless. He didn't need to dodge anyone, or step aside for them, they stepped aside for HIM (which was gratifying) as they made it back into flat number 2. John was being genial behind him, greeting people, shrugging when they asked what Sherlock was up to.
“Yeah, fine,” Sherlock said without looking up. He had no idea of how much time had passed. And he didn't care.
“Induction... heating?” John attempted, yawned prodigiously and leaned his head back, eyes closing (he had asked, why wasn't he interested in the answer).
“You're familiar with the first law of thermodynamics, I assume,” Sherlock said. It was a distraction technique, of course.
“This place is,” John swallowed, “horrific.” He had noticed the long scratches made by the victim. “It hurts my eyes.”
“I gave it to Mycroft,” John said. “Also everything we got from the house and whatever Gibson gave you. It's all gone, it's done.”
“How can I help you?” Miss Price spoke also perfectly pleasant Estuary English (socially a middle-class accent and completely fake), but her eye was drawn to the scrap of wall-paper on the counter. Her smile didn't waver.
and get a tox screen to rule out drugs,” Sherlock said with heavy emphasis. He wasn't one to tell others how to do their job (except all the time) but this was ridiculous. “And as for insanity… Are
Sherlock wasn't averse to painkillers, he wasn't, right then, averse to being fussed over, and John did just that. He fluffed some pillows, took away the soup gone cold, and when he was about to go back to his chair Sherlock caught his hand, the left one with his right. John stopped and looked at their hands, surprise registering in his raised eyebrows and the shape of his mouth.
“You've made it a thing.” John rolled his eyes, but then he smiled (his shoulders relaxed, his fingers uncurled, the line between his brows softened). “Sherlock.”
“You heard him,” Sherlock replied, pre-occupied with the box and its occupant. He refused to feel guilty (which was probably what annoyed John). It wasn't his fault. Murders in general weren't his fault, even if he took great pleasure in solving them. Even if people like Sally Donovan believed he committed a murder every day between tea and supper. People really didn't give him enough credit for actually
He limped down the stairs, but at the bottom of them he pulled himself together and pushed the ache aside. He saw John coming toward him down the corridor, slipping between the police personnel unnoticed. John had that quality that made others pay little attention to him after greeting him. He was the oatmeal of people. Bland and inoffensive and sometimes even the same colour. But, Sherlock admitted, it was useful. Everyone liked John, or at least, no one hated John the way they did him. No one minded John.
“Yes, of course myself included. Obviously.” Sherlock inspected the toast, deemed it satisfactory, then looked at John who'd sunk back into his chair and picked up his cup. “Ask more.”
“Wha-? I didn't say anything,” Lestrade (whose presence Sherlock had, frankly, forgotten) protested.
Lestrade cleared his throat. “So,” he said loudly to cover the annoyed noise Donovan made. 2Anything?”
John gave him a brief smile, visible in how the shadows shifted on his face in the semi-dark. “Get back,” he said and backed up a little, calculating the distance and force he needed. Then he simply did it, crashing the door in, causing Lestrade's radio to sing out with questions about the noise.
However, when they found the back gate (also wrought iron and also locked, but easier to climb with no decorative spearheads on the top like the front gate), Sherlock turned to look at John. “Why are you still confused?” he asked. Their social contract had changed, yes, but they had both agreed to change it, albeit wordlessly. At least Sherlock had thought so.
The comment registered, but wasn't worth a reply. John enjoyed stating the obvious and Sherlock felt magnanimous enough to allow him that this time, but it didn't mean Sherlock would stop staring. He rolled on his side and continued watching. John had light in his hair which made the hair almost translucent and drew the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes with dark shadows. The chair creak when he shifted on it and the keys of his laptop made a muted sound like slow rain against window glass as he typed.
“Manuscript,” Sherlock corrected idly. “It's bound in leather covers, which is why you call it a book but it's
He pressed his tongue against his teeth and his foot against the arm of the sofa to stop dwelling on sensory deprivation. He opened his eyes to their widest and took a deep breath, fingers digging into the threadbare fabric of the sofa cushions. The light was grey, the ceiling was yellowing, the flat smelled of curry (John's lunch, Sherlock had had yet another canned mushroom soup) and dust and dirty dishes. There was traffic on the street, an ambulance in the distance. A car with a V8 engine went by.
“Your reason is faulty at best, completely useless at worst,” Sherlock instructed him (how did he not know this himself, anyway). Sherlock moved his thumb down, catching on John's lower lip.
“Move it,” one of the men said, gesturing with the barrel of his rifle for them to start walking. The other one snatched Sherlock's mobile out of his hand. He thought about resisting, he thought about crushing the man's larynx (it didn't take that much strength), but then he thought about John. Alone would've been so easy, alone he could've done anything he wanted because he had no one else to support. They wouldn't have shot him, they might have roughed him up a little, but he was used to that. But annoyingly he didn't want to put John at further risk. So he let the man do a quick search on him (his pockets were emptied) and then grab him by the arm and take him to a black van. John received the same treatment, with Sherlock's coat having been taken off him.
Taking a deep breath, Sherlock pulled his cue back and focused on relaxing his muscles. Tension would only make his hands shake and cause him to miss. "Eleven ball, center foot pocket," Sherlock called out, letting his pool cue fly.
"Screaming, swearing, screeching, bellowing, popping balloons, firing blanks, blowing a police whistle, howling like a dog, yodeling…," Sherlock began offhandedly as he exchanged his helmet for his hat. "I would have used bagpipes as well, but I left my set of Scottish war pipes back home, along with my tuba. I'm nothing if not thorough," Sherlock replied primly seeing the flabbergasted expression on Candii's face. "Now I'm working on desensitizing him to other stimuli. Today's objective, obviously, was desensitization to tarps."
Brenda scrunched up her nose. "It smelled weird. Like burning trash, maybe? It was kind of pungent, maybe a little woodsy? It was more like weed than tobacco, but the two were kind of mixed together?"
"Yes, that's correct," John confirmed, looking impressed at Sherlock's display of knowledge. "Were there some particular symptoms you were concerned about?"
"I've only had one prior sexual partner," Sherlock replied slowly, watching John's patient expression for micro-cues on how to shape his story. "It was a long time ago and we were both fairly young.
"What?" John huffed, a soft note of affectionate laughter in his voice. He raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering if Sherlock was pulling his leg. "Like James Bond? With all of those exploding wristwatches and laser pens?"
Sherlock gritted his teeth as possessive jealousy began smouldering in his chest, ignited by the gleeful cheer in the announcer’s voice and the consensus of the audience. Logic warred with sentiment as he stared at the object of his focus. He was quite aware that John had taken lovers before him. He knew that the chance of John actually keeping his promise and accompanying him back home once the case was solved were unlikely in the extreme. Especially if John learned of Sherlock’s true identity, or that ‘home’ meant relocating to a completely different continent. The knowledge chafed against his consciousness the way an ill-fitting saddle or a thorn embedded in the frog of a horse’s hoof would.
"It's amazing what one can accomplish with the right attitude if one is wearing a nice suit and carrying a briefcase. Especially if one is carrying a box of pastries," Sherlock replied smugly, as he sprawled sideways in one of the two chairs facing Donovan's desk. He draped his long legs over one of the arms and allowed the other arm to support his lumbar spine. In the back of his mind, he could imagine Nanny and Mummy's voices chiding him for slouching, but he couldn't be arsed to care. He hadn't cared about Mummy's precious antiques then, and he didn't care about his posture now.
, Sherlock decided, based on the relatively small size of whatever it was. He was impressed. For a frightened horse to calm down that quickly, it had to trust the human on hand and view them as a source of safety and security. Generally it was a lengthy process, involving days, if not months of training, depending on the horse's background. The fact that the blond cowboy had managed such a feat, while bareback, on top of a strange and frightened horse was an admirable display of his knowledge of equine communication, equine psychology and riding skill.
Sterndale looked to where Sherlock was pointing, his expression betraying his bemusement. "That, Mr. Scott, is a Cape buffalo."
Still humming, Sherlock filled a tumbler of water from the tap, being careful to make enough incidental noise so that John know where he was. He downed half of the contents on his way back to the bed before dropping the pill into the remaining water and giving it a through swirl it to make sure the pill was completely dissolved.
On the upside—for today's session, at least—he could report that Candii Ross that her prize stallion had consistently responded to Sherlock's desensitization methods by attempting to flee, rather than attacking.
John tipped his head in the opposite direction, brow furrowing even as his lips twitched into a smile. "Your...brother?"
"No. I mean yes. I mean of course I'll be more careful, " John agreed eagerly, resuming his seat. "Speaking of...um...would you like me to buy you a drink since I spilled the other one?"
Sherlock finished reading the article titled 'HEROIC RODEO CLOWN NO JOKE' and tossed it aside with a sniff. He crossed his legs, deliberately mimicking his brother's nonchalant posture. "So not just politics and unofficial blackmail...you suspect...what? Sabotage? A previously unknown doping compound? Why not simply come to me directly about your suspicions, instead of going through all this extra effort?" Sherlock demanded. He grabbed the records Mycroft had plied him with and held them up with an emphatic shake, clearly aggravated.
"It's a person who does competitive bulldogging, aka steer wrestling," John translated in response to Sherlock's raised eyebrow. "The objective is to chase a steer on horseback until you're close enough to grab the steer by the horns, jump off your horse, and wrassle the steer to the ground. Winner is whoever can do it the fastest."
The wind had picked up in the brief time she'd been inside, and was gusting around fifty miles per hour. Wrapping her jacket more tightly around herself, Molly hurried across the fairground's main thoroughfare to the large building whose brick signage out front identified it as the Bill Cody Equestrian Center.
"I ain't gonna bore you with the piddly details, you can research those on your own," Candii began, leaning back in her chair and propping her boots up on her desk in a casual display of nonchalance and power. "Suffice to say I know you snobby Brits look down on us Yanks what with your Royal Ascot races and funny hats and all—"
With a growl, Sherlock slammed the cupboard doors shut. He spent a moment mentally arguing with himself over the merits of coffee versus storming up to the house and demanding a proper box of tea and a kettle. His stomach rumbled again and with another glare, Sherlock abandoned his quest for tea in favor of dealing with his transport. Sherlock jerked open the door to the fridge to retrieve one of the cartons of yogurt, wrinkling his nose at the 'low fat!' descriptor on the label. He spooned the gelatinous contents into his mouth quickly, grimacing at the taste of the artificial strawberry flavor. Unpalatable, but better than nothing. He followed it with a tortilla slathered with peanut butter, rather than proper bread, (another oversight he was going to raise with his host).
John snorted, provoked into responding. "Yeah. Uh huh, no." He turned his head to meet Sherlock’s gaze. John’s expression was mostly calm, but the undercurrent of anger continued to seeth in the timbre of his voice. "You know why? Because you apparently ain’t got the sense God gave an ant. You’re walking like you’re three sheets to the wind and heading for a fourth."
He didn't think the experience could get any more blissful, but then John began skritching his short nails against Sherlock's scalp, relieving the itchiness left behind by the combination of sweat, hot Texas air, and the unfamiliar Stetson Sherlock continued to wear as part of his disguise. John's nails were the ideal length of 'just long enough to give a good scratch,' but not long enough to actually cause serious dermal trauma. Sherlock didn't even bother trying to suppress another groan of satisfaction as John's fingers banished a particularly troublesome itch. Instead, he slumped down in his seat and leaned over so he could rub a cheek against one of John's firm thighs. The gesture prompted a huff of soft laughter from the other man.
“Come back in a few hours with two quadruple-shot, almond-milk lattes, decent painkillers and a vegetarian breakfast burrito and we’ll talk,” John retorted, completely unimpressed by Sherlock’s budding tantrum .
There were also signs advertising fried cakes covered with icing sugar, fried chocolate custard creams, chocolate-covered scorpions, chocolate-covered bacon, deep fried pecan pie on a stick, deep fried cookie dough, and something called 'Roadkill" that was described as a flattened cinnamon sugar puff pastry that had been fried and then lavishly sprinkled with chocolate chips, chopped berries, drizzled with raspberry sauce, vanilla icing, peach sauce, sour apple syrup and whipped cream. Sherlock's fingers itched with the temptation to pull out his phone and snap a photograph to send to his brother. The only pity was that he wouldn't be able to witness the expression on Mycroft's face when he opened the text.
“I hope I’m wrong, but it looks like an extremely contagious variant of IBR. If I’m correct, it would be best for the affected animals to be isolated and destroyed immediately, before they can infect the rest of the herd.”
Sherlock pressed his lips together as he watched the stallion slow to a walk. Unfortunately, he was no closer to answering his questions. He’d lost track of the number of hours he’d spent analyzing different samples in his efforts to both identify the mysterious substance in the cigarette and to discover the identifying markers in New Scotland Yard’s and Devil’s Blaze’s blood that would let whatever the drug was be detected in other horses. He’d even resorted to setting up a rudimentary lab in the Triple C’s breeding and foaling barn in order to continue his research when Anderson’s facilities were not available. Molly had proven herself surprisingly helpful in that regard; it was quite efficacious to have an assistant that both understood what normal horse blood profiles looked like who wasn’t the least bit squeamish about preparing slides of blood, fecal matter, mucus and other organics.
"Bossy," John mock-scolded, rubbing his cheek against the bulge in Sherlock's trousers. "Hand me a condom from the nightstand, would you?"
"Bullrides, mostly," Lestrade answered to Sherlock's surprise. "He was known for having an almost uncanny knack for picking which bull was going to beat which rider…especially in the last few years. Made some of the other cowboys jealous, since he wouldn't share his tips."
"Yes, Mike, hello." John pushed himself to his feet and strode forward to shake the other man's hand.
The crowd at the front of the bar had thickened while John had been teaching him, growing from a handful of dancers to several rows. Several women waved and whistled as they spotted John, shuffling aside to make space in their line for the two newcomers just in time for somebody to recognize the next song's intro and scream "Cowboy Up!"
The horse snorted and made a half-hearted attempt at kicking him as Sherlock stepped in close enough to lift the first two circles of rope over Scotty's head. "None of that," Sherlock scolded, easily avoiding the strike. He waited a moment for Scotty to settle before carefully pulling the last two lassos off. "There, you see, that wasn't so bad," Sherlock said, rubbing Scotty's neck soothingly as he clipped a lead rope to the gelding's halter. Scotty snorted and rolled his eyes in apparent disagreement. "Hold his head," Sherlock ordered, passing the rope to John and pulling the rope and scotch hobble off of his shoulder. Still moving slowly, Sherlock looped one end of the rope around Scotty's neck and tied a bowline knot. The circle of rope made a loose loop around the base of Scotty's neck that wouldn't slip and tighten, no matter how much it was pulled. Sherlock kept the other end of the coiled rope in his left hand as he picked up Scotty's left rear leg.
Sherlock flicked an eyebrow as the opening notes of a guitar strumming began to sound, invoking a flood of associations. ‘Starman’ hadn’t been Victor’s favorite piece by Bowie; Victor had vastly preferred the songs from the movie about the stolen baby, (though was it technically theft when said infant had been freely offered?). More than one dreaded
Sherlock pursed his lips, putting the pieces together. Amateur or self-taught musician, extensively played instrument that was at least a hundred and fifty years old, if not more. A family heirloom then. A highly valued and extremely personal one too, since John kept it tucked into a drawer and hidden away from casual sight.
"Yes," Sherlock drawled, trying not to roll his eyes. "They also tend to continue bucking, which makes them difficult to approach, hence the need for a pickup man to get the rider off safely. I
John shook his head. "Not this time, fortunately. Just a few run-of-the-mill cases involving a kick here, or a pulled ligament there. I've put a few more feelers out though among the other circuit vets. Hopefully one of them will call if they see something strange."
Unfortunately, the impact of the soles of his boots against the dry ground kicked up a large puff of dust. It added to the grit already filling the air around the corral and agitating his sinuses. Feeling the familiar tickle in his nose and throat, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, not wanting to frighten Devil's Blaze with an unexpected loud noise, but he was unable to prevent himself from sneezing twice in rapid succession. The resultant sound resembled nothing so much as an overgrown kitten squeaking, prompting a delighted, high-pitched giggle from his unidentified watcher.
Still barefoot, Sherlock padded over to the rudimentary kitchen that occupied one wall of the main living area. He hadn't bothered to investigate it earlier, being more concerned with setting up a secure internet connection so he could hack into the business files for the Triple C. There was a microwave, a battered toaster and a small, black mini-fridge in addition to the cooktop and cabinets. Crouching down, Sherlock pulled open the refrigerator's door and surveyed the contents with a dubious expression. They consisted of a package of flour tortillas, a half-dozen eggs, two cartons of yogurt and a few packets of hot sauce. The alleged freezer on the top shelf contained a bag of generic ground coffee, a package of shredded cheddar cheese and nothing else.
Sherlock mulled his brother's words, before nodding his head to grudgingly concede the point. "True. How soon does Ms. Ross want me to arrive?" Sherlock asked, reaching for a pencil so that he could start making notations.
Sherlock’s mouth fell open in shock and indignation, both at the insult and at John’s mutilation of the English language and grammar. It was almost as awful as that one client he’d been hired by in Belarus.
A chalkboard menu hung on the wall behind the counter and deli case, listing the menu and prices, as well as available meat substitutes. The prices were absurdly low, to Sherlock's eyes; conditioned as he was to London's cost of living. He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand the reason, his eyes landing on the clientele and staff.
"I prefer to text," Sherlock replied, standing up and sliding the card into his wallet. "But I will. Coming, Captain?" Ignoring the sour look Donovan aimed at his back, Sherlock hurried down the hallway. Behind him, he heard Lestrade say his goodbyes before scrambling to catch up.
the muscles in John's arms and thighs contracting as he fought to maintain his seat, but fluidity of his motions made the struggle appear effortless. John managed to keep his right arm defiantly raised to serve as a counterbalance and continue the smooth forward and backwards spurring rhythm he’d established despite the whipsaw changes in direction.
—Sherlock reminded himself, said after a few moments of listening to Molly. She tilted her head to indicate the coffee maker and loaf of bread sitting out on the counter beside the stove. "Por ahí. Ayúdate." Over there, help yourself, Sherlock mentally translated. He was careful to look at Molly for confirmation before walking over and fixing himself a plate.
John shook his head, declining politely. "I appreciate the offer, Ms. Hooper, but I actually need to get going. I'm hoping to catch Doctor Sterndale before he leaves his clinic for the day...assuming he's even willing to talk to me."
"Eight so far," Sherlock replied, aware that Devil's Blaze had finally stopped running and was now watching him, his ears angled forward in curiosity.
John turned an impressive shade of pink and coughed once in what was likely acute embarrassment. "It's her, uh...nickname. Like 'Three-Circuits Watson'?" Sherlock blinked, still not comprehending. Seeing it, John licked his lips once before adding, "the 'O' ah...stands for orgasm...and keep in mind this is my younger sister you're asking about before you ask for more details."
John visibly relaxed, a wide smile creasing his face, as if he couldn't believe his luck. "Sure! That sounds like a great suggestion, actually. What sounds good?"
Sherlock was fairly certain that the rugged vehicle would survive the experience, but he wasn't so sanguine about his own chances. As if the thought had summoned the presence of some theoretical, erstwhile deity, the truck dipped suddenly and skidded, sending Sherlock sliding across the seat. Only his safety belt and his death grip kept him from crashing into John.
Sherlock blinked at the disgusting-sounding combination as he bent over to retrieve his discarded jeans and pull them on, his nose wrinkling at the sensation of cheap cotton rubbing against his sensitive skin. "Just toast with butter," Sherlock answered, leaving his jeans unbuttoned as he walked back to the closet with a frown to select a fresh shirt.
"It's fine. I was just dealing with an annoying...insect," Sherlock grumbled. "So, does Tuesday work?"
worthy of Mrs. Hudson's fresh-baked Chelsea buns or her rum-laced sticky toffee pudding. He wanted to strip John naked and devour him, gorge himself on the taste of John's mouth and the different flavors of his skin until he was completely satiated, before sleeping for sixteen hours straight in a soft bed made up with Egyptian cotton sheets and his down comforter.
There were too many people and too many different conversations taking place to discern any useful gossip. The wooden floor and high ceilings of the barn-like space made everything echo, turning the audible conversations into a blurred cacophony of sound that was intelligible even to his highly-trained ears. Even worse, the overheated room, the multi-hued spotlights, the mingled odors of perfume and cologne and the pounding bass of the alleged 'music' were conspiring to give him a headache from the overwhelming sensory input.
Sherlock blew a long breath out through his nose. He'd have to spend some time in the next few days investigating Kitty Riley's website on the chance that she was somehow involved. If he could track down where she got her photographs, it might provide insight into Blaze's current condition. Tapping his index fingers against his lips, he shifted his focus from Devil Blaze's owner to the horse itself. He would know more once he'd had a chance to observe Devil's Blaze closely for an extended length of time, but so far, nothing on the ranch indicated that any of the animals received anything less than exceptional care.
Feeling the sudden presence of a rider on his back, the gelding attempted to rear again, but was thwarted when the cowboy leaned forward and gripped the horse's withers with his thighs, using his body weight as a counter balance. Undaunted, the gelding began to buck and kick, clearly torn between driving away the small dog that was still circling it and dislodging the skilled rider who clung to his back like a limpet without even the benefit of a saddle or stirrups. Even though Sherlock couldn't hear what the cowboy was saying, the movement of his lips made it clear that he was talking calmly to the frightened horse, rather than yelling or threatening.
A sudden, sick feeling roiled his gut. John had mentioned that homophobia was rampant...if the harassment that lesbians allegedly received was any indicator, then it was probably worse for gay or bisexual men. Admittedly, John had affirmed his interest in spending time with 'Billy', but would that still hold true if Carley or some other conventionally attractive woman started hitting on John in earnest? Victor certainly hadn't had any qualms about abandoning Sherlock once something 'better' or 'safer' came along.
There was another significant pause before Molly spoke again. "Just toast and coffee? Are you sure?"
"And I wouldn't blame you—either of you," Donovan agreed diplomatically, tilting her head to include Brenda while making a conciliatory gesture with both hands. "But I would hope you wouldn't, because we frankly need your help." Donovan waited a moment, making eye contact with Mr. Tregennis, before speaking again. "As Mr. Holmes previously mentioned, there are some striking similarities between the case we're investigating and Officer Gregory's incident report. Specifically how a
John set the polished skillet upside down in the minuscule oven and shut the door before turning around. "Ahh...anything? You probably know more about music than I do. You pick."
? Sherlock idly wondered, designed not to accidently ding another vehicle with a door, or was it for a more practical reason? Such as making sure he could easily load and unload items from his vehicle? John nervously cleared his throat, interrupting Sherlock's private musings.
“Thanks. It wasn’t easy.” John reached up and rubbed his left shoulder, grimacing as he did so. “Completely worth it, but I know I’m going to be feeling it tomorrow morning. Hopefully I won’t—”
"Nope," John said, gentling his rejection with another brief kiss. "Stop pouting. You'll enjoy this one. The speaker's amazing—I've heard him present before, and I want you to have the same opportunity." Sherlock opened his mouth, but John forestalled his complaint with an eyebrow wiggle and a promise-filled leer. "Don't worry…we'll pick this up when we get back."
The thought drifted through John’s mind like a leaf on a gentle breeze. A moment later, it was joined by its friend: ‘fucking’. Followed shortly afterwards by ‘Christ’
Coughing slightly to clear his throat, Sherlock removed his hat and draped it over his upraised knee, before ruffling both hands through his curls, sending them into a fetching disarray. He was careful to leave one stray curl dangling over his right eye, knowing that many women found tousled hair sexually appealing. Satisfied with his appearance, Sherlock cleared his throat a second time, causing Molly's gaze to flick over towards him.
"I am coming, I am coming," Doctor Sterndale announced unnecessarily as he came down the hallway and stepped into the light. His voice was surprisingly deep and carried the faint, but unmistakable lilt of a native Afrikaans speaker.
"Sure. What can I get you?" John asked, standing up on his toes and pulling two mismatched glasses out of the cupboard. The motion made the hem of his shirt ride up, exposing a thin strip of belly.
"It is entirely possible that they are the same person," Sherlock admitted. "It's also interesting that both men died the same way; killed by a panicking horse." He shuffled the papers and pulled out the handful of photographs taken of the scene, which he laid on Donovan's desk on top of Donovan's other files. Ignoring Donovan's eyeroll, Sherlock slid his pocket magnifier open. To his surprise, Donovan reached over and flicked on her desk lamp. Sherlock spared her a brief nod of appreciation at the increased light before bending forward to study the images.
"Sherlock," Mycroft ground out. "Your personal observations aside, Lady Frantz remains married to one of the racing aristocracy's most socially prominent and politically significant clients—"
. It was hyperbole, of course. He was hardly one to practice ritualized cannibalism—the risk of kuru was small but still present and he would not risk mutated pyrons damaging his most valuable asset—but the sentiment was unmistakable. John was wearing a fitted black polo with his last name embroidered in white on the front underneath an embroidered Rod of Asclepius overlain with the letter 'V'. The sigil was the official seal of the American Veterinary Medical Association and clearly identified John as a member of the medical profession. But since the average idiot was prone to overlooking such comparatively subtle identifiers, the word 'VETERINARIAN' was clearly printed in large block letters across the back of his shirt. The short sleeves of the polo emphasized John's bulging biceps and the dark color highlighted the golden-bronze hue of his skin. John had hung a pair of sunglasses in his unbuttoned collar, drawing attention to the strong line of his throat and his suprasternal notch. As Sherlock watched, a single bead of sweat paused there before continuing its journey downward and vanishing.
On the one hand, he could certainly understand Donovan's argument for her continued suspicion Candii Ross, especially in light of her background in insurance fraud combined with the equine murder cases she'd been studying. Donovan had been trained to look for the obvious solution—follow the money and look at potential motives. From Donovan's viewpoint, Candii Ross was still the suspect who had the most to gain if Devil's Blaze was killed. In that same vein, John Watson remained the most likely person behind the actual drugging based on his proximity, his skill-set, and his poor financial situation. He'd argued—again—that the possible significance of Sterndale's bizarre misdiagnosis shouldn't be ignored, but Donovan had countered his argument by pointing out that she'd had yet to uncover any other instances of expensive horses dying mysteriously while under Sterndale's care.
"I thought as much," Sherlock replied, giving Sterndale a commiserating smile. "If you don't mind my asking, how long was Devil's Blaze your patient?"
There were no photographs of parents, grandparents, siblings or cousins anywhere in the office. Leon Sterndale appeared to be alone in the world, except for his daughter. Unsurprising, Sherlock concluded, considering Sterndale's prior status as a refugee.
Sherlock rolled his eyes in disgust at Brenda's lack of recall. "What about people?" he demanded. "Other competitors? Event employees?"
"I got my start with performance cutters and barrel racers growing up on a ranch up north," Sherlock lied, easily spinning a story using the rodeo terminology he'd laboriously memorized. "But nowadays, I mostly work with racehorses." A true statement, if not exactly in the fashion he was implying.
"Er…that's what we call it when somebody gets thrown over the front of a horse. I'm always a little bit worried that they're going to get hurt, but it's...pretty fun to watch, and the smarter riders wear padded vests when competing. Blaze seemed to treat it like a game. Once he threw a rider, he'd prance around, his tail up in the air like he was gloating, if that makes sense," Molly replied, giving Sherlock a hesitant smile which he returned before allowing it to fall away.
"How long?" At Sherlock puzzled look, John shrugged. "I mean, did you grow up around horses? Did you see one get abused? Is that...how you got your start?"
He brushed his teeth thoroughly and gargled with a particularly astringent mouthwash. Since seduction was on his agenda for the evening, the last thing he wanted was for John to be put off by halitosis or poor personal hygiene. His stubble was subjected to a quick trim to neaten everything up and a beard softener treatment to soften the hair and to minimize the chances of tell-tale stubble rash. While the softener did its work, Sherlock turned his attention to his hair, attacking the wet strands with a hair dryer, leave-in conditioner and a comb.
"Do you have any malt vinegar?" Sherlock asked, studying the gently steaming mound of fried potatoes in front of him. At least, he assumed that there were fried potatoes underneath a literal mountain of cheeses, diced scallions, chopped tomatoes, fresh jalapeño slices and sour cream that was covering the plate.
"You fancy women, John. You flirt with them constantly," Sherlock snapped accusingly, hoping to put John on the defensive. "The ones you don't flirt with, you leer at. Don't try to deny it; I've watched you. In light of that unassailable piece of evidence, why are you wasting time on a socially inept man like myself when there're literally dozens of women out there bragging about your sexual prowess who would be more than happy to welcome Three Circuits Watson back to their beds?"
At that pronouncement, Candii's eyes narrowed even further. "There ain't nothing 'common' 'bout my mustangs, Mr. Holmes."
John watched the two vets walk away and clenched both hands into fists. “Of all the God-damn, bloody, arrogant, assholes...l,” he ground out, abruptly spinning on one foot and kicking a clod of dirt, sending it flying.
"That is not a bad theory," Doctor Früh agreed. "Though you're certainly not the first to suggest it."
"Great! Stand up," John ordered, tossing the rest of his drink back and urging Sherlock to follow suit.
John stared at him, his mouth open for a long moment before he closed it with a snap. "Right. First, that’s disgusting. Secondly, yes. Talcum helps my feet slide out easier in case of a hang-up."
"I got bullied a lot when I was growing up," Donovan added, leaning forward towards Brenda. "It's one of the reasons I decided to become a cop. I know it's hard, but if somebody starts sending you harassing messages about your horse again, don't engage. Instead save them, or at least take a screenshot and either call or email the police and me. I'll have Officer Gregory give you a card with my contact information. All right?"
Sherlock wondered, glaring down at the screen as he read John’s response. He could tell at a glance if there was a problem with a horse’s conformation. Likewise he could easily determine if one of his equine clients had gained or lost weight and how it might affect their gait or behavior.
"The drug screens came back negative for morphine and other narcotics," Mycroft replied, with a grimace. "With no other indicators of underlying medical issues, Doctor Sawyer, as the primary-care vet, ultimately attributed abuse by the deceased trainer to explain the change in the stallion's behavior. She cited the horse's numerous injuries as evidence in her final report. Because Ms. Ross herself was not a suspect, the animal was released back into her custody. Ms Ross was further advised to contact a behavioral specialist regarding possible rehabilitation."
"Course I am...I've got the best seat in the house" John replied, raising and lowering his eyebrows suggestively.
"Mmmm…nope. My sole responsibility is to Devil's Blaze. I just need to return at some point in the next few hours. Why?"
"Yes," Sherlock replied, trying not to let his impatience show. Why were people so insistent on ignoring his expertise?
"I'll keep that in mind," Donovan said grudgingly, "but if I see anything strange, I'm hauling him in for questioning."
"I don't," Molly winced. "Honestly, it was all a bit of a muddle. George or Owen might remember something, though, if you think it might be important."
"Come on," John ordered, leading them past the room's waiting patients to the L-shaped reception desk standing at the front of the room, next to a door that almost certainly led to the clinic's treatment rooms. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, privately bemused by the visible incongruity. The cubicle's dark brown, faux-wood melamine surface was marked by dings and scratches. Clearly another surplus purchase. The office equipment however, was new and top of the line. A compact, multi-function HP color laserjet printer, a Toshiba Tecra Z40 healthcare laptop and two 19" LED-Backlit, LCD monitors sat on top. A young man, clad in a set of clean, dark blue scrubs sat behind the desk. He had dark black hair, vaguely Korean features and was staring intently at a computer screen. Lines of text were reflected in his glasses, so reading, rather than playing games. At the sound of John and Sherlock's approach, he looked up and smiled, revealing a small gap between his two front teeth.
Sherlock slotted the information into his head, his mind already building up the most likely scenario. Young child, ignored by older siblings, unsupervised by responsible adults, taking solace in horses. Not an unfamiliar story, but fortunately, (or perhaps unfortunately), not his own. He'd been pushed and lectured and forced into countless hours of practice riding by his maternal progenitor. Mycroft, meanwhile, behaved as though Sherlock was determined to kill himself and had undertaken it as his solemn duty as Sherlock's elder brother to corral Sherlock's natural curiosity and thirst for adrenaline. Not an unreasonable assumption, Sherlock could grudgingly admit. Especially in light of some of his more...risky pastimes, but it was still one he resented. "I also take it that Teddy has accompanied you when you feed Colonel?" Sherlock asked, pulling himself back to the present. The question was mostly to confirm the final pieces of his theory.
Undeterred, John turned his attention to Sherlock's neck, interspersing nuzzles with little nips and licks at Sherlock's skin, unashamedly tasting him and almost certainly leaving faint marks on Sherlock's throat like the blush of a sunrise on snow. "You smell so good," John muttered against the soft skin just behind the hinge of Sherlock's jaw as Sherlock's lungs drew breath after a shuddering breath. "I could spend hours here, just breathing you in."
known until he'd begun his research was how corporate sponsors and televised broadcasts had changed the very nature of the sport.
"I can't believe you've never actually attended a rodeo before, Billy," Molly remarked as the two of them wove their way through the crowd packing the fairgrounds several hours later.
In a way he'd almost welcome the muffling fog that a glass of fine whisky or wine would bring, Sherlock mused as he swirled his cup and stared intently at the swirls the bubbles made in the foam. The haze produced by alcohol would produce a much-desired buffer against the overwhelming sensory input of the room. At least the cold liquid felt somewhat refreshing in the overheated room. He took a final swig and set the empty cup aside, before allowing his features assume the vacuous smile of somebody enjoying the alleged music.
"What would you like to see first?" Molly asked, tucking her hands into her pockets. "The stock pens? The tack barn? Maybe the—"
"Nope," John demurred, slipping the phone back into its holster. "Just Harry wanting me to do something for her. Nothing major. I'll call her later. I've got more important things to focus on right now."
His skin was tanned a healthy bronze that put Sherlock's mind to caramel, a colour that was perfectly complimented by the blue cotton of his shirt. The open collar and rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed sparse golden hairs that glinted in the light of the afternoon sun. Thin lips that parted enough to show a beguiling hint of tongue as the other man wet them. Sherlock blinked, swallowed, and blinked again. He could hear a distant part of his mind was screaming that he was being completely illogical, but he couldn't be arsed to care, not when he caught helplessly by the warm concern visible in the other man's gaze.
"So tell me some more about this rodeo we're going to," Sherlock prompted after John finished merging with the traffic barreling down the motorway. "You said it was put on by the AGRA association. How does it differ from PRCA and PBR-sanctioned events?"
“What?” Sherlock replied distractedly, ignoring the indignant “HEY!” voiced by somebody two seats below. He needed to see John. He needed to see John
Sterndale followed John's gaze to the little orange canister and his expression darkened even further. "No. It. Is. Not." Each word was clipped, ripe with anger.
"Whatever you want me to do, the answer's no," Sherlock growled at the besuited figure standing in the threshold of 221B. He was bored but he wasn't bored enough to stoop to voluntarily taking one of Mycroft's cases without protesting loudly. Standards had to be maintained after all. With an angry sniff, Sherlock rolled over and presented his back to the room, radiating the air of a mortally-offended feline. "Go away."
"Just a moment, Molly. Nope," Sherlock said, turning to address John. "I don't, but it's fine. Molly's in class right now but said she'll be here at five and she can give me a ride if none of the cabs will take me." Sherlock deliberately uttered last few words with a tone of patient long-suffering.
The encroaching light turned the vet’s tanned skin golden and highlighted the different dips and ridges of his truly spectacular musculature. Shifting slightly, Sherlock ran a possessive hand over John’s bare bum, enjoying the fact that the it was several shades paler than John’s back or legs. John apparently spent quite a bit of time outside wearing nothing but a pair of shorts to have acquired such a distinctive tan line. It certainly was an aesthetic that Sherlock could appreciate. Sherlock’s gaze continued to drift down, admiring John’s legs before honing in on the mottled white and brown background they were framed against.
He'd found copies of John's enlistment and discharge papers, along with some old probate papers for the estate of Catherine Watson. It didn't take a genius to deduce that the deceased had been John Watson's mother; the fact that John had been appointed as the estate's executor had been an obvious clue. From what he could discern, the entire estate had been liquidated and the majority of the funds had been paid to various medical and credit agencies. There had been virtually nothing left over for Catherine Watson's two surviving heirs.
Sherlock and John watched Candii stride away, talking quickly on her mobile, her hair bouncing angrily with the force of her strides. Bonnie barked once and chased after her, tail wagging happily.
"Well, calling a man a liar is a bit harsh," John replied with an uncomfortable shrug as he hurried to catch up with Sherlock's long, ground-eating strides. "It could just be a case of him making a mistake, though in light of what I saw on his desk, it's pretty obvious he probably shouldn't be practicing medicine anymore."
Sherlock ran his tongue over his teeth and cracked a wry grin, his eyes crinkling. "My mama was vehemently opposed to swearing," Sherlock explained. "She would make me write essays on why nice boys didn't use certain words. I suppose that's why I've never have got into the habit as an adult." Not true. What really happened was the few attempts he'd tried had resulted in him having his mouth forcibly scrubbed out with lye soap by Nanny, but the lesson had still stuck.
"Yeah," Brenda whispered. "We train—I mean trained—together a lot. Almost every day. And then, after Mom died, Cream Soda and I got even closer. She missed Mom too—I could tell. Mom'd had her since high school. I spent a lot of time in her stall. Just spending time petting her made me not miss Mom so bad. I would have spent the night in the barn, if Daddy'd let me."
Donovan scowled at Sherlock's look of disdain. "I don't know what it's like in the UK, Holmes, but American defense attorneys love it when cops don't follow regulations; it makes it really easy for them to get an entire conviction thrown out on a technicality or civil rights violation," she snarled. "More than one perp has walked because of inadmissible evidence due to unreasonable search-and-seizures."
"I had a reason to be," Sherlock said simply, watching John cross to a handy sink to wash his hands.
Sherlock wrinkled his nose at being ordered about, but didn't argue. He had enough sense to recognize that John was doing his best to diffuse the situation before Sherlock found himself being punched.
he reminded himself sharply. Sherlock tilted his head and shot John a flirtatious look through his lashes. "Ah...Perhaps the drinks?"
Sherlock pursed his lips, mentally calculating the probability 'liquefaction' versus 'dicing' and the probable effect on his sauce. John was looking worried, however, so Sherlock flashed him a reassuring smile. "That'll be fine." At worst, the sauce would simply be extra creamy, Sherlock decided, dropping a bulb of fresh garlic, a single red chili pepper, and a pint of grape tomatoes into his basket under John's interested gaze. "Now for the parmesan cheese. Also, do grocers sell wine in Texas?" Sherlock asked, looking around. American shops were quite different from what he was used to on the rare occasions he ventured out to the shops back home in person instead of having foodstuffs delivered by either the Royal Mail or Mrs. Hudson. For starters, they were much, much bigger on the inside.
"Coffee?" Molly repeated, her tone hesitant. She swallowed. "I…invited you earlier this week, and you agreed…Isn't that why you wanted to come to town with me today?"
had a police horse and a barrel racer’s mare been targeted after the fact? What purpose did it accomplish except to draw attention? And by whom? There’d been no sign of Sterndale at either of the other events.
"I know how to care for leather, John," Sherlock snapped as he fumbled the buttons on his vest free and slapped the garment down on the exam table with a loud ‘thwap’. The noise made several people turn in surprise, including the purple-haired medic who paused in their wrapping of a patient’s elbow.
The overhead lights began to dim as a giant countdown timer appeared on the scoreboard. At twenty seconds remaining, the lights were almost fully dark. At ten seconds remaining, the audience joined the countdown. At 0:00, the floor erupted into a display of music-synchronized pyrotechnics while a laser light show danced overhead. Sherlock resisted the urge to slam his hands over his ears as the delighted crowd screamed around him.
Donovan reached into her desk and pulled out a business card, taking a moment to write a phone number on the back. "This is my personal cell," she told Sherlock, handing him the card, "Call me the moment you get those test results."
Molly fell silent as the road abruptly narrowed, bright orange construction signs advising drivers to keep left and to watch for workers.
"Mmmmm..." Sherlock sighed, pressing into John's hands like a cat, enjoying the unexpected trails of warmth that John's fingers seemed to leave behind as they traced over his skull.
As they walked, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy at the number of waved hands, salacious greetings and in one case a hearty slap on the arse John received by an extremely fit brunet that towered over Sherlock by a good three inches.
Indeed the gelding was resting his nose against Sherlock's sternum, eyes closed and ears relaxed in obvious contentment as Sherlock ran his hands along the horse's neck and through his mane.
John shrugged. "He's a specialist and I'm more of a generalist. I'm hoping he'll recognize the symptoms, maybe make a diagnosis I can use."
"Hello?" Sherlock asked brusquely in his normal voice, answering the call before the second ring cycle could begin.
"In the ring, yes," Molly agreed immediately. "But not all the time. Things might be different for feral horses that are used for a wild horse race, or for rodeo events in the past, but modern rodeos are different. For everybody's sake, domesticated broncos need to be gentle enough to accept being led and loaded, or treated by a vet without kicking up a fuss if they get hurt or need vaccinations." Molly paused to brush a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. "That's where Ms. Ross's horses really stand out from other bucking strings," Molly continued. "She works very hard to desensitize her horses to the noise of a rodeo so when they're led into the bucking chutes, they look all pretty and sweet and docile…until the gate opens. Then all bets are off."
"Interesting," Sherlock said, tapping his fingers against his lip. "Your theory is circumstantial at best, but logical. And Ms. Ross's former veterinarian, Leon Sterndale?"
"That's fine," Donovan replied, her brow furrowing as she scribbled a quick note down. "I'll look into that later," she added, ignoring Sherlock as he pulled out his mobile and began typing. "How did you find out about the video? Did somebody specifically send you the link?"
Lip curled in irritation, Sherlock slowly laid his specimen tubes and instruments down to avoid damaging them before raising his hands and turning around as he'd been ordered to do. He found himself facing a silver-haired man approximately his own height, though broader with muscle and at least twenty years older, putting him comfortably in his fifties. Mrs. Hudson would probably have described him as a 'Silver Fox' if he were inclined to ask her about her opinion on men. The man was clad in the dark blue uniform of a Texas police officer, complete with a truncheon, a taser, handcuffs, the ubiquitous American firearm and an expression that was anything but welcoming.
"Except it turns out that Devil's Blaze wasn't rabid, was he?" John rejoined, blue eyes snapping with fury. "I could tell that just by looking at him. Plus there's the little fact that most domestic horses are routinely vaccinated against rabies. So what was it? You took one look at him, decided you weren't interested in putting yourself in harm's way, and simply decided to cull him and be done with it, regardless of what your client wanted?"
The horse hadn't just been gored, it had gotten hung up and had been eviscerated by the attacking bull's horns. The horse's subsequent panicked run around the arena before collapsing had only made the situation worse. John's quick use of a pistol had been a mercy indeed: there was no way to save an animal that had lost the majority of its internal organs. He'd shown it to Donovan and to her credit, she hadn't even blanched. She'd even acknowledged that he had a point about Kitty Riley which he'd counted as a victory, though it hadn't been enough to entirely disprove her suspicions.
Sherlock gave Molly a crooked grin as he released her hand "Your vehicle matches the description I was texted, and I'm hardly expecting anybody else at the airport to pick up a cowboy hailing from Montana."
brilliant criminals resort to novel compounds, both for doping and for sabotage. Those cases are Christmas," Sherlock said with relish, "since novel drugs are virtually impossible to detect. Unless you're the world's only Consulting Equestrian Expert," Sherlock concluded, with absolutely no trace of modesty.
The shorter man was gesturing, obviously describing something he had recently seen, because his audience burst into laughter as he mimed falling over and landing on his rump. Molly's high titters carried clearly through the air, punctuated by the deeper guffaws of the taller of the two men.
"Enlighten me then," Sherlock snapped, not at all pleased to be told he was wrong about the results of his research.
"Yeah, you do," John retorted, licking his lips and winking. "I bet you used it in school to get out of homework. I certainly would have," he added, taking another sip of his drink. "Don't worry; I won't tell anyone."
"Ready?" John asked, one sandy eyebrow raised. At Sherlock's nod, John tugged. The muscles in the vet's forearm rippled smoothly as he pulled Sherlock to his feet with an easy strength that was deceptively belied by his shorter frame.
"Fine," Donovan replied with a firm nod. "Meet me back at the station no later than five thirty and I'll take you there.
“GOOOOOD EVENING RODEO FANS! WELCOME TO SUNNY AMARILLO TEXAS AND THE SEMI-FINALS PERFORMANCE OF THE ANNUAL AMERICAN GAY RODEO ASSOCIATION, WHERE BIG DREAMS AND BIG HEARTS FACE OF AGAINST SOME OF THE BEST ANIMAL ATHLETES AROUND!” The announcer waited for the cheering to die down and the lights to come back up before speaking again. “NOW IT’S TIME FOR OUR GRRRRAAAAAANNNNND ENTRY. OPEN THE GATES, GIRLFRIENDS! FIRST THROUGH—CARRIED BY OUR CURRENT QUEEN OF THE RODEO, ROSE DONE-UP, AND RU PAUL’S CONTESTANT, LUCY L’AMOUR—ARE ‘OLD GLORY’ AND THE STATE FLAG OF OUR FANTASTIC HOST STATE THIS YEAR: TEXAS! Y’ALL GIVE IT UP FOR THESE BEAUTIFUL LADIES AND THOSE RED, WHITE AND BLUE STARS AND STRIPES! THE LUCKY COWBOY IN THE MIDDLE CARRYING THE PRIDE FLAG IS AGRA’S CURRENT PRESIDENT, JACK DEL MAR. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO STAND AS THE AMERICAN FLAG PASSES BY, AND THEN SIT YERSELF BACK DOWN SO YOU CAN CONTINUE TO ENJOY THE PARADE FROM THE COMFORT OF YER SEAT…”
"John?" Sherlock asked, scrambling to catch up, the inflection in his voice making it a question, rather than a statement. "John? What's wrong?"
John grinned as he crumpled up the empty paper wrapper and threw it into a nearby trash bin before pulling a paper copy of the rodeo's weekend schedule out of a back pocket. "So...considering this is your first time and all what do you want to see first?" John asked as he snapped the schedule open with a flourish. "Daytime is mostly for the camp events. We could watch the wild drag race, or the pole bending," John began, glancing down at his watch. "There's also a trick roping exhibition scheduled—that's pretty exciting, from what I remember; there's a guy who bills himself as 'The Ultimate Flamer.' He actually soaks his rope in kerosene and lights it which is as impressive as all fuck, especially in an area as windy as west Texas can get…" When Sherlock leaned over his shoulder to peruse the list of events, John merely tilted the booklet up so Sherlock could better see. "We've also got steer decorating and goat dressing—"
Sherlock bit his bottom lip. He did, but it wouldn't quite be in character for a horse whisperer from up north to be accustomed to spicy cuisine. "Sometimes?"
The blonde woman—perhaps taking umbrage at the attention her friends were getting—stepped closer and laid a flirtatious hand lightly on John's shoulder. Sherlock gritted his teeth, internally seething as he watched the woman lean forward to whisper something in John's ear. If American women were anything like the drunken idiots he'd encountered in bars during his Uni days, she was undoubtedly chatting John up with banal variations of "you waiting for me, handsome?" or "Well, don't you look all lonesome, all there by yourself. Want me to buy you a drink?" or even more crassly, "you're pretty and I'm horny...wanna fuck?" John tilted his head to one side and licked his lips, perhaps in response to something the blonde had said. Her lips moved again. An invitation? Sherlock couldn't be certain, but John's grin, if possible, grew even wider as he nodded his head in enthusiastic agreement.
John pursed his lips, then reached over to pull Sherlock's billfold free, his movements perfunctory, rather than lingering. Clearly embarrassed. Too soon then. Sherlock took it with a grateful smile and handed the money over, being careful to obscure his license from John.
John nodded his comprehension as they continued to walk, his steps keeping time with Sherlock's own. "That makes sense, though certainly wouldn't have thought of that," John commented, turning his head to look at Sherlock.
"No," Sherlock replied. "I'm maybe three-fourths of the way through the bedding and I haven't found a single clipping of anything unusual. Unless it was something that he managed to eat the entirety of. Have any of the tests turned up anything yet?"
"Why Mr. Holmes," she drawled, "I think that should be obvious. I want you to get him approachable again so he can compete. Once that's done, I want you to figure out who, exactly is sabotaging my horse and reputation, and, by extension, my business."
Sherlock looked up to meet John’s eyes. John’s lips were pursed and the way he was resting his clenched hand against his knee was telling. Angela's one reference to them had been damning with faint praise, without even the courtesy to acknowledge John and him as James' parents. He knew that John hadn’t forgiven Angela for her past insinuations—not that Sherlock blamed him. His own sentiments were identical to John’s in that respect. At the same time, he knew that James still loved his mother—despite her flaws and the relative stranger she still was. He'd always been careful not badmouth Angela in James' presence. He wasn't foolish enough to try and divide James' loyalties by trying to cast Angela as the villain the way so many other parents did when they parted from a child’s other parent on less-than-acrimonious terms.
John blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Well, if you can start brushing the old rosin off from the inside of my chaps, I’ll start checking my saddle and other gear over."
"None of the above," Sherlock informed him, still searching the sea of blue chambray, sequins, feathers, pink t-shirts, and white button-downs for yellow garments that might indicate their unknown watcher. "I want a fizzy lemonade and then I want to see where the bulls for competition are kept."
Sherlock froze, mentally cursing himself for being too absorbed in collecting his samples to pay heed to his surroundings.
"If microscopic images are necessary, there is a digital ZEISS Axiocam 503 color three megapixal microscope camera on bench Omega," Anderson replied immediately. "Since these devices are very expensive, it would be best if you prepare your samples and then inform me of what you are looking for so that I can program the settings appropriately. I shall be working at my own station if you need assistance locating anything. Do you have any questions?"
Still frowning, Sherlock clicked through the list of files Jim had sent until he found Bitit’s death certificate. The nature of her death was listed as “accident” and attributed to a broken neck caused by a fall from a horse. He rubbed absently at his bottom lip. Was that why Sterndale stopped working with horses (the lucrative Candi Ross, excepting), and focused on bulls instead? Was it because of a negative association with how his late wife had died?
"I can’t get over how fantastic you smell," John whispered, resting his head on Sherlock's thigh and taking a blatant sniff of Sherlock's humid skin while his strong hands rubbed Sherlock's bare legs. "Sweat…musk…I can't wait to have you in my mouth," John added, deliberately licking his lips. "Your cock looks fucking fantastic…so long and lean, just like you are…Speaking of my mouth…here." John reached into his pocket and pulled out three, individually wrapped condoms which he dropped into Sherlock's right palm. "Whiskey, coffee, or spicy cinnamon? Take your pick. I like them all."
Sterndale shook his head. "I challenge anybody who thinks their range or pasture is completely free of toxic plants. All it takes is a few seeds given time to grow and suddenly half a herd can be suffering from seizures and convulsions."
Once inside, Sherlock commandeered the pseudo-kitchen by spreading his purchases out over the counter while John fiddled with the thermostat in an effort to counteract the room's stale air.
"I know." John's blue eyes were warm and a little sad as he returned Sherlock's gaze. "Doesn't mean I can't express sympathy, though. People shouldn't judge you or hurt you for liking who you like, or dressing the way you want to dress or...believing whatever you believe. People are different, and if at the end of the day, you aren't hurting anybody, then it's fine. It's all fine."
“Candii Ross’s prior trainer, Joe Straker, had a reputation for being a successful gambler on bull rides. I was looking at his-” Sherlock caught himself at John’s raised eyebrow and hurriedly amended his explanation. “Success rate-there’s been a bit of gossip around the dinner table about his lucky streak and how he did it. The date was familiar, that’s all.”
"That would be me," an unexpectedly accented voice announced. Sherlock and Donovan both turned to face the tall, rangy woman who had addressed them. She was wearing a white lab coat and pale blue scrubs underneath. A laminated photo badge with a fob was clipped to the hem of her shirt. "Detective Donovan, is it?" the woman asked, ignoring Sherlock in favor of offering her hand to Donovan.
Sherlock watched with private satisfaction as John's smiles became more frequent and his posture relaxed in subconscious response to Sherlock's body language. When their plates were empty, Sherlock made a point of helping wash up—if he'd been at home, he simply would have left the dishes in the sink for Mrs. Hudson to deal with—before making his move.
Which a deep sigh, Sherlock wiped his sweaty hands off on the seat of his jeans and shifted to re-don his Stetson. The blazing, late-afternoon sun made the wide-brimmed hat a necessity, rather than a fashionable accessory, which galled him because of the havoc it wrecked on his naturally curly hair.
In hindsight, John knew he really shouldn’t have been surprised. Sherlock constantly blindsided him with the little bits of random knowledge or paraphernalia he’d accumulated in his pursuit of The Work.
"Well then," the receptionist opened a drawer and pulled out a clipboard which he laid on the cubicles counter. "If you could start by filling out that new patient intake sheet for us, we'll get you taken care of. Do you have insurance?"
The summoned tech led them through a warren of hallways until they stopped in front of three heavy-duty stalls. The stalls were set some distance away from the other stalls, an understandable safety precaution. The lower portion of the stalls' walls were wood, while the top portion, including the door, was made of upright stainless steel bars. The gap between the bars was perhaps three inches at the most—with a fine, but no doubt strong, screen lining the spaces between the bars. It was setup designed not only to prohibit any animal inside from getting out, but also to discourage idiots from sticking their fingers through the bars. Large, bright red signs reading 'DANGER: QUARANTINE' were prominently placed on all three stall doors.
Sherlock fought to keep his surprise hidden. Anthea hadn't listed a gambling habit in John Watson's dossier, nor had he discovered any evidence of same while going through John's laptop files with a fine-toothed comb, but apparently he and Anthea had both missed something. Sherlock's eyes flicked rapidly over John, deducing the history from John's expression: stretches of boredom combined with an easy source of excitement and perhaps a dream of increasing his earnings. John wouldn't be the first person to succumb to temptation, but John must have lost, and lost badly if it was enough to eventually utterly break him of the habit. "If not money, then what
“—impressed with your score. The last time I rode Speckled Band, I got thrown in the first two seconds.”
Instead of easing John's anxiety, Sherlock's awkward reply only seemed to deepen the furrow of concern etched across John's brow. He opened his mouth, clearly prepared to say something, but visibly checked himself before the words could be uttered aloud. "Right, um, okay," John said, briefly clearing his throat. "I thought it was kind of obvious, but you're, er, welcome." John cleared his throat again and then looked down at his plate, clearly trying to think of a less-emotional conversational topic. He picked up the last crisp had accompanied his sandwich and ate it, before looking over at Sherlock's plate, his expression shifting to one of concern as he tilted his chin to indicate the pile of torn bread that Sherlock had created beside the pickle spear and crisps. "You haven't touched your potato chips. Is something wrong?"
Sherlock glanced down at his thigh to check the results of his experiment. His skin remained satisfying pale, with no sign of redness or irritation. Technically, he should wait forty-eight hours after daubing a novel substance on his skin if he wanted to do a scientifically accurate patch test, but the borderline painful throbbing meant he didn't have the luxury of waiting, and the fact that his skin hadn't immediately erupted in hives meant it was a risk he was willing to take.
at a volume sufficient that the authorities would likely have been called had the neighbors not become immune to such routine exchanges. Mr. Chatterjee, from the sandwich shop downstairs, had given him a disapproving look when Sherlock's cab had pulled up. More worryingly was Mrs. Hudson's expression as his cab pulled away: it was one that did not bode well for his future experiments.
As crowded as the aisle was, though, the area around the chutes was even worse. Competitors and judges jostled shoulder-to-shoulder with referees, camera persons and sound technicians for the best view. Sherlock raised himself on his toes, hoping to spot his target, but it wasn’t enough. A moment later, he’d scaled the lower portion of the scaffolding supporting an array of fixed cameras, gaining another eight feet of height with a speed that would have made a frightened feline proud.
short denim cutoffs and a plaid shirt tied up just underneath her ample breasts reached out and gave John's arse a mischievous smack. Rather than be offended, John tilted his head back and laughed and then returned the favour. The brunette squealed and leaned forward, whispering something in John's ear, her long, curly hair just brushing John's chest. John shook his head and mimed drinking something, jerking his thumb in the direction of the bar. The brunette's shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment but another comment from John had her grinning. She gave him a playful kiss on the cheek and then turned away, hips swaying to the beat of the music while John watched with an appreciative smirk stamped on his handsome features.
"Well yeah," John said with a shrug. "It was Grandpa Hardwicke's prize possession and the one thing I have left from the ranch. It'd be disrespectful not to."
Two vertical lines appeared between John’s eyebrows. "No…" he said slowly, "it’s because I care about you, you ass. I’ve said as much before, or did you forget that I told you I was starting to job-hunt in Montana?" John tipped his head. "I like you. A lot. Though God alone knows sometimes why..."
They’d solved the conundrum by spilling rodeos into two parts: the main performance and the slack competitions that John had mentioned during their drive up. The different events in the main performance were limited to eight to twelve competitors per division whose names were usually chosen by a lottery. The slack consisted of the overflow of contestants. In rodeos that lasted for several days, riders might participate in multiple rounds of slack and one main performance. According to Sherlock’s phone, there were even some riders who preferred slack competition. Prize money was awarded to competitors who had the highest average score. There was less pressure from the audience, and in a sport where the only the top fifteen money-winners nationally were entered into the National Finals Rodeo, the ability to compete in the greatest possible number of events in the shortest amount of time possible was key.
Sherlock said nothing, just looked, then let go, slumping back into his pillows. John's surprise had been an expected result of this impromptu experiment in physical relations, but not Sherlock's new-found view on the right-left -polarisation of the world. It was useful for stereotyping, which was a tool Sherlock often used in his line of work (stereotypes were stereotypes for a reason), but it had become questionable whether the right side deserved all it received when for example John's left hand was vastly superior. Sherlock liked (as much as this horrid word was able to describe what Sherlock actually thought) it.
John drummed his fingers on the back of the forged book. “So? When are we going?” he asked then. Faithful to his adrenaline habit as always.
John said nothing in reply to Sherlock's instructions, nor for the rest of the travel time. When the van stopped and the doors were opened again so Sherlock and John could be extracted, they were back in London. In a closed off courtyard, with an unremarkable door and a gate that led to the street. They were taken in through the door and installed in separate rooms (clearly for interrogation, with heavy sound-dampening). There was a table and two chairs on either side of it.
John was a very engaging kisser. It felt good in a manner Sherlock was unaccustomed to attributing to touch. Warm and soft and wet.
“Yep,” Sherlock repeated, then lifted his gaze from his mobile and moved it to John who wasn't looking resentful or annoyed like he'd expected, just thoughtful. The overhead light wasn't on in the room, only a smaller lamp on the table by the bed. It cast a light that was quite dim, making the edges of light and shadow meld into each other, creating soft contours. John's hair was tousled and though he was frowning, the light quality made him look less severe than he probably wished. Despite not liking it when John's face told him off or chastised him, Sherlock adored his voluble expressions. Even the negative ones.
“Yeah and be bored,” Sherlock snorted. He glanced up the hole they'd both come through. He knew which way he'd faced so he knew which direction the door was and from that and the tree arrangements they'd seen outside he could extrapolate north. Not that cardinal directions meant as much inside a water-logged cellar as they would have in a forest. Not that he'd ever really been lost in a forest. Not that he even cared about wilderness survival skills.
At this point John snorted and got up to close the window, collected the cold packs and their dishes off the floor and carried them into the kitchen, showing surprising initiative for someone who often left tea cups around the flat for weeks on end, which Sherlock permitted as a sort of a social experiment. They were normally returned to the sink by Mrs Hudson rather than Sherlock or John.
AND MOULD. Sherlock lifted the corner of the pillow and glared at John. Had he failed to mention the mould because he was so unobservant or because he wanted to be imprecise on purpose. Both of these things made Sherlock's fury clock tick (he was five minutes from explosion at any given time).
Sherlock held John a moment longer, then released him, satisfied John would do what he'd asked of him if the need arose. He moved to grab his laptop off the desk and opened it, folding back into his chair. “All right then, let's find a new case.”
“I've been productive.” John sounded pleased. “And I see you've cleared the fungus out of the cupboard.”
She stayed there, leaning on the door jamb, arms crossed, sighing. She was lonely again. Sherlock waved at her and she waved back and shook her head.
“Mr Gosbeck gave us the name of the company and his contact that had hired him and his men to do the renovation of the property as we left. Lestrade drove us over to the second crime scene while I looked through some background on the place and pictures of the corpse that Molly took and sent me. No evident cause of death again.”
Sherlock looked at him, knowing saying that would annoy Mycroft. It was the motto of the Secret Intelligence Service. Always secret.
The paper at the back of the nicotine patch rasped when John drew it off (after having spent half a minute trying to get his blunt fingernail under the edge of it). Sherlock had watched the procedure with a mixture of frustration and affection, but now he sighed and wiggled his fingers impatiently. He stuck his arm, anterior side up, into John's grasp.
“And you are?” John made a face at him, then rolled his eyes into the other direction, at the lucky cat.
It took a moment for Sherlock to remember John meant well, that he was concerned for Sherlock's health and wanted to help. This was helping, this was caring, even if it felt like being belittled. He kept his expression neutral, John didn't like it when he was condescending about John's need to be needed.
Pyromania. In fact, he'd once been diagnosed with pyromania, when he was around fifteen. It'd been an experiment.
“The case,” Sherlock replied primly and hobbled out. “Bandage my foot so I can walk on it.” He didn't mention it hurt a lot more now than it had earlier, but he suspected that John knew that, which led him to congratulate himself on establishing a line of unspoken communication with another person. Maybe in the future he could stop talking completely. It was a slow and cumbersome way of communicating any way.
“It's really rather simple. The first step, of course, is to procure a test subject,” Gibson explained. “The subject is then cleaned and sedated and placed in the vacuum chamber.” He gestured towards the glass cylinder in the other room. “After full vacuum has been achieved and the temperature has been lowered to a sufficient degree, I begin the vibration stage. The plate in the chamber on which the subject lies vibrates in an attempt to reach superposition. That is, for the test subject to exist equally in all positions. Or to be nought and one at the same time, if you prefer to simplify it to binary states. You are familiar with Schrödinger's thought experiment on the subject, yes? The cat?”
“Maybe it's because my flatmate is a bag of dicks,” John snapped, but he was obviously relieved that he hadn't actually been drugged. Sherlock was able to see it in his posture and face and hear it in his voice.
“John,” he said, absolutely elated. “It's a key. A translation key. Do you know what you've done?” Sherlock leaned over him and kissed him again, briefly cupping his cheek. “John,” he breathed, resting their foreheads together. “You are brilliant.”
“I went back to the patient and he was still smiling. Cheerful, even. I asked him about the man and he said-” John paused and shifted. “He said the man was his grandfather, dead for the last seven years or so. He told me he'd just popped in to tell him that dying wasn't so bad and that he had family on the other side and not to be frightened. The man was on a morphine drip. I checked his vitals, everything was within normal limits, as far as the situation went, so I walked back to the office and called the MPs to tell them what I'd seen and gave the description of the man I'd seen as best I could. When I went out again, the soldier was dead in his bed. They'd missed the head trauma when he'd been brought in and he died of a cerebral oedema.”
“Yeah, let's not forget to define what's a book and what's a manuscript while there's a dead man right there!” Lestrade protested. Sherlock didn't take his eyes off said dead man. He knew Lestrade's crossness was caused by the dead man being in his place of work. Supposedly the safest place he knew.
The stairs were a blur, the pain from his injuries was present but pushed aside, there was no time to be injured. He should've known. He should've thought of it, but female serial killers were rare. Her methods were almost typical of one, but her choice of victims was not. Female serial killers tended to keep death in the family by killing their relatives; men struck farther afield.
“It's called a pathetic fallacy,” John sighed, but Sherlock only picked up on the word 'pathetic' as he walked away.
“Fine,” he sighed as the van turned onto a motorway. “I promise.” After all, if he chose to pursue this further, John didn't have to know about it.
The old lady gave Sherlock a look. “Not at all,” she said and gestured for them to follow her in. “Make yourselves at home. Don't pay any mind to old Captain Williams there.”
“Because I knew you'd be useless and moan too much.” Sherlock made a dismissive gesture at John. A stiff drink was quite all right now and then, but drinking until inebriation and then having a hangover at work was very not all right, and John was particularly annoying when hungover.
What Sherlock saw on the tape was indeed quite out of the ordinary. He loved it. When Arthur Gibson was brought in he was mild and unanxious, looking around with that same gaze Sherlock had noted at his laboratory. No remorse, no responsibility. He answered questions, but in an oblique, disinterested way. And then, after asking for water, he suddenly flinched. When he looked up again his expression was very different: he had become alarmed and confused. His whole body shifted in character in a way that had made Sherlock consider a mental illness at first, but the man was entirely lucid. Just suddenly frightened.
“Yes, show me. I'm curious.” Sherlock stepped forward. “You can do it without using a test subject?2 The glass chamber was big enough for a human so it wasn't much of a leap to deduce it was used for human testing in some capacity (filled with liquid? gas?).
“Long enough to be emaciated, but that wasn't the cause of dead. She had a water supply, she should've survived longer than she did, based on purely physical facts, but. She didn't.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Sherlock muttered, eyes closed. Picking locks had more to do with feel than sight but all of Sherlock's senses were highly trained (and there were more than five, only a stupid person could believe humans only had five senses, what about balance, hunger, pain, heat, they were all feedback from a person's relationship with the world) and the lock did eventually give up.
“I have an intelligence asset that has gone missing on the border between Russia and Ukraine,” Mycroft continued when Sherlock refused to engage him. “She is a part of the Bolshoi Ballet company. I would… appreciate your expertise.”
“Let them in,” Sherlock said, wondering why Mrs Hudson hadn't gone to John with this. John was the user interface.
“Anything?” John repeated hopefully, the picture of politeness. He could be so incredibly stubborn about manners, as if they truly mattered. He maintained they did and were there to help social interaction to go smooth and as expected. Sherlock maintained John was a social dinosaur.
Sherlock made a face, part of his good mood vanishing into the frigid atmosphere of the crime scene. Humour was used for lubricating social interactions, wasn't it? The presence of death made people tense and humour was supposed to help. Were crime scenes exempt from this? So many rules. (Like
“You mean while breaking and entering, though I'd like to point out I'm not breaking anything, merely entering,” Sherlock said as the lock clicked open and he stood up. John was about to say something but Sherlock overrode him. “When is a better time? We're alone now. That's when people have these conversations, isn't it? When they're alone.”
“Oh? Which part? The part where you left alone? The part where you took drugs? The part where you pulled an old lady out of her wheelchair? And then laughed about it? Or the part where you lost consciousness for two days? And didn't recognise me the few times you came out of it? All that?”
“John,” Sherlock said again, still failing to modulate the rawness out of his voice. Distractions were required and currently sorely missing, at least until John (not an openly affectionate man) put his hand on Sherlock's knee and slowly stroked it with his thumb. John said nothing and hadn't even turned to look at Sherlock again, but the gesture arrested Sherlock in a state of perpetual fascination.
Sherlock nodded and unfolded from the chair to go and dress. He was done in a few moments, after realising there was no way he could fit a shoe over his cast. He rummaged around in the kitchen for plastic bags and some rubber bands to put over it, and borrowed one of John's woollen sock for padding. John was waiting for him downstairs, catching up with Mrs Hudson.
“Drugs, right?” Lestrade was looking at Sherlock rather despondently, hoping he'd agree, maybe exonerate the whole division of guilt and responsibility regarding the dead man. “Or insanity? Give me something.”
The woman on the floor had sat up, looking rather displeased and called for Herbert. There was no answer and Sherlock could see the driver on the floor of the corridor beyond the door. He hadn't heard the man go down but it didn't surprise him. His senses were working overtime just to keep him afloat in the ocean of nebulous signals.
“A man that's always hungry would go to the nearest source of food, not the place where the amount of food was largest. I doubt he'd be able to think further than his next mouthful. I mean, if the situation was that dire.”
“Oh my God,” Sherlock muttered, unable and unwilling to accept the slowness of the story. “Get to the point so I can listen to myself instead.”
Sherlock was not unkind, but he was not kind either (there could be no unkindness or kindness where the idea didn't exist at all), but he WAS grateful and appreciative when he perceived something (someone) was deserving. John was alarmingly often deserving. John understood some things about Sherlock on a fundamental level, like his ability to ignore the physical world if he had something to occupy his mind, exactly what John had done for him by giving him the task of recollecting the (very trivial) names and numbers from a car programme.
Sherlock's interest was piqued only because he realised it was a classic misdirection tactic. Mycroft, for some reason, really didn't want him to deal with the Explorers and was trying to redirect him. But so heavy-handed? He gave Mycroft a surreptitious glance but learned nothing new (still sallow and still flabby and still with that pinched expression that signalled nothing at all).
The yellow wall-paper boiled with movement when Sherlock looked at it. Seeing all of it, every wall covered, with no visual distractions, was like a punch to the eyes. Sherlock approached it and laid his hand flat on it, glad he wore gloves. Then he leaned in and sniffed it.
“You could've tried.” John put his face in his hands. Was it intentional to hide his expression from Sherlock or was it just a sign of resignation?
“It can hardly be called coming out when you find out about it by spying instead of from the person,” Sherlock pointed out, looking around the interrogation room in annoyed boredom.
Lestrade's willingness to believe was in diametrical opposition with John's ability to disbelieve and Sherlock could not deal with either of them. Both ends of the spectrum locked out the possibility of the other end having the answers. Sherlock clicked his tongue and made a disgusted face, then turned to leave.
Sherlock tuned back in when the girl had managed to clean her face though it remained a ghastly orange which Sherlock suspected would fluoresce under an UV light. He was half-tempted to get his blue-light lamp, but John cleared his throat and tapped his pencil against his notepad.
He took out the parchment which had faded writing on it. Symbols, like in the manuscripts, but also corresponding Latin abecedary and Western Arabic numerals. Then it dawned on Sherlock and he broke into a giant grin, leaving the rest of John's things in the bag which he kicked back under the bed.
“You didn't think I took them myself?” Sherlock asked. He was a little surprised which overrode his anxiety about what had happened to him.
“But why would it be under the fingernails of the severed hand? Was the owner scratching it off something?”
Semantics were all well and good, except when Sherlock didn't care about it. Which was right now. They had arrived at the locker which was in the section 2c, number (0)27. The excitement was palpable and visible to a degree which John had just termed 'suspiciously gleeful'. But so what? Mysteries were what made life worth living. Solving mysteries made it worth gloating about. John wasn't on the same page about that, particularly when it came to mystery pieces of human in the fridge. Or the oven. But to be fair, human parts in the oven were a whole different story, it implied cooking (even if the oven at 221B didn't work, which was because Sherlock had disconnected it) and cooking human was universally considered unacceptable (for whatever reason, it'd solve the world hunger problem).
The room was dark. The victim knew nothing and slept on peacefully. Sherlock stood above the bed, staring. He was a shadow, he was silence. He was bored to death.
He did that while Sherlock rolled from side to side like an upside down tortoise, trying to get enough momentum to fling himself off the bed and go strangle John, but John was back too soon. He helped Sherlock sit up, rearranged all the pillows and held up a glass of water with a pink straw in it up to Sherlock's mouth.
The dulcet tones of a cranky John Watson heralded his arrival some time later. “You are a giant bag of dicks,” he declared. “And an idiot.”
“Wait here,” John instructed him once he had bandaged Sherlock's swollen foot against his better judgement (visible in his expression). He then quickly fetched his old cane and offered it to Sherlock.
Sherlock's brain rarely took the time to restart properly, his uptime could be counted in years. He didn't need to go through the whole existential questioning phase every time he woke up from sleep; he knew who he was, he knew where he was. He felt surprising clarity even now. He knew how the killer chose her victims. They were designers who visited her shop, she got their info, mobile numbers, addresses, she offered help, opinions, got them to trust her (she could be charming, a trait shared by psychopaths and sociopaths), and then she used that trust.
“I'll sleep later. Give it to me.” Sherlock stretched out his arm for his phone. That expression meant case. It meant murder. John's face spoke entire libraries on the subject. It scintillated with words in Sherlock's vision, fondness and frustration at the fore as he handed over the mobile. Thrill and turmoil at the prospect of a (murder) case. Sherlock wanted to tell him to let go already. Be excited, be unapologetically elated about the work, murders happen anyway.
“So you want some assurance that I'm committed to this. To you,” Sherlock deduced, concentrating on the issue at hand. This was a more difficult type of deduction. “I am, but I can't predict the future.”
The silence stretched as Sherlock absorbed the information. He, though often misunderstood in this particular area, didn't consider the paranormal or supernatural impossible. In fact, that was part of the misunderstanding; he didn't consider anything paranormal or supernatural. Explanations could be found, if one was intelligent enough to admit that the explanation could be something outside the norm.
The moving beam of light revealed another room, not big at all. The walls were aged yellow and bore a hauntingly familiar pattern that writhed in the shadows. There was a bucket in one corner and stains all over the floor and the walls. The wall on the right-hand side bore the imprint of a door beneath the wall-paper, most likely leading to the attic flat. Sherlock was able to declare the room useless to him with one glance and returned to the first room, clicking the lighter on and off because it, like a metronome, helped him think.
“You had my wallet and I didn't have time to go shopping,” Sherlock pointed out and turned to look at John. He had colour in his face (even with the hospital lights) and his fingers had been warm as he'd taken the jam jar.
“My friend's been sold to white slavery!” she said as soon as she saw Sherlock, then burst into fresh tears. John was stood in the doorway to the kitchen with a piece of toast in one hand and jam jar in the other, giving Sherlock and the new client a perplexed look.
“What- what're you doing?” John asked, still standing under the light. He was disconcerted, disturbed, and starting to believe Sherlock's assessment of the victims dying of madness.
Sherlock grabbed a latex glove and went ahead to peer into the body cavity. “When did this one come in?”
“They always do. You're a freak magnet,” John replied with a little bit of acid in his voice. Then he sighed and put his empty glass on the coffee table. “Which isn't to say
Sherlock hobbled in after the lady and John, instantly realising he was in the home of an avid smoker and that Captain Williams was a great big green parrot, sitting on the back of a chair. The parrot remained wisely silent. The lady lived very comfortably though all of the comfort was at least fifty years old. She appointed John an armchair and Sherlock a sofa on which he laid out, not gratefully, but not ungratefully either. His face throbbed and his ribs ached and his foot was on fire.
Sherlock rubbed his arms and noticed for the first time the remains of adhesive and needle marks on the back of his hand. IV drip at the hospital. He went for his violin and grabbed it with somewhat shaky hands. He lifted it to his shoulder and started playing but he could only draw out one note which he kept sawing at, fingers numb and brain non-compliant.
“Isn't that the standard for Scotland Yard?” he remarked, somewhat absently as he walked around the crate. He was recalling facts about the visit of the corpse's friend. Yes, it had happened in the middle of that slump which involved the strange house and that frustrating book. Sherlock had deciphered parts of it with the help of the abecedary from the house but that had only revealed another layer of decryption. Thus in the end he had no idea of what the contents actually were. He also had no idea why this girl had turned up dead in a box in a nature reserve, either. But he didn't believe in coincidence.
He took off the pillow and put it under his head and closed the laptop. John's arm was still across his chest, and he was still wearing his coat. Well, he'd slept in worse conditions (his room had been next to Mycroft's, after all) so this should pose no problem.
,” Sherlock answered smugly, knowing it was a response John definitely hadn't expected. The confusion on John's face was priceless. “They're stingless eusocial bees from Brazil. I want some.”
“Alien hand syndrome. Likely a combination of the collision causing brain damage that went undiagnosed and post-traumatic stress disorder. The items have all been placed near their original spot, but around your left side, on a horizontal space below your hip. There are no signs of forced entry and neither are there any signs of any paranormal or extraterrestrial activity. Contact your doctor.” With that he turned and headed downstairs for the exit, leaving John to scramble behind him as usual. Upon reaching the street he lit a cigarette and had a blissful first inhalation before it was snatched from his fingers by John who threw it down and ground it out with his heel.
Sherlock scowled a bit. “You saw the marks of strangulation. Did stress do that?” Once again John's medical expertise was underwhelming.
“Oh, Edward,” Alice said with a hint of exasperated amusement. The polyphagic man had been more of a toy to her than a pet or a project. “He was so enthusiastic about joining us but had nothing to offer except his body.”
A horrible feeling washed over Sherlock like a wave, making his heart pound painfully as though it had just restarted. He gasped a little, incredibly relieved, to the point of feeling boneless. “I'm here,” he replied. “Are you all right?”
“Why can't we just watch what happens to them in the rooms?” Sherlock was looking out the window. “That's bound to be more interesting than just getting them out.”
“NO.” John looked up, a furrow between his brows. “One.” He reached up and pressed his fingers under Sherlock's ears, feeling along his jawline for swollen lymph nodes.
Sherlock had expected this, as well. “Because if a man is always hungry and can eat anything he likes, where else would he go?”
“Suspend this,” Sherlock muttered, which made John laugh shortly, tired. “You assumed that because I left this morning it had something to do with the case, which was... not the case.”
Sherlock gave John a look with a raised eyebrow. “You do the same,” he mentioned. “And I'm not the same as you either.”
Sherlock gave him a slight grin and took a sip to determine if the amount of sugar and milk was correct and able to cover the taste of the bitter diner coffee. He nodded to himself after the first mouthful went down and when he looked up again John was watching him with an expression of bemused fondness.
Sherlock went to make tea just to avoid standing in the same room with Mycroft. The largest living organism on Earth was a fungus (
A young woman was standing there, going through a book of samples, but she looked up when Sherlock laid his hand on the counter. First there was the badly hidden cringe when she saw his swollen cheek, and then the ingratiating smile when she noticed John behind him. John had that effect, Sherlock had noticed. When he was alone, people didn't quite know what to make of him, but with John he was automatically slotted in as a part of a couple. It was helpful, and it annoyed John, so it was win-win.
Sherlock leaned the cane against the wall and took out a flick knife, digging the blade into a seam in the wall-paper, tearing it off. “John, light,” he commanded and John came over carefully, pointing a small torch to where Sherlock worked.
he received another text, from Molly. She had the corpse of the man who was suspected of eating the toddler. He had been found dead not far from the hospital.
In fact, and this fact was something Sherlock had a difficult time admitting as actually factual (but he had gone through the normal process of elimination and while it was improbable, it was all that was left), he quite adored John. And adore wasn't even in his vocabulary; he'd heard it on the telly. Then he'd checked it on Wiktionary, and then the OED. Whatever the word meant and whatever Sherlock may (or may not) have felt, he still wanted to throttle John.
“I lied,” John huffed. “You haven't got the monopoly on that, you know. I wanted to give you something to do, and then you do this instead.” He wore a disappointed expression, like an old coat.
John looked up, an array of slight confusion and expectancy on his face. The bags under his eyes were bigger than usual and he wore his clothes ill. He was tired and when John was tired nothing fit him. Coffee gave him heartburn and all his clothes seemed like they were meant for someone of a different size. To Sherlock it was a brilliant example of a person fully inhibiting his body and telegraphing status effects (such as emotional states) through it.
“That's just unnecessary.” Sherlock made a face and had he felt physically better he would have gotten up and left, but he hadn't slept properly in a while and every part of his body seemed to be in pain or residing next to pain.
“Lestrade's just as much a man and a human being as anyone else and a product of this society. Thus he follows certain cultural and social guidelines and patterns discernible to the eye of someone who knows where to look,” Sherlock kept talking as he went down the corridor. John hadn't probably known about Molly and Lestrade and was currently and undoubtedly asking questions about it from her as someone interested in their fellow man would. Sherlock ignored whatever noise they were making behind him because it was unnecessary and uninteresting and strode into the mortuary proper.
“Cold?” Sherlock crawled forward, pushing things aside to get to the break in the floor without also going through it.
The old man continued: “I've no doubt in my mind you would have found me out sooner than later so I decided I'd rather invite you to see my process. Perhaps we could work out the particulars of guilt and punishment.”
With Sherlock and John falling behind the doctor as he led them towards the leftmost building, John walked his elbow into Sherlock's side and shot up a look. Sherlock just shook his head at him. Not now.
The action was involuntary. Sherlock's muscles worked on their own, releasing all that pent energy he had been carrying around. The pillow sailed across the sitting room in a taut arc and landed on John's face with a satisfying thump. Sherlock smiled.
"Ooohf," John grunted, setting his own mostly-full glass down on the floor before wrapping his arms around Sherlock's torso obligingly. "You're awfully heavy for such a lanky-looking fella," he complained teasingly.
Sherlock's mind supplied helpfully, even as he began calculating the amount of medicated lip balm that John must use every day to prevent chapping from excessive licking. Sherlock blinked once, as if the gesture would reboot his mental hard drive. No. The case. He should be focusing on ways to investigate Sterndale's financial history, not thinking about John Watson's lips and how they might feel against his own. Sherlock glanced down at his mobile, fully intending to send a message to Mycroft's pet hacker, but before he could do more than tap his thumb against the keypad, John distracted him again.
Sherlock raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Mycroft mentioned your suspicions of deliberate sabotage. What proof do you have?"
John blinked several times, his thin lips tightening into a grimace before he shook his head. "It's nothing…just my sister being difficult. As usual."
Sherlock swallowed hard, thinking of the damage done and the careers cut short when overzealous owners and trainers continued working their injured mounts.
"No, it's fine." Sherlock replied, jerking his head sideways in an attempting to realign his focus. He carefully extended his fingers, then forming a fist. His arm twinged with the movement, but the pain was a dull throb in contrast to the stabbing ache of earlier.
because he made him sound more endearing, his landlady would have no compunctions about enacting a suitable revenge. The memory of the capsaicin-laced ginger nuts she'd baked for him as a 'gift' after an unfortunate episode involving an equine brain, her favourite trifle dish and a bottle of chloroform was enough to make him wince with remembered pain.
"Pity," John said. "I always got a kick out of the free candy. It was about the only time we got it, well that and the town's annual Easter egg hunt. Harry would always eat hers so fast she'd get sick. I'd try and ration mine out so it would last until Christmas."
to carry the risk of significant injury or worse?" Sherlock demanded as he passed the requested item over.
John administered the second jab and stepped back, ready to either scramble out of range, or step forward to help restrain Scotty. There was a tense few moments before Scotty's agitated movements slowed and he resumed standing more or less quietly, though the state of his eyes and the position of his ears made it clear that he would still be rearing and fighting if it weren't for the chemicals coursing through his system.
"Stop it," Sherlock said firmly as he made deliberate eye contact with the stallion, mimicking the way an older mare might watch a misbehaving yearling. Devil's Blaze snorted again and lowered his head. His ears went flat as he pawed at the ground with his right front foreleg in an unmistakable warning.
"Sorry about that!" The speaker, a generously curved Korean woman joked. The click of her stilettos echoed throughout the room. "I wanted to make sure that everybody was awake and paying attention for the next part of our program. I hope you've all enjoyed your Chianti and fava beans," she continued. "You'll have to pardon our substitution of baked salmon and Chicken Kiev for the main course. Liver is surprisingly hard for our caterers to come by in sufficient quantities to feed five hundred people!"
John raised and lowered his shoulders, his frustration clear. "I got a call the other day from a client of mine to stitch up one of her dairy cattle. She insisted the new heifer she purchased from a stock show at the fairgrounds attacked it for no reason. Both cows ended up going through the barb wire fence and got pretty torn up. I noticed that the new heifer's scleras were pretty bloodshot...and she was frothing at the mouth like she'd somehow eaten lupine, or maybe poison hemlock, but I couldn't find any traces in the pen and her owner insisted that all members of the herd had eaten the same thing."
Molly was nursing a cup of coffee and looking at the screen of her mobile, slender fingers tapping busily at the screen. At the sound of somebody's approach, Molly turned and looked over her shoulder. When she spotted Sherlock, she smiled, her whole posture visibly brightening. "Billy! Hi!" Molly chirped, pushing her chair back and standing up. "Juana went ahead and made a fresh pot of coffee since it was all gone, and the bread's in the kitchen, so you can make your own toast however dark you want it. Come on," she continued, gesturing towards the open doorway.
Molly shrugged. "Well, it makes sense, considering what Ms. Ross's horses cost, not to mention her herds of cattle. She also has a few people that board their horses here, so that's a liability concern. If it's somebody who doesn't already have a keycode, they can use the intercom to call up to the office. It goes to a cell phone so it should always be answered. That's what the tour groups do."
"Good." Sherlock heard the huff of suppressed smugness in John's tone. "That's very good," John continued, his voice going even huskier as he leaned over Sherlock and braced his arms on either side of Sherlock's torso. His hands sank into the mattress, bringing him even closer. The pose also allowed the neck of John's shirt to gape just a bit, offering a tantalizing glimpse of John's clavicle and the shadowed vee of his pecs. "I have to say, I like having you here, in my bed."
Sherlock snorted with more than a trace of irritation as he watched the stallion break into a nervous canter around the round pen. It made no sense. He'd worked with countless frightened and jumpy horses over the years, but he'd never seen a horse that was so slow to respond to his training techniques. Nor one that was so...volatile after the effort he’d put into desensitization. Usually, once a horse got used to the sight and sensation of a lead rope being tossed over their back or wrapped around their legs, it was a fairly straightforward matter to desensitize them to the crack of a rope striking the ground or the flutter of a tarp, but Blaze didn’t. He responded at the beginning of each session as if he were fighting for his life...and that was still after several weeks of work.
"You a doctor?" Sherlock asked curiously, tilting his head, his face giving no hint that the man currently bandaging his wrist was anything other than a complete stranger. Not strictly true. He'd read and re-read the detailed bios Anthea had supplied him with. Though they didn't give him much insight into John Watson's character, Sherlock already knew his middle name, his birth date and the basic details of his career. He could also make some preliminary deductions about the man, based on his current body language and actions.
, Sherlock noted, translating the meaning of the oversized engraved and embossed disk of metal with difficulty,
"Whatever you do, Holmes, remember that you are not a police officer," Donovan announced unnecessarily as she led Sherlock down a maze of hallways and staircases and into the bowels of the building several hours later. She was carrying the box of chemicals that Sherlock had handed her, while Sherlock carried the two insulated carriers containing blood and urine samples from New Scotland Yard, Devil's Blaze, and several other horses from the Triple C.
Sherlock watched with some trepidation as John drank. There was the chance that John might notice an off taste or some gritty pill residue, but to his relief, John downed most of the contents before politely offering the glass back. "How about you? Are you still thirsty?"
Sherlock smirked. He'd planned his shot carefully, and the only two choices for John would both involve some...creative contortions. "Are you any good with your right hand, or is just your left?" Sherlock asked archly, tiling his head and deliberately accenting the line of his throat.
The announcer waited for the laughter to die back down before resuming. “SO YES, OUR RIDERS DON’T NEED THOSE EXTRA TWO SECONDS TO SHOW HOW FABULOUS THEY ARE!” Cheers and whistles signaled agreement. “Y'ALL MAY ALSO NOTICE THAT COMPETITORS CAN CHOOSE TO HANG ON WITH ONE HAND, OR BOTH—AS LONG AS THEY FINISH THE WAY THEY STARTED. ONE HAND LOOKS FANCIER, BUT THERE’S A LOT TO BE SAID FOR MANAGING TO STAY ON YER HORSE AND NOT DISLOCATING’’ AN ELBOW OR SHOULDER!”
Sherlock made a mental note to investigate Kitty Riley more thoroughly later. He'd glanced at her website briefly, but hadn't done much beyond noting the standard, emotionally-laden appeals to 'protect innocent animals from human cruelty' and a large button for viewers to donate. "Have you shown the letters to the detective in charge of the investigation?" Sherlock asked aloud.
"Normally not," Mycroft agreed. "But these aren't ordinary mustangs, Sherlock. Ms. Ross's specializes in Kigers. The horse she contacted us about is her prize stud: a purebred Kiger stallion known as 'Devil's Blaze.'"
John blinked as he visibly parsed Sherlock’s words. His tongue came out to wet his bottom lip. "Your feet are ticklish, you mean," John translated, his mouth spreading into a slow smile. His hand flashed out, recapturing Sherlock’s foot and he drew the tip of his index finger lightly up Sherlock’s arch.
It was a combination of a partial truth and a lie. He fully intended to purchase a gift of some type. Mrs. Hudson's birthday wasn't until May, which was several weeks away, but with international shipping, it would likely take something that long to arrive at 221A Baker Street. Saying that he was seeking a birthday gift for his grandmother was also a conveniently endearing excuse, ensuring both a ride from Molly and a reason to return to the fairgrounds without arousing suspicion. The real risk lay with Mrs. Hudson herself.
"I told you," Sherlock snapped, his tone snide, perhaps annoyed with his inability to thwart her. "I'm breaking in my new boots."
Caught up in his fantasy, Sherlock ghosted his right hand over John’s back, following the dips and curves of his musculature, shivering slightly. The room’s air conditioning unit was cranked up in defiance of the environment outside, making the room feel chilly against Sherlock’s sleep-warm skin. Fortunately,John radiated heat like sun-baked rock at dusk, and Sherlock shifted even closer, savouring the warmth. His hand landed on John’s arse and he indulged himself by giving one cheek a sound squeeze...
, Sherlock's mind supplied as he watched the play of light and shadows over John's strong back. Sherlock blinked, realizing that the vet was now gazing at him, instead of the horse. As Sherlock watched, John's tongue came out, a quick, flicking moment as John wet his bottom lip. John opened his mouth, obviously preparing to ask Sherlock something, when a splash of colour caught Sherlock's eye. He turned to see the owner of the Triple C striding towards them, her boots kicking up puffs of dust from the dry ground.
"Oh, right, sorry," Molly winced. "Um, you can set that in the footwell, if it'll give you enough room for your legs? I'm not used to many passengers. Feel free to turn on the radio, if you like. I also have a couple of CDs in the glove box...Glee, Ohio Express, Shania, oh and some Sarah McLachlan if you like her."
bovines approached Sterndale about arranging a bit of murder, with the added bonus of funneling more business Sterndale's way. Bucking bronco competitions can certainly be a lucrative proposition, but bull riding has a wider following among mainstream audiences, not just locally, but internationally."
John's own gaze was avid, his lips curved into a smile as he took in Sherlock's body. "Oh god, just look at you, you gorgeous thing," the imaginary John husked, his voice taking on a deeper timbre than the one he used to praise Sherlock's deductions. He licked his lips, his tongue darting out as if he couldn't wait to taste Sherlock's skin. "I can't believe that I get to see you like this, stretched out naked across my bed, like a veritable feast for me to devour," John continued, his eyes focusing on Sherlock's chest. Suddenly he shifted, arms and shoulders bulging as he braced himself above Sherlock's torso. He dipped his head so he could blow a soft breath of air across Sherlock's peaked nipples; the warmth of John's breath across his flesh barely perceptible amongst the currents caused by the ceiling fan.
"Good. Then do catch up, John," Sherlock ordered, relief surging through him at the verbal confirmation. "I'm here, you're here...we're both consenting adults...we're in a relatively private area...surely you can do the maths..." Sherlock bent forward and let his nose graze John's jawline. "You smell delectable..." he rumbled, letting his tongue dart out to taste the clean sweat that dewed John's neck, "and you taste like sunlight, John."
"No," Doctor Sterndale said bluntly, tilting his head and giving John a surprisingly intent look. "Why do you ask?"
“ALLLLLLL RIGHTY, THEN! DEPENDIN’ ON HOW WELL Y’ALL KNOW YOUR BRONC RIDES, YOU MAY NOTICE SOME DIFFERENCES IN THE RULES! THE PRCA—THAT’S THE PROFESSIONAL RODEO COWBOYS ASSOCIATION—REQUIRES BRONC RIDES TO LAST EIGHT SECONDS TO QUALIFY. THE AGRA RULE FOR A QUALIFYING RIDE IS SIX SECONDS. NOW, YOU MAY THINK THAT TWO SECONDS IS NOTHING, BUT LET ME TELL YOU, THOSE TWO SECONDS CAN BE THE LONGEST TWO SECONDS IN YOUR LIFE! NOT LIKE BUSINESS TIME!” The announcer hit some sort of a switch, and a male voice poured out from the loudspeakers crooning about making love; making love for two…making love for two minutes.
It was easy to understand why Lestrade had called John in panic. The gelding was screaming and rearing inside the box stall, his hooves striking out against anything and everything. Sherlock could see the broken door hinge that the cowboy had mentioned. Some quick-witted individual had tied a rope across the stall gate, but it was clear from the way the wood was shaking that it was only a temporary fix. As it was, pieces of wood were breaking off under the gelding's assault with a sound similar to a rifle's crack. Bloody lather speckled Scotty's coat and more blood was dripping from his nose and mouth. His legs were already marred by cuts and more gashes dotted his hide where he'd scraped himself against pieces of broken wood.
"Hi yourself," Sherlock returned, smiling. He allowed his thumbs to brush slowly against the fabric covering John's hipbones. "Is this...is this okay? Are you comfortable?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He knew that John and his sister didn’t get on, but the unspoken resentment and anger thrumming under the relatively-innocuous words in John’s text spoke volumes.
"Please," Sherlock said, holding himself obediently still as John leaned across the table and brushed gentle fingers across his cheekbones, wiping the excess lotion away. Sherlock swallowed hard. His already-warm skin felt like it was on fire. This close, he could smell the intoxicating blend of John's cologne and clean sweat. It was a heady combination, bringing to mind his fantasy several weeks ago.
He picked up the clipboard hanging off of the stall door and began skimming through the records. John's surprisingly neat handwriting alternated with the hurried scrawl of another individual, listing out symptoms, vital stats, medications, and dosages. The results of the basic drug screens were identical to his own: negative. Unfortunately, Scotty hadn't been subjected to the extensive battery of tests that Devil's Blaze had. Whether that was due to time constraints or the limited means of the police department, though, he couldn't tell. Still frowning, Sherlock looked over to where Lestrade and Donovan had begun arguing in heated undertones.
Sherlock wasn't certain why, exactly, the collie had taken to following him around the ranch, but her presence remained constant. He wasn't one to assign human behaviors to canines, but both Old Wayne and Candii Ross had commented on the way the collie could frequently be found watching Sherlock from the shade of a nearby barn or tree, or else 'helping' him by sniffing at the clumps of manure and soiled hay he raked free from the stallion's pen. Bonnie had even taken to invading his cottage some evenings, keeping Sherlock company on the porch while he smoked and then joining him inside, much to Sherlock's bemusement.
Donovan shook her head. "Straker was an orphan, and his only brother died in South Africa sometime during the mid-eighties…" Donovan paused to check her notes, "1986, to be exact. As for girlfriends…nothing long term…just a string of one-night stands. No kids either. Candii Ross is really that only one that benefits."
"Ah...no. Not at all," Sherlock stammered, swallowing hard. In fact, the only problem that he could foresee was the possibility of an inconvenient erection in public. Watching John compete via the YouTube videos he'd found had been impressive enough to result in several masturbatory sessions. The thought of watching John ride in person was enough to make his throat dry with anticipation.
"Sorry, sorry! I didn't think it would take me so long. That line was crazy!" Molly exclaimed, her announcement causing John to jerk backwards, away from Sherlock. "Did you get my limeade?" Molly asked, weaving her way through the crowd packing the tent with ease. "I'm thirsty. Also, I hope you like funnel cakes. I couldn't decide between the red velvet or the cinnamon, so I got one of each," she announced cheerfully as she sat down beside Sherlock. "Oh John, um hi!" Molly stammered, abruptly registering the other man's presence across the table. "Uh...sorry. I didn't see you there."
After three hours of painstaking work, Sherlock finally stood up with a groan. His back ached and his nose and eyes were burning from the prolonged exposure to ammonia, and he was only seventy-five percent of the way through the bedding. A stack of sealed bags sat off to one side, mute testimony to his efforts. Grimacing, Sherlock slowly peeled off his gloves, noting with some surprise that he was alone in the cavernous barn. A quick check of his phone revealed a flurry of text messages from John.
"Fuck. What is it?" John asked, his shoulders rigid with sudden tension as he pushed himself up and braced his arms on either side of Sherlock's torso and holding himself there.
"Good." Mike opened an upper cabinet door and pulled out an extra large bottle of generic Ibuprofen. He shook out four pills and which he handed to Sherlock, along with a paper cup of water. "800 milligrams every six hours for the first 24 hours, and then 400 milligrams every 4-6 hours as needed. Don't take more than that. It can damage your stomach or intestines. Understand?"
"There were a couple of guys smoking out front. One was the one who helped me put Cream Soda up when she really started balking and trying to get free."
John looked up to meet Sherlock’s gaze from underneath his own lowered brows and Sherlock found himself distracted by the eyes themselves. He squinted to better see them. Had he been this close to John’s face in halogen light? The sun made John’s eyes appear to be a shade somewhere between brown and grey, but now, John’s eyes were blue. Blue. Dark blue. Ocean blue. Night-sky blue. Or were they green? Lichen green. Peat green, and grey, and brown. The same colours of the Ilkley moor back home in autumn when everything was starting to die back and patches of brown were breaking through the tumbles of shale and limestone…
John's response was a rueful laugh. "True. In that case, let's hit the road. I want to get there early."
"Put your hands up where I can see them," the voice growled, its cadence one of authority that expected to be obeyed. "Who are you and what the hell are you doing poking around a sealed crime scene?"
"Trying to," Sherlock said sourly, but with a grudging tone of respect. "My compliments on your choice of password. I couldn't guess it at all."
The waitress nodded at Sherlock's cup. "You're sittin' by yourself and you're running on empty," she explained patiently. "Do. You. Want. Another. Drink?"
Blood samples from the euthanized barrel racing horse in Arizona for comparison purposes would be ideal, but he would have to settle for somehow obtaining copies of the horse's vet records. Mycroft had promised to send him any available records concerning Melba Toastya's care, but so far, his brother's search had been in vain. The vet responsible for the animal's care had vanished shortly before the inquest had been launched and hadn't been seen since.
John raised both eyebrows and have Sherlock a frankly skeptical look. "Considering that I just saw you voluntarily climb into a pen with a lethal animal—without backup, I'll add—I'd say that point's debatable."
"Yes," Sherlock snapped, pushing on John's shoulders in an effort to get John to rise up and give him some room to work.
Molly didn't look fully convinced, but when Sherlock bit his bottom lip and gave her a purposely shy smile, her lips reluctantly curved in response. "I hate to say this, Billy, but you're a lot more enlightened than maybe seventy-five percent of the cowboys on the rodeo circuit."
to happen, but it didn’t hurt, he thought as he continued digging through the pack. He found some spare latigo straps, an extra saddle bronc rein, a padded, protective vest, leather gloves, a roll of athletic tape, and a few other odds and ends, but that was it.
Oh, it was better than Christmas. John smelled of leather, rosin, clean sweat, and musky arousal. Sherlock ran his hands up John’s legs, savouring the feel of warm leather under his palms, before reaching around to take a double-handed grip on John’s arse and
Sherlock nodded his understanding. He was aware that some budget-minded politicians in England sought to reduce the number of mounted officers, citing the high overhead costs of training, veterinary bills, stabling and feed. It didn't surprise him to learn that the mentality persisted in the United States as well. "What all is involved in their training?" Sherlock asked, subtly redirecting the conversation. "Is it at all like what horses utilized as therapeutic mounts go through?"
Sherlock tilted his head, studying John's compassionate expression and the proudly-cared-for buckle on his belt. The signs of an adrenaline-addicted hero complex in the vet's bearing were obvious; the blond man had come running at least thrice to render aid to a stranger in need, heedless of the injuries a wrathful or frightened equine could inflict. But his touch when he'd examined Sherlock and the gelding from earlier had been gentle, indicative of a highly compassionate nature.
They played another few rounds, trading the lead back and forth. They were tied at one hundred and twenty-three points when John scratched.
have lunch two hours ago," Sherlock objected weakly, only to 'ooph' in surprise when Molly gently shoulder-chucked him in the diaphragm.
"That's good," John muttered, more to himself than Sherlock as he exchanged the charcoal for several bottles of sterile saline solution. "Next question. Is he run—"
"No," John replied, shaking his head emphatically and holding up his hands in surrender. "No, no, that is not what I meant. At all. Calm down, alright? I thought you were joking, because you're, well..."
“I’ve done some things that could easily have been considered unforgivable—" Sherlock admitted under John and James' suddenly rapt gazes. "Far worse than being prejudiced against someone for their sexual orientation. I did them for love. I did them because I couldn't stand the thought of those I'd decided to protect being hurt, or tortured, or killed because I wasn't clever enough, or brave enough, or observant enough, or too arrogant to keep them safe. In a sense, it worked: none of the people I Fell for died...but that didn't mean they didn't get hurt and suffer as a result of my own stupidity." Sherlock paused to swallow hard, thinking of what Lestrade had said about having to take away John's gun. If Lestrade hadn't, then all of Sherlock's efforts to protect the man he loved would have been for naught. "To my eternal gratitude, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and—most importantly, John—all saw fit to give me another chance despite my incredible folly. It's been almost five months since you've last seen Angela. I will not force you to see her. You don't even have to accept anything from her if you don't want to. But...speaking from the past experience of someone who was once convinced that the person I cared for most in the world hated me and that I had destroyed my chances of ever having
Beer finished, John swiped the back of his left hand across his lips and leaned down to set the bottle in the dirt by his boots. With a sigh, he rose and braced the bottom of his left boot on the bottom rail, boosting himself up with an easy movement until he was sitting on the rail, his hips level with Sherlock’s shoulders.
"Fair enough," Sherlock returned with a nod. "Let me rephrase: why do you have such suspicions? In your own time, but preferably quite quickly." Sherlock set his elbows on the chair's armrests and steepled his fingers together. He would have leaned back, but the brim of the ridiculous hat he was still wearing prevented it.
It was also probable that the lurker had been somebody completely new. It was a line of thought that circled neatly back to the theory he’d proposed to Donovan early on, namely that Candii Ross was the
"Of course, that might also be because he's probably spent more time on two feet than four for the past week, when he's not running circles around the paddock."
Sherlock blinked rapidly. He'd anticipated homophobia, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so...entrenched. Or crass. "That is scientifically unsound," Sherlock complained. "Surely people aren't actually stupid enough to believe an idiotic theory devised by a desperate, sexually-depraved moron?"
“I’d add a cinnamon roll or two, just to be safe,” the waitress replied drily. “Luisa does them up special here, with candied pecans and Dulce de Leche on top.”
"Ah...right. That makes sense." John blew out a breath. Sherlock could almost imagine him rubbing the back of his neck and licking his lips. "I...er...know you're busy, but do you think you might have time at some point to take a quick look? I'd really appreciate it. "
"You're staring," John pointed out, a questioning expression on his face. "Do you...see something you like?"
"No." A lie. Cooking was just chemistry. He was nowhere near as accomplished as his older brother, but it wasn't an especially challenging pastime for a genius...provided he kept himself from being distracted during the process. It had taken the cleaners ages to get the smell of burned Bouillabaisse out of the flat. "Generally I leave cooking to the professionals." Truth, though in reality, it was simply more convenient to over-pay the rent on his flat and guilt Mrs. Hudson into supplying him regular meals on the rare occasions where he was home for any extended length of time and didn't feel like bothering with carryout.
“The piece he possessed was approximately fifteen centimetres wide and twenty-five long with a long tapering end, obviously having been torn off a wall by hand.” He demonstrated the movement with his right hand, grasping the air and pulling down. “He had worked as a building renovator before being retired and one of the last places he'd worked at was an old house being turned into smaller flats. There was a big room at the top floor, just under the roof, with a hardwood floor that had been scored all over as if heavy furniture had been moved around a lot. The walls were bare except for this one scrap of wall-paper which was so odd that he went and tore it off immediately, and then kept it.”
Sherlock felt he owed no response to that, John was familiar with his stance on boredom and human life and it didn't require further elaboration. “Lestrade contacted the landlord for the property and found out no one was living in the top floor flat at the moment. He explained to us that three of the five suicides that had happened on that property had been in that flat.”
“Imagine that.” John yawned (pointedly), but Sherlock wasn't a social animal so it didn't catch. “What's next?”
Sherlock realised he'd been rubbing his lips against John's stubble and pulled back a bit. “You haven't shaved for two days.”
John groaned, deep and long. He was only a shadow by the flickering fire, occasionally moving to tip more fuel into it. “O-of all the things you'd want to discuss...” he sighed. “Wall-paper can only drive a person mad figuratively.”
“Oh, obviously.” John followed. “Can we stop for breakfast? I mean, we're going to have to wait for Lestrade, aren't we? People still live in that place, we can't just kick down the doors and demand to... I don't even know what we're going to demand.”
“I GET IT, for God's sake.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. It was a desperately ridiculous title and people (Sherlock) would make fun of it, and John, for days to come.
Just as his question may have surprised John, John's admission surprised Sherlock. The way he said it and the way he took Sherlock's arm, as well as his expression all conveyed ownership of a kind. No one had ever claimed him like this before and neither had John ever claimed their relationship so strongly. Because despite everything Sherlock still expected John to skirt the line with their relationship and eventually drop it for a woman of some sort.
Sherlock grinned and stood up, carefully folding the parchment into a pocket in the lining of his coat. He'd be happy to give John all the rest he wanted in exchange for this. “Fine,” he said. “We'll pick this up when you come back.”
“All things considered, the jam's probably one of the better things you could've brought,” John admitted. His voice was tired. It wasn't a surprise. Sherlock frowned. It wasn't particularly late but it had been a long day, part of which had been spent submerged in far too cold water. If Sherlock allowed himself he could also feel a weariness tugging on his bones and muscles, making the heated blanket and the bed very comfortable to lie on right now.
"It was something green," Sherlock insisted, waving one hand as if he could pluck the thought from thin air. "But the specifics escape me."
"No," Molly shook her head. "They're fine, but thanks for asking anyway." She exhaled, allowing a bit of her frustration to bleed through. "I'm just trying to find Joe Straker," she explained. "Tall, skinny black man? Head trainer for the Triple C? He's late and we've got stock to load before the storm hits. Have you seen him?"
Roughly three-fourths of the stalls had nameplates affixed to the doors and Sherlock raised a silent eyebrow as he read some of the monikers: Speedy, Cabaret, (somebody had scrawled 'Cabbie' underneath), Pink Lady Apple...Bluebell... Midnight Blue Serenity...Buckingham 'Bucky' Palace...
John giggled, rubbing his nose against Sherlock's knee. "Listening to you enjoy yourself was so fucking hot, I came in my pants like a damn teenager. Stay there okay? I’d hate to make you move when you are so clearly blissed out." John pressed another affectionate kiss to Sherlock’s thigh and then levered himself off his knees. "Budge over," John ordered, giving Sherlock’s hip a helpful nudge so John could perch on the very edge of the seat. Reaching into the glove compartment, John pulled out two spare, clean bandanas, an empty plastic bag, a small pair of scissors and a small plastic bottle of water. John disposed of the used condom in the plastic bag and cracked the cap on the bottle, using the tepid liquid inside to wet both bandanas down. He wiped Sherlock’s limp penis clean and dry with careful attention and tucked everything away first, before attacking his own button and zip.
"And why am I even arguing with a dog?" Sherlock scolded himself as he bent down to comply. "It's not as if you can even comprehend English, let alone answer me. At least Billy the Skull doesn't demand belly rubs in exchange for listening to me speak." Sherlock gave Bonnie a final, vigorous scratch before straightening up, trying not to groan at the ache in his knees and back. He had several more hours of work to get done before John arrived.
Perhaps not the most elegant of manners, Sherlock observed distantly, but it was clear that Donovan was a woman accustomed to having to eat in a hurry, consuming whatever options of nourishment—if the Texas version of a sausage butty could be considered nourishment—were available. He opened his mouth, preparing to bombard Donovan with demands for updates, but Donovan held up a hand, forestalling Sherlock's barrage of questions.
Something flashed in Donovan's eyes, approval of his somewhat devious skills, perhaps? Regardless, it wasn't relevant. He didn't need Donovan's approval, only her cooperation.
Sherlock blinked. He'd wondered what Simpson was seeking, but he hadn't expected the man to be quite so blatant. "Sharing inside information about horses for gambling purposes? Isn't that...illegal?" Sherlock asked doubtfully, biting his bottom lip, aware that Simpson was watching him closely.
Sherlock tipped his head, not quite certain if John was being serious, or merely taking the piss, the way so many others had. "You...do realize you're saying that aloud?"
He watched as James ripped off the outer paper and opened the box itself. As anticipated, James pulled out two, brightly wrapped items that were clearly identifiable as books, a dark blue card envelope, (birthday card) a red card envelope, (Christmas card), and a thick, cream-coloured stationery envelope labeled 'Open me first'. The gifts and cards were set to one side before James slit the cream-coloured envelope open, per the written instructions. It contained several, handwritten pieces of folded stationery (the ink had bled through to the back) revealing elegant, slanted handwriting. A teacher’s handwriting. Several photographs were apparently tucked inside, because they fell out when James unfolded the letter. James glanced at them, before likewise tucking them off to the side. James met Sherlock’s curious gaze for a brief moment before turning his attention to the handwritten pages.
. No mention of his conflict with Doctor Sterndale, no mention of him being hired by Ms. Ross as Doctor Sterndale's replacement. He'd have to ask then. "What about Ms. Ross's other vet, Doctor Sterndale? What are your impressions of him?"
"Yeah. Me too. We can keep it early. No problem. Would Monday work? I'm not getting back until late Sunday."
Sherlock rolled his eyes in frustration before tipping his face down so he could stare intently into John’s bright gaze. “Do. You. Ride. Again. Tonight?”
, Billy, and I still think you're smarter than me. You start talking about something, and I can just see your brain going at warp speed. Your voice changes a bit when you get distracted—it goes a bit British. I can almost imagine you spending hours reading books like 'The Secret Garden' and pretending you're Dickon the animal charmer, or Albert and his war horse, Joey. I've seen you working with Blaze—it's unbelievable, what you're able to do with him. Nobody else could be that clever. And then there's all these little tidbits you let slip about your family and your home. It makes me incredibly curious, because you're a puzzle and a walking contradiction, and by
John removed his cowboy hat and rubbed at the back of the neck, a flush darkening his cheeks and throat. "We could do a restaurant, if you really wanted to, but I'm er, kinda filthy. Plus, I don't smell that great," John said self-deprecatingly, gesturing at his muddy jeans. "There's a couple of good food trucks around here. How would you feel about grabbing something to go and then taking it to a park to eat? Or, if you don't mind a detour, we could swing by my place and I could do a quick rinse-off and we could go to dinner afterwards?"
"Hey Billy! Where are you? Alice and I are back with the wraps and the spare bucking straps," Edith's voice came, slightly echoey from the hallway. "Did you finish the feeding?"
John promptly aspirated his drink. Still coughing, John could only listen in horror as Sherlock. Kept. Talking.
come prepared." He set his medical kit down on the table with a thump, opened the lid and begin rooting around inside. Curious, Sherlock leaned forward to study the contents. Various medications and supplies were neatly arranged in trays. Smaller containers were neatly stacked in the bottom, each filled with packets of sterile needles, gauze, adhesive strips and swabs. There was an aerosol can of disinfectant, and another of some sort of topical analgesic. With a soft crow of victory, John pulled the sun cream free from its slot and passed it over.
"). He needed unrestricted access to the crime scene and he didn't need to be arrested (again) for "
"I'd...turned to swap out the curry comb for the body brush and that's when she kicked at me. I immediately shouted 'NO!' and smacked her with the handle of the brush."
In the middle of the street, a harried-looking squad of armed police officers, (three mounted and the rest on foot) were enforcing a barricade comprised of yellow police tape and orange traffic cones. Periodically, one of the counter-protesters would begin to approach the border, only to be ordered to back away by one of the cops. Sherlock rolled his eyes in contempt as he exchanged John's binoculars for his phone. The police barricade was a mere symbol of authority, nothing more, and he was highly skeptical of what the officers hoped to accomplish if the two sides did make a serious move towards each other. Even if the police did opt to deploy firearms against an unarmed civilian population, the Battle of Isandlwana had aptly demonstrated, 'superior' firepower was worthless if the disparity of the opposing force was large enough. Even by an extremely conservative estimate, the counter-protesters outnumbered the bigots by a good five to one.
"Are you implying I smell bad?" Sherlock asked archly, one dark eyebrow winging upward, purposely schooling his features to hide the unexpected, and surprisingly annoying surge of lust now surging through his disobedient transport.
"Give me a minute to catch my breath and then let me return the favor," Sherlock rumbled, deliberately banishing thoughts of Mycroft from his mind before they could impact his arousal and focusing on John instead.
The room was beige. Beige walls, beige carpeting, accented with a beige ceiling and beige lighting fixtures. It wasn’t a home, Sherlock decided, the way that Mrs. Hudson’s flat was her home. John’s flat--apartment, Sherlock corrected himself, was simply a place to sleep and perhaps store a few possessions that were too valuable for sentimental reasons to entrust to a storage unit. What furniture he could see was cheap, second hand mass-produced pine. The sort of thing one would pick up at a thrift store. The same as the curtains and kitchen dishes he’d seen thus far. Whatever John was doing with his money, it obviously wasn’t spent on his surroundings.
James smiled at that, but then looked down and his lap, his fingers fidgeting nervously under the fabric of the throw. “Maybe...but I still feel guilty that I didn’t stand up to her earlier to defend you—”
John shook his head. "Not really. Even though I'm discharged, my brain still hasn't adjusted back to a civilian sleep schedule." He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, before giving her a self-deprecating smile. "Rather handy for a vet, to be honest…but enough about me. You look upset and you obviously aren't here for casual conversation…is something wrong with one of your horses?"
John turned around, his intent to tell the medic to piss off readily apparent on his face when Mike Stamford walked in carrying an orange trauma bag in one hand. Sherlock could see Stamford taking in the entire situation at a glance before he stepped forward with a genial smile that creased his round face.
"Fear, aggression...panic," Sherlock relayed Lestrade's answer, watching John deftly fill the tool box with an assortment of wrapped syringes, tranquilizers and other medications.
"You mean the way some jockeys do by drinking vinegar, taking diuretics or herbal supplements, flushing their system by drinking excessive amounts of water or Lucozade? Or, better yet, employing the use of a Whizzinator or taping a vial of clean urine to the inside of their groin to keep it at body temperature before trying to pass it off as their own?" Sherlock asked. He recognized the reasoning behind Donovan's questions. They weren't stupid by any means; he'd already considered the same scenario himself. At Donovan's nod, Sherlock shrugged. "To answer your questions, the answers are highly unlikely, no, and possibly." At the dual expressions of confusion, Sherlock sniffed once before beginning to explain. "At competitions, samples are collected using a specially designated kit provided by the controlling authorities to prevent tampering. Each sample is assigned a unique number that does not allow the lab to identify the horse it came from. The paperwork identifying which number is assigned to which horse is kept separate and secured, making it impossible for a trainer or owner to tell the specimens apart or tamper with them even if they did somehow get access. Now, that is at the performance level. For a rural vet? Especially if he or she was in charge of both collection and interpretation of the results? Substitution of a contaminated sample for a clean one would be child's play."
"Oh, the Cape buffalo, easily," Sterndale replied, his voice taking on the tone of an enthusiast. "There is a reason why they are called 'Black Death'. They are extremely aggressive, even compared to the average rodeo bull. They are also much, much bigger. A fully-grown Cape buffalo bull can weigh upwards to nine hundred kilograms, compared the average rodeo bull, which might weigh around eight hundred kilograms, at the largest."
"Don't be stupid, John," Sherlock huffed, too intent on keeping his grip on Scotty's halter to bother censoring himself. "It's perfectly obvious. If it was a simple nosebleed, there would be blood coming from one nostril, not both. Bleeding from both nostrils is one of the classic symptoms of an EIPH. His blood pressure must have been fantastically high to produce such an response."
"You've hardly touched your lemonade. Too sour? Wanna trade?" John asked around the straw in his mouth.
Pulling out his mobile, Sherlock took multiple shots of the stall itself for evidence, before settling down to perform a closer, visual examination. He focused his attention on the boards of the stall door first. It was the most obvious point for sabotage, being the side that faced the barn's aisle.
"Ah, weekend, please," John replied after a quick glance at Sherlock and receiving a firm nod in return.
Sherlock looked over. Edith had her hands full with a mare that was throwing her head up in agitation. It was clear from the mare's wide eyes that she was about two seconds from bolting. Sherlock didn't wait for Alice to reopen the gate, he just vaulted over the metal fence and hurried back to the trailers to help.
," Sherlock read aloud, his gaze flicking back to Molly's profile. "Interesting choice in light reading for a lady ranch hand. Are they actually yours?" His tone was deliberately skeptical, designed to provoke Molly into correcting him.
Sterndale reached up and ran his left hand—the one that wasn't holding the mug—over his mouth before dropping it back at his side. "Two reasons," he began, and then paused for a long moment. "One was, as was previously mentioned—his attempt to gain inside information about bulls that he could use when placing his bets. Quite unethical of him."
Lestrade, it read. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he mentally cross-referenced the name, insignia and what he could observe against the list of names and information Mycroft had supplied him with.
Donovan had mentioned the cowhand in passing as someone who was at the scene around the time Straker was probably killed. Sherlock had initially agreed with her assessment of an intoxicated cowhand being a poor witness, but the reason Ned Hunter had given for not drinking Jim Beam was making him rethink things. Hunter’s claims that he never drank Jim Beam because gave him diarrhoea wasn’t something that had made it into the police report, but the detail, as small and personal as it was, added a bit of credence to Hunter’s claims that he’d been set up to take the fall for something or someone else.
With an angry jerk, he reached down and pulled the dark purple, crocheted afghan Mrs. Hudson had tucked around his feet earlier up and over his shoulders for warmth as he hunched deeper into the sofa's cushions. The flat was chilly, despite the fact that Mrs. Hudson had lit a fire in the grate. She’d also plied him with hot tea and fresh scones earlier in a futile effort to jolly him out of his current sulk. Outside, the rain was pissing down in a steady drizzle punctuated with the occasional, window-rattling gust, much to the misery of the city's pedestrians and countless tourists.
Taking his umbrella by the handle, Mycroft swung the tip up in a jaunty arc to rest the pole against his left shoulder. He left the unlocked attaché case on the floor at his feet. "I'll leave the rest for you, shall I?" Mycroft drawled, making his way to the door at the same sedate pace he'd used when he'd first entered Sherlock's flat. "I would stay longer, but I do have other duties I need to attend to. Please do give my regards to Mrs. Hudson. Good morning."
"Yeah?" John growled, breathing hard, "well turnabout is fair play. I've been fantasizing about your mouth for
The clamor of barking dogs, sharp whistles and the ringing tone of metal gates being slammed shut increased as they approached. Coils of rope, buckets, thick power cables and hoses crisscrossed the ground, presenting innumerable potential tripping hazards. Sherlock spent a moment studying the different logos and brands stamping of the assortment of transport trailers parked nearby. Several of the names were familiar; parties that Candii Ross mentioned she considered rivals, but his focus was quickly disrupted by the booming voice that greeted them.
"Are you trying to butter me up, or are you honestly curious?" Lestrade demanded suddenly, causing Sherlock to blink in surprise and mentally revise his private estimation of the police captain's intelligence upward again. People seldom called him on his playacting, assuming they were intelligent enough to recognize it in the first place, Mrs. Hudson being the exception.
“Smartass,” John grumbled, but there was no real heat behind it. He donned his hat. Scrubbing both hands over his face John blew out a troubled breath. “Right...so...yeah. Cattle-like horses-are herd animals-”
"These are shotgun style chaps made out of buckskin—not so popular around here since most riders prefer the durability of cow or bison leather and the flash of fringe and ornamentation," the man explained. "Plus they're a one-of-a-kind item; a guy commissioned them last year as a gift—put the deposit down and everything, but he never came back to pick them up. They've been sitting around taking up space for months because nobody else wants to buy them. If they fit and you want them, I'll give you a discount."
Molly shrugged dismissively. "Well I'm glad you agreed to take a break and come explore with me like you promised, at least. It's nice, having somebody to chat with."
"No problem. I'll see you then," John agreed. Sherlock could hear the relief in his voice. "Oh," John added abruptly, before Sherlock could hang up. "Let me give you my cell number in case something comes up and you need to call me. Do you have a pen handy?"
"Ignore him," Donovan ordered, giving Brenda an encouraging smile. "Do you recall who uploaded the clip to EquestriaGurlz? And why?"
"Christ no! That's not it at all!" John looked horrified at Sherlock's question, easily taking the bait.
"Do hangups happen often?" Sherlock asked, casting back through his mind for anything relevant in the research he’d done.
John groaned. “Billy, the chances of us finding an affordable room to rent nearby are slim to none.”
"—ll are you? I know it's late, but this's an emergency. We need you at the fairgrounds, STAT. Will you come?"
"If you don't mind," Sherlock replied, forcing himself to add a smile he didn't feel. "I'm thinking about taking a shower since you mentioned it...clean up a bit and all."
"Hardly," Sherlock said with a shrug as he pulled the seatbelt across his chest and fastened it, his eyes noting John's muddy jeans and the dried sweat stains on the neckline of the tee-shirt John wore underneath his chambray overshirt. John had recently applied cologne—likely in a bid to make himself smell more presentable—but the spicy, artificial scent did little to disguise the tang of sweat, dust and worse that permeated the close air of the Humvee's cabin.
"What's wrong? Where are you going?" Sherlock demanded, dropping a hanger so he could push the curtain aside enough to stick his head out.
"If you're discussing decapitation, I have a few candidates I'd volunteer," Kate chimed in, still typing.
Sherlock frowned in hurt puzzlement as he watched John exchange a few terse words with the burly shopkeeper before stalking away. What had set John off? John wanted to win; he knew John could use the money to pay down his debts. He'd thought he was being helpful by suggesting what foods would provide the best nutritional benefits, but the way John was reacting made it clear that his perfectly logical suggestions had not been appreciated. He knew John admired his genius; John had said so repeatedly, so where had he gone wrong?
"Sherlock, what is this bloody mess about?" Mrs. Hudson demanded, eyes watering at the concentrated stench filling the kitchen. Giving up, she fished a perfumed hanky from her dress pocket and clamped it over her nose and mouth.
Sherlock looked up from the small tarp he was shaking out to see Candii Ross approaching from the direction of the main barns. She had one hand tucked into a pocket, while her other hand slowly tapped the clipboard she was carrying against her thigh as she walked. When she was close enough, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, attempting to read text on the papers, but gave up after a moment. The words were too small to make out, but based on the spacing and colour of the paper itself, it was almost certainly some sort of calendar or rotation schedule. Irrelevant. Bonnie, meanwhile, rose from her spot in the shade and wandered over to greet her mistress, plumed tail wagging.
"Oh, I don't know," the rodeo clown yelled sarcastically, moving even further back, the dog still trapped in his hat. "Maybe it's because nothing quite motivates you like almost two tons of angry bull charging at you?"
"Dick," John grumbled. Despite the words, there was no real ire in John's voice, just a sense of resigned acceptance. "Well, in that case, you can carry my medkit too," John ordered, tossing the red nylon over-the-shoulder bag in Sherlock's direction before hoisting the military rucksack on his own back.
"OHJESUSFUCKINGCHRIST!" John howled as Sherlock firmly pressed his fingertips against the nub of tissue while simultaneously swallowing around John's cock and taking it to the root. John's hips bucked violently and it was all Sherlock could do not to slam his nose against John's pubic bone. He pulled back slightly but didn't release his prize. Instead, he continued to rub his tongue against the bottom of John's shaft, gentling him through the aftershocks until a grunt of complaint and an uncoordinated hand wave indicated that John had had enough.
"You're shameless," Sherlock halfheartedly scolded as the collie nosed his hand. She barked again before bounding forward, her magnificently plumed tail waving in the wind. Sherlock could see pieces of straw caught in her fur; they'd need to be brushed out later, lest they contaminate his bed.
John sighed. "Because being a size too big means that if something happens and I get caught up in a stirrup, or something, my boot will come off so I don’t end up being dragged around the arena."
Unfortunately, there were plenty of other damning files on John's computer, starting with the spreadsheet tracking the names, breeders, and owners of multiple high-ranking bulls.
"John, please!" Sherlock begged, breathing hard, his transport already producing endorphins in response to his archived memories of just how unbelievably
There weren’t individual, printed programs available, but the multi-directional, overhead signage was helpfully displaying the event’s schedule on a scrolling display: Bareback Riding, followed by Steer Wrestling, Team Roping, Saddle Bronc, Tie-Down Roping, Barrel Racing, and concluding with Bull Riding. The larger screens below were slowly cycling through pages listing each division’s entrants. There were only ten slots per event. Sherlock had been puzzled by the relative smallness of each division compared to the number of athletes he’d seen in the infirmary, but a quick search on his phone had provided an explanation.
"Why do you ask?" Sherlock returned, caught off guard both by John's question and the abrupt halt to their grueling march.
"Yeah. Okay," John agreed, his shoulders relaxing. "We'll do that, then. So..uh...what sounds good?"
been shot somewhere else. "Am I supposed to believe that bull-riding was a previously-sedate pastime?"
“Hmmmmm,” Sherlock rumbled, tilting his throat back to grant John better access, struggling to toe off his boots as he did so. His awkward sprawl on the bed made it difficult to do so, but he eventually managed. Boots were followed quickly by socks, making him grateful for his tenancy to practice picking up things with his toes. “You are entirely overdressed,” Sherlock complained suddenly, desperate to touch without the barrier of fabric between their skin. Deft fingers reached up and began unbuttoning John’s plaid button-down. The fabric parted with a whisper, revealing smooth skin and sculpted muscles. With a groan, Sherlock smoothed his palms greedily over the bared flesh, causing John to huff in ticklish bemusement.
Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock began mentally replaying Brenda's question against the reports and photos he'd already studied. He'd pointed out the broken tie rope and the defensive wounds the mare had sustained to Donovan, as well as voicing his suspicions that something had frightened or angered Cream Soda. While unlikely, it was possible that the mare was simply extremely barn-sour (he'd have to inquire). He knew from his Work that some equines panicked whenever they were placed in a strange stall, but it would be an unusual behavioral issue for a horse that traveled extensively. In light of the negative rabies test and the lack of abuse evidence, drugs or poison were the most likely explanation for Cream Soda's behavior, but what if there was more to it than that?
"Because Straker had a flair for spotting sleepers—ordinary bulls with the potential to become rankers. It was downright uncanny how he managed to horn in on the biggest upsets of a season."
“I'm going to need that, so please don't take it with you,” Molly said quietly, though she did nothing to stop him and she wouldn't stop him even if he actually did take it.
“Brilliant,” Sherlock breathed, then coughed because of the upset dust and rust particles, and when he inhaled a dull, putrid smell assaulted his olfactory senses. He could tell apart the remains of hydrogen sulphide and methane in the air, typical of biotic decomposition gases. The identification of good and bad smells was a socio-cultural product, and Sherlock had never learned any product of societal or cultural effect particularly well. He thought of chemicals first.
But because of this single expression Sherlock was ready to crumple into bed and let John have his way about sleeping if nothing else. His head wasn't buzzing as loudly. If his brain was a beehive then most of the bees were asleep and he could hear the individuals dancing up information. Peaceful. Enlightening.
“What do you want,” Sherlock inquired with all due disinterest. Mycroft had been looking at the manuscript.
On their way back to the laboratory that had jump-started their day earlier John leaned closer to Sherlock and said: “You were right.”
the difference between right and wrong are selected by a group and thus vary across several groups. That means there are no moral absolutes and that moral absolutism as a stance is irrational and irrelevant. At best the morality of an act is dependent on the consequences of said act.”
“…It wasn't interesting enough,” he said and Molly's disappointment rose to palpable levels. No shock, just utter disappointment.
“One and a half?” Sherlock said, to which John snorted and made sure the nicotine patches were still in his pocket and not stolen by Sherlock.
She chuckled a little, closing her eyes for a bit. “Yes, it is. From my own plantation.” She put her cup down carefully on its saucer. “But let's forget the pleasantries, shall we, Sherlock? I feel as though I know you already. After all, I spoke to you at length this morning.”
“Interrogation, risk assessment, where else?” Sherlock replied. “However, a more appropriate question would be 'why,' John.”
“John,” Sherlock said, not having really listened. There were people behind them, watching. Sherlock stepped away from the stove and struck a pose. “Pull the stove out,” he commanded.
“Hey. Hey…” John quickly put his cup aside and snatched Sherlock's away before he spilt it. Then he placed his hands on the sides of Sherlock's face and held him in orbit.
“John, you are a free man, you can work that case on your own instead of trying to force it down my throat. In fact, why don't you ring the Metropolitan police to look into it?”
“This is ridiculous. You'll never solve the case without me, not with the logic-impaired people you have on it!”
“Ascariasis if dog feces has gotten into the water,” he heard John say, though very faintly. The hoard walls were very good sound barriers. After that Sherlock heard nothing from John, just the shifting, sliding, skittering, scratching, scraping of the barriers enclosing him.
“Guess I don't.” John shrugged a little and let his hand fall away from Sherlock's face. Sherlock felt ambivalent about this. On one hand he didn't like his face being touched, on the other... John.
“I solved it. I don't have to be involved in the aftermath. Or did you want me to officially diagnose her as well?” Sherlock pouted. He'd really wanted it to be more. He'd wanted ghosts or demons or even aliens. Or anything | [
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“I think it may be best if we return to the Inn. I’m not sure there is much more we can do right now,” The Doctor suggested quietly and Castiel looked at the footprints as they went off deeper into the forest.
The girl fixed her eyes on Sam as he approached her. She seemed to stand a little taller without the gun in her face, “Look, I’m not interested in being friends and I have no way to help you out of the stupid ass mess you’ve gotten yourselves into, but if you give me my gun back, I won’t tell anyone about you and I won’t come back for your stuff until you’ve turned or left or whatever, ok?”
As the exited the gate, Castiel used crushing prison to push the lever back down and the gate urged to a halt before shifting back down. Behind them, they could see spiders coming out of the shadows on the dock, hissing and shooting venom, but it was barely enough to reach the gate. Dean and Cas rowed quietly, trying not to disturb the water too much worrying it might bring attention to them. The tower gave a large shadow, hiding them from the moonlight, and they rowed to stay in it, just in case someone looked out the window. The boat was easily big enough to see, even from the top floor.
From the stories at work, he also learned how brave the man was. Cas, being fae, could fly and shrink himself which as a fireman became incredibly useful. He could easily get himself into places others couldn't, his added strength made it easy for him to bust doors down when needed to and his auras could sooth victims who were going into shock. The more Dean learned about him, the more impressed he was with him. His angel was not only drop dead gorgeous, but selfless, loyal, smart as hell, interesting and courageous. Needless to say, it was driving Dean crazy that he couldn't see him more and even more crazy that when he did see him he couldn't kiss him.
“Yup...freaking old.” The two grinned at each other and Kevin continued, “Anyway, what I meant to say is that...you could keep in touch sometimes you know? We could talk and stuff. Maybe I could kick your ass at online chess?”
Dean had to admit, he'd turned his head at a lot of things, nothing too horrible, his brothers hadn't done half the things this guy was claiming templars did, but people like Gordon, he wouldn't put anything passed Gordon. “We aren't all like that and mages are dangerous and susceptible to demonic influence, maybe things aren't done right by everyone, maybe rules get abused, but it doesn't mean we aren't necessary. Mages need templars to keep them safe and circles to be educated. I may not agree with how it's done, but no where in the world has it right. Changes need to happen, just getting rid of the templars and hoping things work out for the best is not the right answer.”
The group went back to the Inn and crowded into Ben and Kevin’s room. As they looked at him expectantly, Kevin felt a nervous, unsettling wave crash and thunder through him. He had no idea how his friends would react when they heard about the bugs. Would they understand why he did what he did? Even if they didn't, he believed that they would want to help. After all, they had been actively trying to help stop Naomi since she first arrived. Even though he probably shouldn't, he trusted them. He was inspired by them, and he knew that with whatever Naomi was preparing next, they were going to need to work together if they wanted to help this community. It was time to include them in his investigation.
On the way down they chatted about random things, nothing too personal, mostly things like sports and current events, but it made the time fly by and soon they had reached the bottom. They got their bikes and headed back into town. When they got towards the bridges that lead over the river Sam slowed to a stop, “This is my turn, but if you want I can-”
“How about Pictionary?” Jack suggested, and Claire’s eyes lit up, “Yes, definitely! I bet you can only draw stick figures!”
“Oh yes, that's why,” Balthazar mused as he went upstairs. Castiel watched him go and couldn't help but think about how Anna would have been first. He had tried to convince her to stay for her harrowing, but she wouldn't have it. She said it would be easier to slip out beforehand while the tower was busy preparing for the ceremony. She wasn't wrong, but at least if she had done it she could have been a little safer: a little more prepared. She could have even waited until she was invited to a talk at another circle and let herself get 'lost' on the way there. There could have been a million other things she could have done, but she was so impatient. He missed her.
Benny was panicked, exhausted, and desperate. He seemed to be falling apart one step at a time as he paced around the room trying to figure out a plan. Dean longed to help him or at least take some of the weight off his shoulders, but this was Benny’s wife, and these were his people; Dean knew there was nothing he could do or say at this point that would help, so he waited quietly, like everyone else, ready to follow Benny into hell if need be.
“You have to understand, your education here is important. Being a mage isn't all throwing fireballs around, you are in danger at all times...you of all people should know how easy it can be to be susceptible to demons. We can teach you control, we can help you so that you never hurt anyone again, but you have to let us. You can't keep sneaking out like this. As you are now Sam, you are a danger to yourself and others, you must understand that.”
Generation after generation, the stories were passed down until they seemed like silly bedtime fairy tales for children, designed to make the new generation take care of their planet properly. Not that those sorts of stories were necessary, after all, their entire culture was now deeply embedded in the love of the trees.
“It feels like so long since I could just sit down and play,” Cas hummed with a smile, “I think the last time I played was against your brother.”
Kevin chewed at his lip, “My mom…went down on a run a few months after we joined up with Benny. She was a crazy fighter…super resourceful and brave. She threw herself head first into anything, no fear. Benny’s a good guy…without him and the others, I would have fallen apart…I still feel like falling apart sometimes.”
Cas opened the door to find Dean alone, his face, red from the cold, was barely sticking out from behind his scarf.
begin taking turns getting some sleep, tomorrow is going to be trying.” Cas said and Dean shrugged, “Go ahead, I'll keep watch.”
“Probably not for an hour or so. It's hard to tell now that we are all on different schedules. If you want, I can give him the message.”
“Och, Doctor, now what’ve you done?” Kevin looked over to see Jamie’s finger caught in the decoration while the Doctor fiddled with the ribbons trying to free him, “Now, don’t fuss Jamie, we just have to take this part out and-“
As the sunrise poured its first pale light into his room, Dean's phone's alarm shrieked to life and began to scream incessantly. Dean flinched awake like usual, groggily grabbing at his cell phone to turn the alarm off. After a minute of quiet, he managed to rub his eyes open and look around the bed for Cas. A small smile spread on his face, “Aw baby, did you fall off the bed again?” He pulled himself up enough to crawl over to the other side and just as he did, his hand slipped slightly on a crumpled piece of paper. “What the...” He picked it up and looked it over before turning it around and finding a short note written in a brutal, sloppy hand.
Kevin looked at Sam in confusion for a minute, but seeing the pain in Sam's eyes, he knew Sam needed a distraction, “Well, like I said my mom is a fighter. When the templars came to take me, she was going to take them all on. She would have killed a few and probably gotten herself killed if I didn't surrender myself.”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, nearly to tears with relief. They went through their other classmates and only one had failed by the time it was Kevin's turn, but just knowing one of the girls they had grown up with had died in that room was enough to put everyone on edge. The time was crawling by and the air seemed to smell of death and hopelessness. When he heard Kevin's name, Sam wanted to take him out of there and run away. He wanted to kill every templar in the room and empty the circle.
“Nothing fancy today,” Dean said tightening his grip in Cas's hair, giving it a slight tug that made Cas moan before he was pushing their mouths together again; their teeth crashed painfully, but they quickly got to soothing one another with their tongues.
The group watched as the Doctor inspected them with a small magnifying lens from his endless seeming pockets, “Ah yes, these will be perfect, I think.”
When they finished unloading the last box Dean looked towards The Chantry, “Well, I better go see my brothers. Take care of the guys while I'm gone ok?”
It seemed like they had waited for hours, but it couldn’t have been that long before Dean and John returned. “Well?” Jamie asked.
Dean knocked and waited, but he didn't hear anyone inside. He tried knocking again, but nothing. His hands started to feel a bit cold and he could feel the need coming on. It's just the stress, he reminded himself, but knowing that he was lying to himself made the words ring hallow.
Mary thought quietly for a moment, “Alright, we’ll do this like we do everything, we’ll take a vote. This decision could save us or kill us and we all have a right to voice our opinions. Right now, if I’m being honest, we don’t have many options. The other communities aren’t sending help. We could try to contact them again, but even if they did come, there isn’t much they can do outside of shuttle us out of here. It would take days for them to shuttle everyone off to other communities and for every group that left, we would still have to fight our way out to the landing platform. We could lose a lot of people that way, we would probably all be scattered throughout the different communities, and ultimately the problem still wouldn’t be solved. If we follow the Doctor’s plan, it will still be dangerous and people could get killed, but we would have a chance to not only survive this, but to retake our home and save our trees from whatever horrible poison Anna has subjected them to. My recommendation is that we give the Doctor’s plan a chance and if that fails, we rely on the other communities to come for us.”
Cas hummed in thanks for the warning and backed off to take only the head in his mouth as he continued to suck and rub his length to the movement of his fingers still penetrating deep in Dean's hole. With a broken shout from Dean, the flavor of vanilla coke was quickly joined with the rush of cum that filled his mouth. Cas continued to suck and rub until no more came out, then he swallowed and licked Dean clean the best he could before slowly removing his fingers from him. Dean pulled Cas up to lay beside him, curling his arms around him and bringing them tight against each other. “That was fucking awesome...you....are fucking awesome.” Cas laughed as Dean moved in for a kiss. Dean let his tongue move against Cas's in an almost tender, lingering movement before he pulled away. “Vanilla coke.” Cas laughed again and pulled Dean into another kiss.
Together they managed to lift the debris enough to get a look underneath. Dean felt his heart stop as he looked at the broken body of Jessica Moore. “Dean? Is she alive?” Meg asked, taking on more of the rubble so Dean could get closer to her. He put his fingers to her bloody neck and waited, praying to feel something.
“You ok?” Sam asked as he rolled his hips, trembling with the need to move as he fingered Brady's hip bones tightly, getting a good hold.
“Possibly…you never know. Either way, perhaps we can change to something a little more family friendly?”
“Take a look to your right and you will be able to see the machines themselves.” Anna gestured towards some windows on the right that looked into the center of the building. It was full of massive machines that Kevin didn’t really understand, but the size alone was staggering. He took a couple pictures and continued to move with the group.
They traveled down towards the first floor. The mages couldn't be seen sneaking around with weapons after curfew, they would instantly be apprehended, so they moved slowly, listening for guards in each section of each floor of the tower. Dean walked ahead of them and signaled them when he saw a templar coming from the front and Kevin kept a close watch behind them, but it wasn't enough to make any of them actually feel comfortable.
In the end, it was beautiful. A makeshift wall surrounded with spikes and traps that sealed off the road starting at the hills and leading to the river. Lewiston’s 30,000 people may not all end up going north, but at least this would deter the stragglers from using this old dirt road.
“Thanks, Castiel. You won’t regret it,” Sam said with a wide smile, but Castiel still couldn’t return it. “Should we still go get the Impala? We have all kinds of supplies. Food, water filters, and tons of weapons, just in case.”
“You can try all you want, but Dean's generally averse to anything good for him when it comes to food and beverages,” Sam said with a shrug.
A few more drinks in and they were so drunk that Ash had his arm around Dean and was trying to get him and Benny to kiss. “No, but, I made this happen, I should get to see. You guys were after each other for years dude, and I had to watch all the endless flirting, I should get to see this.”
“Ah, my feet feel better already,” The Doctor announced as he slipped further into the water until only his head was visible above it.
Sam's heart twinged with a quiet ache at seeing the plant, “Thanks Brady.” His voice was a bit more breathless than he intended as he took the plant.
Cas smiled and watched Sam take his turn, “Yes, it felt like a big deal. Though, it was when Dean was recovering from his lyrium withdrawals, so things were confusing. I'm not sure either of us really knew what we were doing or saying at that point.”
“Lately, all I can think of is how broken Michael was after what happened to Lucifer. I heard he was trying to make them turn him tranquil.” Sam shuddered at the thought and curled his legs over Kevin's pulling him closer.
The higher he went the harder it seemed to be for branches to follow, but the shuttle wasn't built for high altitudes. Ash balanced the difference, leaving the plane shaky, but mostly safe from the branches' assault.
Several walkers were closing in on her. Dean knew he had to be quick, he took a slow breath and lined the first one up, and with incredible speed knocked down three, one after the other.
Benny thought for a minute, a small smile forming on his lips, “We make a trade. You said you can help Kevin, so take him home with you. As collateral, and as a way to make up for the people you killed, one of you stays here. For the one that stays, you work off your debt and help us deal with the herd, and then when the other brings Kevin home, a picture of good health, you go home. By then, we’ll have gotten to know each other, seen what you had to offer as far as medicine and manpower go, and we’ll get to see whether or not your word means jack shit.”
“Most people who don't eat meat for a long period of time and then suddenly have it again, tend to get sick,” Cas explained and Dean flushed.
“Keep it in for a while.” Dean said quietly and Cas nodded, collapsing on his chest. “You been practicing Cas?” Dean teased as he ran his fingertips up and down Cas's sweat stained back.
“Yeah,” Sam replied quietly with a light chuckle, as if even across the room his voice would only reach Kevin. Kevin felt his cheeks burn a bit, he wanted to continue the conversation, but he had no idea what to say, and just like that his window of opportunity was over and Sam took the plates into the kitchen.
“She cannae actually think people will agree with her, can she?” Jamie asked the Doctor and the Doctor closed his eyes in thought before responding, “She truly believes that what she is saying is right and her community obviously supports her, so she has no reason not to believe that others can be swayed.”
“Yeah, I'll write him tomorrow. I'll just make it sound like I'm taking one of my vacation days or something, tell him to pick my lazy ass up.”
'This staff was made by our armorer, it's made of stormheart and silverite. That's a ruby at the end and the handle is imperial vestement cotton lined with great bear fur. It should serve you well, I waited on having Sam's made because you said he was tall and I didn't want it to be too short for him. I'll get a good size of him when he's here and send you a finished one for him. If he has any specific preferences color wise or material wise, let me know ok?'
Sam looked up at him with eyes heavily shadowed from a lack of sleep. He shrugged weakly and looked back at his food. Dean didn't want to get into a chick flick moment, hell he would do anything to avoid one, but his brother clearly needed him, which meant it was time to man up take one for the team.
“If you’d like, I can escort the young lady, I was planning on catching up with my friends anyway,” The Doctor offered flattening his rumpled jacket in the front.
“Honest? You want fucking honest? How about stay the fuck away from me? You don’t know shit about me. You think we had something just because we banged a few times? You were nothing but a warm body to me. That’s it.”
“Sam, they will be fine, and they'll understand. This is where mages belong, your family wouldn't be safe if you went back untrained.”
“Let's just, try to keep our heads down, ok? Once we pass our harrowing things will be better. We'll have more rights then.” Cas remained silent and stared at the ground as if tempted to set it on fire. Sam assumed that was as close to an agreement as he was going to get.
Blood dripped from Dean's mouth and his head was spinning as he tried to get up, but she used wrath of heaven to stun him and keep him on the ground. When she saw him helplessly laying there she clapped her hands together and laughed, “Aw, Dean, where are your little mage friends? Not here to help you?” She skipped over to him and gave him another hard kick, laughing as he rolled over gasping. Another kick, then another, next one to the face.
Sam gave a sad smile, “Yeah, it can be a bit, much. It has to be done, but…” They both let the conversation trail off and shared a comfortable silence of shared understanding. Sam put the last piece of his gear into the cloth bag and Kevin began to grow eager for something to say.
“I will, I will,” Sam said laughing and hugged his brother before heading towards the frat house with the sound of the Impala roaring behind him as Dean left. All at once different people were introducing themselves; everyone seemed to be as excited as he was and rambling about a variety of topics ranging from keggars to philosophy. Out of the group, one man with dirty blonde hair and stormy gray blue eyes walked up to him with a particularly relaxed smile as he offered his hand.
Sam laughed, “I know, I wouldn't bail on you.” Sam took a quiet breath looking at his toast, “You really think it's gonna be that good?”
“Ah, alright, well, I’ll just finish my numbers up and then we can go.” Kevin grinned and turned away before he could say anything embarrassing. He realized that that moment, that up until then he hadn’t taken a breath and couldn’t help but laugh a bit to himself.
“The snow has been pretty heavy, it must have been difficult to get here, which direction did you come from?” Castiel asked and the three looked at one another as if silently communicating.
After around 15 minutes, Anna called the whole house down for eggs, ketchup, and watered-down orange juice. It was a madhouse in the morning and the dinning table was crowded with everyone elbow to elbow, but it was awesome. They really were all so happy, and somehow Dean had found himself actually a part of it.
“You don’t have to. I want to. I’ll sleep better knowing you and the others are safe. Besides, I wouldn’t know shit about how to help the kid. Killing Zombies, going on runs, drinking beers with the big burly mountain man? I can do that.”
“Dean, I know Mary raised you and Sam outside of the life, but losing them, this world lost two great hunters and as it stands now, without them and without you and Sam, one of the most prominent hunting lines is over for good. I knew your other grandfather you know, Henry Winchester. We didn't always see eye to eye, but he was a damn good hunter, your daddy too. They both wanted you to carry on the Winchester line. Mary was...too optimistic for her own good. Always wanted to see the best in this world, to think that someday hunters wouldn’t be necessary, but that is naive. It's like dreaming of a world where we don't need police. People need to be kept in line, and supernatural beings even more so. I know you must think they are just misunderstood, but Dean they are nothing but animals. That fairy your with, he may look almost human, but he's not. The fae get in your head Dean, they control your emotions and your physical chemistry. With hardly any effort they can tear you apart from the inside out, make you believe what they want, make you feel what they want. They are manipulative. How do you even know that anything you feel for that boy is genuine? How many times has he got his magic in your head, numbing the pain of unfortunate situations or mistakes to make them seem not so bad, or maybe made your heart quicken when you were alone to make you think he hung the damn moon. It's not real, son. I know it feels like it, but it's not. I'm your family Dean, without your parents, me, your cousins here, we're all you and Sam got left, and I'm trying to protect you, trying to help you see what's best for you.”
The people saw their trees as a blessed gift from the gods, a miracle that had given them exactly what they needed when they needed it. From then on, they treasured the Androzani, took care of them, and lived amongst them.
Kevin continued eating and glanced up at Sam. Sam was talking with Dean and Jo, obviously trying to embarrass Dean by the way Dean was glaring at him. Kevin had never eaten a big ‘family’ meal like this. The biggest group he’d ever eaten with was his work colleagues. Every year they would have a party around New Years to celebrate their work, or boost morale, or something, Kevin wasn’t really sure what the point was, especially since most of them were competitors rather than friends. The company was full of cut throat people wanting to get ahead; they would steal stories from each other, sabotage one another, and fight for raises and promotions. But this was nice and comfortable.
“We saw you guys in the area, so we thought we’d come say hi,” Dean offered with a well-practiced polite, yet slightly threatening smile, the kind he used when he went to collect debts.
Sam nodded looking around the room, his eyes stopping on Kevin’s for a moment creating a cessation in Kevin’s heart, but Sam quickly looked away and seemed to shrink into himself, almost as if he were ashamed. Kevin watched him a moment longer out of curiosity, but his attention was soon called elsewhere as Mary and John went into the center of the room.
“Oh fuck yes it sounds acceptable. Give me that beautiful cock.” Cas positioned himself halfway over the head of the bed and guided his dick into Dean's open mouth. He moved slow at first and let Dean's throat relax. At first Dean gagged a bit, chocking for air around Cas's length and his eyes started to water, but after a few slow thrusts he went lax. Cas was careful never to go too far or too hard, but he moved in quick little bursts, feeling the hot wet tight warmth of Dean's mouth and the slickness of his tongue with every push and pull. He glanced down and saw Dean's eyes blurry with pleasure. Cas arched a bit, his wings trembling behind him as he fucked into Dean. When he felt his orgasm nearing, he pulled off, panting. Dean watched Cas compose himself which only made Dean even more painfully hard, he could barely register how loose his jaw felt or the drool on his chin, everything was just Cas.
“I don’t think so…no. Even if they did, my family wouldn’t care, and they won’t say anything…you don’t have to worry about it…”
“It's not that easy Cas, most people who try to stop go mad or they die. You saw how bad I was last night and that was just from a day without.”
“Ugh I could not eat another bite. Someone is going to have to carry me upstairs as it is,” Polly teased and Ben laughed, “Don’t look at me, I’m just gonna sleep down here.”
“On your back. I want to look at you while I fuck you, because this isn't like what happens so often here, this is about love.” Dean's face felt on fire as Cas ran a wet fingertip along his jaw, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. Cas guided Dean to the bed and moved over him.
After a moment of breathless kisses and desperate moans, Kevin got more confident and finally let his hand move up to Sam’s hair, gripping the thin silky strands gently. Sam gasped as Kevin tugged lightly and then came back even more fiercely into the kiss, biting playfully at Kevin’s lips. Kevin felt all of his blood and heat melt to his cock; he longed for everything he could get, whatever Sam wanted, he’d give it. He was nearly in position to move into Sam’s lap when Sam broke the kiss, and pulled away, taking several deep breaths. Kevin looked at him and knew instantly something was wrong.
On weekends, Dean would visit the Hideaway to see Cas, though most of the time Gabriel wasn't letting him slack off like he did the first night Dean visited. Particularly through their texting, he learned a lot about Cas. He learned that the man loved to read, not as much as Sam with his ignoring people to read thing, but he did love it. He wanted to go to school for art and music, but didn't have the time or money so it never happened. Cas had become so good at repairs because they didn't have the money to get things fixed most of the time, so he got use to researching how to fix things and doing it himself.
Kevin's grinned, “No see, that's what I'm going to have you doing, since you're going to be running as my vice president. You give them the puppy dog eyes and they'll be putty in my hand. I'll revolutionize this whole damn country and no one will even notice. Whole new health care system, brand new education system, socialism everywhere and all anyone will be talking about is how cute the vice president's efforts in puppy-adoption are.”
Sam waited for Dean to say something, but when he didn’t, Sam gave a quiet, “Thanks for telling us, we’re here to help, so, if you need anything…just ask.” Castiel gave nodded in response.
After a few quiet kisses, Dean moved his forehead against Cas's and rested against him, leaning into the embrace, “He's going to tell the other templars what happened when he gets free.”
“What that….JACK?! CAS?!” Dean shouted, stomping through the field. There were so many unrecognizable faces, he glanced them over one after another, until it was a blur. Somewhere behind him, he heard Sam shouting, but he couldn’t turn around until he heard one word so filled with joy, love, and relief that sliced through his building fear and stopped him in his tracks: “EILEEN!” Behind him, among the hundreds of figures stumbling to their feet, was Sam swooping up his beloved in his arms.
“Homemade, they still make noise, but not the kind that’ll echo through the hills at least,” Jody answered as she and Donna got their guns ready.
After the house got quiet Cas opened the blankets of his bed and Dean slipped in with him. They huddled tightly together, radiating heat. In the morning, before they went down for breakfast Cas pulled out a small box, messily wrapped in red paper and Dean pulled out an equally poorly wrapped gift for Cas.
“I wish I could show you, mom. You’d love this place.” Suddenly there was a gentle knock on the door and Kevin looked up.
Dean listened for a minute, then nodded, chuckling a bit, “Yup. Well at least the kid has taste, I guess.” Dean whispered with a shrug before moving forward. They went to the back of the cabin and the music got louder, but still, they couldn’t see anyone inside due to the fogged-up windows.
Sam practically beamed, “Great! Here. Go put it on and I’ll get you all geared up, you won’t really need the weapons, but you never know what’ll happen and it’s better to be prepared right?”
Benny stayed in the lodge with Andrea, never straying far from her side while the others went out on runs and to check for any stray walkers that had gotten through before the barrier was up. Dean went out with them during the day since the group was short on numbers with Oskar and Meg injured as well. He was glad he could help, though he missed going out with Benny.
“Cover me?” Dean asked Sam, motioning to his fishing rod. Sam nodded, and Dean got up to follow her into the boat.
Kevin watched the open vent shaft expecting a gun to poke through any minute and slaughter them all. His entire body grew tense as he waited, exhausted and trembling from nerves. Outside he could hear the forest moving, above him he could hear banging in the vent, and somehow above it all, hidden in his breath, he could hear his own racing heartbeat, which was not even slightly comforting. He was going to die, he could feel it in his gut; this was it. He was going to let everyone down and leave so many things undone and unanswered. He was so caught up in his thoughts that when Polly grabbed his arm, he jumped.
Suddenly, the door burst open and Dean ran in with Jamie barely hanging on to consciousness at his side. “We need some help here.”
Castiel began to look around the area while The Doctor knelt beside the blood and then looked up and saw a bit more splattered on a tree. “So he must have been standing here when he was stabbed from that direction and the blood sprayed out here; the rest, on the ground, came from after the body fell. So, not only did something punch through him with a wooden weapon in one hit, but it happened while he was standing. Oh my, oh my,” The Doctor looked baffled as he pulled out his handkerchief to cover his mouth as he continued to investigate.
“Kevin!” Ben shouted and Kevin looked over at him, “Come on, mate, we are gonna regroup at the food storage unit.”
The next day, the 4th day of Dean's punishment, he felt awesome. He was totally back to normal from having two straight days of proper lyrium doses. He took advantage of his good mood to help Anna unload boxes from the merchants in the morning and head to the library to read in the afternoon. Of course, Cas would be there. Cas was always there, but this time he had Sam with him.
“Ah, yes, of course. Later then. Please continue, Mr. Novak,” The Doctor surrendered, but he never lost his smile.
Anna laughed, “Fine. But really, tell him thanks when he wakes up. He can stay however long he wants.”
“I guess that depends on what story you’re writing,” Sam said as he moved next to Kevin, leaning against the wall just close enough for their shoulders to touch.
With the smooth grace of well practiced lovers, Sam had Kevin on his back in seconds and was snapping his hips to give quick, short thrusts into his lover. Kevin grabbed onto Sam's back, clawing at him for leverage as he thrust back against Sam, not ready to be outdone. Sam's hand went to Kevin's length and stoked him in time with his thrusts and soon they were both trying to kiss and pant at the same time. The heat built between them and in moments Kevin came into Sam's hand, painting it with white. Sam stoked him through it and watched as his lover went limp in exhaustion. Sam licked the cum from his fingers and thrust into Kevin a few more times before spilling inside him. Kevin moaned at the feeling and opened his arms for Sam to fall on his chest. They both lay like that, gasping for air as sweat and cum glued them together. When they finally got their breaths back, Sam rolled off of Kevin and pulled him close. “Want to finish that alcohol?”
While Sam was away, he had also eventually run into Lisa at the grocery store. He apologized for 'treating her like shit' and she apologized for not having told him about what she was. They went out for lunch to catch up and had gotten back on friendly terms, but Dean was clear that he didn't want to get romantically involved with her again. For the most part, he didn't actively invite her into his life, but they were comfortable seeing each other at parties and talking here and there. Sometimes they would even flirt with each other, or tease each other, but it never went beyond that. Dean was the kind of person to love with his whole heart and soul, but it took him time to feel comfortable, and unfortunately, before they could get there, she had set off all his alarms and it never quite felt right between them again. He knew it wasn't fair to her, and he didn't expect people to be perfect, but he would live and die by his gut. So as far as he was concerned, if it didn't feel right, it wasn't right.
He thought with a grin as he laid on his bed staring at his phone. How the hell is he even working with a straight face? His phone went off again and he picked it up to look at the next message from Cas.
“Sam won't need you, he has his real brother now and hell if I need you, you're pathetic and broken. You toy with people's emotions because you barely understand your own. You'll love people so long as it doesn't cost you anything, that just goes to show how little you really care.” That was clearly Dean.
Dean looked back at him, looking ready for a fight, but after a long moment of inner turmoil he finally knocked Sam's hand away and heaved a heavy sigh in defeat, “Fine. You wanna talk? I fucking went all soap opera, chick-flick on her. Happy? You were right, it was all bottling up and it exploded all the fuck over her.”
“Jesus.” Dean hissed. The toy slipped in the first centimeter or so easily. His breath hitched as he pushed further and he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. Just with the toy completely seated, he felt marginally better and worse all at the same time. It was difficult to resist the urge to slam the toy deep, to bury it inside of him. He let out a slow breath, trying to keep control. Tentatively, he pushed down the on button to vibrate.
“Good morning.” He said when he saw Dean staring at him. Dean tried to hid the wince. His fatigue was all Dean’s fault.
“Um—forever? Until you find another alpha?” Cain shrugged carelessly, “Whichever comes first.” Dean looked to Bobby who had a small smile on his face.
“I know better than to cross you.” Castiel said with an affable grin, seemingly brushing off Cain’s antics. Cain laughed, his body relaxing slightly.
Missouri would bop him on the head for thinking such a thing. None of this had been simple. Dean leaned against the railing, his arms crossed as he took another deep breath. His heart rate lowering again. Would he go back to Bobby’s when Cain kicked him out? Or stay at the omega shelter? He placed a hand on his shoulder, the one the alpha had touched when he was at the shelter. He smelled like pine too. Dean took another deep breath, his heart rate coming down even more. Dean flopped down on the porch love seat, grabbing a blanket that was draped over the arm.
in pleasure. Dean’s breaths were coming up short as his cock dribbled pre-cum down his length. He pushed up the knot a bit more, “Oh
Cain took a sharp breath, “Mara and her kids want nothing to do with me. They had hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical debt that I paid off—but Mara saw it for what it was—an attempt to buy them off. To
“Technically yes—but if you’re asking me if I have any control over him the answer is no.” Cain and Colette both laughed loudly at that.
“Not sure what my Dad will do.” Dean confessed, getting the words out past his burning throat was an issue. He was still staring outside, afraid even making eye contact with someone who empathized would send him into pieces, “I mean, he’s always known. But it’s different now.”
to kiss him again. For being a bit shorter, Castiel sure did know how to dominate a kiss. Dean couldn’t help but wind one hand into his thick hair that had been
“You’re not a burden.” Colette said solidly, kissing his forehead and wrapping an arm around him, “Can I make you something for breakfast?”
“Can I join you?” Cain asked. Dean nodded, tensing up a bit as the alpha sat down. He handed Dean the bowl, which Dean finally recognized as his own, “You need to eat.” Cain told him, “My dad raised me right, you know?” Cain let out a breath, “He wasn’t perfect—but he raised me to believe in a pack. Nearly bit my brother and I once a week to prove how much he loved us. He made some mistakes when he was young—him and my mom—but had learned by the time they had us.”
Dean woke up a few hours later to a slightly burnt smell. Karen was growling, clutching onto Bobby’s arm. Bobby was staring at his cell phone which was held up between them.
It was definitely because the alpha was sweaty, but his scent was strong. It curled around the garage and made Dean feel like even though it was hot—there was a cool breeze. It was refreshing.
“I’ll fire up the grill.” Bobby said, turning out of the room. Despite his quick exit, Dean could tell that the older Beta was exhausted. It had been a long time since he had gotten any sleep, or at least a full night’s rest.
“Yeah—helped fix stuff up with your Mother too.” Bobby looked heartbroken at the mention of Dean’s mother, “I’m going to let the Doc know you are awake, ok idjit?” Dean nodded.
“She was nearly right. I stopped going to work—I stopped being able to do anything. I couldn’t breathe under all the weight of it all. I thought about killing myself nearly every day. No one would have noticed. No one cared.” Cain’s voice was hollow. Dejected, “I signed up to volunteer at the hospital. It was a masochistic reason to see all the damage I had done—to understand my impacts. I met Colette while I was there.” He smiled brightly, his whole demeanor changing at the mention of his mate, “She pulled me out of hell. Told me I needed to get over myself, and start using my big brain and wallet for some good.”
“We b-both gotta like it to be matched” Ash said with a grin, “B-been without an al-alpha for six m-months.” Ash shook his head.
He pulled his fingers out and gasped at the pain of the loss. Sticky with sweat and slick, he managed to crawl out of his nest. Everything felt horrible as he did so, he wanted to crawl back into his nest as quickly as possible. He grabbed the knot and the paper with directions. His hands were shaking as he flipped through, trying to figure out which vibrated and which inflated the knot as he crawled back into his nest. He slipped off his boxers, tossing them somewhere. There were six buttons. One that started the vibrate, one the knot. One increased and one lowered the vibration, and the other inflated and deflated the knot. It seemed pretty simple enough. He pressed the buttons a few times just to make sure they worked.
That was an interesting question. He felt like he had just climbed Mount Everest and got hit by a bus on the way down. Everything hurt. But he didn’t feel the pit in the bottom of his stomach slowly eating him away. He didn’t want to crawl beneath a blanket and never come out ever again.
.” Dean said, gripping his jeans with a clenched fist. Even the thought of his father having to pick him up sent him running. He couldn’t imagine what he would say—assuming he would come at all. Cindy frowned.
“I know Dean. Pack sleeps together when times are tough—and when they want to.” She grinned, “And I’ve done my time snuggling with Cain so now it’s your turn” She teased, “And I’m warning you—once we wake him up, he’ll be a cuddly giant that immediately wants to go to his nest.” Dean nodded, part of him still fairly certain Cain would be appalled to wake up like this, “Ready?” Dean nodded again, “Cain?” She nudged his shoulder a bit, “Time to go to bed.” The arm around Dean tightened, Cain made a huffing noise as he curled closer, “Come on, babe. Time for bed.”
want to lose someone like that ever again.” Dean felt his eyes start to burn and his throat close. Cain held out one hand to Dean’s left arm, “Can I?”
“I think you’re allowed to speak up for yourself and it not be dramatic.” Billie said sternly which made Dean smile a bit.
He wished he could say that things got better with his Dad over the years, but they didn’t. Dean was more than willing to get beat up if it meant having a better home for Sammy. All the teachers said Sammy was bright, so Dean made sure they practiced at home. Sometimes his teachers got mad for not doing his homework, but it was important that Sammy did his too. He tried to make sure he did his own, but he got tired.
omega that they were the worst. Not unless they were actually an awful person—but you are not.” Dean nodded.
“I-I-I” His alpha mocked before he slammed the wall next to Dean’s head. He flinched so hard he bumped into his alpha’s other arm. Dean’s heart was pounding and his face felt warm. All Dean wanted to do was expose his throat, to cower in submission. His instincts were going haywire. This was his
“Jody’s got a room all set up for you, ok? Just come in and chill. If you’re feeling up to it later, you can come talk to us—ok?” Dean nodded, he was completely unable to talk. The last time he had a bout this bad, it took him nearly a week to get out of it. He probably wouldn’t be able to get back to Bobby’s house, maybe this was a horrible idea.
Dean let out a whimper before he could control it, “I can’t.” He answered, his throat closing up. Cindy clutched his arm, squeezing it softly.
Cindy frowned, putting the items in a small bag for Dean, “Sweetie, you really shouldn’t be walking around with your heat.” It was quiet, but the attitude in the room shifted. It wasn’t like it was a secret that Dean’s father never came to any parent teacher night.
get them. You haven’t had a consistent and healthy alpha bond your whole life. You need to make a gynecologist appointment and go. And you need to be prepared when it happens.”
“Not much of an issue.” Castiel said. Dean looked up at him and he smiled easily. Dean knew a non-starter subject when he saw it.
“Even further.” She said. Was he going to fall off the end? Dean closed his eyes a bit as he moved closer, “There ya go. First I’m going to do a pelvis exam, so I’m going to basically feel around to make sure nothing is off.” She showed off her gloved hands before reaching down. As soon as she touched Dean’s thigh, he flinched. A deep growl from Castiel made Dean cover his eyes with his free hand.
Dean shook his head, “Only short.” He wanted to whine at the displeased scent that unfurled from Castiel. He had to grit his teeth against it. Castiel frowned, but stepped out from behind the door. Dean couldn’t control his small gasp, staring at his left arm that was
Dean heard a loud bang in the garage. Hearing loud noises wasn’t exactly unheard of, but this was a weird sound.
Dean didn’t respond as he got out of the car. He wasn’t an ‘LA’ type of guy. Billie had gone to California, which was a perfectly acceptable thing to do if it’s what you wanted. He struggled to walk the few steps from the curb to the front door, his hands shaking as he pushed open the door.
Cain nodded, bringing over sandwiches. Colette came over to the table, sitting next to Cain. The two opened their folder.
“You sure you don’t need any help, young man?” The older man asked. Dean didn’t like being around so many smells, but he knew it was necessary for Sam. The older man ran the shelter, but he had kind brown eyes that Dean knew would treat them both well.
“Just about how much everyone around you cares, sugar.” Missouri said with a smile. Dean sighed, “Now, we have a few things to go over now that Dean is here.” She pulled out a folder from her purse. It had the logo of the Omega House on the front, “Same checklist we give every new alpha.”
“Dean and I are going to talk alone first, if the two of you don’t mind. We’ll all come together for a talk after a while.” Missouri looked to Colette and Cain.
“She used to bite me and tell me I wasn’t going into heat. My body would fritz out, trying to comply. Bite me and told me to behave like an alpha—and I just knew I couldn’t. I tried to play it off like my omega didn’t break apart every time I
“It’s ok.” Sam encouraged, helping Dean step up into the ambulance. As soon as Dean was out of reach of Sam, his limbs started locking up again. The bright lights made him nauseous. The panic boiled up in his chest—
“Through there.” Dean pointed at the door. Castiel nodded, walking in. Dean listened the the AC run as he waited, sipping on his water again. The door opened slowly.
“For you.” Cain offered a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Cain must have pulled out all the stops for breakfast because it looked delicious.
“Hm.” Dean hummed, “I like it.” He blushed when he realized what he said. Castiel barked a loud laugh, the tension in the room dissipating, “Let’s go finish up stripping your truck.”
“Think you can get up? I’ll get the scotch out—this conversation needs it.” Gabriel said as he wiggled to get up.
“Like fuck you will.” Bobby huffed, “Work on Cain’s cars if ya need to stay busy. But if you come in, I’ll throw you out.”
Dean opened a closet door and was grateful it was a small closet. He dropped down to the floor, putting his head between his knees. He put his hands over his head, trying not to hear all the thoughts in his head.
“Yes, we’re going to our nest. Come on sleepy head.” Colette teased. Cain grumbled a bit, but his arm did loosen so Dean could get up off the couch. As soon as he slipped from Cain’s grasp, the alpha was up—grabbing onto Dean quickly. Dean wasn’t sure how someone still half asleep could move that quick, “Come on Alpha.” Colette giggled.
“Absolutely not—but I will purchase the eggs.” Castiel said magnanimously, Dean chuckled a bit and looked over at the alpha, “I will look the other way as you throw them for plausible deniability” That made Dean laugh a bit more, his body loosening up a bit.
“I have your number. I can call tomorrow when I drop it off at Bobby’s?” Castiel asked, standing up. He stretched a bit after sitting down for so long. Dean nodded, “What time should I drop it off? I’ve got patients until about 2.”
“Come on, we’re hopping into this ambulance.” Sammy said, the ambulance door was no more than three feet away from the front door. It was pulled into the grass. Dean whined at the wheels, knowing it would tear up the lawn, “It’s ok, Dean.”
“Oh—still wet?” Cain asked, and Dean nodded. Cain's alpha scent was one of the few Dean didn’t mind. He used to have a crush on the older alpha even though he was about the same age as his father. Something about those eyes and messed up hair that made Dean melt a little the first time he saw Cain come into Bobby's shop. After meeting his mate Collette, Dean had fallen in love with her as well. For some reason, that made the Alpha all that much more attractive. In a loving relationship with an omega? Check. So hot its sinful? Double check. Committed to his omega? Another check. The crush had worn off into friendship, it was impossible not to feel attached to both of them. It was kinda weird being friends with people who were twice his age, but he didn’t have enough friends to be picky.
“Colette is a great customer.” Gabriel nodded, “she brings in a lot of great customers too.” Dean nodded. Colette had referred Baked for Baked to many people—and Cain used them for any business meeting he had. Gabriel reached out with his right arm to slide a pastry tray around, revealing one solitary bite. It was against tradition to be on the right side, but Gabriel didn’t strike Dean as someone to follow tradition anyway, “Got Cassie’s bite on its own arm so it isn’t muddled by all this shit.” Gabriel said when he caught Dean staring.
“Much better.” Castiel said with a grin, handing Dean back his shirt in a gallon bag, the stain soaking.
there were others. He saw their stories on the internet. But hearing them through a screen and talking to people in real life made a massive difference to his psyche. For the first time in forever, Dean felt like his symptoms were slightly improving. They would never recover without an alpha, but at least he was happier. He slid under the car on one of Cain’s fancy creepers to make sure everything underneath looked sound. It had been driven since the last time Dean had worked on it, so there were a few things that he could clean up to make sure everything was running smoothly. He hummed along to Led Zeppelin playing through the speakers in the garage.
Dean wasn’t working under the car too long before he heard Colette drive up. He was just sliding out from underneath the car when Colette’s sneakered feet in scrubs hopped out of her Mercedes.
me.” Dean didn’t know exactly what John said after that, he started to tune it out. John threw some of his omega slick pads that he found in the closet at him, but Dean couldn’t get himself to move.
Bad day. Was all he typed to Pam, hitting send before he could second guess himself. Hopefully, she wouldn’t see it for a few hours. His hopes were dashed when he saw her FaceTime request pop through. He slid it open, keeping himself underneath the blanket.
. He wasn’t locked in his room. It was overwhelming. Cain kissed the top of his head, “Eggs and sausage sound good?”
Dean texted the both of them that he would take care of dinner that night. They all usually had dinner together around seven now that it was getting dark outside a bit early. It was usually a standing invitation, if you could make it home in time from work or other things. Both of them replied they would make it, Cain saying he might run a little late but would definitely be there by 7:15.
Dean woke up with a start, his fingers twisted in the sheets. He was hard. He was breathing too fast and he
. Dean shucked off his shoes and collapsed into his bed. He curled up under the blanket, finally giving into the urge to curl up in on himself. The smell comforted him. His belly was cramping up, and he felt damp. He knew from the text books that this wouldn’t be a full heat. His body was ‘waking up’ or as one book wrote ‘blooming like a flower’. Which was a ridiculous metaphor, since he felt like the farthest fucking thing from a flower at the moment. He had the bag of goodies from the nurse, so he opened it up. In the bag was a few medications for pain and to help alleviate symptoms. He took the small Gatorade bottle from the bag to swallow the pills.
As soon as they took Garth back, Dean gave a call to his wife. She was fairly used to these types of calls, since Garth tended to be a clumsy person. She promised to meet Garth at the hospital, freeing Dean from driving him home.
He tried not to think about presenting. But as he got older, it became impossible not to. Kids in his class were presenting, coming back smelling different. They came back with a smirk, like they knew something Dean didn’t. But he didn’t want to know. There wasn’t one boy in school that was an omega. And he tried not to think about it. But sometimes, when it was time to go to bed, it was all he could think about. Because he
The door slamming open caused Dean to scream. With the radio playing in their room, he mustn’t have heard his father coming home. His heart was racing when he saw his Dad standing in the doorway. His shirt was messed up—and Dean could smell the booze from across the room, “What the fuck is this?” His father bellowed.
WARNINGS: homophobic language-- Dean is at a low point, flashbacks to his father's language emerge in his own vernacular
.” Cain said, but Dean wasn’t paying attention. He pressed his nose against Cain’s shoulder, breathing him in deeply. Dean wrapped an arm around Cain, holding him close. When he realized what he was doing, he froze.
“I am a big boy when it comes to blood, but if you want to hold my hand during it—I won’t object too loudly.”
Castiel quickly lead Dean outside the bar. It was quiet as they walked to Castiel’s Audi that wasn't parked too far away. He popped the trunk. Castiel’s trunk was organized within an inch. Totes of scrubs, button downs and slacks were all labeled neatly. Another bin labeled
“I’m going to check your breast tissue, alright?” Billie moved up to Dean’s torso, “And he is right—I just want to make sure you’re doing ok at home. No one pressuring you? No one, including handsome doctors.”
“And he dissolved your bond?” Colette asked, astounded. Her voice sounded far away, or like it was on a TV rather than sitting next to him. Dean nodded, suddenly not hungry. He got up, figuring he could work on one of Cain’s new cars today. He had his computer with him, so he could run on some diagnostics. He was glad he brought his computer with him. When he packed his bag yesterday, he didn’t think he would need it but he brought it just in case. His bag was in the garage, where he left it. Dean found his computer and the connecting wire, walking over to Cain’s jaguar to tune it up a bit.
hated it. His inner omega was in pieces; his heart felt like it was caving in his chest. He could barely breathe. But Dean could smell Sammy’s blood and he couldn’t keep himself from whining. Warm hands grabbed his own.
Cain blasted Led Zeppelin as they cleaned the kitchen. Colette laughed at both of them dancing, drinking her own glass of bourbon as she watched. They cleaned, since she cooked. At times like this, Dean almost felt normal. He mouthed the lyrics as he helped clean, laughing as Cain played the air guitar. Once everything was in its place, the counter was wiped down, and glasses refilled, Colette turned down the music.
“I went into pharmaceuticals, as you know. Barely talked to my family once I made it to the executive suite. I worked with Castiel’s brothers—Michael and Nick. You’ve heard of the Angel brothers?” Dean had heard of them. Massive republican donors that muddled in politics to sway congress’s votes in their favor to protect pharmaceutical companies. Despite their angelic name, they couldn’t have been more demonic in their actions. They raised prices of drugs with little care on how it would affect people.
Benny was quiet for a minute, “Ford F250, 2010 so it’s a bit older. Still runs smooth—thanks to you.” Benny smiled. Dean blushed.
His mother smiled brightly, more tears falling down her face, “Right!” She kissed Dean’s cheek, then rubbed his cheek with her thumb. She leaned over and kissed Sammy’s head again. Dean wiggled closer to his Mom, breathing in her scent as they looked over Sammy.
“I went with Gabe and Ana to the heat store yesterday. I got electrolyte packets, protein bars and a bunch of stuff.”
“Left.” Dean whispered, taking a step back. The scent of snow got stronger, it felt like Dean was getting buried in a snow drift.
Nearly as soon as Dean helped Garth into the entry way, there were people around him. Garth had gotten paler the closer they got, so Dean was very glad they made the decision to go to the hospital.
The rest of dinner was less serious. Dean laughed and carried on conversation like he wouldn’t have been able to dream of just a few months ago. His stutter still happened every once and awhile, but he had his
Cas took Dean’s hand strongly and moved close. Dean couldn’t help but inhale, it had a chilling effect on his whole system, letting him breathe in deep. Dean leaned closer, not quite burying himself in Cas’s shoulder even though he wanted to do it. Taking another deep breath, his heart rate started to fall.
“New Alpha.” Ash pointed over to the older woman on the other side of the bar, “Ellen’s my new alpha. Just got my new bite a month ago.” It was right around Dean got his.
“It’s alright Cas. It’s already got g-grease stains and holes in it.” Dean said as he pulled off his own shirt. Putting on the shirt Castiel had worn should not have felt as warm as it did. For a man who smelled like snow and pine, his scent made Dean feel very warm, “How do I look?” Dean asked, pushing up the sleeves a bit on the navy-blue scrubs.
Dean was still shaking as he sat in the chair. No, he was hyperventilating. He was trying to keep it under control, but his vision was starting to go in and out. This was
“Haven’t d-done a pick-up b-before.” Dean admitted as he opened the book, “K-key with a modern cl-assic is having enough old stuff blended in w-with new.” Dean said as he flipped through to a few pictures, “I think a c-classic steering wheel is a m-must. Difficult to make a new one l-look old with all the b-buttons. Then there might be forgiveness of a center console with GPS.” He flipped through some pictures, “Old trucks like this bring the metal color from the outside into the truck. So if you have red outside, the center console is usually red as well. Nothing we can’t change if you want to—but goes all to the more classic look.”
He knew it was a bit embarrassing to have Castiel’s shirt in the bed with him, but it smelled too good. Under the blanket, he could smell it even better. It calmed his racing heart, and allowed him to fall into an easy sleep.
.” Dean couldn’t see his face, but Cain sounded choked up, “If you hate me after a while, I’ll help you find another alpha you like. But my nest doesn’t feel right without your smell. Colette hates it when you’re not around. Please Dean.”
Dean definitely did not want to look at the bill when he swiped his credit card. It was one given to him by Cain with the assurance that he could not possibly spend enough to worry him, but this definitely worried Dean. There were a few more things throne into the cart—a flesh light, a different type of vibrator, more lube.
“You are being a drama queen. Packs share heats—your first one back is probably not going to last as long and more than likely won’t be too horny anyway.”
“I was f-fine.” His stutter around omegas was now much better, but not gone. Never gone until—until..
Dean snorted a laugh, “Thank you Sammy.” He pulled his head up, realizing there was blood everywhere, “I need to clean this up. You should practice your letters. My teacher has all the alphabet on the wall, we could do that too.” Dean told him.
“Want to take stuff home for Cain and Colette?” Gabe asked, “I got a few more things I can give away.”
“Bout time you woke up.” A gruff voice made Dean pull Sammy closer. An older man was standing in the doorway. His smell was something Dean vaguely recognized, like motor oil and pine.
“Tell me where he lives, and we’ll egg his place.” Gabriel finally broke the silence and it made Dean smile. He peaked out from beneath his knees, looking over at the omega, “I’m serious. Give me an address—hell, actually I have his first name. What’s your last name?”
A new scent came in that Dean recognized from the blanket. It was like sandalwood, pine and snow. It soothed the rage in him a bit, allowing him to breathe. Dean didn’t want to remove the blanket to talk to whomever had come in, but he was comforted by the presence. A slow, gravely voice read to him—Dean could recognize passages from the Hobbit even in his current state.
“Gabriel is four years older than me, though he acts like a child so I am sure you find it surprising.” Castiel said, his voice gravely.
Dean hummed as he worked on one of Cain’s newer cars. Dean didn’t think it actually needed a tune up, but Cain and Colette hadn’t seen him in a few weeks so they used it as an excuse to bring him over. He had spent most of his time between Bobby’s and the Omega shelter. He thought he would only go once a week, but that place had a way of reeling him back in. Pam had brought him in to teach him how to make pottery. He was terrible at it, but she was patient with him. She confessed that it had been a bad morning for her, barely able to get out of bed. Dean had days like that too, so she managed to coerce him to promise that he would text her to return the favor. Being around other omegas helped. She told him her whole story about how a shitty alpha had taken advantage of her when she was young. She had an abusive home life growing up just like Dean, though for different reasons. Her father was obsessed with selling her off to the highest bidder, so she was mated when it was legal for him to sign the documents. Pam showed him some of her scars, explaining how her alpha would bring her to casinos and use her intuition to win. How they would beat her up and accuse her of cheating. How she couldn’t run away, because she knew that even though he was awful that he cared in his own fucked up way.
. He backed up. He couldn’t believe he did that. He didn’t deserve an alpha. Cain would hate him—or he would leave. Just like everyone else.
The alpha had taken off his trench coat, but his white button-down shirt and tie were still on. Despite the sweat dripping down his side burns, Castiel didn’t seem bothered. Though it was early fall, it was quite a warm day. Dean was a bit nervous when he took the trench coat off, glancing to make sure his colleagues were in sight. He knew Castiel was a good alpha, but he couldn’t help but cover his bases.
“The BMI doesn’t make any sort of sense to use on an individual level, and it was never intended to do so. Also, there are several other things that correlate more to health risks other than BMI. They are more accurate. Her cholesterol is within the normal range. This could have been diagnosed much earlier if you were not convinced the patient was lying to you. We still caught this early, but let this be a lesson for you to not dismiss larger patients.”
“Night Rufus!” The diner was closing a bit early because Rufus wanted to go to a car show with one of his friends. They warned the customers a few days before with signs, so everyone knew today would be a short day. Dean would be getting back to the house early with a meal for Sam, who was growing like a little weed. He was basically all bones, so Dean had brought home extra leftovers. The middle school basketball coach had tapped his shoulder, of course. And Sam had enough hand-eye coordination to get by. Dean worked with him at the park every spare moment he got, hoping he would get on the JV team when he got into high school.
"Right." Dean said, biting his sandwich with a grin, nuzzling her a bit after. She ran her fingers through his hair as she read the latest scholarly journal about something to do with nursing. Dean went cross eyed after the abstract, but he liked being close to her. After his sandwich, he curled back into his nest and fell asleep.
“Would you like me to accompany you to get your blood work done today?” Cas asked, as he took Dean’s hand in his own.
“Just—here is something for the blood.” Dean didn’t really look at his face, but Sam grabbed the gauze and pressed it to Dean’s mouth. They managed to walk out the front door. The lights on multiple cop cars were on, lighting up the entire street. Neighbors were out in their front lawns, staring. Dean pulled Sammy closer.
“Dean?” Bobby knocked as he stood in the doorway, “You look like shit.” Dean only glared at him from his bed, pulling the quilt over top his head. Bobby didn’t give him a long lecture about how he needed to find an alpha. He just sat on his bed, sitting close by while Dean tried to fall asleep.
"You snuggled with me during my heat, of course I want to return the favor. Plus, this is what we're supposed to do. Omega's have each other's backs."
“Your phone was buzzing while you were in the bathroom.” Cain pointed at the phone on the island. Dean frowned, seeing 10 missed calls from Bobby. He grabbed his phone and stepped out onto the back porch. It was a bit chilly outside, but it helped wake him up. He sipped on his coffee while it rang.
Dean suddenly realized that Cain was spooning him, their position a bit intimate, “H-he didn’t—I d-don’t know.” He turned bright red, Colette giggled.
"Yeah." Dean whispered. Cas squeezed his arm again, stepping back. They walked back over to their table.
“T-thought I was-I-I-I.” Dean stopped, took a breath. He was quiet, but he wanted to get it out, “Thought I was g-going to d-die. D-didn’t want t-to eat. K-Karen was s-ick. No one w-wanted me. She d-died soon after S-Sam left. I th-thought Bobby w-would d-died too. H-had to take c-care of him. He t-t-t-t-tried to take c-care of me-me too.” Dean wiped his face, not realizing he was crying, “Thought S-Sam would c-come back. B-be a g-good Omega.”
Dean kept glancing at the hatch as he looked around. Meanwhile, Castiel listened at the door that led into the kitchen and soon held up his hand to get Dean’s attention. Dean moved in close with his gun ready. They could hear voices from inside.
“Yeah. Not sure what I did to deserve him actually. What about you, Dean? Did you have anyone in Redcliff?”
Dean sighed in defeat and nodded, “Ok, yeah. Sam, if this is what you want, you know I've got your back. Always. Although, just saying, if you ever decide to run off with Kevin-”
Linda listened intently and took a slow breath before she met his gaze, “Kevin, you do what you have to do, like you always have. If you think there is something going on, not only is it your job to look into it, but it’s the right thing to do. That boy, if he’s a good person with any kind of head on his shoulders, will understand that this wasn’t about him. It’s not like you are using those bugs to try and seduce him, right?”
“Uhm, yes, actually. I was wondering if I could take a few pictures of the hot springs. It’s a culture we don’t really have on New Earth and I’m sure the people there would find it very interesting.”
Cas thought it over for a moment and then bent down to grab some loose dirt from the ground and powered it over his clothes, face and hair. “Is this acceptable?”
Sam studied Kevin's face for a moment before leaning in for a slow kiss. He parted them just enough to put their foreheads together, “Thank you.” Kevin shook his head gently, moving in for another kiss, slightly more heated this time as their hands moved to one anothers' arms and they tugged gently at each others' robes.
“It’s going to be ok. It has to be,” Dean said as if trying to reassure himself and Cas nodded before pulling Dean in for another kiss. Jamie stood watching them with Sam, nearby. Sam rolled his eyes and teased, “Anytime, you two.” Jamie didn’t blush as he watched them now, instead he had a small smile, “Aye, Dean, you can kiss him all you want tomorrow, eh?”
Kevin’s eyes widened when he saw her; she was in a robe with her hair tangled and sticking out everywhere and for once she didn’t have make up on. Despite looking exhausted, disheveled, and hung over, she was still absolutely beautiful.
After lunch, Anna guided the group on their next tour where they met the local woodworker Bobby Singer who explained where their wood came from and the old traditions of carving and woodwork in the community. Each piece of wood was honored as if it had been from their own trees and made into durable, beautiful pieces. Despite the fact that Bobby was clearly drinking while working, his carving was incredibly intricate. Jamie nearly got them all thrown out when he leaned on a piece unknowingly and knocked it over. However, Bobby turned it into a teaching moment, by showing Jamie how to smooth the edges that had been damaged.
Sam had stopped in his tracks at the command as well. He and Cas looked at each other tentatively while they waited for the teenagers to make it back inside. When the door finally shut behind them, Cas took a breath, “Sam, could you help me.”
“Super glue?” Dean lifted a brow and looked at Cas who continued to glare at his brother for a moment before looking sheepishly at Dean.
Dean looked through the books on the shelf in the living room, there were assorted classics, some anthologies, and a ton of philosophical stuff. When his eyes landed on Slaughterhouse 5 he grinned and snatched it from the stack, plopping himself back on the couch.
Dean looked back, lowering the coffee to his lap, he seemed torn, but when he saw Sam’s determined face, he sighed, “We uh…we don’t want to be a burden. If you want us, we’re here…if you don’t, we’ll go.”
“I can go check, you guys should stay here, Benny could probably use a rest, eh?” Ben suggested and Dean nodded. Kevin felt a wave of anxiety tug at his throat, tightening it. He didn’t want Ben to go, but he was right, Benny was getting pale, he needed to sit down.
“Huh? Oh! Yeah, that sounds nice. Thanks. We’ll see you guys in a bit, I guess?” Sam said with a shrug, caught slightly off guard.
“So, we are clear for the wedding for sure, but Naomi isn’t far now. She’ll probably be here a day or two after the ceremony,” Mary said quietly, the bed moving and creaking.
“Dean, hey, I was thinking- HOLY SHIT.” Sam covered his eyes and turned away at the doorway while Dean sighed in irritation, resting his head against Cas's chest as Cas looked between Sam and Dean with amusement. “I didn't see anything, I swear. Oh my god, just please tell me you aren't having sex right now. In here. You have a room Dean.”
“That's right, it should only be Dean.” Dick Roman added and Crowley glared, “3 weeks then. Anyone else want to complain? Dean? No? Good then get out!”
“The group has to change…you know it does. You make all of us weak! People like you, like her, they hold everyone back from their true potential, I am trying to save all of you!” Gordon shouted, his eyes wild.
“We need to get the bullet out, stitch him up, cover it with some bandages, and boom he’ll be right as rain. Sam, Cas, I need you two to hold him down. Claire, you are gonna get me whatever the hell I ask you for, got it?” Sam and Claire quickly responded and got in position. Dean looked over at Cas, “Cas!”
“All blokes, huh. Too bad, was kinda hopin’ that Anna would stick around. She was bloody gorgeous,” Ben said leaning towards Jamie, who grinned and nodded, “Aye, she was a bonny wee lass.
Castiel simply smiled, but his eyes were lost in thoughts and memories of his lost siblings. Dean wished he knew where they were…he wished he had watched out for them when everything went down…
Jack and Claire were out of their rooms just as fast. Claire ran into Castiel’s room and Jack stopped at the doorway.
. It was a betrayal and he knew it. But Kevin had faced this sort of situation a thousand times, to the point that rationalization wasn’t necessary. It didn’t feel great, especially when he liked the people involved, but if he got a good story, helped people, and got a raise, then in the end it was the right call, right?
The next day, Kevin prepared several cameras just in case and relied on Polly to help him carry them, she even offered to help take pictures, which he jumped at the chance at. Everyone in the group had dressed in their best, though they hadn’t exactly packed wedding appropriate attire. The Doctor’s suit was a bit less frumpy than usual, Ben and Jamie both wore dress shirts, although Jamie still wore his ‘kilt’ while Ben was in simple slacks. Polly had her hair up and was wearing a short, but beautiful light pink dress that had small clear sequins embedded into the thick frabric to make it shine in the light.
Cas looked at him with a slowly brightening smile, “Yes, that's true. However, The Free Marches are known to have the juiciest apples because the air is so humid there.”
“Absurd? A guy thinking he gets to pick and choose when to pay a debt, now that is absurd! Hell, a guy thinking it doesn’t matter if a bunch of walkers come banging on his front door because he thinks he can just throw his cannon fodder men at them and be done with it, is absurd.” Dean shouted, standing up at this point.
“Well, he's funny and kind of ridiculous, definitely embarrassing, but he takes care of people, too... in his own way. He's really been there for me when I needed someone. Anyway, he hits on me all the time, but I mean he hits on a lot of people, he's just like that, but last night I just...sorta said screw it and slept with him. He was gone when I woke up, but he made breakfast and I don't really know how to read that.”
Cas spoke up at this point, “We are learning about what kinds of things people use magic for in their daily lives in Tevinter, what kinds of jobs they do and the things they make. The circle has mages work on enchantments and magical items for trade, but Sam and I thought it would be interesting to see what else was out there.”
“No, it’s alright, I understand the need for privacy,” Kevin responded formally and Chuck gave a relieved smile and led them into the back.
Castiel went quiet and he had his poker face on again, leaving Dean to wait in the empty, heavy silence for an answer. Dean held tight to Cas’ hand, hoping it would help somehow. Like maybe the touch would help Cas see his feelings or if nothing else, maybe it would at least keep him from leaving.
Dean laughed at that and when he felt their eyes locked into place like they always seemed to, he lifted a hand to Cas's cheek, brushing at it experimentally. Cas tilted his head into Dean's palm with a look that had a hint of confusion mingled with immense fondness. Dean took that moment to press his lips gently to Cas's. Their first kiss was barely there, but their lips came gingerly together as they leaned together, melting into one another, and instantly Dean's mind cleared.
Kevin blushed wondering just how much Sam had heard, but Sam’s smile returning was reassuring. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “We are pretty close. My dad was never around, so it was always just us. My mom always really pushed me and supported me. It could be a bit much sometimes, well most of the time actually, but I love her.”
Can't believe how long this took me, I really didn't intend for this story to get this long, but I'm glad I got to cover the majority of my sims 3 game. Thanks again to everyone who has shown their support along the way and to all future readers who comment/leave kudos.
“Oh, that's not necessary, just call me Chuck." Dean gave a nod and things went silent for a moment before Chuck spoke again, "Uhm, so, you are John and Mary Winchester's son?”
Dean spun around to see Gabriel grinning ear to ear before he gave a quick suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. “Uhm, sure. Thanks.”
When he finally finished his food, he headed upstairs to Cas's room. He knocked a couple times and Cas emerged with a friendly smile that made a tingly feeling run up Dean's spine. “Hello, Dean. Professor Ellen has class for a bit longer, would you like to come in and wait?”
Elsewhere, they could hear the sound of more glass shattering; below them, they could hear the machines began to wheeze and above them, the lights flickered.
“Hopefully it won’t come to just…that. Come on, let’s drive around a bit more, they could still be hiding out in town somewhere, if not, then we head up to the ski lodge.”
“Then perhaps someone used a branch? It may have even been an accident, perhaps we could take a look at where he was found?”
When Sam got back to his dorm, he started trying to flip his wand over his thumb like Azezel had showed him Mary had done. He couldn't seem to get the balance right and his wand would shoot off in random directions and he would have to go chasing after it.
“Anything is quite a lot you know,” when Dean didn't respond, Crowley smiled, “Well, I suppose I could give you a taste. Despite your 'goodhearted hero' crap, I like you Dean. You get things done, you are clearly very capable and...you aren't bad on the eyes.” Crowley opened the bottle of lyrium and the smell of lightening made Dean moan quietly, under his breath, but Crowley heard it and smiled.
The place was packed like usual, but they got into the semi-VIP 2nd floor easily enough. When they walked in however, the entire room was pitch black.
“No, he really can’t. Look it’s my job to take care of him…he’s…fragile. If you give a shit, you should take off. It’s not like you are planning to stay once the snow melts anyway, right? Why bother staying and messing with him like this if you are just gonna leave?”
Sam nodded in understanding, “Yeah, I mean, I saw a lot of bad growing up. Dean tried to hide it from me, but it’s kinda hard to ignore when your dad is naked in the backyard burning his blood stained clothes, or leaving pounds of cocaine on the coffee table, or making you help wipe prints off guns….but I knew that for just as much evil as there was in the world, there was that much good too.”
“It was pretty late, I was already in bed, but I kept hearing this weird noise out in the forest. It was like, something big was crawling around. I hope it wasn’t a mire beast…it was really close to my house.”
Once she was whisking away at them, Dean finally managed to pull himself together enough to get down the rest of the stairs. He grabbed Cas by the shoulder and pulled him back halfway up the stairs, and snapped, trying to keep his voice down, “Did you tell her?”
“They are coming after they have lunch with principle Singer and professor Harvelle. I already told them the address.”
Eventually, people began making their way upstairs to the mess of sleeping bags. Castiel and Dean were given one each and a small space to use in the corner of the room. They could hear the quiet sounds of the others in the room. Some snored quietly, others just seemed to breath loudly.
“I do. Well, the important ones anyway.” Dean's eyes were getting hazy from the alcohol and he nearly slipped this time when he moved over the counter to whisper to Benny, “I know to cover my teeth when sucking dick and to go for the clit with the ladies.” Benny burst out laughing and pushed him gently back into his seat.
Kevin didn’t need to be told twice, he pulled out his camera and made sure he had his mini-tablet and pen in his shirt pocket, just in case. With his luck, being what it was, he was naturally assigned to a gondola with a pair of young lovers and The Doctor’s group. The gondola was filled with bickering, bantering, and professions of undying love – all of which made it difficult for Kevin to focus, but he managed to get a few nice pictures of the tree line.
Sam smiled watching his brother put breakfast together. Dean was practically glowing with determination to make the food perfect. Sam knew how much Dean loved taking care of people: how important it was to him to make the people he loved feel happy, healthy and safe. Sam got up and looked through the cabinets at various tea boxes before picking one. He fixed a cup, just as Dean was getting a tray for Cas's food. “Here, take this for him too. It's suppose to be good for pain.”
“Sammy, if you are worried about my virtue, I'm telling you right now, the guy can freaking take it.”
Cas nodded and watched as Sam went to get the board. He brought it back and they set it up on Cas's desk, sitting beside each other rather than facing one another. “So can I ask you something?” Sam started as he put his pieces in place.
Naomi lifted her brows in surprise, “I see. I'm...sorry for your loss.” Her voice was more awkward than anything.
“Good, now that that's settled, Cas, can you get the hell out? We were kinda in the middle of something here.”
“Dean, before we do this, just in case something goes wrong-” Sam started, but Dean quickly cut him off.
Dean went quiet for a long moment and leaned back on the bed looking up at the ceiling light with his legs still bent over the side. “You know, I grew up knowing that my parents could die in a hunt at any time and that I might have to take care of Sammy alone, but it never happened and in some ways I never thought it would. I thought they were invincible. The hunts my parents went on, the things they did, it was like they were superheroes, and in the end a fucking icy road gets them? It's just, wrong. It makes everything feel wrong like suddenly all the things I knew were true just got chucked out the window.”
“I don’t know what I would do without you.” Cain agreed seriously, “Your work has brought all of these cars to life.” He waved at his garage. There were four classic cars, including the one Dean was standing in front of, that Dean had worked on for Cain.
Dean worked slowly, he knew that. But this baby demanded perfection. She was smiling back at him, he was sure of it. Sometimes slow was the best, especially on something like this. Every little detail mattered. His hands were cramping up, but it was worth it.
“Cassie has his own garage. Colette said you work on site?” Dean frowned, his hands shaking as he gave back the phone.
Billie nodded as she sat down in the doctor chair, “I am familiar with Dean’s history a bit. Missouri refers me patients frequently, and I had your previous medical history sent over. Long battle with Alpha Rejection Syndrome that started as a child. Looks like you finally have a good alpha that is helping you out. Your weight is at a much healthier level, and I’ll order some blood tests after today to look at hormone levels.” Billie was a beta, from her scent. There was something about her Dean liked, but he wasn’t sure why, “On the form you filled out, you said you had your heat last week?” Dean nodded, “This is a good time to have your blood taken then, how did it go?”
“Dean?” Colette walked into the waiting room, “We’re going to give him some pain medication, but the hand might need surgery. We’re trying to make sure he didn’t slice a tendon.”
“Alright if I bring your alpha back in for the end bit? You can go ahead and sit up. Just a few more questions.”
“I talked to the cops. We have all the documents to prove we can take you with us.” She said strongly, “And I will not lose you two again.”
“C-College.” Dean managed to say, feeling tears build up again quite without his permission. His chest felt too tight.
“I promise, Dean. I promise to treat you with the love and respect you deserve. I can be a good alpha.” Dean had no doubts Cain was a good alpha, so he thought it was a weird thing to say. Dean was just a bad omega. He held out his arm for Cain. Cain didn’t hesitate, biting on his forearm to seal the pack bond. Dean felt a rush of emotions—concern, sadness. Anguish. Dean couldn’t breathe.
“Alright, well eat some of this first, then you can head on back to your home. You sure your Alpha is there?”
Cas sighed, “I will talk to the nurse who weighed you. I don’t use weight as a factor without the patient history. You have gained weight at a healthy rate, you should be proud of your accomplishment.”
“Yeah. The ten-year anniversary was three months ago.” Castiel said as they all sat down at the table. Cain had made gnocchi and it smelled so good that Dean was drooling. Conversation went easy through dinner. Dean talked a bit and Cain looked insanely proud every time he did. Castiel was patient with his stutter, didn’t try to finish the words for him. Castiel brought up Dean’s work, but in a way that didn’t make Dean feel like he was pressuring him in any way. Castiel did follow him on Instagram, if only to see the new project’s Dean was working on of Cain’s.
Dean found a few more things they would have to fix, but was pleasantly surprised by some others that were completely fine. He had a running list of parts that would be necessary. Dean wasn’t paying too much attention to the alpha, humming along to music as he slid underneath the car.
“I get my truck done there, I just thought I recognized you. I only ever talk to Bobby.” Benny explained, so Dean nodded.
“Dean?” The teacher, Mr. Paterson, called to him. Dean looked over to the young Alpha teacher, probably had graduated from college only a few years before. He was saving up to go back to get his doctorate degree.
. He had all the stuff he needed for his first heat stashed away in the closet. The only way to minimize the impact was to know absolutely everything before it happened and be prepared for it.
“It’s a bit different working at our place.” Colette said calmly, “Can Castiel have the cars brought to our garage?”
to be touched. A strong arm pulled him closer before the kiss broke off entirely. Dean couldn’t help but grin, the snow blizzard scent had increased as well as the pine. Dean breathed it in deeply, not quite scenting him but definitely flirting with the line.
“Ah, did Cain come out and protect you?” Colette asked with a twinkle in her eye. Dean huffed, nodding. She laughed, “Doesn’t matter if you’re pack or not, Dean. Cain will always see you as his.” Dean chuckled.
“Your brother?” Cain asked and Dean nodded. Cain met him after his bond was broken so Dean wasn’t sure how he knew about Sam, unless it was through Bobby.
Dean had given up on refusing food from them. They would just bring him food to the garage, or put it in his car. Food was their love language and they wanted to make sure Dean was well fed.
Thank goodness for small mercies, his father wasn’t home. It was a Thursday, so he probably wouldn’t be coming back to the house that night either. And if Dean was lucky, he’d have the whole weekend. He nearly fell to his knees when he opened up his bedroom door. It smelled like him and Sammy. It smelled like
I know nothing about cars. So... hopefully this is enough to maintain the illusion that Dean knows what he is talking about :)
“Now we’re talkin’” Dean said with a waggle of his brows and Cas snorted. He felt a bit high as they walked out to the front desk, picking an appointment time that would work for both of them for his IUD. Cas didn’t let go of his hand the entire time.
“She was S-S-Sam’s pack l-leader. She t-took c-care of m-me m-more.” Dean whispered, “B-but I was b-better then.”
“You look like you have something to say.” Cain said. Dean was sitting on the edge of the couch, perched as if he was about to speak.
They walked back into Dean’s room and put the new sheets on his bed. Dean dragged the weighted blanket back as well. They climbed back into bed after Dean fussed with the pillows, hiding Cas’s shirt in his own pillow during process. If Cain saw it—well, he didn’t say anything. Dean climbed in and tried to stay as far away from Cain as possible.
That night, he pulled all of his purchases from the heat shop out into his room. He was a bit too embarrassed to unbox some, so he put them in his closet for when he needed them. The weighted blanket was too tempting to ignore so he put a washed duvet over it and curled into bed. It took some adjusting, moving blankets and pillows around so it was perfect. He grabbed a pillow from the living room before climbing in.
“Dean?” A nurse in the doorway called his name. He could still run for it, but for some reason his feet went in the direction of the nurse. They took his blood pressure, which was a little high. But he doesn’t admit to being nervous. They weighed him, recommending that he put on more weight. He frowned at that—he had already put on weight. He was proud of how much he had gained.
“People kept wanting to help—they dropped shit off.” Bobby explained, “Benny brought over some food—too many people brought over pies.” Dean grinned.
Dean nodded, “Expensive leather. Some of them had a velvet t-type of interior on the bench.” Dean showed him a picture.
“Hav-haven’t met one-m-met one y-yet.” Dean stuttered with a smile. Colette rubbed his back again, he was glad she made him come. Even if it was just to eat apple pie. But he did get the feeling that he would be back, and often.
“You did very well on this test Dean, you should definitely consider taking more of these classes in sciences.”
I'm not dead! Bits of this story are slowly coming together, but I wanted to write more before I posted the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed
while Sammy got covered in blood, “You did!” Sammy smiled brightly, it made his split lip bleed a bit more, “We’re going to go to the hospital now, ok?” Dean tried to nod, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know why his mouth tasted like blood. Sam wrapped him in a blanket that smelled like them both. It went over his head enough so he couldn’t see the rest of the room—the blood smeared on the floor. Dean hadn’t realized the room was so loud with whining sounds were coming from him, “We’re ok Dean.” Sam nuzzled close to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.
“Dean.” Cain made a choked sound, “Please look at me.” It wasn’t an order, but the omega in Dean found it difficult to refuse. He rolled over. Cain was crying. Dean couldn’t help but want to reach out and wipe away his tears, whimpering in distress, “Please give me the chance to prove to you that you’re a great omega. I know I can show you.” Dean frowned, “If you let me. Please.”
Billie looked like an LA kind of guy. He had his hair all spiked up and make-up on. Which didn’t make Dean angry, it just wasn’t who he was. Dean didn’t like looking all fancy like that. Frowning, he still clicked the video.
“I made them ‘cause—” The words caught in his throat, “Used to make them for Sam when something good happened. Then—I tried to use them to entice him t-to talk.” Dean frowned, “I just wanted to thank you both for everything.”
When Dean opened the door, he recognized the scent immediately. It was a cool scent, like pine in the winter. It was the alpha that sat with him in the Omega house. Dean eagerly got to work, happy to help the guy who sat with him for hours. The man clearly kept a clean car, the tune up not so long ago that Dean needed to worry when he got underneath. There was still a limit of all he could do at Cain’s, but he had a feeling that was going to change soon. He connected his computer into the center console, humming along to the music playing through the garage speakers.
“I moved out here basically as soon as I could. I was lucky enough where my parents funded my college—I think it was more to get me out of town as well. But I came out here, I met people that supported me and helped me figure everything out myself.” He smiled brightly, “It helped me talk to my parents in a much better way. Teenage angst man, I couldn’t talk to my parents in a productive way. It took time, and it took me apologizing too. Not for what I am—but for how I spoke. They apologized too! We all went to therapy together, we had to put in work to love each other again. It was difficult. Now I work in finance for a music production business out in LA. No one back home ever believes I work in finance looking like this, but in California they don’t really dress in suits, you can wear whatever you want. My parents come in visit, this is a picture of us last week.” The screen showed two parents looking ridiculously proud. His mom was kissing Billie’s cheek, squeezing him tight. And his Dad was laughing, one arm wrapped around Billie as well.
“Dean?” Cain whispered his name and Dean whimpered, trying to turn away, “Please let me be your alpha.
“I’m ok Sammy.” Dean said. He didn’t feel ok, but he didn’t need Sammy to know that. Something similar had happened a few years ago when Dean made a fort in the motel room. Dean should have known better, he shouldn’t have been so
“Nuva Ring has a few wonky side effects for some male omegas.” Castiel said, “In my opinion, they need to tweak the formula for them. There are a wide variety of pills as well. IUD is more invasive in the beginning, but ends up with less impacts usually overall.”
“Try not to get ketchup everywhere.” Bobby huffed, sitting down on the chair next to Karen. Sam scrambled up on the bed, already more than half-way done his milkshake.
“No—I think—I w-want to get wings.” Dean said and Gabe laughed. The omega had his arm wrapped around Dean’s back, rubbing it back and forth. The sugary smell was pleasant, sort of like pie. Ana gave him a water bottle.
Dean nodded, “My d-dad was-wasn’t—” He cleared his throat, “Doesn’t l-like having an o-omega for a son.”
“I figured I would be able to work with whatever was in the back after it was finished.” Castiel said as he put the solution back in the bin and closed it.
Dean laughed loudly, “That is fair enough.” Cas was staring at him, his blue eyes sparkling. The needle was nearly painless, and he quickly filled up a few vials for testing. He bandaged it up after, placing the band-aid on carefully.
“Dean! How is my dear Ruth?” That is what Cain called his Rolls Royce that Dean had been working on. Dean found out Cain called it that because he thought that it looked a bit like a hearse, so he wanted to name it an ‘old name’.
“You’re more suggestible when you receive a bite—did you know that?” Castiel asked calmly. It was slow, like he was trying to be intentional, “It’s in our genetics. It’s an evolutionary benefit, allowing packs to blend together more seamlessly.”
Sam.” Dean thought they were yelling about him, but he didn’t listen too much. His parents had been yelling since Sammy had come home; he wasn’t quite sure why. They yelled before Sam too, Dean would sometimes hide in his closet when it got too scary. There was a loud sound of the bedroom door slamming open. Dean jumped, holding Sammy close to his chest. His father and mother were both standing there, “I won’t have a fucking cunt of a son. I
“Everyone say hello to Benny.” Jody introduced. Benny smelled like spice and a warm oven. He had a bunch of bags in his hands, as did Jody. They started putting them on the counter, filling them out.
“I come from money, so I never had to do my own laundry—cook my own food. Nothing. Coming here and having a strict schedule—I thought I was in prison.” She smiled, “But I was able to get back on my feet. I reached out to my family who I thought wouldn’t hate me for dissolving my bond with my alpha. Gabriel is incredibly supportive, but not the stability I needed. But he brought Cassie, who was the support and stability I needed to recover. So now I moved out—oh, I guess it’s been three years now?” She looked at Jody who nodded, “And I am doing great, this placed helped me out so I give money and time when I can.” Dean was surprised she was so open about her story. She didn’t go into the weeds of details, but she spoke about everything so freely. Dean wished he could do that. He wished he could speak at all.
Dean couldn’t breathe, but he spared a glance at Colette who looked like she was holding back tears, “I just know you deserve an alpha who will take care of you like you take care of everyone around you. You deserve an alpha who respects how hard you work, who helps you achieve your dreams. You deserve an alpha who wants to build you up. I know alpha’s have proven themselves a waste of time for you, but
“You did a great job protecting our nest Sam.” Dean whispered, tucking his too long hair behind one ear. Sam blushed bright red.
“COME IN HERE!” That was his Alpha’s voice. Dean’s body heated up as his stomach dropped, he know this wasn’t going to be good. He could barely get his feet to move forward as he walked down the hallway. He stared at the ground as he turned around the corner.
“My mom has money.” He shrugged, “Drifted for a while. Found Gabriel—my brother—working in a bakery. Ana reached out not long after that—so now we’re our own pack. Changed our last name to Novak and never looked back.”
When Dean pulled up to the store, he nearly barfed and drove away. Ana suggested a heat store that was only for Omega heats. Walgreens had items, but it was always more awkward. And according to Ana, the heat store had better stuff anyway. Ana’s car was already parked out front, which was the only reason he didn’t immediately drive away.
“Yeah. My brother’s place is down the street—his is definitely worth the trip.” Cas paid the bill, even though Dean tried to stop him. Cas waved him off, saying that it was part of his down payment on the car anyway. They slid out of the booth and walked down the street, Dean was glad for a moment to stretch his legs.
“IUD has some reports of effects on heats, but they are minimal compare to others. Birth control pills have varying effects on heat. Some report complete dry up of slick, other’s report too much. IUD has those reports as well, but farther between and a lesser degree. Then, of course, the usuals of weight gain, mood swings, rare blood clots—
Dean didn’t really pay too much attention to what Sam was saying, but he enjoyed listening to him talk. His heart swelled, he knew Sammy was going to go and do great things. He was a little genius already.
Dean couldn’t really believe his own luck. It was halfway through his junior year—just about a year and a month they could be free. They were so close to getting away from Alpha. Dean had nearly refused to call him
“You’re John’s oldest?” Rufus had asked him when Dean showed up one day. Rufus tried not to let it show how hungry he was, but Dean was sure his stomach had growled a few times loud enough to hear it. Dean hoped working at a diner would allow him to take some food home to Sam. Their Dad had taken them there a few times when he was doing well.
“I—do you happen to have a long sleeve?” Castiel asked, half standing in the doorway as he wore his new shirt.
“Benny should be here soon.” Jody said. They took the dismissal for what it was, walking into the kitchen there was one woman already sitting there.
you fucking fag!” The blow Dean would have seen coming if he could keep his head up. He knew it wouldn’t help, but he just couldn’t help himself from exposing his throat in submission.
“Sometimes isn’t enough, sometimes is.” Ana said with a shrug, “Always helpful, especially at the end when it gets exhausting. And are you a boxer briefs kinda guy? I grabbed two packs of the heat briefs. They’re absorbent—you can wash them after or if you can during. Super convenient during the down time in between.” Dean nodded, feeling the material of the black boxer briefs. Being less of a slick mess was definitely better for him.
“Cain and Colette are good people. I’m sure they want to take care of you, it’s why you stayed there last night.” Dean huffed, “I’m sure they kept you there instead of bringing you back here is because they
Cain wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him close and kissed his forehead, “We’ll work on it.”
“We are going to take him at his word, since he hasn’t lied to us yet—right?” Dean frowned, “Has he lied to you?”
It took a considerable amount of effort, his entire body felt like weights were tied to every joint as he made his way to her car. He was horrified that he couldn’t even drive himself and had to be seen in her awful car. It was exhausting to even be a passenger. He pulled the blanket from his bed up around him tighter, but it was no use. By the time he got to the Omega Shelter, his hands were shaking and he vomited as soon as he stepped out of the car.
“Of course, Dean.” Castiel said, offering up his button-down covered arm, “If it is too much, just squeeze my arm and I will get us out.” Dean took his arm, holding his breath as they started to move. Castiel went towards the back wall, furthest away from the bar where there were less people. It also meant that Dean didn’t feel too surrounded. Dean stared at Castiel’s shoulder as they walked through so he didn't look at the other alphas. He could still smell them, but Cas's scent was closer. It felt like forever, but soon they were on the other side.
“He’s now getting into shipping stuff nationally. It’s been quite the ordeal, but he is excited.” Castiel was beaming with pride.
Castiel laughed. It was deep, gravely. Dean had made him laugh like that, he was a bit proud of himself, “No, I have a few scrubs in the back.”
“Yeah.” She whispered, tears in her eyes as she moved to sit on the bed. Dean turned over to see Sam missing. He pulled the blanket tighter to his chest.
“Words of Affirmation.” Missouri finished, “We’ve moved away from this framework, but it’s a good starting point for now. In general, Alphas tend to use more acts of service as a way to show love for pack members. Especially around getting food for pack.”
Dean nodded, feeling shy now that Colette was there. Colette was trying to meet his eye as Castiel backed out of the garage. He gave one last wave before driving down the driveway.
Dean felt something heat up in his chest. He couldn’t quite understand why Cain wanted to do this. Have some kid stay in his house indefinitely? That didn’t make any sense. His chest got tight, wondering when he would be abandoned again. If he had an end date, at least he could prepare for it. With this? This could mean a week, or a month. There was no way for Dean to steal himself against the inevitable rejection.
Colette helped get all the condiments out on the table while Cain gave Dean a beer. Soon, they were all gathered around the table. It looked like Red Robbin with the tall stack of onion rings and the huge bowl of fries.
. Where would they go? He was shaking again, he didn’t like feeling like his stomach was tied up in knots.
. He wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, “There are different toys for different types of attractions. How are you going to buy them, sugar, if you can’t even talk about ‘em?”
“Thanks—I feel b-better.” Dean took in the alpha’s scent, feeling the same sense of calm he did at the omega house, “Thank y-you for everyth-ing you did.”
“Ok, I got you a set of heat ones here.” Cain pulled a set out of the linen closet, “Or, not me, Colette did. But I told her to order them because she knows which ones are best.” He confessed.
“I mostly work in the ER.” Colette answered, “I have scrubbed in on a few of your surgeries. I know you mostly by reputation.”
“Name’s Bobby—I was good friends with your parents awhile back.” He explained, sitting down in an empty chair, “Lost track of you a few years ago.” Dean tried to remember. He thought he had vague memories of this man coming over.
—garage. He put the tray of Gabe’s treats on the counter, most of the house lights were off when he came in.
Dean’s heart was racing, but he followed her up to the omega house. The door buzzed loudly when she pushed the doorbell, making him jump. There was a mechanical sounding latch that opened, allowing them to push the door open.
“Pee on him, Cain. That might make it more obvious.” Colette said with a snort. Dean laughed, but Cain didn’t let go.
"You don't have to if you have other things to do." Dean said when Colette curled up next to him with her laptop.
“Dean?” Castiel popped his head in the door. He was wearing his trench coat, a button up, and a tie. Dean shook his head.
“N-not-not.” Dean huffed, angry that he couldn’t even speak. Colette took his hand and squeezed it, “N-not a-a-a-a-a-a” He wanted to spit it out so he just kept trying. Not like Colette hadn’t seen him in a worse state, “g-g-good O-O-O-O-Omega.” He finally managed to spit out, shaking his head.
“The things you wanted weren't wrong, Anna, they were right. You just wanted to live freely and that shouldn't be a crime. They,” Castiel swallowed looking her over, “they took everything from you.”
Kevin took his seat in front of Jamie and the Doctor, across from Ben and Polly. It felt strange now though, like a whole lifetime had gone by since he’d first gotten on that plane. For the few weeks he had been here, Kevin had gotten everything he’d ever wanted in life. His work had been successful, he had friends and a big family, he’d been in love, had adventure, and lived in a place where people cared about and truly knew one another. He’d lived in the endless darkness and tasted its fresh air, water, and food. He’d loved it, but he didn’t belong there.
“I love you too, Balth,” Castiel said into the man’s neck as Michael gave Castiel a friendly pat on the back and Hannah waited for her hug alongside Samandriel.
Sam just shook his head and started making some tea. As they came towards the kitchen he could barely hear their voices.
Sam swallowed hard, he had to go passed them if he wanted to get to the pearl. Other people were passing them, he just needed to be another one of those people. Sam closed his eyes and let a slow breath out. He moved forward, just as another man did and walked towards where the guards were talking.
“Yeah, it's peaceful. This hike in particular is kinda long so you really don't get that many people.”
Dean heard several shots coming from inside the mill and assumed it must have been Gordon. Crazy fucker. He knew the guy was a psychopath, but to kill his own people? What kind of piece of shit would do that? Benny cursed under his breath and ran back towards the trucks. Jody and Dean ran after him. As they passed the main building of the mill they saw walkers pouring out after them.
“You mean it right? That isn't just the sex talking right? You aren't gonna show up the next day and tell me you decided to stay right?”
“I’d like that,” Kevin said, about to smile only to realize he’d been smiling ever since he shut his mouth. He felt his cheeks go warm.
“All the more reason to make sure she knows you want her before you take off again. Look, Sammy I'll even help you out. Invite her over for dinner. I'll cook, you show her around the house, have your chick-flick moment and ask her the fuck out. Jess is awesome, don't miss your chance because you got your panties in a knot.”
“Doctor…” Polly whispered as she tugged on the Doctor’s sleeve, but the Doctor was back on the microscope, “Not now Polly, I think I’ve almost figured out what is in this vile concoction. It is a tricky little thing, a lot of time went into this.”
“Wow…they definitely look friendly,” Claire said sarcastically from the backseat of Cas’s truck. They watched as the group went into an old gas station to raid the place, it looked to be a group of two men and one woman. They carried axes and machetes, but didn’t seem to have any guns.
“Three dead, a fourth just came down with symptoms. It hits hard and fast, and we don’t have any medicine to calm the fever.”
“Hey, buddy. Look, I'm not gonna kill you. Although, I probably should after you freaking stabbed me. But I owe you one and I'm a man of honor, so with this we're even ok? Don't let me see you again.”
“They probably came to raid the place, found this fucking hell, and said fuck it. Smart. But, if they were just gonna hit and run, they wouldn’t waste the chains and padlocks…no, this is our group, Cas. I can feel it. They planned to keep hitting this town and they didn’t want to deal with all those walkers, so they sealed ‘em in.”
Jack turned to Kevin, “I haven’t really ever played any instruments, but I’ll practice really hard, then maybe we can play together!”
“Anyway, I’m John Campbell, born John Winchester. This inn has been in my family since it was built, so anything you wanna know about it, I’m your man. Me and my family will be taking care of you during your trip, so feel free to ask us if you need anything. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all served here, but feel free to head over to The Roadhouse down the path if you get tired of my son’s cooking.”
“Hardly, they make pretty great desserts when combined with snow. Especially yellow snow, if you can find it. Why don’t you go try it?”
After a while of Kevin quietly concentrating on trying to draw Sam, he broke the silence in frustration, clearly hoping for a distraction, “So are we gonna talk about it?”
The council was planning to gather for talks about how they should respond to the situation, but there was still much to be done before that talk could happen. New scientists would need to be assigned to the weather control machines and some of those who had retired from the position would need to be called in immediately to train them alongside Jess. Import priorities needed to be adjusted and the forests would need to be combed for damages, bodies, and underground labs.
“First off, it was Magic the Gathering, and you know it. Second, I totally kept count. Your distraction techniques won’t work on me.”
Dean rolled his eyes and moved his lips next to Cas's ear, “I'm asking if you are gonna get that sexy ass moving and take me up against one of these trees, tonight.”
Dean glanced over to where Jack was sorting things on a separate aisle with Sam, “No kidding, gotta be at least a grand worth of this stuff.”
“That sounds great. I’ve been wanting a ride in one of these babies,” Ben said excitedly. The group followed Kevin to where his car had been parked for the month, they loaded their bags in the back and crowded inside.
“Look inside.” Kevin urged quietly and Sam opened it to the index. Inside were dictionaries for nearly all of the languages in modern day use as well as some incomplete dictionaries for ancient tongues that were mostly lost. Sam moved through the pages entranced as Kevin began again, “I use to study this with my tutor. Language was one of my favorite things to study, after music. I've heard your incantations, I bet you'd be really good at foreign language; you'll probably be better than I ever was.”
“I most certainly did,” the disheveled Doctor replied stubbornly, which only made the other three burst into laughter. Kevin couldn’t help but feel a bit lonely as he looked out at the planet ahead. Traveling for work always felt a bit lonely. Through his work, he had experienced so many amazing things, been to more planets than most people could boast, seen dozens of rare sights both dangerous and beautiful, and eaten the best foods the universe had to offer, but he had always had to experience them with strangers or alone.
Dean practiced his magic muting spells over and over until he was exhausted and then took a seat near the training dummies. He poured a bucket of cold water over himself, letting it soak his head and run down into his robe and armor.
“Kevin?” Kevin’s attention was torn away to Sam who was standing in front of him with a worried look, “Are you sure you won’t reconsider, we don’t know what is going on out there, but it’s not safe, you should stay here.”
The Novak tree had made a thick wall around the storage unit, no wonder things had been quiet recently. Kevin watched as hunters rushed through a small opening in the wall.
“What? He is a shem, that is his parents' fault, not mine." When Castiel's glare didn't soften Balthazar rolled his eyes, "Don't be so touchy, I get it you want to make sure he's ok or whatever. I'll see you at dinner.” Balthazar bowed with a flourish and left. Sam looked at Castiel confused.
Cas looked away, “When it was happening, it was all adrenaline. I didn't really even have time to think about what could have happened until later,” Cas looked back at Dean, “and after hearing all the stories of those in the tower and the things they've had done to them, I came to realize how lucky I've been, even with what happened yesterday. Things could have been a lot worse if you weren't there, so, thank you.”
“See, there you go. You are doing your job and you are doing what you think is right. Have some faith in yourself, you are a good man. I wish you could be even half as proud of yourself as I am of you.”
“Look, you want revenge, you got it, but this is done-” Benny started, but Gordon quickly cut him off.
Slightly sexual coercion/power play (it doesn't get that sexual, but it is pretty intense with the coercion/power play so just a heads up)
“You put bugs in their rooms? How does that help anything?” Jamie asked disgusted and Polly sighed, “Bugs are like recorders, remember that voice recorder I showed you? It’s like that.”
Castiel had been trained to navigate using the sky, so combined with Dean’s map, they easily made their way through the thick forest. The place was even more perfect than Dean had originally thought. Not only was it at the top of a mountain, but the whole area was cleared out, so the forest framed a giant, open, circular area that was once used for tubing and skiing. That kind of clarity would allow the people in the lodge plenty of warning if a hoard actually managed to get there after somehow climbing up the mountain and getting through the thick forest. The lodge itself was right by the road, so the occupants had an easy way out in an emergency. It also had a dirt path that cut across the cleared area to the opposite side, where yet another road was hidden just behind the trees. On several sides, they also saw small red shacks labeled “Ski Patrol,” which Dean could imagine being used as watch towers.
Charlie blushed bright red looking away, “Well, you see, there is sort of this tradition that when a couple marries, they go out to the forest to uhm…procreate. Doing it out in the forest not only blesses the union, but they say it helps with conceiving and childbirth.”
“Sure…good luck with that,” Kevin mumbled quietly, wheezing and coughing a few times before closing his eyes and going still.
“That makes sense, Anna would talk about how she felt trapped having to do what her mother did. She’d complain about how they lived a lot too. Sayin’ that everything we had must be nice and all,” Ben added.
“Still, I don't think everyone gets homesick. Sam seems fine and I'm sure he understands that your father has an important job to do.”
Dean was running through the forest, the lyrium pumped through his body so powerfully that he felt like he could run forever. He looked around constantly, he knew he heard something this way. It was nearly dark, but this mage, this one was worth drudging around in the dark for. She'd already killed 3 templars, she was smart, powerful and wild. All day Dean had been on her trail, but she had led him in circles. Most of his brothers were out hunting her, but he hadn't seen them for days. The further out she got, the more they had to spread out, but Dean knew he was close. The air seemed to reek of magic.
Dean laughed and shook his head, “Dude, you can't seriously want to see me and Benny make out, you don't even like guys.”
Dean started to hum rapidly and whisper lyrics to some song Kevin didn’t know. “Not this again, you want a beer, son, will that help?” John offered, but Dean shook his head frantically and kept humming.
Kevin grinned and moved his hands down to the bottom of Sam’s shirt and slipped his fingers underneath before moving them back up, feeling every muscle and bone hidden under his soft skin, “You do make a pretty good argument.” Sam gave a pleased hum as he leaned back a bit, giving Kevin’s hands space, but also pressing himself down onto Kevin’s lap.
Kevin’s wince accompanied Benny’s soft groan. He needed to do something, he needed away from there or he was going to throw up. “Do you have first aid supplies at the Inn? I could go get them,” Kevin offered and Dean looked over at him, but Kevin couldn’t meet his eyes.
Sam laughed catching his meaning and he crawled onto Kevin’s lap, pressing his long legs on either side of Kevin to avoid crushing him. Kevin’s eyes widened and he quickly moved his hands to Sam’s sides, feeling his warmth made him unconsciously whimper.
“Look, I ain’t asking for your whole crew. The one who owes the debt is you. We only need a few extra hands, you, your boy, maybe one or two of your guys, whoever you can pull, that would be enough.”
He wasn’t, and she didn’t. She did, however, laugh at his stick-dragon for a good 10 minutes until she was crying. Somehow, Jack still guessed it was meant to be a Charizard.
After the movie, Kevin and his mom went to get dinner at a classy seafood place nearby on the upper level. His mom loved the place and they almost always ate there when they went out together.
Dean glanced over at Benny and noticed how tense he looked, his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. “It’s gonna be fine, you know? You want me to drive so you can get a nap or something?” Between working on strategies, organizing supply runs, helping Ash build pieces of his barricade, and driving around to recruit backup, the guy had barely slept the last two days. Dean may have been right there with him for most of it, but at least he was able to grab a few hours here and there. Benny, on the other hand, had to be running on fumes at this point.
“I missed you too, Brady,” Sam said honestly and Brady moved closer into his space, not going for a kiss, but leaving the option open for Sam to take if he wanted it. It was always like him to let Sam take the first step, to be the initiator. Sam looked at him and countless memories of stressful afternoons burned away in his arms talking about anything and everything, flooded his mind. He could still remember the citrus scent of Brady's clothes mixed with the spice of his deodorant and his natural grassy scent. He could remember his different tastes and touches, he could remember the feeling of Brady's soft sandy hair brush against his cheek when they slept and of the warmth he felt went they were joined together.
Cas blushed realizing he had been staring at Balthazar the whole time, “Sorry, I was just thinking about something. Balthazar can I ask you something?”
So, there are a lot of kinds/ranges of demisexuals out there, some on the ace spectrum and others not. Please don't take this depiction to be all encompassing or anything.
“You know, Dean…this part reminds me of us a little bit,” Castiel said quietly, holding a small paperback version of Romeo and Juliet in his hands.
“It's alright, I could tell you were in pain. Doesn't it bother you? Letting them have so much control over you? Knowing that they are slowly poisoning you?”
Cas sat up, still straddling Dean's waist. “I know you've been waiting for us to have enough time to make it “special”.” Cas said using hand quotes that made Dean roll his eyes. “But, I don't think we will have a full day together anytime in the foreseeable future.”
“Ok, so skipping this whole strip-wicked grace idea, what can we do instead?” Samandriel asked, looking around.
“You could just stay here you know? You could set up shop with me, help me run the tavern. Maybe we could pay some other templar to sneak him out of there.”
“Yeah, he was the community hunter, the one who hunts for those who can’t, but since he’s leaving his family and coming into mine and I’ve got the Inn, he could choose to change roles and yeah, he practically jumped at the chance.”
Sam looked back once the smoke started to thin. He was hoping it would be something obvious, like a dead rat stuck somewhere, but no such luck. Just looking at the different parts, he had to face the inevitable truth, Sam had no idea what he was doing. Dean loved cars. That was something else he had picked up from their dad and probably from some of his contacts. He took care of the Impala whenever dad was gone, he had apparently been an on-and-off car thief, and once they were on the road in the apocalypse, he had taken lots of parts from other cars to keep the Impala running this long. He had even had to rebuild her a couple of times. Unfortunately, that meant that Sam had never really picked up any of those skills because he could always just rely on his older brother. “I uh…think we need to get Dean for this.” Claire rolled her eyes and Jack smiled, nodding in support.
After their meal, Castiel, Sam, Dean, Claire, and Jack headed back to the docks, loaded everything into the truck and headed back into town to bury Sally.
“Not gonna lie, sounds pretty depressing, Cas,” Dean teased before licking a long, slow strip down Cas’s length following a pulsing vein, then open mouth kissing his way back up.
“Dammit,” Ben swore suddenly as he dropped his knife, jumping back to keep it from his hitting his feet. Kevin looked up at the sound and watched as Ben picked the knife up, his irritation and worry radiating from him in waves
Benny made his way close to the harbor and turned off into the trees again to open the cart. “Alright, from here you can make your way in. You better all go in separately though. There isn't a gate and there should be a lot of boats with their crews loading and unloading cargo around, so it should be easy for you to slip in and get into the back alleys. Dean, you look like a sailor anyway, carry in a box of potatoes and take it right to the pearl and no one will bat an eye at you. Kevin, you hold yourself like a noble no matter what you do, so I recommend you go with it. You're headed to a whorehouse anyway, try to look like a spoiled brat who's trying not to get caught with his dick in the honeypot.” Kevin's eyes went wide at that and Dean snickered. “Sam, you're gonna stick out no matter what you do, being that tall. I got a cloak in the back, throw it on and keep your head down, don't let any guards or templars see you and you should be alright. Take the backstreets and get in The Pearl as quick as you can. The Pearl ain't that far in, play your cards alright and you'll do fine. You all got the map in your heads yet?”
Dean blushed and looked out the window to hide it, trying to focus on what he now knew was the ‘Snake river’ as it wound it’s way through the bare, brown hills that led to the Lewiston valley. Benny gave an airy sigh, “You don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t want to, I just wanted to tell you, I’m cool with whatever.”
“It would be one thing if he didn't like me or something, but it's all just because he doesn't have time. That's crap! I mean, I knew he was ambitious and I like that about him, but he's going too far. I mean, he's taking poison!”
Claire rolled her eyes, “Fine. Just, be careful, and shout if you need me. You two hurt my little brother and I will fucking end you.” She pointed to her eyes and then to them, to prove she would be watching them, before slinging Dean’s assault rifle over her shoulder and heading into the kitchen.
“As if this giant can get lost in a crowd.” Kevin said bumping his shoulder against Sam's only to earn a playful glare.
Cas penetrated the ring of muscle slowly, but watching Dean's face tighten in pain made him stop, “Are you ok?”
“Oh yes, we’re fine, maybe we’ll join you later,” Polly said with a smile and The Doctor nodded, “Alright then, shall we, Jamie?”
Castiel closed the space between them again, and then spoke slowly, punctuating each word, “You never build, Winchesters just take or destroy.” Dean looked at him in disbelief as he continued, “I know you don’t agree with this, the fact that you were ready to bash that boy’s head in down there made it clear enough what you want, but Sam told me about the community in Chicago…he told me how everyone worked together.-”
“So basically, I'm still aiming to be the first Asian-American president of the United States. Figure I'll get a business degree, maybe go into law, get a minor in philosophy on the side, you know just so people like you can't out argue my logic with their emotional appeals,” Kevin teased as he dipped his nachos into a messy mix of sour cream and salsa.
“Laugh it up, real cute, Cas.” Castiel smiled and looked away, the air felt lighter then, and Dean finally let himself relax.
Sam looked down with a twitch of irritation, “Shouldn’t I be the one to choose what I ‘should’ be doing?” He was snapping back, this was an interesting turn of events.
The room they entered was a narrow loft that overlooked the floor below. The only light came from a large fireplace below, which left this floor covered in shadows. From what they could see, there were sleeping bags and pillows lined up in two rows with stacked tables and chairs along the far wall. The room was still, but Dean remained cautious as he carefully looked around, pushing his toe into some of the fluffier sleeping bags to make sure no one was in there with them. His brow furrowed as he pointed his gun at each sleeping bag he inspected. Castiel counted a total of 16 sleeping bags, though he supposed this wasn’t necessarily where everyone slept. After all there was a smaller cabin right next to the lodge.
“If my mother had her way, I’d be a doctor. Or the president. Probably president of New Earth,” Kevin added and Polly looked at him with surprise before laughing sympathetically, “No pressure there, or anything.”
After work, Dean stopped by his house to take a quick shower and then changed into his swimming trunks. He looked around for Sam to see if he wanted to go too, but when he didn't find him he sent him a text.
Benny clapped him on the shoulder, then looked around his group, “Alright, here we go, it’s time to get this done. Ash hand out the walkie talkies then get your team on unloading the trucks. Donna and Jody, you two head up and start firing whenever you’re ready. Meg, Dean, you two check your ammo and be ready to roll. Fergus, I got a map in my truck, let’s go look over the routes again, we gotta make this as smooth and as fast as possible.” Everyone looked determined and focused as they headed off to their individual tasks. Benny’s group had lost a lot of people over the last few weeks, they weren’t willing to lose any more.
Kevin moaned and hooked his robe tangled arms around Sam's shoulders, Sam lifted him a bit and Kevin's legs instantly went around his lover's waist. With Kevin's light weight, Sam easily maneuvered him up against the wall and sent a lingering trail of kisses along his collarbone. He could feel Kevin growing hard and poking eagerly at his stomach and it set him off. Sam was an aggressive lover by nature, and in moments he was attacking Kevin's mouth with his own, moaning into him and biting at his lips as his waist pressed against Kevin tightly. Kevin held on tight and pushed against the wall to push against Sam as close as possible. Finally, the robe disentangled from his arms and fell to the ground and he was able to grab at Sam's strong back muscles freely.
“Keep taking turns, we don’t want to be in their line of fire,” Kevin suggested and Polly gave an agreeing hum, though she was clearly too focused to really respond.
“Not the hair, please, do you have any idea how long it takes to set it just right?” Balthazar complained as he batted her away.
“That sounds wonderful!” Polly added brightly while Jamie just rolled his eyes and kept his arms crossed until The Doctor gave him a scolding look and instantly the young man looked sheepish.
“If you show her that we aren’t interested in what she has to say, I’m sure she’ll move on. She’s not an idiot or she wouldn’t be on the council, she knows you and knows you reflect this community’s opinions. You opposed her at the initial presentation, she won’t waste too much time trying to sell you on it now. She’ll go for the maybes, the swing votes, and try to get majority rule.”
Dean grinned with building hope, “Yeah? Me too.” Castiel looked at him curiously and Dean shrugged, “Benny already knows, Jody saw us in the cabin, and hell, Claire has suspected my…uh… less than pure intentions towards you pretty much since the beginning. That doesn’t leave too many people to surprise at this point.”
Jamie grinned, “Aye that sounds like Dean.” Charlie lifted her brows and shoulders, nodding her agreement awkwardly.
“Who is Kevin?” Gabriel looked over at Sam and Sam just put his face back in his hands and tried to will the entire dinner away.
Kevin could somewhat pick up on the gasps, whispers, and teasing from the others in the room, but for the most part everything was all Sam and his soft, large mouth that seemed to consume Kevin’s.
On reflex, Dean practically shoved Cas away and tried to make himself look busy, but Hannah ignored the effort. She was 12 at the time and absolutely adorable. She had long brown curls and big bright eyes, plus it didn’t hurt that she was also smart enough to talk her way in or out of anything.
Dean laughed, then went quiet, “Anna was pretty sweet…” He could still remember the sting of her slap and the strength and conviction of her voice, even when she was crying. “I wonder if she’s really gone…”
“That is fair, but honestly any stories about here are just going to be boring. It’s always the same here, the same people, the same food, the same traditions, year after year, but you, you get to explore all over the place. That’s amazing, there must be so much out there.” Despite the wonder and longing in his eyes, Sam’s brows tightened in frustration and instantly the mood was killed. Kevin scolded himself as he looked Sam over one more time trying to find hope of restoring the mood, but when he realized the mood was sufficiently dead, he set his beer bottle down.
“No avoiding it, someone has to go,” Gordon said again, looking each member of the group over, as if he were shopping for a steak and wanted to find the leanest cut.
The girl looked him over suspiciously and thought about it for a moment before finally giving a dramatic sigh, “We’ll take a look at your brother’s foot if you want…but don’t try anything or I swear to god I’ll shoot you both in the head.”
“I don't think I'm getting any better. Even with practicing at the cafe, I feel I need.... guidance.”
Dean and Benny parked the truck and walked in step along a salted cobble stone path towards a two-story cottage that looked like something out of an old Germanic fairytale, particularly the kind where the witch inside ate unwanted visitors.
By the time Benny came back, they were ready to go. Benny went out first with Dean and told him to 'get the gate' which was established code for be look out. Dean went to the gate and opened it up, taking a look up and down the road, but the closest people he could see were a ways off and working on fixing up a roof of a hut, so he figured they were safe. With that, Benny rushed the mages into the back of the cart and made sure everything was tied down properly. When the three were out of sight, Dean came over and hopped up on the cart and Benny followed closely behind him, setting his crossbow at his feet.
“Not at all, I for one look forward to sex where we can orgasm together....and avoid injury. Dean, I should tend to your hands while I still have enough energy to keep the aura going.”
“Ok, I’m going on ahead, there are some things a father doesn't need to hear about his son,” John said, doubling his pace.
Dean had meant to help Sam by coming here, not hurt him worse than he'd already been hurt. It sucked, but it had only been a day. Sam said he needed time and Dean would give that to him. He'd be patient and do things right and with a clear head. First things first was to make sure he had a place among the other templars. Dean went to the templar table and sat down.
“What do you mean?” Andrea asked, keeping her eyes on Cas, and away from the gun that Dean was still pointing at her.
“You lead them back, I’m going to help the others,” Cas said as he grabbed Dean’s knife from his thigh holster.
“Yup…apparently, you don’t smell it if you’re here all the time. Those of us that only came in now and then though, woo-boy, it was one hell of a reason to make sure the shopping got done quick.” Dean grinned imagining Benny rushing Andrea down the aisles of some tiny hick-ass version of a mall, grumbling all the way.
Kevin looked around, there were still a few guests here and there, but Dean, John, and Jamie had gone off somewhere, taking the alter with them. Knowing that at least Sam’s family wasn’t right there, he sighed and gave in to the line of questioning, “It was nice. We went to the greenhouse.”
“Fuck, I forgot about the hobbit sized biohazard down here,” Dean pulled his shirt up to cover his face and moved to the far end of the room away from Kevin, but also far from the walker cage, “So much for sane people, huh?”
“Because you are going to cum when I let you, and not before,” Cas said as simple as if he were talking about what they were going to have for breakfast and Dean's breath caught in his throat. He nodded.
“Alright, alright. Can't blame a guy for trying. See you later.” Cas nodded and moved in for one quick, chaste kiss before heading to his old, barely working car. Dean watched Cas leave and waved him off before going back into the house to find Sam.
“You hold that head up, baby. I didn’t raise you to mope. Now get out of that bed and go enjoy yourself, you only have a couple more weeks there.”
Sam took the plate and Gabriel instantly sat across from him, watching for his reaction. Sam kept his eyes on Gabriel's as he dipped a frog leg in the cheese sauce and brought it to his lips. The frog was like a slightly fishy chicken with a Cajun spices in the breading, but the cheese sauce was an incredibly smooth blend that calmed the heat. Sam hummed his approval as he washed it down with some water, “That is actually really good. I mean, chicken might be better than frog legs, but the way the spices and the sauce balance each other out is really good. Seriously.”
Jamie put his bag up next, along with the Doctor’s, as The Doctor took their key and shoved it deep into his pocket before rejoining the others. Kevin went up to the desk and waited for one of the boys to return back downstairs. He hadn’t really gotten a good look at them while he had been in line, but as one returned downstairs, he realized they weren’t ‘boys’, they were grown men.
The next few days, Castiel struggled to move forward with his work, rushing from one person to another to get their stories before another fire 'accident' could occur.
“A month ago, I had no idea what to do, but your company told me when you’d be back and they gave me your mom’s contact information, so I’ve actually been staying with her for the last month. That’s how I got these clothes.”
“Nah, I left your damn dagger over there.” Dean pointed about 30 feet away from Cole where the dagger was clean and leaning against a tree stump. “Wiggle your way over and cut yourself loose. We'll be long gone by the time you get outta there.”
Castiel’s shoulders tensed, “Forgive me for my hesitation…I have children at home. Until I’m sure we can reach an agreement, I’d rather not-“
There was a quiet whistle in the distance, then a flutter of wings, followed by a squishing sound. Dean and John stopped in their tracks and Jamie moved close, “We got something?”
“You mean before or after I got expelled…” Dean asked quietly, gluing his eyes to a spot on the ground at the bottom of the stairs. His hands felt shaky.
“I dunno, maybe Cas found it on his way out and left it for me? What do you think he means with that 'come back to the family?' crap?” | [
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Cas cried out Dean’s name, hooking Dean’s jaw with his fingers still in Dean’s mouth and yanking him around for a sloppy kiss. Dean used his sore ass muscles to milk the rest of Cas’s orgasm from him, Cas moaning weakly into his mouth.
But if he had knocked, he would have missed seeing Cas fucking something he couldn’t see at first underneath him. Then Cas moved, sitting up to fuck a fleshlight between two pillows, crying out Dean’s name as he came.
He closed his eyes, listening to Cas’s steps retreating downstairs, out the door, and the BMW revving its engine. There was a squeal of tires and then quiet.
The walk down the hall reminded him exactly how large the plug felt. It was comfortably situated inside him, pressing and rubbing his prostate with every step. His cock took notice, so he had to adjust himself, and button his flannel to cover the bulge. It worked well- this wasn’t the first time he’d had an inappropriate boner.
“Uh...what? Nothing, I mean, go back to sleep.” He was mortified at being caught. He’d definitely never tried to jerk off in the bed next to
Cas sat up and threw back the covers on the empty side of the bed and looked back at Dean expectantly. Dean dropped his bag and turned off the bathroom light.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Cas whispered. He moved further down, Dean glad he was going to get sucked off. He really needed to come. But instead, Cas parted his legs, bending his knees to his chest, exposing his hole. Dean spread his legs further, excited about Cas touching him there.
Cindy snorted and handed the phone back. “Uh, the B in LGBTQ stands for Bisexual, yet somehow people always forget that it’s a thing. Maybe you should tell him how you feel.”
, a rare first edition, most likely found by Uncle Bobby- he loved to collect old books. This one was in excellent condition for its age, and he couldn’t wait to re-read it.
It only took seconds for Cas to come after him, but those seconds were long enough for Dean to realize he was speaking the truth, and as he felt Cas start to orgasm, he grabbed Cas’s come-covered fingers and sucked them into his mouth, licking his own semen off them, nearly deep-throating Cas’s fingers. It was weird, but he wanted as much of Cas inside him as he could get.
“Good, Dean. You look so fucking good on my truck, fucking yourself. The gear shift knob, that was something, very creative. The trailer hitch was the icing on the cake, really.”
Cas plucked at the bedspread. “No...I haven’t. I...like to imagine them on someone else. Kind of a fantasy enhancer. I am quite fond of a product call the Fleshlght, though, it’s a silicone tube that you sick-”
Cas could feel Dean tighten around him, already nearing orgasm, roughly calling out Cas’s name over and over, like a prayer, until he came with a shout, spurting between their bellies, his hole squeezing and releasing Cas until it dragged him over the edge. He pushed in one final time and filled Dean, come pumping hotly into him, marking him, claiming him.
“Cas, I’m gonna need you to wake up a little and get in the shower, okay man? You should really wash off that cut on your hand.”
“I know, Dean, just a few more hours.” Cas wasn’t sure Dean was even aware of his surroundings at that point, but he asked anyway. “What would you like me to do now?”
Dean laughed delightedly, leaving the room quietly, closing the door behind him. He was quick in the bathroom, brushing his teeth first so his dick got a chance to settle down so he could actually pee. He smelled his armpits, and shrugged. He hopped into the shower and quickly scrubbed, nothing fancy, and toweled off. He made a stop at Cas’s room to steal some bottles of water from the mini fridge.
“Hate to interrupt you guys, but, Steve?” She looked chagrined. “Customer got ff in the john again.”
“Chill, man, it’s cool, I’m sure you can get it dry cleaned.” Dean said nonchalantly, looking around for his shirt and shrugging into it.
Cas was already starting to harden again. Dean was jelly in his arms as he laid him back on his bed. He was smiling blissfully and looking up at Cas with something like awe and longing. Cas folded his wings back and removed his coat and tie as Dean watched, stripping quickly down and standing naked before Dean, waiting to see what happened next. Would Dean ask him to lie down too? Or would he just see this as a one night stand? But Dean was already sitting up and reaching out to him, pulling him down on top of him, kissing him desperately, and wrapping his legs around Cas tightly.
“Oh, and, Cas? Leave the eyeliner on.” Dean loved the way Cas shuddered and grabbed the doorframe, as if the request made his knees weak.
This was fine, right? Cas was like a brother, and Dean had shared motel beds in the past with Sam, until he got too big and would flop around, kicking Dean onto the floor. No big deal, right?
“Come on little bro, would I ever lie to you?” Gabriel had his best shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
Dean shook a finger at Cas. “Nope, go brush your teeth and pee. I’m just going to lie here and think dirty thoughts while you’re gone.”
Cas felt the swirling heat in his body tighten in his chest and spread down to his groin as he neared the edge, losing focus and moaning brokenly. Impulsively, he grabbed Dean by the neck and pulled his head down so their mouths met in a clash of teeth and tongues, sucking, desperate kisses as Cas hurtled over the edge with Dean clenching his cock tightly with his hole, and spilling a second time over his fist. Cas filled the condom inside Dean, wishing he didn’t have to wear it, that Dean would be marked as his, walking around with Cas’s come sliding out of his ass as he went and ‘entertained’ other men. The idea made Cas shudder in another pulse of come, leaving him boneless and panting hotly into Dean’s slack mouth.
Dean moaned and got up on all fours, tilting his hips back like he did that day when Cas had to work that witch’s potion from his body. It made Cas shiver.
Dean held his breath as he watched Cas slip out of the bathroom and out the door again. He was pretty sure Cas hadn’t noticed he was there, and it was a good thing. He was completely naked except for a pair of black panties, paused in the act of jerking off.
They returned to the library, Dean trailing the group, still avoiding Cas’s eyes. Rowena pointed to a couch and motioned for Dean to lie down. He stared at her.
Cas bit his lip and scrambled out of Dean’s bed. He grabbed the offered water, looking at Dean’s pebbled nipples and growling.
Dean stood up. There was no way he’d get a nap now. Might as well get a shower and make plans for New Year’s. He hoped that 2018 wouldn’t suck as much as the last day of 2017.
Cas’s mouth was hanging open, and he was propped up again, watching Dean openly. His chest was heaving with sharpened breaths, and he was obviously turned on. Dean glanced down to see that Cas had pulled the covers off himself and was holding his large thick cock tightly as it throbbed.
Dean thought about how hard it might be to drive with the plug teasing him every time he shifted in his seat. It was way too tempting to ride in Cas’s truck, bouncing along, driving the plug into his prostate. And Cas not knowing that he still had it in.
Dean pulled Cas forward until he could reach his mouth again, slowly kissing him to distract from the pain. He wrapped his legs around Cas and pulled him further in with his heels, feeling like he would split in half. He arched his back when Cas slid by his prostate, the crown of his cock catching on it and moving deeper.
That snapped something in Cas, and he flipped Dean to his back again, holding him down, his wings spreading out in the space of the hideaway room. “I want you, Dean, and I don’t want anything else.” He began to work the plug out- moaning when he saw it was the biggest plug of the set. Perfect.
Cas huffed. “Naomi was in rare form. She read me the riot act, degraded my choice of major, and then lectured me about what a CEO should be like. I got out of there as quick as I could before I could develop a serious drinking problem. Drove back.”
He glanced back just in time to see Charlie reach over and shut Dean’s mouth for him and push him toward the bar. Amusing. He was feeling buzzed and a bit full of himself. Tonight could be fun, after all.
“For example,” he continued, “I usually sleep in the shop, after stocking shelves at night, and have read every detail of every device in the store. I know how everything is used, how it all works, and have even purchased a few items of my own.”
“That good?” Dean asked hopefully. Cas had definitely had more experience than Dean, so he hoped his was at least half as satisfied as Dean felt. For Dean, it was no contest. That was the best sex he’d ever had.
“Oh, fuck, Cas,” Dean moaned, “oh yeah, fuck…” He whimpered when Cas thrust his tongue in sharply, feeling the tight clench of Dean’s hole grip him. He growled thinking about how the clench would feel around his cock, tight and perfect.
Dean leaned against the counter, pressing at the largest plug that he’d been secretly walking around with all morning. For some reason, it wasn’t working, wasn’t scratching the itch, wasn’t
Cas chuckled. “You will always and forever have me after this, Dean. I will never make you wait, I swear.”
Cas pulled Dean up to kiss him, rolling them until Dean was on the bottom. Cas then spun around until he was straddling Dean’s face.
“Is it even possible that my cock, which is larger than anything we’ve ever penetrated you with, can fit so neatly inside you?” Cas groaned as he slowed the roll of his hips to give Dean a break. “There is nothing impossible here, Dean. You will be existing with me on a different plane from now on. All you have to do is come two more times.”
Then Cas sank deeper. There was Dean’s soul, so perfect in its imperfections, shining and beautiful, the tiny parts of Cas winking back at him. He saw there, finally, what he had always seen but somehow didn’t understand.
“Well, are you going to be doing the dragging, or should I?” Cas was now only inches away. Dean’s heart was thundering.
Dean had come down from his post-orgasmic bliss and panicked- but when he went to erase it, he saw it already had about a thousand hits! In a matter of minutes!
Cas looked between them at Dean’s dripping cock and slowly reached over and pulled the panties down and hooked them around Dean’s balls. Dean sighed in approval, hissing in Cas’s ear when his warm hand wrapped around the burning hot flesh, so hard and like his own, Cas stroked upward, gathering all the dripping precome and slowly jerked off Dean, matching his rhythm to his fingers fucking in and out of Dean’s hole.
He relaxed and the plug slid in easier, and he pulled it out and teased himself a little, pushing it in a little further. Finally, he got the courage to push it in, almost with an audible pop, and he was shaking and sweating when he was done. He turned and sat on it, rocking against the pain of the stretch, which was so delicious. Cas’s cock was so huge, bigger than he’d ever seen, really.
Cas stood by the bar, looking around the club as the bass pulsed on the very crowded dance floor. He certainly was getting a lot of stares. He wondered if this was the wisest move, letting Ms. Diamond LaRue surface and drag him into the makeup room. Sure it was just a little eyeliner, but the reactions from the drag queens coming into work while he was back there raved about how sexy he looked. They said his eyes were ‘stunning’ and ‘to die for’ and ‘panty soakers’, but the only panties he could think about were the ones Dean was wearing in his mind, prancing around his room, teasing Cas.
Dean yanked Cas down and devoured his mouth, crying out when their erections slid along each other for a moment. The pain of the plug subsided, and Dean began to crave the next size up.
“Dean’s fine,” Cas answered quickly, “he was taking a nap before we came, I’m sure he’s still tired.” Then he went ahead and ordered a patty melt for Dean and an ice cream for himself.
He hadn’t heard much from Cas that week between Christmas and New Year’s, but that was always a nothing week- time to visit family, do some sales shopping, play with new toys.
“Oh bless his lil’ ole pea pickin’ heart!” Diamond said in her best Southern Belle accent, “sorry baby, I know you have it bad for Ms. Larue, but I can’t do my angel like that- he fell for you first.”
Cas could feel the whiskey creeping into his peripheral. It was a warm feeling, light, buzzy. He headed out into the mob, swaying and stepping in time to the beat. He found a good spot and just let go.
A delivery man in a blue uniform sat a box down on the end of the counter and passed over a clipboard.
Cas pulled out, changing positions again, this time on their sides, Cas behind Dean again, holding up one of his legs to get deeper. Dean’s eyes rolled back as Cas let go of his leg and grabbed his cock, smearing the precome all around, pumping his fist quickly, nailing his prostate on every stroke. Dean felt taken, owned, claimed, and he went rigid as his pleasure overtook him again and he came, crying out Cas’s name over and over, cursing at the intensity, then going limp as Cas pounded harder into him, chasing his own pleasure. Dean whispered encouragement, throwing in a few dirty phrases to bring Cas to the edge.
Cas nodded and dipped in for a few more kisses and knelt between Dean’s thighs. Dean felt his hole throb and clench around nothing, waiting impatiently for Cas to enter him.
Cas smiled at her. “Was he handsome with devastating green eyes and sandy brown hair, looking like he needs a good spanking?” Wow, he was already pretty sloshed.
Cas pulled out his phone and opened his photos, handing it over to Cindy. “Just scroll through, they are mostly of Dean.”
He pulled out of Dean just in time, spilling on Dean’s belly and using his come to jerk Dean off. Dean came hard, crying out Cas’s name over and over, until going limp.
“And about damn time too!” Ellen exclaimed. “If you could have heard how he mooned over that woman when she married your dad- I swear. I never measured up, but I hardly cared. We got to have Jo, then I met the love of my life.” She nodded over at Pam who was leaning over the bar, reading a man’s palm and laughing with him. Pam was awesome. She seemed to feel eyes on her and looked up, giving Ellen a wink. Ellen rolled her eyes and blushed. “That woman will be the death of me.”
“I don’t think he’s really interested in me. He’s having fun or whatever, and maybe I should be doing that too.”
As they sped down the road, Cas wound his fingers together with Dean’s, excited to be included in a normal happy family. Sure it had happened fast- but their friends said it was meant to be, and it seemed everyone had considered them inevitable since the fateful kiss at that party. Even the frat brothers were in agreement that it was ‘chick-flick magical’ when they kissed.
“I wish you hadn’t healed your handprint that time,” Dean mumbled, smiling lazily up at Cas. “I used to look in the mirror for it, but it was gone. I knew you still left your mark on me, I can always feel it, but I kinda liked the idea that you had claimed me for everyone to see.”
The idea of it caused a roll of pleasure to run over Dean. He moaned and rocked faster, looking at the chair pretending Cas was sitting there in his stupid suit and coat that Dean loved so much, staring Dean down with dark eyes, mouth open and lips wet and panting as Dean pleasured himself on the plug. Fuck, it felt so good.
Cas fell forward, boxing Dean in as he rubbed his still spurting cock against Dean’s. Dean moaned and pulled Cas flush against him in the mess, not caring about it, but suddenly needing Cas’s mouth against his own, and Cas smiled against his lips, dipping into his mouth with a confident tongue. Dean melted further into the mattress, wrapping his wobbling legs around Cas and holding him there, wondering what it would be like to have Cas push his cock deep inside of him, pounding into him, fucking him until he was jelly.
He looked pretty good right then, cock all hard and poking out of the waistband of the black panties he’d shoplifted from Walmart. His hair was a little messy, and he was holding an anal plug that his best friend just surprised him with and told him to ‘enjoy.’
Cas suddenly grinned. “I got you!” he said, pretty pleased with himself. He slapped Dean’s arm, maybe a bit too hard, and walked by him out the door to the library.
Dean’s eyes bored into his, his mouth slowly hanging open when he took in what Cas was wearing. Cas smirked a little and spun, showing his back (and hopefully his backside) to Dean and continued to dance. If the man wanted to talk, Cas would wait for him to make the first move.
Cas laughed, kissing Dean again, deepening it, but keeping it slow, deliberately drawing it out until they got hard again. Cas pulled away the blanket and looked down at Dean
“Mmmgh, god yes,” Dean moaned in his pillow, slipping a few of his fingers in his puffy hole and pumping in and out.
Cas’s eyes landed on Dean, his cheeks coloring slightly. He looked around the room quickly, recognition lighting his eyes.
Dean smirked. “You hit the mark. You look…” Dean’s eyes roved over Cas’s form. He tried not to purr and arch like a cat. It was a near miss.
Cas pulled Dean up and brought him over to the bed, facing him away from the laptop and yanking down the back of his still-buckled pants. Dean moaned when cool air hit his pink panty-clad ass, and he yelped when Cas’s hand landed a loud smack on the skin. Dean moaned as the thong was pushed to the side so the camera could see where it disappeared inside him. Cas showed the remote to the camera, the ping of comments filling the air from the live feed. Dean looked over his shoulder, just noticing how Cas was already naked, his hard cock bouncing as he positioned himself to Dean’s side, remote in hand, rising to his knees and brushing his erection over Dean’s reddened ass cheek.
“You sure you’ll be okay, Dean?” Cas had his head tilted in that way that used to make Dean think he was confused. He knew now that it was Cas reading the situation and sensing bullshit.
“Of course I didn’t! Gabe said, ‘give him whatever he wants, don’t spare the extras’, and he gave me a bunch of money. I was down to fuck, if it was what you wanted, ‘cause I saw your pic on Insta, and Gabe swore you had a huge cock? How was I supposed to say no to that? I had no fucking clue you were getting married!”
“You know what I mean, man.” Dean pulled into the Love Shack’s parking lot and killed the engine. “I just...I’m worried.”
Dean blushed, wondering if the image he’d just been fantasizing about had sneaked into Cas’s mind. He looked at his mate, who’d finally turned his beautiful blue eyes his way, only mere inches from his own, the way they were plastered to each other on the couch.
Cas stared into the light of Dean’s soul deeply, sensing the presence of his own grace, as usual, filling the small tears and holes left from Dean’s experience in Hell, but no Michael. “Or maybe being angelic for as long as you have has just allowed you to see more on an astral plane.”
Dean stood for a few minutes in the kitchen, gathering his thoughts and chewing his lip. When his pulse slowed to normal he walked back to his room.
Dean rolled the large sized condom over the snowglobe, testing the plastic to see if it was too thin. It was pretty thick, and he lubed it up really well and laid back, trying to relax. He could fit it up there, he knew he could, it was just a matter of angles.
Dean nodded, seeing only stars before his eyes as the intense orgasm continued, wave after wave rippling his asshole around Cas’s thrusting fingers. Cas sped his hand up, twisting and pressing into Dean’s prostate, harder and harder, until he suddenly let go of Dean’s cock, where it shot out an enormous load onto Dean’s stomach and rocketed him upward. He shouted out as the room went white and his ears rang with silence for what seemed like several minutes before Cas slid his fingers out, stroking Dean through the last spurts until he cringed in sensitivity.
“I said that would be acceptable,” Cas said calmly, his laser blue eyes never leaving Dean’s as he sipped his coffee.
He didn’t need porn tonight, that was for sure. Dean had just orgasmed while holding Cas, so he’d have that image to masturbate to for awhile. He also used the experience at the motel, combining the fantasy into one where Dean got on his knees and sucked Cas off, then Cas plundered Dean's ass against the tacky room divider.
“I, uh, may be injured. I’m not really sure.” Cas bit his lip. Dean’s voice so close to him was making his situation much worse.
“Fuck, oh my god!” Dean cried, riding faster, clenching as Cas could feel his cock swell in his hand as Dean fucked up into the tight tunel of his fist and back down on Cas’s painfully hard dick. He wasn’t going to last longer.
Cas angrily threw the car into fifth gear. It leapt forward and sped past the other cars on the interstate. This was so fucked up! How did it get so out of hand? How could he have let himself care so much about one person? And why did he keep saying and doing things to keep that one person at arm’s length? He kicked himself for telling Dean he’d gotten laid when it was only a half-truth. Not that it mattered to Den. That guy could go fuck himself. Or fuck the football team, for all he cared. Images of Dean getting fucked while wearing shoulder pads and cleats, a jockstrap pulled aside so he could stroke himself while being pounded from behind flooded Cas’s brain. The linebacker was super hot, beefy, Cas would fuck him any day- shit. The images changed until it was Cas fucking Dean in a locker room, balls deep in his ass, making him scream.
Dean realized he’d been externalizing his internal monologue. Well, fuck it, they were all friends.
It wasn’t long before he had made several videos of himself fucking various items; a large carrot, the long tapered handle of the swiffer duster, a broom handle. He threw out every item he’d put in his ass, unable to stand the thought of his brother touching anything that had been up his butt. He had to take a special trip to Walmart to replace his brush, the broom and duster, and later a phillips head screwdriver, spatula, and small bottle of olive oil. His habit was getting expensive. Especially when he added the element of lace to the videos.
He had been standing there, in the kitchen, trying to remember what Cas smelled like, and was hit with the sudden need to be in Cas’s room, surrounded by his things, like that was the only thing that would make him feel better.
Dean rolled over, the sun harsh in his eyes. He reached out a hand and caught the edge of the curtain and yanked it, closing the gap. He groaned. Movement was not a good thing.
“-nap…” Dean finished. “No, yeah, a nap. Then a shower. Yeah.” His face was burning, and his hands were sweating.
“I think I will indulge in a shower,” He said briskly and went into the bathroom. Dean hadn’t responded, so Cas assumed he would sleep again.
Dean slowly pulled off, licking the tip a couple of times before looking up into Cas’s stunned eyes. They were dark with lust.
“Sucked that bad, huh?” Dean shifted so he could look into Cas’s eyes. They were very close, and he fought the urge to lean in and press their lips together. He struggled to keep his eyes from straying to Cas’s mouth.
Dean laughed and kissed the top of Cas’s head. He’d never been so intimate with someone, to just be close like that, not feeling self-conscience. He swung his legs out of bed, grateful he had stopped drinking after midnight and switched to bottled water. His mouth tasted funky, but he felt pretty good.
Cas snorted and pulled at Dean’s blankets until they were both under them. He spooned around Dean’s back and lightly ran his fingers over Dean’s skin, still in shock that he could touch him so much. Dean wiggled when Cas’s touch tickled him, and he burrowed back, Cas cock nestling in Dean’s crevice. Cas wondered how long Dean needed before they could have sex again.
at him, and the guy backed away. Then Cas brought Dean the coffee and didn’t make any for himself, and still left the room. It was so weird.
Dean furrowed his brow. Was this a guy Cas had just fucked? Was he lying in bed with this Balthazar guy?
Dean snorted. “I won’t tell anyone, your friends left pretty quickly after I came in, so only you and I know, okay? If you want to get married, you should.”
Dean moaned at the drag of Cas’s cock inside him. The uncomfortable stretch hurt so good, and the stretch feeling was replaced by pleasure and fullness and he swore he could feel every vein and wrinkle in cas’s cock as he pushed into him. Dean wiggled and pushed until Cas had him back up on all fours, grabbing his hips and thrusting hard.
“What’s got your proverbial panties in a twist, my fine feathered friend?” He sipped his own drink. “Would it happen to be over a certain green-eyed virgin with devilish good looks?”
“I see,” Cindy said kindly. “He isn’t into having sex with you, so you need to relieve the pressure?”
He flopped down on his bed, wondering if he had time to rub one out before his nap. It always made him sleep better. He could always have a go at it in the shower.
Cas was sure he was dreaming. He laughed and kissed Dean again. “When I wake up hungover, can you tell me that again?”
It was an odd moment, but the relief that washed over Dean was enormous, and the urge to protect him became overwhelming. Cas turned his face into Dean’s neck and rested his head on his shoulder, his warm breath a little ragged and puffing against Dean’s skin.
He finally stroked his cock a few times, just teasing himself really, rocking harder and faster on the plug.
Dean: Guess I’m going to head back to the Roadhouse and see if Aaron is there. Maybe he’d like to hang out.
Cas rolled away from Dean, shaken. He had been so close to crossing the line. He’d almost done something Dean did
He moaned when Cas added a second finger, forgoing the lube. It was rough against his sensitive flesh.
Dean moaned as his cock stood at full attention against the rough denim of his jeans. He scurried to pull all of his clothing off, and Cas watched with hungry eyes.
He was still hazy about the Viagra potion incident, he was so hopped up on hormones that it seemed like a blur. He knew whatever happened was enough to make Cas avoid him for the last week, and he could figure out what he’d done wrong. Cas had been the one to have to help him come over and over, milking his prostate with that enormous plug...
Cas fondled Dean, never getting him completely hard, but Dean chuckled and said something about being 40 soon, and not to stop. Cas obeyed and shifted his wings to run their feathers around Dean’s balls and along his shaft, sending little waves of grace into him, making him come suddenly and loudly. Cas sped up and fucked Dean through his orgasm, holding Dean’s leg open and rolling Dean back, slightly on top of him, and fucking into his rippling heat until Cas came again, pounding Dean’s prostate and prolonging his pleasure.
“I am very large, Dean, I do not want to hurt you. I assure you, this stretching is for your own good.”
“Cas, why did you leave me?” Dean asked, as he stroked the top edge of Cas’s wings, his hand moving down his back and landing over Cas’s chest. He looked so forlorn, Cas’s heart tore in two.
Dean stood in front of the mirror flexing and turning. The pink went really nicely against his skin. He leaned over the bed, tilting his hips so his cheeks spread, and moved the thong aside. His hole throbbed when his fingers came near, and he shivered and got up to get his plugs. He selected the largest one, no time to waste. He positioned himself so he could watch the plug, lubed up, work its way into him. He didn’t bother with his fingers first, or even a smaller plug, he wanted to
The motels were few and far between, but Dean found one quickly that didn’t look like they would look at his ID too closely. He got the keys while Cas snoozed in the car, and drove them to the back of the complex, where their room was.
“It’s good to see you again,” Cindy said cheerfully, greeting Cas as he walked into the adult bookstore for the second time.
It wasn’t like with Benny. That was just about getting off, just finishing fast so they could go back to finding Cas and escaping Purgatory.
“Fuck, he’s hot. For an older guy, anyway. You sure have a lot of candid pics of him- you’re quite the photographer.”
He had bitten his bicep to stifle his moans and came hard, getting a little more come on the doomed pants. He didn’t really have time to change before meeting the witness, so he ended up holding a briefcase in front of himself the whole time.
Cas snorted and opened the car door, standing with effort. “You didn’t seem worried when you made me leave the bunker.”
Dean huffed a laugh, his breath hot on Cas’s erection. It twitched in his hand, and pre-come dribbled out. Dean automatically lapped it up. It was bitter, a little different from his own, but not bad. He lapped at it again, swirling his tongue around the crown, glancing up at Cas, who had propped himself on his elbows to watch.
He sighed loudly, wincing as the movement made his back twinge. He turned his head slightly to look at the mess in the garage. There was the wrench, brake fluid bottle, and mallet on the hood of the truck covered in lube. There was the open door to the cab of the truck, come all over the cab, lube all over the shifter knob. There was lube dripping from the trailer hitch and dried come on the floor. And Dean himself, laying in the drying come, dressed in nothing but stained and ruined black lace panties, with the telltale bottle of half-empty lube just out of reach, and a laptop with all the evidence needed to convict him as a chronic pervert.
Cas scowled. “It’s a waste. She just throws money at me when she wants something- in this case, to change my major to business. Not going to do it. She can have the car back. I might just sell it and give the money to charity.”
“Not before we drive it around though, right?” Dean grinned at Cas, finally getting a smile out of him.
Dean nodded again, he had no plans of moving, he didn’t think he could if he tried. He just needed Cas to come back to him now.
Dean felt his stomach plummet. Nora smiled at the both of them and disappeared back through a door in the back of the shop.
Dean let his cock rest on Cas’s calf as he moved down until his mouth was inches from Cas’s hole. He licked a broad stripe over Cas’s balls, which were already tight against his body. Cas shivered. Dean moved up a little and gently tongued at Cas’s hole, making the bound angel moan into the pillow. He could tell Cas was trying to hold himself still, so Dean steadied him with a firm hand before really pressing his tongue on Cas’s hole. It flexed under the pressure. He’d never rimmed anyone before, and it really excited him. He pushed the pointed tip of his tongue into the furl, groaning into it when it yielded rather easily. Cas was already shaking and sweat was sheening along his back. Dean pushed his thumb in Cas’s hole as he licked, pushing in and out gently, pulling a little to help Cas relax. Cas pushed back on his thumb, calling out Dean’s name, his cock dripping onto the bed sheet below. Dean switched to using his fingers, going slow the way he liked it, loving the hot feel of Cas’s stretched around his finger. Soon it was two fingers, then three. Cas was flushed all over, head turned on the pillow to try and see Dean from his submissive position, moaning his name over and over.
“Oh, she’s the owner of the Roadhouse’s daughter. We grew up together, she’s cool as shit.” Dean swore he saw a little relief cross Cas’s face.
“I love you too, always have,” Cas replied, trying not to leap out of bed and ravish the hunter a fourth time.
Cas huffed. “Naomi was in rare form. She read me the riot act, degraded my choice of major, and then lectured me about what a CEO should be like. I got out of there as quick as I could before I could develop a serious drinking problem. Drove back.”
He sat up, the room tilting dangerously, and wrapped himself in Cas’s blanket and shuffled to the door to unlock it.
“Fuck!” Dean let Cas slowly push into him, the heat of his flesh bright inside of Dean, his every vein and wrinkle felt by Dean’s overworked tunnel. Cas thrust up into Dean until Dean relaxed into Cas’s arms, enjoying the fullness of it, so much more complete than anything he’d ever tried.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Dean muttered, still slumped over on Cas’s shoulder, allowing Cas to wring pleasure from him. Cas had never been more turned on in his life. He ignored the implications of this as he sped up his hands, suddenly intent on watching Dean come all over his best blue suit and tie.
“Yeah, Dean,” Jo sighed, wiping at the bar out of habit. “I wish I had someone who I could fall in love with at first sight.”
“Fuck,” Cas stared wide-eyed as a pearl of precome welled to the tip of Dean’s cock, and he slipped his finger in and out, loving the way it seemed gobble him up and not want him to pull out, but go deeper. He obliged, looking up to watch Dean’s half lidded gaze as he slowed his hips down to a lazy roll to accommodate the movement of Cas’s finger.
Cas blushed and looked away. “I don’t. I was just curious. Sometimes a casual encounter can become something more.”
He couldn’t move. He laid there on his back, staring at the garage ceiling. Fuck. He strained to reach the laptop with his fingertips, the cold of the concrete starting to leak into his muscles as the sweat dired.
That made Dean stop and turn around. “Wha-?” Dean breathed shakily and looked at the ceiling, as if there were something there, but then turned back around. “Come on, Cas.” He started walking again.
“I’m looking for a gift. I’m not really sure what I’m looking for, there are so many to choose from.”
They were walking through the tenocology department when Dean got an idea. He went over to the discount bin and started rummaging around. He held up his find triumphantly. Thank god a rural Walmart would be the most likely place to find obsolete technology.
Cas realized he might be a little drunk. The 10 o’clock show was starting soon, so he went to grab a water and headed to the stage. He took a seat at his usual table, leaning back in his chair and trying to look uninterested. He still had to fend no less than 10 offers for sexual favors, which was like, 3 times as many as usual. He smiled politely and finally just glowered at whoever looked at him, giving them his best fuck-off face. A girl dressed in platform shoes and a purple wig was serving drinks and brought Cas another on the house. She was new, so he gave her the rundown. He’d really tip her well. He went ahead and gave her his card, asking her to hold onto it for him and take twenty percent of all he’d drank at the end of the night and ring it up under the button in the computer marked, ‘angel tips’, which Raphael assigned just for him so the servers could get their earnings from the till. It was a good system, and it ensured Cas paid for and tipped without fucking it up if he got plastered. Raphael was like an older sibling to Cas and always took good care of him.
Dean nodded and put their foreheads together, his eyes rolling shut as Cas’s finger slipped in further. It felt so different than Dean had expected. So real, so much more alive.
Cas smiled and thrust his tongue in again, loving the way Dean pushed back and whimpered for more. Cas let go of Dean’s hip and reached up to stick two fingers in Dean’s mouth. Dean sucked them greedily, swirling his tongue around them and moaning. Cas took them back and pressed his middle finger against Dean’s hole, licking and kissing around it as he did. Dean’s hole clenched then relaxed, allowing Cas to slide it in neatly, up to the second knuckle with ease. Cas’s dick throbbed when he pictured Dean doing this to himself, opening himself up as he masturbated, twisted in his sheets, begging to be penetrated.
He groaned softly when he moved his hand, finally. Sweat broke out all over his body and he sat up to pull his shirt off. Cas was watching. Dean pretended not to notice. Some weird part of him
Dean hummed, watching in satisfaction as Cas’s eyes fluttered shut at the vibration. Dean reached from behind Cas to pull at his balls, and rub his perineum, pressing the pad of his thumb on Cas’s thobbing hole. Cas cried out a warning, and Dean sucked hard as the first spurt of come filled his mouth, drinking it down greedily, pushing Cas deeper into his throat, past his gag reflex and sucking every last drop. Cas pulled slowly out, a dribble or too hitting Dean’s chin which he stuck his tongue out and tried to lap up. Cas’s eyes fluttered and he moaned again as he moved back down Dean’s body to lick his own come of his face and kiss him deeply.
“Dean,” Cas echoed, his hands coming up to run his fingertips down his chiseled abs. They shuddered under his touch. Cas glanced down and was hit with another, stronger wave of arousal when he saw Dean was fully erect, the tip of his cock poking out the waistband of the thong and wetting it. Cas experimentally rotated his hips up, causing Dean to grab the armrests and throw his head back and moan deliciously. The feel of that hard and soft flesh of Dean’s balls and ass running along his cock was heaven, and Cas finally grabbed Dean’s hips and shifted them so their cocks lined up better.
Dean glanced worriedly around the room, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He yelped when he felt Cas’s hand slip down the back of his jeans.
He’d never been a very spiritual person, but their connection felt like it was spiritual somehow. They had the physical thing down, the emotional thing was a work in progress, obviously, and the spiritual connection, something that just felt right, like pieces clicking into place, completing the puzzle.
There was a shuffling sound of the shower curtain being drawn back, and in a moment, Dean emerged, hunched over in his robe, holding a towel over his crotch. His face was beet red and he wouldn’t look at Cas.
“I don’t think he’s really interested in me. He’s having fun or whatever, and maybe I should be doing that too.”
It was New Year’s Eve, and Cas wanted to kiss someone at midnight. That someone was Dean Winchester, and even if they were mad at each other, even if they hated each other, he was going to get Dean to come over and kiss him. Somehow.
She smiled fondly at him for a split second, then let her mask of teenage disdain slip on again. Cas felt accomplished that he made the angsty girl smile. He liked her.
Cas smiled at Dean over the roof of the Impala and got in. He buckled up and poked around in his backpack until his fingers touched the corner of a plastic box. He pulled out the mixtape Dean gave him for Christmas and popped it in the player. Dean grinned over at him, making his stomach flutter. The strains of
Cas leaned back and let Dean do all the work, content to watch the man fuck himself fully hard again on Cas’s cock. He was pretty well-endowed, he knew that, but knowing he could get this man so hard again so quickly made him feel powerful.
Dean laughed and pulled Cas into his lap. They watched the rest of the drag show in the same chair, Dean kissing Cas and breathing into his neck. It was heaven.
“I guess you’re right. I don’t have to get married,” Cas said, feeling a weight lift. “And I’m gay, so there’s that.”
“You like that, Cas, you like how good I take your cock?” Dean was shivering as waves of pleasure hit him. Just penetration felt so goddamn good. “Yeah, baby, I take it so good for you, yeah, that’s it, more, harder-”
“Yeah. I fell for you. Kerplunk. Can’t un-fall. I’m sorry.” Cas kinda hoped Dean wanted to still have sex even though Cas was being all emotion-y.
But the danger was over, the body disposed of, and they were en route to the Love Shack. Dean should have been fine, he should have been relieved. But instead, he opened his big dumb mouth.
“Cas, they're beautiful,” he breathed. He held a hand out as if to stroke one, and Cas couldn’t help but to press his left wing forward to meet his fingers. He shuddered at the contact, it had been so long since they had been touched.
Dean paced the kitchen floor, running over everything he’d done in the last several days, trying to pinpoint when he’d apparently crossed some sort of invisible line that ended with Cas leaving.
Dean groaned. “Everything was fine, I mean, we’re all alive, still on the lookout for Michael, but can’t we just have five fucking minutes where someone doesn’t go MIA?”
There were some noises and Sam came into view, holding a denim jumpsuit. Dean sighed, too tired to even feel bad about how this was probably traumatising his brother, and helped Sam get the jumpsuit on his legs and over his exposed crotch. Sam rolled him so he could get to his knees first then stand.
Which lead him to wonder what Cas was wearing under the covers. The image of Cas in the red panties flashed through his mind, making him squirm slightly. His dick seemed to take it personally that he hadn’t jerked off in the shower, and started to take interest again.
Cas growled, moving his fist harder and faster, flopping onto his stomach so he could picture holding Dean down and fucking into him mercerlessly, biting the pillow and burying himself over and over into the silicone facsimile of Dean’s perfect tight asshole.
“Fuck, Cas,” Dean whispered as they walked to the door of the station, “I can’t do this any longer, we need to go to the motel.”
Cas angrily threw the car into fifth gear. It leapt forward and sped past the other cars on the interstate. This was so fucked up! How did it get so out of hand? How could he have let himself care so much about one person? And why did he keep saying and doing things to keep that one person at arm’s length? He kicked himself for telling Dean he’d gotten laid when it was only a half-truth. Not that it mattered to Den. That guy could go fuck himself. Or fuck the football team, for all he cared. Images of Dean getting fucked while wearing shoulder pads and cleats, a jockstrap pulled aside so he could stroke himself while being pounded from behind flooded Cas’s brain. The linebacker was super hot, beefy, Cas would fuck him any day- shit. The images changed until it was Cas fucking Dean in a locker room, balls deep in his ass, making him scream.
Cas: Just as well, you probably deserve more than a quick shag. Casssie seems to think you are the relationship kind.
“I’m kind of an idiot when it comes to words and things. I say stuff wrong and I screw everything up.”
He pulled his fingers out, hopped out of the car, grabbed the laptop and wobbled on shaky, fucked-out legs to the tail of the truck. He sat the laptop on the ground, angling the camera up at himself. He reached out and touched the shiny massive globe of the trailer hitch with a slick finger. Definitely bigger than the shifter knob.
Dean was sweaty and his hair stood out in all directions. He had returned to laying under the covers, with them pulled to his chin. His bare shoulder peeked out, the skin looking slick and Cas had the strongest urge to bite it, to see what it felt like between his teeth.
Cas sat his cup down in the sink and turned back to Dean. He walked slowly over to the hunter, lowering his face to look at Dean through his eyelashes.
“No! I mean, no it’s fine, I just need to uh, wait until it goes...down.” Cas closed his eyes. This was so stupid. “Just tell Dean I can’t meet him. Make something up, I don’t know. Just...please.”
It’s not that he didn’t want to spend time with Dean, it’s just that since he had ‘helped’ Dean, it had been awkward. Dean always found some reason to leave the room, and Cas would look at him and see how his lips looked and remember them stretched around his cock, and he’d get hard. So here he was, trying to find something to help suppress his urges to mount Dean, bite his throat and mark him, and mate him once and for all.
It was a blue anal plug, roughly the size of the snowglobe, resting on the soapdish. The balloon was tied to it and he picked it up, turning it over in his hand.
“I know what a Fleshlight is, Cas.” Dean cut him off, nearly sobbing with the effort not to stroke himself to Cas’s description of fucking a sex toy.
And he remembered waking up alone in his bed, cleaned off of any residue, but alone. It wasn’t great. If he wanted to be honest about it, it felt perfectly awful. He thought something had finally happened with Cas, and that maybe they’d be fucking now, like regularly, hell, the guy was calling his name out when he got off, but Dean didn’t know. He’d just left, and had been acting really strangely.
Dean hissed when he felt Cas kneel up again and slide out. Dean opened his eyes and watched amusedly as Cas pushed his come back into Dean with the head of his cock, and rubbed it around. Cas seemed very focused on what he was doing, like making a mark on him.
He imagined sinking onto it, pushing its girth into himself, opening up and letting Cas pound the fuck out of him. He still hadn’t even addressed the straining erection that was soaking the front of the panties. He stroked it in the fabric, loving the slickness of it. He rocked back and forth, pressing the plug into his prostate, and smearing the pre-come onto the panties. Cas’s was just so goddamn big, and Dean wanted to be stretched by it, ruined, marked and claimed, tied up and pounded into, fucked, used, anything, he just wanted to feel Cas inside him again.
“Mmmfph,” he grumbled again, realizing it might be too difficult to move at that point. He just wanted to stay right where he was, enveloped in Cas’s smell. But where was Cas? That was the problem, the scent only made him feel a tiny bit better. He needed Cas.
They sat there breathing hard together, Dean slumping over Cas comfortably, with the sound of Dean’s porn playing in the background. Dean giggled into Cas’s neck.
He had shrugged and clicked on another. He managed to get off a second time that night, and was hooked.
Dean moaned and rolled over, pushing his ass up in the air and pushing his knees as far apart as possible. Cas was sweating now too, so he pulled off his coat and tie, and removed his shoes and suit jacket. He rolled up his sleeves and positioned himself on his knees behind Dean, hands trembling as he reached out to steady Dean’s hip. Dean gasped at the contact and pushed back into Cas’s hand, moaning and flexing his hole as Cas watched.
The cleanup was a mess, and Cas had decided that he should probably try not to masturbate in Dean’s room anymore. It was never just ‘one and done’.
Dean pulled his knees up with his feet flat on the bed. He let his legs fall open, and ran his fingertips over his balls again, behind them, and pressed on his hole. Cas couldn’t see him do it, so why the fuck not? He took his cock with his right hand and slowly began a rhythm. His eyes were shut, and he bit his lip, dying to know if Cas was watching but scared to look. He sped his hand up, lifting his feet slightly to get a better angle to finger himself. He needed a little lube, so he brought his hand up to his mouth without thinking, spitting on his fingers and reaching back down again.
“Good. Now let’s go use Gabriel’s expensive shampoo and high-end towels and get cleaned up. I have his credit card, so dinner’s on him too.”
“Get what over with?” Cas asked, suddenly terrified that Dean would tell him he needed to leave the bunker again. He knew it was unlikely, but the feeling would sometimes surface for no reason, as if it were imprinted in him, a shadow that wouldn’t disappear no matter how strong the light shining on it was.
“Oh,” Dean wondered how long Cas had been jerking off to videos of Dean. His thoughts were cut short when Cas lifted him and slid him down onto his thick hard cock. Dean cried out.
Dean’s stoic face started to crack. He snorted, and Cas could tell he was holding back a laugh. Cas wanted that laugh, coveted that laugh, would have that laugh.
Dean was so entranced that he almost answered. Almost. Instead, he ran out of there as fast as he could with a raging hard on.
“Just get out for a few minutes!” Dean shouted, “I’m sure I can get rid of it, jeez, let a guy alone, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah, well Balthazar said you guys didn’t fuck so I guess he’s a liar, then. You always do this to your friends, huh? String them along, make them want you? That’s fucked up Cas.”
Dean looked up at him. “Maybe I want you to come. I want to know what that’s like,” Dean shrugged, licking at Cas’s tip, enjoying how it made him twitch and cry out weakly.
If you aren't a fan of Bottom!Cas, skip this, Dean just wanted to try something, and Cas was all too happy to give it a try
Cas stopped what he was doing and regarded Dean so closely that he looked away, embarrassed. Cas turned his head back with a hopefully clean finger.
Dean pushed his hips back as Cas slowly pressed in the plug, and he watched, mesmerized, as Dean’s tiny hole seemed to gobble up the plug, inch by inch, taking it all. Dean moaned and pushed back, a hand wrapped around his cock, working it swiftly. Cas watched Dean’s hand, memorizing the way his fingers swiped over the leaking tip, gathering the fluid and slipping around the shaft, jacking smoothly. Dean moaned again and grunted as the widest part of the plug stretched him so wide, and sighed in relief as it fully seated itself inside him.
“Dean? Are you in there?” Cas’s voice outside the door drew Dean out of the dream and he blinked at the ceiling.
Dean closed his eyes and shuddered. Cas’s voice was low and gravelly as always, but Dean could feel it in his cock, pressed up tightly to him.
Cas looked both furious and amused. “That little shit! Honestly, this is so fucking typical of him-” He looked away again, then stood. “You know what? I find it interesting that you even care who I’m fucking.”
“You like that? You like my hole? You’re the only one, Cas, the only one who has ever been inside me. You’ve ruined me, Cas, I’ll only ever want your cock, your thick fucking cock pounding into me, making me yours.”
He stood, purposefully yawning and stretching under Cas’s watchful blue eye peeking out of the blankets. Cas’s eye roamed over him, pausing and widening at the tent created in the front of Dean’s pajama pants. Dean smirked and adjusted his dick a little. Maybe more than necessary. Well, he was kind of rubbing himself while Cas watched.
“It was so good, I loved watching you come apart on me like that, I love watching you take your pleasure from my body.”
Dean cringed as Cas continued to scrub at the dried come, and bit his tongue on the advice on dried come cleaning that surfaced in his mind.
“Gee, it’s nice to see you too, Cas,” Dean chuckled weakly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Cas whispered. He moved further down, Dean glad he was going to get sucked off. He really needed to come. But instead, Cas parted his legs, bending his knees to his chest, exposing his hole. Dean spread his legs further, excited about Cas touching him there.
“Oh fuck!” Cas cried out, as Dean triumphantly found his prostate. He hummed in approval as he pounded into it, his own orgasm began to overtake him. He reached around and gripped Cas’s swollen and neglected member and began to roughly stroke it, trying to hold back until Cas came.
Dean cringed inwardly. “I didn’t say that,” he lied, “I said there was, uh, uh, you know, ‘room for improvement’. Come on.”
“What the hell?” Dean mumbled quietly, turning the shirt over in his hands, then sniffing it. It definitely had been stolen from Dean’s dirty laundry, but with an added scent of masculinity and crispness that he associated with Cas. Had Cas been wearing his shirt? Or jerking off with it? Or what?
A full screen still of his face frozen in bliss as he looked back to watch himself put two fingers in his ass while leaning over the hood of Cas’s truck met his eyes.
Dean wanted to pull his hair out. He was supposed to be telling Cas he liked him. But if this was how the guy was, hooking up with random guys from his past…
He pulled his cock out of Dean’s mouth to feeble protests. Dean turned and spread his ass with his hands, holding himself open for Cas, pressing his face in the pillow. Cas was so tempted.
“Day-um, sweetie, what have you got on,” Raphael was behind the bar, inventory sheet in hand when Cas walked in. “I swear, you surprise me constantly.” He shook his head and pulled a bottle of Glen McKenna down and got two tumblers. Cas watched him pour three fingers for them each, smiling in amusement. Raphael was dressed in a t shirt and jeans, crooked ball cap on his head.
Cas took over and cleaned Dean up, and rolled him over and began changing the sheets. There were fresh linens in the bathroom as well as clean towels.
Dean woke several hours later and rubbed his eyes. He slowly rolled and sat up. His back hardly protested and he breathed deeply. His back was so much better than it had been. Sometimes it was like that. A muscle spasm was unpredictable.
I also had to put a whole lot of Cas snark in here- in honor of his canon sass from season 13 so far. I fucking love SassyCassy.
Cas pushed the balloon back into the bag and took the left hallway and went the long way around to avoid running into Dean.
I would also like to state that, at the moment, I am writing too fast and don't have a job right now, so no beta has been able to keep up with my manic, hyperactive, impulsive posting, so there's typos. I'm sure there is. And I apologize. English is my first language, so it's pitiful.
Cas dropped her lifeless body and joined Sam in helping Dean up. The force with which he was thrown back had shattered several vials on a shelf, and some of the contents were dripping down Dean’s neck. Dean allowed Sam to help him stand, and shook his head slightly.
“Sorry Cas, I, uh, just was...you know, wondering...if uh…” he stammered. He had an idea. “Hey! Why don’t you just take a little peek this time, just this once.” Dean bit his lip and waited, a very provocative image swirling to the front of his mind’s eye.
Dean sighed, moving his pillow around until his head was comfortable. A few minutes passed and Sam came back with the pills. Dean took four and swallowed down a little water. He prayed he wouldn’t have to piss until they kicked in. What a fucking mess.
Dean dumbly followed Cas to the kitchen, his legs a little bowed more than usual. Cas had his jacket off and was washing his hands at the sink. Dean washed his as well and started pulling things from the fridge.
“I do too,” Dean muttered into his ear over the loud strains of Lady Marmalade, I don’t do feelings real well either, so I open my big stupid mouth. I’m sorry.”
Cas came with a shout, spilling on Dean’s slacks like he’d wanted, standing still as Dean stroked him until he was over-sensitive.
He slammed the door shut behind himself and locked it, throwing himself face-first into Cas’s pillow. He sucked in deep breaths, moaning lowly when the sweet muskiness filled his senses, calming him immediately.
Dean froze and rounded on him. “What the fuck, Gabe said it was your birthday, not your bachelor party! I swear I didn’t know! I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I knew you were getting married.”
The tightness was unbelieveable at first, but Dean was well practiced, and he losened up fast, sinking down until he was resting on Cas’s lap, fully impaled.
He closed his eyes and moaned, imagining Dean riding him, lowering himself onto Cas, plunging deep into his heat. Cas was so close to the edge. He opened his eyes.
Cas chuckled again, his palms now rubbing circles on Dean’s ass cheeks, spreading them wider, exposing his hole to the cool air. He shuddered.
“Come on, buddy,” Dean awkwardly shook Cas’s shoulder, rousing him so he could get the poor guy into bed. Well, not into bed, but...yeah.
It was nice to not be judged, but hell, he just wanted for Cas to feel something, anything. Wanted him to join in, do something! He wasn’t sure that Cas felt like that about anyone. He obviously masturbated, and had sex with at least one person as far as Dean knew, but where hunters and angels seemed to be pairing off, Cas was just...by himself. So maybe that meant he didn’t find Dean attractive. Surely any red blooded man would have seized the opportunity that finding someone masturbating on their bed presented. But Cas had simply suggested burgers for supper.
Dean was glad they’d already came once, because he would have come embarrassingly fast He was making all sorts of noises, Cas’s skin slapping into his filling the room.
Cas grasped Dean’s ass and spread it, fingers holding the plug in place and thrust upward, eyes falling shut to the fantasy of it. He wanted to replace the plug with his penis, and he would, but only if Dean asked him to.
Cas closed the door to his room and slipped out of his coat, taking off his suit and hanging it up in the closet, setting his shoes below it, socks and boxers in the laundry basket. He stood in his room, surrounded by the trinkets of memories he had of Dean, and watched his erection grow larger than ever. The closer he got to his rut, the bigger it would get.
“I’m not saying anything bad about Dean,” Cindy held her hands up, “but I really hope he gets his shit together and you two can be happy. It just seems like destiny.”
Sam was enthusiastic that Cas and Dean had finally gotten together, but that’s as far as he wanted know about it. He had no clue how wild their sex life was, and he didn’t want to know. That was fine with Dean.
“I can throw it away, I’ll get you a new one,” Dean mumbled as he held up the globe. This was so humiliating.
“Look here, Cas,” Raphael paused while Cas had his arms full of boxes, making him set them down on a nearby table. “Long as I’ve known you, you’ve played your cards very close to the chest. I don’t need to be psychic to know you had some bad shit happen in your past. But this one seems like something special. Put the cards on the table, and let the chips fall where they may, oh fuck, that’s enough of that tired metaphor.”
He had kept Cas’s grace inside of him even though he could have expelled it at any point. Even though the handprint was gone, Cas’s true mark remained, and that could never be replaced by another angel’s grace. Or removed by any other means- except Dean’s free will to eject him.
Dean got on the road early. He was only a couple of hours away from school, and if got back in time, he could take a nap before he went to meet Benny and Charlie.
Cas squinted. “That’s your assessment? That I must have taken a drug, not that I shouldn’t have stuck my penis in this...thing?”
going for sexy not sharp,” he drawled, wiggling his fingers at Dean. If he was going twink tonight, he sure as hell was going to have fun with it.
Dean scowled petulantly. “No, I’m fine.” He stood gingerly. “My, uh, my back has been bothering me a little.” He didn’t know why he bothered lying, it was kind of pointless, really.
Cas tried not to think about what the Empty had said to him- it really didn’t matter- he was meant to follow Dean to the ends of the earth, and by his Father, that’s what he would do.
Dean pursed his lips and slid to his knees, pushing between Cas’s legs to take his dick into his mouth. Cas shouted in relief when the slicknes of Dean’s mouth descended on him, not wasting time in teasing, but sucking hard, up and down rapidly, then pulling off and slipping the condom on.
He’d never dared to masturbate in Cas’s room before, so it was extra naughty, so he knew he wouldn’t last. He moved to the edge of the bed and sat on the globe, sliding further onto it, bouncing a little, liking the way the soft mattress yielded to his motion.
As always, I apologize for the unedited mess this is, but my betas have actual lives and can't devote their whole life to editing my fics. And I love them anyway :)
“Sit.” Larue pushed Dean into a sitting position. “Ooh, good boy.” The crowd cheered, while Dean flashed a nervous smile at Cas.
Relief flooded Dean’s body and he felt like laughing and crying at the same time. He pulled Cas back down on top of him, kissing him sloppily, holding him tightly, trying to speak through his actions. Dean felt for the bottle of lube and pushed it into Cas’s hand.
It wasn’t a few more minutes before the Sheriff called with the info about the first victim only being the wife, and the husband was still around. Now, that was a lead, and frankly, Dean needed to distract himself.
He poured lube from above over the clean shiny knob, letting it run to the ground. He dropped the bottle and straddled the hitch, back to the tailgate, hooking his elbows over the side so he could lower himself slowly. He spread his legs wide and squatted down, feeling the cold metal sooth his hot, worn-out hole. He gasped as he relaxed and increased pressure, the metal globe slowly stretching him unbelievably wide. He was sure he could do it- there was this guy he saw put a rolling pin in his ass, and this wasn’t nearly that big- and he moaned when his rim contracted around the far side of the ball, the hitch knob sitting comfortably inside him. He closed his eyes and unhooked one elbow to stroke his cock, only rotating his hips around until his found the right angle to press to his prostate. He forgot the camera as he closed his eyes and jerked himself faster. His other elbow slipped, and his full weight pressed the ball in harder, but he easily rested with the ball in his ass as he rolled his nipples in his fingers and pumped his fist. He kept his eyes closed, a vague image of a man swimming into his mind, kneeling in front of him, taking his cock into his mouth, sucking and fondling, then standing so he could push his cock in between Dean’s lips. Dean shouted and came as he imagined Cas looking down lovingly as Dean sucked him off. Dean’s ass spasmed around the trailer hitch in time with the come shooting from the tip of his cock, and he used the last of his strength to pull himself to stand, even as the orgasm continued, to pull himself off the globe, the burst of pleasure the pull on his rim created making him collapse on the floor, come all over his hands, cheek to the cool concrete, ass in the air. He flapped out an arm wildly to grab the laptop, yanking it toward himself and under his raised pelvis, hoping it was getting a shot of his over-stretched hole, still twitching, feeling ridiculously empty.
“Yeah,” Sam said, squinting at the screen. “They can take the form of humans and can survive in underground lairs like the sewer system or subway lines.”
Cas melted and huffed a breath against Dean, slipped his cock out with a hiss, and turned Dean so he could face him properly.
Cas sighed. “I know he likes to penetrate himself anally, that much is clear- but as I am what would be referred to as a ‘top’, I don’t know what would be appropriate.” He picked up a large purple plug and looked at the man on the box. He sort of looked like Dean.
Cas smiled and nodded, making his way into the kitchen, looking for something to give Dean energy enough to have sex again.
Dean’s chuckles died down and he stood to come nearer to the problem. Cas’s dick twitched on its own. He hoped Dean didn’t notice.
He dried off and went back into the bedroom. Dean was sprawled across the covers, snoring, his dick finally spent and laying against his thigh. Cas checked the time. It had already been 12 hours and it was over. He could go back to his own room.
In the card, in Cas’s fancy script was, “Dean, I was in town today and saw this and thought of you. Enjoy. -Cas”
going for sexy not sharp,” he drawled, wiggling his fingers at Dean. If he was going twink tonight, he sure as hell was going to have fun with it.
She visibly relaxed. “Oh thank goodness, I thought you were a cop- I mean, you kind of dress like a cop.”
“Of course, Dean. I couldn’t deny such a request. So how was the rest of your vacation? Hows…” Cas looked thoughtful. “Aaron?”
Dean quit rambling and glanced up at Cas, truly looking abashed. Cas’s heart fluttered. The man was just so damn
Dean sat at the bar, on his second beer. It was nearly 1 am, and he was feeling pretty good about his life choices at the moment. He did indeed meet Aaron at the bar, but instead of fucking, they played three rounds of pool. Jo got winner, so Dean played three with her. They’d laughed, ate awesome burgers (Dean kept saying he’d have gone gay earlier if he knew that the burgers were so good. Ellen hit him with a spatula), and just talked about stuff. Dean ended up spilling everything about Cas to Aaron and Jo, and they lent a sympathetic ear, ensuring him that he’d have the opportunity to meet lots of men, and there was someone out there for him.
“Is that for Dean? His birthday isn’t until much later this year.” Sam was squinting at the writing. It said, ‘Congratulations’ on it, which didn’t really fit the occasion, but it was the best thing Cas could find. The store didn’t exactly carry balloons that said, ‘here’s a sex toy from your best friend, enjoy.’
He closed his eyes, listening to Cas’s steps retreating downstairs, out the door, and the BMW revving its engine. There was a squeal of tires and then quiet.
Cas swiped lube on his cock and some more on Dean’s twitching hole. Cas pushed Dean’s knees up and pulled his hips up to tuck a pillow under them.
Dean grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Cas laughed and rolled Dean to his stomach, pulling him up to his knees. Dean went willingly, canting his hips back to bare his hole at Cas eagerly. He got the lube and condom from under his pillow and pushed them back to Cas. Cas hummed in approval, and Dean heard him open the lube and wince when the cold of it was spread over his hole. Cas rubbed it around, letting a finger dip in a couple of times, Dean not being able to help thrusting back on it. He moaned shamelessly, arching his back.
“It may take a moment for me to be able to pull out,” Cas mumbled, warm and content, wrapping his wings around them. Dean wiggled a little, pushing back into Cas so every inch of his muscled back touched Cas’s front.
Cas moaned louder, thrusting up into his hand. Dean was out in clear view now, and he saw that the tools had been put away and the come cleaned off the floor. The light in the truck brightened and Cas held up his free hand, pressing something to his nose and mouth, inhaling deeply.
Dean came again, onto the bed, his body shaking, his hole clenching tightly over Cas’s cock, milking it, and he yanked Dean up and held him tightly to his chest, still pistoning up into him, until he-
Cas narrowed his eyes and held his chin up. “It’s...Steve now,” indicating the name badge pinned to his blue vest. “And...uh, you know you surprised me.”
Cas walked to the end of the counter and cut open the new box with a quick, steady slice of a box knife. He started pulling out packing materials and boxes of what looked like anal beads and butt plugs with fox tails attached to the ends. Dean’s head felt like it was going to explode. He followed Cas as he carried them to stock a shelf.
But he did. “Wow. You take Viagra or something? I did that once- thought I was gonna have to go to the ER cause the little fucker wouldn’t go down for 6 hours.”
Dean laughed as Cas stood in a flash and flew them directly to their bed, much as he had when they mated so many months ago.
Cas stood watching Dean sleep, like he had so many times before. He’d never belong to Cas, and this was as close as it would ever come. And he had to be okay with that.
“Dean,” Cas growled, feeling his grace spark, and knowing his eyes flashed menacingly, “just leave it.”
Dean should have left, should have gone and hidden in his room, but his stupid feet kept moving forward, determined to find out exactly what Cas was doing.
Dean fell to the floor, whimpering, on all fours, rocking back and forth as the plug punished his prostate. Cas moved around the room, the sound of clothing falling and the laptop opening mingling with the sounds pouring from Dean’s mouth.
Cas shifted Dean over and grabbed the box. “Just a pair of restraints, in case…” he trailed off. He wasn’t sure how to explain how he might need Dean to restrain him in case he was compelled to mate Dean. So far, he’d been able to control himself. He’d taken the time to draw sigils on the cuffs, and would use them if need be.
“Ouch,” Cindy cringed. “I’m so sorry. So he’s not attracted to men, but likes to put things up his ass. Interesting.” She picked up a large box from a lower shelf. “I would have recommended this couple’s anal play gift set, but I don’t know if that’s appropriate for friends. Not that I know of many sex toys that would be appropriate for friends.”
All he had to do now was wait. He thought about jerking off to pass the time, but chastised himself- that’s how he got in that mess to begin with! He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Dean rolled over to the side, letting Cas climb on top of him. They were sticky and gross, but Cas looked amazing, well-fucked hair spiking everywhere.
Dean gasped and clutched himself, his eyes squinting over Cas’s shoulder, but then he sighed and shook his head, eyes darting away from Cas again. Cas was almost sure Dean had seen his wings that time, but that was hardly possible.
“Get up, you son of a bitch,” he whispered furiously. Cas grinned and stood, still blocking Dean from standing as he took his time paying the waitress for their meal. Dean was livid.
Cas reached for the lube on the nightstand, and quickly slathered a good amount on his cock, shivering at the coolness of it, and grateful that Dean had been properly stretched first.
He was glad he’d only got there moments before, and he cursed himself for not locking the door. He was planning a shower after his romp, but whatever Cas had done in the bathroom had intrigued him enough to pull his finger out of his ass and hop up. He quickly locked the door and went into the en suite.
But Cas dipped in a kissed him there instead. Dean cried out and clenched down, his cock growing impossibly harder, and kept his hands away. Cas would take care of him, he knew it. He said he trusted him, and he did.
), toys of all shapes and sizes lining the walls, and a section with racks of lacy and satiny undergarments. Dean could feel his cheeks darken as his eyes met Cas’s again. They looked grim.
Cas shook. He unfurled them slowly, majestically, delighting as Dean watched over his shoulder as they filled the room. It felt good to have them out, like Dean was acknowledging that other part of him, his non-humanness. And he still wanted him.
Cas pulled out, changing positions again, this time on their sides, Cas behind Dean again, holding up one of his legs to get deeper. Dean eyes rolled back as Cas let go of his leg and grabbed his cock, smearing the precome all around, pumping his fist quickly, nailing his prostate on every stroke. Dean felt taken, owned, claimed, and he went rigid as his pleasure overtook him again and he came, crying out Cas’s name over and over, cursing at the intensity, then going limp as Cas pounded harder into him, chasing his own pleasure. Dean whispered encouragement, throwing in a few dirty phrases to bring Cas to the edge.
The man laughed, showing off his long throat. “Yeah. Your brother wanted you to have the whole experience- striptease, private dance, and more, if you want. My name is Dean.”
“Weak as a human,” Cas finished for him. “I know, and yes, I want that very much.” Cas flopped face-first into the pillow, his ass rising slightly more, and placed both hands behind his back.
Cas pushed Dean onto the bed onto all fours, spreading his knees apart. Dean peered over his shoulder and watched as Cas rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a bottle of lube. He took out a small package and set both to the side. Dean lost sight of him when he crawled onto the bed behind him.
Dean felt a blush creeping up his neck as he held Cas’s gaze steadily, trying to ignore the massive cocks dangling on the wall behind him.
“Oh.” Dean dropped their bags. There was only one bed. He swore he asked for a double. Maybe he’d forgotten, he was pretty worn out as well. It was fine, he could sleep on the chair. He’d slept in worse places.
Dean’s eyes fluttered closed and he rested his forearms on the back of the chair, moaning into Cas’s ear, licking it once with the tip of his tongue. Cas shivered again, and moved his hands to spread Dean’s ass cheeks open, running his fingers along the line of fabric, and then under it, feeling the furl of skin throb under his touch.
Deciding that he’d pondered it quite enough for one day, he changed the subject to football, and they told stories back and forth about Lawrence High’s terrible team and how they’d never make state. Dean went home alone that night, happy that he’d only nursed 3 beers all night and had a good time with friends. It made him miss school though, and he wondered how Kevin and Chuck were doing. Three weeks of break was too long, and Dean wondered if Mom and Sam would be okay if he went back early. Maybe spend New Year’s with the guys.
There was a cool hardness suddenly pressing into his hole, and he clenched down, but Cas waited until Dean relaxed again by continuing his licks, and slid it in. Dean felt his hole stretched impossibly around the device, but it sat comfortably when it was in all the way.
Dean grinned wickedly and pushed the crown past his lips, pausing to lick the length of it so he could slide on easier. Cas was trying to hold still, the gasps and groans letting Dean know he was doing well. It wasn’t that hard, just suck it like he liked it. He paused and used his hand so he could tongue at Cas’s slit, liking how the precome pulsed against his tongue, Cas howling out, hands scrabbling at Dean’s shoulders.
Dean laughed delightedly, leaving the room quietly, closing the door behind him. He was quick in the bathroom, brushing his teeth first so his dick got a chance to settle down so he could actually pee. He smelled his armpits, and shrugged. He hopped into the shower and quickly scrubbed, nothing fancy, and toweled off. He made a stop at Cas’s room to steal some bottles of water from the mini fridge.
“Just shut up and call her already!” Dean had no idea why he was shouting, he just was. He felt like his skin was crawling and his clothing felt too tight. He needed Cas, needed to apologize for being such a perv and chasing him off. Needed to just have him near, be able to smell him or something. He shook his head, what was wrong with him?
Dean reached around and grasped Cas’s cock and pushed it against his still wet hole until Cas moaned and slid back into Dean’s heat. It was impossibly tight at that angle, and Dean moaned and hissed as Cas rolled his hips smoothly. It was slower and less frantic than before, but the build up was perfect and intense.
Dean matched his glare. “Don’t get fucking righteous with me, asshole, I remember you being the one to ask to finger me. Usually dudes just get off from a little dry humping and that’s it.”
Cas grinned and dropped his towel, giving Dean a glimpse of his cock before jumping under the covers and lying alongside him in the dark. Cas was a little bigger than Dean, leaning toward the left, tan and half hard already. Dean’s blood had rushed to his groin at the sight, and his mouth watered. He wondered what it would feel like to have Cas in his mouth.
It wasn’t enough. He stood from the bed and went into the small bathroom, running the cold water in the shower, and stepped in, hissing as the icy water stung his heated flesh. It was bringing him back to the present a little. He needed to just hang on, soon he’d be fine, and he would be able to just go back to the bunker, and everything would go back to normal.
He practically inhaled his meal, forgetting about his ass for the time being. He pushed his plate away and leaned back in the booth, eyes widening when the plug announced its presence again, rolling against his prostate firmly. He made an abrupt groan, and turned it into a cough, but the coughing made him clench around the intrusion, making everything worse.
“Cas, yes, baby, so good, it feels so good, my god, I wish we did this sooner, I never want to stop, does it feel good? Am I good?”
Cas regarded her curiously. “Dean said that men often can lend a ‘helping hand’ to one another if the situation calls for it. And he helped me out of a... tight situation recently. Then I walked in on him stimulating his prostate with a souvenir from the Empire State building on my bed.”
“That’s true,” Dean said, kissing Cas on the nose. “And you love me so fucking much. You are a very lucky man, really.”
“Can I…” Cas pressed his finger harder, using only sweat and the body oil on Dean’s skin to push his index finger in up to the first knuckle. Dean hissed and ground down on his hand, his hole clenching around the intrusion.
Cas stopped what he was doing and crawled over Dean to look down at him. “I have plans for you, Dean, ways to punish you, but I assure you, they will be just as pleasurable for you as they will be for me.”
It looked like Dean had just walked in. Charlie Bradbury from psych was with him, and Benny, who Cas had seen at the club many times. He was a good guy and was often seen with other bear-type men. He hadn’t realized he and Dean were friends.
“So, uh, you wear them?” Dean didn’t want to know but wanted to know at the same time. It was making his breath come out quicker. There was no way Cas couldn’t smell the arousal.
Ellen snorted, snapping her rag at him. “Don’t let your macho bullshit run your life. It’s okay to like poetry and be poetic. It’s okay to watch chick flicks. Quit telling yourself you’re a pussy for liking those things. It wasn’t true when John said it, it isn’t true now. Tell your brain to fuck off and go get you some love. Nothing wrong with it.”
Dean wanted to pull his hair out. He was supposed to be telling Cas he liked him. But if this was how the guy was, hooking up with random guys from his past…
He hadn’t heard much from Cas that week between Christmas and New Year’s, but that was always a nothing week- time to visit family, do some sales shopping, play with new toys.
Cas slid closer, his body lining up along Dean’s, his hard cock a line pressing into Dean’s hip as his hand took over and began to stroke lovingly over Dean’s cock. Dean arched up, calling Cas’s name, his thighs spreading wider.
“Ah-ha,” Raphael said finally. “I know what it’s missing. Come on, sugar, we’re going to make you pretty.”
“What’s got your proverbial panties in a twist, my fine feathered friend?” He sipped his own drink. “Would it happen to be over a certain green-eyed virgin with devilish good looks?”
There was a distinctive ping from down the quiet hall. A door opened and Dean could hear socked feet padding his way.
“Thanks, Cas,” Dean gasped, his hips leaving the mattress for a moment as he closed his eyes. He writhed, and Cas could see the blood returning to his penis through the sheet. Dean looked tired.
“Dean,” Cas whispered. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do anything, we can just cuddle or put clothes back on, or whatever you want.”
Dean really liked the gift, he guessed. He had worn it all night, and it had given him great pleasure, by the looks of it. Perhaps it was time to give him the next size up.
Cas caught him in a slow kiss, pulling him close, calming him. Dean relaxed again. It didn’t matter that Cas no longer had his grace, Dean still felt like they could win any battle together. It felt like they would be alright, Sam and Kevin would be fine, and things were making more sense in Dean’s life than they ever had.
Cas was back in his room cursing to himself. Dean just came while holding onto him! It was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to him, even more than a certain handjob involving a room divider, and he was hard as a rock in his slacks and struggling to get out of them without ripping them to shreds.
The divider itself was made of hard plastic, with a repeating pattern of circles and squares. The shape of his dick was thinner at the base and very thick in the middle, and tapered at the end. The circle part of the divider was just the right size… He hadn’t been fully hard when he stuck it in there after his shower, and he cursed himself for not just taking care of his erection in the shower instead of looking for alternatives.
Cas chuckled and reached under Dean to stroke his neglected cock. Dean cried out, the pleasure wracking his body as Cas pumped his fist and slowly pulled the panties from Dean’s hole and stuffing them in again with his fingers. Dean was practically wheezing from the pleasure, mumbling nonsense into the bed. He pushed up on his forearms so he could look under himself, watching the laptop through his and Cas’s parted thighs, watching the way Cas’s hand moved expertly over his cock. Fuck, it was so hot.
Cas: Well spotted, Dean. Cassie likes you. You should try again. I saw what you texted when you were drunk, and I think you might like him as well. Castiel is my very oldest and dearest friend, and he deserves someone who will love him for who he is.
It took a moment in his bedroom to get them on, then he headed to the guest room so he could spread out. He closed the door and kept the light off, turning on the bathroom light for a little ambiance.
It was in the automotive section where he got his idea for his next video. Sure, he felt a little guilty for shoplifting the black satin and lace panties, but he was a man on a mission to make a video, and the thought of thousands of orgasms around the world happening because of what he was doing, fueled his fire.
Dean got on the road early. He was only a couple of hours away from school, and if got back in time, he could take a nap before he went to meet Benny and Charlie.
They breathed heavily into the kiss, still out of breath, until Dean started to feel his eyelids droop. He sighed as Cas pulled back and whimpered as he felt him leave the bed, but he returned with a towel and reverently wiped Dean down, cleaning him of all the come before it dried.
He watched a pretty looking brunette approach him, laughing, and touching his arm and standing very close. Dean frowned, thinking of April again. Cas was vulnerable as a human and wouldn’t be able to spot an predator if they tried to take advantage of him, like April did.
The were heading to Dean’s mom’s for the weekend so Cas could meet them. Dean had tried so hard not to build it up, but Cas knew Dean was as nervous as he was. Cas knew it would be fine, any woman who could produce such a fine man as Dean was alright in Cas’s book. He also couldn’t wait to meet Jo and Ellen, and hang out in a rural gay bar. Sounded really cool.
Most of the day had passed without a text from Cas. Not that he was waiting by his phone or anything. Dean guessed he should should be the one who reached out...but he was pretty embarrassed about the stuff he’d said the night before. Maybe he could wait until the nighttime- a day of video games and last-minute shopping with Sam would keep him busy. It was Christmas Eve and Cas was probably...what did rich guys do for Christmas Eve?
Dean laughed and sat up, and kissing the top of Cas’s head. He’d never been so intimate with someone, to just be close like that, not feeling self-conscience. He swung his legs out of bed, grateful he had stopped drinking after midnight and switched to bottled water. His mouth tasted funky, but he felt pretty good.
Cas smiled around his mouthful. That little shit! He was torturing Dean on purpose! Not that Dean didn’t deserve it.
He smirked at himself and pulled off the panties and headed for the shower. After a quick scrub, he dried and pulled a fresh pair of blue panties out of the pocket of his jeans. He dressed quickly and headed out, pausing to lock the door behind him. He’d forgotten to mop the jizz off the floor, and the room smelled like sex. He’d have to clean after they got back from supper.
The bathroom door swung open suddenly and Cas jerked in surprise, folding his wings behind him defensively.
“Okay, we can ride back now, if you really really want to.” Cas was doing a terrible job at keeping a straight face, and Dean had enough.
Cas cocked his head. Did Dean mean for him follow, or did he mean the reply that was synonymous with the human expression, ‘give me a break’? He was unsure how to respond.
He had to watch it. Getting a boner in these jeans would be very noticable. It’s not like anyone would really see it in the crowd. He twisted, shaking his hips, throwing his arms over his head. He looked up at that moment and locked eyes with Dean from far across the room.
He pictured the round globes of Dean’s ass, tight and high in the air, his hole stretched and gaping, waiting to be filled, to be filled by
“No, Dean,” Cas growled, making the hair on Dean’s arms rise. “I’m not. I failed at being a angel. Everything I ever attempted came out wrong. But here...at least I have a shot at getting things right. I guess you can’t see it, but...there’s a real dignity in what I do- human dignity.”
“And you’re a hunter in training, remember?” Dean knew he was reaching, but he didn’t want to leave Cas just yet. He had to admit he really missed him.
Cas to watch. He paused and wiggled his pants down under the covers. If he was going to do it, he might as well do it the way he liked.
Cas was wrapped around Dean, his hands fumbling with the edge of Dean’s t-shirt, slipping his warm fingers inside, running them up his back. As soon as Cas found skin, he hummed happily.
“I brought you your laptop after Sam left.” A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “After I cleaned up a little, I thought I needed to see for myself what exactly you’d had done in my truck, Dean.”
“You certainly fooled me,” she said, flipping her red hair over her shoulder. “I knew you had it bad for him, but with the way you’ve been staring at him, I was sure he’d finally plucked up the courage to hop into bed with you. My mistake.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Nevermind that, I suspect we might have a situation with Dean that Sam will unlikely be willing to help with-”
It didn’t take long before Dean was fully erect, bouncing as Dean writhed around, still in the ruined panties. Dean reached for it, and Cas batted his hand away. He wanted to feel Dean come by his hand again, and fuck him through it.
Though Dean just wanted to do it slowly, lovingly, and bring him to the edge by penetrating him the way he did for Dean nearly every day.
Dean was humping the mattress in his fitful sleep. Cas stroked his hair and laid next to him, now without his sticky boxers. He was naked in bed with Dean, where he’d wanted to be for nine years, but under bad circumstances.
Cas had come across a ghost report in Muncie, Indiana, a milk run really, and Dean suggested they go and leave him behind so he could tune up Cas’s truck. They were so shocked that Dean would let them drive Baby without him that they practically ran out of the bunker.
Something was eating at him- maybe if he went back to the motel and jerked off, he could clear his head. He’d been feeling off, sorta sporting a half-woody since the Love Shack.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Yeah.” Admitting it out loud felt kind of good. He went on to tell Raphael the entire story, from the kiss to the argument, while liquor inventory was completed and they moved to the stockroom.
Cas froze, turned bright red and started fumbling words again. “I mean- I um, like when I say that- I um, you know-”
“Hey, Dean,” Bobby called from a booth. There’s room over here.” To Dean’s horror, Bobby moved to the other side of the booth with Earl, leaving the remaining seat empty for Cas and Dean.
“A sixty-nine?” Dean surmised, “You don’t have- Oh, fuuuuuck.” Cas took Dean in hand and sucked him down expertly. Dean’s nerves were on fire, his cock throbbing in pleasure. He needed to distract himself or he’d come. He grabbed Cas’s hips, lowering them so Cas’s cock was touching his lips. He licked it, fighting the urge to come and pressed Cas’s hips down until his cock slid into Dean’s mouth.
What the fuck was wrong with him! He really did need to get laid. Maybe he’d go drive around until the club opened. Or…
Dean opened his eyes to Cas kneeling over him, scooping up the cooling come and stroking himself firmly and quickly with it, his mouth open as he raked his eyes over Dean’s prone form, only for a few seconds until he called out Dean’s name and spilled over Dean’s abdomen, softening cock, and chest, the splatters of warm fluid making Dean feel a twinge in his dick, like it wanted to make another appearance.
He withdrew the bottle and laid it with the wrench. He picked up the mallet and showed it to the camera, grabbing the lube and eyeing it. He rolled on his stomach and crawled the rest of the way up the hood on his knees, wiggling his lube-dripping asshole at the camera as he positioned the mallet in its head, the handle standing straight up. After a cursory swipe of lube, he rose to his knees and positioned his hole above the handle and slowly lowered himself onto it. He moaned and cried out as the blunt and wide handle pushed into him, the rubber feeling different from both the metal and plastic. It made him feel so full! He rode it in short thrusts, still not ready to come, considering turning around to face the laptop so the audience would see his cock when he came, when he spied something in the cab of the truck that made him pause.
Dean’s eyes widened fearfully, something Cas hadn’t seen since he felt Lucifer’s angel blade thrust through his chest. It made him want to grab Dean and hold him tightly, but he just concentrated and forced himself to relax, the power of his grace unfurling his wings again, ready to fight-or-flight. He usually picked the latter when it came to Dean, leaving was so much easier than feeling the illogical emotions he had for the man.
came through the speakers and Dean cranked it up and pulled away from the curb, squealing his tires as they took off down the street.
“Touch me, fuck, just touch me, please!” Dean wasn’t one to beg, but he longed for the closeness they shared while they stood in front of the sex shop, Cas leaning into him, making him feel so very needed.
Cas was waiting for him in the library holding his truck keys. His eyes widened as he watched Dean walk across the room toward him. Dean swore that Cas’s eyes grew with every step he took.
“Eternity sounds good to me,” Dean whispered, running his hands through Cas’s hair, then down through the small fluffy plumes near where the wings connected to Cas's shoulders.
Cas’s eyes darkened. “Look at you, just look at you. So open for me, so much trust, Dean.” He paused and Dean listened as their breathing synced up. Cas spoke carefully. “You love me, don’t you? No, you don’t have to say anything, I know you do. I love you too, I always have, since the beginning when I saw your soul in Hell. Now I know you love me too.”
The thought made his dick twitch hard, poking out of his robe, like a dowsing rod toward the masturbating angel, and Dean swayed as the blood rushed away from his head.
“Exactly. The Watchers were charged with watching over humanity, but some of them fell in love with humans and mated with them. Creating the nephilim, which caused major problems, blah blah blah, and here we are. Castiel is practically an Archangel now, Jack has seen to that, and it seems he has chosen Dean as his mate, but for the life of me I don’t know why he would leave him like this.”
Cas was dressed down for the occasion. He’d only brought one suit, packed along with the suit he’d bought and had taylored for Dean. Of course, Dean had complained that it was too expensive, but Cas tutted him and reminded him it was really for Cas’s benefit- Dean’s ass looked amazing in the trousers. Dean had blushed then smirked and agreed.
“Fucking christ,” Cas squirmed in his chair as he caught a peek of Dean’s puffy red hole, winking and flexing as he moved to pull a condom and packet of lube from his shorts pocket.
Cas brought his wings around to stabilize Dean’s hip as he used his left hand between Dean’s thighs and felt the heat and firmness of his cock. He made a fist for Dean to push into as he fucked himself back on Cas’s fingers, speeding up and moaning.
“Yeah. I fell for you. Kerplunk. Can’t un-fall. I’m sorry.” Cas kinda hoped Dean wanted to still have sex even though Cas was being all emotion-y.
Probably the same reason Dean had come looking for him. They needed each other. Dean needed Cas like he needed water. And he’d always been drawn back to him. It seemed so simple and he felt stupid for not noticing before.
She grinned. “Sounds like Dean has good taste. You look handsome in it. My name is Cindy, if you need anything, just holler-”
“You like that? You like my hole? You’re the only one, Cas, the only one who has ever been inside me. You’ve ruined me, Cas, I’ll only ever want your cock, your thick fucking cock pounding into me, making me yours.”
Dean chuckled. “Nah, yeah okay, it seems weird when you say it like that, but who hasn’t tried to get off on motel furniture? Kind of a lonely hunter’s right of passage.”
Cas twisted his fingers and brushed over the bundle of nerves inside Dean and the man cried out, his hole clenching down, and Cas watched as come spurted out of Dean’s slit, the head of his cock swelling and throbbing as he came, his hole clamping down tightly on Cas’s fingers in time with the spurts.
“Charlie Bradbury!” Cas said a bit too loudly. “Come! Sit! Let us sit and indulge in libations and make merry!”
Dean was speeding up, and Cas gritted his teeth, wanting to wait to come when Dean did so he could feel the way he clenched, like he had around his fingers so tightly as he climaxed.
Dean stood and buttoned his jeans, washing his hands off at the sink. He couldn’t take much more of it, he’d have to say something. If he’d learned anything from the last few years, it was that leaving things unsaid was the path to hell.
Dean looked over his shoulder as Cas darted into the bathroom, parted his flies and released his erection, swiftly pulling it until he came sharply into his palm. He steadied himself without looking at Dean and wiped the come on the towel Dean had been wearing earlier. Cas put his dick away and went back to the bed and offered Dean the edge of the bedsheet to wipe himself off.
“That’s what I mean, dear boy. But luckily, I fixed the spell so it won’t kill you, maybe, but you must keep your winky appeased for the next 12 hours, to expel the potion, so to speak, or there is a slight possibility you will...die.”
“The cuffs Dean?” Cas asked, his voice sinfully low and hopeful. Dean shuddered and pulled them out, plus Cas’s giant bottle of lube, from the drawer by the bedside. He climbed up on the bed slowly, wanting to relish every moment.
“Oof! Oh Dean,” Cas exclaimed as they collided bodily, the hunter catching the angel before they could fall.
Cas stood by the bar, looking around the club as the bass pulsed on the very crowded dance floor. He certainly was getting a lot of stares. He wondered if this was the wisest move, letting Ms. Diamond LaRue surface and drag him into the makeup room. Sure it was just a little eyeliner, but the reactions from the drag queens coming into work while he was back there raved about how sexy he looked. They said his eyes were ‘stunning’ and ‘to die for’ and ‘panty soakers’, but the only panties he could think about were the ones Dean was wearing in his mind, prancing around his room, teasing Cas.
“That’s alright, deary,” Rowena, “you keep at it until your arm falls off, or wrap yourself up and let me do what I can to reverse it.”
Cas gasped and resisted grabbing the man’s hips to grind him further down on his cock, already embarrassingly close to coming in his pants.
Dean clasped his hands together and grinned. “Yes, yes, yes. Thanks, buddy.” He slapped Cas’s arm, also noting how he flinched slightly.
He’d darted off to the bathroom, ripping open his pants and jerking himself quickly. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and he kept picturing sliding down on his knees to suck off Cas instead of what he did with his hand. He looked around and saw the small shampoo and lotion bottles on the counter. He quickly spread lotion on his cock and smeared more on the shampoo bottle, making sure the lid was on tight. Seconds later, he had the bottle crammed in his ass, thrusting it in and out as hard as he could, imagining Cas bending him over the sink and pounding into him.
He filled Sam in about Nick leaving, and made a beeline to Dean’s room. He got stopped by a few other hunters on his way, answering some questions, anxious to be on his way.
Cas’s eyes took a leisurely journey over the man’s form, drinking in his sandy brown hair, his tan skin, and his freckles- which suddenly he could see a lot more of, now that he’d removed his shirt by ripping the buttons open. All Cas’s friends were whooping and yelling, apparently loving the show. But Cas could barely hear them as the man turned and bent over and touched the floor, his tight shorts working into his ass crack under Cas’s lustful eye.
“Please! I’ll make you hamburgers for dinner, I promise,” Dean put his lip out a tiny bit- it wasn’t playing fair, but he really thought the joke was funny.
He was a little confused by what he found. “Congratulations”? Okay, that was weird, even for Cas. He took the card, his jaw dropping when he saw what was behind it.
They were varied in size, shape, and color. And Dean knew he’d have to maintain direct, unnerving eye contact with Cas to avoid looking at them. And looking at Cas in the eye would be so hard knowing that they would be filled with the same hurt that they were when Dean made him leave the bunker.
Dean was mumbling into his pillow and gasping every time Cas pushed his tongue to his hole, until finally Cas stopped teasing and swirled around Dean’s rim, pointing his tongue and pressing in, just a tiny bit.
Dean groaned and pushed back into Cas, grinding his hips to push Cas’s dick deeper into his crack. It wasn’t enough.
The door opened and closed. Dean heard the lock twist and felt more than heard Cas walking over to the side of the bed.
“Oh, that’s so beautiful, my sweet mate, my Dean, already ready for me,” Cas panted, stroking and pushing on the base of the plug.
“Hey, Cas,” Sam said smoothly. “Will you get the rock salt rounds from the ammo room? Dean threw out his back working in the garage. I’m going to get him set up with painkillers and we can go again.”
Dean cleared his throat. “Well the feeling is mutual. I mean, I know you had to hide from the angel threat, but, uh, wow. This is some cover.”
Dean opened his mouth, letting Cas’s tongue in, sighing through his nose in what sounded like great relief, and plunging his fingers into Cas’s hair, then wings, near where they met his shoulder blades. Cas shuddered, as a crash of desire slammed into him, his gut tightening, and he came hard and suddenly, rutting helplessly against Dean, plundering his mouth and clutching his body. Dean’s fingers tightened around the taught muscles of his wings, and he moaned into Cas’s mouth and rutted back, his cock swelling against Cas’s thigh, the robe having moved, and Cas instinctively reached between them and grasped Dean in his fist, stroking him swiftly, making Dean cry out at the contact and spill over Cas’s fist and onto his tan coat, smearing a wet spot as Dean shuddered through his orgasm, sucking on Cas’s tongue and kissing him sloppily as the last waves of his orgasm moved through him.
Dean rolled his eyes at that. “Just because you fucked a dude, a stripper at that, don’t make you gay.”
Forgetting the handcuffs, he strode down the hall, slamming Dean’s door open. Empty. Hmm. The guest room. Where Dean liked to pleasure himself. The thought was making him harder, pre-come wetting the inside of his pants.
It actually sounded like a great idea. Being around Sam recently gave him a huge amount of guilt- about Cas, about tricking Sam, about the angel renting a room in Sam’s head. He was sure Kevin would be fine, and he could use the time off.
Cas shook his head. They both knew the answer to that: yes, yes Gabe would lie to Cas, he did it all the time. Usually under the guise of ‘brotherly help’. But it was really just interference for the sake of his own amusement, and often at Cas’s expense.
He had watched a few more pegging videos that night, coming so hard he saw stars. So of course, the next time he had time on his hands, he just clicked on whatever was in ‘suggested videos’ on his page.
Cas saw what little Michael let him see when he was possessed. He saw Dean drowning, crying for help, crying Cas’s name in the darkness. He saw the color and shape and texture of Dean’s fears, fear of being alone, fear of hurting those he loved, fear of never being enough.
Dean just snorted and moved to the other side of the divider. “Huh, here’s your problem, if you had lube, you’d probably be fine. You have any?” He sounded like he was diagnosing a car problem.
Dean nodded and let go of his covers and let Cas pull them away, revealing Dean’s naked and sweat-soaked form, his cock standing at attention, as if he had not already ejaculated several times. Cas hummed.
He shoved the panties in his pocket, grabbed the angel-proof handcuffs, and headed to the bunker stairs. Maybe if he got a hotel for a few days or something, he’d be okay.
Cas shook his head and headed to the small bathroom. Dean wondered why they even had one in a store like that. It was just asking to be jerked off in.
So he sat in his honor chair, waiting for the “big surprise” that Gabriel had bragged about with some of his co-workers, his friends Charlie and Meg, and Castiel himself, swearing that the surprise was absolutely
Sam huffed a laugh. “You know, I used to really like dragons- I thought they were like unicorns, though. But now, not so much. Shame about unicorns.”
Cas: You aren’t flirting with me, are you, Dean? Because I hear you have brilliant... what was the phrase Cassie used? Ah yes. Eyes as green as a lush mountain forest. And I do love green eyes.
in his hole. Cas batted his hand away and used his own fingers to rub slow circles around Dean’s hole, pressing but not penetrating.
“Charlie Bradbury!” Cas said a bit too loudly. “Come! Sit! Let us sit and indulge in libations and make merry!”
“Oh, yeah, I wasn’t supposed to- fuck!” Dean rubbed his face. “I promised not to tell, but the angel Ezekiel is posted up in Sam’s body healing him from the trials. Sam didn’t exactly...know he was saying yes to the possession...and I tricked him. And now, Zeke won’t leave- I mean, it’s not a bad thing, he did save you when April stabbed you-”
Cas cupped his hands around Dean’s face and hummed, the understood reply lost in the tide of another soft kiss.
“Are you pleasuring yourself?” Cas had rolled over to his side, and Dean could just make out his eyes in the dark.
“Ah-ha,” Raphael said finally. “I know what it’s missing. Come on, sugar, we’re going to make you pretty.”
He had stood there, naked, hair dripping, when he remembered he was supposed to meet Sam and Dean to interview a witness to the possible vengeful spirit killing. He’d tried to yank his cock out, but it wouldn’t budge. He was unsure if using his grace would demolish the room divider. The lube was too far away, and when he pulled, it only made it worse. So he pushed all the way in thinking it would be better, but now he had a raging hard on and was stuck.
Cas pulled out of his mouth, and turned around, straddling Dean’s head again and hanging onto the headboard. Dean got the picture and guided Cas’s cock back into his mouth, setting the pace, then relinquishing control, letting Cas fuck his face, thrusts shallow enough so Dean didn’t choke.
Cas shushed him and Dean could feel the blunt tip of Cas’s cock brush against his hole. Dean moaned and dropped his face into the pillow, keeping his hips high. Cas rubbed his tip back and forth, along Dean’s crack, teasing the hole, waiting for Dean to relax. Finally, there was pressure, so much pressure, Dean felt like he would split in two, and Cas’s cock head popped in. It felt so fucking big, and Dean pushed back, letting it in further.
he thought idly, rubbing his face into the cotton pillowcase. His clothing seemed to be rough and harsh against his skin, so he paused and yanked his jeans off, then his t shirt, burrowing down into Cas’s bedding, piling the blankets on top of himself until he felt like he was surrounded by Cas’s sweet scent. He moaned again.
“Oh, yeah, okay, um...let me get-” Dean caught himself before he said ‘get dressed’ and sat up. “Get ready. Give me a sec, I’ll be right out.”
Cas tilted his head, squinting, reminding Dean of a confused puppy. He fought an impulse to kiss the look off his face.
Dean groaned. He’d just have to do it to Cas to explain what the hell they were talking about to Sam.
“Oh, fuck, it’s torture,” Dean moaned, stroking Cas’s hair and watching him suck Dean back down. “I just want you to fuck me.”
“You asshole,” Dean panted, standing on his own finally. Cas shrugged and opened the bunker. Dean hobbled past him, rushing to the showers to pull the damn thing out. He was exhausted.
The vibrating slowed and Dean held still while Cas slowly worked the toy out of Dean’s hole. He whined when it was gone, feeling empty only for a moment until Cas pushed the tip of a much larger object into his asshole. Dean looked back and gasped as he was breached, laughing and moaning as the large purple plug was twisted back and forth until Cas worked it in past the enormous bulb and the flare sat snugly against Dean’s swollen entrance. He wiggled his hips, groaning as it nudged his prostate, and watched the screen as Cas unbuttoned Dean’s shirt and pulled it off him, unbuckled his belt and pulled his slacks down, lifting a leg at a time and letting Cas take his shoes and socks off as the pants were pulled off. Cas reached over and slapped Dean’s ass again, rubbing and squeezing his cheeks, massaging them and slapping them again. Dean spread his legs wider, his cock aching for release, soaking the panties.
Cas felt a swell of love for the man threaten to overtake him. He felt his cheeks flush, ashamed that only a few words would have so much affect on him. He was angry at himself for allowing Dean to have so much power over him, and simultaneously wanted it and didn’t want it. It was confusing and frustrating to have so many human emotions at one time. So he settled on anger.
Dean stumbled on the stairs and looked back. Cas had half a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.
“Castiel, you have left Dean in quite a state. Return at once and mate him, or there will be dire consequences!” She flicked her manicured fingers at the angel restraints and they easily fell open.
The witch had caught them off guard- they had been called by Bobby and Mary earlier that day to assist with what looked like a nest of vampires, but turned out to be just one over-enthusiastic witch with a fetish for Albanian youth spells. She drained her victims of their blood and left the corpses in roadside ditches, not caring if they were found. She apparently believed herself so strong that she was practically begging to be found.
It had happened accidentally the first time. Dean was still in Michael’s clutches when Cas took to spending time in Dean’s room watching movies and sitting on his bed. He’d decided to get comfortable and had stripped down to his boxers, snuggling down in Dean’s comforter and sniffing Dean’s smell off it. He felt like crying nearly constantly, and it became a nightly thing, quietly closing himself in Dean’s room to watch movies and hold Dean’s pillow and wrap himself in Dean’s smell.
Cas sighed happily and sucked on Dean’s neck. “Guess not,” he mumbled between kisses. Dean arched his neck so Cas could reach behind his ear, and thrust his hips up a little, his own cock not as quick to recover. Cas decided he needed Dean to catch up.
Dean smiled dopily up at him as Cas placed a towel under his hips. Might as well be prepared, he thought.
He shuddered and came quickly, thrusting hard and stilling. It felt so good, and he laid in the afterglow, relaxing his body and thinking about Dean.
He flipped off the light and stumbled a little finding the door to the room, then slipped out and headed for his room, smiling broadly to himself. This was an excellent plan. He really hoped Dean liked his gift.
Cas smiled. He felt really good. Really very good. Too bad he probably couldn’t get Dean to jerk him off every day. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Dean snapped back to the present, eyes never leaving their target. “Four victims suddenly exploded. I tried EMF. I’ve looked for hex bags, sulfur- nada.”
Benny chuckled at Charlie’s stunned but gleeful look. “Calm down sis, he only gets like this when he’s tore up drunk. Starts speakin’ in ye olde English. It’s hilarious.”
What the fuck was wrong with him! He really did need to get laid. Maybe he’d go drive around until the club opened. Or…
Cas blushed. “I want to remember what he looks like sometimes. He...was kidnapped and gone for several months and we didn’t know where he was. It was very helpful to get through that time to have photos of him. But he’s home now, and I want to get him a gift...something that will make him happy.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Dean mumbled, towel-drying his hair swiftly. He’d shaved and looked pink from all the scrubbing. He smelled so familiar and amazing that Cas suddenly wanted to put his hands all over him just to make sure he was real. He crossed his arms instead. Dean was staring.
Dean waited for Cas to move, open the door, knock of Dean’s hand- something, but he stood still, his arm going slack as he leaned a little into Dean’s hand. Dean’s heart seemed to flutter out of sync and he moved closer, pulling the fallen angel to his chest instinctively. He wrapped his arms around Cas, and supported his weight as he sank into Dean’s embrace.
A quick shower later and he was dumping his ruined panties and jeans in the washer. He’d take a quick nap and get his laundry after. He fell into a deep, relaxed sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
“I didn’t sleep with Balthazar,” Cas blurted. Dean blinked. Cas clarified. “I mean I was going to, it has been
“I know,” Dean said, “but I just have this need, this insane desire for you to come in me, like I can’t think of anything else I want more in this whole universe.”
Dean cut him off with a kiss. Cas relaxed and sighed into Dean’s mouth. Dean pulled back, staring him straight in the eye.
Dean realized he’d been externalizing his internal monologue. Well, fuck it, they were all friends.
Dean was flailing an arm toward his bedside table blindly, grunting as Cas sucked him, his breathing coming out in small gasps.
Dean scrolled back through the messages and reread everything. Cas liked him? Fuck, he felt stupid. He’d told a guy that liked him about getting a handjob from some random dude. That was messed up.
and sat his computer on top of a cart pointed at the front of the truck. He put his bottle of lube handy and laid a socket wrench, a new bottle of brake fluid with a long neck, and a rubber mallet with a long handle on a folded shop towel on the hood. He hit record and leaned over the hood spreading his legs and pulling the panties aside, using his slick fingers to rub circles on his entrance. It had been getting easier to put his fingers in as time went on, he figured it had to be muscle memory. Dean pushed both fingers in at once, moaning for effect, and looking back over his shoulder to watch himself on the computer screen.
, a rare first edition, most likely found by Uncle Bobby- he loved to collect old books. This one was in excellent condition for its age, and he couldn’t wait to re-read it.
Cas could of died. That freak- that angel with the weird vaporizing mojo- had Cas in his crosshairs, and Dean almost missed the clue that sent him back there.
Dean was glad they’d already came once, because he would have come embarrassingly fast He was making all sorts of noises, Cas’s skin slapping into his filling the room.
Cas’s finger pushed further, the tight silky heat swallowing him up easily. Dean grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed, making the head pop clearly out of the panties.
Then the knob became Cas’s fat cock, thrusting into Dean again and again, making his thighs shake and tremble. Dean let go of his cock, gripping the backrest with both hands and fucking down hard on the knob, going faster. He realized he was about to come, so he pulled off and turned again, facing the camera and pushing the knob in again, pressing his prostate firmly and gripping the dash with both hands, coming explosively, hitting the radio, the dashboard, the windshield. His ass rippled around the knob over and over, a shrill sound piercing the air. He realized he was screaming in ecstasy, and rolled his hips, causing another wave of pleasure to hit him, making his cock pump out two more spurts of come. In his thrall, the song had ended and it was silent in the cab as he had come, the only sounds were the sounds of sex, and moans falling from Dean’s lips as he came down.
Cas sighed. He poked the bottle through another hole and squirted lube directly on his cock, hoping the cold would shrink him a little. He pushed in and out a little, hoping to just yank it out quickly, but it felt so good, it just got thicker. He let out a soft moan and hissed when it was too tight to get out.
There was no balloon this time, no card, it just simply sat there, larger than the one Dean had been using, and begging to be crammed up his ass.
Cas turned to face the wall. “Get dressed. I honestly don’t mind you masturbating in my room, Dean, on occasion I have used your room for such activities when you were away.”
“Yeah,” Dean responded too quickly, his palms starting to sweat. He licked his lip, watching Cas’s eyes flick down to follow. “I mean, my dates end when I run out of singles, but, uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s something that...humans do.”
Cas licked his lips. He could smell the man in front of him, cedar, ocean, musk, and watched greedily as a small bead of sweat worked its way down his torso as he undulated his hips to the music. Cas struggled not to lean over and taste it.
Dean felt Cas’s mind slide into his as the angel spoke, and he grinned as Cas’s pupils quickly dilated.
Dean smiled, eyes closed, half asleep. Cas wasn’t worried anymore. He would be able to wait for Dean to be ready again. He rolled them again, and slid out of Dean’s worn hole, touching it with a finger to make sure it was uninjured. It was loose and wet, and Cas reached for a towel to mop them up a little. He found a water bottle by the bedside, and helped Dean get some sips. Dean smiled and hummed, finally opening his eyes again.
He felt safe when he shut and locked the door to the hideaway, shaking away the worry about Cas. Cas really didn’t think of him that way, right? It was really embarrassing, he’d jerked off his friend to help him out of a tight spot, but then had to jerk himself off in the bathroom because it turned him on so much. Then he got busted fucking himself in Cas’s bed, and Cas acted like it was no big deal. Had gotten him a safer alternative than the snowglobe, in fact. It seemed like the angel was unflappable, just comfortable with whatever freakish thing Dean could come up with.
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, maybe, but this time it’s true. Fuck, you’re huge, I want to ride your cock and make myself come again, can I do that?” He rolled his hips just so, and Cas could feel when Dean found his prostate by how he tightened and whimpered.
Cas’s face turned bright red and he stormed out of the room. Dean rubbed a hand down his face. Stupid stupid stupid! Why couldn’t he just keep his damn mouth shut?
Cas wrinkled his nose. “Dairy products are not in the ‘good choices’ category. I’m only making good choices now!” He put the shot back on her tray. “Away with yee, lovely wench!” he called with grandiosity. Then a little quieter, “Can you bring me some water?”
Cas: I’m Cas’s oldest friend. We were in school together, and our very annoying parents have been friends for decades.
“I’m an idiot,” Dean said to himself, stuffing the shirt back in the bag. Even though Dean had done the cruelest thing possible by kicking Cas out, he still took a piece of Dean with him. Something that
Cas smiled tightly at Sam and watched him practically sprint out of the bunker, leaving Cas standing there not knowing what to do, and dealing with his own serious, raging hard on.
The smell was delicious and made his knees weak. There was Dean, laying in Cas’s bed, nested in all his blankets, moaning and sweating.
Cas was already pouncing, covering Dean with his whole body, pressing him firmly down, hissing in his ear.
Cas decided he liked it very much when Dean called him baby. He pulled out a little, just to push in more. Dean was taking his cock surprisingly well, but Cas figured this was because Dean was his mate, his true mate, and they should fit together like puzzle pieces.
“Yes, Dean. I will mate you. I take you apart, bring you to orgasm three times, and I mount you and bite you, marking you as mine, filling you up with my seed, mating you for forever.”
Cas lapped at Dean’s hole. Running a pointed tongue around his rim, pressing and pressing until the muscle relaxed enough to push the tip in.
“Yeah, thanks man, I’m fine. Just wrenched something.” His blush flared brighter when he said ‘wrench’.
He hummed to himself and locked the door, unbuckling his jeans. He had lube and a couple of condoms with him (he wasn’t a savage), and he got to work.
“Especially since your skills include doing amazing things to my ass, yeah, they are a good thing to have.”
Dean huffed a laugh, his breath hot on Cas’s erection. It twitched in his hand, and pre-come dribbled out. Dean automatically lapped it up. It was bitter, a little different from his own, but not bad. He lapped at it again, swirling his tongue around the crown, glancing up at Cas, who had propped himself on his elbows to watch.
“A sixty-nine?” Dean surmised, “You don’t have- Oh, fuuuuuck.” Cas took Dean in hand and sucked him down expertly. Dean’s nerves were on fire, his cock throbbing in pleasure. He needed to distract himself or he’d come. He grabbed Cas’s hips, lowering them so Cas’s cock was touching his lips. He licked it, fighting the urge to come and pressed Cas’s hips down until his cock slid into Dean’s mouth.
The night moved swiftly, the dance floor opening up for champagne and the countdown to midnight. Dean and Cas were in the middle of the dance floor, already kissing when the ball dropped, lost in their own little world.
He could tell Cas wasn’t fooled for a minute. But his shoulders sagged and he turned back to Dean from his cleaning. “All right, my shift’s over in five minutes, and my date’s not until later, so…”
Cas pulled out gingerly, and turned them so he could lay down. Dean whimpered, and moved with him until he was straddling Cas’s thighs.
Dean looked terrified. “You mean he could still be in here?” He clutched his arms and squeezed himself, looking around the room as if Michael would pop out like a horror movie monster and swallow him whole.
Dean finally got out of the Impala and walked to the door, looking around guiltily more out of habit than anything, and slipped in the door. Cas was waiting on a man, placing a large purple vibrator into a black plastic bag, tossing in what looked like a few packets of lube.
“My Grace is gone. What did you expect? Do you have any idea how hard it was? When I fell to Earth, I didn’t just lose my powers. I - I had nothing.” The implications behind that statement had Dean wanting to crawl in a hole. “Now...I’m a sales associate.” The pride in his voice was painful to hear.
“Day-um, sweetie, what have you got on,” Raphael was behind the bar, inventory sheet in hand when Cas walked in. “I swear, you surprise me constantly.” He shook his head and pulled a bottle of Glen McKenna down and got two tumblers. Cas watched him pour three fingers for them each, smiling in amusement. Raphael was dressed in a t shirt and jeans, crooked ball cap on his head.
Dean moaned and sped his hand up, cupping his own balls with his free hand. It was hot, thinking of all the things that Cas could do to him, all of the naughtiest, dirtiest, sexiest things- but somehow, it was the image of Cas dragging his nuts gently across Dean’s face that had him arching off the bed and coming hard onto his stomach.
, and him alone. He remembered how Dean had looked at him over his shoulder, ass in the air, like he was waiting to be mated.
Dean heard the line over and over, in Cas’s deep gravelly voice, as he slowly opened his pants, pulling them down to his knees and sitting back against his headboard. His boxer briefs came down as well, and he ended up kicking them completely off. Then his shirt came off over his head.
Fuck! He needed to turn his brain off. He swallowed another three fingers of Glen Mckenna and set his tumbler down.
Dean felt the plug being removed, and slowly, a larger one was worked in. Dean was sweating and writhing, the different state of pleasure he was in was amazing. Cas resumed the blowjob, seeming to know exactly how to suck, how Dean liked it, even when to twist with his hand.
“I did claim you, Dean, and I thought you felt the same way, but you were always just out of reach. I was satisfied to live the rest of my existence just being near you, that being enough, but it weighed on my heart. Now that I have you, it would destroy me for you to reject me again.”
He staggered to the shower, every step an agony of pleasure. He leaned to turn the faucet and cried out as the plug pressed on his prostate again. He gave up and bent over the sink, grasping his cock and stroking it, wishing to god that when he looked up in the mirror, that Cas would be standing behind him, pounding into him, making him come. Cas was nowhere to be seen, so Dean closed his eyes and pictured the angel, fingers gripping into his hips, growling voice in his ear, and Dean came with Cas’s name on his lips, for what seemed like the hundredth time that week.
Cas was dressed down for the occasion. He’d only brought one suit, packed along with the suit he’d bought and had taylored for Dean. Of course, Dean had complained that it was too expensive, but Cas tutted him and reminded him it was really for Cas’s benefit- Dean’s ass looked amazing in the trousers. Dean had blushed then smirked and agreed.
Fuck! He needed to turn his brain off. He swallowed another three fingers of Glen Mckenna and set his tumbler down.
Dean lay there in a pool of his own come and lube, panties still stretched around his cock and balls, hole empty and clenching around nothing, back completely shot, and wondering what he was going to do about his newfound need to get fucked by his best friend.
Cas spun on his heel and walked out the door. Dean always had to have the last word, and he did in this case. Somehow it felt hollow.
“Hole-lover69 from Michigan wants me to stuff you.” Cas grinned down at him, wadding up the silk fabric.
“I’m going to use a set of plugs to stretch you, Dean, I’ll use lube, but they might be a little cold.”
When Cas came to, Dean was wiping him down with a wet warm washcloth. Humming and touching him so carefully, carefully wiping the come from Cas’s wings.
“Oh my god,” Dean called out wildly. Cas pressed in a finger with his tongue, working it in and out, using spit as lube, working it in deeper. Dean could feel he was close to his prostate. His cock was drooling a non-stop string of precome on his belly. Cas pressed two fingers in, Dean groaning at the burn of the stretch, but rocking into Cas’s hand anyway. Cas twisted his fingers, and licked Dean’s shaft at the same time, pressing his prostate firmly as he swallowed Dean in one go, the ridges of the roof of Cas’s mouth being the triggering factor of Dean’s explosive orgasm. His hearing went out for a second, and he knew he was being loud, but he didn’t care, the waves of pleasure from Cas’s fingers and mouth was unbelievable. He’d never come so hard or long before. It was incredible. He relaxed and let Cas lower his legs, crawl up him again, and kiss his mouth. Dean tasted himself in the kiss, and sucked on Cas’s tongue.
“For now,” Rowena said, taking her book and returning it to her bag. “I’m afraid there will be lingering side-effects, but I’m sure you'll manage.” She winked at Cas.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Yeah.” Admitting it out loud felt kind of good. He went on to tell Raphael the entire story, from the kiss to the argument, while liquor inventory was completed and they moved to the stockroom.
“Dean,” he whispered before pulling Dean onto his lap and kissing him, hard. Dean moaned into his mouth, shamelessly rubbing his cock on Cas’s deflating one. Cas thrust upward, licking down Dean’s neck, his hands roaming to squeeze Dean’s ass hard, grinding their hips together. Dean arched his back, and called out Cas’s name, lost in the feeling of the angel’s hands pulling the robe away until Dean was naked in Cas’s truck again, this time straddling him in the driver’s seat. Cas slid his hand down the length of Dean’s tailbone, pushing against his swollen asshole. Dean tried to spear himself on Cas’s fingers, but Cas pulled away. Dean looked down into Cas’s eyes, breathing hard. The phone behind him made a noise, and he turned to look at it. There on the screen was a close up of Dean’s asshole as he pushed nearly all four fingers into himself, right there on the seat of the truck they were sitting on.
Cas slipped out from behind him and turned so Dean couldn’t see how aroused he was, and slid them off . He sat back down, now only in his boxers, and put the pillow back.
“Actually,” Cas said before she could walk away, “I’m a bit in over my head here. Perhaps a suggestion?”
Cas wrinkled his nose. “Dairy products are not in the ‘good choices’ category. I’m only making good choices now!” He put the shot back on her tray. “Away with yee, lovely wench!” he called with grandiosity. Then a little quieter, “Can you bring me some water?”
Dean’s door was slightly cracked open when Cas arrived. He rapped his knuckles on it, swinging it open to an empty room. His stomach swooped in panic until he saw that Dean’s robe was missing from the back of the door of his closet. He must have already made it to the showers. He shut his eyes and felt around for Dean, the familiar brightness of his soul like a beacon calling Cas, and he felt Dean nearby, in the shower, bathing himself. There were waves of anger roiling off Dean as he scrubbed himself harshly, shame and guilt tarnishing the brightness of his soul.
Dean grinned wickedly and pushed the crown past his lips, pausing to lick the length of it so he could slide on easier. Cas was trying to hold still, the gasps and groans letting Dean know he was doing well. It wasn’t that hard, just suck it like he liked it. He paused and used his hand so he could tongue at Cas’s slit, liking how the precome pulsed against his tongue, Cas howling out, hands scrabbling at Dean’s shoulders.
Cas was breathing heavily, and he draped himself over Dean, kissing the back of his neck, mumbling praise to Dean as he pushed in steadily, seeming to go on forever, until Dean felt Cas’s pelvis connect with the back of his thighs. Cas paused for a moment to let Dean get used to the size, it really was huge, and then began to rock into him, only sliding out a little.
There were several factors, of course. First of all, seeing Cas after having to kick him out of the bunker was making Dean feel like the biggest jerk in the world, and secondly, seeing him working like an average schmo was just so fucking strange.
Dean gasped, stroking his cock a little, giving it some relief. Cas looked so beautiful, all presented to Dean, so vulnerable. And he was volunteering to give up his grace to feel what it was like to get fucked by his mate!
Dean finally opened the door, come streaks still sort of visible on his slacks, but the erection had been clearly taken care of.
Cas huffed and rolled his eyes. “No, Dean. It’s not. Nora- she’s a very nice woman, I’m pretty sure she’s not a reaper intent on killing me,” he said glibly, “and she’s asking me out. Going on dates- that’s something humans do, right?”
Notice how Rowena is more of a Deus ex Machina than the actual Deus? Cause she's a badass fucking Queen, fight me
Cas bit his lip and scrambled out of Dean’s bed. He grabbed the offered water, looking at Dean’s pebbled nipples and growling.
The rest of the night was normal, yet there seemed to be this new level of comfort with him and Cas. Dean wondered what it meant.
Dean flopped down on his bed, glad to have the bunker to himself for the first time in forever. Sam and Jack were on a case, and Cas was following a lead on Michael’s location. All the hunters that were usually there had other places to be, so Dean volunteered to take a day off.
Cas attacked his mouth again, pushing him flat to the mattress and kissing him sloppily, laughing, covering Dean’s body with his own. Dean revelled in the feeling.
Nora smiled broadly and handed Cas a bottle of spray bleach. “Oh, and tonight, 7:00 at my place work for you?”
Cas talked as usual, relaying the information about Michael’s possible whereabouts. Dean was fine with that, and soon the embarrassment left and he put the burgers on the grill.
Everything had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Texting Cas in the first place- good idea. Getting a handjob in a seedy hometown gay bar- good idea. Getting wasted and texting Cas about aforementioned handjob- awesome idea. The logic of why he would do such a thing was beyond his grasp in the light of day. He remembered the whole conversation; he couldn’t claim a blackout- but it was yet another point on the scorecard in the column that said ‘stop drinking.’ It was guaranteed to make him do stupid things, and knowing his genetics, he was doomed to become an alcoholic like his father.
He could at least try and get the panties off. Rather Sam find him completely nude than in women’s underwear.
“And about damn time too!” Ellen exclaimed. “If you could have heard how he mooned over that woman when she married your dad- I swear. I never measured up, but I hardly cared. We got to have Jo, then I met the love of my life.” She nodded over at Pam who was leaning over the bar, reading a man’s palm and laughing with him. Pam was awesome. She seemed to feel eyes on her and looked up, giving Ellen a wink. Ellen rolled her eyes and blushed. “That woman will be the death of me.”
“You want me to fuck you?” He growled. Dean nodded fervently. “You need me to prep you more? Because I don’t want to hurt you, or anything.”
“I need too…” Dean’s face dropped and he looked down at his hands. “I need to say I’m sorry. For everything. I...I know I had to do what I did to save Jack and kill Lucifer, but...I know it, uh, must have been a bitch for you to see that. So, I’m sorry.”
It was New Year’s Eve, and Cas wanted to kiss someone at midnight. That someone was Dean Winchester, and even if they were mad at each other, even if they hated each other, he was going to get Dean to come over and kiss him. Somehow.
Dean looked up at him. “Maybe I want you to come. I want to know what that’s like,” Dean shrugged, licking at Cas’s tip, enjoying how it made him twitch and cry out weakly.
It had been so long since he’d gotten off really really well. It was hard to do when people seemed to always be in and out of every room. And the showers, forget about it,there was no privacy. It might as well have been a circle jerk when Earth 2’s hunters were in there, and Dean even interrupted Sam in there once. He’d started taking showers in the East wing, in the small guest room ensuite, finally getting some privacy.
“Fuck, oh yeah, baby right there! Fuck me harder! Yeah, make me come! Oh fuck!” Dean screamed as his orgasm exploded, his cock splattering release all over the screen of the laptop. Comments were flowing in, the pinging of comments under Dean fueling his pleasure. Cas hammered away, slamming into Dean’s prostate over and over until he shouted and filled Dean, pumping hot come into him. Slowly, Cas pulled all the way out, come still dripping from him, and pushed it back in. Dean felt him pull out and gather the come with the tip of his dick and try to push it all back inside him. Dean was floating. He felt Cas pull away and move the laptop, talking to the camera.
Cas thought for a moment and moved to sit at the head of the bed with his legs open in a V. He sat a pillow in his lap and he motioned for Dean to sit with his chest to Cas’s back. Dean struggled into position and sighed when he laid back. He was now sitting on the plug, so he started rocking his hips, nudging his prostate as he did. Cas wrapped a lube-slicked hand around Dean’s cock, an electric current shooting up his arm from the contact, and he stroked quickly and efficiently, bringing Dean to orgasm almost mechanically.
He opened his eyes. Dean was staring up at him with pure adoration, open and present. Cas gasped and blinked. He wanted so much for it to be love that Dean was showing him, and maybe he was fooling himself, but it looked like it, and…
enjoy his gift?” she asked, coming up to see what Cas was looking at. He was in a different aisle all together- the one with penetrative novelties and fleshlights.
Dean plunged his fingers into the feathers, kissing Cas again, pulling him back on top, lining his cock back up, ready to penetrate Dean one final time. Cas felt his grace pulse, hard, and he steadied himself and looked down at the man he was about to make his.
Dean gasped and grasped Cas by the sides of his face and opened his mouth so Cas could swipe his tongue in. He tasted himself on Dean’s lips, and he moaned into the kiss, swept away by the sounds and smells and tastes of Dean. He pistoned his hips and kissed Dean, feeling the pleasure mount as he slid over the textured bump of Dean’s prostate. Dean’s cock was dripping again, and Cas pounded into him harder. Dean was whimpering and clutching Cas, lifting his hips in tandem with Cas’s thrusts.
“You asked for it,” Dean grinned happily. He pulled out again, and slammed back in, repeating the motion as Cas cried out in pleasure. Dean found a pace, moving slightly, trying to find the angle-
But if he mated Dean, Dean would be bound to him for eternity, even after he died. Cas would follow Dean to Heaven, but only if Dean wanted him to. And Cas knew he wouldn’t. There was still a chance that Dean wanted to marry and have kids with a female human, so Cas couldn’t be stuck trailing along after him, having to watch Dean be happy with someone else. He’d done it once before, watching Dean from afar with Lisa and Ben, and he refused to do it again. It hurt too much to see Dean with anyone else.
They spent the day in the bead, touching and kissing, gentle, as the urgency of the mating ritual dissipated.
In one movement, Cas was wrapped around Dean, encasing him in his arms, then his wings. They tingled at the contact, and waves of pleasure rolled through Cas unexpectedly. He began to feel his penis start to harden. He started to pull back in embarrassment, but Dean followed, pulling him closer, lining their bodies up and burying his face in Cas’s neck. Cas’s erection pressed firmly into Dean’s hip, but the man didn’t seem to care or notice, and Cas felt both light as air and solid as stone as Dean melted in his arms. Dean pushed his leg between Cas’s and nearly straddled it, and Cas felt Dean’s hard cock press there, desire coming off of him in waves, blue and white, rose pink and red.
“Fucking christ, that’s so hot,” Dean’s cock was already making a valliant effort at standing up again.
Cas stood in shock as Jack hugged Dean, welcoming him back to the bunker. Dean glanced over, meeting Cas’s eyes, a flash of guilt lighting them before they darted away.
“You asshole,” he mumbled when Cas started the engine. “Don’t try and be cute and take the long way home.”
Dean’s body seemed to blush all at once, and the blood shot to his groin in a rush so fast he had to yank at the front of his jeans to adjust himself.
Cas sighed loudly and flopped down in the chair in the center of the room. It was the supposed seat of honor, but Cas didn’t feel the least bit honored to be there. He was 24 hours away from making a huge mistake- getting married to a woman that reminded him too much of his mother.
Dean got pissed. That guy had said he was the one that got away, but Cas was still sleeping with him? What the fuck? He knew it was fishy that the guy had Cas’s phone. They had been in bed together!
He got in position on the bed, on all fours, looking through the gap in his knees to see the mirror behind himself. He popped the cap on the lube and slathered the tip with it and wiped the excess on his already throbbing hole.
“Okay, I’m sorry I’ll leave you alone- I just wanted to see if you would like to go get food- everyone is headed to the Lebanon diner.”
Rowena clicked her tongue and placed a hand on Dean’s fevered head. Sam had called her as soon as they had returned to the bunker, needing help to identify the substances that spilled on Dean. She said it was at least two potions, and they needed to get him cleaned off before she could assess the damage. Cas and Rowena were left in the library while Sam helped Dean into the shower. There was silence while Rowena shuffled through her bag for something and Cas fiddled with the page of a book sitting on the table.
“Perhaps if I masturbate you while you stimulate your prostate, we can expel any built up potion. An orgasm from your prostate produces more semen, so that might help.”
It was after 2am when Crowley picked them up, Benny and Charlie singing drunken country songs in the back, Dean and Cas in the middle seats, and some drunk good-looking red headed woman smoking a joint with Crowley in the front seat. Dean swore he heard Crowley call her ‘mother’ at some point, but he was still pretty buzzed. They’d danced off most of the alcohol, and rolled into the frat house around three, around the same time a couple of the other dudes were getting back- those who weren’t still on vacation.
“Not before we drive it around though, right?” Dean grinned at Cas, finally getting a smile out of him.
Cas’s eyebrow quirked. “I see. You like to penetrate yourself. The muscles here seem to yield to my fingers with familiarity. Right here-” Dean arched and shouted as Cas pressed and rubbed over his prostate, pressing the base of Dean’s cock with his thumb. “That is your prostate. Some men prefer its stimulation over the penis, and with good reason. I have tried this on myself, with various devices, but I prefer the act of penetration.” Dean couldn’t speak, the waves of pleasure pulling him under as Cas pushed in a second finger. “There’s something about firmly pressing my penis- well, most of the literature I have read says men prefer the term ‘cock’ or ‘dick’ over penis, so I shall say cock, okay?” Dean was incoherent as he came. It was like he was riding the crest of a wave, but the wave wasn’t breaking as Cas held the base of his cock firmly.
“No!” Dean was moving back over to him. “You’ll just get your hand stuck.” he looked away, seeming to ponder something. “I could always...help out.”
“Would the two of you like to be alone, I mean we can all go home if you’d like,” Ms. Diamond Larue was standing above them in her floor-length sparkling silver gown and very tall blonde wig. Apparently the show had started while Cas was flirting with Dean. The audience hooted and whistled. Dean smiled broadly up at her and stood, taking Diamond’s hand and kissing it like a gentleman.
Cas slid into his seat, staring curiously at Dean. Dean did his best not to look back at him. If he did, all he’d be able to think about is that damn look on his face when he came with Dean’s hand on him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Cas whispered. He cleared his throat. “I’m not feeling well, Dean, just go on without me!”
The pressure of the head of Cas’s cock popping through the ring of muscle was intense, but Dean breathed through it and Cas watched him carefully as he slowly slid in. Cas wasn’t kidding! He felt so much bigger than the plugs, but the heat and smoothness of his flesh was so much better, Dean could feel Cas throb inside him, going slow as to not hurt Dean, but also Cas seemed to be struggling not to come.
Dean glowered at him and reached an arm out to be pulled into a standing position. The abrupt move upward and the friction of his jeans against his dick coupled with Cas’s body suddenly so close made him gasp, and he moaned loudly and blew his load in his jeans, clutching to Cas to keep from falling over. The waves of the orgasm went on for forever, and Cas simply held Dean up as he came, snorting with laughter.
Dean shook his head, running his tongue up the middle of Cas’s sack, sucking one ball into his mouth and letting it go. “No, tell me what to do.” Cas froze.
Dean had always been a little weirdly attracted to Cas but damn. A few months of sticking things in his butt and suddenly he was gay for his best friend.
The walk up the stairs was torture. Well, it felt amazing, but having Cas two steps behind him, face so near his ass was torture. He tried to make his strides as normal as possible, but he felt more than the normal amount of bowlegged.
Dean wiggled a little, being kind of ticklish, and Cas took the opportunity to push his thigh further between Dean’s legs, making him moan in relief with the pressure on his morning erection. He ran a hand down to Cas hip and tugged him closer, so he could let Cas grind against him as well. They rolled their hips slowly, the rhythm sensual and speeding up their breathing. Dean was concerned about his morning breath, and he may have needed to pee, but it felt so good he couldn’t stop. Cas moaned as Dean found his nipple through his shirt, biting it and making Cas gasp and grind harder.
It was after a long and exhausting hunt in another state, one motel room for the three of them- getting a moment to jerk off in peace was impossible. They were all grumpy when they got back, and Dean had locked himself in his room right away, pulling open his laptop and finding the cucumber video again. He’d poured extra lube on his fingers and got a finger in his ass after a little relaxing and trying not to resist automatically. He had come so hard he could hear the blood pounding in his ears for several minutes and had stood on wobbly legs to his sink to clean up. He had been washing his hands when he spied his hairbrush laying there, thick black handle gleaming in the low light. He had picked it up, feeling the width of it and went back to his bed, still naked, and lubed up the brush, teasing his hole and stroking himself. He couldn’t really see what he was doing, so he turned on the camera on his laptop so he could watch himself. Seeing his hands and his shiny hole being teased by the brush handle was enough to get him turned on enough to relax his muscles and slide it in. The stretch hurt a little, but after watching his hand pump it in and out a few times, it felt like his hole was gobbling it up, sucking it in. It looked so naughty on the screen, just like one of the videos he’d watched so many times, so he put on a show for himself, pinching his nipples, moaning and fucking himself deeper with the handle. He had brushed a spot inside himself, setting off fireworks in front of his eyes, the spike of pleasure completely new to him. He’d come like a rocket in an matter of minutes.
“You go wild then, love.” Dean felt a full-body shudder at the mention of a pet name. He liked it. Alot.
The witch noticed and swung around, flinging her hands out and throwing Dean back against the wall with a crash. Sam was quick to dart after him, and Cas charged the witch.
Dean moaned and rolled over to his belly and pushed up on his hands and knees. He reached behind himself and started working the plug out of his ass. Cas knelt and helped. His crotch was in Dean’s face, but just for a moment. Dean turned his face and exhaled, his breath ghosting over his skin, making him twitch.
“Sorry, Cas, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Dean flushed red knowing that Cas knew he had no reason to be headed in that direction except to go to his secret hideaway and get off.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He should be glad Cas was finding happiness with someone else. It’s not like he owed Dean anything, in fact, Dean felt it was on him to repay the fallen angel in any way he could. Even if that meant pushing him into the arms of someone else.
“Mmmfph,” Dean grumbled. He felt like a million degrees, but was freezing. His teeth chattered a little. He really must be coming down with something. Maybe Rowena would have something to cure a cold. Oh yeah, that’s right, Rowena must be there by now.
Most of the day had passed without a text from Cas. Not that he was waiting by his phone or anything. Dean guessed he should should be the one who reached out...but he was pretty embarrassed about the stuff he’d said the night before. Maybe he could wait until the nighttime- a day of video games and last-minute shopping with Sam would keep him busy. It was Christmas Eve and Cas was probably...what did rich guys do for Christmas Eve?
He snuck a hand into his lap and pressed the heel of his palm down on his erection, providing a little needed friction. He moaned involuntarily, and the man turned back around and straddled his lap, sitting directly on his cock, twisting his hips and rubbing himself on Cas, smiling down at him with pouty lips and lust blown eyes.
He bounded up the front steps and unlocked the door. The house appeared quiet. He shrugged, figuring someone must have just parked it there. He brought up his bags to his room, a bit on the tired side. The last week had been pretty emotionally exhausting. Revisiting old memories did that to a guy.
Dean was still murmuring sweetly, little moans, as his fingers found where the two were connected, touching Cas’s heated flesh and his own rim with curious fingers.
Cas snuggled closer to Dean, tucking the hunter’s head under his chin. “Luck has nothing to do with it, Dean Winchester. I have what you called ‘mad skills’. I’m understanding this is a good thing to have.”
Cas collapsed into the passenger seat. He was flushed and his hair was a mess, and the bandage wrapping the cut on his hand was starting to seep through. Dean felt like he had lost twenty years off his life and his heart seemed to be trying to escape his chest, even though the danger was over. | [
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Charlie was still staring at him in horror. “Dean Winchester,” she said. “You are not seriously telling me that you didn’t know.”
Cas put Willow down. She started chewing on his thumb. “Were we still fighting?” Cas said mildly. The late spring day made Cas’s eyes look so blue.
Dean looked at the ground, the fight going out of him. The adrenaline had faded. He was exhausted, and Cas knew that this conversation wasn’t helping. Dean would probably need a few hours under medical observation after this. But nothing was going to stop the words spilling from Cas’s lips.
Dean had dreamed of being in Cas’s bed, of mornings he could wake up and see Cas from this angle. He’d dreamed of moments exactly like this, with Cas’s hand on his back and his breath on Dean’s hair, and Dean wanted to savor it before dawn broke, but he couldn’t because -
They slid into the front seat. “Then I’ll tell the realtor to look for some properties near you,” Cas said, knowing full well it wouldn’t appease Dean but still wanting to see his reaction.
Castiel Novak, Dean’s best friend, sighed to Dean’s right. When Cas sighed, it was always a full-body movement that heralded some sort of rebuke. Dean was in too good a mood to let that bother him either.
Dean straightened up, his decision made. “Alright, movie night’s canceled,” he proclaimed. He patted his pocket for his phone and wallet, then picked up his keys on the table. “Let’s go for a drive.”
Sam came into view, looking at his phone. “Hey, Cas,” he said, barely looking up from the screen. Cas had the distinct impression he was trying to give Dean some privacy. “Ready, Dean?”
If Cas was saying what Dean thought he was saying, apologies were unnecessary. Dean tried to say this, but the words caught in his throat, blocked by the lump that had formed. He did what he could: he reached up, grasped Cas’s upper arm and squeezed. Dean’s grip was so tight he was sure he was leaving marks, but Cas needed to know that he wasn’t alone in this.
Jack made the cutest ring bearer. Cas was a groomsman, but he’d asked to escort Jack up the aisle, and Sam and Eileen had loved the idea. Dean had loved the idea too, mostly because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to stomach the sight of Cas walking down the aisle in his smartly-tailored suit, arm-in-arm with Eileen’s cousin Sara. In the moment, however, Dean loved the idea simply because Cas was incandescent, smiling widely down at Jack, holding Jack’s hand as the toddler took his too-big, unsteady steps down the garden path.
Dean’s mischievous grin grew a little bashful. He smiled at Cas’s chin. “That’ll work,” he said. Then he grew quiet. Thoughtful. He blinked once, then twice. “I love you too, Cas,” he murmured. His tone was solemn. “Thank you for waiting for me.”
Dean closed his eyes. His hands were fists at his sides. “With the way this conversation’s going, I’d be glad with whatever ‘sense of the word’ you want, dude.”
Cas hadn’t known anything besides how much he’d loved Dean. “I didn’t,” he said. “But I loved you. You made me happy. I wanted to make you happy however I could. And that meant waiting.”
“They do come with instructions, Dean; you probably threw them out.” Cas took the bottle and corkscrew from Dean and nudged him away. “Go get the glasses.”
Cas smiled. Sam and Eileen were having a small wedding, so the groom’s party really only consisted of Dean and Cas. They’d had an impromptu bachelor party at their local haunt, and Sam had roped Dean into a drinking game. “Was the drinking game worth it?” Cas asked.
He knows he’ll wake up and this dream, if he remembers it at all, will be disjointed and blurry at best, so he concentrates on capturing as much of it as possible: the warmth and weight of Cas’s leg against his own, the affection twisting Cas’s mouth, the hair that probably hasn’t been touched since Cas got out of bed this morning.
He moves toward the doorway, brushing past Dean, but Dean stops him with a hand to the arm. “Hold on a minute,” Dean says.
“Novak, if you really believed they were… doin’ the do on the side… you would have said something earlier. You’re too good of an agent to let that slide.”
“Every single time,” Dean says. Cas’s eyes are barely open so he can’t see Dean’s expression, but he can hear the traces of affection in his voice. “Go faster next time.”
Cas stopped him with a hand to his elbow. “I’ll be here, then.” Dean’s skin was freezing; Cas gripped a little tighter.
three people he’d misjudged, three people whose lives could have been forever changed for the worse if their own smarts hadn’t saved them.
“For fuck’s sake,” Cas mumbled. “Charlie, we’ll wait for you to get in your car and then I’m taking this idiot home.”
as in Aaron and Dean taking one car when they really should have been taking two separate cars this whole time.
“Up to you, man,” Dean said - the first words he’d said in an hour. “I can turn back or keep driving. I’m happy with either.”
“I have a home here,” Cas said. He wasn’t looking Dean in the eye. He kept rearranging the stacks of paper. “I missed it.”
“You guys bein’ told to evacuate or - or what?” Dean asked over the phone, failing to disguise the tension in his voice.
Cas opens his mouth but he can’t find anything to say. He had known this moment would come eventually, his eyes having been glued to the TV now for weeks, but here in the moment he can’t quite comprehend it.
“Dean. Why am I not surprised?” Amara’s voice was glacial. “To think we were getting along so well.”
His bedroom is not an escape. Sam’s call went to voicemail and Dean can’t be bothered to return it. He sits instead on his bed and stares at his hands, stunned.
A few minutes later, Dean opened the doors and greeted the customers who were waiting outside. There were fewer people coming in, now that the initial excitement around opening had died, but those who did come in were buying larger orders, assured of the quality from their first visit.
Cas being with Daphne would be a problem with Dean. Dean would spend every day wondering when Daphne would have to leave again, when Cas would fall apart again. He might never be able to trust Daphne, and
Dean laughs. “Dude, just say you don’t want to kiss me - it’s fine - “ He falters when Cas steps closer, his bravado shuttering.
“I’m hanging up,” Dean said. “And when I hang up, you’re going to get up and get some food. You’re going to take a picture of it and send it to me.”
Dean pressed his cold nose to Cas’s cheek again. “You should probably join me for bedrest,” he said, his voice a rich murmur.
Cas lingered by the Impala’s trunk and smiled softly at Dean as he approached. “I’m feeling much better than before, Dean. Thank you.”
The indignity of Charlie getting laid while Dean definitely wasn’t, was lessened by the fact that in all honesty, she deserved it.
Dean hopes his fans won’t give him too much shit for what he does next: he pulls Cas in for a rough hug as Cas walks to the touchline to be subbed. He doesn’t look Cas in the eye, and shoves him away before either of them do something stupid like cry.
As soon as Cas walked into Dean’s apartment, he spotted evidence of a night gone wrong: a scarf and coat in a wrinkled heap in front of the door, an unlaced boot a few feet away, and its pair following an invisible trail to the bathroom. Cas followed the trail, picking up the items as he went, and took a peek in case Dean had made himself cozy on the bathroom floor after heaving his guts out.
“Hey, Dean!” Sam said. He was holding an exhausted pit bull puppy in his arms. He made room for Dean right next to him. “We were about to call you over.”
“I see,” Cas said quietly. A twinge of pain made him wince. Then he remembered that he hadn’t heard the most important part of the story, the reason he had a hole in his shoulder in the first place: “So how did you finally figure it out?”
And Cas wasn’t going to ask him to. He and Dean had been dancing around the truth for a while, and the truth was that neither of them had given up on the possibility of a happy ending, though they had both agreed to walk away.
He met up with Charlie a few days later at a local Applebee’s. Despite heavily hinting to her that she’d be meeting one of his “good friends,” she was dressed in her usual jeans, sneakers, and nerdy T-Shirt. This particular one read, “What Would Buffy Do?” and had a picture of Sarah Michelle Gellar with her hair in a ponytail.
But Cas continued. There was a note of amusement in his voice. “And I think we have an abundance of evidence that suggests that you are definitely
“If you say so,” Cas said, sipping politely at his own drink. His attention was now on Sam and Eileen, still swaying on the dance floor while other couples began to join them. Eileen was stifling laughter in Sam’s lapel. Cas was smiling at them, though he was trying to hide it, but Dean saw through the act anyhow. The infamous grump Castiel Novak showing his sentimental side - who knew?
figuratively. I think I’m entitled to a little frustration.” He stomped off, probably to sulk on the couch.
Joy suffuses Dean’s veins. He’s grinning by the time he’s at Cas’s elbow, staring down at a stack of pancakes with a distinct layer of char. “They’re perfect,” he says, not exactly lying.
“What did she want from you?” Cas asked, breathless, still terrified for Dean even though he was right there in front of him, done with his life away from Cas.
Dean kisses him. It’s just a touch of his lips against Cas’s, small enough to argue that it was barely anything at all, but Cas knows it for what it is: a question he has to answer.
“You know he can’t hear you, right?” Cas said. He felt the heat in his ears as Dean joined him at the door.
that Dean latches on to. He touches Cas’s shoulder, then drags his hand down Cas’s back, which is covered in Dean’s shirt even though Cas’s own closet was literally ten feet away. “I’ll teach you,” he says.
“He - he misunderstood a few things about the situation.” He couldn’t tell her the whole truth. It may have made him a coward, but he wasn’t going to tell her exactly what Aaron had misunderstood, wasn’t going to tell her that Aaron’s feelings were for
but he was also a little offended. Dean had spent the hours before dinner pacing back and forth in his living room, frantically messaging Sam and then Charlie and even his mom for encouragement, and Cas couldn’t even spare a moment to even
kissing, but Dean, hearing the soft noise of pleasure at the back of Cas’s throat, was eager to get to a point where it was commonplace. Daily. Hourly. Honestly, if they never ever stopped, Dean wouldn’t complain.
Dean motioned to the dance floor in front of them. “See that? That’s my brother and his gorgeous new wife.”
The numbers on the invoices were indeed big, frightfully so, but Cas refused to feed Dean’s fears. “The best we can do right now is to make sure the opening’s successful. No use worrying about what’s already done. Let’s direct our attention to preparations instead.”
Cas blinked at the ceiling, helpless and immobile. His chin brushed against Dean’s hair. He could smell Dean’s shampoo and the faint scent of sweat underneath. He clenched and unclenched his hands from where they were held captive at his sides.
Cas put out a hand and placed it on Dean’s forehead, gratified when Dean’s eyes fluttered closed. “Again, you’re hallucinating. Go to sleep.”
Dean was taken aback. His ears were hot, his eyes damp in mortification. He tried to respond, but what could he say? Dean had no defense.
“They think Cas quit his job to help his fiancé Dean realize his dream of opening a bakery.” Claire let the story sink in before adding smugly, “And yet they still come back.”
Cas’s breath against Dean’s collarbone was scorching, and on the next breath, he said, “Yes. But I want you to touch me too.”
Cas gripped his gun a little more tightly. He didn’t move, knowing he was listening to the orders of a felon rather than to the director of the FBI and wondering why it didn’t feel more wrong.
Cas took a shaky breath. He cradled Dean’s face. “My love,” he murmured, eyes warm though they were still brimming with tears. “Love of my life.”
“Lunch,” Dean confirmed. He started the car, and sent Cas smiles at every stop for the rest of the drive.
Dean was already settling in with a contented sigh. Cas hated to let him fall asleep in the clothes he’d been wearing, but Dean’s eyes were already fluttering closed. He settled for pulling off Dean’s boots.
“I don’t know if I have time to take a break,” Dean muttered. He looked at the clock on the wall. “I still need to start on the croissants.”
Charlie sounded pleased but embarrassed when she said, “Just a friend for now. I dunno if it’s actually gonna go anywhere. We’re kind of in the weird is-this-a-date-or-just-two-friends-hanging-out kinda phase.”
Cas got to his feet, heart thundering. He didn’t let go of Dean’s hand. His other hand came up to brace Dean’s elbow. “I don’t want you to have the guest room.” It was absolutely the wrong thing to say, but it was the first thing to come out of his mouth and he couldn’t take it back. He wanted to laugh and cry and scream at the same time.
As he opened the door, he looked back at Cas, in case it would be the last time. Dean committed it to memory: Cas wearing his white button-down, rumpled from his seat belt; tie undone; eyebrows furrowed as he watched his best friend abandon him to the silence of a liar’s apartment.
“One of the reasons?” Dean repeated. “Is there another secret that I should know about him?” Dean was being sarcastic, but when Sam hesitated, Dean felt at a loss. “Shit, Sammy. What am I missing?”
They finished their burgers and sipped at their sodas. It was when Dean was returning from the trash can that he saw the wistful look on Cas’s face as he listened to the yells and laughter of the kids. He smacked Cas on the arm. “You good?”
“Sounds perfect,” Cas said, for lack of anything else to say, hoping his reticence would kill the conversation because he knew exactly where it was going.
Another stone dropped in Cas’s gut. “Is that so?” he said, a little faintly. “That’s very kind of him.”
Dean’s soft, relieved laugh came out of the blue, but it was more than welcome because Cas was on the verge of crying from the hopes that Dean understood.
“I couldn’t do it,” Cas whispered. “I meant to. That’s why I left - to try to get over you and move on with Daphne. But I couldn’t do it.”
“Yeah, let me just go get the champagne glasses I store here at work,” Dean deadpanned. “Bud, we’re drinking this out of mugs like the heathens we are.”
He might as well have gotten down on one knee. Biting his tongue, Dean returned to the kitchen and resisted the urge to knock himself out with his cast-iron pan.
After the final whistle, Dean jogs to Cas, whose hands are clutching at his hair in disbelief. Dean puts his hands around Cas’s face, forcing Cas to look at him. “You okay?”
The ambivalent mask failed, so Cas covered his eyes with a palm. “Dean, if you tell me you have a family hidden somewhere, I swear to god - “
Dean stopped and looked down at his arms. Three six-packs weren’t heavy. But he looked up at Cas and saw sincerity in the downturn of his best friend’s mouth. “Yeah, sure,” he said, and let Cas take one. “Thanks.”
Cas told himself it was that small sacrifice of Dean’s that made him say, “Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“No,” Cas said, and Dean felt the vice grip around his heart loosen. “But I want to know. If it does happen - “
“Honestly? Kinda,” Dean admitted. The smile lines around his eyes deepened. “Wanted you to come in the next day and shove me against a door.”
Sam sighed, and it reminded Dean so much of Cas that his heart started to ache a little bit. “Alright,” Sam said, “Tell me everything.”
Dean shook his head. The laughter was very quickly turning into something else entirely - something more wild, something more bitter, something more sad. “Charlie, I - I think -”
Cas pressed his palms into his eyes and swallowed thickly. “You’ve been lying to me,” he said. His voice shook, but it was fierce. Angry.
Cas started to walk away from the group. Dean trailed after him. They wound along the path, dodging bikers and joggers and couples with their fingers intertwined.
Dean had downed half his glass. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and made a face. “That cannot be good for you.” At Cas’s look, he rolled his eyes. “Alright, already, I’m sitting down.” He took the two glasses and set them at Cas’s small dining table. Then he sat down and stared at the plates. “Where’d you get these plates, dude?”
The next time Dean saw Cas was a week later, only a few days before Christmas. He knocked on Dean’s door and smiled wanly when Dean let him in.
As soon as Sam was out of sight, Cas covered his eyes with his palm. Panic made him suddenly restless, but he willed himself to sit still.
Instead he grinned and started pulling out of the parking space. “Honestly I don’t get out very often either. The Roadhouse is the only place I know for sure that has burgers worthy of an - well, let’s just say they’re really good burgers.”
Claire barely paid him any attention. She continued scrolling through her phone. “Dean, I’m 18. Also you’re not my guardian.”
Blindly, Cas reached for Dean’s left hand, still a fist by Dean’s hip. When he found it, he wordlessly guided it to the elastic of his borrowed pajama bottoms.
Cas sent him a picture of a sandwich five minutes later. It was a sad sandwich, but it was a sandwich nonetheless, so Dean just sent a thumbs-up and got back to his own work. For the rest of the week, Cas sent Dean pictures of his food, and Dean did the same for Cas.
“Yeah,” Sam said, “Uh, party’s this Friday. I’ll send you the address. We’d really like it if you stopped by.”
“What’s real?” Dean leaned down. He waited for Cas to look at him, then he kissed him. He would never get tired of it. “Babe,” he said, indulgent in the afterglow. “You know me. You know I’d never make a decision like this without knowing it’s what I wanted.”
Cas didn’t know how long he spent trying to kiss away Dean’s self-doubt. He did know that by the time he got himself to stop touching Dean, the champagne bottle was sitting in a pool of condensation.
Later on, in the parking lot, with Jack asleep in his car seat and buckled safely in the back seat of the Impala, Cas turned to Dean, who had his arm around Cas’s waist.
Dean had already started shedding his apron. “We can close the shop for a few hours,” he’d said, then on his way to hang up his apron, he’d stopped by Cas’s table to kiss him senseless.
Cas stopped him with a hand to the elbow. “I’m volunteering, Dean,” he explained. The concept that he needed to be paid to spend time with his best friend, to help his best friend, to be there for his best friend at a momentous occasion in his life, was absurd. “Supporting my local businesses, as they say.”
That was a strange way of putting it. “...yeah. Uh, anyway, you think Charlie needs a drink? Maybe you should get her one.”
“Well,” Dean said, making up his mind, “Gotta bite the bullet sometime, right?” And he marched right up to the crowd.
The cooler was right behind Dean, so it’s not like it was much trouble, but Dean was too preoccupied with his thoughts to care.
“Does that mean this is the end of Dean Winchester, the lifelong bachelor?” Cas said, a dry smile making Dean’s knees weak.
Dean’s fingers were still barely grazing Cas’s cheek, like he was scared the bubble of truth they’d made would burst. “And you want - “
Dean met Cas’s gaze, frowning, eyes tired. After a while he gave in. “Fine,” he said. He reached for the plastic wrap. “Two hours.”
Cas closes his eyes and grits his teeth. He’s probably thinking about the goal Dean had scored just 10 minutes before the final whistle, and how he’d been unable to prevent it. “I will be.”
As soon as he said it, Cas regretted it, but Bobby just stared at him, unimpressed. “Seriously? Years of FBI training, and that’s what you conclude?”
He was still watching when Cas paused at the threshold and looked over his shoulder, eyes careful. “Are you joining me?”
Dean didn’t say anything. He just watched helpelessly as Cas hung up the last ornament in his hand and started toward his bedroom.
It suddenly made sense to Cas why the director so often summoned Dean to her office and why Dean was so willing to go. Cas waited for a denial but did not get one. “Right,” he said, once the concept sunk in. He felt sick. He looked away, searching for a folder on his desk - any folder - that would give him a reason to leave his desk, leave this office, maybe even leave this whole goddamn forsaken world.
“Are you feeling well?” Cas asked, after he’d set a cornish hen in the middle of the dining table and seated himself. He peered at Dean’s face. “I can’t promise the food is fantastic, but it’s at the very least edible.”
“Sammy picked it out,” Dean said. Revealing that tidbit wasn’t in the plan, but apparently he was on a mission to ruin Christmas in as few words as possible.
Despite himself, Cas envisioned Dean at the barbeque - apron and all - and his stomach flipped. “Is he a good cook?” he found himself asking. His voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away.
“Took a Lyft,” Cas said, taking the bottle. He didn’t usually drink, but Dean smelled of smoke and cologne and Cas needed something to kill his nerves.
Cas’s smile was sad, so sad. “Thank you,” he said. He looked down at his shoes. Brown. Sensible. Just like Daphne’s. “I missed you.” Cas’s voice was quiet.
Dean placed them on the countertop. One was from Dean’s trip to Vegas two years ago, and the other was from a Biggerson’s that went out of business last year. Cas poured a hefty helping of champagne into each one. The fizz was loud, even against the backdrop of the bakery’s running fridge.
Dean took a moment to let that sink in. Then he laughed. “Cas,” he said, putting his mug down and putting his hand on Cas’s shoulder. “
The temperature dropped on New Year’s Eve. In the evening, Cas wrapped himself up in blankets and brought the bottle of scotch whiskey with him to the couch (his bed seemed larger - not to mention colder - than usual lately.) He brought his phone with him and set it next to him in case Dean called. He hadn’t heard from Dean since two days before, when Dean had grumbled about Mary’s long to-do list for him and Sam. “It’s five years’ worth of repairs, and she wants it done in two weeks, Cas,” he’d sighed, right before bed. “I was supposed to be on vacation.”
“Jesus,” Dean whispered, drawing back. His eyes were shining, his cheeks were flushed. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” His hands were brands against Cas’s ribs.
Dean opened his eyes and sent her a fierce look. “My shitty friendship skills are not your fault, Charlie.”
Cas laughed. “It literally just happened ten minutes ago,” Cas said. “I barely believe it myself.”
The fierceness in his voice left Cas at a loss, floundering in the sincerity. He couldn’t think of anything else to do other than to do the safe thing and agree, two or three beats too late: “Okay.”
Cas’s soft breath at seeing Dean’s bare torso bolstered Dean’s ego, but still, he felt a flush rise up his neck. He let Cas look his fill, mostly because he didn’t trust himself to touch Cas and stop. He dug his fingers into the sheets and didn’t let go.
was the typical choice for an occasion like this, but Cas hadn’t spoken a kind word to Dean in almost 3 years. Could he start now?
Dean was beaming. He was absolutely radiant. Cas couldn’t believe that his words had made him so happy. Dean was taking in Cas’s face, every detail; Cas would have felt self-conscious but Dean’s expression was so hopeful, more hopeful than Cas had ever seen him in their years-long friendship.
that was a problem for Dean. But he knew the answer Cas wanted to hear. But he’d never been able to lie to Cas, not with any success. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. Then, truthfully, he said, “But I’ll try to be okay with it. If it happens.”
He dreams for a day he and Cas share a kitchen that belongs to both of them, in a house that they paid for, not as roommates but as something infinitely more lasting. He dreams for breakfast and lunch and every casual touch in between. He even dreams for more clogged sinks and creaky cabinets, if only because Cas wanting it fixed would mean he wants to stick around.
Dean looked down at the stretched neckline. He cleared his throat. “You planning on making a habit of that?”
“Dumbass still has a Christmas tree up,” Dean said, leaning heavily into Cas as he gestured with an unsteady hand toward the Christmas tree in the corner. “You see this shit, Cas? It’s fuckin’ February.”
Sam was the first to see him from amid a circle of about 8 people. He excused himself and rushed over, pumping Cas’s hand once before putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him toward the food. “Glad you could make it, man. Grab some food and then join us, alright?”
Cas was shaking. Fumbling a little bit, frantic, he guided one of Dean’s hands up to his face. Dean’s hands were rough against Cas’s cheek, but it was that roughness - evidence of hard work and love and effort - that Cas had fallen in love with in the first place. He turned to kiss Dean’s palm despite the terror he felt that he might be misunderstanding. Against Dean’s skin, he said, “I get it,” and hoped he wasn’t lying.
Cas looked up at the ceiling. His eyes were as shiny as glass. “I understand that. But I still feel like a fool, Dean.”
Cas’s fingers itched to touch Dean’s face. He curled them into his palms. “We closed ten cases with what you learned.”
Cas put a hand over his eyes again and took a deep breath. The thought of seeing Dean again, the thought of being in his space again, the thought that Dean
Daphne ushered Gilda forward, and Gilda extended a long, graceful hand toward Dean. Dean took it. She really was a beautiful woman. “Nice to meet you,” Dean said, and it was a genuine statement.
Leaving the sight of Dean in his bed was difficult, but Cas managed it somehow. He started coffee and then breakfast, and by the time he’d begun frying the eggs, he’d almost forgotten how much he’d yearned to kiss Dean awake, to wrap himself up in the covers with Dean so they’d be pressed together for the rest of the morning -
After, they slept. Then Cas woke Dean up in the middle of the night and told him, in very direct terms, that Dean needed to call in tomorrow because Cas had some very specific plans. Most of the plans involved staying in bed and decidedly
“You may remember that I am not exactly a fan of your plan, so forgive me if I wasn’t as enthused as you might have preferred.”
Dean’s answer was slow to come, but the stubborn set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow told Cas that Dean wasn’t going to let this go easily. Eventually, Dean said in a slow, measured tone: “I’m telling you that one day I might find that I value a person’s company over what they can give me in bed.”
Finally Sam cleared his throat. “D- Uh, Dean wants to see you there. Just… y’know, just so you know.”
Dean couldn’t stop the oath that fell from his lips. “Yeah,” he said, unable to stop himself from sounding desperate. “How? How do you want me to touch you?”
Eileen texted later that week that she and Sam were having a small barbeque with their friends and family at their new place. She invited Dean and told him that Cas had already told her he would be there, then followed up that text with a kissy face and the words
The preparation of breakfast takes either five seconds or five minutes. Dean’s head is still fuzzy, and it seems like between one blink and the next he’s finished folding Cas’s omelette and toasting Cas’s bread.
“Coming right up,” Dean said, already on the way to the stove. His heart was full, simply because Cas had something he wanted and it was something Dean could provide.
Cas finally looks up at him. “You changed my life, Dean,” he says, as if messages like that are meant to be dropped over a plate of eggs and ketchup.
Cas shook his head, but the smile burst through anyway. He quickened his pace and knocked on Sam’s door before Dean could rub it in. By the time Dean caught up to him, Sam was opening the door, Eileen poking her head under his arm in curiosity.
Cas took his time setting the dish down. “Well, I assume I’ll be living past just this one Christmas and that I’ll be using them next year.”
“Dean?” It was beginning to sink in, and Dean could see it. Cas’s eyes were wide and wary. “What’s going on?”
but it sounded hollow. There was no way Cas had missed Dean as much as Dean had missed Cas. “Not as much as I missed you, dude.”
Charlie put a hand on his back. “Does it make you feel better that I’m not actually attracted to you, though?”
The booth was not conducive for socializing - not the kind of socializing Dean wanted, anyway, because while Sam would have been glad to talk Dean’s ear off about his practice, Dean was determined to get Gilda alone (or as far away from Cas as possible, because there was something that rubbed him the wrong way about chatting a girl up with Cas
Cas let the moment sink in. When he squeezed Dean’s hand and felt Dean squeeze in return, he couldn’t resist a smile. He dared to move closer, and when Dean didn’t move away, Cas licked his lips.
“Maybe he’s loosened up,” Aaron said noncommittally. “Anyhow, Charlie, uh, tell me about yourself.”
Cas reached forward and took the other hand, trembling on her lap. “Mary,” he said gravely. He took a deep breath.
Mary tried to catch her breath. Her smile was wobbly. “I knew it would happen,” she said shakily. She reached for Dean, and Dean, relieved, let her fall forward and embrace him. “I’m so happy for you,” she said, sniffling.
Cas tried to shrug in nonchalance, though he was distracted by Dean’s lips, mere inches away. “Merry Christmas.”
Charlie gave a small shrug. “Gilda’s been saying that Daphne’s parents might be convinced to move back here. It might actually work out.”
Sam ran a hand over his mouth like he was trying to stop himself from saying anything else, but Sam was nothing if not nosy. “We both know never’s not an option. It’s gotta be now, Dean. Or if not now, then soon. You’re already playing house with Cas. Plus there’s a kid involved now - a kid who absolutely adores you - so I hate to say it, but if things have to go south, it has to happen before Jack’s any older.”
Cas stares at the back of Dean’s head, trying to figure out the reason behind his behavior. Then it hits him. “But before that you have three weeks stuck in your apartment.”
Cas moved near him. His arm brushed Dean’s as he started straightening the papers. “The three weeks away were productive,” he said.
When Cas removed his hands, his eyes were tired but they were at least dry. He caught sight of the paper. “What is this?” he asked, picking it up. He read the title page:
Dean was tired and buzzed from two thumbs of whiskey. “It was pretty good,” he said, staring at the opposite end of the couch where Cas’s near-constant present had made an indent in the cushion.
Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, trying for irritated but in reality wanting to sink through the floor, maybe fold into himself into such tiny pieces he can float down into the drain with the water leaking from the faucet. “If denying it were a plausible option, trust me, I’d take it. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? All I
There was silence from behind Cas, during which Dean probably gave himself a good sniff. “Shower’s probably a good idea,” he eventually mumbled.
Dean sighed. “I took the pie out of Mom’s oven and then I remembered - it reminded me of you. And I just - I said bye to Mom and took off.”
A few moments later, though, a minute furrow appeared between Cas’s brow, one that grew until it was apparent that whatever he was thinking was going to cause Dean no small amount of pain. Cas licked his lips, nervous, then let out what Dean assumed to be a steadying sigh.
Dean was already composing one in his head about the warm expanse of Cas’s skin, the warmth in his eyes. “I think I can manage that.”
“Self-awareness, Dean!” Cas interrupted. His cheeks were pink, and he pressed his lips together after his outburst. More controlled, he added, “You’ve analyzed everybody else’s lives down to the molecule when you should have been taking a look at yourself and the thoughtless way you act. The way your thoughtlessness affects other people. You decided what was best for Charlie without her knowledge, thinking you knew better, but your arrogance kept you from seeing any other possibility besides the one you deemed suitable. And you were breaking her heart the whole time.”
he found that his imagination had gotten all the more torturous. If he’d gone with Dean, it would have been so easy to find a quiet corner and talk, to soak up the atmosphere, to laugh softly at drunk relatives and brush elbows and -
Something about the look she gave him made Cas feel weirdly protective. He shoved the feeling to the side and buried it deep. “He’s… doing what’s been asked of him.”
After cleaning up the kitchen, Cas went to check on his patient and found Dean under the covers. He still looked exhausted, but he seemed at least a little less in pain. His eyes were closed, and the blanket was pulled up to his chest.
“Cas, I have to tell you something.” He said it before he could change his mind, because if he didn’t say it now, it would never be said.
The accusation that this was somehow Dean’s fault made irritation flare up in Dean. “The hell you saying?”
was for her to leave him again. He’d been acting so stonily toward her not in expectation of her leaving, but to
“Earlier I said marriage wasn’t in the cards for me,” Cas explained, smiling widely, apparently pleased that he was making Dean cry so much. “I don’t want you to misunderstand - it’s in the cards if it’s you.”
Cas took the drawing from Dean’s fingers. “Inspiration isn’t practical,” he said gently. “I’ll tell you about the story one day.” He tucked the drawing away and picked up his mug. He leaned his hip on the table and looked at Dean. He seemed to be
Charlie’s devastated face told him she already knew. “Oh, my poor bisexual boy,” she crooned. “I am so sorry.”
By the end of the day Cas had had enough of the tension - in a short while he’d be at home alone with his thoughts, and he didn’t need another thing weighing on his shoulders. He knocked on Sam’s open door as Sam was packing up.
Dean stared at him, eyebrows knitting together. Then he shook his head. “I’m dead on my feet and this conversation’s goin’ over my head. Can we talk tomorrow? I’m gonna head out.”
Cas wants the sounds even closer. He wants Dean’s footsteps in his bedroom, Dean’s murmur from the pillow next to his, Dean’s music from the nightstand while he gets ready for bed. He wants the noises of a lifetime of routine, the noise of a life with Dean in it.
Sam threw his head back in laughter while Dean rolled his eyes. Eventually he handed over the bowl of brocolli to Cas with a sarcastic, “Here,
As he stares, he hears a familiar sound. Somewhere in the apartment, somewhere in their tiny little kitchen, there is the sound of cooking. Someone is cooking. No one but Dean ever cooks in this apartment.
But Cas had already pulled out two bottles from the fridge and was nudging one at Dean’s elbow. “I’ve always wanted to know what we could accomplish drunk.”
“He wanted to do the job right. He figured we needed a way to bait her, but we needed to do it securely. …That’s when I came in”
Sam sighed heavily, but he shut up. He followed Dean into the kitchen. Right before Dean opened the back door, however, Sam made a tentative noise. “Before you open that door - “ he started, but Dean was already holding up a hand.
Dean’s eyes were already closed, but there was a quirk of contentment in his lips when he flung an arm over Cas’s stomach and let his head fall onto Cas’s shoulder.
Cas begins to dice the onion. He’s never been great with a knife but this time, with Dean’s eyes on the back of his neck, he’s somehow even worse. It takes forever, and by the time forever has passed, Cas’s eyes are irritated from slicing the onion. Dean snorts at him when Cas turns around, eyes squinted, to wash his hands and rinse out his eyes.
Dean waved away Cas’s concern. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said. Truthfully, he’d purposely dodged the question, but apparently making friends meant getting to know each other. “I’m a - an editor. I freelance, mostly.”
Gilda seemed unaffected. “I hope you’re enjoying the nice weather, though,” she said, responding to his smile with one of her own.
Dean smiled. They were sitting so close he barely had to pull Cas forward before their lips met in a hesitant kiss.
Cas breathed in slowly, held the breath, then let it out. He was not going to let Dean see any moment of weakness. When the group arrived at his desk, he stood up and acknowledged the director first and nobody second. “Director.”
“It was a nice dream,” Dean had said, a little wistfully. Then he had looked at Cas like he did whenever Cas brought him coffee in bed: lovesick, indulgent, grateful.
Claire hadn’t been able to get a flight in time for the opening, but she’d helped by taking over the social media accounts from Cas, who admittedly had had trouble keeping up with concepts like “the algorithm” and “engagement.” Many customers who came in on the first day were there thanks to her.
Cas sighed again, like kissing Dean was a chore. By the time he leaned in, however, his hand was in Dean's and he was suppressing a smile.
Dean bit down on a scowl. It was true, but it didn’t make the sentiment any less real. “More than enough time to know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life without you.”
He let the conversation lapse into silence as he cast his mind for a way to soothe his wounded pride. Eventually he called for another flute of champagne, and when the waiter brought it to him, Cas’s face pinched, but he didn’t say a word. Dean counted that as a win.
They returned to the reception a few minutes later. Eileen, upon seeing Cas’s glossy eyes and pink nose, instinctively grabbed a butter knife to throw at Dean’s throat, but Sam tugged her arm down and pointed at Dean and Cas’s joined hands.
Dean dropped the ornament in his hand in his shock. It bounced once and rolled underneath the tree. He didn’t bother picking it up because Cas was already walking into the bedroom. In a daze, heart in his throat, Dean followed.
Around them, other agents were processing the scene. Dean doubtless needed to offer a statement, but nobody was approaching just yet.
As Dean pulled out into traffic, he tried to puzzle out what bothered him about Aaron’s answer. It was phrased strangely, somehow, like Aaron had run the sentences through a series of languages on Google Translate and then turned it back into English. The reply had made perfect sense, but something about it wasn’t quite right.
Dean shook his head and sniffed, laughed through the tears when Cas’s mouth opened again to speak. “Stop,” Dean said. “You’re repeating yourself.”
Cas remembered, alright. He shook his head, bemused. “I don’t recall you doing anything you need to apologize for.”
As he walked to the elevator, he tried to calm his suspicions: it was most likely the director, after all. There was no solid evidence that indicated that it might be anybody but her. Still, Cas wanted to make sure. He hadn’t gotten this far in his career ignoring his intuition.
“What is it?” he asked, nervously uncapping and capping the pen in his hand. It was the end of the day, and he could feel his lower back protesting from being seated all day; he just wanted to go home and soak in a warm bath.
He didn’t know what this meant, but he was willing to bet that very few people would leave their families on a whim just to see their best friend 1500 miles away. He’d never let himself believe that Dean might return his feelings - not because there weren’t signs, but because it was simply too good to be true. To love Dean and to be loved back by Dean? Cas’s life couldn’t possibly be so good.
They didn’t talk much, but Cas was comfortable. He liked this: sitting by Dean in a moment of peace and contentment. If he let himself, he could picture it for himself for a long while to come.
Dean nearly dropped his phone. “Hey,” he said, a little too loudly and a little too quickly. “You - you saw my note.”
Cas’s mouth lifted at the corner, but Dean knew it was just for show. “I don’t think marriage is in the cards for me, Dean,” Cas admitted.
Dean wasn’t able to formulate a quick enough response to that, but a sticker on the car he assumed was hers gave him a smooth segue. “I like Hermione too.”
Cas has spent the last 45 minutes watching Dean’s hands under the guise of health and hygiene. “I’m getting used to it,” he says.
Cas stared at the hand in Dean’s shirt for a long moment. Dean didn’t know whether he wanted Cas to move away or to lean in more, but he knew that if Cas didn’t make a move in either direction soon, Dean would combust. He was about to say so, had opened his mouth to say so, but then Cas was taking a steadying breath and tugging the shirt up, eventually getting Dean to lift his arms so he could remove the shirt entirely.
Dean looked down at his hands. One was in his lap and the other was feeling the fabric of the hospital sheets underneath his fingers. Doubtless he was thinking of the things he’d done while he was away. “I don’t know if it’s even possible to be like we were before,” he finally said. He looked at Cas then, very seriously. “And… we really don’t
They went into the house and started getting ready for bed. Dean handed Cas a toothbrush still in its packaging, and later, when Cas had finished brushing his teeth, Dean stood and stared helplessly at the toothbrush leaning against his in the little mug by the tap, wondering if he’d ever get used to the sight.
Cas was smiling when he answered. “It’s fine, Dean. The wind’s only slightly worse than a regular storm.”
“Jackass,” Dean said, though the twitch of his mouth gave his affection away. “What if I died tonight and you never wished me a Merry Christmas?”
Bobby was the only one who didn’t shed a tear at Dean and Cas’s news. He called both of them idjits for waiting so long and shook Cas’s hand, but besides that, he had nothing else to say, though Dean caught him looking their way more than once with shiny eyes, so he supposed it was something.
Cas looked at his door, still closed to his colleagues. Outside, to the left, somewhere down the hall in Sam’s office, was Dean, probably sitting on the corner of Sam’s desk. Waiting. Waiting for Cas to persuade Sam to take a break but maybe also waiting for Cas himself. Just Cas. Cas and all his complexities and cat emojis and conflicted feelings.
“You don’t have to believe me,” Cas said dismissively. He checked his phone. “Bobby’s coming by to babysit you.”
Cas was realizing all at once that all of his stifled daydreams need not be stifled any longer. They didn’t even need to be daydreams any longer, either. He kissed Dean again, just because he could. Then he smiled at Dean’s smile and took Dean’s hand, leading him in his bunny slippers to the bed. “You need to sleep.”
Gilda reached across Aaron to touch Dean on the arm. “Dean,” she said, “Thank you for the drink. I’ll see you both later.”
Picking Cas up from the airport was an ordeal, mostly because the relief at seeing Cas in his passenger seat made Dean a little lightheaded in the middle of airport traffic.
Dean took a long, long draft of his beer as he watched Daphne reacquaint herself with the people she’d almost called family two years ago. “I dunno, mom,” he said. “I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”
They stared at each other from across the shopfront for a few long seconds. Not for the first time that day, Cas marveled at the beauty of Dean Winchester, even sweat-stained and tired, even standing there dumbfounded and looking like an idiot.
Dean kissed him softly, just once, in reply. He was tired, and Cas’s shoulder still twinged. There were nights that it seemed they couldn’t ever get close enough, but on this night they slept.
“But at the same time you challenge me,” Cas continues, still chewing, “in the best ways possible. It wouldn’t be a particularly healthy relationship if we didn’t make each other better, after all.”
II. Director Singer had retired two months prior to Dean’s return, and Special Agent Amara Shurley had been promoted to his former position. Six months on, Cas acceded that she was capable and would very likely come into her own given enough time. That didn’t mean, of course, that Cas knew or understood why she insisted on
Cas didn’t bother to hide his amusement. He put the bottle on the counter and picked up another filled with amber liquid. “So I guess I won’t offend you when I bring this out later instead.”
He takes the spatula from Cas’s loose grip. “They’re perfect,” he said again, “but they’re not edible.” An itch takes residence in his throat. He coughs.
“He’ll come around,” the realtor said when she caught Cas watching him. “I’m glad he at least walked in the door.”
He spent the rest of the ride wondering how to bring up his suspicions without offending Aaron. By the time he pulled up in front of Aaron’s apartment, however, mortification had sealed his lips shut.
Dean touched his forehead to Cas’s, so happy he could barely get any words out. “Cas, you know it’s a yes.”
Cas kept going, a snowball gaining momentum, cold and dangerous. The words were ice on the tip of his tongue. “You’ve probably wondered why I haven’t asked why you did what you did.”
Dean never gives that question any attention in real life. There’s too much mess in that world, too many questions already, and no room for one as big as
Cas was breathing slowly and heavily on Dean’s neck. When Dean started stroking, he heard Cas’s voice wrecked, destroyed: “love you, love you” and Dean turned his face into Cas’s hair and whispered it back, ignoring the way his voice cracked, concentrating instead on the twist of his wrist, the way Cas’s breath quickened when Dean swiped at the precome at the head of his dick, the way Cas’s hips started jerking forward.
X. Director Shurley started receiving flowers on a frequent basis. Cas didn’t believe they were from Dean, but after the 5th time in a month, Cas really needed to know. Cas ignored Bobby’s voice in his head calling him an idiot as he intercepted one of the orders before it was delivered to her. He plucked the card out to read it.
It was when they were on the front steps and Dean was lifting his hand to knock that Claire’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.
Charlie already had a beer open. She tilted her head at him. “I couldn’t stay mad at you,” she said. She walked off to her couch, clearly expecting Dean to follow. “Especially since you had no idea why.” The look she sent over her shoulder was sly. It made Dean feel a little better, if more than a little confused.
Cas puts the spices down and stares at them, hands on hips. He must looked stumped because Dean clears his throat and says, “Onion.”
And if Cas were being honest with himself, the thought of being rejected by Dean - beautiful, charismatic, kind Dean - that was a little tough to swallow.
The image of Cas holding up a bottle of Dean’s favorite brand of whiskey was going to be branded into Dean’s brain through to the new year. Dean gulped.
It’s difficult, because Dean’s head has started to throb despite his best efforts. He wants to go back to sleep, but ironically that would mean waking up.
The loss is a difficult one to take; it means that Cas and his team are now on the bottom half of the league table, a position they haven’t been in for well over a decade.
And beyond Dean’s worry about Cas was his worry for Charlie. He still didn’t quite understand where he had gone wrong. Could it be true that Charlie had feelings for Dean? It didn’t feel remotely possible, but when Dean dialed Charlie’s number, it went straight to voicemail, and it was obvious that Charlie didn’t want to speak with him.
Cas had some time ago left Dean to his drinking and gone to speak to Eileen’s parents, and he had been conveniently replaced by Dean’s mom. He nudged her. “Who’s that?” he asked.
They ended up in the backyard, sitting on the grass, throwing a too-big tennis ball for Willow the puppy and watching her stumble after it. The fences needed some new paint, Dean noted, but the yard was tended and Eileen had even started planting some flowers. Another wave of affection for his family hit him. He started laughing.
Cas didn’t say anything. When Dean returned, holding a stack of paper from his desk drawer, Cas still had a hand over his face.
Gilda smiled at him and reached up to touch his hair gently. There was movement behind her - someone was getting up from the blanket - but Dean was too surprised by the feeling of Gilda’s hand near his ear that all he could do was gape. Then Gilda said, very kindly, so softly no one else could hear, “Sorry, but no.”
Dean’s tirade faltered. His throat bobbed. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from the heat of the ovens. “What?”
“Shit,” Dean said, recalling the rest of the night. His migraine throbbed when he laughed bitterly at himself.
There was no misunderstanding what Dean meant. Despite the numbing cold, Cas’s cheeks tingled. His stomach flipped. He reached for words - any words - because now Dean was waiting on a response, and Cas was
Eventually Dean took Cas’s advice and took a serving of the cough syrup. It took care of the cough, knocked him out within a few minutes, and apparently had enough kick still left in it in the morning to convince Dean that he’d woken up into a dream.
Dean smiled, if only because Cas was beginning to sound like himself again. “You think I like when you’re moping around?”
For the first time since the conversation started, Dean felt a smile tug at his lips. Gilda would be perfect for cheering Charlie up. “Sweetheart, that’s a great choice. Let me get you her number.”
“We were planning on going out for lunch,” Sam called over his shoulder. He was walking to the kitchen. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Dean swiped at his eyes stubbornly. “Cas, I meant it when I said I’d do anything for that kid. If he ever loses you, he’s going to have me. Don’t even think about apologizing for that.”
Charlie had been pulling her arm back for another hit, but she stopped. “True,” she conceded. “But come on. I wasn’t hiding it from you!”
Dean’s soft sigh made Cas look up. Dean had put down the lemon bar and was staring down at the shortbread dough in front of him, looking lost. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m going overboard. And I’m exhausted.”
Cas didn’t say he preferred it too, that he’d much rather spend his days within arm’s reach of Dean instead of in front of a computer screen, thinking about Dean. He figured it had to be pretty obvious anyhow. “Didn’t you promise me alcohol?”
He pressed a hand over his eyes when Dean sent a smiley face back. Through Cas’s panic he tried to remind himself that this date wasn’t the end of the world, and it probably wasn’t even the end of their friendship. Maybe the date would go poorly and Dean would decide on his own that they wouldn’t work romantically. Sometimes dates just didn’t work, after all - that was the whole point of dates, wasn’t it? Dates weren’t always the first step to a long-term relationship. Sometimes they were blips in a lifetime of blips - some good and some bad, some memorable and some forgettable. To a man like Dean especially, a date might just be what he did on a regular Saturday night to kill his boredom. There was no reason to panic.
Dean looked away, into a corner. His eyes were glossy. “Yeah, well, you were too busy being shot.”
Dinner was… easy. Being with Dean was easy. Easy enough that Cas forgot that he was supposed to be making it difficult. Instead he found himself leaning forward to hear Dean’s stories, smiling when he smiled, and laughing when he laughed. Dean was magnetic, and he was in a good mood. He seemed to want to know about Cas and his life and his family, and he eagerly expounded when Cas asked questions right back.
“That’s a good book,” he said, nodding to the hardcover in the man’s hand. “You ever read anything else by Campbell?”
lying,” Cas accuses. He looks at Dean with narrowed eyes, but the effect is lessened by the way his gaze slips down to Dean’s lips.
She handed Cas a thick stack of folders. “We’ve reopened a few cold cases based off of the leads he’s given us. Work him over. Use him where you need to. If he’s uncooperative, he knows where he’ll be spending the next few decades.”
For days, Cas successfully avoided Dean. Dean had been moved into his new safehouse, so Cas didn’t need to worry about being cornered at home, but avoiding Dean at the office was never going to work forever. Eventually the director asked what progress had been made on the next case and Cas had no answer for her, so he finally settled down at his desk, where Dean had been solving and resolving a Rubik’s cube for hours.
There was another round of laughter in the background. “I miss you,” Cas said, tilting his head back onto the arm of his couch and staring the ceiling fan, immobile. “I didn’t think I’d miss you so much.”
Dean handed him a napkin, waved off Cas’s thanks, then scratched his neck. “When I gave the key to you I kind of figured you’d use it for…” He made a vague gesture, but let his sentence trail off.
It felt like an olive branch. An apology that Cas couldn’t give with Mary and Daphne in the same room. Dean took it all the same. Maybe one day they’d be friends again. The way they had been before Charlie, before Aaron, before Daphne came back. He could only hope so.
“I’ve known you were it for me since I let you drive Baby three years ago. If that’s even remotely true for you too, then just think about it, alright? You don’t have to answer right now. But I wanted you to know.” Between them, Dean tangled his fingers with Cas’s and squeezed. “I love you and I’m proposing. It’s there if you want it.”
Dean sat up. He touched Cas’s face, looked down to where the flush was almost down to Cas’s navel. He was in love with Cas. And he was going to marry Cas, if Cas said yes. “Cas, will you marry me?”
Cas settled against the arm of the sofa and smiled. “You know I never regret spending time with you.”
Dean left the remote where it was and sat up straighter on the couch, nestling the phone more securely against his ear. “Dude, you’re freaking me out here,” he said.
“I mean. I just want to clear the air. You weren’t answering your phone. I - I said something stupid and it was...dumb.”
“Brought you Christmas gifts,” Cas said, pulling things from his coat pockets. “Antacids and painkillers. I’ll make you some toast to go with it.”
It meant to hear Cas out when he needed to lighten his load, and to hope that the relief Cas would find in telling his secret would bind Dean’s heart tightly enough it would stop bleeding before Cas noticed.
XIII. Cas’s ride was late. After he’d blacked out in the director’s office, he’d been taken to the hospital to get patched up: painkillers, bullet removal, stitches, dressing, and a sling. That had taken an hour. After, he’d tried and failed to take a nap and instead wheedled a meal out of a passing nurse. Still the department vehicle hadn’t arrived to take him back to the office despite Cas’s repeat phone calls.
Dean started walking Claire through the basics of the register. He was only about halfway through when she interrupted him, looking between Dean and Cas with amusement.
Cas could feel Sam watching him but he pretended to be heavily invested in the conversation his co-workers were having, though for the life of him he couldn’t remember the topic.
Dean didn’t make a move to serve himself a slice of pie. He was staring instead at Cas. “That line went around the block, dude.”
Cas was silent for a beat, then another. Eventually he said, “I don’t know where you keep the honey,” which was answer enough.
There was a smile in the man’s voice. “It did. I was taken aback by how much I enjoyed it. You have good taste.”
“Anyway,” Dean said, after clearing his throat. He looked around quasi-casually. “I should probably go.”
“I know,” Dean says. He closes the fridge and then pops the top off of his beer to take a long swig. When he’s done, he just looks at Cas and blinks.
did pretty well.” Cas dared to reach up and touch Dean’s cheek, rewarded when Dean’s face flushed a little pinker.
Dean had already seen that Cas and Daphne hadn’t arrived yet. Good. “Yeah,” Dean mumbled. “You want a beer?”
Cas’s voice was rough when he answered, but just the fact that he answered warmed Dean’s heart. “Hey,” Dean said.
Dean was frowning at Cas’s discomfort. He made a movement to touch Cas on the arm, but he pulled his hand back. He looked away, embarrassed. “Apparently betraying the country is the family business,” he explained. “I couldn’t figure out how, or even if, she was communicating with her contacts. Then the flowers from her brother started coming, but of course no one ever let the neighborhood felon near them.”
“I didn’t think it’d be about me,” Cas corrected. He smiled. “But yes, I didn’t think it’d be good.” He paused. A furrow appeared between his brow. “I also didn’t think you’d secretly be a popular published sci-fi author.”
Her perfume was floral - but it was deep and slightly herbal, without the cloying sweetness of most, and it made Dean a little groggy. He could feel eyes on him and bitterly, without knowing why, he wished it was Cas watching him. He leaned in to Gilda. “Have a lot on my mind,” he said, and he threw in a small quirk of his mouth for good measure.
“My head’s killing me,” Dean groaned, pulling the blankets over his head. “Make sure Sam chooses a good picture of me for my funeral.”
But Dean just winks and points up toward the ceiling where the mistletoe mocks Cas and his hopeless attraction to his best friend. “Pucker up, buddy,” Dean says, just to hammer it home.
Dean nudged him with an elbow, grinning when he saw a hint of a smile at the corner of Cas’s mouth. “Oh, I dunno,” he said. “What was it you said last night? You’d give up everything for me? You don’t have the words to tell me how much you love me?”
“Let me say this, Cas,” he said earnestly. He scrubbed at his nose. “I mean, when you met me I was just a dumbass mechanic who’d just gotten his GED. You were,” he motioned to Cas in his button-down and business pants. “
Dean’s foot shifted. Cas knew this because it made Dean’s leg knock against his. “Be like what?” Dean asked. He seemed soft, softer even than when he’d asked Cas out, though Cas assumed it was probably because they’d both been drinking.
Dean’s jaw was still slack, his brow slightly furrowed. Cas saw the conflict on his face and took a deep breath. “I mean this as a date,” Cas added. “Just to clarify.”
Dean took a deep breath. The pungent scent of alcohol and sweat filled his nostrils, but underneath he also smelled Cas’s detergent, sweet and clean. He took another deep breath.
“I was convinced by then that I’d never be with you,” Cas explained. “You were flirting with Gilda, and you’d… never shown me any interest.”
Cas was on the other line, as they had planned. “It’s an emergency,” Cas said blandly. “Oh, no. Whatever will we do? Willow has gotten out of the house. She has gone missing. Oh, no.”
A few hours later, Dean found his car keys and donned his coat - thick, dark blue, a gift from Sam and Eileen that Cas always silently thanked them for because Dean looked so good in blue and Dean always seemed more confident in it.
Dean’s only insistence regarding decor was that they hang up pictures of his family. “Ain’t Winchester Bakery without these people,” he’d said, handing Cas a box of framed photos.
Dean couldn’t figure out why Cas was acting so strangely, but he decided not to ask. He walked to the fridge and drew out two beers. “Looks like we have something to celebrate tonight, then,” he said, as he popped them open. He handed one to Cas. “What’s your next move?”
Cas lifted his eyes to the playground again. “No doubt at least a few of these children believe in Santa.” He sucked some stray ketchup off his thumb, and Dean had to look away.
Mary furrowed her brow. “I don’t think I was listening very much when we were introduced. It started with a G, I think. Glinda? Gladys? Why?” Mary said, sending a cheeky smile her son’s way. “She’s cute, isn’t she?”
And those three people didn’t even include Dean himself, the person who, arguably, Dean had misjudged the most. It was, after all, his lack of self-awareness that had started this whole situation. It had led him into the dangerous quagmire of making himself to be Charlie’s mentor when, in fact, she had not needed one, and when, in fact, he was probably the last person she would have needed if she had. That, in turn, had led Dean into calling Aaron and then eventually disappointing somebody who had only ever tried to be what Dean wanted.
Dean’s mask slipped a little. His throat bobbed. “You know,” he said quietly, “I’m so happy I think I might actually be hallucinating.”
“This place is way too big and way too far,” Dean cut in, almost like if he spoke fast enough Cas’s answer wouldn’t count. He fished his keys out of his pocket.
“Half past 10, relax.” Dean’s voice was lower than usual, a little slower and a little rougher. And he still hadn’t let go of Cas’s hand, instead letting their linked hands sink to the space between their thighs. “I’ve been up for a while, had some coffee. Thanks, by the way.”
Cas knew he’d need to be patient. Luckily he had practice. Luckily he had Dean. “I’d have missed out on this, then,” he said, running a hand over Dean’s back. “Not sure I’d give this up for anything.”
Dean’s smile was pleased. “That’s a ginger ale for me then,” he said, clapping Cas on the shoulder before leaving to get one from the cooler. His hand lingered a second longer than it had reason to.
When he spoke again, his voice was shaky. “This - all of this - when you left you said you had something to tell me, but you told me nothing.
He picked up the menu in front of him. It was sticky. Dean winced both at the stickiness and at the contents of the menu; what was wrong with a plain whiskey, and why did people insist on sticking herbs in everything?
Dean knows it’s a dream almost as soon as he opens his eyes. The ceiling spins above him, and everything around him - his sheets, his pillow, the clothes on his body - are so heavy he feels like he’s moving through sand.
“Do you want to keep touching me?” Dean asked, and hearing the words said out loud made them sound even dirtier than he intended.
Cas was cold and confused, and growing colder and more confused by the second. Brow furrowed, he said, stiltedly, “I’m glad you didn’t.”
Claire was still glaring at them on the front step of the house. She hadn’t released Dean’s wrist yet. “What the fuck is in the house, then?” she demanded.
Dean conceded Cas’s point with a tilt of his head after spending a few seconds contemplating it. He continued to take tentative sips of his sports drink. Cas retrieved the other slice of toast from the bedroom and when he made it back across the football-field-length, forced the plate into Dean’s hands. He watched as Dean ate it, his hand hovering at Dean’s back, but not quite touching. Only after he’d eaten did Cas send him back to his bedroom.
Dean decided to help her out a little. “If you’re free after this, do you wanna grab a drink?” Once the words were out, he was struck by how much he
Cas closed his eyes. He felt his face heat. He couldn’t find anything to say in reply. “I - I don’t have anything prepared.”
Cas was raising his gun before he knew it and taking aim at the middle of Dean Winchester’s forehead. “Hands up.” His voice was remarkably steady.
Down the hallway, they heard the elevator doors start to slide open. Cas was momentarily distracted, and Dean took advantage: he yanked Cas into the office by his sleeve, closed the door, and turned off the light. Cas’s heart was a jackhammer in his chest: whoever they were hiding from definitely would have either heard the door close or seen the light. Either way, Cas was trapped, hiding behind a desk with a felon in the office of the director of the FBI, and Cas wasn’t actively trying to apprehend or disarm the felon. He would either be fired or dead by the end of the night, and he didn’t know which one he preferred.
“Bad,” Dean admitted. He struggled to swallow his toast, wincing when he finally managed it. “My stomach’s worse though.” He touched a hand to his abdomen, bare under the blanket that was draped across his shoulders.
Cas still had difficulty hearing about Dean’s time away. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on Dean’s lips against his collarbone.
In the kitchen, Dean found Sam and Eileen crouched around the tiniest version of a pit bull that Dean had ever seen. It was sitting down and licking Sam’s hand, but then it saw Dean and jumped up to its four legs and started howling. It was the tiniest, cutest howl in the whole goddamn world, and Dean couldn’t help snorting in derision. “Do they put up stuffed animals for adoption now?”
“So what?” Dean mumbled. “It’s cold. Get in the damn bed.” He tugged on Cas’s wrist and only let go when Cas sighed in concession and moved toward the other side of the bed.
Dean took a swallow of coffee. It scalded his throat, but he managed to ask, “Yeah? Why’d you come back then?”
and that he’d been applying an embarrassingly heteronormative worldview to them despite his being quite comfortably bisexual himself. It was embarrassing and jarring and sad and pitiful, and it underscored just how poor he was at the thing he’d believed himself to be so good at:
When he came back to the dining table with his treasure in his hands, Dean’s eyes widened. “No shit,” he said.
Dean had barely spared a thought for anything else besides Cas for the past few hours. He blinked. “Oh.”
15 minutes later, Cas was unlocking the front door of the bakery with the key Dean had given him. (“What, was I going to give it to Claire?” Dean had asked. “She’d record a Tiktok in the kitchen and set it on fire somehow.”) The kitchen lights were on, so Cas followed the light.
Cas never understood why Dean always sought his approval, but Cas was always glad to give it. It was easy when everything Dean did made Cas want to compose wedding vows.
The words soothed a little of the hurt, but that’s all Cas would allow himself to take from Dean. “I appreciate the sentiment, Dean. But I’m not going to ask you to find out.”
“I thought I’d go insane if I spent much longer never having kissed you,” Dean continued. His genial tone had faded into something more sincere. Dean touched Cas’s face, but Cas kept his eyes closed tight. “If I hadn’t caught her that night,” Dean said, “I don’t know how I - how could I have lived any longer without this?”
It occurred to Dean all at once that he’d fucked up more than he thought he had. Dean had fucked up bad.
A silence descended. Willow gave up on wrestling the ball back to Dean and eventually made her way to the shade under his legs. She was panting in the late spring warmth. Dean admired the roundness of her stomach, and when she caught him looking at her she stood up and barked. Her tail began to wag.
Dean promised he would and bid her goodbye. He hadn’t planned on doing much tonight - maybe catch up on the scores and hit the sack early - but after his conversation with his mom, he was sure he’d be too restless to do either of those.
“Are you feeling okay?” Cas asks. There’s a slight tremor in his voice. His eyes dance between Dean’s, but then they dip to Dean’s lips, and suddenly Dean knows: this is it, this is the one place, one time, one universe, one dream in which he can get it right.
“Happy New Year, Sam.” With a sad little jolt, Cas realized he missed Sam too. He wasn’t as close to him as he was to Dean, but Sam had always been kind and warm and welcoming. “I hope you’re all doing well.”
This had not been what Dean was expecting. Tentatively, he touched Cas’s face, just a brush of fingers against Cas’s cheek, not bothering to hide his amazement when Cas smiled at him.
“I’m freezing my balls off is what I’m doing right now,” Dean said, laughing nervously. “Can I - I mean, I know you weren’t expecting company, but - uh, listen, I kinda forgot my apartment keys in Lawrence… and my phone… and my clothes… and pretty much everything else. So unless you’re turning me away, you’re kinda stuck with me.”
“Right,” Claire said skeptically. “You’re just bringing me to a stranger’s house on the outskirts of town.”
It wasn’t that he wasn’t flattered by Dean’s attention - on the contrary, underneath the layers of panic, Cas could recognize the beginnings of something a little like giddiness, albeit complicated by Cas’s relationship with dating and sex. He wasn’t normally interested in either, which usually suited him just fine; it was when he
Dean was looking around. “Install a TV above it, some couches around it - I might take you up on that offer.”
Dean stepped away from the hug and shoved Cas toward the direction of his car. “Good night, jackass.”
The closer Dean got to the redhead the slower he felt he was moving. How much had he drank? Jesus.
Dean should have been happy to hear this. But he only closed his eyes and muttered a numb, “Thanks.” His cheeks were red in mortification; his throat bobbed painfully.
The floor was swimming in front of him and he knew he’d have one hell of a headache tomorrow, but none of that mattered because at this moment, he had a mission - and hell if he wasn’t going to complete it.
The bookstore was busy for a Tuesday morning, but Dean, recently released from a large responsibility, was happy to wait in line and browse the knick-knacks by the register.
Silence. Cas’s brow furrowed. Then his eyes were open and narrowed at Dean. His hair was already hopelessly mussed. “What do I think of
Dean spent most of his time commiserating with Eileen about how difficult it was to live with Sam while Sam sat and looked injured. However, while it was great to catch up after a few weeks away, it was sometimes difficult for Dean to concentrate on the conversation when he saw out of the corner of his eye how close Cas and Daphne were standing.
Aaron cleared his throat. He seemed a little disgruntled, but that wasn’t Dean’s problem. “We should all go out sometime,” Aaron said, looking around at the circle. He was smiling, but it seemed a little hard around the edges. “Get to know each other. I’d love to get to know Dean’s family a little bit more.”
Dean put a hand on Jack’s back. “Sure, bud,” he said. “You can tell him what you want for Christmas.”
“Why, thanks for the congratulations, Dean; it’s not like this is the first time I’ve heard from you since getting married.”
Dean leaned his forearms along the top of the car door, bringing his face within 12 inches to Cas’s. “Look,” Dean murmured, holding Cas’s gaze. “This is how I see it: you still don’t want to sleep with me, and I’m still okay with that. The only thing that’s changed is now you actually want to go on a second date with me, and I’m not gonna pass that up.”
Dean’s glare could have cut through glass, but Cas parried it away with a roll of his eyes. Into the phone, he said, “He’s not happy that I’m discussing this with you.”
Cas would have been content to stay like that for two hours, but Dean drew back after a long minute. His eyes were fond when he looked at Cas. One hand lingered on Cas’s ribs.
Dean’s hand had landed tentatively on Cas’s ribs, the touch so soft it almost tickled. The other hand was still on Cas’s face, a warm cradle. “What the hell is happening?” Dean breathed, his gaze dancing over Cas’s face as if he’d find an answer there.
Dean looked at him. He looked dangerous despite the doe eyes he was flashing. It made Cas’s heart thump a little harder. “You’re gonna have to try a little harder to get my socks off, Cas.”
“Kind of slow on the uptake,” Cas said. His nose was still pink. “Maybe I should be in charge of Jack’s studies.”
Dean blinked against the sudden stinging of his eyes. His throat caught. He cleared it. “You had to outdo me, didn’t you?”
Toward the end of the night, as Sam and Eileen were saying goodbye to the guests who came to wish them well one last time, and Dean’s alcohol-fueled heartburn was starting up, a guest caught his eye. She was a petite redhead, dwarfed by Sam, and she was patting away tears as she hugged Eileen next to the tulip display.
Dean’s relief was short-lived, because none of what Cas said solved the Daphne problem. But Dean couldn’t say her name, so he nodded instead, then looked away. He met Charlie’s eye. She gave him a sympathetic smile. He wasn’t able to even think about how to respond to the sadness in her face before Cas had his hand on Dean’s arm.
Cas turned away, determined not to be caught looking at Dean’s butt after that comment. “I made lasagna.”
Or would that be too much? Maybe Dean hadn’t called because he was feeling cramped. Maybe he needed space from Cas? The thought had Cas cringing away from his phone.
“No,” Cas said immediately. “No.” He’d looked forward to this dinner since Dean had accepted the invitation, and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip away. “I have pie.”
Dean stared at him. Cas could see his chest rising and falling. After the third time, Dean murmured, “Not everything, Cas.”
“No one’s used ‘chillax’ in a decade, Dean,” Claire said, watching the scenery go past. “Also we’re late to your appointment. If there ever was an appointment.”
amazing. I still can’t believe you even give me the time of day, dude, much less everything else you’ve given me.”
Dean has to consciously close his mouth. His throat is itchy. He swallows painfully. “What do you - “
He stared unseeing at the television, where the program leading up to the ball drop was in full swing. Couples waved at the camera. Cas imagined the look of disgust on Dean’s face at the thought of all the glitter. His heart ached.
He dressed in the clothes Cas left outside. They were Cas’s clothes, clothes Dean had seen him wear a hundred times in their years-long friendship, and putting it on, feeling the cotton against his skin, was more intimate than he knew what to do with. Guiltily, he relished it, and when he walked back into Cas’s bedroom wearing Cas’s clothes, his face flushed when Cas turned over in bed to look.
tells me nothing.” When he looked up and met Dean’s gaze, his eyes were shining with frustrated tears. “I sat here for an hour and a half trying to piece together a story that made sense, but nothing made sense. And you weren’t here to - you weren’t here.“
“Just text him or something,” Sam said. He did a cursory glance over his desk and then patted his pocket for his phone. “I’m sure he’d be glad to hear from you.” He walked out from behind his desk and patted Cas on the shoulder as he walked past. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Dean chuckled imagining the look on Aaron’s face. “Y’know, you could have told him where it was actually from.”
Dean saved him from starting the conversation. “Sammy wants to talk to me,” he said. The next four words were pulled out of somewhere painful: “Can I call him?”
“No, I’m not,” Cas said stubbornly, though his nose was red and Dean’s thumbs were diverting his tears. “And even if I were, look who’s talking.”
“Buying a house ‘for the future’ is indication enough, dude,” Dean said, but he was smiling, his forehead against Cas’s. The hand on Cas’s ribs was expansive and comforting. “By the way, I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“It’s a vacation if I’m spending it with the people I care about,” Cas corrected. “And luckily for you, you count.”
Cas covered his face with both of his hands. “What possessed you to leave?” he asked. He felt warm. He felt frustrated. He felt confused. But mostly he couldn’t bear to look at Dean with the amount of gratitude welling up in his chest.
Waking up in Dean’s bed was disorienting. The mattress was firmer than Cas’s, and the pillow lumpier. The blanket over his torso was also softer than he was used to, and he indulged in the luxuriousness for a few seconds. Noises from outside the bedroom told Cas that Dean had left him alone in bed, and though it had just been a nap that just so happened to take place in the same bed, Cas couldn’t help but feel a little abandoned.
Dean, however, seemed to know exactly what to say: “Can I see you again?” He said this quietly, hopefully. He was looking straight at Cas, too, with his palms flat against his thighs.
Cas was quiet, and Dean suddenly remembered the conversation he’d had with Cas only a few short weeks ago, after they’d made up.
A silence descended. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy and thick, and the longer it went on, the more Cas’s face revealed that something else was bothering him.
Cas took Dean’s hand and tugged him down onto the couch where Dean immediately boxed Cas in with his arms, eliciting laughter from both of them. The light from the fire made Dean’s eyes shine even brighter.
“I learned about him when I was in middle school,” Dean admitted. “The first time I stayed at one school for more than a few months. Pretty sure by then I was too old to believe.”
Claire visited again in December, not to work but to spend time with Kaia. Still, Dean dangled the promise of a paycheck in front of her until she agreed to help out for a few hours on the weekends.
Dean’s eyes snapped open. “No,” he said, trying to straighten. Then he sighed. “Would you absolutely hate me if I said yes?”
“Though,” Cas added, clearing his throat, “it should be said that being able to see you in an apron is very much appreciated.”
All Dean could do was watch Cas walk away. Dean’s vision blurred the farther Cas got, and it was only halfway to his own car that he realized he had hot tears on his cheeks.
“The redhead?” Mary said, yawning. “I think it might be one of Eileen’s old classmates. Why do you ask?”
Cas turned his head upward to the sun, closing his eyes against its glare. This time, when he sighed, it was happy. “I’m very happy for him,” he said.
“Yeah, okay,” Dean said again. He was staring straight at the road. His knuckles were pale against the steering wheel.
look away despite impending doom is… profound. You should try your hand at poetry, Dean. You have good instincts.”
He watched Cas carefully in the moments that followed. Blue eyes wide and apprehensive, posture straight, lips parted. Dean loved him so much it hurt, but that only made Dean’s lie all the more painful.
“Okay,” Dean said, settling on his couch and groping for the TV remote. “You, uh - wanna tell me why you’re so quiet?”
But there was none of that here, in this hospital room. Cas was here to get patched up; maybe so too could Dean. Cas opened his eyes to find Dean’s sad gaze. “You did what you were ordered to do. So did I. I forgive you for all of it.”
“So,” Dean said eventually, peeling off the label of a Gatorade bottle while Cas mopped up the remaining egg yolk with his toast. “Finally used your key.” A frown at the edge of his mouth spoke of his lingering hangover.
Dean’s dizzy with Cas’s touch. He touches Cas’s face because he can’t stand not touching him. “You started it,” he says, all he can think of to say.
Dean shrugged him off. Nothing Cas said mattered. In fact, it mattered so little that Dean was going to prove him wrong. Somehow.
When he was distracted by the opening theme song - he always sang along despite his insistence he didn’t know the words - Cas reached out silently with his beer bottle and touched the cold glass to Dean’s cheek.
Cas spent two hours pacing a hole in his rug before he decided he needed to direct his energy toward something productive. It was 8pm, but he grabbed his work things and drove to the office.
“For just because,” Dean mumbled. He wasn’t looking at Cas. “I mean, you’re here half the time anyway.”
Dean had settled on an old western, but he wasn’t paying the television any attention. He was looking at Cas instead with a downward tilt to his lips. “I just - I felt bad for leaving you alone on Christmas, Cas. I shouldn’t have left.”
When Dean wakes up, it’s to a cold bed. Next to him is the usual sight: white pillows against white sheets and nothing else.
The breath left Dean’s lungs when the implication began to sink in. Dean’s mouth went slack as he sucked in a startled breath. “Sorry?”
passed by the place dozens of times but had never paid it much attention, mostly because the crowd that seemed to gravitate toward the glass double-doors was made up of college kids and twenty-somethings, and while Dean liked to think he wasn’t
Dean was leaning against his counter. He looked down at his socks. Embarrassment stopped up his vocal cords.
The drive to Cas’s apartment was not tense, but it grew more uncomfortable the longer the silence went. They hadn’t spoken much on the way to the Roadhouse, but the silence had been warm then, anticipatory. This silence was colder, like being frozen out. Cas supposed he should be happy, or at the very least satisfied, with this turn of events. At the beginning of the night, he’d wanted Dean to see who he was, and now Dean had seen it. At the beginning of the night all he’d wanted was a way out, and now he had it.
Dean didn’t answer. Cas turned away. For many long minutes after and until he fell asleep, he could hear Dean’s breaths in the winter quiet.
Cas gave him a sheepish smile, embarrassed at the reaction that no other adult man would have had to such a weak innuendo. “I’m a little tired,” he offered.
Dean closed his eyes and let his head loll back against the ugly wallpaper of the hotel. He was in pain but Cas knew him enough to know that he wasn’t going to ask for help. “I know,” Dean breathed.
Dean took a deep breath. “If it’s about sex, Cas, I - I don’t care. It’s not a big deal.” The night before, Dean had thought about it - had weighed the possibility of never having sex again against the possibility of not being with Cas - and it didn’t take long to decide which Dean couldn’t live without. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
“If you say so,” Dean says, in the tone he’s reserved for when he doesn’t want to bother with Cas’s attitude. He presses a buzzer. A few seconds later, they’re being ushered up a set of stairs by a sweet old lady with curlers in her hair who coos over them and chatters about the possibility of having another wonderful tenant. She opens up the apartment and lingers at the door while Dean and Cas wander.
When Eileen drew back, she smiled at both of them. “Sam, do that later,” she said, turning to her husband.
“Sap,” Dean accused, but his cheeks were wonderfully pink. “Anyway, I should still call and wish them a happy new year.”
Dean set a mug in front of Cas and poured him some coffee. “You spent half your day cleaning up after me; I think you’re entitled to a meal.” He turned back to the stove. “I know it’s past noon but I figured you’d appreciate breakfast since you missed it. Eggs in five.”
Dean wants to say, but even here in his own head, that truth is too much to give away. “Just your attention.”
“A better response would have been ‘We’re not kidnapping you, Claire,’” Claire pointed out, “y’know—instead of debating the definition of kidnapping.”
Dean grinned at the grill. “Can’t say that’s not true.” He looked at Cas’s plate and raised his eyebrows. “I better see you coming for seconds.”
“I’m sorry,” Dean said again, ducking his head. “I didn’t mean to...I dunno. Make you feel like I didn’t get you.”
“The hell? Sammy, I am up to here with all these goddamn secrets. What the hell do you know that I don’t?”
A month after Winchester Bakery’s opening, Dean sent a message to the group chat. It was a photo of a number - considerably large - in Dean’s handwriting, underlined twice.
“I think I can manage that,” Dean said, his voice pitched a little lower. His smile was amused, but not unkind or predatory in the least, and that made Cas breathe a little easier.
Dean had already come to terms with his feelings for his best friend. That had been the easy part. The next part - accepting that Cas might very well come back hand-in-hand with Daphne - had been heart-wrenching. It had taken quite a few beers to even begin wrapping his head around it, and even more to admit that Cas’s happiness was more important to him than his own. But he’d done it. And he was ready to see his best friend and accept whatever choice Cas had made. But Cas, apparently, was not ready to see Dean.
of a tree - “It’s our first Christmas in the apartment; we have to go big” - and though Dean had felt like a monster when he strapped it to the roof of the Impala, the way Cas had looked, so incandescently happy in his coat and his gloves and hat, made it all worth it. He was amazed Cas didn’t notice how often he kept sneaking looks at him as he drove home.
But as they approached the corner of the parking garage that Dean had chosen, Cas prepared himself. If he had to take a shot, he would take it, and any lingering feelings be damned; he needed to do his job. Grief (for the Dean that stopped existing two years ago) would follow later, and so Cas would deal with it later.
was playing on the TV. “You should come get it.” All Cas wanted was Dean next to him, and it didn’t seem fair that he wasn’t.
Cas’s sigh greeted Dean. It was long and heavy and regretful. “Hello, Dean,” he said quietly. He was beautiful.
Dean took a deep breath, letting the cold air steady his nerves, though his heart was ready to jump out of his throat. “He said he thinks you have feelings for me.”
He found a blanket in his bedroom drawer. It was his softest and warmest, and Dean deserved the best. Cas draped it over him.
Dean kept his hands close to his chest, but selfishly, guiltily, he let his forehead bump against Cas’s chest. Every breath he took was a lungful of sweet detergent and the smell of Cas.
At this, Dean laughed, and it was genuine. “No shit. Congratulations, bro.” Dean wasn’t a particular fan of animals, but he knew Sam had always dreamed of a white picket fence and 2.5 kids and a dog running around in the backyard. Dean’s little brother was halfway there.
Dean was trying to bite down on a grin but not quite managing it. “To buy my best friend a beer while I can still afford it.”
When they return to Cas’s apartment, Dean throws his keys onto the table near the door and then takes off his shoes. His jacket goes on top of Cas’s on the door hook. He takes off his disposable mask and holds out a hand silently for Cas’s. When he gets it, he throws both into the trash and washes his hands.
Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, unconvinced. “So when? When he gives Jack up? You and I both know that’s never happening.”
In front of him, Dean’s laptop went to sleep, tired of waiting. The room was dark now, but Dean felt lit up from the inside. “How do you mean?”
Usually Dean was on board with a beer or two, but in this situation? With Cas in a navy blue sweater that brought out his eyes and the smell of Christmas in the air? “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cas.”
“Thank you,” Cas said. There were tears on his cheeks too. “That makes me feel less scared of the future.”
Dean yelped immediately, clapping a hand against his cheek. He scowled at Cas. “You’re lucky the show’s on, or you’d regret that.”
But upon seeing Dean for the first time in two years, Cas had to admit that no amount of time or training could have prepared him for this moment: the reunion between Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester, the partnership that should have been, but never was.
They took sips. Cas put his glass down and was suddenly reminded that he and his best friend were very much alone in his apartment, about to celebrate the coming of Christmas together, and if things went according to plan, by the time Dean left, he’d be leaving as something rather more than just Cas’s best friend.
Cas has the furrow between his brow that says he hasn’t had his coffee yet. “You don’t have to lie to me just because we slept together,” he grumbles.
Dean put a hand to his forehead in disbelief. “Was I dreaming, or did we not spent the whole of yesterday together? I’m
“We can’t all have sophisticated tastes like you,” Cas said, smiling. He usually tried to keep his affection for Dean under wraps, but Cas was too tired, too happy to be in Dean’s space again.
Dean swallows audibly. His eyes dip down to Cas’s lips again and this time Cas can’t ignore it, just like he can’t ignore the way Dean hasn’t moved out of Cas’s grip, the way Dean’s hands are iron on his waist. Dean apparently is of the same mind because this time they meet in the middle, and this time, the kiss is anything but short or sweet or innocent.
Then there are fingertips on Dean’s sternum: light and unassuming, but Dean feels them like a two-ton weight.
“My brother got a dog,” Dean explained. “Look, uh, can I catch up with you guys later? Maybe? I don’t know how long this will take. But take your time, alright? I’m sure you guys can find something in common.” He waved distractedly at them, then looked at his phone in concern for good measure. “I hope she’s all right,” he mumbled, then, frowning, said, “I’ll see you guys later.”
Dean remembered the way Cas’s voice had faltered earlier before Dean had kissed him. He made another promise to himself: to never let Cas go one second in doubt of Dean’s feelings. He smiled and hid his face in Cas’s neck. Cas smelled like salt - sweat, tears - and his citrus shampoo. “We can tell them together,” he said against Cas’s collarbone.
Cas gripped the curtain. Outside, over Dean’s shoulder, he could see his car parked by the curb. Behind it, Dean’s Impala shone even in the winter gloom. It was not uncommon to see the two cars together. Cas marveled that Dean wanted to see it happen more often than it already did.
Dean’s other hand lifted to the side of Cas’s neck. His thumb grazed Cas’s lips. His eyes, when they met Cas’s, were tender.
Cas watched Dean’s face carefully. “Of course,” he said softly, scared that any other words might shatter the dream he’d walked into.
When Cas stopped shaking and finally let their hands fall away from his dick, Dean turned his face into Cas’s temple. “You good?” he whispered.
“No,” Dean interrupted, startling Cas. Dean looked Cas in the eye and begged him to understand. “Cas, I get it. I do. And me too, alright? Me too. But you need to know something before - before.”
Something about those words makes Dean’s stomach flip. “Not hungry,” he says belatedly. He taps his coffee mug to distract himself from the warmth climbing up his neck.
Cas had a pleasant buzz in his fingertips and his cheeks, mostly thanks to the two beers he’d enjoyed but also probably because this was the first time he’d ever been alone with Dean. Cas knew there was no way this could end in the way he wanted it to, but he resolved that, at least for this half-hour ride to his apartment, he would pretend it could. There was very little occasion for indulgence of this kind in Cas’s life, and he would take it where he could, as long as he didn’t let himself get too wrapped up in it.
Sam was holding his phone up to his ear, but when he saw Cas, he placed a hand over the mouthpiece. “Hey, Cas, Merry Christmas!”
This newfound bravery carries Dean back out into the hallway. Still, it is a fragile bravery, and it makes him pause outside of his door and put a steadying hand on the wall. It makes him waver. It makes him weak. But Dean pushes on. His feet are still bare. The tile is freezing.
Dean watched Cas’s face for a long time. Cas watched right back. It seemed like the first time he had
Dean thought. He forced himself to look away, back to Willow, who was nipping at his chin playfully. He saw his mom watching him. He ignored it in favor of scratching Willow under the chin.
The TV says the state will reopen in phases beginning in a week. The chyron across the screen confirms what Cas thinks he’s hearing, but it’s difficult to believe after so long in one place. Cas tries to catch Dean’s eye, but is unsurprised not to succeed. In recent days Dean is either staring into Cas’s soul or looking away completely and it’s more often the latter than the former.
“There’s a lot of goddamn crying for what’s supposed to be good news,” Dean grumbled into Sam’s shoulder.
They stopped a few minutes later in a part of the park that no one else had occupied. It was probably because of the bushes and brambles that had started to overtake it. Dean looked around and scratched at a spot on his arm that had suddenly started to itch. “Dude,” he said. “We couldn’t talk 300 feet that way?” he said, jerking his head to where an elderly couple were sitting on a bench reading a newspaper together.
“Not to you. Because you care about him no matter what. But it’s a big deal to him, Dean, and you shouldn’t treat it like a joke.”
He felt exposed and raw and mortified, knowing that Cas was right at that moment reading the contents of his soul, a poetry book that amounted to a 25-page love letter, and he hated that he had done it to himself.
Cas was about to reply, but Dean was hooking an arm around Cas’s neck and leading them down the block before Cas could manage it.
“Is that Aaron?” Cas asked hoarsely. Dean had told him about the plan, and while Cas hadn’t outright vetoed it, he definitely hadn’t been happy about it.
Dean bristled a little bit. “Can you not say it like that? I got my badge back and everything, buddy.”
“Who says we can’t still get along?” Dean walked out from behind the desk. There was a swagger in his walk. Even in the tension of the moment, Cas was impressed with Dean’s smoothness.
A few days after, as Dean was sitting in his quiet living room staring at his phone trying to decide if he should call Charlie or not, her contact information lit up the display.
He’d done a good job of tuning out the conversation the group was having, but now that he was tuned back in, he heard Daphne give a soft laugh at something Sam said, then Cas’s soft murmur. Dean couldn’t make out what Cas had said - it must have been meant for Daphne alone, then, which meant Cas had leaned in and -
Cas helped him unstick the plastic wrap. Together they fit it over the dough. When they were finished, Cas touched Dean’s arm and met his eyes.
Dean was beginning to get the picture, but it was still difficult to grasp. “It was a joke. People say it all the time.”
Dean sniffed. He straightened Cas’s tie. “But hey, no takebacks, alright? Even if you go and get yourself hitched, I’m not giving Jack up.”
Dean looks at Cas. He looks at the stack of burned pancakes next to the stove, then at the sink faucet that he’ll need to repair. He returns his gaze to Cas and says, with complete certainty, “Yeah.”
But Mary was determined not to answer. “So I’ll see you next week Saturday, right? We’ll make it a potluck, maybe grill some hot dogs.”
Cas was the one to lean in the rest of the way, an apology written in the furrow between his brows. His lips were warm, flushed from the tears, and Dean wanted to sink into the gentle way Cas handled him.
The wistfulness had vanished from Cas’s face. He was smiling. “Agreed. I’ll let you handle the Santa situation.”
“A plan,” Cas repeated numbly. He tried to understand what Dean was getting at, tried to think of some other ‘plan’ that Dean might have thought of that wasn’t what Cas was hoping for, but he drew a blank.
The words stun Dean, and for a moment his brain goes offline. Why is he in the kitchen? Why is Cas looking at him like that? What is with the beating of his heart? Didn’t he fix that goddamn sink last week?
Eventually Dean turned to face Cas. His tone was casual but Cas heard hesitation in each syllable. “Sammy and I never had a fireplace growing up. It was always tiny apartments with heating that never worked half the time. It’s why I’m so damn proud of him, y’know? Got the whole picket fence scene over there with Eileen.”
Cas had said, and Dean could only conclude that he meant he refused to take part in Dean’s life. Was that it, then? What that the end of their friendship? Would Cas never hug Mary again? Would he never meet Dean’s future niece or nephew? He couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of a life without Cas, not after 16 years, couldn’t quite comprehend the possibility of it. But what else could he conclude? Cas had walked away, presumably back to Daphne, presumably forward into a new life where he moved to be with Daphne and her parents and left Dean and his family behind.
Setting up a gay man and a lesbian woman together? Not seeing that the gay man had the hots for Dean himself? “I
“C’mon, man,” Dean mumbled, “You know we’re not big on Christmas.” His voice was heavy and slow with the after-dinner fog he’d eaten himself into. “Probably just gonna grab some dinner or something. Ugh. Still gotta get him a present, though.”
She sighed, once she looked at the card. “Yes. I wish he wouldn’t send so many at once. It’s more attention than I like. And there’s only so much room in here.” She looked sidelong at Cas. “How is our… consultant?”
of Cas’s hair. “Just fixin’ it,” he says, but despite that, he leaves his hand there, right there, right where he’s wanted it to be for ages - just resting on the side of Cas’s face, brushing Cas’s right ear, barely even in his hair anymore, but steady, steady.
Cas’s palms stroked Dean’s back. “Can I entice you back to bed for a nap then?” he murmured into Dean’s hair.
He was chewing solemnly on some antacids, his expression grim. “Are we getting old, Cas? I could have sworn I could hold my alcohol better than that.”
Cas looked at Dean’s face - at the arch of his brow and the faded freckles across his nose. And he thought about saying it. Cas had thought about saying it for months now. But he looked down at his shoes and smiled instead. “I’d regret not asking you for your apple pie recipe.”
Dean turned away and left, throat tight, knowing that soon, too soon, Cas would turn back to the papers in his hand and flip to the second page in the stack, where he would see the dedication:
“That’s why I was upset at the park. You didn’t know. She didn’t really know. We had a nice, long…
For a moment, Cas felt as if he were 19 again and standing in his college apartment - the one he’d only been able to afford because Dean had split the rent with him. They’d argued only occasionally then - about dishes and the thermostat and dates and who finished the last of the milk - but lately arguing seemed to be the only way they could communicate.
“That was nearly two hours,” Cas said, after a heavy pause. His throat bobbed when Dean looked at him. “You said one.”
Dean sighed. He looked helpless and tired, so tired. “Cas, I dunno where to start. I really don’t. I’m happy just to be in the same room with you without having to lie.”
Cas took in a shuddering breath. His eyes were damp too, but he didn’t tear them away from Dean’s. “Your attempts at helping your friends have been well-intentioned. You have always been kind, and I can’t fault you for that. But your actions have also been steeped in arrogance, and it’s blinded you. It’s kept you from seeing so much.” Finally he tore his eyes away to stare down at the ground. “You’ve been indulged for too long, Dean. I refuse to take part.”
“Just sayin’, man,” Dean said, “I don’t want you to think I’m stopping you from… doin’ your thing.” His grin was weak.
episode that had just aired, then the second time to say, “I never got your thoughts on Campbell’s poetry.”
But Charlie interrupted. She seemed a little confused. “Have you not seen each other in a while?” she asked. “I thought that you were - uh, good friends.”
Dean was satisfied that she was showing some interest. “He’s pretty cute,” he said, though Aaron wasn’t really his type. Only a few people could pull of the scruff, and Aaron was not really one of them. “Scruffy,” he said, watching her reaction.
Cas had been elated, overjoyed, to feel Dean’s lips against his, Dean’s hand warm on his jaw - but Dean had ended it far too soon, pulling away with an anguished breath.
A silence fell. For a long time neither of them moved, but as long as Cas wasn’t moving away, Dean would take it. He’d take this stillness forever if it meant never truly losing Cas.
It had been Dean’s behavior, because when was the source of Cas’s stress not Dean? Dean had been distracted as they worked, not in any large way, but in a way that Cas had learned to notice as a young man because it usually meant there’d been an argument beween Dean and his father. In the past Cas had been able to draw out what was bothering Dean with a six-pack of Dean’s favorite beer and a few movies on his couch, but that wouldn’t work now, not when there was Dean’s criminal record in the way.
“I don’t know,” Cas admitted. “She wouldn’t talk to me about it. But you should have seen her face, Dean. She was devastated seeing you flirting with Gilda.”
Dean shrugged. His gaze—wide, green, a little scared—met Cas’s eyes and begged. “What if I just want you?”
Dean’s heart was full to bursting. He swallowed down a sudden urge to cry. “That’s great news, man,” he said, pulling Cas into a rough hug. “Congratulations!”
In the background of the call, Cas heard raucous laughter. He became very suddenly melancholy. He bit down on a sigh. Dean’s voice was closer now, like he was cupping his hand against his mouth. “You - uh. You been drinking, bud?”
It didn’t seem to be enough, however, because Dean was already tossing the towel onto a countertop and turning away, jaw tight. “I’m going back to bed,” he said, abruptly short. “My head’s killing me.”
He looks like he’s headed toward the fridge when he notices Cas watching him from his spot by the door.
Dean detangled his hand from Cas’ and stood up, but not before touching two fingers to Cas’s cheek. “Be right back,” he said, then grinned before walking away.
A long, awkward silence followed. Neither moved. Cas’s coffee mug was warm only because of his hands, still gripping the ceramic so tightly he could imagine it cracking.
Sam was frowning at him. “Charlie just got up and left suddenly. She looked upset. Cas went after her.”
This was more painful than Cas had ever imagined, but saying yes would make the pain even more acute in the future, because there was just no future for them. “I like you too,” Cas said, because Dean deserved that truth at least, “But I don’t think it will work.”
To his embarrassment, Cas found himself fighting back sudden frustrated tears. He brought up the issue of immediate importance first: “I assume the director was taken into custody for something I don’t understand yet.”
Luckily, Aaron decided to break the silence, though perhaps not in the way Dean wanted him to. “So, Dean, what have you been up to lately?”
“But you were!” Dean said. Then, “...Weren’t you?” He felt a little hysterical. “I was setting you up with Aaron and you
“I didn’t get you a present,” Dean blurted out. Not surprisingly, saying it out loud didn’t make him feel any better.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know this already,” Sam said, though his tone was gentle. “I’m just saying out loud what you don’t want to admit.”
It had been a sweet proposal, if a little silly: Sam had gone to the bathroom, and in his absence Dean had taken to staring open-mouthed at Cas’s profile. It was then that he’d asked, in all his drunken courage,
As Dean slept, Cas kept watch. He pulled a chair from the kitchen and set it next to the bed. Eventually he picked up a book, but rather than read, he found himself more often than not simply watching the rise and fall of Dean’s chest under the blanket, relieved that Dean had come over for the new year because otherwise Dean would be suffering alone in his apartment half an hour away.
Benny sighs. “I don’t know, Dean. They just want to know their captain’s being honest with them. Sleeping with the opposition is pretty shady, alright?”
It took a few seconds for Dean to react. Worry and hope crossed his face, and it was only after a deep, shaky breath that Dean’s free hand came up tentatively. He touched two fingers to Cas’s cheek, his expression wondrous when Cas didn’t flinch away. “You’re serious.”
“Oh, no, I am,” the man corrected. He was wearing a trench coat that was too big in the shoulders. “I’m not much of a sci-fi fan, however. The world-building is always so tedious to read.”
Dean swung his face toward Cas, making Cas nearly lose balance again. The smell of vodka met Cas’s nose. “Who called you a dumbass?”
That drew a laugh out of Cas. “Not a chance,” he said, voice thick. But he was leaning in with his blue eyes and looking at Dean like he hung the moon.
“Alright, alright, you can stop starin’,” Dean grumbled, ducking his head. His hands were latched onto Cas’s sides, thumbs rubbing circles on his ribcage.
when he confronted his father years ago: full of fear, full of the knowledge that a part of his life was about to end but ready for another part to begin regardless.
Aaron nodded. He seemed pleased. “I’ve gotta say, it’s great to meet another one of Dean’s friends. I only ever met Cas, and he was - Dean, I hope you don’t take offense, but he’s not the easiest to talk to. Do you - do you two still hang out?” The last few words were tentative.
Cas cornered him at the reception, where Dean was lurking at the edges of the dance floor. “Can we talk?” he said, leaning in to be heard over the music.
Cas dug around in a drawer and put another bottle in front of Dean. “Am I your pharmacist on top of your chef now?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, sounding wistful. “Gonna stop by the shelter tomorrow. Hopefully by the end of the week we’ll be able to take one home. You and Cas should stop by for dinner. Maybe we’ll have a little barbeque or something.”
The days leading up to the bakery’s opening were a flurry of buying, baking, and frustration. Dean’s recipes had to be tweaked for the new equipment, and it required a lot of testing. Cas, newly freed from his responsibilities at work, became the tester by default.
Jack was five years old and came home from kindergarten with a coloring sheet of Santa. Cas looked at Dean, mouth thin. “I’m tagging you in,” he said, then left the room.
Cas looked unsure. “Job search, I suppose. I might explore a different field, something more suited to my tastes.”
He sighed. Despite being thoroughly humiliated by his piss-poor people-reading skills, Dean actually felt relieved. He’d fucked things up with Aaron, sure, and that would bother him for a while yet, but Charlie and Gilda? That had worked out, even though, Dean had to admit, it had been no thanks to him. Still, it was nice to be able to lay his head back and not worry about Charlie or Aaron or Gilda.
The implications were obvious, and Cas was sure his cheeks turned bright pink, but luckily Sam was too busy staring awkwardly at the side wall to notice. “I see,” Cas said, just to fill the silence.
“An unauthorized field trip?” Claire asked dryly. “You could be charged with kidnapping. You know Jody’s a sheriff, right?”
Dean saw where this was going. He ducked his head again and, though he knew he’d regret it, begged shamelessly for Cas’s words: “Yeah? Then what is it?”
“My answer’s the same,” Cas said, tugging Dean’s hands away from his face, revealing ruddy cheeks and wary green eyes.
Dean stared at him. Then he looked back down at his empty plate. “Didn’t you say you were going to serve me?”
Cas was opening the door and leaving his office before he fully realized what he was doing, which said enough about his feelings and his decision. The carpeted floor of the hallway muffled his footsteps but didn’t muffle the frantic hummingbird beating of his heart. By the time he knocked on Sam’s open door, he was almost convinced the whole office could hear it.
Dean opened his eyes and looked at her. Her ears were still pink, but she was at least still talking to him. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to break your heart,” he admitted. He motioned to her, and she came to him easily, fitting into his arms with a happy sigh.
Eventually Cas pushed his beer to the side with determination. He pushed his palms flat against the table like he was willing them to stay still. “Also…” he said. He raised his eyes to Dean. There was pink in his cheeks even though he hadn’t touched a drop of beer. “I was hoping to spend more time with you.”
The stillness that followed between them was absolute, though the world around them kept moving. Their fridge kicked on. The dishwasher ran. Next door, the first few measures of Taylor Swift’s “Christmas Tree Farm” could be heard amid a bout of muffled laughter. Still, neither Dean nor Cas moved.
Dean laughed. He planted himself on Cas’s thighs and leaned over the love of his life. “And if I called your bluff?”
The next day was Sunday. After a restless night in bed, Dean needed nothing more than to get out of the house. He called his mom and let her know he’d be joining her for lunch. He was looking forward to a long conversation, alone with his mom in her dining room, but he was surprised when he parked in her driveway that there was another car parked out front as well. It was unfamiliar.
Cas had been too touched to reply at the time, so he kept chopping. He’d blamed his teary eyes on the onions.
Charlie’s face was bright red. She pulled her legs up onto the couch and hugged them to her chest. “I thought you were introducing me to your boyfriend,” she said a little defensively. “You never
“A - a rather large one,” Cas replied, but his voice was unsteady in his surprise. “That’s… quite a mistake.”
The week passed by quickly. Dean’s restoration shop maintained a constant flow of customers, and on Wednesday he even had to ask (beg) Bobby to come in to help ease the strain on his mechanics, despite having also donned his old pair of coveralls for a shift. The work felt good for him, and it succeeded in distracting him from the utter bullshit it was that Cas was actually considering a return to Daphne.
Dean stopped pacing. He looked at Cas with eyes that bordered on panicked and took a deep breath. “That’s - that’s a word.”
Cas wiped his mouth. “Yes, thank you,” he said, a complete lie. At Dean’s slight frown, Cas just raised his wine glass. “To Christmas?”
Sam had returned to his work, staring very intently at his monitor. He made a big show of putting his earbuds back into his ears and hitting the space bar to unpause his music.
Dean bit back a smart remark. He dragged his palms down his denim-clad thighs and tried not to clench them into fists. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, all the time.”
than I imagined.” He kissed Cas on the jaw. “I just needed a second,” he murmured into Cas’s ear. “We’re good.”
Dean ran a hand over his chin. Underneath his hand he let out a small rueful laugh. “In other words, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”
Cas’s stomach was a mess of knots. He had imagined himself in Dean’s bed more times than he’d care to admit, had thought once or twice that there was a chance of it actually happening one day, but he’d never thought that it would be quite so soon.
“When things calm down,” Dean murmured, voice hushed velvet, “we need to talk.” There were spots of pink high in his cheeks.
“Threw me off,” he complains at the end of the day, sprawled across the couch with an arm over his eyes. “Accidentally left my meeting when I wanted to mute myself.”
Mary sighed and Dean ducked down to let her kiss him on the forehead. “Honey, you need to take care of yourself.”
When he straightened, Sam dumped Willow into his arms. “Uncle Dean missed you,” Sam said, clapping Dean on the back. “Will you hold her? Gotta go help Eileen with the food.” Without waiting for an answer, Sam skipped off to where Eileen was approaching with a dish in her hands.
Dean heard Sam’s voice from the kitchen. “Hey, Dean, come in! Sorry, we’re trying to calm Willow down!”
After that, it was easy enough to fall into a routine. Their schedules allowed them to make time for each other easily, so before Dean knew it, only a few months after meeting Cas in that bookstore, they were seeing each other at least once a week - sometimes for lunch, sometimes for dinner, and sometimes just because.
Cas spared Dean a tired look. He didn’t bother answering. The cork popped out of the bottle with a little bit of a pull. “Mugs,” he ordered.
They made it to the toilet just in time. Cas looked away politely while Dean heaved over the bowl, but he kept a palm moving in comforting circles on Dean’s back. It helped, and eventually Dean unloaded a night’s worth of drinking into Cas’s toilet.
Dean shook his head at himself. He looked at Cas, pouring creamer into his coffee. Dean steadied his heart on that image because it reminded him of what he stood to lose. Then he took a deep breath and tried not to let his voice shake when he said, “I’m sorry.”
Another sigh. “Dean, remember that night like - ten years ago? Cas told us he needed to talk to us and then he -”
Dean sent, and though he immediately regretted it after he sent it, there was a vicious part of him that wanted Cas to know that Dean was upset.
Dean was on the couch, too busy admiring the way the lights looked on Cas’s face to care about the lights on the tree. “Both,” he said.
XV. Retirement suited Bobby. When it finally came, a few years down the road, neither Dean nor Cas heard a peep out of him for a few months. When he finally did come around to visit them, they found he’d grown a little rounder and a little redder and a lot more ready to laugh. It wasn’t laughter he responded with, however, when they asked him to be a groomsman at their wedding; it was with a red nose and a sniffle and a mumble that sort of sounded like, “Of course, you idiots.”
The image lent him the courage to say what he’d been trying to say for the past three days. “You know the guest room is as good as yours, right? You can do what you like with it.”
Cas unbuckled his seat belt. “Consider it an invitation, then,” he said, and he sounded almost like himself.
Dean pulled one of his knees up and wrapped his arms around it. He gave up his attempts at a smile for a long, deep sigh. “It’s not goodbye, dude,” he said, in a tone that implied that it was
Dean tore his eyes away from his best friend’s arms and looked back at the ceiling again. He didn’t want to sit up. He felt a confrontation coming and he wanted to stay cool. “People who need help don’t ask for help, dude. Take you, for example.”
Claire made a gagging noise behind a hand. “Seriously, I’m going to tell Jody you’re exposing me to inappropriate behavior.”
“Eager to ditch your best friend, huh?” Dean asked, trying not to sound wounded. Judging by Cas’s frown, he’d failed.
Cas’s eyes were damp. But they were sincere and wide, and so, so blue, and they stared straight into Dean’s soul for long moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Dean,” he said, “you’ve always been dear to me.”
Dean was still staring Cas down. He was holding the bowl of brocolli close to his chest. “Sammy, tell Cas what a pain it is to maintain a house.”
She was. She was tall with big eyes and curls in the brown hair she kept swept back from her face. There was something otherworldly about her, something that reminded Dean of Cas. She made eye contact with him as he was watching her, and the smile that spread across her face was friendly and sincere. He’d half been expecting something predatory to come across her face, but her face remained open and happy.
He approached the door. Should he knock? Or should he try the door and risk the director’s wrath if it opened and she was there? He was in the middle of reaching for the doorknob when it opened.
It must have worked because when Dean drew back, his eyes were misty and his smile was back. “I never let myself think I could have this,” he said.
“You spend the whole night ignoring me, you don’t say bye, you don’t text to say you got home safely, then you call me at - 2:09am? Really, Dean?”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, Aaron, I was just wondering - I’ve got this friend, and she’s kind of - she’s a good gal, and I wanted her to meet some of my friends, just to - y’know. Expand her circle. I immediately thought of you, of course, because you’re so - so worldly and - and
The next day Cas lets Dean take clippers to his hair. It’s gotten out of hand, he says, but mostly he wants to feel Dean’s hands again. Dean turns on the clippers and Cas watches him in the mirror.
“Shouldn’t have brought the pie then,” Cas said, smiling. He put his first forkful into his mouth, watching Dean all the while.
She smiled. “I’m not sure,” she said. “My parents’ health improved, so I’m taking a bit of ‘me time’ while I can. I’m staying with my friend Gilda for the time being. We just learned she lives just down the street from Sam.”
Dean’s heart had sunk with every new word that came out of Charlie’s mouth. Cas had been staying with Sam, and Sam hadn’t said a word? And Cas was still visiting Daphne? One of the few ideas that had comforted Dean about this trip of Cas’s was that he was supposed to be
Cas’s ears burned in shame. Dean’s conditional release from a hefty prison sentence dictated that any calls he made were to be supervised by an agent. This condition wouldn’t have mattered if the call were on any other day and from some random old friend… but it was Dean’s birthday, and it was Sam. Dean deserved the privacy that Cas couldn’t give, especially because Cas knew that Sam was having trouble accepting Dean’s situation. Things between the brothers had been tense since Dean’s disappearance and subsequent capture, and despite Dean asking Sam if they could see each other, Sam had flatly refused, citing the need for more time to come to terms with Dean’s status as a felon.
Dean closed his eyes. “Yeah, uh. Look, Charlie, I’m sorry. It’s - it’s not gonna work out with Aaron.”
Dean barely felt the pain past the difficulty he had processing her words. “You’re...gay.” He brought his hand up to his arm as an afterthought. “You’re gay?”
“To be fair, I like you in anything,” Cas said, and though he’d bared his soul to Dean already, he found himself blushing.
“You haven’t even looked at me since Amara partnered us up.” It was only the slightest bit accusatory. Mostly he sounded curious.
Dean did not doubt that she meant it, because that was the kind of person she was. “Hey, Daphne,” he said. “You uh - you in town long?”
the elevator doors sliding open to reveal Dean Winchester wearing jeans, a green tee-shirt, his favorite leather jacket, and a smirk. There were no handcuffs in sight, though Director A. Shurley walked slightly behind him with three junior agents. They were headed directly toward Cas.
It shouldn’t have hurt so much. It meant that Dean had known and hadn’t found Cas’s love worth staying for. “Oh, ‘
“The puppy’s sick. Eileen had some bad takeout and Willow must have gotten into it from the trash. Just got back from the vet and they’re gonna keep her overnight just to watch her.”
Cas made the mistake of looking at Dean then, just for a moment - just in time to see a peculiar expression cross Dean’s face at the mention of the director. Cas stopped typing to stare at Dean in dawning shock.
“I hated my dad,” he had eventually explained a few months later to Cas. “But he was my dad. And I didn’t know that I could be relieved he was dead and still grieve at the same time. So I just kept my mouth shut and didn’t think about it. Took me forever to even start feeling better.”
“I didn’t technically ask you,” Dean said, grinning. “I said I’d propose, but I didn’t actually propose.”
They sit near the window to eat for the most part. They chat about the pains of working from home, all while watching the eerily empty streets outside and carefully avoiding the topic that dominates the news.
“I find that difficult to believe,” Gilda said. She kept smiling like she knew the secrets of the universe. “You seem to be a very kind person.”
Dean swayed a little more, causing Cas to bump painfully into a table with a muttered expletive. Pulling Dean tighter to his side, Cas replied, “First of all, I’m the dumbass you’re talking about because this is my apartment. Second of all, it’s still January.”
A look at his desktop monitor told Cas he’d spent his whole morning on his computer. “Is it nearly lunchtime already?”
Dean’s smile felt like concrete: cold and immovable. “Shop’s been getting busy and all; not much sleep.”
Blood rushed in Dean’s ears when the words registered. He and Cas already spent every spare moment together, so it was humanly impossible for Cas to spend any more time with Dean - but Dean knew exactly what Cas meant anyhow. It wasn’t a difficult concept to grasp, after all, that just as Dean had been falling in love, so too had Cas been.
Cas looked up from his phone, seeming to come out of a trance. He looked around at the other restaurant patrons as he straightened in his seat. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just reading something rather engrossing.”
“You’re always in charge of the food and the booze,” Cas said, smacking Dean’s remote control against the palm of his hand and frowning when it still didn’t work.
All of a sudden it occurred to Cas that he was talking to Dean. Not Dean the felon, not Dean the traitor to the country, not Dean who was
“I’m home,” Dean tried feebly. When Cas didn’t respond, he groaned. “I’m sorry, alright? I don’t know how to act around Daphne!”
Dean didn’t react for a few seconds. He went still, almost eerily so, as he stared at the volume dial.
Cas’s eyes flicker between Dean’s. He watches carefully for a few moments, and then, so deep and low it’s agonizing, he asks, “What are you waiting for?” His gaze dips down once more to Dean’s mouth and stays there for a long, tense moment. He looks up at Dean, then: kind but just a little bit cheeky. “I don’t think you’re dreaming this time either.”
Cas held up a hand. “I understand,” he said, smiling politely. “Certain… subgenres... are unfortunately stigmatized. We can change the topic. What are your feelings about poetry?”
“You’re the agent and I’m the felon? Yeah, I know - you’ve only mentioned it twice today and three times every day since I’ve come back.”
“Of course.” Cas pulled his phone away from his ear and did what Sam asked, holding the phone between him and Dean.
“You’d be asleep in your own sweat and vomit it I hadn’t come,” Cas pointed out. He had his fingers curled into his palms and hoped Dean wouldn’t call him out on the obvious tension in his posture. What was it about Dean cast in winter light that made Cas want to burst into flames? Into poetry?
Dean snorted. Took Cas’s hand himself and pressed it to his mouth. “I’m the disappointment between the two of us,” he said. “Or have you missed out on the last few months?”
Cas rolled his eyes but turned to face Dean anyway. “You haven’t had enough water,” he said. For some reason he gently touched the corner of Dean’s left eye. Then he stepped away, smiling. “Keep the bed warm.”
They stood by Dean’s car in an awkward silence for a few moments. The snow around them was light, but it fell steadily, pushed sideways by a light breeze and leaving icy flakes resting on Dean’s coat. Cas could see some of it slowly melting in Dean’s hair. The reminder of its transience made him think about Dean, about their friendship, about how the Dean currently standing in front of him would not be the same Dean standing in front of him in two minutes.
“Don’t do it just because you’re lonely, Cas,” Dean said. He sounded like he was begging, and he supposed he was. “That’s - that won’t end well for anybody. Not for you, not for her, not for me.”
Dean was trying to hide a grin. He looked at Cas appraisingly, eyes sparkling. “Y’know, we never had our honeymoon.”
“Things didn’t work out with your brother.” Cas knew himself well enough to know that he had to say it without preamble; he couldn’t, however, bring himself to say Dean’s name.
The arrangements were simple enough: the bureau upgraded Cas’s alarm system and set up security cameras around the perimeter of the house in exchange for housing Dean; Dean was to remain in the house until it was time to go to work; every workday he and Cas were escorted from the door to a waiting car, which would also escort them back to Cas’s house at the end of the day. Dean stayed in the guest bedroom and made no noise. Cas cooked. Dean ate. They said nothing to each other.
Dean drove for half an hour, then half an hour more. He’d turned down the music five minutes into the drive in respect to Cas’s mood. Eventually, though, after an hour in near-silence, Cas reached forward and turned up the dial, signaling that he was ready to return to Dean. Some vaguely familiar pop song filled the silence.
“What makes you think I’d say yes, anyway?” Cas said, as they walked up Sam’s driveway. Cas had been angry with Dean throughout the car ride, mostly for making him cry again.
Dean flipped one of the patties on the grill that Cas was pretty sure didn’t need to be flipped. “Thanks for coming,” Dean said, “Sammy’s a sucker for entertaining; you’ve probably made his month.”
“He pretended to retire and orchestrated her promotion with the president’s help. We figured she’d get sloppy in a position of power. Then I let myself get caught. Striking a deal to work with the FBI at that point was easy; she didn’t want me in prison any more than I wanted to be in prison.”
A nervous lump rose in Cas’s throat belatedly. He’d known he was asexual for a number of years at this point, but he’d never felt the desire to share, nor had he ever felt such a desperate need to be forgiven for something he couldn’t help. “I do like you,” Cas explained. “But I’m asexual.”
Cas was pink-cheeked from champagne, his hair was a mess, and Dean was so in love with him it hurt. “What do you need?” he asked, because concentrating on what Cas needed kept Dean from focusing on what Dean wanted.
Dean’s exhaustion was evident by the way he poured himself into the embrace. His breaths were long and deep, heavy with tension. Under Cas’s hands, Dean’s back rose and fell in waves, and Cas was happy to be his anchor.
Dean didn’t want to go that far. He merely smiled in response. He sat down and was immediately surprised when Aaron moved to sit next to him in the booth rather than next to Charlie.
Dean closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He tried to keep his voice steady and detached. “Dunno. Went on a trip. Don’t even know where he is.”
Half-asleep and half-hidden under his blanket, however, he was much more eloquent: “Tell the creep he can fuck off and let us sleep.”
“I’m not friendly.” It was the first thing Dean thought of to say to stop Aaron from going any further.
Dean let out a triumphant laugh and jabbed a finger in her direction. “Knew you were too smart for Sammy.”
Dean closed his eyes and stifled a pained, lovesick sigh. He cast his mind back to the poem. “I mean - the line about ‘eyes like the sky’ or something. That was - that was cool.”
Cas hadn’t removed his hands from his face; his reply was muffled. “I don’t know how you’re going to react.”
Cas ignored him. Dean threw himself onto Cas’s couch - a hand-me-down and probably filthy - and stared up at the ceiling.
Lying there, his mind raced. Despite the dark and the steady hum of Charlie’s fridge, he couldn’t stop thinking. Charlie had been right - he was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with the things that he should have known, one of those particular things being the knowledge that all of his friends were apparently
A long moment of silence stretches between them. Finally, Cas says dryly, “You thought you were dreaming.” He sounds almost irritated.
Dean hadn’t let himself imagine what it would be like to kiss Cas, had decided almost as soon as he realized he had feelings for Cas that there was no future for them anyhow, so he’d locked up whatever thoughts he may have once had about Cas’s lips and shoved them into the attic of his brain. Because of this, the hesitation he showed before kissing Cas was genuine. He’d kissed a lot of people, but this was Cas, the person he’d called family since he was 17 years old and angry at the world, and no kiss could ever communicate the depth of gratitude Dean had for him.
Dean’s expression was blank, carefully composed. Cas watched his fingers curl back into his palms. “Okay,” Dean said slowly, “I thought we had a good time.” He placed his hands on the steering wheel and stared at the center console. “But fair enough. I’m not going to ask why.”
“You know you don’t have to be here,” Dean said eventually. He was leaning against the kitchen counter. The meters between them felt like the length of a football field.
Cas has moved toward him. The few feet between the table and the sink have shrunk beneath Cas’s steps forward. His cheeks are flushed, and his mouth is parted. It might be the most beautiful Cas has ever been.
About a week later, Dean received a call from an unfamiliar phone number. He had just gotten home from the store and was about to settle in at his laptop to work. “Yeah,” he said, once he answered the call. He started inputting his laptop password one letter at a time with his free hand.
Dean smiled, huffing a laugh into the air between their chests and licking his lips at the sight of Cas’s dick disappearing and reappearing between their joined hands. His own erection was impatient in his shorts, but the desire to get off was nothing compared to the desire to let Cas spill all over their hands for the first time. He pressed a kiss to Cas’s sweaty temple and studied the bow of Cas’s back, the muscles that tightened every time he shoved his hips forward. He couldn’t see Cas’s face, but he could imagine it just fine: a mess of pleasure and frustration in every clench of his jaw, every lick of his lips, every furrow of his brow. The sounds Cas was making against Dean’s neck were obscene - quiet grunts and swallows between breaths that shook that sent shivers down Dean’s spine.
The apartment is silent save for the whir of the fridge and the swing of the ceiling fan. If Cas listened really closely he might be able to hear the murmur of conversation from his neighbors, but right now he’s focused in on Dean, who’s living and breathing in front of him, a testament to the wonders of the universe.
Dean leans in and meets the press of Cas’s lips with his. The first touch is tentative, but instantly Dean is warmed from the inside out. Every slow press and pull, every new bit of heat, every delighted laugh Cas makes between kisses makes Dean’s stomach flip. It soothes the tension in Dean, unknotting the fear and mortification of a rejection that was never a rejection, in a dream that was never a dream.
“Too late. I have two weeks starting next Thursday.” It gave him two days to help Dean before the opening on Saturday.
Willow licked Dean’s chin. “Your mommy’s keeping your daddy busy, isn’t she?” he asked her. His nose wrinkled. “No time to give you a bath, I’m guessing.”
When Charlie called, Dean had already chugged half of his drink in a preemptive maneuver to make the coming conversation a little easier.
Cas smiled at the road. “I think I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself. Let’s go back, Dean.”
Cas smiled, his eyes drifting closed. “I don’t doubt it,” he said. It was the confidence in his answer that fueled Dean’s reply.
Cas looked at Dean from across the apartment. There was dawning glee in his eyes as he realized his power. “
But what was really plaguing Dean’s consciousness and keeping him from sleep was the fact that his lack of self-awareness had kept him from realizing the
With nothing else to stall the moment, Cas finally looked at Dean. Despite the time that had passed, Dean looked exactly like the Dean of two years ago: the same one for whom Cas had bought Christmas presents, the same one who kept Cas company on his birthday, the same one who had been there for Cas for all of the important and unimportant days. No one looking at Deam would have been able to tell that he had spent the last two years committing felonies left and right, on the run from the bureau that had been poised to employ him had he just stayed true. It discomfited Cas, because standing in front of him was the Dean of his young adulthood, the Dean of the past two years, and the Dean of right now - all in one. He wasn’t sure he could separate them.
Dean glared at Cas over the phone between them. He was sitting up in Cas’s bed, leaning against the headboard, even though Cas had repeatedly asked Dean to lie down and try to get some sleep. Eventually Cas had abandoned his attempts at getting Dean to comply and got Sam on the phone.
“That’s not - “ Cas was sure there was a speech somewhere in his head, but he cut himself off to step closer, close enough to see Dean’s pupils dilate, figuring maybe that closeness was what would get through to Dean - and it worked, because Dean’s expression changed instantly from exasperation to surprise, then dawning realization.
Dean gave Cas a reproachful look, but at least his hands were moving toward the pie. “If you say so.” He cut out a slice and placed it on Cas’s plate, rolling his eyes at Cas’s indignation. “Stop it, you big baby,” Dean said. “I’ll live if I don’t get the first slice of pie.”
The significance of the moment fell like a boulder in Cas’s stomach. For years, he’d wondered if there were something more to Dean’s feelings for him - if the lingering touches and looks and laughter were consequences of those feelings - but Cas had always been careful never to push, because nothing was worth losing Dean as a friend, especially not the barest, most remote possibility that Dean wanted Cas back in that way.
It took a few moments for Cas’s words to sink in. Dean’s ears heated at the conclusion Cas had reached, but he’d been given an opportunity to move past the question for the foreseeable future and he was going to take it, assumptions be damned.
There was a knock on Cas’s open door. Cas, sitting in a gown in the hospital bed, looked up. Special Agent Dean Winchester hovered at the threshold, unsure. He was holding a bag in his hands.
It’s not fun, being the only player in the league out of the closet. His teammates don’t treat him any differently, but Dean sometimes feels like he’s slowly being frozen out.
Dean felt the flutter of Cas’s eyelashes against his neck. “I love you,” Cas said. “Can’t remember a time I haven’t.”
Dean came to him about a half hour later with two beers in his hand. Sam edged away so that Dean could get between him and Cas. Cas was not ignorant of the elbow nudge that Sam gave to Dean.
“I’m sorry this hasn’t been particularly festive,” Cas said. Up close, his lips shone from the whiskey. “Christmas dinner without the Christmas.”
“Surprise,” Dean said grudgingly, as a chorus of excited shouts emerged from the house. Inside, Kaia had gathered a few of Claire’s friends and put up decorations. “Don’t trash our house, please.”
This year, however, there was something about the way the Christmas lights played across Dean’s face as he drove that made Cas a little nostalgic for the Christmases he never had.
She stared at him with a contemplative smile on her face for a long beat, then she was nodding, and Dean was trailing after her toward the bar. He could feel eyes on the back of his head. Cas? Sam? Charlie? Everyone? Who knew? But Dean was going to try his damnedest to get something out of this night, especially if Cas -
Eventually Cas starts joining him for breakfast, but Dean is still without fail the one standing at the stove every morning with a spatula in his hand.
Cas grit his teeth against Dean’s weight as he guided him to bed. Meanwhile, Dean was critiquing his surroundings.
“Morning, Cas,” Dean says out loud. His voice has the same dulled quality. “Morning, Cas,” he repeats a little louder, massaging his ear.
“You were the bait,” Cas said, suddenly understanding, suddenly terrified for the Dean of three years ago. “He asked you to become - you were a traitor to the FBI, just like she was.”
Cas had hoped it would allay whatever worries Dean had, but Dean just put his beer down on the floor next to the rug and scrubbed both hands down his face. He looked exhausted when he turned his face to meet Cas’s gaze. “Cas, you bought this house for your future, right? So save it for - you know. That.”
Cas shook himself out of his reverie a few seconds later, giving Dean a close-lipped smile. “I know you’re not a big poetry fan, but you should read it.”
Cas didn’t let himself dwell on Dean’s tone because he couldn’t afford to. The truth was on the tip of his tongue, and he was going to get it out, shaky voice and aching heart be damned, because if Dean wanted to leave Cas’s life, let it be because of the truth: “My apple pie life is the one where I can sit in front of a fireplace with you, Dean. Just you. That someone I want to grow old with? That’s you.”
“What?” Cas said, scowling a little. “I didn’t know you had feelings for me until yesterday. How am I supposed to know what’s - ”
Aaron opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I don’t understand,” he said, laughing a little bit. Disbelieving. “You - you messaged me and introduced me to your friends - “
His eyes snapped open and met Dean’s amused ones. “Do you normally try to attack your guests after they’ve fallen asleep?” Dean asked. Cas’s hand had made contact with Dean’s chest, and Dean had caught Cas’s hand and hadn’t let go.
“So I can do what I want,” Dean said easily, sitting down and pulling his chair in. Once again, he laid his leg against Cas’s. He took a bite of pie and winked at Cas.
active online life, several video game tournament trophies on her walls, and two cats named Xena and Gabrielle. She seemed content with her life. But Dean couldn’t help but think she seemed a little lost at times. A little lonely. | [
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of the lube cap opening up sounds behind him, and Dean immediately shivers. Fucking him through a fourth orgasm is going to feel like
It hurts, but it doesn’t. Feels good, but it doesn’t. Each thrust is like the gong of a church bell nestled in Dean’s groin, sending harsh waves of pleasure-pain through his body. His grip on the sheets slackens and he slides down to his forearms, mouth open as his body rocks in time with Castiel’s thrusts.
Dean shifts a little. “I mean… well, no, not the scars or the moles. The joints suck, but they’re not… they aren’t ugly.”
,” Dean slurs. He’d be surprised if Cas understood any of that, but thankfully, he does. Dean lets Cas gently manhandle him upright, and before he can so much as blink, a glass of water appears in Dean’s hand. He drinks it gratefully as Cas rubs Dean’s shoulders and presses a kiss to his temple.
. It makes Castiel’s body sing with animalistic want, and the groan that follows Dean’s harsh treatment is only one of encouragement.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” Cas says gently. Dean can hear the eagerness in his calm voice. Cas pauses. Waits for Dean to indicate he needs to stop. But when Dean groans for Cas to
him as soon as Dean is ready to take him. His want is clear, the lust and unfiltered adoration of Castiel, his perfect creation, reflecting in his gaze each time they lock eyes when they’re alone.
Castiel leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “Dean,” he murmurs into Dean’s hair. “You are beautiful.”
To a casual observer, they might be fighting. The past Dean has his future self pinned to the couch by the jaw, and the minute Castiel’s Dean tries to strike the other across the jaw, he gets that wrist pinned to the couch, too. Neither of them are trying to make this stop—they’re just trying to get the upper hand on one another. They growl out profanities as the past Dean begins to grind against him and Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. What’s really hot is that his Dean—the Dean of the end of the world, the interrogator, the fearless leader—is submitting to the other, little by little, with soft moans and an increasingly pliant body.
Dean glares at him in the mirror. “Fine,” he snaps. “But I also never had a full-on keg either.” He shoves his shirt down in disgust.
“Down. Now.” Castiel tilts his head, regarding Dean. “Unless you need to be tied down? It wouldn’t fit with my purposes, but I can make it work.”
“Okay,” he says, and kisses the base of Dean’s spine. With a hum, he plunges his tongue back in, swirling his tongue and sucking at the rim with a ferocity that makes Dean bite down on his fist to keep from crying out. Sweat trickles down his temples, his eyes bulging in their sockets as his body chases the sensation of Cas’s hand around his dick while also trying to shy away from it.
At the suggestion, Dean had told Cas to shove a spoon up his ass. “That’s unsanitary,” Castiel called to a shutting door. Whatever.
With an unsteady hand, Castiel reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a bottle of lube, slicking up his fingers. The future Dean glances behind his shoulder, his face flushed, as he eyes the sight of the bottle in Castiel’s hand. Castiel tosses it to him and Dean nabs it out of the hair, rolling his eyes at Castiel’s smug grin as he begins to slick up his cock. Castiel does the same and
“Do you mind?!” he growls. Castiel’s eyes blow wide. He’s pretty sure each and every one of his fantasies just came true.
Castiel leans back in his chair, a lazy smile stretching across his face. With extremely limited to no internet left in the world, streaming porn isn’t really an option. Even if it was, Castiel is sure that, after today,
Dean wrenches around immediately, staring up at Castiel with horror. “Of course not,” he says urgently. “When did I ever -”
In answer, Dean reaches up and messes up Cas’s hair before falling against his shoulder with a content sigh.
could possibly compare to watching this. It’s hot as hell and almost funny in the way that neither Dean seems fully willing to accept that the other is so easily turned on by himself.
Manhandling Castiel onto his stomach, he slicks up his cock with Castiel’s blood and pushes himself inside without prep. The burn hurts, shooting pangs of pain up through Castiel’s limbs, but the pain feels
“I’ll say this about Chuck,” Dean says, sounding not a little bitter, “at least when we were under his absolute control, I never had to work for a six-pack.”
He snaps his hips. The groan that comes after tells Castiel that he came, and that’s what pushes Castiel over the edge. He pumps his fist hard, coming all across his hand with a sigh as his Dean bites down on his fist to keep back the groan when the other wrestles him onto his back. The past Dean takes Dean’s cock into his mouth and begins to suck. As Castiel’s Dean bucks his hips, fucking the other’s mouth, he’s quick to spill with a high noise that Castiel would absolutely jerk off to again and again in the future. Come dribbles down Dean’s chin, and Castiel stares in awe at the sight.
But Castiel does not need to finish his sentence. Dean has him by the hair, hoisted up by the legs and on his back against blood-stained sheets before Castiel can so much as take a breath. The knife finds his clothes, ripping into them until they’re nothing but shreds dangling from Castiel’s form.
There’d be time to unpack that later. Dean begins to finger the other, wrestling him all-too-easily onto his stomach as the other gets up on his hands and knees. The moans are beautiful—Castiel tries to slow his own strokes so as not to come too soon, but the minute Dean spreads the other’s cheeks and guides himself inside, Castiel is gone. He furiously pumps his fist over his cock in hard strokes as Dean begins to fuck himself into the couch, reaching over to jack the other Dean’s cock with furious, uncoordinated strokes. None of them say a word, and save for the grunts and moans and quiet curses, nobody makes a sound until the Dean on top begins to get
“Yes,” Castiel says mildly. “They are very shapely. The very Platonic ideal of what human ears should be.” He leans down to nip at the one Dean isn’t resting his head on. “You would have looked good in an earring or two.”
“You should know,” Dean murmurs lazily, trailing a finger up Castiel’s thigh, “there are a thousand ways to hurt someone, sweetheart. I’d know, wouldn’t I?”
Dean nods his compliance, eyes fluttering shut. Castiel surges forward, capturing his lips as his hands roam all over Dean’s belly and around to his sides. Really, he hasn’t even put on that much weight, but Dean is extremely vain about the most surprising things. Castiel touches him all over, not shying away from his stomach rolls or muffin top or the beginnings of what Dean derisively calls “man-boobs.” Castiel lays Dean back down and kisses his way over every inch.
“Nor is your body going through shifts in fat distribution and storage,” Castiel tells him firmly. “You’re getting older, Dean Winchester, and that is a
a sexual attraction to tentacles and any entity, imagined or otherwise, that might sport them for sexual activity.
Nothing blows off some steam like a good, old-fashioned hatefuck at the end of the world when a bunch of Crotes are ready to chew your face off at any given time. At least that’s what Castiel had told Dean—
Castiel looks up from where he’s tidying the bed. Dean stands on his tiptoes so that he can look at his stomach in the little mirror over the sink, shirt rucked up to his armpits. The look on his face is dark, annoyed. Castiel frowns, straightening up.
depriving a person, usually a submissive, of one or more of their senses, such as sight and hearing.
Castiel nips his side. “What are you, Dean?” he asks again. He sucks at Dean’s happy trail, tongue dipping slightly into his belly button.
Finally, they wrestle out of their underwear. Castiel has seen Dean completely naked a handful of times (Dean practically lives in Castiel’s cabin) but not like this; not completely spread out, silently begging to be filled by himself, no less. Castiel wonders if he’s ever fingered himself open before, and the thought draws a quiet moan from deep in his throat. He unbuttons his pants without taking them off, pulls his dick out from the flap of his boxers, and
thing.” It would be downright miraculous if such a word could apply here. It doesn’t, so he doesn’t say it. “Your age is something you should wear proudly.” He wonders if Dean has noticed the grey creeping into his hair yet, or if his natural color is light enough they still blend in. Best not to mention them.
In Dean’s throne room, he takes the master by the throat with a wicked grin, slamming him back against the wall with a laugh low in his throat the minute that Dean steps through the door. “Hurt me,” he says simply. Dean doesn’t say a word. He watches Castiel, instead. Waiting to see what he would do next.
Dean is making out with himself—literally. The two of them are kneeling on the couch, growling into one another’s mouths and fisting each other’s shirts like they can’t decide if they want to pull them off of one another or not. His Dean—the Dean from now—looks up at him without breaking the furious kiss the past Dean is whimpering into.
“I’d like to,” Castiel admits. “Touching you and looking at your beautiful body has made me really hard, and I really would like to fuck you to show just how beautiful I find you to be.” Dean shivered at his words; Castiel would never tire of the effect his swearing had on Dean. “Will you let me? Can I have your beautiful body all for myself? To do with whatever I want?”
“Turn over,” Castiel says. Dean hesitates only for a fraction of a minute. When he’s on his back, Castiel silently urges him into a sitting position so he can strip Dean’s shirt off. Sitting like this, his stomach is pooched out a little more than it would be in a different position. Castiel smiles and doubles over so that he can press tiny kisses over every inch that he can reach.
If he’s allowed to watch, then surely neither of them will mind if he begins to touch himself. Just a little bit. He begins palming his crotch through his pants while the past Dean begins to jerk the other’s pants off, discarding them quickly to the floor.
But aspiring to rule hell isn’t all pain and blood—it’s pleasure, too. So much pleasure, Castiel just might drown beneath the blood of it all. Ruling by Dean’s side means he gets to
Dean snorts into the arm that is propping his head up. “Look, man, I know you’re still getting used to the whole humanity thing - I mean c’mon, it’s been over a decade, you should get it by now. But nobody finds a muffin top attractive.”
Castiel swings a leg over Dean’s prone form so that he’s straddling Dean’s hips. He kisses his way down the back of his head to the nape of his neck. A shiver runs noticeably down Dean’s spine, which makes Castiel smile. “You. Are. Beautiful.” His hands run over the planes of Dean’s back. He doesn’t go under Dean’s shirt, not yet. He simply massages the muscles through the material, digging in where Dean is especially tense. He continues to rain kisses down on Dean’s neck and shoulders as he does. “Your hair is beautiful. Your eyes are beautiful. Your ears are beautiful.”
It doesn’t take Dean long to come at all. Castiel whimpers when the flood of come rushes inside him, dripping down his bruised and bleeding body as a lazy smile stretches across his face. Dean turns him onto his back, eyes raking down the length of Castiel’s neglected cock, fully hard and leaking at the tip.
Dean is panting now, eyes starting to glaze with lust. Castiel licks his lips and rocks his hips downwards, demonstrating for Dean just how hard he is for him. “You’re beautiful,” Castiel grunts with a poignant thrust. “You’re sexy. You get me ‘hot and bothered.’”
“That should take the stick out of your ass,” Castiel sighs in content, wiping his hand off on his ripped jeans. “Now, about that bottle of Jack…”
When Castiel, the only angel to ever break on the rack of hell, willfully joined his side and allowed Dean to burn away the last of his angelic grace, he took a share of Dean’s power in the pit. All the souls on the rack are Dean’s—but the rack itself is Castiel’s.
Castiel wouldn’t. He shivers as Dean draws the blade of the knife down his throat, leaving a line of blood trailing behind it. Dean licks the blade clean slowly, making sure Castiel sees every twitch of his tongue that
“Then go fuck yourself,” Castiel suggested, lighting a blunt between his fingers. “Literally. Doesn’t count as another man if it’s yourself, right? He’ll probably be into it if I know you at all. And I do.”
“It would have,” Castiel agrees solemnly. “But I for one think there is nothing bad about your ass.”
Dean shivers and tries to thrust up into Castiel, who moves away to prevent him from getting any friction. “I’m...beautiful,” Dean whispers. “To you,” he adds hastily.
“You haven’t,” Castiel reassures him. He urges Dean to lie back down, but the tenseness doesn’t leave him this time. His muscles quiver under Castiel’s hand. Ready to jump up or bolt. Castiel ignores the tension, simply goes back to petting him. “I just wanted to make sure. You sounded so disgusted with your body a few minutes ago.”
Dean doesn’t know what it is about the way Cas says it, his voice low and thick with lust yet still so sincere; maybe it’s the fact that Dean’s sensitivity is turning Cas on, maybe it’s the way he can practically
Castiel collapses on top of Dean, knowing Dean will appreciate the feeling of his weight after such an emotionally intense session. They’ll have to clean up soon, but for now, Castiel wants to just lie here and repeat words of appreciation into Dean’s neck until he’s sure Dean might almost believe them.
Castiel pulls Dean in close and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I love you here.” One eyelid, then the other. “Here and here.” Nose. “Here.” Lips, lingering, taking his time. Sucking the lower one into his mouth, giving it a sharp nip. Pulling away just slightly to breathe, “Here,” before drawing him in again.
,” Castiel croons. He means every word, his voice dripping with all the love and violence he’s able to give. “Now...take what’s yours. I belong to
Dean tilts his head back, losing himself in the sensations. Castiel can’t help but lean into his neck and bite down, hard. Dean yells out and thrusts wildly into his own hand, sliding deliciously against Castiel’s hard cock.
“Sure, buddy,” Dean says, voice deceptively light. Patronizing. “I mean, I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that.”
“Dean?” Castiel murmurs when he withdraws his tongue. Dean knows to use his words when he truly can’t take anymore, but Dean shakes his head. He’s had three orgasms in under thirty minutes and isn’t willing to give up the possibility of a fourth no matter how much his body tries to convince him otherwise.
Castiel frowns. It’s not quite right, but they’ll get there. “Good boy,” he says, pulling back. Dean whines a protest, but Castiel quickly strips his clothes off, as well as pulling down Dean’s jeans and boxers. He gets between Dean’s legs, stretches out to cover his body. He rubs against Dean, slowly and lazily, as he mouths at his neck. Dean’s hands come up to grab at Castiel’s waist as their pace increases.
And Dean does. He bites the back of Castiel’s neck without mercy, sinking sharp teeth into the skin as Castiel moans his name. His fingers tighten through the sheets, his breath heaving out in harsh gasps as Dean thrusts into him without mercy.
. Dean has never taken from Castiel what the former angel has not given willingly—and his consent to be
On his hands and knees, Dean threads his fingers desperately through the bedsheets, eyes bulging straight out of his skull before he manages to close them again. His mouth hangs open, his chin slick with saliva and sweat as he bows his head. Dean’s entire body
” Dean hisses against his ear. Pleased, Castiel nods. All of Dean’s hesitation is gone, leaving pure, animalistic want in its place. He’d spent too long contemplating when to claim Castiel as his own in full, and Castiel knows that demanding that Dean
don’t I? Prove it.” Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist—the only being in hell who would dare touch Dean in such a way—and shoves a knife into his hand. “I am not so fragile. Not anymore. If you really are a master as you say…”
Castiel presses kisses to Dean’s shoulder blades and down his spine, through his t-shirt. He keeps up a steady litany of praise and worship as he goes. When he reaches the hem of Dean’s shirt, he pushes it up slightly; Dean immediately tenses.
“Huh.” Dean thinks this over as Castiel continues his way down. “I wanted one when I was a kid. Thought it’d look badass.”
“Was that good?” Cas asks. There’s a hint of smugness in his voice that garners a weak laugh out of Dean.
Castiel backs off, but only slightly. “Your body bears the signs of a life lived in the service of others. Do you get so upset about your scars and moles and achy joints?”
Satisfied and spent, neither of the Deans look in Castiel’s direction as they grab their clothes, clearly embarrassed.
Dean obediently - gratefully - rolls over. Castiel climbs up onto the bed, kneeling next to him. He puts a soothing hand on Dean’s back, drawing it along his spine. Dean slowly relaxes under his soft attention. “Good,” Castiel murmurs. “Dean, tell me: do you find me unattractive?”
Unable to open his eyes, Dean pressed their foreheads together and caught his breath before whispering.
Dean had stepped out on to the beach before he saw him, walking up to the top of the tallest mound. He stopped for a minute and caught his breath.
“Of course, Dean”. Cas raised his hand to Dean’s face, caressing his cheek. “I know it took a lot for us to happen. I love you for winning that fight. Let’s get snow cones, and then figure this out later”.
Cas took Dean’s face in his hands once again, reverently. “Yes. Yes, I like that idea very much. Yes please”.
All his life Dean had heard stupid romantic stories about first kisses. Kisses which rendered the participants speechless, or weak-kneed, or soft in the head. He had always found those stories to be unrealistic, made of saccharine Hollywood lies. A kiss was just a kiss, right? Upon reflection, he thought how wrong he had been. No one in the history of the world had been kissed like he was that first time by his angel.
“See that road, coming up there from the beach? Through those trees? Can you see there’s a clearing there? On that second hill back from the car-park. There’s a place for you. A house. A cabin, really. It’s not much, but it’s warm and sunny, and there’s room for guests. Its your house Dean, if you want it. And that beach-side bar? Its yours. I thought we could tidy it up a bit, serve some people some drinks, maybe cook a burger or two…”.
Cas gently returned her to the ground and untangled himself from her arms as Sam gave an affectionate shoulder squeeze to his brother-in-law.
“I’m sorry sunshine, I couldn’t resist.” He was more impressed with his joke than his audience, who rolled their eyes at each other.
“Look Kyle, he’s married. Maybe he’ll have the pleasure of watching all his stuff get destroyed by his own children one day”.
Putting on his most heterosexual voice, Cas called from the back of the car. “I’m getting coffee. Do you want something to eat?”
Dean responded with a sly smile. Like a sneeze, the phrase resonated throughout his entire being, into every cell. Upon reflection, he thought he did a damn good job of containing the thrill generated by those two little words.
A few moments of idle chatter later, Cas’ eye was caught by a classic 1932 Ford Roadster, painted with flames, its cartoon eye-like headlights catching the sun. Eileen grabbed his shoulder as they approached the car, her breath catching in her throat as she did.
“Dean, I’m an angel, remember? I’m a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. Well, I was. Now I’m just me, but still. I don’t get a house. I have a job to do here, but Jack thought that I could just stay with you. I think he was playing matchmaker”.
Cas took his hands out of his pockets. They hung by his side but without a trace of the awkwardness that characterised his time on Earth. The movement caused the muscles below his neck to flex, momentarily distracting Dean from drowning in his eyes.
He didn’t have a moment to collect himself, however, before he heard the voice he had longed to hear again. The voice which last time he had heard, had stripped him down to his bones with its confession of utter adoration and devotion. That voice which still gave him chills as it resonated all the way to his toes.
“So I’m there in my house one night, middle of November, about to go to bed, and there’s this frantic knocking on the door. It’s gotta be after 11, so of course I think something’s gone wrong. I open the door, and standing there in a t-shirt and shorts, is my grandson. 14 years old, half frozen, with a black eye and a bleedin’ nose.”
“No, I know.” Cas raised his hands in a gentle gesture of surrender. “Today was interesting, and risky. I don’t think we should do that again. But do you understand what I mean?”
All the levity from the earlier conversation vanished as the Winchesters watched Daryl. The guilt and shame on his face was salient, destroying his tough-guy appearance. The old man’s tobacco-and-time-browned hand covered his eyes as he pressed his temples with thumb and middle finger, sighing deeply.
A generous smile crossed Cas’ face. “Of course. But I think today, we might have changed a tiny little corner of it.”
Despite the heat, the crowd increased by the minute. Dean had only a few moments to collect his thoughts and text Sam their precise location before his peace was interrupted by a young family.
Cas and Dean caught each other’s eyes, unsure of what to say. They were spared the decision, however, as Daryl elaborated.
He stood behind Cas, off to his left so he could see half the angel’s face. It appeared calm and relatively expressionless.
Looking back on it later, Cas would have sworn he heard the actual machinery in the man’s brain firing up as he realised what was being said.
A moment of awkward silence was interrupted by the arrival of Cas, bearing coffees in one hand, a box of pie in the other, and an open smile on his face. As he handed Dean his coffee, his own ring glinted in the sunlight. The woman glanced at Cas’ hand, taking in the distinctive line around it. The good-natured smile on her face fell as the internal workings of her mind put two and two together, and came up with some good old fashioned bigotry.
“They’re married! To each other, Kyle. They’re homosexuals! I can’t believe they tolerate this sort of thing at a family event” Her voice betrayed her attempts to quell her increasing hysteria as she flustered her children away.
“Yes, the Biblical argument. The same Bible that offers advice on how to treat your slaves, that advocates the selling of one’s daughter into slavery, that insists that the appropriate penance for raping a woman is to marry her. Shall I go on? The same Bible that dictates a man should be put to death for working on the Sabbath, that prohibits the consumption of shellfish and the planting of different crops side by side. That Bible? Hardly a source of moral authority, don’t you think?”
“Well ain’t you two the sweetest thing. I think I’ve got a cavity now!” he continued talking as he ambled over to the back of his car.
“And then there’s the kitchen counter, and the shower, and a lovely outdoor furniture setting on the deck…”.
“I see you’re making a joke at my expense, Dean. Hilarious. You’ll be getting your own coffee this afternoon”.
Whether it was the unexpected physical contact or the insult directed at him, it was Cas’s turn to let out a little gasp. He cocked his head to one side in the way only he could. Dean melted a little as he took a deep breath.
“Well Dean, I’m glad to report this story has a happy ending. My grandson Johnny is now 21, earning straight A’s in college, and is my pride and joy. Seeing him that night made me seriously have to rethink my ways. He lived with me ever since, I actually adopted him”. The smile on Daryl’s face spread to the other two.
“So… where is he? Is he still helping, or…” The sentence trailed off, but Bobby knew. The old bastard always knew. That was one of a million things the brothers had loved about him. Rough as guts on the outside, but on the inside beat the fierce, loving heart of a father who knew his boys’ hearts and loved them beyond comprehension. He was ten times the father John was, and they all knew it.
“But then I told you how I felt and you told me you felt the same way and I—I used to stay up all night, for the first couple of weeks. I used to stay up all night, lying there with you in my arms, just looking at you. Because I couldn’t believe I could have you—have you at all, let alone like that. I thought that was all I could ever want. But maybe… maybe being human and having these new feelings and emotions is something I wasn’t fully prepared for… Because now I want more. I want to be yours, fully and completely. And I want the same from you,” Cas sniffles, and Dean finally looks back at him and realizes, the man that he loves more than anything in the world has been softly crying the entire time.
In an instant, Dean was shielding Cas with himself one hand guarding Cas, the other wielding the Angel blade that was tucked in his belt.
“I feel as though you expect me to answer ‘Stairway to Heaven’, solely for the irony of it all,” he replied, with a smirk on his face.
Cas laughs heartily. Sam doesn’t get to see Cas like this often, but whenever he does; he understands why Dean would’ve burnt the world for him.
want to,” Cas says easily and Claire can hear the affection over the poor connection of the call so clearly, it scares her a bit. She sometimes wonders how her Dad would have talked to her now, but then she hears Cas say such things and think she might never have to wonder at all. And again she doesn't want to deal with this (absolutely not new) revelation, so she focuses on his words, “But I know it’s hard for you, and I’d never hold that against you, never. You know that, right?” Cas sounds scared.
“Oh okay.” Cas’s sarcasm game was always very strong but Sam’s company is making him lethal. Two words and he’s breaking Dean down.
His second mistake, however, was being so focused on the brothers Winchester that he failed to notice the one being in all of existence that just never followed his plot. All the other versions of Dean and Sam had failed in one way or another. Somehow Chuck had failed to notice, that the only outlier of this world; his favorite world was
“I know. I know. Kill me to save the world, yada yada. Save the speech, alright?” She chides, getting off the chair and begins walking over to the stairs, crossing the War Room. But before she begins climbing them, she looks back, “I think having my only family also be a Winchester is penance for all the shit I did when I was first freed, isn’t it?”
“Wait, like real names for each other?” Claire asks, confused, but remains focused at the task at hand. “Like Steven or Henry or something?”
“You’re not taking the Angel, Winchester. We had a deal. He had his moment of happiness, now he’s mine.” The Empty said with determination.
Dean knows he shouldn’t, somewhere deep down. He is aware that how he is about to react is not how he wishes to, but sometimes knowing and wishing doesn’t translate to doing, so he says, “Why? Cause I’m some pig-headed high-school dropout?” He especially doesn’t want to add, “Too dumb for Castiel, the
It was strange then, that a word that was so inanely meaningless struck Dean so fully. The fact that his heart halted to a stop at something so profoundly stupid as
“He’s gonna jump out of a fucking corner and yell ‘Sike!’ and we’ll have to watch everything fall away,” Dean completed.
“So,” Jack says walking into the kitchen, finally visible. All three of his fathers jump in surprise and a bit of beer is spilled.
“Come back,” Sam orders. It’s not a suggestion or a request. It’s a command. “Come back and then we’ll talk.”
“That the only people who didn’t know that we were in love, were the two of us,” Dean smiles. A younger, more brash Dean would have been angry for having lost all that time pining. Or maybe the younger, more brash Dean would have never even been able to come to terms with the fact that his affections for the ex-angel next to him were nowhere near as well hidden as he thought they were. A younger, more brash Dean probably would not have been able to admit that Cas is not only the man that he loves but the love of his life. But this is not a young and more brash Dean. So, he smiles. "I was pouring my heart out, man. I was scared, like scared shitless, right? And all he cared about was the fact that I thought he didn't know me well enough to already know."
And he wishes more than anything that he couldn’t. He feels so aware of everything around him but at the same time, he feels like the Earth is still spinning but just forgot to bring him along for the ride so he’s just left behind, abandoned.
“Oh? Well.” Dean replied, calm all of a sudden. “Must have been some other guy who confessed his undying love to you in the pouring rain.”
“Then you might lose Cas… You might never be able to come to terms with yourself… You might never get to be truly happy.” Dean looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He looks beyond broken. She sympathizes, she does but she needs him to know the truth. So, she adds, “But that’s never been the Dean Winchester I knew. The Dean Winchester I knew faced apocalypses like they were dares given at a party, he fought harder and louder than anyone else and never gave up. He saw what destiny had planned for him, decided he didn’t like it, and told destiny to fuck off. The Dean Winchester I knew was annoying, loud, brash, and kind of an ass but he was never,
“If you knew what was his moment of happiness, I think you’d wish he got it even less.” Dean couldn’t bring himself to look Jack in the eyes so he stared at the table instead.
“We- Bert and Earnie?” Dean looks so offended Sam has to laugh, “At least make it a little sexy, we’re pretty fucking sexy. Why can’t we be Thelma and Louise?”
“Why?” Dean asks, incredulous. “It’s not like we can fix this. Cause we can’t Sammy. I— I can’t fix this…”
Dean laughed heartily, “Come on, sweetheart. We’re getting married, you gotta get better at lying to me.”
“Dude, I’ve been third-wheeling for over a decade, stuck in the middle of your staring matches. How the hell could I not?” Sam shuddered at the thought of the years of sexual tension he had to live through. And then, just because this was his annoying elder brother, he added, “And the hickey isn't really helping.”
“We each need to pick a Best Man and... Jack and Claire are the only ones left,” Cas replies calmly.
In retrospect Sam feels like absolute garbage because handing his kid the responsibility of saving other people’s lives without even so much as asking if that is what they want is something so characteristically John Winchester that Sam thinks he might just puke. He thought he was nothing like his father, nothing like what his father wanted him to be but it turns out John Winchester was very impressionable man. And now here he sits, in front of his own son, watching him squirm at the thought of perusing the same dream that Sam himself once had.
The next moment the force the light is gone and the banging has stopped. When the three of them open their eyes, Amara is standing in front of them, dressed in black as usual, while the room around them has fallen into darkness.
“He said he was sorry for bailing. And then he asked if I could pick up some of his stuff for him if I’m already here, at the bunker.”
Jack walks up to the three men, stands next to Dean, opposite to Sam and Cas. He cautiously looks around before he begins, “So, um. I might have overheard the conversation… A little. I know, I know. I’m sorry but it wasn’t intentional. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that maybe I have a solution.”
He was made to believe he needed to be exactly what his father wanted him to be, and in trying to be a good son and a good brother, he felt like he’d lost himself somewhere. John’s incessant rants playing loudly on repeat inside his head, telling him what he could and
“So, you’re basically guilt-tripping Jack into eating somewhat healthier?” Sam chided without any heat.
“I was nervous then; I spoke harshly, I was jittery and my hands were shaking. I couldn’t completely calm down till Dean healed from getting impaled by a stupid rusty nail. You said
“Well, what the fuck would he able to do now? The new God’s gonna be along for breakfast in a couple o' minutes,” Dean retorted.
It’s only then he realizes, Dean’s crying. He turns to Cas and Sam, then and finds them rushing over for hugs and crying as well.
Jack takes another breath even though he’s not quite sure he needs it, “I might have already gotten them made. For all of you?”
He’s seen Sam wear it before as well when he returned with a fucking ragged and red Mark on his forearm, fated to be the killer John Eric Winchester had raised him to be. Sam seemed disappointed then, as he does now. And Dean fucking hates it. Dean hates himself. He hates what he did and what he said, and what he is and what he can’t be. He hates that this is his fucking destiny; being a shitty, broken man.
“Dean-” Castiel tried and failed. He was still incredibly lost, too lost in the kiss, in Dean. “You...” he tried and failed again.
“Oh, oh! We’re talking about smarmy British asshats, are we? Might I remind you of a certain Arthur Ketch, then?”
Castiel takes a minute. He runs his fingers in small comforting circles on Dean’s waist, mostly because he
Cas looks back at Sam for assistance and is only met with a glare. Cas cowers. He slowly makes his way in front of Dean and gets on his knees. He holds Dean’s face in his hands as gently as possible, with so much care that even from afar Jack’s heart warms.
Dean laughs, moving up to meet Castiel’s face and pulls him in by the neck, lips brushing, “I just knew I’d die for you, without complaint. I knew I’d live for you too.”
Jack smiled and scratched the back of his neck shyly. Cas smiled at the action; like father like son.
You’ve been there every step of the way, in our corner when no one else was. We’re not gonna kick you to the curb just because you don’t have your grace anymore.” Sam felt like he needed every word to hit Cas hard, he needed Cas to
he thinks to himself. He closes his eyes. All of this is far too painful to watch, even though he knows that he deserves it.
“I didn’t quite catch that,” Castiel remarks with a knowing smile, as he continues to softly caress Dean’s hair.
Dean’s chest was going to cave in. It was always one extreme or the other when talking to Cas. It was either thunderous anger, absolute bliss or this, unwavering pain. The guy talked like he was presenting you a piece of his heart, the intensity of it was… ‘unbalancing’.
“So, you’ll come around then?” Dean asked, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the desperation from his voice. “Cause God or not, you’re our kid. I know… I know I said those awful things but-”
Sam smiled at that, “They were like black gooey shape-shifting monsters from Purgatory. Anyway, not important. Point is, his motivation was always to protect us because somehow to him we were worth it.
Sam’s cut off by a loud gong. The gong bangs again. And again. And again. And again. The sound screeching, hurting their ears. The three men fall to the knees, hands covering their ears in a futile attempt while blood trickles down from their ears onto their necks.
Sam let out a wet chuckle. “Of course. I love her. I love you. God…” He leaned down and kissed Eileen gently, “Thank you.”
“You’ve been standing here for a while. Do you need some help?” Cas asks calmly, recomposing himself.
A moment passed in silence, the revelation that their New God wasn't as unfading as they would've thought.
. He’s tried and successfully verbalized some of his fears. He still remembers the night when instead of walking off from their bed when woken up by a horrible, gut-wrenching nightmare from hell (literally), he stayed in Cas’s arms. He remembers letting Cas hold him. He remembers breaking down, sobbing hopelessly and Cas understanding it all, without so much as a word being spoken. He remembers the next day when he woke up rested and feeling much lighter, only to be greeted with a red-eyed ex-angel who looked back at Dean with such devotion that he swore he could feel the Earth stop on its damn axis. He remembers asking Cas what was wrong, being worried and scared and terrified only to be answered with a wet chuckle and a soft
Jack takes a step forward, brings his hand above the bowl which houses the ingredients to the spell Sam and Jack design together, to summon the Darkness. He slashes his palm with a knife, dripping his blood into the bowl. While the scratch on his palm shimmers with golden light, healing the gash, the blood mixes with the ingredients.
“Nothing happened, goddamn it! Can’t I just get a fucking minute without you fucking clinging onto me for dear life?” Dean is just being hurtful for the sake of being hurtful at this point.
“Same as you,” Dean replied, pulling out the eggs and bacon and setting them on the kitchen island, “And like I said, kid’s gonna be here soon and he keeps fucking devouring those god-awful cereal boxes like a man possessed, so I cook him pancakes before he drops in so he
“Nephew,” She greets. “And the Winchesters,” She snarls looking around as the three men begin to stand, “All three of them.”
“Um, well… I’m trying to be?” Jack mumbles softly, never looking up. “I wa—was thinking about it. I wanted to be a normal kid. Isn’t this what they do? Go to school? So… I was thinking about getting a GED, give the SATs and then—then maybe apply to college?”
“Sure, it’s not like you guys had a Flickr album together or anything… oh wait.” And Cas smirks, the smug bastard.
“Marry me, angel?” Dean asks softly. “Will you? In front of all our friends and family, with a big ceremony with all the flowers and table cloths in the world. Will you?”
Dean Winchester had protected his baby brother all his fucking life. But there hadn’t been enough occasions for Sam to be able to repay the debt. But then, there it was, the one thing Dean wanted more than anything else, one thing he couldn’t live without, not really. And Sam would be damned if he wasn’t going to get it for him. He was going to get that stupid self-sacrificial angel back from the Shadow even if it meant that he'd have to live through another thousand repeated Tuesdays, listening to Asia.
“Um…” Dean scratched the back of his neck. Castiel smiled then. Dean was embarrassed. Castiel looked at him, cocked a brow, and smirked. “Fine! I panicked. Okay? I went to your room; it was empty… and it all kinda spiraled from there, I guess.”
Sam heard the echo of light footsteps before Dean walked into the kitchen. Dean looked a little surprised, probably expecting to find the place empty but schooled his features immediately. He walked over to the fridge, and for a second Sam held his breath. Dean pulled out a can of coke, opened it, walking over to sit opposite his brother. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled.
Dean had retired into his own room to give the couple some privacy after hugging her tightly when he saw her. She had materialized exactly where she had vanished and immediately made her way back to the bunker and greeted the boys upon their arrival. All three of them were misty-eyed with soft smiles.
“Do you need to stay in charge? Like, is the world going to fall apart if you give up the seat? Cause Chuck fucking dipped and we were absolutely peachy without Captain McDouche. So, if you left, would everything be okay?” Dean asks, hopeful and confident.
“Yeah!” Dean replied with a matching one, “I swear if I hadn’t been with Cas when you were… made… I wouldn’t have believed you weren’t his kid. You’re a spitting image of him.” Dean paused, taking another sip from his glass. “But it wasn’t just that; you were like him in every fucking way possible. You were this awkward, dorky little guy and all you wanted to do was help people. You were a good kid, and all I did was give you shit because I couldn’t look at you and not…”
“Painstakingly seriously. You’ll go back to resenting me soon,” Cas says with a small smile, “Though I was a horrible Angel, so just Guardian works.”
“Come on, sweetheart. You slept over at Jody’s place. Didn’t even get to hold you last night. Least you could do is give me a damn kiss,” Dean complains walking over to his man, resting his hands around his waist and pulling him close. “I’m not even wearing my suit yet… you can look, come on. Please?” He begs. “I missed you, angel,” He whispers.
But Cas’s face scrunches up in dismay, “No. Aim higher, Dean. At least 80. We’ve only just started.”
stay, that will be proof enough. Those things; they are selfish. I text and call and give you presents you don’t like because
If it were anyone else asking, Sam would’ve laughed but this was Cas. Castiel, the angel who fell for his brother, time and time again. Castiel, who loved his brother more than the whole world. Castiel, who was his naïve, kind best friend. So instead, he said, “You’ve got it, Cas. You always did.”
“Yes, you dumbass,” Dean replied, his smile absolutely brilliant. “I love you, Cas. I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t think I remember a time when I didn’t. I shoulda told you a long time ago, but I thought- I thought you
Sam looked at her intently, letting her words wash over him. “I don’t think I would have survived losing you. Not completely. Not again.”
Castiel walked closer to Dean, they stared at each other, “I remember seeing you in hell. Your soul… I felt almost like- like you were calling out to me. I fought off the demons in a haze, I was so entranced by how brightly you burned… you were like the sun and I was caught in your orbit,” Castiel realized he was smiling, “I think I have loved you since the moment I saw you, down in the depths of hell, when you thought you were at your very worst, all I could see was you;
Cas stills, only for a second. And it’s that second that makes Claire understand that Cas knows her too well by now, because a second later he’s back to normal and asks, "You'd want to come to mine as well?"
“You guys,” Jack replied with a smile. And Dean had to smile at that, the unwavering faith this kid had in his makeshift family was enough to write ballads about, it even made Dean swoon.
“I would be lying my ass off if I said the feeling’s mutual.” Jesse replied, “You’re both nothing but trouble and I was kinda hoping to never run into you again… ever.”
Sam thinks not everyone understands how much Cas has grown over the last year, ever since he became human. There were times now and again where Cas would lash out, especially in the beginning. Sam wasn’t always there when it happened but Cas would always tell him about it afterward. They developed an easy rapport where Cas would explain everything that happened and try to verbalize what made him crack while Sam would listen to his best friend and try to help him navigate it the best he could. Cas, much to Sam’s surprise was never shy about asking for help. Sam initially thought Cas would have too big of an ego, too used to being inhumanly powerful, to ask for assistance but that wasn’t the case. His heart always felt warm that Cas entrusted him with the task but always suspected there was another Winchester who might have played a hand in the whole thing. However, he was very unsure how.
“What’s got you two giggling like middle schoolers at a sleepover?” Claire makes her way over to the dining table. She pulls the chair next to Cas, opposite to Sam and sits with her legs resting on the table.
There is a palpable silence in the room. Cas looks like he wishes he had never been created into existence, while Claire looks on, stone-faced. And the silence persists until… Sam bursts out laughing and Claire joins in. Cas remains confounded and somewhat scared.
Sam laughs at that, “Where’s Dean?” He can imagine his brother getting annoyed at just the prospect of it all.
Cas was on the verge of tears as well, staring at Dean. Suddenly he got off Dean, and Dean was terrified, convinced Cas was just going to walk away. But then he felt Cas’s weight settle back on top of him again.
Later, as the car ride, which was spent discussing the menu for dinner, was coming to an end, Cas turned to him and said, “Thanks, Sammy,” with such devotion, that Sam swore he felt his heart melt.
“See? I’m not untouchable. And perhaps, you are a repressed high-school dropout but you are my repressed high-school dropout…” Cas gives a small smile.
“But I always come back to you, Dean. I always have and always will. So even when you miss me, please remember, it’s—it’ll always be a temporary feeling. Because I’ll always,
“YOU DIDN’T WANT ME THERE!” Cas is screaming. His Cas is screaming, shouting, at the top of his lungs. Dean takes a moment to comprehend that (orgasm-inducing) voice can be that loud (and hot).
“Nothing,” Eileen waved him off, “Sam and Cas are out getting groceries, if there’s something you want them to get, now’s your chance…” she added with jaunt.
“I’m aware, Dean. I’m quite sure I was there when it happened,” Castiel deadpanned. He clearly had a death wish.
“If he wants to keep coming back till the day he dies, let’s speed it up, shall we?” The Empty was fury incarnate. “You know what? I’m feeling especially bitchy today, so here’s another deal, since you’re so fond of those, I'll even give you a choice... option A, give up, stop fighting me while you sleep and I kill him quickly or option B, leave him here and you can go, he lives but takes your place instead, reliving his regrets till kingdom come.”
For a moment, Dean was sure that was it. He would die there, in the Empty, in the arms of his Angel, the Angel he-
“Did something happen?” Sam asks cautiously. Now Dean’s trying to decipher what approach Sam’s chosen.
“Of course. Throw that in my face, why don’t you? That too, in some stupid way, was to save your fine ass,” Castiel began walking over to Dean, “But if we are taking a trip down the memory lane, would you like to revisit the Mark of Cain perhaps?”
“So come on, tell me some cool stories?” Claire pleads, changing the topic, “I deserve to hear about the adventures of Dum, Dumb and Dumber.”
Castiel turns to face Dean, the angle makes it so, that his lips line up perfectly with Dean’s forehead. “Well, I suppose it has something to do with the fact that you’re the only religion I’ve had since I first held you in my arms in hell,” Castiel lips touch Dean’s forehead as he speaks.
Dean wants to reply, he does. He has spent the last year, since Cas’s return, trying to be better at this. Not for Cas, but because of him
“Why?” Sam asked, Cas just raised his eyebrow in confusion, “You- you wanna move out?” he rephrased.
Sam has to take a moment to take it all in. They get to have this. And he feels incredibly lucky to be able to witness it.
“Oh,” Cas said, looking skittish, like a child reprimanded for getting caught eating ice cream. “I’m sorry- I’ll just…” He began fumbling his way out of the passenger seat. Sam is right, Dean is a fucking asshole.
Sam raises his hands in defence. He walks over and sit down on the bed, behind the pair. “Whatchya doing there?”
“You beautiful, infuriating man,” Cas said with a wet chuckle, pulling out a similar box and then opening it. The rings were practically identical. “You beat me by
Both of them jumped turning back, “Holy fuck! You’re gonna give me a stroke,” Dean scolded, simultaneously as Sam said, “That’s really not funny, Jack.”
“Yeah well, I just defeated God, a few months ago, I’m on a fucking rebellious streak,” Dean answered with a smirk, “Besides, you got more than you bargained for. You got Death. Let Cas go, or-”
Sam joins in, “I guess so.” Sam sighs, pauses and then adds, “But honestly, I used to think you had the biggest, the most gigantic stick shoved so far up your ass, that I could see it down your throat every time you opened your mouth to talk.”
Eventually, though, this life, his brother, the makeshift family he’d collected, made him realize he was indeed different. Not because he was somehow
This gives Dean pause. He’s a piece of shit sometimes. He realizes now, the kid still believes he is only valued for his power. He’s tried to assure Jack that, that is not the case but he knows better than anyone some beliefs are quite hard to kill. Especially the ones ingrained into your head by your father, or well, the father figure in this case. Oh, wait no,
, he thinks staring down at the bottle of beer in his hand. Shaking his head, trying desperately to get rid of the crimson on his face, he shrugs, “With all the bad luck we’ve had, all the times we’ve lost each other and all the time we wasted thinking the other wasn’t hopelessly in love with the first… yeah, us actually walking down the aisle is as close as it gets to something world ending,” Dean says, wistfully with the hint of a smile, “now at least.”
“Is there a reason you couldn’t do that in your room?” Dean asked walking over to the driver’s seat, leaning down, and sticking his head in through the window with arms resting on the door.
“How about… Miracle?” Dean asked from behind him. They were all standing in the library, with the cutest puppy in the world in front of them. “Seems fitting, no?” Dean looked at Cas who was standing next to him with his arms wrapped around Dean’s waist and a smile on his face.
“We use it to bargain with the Empty. It's probably the only thing it would want,” Sam said. There was determination in his voice, which meant Sam had decided to die on that hill if needed. “So we ask for Cas in exchange for Jesse’s soul and- “
Sam finally sat down, “You both look at each other like, the rest of the world doesn’t really exist. Of course,
Dean couldn’t move for a moment; he was sure his heart had stopped beating and he had already made his way into Heaven.
Dean brings a hand onto Castiel’s cheek, caressing gently, patiently with love and care and devotion. He looks Castiel in the eyes, “This? This is the bare fucking minimum, Cas… And you? You deserve the whole fucking world, and then some. I want to give that to you. Please, help me give that to you. Like everything else, I can’t do this alone, so help me out here, man. Push me, not too much, but a bit, I need to get out of my comfort zone. I need to do more, or I’ll never deserve you. And I want to, Cas… I want to deserve you so fucking bad…” Dean wipes a tear off Castiel’s cheek, pulling him closer by the neck, their lips brushing, “Cause you’re mine too. You’re my religion too, sweetheart.”
Jack, however, interprets the silence as an indication of having stepped over a line, he shouldn’t have, “Dean, look I was just suggesting—” He tries, scared and rushed but is cut off.
The group spent the entire day having too much cotton candy, riding every single one of the rides, and buying too many unnecessary souvenirs.
“I found something about how to make an offspring of a mermaid and a werewolf but zilch on the Empty,” Dean replied annoyance laced in every word. He accepted the beer that Eileen offered him as well as the soft pat on his back. “I didn’t even fucking know mermaids are real, man?”
“Come on, woosh us away, let’s go!” Dean charged. “I don’t need to see the angstier version of her. I like living.”
Dean shuddered. And then turned to look at him in the eye for a long moment and then softly kissed him.
“Maybe I just want everyone to know I’m yours…” Cas says very softly. He shakes his head then and then drops his hands and gets up. “If you don’t want these things, we don’t need to have it, Dean.” He walks over to Sam who is standing behind the kitchen island. “We won’t have to make it a big deal. The invites haven’t gone out yet. It can just be us... if that’s what you want.”
Dean was beyond furious, “We’re all putting our lives on the line to get your stupid self-sacrificing ass outta here. Jack’s stalling the Shadow, Claire, Donna, and Jody are powering the fucking locator spell in my hand, Sam and Eileen are fighting off reapers left and right, and I’m here, risking my very fine ass to get you out of the damn carbonite. So, for fuck’s sake can we please get a move on, so I can chew you out for pulling this stunt in relative peace?”
“I said, the outside world can go screw itself silly,” Dean says. He then climbs a bit higher on the bed, where he’s tangled up with Castiel in a mess of limbs and sheets, and settles himself on Castiel’s lap, with his head laid onto his shoulder, facing him and planting small kisses along his neck. “I’m staying here.” And he moves close to Castiel’s ear, adds with a barely-there whisper, “Stay with me.”
They were lying on the bed, in only their boxers and nothing else, in the room that used to be Dean’s but had now become
He pulled her back in for another kiss, this one more uncoordinated than the last, both their lips curled into a smile, “Absolutely.” He replied.
getting married. As much as she loathes to admit it, even to herself, watching them happy and content is comforting in a way that can only make sense to someone who has watched their life be ripped apart by the evils that exist in this very fucked up world. And Claire knows this life doesn’t always provide you pleasures or moments of happiness, oh does she know. So maybe, just maybe, watching two of the unluckiest guys on the planet make nauseating heart eyes at each other gives her hope. Maybe.
“Come on, it’ll work. All our plans are either utterly stupid or just plain suicidal. I’d take this halfcocked one over the other two, wouldn’t you?” Dean counters, with a charming smile.
, I want to marry Dean!” Cas chides as if he’s stating a universal fact. Like he’s telling a junior in high school that the Earth is in fact, round. But the irritation in Cas’s voice makes Sam breathe easy again. “I’d have married that man the first time he stabbed me the night we met; if I knew he was amenable to it,” Cas mutters.
But then you said you did and I didn’t even to say it back, Cas! How’s that fair? The love of my life, died in front of me, died for me, thinking I didn’t love him back… But I do Cas… of course, I do, I do, so fucking much. And I can’t say this will be easy, I’m still pretty shitty but I’ll try to be better, for you… I guess what I’m tryna say is that you can have this Cas, I’m yours. I’m pretty fucking sure, I always have been…”
“It’s good to see you, man,” Sam said with eloquence Dean wasn’t sure he’d be able to find for a while.
“You know, when I left the bunker, after everything that happened with Chuck, I did it because I was scared of what it all meant. I didn’t know if any of it was even real, or just another plot point for Chuck to manipulate. Part of me thought once this was all over maybe Sam and I just wouldn’t feel the same way anymore… but that didn’t happen,” a smile broke onto her face, “You went, fought God and won, and somehow we were just as real as we were before.”
“Holy shit, Bueller! You scared the shit outta me!” Claire screams, almost jumping off her chair. To which, Cas and Sam laugh harder in response.
Dean wants to fall onto his knees, he wants to beg and cry and plead; he wants to do anything and everything he can to make sure that Cas believes him when he says that none of the shit that he said had anything to do with him. He needs Cas to know that, that isn’t the way he looks at him. He could never think of Cas like that. It couldn’t be. This is Cas. Not some junkless angel of the lord, no. It’s Castiel,
“I didn’t quite catch that,” Castiel remarks with a knowing smile, as he continues to softly caress Dean’s hair.
“’Oh’? That’s all I get?” Dean pulled back, looking baffled, “I bore my heart out, Cas. And all you’ve got is, ‘oh’?!”
And Sam watched the Angel, who had fought Demons, Archangels, the Darkness, and even God, blush. In that moment, he was sure, this couldn’t be a trick. Because even in Chuck’s wildest dream he could not have come up with that look of pure bliss on Cas’s face.
Dean sat there in silence. His eyes were bulging out and Sam wasn’t quite sure he was breathing but Sam was very willing to give his brother a moment to cope.
So, after months and months of expecting all hell to break loose and come crashing down on his perfect little domesticated life– being lived out in an ancient bunker meant for hunting and torturing monsters by a group of
Jack shrugs, “Yes and no. I was… uh… Well, I was writing an essay for a practice test and then fell asleep in the middle, and then all the giggling woke me up.”
Cas shrugs. And finally, it hits Dean. Dean might be the King of the kingdom called self-loathing, but he does not rule alone. Cas, as always, is right there with him.
Castiel made a small slit at the bottom of his throat and his grace wafted away. The Empty tried with futility to catch it somehow but it blew away.
“I don’t know. I- I guess I’ve always been worried about that, you know? When you had your mojo, you’d just woosh away without a word–“ Dean added.
“I was just asking them how they were doing,” Jack defends, “No one likes being put in a tank and then have a bunch of people staring at them, you know?”
And with that thought, Dean does what he does best. “What?” Dean snaps, finally turning to look at Cas.
“I’m gonna pretend that I am very interested in Claire’s hunting stories,” Eileen said closing her laptop and existing swiftly.
“Dude,” Sam chuckles, “you gotta give me a little more context.” Sam tried taking a bite out of the burger patty only to spit it out.
Castiel nods absently. He understands, Dean Winchester is the epitome of self-deprecation. Knowing he’s loved, accepting it in a vague sense with sex and soft morning touches is one thing but hearing it verbalised and presented so unabashedly is far from the realms of what he is currently capable of.
feel the same way, you know? And even if you could, I didn’t think it would be for me. But then all of a sudden Death was knocking at the door,
a trick. All I can say is that this, right now, feels pretty fucking real to me. There’s no point ruining it by wondering what happens next, why don’t we just enjoy this for however long we get to have it,” Dean murmured soothingly into Sam’s ear. He patted the back of Sam’s head one last time “I’ll always be here if you need reminders, alright?” and pulled away.
So, Dean begins, “There are very, very few things in this world that could make me be disappointed in you. I know you have done things, that you are not proud of. Things that haunt you and keep you up at night. And maybe, part of you wants to stay up at night and be Godly even when you hate it, as penance, or some sort of redemption for all the shit you did but that’s not how it works, kid. I’d know. I tried it… Look, you’re a good kid. Okay? You’re a fucking good kid. You made… mistakes. They were horrible and awful but they were just that; mistakes. If you were not a good kid, you’d never feel like shit for having done those things, so the fact that you carry those mistakes with you, and know never to repeat them again, makes you a good kid.
“You too, huh?” Dean asked, pulling the ring out of the box. He noticed the carving, and realized it was Enochian, “What does it say, Cas?”
“You were just, willing to bet your life on the fact that I don’t- I wouldn’t feel the same? You were
“Don't be an ass,” Cas reprimanded, finally looking at Sam. “I just wanted to… I wanted to ask for your permission.”
Dean thinks back on his night. He thinks back on all the laughs and jokes and beer and Star Wars. He thinks back on his memories, he smiles and replies, “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
“I may not know exactly what his moment of true happiness was, but I know that it was you, wasn’t it?” Sam asked, knowingly. He had only heard mentions of it from Dean and Jack, not the details. He didn’t think he wanted to ask for any, it felt too personal to Dean and Cas. Moreover, he didn’t think he really needed to know more than that the Empty promised to take Cas when he felt truly happy.
“Maybe you could ask them?” Sam suggests. Cas looks up at him, expectantly. So, Sam continues, “Call Jack, call Claire, sit them down and ask them to pick either of you two. I mean you’ll find out exactly who likes who better, maybe it’ll hurt your ego… but it’s either that or hurt their feelings. So…”
“Fine. Fine. Yes. Sure. Whatever you want, kid,” Dean throws his hands up in surrender. Jack smiles and so does everyone else.
“You were mine the moment you told Chuck that we were making it up as we go.” Dean replies. “I mean, I wanted you the moment you walked in, you know? But that? That’s when I knew I was fucked.”
“My fiancé keeps insisting on calling the day of our wedding ‘D-Day’,” Cas replies, air quotes and all and Dean can’t really help himself, so he breaks into a grin and then leans in, placing a kiss Cas on the corner of his lips, a soft gentle thing.
“What if we don’t?” Dean challenged, “What if we can’t find jack shit and Jack can’t find a way either. What then?”
Dean just nodded silently, taking another swig. “So, I’m sorry. For back then but more than that, I’m sorry for what I said about…”
“That’s great, Cas,” Sam said carefully, “But I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be telling him that. Not me.”
“I—I’m not sure I’m welcome home… I'm not even sure I have one,” Cas sounds so fucking lost that Claire considers just running over to wherever he is and hugging him. Her angsty adult routine be damned.
“Yeah well, that’s what Dean used to say about Cas. Like, relentlessly,” Sam sighs, suddenly remembering all the years and years of being ignored by his brother and his best friend in favour of eye-fucking. He shudders at the thought. “Anyway, you’ll bring this fine…” Sam pauses, “person, to the wedding?” Sam asks.
Sam feels the severity of this stupid rock, paper, scissors game is palpable enough for everything to move in slow motion. He watches as Dean throws paper again to Cas’s rock. He watches as Dean throws several punches in the air and exclaims in joy. He watches as Cas groan and pulls at his hair. He watches as Dean smiles with absolute joy and pulls Cas’s face into his hands give him a loud, obnoxious kiss right on the lips.
Castiel’s mind finally caught up and began kissing him back. And they were off. The world stood still, as both of them poured in ten years of love, of devotion, of care and pining into the kiss. They were holding onto each other for dear life; Dean's hand around Castiel’s waist, Castiel’s clutching onto Dean’s jacket. They kissed each other like they needed it to live, and they probably did. They kissed and kissed until they finally had to breathe. They broke away but didn’t pull apart. Dean rested his forehead on Castiel’s and smiled again.
not really, and reminding them that, that mission had been beyond chaotic. Both pleas would fall on deaf ears so instead, he said, “Didn’t know you had a soul.”
Cas takes his hand that’s resting on Cas’s cheek and pulls it away and Dean can hear his heartbreak.
“It’s the only thing that will play cassettes apart from your car. And I am aware of your rule of ‘the shotgun shutting his cakehole’. This felt like a fair compromise.” Cas replied.
“Why does it have to be such a big thing, Cas?” Dean asks softly, his hands are gripping onto the chair. Knuckles slowly turning white. “Why does it have to be such a big announcement? Why can’t it just be us, our makeshift broken little family? Are they not enough for you?” Dean’s volume rises slowly. “You want this big ass Greek fucking wedding, and you want the whole shebang with invites and receptions but- why the fuck does it need to be so fucking public? Why can’t it just be us?”
“I mean, we probably got the memo before you did. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you still use carrier pigeon as your preferred means of communication.” Claire seemed unbelievably proud of her insults as she sat on a table in the War Room. Kaia was sitting in front of her, with Claire’s legs resting in her lap. Jody and Jack sat across from them, next to Donna. Bobby was at the head of the table, his legs on the table, leaning back on his chair, dangerously close to falling but calm as ever. Sam sat next to Kaia and Claire, with Eileen on his lap.
Unable to maintain the pretence, Cas relented his teasing. He untangled his hands from the man’s hair and took his hand again. Together, the two of them made their way towards the carpark, and hence to their new home.
“Ah, yes. Thank you, sir” It was Dean’s turn to be flustered now as he tried to reconcile what was happening.
“Hey guys, I’m having a great day at the car show. Wondering if I can come over tonight, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about”. Exhaling deeply, she took the hand of the girl next to her and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
“Sweetheart, I know. I agree with you. There is a fight to be had, and today, we made a difference. I know we can make a bit difference in the lives of many people. Can I just… I’m tired, Cas. Can we finish this event, have a holiday on the beach, and then change the world?”
The moment of terror was short-lived however, as he saw Cas’ lips erupt into his own wry smile. Light danced in Cas’ eyes as his gaze swept over Dean’s face.
“Yes, the Jesus argument. The same Jesus who sat with society’s outcasts, who advocated for the rights of the unenfranchised, the poor, the sick. He would definitely have no time for this intolerance”.
Dean stepped off the porch and the dusty ground felt cool beneath his boots. Looking back at Bobby, he repeated: “A couple of miles that way, you say?”.
“No, its ok Cas. You don’t need to make excuses for me. I was a hateful old bigot, and I’ve made my peace with that. Nothing can change what I did”.
Once the three of them had settled on deck chairs under the sun umbrella, perched between the two Chevrolets, Daryl resumed his story as Dean drank his coffee.
“I was raised to believe certain things. My mother died when I was young, so it was just my father and me. He had a certain lifestyle, and I had to become a part of that”.
“Sam. Cas.” She spoke so rarely these days, as her family’s ASL was improving so rapidly. Sam was used to going for days without hearing his wife’s voice, so hearing it now made him pay attention.
Eileen’s unceasing good nature prevailed, and she squeezed Cas’ elbow. Making eye contact she signed to the two men: “Why one or the other? Can’t a guy do both?”. The laughter that erupted from the three of them generated looks from several of the surrounding spectators and exhibitors. Cas had to bend over for a moment to catch his breath, his laughter draining out of him. As he straightened up his phone buzzed. Dean had messaged: “Where you, angel?”
He started when he heard a door slam behind him. He heard an upset Englishman muttering under his breath and saw Dr. Davies leave Dr. Carroll’s office and enter his own. At the same time, Gabriel emerged from the stairs and spotted Dean at the end of the hallway. He grinned.
They were the most alluring shade, trapped by an alluring expression bathed in sun-kissed freckles. His lips were pink and plump, slightly parted, with brows raised daintily, and like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to the man. Like Icarus to the sun, a sailor to a siren’s song, Castiel’s feet involuntarily stepped forward, unaware that he was holding the delicate rose to his chest.
Castiel acknowledged his answer. “Well, let me just drop off my briefcase in my office. Then we can go interrogate this relative you found.”
It was an unimposing shop, tucked in the corner of King Street in Hudson Square, with a rustic vibe going on. Everything was all about wooden crates and chalk, the walls painted a dull steel blue, punctuated with green vines scattered by the corners and hanging from the ceiling. Castiel adored it.
“Through two little imps named Gabriel and Balthazar.” Dean grinned, trying his best charm Castiel’s ass off. So far, zilch.
They passed through the entrance with ease, and the guy manning it smiled knowingly at Castiel as they hopped in a cart.
It was Castiel who advanced to the room first, holding the lever handle and crooking his wrist to open it. Dean made a disgruntled noise when Castiel entered impetuously without so much as confirming with him, apparently ignoring the ten-minute PTSD episode they had just experienced from the earthquake. Not to mention if it had weakened the infrastructure.
He had seriously underestimated the immortal’s ability to forget the time. When he had been trying to blink the sleepiness out of his eyes, Castiel was still reading news reports in his computer with the same intensity he had ten hours ago. With the absence of caffeine.
“Luke’s being intransigent. I think maybe a talk with Chuck can change that, don’t you think, Gabe?”
“The first time I experienced an earthquake, it was during a class of mine. The period was about to end when I noticed the table was shaking just as I felt a wave of vertigo overcome me. I saw flashes of my mother, dying, then myself at a hospital corridor, but all the while I could hear my students clambering to evacuate the room. I couldn’t move, but I still had some degree of cognizance during the occurrence.”
“If he can provide us with any information regarding Bobby Singer, if there were tales or family history passed down that could help us with the case.”
“Very Descartes, yes? The mind-body dualism? The Catholic Church greatly benefited from its conception during the Renaissance because then science and religion could finally be asunder. Church and state. Physical matter and spirit. Is it physiological or psychological? Those were the ubiquitous debates at the time.
Dean’s eyes widened, throat clearing with a muted shake of his head at Gabriel. He reported with haste, “New evidence has come to light, but I will tell both of you what I can when we sort it out.” He waved lamely to Castiel, catching his eye. Castiel nodded at him.
Somewhere in the scrambled eggs that was his mind and the wobble of the ground, the voice had reminded him that he wasn’t alone. It precipitated a long, stretched-out resonance that took Dean a while to realize was
Soon, five o’clock rolled around, and Castiel persuaded Dean to ride his Continental for the sake of the surprise.
He paused in his tracks, contemplating if he should answer. After a few seconds, he turned his head to give Dean one last scathing look.
Garth laughed and nodded in affirmation. “Of course, gentlemen. Say bye to the nice FBI Agents, Jenny.”
“Yes. I’ll let you know if I need to ask follow-up questions. Gabriel.” He saluted the siblings and crossed the threshold.
“You’re in luck. He’s in his office right now,” Gabriel said, and they started walking towards the administrative building. "And I don't know, I just feel it.”
They started devouring the food, shifting from one conversation to another, and they were heedless to the egression of people, the painting of ethereal pink on the sky, and soon, the setting of the sun.
From Gabriel and Balthazar’s (he had learned the blonde man’s name that afternoon, and further learned to stay away from Gabriel and Balthazar when they were together) bickering and amplified childishness to the case stumping him because there was no scrap of evidence left at the crime scene, he really needed a drink.
Dean still didn’t reply, dodging Castiel’s eyes, and Castiel fell disheartened. “Maybe that’s a story for another time.”
Dean shrugged. “Same as you. Hoping for no more aftershocks in the near future. Not sure I’d be able to, you know.” He gulped. “Handle another one.”
As the sun disappeared and promised to return in due time, they both wondered if they should break the stillness.
Dean was already perusing through the DVD rack beside the monitor, a large case filled to the margin with motley genres. When he triumphantly pulled a copy of The Untouchables, grinning at Castiel like an excitable child, with Castiel fighting off the smile before it overcame him, he decisively made up his mind.
“Whoever was in the building has probably evacuated, Dean,” Castiel quietly surmised, and Dean let his forehead touch the varnished timber for a while before curtly grabbing his wallet from his suit jacket and pulling out a credit card, kneeling to level his gaze at the lockset. He inserted the card in the groove between the two doors and prodded it harriedly.
“But it’s getting worse. What if something really bad happens? What if you. . . I’m just saying. Someone—anyone—they should know.”
“I was always so. . .” Dean spoke up slowly, meeting his eyes and rolling a shoulder. “I don’t know—different, I guess.”
Dean recalled their conversation. Another reason that Mick had no motive was that he was completely unfamiliar with the Silver Fragment, seeing as he grew up and got his education in London, only migrating to the States three years ago to gain experience teaching in a different country.
. It had been there, the moment the pain struck him, but he couldn’t hear it over the burning mirages.
Dean heard Castiel’s gasp in-between two consecutive firecrackers, and he smirked at his watch—exactly 8:30 p.m. Burcham Park was thoroughly punctual.
Castiel shifted his body sideways to face Jack, inquiring, as the hand resting on the wheel tightened in worry. His eyes automatically skimmed Jack’s face for any indication of something purpling.
“Of course, of course. I’ll be more than delighted to help. But for now, I have a class to get to, and I’m already appallingly late.” He rose from his seat, Dean and Castiel’s eyes following him.
Castiel’s head hit the wall with a dull thud. “That was three earthquakes ago. I would hate to know what would become of me the next time another strikes.”
“Hey, I need to go to the little girls’ room. Why don’t you use that to buy us some cotton candy, huh? I’d love some cotton candy.”
A few exchanges later, Dean and Castiel got to talking about Castiel’s involvement in soul topics, how he first entered the field. “Our knowledge of souls is hitherto still limited. It was curiosity at first that brought me to its threshold, but as the years passed, it became the determination. The sheer demand of my circumstance. Less curious, more obliged.
Dean shook his head. He must have been seeing things. But he looked up again and no, he wasn’t hallucinating, because he saw a pair of cerulean orbs stare back at him with an intensity that rivaled Dean’s.
When, after a few months, the shop was beginning to garner attention, he could no longer carry his responsibilities alone, so he had posted a wanted ad in front of the shop, and there he met Charlie, and Kevin a few months after.
Satisfied, Castiel replied, “He’s doing much better now. The medication helps temper the sleeping problems, but I think the therapy is what’s really getting to him. The last he told me was that the experience helps with his self-awareness.”
Cassie had her lips pouted, and she had looked like she was about to cry. But before she could, Dean had strode up to her and placed his small hands on each of the suspension ropes on either side of the young girl. The frowning Cassie threw a look of confusion, possibly with a side of suspicion, over her shoulder.
Castiel peered swiftly at Dean through his lashes at the sound of the sobriquet, but let it slide easily. “That wouldn’t make sense. Why go to the fifth floor in the first place? Why not directly enter the second floor? And why did he have to fumble with the doors?”
“Symbolizing. . ?” the man asked, trailing off, and only then did he realize that he stopped mid-sentence.
And he whirled his gaze onto Castiel, who was experiencing the moment with childlike wonder. And for a moment, Dean thought maybe if he were brave enough, he could find the right words to say.
Aaron yelped and Dean chuckled. The younger boy had ceased and lifted his head to press their foreheads together. He felt extremely pleased to see the boy’s pink-tinged cheeks and swollen lips, both breathing heavily.
As though sensing Dean’s discomfort, Dr. Shurley smiled warmly. “Gabriel has always been the most thoughtful of the three.” He turned his chair again, gazing once more at the painting, this time his eyes focused on the familiar brown-haired man with what couldn’t be misconstrued as sheer pride.
Dean sidled on Castiel’s right. “Top of the morning, Dr. Shurley. Yes, he’s being a darling.” He smiled sideways at Castiel, which could easily be mistaken as scorn, but he hoped the chancellor didn’t catch the sarcasm. Castiel surely didn’t take notice to it. “It’s so good to see you out of your office, Dr. Shurley.”
in the hell did you get these!” he exclaimed, hands coming to Dean’s chest, tickets still in grasp. He could only pull Aaron closer to him by his suspenders, a shy smile on his lips. It had cost him two weeks' worth of pay, but the older boy didn’t need to know that.
Leave a kudos on your way (and a comment while you're at it). I would love to know what you think so far.
At the northern side of the room was Castiel’s grand piano nestled, black and sleek, as the radiance from the large overhead light bulbs that served as modern ceiling lamps glinted against its expanse. To the left, there was a doorway leading to the two bedrooms and one bathroom, and beside the doorway, an opening to the kitchen and dining area.
Castiel didn’t know how to feel about that. While he was averse to any idea pertaining to a change in his own soul, he was genuinely happy being best man at Gabriel and Rowena’s wedding (Dr. Shurley’s, too, at that). His speech was half-filled with baby Gabe anecdotes and half-stammering about the beauty of soulmates.
Dean ended up leaning on the fourth floor window, organizing all the garnered information in his head into a more comprehensible construct. So far, nothing rose red flags.
Dean spotted the neglected two pieces of French fries on Castiel’s plate and swiped it before the man could protest. He put it in his mouth and munched obnoxiously, all the while flashing a big, stupid grin at the man. It nonplussed Castiel how the last time he saw that grin, Dean was hitting on him.
They returned to eating their meals, Castiel asking, “How about you, Dean? How was Michigan? Charlie?”
He pulled a jar of pods from the overhead cabinet and got one out, giving it to Dean who threw the pod into the machine and began the cycle. Leaning against the wall of the small room, Castiel steeled himself, impatient. A song too muzzled to be identified was still floating from the kitchen.
Castiel bit the inside of his cheek as Dean waited expectantly. The man took a stem from the pot, then brought it to his nose to inhale the scent. Its petals were vibrant, and wrapped in the man’s fingers, it was breathtaking.
“Hope you’re having a nice day so far, Dean. We have all the usuals, but there are freshly delivered sunflowers if you’d like. A classic, if I may say so myself.” He disappeared into the opposite aisle when Dean wasn’t looking. Realizing Castiel was gone, he peered left and right, and Castiel reappeared with a happy sunflower in his hand. “Symbolizes warmth, dedication.”
Dean drew a staggered laugh, shaking his head at the man. “This is definitely on the top fifteen of my ‘Best Burgers’ list. And that’s a painstakingly-made list. Don’t tell me this is your first burger?”
Castiel had known Gabriel since he was a baby. Heck, he was the one who introduced the chancellor to his late wife. He was there when Dr. Shurley got married and started a family. Somehow he always felt like he was unofficially part of it. After all, it was the chancellor that took Castiel under his wing when he was existentially and literally lost.
Dean still appeared skeptical, undecided whether to take the man at his word. But he had spoken with such fervor that it didn’t feel like a lie. Dean glared at the man’s eyes, trying to find a hint of untruthfulness, getting lost in blue for a mere second. He snapped himself out of it.
The chancellor laughed. “Well, I’m not to become my own antique. Even though I am already a fossil.”
All of the greenery in the world couldn’t amount to the storm of sea green eyes the man in front of him held.
Castiel gasped brokenly, clambering to his feet and hurtling back to the private room as fast as his feet could take him. Stopping abrasively against the doorway, a man in a white coat was folding a blanket over his mother’s face.
Castiel shook his head, munching on some crispy bacon. “It’s not, but I haven’t eaten one since 1998. I’ve forgotten just how palatable it is.” Dean’s eyebrow quirked in question. “What happened in 1998?”
“Good,” Dean said softly. “My apartment’s actually just there.” He gestured to the apartment building opposing Eden’s Garden, and Castiel’s mouth opened in nonplus. “You live just in front of the shop?”
“I peeked inside and saw the soul piece at the end of the hall—you wouldn’t miss it, it’s very bright—but I only closed the door and left. I didn’t steal it,” he said forcefully and with finality.
“I am not scared of infants. They’re small and puny.” Garth snickered. “Again, no offense,” Castiel griped. Garth held his hands up defensively. “None taken.”
“I know for a fact that if you didn’t make that detour, we would’ve passed by the house you grew up in.”
“C’mon, professor, play with the good wittle baby.” Dean continued to make faces at Jenny and she burst into high-pitched giggles. Castiel didn’t dare to move closer.
“And didn’t you hear me say that I really don’t care what you believe?” Castiel retorted. He flicked the photos in the folder and saw shots of him at different positions, all pointing to him heading to the staircase, still holding his head, and one shot where he was leaning his weight on the wall. “How did you even get these? I thought the footage was deleted.”
“Just a reminder, Dr. Milton, about the summer convention in Rome. They want you again. As they always do,” Dr. Shurley teased, eyes crinkled in mirth.
“The throbbing has diminished, and I no longer see any visions, but I do still feel a bit disconcerted. Nothing I wouldn’t be able to handle.” He worried his bottom lip as he glanced at Dean. “How about you?”
They talked more when Castiel’s coughing had dwindled, going off on a tangent about Lucifer’s horrendous birthday dinner last month which Dean had attended. His first gathering with the Shurley’s extended family, at the original Shurley residence, before the children branched out. Castiel remembered Dean’s face of awe at what was essentially a mansion, and his nervous handshakes with everyone and their luck-wishing for the case of the Silver Fragment theft.
Dean’s eyebrows shot up, as well as the hair at the back of his neck, because Castiel’s voice sounded as though he ate gravel for breakfast, and the octave his input had been in was lower than Dean’s current self-esteem.
Castiel had his palms to his face, but Dean could hear his cries beneath his hands. “I’m sorry, mom,” he barely heard him weep, and Dean’s heart ached for him, even more than the ache in his head.
“It’s open,” voiced Castiel, as he traced the second paragraph of page 337 of the nearest flaying book with the pad of his left pointer finger, and the last sentence of the journal adjacent to it with his right.
,” Rowena sing-songed from another room, “I made another batch. And now the little trickster’s banned from the kitchen forever.”
He put his hand beside Jenny to wave and encouraged her to imitate. She waved unceremoniously and babbled away.
Jack, who he had the pleasure of meeting less than a month ago, was looking at him the way Castiel usually studied facial expressions. It was uncanny, really, the likeness. Dean wanted to ask Castiel again if he was sure Jack wasn’t his.
He felt all rational thought abandon him once more, like they had that afternoon. He felt his blood pulsing a little bit faster.
He had relinquished a part of his soul to Cassie Robinson—the pretty girl with bushy hair and caramel skin. It had been recess, and Dean had spotted Cassie alone by the swing, trying to push herself up with her feet; legs not quite long enough to give the swing anything more than a sideways jiggle.
Castiel had definitely gained more weight over the past month. He looked leaner, healthier—taken care of.
Then there was the man with blue eyes that captured his attention that afternoon. No one for a long time had effortlessly winded Dean of coherent thoughts without so much as a second glance.
Castiel sat Balthazar down his swivel chair as he gave an affronted huff, his briefcase landing on the tabletop. “What is going on? If you’re looking for a ménage à trois, I’m afraid we have to reschedule.”
Castiel didn’t know what Ash was doing in Kansas and not in Massachusetts but he couldn’t say it wasn’t to his fortune.
By the time they were kissing and/or hugging each other good night, Jack’s mood had visibly lifted. He even snickered when Gabriel, an arm draped around Rowena, suggested, “Now, how about some of that mind-blowing sex, hon?”
They might have gotten a little competitive during a ring toss, and when they were neck and neck in getting 10 throws in, Dean leaned forward an inch too close and ended up falling over the stand and making a fool of himself in front of a minor audience.
“We wanted to check the crime scene a second time,” supplied Dean, hedging a weirded glance at Castiel. “Took a peek, and when we tried to get out, it was locked.”
don’t wanna be weird, but you might think it’s weird I’m asking this. I just wanna make it perfectly, totally clear, ‘cause I don’t wanna impose or anything—”
The bell rang signaling the end of the period, and Castiel’s students shuffled immediately in their seats, gathering their belongings.
“What did you say before about stopping an apocalypse? About defeating God? You saved the world. A lot. You deserve happiness, and love. You were a poor motherless child who was forced to raise your own brother when you were still a baby yourself. Your father was, and excuse me for my bluntness, an abusive and neglectful parent, yet look at what you did. Dean, Jack and I designed this Heaven with you in mind. You deserve an eternity in paradise for the things you did”.
Gabriel hummed in acknowledgement, still quizzical, as he finished his cupcake, and Castiel saw there was one left in the container. “Rowena’s going to throw a fit when she finds out you finished those cupcakes in one sitting.”
They laid taciturn and comfortable on the wall of the Chamber of History the whole night, save for Dean’s occasional question and Castiel’s new plans for the reconstruction of the entire soul paradigm.
“Alright,” Castiel conceded, turning to his MacBook and saving his file perfunctorily before closing it off and placing it away from their makeshift brunch. But Dean had stolen a second-short glimpse, enough for him to surmise what Castiel had been doing before he arrived.
He offered more cupcakes to the man, but Castiel declined, content with his almost-finished blue-frosted one.
They both looked away from each other, awkward and unsure how they came to such a civil conversation. Dean cleared his throat and saw Castiel’s clean plate. “You know what, I’m gonna order another. You want another one? I’ll get you another one.” His eyes traveled from the table to the waitress, holding his hand up to get her attention.
, he was on his way back to the university to consult with the bane of his existence disguised as a professor about some newly found evidence.
Dean and Dr. Shurley were traipsing to Singer Hall, a building perpendicular to the administrative building, and named after the face of Kansas. They had been to the third floor where the surveillance feed was, and Dean had asked the man in charge, one rotund and crotchety Frank Devereaux, if he had seen anything or anyone suspicious the night the artifact was stolen from the Chamber of History. But as the police report had said, no one had noticed anything because one was in the bathroom and the other must have been focused on other feeds.
Dean groaned as he pulled himself up slightly, willing his head to a doubtful quiescence, crawling to Castiel despite the floor’s precarious swaying. He reached his hand to his back, going around to face the man. “Cas?”
They were still in Wichita, in a small joint called Ervin’s Diner. Dean spotted it on their way out of the city, and like the decent person he was, he made good on his promise to fill Castiel up with burgers.
Jack slammed the car door shut a little harsher than normal after he slid in the shotgun seat, unbothered to even so much as greet Castiel. The older man’s eyebrows knitted into a concerned frown.
Guess he couldn’t really blame if people were starting to talk. Whenever he would visit KU, professors would look at him in perplexity as to why he was always with Castiel.
The woman, Becky, nodded though the chancellor couldn’t see her, and she turned and went out of the office.
“It’s Latin for ‘supernatural,’” elucidated Castiel. “It’s actually a serial but the publisher only agreed to a single book.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not gonna eat itself.” Castiel sighed in resignation and took the burger in his hands, pausing to smell it first before sinking his teeth into the bun.
After dropping Castiel off this afternoon, he went straight to the Lawrence Police Department to inquire if anyone had come forth with recent information. When he arrived, he was greeted by a suspicious detective, Victor Henriksen, and a suspiciously effervescent secretary, Nancy Fitzgerald.
He sent him a playful wink, then turned his attention to the food, serving his wife first with the mash.
Dean controlled his breathing. “Like, we’re friends, right? I mean, we’ve known each other for more than a month now, and
“Dean! You did it!” Castiel laughed wildly, grabbing Dean by the arm but stopped himself before all-out hugging him. Instead, he gave him an ear-to-ear grin. “That was incredible.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom, Cas.” Dean bit his lip as he continued. “Have you told anyone how the quakes affect you?”
“Let me better phrase that. . . How about you stay in my guest room? We can split for the weekly groceries. The rent’s not a problem because the house is mine, and the bills, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I think it’s practical, Dean, since we spend so much time together for the case. And you have spent the night on my sofa more than once or twice.”
He replaced his head back onto the solid concrete. “What time is it?” Dean checked his phone before returning it to its previous position, but not before making out that he still had no service. “8:56.”
“Damn it,” he cursed when he tripped over the last step, regaining his stance immediately and staggering through the glass doors, bound for the stairs and valiantly ambling up despite the screech of gravity. When he reached the top that spread to the second floor, he barely gave the Chamber of History a glance as he sprinted to the next flight of stairs that would lead to Castiel’s office.
“Exactly,” Dean breathed, and his eyes flicked to Castiel’s dangerously close lips, and for a mere second he considered throwing caution to the wind—not considering at all, to let the magnetism, the gravity of the man’s doe-eyed gaze pull him to a brink of which he didn’t know the end—but Castiel blinked once, and Dean sharply looked away, and the moment was lost.
“I have fresh ones at the back,” he told him, disappearing and reappearing a moment later. He extended the single stem to Dean, smiling softly. “That’s actually sweet of you, Dean.”
“Hey, Charlie. Just calling to tell you good job on getting the security footage. Keep on cracking,” Dean said to his phone. He was truly grateful for Charlie Bradbury, his associate and friend he met during a case in San Diego where she had attended a convention. Some called it a fluke, but Dean called it destiny. She was like a sister he never wanted.
Castiel had just arrived at his office after an early lecture with freshmen. It always stimulated a rush within him to instigate a passion for philosophy within his students, just like how it was first instigated within him decades ago. And now that the term was nearing its end and finals looming over young minds, there was something worth reminiscing about it.
The taller man visibly bristled. “I am grown up. It’s the people around me that are acting immaturely.”
“What d’ya mean ‘started’ in adulthood? Kids give soul pieces, too, right?” Dean queried, suddenly nervous.
he thought deliriously as he escorted Dean out of the shop, eyes lingering on Dean’s footprints on the sidewalk. He had half a mind to follow where the trail led, but he was pretty sure his heartbeat skipped down 16th Avenue for him.
Dean groaned inwardly. “We need to leave the building, Milton!” Castiel frantically looked around, as if he only just realized that an earthquake was occurring. Instead of answering, he grabbed Dean’s shoulder in return, heaving himself up the top stair and leaning his body to Dean. He seized his forehead and grumbled.
If he had doubts if he was overstepping, they all evaporated once he took in Castiel, who looked positively delighted.
He heard three discrete claps resound in the empty space. “Very intriguing lecture, professor. I’d give it a solid B-minus.”
“Honey, I’m gonna take a shower first. Jenny’s puke stinks. Excuse me.” Bess patted Jenny’s small head before heading to the hall at the right, and Garth moved Jenny’s highchair nearer to the couch.
“And so he had given the consummate sacrifice—the last piece of himself to nature, to save the remaining people in Kansas, because
Gabriel swallowed his food. “You should come over for dinner sometime. That is after I pry her away from gossiping like old ladies with dad and remind her what
Which was irrational, really. Dean didn’t own Castiel. So what if the guy went out, probably with his own friends? It wasn’t his damn business.
He rolled his eyes at that, setting the lamp on the center of the cloth as he plopped back down again. The light gave a soft glow of content, and Dean placed his weight on the palms of his hands by his back, catching his friend’s placid gaze across the blanket.
“Nah, man, I got no beef with Chuck. It’s just that, I don’t know,” he drew a breath. “Kinda hypocritical that his best friend sacrificed himself and he still went on living immortally.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but what erupted was a noise of laughter that both he and Castiel were clutching at each other trying not to double over, the squirrel almost getting dropped.
It wasn’t much of a busy park, so Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he and Castiel were the only ones left by sundown. But for now, it was still occupied with a few people savoring the late afternoon, mostly by the playground with kids and their guardians, some taking their dogs for a walk, and some taking a jog.
“Well, you know what I think would be complementary to a discussion of the Cold War? Ice cream.” He got up from his seat and Jack’s eyes followed him. “Come on. Let’s get your beloved nougat.”
There was a shattering of glass, distant and illusive. Dean almost didn’t hear it over the cries of his baby brother, hugging him tautly by his middle as John and Mary’s fight reverberated overhead like a stereo. Dean tried soothing Sam, but he himself already had tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. How could he help him when he couldn’t even help himself?
He peeked over Castiel’s shoulder to the chaos of a table behind him, opening the flap of his food packaging. “How’s the speech going?”
No, Dean was detrimental to whatever city he situated. He poisoned everything he touched. And Castiel loved Lawrence too much to let the man pave his ruinous path here. It was bad enough that earth had been upset for almost a month now. No, he had to take matters into his own hands.
“It’s not that, I mean—they have their significance, of course. But this is a colossal transfiguration, what with the validation of juvenile soul-giving, and I just. . .” Castiel gave an onerous sigh. “It feels as though I have a foot out of the door, into a universe of which I’m not acquainted with, and it makes me. . .”
In a world where people had roles to fill and responsibilities to shoulder, he was the rough in a diamond mine.
Dean shook his head. “I don’t know.” He glared at the pillar as though it personally offended him. “I don’t know. Maybe. My head still feels like it’s been blended to a salsa, so, I don’t know. Could be.”
And when Dean’s voice rang throughout the space, hyping up the small crowd, he took his seat on the stool and began plucking the notes. Talking, he could make heads turn, but singing?
Castiel deflated at that, his ardor ebbing. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said apologetically, head bowing. Dean perceived the genuineness and sighed.
“You’d be surprised,” Castiel commented. “It was easy projecting which of the 83 bars in Lawrence you’d choose to stop by.”
Dean ceased his ministrations and met Castiel’s eyes. “Well, thanks for the input.” He returned his credit card to his wallet and instead pulled out a felt roll-up, revealing a lock pick set. He removed two and began working on the keyhole.
Dean looked absorbed at the admission, a lightbulb flicking on. “I’m guessing you like purple better?” hedged Dean, and Castiel laughed quietly, nodding.
Dean emerged from the men’s room still excitable and ready to conquer the second hour of their date.
Dean let his head loll to his shoulder, grinning at Castiel from ear-to-ear before sighing and turning nostalgic.
Dean pulled on the black lever persistently, but it wouldn’t turn, only producing a jarring metal noise. “What is the hold up?” asked Castiel, looking over Dean’s shoulder to see what was happening. But Dean only swiveled to gape at the man in mortification.
“We’ll find the soul piece, Dean. I have faith,” Castiel had whispered to him that night, and he recalled Dean’s warm eyes gazing into him in hope.
There was a large set of couches in the middle with a glass table, also highlighted with grey and gold, and a desk in the north, complete with a swivel chair facing the wall opposite, where a humongous painting of a family hung. The portrait composed of five figures.
Tapping his index finger agitatedly on the spacebar of his laptop, not quite pushing it, Castiel chased the next words that seemed to elude him purposely.
Dean halted chewing, swallowing his masticated burger, and keeping a steady survey of Castiel. “You feel like all your other speeches didn’t?”
They stayed there for what felt like hours—with Dean trying to temper his and Castiel’s pain, until the haphazard oscillation of the floor subsided and eventually came to a halt. The moment it did, Castiel stirred in his position, surfacing into recognition. His palms withdrew from his face, finding the place dark with only sparse lighting enabling him to see that he was still in the Chamber of History. When he detected wetness on his palms, he hurriedly wiped his face before it dawned on him that he was laying on someone.
“It’s in here somewhere,” he said as he began to pick the photos by pile and spreading them all over the floor for a better view. It was then that Jenny started bawling.
They turned to leave after saying their goodbyes, but the chancellor caught the end of Dean’s sleeve at the last second. “He’s not that bad once you warm up to him, Dean.”
Dean had woken up first, then. Standing up, Castiel made his way to the bathroom for a quick brushing of teeth and washing of face. After which, he left his room and ambled to the hallway.
“Didn’t you eat something this morning?” Castiel asked as he closed the passenger’s door. “I did. Still hungry. Perpetually hungry.” Castiel rolled his eyes at that, and Dean stopped him by the pavement. “Wait. Don’t tell me you haven’t eaten anything today?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like my cooking, Cas.” Dean chortled, grabbing a stool from across the counter and seating himself in front of Castiel.
They had seemed to be fairly good people, and Castiel was glad that Jack found friends he could rely on. “Yes,” Jack confirmed. “They’re coming, too. We’d be perfectly safe.”
Dean instructed her to find missing surveillance footage of a university because he had been informed that the feed had been taken rather than deleted. Charlie had confirmed as much when she accessed the KU’s database and found encrypted files deeply buried. Someone went to a lot of trouble ensuring that whatever it was remained hidden.
Doesn’t matter that no one was gonna love him, what with his dissident opinions and acerbic personality. He could manage.
When Castiel emerged from his home, Dean, clammy hands on the wheel of his Impala and eyes trained on the front door of Castiel’s house, couldn’t smother the gasp that escaped him.
“I got it!” Garth exclaimed, jumping up to his feet, lips still pulled into a smile as he took sight of Jenny and Castiel. “Look who found a new friend.”
He gulped. “Uhm. Well, lately I’ve been tinkering in the development of the soul in the human lifespan. You’d think we’d know by now the works and makings of a soul, but really, we haven’t scratched the surface. I estimate only 10% of all soul knowledge to be deciphered, and I do believe the study of its maturation could be a fundamental element.”
Dean was surprised, and maybe a little pleased because Castiel’s peek at him conveyed that he was thinking about Dean’s words last night.
"Easier not to feel anything at all, then you wouldn't have to feel like this." I got this quote from
He was interrupted when Dean fished out an opaque container from the basket, unmistakably filled with greens and reds.
“Right,” Dean nods awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. The chancellor’s behavior was really putting a damper on his usual devilishly smooth charm.
Dr. Shurley sighed and placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “People, this is Agent Dean Smith. He’s FBI. While he’s here, I expect nothing less than your full cooperation in finding our lost artifact.” The chancellor’s croaky voice reverberated in the hall, just as Dean weakly presented his badge, and the doctor vaguely gestured to the lonesome pedestal where a small, velvet pillow rested, its middle depressed as though something circular made its home there.
Dean parked the Impala at the bar that was sandwiched between KU and the motel he was staying at. It was dark. He needed a drink. He needed to have his drink.
When the bells chimed again that day, he surely didn’t expect that he would be greeted by a wolfish grin that had haunted him the night before and the night before that.
Only the motorcycle wasn’t a motorcycle anymore. It had transformed into a hospital mattress, and Dean was no longer sprawled against metal, but against his best friend on his deathbed.
The woman smiled slyly, twirling her glass in her hand. “But did you find any other indication that it was stolen? Forced entry? Tripped alarms?”
Dr. Shurley nudged Dean out of his thoughts. “Once we get to the Chamber of History, I can give you time to peruse around and make your observations.”
“He’s not anymore,” Castiel said immediately. “He was, but it took him a while to find his soulmate. Charlotte Shurley. I introduced them actually. But they’ve Soulshifted and Dr. Shurley appears like an 80-year-old geriatric now.” Castiel was oblivious to his rambling. Dean found it. . . Amusing? Nettling? He went with nettling.
“You’ll feel lighter if you let go of what’s holding you back. Whether you choose now or another time, I will be there, Dean. You’re not alone in this. I am by your side when you need me.”
“The surveillance, yes,” he said acridly, “I can see how that would make me seem guilty; roaming the building within the hour it was stolen—”
“Then how come the soul piece was so easily stolen, huh!” he rebuked, a familiar steam traveling in his veins.
“How did you do it, Dean?” Castiel let his curiosity take hold of him. “Was it not as intense as mine, that you had the strength to climb up the staircase to find me?”
“Please, call me Garth.” He waved his hand dismissively with a smile. “Here.” He stood up and went to the cabinets behind the couch, retrieving a cardboard box with both of his hands. He placed it on the coffee table and took off the lid, revealing a shit-ton of random old pictures juxtaposed against each other.
It suddenly dawned to Castiel the effort Dean exerted for this picnic—the sandwiches varied from salami, to pulled pork, to grilled cheese. And then Dean also had potato salad. It was nothing fancy, but it didn’t make it less special.
Not many people were present, only a couple seated at a table, a lone man by the counter, and a bartender behind the worktop. Dean was on his way to a stool when he stopped dead in his tracks, because behind the lone man, a tan overcoat hung on his chair that could have only been brought about by fate.
“Uh, can you tell me about your background here in the university? How long have you been teaching here?”
He shook his head in reply. “It’s not that, Cas. It’s—” Sighing, Dean rubbed his face with his hand, unable to continue.
—to prepare breakfast for both of them, but give him a break. The last time he attempted breakfast was in the last millennium. Fortunately, Dean had woken up from the clang of the frying pan when Castiel had dropped it, and he saved him from further humiliation.
He gave Dean a melancholy smile. “I’m not entirely sure. My father died when I was still a toddler, and then my mother followed, having been diagnosed with leukaemia when I was attending university as a journalism major.”
Castiel nodded imperceptibly. “But you managed it visibly better than me. You charged in a trembling building for me.” His eyes widened weakly at his own words. “I mean—what I meant was—you saved me. I mean you tried to save me. You went for me. You helped—me.” Castiel grew panicky at his failure to find proper, non-dramatic words to convey his message, but Dean only chuckled.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to stay with Castiel, but he knew himself. And though his heart had grown cold and detached for the last few decades, he would recognize this furtive chord anywhere; it bloomed in his chest whenever Castiel was within arm's reach, and whenever he wasn’t, Dean unconsciously searched for the familiar blue gaze and longed for the warm smile that he imagined was reserved for him; the lull, the placidity, like a flower blossoming in spring after several bouts of harsh winter. The sheer
The sound was warm to Dean’s ears, and he felt his breath catch at the simplicity of their happenstance, until Castiel calmed but kept his smile on.
“Trust me.” Castiel kept himself leveled, but conveyed enough reassurance. Dean did trust Castiel, but he was wordless; he closed his eyes when his friend stopped and killed the engine.
Jack’s childhood was spent in a roundabout from The Shurley’s, to Gabriel’s, to Castiel’s. They never let Jack feel alone and unloved, and eventually he learned to accept that his father was never going to look at him straight in the eye.
Eventually, Castiel acceded. His head slumped a little, as he rose to his knees and meandered haphazardly beside Dean, descending with an ‘oomph,’ as Dean stationed his phone upright to his other side. Castiel breathed a sigh of enervation and crossed his hands by his stomach, and Dean thought
He wanted to hurl after that. But Gabriel had hugged him so tightly he could feel the gratitude seep to his bones that he couldn’t find it in him to be his old, cynical self for the rest of the night.
Dean held the man’s eyes, suffused only with understanding and tenderness. He was almost tempted to break away from it if not for the sheer guilelessness of his expression.
And as if on cue, there was a knock on his office door. He stopped pacing defeatedly and placed his fists on his desk, head slumped.
Castiel’s eyes lifted from where they were glued to his reading materials, his head and body rising uprightly along.
“I don’t know what you mean, Charles,” he whispered back, wishing to a higher power that Dean couldn’t hear their bickering as he surveyed the rows of pots.
Castiel fully expected the ‘67 Impala waiting for Dean. When the man slid in the driver’s seat, he glided his hand across the dashboard appreciatively, saying to Castiel, “This is Baby. Had her the week she was born.”
The royal blue shirt punctuated his insanely blue eyes, his khakis showing off his runner’s legs—which Dean definitely did not rake his eyes upon—and a pair of shades hung casually on the pocket of his shorts like he didn’t even try.
Spotting Jack’s collar that went off-kilter from the hug, she fixed it with both hands, bopping her finger on his nose after. Jack’s lips gave a valiant twitch. “I missed you, too, Aunt Rowena.”
A few surreptitious glances here and there, and a lot of courage-garnering before he could introduce himself to the older boy, they finally fell into an easy conversation. One with more laughter and stomach-clutching than normal in an exchange with someone you just met; more shoulder-grabbing and gazing longer than average.
Dean was confounded. “The security footage in between the theft was stolen; the last surveillance is it being in the frame and the next hour, it was gone. That hour of footage was gone. The perp was covering his tracks.”
Castiel shook his head at him. “I’m not saying that, because you can’t. We can’t change the past, what you’ve done.” He paused to give him an empathic look before saying— “But Dean, if you desire it, you
The young man pondered at Castiel’s suggestion, caught between wanting to see more interaction between Castiel and Dean, maybe become a witness to their budding romance, if his Uncle Gabe was right.
“I’ve known Chuck for longer,” he said, halfway through his meal. He indistinctly noticed how open his speech with Dean was. “I owe everything to him. He introduced me to Philosophy and taught me everything I know. He’s the reason I’m the man I am now.”
Dean nodded frenetically, licking his lips. “I just want to let you know, Cas. Remember that day you told me, ‘Whoever they are, they’re lucky?’” Castiel gave a slow nod. “Well, no one’s lucky. I mean—I just mean there’s no one. If that’s what you meant. I’m not seeing anyone. I don’t want to.”
Gabriel shrugged. “I figured that if this has the FBI concerned, well, let’s just say it has me concerned.”
“I admit she was challenging at first, but I think we came to an agreement at the end.” Castiel let the words slip out of his mouth before he realized that Garth was talking about Jenny. “I mean—”
Over the course of the next few weeks, Castiel was not any closer to getting over his stupid crush on Dean Winchester. Yes, he finally got green eyes’ last name by his sixth visit. He also discovered that Dean was a budding musician during the seventh, when he entered Eden’s Garden with a guitar case slung over his shoulder.
As Castiel devoured the last bite, he pulled a napkin from the tissue box and wiped his hands, subsequently offering some to Gabriel who took two graciously.
He paid for a round, taking the lengthy mallet into his hand and stretching his fingers around it purposefully. Positioning himself a good distance from the pad, he wiggled his hips a bit, giving Castiel a nice view of his ass.
The doctor shut the car door when he got out and locked it with a press of a button. He saw Dean ambling towards him as he pocketed his key.
“Well, let’s hope we’re still alive by then.” Dean laughed, an attempt at humor, but it only sounded sardonic, and Castiel pulled a face in remembering their car argument.
Settled with Castiel and Dean seated across each other, Dean’s mood had lifted by the time they began ascension. Castiel settled the plush beside him then ripped open the plastic bag.
Shaking his head with a sigh, he capitulated. “Yes, he got back from headquarters this morning. He’s fine. He was told to keep on the case no matter how long it takes,” Castiel fibbed. He didn’t like lying, he never did, but they had to deflect any suspicion.
“It was horrible, actually. A bigger pain in my ass than you,” he chided with a smile, before it fell into a frown. “Saw some things I haven’t thought about in years. Things I thought weren’t real anymore because of how long ago they were.” Dean grimaced. “Boy, was I wrong.”
“I’m sorry, Cassie—I didn’t know—I didn’t mean to—I would never—” Castiel interrupted him with a hand on his shoulder because he looked like he was on the verge of tearing up. He casted him a moderating look, a soft concern overcoming him.
“What are you doing?” she had asked. The taller boy had given her a gummy smile. “What does it look like?”
“Sorry ‘bout that. Dean Smith, FBI.” Dean showed his counterfeit badge his friend and cohort Charlie made him to the doctor, getting a raised brow in reply. “It’s fine, but what’s a fed doing here in our fine institution?”
They fell quiet for a moment, and it was Dean who broke the hush. “So. . .” he trailed off, interrupting Castiel’s fidgeting with the hem of his trench. “Got any ideas why nature’s trying to kill us?”
Gabriel took another cupcake. “No, I just told him the footage was taken and not erased. I left him to do the legwork.”
Kevin was taken aback, eyes wide. “Mr. Tran, good work on your last essay. I particularly enjoyed the part where you contend the dilemma of determinism with meliorism in the human condition.”
“Just now, actually.” Dean traipsed the space to the wooden chair by Castiel’s desk, tempering his grin with a bite to his cheek, setting down the package beside his laptop before reaching in and pulling the two food boxes out. “Dropped by the Roadhouse. Ellen was looking for ya.”
He’d have probably endured it, arched over at the corner of Singer Hall, murmuring “shit, shit, shit’s” under his breath, and so close to giving up to gravity and the severe spinning in his cranium.
He’d scored a lotto with them, really, because not only were they conscientious workers, but they also became fast friends (despite the age gap with Kevin), and Charlie may or may have not crashed at Castiel’s a few times over the course of her current employment.
“Oh,” Castiel voiced, hoping he didn’t sound anxious. “He told me whilst coordinating about soul topics. He thinks it might help him find whoever pilfered the Silver Fragment.”
Dean was caught off guard in the sudden shift in mood, hurrying to complete the tab and scrambled to follow the man already out the door.
At first, it wouldn’t seem as though he’s the perfect fit for the recalcitrant Castiel. But he was also as recalcitrant as they came.
Dean breathed a sigh of relief as Mike growled at Gabriel’s shouts. She stood up and answered the phone. “What?”
That gave Dean an idea who the burglar could be—either extremely smart or extremely wealthy, to have the footage deleted that quickly and cleanly.
He turned heel to hide what could only be his burning cheeks, and lead them to the other side of the shop, where rows of tall black pots sat on stacked wooden crates. Castiel gestured to them awkwardly.
Dean was confused from hell to back. He couldn’t find the words to reply, his mouth working, but the older man rolled his eyes as though Dean was the most idiotic person he’d ever met.
Dean offered his hand to Castiel, and he took it without further second thought, following him to the building, to the basement parking where Castiel laid his eyes on a sleek Impala that looked as though Dean birthed it—or maybe the other way around. Either way, it definitely fitted Dean like a glove.
Castiel’s phone blared noisily from where it was lying on his unkempt bed, Asia’s familiar tune priming him for what he knew was going to be his best friend’s inevitable teasing.
“Yeah, on the fourth of July. Kind of cheesy, I know, but I took Sammy on a July 4th once, and it was pretty fun. If you’re not busy, o’course, wouldn’t wanna get your speech held up if you—”
Staring at the ceiling through a half-lidded gaze, he deliberated today’s agenda, and found himself smiling. His address was practically finished except for a few tweaks here and there, so maybe he’ll do the laundry today with Dean before—
“Hey,” he greeted cheerfully, meeting Castiel in the middle of the left aisle. The man tilted his head, and Castiel was once again dumbfounded, as the green drew to Castiel’s right chest with a smile. “Castiel.”
One Saturday night, he went to the next-door neighborhood’s bar where Dean would be performing. Because he absolutely did not search for ‘Dean Winchester’ in Google to find out where he’s scheduled to appear in front of a spectacle. Arriving, he made sure to loiter somewhere inconspicuous, because as much as he’d love to talk to Dean, it would be better for his health not to. Probably.
“Take it easy, Cas. Don’t hurt yourself.” Though there was no heat in his words, and Castiel took them as such, ignoring the way the nickname slid smoothly from Dean’s lips.
“And a cook. Ohh, she makes one mean pot pie,” Gabriel moaned. “I’m salivating already just thinking about it.”
“You know, I’m really not. It’s just that this is my first time on a Ferris wheel and I didn’t foresee that it would be this. . . wobbly.”
Dean stood up and took a skeptical step forward, startling Castiel. “I don’t mean to impose, but can I—?” He gestures to Jenny. “I used to babysit a lot.”
Seriously, if this was Gabriel or Balthazar again intent on screwing his morning further because they knew Castiel had been working on his keynote address for the past week, he was going to rip th—
Lisa had stood and beelined to the sharpener attached to the classroom’s wall and began grinding the lower half of the pencil in the small orifice. When she had finished, she returned to her desk and gave the round-eyed boy the diminutive but newly-sharpened Faber, closing it around his fingers.
The man didn’t hide the surprise in his inspirited eyes. “Yeah? You gonna top my July 4th affair, huh?”
“You may call me Cas,” he offered in what he hoped was a professional tone. “Thank you and have a good day, mister. . .”
“Garth Fitzgerald IV. Born 1983 in Missouri. His maternal great-great-great uncle is Bobby. Mother died when he was 10 years old. Married and a father of one, currently residing in Wichita.”
Dean shot him a smile, as Castiel told him, “I, uh, got this, Kev. Can you double-check the new delivery?”
The phone dropped back on the mattress as Castiel went back to self-consciously observing his outfit on the mirror.
“So stingy.” Castiel rolled his eyes fondly, returning his meal to the table with Dean grabbling for the fries and popping them immediately to his mouth. He kind of resembled a munching squirrel, full of nuts on either cheek.
Dean was still in Professor Milton’s office. They had a truce that they would stop trying to drive each other crazy and out of town, and Dean had fought that if Castiel, an immortal, was experiencing weird stuff during earthquakes and around soul artifacts, and he had been, too, then he was probably involved just as much. It vexed Castiel that it made a lick of sense. So he had swallowed his pride and now, they were busy studying the Silver Fragment, if there was anyone in history who had bad blood with it.
“What are you working on these days, then, professor?” Castiel scrutinized Dean’s tone, wondering if he was asking out of authenticity or if he was merely looking for ways to pass the time. He hedged a glance at him, studying his expression and found nothing but openness.
Dean heaved large breaths, awed at how he could control his limbs again, getting a feel of his hands and toes. He sat up on his bed cautiously, as though he would revert any moment, before breaking into a disbelieving laugh, an odd sort of radiance painting his cheeks.
Dean cried out as the persistent throbbing violated him like a promise of torture, a sinister voice telling him how he failed as a child, as a friend, as a
“I never said I disliked your cooking. I merely implied that you should cook something healthier.” Nevertheless, he swiped a piece of hash brown and took a bite.
“Jenny already likes you,” Garth said fondly, gazing at his daughter before turning back to Dean. “And yes, that I am. Any progress finding Uncle Bobby’s soul piece?”
“You can call me Dean, Jack. It’s okay.” It was, if his tagging along their almost weekly ice cream engagements was any indication.
In an instant, both of their expressions fell into one of trepidation. “I think you both realize the superficial reason.”
That night was probably the most he’d talked with Mike again this century, as they weren’t particularly close. But she had been always within vicinity that time, considering the enormity of the Shurley residence, even introducing her stepson, Adam Milligan, to Dean. Adam had been gone before the dinner ended though, as usual, Castiel noted.
“Becky, I told you I’m not seeing anyone until further notice.” The decrepit voice came from behind the desk, seated on the chair.
Lucifer swore he just forgot to suit up. But they worked it out because when Kelly told Lucifer the news, they actually, believe it or not, Soulshifted. Everyone was astounded. They had thought that they would be having another immortal in their hands, but because of Kelly Kline, that nightmare could be finally put to sleep. And Lucifer was placated during those nine months—happy even. He had a soulmate who he married a month after Gabriel’s, and a son on the way. All were delighted that Lucifer had left his more than unpleasant attitude behind.
Castiel heard a clunk of porcelain on marble by the top of his head. He opened his eyes and peered upward to see a steaming cup of coffee that immediately hit his nostrils, offered by a smirking Dean.
Dean let his shaking head fall back against the vibrating concrete, biting his quivering lip and unable to permit the tears to slip.
Dean Winchester was the amalgamation of every single thing Castiel had ever looked down on. Selfish. Egotistical. Rotten. A fake. It was pathetic. He wasn’t boring for most people but Castiel found himself indifferent in the face of Dean’s long and extensive résumé.
“Well, I am their oldest professor. And probably the oldest person they know. Aside from the chancellor, of course,” he answered, careful to watch his step.
Imagine the uproar when Jack, graduating from high school, decided he wanted to become a History major. Lucifer was vying for him to follow his footsteps as a mathematician. He had always looked down on anything other than his own profession. But Jack’s heart was set on it, just as how his family taught him to follow his passion.
He frowned at the man’s words and stalked to him, passing by the nooks of the museum, every inch closer a stark contrast to the prior luminescence that lit up Bobby Singer’s portrait like a focus spotlight.
Eye on the prize, Dean struck it hard and audacious. A red light traveled fast up the shaft of the machine, but it missed the mark by barely two notches.
“Are you purposely avoiding your old home? Have you not seen nor visited it since 1940? What about your parents? Did you never visit them since you left?”
Dean had been stuck in place, arms by his sides, unable to move. Cassie must had noticed his stiffness and let go of the boy’s body to look at him. When she looked at him, his eyebrows were raised but eyes twinkling. She beamed at him. “Thanks, Dean.”
“Professor Carroll. FBI Agent Smith.” Dean showed his badge. Dr. Carroll’s brows rose slightly, and the Dean missed the microexpression as he tucked the badge back into his suit.
“Milton!” called Dean, halfway up the steps, but Castiel still failed to hear. His eyes were screwed shut, and arms wrapped on the baluster the only thing keeping him from plummeting down the stairs.
He gave a slight smile, hands linked on the table. “What I mean is that I was unsure whether the Silver Fragment theft merits the FBI’s attention.”
Castiel was careful not to further frustrate the man. “Dean, this is the Chamber of History. Did you really think it would be that easy to pick its lock?”
“Only the History Department and Philosophy Department reside in Singer Hall. The offices are mostly on the third floor and above. The Chamber of History is on the second.”
But like all things, their drive came to a stop when they reached the small, open parking of Deerfield. Exiting the Impala, they made traversed the concrete walkway, but Castiel made a pitstop when they passed the flower bed that he had grown to love over the past month.
Castiel looked at him carefully. “Just because I had a lot to say about it doesn’t mean I liked it.”
“You clarified that I wasn’t your ‘type,’” Castiel said using air quotes. “But you also stated that your type is intolerable people. Do you mean to tell me that after this time, you’ve come to find me tolerable?”
It had given him an ominous feeling that he couldn’t shake, and it wasn’t helping that it kept popping up around him; first in that bar, second in the motel room he stayed at, third in the morning paper, fourth when a victim in the murder he was investigating asked him if he had heard of it, fifth when the cashier at the gas station convenience store told him to take care if he was headed to Kansas—and now in the intuitive radio inside his Impala.
“Alright,” snapped Castiel. “You’ve reached your daily snark limit. Goodbye and have a terrific fourth of July.”
More importantly, Castiel got the 10th ring in and won a plush cat, beige-colored with blue eyes (the operator might have been onto something). And Dean earned the title of
She blinked. “Right. Of course. Let me just. . .” She worked in her seat, checking her desk before closing her laptop and standing up, still seeming out of it. She led Dean to the door to the left, where a golden plaque rested on the middle, inscribed with
“Is there no one that you confide in, Dean? Someone you keep in contact with if anything adverse happens?” He didn’t mean for it to sound condescending. He winced at his words, but Dean seemed to understand.
Castiel guffawed scornfully. “Are you expecting me to believe that you loved any of them? After leaving them once you got what you came for?”
Dean wanted to ask himself when a tentative friendship evolved into a gut-wrenching sensation whenever he saw Castiel, but he knew he didn’t have the answer to it. All he knew was that with every passing moment, learning who Castiel was inside and out felt like tumbling into an abyss which had no end—and he’d gladly fall forever.
But when Charlie had begun decrypting the first file—the first of six—she gave Dean the file through email within 15 minutes.
He had been grumbling all the way from when Dean unspokenly dropped him off at Singer Hall and drove away in a streak, to when he arrived at the third floor. So when Jack spotted Castiel as he was about to knock on his office door, he arched his eyebrow quizzically. “Who are you talking to?”
“You’re not a burden, Dean.” Castiel smiled easily, as though he had all the answers in the world. “You’re my friend.”
“I don’t know what to do, Cas,” he whispered, and Castiel exerted a comforting pressure again, grounding him.
Then he was gone, only the peals of the bell proving to Castiel that it wasn’t a hallucination. A vivid, gorgeous hallucination.
He propelled up the stairs to the building as he held onto the rails, the blistering vertigo somewhat tolerable, but only waiting for Dean to slip and lose control in order to take hold of him again.
Garth extended a single, wrinkly photograph to Dean. “It’s just the one.” Castiel peered as Dean took it, and saw an old black-and-white image so old that it would fit in a museum. It could, actually.
“What he means to say is that, were there any stories that you were told about anything related to Bobby or things soul? Something that could help us know if there are people out there who had grudges or whatnot? Anything ring a bell?”
Dean smiled, appreciating the honesty. “Understandable. People are scared of what they don’t understand,” he acknowledged, leaning over the table to scoot closer to Castiel.
And with a stretched-out resonance in his ears, pop came his hold, Dean gave a loud gasp on his bed, and Benny’s knuckle-white grip loosened sadly.
Castiel could try, but Dean wasn’t going to let anyone, even an immortal, to tell him what to do. He came for the Silver Fragment case, and he won’t be leaving until he’d solved it.
“Hello, Rowena,” Castiel greeted, returning the embrace as best as he could. When Rowena released them, she was wearing her signature smirk-smile.
Before he knew it, his feet had carried him out the door of his bedroom, but not without stealing a last glance at his reflection.
Castiel roughly sank back into his seat and gripped the door panel at the acceleration Dean engendered on the gas pedal. They were definitely way past the highway speed limit.
“Gabe, she lives with you. Technically her time is spent more with you than any other person.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the input.”
But how he felt when he had first laid eyes on the fraudulent FBI Agent, well, let’s just say he had been shuddering.
The man’s head turned over, battling whether or not to disclose such personal information about himself. Nobody really knew much about him, why he does what he does. Not even Charlie. But something so enticing about Castiel made Dean want to pour his soul—figuratively, of course—onto the man and let it run like a waterfall.
Castiel felt some tension release from his shoulders, stopping by the top of the stairs. “Jack,” he smiled warmly, then walked forwards to catch his shoulder. “Uh, no one. I was talking to myself.”
The effect was instantaneous. Suddenly, the tiny boy had frozen and goosebumps appeared all over his body. The stirring inside him couldn’t be pinpointed to exactly one location, but rather it could be felt all over all at once. A shock of electricity went up from his hands to his forearms, kind of like how it would feel if you brushed arms with another person, but a little more intensified. | [
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Sherlock had tried all he could to keep from feeling young the night before, but his mind had been a messy jumble of missing Dimitri, longing for a pacifier, and feeling shame over such a strong desire for his comfort items. Not to mention he was scared to death he’d slip up and pee in bed if he fell asleep.
“It was my fault,” Sherlock said when his tears had at last been reduced to sniffles. “It’s my fault we never found him.”
Sherlock was latched onto Bunny’s Daddy like a monkey and it didn’t look as if he were planning to let go anytime soon. It wasn’t fair. Bunny wanted to be the littlest that day, wanted Daddy and Papa to snuggle him and look out for him while Sherlock’s teasing kept him small and vulnerable; he felt too fuzzy in his mind to be the big brother because he maybe just wanted to be the little sister.
Greg seemed to understand, and he reached to ruffle John’s hair before pulling him bodily into a bear hug, most likely seeing the smallness John was desperately working to mask. It would all be so much easier if he could be little, chasing the rest of the kids from room to room instead of making small talk and fielding too-personal medical questions from hypochondriacal Great Aunts.
He could not keep his mind off of Sherlock. John did as Sherlock bid when they were on a case, helping the man as he chased after each lead or detail in turn. The pace of the worst ones was unnerving, and John was always left feeling exhausted and overworked. But if John felt overtired simply from doing Sherlock's legwork, he couldn’t imagine the toll the cases took on Sherlock, who pieced details and evidence together in a constant stream of grueling, never-ending analysis.
“Oh, alright,” he said with a smile. “But not for too long. I don't want you closed in with all the dust and debris up in that attic all afternoon.”
“You’re due for a timeout for locking the guest room door,” Papa reminded him. Then, when Sherlock remained silent, in his gentlest voice: “When’s the last time you had a wee, bud?”
Greg could understand respect for the dead, and knew it was not beneath Anderson and his forensics lackeys to take the piss out of some poor bloke who’d been strangled to death, but why John would have been angry enough to start a fist fight over a bit of workplace teasing was still unclear. John’s anger was often unpredictable, but Greg had never known it to be unprovoked.
“John,” Mycroft said, voice tinged with a bit of a warning. “You know it’s best we talk about it while it’s on your mind. I want you to have a relaxing end to the weekend.”
The only response Greg received to his suggestion was the door shoved against his face as Sherlock pushed it closed.
“One more question, bud,” he said. “Did you fib just now when you told me you went potty? Because, if I’m not mistaken, you’re wearing a rather full pull-up right now.”
Sherlock pouted, his previous frenetic energy dissipating as he stepped from the stool and walked over to press himself against Mycroft’s chest.
John and Mycroft discuss what to do about Sherlock's nearly constant state of wet pants while the little detective naps in the other room.
“You’re mine,” Sherlock said, voice little more than a mumbled whisper. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, that Mycroft didn’t like when he was selfish. He was supposed to share with Bunny, even when it was hard. But it was all he could do to keep from crying.
, he whispered when he regained a momentary control. But, a second later, a jab of desperation hit him, and he folded over onto himself as he lost control.
John tried to explain that he was sorry, tried to put to words all that he wanted Greg to know and all that he was still trying to process. But words were hard, and he knew he would not be able to present himself as adult for much longer. He needed to get out of view of the others, he needed to get away from the dead body in the bathroom that looked so much like his drunken father.
It was only once he was out of 221b that Mycroft allowed himself to drop the facade of nonchalance. Even then, he worried that his brother may notice his walk away through the window, so he allowed himself only a small moment of mourning for the particular piece of innocence he feared was lost from Sherlock forever, straightened his cuffs, opened his umbrella against the light drizzle, and stepped away with his shoulders held back.
,” Greg said, pulling teasingly at the end of Mycroft’s Santa hat to make the bell in its white pom-pom jingle.
The voicing of shame seemed to have the opposite effect of what Greg had intended, brightening John’s cheeks in embarrassment as the kid hunched his shoulders and cried harder. Greg reached to the backseat, pulling the duffel onto the center console. He unzipped the bag and pulled out the plush rabbit before rooting around for the pacifier, knowing it would likely be needed before long.
He was grateful for the nightlights plugged in along the dark hallway--no doubt placed there for the benefit of Greg’s nieces--as he made his way quietly but quickly so as not to disturb the girls. In his younger headspace, he held the somewhat irrational fear that his own nightmares would transfer to others were he not careful. He paused at the top of the staircase, listening for voices downstairs and hearing laughter and joyful conversation from Papa and Papa’s oldest brother. They were joking and reminiscing over something that apparently warranted a great deal of teasing of Papa.
“Mycroft is certainly a bit of a mystery,” John said, caught in a laugh as he tracked the blush spreading across Greg’s cheeks.
“Go home, My?” Sherlock asked, and once again Mycroft could see that this was not all little Sherlock; there was the hint of the adult here, well-aware at his attempts at manipulation.
“Poor son-of-a-bitch didn’t know what he was in for,” Anderson said when they'd seen the extent of the bruising around his neck. He breathed a laugh as he began scraping beneath the man’s fingernails for residual DNA.
Uncle Greg had told Sherlock the truth. He had been there when Sherlock had needed him in the middle of the night, unlike Mycroft.
“He’s afraid,” Sherlock said as Mycroft cleared John’s breakfast dishes beside him and began cleaning up the scattered bits of egg from the carpet.
Mycroft sighed, glancing down at Sherlock knowingly. It was clear he knew the ploy Sherlock was attempting.
Greg felt a pit in the base of his stomach knowing he had exposed his kid to death and murder on a day he hadn’t been prepared for it. He should have paid more attention, should have realized earlier that John had been closer to toddler-mindset than adult, no matter what the man professed. Both Sherlock and John were constantly attempting to prove themselves big; it was Greg’s job to see them for what they really were at any given moment, and, in this case, he had failed.
Mycroft was on his way to Baker Street quickly. In the car, he set down the bag he’d packed with what he thought may be useful given his assessment of the situation, gave instructions to his driver, then texted Greg to let him know he was on his way to the boys. Greg was finishing up a late shift and had mentioned that he planned to go to Mycroft’s when he was off work, so Mycroft didn’t want him to be caught locked out if he arrived while he was away. It really was about time he gave Greg a key to his place.
John could tell that Mycroft was analyzing him, deducing his inner conflict and attempting to gauge whether to push him towards a conversation or allow him to process on his own.
As if the universe were playing some cruel joke, the man currently on the floor of the cramped motel room bathroom had the same sharp, unshaven jawline as John's father, and the circles beneath the man’s eyes were the same deep, dark circles that were present on his father’s face whenever John found him passed out in corner booths or atop the synthetic fabric of motel room comforters. The body before him had the additional marks of strangulation, and there was a yellow tinge to the man’s eyes when he examined them closely, but there was enough of a resemblance to set John on edge, thrown back into memories of his father’s violent forays into alcoholism.
“Use your soother, bud,” Greg said, glancing to him with reassurance through the rear-view mirror. “It’s okay to cry, but try to breathe.”
It had been Uncle Greg who had settled John back into his Bunny headspace. When John emerged from the shower after his nap with Sherlock, he found the detective inspector wiping down the mattress cover on Sherlock’s bed, finishing up the clean-up job John had started before the itchiness of urine against his skin prodded him to wash up.
John ran a hand across his eyes. He shouldn’t let himself slip, shouldn’t acknowledge the tight neediness in the center of his chest begging for him to let go. But there was only so much strength and stoicism he could sustain, particularly when his Daddy was listening, was simply waiting for him to admit to what he needed. John sighed.
Bunny, glancing up from his coloring book to peer out the window, smiled wide as he seemed to realize for the first time that they’d arrived at the store. He nodded and began quickly stuffing crayons back into the box, squirming against the seat belt as he reached a hand to unbuckle himself.
John--yes, Mycroft was positive now that this was still a fully adult John in front of him--blushed beet red and shifted his gaze back to his feet. Greg may have been oblivious to John’s state of mind--he was still holding the man to him as if he were his little Bunny instead of his adult friend--but Mycroft knew better than to be fooled by John’s show of littleness.
Sherlock’s hands were on his waist as John’s mouth found his boyfriend’s, and John could not help but snake his own hand down the front of Sherlock’s trousers, which had now gone cold and clammy.
It was amazing how much Greg had learned about Mycroft from seeing him care for his brother and John Watson. There was a softness to him not apparent to those he interacted with on a daily basis, an understanding of the world of his brother that spoke to nothing but unconditional, ever-growing love. If it hadn’t been for Mycroft’s astute observations, his clear understanding of the thoughts and desires of the boys--with the rare exception of his shortcomings regarding John’s princess desires--the entire weekend would have more than likely disintegrated into chaos and an emotional turmoil they may not have been able to overcome.
Mycroft got Bunny undressed and into the bath quickly, knowing the boy most needed to be cleaned, comforted, and put to bed. He would most like to get both Sherlock and John away from the distractions of Baker Street by bringing them to his house, but he was not going to leave Sherlock alone in his current state, and it remained to be seen whether he would agree to leave.
“That level of loss sticks with you,” Greg continued, recalling cases steeped in sorrow that he’d covered throughout his career. “He’ll realize there’s more to his remembered pain than a lost pet.”
When Uncle Greg peeked into the bedroom and called to the boys, Sherlock’s first impulse was to whisper to Bunny to hide and to pull the sheets up over their heads. Bunny seemed surprised and then giddy, and they clapped hands to their mouths to keep Uncle Greg from hearing their giggles.
Years ago, his father had hit John when he found his sister’s dolls hidden under his bed. They had been an old birthday present to his sister, but Harry hadn’t been the slightest bit interested in them, and they remained perched in the corner of her bedroom for months, untouched and unloved. John took them. He didn’t play with them, just hid them under his bed and sometimes lay on his stomach on the floor to look at them and whisper his secrets.
“Thank you, Sherlock,” John said, reaching for the man's hand. “Unfortunately, I'm not sure it’s as simple as you understanding or supporting my choices. My, ah...my new identification seemed to trigger something in Mycroft. A very real worry about how to introduce the topic to you. Greg was prepared to take me away to Baker Street for the night.”
Unfortunately, John’s nightmares were unpredictable, and not even pacifiers and pull-ups had been able to lessen their frequency.
“It didn’t work, anyway,” Sherlock said, his admission of a failed plan as much of a ‘you’re forgiven’ as Bunny was likely to get. “I was naughty but nothing changed.”
“I want to stay here,” Bunny said, tears continuing to flow, the pacifier slipping from his mouth. “I’m sorry I said I’m a girl.”
Hopefully, if Mycroft was willing to listen, John would be willing to explain as truthfully and as honesty as possible. He was relieved when John nodded.
Sherlock sat on the couch with his legs crossed, the quilt from his bed wrapped around his shoulders and up over his head, watching telly.
“It’s okay,” Sherlock said quietly after a moment. He untied the sash of the dress and pulled it off of Bunny, who allowed his arms to be pulled up so the dress could be stripped of him and he could at last be taken out of the game. Sherlock finally seemed to understand his little brother wasn’t okay, that he needed comfort because he hadn't exactly been looking out for Bunny’s needs. Bunny knew by the somewhat frightened tone in Sherlock’s voice that he had not meant to be intentionally cruel.
Christmas Eve at the Lestrades was a bustling, cheerful affair. Greg’s parents’ house was warm and inviting: crackling fireplaces in both the dining and living room, wreaths and garlands hung on doors and across mantle pieces, and no less than three Christmas trees scattered around the ground floor. Beneath the twinkling lights and glittery reindeer statuettes were pictures of Greg and his older brothers--recent pictures from commendations Greg had received after solving difficult cases or promotions his brothers had received at work, graduation photos from various university commencement ceremonies, even an elementary school picture where the photographer had caught Greg in a laugh, freckled and missing his two front teeth.
As he’d jerkily stuffed fistfulls of torn cardstock back into the envelope in which the dolls were stored, he crossed his fingers and prayed that Bunny wouldn’t want to play with his paper dolls that day. He tried to convince himself that it served Bunny right, that now Mycroft and Papa would really have a reason to give Bunny so much coddling attention and to buy him new toys at the store. But a sinking emptiness driven by more than his refusal to eat breakfast made his stomach ache, and he hadn’t been able to look Bunny in the eye when the kid had come into the living room to play.
The moon was bright in the master bedroom, the windows open to the now pattering rain. Sherlock stood in the doorway for only a moment before ascertaining which side of the bed his brother was sleeping on and taking steps towards him. But he paused. Because he could see Uncle Greg asleep on one side of the bed and Mycroft asleep on the other, but he could also see John, asleep in their bed too. John’s head was rested against Mycroft’s chest, pacifier in his mouth and hair disheveled. And Mycroft’s arm was around John, pulling the man closer, comforting him.
Greg helped him undress and let him choose some bath toys and add in bubble bath. It was clear Mycroft had been thorough when explaining to Lestrade the procedures of their domestic routine, for which John continued to be grateful.
Sherlock was not ready to express his feelings about the morning’s events in any way that might be considered mature. He was hurt and confused, but for a man desperate to appear independent and self-sufficiently intelligent, those were two emotions nearly impossible to come to terms with, let alone admit to others. It had happened before: Sherlock slipping in headspace to keep from dealing with bullying from his classmates, or to keep from admitting to his own loneliness, or, the night before Mycroft had left for university, to keep from having to tell his big brother how much he would miss him. In headspace Sherlock didn’t have to uphold societal norms or behave in ways appropriate to the standards he had set for himself; if he was angry, he could act out; if he was lonely, he could ask for comfort.
“John and Sherlock,” he explained, thrown-off by the way in which past conversations with his big brother--delicate conversations about girlfriends, boyfriends, sex--reverberated into the current moment. “When they’re small.”
This chapter and the next were originally one longer chapter, but I decided to break them up a bit for ease of reading and because I wanted to tweak the second half a bit. I'll be posting a one-shot on tumblr (hopefully) tomorrow, and then I'll be able to finalize the next chapter of this story.
John put away his mobile and began shrugging on his coat. His train was pulling into the commuter station closest to Harry’s, and he was more than ready to be on solid ground once more.
Sherlock was most susceptible to self-harm and destructive behavior when in the midst of a let-down after a case. It often took Sherlock a day or two after finalizing logistics and processing the events of each case to begin feeling little. Sherlock was not about to suddenly want to slip younger just because John had been stressed about wetting himself. And if John abandoned Sherlock by slipping into headspace, who would be around to make sure Sherlock was handling the post-case boredom without resorting to his self-destructive tactics?
It had been a trying day, and his worries over the potential backlash of Sherlock’s forgotten trauma had not been entirely assuaged. But, for the moment, it was almost enough to know that those he cared for most in the world, the three men he would protect at any cost from harm and lurking demons and pain, were warm, peaceful, and--although Mycroft may never admit it outside of the world they’d created for themselves--truly, selflessly loved.
“Remind him he can safeword out before you start?” Greg asked, and Mycroft nodded to relieve Greg’s conscience.
It was when Bunny’s eyebrows furrowed in honest confusion as he glanced down to his lap before reaching to press against the soggy material between his thighs that Mycroft realized the boy truly hadn’t realized he was wet. He’d assumed the boy had simply wet his pull-up by choice, deciding to watch the film rather than miss a key moment by going potty. Almost as soon as they’d arrived at Mycroft’s, Sherlock had stood in the kitchen and peed into his pants, clearly uninterested in putting in the effort it would take to walk the few steps to the loo and using wetting as a way to settle further down into age. Mycroft had assumed Bunny was of the same mindset, and now felt heartless for teasing the boy, no matter how good-natured it may have been.
"He's been gone for three days," John whispered. "Just came back from what was obviously a drug-induced weekend and seems to be hurt in some..What? I---no, I don't, Mycroft. He's asking for you. He's--"
“I think Mycroft would murder me if I brought home any more Christmas presents,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “He’s not a proponent of what he calls my ‘spoiling the kids.’”
And then Papa was helping her put on the headband, sliding it onto her head until the horn rested just above her forehead. Papa’s face broke out into a wide grin as he sat back to look down at Bunny, and she blushed through Daddy snapping a quick picture of her on his phone. After putting his phone away, he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. Bunny leapt towards him for a hug.
But it was nothing more than a kid’s bedwetting diaper, and it could not hold the contents of a grown man’s bladder. Soon, Sherlock’s hand in his crotch was becoming wet as the pee streamed through the legholes of the diaper and soaked into his jeans and down onto the car seat. He reveled in the wetness, feeling so young and helpless that there were tears in his eyes. He hoped it would never stop. He pushed his bladder when the stream began to die down, wanting to become as soaked and saturated with urine as he possibly could, using his hands to splash the warm liquid from where it was puddled between his legs on the carseat up and onto dry areas of his jeans.
Mycroft was between Sherlock and Bunny in an instant, and he took Bunny by the arm and yanked him to a standing position.
I'm so sorry it took me far longer to update than I'd expected! I had a really tough time figuring out the ending of this chapter. I'm not entirely happy with it, but at least it's finished! Full disclosure that it's an unedited chapter, so apologies for any mistakes. Just one or two more chapters left in this story before I plan to turn my attention back to A Little Training. Life is a bit crazy, as I'm sure it is for all of you as well, but I promise I'm writing when I can.
“That is not an inaccurate statement,” Mycroft relented, proceeding with bluntness as a way to meet Sherlock’s half-adult mind. “There were matters which drew my attention away from you for a time, yes.”
“Hey, hey, what’s this?” Mycroft asked, pulling Sherlock closer to him. “Come here, ‘Lock. It’s going to be okay.”
Their mother saw through the lies, thanking Mycroft for taking care of his little brother when she hugged him goodbye. She told Sherlock she was glad he’d come, and Mycroft worried the kid would snap at her with something disparaging--praise being a bit of a divisive action when Sherlock was fighting headspace, but he simply shrugged and whined a bit in the back of his throat as Mycroft, laden with presents and far too many leftovers, ushered him out of the house.
But Sherlock had asked him to get young. And although Sherlock had no qualms about asking John to pick up biscuits or to text clients or to retrieve a book he was too lazy to walk across the room to get himself, he rarely asked for what it was he actually needed, especially not while out of headspace. And because John knew this, he had long ago made it a policy to follow through on any of Sherlock’s legitimate requests. If Sherlock needed John to be young, John would do everything he could to make that happen, and he would do it as quickly as possible.
Mycroft looked unconvinced, as if he were about to argue against Greg’s unfailing high esteem, but they were interrupted by a clearing of the throat, and both men turned to see Bunny in the kitchen doorway, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat.
He could not hear any commotion downstairs, which he hoped meant that Greg had gotten Bunny back to sleep. He couldn’t wait to get the boys back to his house, where they had their own connected rooms just down the hall from the master bedroom and Mycroft could watch over them both. The quarters were too tight at Baker Street; there was not enough space for them to all be together at night, when the boys were most vulnerable to dark thoughts and nightmares.
Sherlock could still feel the darkness whispering in his mind, the negative and even hopeless thoughts waiting in the wings that always came with his bad days. But, for the moment, he knew as he fell into a deep sleep that he was safe from the loneliness. And that went a long way towards making him feel as if, in time, everything might feel okay again.
Mycroft opened his paper once more. “Not in time out,” he said. “Boys who are punished for misbehaving do not get toys during their punishment.”
Sherlock had been planning to refuse to go to the lake house. He didn’t know if he could handle a weekend away without becoming more vulnerable than he wanted to, without letting the sense of purposelessness plunge him into depression and anger and neediness. Age play was in large part about a loss of control, and Sherlock worried that if he allowed himself to sink down right now, he would lose even the small semblance of control he had always been able to retain while little. And that terrified him.
“Bunny,” Mycroft warned. “You know you’re not to be sucking your thumb today. Take it out. Let me see your tongue.”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Sherlock said. He turned his contemplative gaze toward Mycroft. “There was a riddle...a rhyme to…”
After sending both boys to use the loo while Greg finished packing the car and after dealing with Sherlock’s stubborn refusal to try to pee one more time by threatening time outs until he stormed into the bathroom--the man wouldn't be big for long, Mycroft could see--they were each buckled into the rental car and on their way out of the city for a much-needed break.
The car ride would be less insufferable if he could allow himself to slip down in age. Mycroft and Lestrade had brought toys, books, puzzles, even Sherlock’s pirate shirt and, in case he was feeling particularly young and was in just the right mood, Sherlock’s pacifier. But Sherlock’s mind was moving too quickly, his nerves too frazzled to feel as if he could allow himself the comfort of slipping. He was worried about how young he might go, worried about the force of the neediness pulling at the back of his mind. As it was, he hadn’t been able to let himself fall down to his usual age, and he knew he was hovering around a teenaged-mindset, only young enough for snark and sullenness.
“Daddy, Sherlock pinched me,” Bunny said in an attempt to turn his Daddy’s loving affection away from little Sherlock. He held out his forearm, pointing to where he could almost imagine a small red mark left by Sherlock’s grasping fingers.
The boy (and the man) hated apologies. Mycroft hoped this one would not become a drawn out ordeal. He was relieved when Sherlock did not put up a fight but came closer to where John lay with his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.
It was true that Mycroft worried about Sherlock’s treatment of Bunny given this new development, worried about the potential teasing or shunning that Bun might receive at the hands of Sherlock. But Mycroft had suddenly been reminded that there was more to the situation than Bunny’s feelings alone. Bunny would have had no idea of the ramifications, of course, but introducing a sister into Sherlock’s world had more than the usual potential for disaster. Mycroft worried about the effect it may have on Sherlock’s state of mind.
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Mycroft said, setting Sherlock’s overnight bag on the table as he turned to reassure the boy. “I just didn’t want to put your bag on the dirty floor. I know you’re a big boy.”
Bunny was confused by the layout of his Daddy’s house. He wasn’t even sure he would have been able to find his own way from his bedroom to the breakfast table that morning if Papa hadn’t led him down, so it was no easy feat to find a room that would make a good hiding spot.
He’d been keeping himself from full disciplinarian-mode out of fear Sherlock would break down, but now that they were alone he couldn’t resist an expression of his frustration over his brother’s actions. He placed a hand on the back of Sherlock’s headrest and twisted his body to look behind them as he began to back out of the driveway.
Papa’s voice was at its gentlest, which made Sherlock feel like crying again. He yanked the duvet tighter around him.
“Furthermore,” Sherlock continued, seemingly unaware that John was not entirely following. “Although I’m more than content for you to express yourself as female when or if you’d like to, I predict that it will not be something you desire more than the occasional day or night here and there. It's glaringly apparent that your psyche is rather fixed on working through your own childhood experiences in this regard, meaning that you will mirror that which you felt as a child by remaining attached to what have generally been coded feminine items. However, now that you’ve gone through the process of testing the levels of Mycroft and Lestrade's acceptance and thus soothing your worries about the real issue, which is your association with stereotypically 'girly' items, you won’t have nearly as much drive to label your gender quite so specifically."
This chapter was an interesting challenge, as I wanted to explore the impact the events of the previous few chapters had on both Sherlock and Mycroft in alternating perspectives. Hopefully it worked out!
Bunny’s countenance changed over the course of time she and Sherlock shared crayons and made up stories for the pictures they were coloring: she sat up straighter and had a cheerful glint to her eye that was different from the usually reserved, shy looks the boy Bunny often cast towards Sherlock. Bunny even sounded different: her voice was louder and she was prone to fits of giggling, finding silliness in things Sherlock had never thought to think funny.
“I’ll stop at the next service station,” Mycroft said when he noticed the way Sherlock’s kicking of the footwell was accompanied by a tell-tale fidgeting.
Mycroft was doing well; he always knew just how to help Sherlock slip when he felt unable to. The younger man pressed his face into the car seat and waited for the first strike. It came quickly and harshly, Mycroft’s hand smacking against his bare skin. Mycroft began high up, just below Sherlock’s lower back. Sherlock yelped and, after recovering for a moment, began counting. Mycroft’s spanking moved down Sherlock’s bottom until he was hitting right against his seat, always the most painful for Sherlock.
“Bunny doesn’t want to wear big boy clothes because he might have a wee in his pants, and everyone would know,” Sherlock whispered.
They had by now had a bit of time to process the drama of the weekend at the lake, albeit not as much as was probably necessary, and John, for one, was feeling tentatively optimistic about the overall progress they had all made as a foursome. But there were lingering questions and concerns that still needed to be aired--between him and Sherlock in particular.
a bad dream. He was gasping for breath around the phantom weight settled heavily on his chest, afraid that, together in one room, they were all in reach of the monster’s clutches. But Daddy was strong and calm, speaking softly. With a sympathetic glance towards Bunny and a nod towards Daddy, Papa brought Sherlock out of the bedroom and into the hallway, headed in the direction of the Master bedroom.
Uncle Greg laughed and began to nod, but, before he could answer, Bunny’s Daddy spoke up from where he was feeding Sherlock at the other end of the table.
Mycroft nodded, the closest Greg would get to an “I love you, too” when Mycroft was sober and shifting into problem-solving mode.
Mycroft got Sherlock to sleep rather quickly, the boy already tired from the hot cocoa and the cold medicine he had found in the downstairs bathroom cabinet. Sherlock did ask for a story to be read to him before he’d fallen asleep, and Mycroft had found one of the new pictures books he’d furnished Sherlock’s room with and sat beside him in bed to read to the boy.
“Not hungry,” he said, slumping down into the seat and resting his knees against the back of the driver’s seat.
“I can swing you back to Mycroft’s when we’re finished here,” he said, conveying far more with his concerned look than he did with his words. “It’s been a long morning.”
“Bun, come on with me and let’s use the loo,” Greg said, holding out his hand. “Your brother and Mycroft will join us in a moment and we’ll all have some lunch, okay?”
He paused in undressing Greg only to trail his tongue and lips along the man’s stomach, sending the Detective Inspector into stifled laughter when his most ticklish spots were found. They were breathless even before they were naked, hands roving and bodies pressing against each other, thrusting in desperate need.
“It doesn’t work that way, love,” John said. “If you love Bunny, you have to accept her for who she is, no matter what.”
He wasn’t exactly proud of it, but it had taken only minutes before he had been compelled to go through the room in search of something he could use to harm himself. Given that there was no possibility for drugs of any kind--Mycroft and Greg had both searched his bags before leaving Baker Street--it was his next-step coping mechanism. But he had known he wouldn’t find anything sharper than the plastic corner of a lego even before he had started looking. His brother and Lestrade had ensured the room was free of anything dangerous. The fact that they cared for his well being should have comforted him; instead, it sparked anger and irritation. What right did they have to stifle him and his needs, to censor him?
Mycroft wrapped an arm around him, and John’s face fell once more. He gave in to the lingering tears, head falling sideways to rest against Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft supported him, telling him again and again that he was safe, allowing John the time that he needed to process and recover from the nightmare.
Dinner seemed to progress normally after that moment. Sherlock, having finally agreed to the compromise of watching Land Before Time but only if he was allowed to explain the scientific inaccuracies of prehistoric times as they watched, continued to prattle on about whatever popped into his mind, and Mycroft and Greg entertained his notions while they ate and Bunny remained silent. And although Mycroft fed Bunny between bites of his own food, there was very little that was different about their family meal.
“You didn’t know little John in his earliest stages of ageplay,” Mycroft said. “You didn’t see how unsure of himself he was, how eager he was to fit specifically into whatever he thought was wanted of him. It was Sherlock who created Bunny, Greg. Not John. I worry that John is playing a character, that he feels more comfortable separating himself as much as possible from his adult self than he does finding his actual personality in headspace, that he somehow thinks this is the role he should be playing.”
“I didn’t go all the way.” John could hear the smile in the admission; Sherlock was clearly enjoying the fact that he’d been caught. “I only let out enough to let him think I’d gone.”
“None of that,” Mycroft said, clucking his tongue as he nodded towards Sherlock. “You’re too old for that, now.”
“My room!” He said when he’d come across a blue child’s room with a green bedspread over the twin bed.
“I think you know what you did wrong, Bunny,” Mycroft said. “It was very wrong of you to wander away from Uncle Greg when you were in the store and to disobey him. You scared Uncle Greg very much and you put yourself in danger by breaking the rules.”
“And I don’t think you’re a baby,” Sherlock said. “And I’m sorry for teasing you because I don’t like it when people tease me, either.”
“If I am, it’s thanks to the three of you,” he said, nodding with his chin towards the boys as he once more squeezed Greg’s hand.
Mycroft had re-entered the living room at this point with a wiped down Dmitri the dinosaur, which Sherlock reached for immediately.
Sherlock glanced over to Bunny, who had turned away from the cartoons and was looking up at Mycroft with something between longing and fear. Sherlock knew Bunny rarely left the house while in headspace. He also knew the man was far less of a homebody than was Sherlock, and it was likely he was going a bit stir-crazy after so many days at the lake house.
Sending you all holiday wishes and Snow Bunny kisses. Love to those of you who have family to celebrate the holidays with but especially to those who don't--please know you're not alone and I for one am sending you positive vibes!
Sherlock could feel himself younger than before, less wild in the mind. But he was still unsure of himself, and anxious about going into a public space. He knew he would be pulled immediately out of any younger headspace were he to be surrounded by strangers, and then Mycroft’s spanking would have all been for nothing.
Sherlock was sulking, but he walked over to the kitchen table where Mycroft and John sat. He fidgeted, one foot on top of the other.
“Is John-John still big?” Sherlock asked, balancing himself on Papa’s shoulders as the man, seated on the edge of the bathtub, leaned to help him step out of his wet trousers.
Greg wished they were closer, wished he could pull the kid into his lap. As it was, all he could do was squeeze the boy’s knee in reassurance.
Whether because he actually believed him to be fully adult or because he was simply in too much of a rush to question the statement, John didn’t know. But Greg took only a moment longer before nodding and turning from the kitchen.
, John texted back, ultimately wanting to assuage his sister’s guilt more than he wanted to delve into the overwhelming disappointment of the situation and its predecessors.
I meant to write a quick bit of fluff ending this story with syrupy-sweet Christmas time among the little family, but if you've read this far you know I'm basically incapable of keeping the angsty-plots from emerging. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter because I had to rush it a bit (I gave myself a deadline of Christmas), and it's more of a set-up chapter than anything, but I hope you'll forgive me for that as I get myself back into this world after not writing for so long! Feel free to let me know what you'd like to see once I do get around to the Christmas-y fluff (which will come), and have a fantastic night, loves! Happy Holidays to all of you!
Mycroft cleared his throat. His brother knew what was required for a proper explanation. They had decided on parameters long ago. Sherlock sighed, stomping his foot in a show of aggravation.
“How are my two favorite kiddos?” Papa asked a few minutes later as he came down the steps with a handful of dirty laundry. He walked past them to toss the laundry into the laundry hamper which sat next to the washing machine in the downstairs loo, then turned the corner back into the kitchen to wash his hands. “Leaving any dino nuggets for Papa?”
"John? What is it?...Watson? Tell that brother of mine my patience is wearing thin, as it has been with him for the past month. He knows as well as I that his recent behavior--"
And with a small moan and his eyes squeezed shut, Sherlock began to pee in his pants. He spread his legs and leaned back against the seat as urine began to pulse warm and wet into the pull-up, saturating the crotch and then spreading down against his already warmed bum. The stream was strong and fast, and Sherlock could hear the pee exiting his body and streaming into the pull-up until the training diaper was thick and heavy.
And, when he had finished, when he sat staring down at the mess he had made of himself and the carseat, when he realized he’d just had an accident like a bad boy and that Mycroft and Uncle Greg would be upset with him and that Bunny--who had gone with Uncle Greg to use the loo like a big boy--would see that he really wasn’t anything more than a wet-pants baby, when, more than anything, he realized with relief that he was finally in a young headspace, he began to cry.
He shrugged up at his Papa and let his fork drop on his plate. Maybe if he didn’t feed himself, Papa would do it for him.
Bunny felt a bit more grounded once they were closed in the hall bathroom Greg’s nieces shared, the bright light and colorful unicorn shower curtain helping to convince him there were most likely no hidden monsters ready to jump out and get him.
Greg did his best with what he had--helping Bunny out of his saturated pants, using the dry sections of the blanket to wipe him off, and re-dressing him in the trousers he’d asked the boy to take off. As he bundled the blanket and wet pants into the boot of the car, Greg was adding to the list of necessaries he would be stocking up on: spare clothes, baby wipes, plastic bags. Luckily, the accident had been contained by the folds of the blanket, so he was able to settle the boy back into his seat and buckle him in once more.
The juxtaposition of Sherlock’s currently childish voice struggling to parrot back Mycroft’s heightened language was rather adorable, and John could not help but pull the boy in for a hug at long last, chuckling to himself that Sherlock was too cute for his own good.
“Hey, none of that,” Greg said, taking Mycroft by the shoulders. “The kid felt comfortable enough to express himself as he truly was, today. I’m not about to minimize the progress that shows, no matter what consequences it's had. I don’t know what’s got you so worried, love, but I do know none of this is your fault.”
“Even though I’m naughty and Bunny has more stickers on his chart than me?” he asked, following another repeated insecurity by comparing himself to John.
“Take all the time you might need,” Mycroft said. “Thank you for telling me. I will follow your lead. For now, do you have a sense of how you’d like me to respond if it does happen again?”
“Oh, alright,” he said, shifting the hat so that it was properly situated on his head. “But you better keep your phone away. I don’t want any photographic evidence.”
Mycroft was calling from the other side of the door. Sherlock could not help but bite back a sob. He couldn’t ask Mycroft to help him, no matter how much he wanted it. Mycroft would see the pull-up if he helped him untie his pants; Mycroft would know Sherlock had been bad.
“Are you sure?” Mycroft asked. “Uncle Greg said you picked out some nice presents for your brother. I’m sure he’d love to see them.”
After a quick trip to the downstairs bathroom to throw his wet sock into the laundry hamper and to find a clean pull-up and a package of baby wipes in the cabinet beneath the sink, he began his search for the boy.
“Sherlock?” he asked, and when Sherlock turned to him, his big brother was looking at him searchingly.
Mycroft had, over the years, helped Sherlock to develop coping mechanisms for when he was feeling depressed while in littlespace, mechanisms of self-care that were meant to be as far as possible from drugs or self-harm. But, that morning, Sherlock had not been in the mood to draw pictures of his feelings or to recite any positive affirmations or to go for a walk outside. He’d been up nearly the entire night, unable to find a comfortable spot in the bed squeezed between Bunny and Uncle Greg yet too desperate for company to retreat back to his own bedroom. He didn’t have the energy for much of anything.
Ignoring the man with a roll of his eyes, John dragged the desk chair towards the bed, taking a seat where he could get a glimpse at whatever it was Sherlock was working on.
But as he sat beneath the twinkling string lights that Greg had hung in the kitchen (and in every other room of the main floor, and on the banister up to the second floor, and in the bushes out front), watching the smiling faces of his kids dressed in matching pajamas and the knowing glances of his contented boyfriend in his ridiculous old Santa hat, he began to understand. For the first time, he was spending Christmas with a family who understood and valued him for exactly who he was, a family he could care for and who had forced him to open himself up to their love.
It was the sound of shattered glass that must have been the last straw for Mycroft and John. For, as Sherlock clutched his bleeding fist against his chest and stood on the carpet amidst the shattered fragments of the broken window, they shoved their way into the room, toppling over the dresser in their need to get to their hurt Sherlock.
Sherlock hugged his arms around himself and shrugged, eyes downcast to the footwell of the car. He shifted where he sat, his bladder full and his bottom sore from the spanking.
“Listen,” Greg said when he’d finished paying at the counter inside and had climbed back into the car with John. “I know yesterday wasn’t easy. But you did good.”
“Ow,” Sherlock said when Mycroft looked closely at the deepest of the cuts despite the fact that he had not touched them. “Don’t do that.”
Sherlock said nothing, but he nodded, and John could breathe again. He reached out and took Sherlock’s uninjured hand, glad when the other man didn’t yank away from his touch.
Daddy twisted his head to follow the sound of tumbling blocks to glance at Bunny, kneeling on the carpet.
“Where’s Ariel?” Mycroft asked, and John yanked back his sheets and blankets until he found his stuffed lion tangled in the bedclothes. He pulled the stuffed animal to his chest. It was John’s only little item Mycroft had not been able to pack, as the man had started to keep her with him, close by even when the man was big. But whether out of necessity or convenience, Mycroft was unsure.
Downstairs in Mycroft’s presence, the prickling guilt--guilt which had surfaced when he lied to Papa about the juice on the carpet--intensified. He was worried Mycroft would deduce his naughtiness with a single look, and the disappointed sigh the man gave after asking Sherlock where his Papa was caused Sherlock to sink into himself, vowing to be as unreadable as possible.
“I’ll deal with any wet sheets if it comes to that,” he said, continuing to keep his voice low. “Let’s just go to bed, now.”
Greg was cuddled up with a now-placated Sherlock when Mycroft and Bunny returned. He tried to make eye contact with his boyfriend when the man deposited their youngest back onto the couch, but Mycroft avoided his gaze, leaving the boy to watch the end of the movie before stepping over the scattered pillows the boys had been using on the floor and retreating out of the living room.
Mycroft shook his head as they set up their chairs right where the grass of the yard met the sand of the shore. The owners of the house had created a faux beach, laying sand over the dirt of the shoreline. The boys had raced through the sand, and Sherlock was now up to his waist in the water, trying to coax a tentative John to come in past his ankles.
Bunny breathed a quiet laugh, and Greg carded his fingers through the boy’s hair. It was longer than usual given the relentless pace of cases that had kept him and Sherlock from anything not crime-related for quite some time.
Bunny could hear Mycroft answer after only two rings, and he made a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat. Just knowing his Daddy was on the other end of the line made him more desperate to talk to him, to see him.
“John, listen to me,” Mycroft said, reaching across the table to pat John’s hand as a way to get his full attention. “I know you'll think my words childish, but it really was just an accident. It isn't the end of the world. And it definitely didn't make you a bad kid. It actually just made you a kid, which you were at the time.”
It was a slight point of contention between Greg and Mycroft, the way Greg could get Sherlock to cooperate in ways Mycroft could not. The boy was often a more well-behaved child when in the care of Greg, less combative and argumentative than when he was with his brother. Greg assumed the juxtaposition had to do with the fact that Greg didn’t have the same level of history with Sherlock as Mycroft did. Even as Sherlock’s caretaker, Mycroft had to combat years of competition and power struggles. Greg, on the other hand, could simply be an authority figure, something Sherlock desperately needed.
John Watson didn't understand. He left behind his newspaper and crossed the room towards his best friend and boyfriend, the anger he had felt over Sherlock not contacting him for the past three days dissipating at the thought of Sherlock injured in some way.
“No, I’m not,” Sherlock argued, lying to his brother for the simple fact that he felt like causing trouble. “I’m cold.”
“Bun, come on and eat when you’re ready,” Greg called from the other side of the bathroom door, and John felt a stab of panic. He realized he was standing in the bathroom, arms around himself, in nothing but a pull-up and his Gryffindor pajama top.
The timing of Sherlock’s looming regression could not have been worse. Sherlock had made strides in headspace by letting Greg and John in on the equation, but he wasn’t about to welcome other observers, least of all the Holmes brothers’ rather conservative parents.
It was almost a blessing in disguise; Greg would rather discourage the boy from sucking his thumb or pacifier because he didn't want to further aggravate the sore on his tongue than because he didn't want close-minded people to stare, point, or tease.
Mycroft reached forward and adjusted Bunny’s pull-up, running a finger along the inside of the leg holes to ensure they were not bunched or pulling in the wrong direction.
“I’ll handle Sherlock,” Mycroft said, knowing there were both apologies to be made and punishments to be doled out. “You need to punish the Bunny.”
Mycroft leaned forward and kissed John on the forehead. John blushed, and mumbled that he was big, but he was grateful for the comfort no matter what he said. Deep down, he wasn't sure if he’d have been able to function had Mycroft not accepted this part of him.
Bunny seemed not to hear as he was led away, his eyes lingering on the bunny nightgown even as they walked towards the women’s section. Greg just prayed there would be something Bunny liked in a large enough size for him.
Sherlock felt the fabric at John’s crotch dampening, could feel the muscles of his stomach tense as he struggled to keep from losing complete control.
John slipped his phone into his pocket and leaned onto his knees, letting his face fall into his hands. Why did he give her chance after chance? He should know by now that Harry was not reliable, that picking him up at the train station on time was a rather tall order for his sister. He didn’t place full blame Harry; she had been through a lot, and John knew first-hand how difficult it could be to cope at times. But that didn’t mean the whole situation hadn’t left him feeling stranded and forgotten.
Mycroft hoisted himself from the chair with a sigh and crossed to the window, glass of bourbon in hand.
“Not the time for a lecture, Myc,” Greg said with a smirk, reaching to rub the man’s shoulder. He smiled at John and quirked his head towards the staircase. “Let us know if you need backup, kiddo,” he said.
“I’d say we might just have another little on our hands,” Greg smiled. “If you’re ready to take on that additional responsibility, you should talk to him, Myc. John’s clearly a man who’s seen his fair share of pain. A little comfort might go a long way towards alleviating some hardship.”
But the man’s breath of laughter faded as Bunny refused to look up from where he gaze was fixed on the stairway.
“There’s more to this than you’re letting on,” he said, wishing Mycroft would realize he wouldn’t jeopardize his brother’s well-being were he to place his full trust in Greg.
Sherlock was naked from the waist down and over Mycroft’s lap a moment later, writhing but content as he was spanked. It was a rather long spanking, Sherlock’s bare bum reddening as Mycroft hit him again and again, but Mycroft knew it was what Sherlock needed, in fact what he was desperate for. The boy, yelling through his snivelling, was being punished for the lies of the day before and the cheekiness of the morning’s antics, yes, but he was also being shown the affirmation of Mycroft’s care for him. Mycroft had him in-hand, and Sherlock could do nothing but trust that Mycroft--steadfast, intuitive, big brother Mycroft--knew just what he needed.
Sherlock looked as if he would refuse, looked as if he were ready to send his little brother back to his room alone to punish him for any number of the things Sherlock currently had to hold against Bunny.
“You’re doing just fine,” Mycroft said. “You were upset that Bunny could be himself when you felt as if you could not. Is that right?”
“Stop this charade,” he said, nearly caustic as he took hold of Sherlock’s upper arm. “Your pride isn’t worth pissing yourself.”
“Still asleep, but grumpy from what I can ascertain.” Daddy pressed Bunny’s head to his chest and covered the ear not pressed against him, but Bunny could still hear what Daddy was saying to Papa. “I found Bunny on the floor, under the bed. He told me Sherlock didn’t want him sleeping with him.”
Greg did not mention his hope that, should John stay, they could ease the Doctor back down into some semblance of headspace. It was clear John had been pulled rather abruptly out of headspace, and Greg knew he himself hadn't exactly helped in that area.
Sherlock was already dressed in pajamas, Mycroft having changed him into them when he’d brought the boy upstairs for a diaper change and what he’d later told Greg had been a quick rock in the rocking chair to settle him into headspace, but Greg knew Mycroft did not like the boys to skip cleaning their teeth. He carried the boy into the upstairs bathroom and perched him on the top of the sink cabinet as he reached for the baby’s alligator toothbrush.
Mycroft nodded. “Sherlock and I have had years to cultivate his ideal environment, years to settle on parameters based on his needs. But Sherlock’s rules may not work best for you.”
There was no visible puddle on the bedroom floor leading into the closet, so it seemed Bunny’s accident may have happened prior to him retreating to his closet hiding place. Mycroft moved to John’s side of the bed and flipped back the sheets, and, sure enough, he revealed a wet patch of urine. Sherlock groaned and the baby tensed in Mycroft’s arms.
“Bun, do you need the potty, sweetheart?” He asked as he sent off an email to a rather incompetent government higher-up. He’d just realized the boy hadn’t been to the loo all morning. He’d meant to take him after changing Sherlock’s diaper, but had been distracted by getting his little brother settled and content.
Bunny keened in the back of his throat as the smell of his accident reached him, and a moment later he felt the pull-up leaking, trickling out of the left leg hole to run down his thigh and his calf until it began puddling around his foot on the hardwood floor. He continued to pee, unable to stop, suddenly helpless against the rush of liquid streaming through the too-full pull-up and falling to patter onto the floor.
There was a pause, then mumbling that Greg could not understand. They had just turned off the expressway, and he took advantage of the side streets to pull off on the side of the road.
Alone with Mycroft in the bedroom that was his for the weekend, John was relieved to no longer have to so closely guard against adulthood. It seemed there was a silver lining to him and Sherlock being placed in separate rooms.
“That’s part of the chaos that is taking care of little Sherlock. He’s not generally any set age. He could start a day as eight and be five by dinnertime. He needs the mental stimulation that keeps him from feeling self-conscious about regression. If he’s not stimulated in some external way--going on a trip or solving a new puzzle--he needs a way to distract himself. We've come across a few tactics that keep him aged down, and one of them is that he’ll shift in age to keep himself entertained. I’ve personally seen him sink as young as a needy three year old and then shift to as old as a very petulant pre-teen, around twelve or thirteen.”
“I know you need time. You can take all of it that you need. But it doesn’t have to be this way. Let me help you with this.”
Greg knew he could grab what they needed and be out of the store in twenty or thirty minutes, but he also knew John could benefit not only from the experience in public while little, but also from the time outside of the lake house, which had, over the course of the weekend, definitely become a space where Sherlock’s needs had been put first. Greg wanted John to feel cared for and looked after as well, and that meant it would be beneficial to take some alone time with the boy.
I have minimal first-hand experience with questions of gender identity beyond my own proclivity towards opposite-gender items/interests while ageplaying, so please feel free to reach out/comment if there is anything you feel to be inauthentic/incomplete/inaccurate or unfairly stereotypical about what Bunny is going through in this chapter. I'd love to hear from any of you who have been through this first-hand and can give pointers or advice for approaching the topic both realistically and with sensitivity in this and future chapters.
“No,” Greg said, quick to reassure the boy that he was not in trouble for his accident. “But I do think a time-out is in order for disobeying Daddy.”
“Bloody hell, Sherlock,” he gasped, falling forward. Sherlock held John by the biceps, steadying him as he nearly collapsed from the ecstasy of the spreading warmth as the pull-up grew heavy.
John squealed and raced out of the living room as Mycroft chased him down the hallway. It would be okay, John thought as he laughed and hid from his smiling daddy. It would all be alright.
He placed the dinosaur on the kitchen table. Sherlock whined, but stopped after a look from Mycroft, who was clearly a stern yet warm caretaker.
It had been the worst day ever. He didn’t feel well and Daddy loved Sherlock more than he loved him. Daddy wasn’t fair and he couldn’t talk to him right now. He wanted his Papa.
“No,” he said. “There was a slight moment when he began to age up, but it was clear he wasn't ready to come out of headspace yet. He needs more time to process what happened and how he’s feeling before he’ll be ready to chat.”
“My brothers built it when I was seven,” Greg said, leaning into the treehouse from where he stood with both hands on the door frame, startling John from the close attention he had been paying to some old school textbooks and records--waterlogged and falling apart--that he’d found in the far corner.
“Even big boys have trouble now and then,” Mycroft said as nonchalantly as possible. “Nothing a bath and some laundry can’t fix up good as new for my sweet boy.”
“Sherlock, let’s get you to the loo, at least,” Papa said, clearly attempting to tackle the issue he could most easily handle at the moment. “We don’t want an accident.”
Bunny whimpered and tried to push himself away from Mycroft. Mycroft feared he would burst into loud cries once more, and kept his arms wrapped tightly around the boy.
“Shut up, Sherlock,” John warned. Yet there was a smirk emerging even as John rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s presumptuous deducing. This was his old Sherlock, back to teasing and self-assured statements.
Bunny whined in the back of his throat as he reached towards his Papa for a hug. Didn’t Papa understand that he didn’t want to take care of Sherlock, that he didn’t want to worry about being bigger today? That he was sick and felt icky and all befuddled?
But John was not in a position to let the man’s carelessness slide, and he was on his feet with threatening epithets in an instant, body posed for fighting. The younger man held up his hands and apologized again, but John lunged, and soon found himself in the midst of a shouting, scrambling bar fight.
“Meaning it’s not the presence of a woman but the presence of a...a young girl that he somehow believes dangerous.” he said, nodding.
“Speaking of which,” Greg said as he pulled the last item from Sherlock’s overnight bag: a plastic mattress cover.
John smiled sideways. Leave it to Sherlock to give himself an excuse to act up. It was no surprise that Sherlock had found a way to use this to his own advantage.
Sherlock seemed satisfied, and once he was done weeing and had torn off the soaked pull-up, he stood patiently while Mycroft cleaned him up with wet paper towels. Mycroft had ignored the instinct early that morning which had told him to bring along wet wipes and spare pull-ups, somehow rationalizing that Sherlock would be more likely to slip were Mycroft to prepare for his younger headspaces. But Mycroft could see now how foolish it had been. Sherlock was clearly uncomfortable, and all Mycroft could offer him was clean-up with cheap paper towels.
Bunny rubbed at his eyes and smiled at his big brother. If Sherlock was teasing again instead of outright name calling and shoving, maybe things would be okay.
He turned around the corner of the building as he pissed himself, close to the wall to hide himself from the wandering investigators and crime scene technicians. Sherlock’s hand was on his shoulder, and John shrugged it off. He didn’t want pity.
There was a hesitancy in Mycroft’s voice that even little Sherlock knew had to do with guilt and a desire to placate.
When he had no luck in the pharmacy aisle, he made his way back towards the toy section, glancing down each aisle in turn while attempting to calm his fraying nerves. He should never have taken his eye off him; he should never have let go of his hand.
“Daddy,” Bunny cried, reaching out for Mycroft as soon as he entered the room. “Sherlock pinched me!”
“Uncle Greg is mean,” is what Bunny said, repeating what he had mumbled a moment before. His cheeks flushed, as if he were nervous about his words.
He was grateful that Mycroft had brought him to the bathroom quickly; if he'd been made to stand in the corner for a full timeout he would have certainly wet himself. As it was, he was having trouble gaining control of himself now. The intense urge had passed, but his fingers were fumbling as he stood upright and began attempting to unknot the drawstring of his joggers, thighs scissoring back and forth in his desperate need.
It wasn’t what he’d expected. He was used to drastic action being taken when there were suspicions he’d hurt himself. He was used to loud voices making demands and grasping hands pulling him one way or another. He was used to being made to feel inconsequential and naughty.
“Okay,” he said when the boy returned and was sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “Let’s talk about Bunny.”
Bunny hesitated, then gave a small, miserable “okay” that was little more than a drawn-out sob. Mycroft could not help but wonder if they had ever had a day full of so many breakdowns for both Sherlock and John. It was rare both boys were so emotionally off at the same time. Then again, this was the longest stretch of uninterrupted ageplay they had had in quite some time, and it was bound to lead to new emotions and conflicts for the boys. He was distressed to see Bunny so upset, but there was also the relief that, over the course of the weekend at the lake, Bunny had become far less hesitant towards expressing his emotions. Mycroft had seen John cry more often in the past three days than he had during months of ageplay previously.
John was unaware just how long the panic attack lasted. But eventually Mycroft’s steady, unending counting and his practiced tone became prominent over the flashbacks and agitation, and John, exhausted and gasping for breath, collapsed to the floor at his feet. Mycroft was beside him in a moment, arm wrapped around his shoulder protectively.
“Couldn’t get the knot undone in time,” he said. “I went in my pants by accident, but then I couldn’t tell because I didn't want anyone to know I put on a pull-up.”
Papa’s voice was no-nonsense and demanding as he continued to jiggle the doorknob. Sherlock pressed the juice box harder, willing the liquid to squirt out more quickly, clumsily aiming as he glanced back over his shoulder at the door. He was grateful the video game was still waiting for him to choose to restart the level, bright electronic music repeating again and again; it would have been one more thing he’d needed to do before opening the door had the game shut off while he’d been gone.
Bunny glanced up at him for a moment, but then his face fell, and he was crying again, Sherlock’s reminder of his torn paper dolls apparently too much to take. But Papa Greg was nodding for Sherlock to go on as he rubbed Bunny’s back, and when Sherlock glanced back over his shoulder at Mycroft, he simply raised one eyebrow, as if he were expecting more.
Greg chuckled again, patting the boy’s knee to calm him after reaching across his chest and clicking his seat belt back into place.
Mycroft cleared his throat. He’d been hoping to make it through the night without having to come to terms with his own moodiness, but he’d known it was unlikely given the way Greg had been peppering him with concerned questions throughout the night. He nodded to acknowledge Greg’s request.
Papa only glanced across the kitchen with worry towards Mycroft, however. Mycroft was keeping an eye on Bunny while simultaneously watching the conversation between Sherlock and Papa. He had a hand resting on the back of Bunny's neck, and was nodding at the boy as he energetically chattered and sorted through stickers, holding up first one style and then another for Mycroft’s input. Sherlock turned to press his face back into the darkness of his crossed arms when Papa turned back towards him.
“Stop it, Papa,” Sherlock said, because he could tell Uncle Greg liked the idea, that he would very much like being Papa.
He and Greg stationed themselves in the window seat on the far end of the living room, Mycroft sitting straight-backed while Greg slumped against the side of the bookcase, one leg up on the cushion on which they were seated. He passed Mycroft his tea cup after retrieving their drinks, which he had carried in from the kitchen, from the coffee table.
John’s sort of self-harm generally involved massive hangovers and nameless faces in any number of indistinguishable bedrooms instead of sharp objects, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t familiar with the type of demeaning self-talk that plagued Sherlock on his darkest days. They were both men tormented by their pasts, often struggling to keep their heads above water. Age regression helped, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still challenged by persistent, underlying thoughts of their own worthlessness.
“I sat out here in case he decided to run,” Greg explained, part of him needing to convince Mycroft he had at least taken responsibility for his mistake. “And he did try. But, when he opened the door, he saw me and decided against leaving. Now he’s barricaded himself inside.”
There was a hole where a tree branch had long ago damaged the roof, so the snow was falling from the ceiling, leaving a white patch in a streak across the floorboards. John watched it falling through the criss-crossed tree branches high overhead.
“Sherlock, I have to go,” Bunny said when he couldn’t stand it any longer. His voice was quiet, cheeks pinking beneath the tear-stains. He squeezed his thighs together and wiggled in place. He knew Sherlock had noticed his problem long minutes ago, had chosen to ignore it. Sherlock himself had to go too, Bunny could tell. He’d squeezed between his legs a time or two while they played. But Sherlock could hold it longer than Bunny could, he had more practice at it, which only made Bunny feel littler.
“Daddy, too. I want you to forget what he may have said or how he behaved before, princess. Daddy was telling you the truth today when he said he supports you just as you are. It’s only fair of us to take him at his word. Okay?”
“There may have been a bloody nose involved,” Greg relented with a sigh. “And what I hope wasn't a broken cheekbone.”
The tears were fat and fast, and he soon found himself not just crying, but blubbering, making guttural sounds in his throat as he threw his head back and sobbed.
Bunny was skipping into the kitchen a moment later, followed closely by Papa, who crossed to Mycroft with a glance that Sherlock would have been able to read had he been in an older headspace. At the moment, he didn’t have much interest in interpreting the silent conversations Papa and Mycroft could have over his and Bunny’s heads, and instead held up his half-colored planet towards Bunny, who was climbing onto his knees in the chair beside him.
Bunny twitched a bit on the carpet. He’d lied to Daddy earlier when he’d asked if he needed the potty, and now it was getting to be a bit of an emergency. He was about to set down his sippy cup and make his way to the potty like a big kid.
"I'm here, little one," Papa said, holding him close as he rocked him were he stood. "Papa's right here, brave boy."
“Well, for the sake of argument let’s pretend I’ve given you sufficient time to hem and haw over the embarrassment you feel regarding your choice to identify as female while young yesterday and move along to what made you age up and leave Mycroft’s flat so abruptly.”
I would love to take another day or two to tighten this chapter up and get it where I'd like it to be, but because I won't have a day off for another week and two days, I figured that might not be realistic. So, I figured it would be best to get it posted so all of you lovely humans can at least have a continuation of the story! Let me know if you have any feedback--this is definitely one I may go back to edit at a future date!
Bunny reached out and placed a hand on Sherlock’s back, then traced his fingers along Sherlock’s bony spine in an attempt to soothe him. He drew stars and thunderclouds with his finger along Sherlock’s back, relieved when Sherlock did not tell him off or pull farther away.
Mycroft may not have understood Sherlock’s words, but he had caught onto Sherlock’s distress, and despite Sherlock’s feeble protests, he lifted the slighter man into his lap and rubbed his back while he cried.
Mycroft continued after draining his glass. “I...I have grown rather attached to little John, as well, and I need you to know he could never inconvenience me, certainly not for something which he needs at his core to find happiness and confidence. I don't view you as tagging along while Sherlock ageplays. You're as much worthy of your own experience as Sherlock is. That's why I was disappointed in myself over what happened today. I slipped in my duties to keep you happiest and taken care of in your little space. I allowed something to happen that you did not desire or ask for. Do you understand?”
He screamed and flailed for longer than he thought he ever had before, kicking against the wall where he had been set into the corner and hitting at Uncle Greg and Mycroft’s hands when they attempted to steady him. He was alone, and angry, and no longer able to find the best frogs, and Mycroft liked John better than him, which he didn’t know how to deal with besides yelling and kicking and hitting.
Thanks for your support and wonderful comments on the last few chapters! I can't believe this story has almost reached over 50,000 words! You've all been such great supporters of my writing and this series, and I am very grateful.
“Let’s start here,” Mycroft said, sitting up and taking charge in a way that calmed John’s nerves. He had been unsure how to begin the conversation that he knew they needed to have, so it was comforting to simply follows Mycroft’s lead.
John turned back over his shoulder with eyebrows raised, but Sherlock was rolling his eyes towards the screen, unconscious of John’s attention.
John continued stroking the boy’s back even after he could feel the steady rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest signalling that he had fallen asleep. If anyone had any doubts about little space being beneficial for Sherlock, they only had to see how much easier it was for Sherlock to fall asleep when young, and John knew they would never doubt again.
That said, he couldn’t help but find it frustratingly ironic that the day the political geography of England was threatened by opportunism was the same day Greg had been called into work and John had insisted on tagging along. Mycroft, as a rule, kept very strict boundaries between his home and work life. At the moment, however, he had no option but to to handle things as quickly and efficiently as possible while hoping Sherlock would be content with some extra time in front of the telly.
“Fuck, I can’t…,” John breathed, twisting his legs around the hand in his crotch and nearly thrashing in bed as he regained control of himself. “Sherlock, I’m going to wet myself...oh god...the mattress.”
John, catching eyes once more with Sherlock, decided to give in to the man’s crooked grin. He sighed, letting some of the tense rigidity of his shoulders slip away as he stood and crossed to his chair. He lifted Sherlock’s coat from the cushion to free a spot for himself, and sat.
Greg turned down the music on the radio, knowing the boy would be asleep in moments. He was grateful, knowing John hadn’t slept well the night before. They really needed to get the kids back into a routine, and Greg wished not for the first time that their schedules would allow for set, planned ageplay sessions. It was when the boys had gone far too long without the emotional release that they ran into trouble. Maybe if he'd insisted John take some time out to be Bunny, the man wouldn't have gotten into a fist fight with Greg's primary crime scene technician in a dingy motel room.
But being the big brother was harder than being the little brother. Being a good big brother took a lot of watching, thinking ahead, and accommodating. Bunny didn’t know if he had the energy to be the big brother while his throat hurt and his eyes and nose were all runny from what Papa had called a “nasty head cold," not to mention while suffering from an extreme lack of sleep and a confused, doubt-filled mind.
“I’ll be back soon, princess,” Papa called over Bunny’s tears, reaching down to squeeze his shoulder in a makeshift goodbye, which only made Bunny cry more loudly.
“Get some sleep, my little princess,” he whispered, and Bunny nodded, nuzzling up against Sherlock, who was sleeping peacefully.
“They’re the same as always, Bun,” he said, knowing there were few options for pull-ups that would fit an adult, and knowing that Greg would have consulted him before trying a new brand. “Let’s use up the rest of these ones and then we’ll open the new package, okay?”
They wouldn’t fool Mycroft, who would know what a line of four plasters meant, but they would hide the cuts, and maybe, if Bunny was small enough, he could be convinced Sherlock had just gotten an owie.
Sherlock reached to feel the wetness spreading down his thigh even as he kept defiant eye contact with Papa. The naughtiness settled his mind a bit. He had coaxed a pseudo-disciplinarian out of Papa, could see the man weighing options for punishment. He needed him to take charge, to start making demands.
The forensics team made quick work of the room, entering with their latex gloves and full-body coveralls to assess the scene and begin processing evidence in the bathroom. Greg supervised and organized each team in turn before leaving the room to meet Donovan when she arrived, taking her through the updated information they’d gleaned.
But it was far too late. Daddy twisted in his seat, and Bunny could see the expression on his face shift from one of concern to one of exasperation as he realized that Bunny wasn’t
Sherlock could not take it any longer. Papa was so understanding and Mycroft was so close, and Bunny, sitting watching him from where he’d been helping Papa with the puzzle, had clearly already forgiven his pinching. He’d spent the entire day lying to them all, and the heavy pull-up between his legs was a sinister reminder of his shortcomings. Sherlock’s face fell, and he started to cry.
I hope you're all doing well! I know I need to get back to Sherlock and Mycroft in this story, but I'm having such fun writing about Christmas at the Lestrades. TrailsandRoses made a great point that Greg's mom would be great with the Bunny, and the idea wouldn't leave my mind until I'd written a bit along those lines, so thank you to TrailsandRoses and to all of you wonderful readers for your thoughts, ideas, and encouragement!
And then Sherlock was shifting them, guiding John to lay on his back in the space Sherlock had just vacated. He took the man’s pajama pants by the waist and began pulling them off slowly. John raised his hips to allow Sherlock to pull them off completely. Sherlock dropped the pajama pants to the floor and then situated himself over John, shifting one thigh until it was carefully pressed against the pull-up, just between John’s legs.
Greg rooted around in the bedside table and was rewarded when he came up with a spare pacifier, which he held out on the flat of his palm towards Sherlock, whose thumb had made its way into his mouth. The boy hesitated for only a moment before accepting it, and he pushed it into his mouth as Greg settled into bed between the boys, pulling the blankets up to Bunny’s chin and lifting an arm to wrap around Sherlock as the boy lay his head on his chest.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and bid them goodnight, leaning over to kiss their mother on the cheek as he gave in to her sentiment before turning down the hall to trudge up the stairs. Sherlock was all too happy to follow close behind.
It was unclear exactly what had brought about John’s foray into fighting with Anderson. He’d seen the effects of the man’s temper a time or two, knew John certainly had moments where he gave into the seething anger he often felt and thus resorted to violence. It was, gratefully, a personality trait that plagued adult John often and their mild-mannered Bunny rather infrequently, but it was nevertheless a part of the make-up of John Watson, fits of rage looming like his PTSD-nightmares and Sherlock’s tendency towards self-harm. Greg wanted so badly to save his kids from the pain they felt, from the thoughts that drew them towards unhealthy and destructive coping mechanisms, but, at the moment, all he could do was assure John that he was loved, and get him home to where he would feel safe.
Mycroft had just put the seasoned chicken into the oven and was beginning to prepare the broccoli when he heard shouting from the other room. He paused, and Sherlock’s raised voice was heard over Bunny’s tears.
John didn’t want to have to save parts of his little personality for specific nights, but a part of him he still had trouble acknowledging couldn’t bear the thought of losing Mycroft as his caretaker. He turned to glance at him.
They all turned to look at John, who blinked up at Sherlock, turned to Mycroft, and then nodded slowly.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it,” John said quietly, unable to be anything except fully honest in the moment. “I was afraid you would want me to stop being your little brother.”
Bunny glanced up from his spot snuggled with his blanket and bunny rabbit on the couch and shook his head.
“I think I managed to convince Anderson not to take it further for the moment,” Greg explained. “I reminded him that any investigation would bring his own professionalism before the incident into scrutiny, which seemed to at least sober him enough to question the effectiveness of pressing charges. Donovan took him to get checked out, and promised to follow-up.”
Bunny didn’t generally crave or prompt discipline in the same way that Sherlock did, but maybe that was what he needed currently? Some firm attention and a chance to settle his mind during a punishment? Bunny had been pushing boundaries all morning; maybe he’d be up for finally telling Mycroft what was bothering him after a little quiet time.
Sherlock had found himself embarrassingly enamored with the films, the little boy Mycroft had allowed him to be for most of the car ride not far from the surface as night settled around them in the living room. If it hadn’t been for Mycroft’s well-timed clearing of the throat after Sherlock had actually giggled at a magical turn of events in the film, Sherlock may have failed completely in his desire to hide his little self from his parents.
It was Sherlock who heard footsteps first, turning to glance down the hallway. Soon after, they all heard the door opening, and Greg’s voice ringing out down the hallway.
“I don’t…” John was breathing heavily, blinking up at Mycroft at last. He turned to glance at Greg, whose brow was furrowed as he began understanding that something was going on, and then back to Mycroft. Mycroft did not look away.
Greg chuckled and patted the boy’s leg, grateful the day had begun on a happier note than the day before. He deposited the boy on the floor of the living room next to Sherlock, who was eating small bites of scrambled eggs from a kid’s plate set on the floor in front of him as he watched cartoons.
Warnings for mentions of self-harm--please, please steer clear if you're feeling vulnerable or may be triggered today. If you are feeling vulnerable this week, please know that you're valued and loved, and that the world wants and needs you. I'm here to chat if you need someone to listen (you can leave a comment here or message me privately through
“Okay, champ,” Papa said, guiding John towards the backseat before opening the door. “Let’s get you into the car.”
Greg placed the final items into the dresser and took a seat on the end the bed. He patted the mattress, signalling for Sherlock to take a seat beside him.
John turned over towards Greg and blinked awake. He looked sleepy and content, and tried to crawl closer to snuggle up to the man.
His father had never left motel rooms easily; John often attracted quite a few onlookers as he wrestled his belligerent father--screaming threats and curses and often lashing out physically--into the back seat of the car. He’d found the role reversal ironic even then: a fifteen-year-old with only a learner’s permit driving his drunken father--passed out in the back seat--home. He always drove the speed limit and follow the traffic laws, even if his father was conscious enough to jeer and yell at his over cautious driving. The consequences wouldn't have been good for either of them if John were ever to have been pulled over.
“I put him down for a nap,” she said, throwing a dish towel over her shoulder as she crossed to the fridge to retrieve the Egg Nog.
“I had a little accident,” he said, as if the evidence weren’t spreading across the plastic sheet towards Sherlock as he spoke.
Bunny was not ready to give in, and he did all he could to get out of timeout, wiggling away from Mycroft’s grasp and kicking out when he tried to block his escape from the corner. Mycroft had no option but to put the kid over his knee and spank him through his nightshirt and training pants until Bunny became compliant and stayed in the corner, crying into his hands.
Bunny began shimmying out of his jeans as Greg left to pop open the boot of the car. He was hoping he’d remembered correctly about having an old blanket tucked away somewhere, and was relieved when he found it pressed beside the spare tire.
“That’s lovely,” Sherlock said, busy with his own cock, which he rutted against John’s hip furiously before snatching his fingers from where they had been pressing along John’s groin and shoving them into his own pajama trousers. “Piss your pants for me, love.”
I'm not entirely happy with this chapter for a few different reasons. I must have jinxed myself by writing about Bunny and Sherlock getting sick because now I have a head cold that has come at a not so great time. Add in a lack of space and time to write and some general family drama and you've got the unlucky circumstances that birthed this chapter. Nevertheless, I wanted to get it to you all before we all get too busy with holiday events/shopping/celebrations, and sometimes you've just got to get the work out there and move forward.
“How long have you been in a wet pull-up?” Papa asked with concern in his voice, bringing a pink blush to Sherlock’s cheeks.
“That’s more than okay, Sherlock,” he said. “But you know it may be harder to age up once you allow yourself the time. Do you understand that?” | [
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"Leave me to my mate." Sherlock growled darkly back. His eyes wide and black, anger apparent in every line of his body.
"Sherlock Holmes have you been teaching our son to read people?" John stood and strode over to Sherlock, leaning down towards him and pretending to be angry.
"Is it twue?!" Hamish demanded, his eyes wide. "Is that when you met Daddy?" He turned to look at Sherlock, narrowing his eyes.
John ran his tongue over his teeth in clear agitation, his entire face tightening with emotion. It wasn't that he didn't want Sherlock close, no quite the opposite was true. He desperately wanted to be close to Sherlock in a way that was almost purely indecent. His thoughts straying to
"How I failed him..." John whispered looking down as tears came. Mycroft bit his lip nervously. He did not know how to properly console John in this moment. Least of all when it was quite possible that Moran had been involved in the plan.
“She told me to never tell.” He mumbled to himself, clutching his pendant. He paced silently for a few moments before deciding that he needed to tell Mycroft and Sherlock the whole truth. That the only way to protect his family would be to be honest. “The Matriarch of my clan told me never to reveal this secret to anyone outside our line, however it is possible that Moriarty has been sent by someone who knows the truth. There are a few of the older Solvanar that know the secret of the city." He sighed and put a hand over his pendant, there was a whisper of magic through the room and when he removed his hand the pendant was markedly changed. It now bore two intersecting but different sets of knot work and a fire opal set in the top near the chain. "I am not solely an Oaken Solvanar.” He stopped, looking at them both. "To understand what I mean I must give you a bit more of the history of the breaking of the twelve." He sighed taking a deep breath. "There was a civil war in Solvanar. It is what lead to the three lead families, the Elder, Yew, and Oak removing the others from the city. As you know Mycroft, the Solvanar family lines work in very specific and usually predictable ways. The vampire patriarch wed the mortal matriarch and they had children. Always female. Those children, specifically the eldest child would then wed another man and it was her choice to choose a vampire or a mortal. They would also bear female offspring. That third generation would then choose their mates. So long as the mortal woman chose a mortal man it is then possible for her to bear a male child. If she chooses a vampire she will simply continue the cycle of female begetting female. It came to pass that one of these third generation women in the Elder line chose a vampire male as her mate. She became pregnant however instead of bearing a child as predicted she bore twins. Two girls, identical in almost every way. So the Elder family decided that it was time to unite the three. Each girl was promised in marriage to the eldest son of that generation of the Yew and Oak families. Resulting in two mixed lines. My ancestor Airvae chose to become a vampire shortly after his twentieth year. His wife, the daughter of Elder chose not to accept the gift of eternal life. So he protected her and fathered our line but allowed her to pass to shadow when her death came. It is because of the blending of the abilities of the two lines that I am a mender. My sister was as well." He sighed, sitting down. "It is also why we were twins."
mate, Mycroft! I love him! He loves me! He is mine!" Sherlock was still shouting, his voice echoing in the room. "Why are you so intent on trying to take him from me!?"
“John, you are not being sensible, I most certainly am able to…” Gregory began but at John’s look he just shook his head, smiled and obliged. “Very well, I shall remain here.”
"Well the plan didn't involve Hamish and he was injured. So I don't think I deserve any credit for a bungled plan." John blushed because he realized Sherlock was staring at him.
"Yes." John sighed. "I have, it was then that I understood what was before me. It was not enough to influence my own mortal life but it was enough to inflame the blood thirst. When my Uncle returned I informed him I had discovered my mate and that I was going to give myself over to you. He was disappointed beyond measure and tried vainly to convince me not to go through with my plan. However after several months of discussion and correspondence he relented. He understood that I was motivated not by power but by love. He crafted a story that I had been discovered and killed, thus ending the branch of my family." Mycroft smirked but he was careful not to betray his thoughts on his face.
“The killer knew the victim,” John cut over Sherlock before could speak. “Judging by this shoe print it was a male, tall. Older, he limps slightly to one side…” Sherlock couldn’t hide his smirk. "Likely an old injury coupled with arthritis or degenerative bone disease." John trailed off and Sherlock picked up, smirking as he did.
"There's so much and it is all still very disorganized in my mind. Though what Mycroft just told me has cleared a lot of it up. It seems that Moriarty had his eye on me for quite some time before he first made an appearance where I could see him. I think that is why Mycroft setup for you and I to meet, so I would have an ally against the oncoming storm as it were," Sherlock's voice was even and focused as he worked gently, checking the wound over like he was shown. "But Moriarty wasn't prepared for that variable and you quite literally shot his plan full of holes. There are still a lot of pieces that don't fit quite right, I'm missing something bigger about it all." He sighed, conceding he was at a loss.
"I don't want to be with her." He whispered. "She proved to me that these feelings were dangerous. It was easier for me to be caught off guard by them with her, when she suddenly showed up. I did feel very strongly attracted to her, I could have grown to love her I imagine but my heart already belonged to you. After she… After what she did I determined it would be wrong of me to let you in further."
"Oh for fuck's sake," John's groan was pure desire as he hooked one hand in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock groaned into his neck.
John poured the two cups of tea and sat down at the table while Sherlock opened the tin and set two biscuits down in front of John, taking one himself as a show of solidarity. John tried to focus and make himself eat his, but the effort didn't go well. He hadn't had anything solid in three days, making his stomach a bit confused at the sudden addition of sugary cookie. He looked up and caught the intensity with which Sherlock was watching him, fascination evident on his face. John blushed.
"John," He clicked his tongue. "You need to rest and to eat properly. Don't start something you aren't ready to finish." He grinned with pure desire and then picked up his violin. He did a few strokes across the strings to warm up before turning to look John directly in the eyes. "You had better clean up, we're going to dinner tonight." Without another word, Sherlock began to play John's favorite tune, not seeing the tears that fell as John turned back to clean up the kitchen.
John felt the edges of panic sweeping through his body. He heard Sherlock talking and the words were clear but he couldn't absorb them. Hamish and Sherlock were in danger, in danger from his father. Sherlock was once again at the edge of potentially being ripped from his life by those hands. Those hands that had hit in anger, beat because of intolerance, and tore at flesh because of hatred. Those hands that should have raised a boy to become a man and instead taught him to hide from everything that made him who he was. He shivered violently and just barely kept the tea cup from rattling against the plate. He set it down as Jacob answered Sherlock's question.
"There is still fire raging in my blood. I am rather grateful you did not allow me to drink your glass as well." He conceded, smiling as Sherlock wrapped around him.
"I thought you'd stopped having them." John shivered slightly as Sherlock wrapped back around him, pushing his head against his shoulder. John let his nose gently touched the fabric of Sherlock's shirt, inhaling the scent of his lover.
"Yes, morning it is. Incidentally John, I wasn't aware your family had any connections with someone the likes of the Pendergrass family." Mycroft was not as rigid as he usually was, moving easily into the room and surveying the breakfasting family.
"Mycroft, my husband and son are in there…" Sherlock started towards the house but Mycroft grabbed him and shoved him hard into the car in an unexpected show of emotion. Greg raised a hand but didn’t make any other motion. He was not mad enough to try to get between the Holmes brothers when they were fighting.
"I know you're on a case." John kissed him softly. "But do you think you could come back to reality with me for just a few minutes? I need to know what you want me to pack up today and what you will need until tomorrow."
“There is a history within the Solvanar that most the world does not know. A secret history that has been kept from the world in order to protect the ideals that founded the secret city." John whispered, bouncing his leg as he spoke. "You know there were twelve families that founded the city of Solvanar. Twelve vampire men who were given twelve mortal women to found the Solvanar bloodlines. However only seven families remain within the city. Five of the families have been banished for crimes against the Blood Concordance, never to be allowed back. Four of the families united together in the belief that they should forsake their vampire blood and willingly chose to leave the confines of the city. They believe that they should turn their back on their ancestors and thus become mortal throughout the years. That being a descendant of a vampire was akin to being evil. They established a city on the northern end of our land that is the only location where Solvanar families meet and where information passes to and from the city. Their attitudes have tempered some over the years but they are the bloodlines of the hunters. They have given themselves two missions; the first is to protect the sacred city from outside threats and the second is to eradicate all vampires. They call themselves righteous and believe they are doing the work of God.” He sighed again. “The other group the five family forbidden from the city... They are those that have fallen from the grace of the Solvanar. Their blood is dark and tainted. They are corrupt and greedy. It is to this group Moriarty belongs. Specifically to the lead family of which the patriarch..." John looked momentarily uncomfortable. "Is Lord Moran. Moriarty is a Rowan Solvanar. The Rowan are the royalty of the fallen, they believe that vampires and mortals are pets to be ruled. That we are the superior race and deserve to have slaves of mortal men and vampires. It is they who collect our kind and keep them as pets.” He growled lowly as he spoke and jumped up out of his chair to pace. Sherlock's eyes following him intently as he moved.
“You left me without a word about where you were going Sherlock. We discussed this.” John slowly wrapped his arms around the other and pulled him, so their bodies were flush.
. John caught his eyes as he was thinking those thoughts and blushed quite red. The predatory heat in Sherlock's gaze almost unmade John, but he managed to keep his calm. He nodded giving Sherlock the lead and followed him downstairs and out to the road to hail a cab. As they exited, neither of them speaking they both scanned the crowd of reporters around them. John was a bit behind Sherlock as he walked, letting a comfortable distance lapse between them before approaching the stopped cab. As he looked around he caught Kitty Riley standing there bold as brass. She tried to approach John but the look on his face must have stopped her as she suddenly just froze. She gave him a superior smile and then just waved as he followed Sherlock's silent command to get into the cab.
Mycroft pushed John down on the bed, their mouths working furiously together. The blood lust came roaring into John's awareness as Mycroft's eager hands found their way over his naked form. Soft whimpers and moans broke free of John's control as Mycroft easily took dominance over him. He let his hands roam over John's body as he claimed his mouth in heated kisses, repaying every moment of distance he'd been made to suffer during his bonding period with Sherlock. John moaned and arched into his touch, desperate for more. Desperate to feel how their bond hummed in his body so very differently than his bond with Sherlock. He push his mouth back against his sire's, moaning his name as he worked. He needed this, he needed touch.
"Ah, that it is." John felt himself blush, that wasn't the proper answer. A smirk hitched on Sherlock's mouth and John found himself overwhelmed by a powerful urge to kiss him. Sherlock's smirk became a smile and John had the suspicion he was reading his mind.
"So you're saying that I should correct this situation because it will make him forgive me?" Mycroft almost laughed at the incredulousness of the statement.
“Do you have a place to reside for the duration of your visit?” Mycroft asked before he could stop himself.
They arrived at the small cottage, which from the look of it was miles away from anyone else and Sherlock ushered John inside. John stood just inside the door way with his arms crossed until Sherlock finally stopped making trips to the car and locked the door. His attention fell again on the single black suitcase that Sherlock had brought along. It was their overnight bag, which meant it could successfully hold two changes of clothes each and half a suit case of whatever insane things Sherlock thought he needed.
"I'm already up, so don't worry." Lestrade grinned from the edge of the hallway, laughing as both of them blushed and started slightly. "He's spent hours practicing, you know. Mrs. Hudson used to get so angry. I think he had seven noise complaints from her."
- John was lying on the couch, exactly where Sherlock lay when he was bored or thinking on a case. He wanted to be where Sherlock had been. To maintain some sort of connection to him.
“You could have been a soldier, you are a warrior doctor. Willing to stand beside me against the rage of anyone, even your Sire.” John groaned and arched as Sherlock’s lips and teeth teased his sensitive thighs. “Loyal to me beyond sanity, loving me far beyond rationality, and willing to journey into the very mouth of hell to stay at my side.” He licked back up John’s legs, spending several minutes licking and sucking at the sensitive head of the others’ cock. It did not take long for John to shout Sherlock’s name and spill over, his entire body shaking as Sherlock came back up and kissed him again. He hovered there, knowing John was not sated and still wanted more. His eyes burning down into the others. “You are far more than I deserve and I shall destroy everything to keep you at my side.”
"Baker Street? He isn't there anymore." Mycroft's voice betrayed his slight amusement as Sherlock looked at him incredulously. "Why would he be? It's been two years. He's got on with his life."
has done nothing but cause a problem for both you and my brother from the very moment she first came into the picture." Mycroft said looking somewhat amused, but not betraying Sherlock's presence. He pulled out his cell phone and sent a text. "There, it is all arranged. My people will extract her after she has completed her task and she'll be given a nice comfortable life somewhere very far from here. I'm sure that is to your pleasure." Mycroft's smirk was far too all-knowing.
“I’ll send you everything we’ve got. Anything else?” Greg asked and was surprised when John spoke up. Three years and he'd still not gotten use to the fact that John was getting just as fast as Sherlock.
"You were hurt, I was putting Harry before you..." John offered but his voice was careful and guarded. Sherlock sighed and prepared himself to confess the one sin he would never be able to make up for.
"I should wring your neck." John said softly, a tear falling from his eye. "I should shake you and hit you. You've wrecked me, Sherlock." Sherlock moved to speak and John shook his hand, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling gently, but with authority. "No, it's my turn." He growled softly. Sherlock could not stop the thrill that went through him. "But I can't. All I have wanted was for you to come back. For you step through that door so that I could tell you all the things I was too afraid of before. So that I could show you that we could have worked together. That we are together in this!" John's voice grew slightly louder but was still a whisper.
Sherlock flinched towards his pocket and John knew he was intending to withdraw that black case. He wanted desperately to run over, snatch the case and wrench it open. He wanted to childishly reveal the secret it contained.
you do it, but it's unprofessional Sherlock. You two can't be called out to crime scenes with him done up like that. It's been there for two weeks now and it's almost black, which means you're not letting it heal." He sipped his coffee. "That's how things worked before, when someone was marked as property. That's not how it works out here."
against him, and a deep breath that sent shivers through his body greeted John when he slowly felt himself come awake. He was surprised as he listened to the slow, rhythmic breathing. It was the first time in a very long time that he'd slept so soundly that nightmares hadn't woken him. He knew that pattern of breath before he even opened his eyes. He'd listened for it so many nights, trying to be sure Sherlock was actually asleep and not just pretending. He almost didn't want to get out of the bed, but he knew he needed to before his back started to cramp. He wondered what had happened during the night that had drawn him so close to Sherlock's body, but didn't pull away. It took him some time to realize an arm was thrown around him and he was cuddled against Sherlock. The embrace was so comfortable and warm, John couldn't be sure he'd ever be tempted to actually leave bed again. Sherlock shifted slightly, tightening his arm around John as he moved. John felt his breath catch.
"Everything is bright and loud, except for you." John whispered, his hand gently coming to rest on Mycroft's cheek, his actions somewhat child like.
"We're not going to be able to make it back to the cottage before this storm hits. We'd better head towards the Gardener's Cottage." John said loudly but sighed as Sherlock stalked off in the other direction and didn’t seem to hear him at all. John grabbed his arm. "Sherlock!"
"Sherlock, oh God..." He whispered, his nails digging into Sherlock's arms through his jacket. "When you do that..."
"Oh alright, I'll go... Apologize." Sherlock sighed, sulking as he did. But he paused and turned back, his look pure desire as he met John's eyes. "Incidentally how did you know about the icing?"
"John," Sherlock sighed and looked at him, clenching his fists slightly. "You shouldn't be this easy with me. I don't deserve..."
"I feel as if this is a dream." John said softly, pulling back but only a short bit away. "Rumors of your character, the things I have seen you say and do in court, and the feelings I see in the faces of your colleagues generally do not agree with this side of you." His tentatively reached up, his hand softly connecting with Mycroft's cheek. He smiled again.
"Yes. The Order has been a part of both of our families for generations. They like to keep their members close. When it came down to it though the issue was that the Pendergrass and Holmes families were much closer. It didn't help that Marcus clearly didn't approve of James even when we were young. That caused the families to drift apart." She sighed and leaned back. "I think the two of you may have met once before that summer here but you were very young. Maybe you were one Sherlock..." She hummed the words a bit. "But it was very brief. Marcus was convinced that James somehow managed to poison John and Harry. He didn't understand that it was just who you were." She sighed.
“Oh my love, please…” John groaned as Sherlock clawed into his chest. Sherlock trailed his mouth down, grabbing John’s hips hard when John bucked up in surprise. Sherlock’s tongue tracing the quivering ring of muscle he so longed to claim. “Sherlock!” John panted, clawing the bed hard.
it." John teased right back, allowing Sherlock to help him out of his own coat. "I mean it, please thank them Greg."
"Disadvantage," John said softly and their eyes met again. Greg felt the air sucked out of the room and looked to Mycroft who stood.
The entire purpose of this chapter is smut. SMUTTY SMUT SMUT! And shameless I might add. So if you don't want to read that, please skip this humble chapter. The epilogue will go up in the next day or so!
"You gave me a purpose when I had none." John whispered in reply, his voice cracking slightly. "Twice you have done the same thing. It's an unfair irony, but I would suffer it all again to be here with you now." He blushed knowing it was a sugary sweet sentiment even for himself.
"You would if you thought it would somehow help me.Now come on, you need to go back to bed." He tried to move him but John didn't budge.
"No, this is not how I would prefer to pass an evening." He answered honestly before correcting himself. "Though it is a most delightful party." The red velveteen outfit made those quicksilver eyes take on different hues as he looked into them and they were distracting him. He was caught in the man's eyes and felt himself sink into the moment as if nothing else existed. He felt like the forces of nature were slowly pulling them into a powerful orbit around each other. He looked up as Sherlock came to rest just in front of him, his eyes burning down into John's. John's breath was uneven in his chest and he felt a strong desire to give over to the care of this man.
"Because our fathers went to war basically." John paused and closed his eyes as the memory came back. "The afternoon after James was killed we'd both snuck out of our wings of the house and met in the drawing room. We were planning to run away because we weren't going to be allowed to be friends anymore. We overheard an argument downstairs and we crept out to the railing to listen. Our dads were shouting. My dad said that the only clear evidence was that Daddy Holmes had killed my Uncle. He screamed and screamed about it while Daddy Holmes simply screamed back that he had been up late with Mycroft and then asleep so his whereabouts were accounted for while the house staff couldn't account for my Dad's. Mycroft snuck up on us while we weren't paying attention and yanked us up by our collars before taking us in the drawing room. He'd just put together that we'd been out on the grounds the night before and he demanded to know what we saw. We told him everything about the man we saw attack Uncle James and he promptly paraded down and told his father we'd witnessed something. We were questioned by the police first together and then individually, but they didn't believe us at all. They tried to say we were lying and we were both rather upset because we knew if they didn't believe us we wouldn't get to stay friends. Dad interrupted the interview I had because I was describing the man who killed my Uncle and I didn't realize it then but I was describing my father. He locked me in my room and told me I was never to speak to Erik again. The next morning the Holmes started making preparations to leave. I shot out the tire of the car and tried to do a bunch of things to delay them leaving but it became clear it was rather inevitable. Mycroft guarded Sherlock's room like a watch dog so there was no way we could talk to each other. So the night before they were supposed to leave I snuck out of the house. I had decided I would go find clues to prove who committed the murder, but a torrential rain blew up and I got stranded near the gardener's cottage under this huge rock. Luckily the storm also kept the Holmes men from leaving because it was bad. One of the worst storms in years. I think I was gone for about a day and a half before anyone even noticed and Georgina was very worried. She seemed to have pieced together that I had been gone longer than just the next morning when I didn't show up to breakfast and in her panic she let it slip to Mycroft that I was missing. Sherlock overheard him telling his father and came to find me. He forced me to take his rain coat so we could walk back to the house and because of it he caught an awful cold. His family was forced to remain a week to wait for him to get better." He sighed, a tear in the corner of his eye.
Mycroft fell silent as he watched Sherlock reach over and tighten his grip on John’s hand just as John began to fall asleep. Sherlock followed John shortly after and Mycroft and Greg remained only to keep a watchful eye on the three of them, concern evident on both of their faces.
"I don't care, Lestrade." Sherlock looked at one of the pages and flicked it. It was then John realized he was looking over some form of the Kama sutra. He choked on tea again, noting the small smirk that caught the edge of Sherlock's lips. So Sherlock was purely showing off just for him.
Meaghan retreated from the room and set to her tasks. She prepared the horses and ensured several sun blocking cloaks were ready in the entrance to where the horses waited. She returned to the hall and waited hours without a cease tormented by the noises coming from the room. John had implicitly told her what to wait for but she was growing impatient and worried. She did not like the noises the mender was making, nor the supposed pleasure he was drawing from this moment. Just as she was fixing her mind to rush into the room and claim John away from her father she heard a shout and wrenched the door open. Her father was against the wall, John’s blood on his lips. John was almost blank, his eyes rolled back in his head. She could feel the arousal bleeding off her father.
“John!” He gasped his emotion clear in his voice. “Our John!” He exclaimed, fighting the emotion that was threatening to drown him.
In the hallway Mycroft leaned his face into Greg’s chest, not seeing the small smile that played out on his lover's face. Greg was only too happy knowing John was home safely. It meant the coven would be rebuilding but it also meant his love might relax more now. Might actually let himself enjoy living again. He also knew what Mycroft did not, that Sherlock may be coming along shortly. He did not want to speak that hope however as he remembered how distraught both John and Mycroft had been when last Sherlock was thought to be free. Anthea appeared beside them and hurried into the room, gently tending to John by ensuring he was dressed and warm. She combed out his hair, humming gently as she did and smiling as the mender sank more deeply to sleep. Mycroft was tempted to remain beside the mender; however Greg knew they needed to deal with Meaghan. He slowly led Mycroft back to his study, leaving his lover in his small reverie until they entered.
“What is it John?” Sherlock looked up slightly annoyed, but his annoyance dropped when he saw the look on John's face. Good finally information of use.
worked. It was so different. "You are better when you can touch, feel, smell, and taste it." His voice was very clear and his eyes were so determined Sherlock almost melted. He watched entranced as John shifted, stepping out of his trousers. Sherlock was astonished, he'd been so focused on John's face he hadn't seen him undo them. John sat back on the bed, now only in his boxers and blinked slowly as his eyes focused on Sherlock's again. "So study me." Just like that John blew open Sherlock's desire and shorted out his mind.
"Oh but you are." Mycroft purred and kissed over the back of his neck. John groaned, falling back against Mycroft's chest.
emotions, John. They're dangerous. They cause failures, mistakes, and make people falter. It terrifies me that I already have let them sway me so much that
"Thank you." Sherlock paced faster. "So for the second issue. The web is tightening and it is going to break before long. We need to return to Baker Street."
“I could have saved her!” John shouted, shaking in anger. “If I had…” Tears fell down his cheeks as his rage broke free.
"So Captain John," John's voice cracked but he took a slow deep breath and recovered, "Wrote back to Prince Erik," Sherlock's brow furrowed and he looked at John with an intense stare. He'd never received a reply and that was why he... John was suddenly talking again. "Prince Erik, I understand your feelings and shall guard these as if they were my own flesh. As I swore to do with anything you entrusted me with. I do hope you still have
"Thank you Jacob, you have given me a lot to think about. I appreciate it." He motioned to the door.
"Sherlock, what are you playing at? You're never a gracious host like this, usually you're all wrapped up in the arm chair, your collar popped up and an angry look on your face." Lestrade said suddenly and all of them laughed. "Donovan's coming later yea, so if you're playing any pranks let's get it out of the way now."
"No, I didn't." Sherlock's voice was soft and full of emotion. "There was a specific event that Moriarty prepared for that didn't happen." John ran his hand over his face.
"Don't they already?" They laughed for a few minutes before the comfortable silence settled again, but pregnant with the weight of the unanswered question.
"Thus allowing our John to hear Sherlock speaking to you without knowledge he is nearby." Anthea nodded. "I shall do as you ask." She stood and retreated from the room.
“It is a letter from John.” He flinched when both men turned their gazes on him and it felt as though the force of the sun shone on him.
“Be that as it may Mr. Watson we had an arrangement. You’ve broken it; perhaps you fail to understand the seriousness before you?” Mycroft’s tone was very dark and John made a mental note that pissing Mycroft off was a very bad idea.
"If you're asking me to share your bed, the answer is yes." It could have been an innocent statement, but it wasn't. John watched as Sherlock's eyes burned into his, taking in how John was suddenly open to their desires.
Sherlock stalked over to the couch and all but shoved the dossier out of John’s hands, grabbing the lapels of his shirt and kissing him as he pushed him back further into the cushions. John groaned, and his hands scrabbled to find purchase on the other, groaning when he suddenly had a lapful of Sherlock. Sherlock’s mouth was relentless against him, his tongue plunging deep inside the other as if trying to devour him. John could do nothing but submit, the noises coming from him wanton and feral as he continued to be ravaged by the other. Suddenly Sherlock pulled back and stood, leaving John in what felt like a vacuum. He put one hand in his hair and rushed over to the bookshelf where he had meticulously copied a few of the previous cases Gregory had asked him for assistance on as a consultant. John grumbled with displeasure as Sherlock pulled away but recognized the look on his face.
John had enough time to register Sherlock coming towards him before that blue scarf wrapped around his eyes, cutting off his vision. He struggled a bit against the bindings but moaned as Sherlock pressed light, fluttering touches over his legs and stomach.
"No, I am afraid my Uncle has no one to spare and I am considered so hopeless by most others no one will take me." He admitted easily, looking down.
"And you? What could you possibly want from him?!" Sherlock raged, grabbing Mycroft by the shoulders.
." Mycroft's voice was soft but stern in his ear, Sherlock almost sighing relief as his brother removed his dressing robe and pushed John onto his back on the bed. John was panting and whined when he was pulled away from Sherlock but groaned as Mycroft's arousal grew and became clear in his eyes.
It was almost too much really for Sherlock in this moment. The disappointment in Hamish's face that morning, the fact that John had still been keeping something secret from him, and the fact that ever since this case had reopened John seemed on edge all seemed to point to some failing Sherlock had made. It reminded him that he'd never truly stopped to think about the consequences of his work. He never had. John's life had already been in danger countless times because of this and now here he was, afraid again. It made something inside his chest want to claw its' way free, his eyes carefully focused on his husband as he tried to use his brain to think through the problem his heart was having. John would never ask Sherlock to give up his cases and Sherlock never intended to, but there had to be a way to keep working but make sure his family was safe. He sighed softly as his attention slowly came back into the room.
"Ignore her." Sherlock hissed out of the side of his mouth. Slowly sliding his hand to rest on the middle of John's back. It was a clear motion and it made John shiver.
“Bad timing,” Sherlock chided but kissed him all the same. He moved to say something when both their phones went off. They both looked confused, knowing that Mycroft had just left and ripped their phone from their pockets in haste.
John arched and almost released from the sensation but Sherlock bit down on his shoulder hard. The harsh pain keeping him from tumbling over the edge. He whined and groaned but Sherlock refused to let up, instead pounding their hips together with a punishing pace. John could hardly breathe. He could see nothing but his lover, his mind completely narrowed to focus only on Sherlock. Sherlock growled deeply, the noise sending shivers of terror through John. The terror seized in his chest but he was too weak to do anything to stop Sherlock. He was completely at Sherlock's mercy and was a whimpering mess as Sherlock continued to pound away into him. Without any warning Sherlock arched up and orgasmed, sending John over edge. John's body collapsed, utterly exhausted, underneath his still bucking lover. Sherlock growled down at him, his eyes pure black, his attention drifting over the bite marks on his neck.
"Sherlock it is one night once a month! I am not asking to go stay with him for endless amounts of time!"
Darkness weighs on John like never before and he knows time is running out. Old enemies have resurfaced and the only way to protect Sherlock might cost him everything.
John wouldn't command his troops so efficiently. Just John wouldn't stand so firm and straight ready to charge into battle, and
"Jacob's downstairs. A servant came with him from the main house and said Georgina required him to visit with you two before she gives him full safety."
"It's good to know you're still attracted to me after my miserable showing last night." John's smirk didn't slip as he got up to get dressed, wearing only his boxers.
“Oh no, I ensured he was convicted for the crimes and helped persuade his coven to destroy him.” Sherlock’s grin was almost too much, and John found himself laughing at it.
“Then he shall be punished for this! This is an outrage! I instructed them to allow only you to care for her. They have gone against my wishes and orders!” The Duke shouted, looking up as two sets of footsteps echoed into the hall.
"I understand." He completely closed down and moved to pull away, not looking up to meet John's eyes again. John was just able to grab Sherlock's hand with his own, but the pain of the effort was tremendous and flashed over his face.
*creeps in timidly and wave* Hi! I am SO, SO sorry this chapter has taken 100 years to come out. I had this great plan of writing a little each day and the world just sort of slapped me and said no. But, I have not and WILL NOT abandon this story!
fascinating I'm going to have to tie you up and ravage you senseless." John groaned loudly, trying to grab Sherlock and prolong the kiss but he was already out of John's reach.
They were still laughing two minutes later when Mrs. Hudson made her way up the stairs. She paused in the door way, grinning as she watched them.
"I... How can I be sure you haven't poisoned it?" John tried to use humor, but his voice didn't follow suit and it fell flat. A small smile tugged at Sherlock's lips but faded quickly.
So every time I say I think we're headed out of Tudor England the boys bring me another plot bunny. Clever bastards.
"What are you…" Sherlock was cut off as Mycroft launched into his explanation. Mycroft could not believe how completely oblivious his brother was being.
“I thought I had heard Sherlock return.” She offered, motioning to the tray she’d brought with her. She looked thoughtful as a shadow passed over the Mender’s face.
Sherlock and John were not seen for three days following their return home. Mycroft was content to ignore their absence until he began to feel a strange sort of worried feeling filling his mind when he paused to think about his fledgling. He sent Anthea to them but she was turned away repeatedly.
He had fed before. He had even experienced arousal when he fed but it was nothing like the heat blooming in his groin now. This ache was so very different and new. It was possessive, it was dark. He wanted to tie John up and claim him for days before draining him to the point of death and rebirthing him into the life of a vampire - to be his for all eternity. It was almost frightening to him, he had never wanted something this desperately in all his life. The two of them ground their hips together until John shouted.
"What did Daddy do?" Sherlock asked Hamish, who was watching him from where he rested carefully on John.
"Sherlock lay down." Mycroft commanded. He picked up the oil and pressing himself back behind John, positioned him over his lover. "Here, prepare him." Mycroft purred in his ear, slicking oil over his fingers before guiding John's hand down and removing his own. John gasped and almost lost his focus when Mycroft's slick finger pressed against him. Sherlock whimpered as John groaned, their lust passing easily between them via their bond. John understood, Mycroft was going to show him how to properly do this. He took a shaking breath and gently pushed a finger against the tight, quivering ring of muscle that Sherlock seemed keen to hide.
"Not out here." John grunted, trying to stay rational but an ache building in his groin. Bedroom," John ordered and Sherlock teetered on the edge of his own rationality. He wanted to ravage John exactly where he was, but he conceded. Getting up he strode into the bedroom without hesitation pulling his shirt off on the way.
"It's true. I heard you in that suite in the hospital. I came in when you two slept and watched how you were so lightly sleeping, ready to jump at a moment's notice if either of your loves were in discomfort or pain. You are a brilliant father."
"My little fledgling, my John..." Mycroft whispered softly, pressing kisses over his cheeks and forehead. "Sherlock is fine. It seems he did not warn you regarding his brooding behavior. My brother likes to solve puzzles and sometimes when he finds a puzzle he cannot easily solve he goes into his mind and tries to solve it there. He will not move or eat or respond to anything we say or do for quite some time. We must simply wait for him to come back to us."
"My brother will take him home." Sherlock said suddenly. Mycroft looked alarmed and John looked confused. "I will remain here and see if we can sort out who attempted to ruin Elizabeth's joy." His voice was firm. "Lord Moran would you assist me in repairing this dinner party?" He asked it firmly and Sebastian easily understood.
“A memory?” John asked softly, almost desperately. Sherlock turned to him, now aware of the tension and pain hidden on John’s face.
“Rough housing…” John turned to Sherlock as they walked out, the little boy sucking on a sugar free lollipop.
John worked in the kitchen for a little bit, making some tea and sandwiches before bringing them out to the table. He went back into the kitchen to clean up and lost himself staring out the window for a minute. His thoughts turning to the night before, to what Jacob had said about John and Hamish being in danger. It was true, John had seen the shadow of the familiar on the property. He could feel the prickle on his skin that meant danger was only too close to them again. He worried for their son and for his husband for a moment before he reminded himself that anyone stupid enough to try to harm either of them would bring a wrath down on themselves that no one could escape. He shuddered as he thought what Sherlock would be like if someone captured him now or Hamish. Greg and Mycroft had given him full accounts of what Sherlock had been like after Kitty had kidnapped him, even though they knew it was going to happen. He sighed and returned to the others, picking up one of the file folders and flicking through it almost angrily.
? Suddenly John was speaking again. "So whatever he did that made you jump destroyed me. I didn't want to go on without you. Without the bloody work. I got a new flat and a new job, but I didn't try to date anyone. Then one day our nurse quits, for no reason. Just gets up and walks out. The next day Mary was there and she looked me right in the eyes and asked me how I was. And she
"Sherlock!" John's tone was warning, he found the oil they kept beside the bed and coated his fingers, slipping two inside Sherlock and gently toying with him. He kept pressure firm and even on Sherlock's pulsing member, not letting him move to create the friction that would allow him release. Sherlock groaned and thrashed until John coated his own length with oil and sank deep inside of him.
"I apologize for my reaction, I am not sure why he inspires such darkness in my heart. He was never before so dark in our interactions." John whispered.
Before John really had a grasp on things they were back at 221B and the doors closed on the reporters screaming questions at them outside. Just inside the door John grabbed Sherlock and threw him into the wall gently, kissing him with intense fervor. Sherlock grinned and broke the kiss, watching John carefully.
"You're getting off on this aren't you?" Sherlock demanded, picking up his thankfully unburned toast. "Pretending to be a Daddy and running off with us to solve a crime." His eyes sparkled.
And so it was. Within a few years Anthea, Sherlock, Mycroft, John, and George left the manor house in England and took up residence in Germany. They resided there for twenty years before Mycroft determined it was become a bit too dangerous and he directed them to France. There they remained for the remainder of the fifty years Mycroft had alotted for them to be away from England. All three of the men began to miss home desperately.
“Where is my husband?” James asked one of the servants who was relieving him of his burdens, the younger Sebastian growling softly at the term.
The scene they found made Mycroft want to turn away Elizabeth, so he paused for a moment to enjoy the scene. Sherlock was lying, fully clothed, in bed with John nestled against his chest. John was looking up at him, his eyes half lidded in comfort as they whispered softly back and forth. Whatever words Sherlock was saying were soothing the mender who snuggled in closer. Mycroft enjoyed the sincere and earnest smile that bloomed on his brother's face as John sought out physical comfort for the first time since his ordeal and sighed that he must interrupt them.
“Oh Mrs. Hudson, you know Sherlock would go insane. I don’t think the walls could handle it.” They both laughed before she returned to the others.
"It was but he disappeared shortly after that. By then Sherlock and you had reunited and Harry told me how she'd convinced Sherlock to let her repay you two with a child. She was so proud to be able to bear you a son, to bring little Hamish into this world." John's eyes were glassed over and he looked down.
"Yes, I am afraid both of you have gotten ill. You two shouldn't have fallen overboard!" Sherlock grinned as Hamish gave a weak laugh. He stood as Greg knocked on the door.
“My Lord,” Meaghan spoke softly from the door. “The carriage is prepared for you and Lord Moriarty to travel to Summer. Word has arrived that your envoy is there.” She bowed. Sebastian stood, shoving himself a few more times into John’s body before finding his release and letting the mender collapse on the floor. John trembled, staying still as he did.
When they arrived in their chambers Sherlock had no sooner bolted the door before John had pushed him into it, their mouths coming back together with a violent heat. Sherlock tried to tug John’s shirt off only to have his hands pinned against the door at his sides. John hummed as he moved and began to nip at Sherlock’s neck, enjoying the soft moans his mate was trying to contain. Sherlock nearly shouted when John’s knee brushed against his awakening erection and did shout when John bit down on his neck the second time.
“Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you both are still members of my Coven and thus under my purview. Additionally, he is still my fledgling and thus my responsibility.” He tightened his grip on his walking stick, his displeasure at Sherlock’s antics barely overriding his concern for them.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Just wait." Mycroft promised. He looked down at Sherlock who nodded eagerly. Mycroft handed him the oil and he prepared himself while Mycroft prepared John.
"Please Lady Anthea, I entreat you to move John to speak with me. I have wronged him greatly and I need to see him. Please." Anthea felt how the woman shook and helped her up, noting she now had a Solvanaar necklace around her neck.
being powerless. No one will ever take you from me again." His voice and eyes darkened slightly as he spoke and John actually moaned softly. He knew that rationally he should be concerned about that possessiveness, but as always it inspired an altogether different feeling in his body. Suddenly the room was full of heat and desire and was threatening to drown the two of them in the sea of it all.
“It is nothing.” He whispered, struggling to try to get free. He froze when Sherlock’s lips were suddenly on his, their bodies pressed so tightly together as Sherlock took what he felt was his. John was gasping, trying to struggle away as his grief overwhelmed him and tears began to flow. Sherlock however refused to let up, kissing John until there was no breath left in his body.
"You were intentionally misinformed, my Lord. My sister and I were twins however as it was I was older by a short while." John continued smiling. "I know you are not afraid of my heritage as a Solvanar, Mycroft. It is not my birth that frightens you because we both know that my birth makes me ripe for your clan. The blood hunger that comes to the sons of the Solvanar, particularly the Oaken Solvanar is what drew me to Sherlock in the first place." He spoke softly, with focus.
The door led straight into a living room that was a large open room. Straight across from the entrance was a pair of sliding glass doors that lead out onto a veranda and into the garden John had noticed previously. To the right end of the house was a large formal dining room that looked out over the pond. The kitchen offset from the dining room was much larger than the one at 221, including room for a smaller dining table. In fact it was almost as big as the living room and kitchen combined at Baker Street. The living room opened up again to the left, including a fire place in the corner. A hallway branched directly off their left from the living room leading first to a bathroom, then to a room clearly designed as an office. The hallway branched to the left just beyond the office and led to the first bedroom, while taking the hallway straight on lead to the master suite complete with a large private bathroom. John barely had time to register all of that before the breath was sucked out of his chest. His jaw clenched.
It was a deadly and dangerous thing to do, Sherlock had not fed in three days testing himself and his hunger. He also felt the powerful heat of arousal sweep through his body as this man so easily sank into the knowledge of what he was without fear. How John simply gave himself over to the inescapable truth that Sherlock himself had been avoiding for six years. He slowly sank his teeth in, growling deliriously as John's essence poured into his mouth, John moaning under him. He drank only a little, not so much as he wished, but enough that he would be able to learn everything about John as he rested during the next day. When he pulled back, that ruby essence gleaming on his lips he panted. John groaned.
"The hunger is inside of you, born into you by your birth..." He whispered darkly. "Let it free. Let it find a home in the truth you are desperate to feel." He coaxed. Sherlock let his touch flutter over John's body as John weakly latched on to Mycroft's wrist and drank slowly but steadily.
"I'm fine Sherlock, it's just a cold..." John protested but he sneezed and sighed. He leaned back closing his eyes.
.” John was definitely defensive but his tone was soft. His eyes firm and focused as he stood defiantly in the face of danger.
"Yes. The sunlight will weaken you for a time early on in your pregnancy. It is a complication due to the vampire blood your child carries. She will be fine, as will you."
"I want to know. What do you see, Sherlock? What do you feel?" John's voice was low. It was dark and deep with desire. His eyes still closed as he waited expectantly for an answer. Sherlock grunted with sheer pleasure as John
A wedding that aside from the dress that required ten attendants, a groom who looked angry instead of pleased, too many dignitaries to remember, and enough wasted expense would never be looked upon fondly by anyone in attendance. Especially not by either of the Holmes brothers, whom were they given the choice would have opted for a leisurely day at home. However with John so innately involved in the preparing of the event they had no choice but to attend in order to support him. They certainly could not see John go alone to any social outing that might leave him a victim of Moriarty's devices. Though they were sure to voice their displeasure, loudly and repeatedly. The Holmes family was tentative at best with the groom following his attempt to poison them all. The punishment had been slight, at best, but Elizabeth had beseeched the Holmes men to forgive him and they had grudgingly agreed. Which was why the brothers stood, backs rigidly pressed to the wall, beside an equally grumpy Sebastian Moran as they watched John dance with the bride.
is here and suddenly your attention is fully removed from the man who almost killed himself because of longing for you. Instead you turn your attention back to a woman who preferred you to believe she played with your feelings! And look what happened! " Mycroft's tone was actually just as dark as Sherlock's, the tension growing so tight that both Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade feared an actual physical fight would break out.
"Not 'just' John," Sherlock sat up straighter as his eyes locked with John's and the words just effortlessly flowed from his mouth. "Never just John," His tone was soft and full of emotion but his eyes sparkled with their normal enthusiasm for something he considered to be entertaining. "
Realization dawned on Sherlock's face and John was surprised that he hadn't snapped at him yet. His eyes slowly starting to return to normal as he began to come back into the room.
"I hate it." John said grumpily. "It's overly starched, I'm guessing Mrs. Hudson was crying while she ironed it. I miss my jumper. I'm cold." John hadn't meant it as a complaint but it was the truth. He suddenly felt the weight of something on his shoulders looking up to see that Sherlock had removed his jacket and placed it around John. "Sherlock..." He blushed slightly.
"Lord Moran will be present as he has been Moriarty's guardian for the majority of his life. Please do not make a fool of us." Sherlock's gaze hardened.
“Where is he? I can sense him… There!” Sherlock smirked with pride as he wrenched the door to the room open. John flinched, but did not pull himself from under the blankets. Sherlock waltzed into the room, intent on pulling the blankets aside but froze when he saw the large painting over the bed. His energy changed quickly and suddenly anger filled the room, making John shiver. The painting was of John and Sherlock on their wedding day, smiling and serene in their bliss. “What trick is this?!” He demanded, ripping the blankets away from John and growling angrily at him.
“Then keep quiet.” Sherlock smirked. He clawed into John’s hair and lathed attention over the purple spot on his neck, listening to him groan quietly. The spot was almost permanently purple.
“Your brother took you from me once and I shall not let it happen again!” James growled, leaning forward. “You are mine!”
"Come in." Mycroft called, looking up with clear surprise as John entered. It was easy to see the tears on his face, Mycroft wanted to comfort him but he refused to do so. He could not allow himself to feel this sentiment for John. It would be better to remain distant. He had hoped the lack of touching and response he'd given the mender over the last few months would be enough to finally push him away. Judging by the look on his face, that was not the case. "What are
"After we have had rest." He cupped John's cheek in his hand, forcing John to meet his eyes. "I am sorry John, I owe you a great number of apologies for not warning you."
"What?" John panted, his mind still trying to catch up to the moment. Another smack, this time on the other leg that made him whimper and shout. "Master what are you doing!?" He demanded, tugging harder at the bonds.
. He moved quickly and downed the next sniper, noting that Jacob had taken down the other two. He had to get down and somehow convince John that this was all a bluff.
. If you wish to stop simply do so." He promised as he closed his eyes and could not bite back a soft moan.
rather pleasing to the eye, he conceded, noting that he would like to explore the reactions his brother made in response to certain stimuli. Perhaps he could compare them to John's. Before he could progress much farther in his musings however Mycroft's mouth was on his, his tongue plunging into explore the cavern of his mouth when he moaned in surprise. Sherlock flowed back as Mycroft pressed him down into the bed, their mouths moving furiously against one another. Sherlock's mind blanked as he clawed into his brother's shoulders, one hand moving to brace against the headboard. He froze, his entire body going rigid and Mycroft opened his eyes with confusion and concern. Sherlock pulled his hand out from under the pillow both of them growling darkly as they realized his hand had tightened around something metal.
"It is Lord Moran." John responded and Sherlock tensed anew. They reluctantly pulled themselves up out of bed. He watched John as he hesitantly moved around the room, seemingly quite concerned about their guest.
Sherlock pushed John down hard on the bed, ignoring his whimpers of pain. His mouth and teeth all over his chest and shoulders. His eyes growing darker by the moment. It hurt but John felt pleasure more strongly. His mind seemed to shiver and tremble before the pain simply began to fade. The pleasure just crowded into his mind and forced all the sensations of pain away. It forced everything away until he could think of nothing save Sherlock. Sherlock who was lost in his own primal nature from a mixture of a lack of feeding, brooding jealousy, and pure desire for the writhing man before him. He was not intentionally giving into this darker side of himself but his control over himself was faltering quickly. His aura bore down on John's fighting for submission just as he pressed touches and kisses all over John's body demanding physical submission as well. Demanding that John submit in every way to him. John whimpered and moaned, his entire body flooded with fire and desperation. His cock ached between them, still trapped for the moment in his trousers. It did not take long however for Sherlock to rip them away, leaving him utterly exposed and trembling.
"You two are lucky My had to leave, he was raging this morning about how irresponsible the two of you are." Greg stood and yawned. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he realized John's cheek was slightly bruised with a small cut. "Who hit you in the face, John?" He moved over quickly looking at John's cheek. John pulled away.
." His voice had been a guarded whisper, to John it was clear that his mind was in a great number of places all at once. The statement made something inside John's chest purr with satisfaction but at the same time it confused and scared the hell out of him.
Then he was gone. John strained his other senses, trying to hear or sense where Sherlock was in the room but he couldn't. The carpet muffled his footsteps and he'd removed everything that might make noise. John tensed, his body straining to prepare for the next thing but there was nothing. No indication of what might happen next. Sherlock smirked and gently ran the riding crop down John's sternum, listening to the purely indecent moan that came from his lips. It was followed almost immediately by a grunt and whimper as the leather snapped down close to his nipple. He was already wet, his cock aching for touch. Sherlock felt his own body begging for him to give in, to reunite their flesh - but he wanted to make John beg and right now John was still being the staunch soldier. Another smack and another deeply primal moan, brought John's words back.
There was no haste in this moment, only the two of them and all the ages of the world. The two of them were beginning to feel more like themselves, so haste was no longer necessary. The ethereal whispers of the bonding state giving way to the earthy mortal realm. Sherlock set a desperately slow, feverish pace; their mouths struggling to stay together as their breath grew ragged and heavy. Sherlock locked his hands with John's, pushing them up towards the head of the bed, using his own body to lift John's hips slightly and change how he was pushing inside him. John shouted in his mouth and groaned, desperate for the release Sherlock was denying him. Sherlock kept John pinned under him, building the fire inside their bodies steadily but slowly until hours after dark had completely fallen they finally crashed over the edge. John panted for breath, silence descending around them and their eyes locked and burning together. Both of them utterly boneless and wrecked from such a powerful release. Sherlock smoothed gentle kisses over John's face, eyes, and mouth apologizing for tormenting him but not really meaning it. Anthea gave them an hour to recover before loudly knocking on the door.
“It would have been fine if you hadn’t started speaking German!” Sherlock grunted reading John's thought right off his face, pushing the shirt away now as well.
“I had hoped you’d return today.” Sherlock smiled, it was the smile that made James’ burn to claw and bite him until it disappeared; the smile that said ‘I can tell everything you have done,’ the one that made James burn with hate and desire like nothing else. “You had a favorable trip, they provided you the answer you wanted and even offered you your own manor back in England.” He offered quietly, making James growl, His smirk never fading as he sipped his blood. | [
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“Ridges? Castiel, you party animal.” He chuckled some before giving a tug to the bottom of the jacket and raising his eyebrows at Cas. “Is it too much with the t-shirt?”
Meg looked up at him where he sat at the desk. “And…” she asked with a smile but knew from the tone in his voice that the elder Novak had agreed.
At some point over the summer, Balthazar decided that he was going to start high school officially and wondered if that would force his friend to look inward to himself and his own thoughts and feelings, rather than adopting his fathers. But he had finally done it and all Cas did was stay quiet, which was actually scarier than all of the reactions he had played through in his mind.
Dean’s eyes flickered between Balthazar and Cas a few times before he motioned to Sam his empty bottle and headed to the bar. Chuck looked a little surprised to see him but quickly opened a beer for him. Dean leaned back against the bar as he watched Cas.
“Hey, why haven’t I met Ruby?” Dean asked out of the blue before biting into an apple. Castiel was sitting on the couch reading a book and pretended not to hear while Gabriel flipped through channels mindlessly, one ear on the conversation.
Gabe nodded some still looking down. “I think it started with Adderall. All the late nights studying and Sam was just trying to keep up. It was pretty frequent for a while… but lately it’s been longer gaps of time between with heavier drugs.” Gabe turned around and looked fucking miserable. “He has it in his head that they’re a couple which is warped considering she goes days to weeks without talking to him and then pops up long enough to drug him and fuck him.” Gabe sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
Dean took the blade away from his throat, moved behind him and shoved him in the direction of the house. Castiel stumbled some before he began to walk to the house taking in the sight of it. Though it was obviously big there was something still very modest about it. He had a feeling though that Dean still held a large collection, just like his last owner did. When they reached the front door he stepped aside so Dean could enter. Not wanting to let the angel out of his sight in case he tried something, Dean simply opened the door and gestured for the angel to enter. Inside Dean turned slightly to put in the security code, keeping it hidden from the angelic being. "Down the hall." Dean said after the screen flashed the words
Dean stared at her with his teeth clenched some. He wasn't sure if he hated her words because that stupid nickname was catching on or because they came from a mouth that wasn't Cas', as if he was the butt of some joke during an orgy.
Before Castiel pulled into his driveway he already had three missed calls from Balthazar. He paced his room a few times before finally flopping on his bed and checking the voicemails. He braced himself for more insults. Balthazar had every reason to be angry at him. Everything he said was absolutely true and Cas hated himself for it.
seeing him like that and treating him differently because of it gave him a chill and he shivered slightly. Dean was the warmest most caring person in his life right now which was ironic considering he didn't bring up the past to him tonight at all.
“I don’t…” he cleared his throat some and looked away from Dean trying to say the words. “I don’t casually kiss.”
“Gabe is looking for you,” Dean said simply as he turned around and looked out the windshield. When there was no reply from the backseat so he continued, “He’s really worried about you. He just took off with Sam to try to find you.”
Unable to take the silence anymore, Balthazar took both his hands and shook them a little. “Come on. Dance with me.”
The last line rang out and Dean thought it sounded much more like a threat than the pained version the words held at the beginning of the song. As the music abruptly ended Cas stood frozen on stage as the wild applause brought him back down. His eyes darted around for a second in a panic not sure how to transition away from the crowd that was roaring in applause and whistles from every direction. Just before Dean’s eyes began to roam wondering why Gabe hadn’t stepped out to help his brother, Cas’ eyes fell to the front row and their eyes connected making Dean’s heart pound again. He wanted to roll his eyes at himself for being such a fangirl but couldn’t bring himself to look away.
Dean mumbled something and his eyes fluttered open sleepily. "C-Cas?" He asked softly and confused. Cas pulled his hand back and blushed softly. "I talked to Sam. He told me everything and explained why you left." Dean groaned and pulled his pillow over his head making Cas chuckle some. "You don't need to be embarrassed, Dean. It's no big deal, really."
Meg swallowed and took a step back knowing she would have to let him cool off and talk to him later. “Nothing.” She answered back flatly before looking back at Gabriel. “Trial period. Fine. Send me the details later. I’m outta here.” She turned on her foot and walked to the door making Gabriel wonder if she would even make it to the show date next week.
Castiel kept his eyes on the ceiling but his ears were intent on his handler's words. He had only been on the market a couple of weeks and the time before this it was more like a couple decades. He was hoping for that again before he was sold off to the unknown. Dean couldn't tell, but his whole body had actually tensed at the sound of his approaching footsteps.
Dean snapped his attention away from the window at the sound of his voice and gave a nod. "Yeah. I'm wrapping stuff up too. Thanks for your help."
showed up and he chewed his lip some as he opened the message. The picture of Sam, Charlie, Andy and Dean greeted him and carefully looked at each of their photos. He genuinely did like Charlie and Andy and how welcoming they were toward him since he arrived, and even though he was ready to excuse himself out of the room quickly just nights earlier, he wished he would have been around for whatever was happening here. Sam and Charlie were obviously the silliest with Sam’s hair up and Charlie’s pose, and Andy was such a goofball. But where his eyes landed and couldn’t look away from was Dean. From the angle it was obviously him that had been holding the phone up for the picture but he wasn’t making a face or sticking out his tongue like the others. Just a simple smile while he looked into the camera. Without seeing him for the last couple of days Cas had already forgotten how green his eyes were and he felt himself get butterflies at the way it felt like dean was looking at him even though he told himself that was a completely silly reaction because he was just taking a picture. A few seconds passed as he continued staring at the picture, the thought not even crossing his mind to send a message back, so when his phone chimed again in his hand he jumped a little in his seat.
“Let me see.” Cas’ pen was still moving across the page as Balthazar picked up his notebook from the desk to inspect it closer.
.” Cas held her gaze for a second but Meg could always challenge him right back without wavering. He loosened his grip on the bottle and she pulled it away looking pleased at his giving in.
"C'mon. You know you want to." A female voice said, followed by more giggling. Despite all the shit that was going down, people were still people. End of the world, living and breathing, horny people.
There was a beat as the two looked at each other, then back at Dean. Meg nodded and gave a solid, “uh huh” and Cas a quick nod with a “yep.” Dean nodded some like he understood when he completely fucking didn’t and slowly reached out for the door knob pulling it closed until there was a loud click. Another beat of time passed behind the door before more giggling from Meg followed by Cas’ laughter as well.
Not wanting to kill the vibe they had going, Balthazar forced himself to simmer down some. “Is he here now? I know a way we can make him jealous.” His voice was teasing but Cas rolled his eyes knowing if he said yes, Balthazar would make it happen.
Castiel’s eyes flickered over to the Dean without his head moving and he rolled his eyes before looking up at the ceiling again. “I was just going to hide out for a minute. I didn’t think you’d be leaving so early since you had just ordered beers with Sam. Sorry for the intrusion.” Even though he apologized he made no attempt to get up and exit the car. Dean could see at the other end of the parking lot Gabe’s car was just pulling out. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pushed a button with his thumb making it light up and show the time, but he hesitated, deciding not to unlock it and allowing the phone to go dark again. He set it on the seat letting curiosity get the best of him as he looked at Cas and made no attempt to text Sam and Gabe to let them know he had found Cas.
Dean jumped up without a word to get the drink, not even annoyed at Lisa's disinterest in him. Was Cas really enjoying whatever comments were being whispered into his ear by Meg? He took a glass of punch and downed it quickly before resting on the edge of the table, trying to control his breathing. His jealousy. Over what though? The fact that his date was actually into him and Dean might as well have shown up alone? No. That didn't feel like it. But that stabbing feeling was still there gnawing at him. He downed another cup full of punch before grabbing one to take back to Lisa, scolding himself mentally for being jealous at all.
He scowled, mumbling a "don't hold your breath," that he wasn't sure she heard and headed back to his paper work, attempting to bury himself in it. And if he could have stopped thinking about orgies and Cas and Jane plus two walking out of his cabin this morning, he might have been successful.
The boy pulled the pillow off his face slowly and looked at where Dean sat on the bed for a long moment as if contemplating his answer. Dean gave a light smile that said
“-stretch your legs a bit after being trapped in the car for so long? Of course!” Sam interrupted hastily.
Cas nodded slightly like he understood that. “Looked like you guys had a good time tonight.” Cas said giving a small smile as they looked up at Dean and remembered the picture. He had friends back home but they didn’t take a lot of pictures and goof off the way most people did. Thinking about it now he wasn’t sure if he wished they had made more memories like that or if he was glad they didn’t because having the pictures would hurt now that they were so far away. His smile fell and he looked back down to the fork that he flipped over again.
Castiel wasn’t surprised by his answer. He wouldn’t have come this far if he had wanted to stay. But he was sure that the stopping had more to do with his possessions that were left behind at the mansion. They had confiscated his phone before shooting began and there was no way he had enough money on his person to do much once he got to a phone. He was stuck. And while Cas knew that saying as much to get him to realize that might work on another dumb suitor in the past, he could tell Winchester was different. More stubborn for sure. Point out an observation so directly would probably be an open challenge to have him hitchhike all the way home to Kansas. He went for a different approach instead. He thought for half a second before deciding to go with helpless.
“C’mon, you know I was only teasing you. But now I’ll stop, because I like you enough to leave you alone when you’re being a piss baby.”
And he’s holding it out, the box, he’s opening and taking the tie and coat, leaves the mixtape alone.
Still, that doesn’t mean he has to like it when he’s reminded of being the odd one out first thing in the morning, squished between Zach, the head of IT, and Gabriel’s arguments, while Balthazar and Bela compare last night’s shenanigans. Not even Becky, the receptionist, bothers to raise her head long enough to acknowledge his good morning with more than a hum.
He grimaced: “Not exactly, it has more to do with being trapped in a metal box twenty feet from the ground than
Except that what restrains the angel is not so much as a sense of duty as is a fierce protectiveness towards his kin, and a bone-deep love for a father whose voice he can't remember anymore.
And now, with college just a summer away and fall right around the corner, he’d made it his mission to recruit them all at least once a week for a (not so) friendly game of good, ol’ American football.
Cassandra works at the library, volunteers every other weekend to read to the kids, then talks about it with Dean when they go out for coffee on Sundays.
“Well, he told it like it is, Walker” Dean said, “besides, kid worked for Crowley all day, he needs a break.”
“I think,” I murmured, head leaning more and more towards his, “I think that wit and pleasantness may be innate, but your brother’s kindness, his confidence- that’s probably been all you, Dean.”
He can see it unravel on Sam’s face, as he begins to take in her hair, and her eyes and the shape of her mouth, just like Dean has.
I wanted nothing more than to shake Sam, tell him to stop questioning his own happiness so much, that if anyone deserved a sappy, typical high school romance that was him, so he should just stop getting in his own way, but in the car, as we were approaching home, Dean beat me to it.
That doesn't stop him from nearly having a panic attack when he realizes that he's been noticed, and he's being approached, and- fuck.
It was my father to put an end to it, who explained how my mother hadn’t left me of her own volition, but had died, and how very different the two things were.
I shrugged: “Said something about finding his true call, I’m sure it was either pastry or porn, but I didn’t catch which.”
Bu they were nice, for some time, when everyone had just started drinking and singing whatever cheesy hit they could think of.
, as Dean had called it, was to climb up the ferris wheel, stay ten minutes dangling in the old thing.
“But speaking of distractions, I saw the golden boy, coming in. He was parking at the Roadhouse, could be headed here, next.”
Dean laughs: "Yeah, kind and also possibly a serial killer, I get it. But I'm only just heading south, I swear. Wouldn't mind company."
In the whirlwind of clothes and friendly mocking, I noticed a redhead in a bright blue one piece approach me.
“Oh. In that case, you’ll have to come back when he’s here. He handles all hand delivered business himself, keeps the packages in a storage I don’t have access to.”
And of course, Sam takes that to heart, ensures him they’re going to do just that, that he’s going to encourage it, whatever it is.
There is a certain anticipation, in the mark Castiel feels burning on his arm, seems to forget about it as he holds Anna close to his chest, because he had lost her, then got her back only to have her watch him die. And come back, apparently.
She thumbs the pictures, explains the story, starts reading bits and pieces of it in between plot points.
Castiel looked at him with a tilt of his head, the one he did when he couldn't quite comprehend the situation- like the thousands jokes he didn't get and pop culture references he never understood and that one time Dean had leaned in, whispered something: things he couldn't wrap his head around for lack of knowledge, or lack of faith.
They leave, fall in love a thousand times again with the night and all the things it carries on its back, but the things is.
Looking back, morbid would have been more accurate, or a reckless marketing strategy at the very least.
“You - you alone will have the stars as no one else has them...” she recites, “...In one of the stars, I shall be living. In one of them, I shall be laughing.”
“I never got to be a father,” he’d said on their graduation day, “but I did end up with a bunch of pain in the ass kids anyway.”
It was past two in the morning when Dean stumbled home, with heavy steps and an even heavier tongue.
He buys a bottle of scotch, downs it sitting on the ground next to the car, and waits for the sun to go down.
“Just so you know,” Gabriel said, “I’m actually named after an archangel, you little hell munchkin.”
Castiel shrugs: "I am actually quite familiar with Beethoven's works, my mother was fond of him. Led Zeppelin, on the other hand, I never had the opportunity to branch through."
He wants to explain himself, say he’s sorry Sammy is stuck with this mess, but instead just mutters that he needs more time.
None of my siblings had been present for that: Michael and Luc no longer at home, Anna and Gabriel lost somewhere in the house.
“Oh, please. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” Balthazar turns back to the camera, looks around before continuing. “There’s no gangs, no jail. He is married.”
“Okay, rugrats, let’s get over this one more time. Just because I agreed to snoop you in doesn’t mean I trust you to do this right.”
Or when Gordon Walker was found drunk and snoring the evening away in what little remained of the haunted house, after being dared to go in.
He finally allowed himself to look, the hands still clutching his arms moving to his neck, holding even tighter.
That was also the first time I was allowed in my father’s office, up my father’s plush, deep red, leather chair, on my father’s knee- his handkerchief softly drying any tears I had left.
"I wanted to give you something" he stuttered on his words, looking down as he reached into his pocket.
Only coffee turns into a movie and that turns into dinner and he can't really say how the hell he got himself in this situation but here he is.
“You’re one to talk, Hamlet. Alright, couple extras for you dwarves: no yelling obscenities, no funny business, no jerking around in the river, the guys going before you are gonna wait and take you out immediately because, if you drown, Anna is going to have my head for breakfast and my balls for dinner,
After they've put the Devil back in its cage, they kiss the blood off each other's lips, and everybody is there to witness it.
I never had a mother, not even any real memories of her, but I’d always had Anna, never having to learn the difference between the two.
“Actually,” I began “I’ve signed a confidentiality contract, and am not allowed to this kind of disclosure.”
I shivered unconsciously, slightly enough that if anyone noticed they would have thought it was because of the wind.
Anna had always been the only family I’d needed, though; Dean Winchester, so many years later, would be the first one I wanted.
Years later, as I would, I’d realize it had been for the best, for when you do, you’re most likely to never get up again.
And there's blue and resignation, green and panic: above all, there's tiredness and the restless recognition that however this ended up, they wouldn't let go.
Everything was a buzz from then on, people arguing over who should go first, and Benny and Ash trying to shove each other off the bridge before their time was due.
"I don't have anything though…" and it was as if he had just woken up, still dulled by sleep, and realized he had committed the worst crime imaginable.
And this girl is wonderful, looks at him amused but doesn't really mind that she's the one doing all the talking.
I did not act on it, not at first at least, didn’t even fully comprehend the strong desire to feel closer, cover her lips and her hands with my lips and my hands.
Bobby Singer had coached Little League for eleven years, before getting particularly attached to a specific batch of overactive kids and ending up stuck with them and a job at the local high school.
In the background, Sam and Jess were sharing tender glances; Benny had arrived with a cooler full of soda and Ash in tow.
So, in under three hours Dean has learned that his name is Castiel, because his parents were, apparently, religious freaks, and he has next to zero knowledge of anything Dean's stereo is playing.
When they finally draw back, Dean brings a hand to Cas’s face, brushes his knuckles against Cas’s cheek.
But Anna watches him, eyes deeper than he'd cared to remember, and says: "Castiel, there was nothing
Dean rolled his eyes: “Gracious my ass,” then winked at me, “what do you say, Cas? Up for an adventure?”
When he goes to bed, that night, he opens the drawer where he hides his secret stack of liquor and it’s empty.
I could tell you about the way color had drained from Cas's eyes, the loud thump of his corpse against the ground, the even louder wail Dean let out; I could tell you about the sun shying away from its rightful rise, at the sight of him still kneeled beside Castiel, or I could tell you about the funeral, the way he gently tucked his feet inside the sheets, breath caught in his throat and his chest and just anywhere but his mouth; and I could tell you how Dean, from that, never really came back, of the feather inked across his heart and the one he hides under his pillow.
Kevin shrugged, threw more popcorn into his mouth: “Speaking of, where is he? I feel like with him here I’d actually win this argument.”
That, in a child, obviously translated in glossy eyes and trembling lips, and the utmost mortification of every family member I had left.
He falls asleep in baby’s backseat, curled up on himself; when he gets home, in the morning, Sam smiles at him.
“And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night...You - only you - will have stars that can laugh.”
I glared: “I’m barely two years younger than you. And will probably graduate before you do anyways, so I don’t think the
From its tan walls to the soft, worn leather couch to whatever smell radiated from Mary’s kitchen- more often than not, it was pie.
Sunlight poured onto the kitchen floor, catching the hair below his knees, so fair to be barely visible.
Or when Dean chased after Lisa Braeden’s skirt, not bothering to come back a minute earlier than when he’d have to take Sam back home.
It’s a video from a few months ago, around Christmas time. He’s in his living room, clearly fumbling to get the camera at a right angle.
So, obviously, when the time came, I kissed Meg- just, I made the mistake of not jumping right away, of turning to her, and glimpse at the look she was wearing: like I had just broke her heart.
And it was heartfelt and genuine, shining right through his eyes and making Dean release the sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"No, no, you didn't have to. You-" it was hard for him, Cas knew, but he also knew he needed to get this out, whatever it was, so he let him be, and just listened "You always say what you think, what you feel. I've always admired that about you, how unafraid you are."
And then, because Dean is so righteous and mr. Blue Eyes could very well be nicknamed mr. Hot Stuff, he offers him a ride. Which he declines.
“You know how this place is called Heaven, and nobody really knows why. We make assumptions, sure, but the truth, you see… They say there was this guy travelling across the country years ago, eventually settled here in Kansas, he used to say- it was as close to home as he could get. He strolled in here on an ol’ Chevrolet Impala, a full beard and haunted eyes- you could tell, he’d seen things, that one. Not necessarily all pleasing, too.
So, of course, half an hour later I was sever feet from the ground, shifting in the worn, bug-chugged wooden seats.
Gabriel is unconscious on the floor, and the stranger who has the lights flickering around looks at the dagger in his chest with a smirk playing on his lips.
Castiel is in Pontiac, now, Jimmy tells him. So Dean spends a month getting drunk enough to find the courage to start the engine and so much that Sam has to force him away from the Impala before he drives in a ditch.
The windows are rolled down, the wind flowing through Cas' unkempt hair, the sun making its way across his throat. Dean watches him, scoffs:
I knew, but somehow, hearing it in my head wasn’t as effective as letting her voice lull me into the realm of possibilities.
And then I was under, head below the water and Dean’s hands sliding across my shoulders, squeezing to keep me there a second longer.
“What? It’s true! Y’all know ‘bout that Chuck guy, a weird little dude with a taste for alcohol and too much time and money on his hands. Hell, you called it when he eloped with Ms. Rosen, Barnes!”
“It wasn’t a forest, exactly. It happened when we were still back in New York, and Anna used to spend any given afternoon in Central Park, looking for new corners to paint and sketch. One day, we got lost, and our father had to call the police. Anna was distraught, she’d been so scared something might have happened to me, but I only remember being tired. I was with her, so I felt safe no matter what.”
It was so soft, so inviting, but he couldn't, he wouldn't will himself to look at him and know he never would be allowed to again.
It’s still sunny out when he makes it outside the terminal. He spots Dean instantly, coming through the door in his uniform, looking around until he sees him. He smiles, and all Castiel can do is drop his suitcase, his umbrella and his jacket. They fall to the ground in a silent thump as he runs to Dean, who immediately wraps his arms around him, sweeps him off the ground for a few seconds, while Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, keeps him as close as possible.
“I am kind of a geography genius, before my family moved here, I memorized the map of the city, and now it’s here, sculpted in my memory forever. It’s not a really useful talent, except for the fact that I practically have a perfect sense of orientation. It came particularly in handy when me and my sister got lost in the woods.”
He’s not an idiot, he knows he’s not imagining things, connecting dots and finding similarities that are not there, that he would find suspicious, was he not so desperate for something, anything to cling to.
I sighed, kept scrolling through dozens of dusty pages: “Contact information of Mark of Cain Co., a cutlery and beekeeping independent company.”
I huffed, glared at them: “You know, just because you’re Gabriel’s best friend doesn’t mean you have to be as insufferable as him.”
Like that angry bee in my backyard when I was eight: despite the pain, I couldn’t really blame it for not knowing better.
I felt guilty, as if her departure had somehow been my fault, and I could feel it, that guilt, eating at my young, tender flesh, threatening to devour me out of existence.
And Charlie laughing along with Kevin over something or another, Jo and Sam tucked in a corner trading kisses- how
Dean pushed himself up and swung his legs over the bar, scooting his ass across to the other side. He settled onto a barstool and sipped at his whiskey. God it felt good to sit down, even with the loud, Gabriel-induced debauchery going on on the dance floor, he thought.
Dean sucked in a breath. He hadn’t exactly always toed the line when it came to the law. There were some lean times when John was too deep in his depression and alcoholism to hold down a job. Before Bobby noticed and helped him out, well let’s just say the five finger discount fed Sam on several occasions. Thankfully he hadn’t gotten into running drugs or anything worse than shoplifting, but he doesn’t doubt he might have if things had not turned around.
He’d been a single dad for the better part of ten years, but it still hurt. It still hurt when Ben’s teachers looked at him with a mixture of pity and judgement. He could see the unspoken words in their minds - ‘Poor kid, too bad he lost his mom so young. She’d never let him get away with this/never let this happen.’
Dean watched the relief literally flood over Cas’s face. Before he knew what he was doing, he had wrapped Gabriel in a bear hug.
He sighed. He refused to break out Batman for this. Ellen had talked him into taking an extra-long Halloween weekend shift at the gay bar across town. Halloween fell on a Saturday and one of their staff had quit so they were desperate. He’d bartended there from time to time before but never on Halloween. Tips were good and he’d even scored a few hookups. Although he typically dated women, Dean had been openly bi since his late teens. He just hadn’t been serious with anyone since Lisa, really.
Castiel pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and pinched himself. He reminded himself to breathe. He mentally counted backwards from twenty. Castiel reached down and helped hoist Dean to his feet, snatched the journal from his hand, and handed him his crutch. Counting hadn’t helped. He leaned in to Dean’s space and glared at him.
Dean turned to look at Cas. “What the hell, man?” he asked. Cas just tilted his head and looked at him. “Where did you even come from?”
Dean considered that. He felt selfish and terribly guilty at the hope that threatened to swell up in his chest.
Novak silenced him with a look. “We also have the discretion to use our own judgement in the case of first-time offenses,” he said. “Need I remind you of the policy I helped write and of who our largest alumni donor is?” he said the last part in what Dean thought of as a dangerous whisper.
Dean sighed. “Well, it’s not typical to hang out in your drawers around people you don’t know well.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cas said. He started to close the door behind him. “Goodnight Dean.” Cas shut the door and walked up the steps to his house without turning back.
“Do you normally do ALL of your laundry at once?” Dean asked. He snuck a peak at Cas’s face, careful to keep his eyes trained on Cas’s.
He was into his third whiskey when he felt someone sit next to him before he saw movement. He glanced to his right. His eyes skipped over gold and black sequins and lots of smooth skin. The Angel - he thought. He turned and met blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dark.
It was over in moments after that. Sandwiched between Dean and Sam and Bobby and pestered from above by Castiel and MacLain, the bulk of Alistair’s men died quickly. Those remaining realized it was over and threw down their arms. They’d take their chances with a judge, Castiel supposed.
Dean lined up the shot and took in a deep breath. He pulled arm back and was ready to shoot on the exhale -
Dean nodded. He felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye. He turned from Cas, wiping his cheek on his shoulder. Cas dropped his hand.
The spotlight trained on a single figure on the stage. Gabriel was dressed in a Santa costume including beard and hat. The twist was his assless red leather pants. That was an image Dean was never going to get out his mind, he thought.
“Fuck, Cas!” Dean swore and collapsed on top of Castiel. Castiel felt his breath as he panted against his neck, coming down from his high. He embraced Dean loosely, soothing his hands up Dean’s back and releasing his legs, dropping them back onto the bed. When Dean had caught his breath he pushed up and rolled off of Castiel, flopping back to lie next to him.
Dean hummed around Cas’s cock and bobbed his head faster. He reached down and started stroking himself.
Castiel forgot how to breathe. He froze as Dean placed a hand on the back of his head, drawing him in. Dean noticed he wasn’t reciprocating, dropped his hand and leaned back a few inches.
Dean knew Ben was away at summer camp and wouldn’t be back for another week. But he still double-checked his room and made sure that all the blinds in the house were closed. He felt like an idiot.
“Good. Enough time for dessert.” Cas said, his voice dropping into his lowest register on the word ‘dessert.’
“I do appreciate what you have done for Ben, but that’s not what Halloween was about, okay?” Dean cringed inwardly at the pleading note in his voice. Well shit, all or nothing, he thought.
Castiel lost himself in the feeling of kissing and rutting against Dean. He didn’t notice Dean had been trying to get his attention until he felt a yank at the back of his hair. Castiel allowed Dean to pull his head up from where he’d been sucking his neck and glared at him. “What?!” he demanded.
Dean lost himself in the sensation of Cas’s mouth, hands and tongue on him. He groaned at the feeling of Cas’s tongue on his balls and then nearly came when Cas sucked him back down, moaning around his dick. He pulled his hands free of the t-shirt and pushed Cas off.
Dean turned away from Cas. He snagged his discarded pants with a toe and drug them close enough to grab. He busied himself with struggling to get his pants on.
Cas sighed and Dean knew he’d won. He pressed forward to kiss Cas, threading his hand through Cas’s soft hair. Cas opened to him, reaching to grasp Dean by the hip with his free hand as their kiss became heated. Dean took the knife from Cas’s other hand. He pulled back to set it gently on the sideboard. Dean slid his hand down from where it was cradling Cas’s head to grasp his hand and lead him to the bed in the dark.
“Well the contractor says there’s asbestos in the original material and we’ll have to vacate while they’re removing the stuff.”
Dean had tried reasoning with Cas. He tried yelling. He tried bribing him with unspeakable favors. When none of that worked, he tried begging. No matter how much Dean insisted, Castiel refused to carry a gun.
“C’mon, Cas, I think given the situation the Hippocratic Oath is more of a suggestion, right? I mean you shouldn’t set yourself up for harm, right? Dean cajoled.
Cas’s eyes widened when he saw the shirt, slashed just enough to reveal a bit of Dean’s collarbone in one spot and the top of his hip in another. Dean felt himself smirk at Cas’s reaction.
He watched Cas swallow. Long, quiet seconds ticked by and they just stared at each other. Finally Cas cleared his throat.
Castiel prodded gently at the area around the bone. The man groaned. The tall man made to grab Castiel’s hands from their work but Sheriff Singer held him back. “Get him out of here.” Castiel said. Bobby pulled the protesting brother back into the front room and Castiel got to work.
Dean meets Cas for Valentine's Day. Unfortunately, they get caught but the one person who can screw up their happy ending.
Before he had time to be embarrassed, though, Cas was releasing him, pulling back and sliding out the door.
Dean pushed the button on his stereo. He watched as Cas tilted his head, probably trying to place the song.
Castiel laid himself down opposite Dean. Dean turned on his side and kissed Castiel, trailing his left hand down Castiel’s chest to his hip. Castiel fumbled with the button on Dean’s trousers. Once unbuttoned, Dean rolled onto his back and lifted his hips so Castiel could help him shed the rest of his clothing.
Dean moaned and threaded his right hand through Castiel’s hair as Castiel mapped his mouth with his tongue. Castiel let him pull his head back slightly, both men panting.
“What is it now, Gabriel? Something wrong with the Christmas lights?” Dean had just been over the day before helping string outdoor lights because Gabriel claimed his bursitis was flaring up.
“Who’s next?” Dean asked, shouting over the noise of the crowd, his curiosity getting the best of him.
Dean walked over to the door just as whoever was on the other side abandoned the doorbell in favor of knocking. Loudly.
Castiel nodded, trying not to let the tears filling his eyes spill out. He set his jaw and looked up to meet Dean’s eyes.
That was it. Dean was fucking done with this dance. He slapped his hand down on Cas’s desk. Cas jumped at the force of his hit.
Castiel stopped the bleeding in the man’s shoulder so he could work on the leg and hopefully save it. It was a compound fracture - a jagged white fragment of tibia protruded through his calf just below the knee. Even if he lost the leg this man was lucky, Castiel reasoned. A few inches higher and he’d have severed the femoral artery and he’d be dead where he fell.
“What if we destroy the dam up river and flood the bed?” Cas asked. “With help, we could flank Alistair and drive them into the canyon,” he continued. “We could position sharpshooters around the rim of the canyon here - and here,” Cas said touching areas on the map, “and there’d be no escape,” Cas finished.
“Oh shit!” Sam yelled. He ran toward Dean. “Dean! Dean! Are you okay?” He crouched down, his worried puppy expression blurry through the tears stinging Dean’s eyes.
Dean entered the office and treated the receptionist to his most charming grin. “Betty!” Dean purred, “Did you do something to your hair? Looking good!”
“That’s it, Cas, c’mon, baby, I got you; I got you.” Cas opened his eyes and met Dean’s once more. “Give it to me, Cas,” Dean said.
Novak’s head snapped up at his voice and he met his eyes again. Dean saw recognition flicker through them.
Castiel looked down. Dean brought his hand to his chin and tilted his face up so that he could meet his eyes.
Cas closed the journal. “After that, well - I ran, Dean. I tried to outrun his ghost and I tried to drown it in whiskey. I am a Goddamned coward, Dean,” he finished.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of MacLain’s mirror. The signal! He thought. He moved back to the blaster box and checked his watch. It was time. Castiel held his breath and depressed the plunger, pushing down with both hands and all his weight. He counted the seconds backwards from 15 - 15, 14, 13...3, 2, 1. Castiel felt the blast before he heard it. He scrambled for Grace’s reigns as the ground trembled beneath them. She panicked but Castiel moved faster than he thought himself capable of and vaulted onto her back. Castiel looked back and saw the water start spilling over the crack they’d blown in the rock dam. He barely touched Grace with his heels and she was off. He leaned forward and held on for dear life as he raced to the western rim of the canyon.
Cas pressed the keys into his hand. Dean took the hint and unlocked Baby’s door. He ushered Cas into the backseat.
“I stopped sleeping,” Cas continued. “I stopped eating. I got really low and I - well I took some pills,” he said.
“Administrative leadership conference at this lovely establishment. And to think, I wasn’t going to come!” Milton said. “Oh, this is too good,” he added. “You are SO fired,” Milton laughed mirthlessly. “I can finally get you out of my school.” He stepped back and before Dean knew what was happening had snapped a picture of them with his cell phone and walked away.
Dean was up to three fingers, pumping and scissoring them into Cas, stretching him, when he must have brushed his prostate. The noise Cas let out was the hottest thing Dean had ever heard and he had to close his eyes and breathe through his mouth to avoid coming.
“And how do you think you’re gonna get and stay on a horse, ya idjit? You think me and Sam need to be worrying about you while we’re looking for Alistair?” Singer bellowed.
“No, I don’t drive. My brother Gabriel usually drops me off on his way home. But tonight he stopped off at a bar and,” Dean felt himself smirk as Cas made air quotes with his hands, “‘found some company for the night, don’t wait up.’”
Cas rolled his eyes and looked at Dean. “It goes with the outfit, Dean,” he said. “You don’t like it?”
He felt Cas’s hand in his hair. He sucked Cas down taking all of him in and relaxing his throat. Dean reached a hand up to encourage Cas to grip his hair.
Castiel prodded the bullet wound and seemed satisfied with what he saw. He replaced the bloody bandage with a fresh one. “It’s healing well,” he commented as he wrapped Dean’s shoulder. “You’re moving it, right? Every hour or so, you do an arm circle?”
The next morning, Dean sat next to Cas outside Milton’s office. He glanced at Cas and once again felt white hot rage for Zachariah Milton flare through him. Cas’s eyes were bloodshot from crying and the circles under his eyes looked like double shiners. Dean sighed and looked down at his shoes, but he took Cas’s hands in his own.
School had just let out and Dean had to fight against a tide of loud, smelly adolescents to get to the principal’s office. Most took one look at the scowl on his face and stepped out of his way. He finally made it to the office. He took a deep breath and put on his game face. Or at least what he hoped passed for it.
The music changed and Dean was surprised to hear a slower song. Cas spun in Dean’s arms and clasped his hands behind Dean’s neck. Dean pressed the flat of one palm to Cas’s back and ran tips of his fingers up to the spot between Cas’s shoulder blades that he knew from experience was a sensitive area. He watched Cas’s pupils dilate and felt his chest heave. Dean pulled him even closer and pushed his thigh between Cas’s, letting him grind against him. Cas snuck one hand up and scratched his blunt nails through the short hair at the base of Dean’s skull.
After passing through the door, Castiel turned and locked it. He scanned the room before walking back to Dean. Dean hadn’t messed up Castiel’s orderly space much. Castiel could tell he’d run his hand over the books on the shelf and had plucked one of his journals from its spot, of course.
Cas took the improvised blindfold off. Dean watched as his eyes widened and he swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding; he was afraid Cas would laugh the minute he saw him. Dean started dancing to the music; he lost his shirt quickly, easily pulling the snaps apart and then sliding one side of the shirt down to expose one shoulder and then the other before dropping it to the floor.
Cas crushed his mouth to Dean’s, silencing him with a hungry kiss. Dean moaned and melted into it, parting his lips for Cas’s tongue.
“‘C’mere,” he said, beckoning Castiel to join him. Castiel stood back from Dean and slowly unbuttoned the top of his trousers. Dean licked his lips as Castiel slid the trousers and shorts from his body, pushing them down over one hip at a time until he stepped out of the material pooled at his feet.
Cas nodded. “I see,” he said, and Dean could tell he was trying for serious but he slurred his words and let his body fall limply against Dean’s.
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “For my buns. I do so enjoy sticky buns, and so does my brother, right Cas? You’re a big fan of bees too, aren’t you?” Dean choked on his beer. Ben smacked him on the back and Cas looked at him with a mixture of concern and wide-eyed panic.
“Dean-Dean,” Cas was panting while Dean extracted him from the tangled cotton. “Do you want to do this here?” he asked and then keened when Dean sealed his lips over a nipple, sucking hard and worrying it between his teeth.
The following week, Dean had to admit he was actually looking forward to the dance lesson. He hadn’t seen Cas since the impromptu get-together at the bar the week before. Of course, he wasn’t without some anxiety about being physically close to Cas for the better part of an hour. Fortunately, this time he’d not had to come straight from work and had scheduled a little “Gentleman’s time” in the shower before driving over to the city.
Then there are the long times of waiting between battles. These are the worst. The times when all we can do is wait for the horror to come to us. We play cards and sometimes practice our marksmanship. I’m actually a good shot. I can hit a playing card dead center at 100 paces and I’m a fast draw - one of the fastest the soldiers say they’ve seen. As doctors, we’re rarely in the field, but the sergeant insists that I carry a revolver for those times when I have to help the combat medics retrieve injured men. Sometimes the enemy tries to ambush us when we assess the injured.”
“No worries, man,” Dean said, shifting in his seat and draining his whiskey. “Castiel, right?” Dean asked. If he was gonna drink next to the man in his ridiculous bee costume he thought he should know his first name.
He didn't get to finish the sentence. His words were halted by Dean's lips pressed firmly onto his. Cas froze. Was this really happening? Was Dean kissing him?
Then, after what felt like forever, Cas heard some footsteps behind him, growing louder and louder. He turned around and who did he see but none other than Dean Winchester himself, with a heavily bruised Chuck in tow. “Dean?”
Chuck had the audacity to let out a quick laugh, only to be reminded of his wound by Dean. “I'm not going to repeat myself.”
Dean was towering over him, Billie's scythe in his hand. Splotches of Chuck's blood covering his face and his clothes. His expression was stone cold. He pressed the scythe harder into Chuck's neck. “No, there's something you gotta do for me first.”
, Dean added in his head), and had just accepted an associate professor position in legal studies at KU.
Cas moaned as Dean thrust in and pulled out, varying his depth and speed until he found Cas’s prostate.
Playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/user/fmpkbmc2660vuwiz90ex7972l/playlist/2gFN12deuCmTLCOkvQtTrp
Cas’s eyes snapped to Dean. His mild expression darkened into something less pleasant behind the Anderson’s backs as they walked away.
“Mr. Winchester,” Cas said, and walked back through his door, not waiting for Dean. Dean followed him and tried not to stare at his ass, his brain unhelpfully superimposing the booty shorts over Cas’s sensible navy Dockers.
Ben came down the stairs carrying two cans of Coke. He handed one to Dean and took a drink from the other. “Can I help, Dad?” he asked.
“Oh shoot, that’s right. Sorry Jess, I know - no business on holidays but our court date was moved up to Monday at 9am.”
“Perhaps it’s best if we don’t say anything,” he said, his voice trailing off at the end of the sentence.
Cas was still holding the back of his own knee and spread wide. Dean steadied himself on one arm and lined his cock up with the other. He pushed in agonizingly slowly before finally bottoming out.
“Dean - I’m ready. I’m good, Dean - please -” Cas panted as Dean tore open the condom with his teeth and rolled it over his cock. He flipped open the lube and coated himself.
It was one of those nights when Cas broke. He must’ve had a tough day because he drank more than usual, which was a considerable amount. As he drained the rest of the bottle they’d been sharing, he swore and threw it onto the stone of the fireplace, shattering it into a hundred pieces.
“Cas - Cas!!” Dean called from the examination room he had transformed into his bedroom. “Did you get the pie?” he asked the second Castiel passed through the doorway.
“Damn, Cas,” Dean said. “Looks like I finally got a rise out of you.” He winked lasciviously and nodded at the front of Castiel’s trousers.
“No,” Dean said, a single tear slipping from his eye. “He saved my life, Sam,” he said. “He saved my life and it cost him his soul,” Dean finished.
Cas looked down at himself. “Yes,” he answered. “Is that not normal?” He made air quotes around the word ‘normal.’
Dean sighed. He felt tears sting his eyes. He looked down. He would not cry in front of Novak and Milton, he told himself.
Two days later, they’d met up with Sam and Bobby at what passed for an inn in the tiny village of Fort Garland. They sat around a table in the tavern’s common room, maps spread out between them, debating the best strategy to ambush Alistair and his gang.
He was in Baby’s back seat, that much he knew. He glanced down at dark curls and a strong hand resting against his naked chest. For some reason, his chest was covered in glitter. He knew that hand, he thought. Oh shit-oh shit-oh shit. Dean froze and looked down again at Cas, cradled in his arms, against his chest. With a sickening realization, he recalled the rest of his night.
“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said. “You never let me up there or talk about your past. I just wanted to get to know you better.”
Dean felt himself gulp at the intensity in Cas’s gaze. Sure he’d only spent all of ninety minutes in his presence, most of that trying not to pop an awkward boner during a waltz lesson for Christ’s sake, but he really did not want to be in this Roman guy’s shoes.
Dean pulled him back into his arms and shoved his head into the top of Cas’s head, smelling his hair rubbing circles across his back.
Dean closed the gap and let their lips meet, gently, tilting his head and getting a better angle. Cas let out the softest moan and Dean was gone for it. Before he realized what was happening, Cas was licking at his mouth and Dean was opening for Cas’s tongue.
“Well, well, Mr. Winchester isn’t it? And I assume that’s Mr. Novak on the other side of the doorway?”
Now, Castiel chewed his lip and looked away embarrassed at the thought. A feeling of want that he thought he had gotten rid of stirred inside. “What’s wrong?” Balthazar asked when Cas gave no answer. “As-tu peur de finir comme ton frère?” Castiel’s eyes went wide again and he looked at Balthazar again but his friend just chuckled. “Bloody hell, Cas. Liking boys isn’t not contagious!” He hoped the sentence didn’t sound as forced as it did in his head. Truth be told, he still had his doubts that Cas was straight. Watching him go with Anna looked a lot like going through the motions, at least when compared to all the raging hormones that he had been feeling and experiencing the last couple of years. Gay, straight, or bi... Cas deserved that kind of happiness with
“Tell him I’m sick.” Dean said back, muffled through the pillow. It wasn’t a complete lie. He certainly felt sick after watching that kiss. He had no idea it would have that affect and he felt completely stupid for suggesting it to the boy in the first place. He was just trying so hard to convince himself that he didn’t have feelings for Cas. Boy was he wrong.
Dean didn't need a shower or caffeine to help him wake up that morning. He was already buzzing with energy as he stood in front of the closet deciding to wear his best, most expensive suit. Usually he only wore it at the biggest auctions, the ones where celebrities in the know often turn up. Hell, once he watched Johnny Depp put down 30k and 40k for curse boxes of all things. Poor guy didn't know the damn things were fairly easy to make. Though a lot of people in the supernatural relic auction world didn't know that. They just told people like Dean what they were looking for, asked the price, tried to haggle a little until finally they got what they needed. He looked in the mirror and fixed his collar knowing that he wasn't about to drop millions looking like he was anything less than a man deserving of being there. He had worked too hard, and too long and now it was finally time to reap the rewards.
and if Dean found out he would fuckin’ lose it. Better to end this now than to wait for that to happen.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes at him, knowing he was making fun of his plan. “Well, what would you do, since you seem to know my brother so well?”
“Sweet dreams little brother…” Gabe called out to him in a sickening sweet trickster sort of way that made Dean roll his eyes at the elder brother.
Sam that they would be having plenty of movie nights while he was here for the summer in order to catch him up on the good stuff. Dean laughed and nodded along, answering their questions and sometimes chiming in on which movies he couldn't get into. But in the back of his mind, he was thinking about Cas and thinking that he wasn't ordinary like his song suggested at all.
Gabe and Sam looked at each other, clearly confused before Sam finally realized that Dean was referring to the plan with Balthazar and wasn’t referring to the conversation they had just been having. “Oh! Right.” Sam saw that Gabriel was still at a loss and threw him a rather obvious bone. “I was just telling Gabriel that we needed to get
The first time he kissed Gabriel he wasn’t shocked that he kissed him back. Gabe was gay so it’s not like it was completely out of character. The next day Sam had pretended like nothing happened and Gabe followed his lead allowing Sam to go on like everything was fine. They were fine. They were best friends. He couldn’t afford for them to not be fine. So he told himself it would be the first and only kiss. Until he ran into Ruby and the opportunity presented itself again and
At least a dozen singers and dancers took the stage around Gabriel all wearing different variants of the same outfit. Black tank tops and gold glittery converse, yet they each had an accent piece that kept them unique and cohesive at the same time. Gabriel had a gold glittery top hat, while the girl next to him wore a gold glittery vest. Different variations sprinkled throughout the cast as they skipped around on stage, not dancing as much as chaotically having a good time.
Castiel laughed lightly because that was probably putting it mildly, but he nodded as he leaned up against the counter and crossed his arms. “Yeah, he is.”
Gabriel let out a sigh of relief that his plan of forcing him to come out here had worked. Truth is, he was really 50/50 on it all, but he was also fucking desperate and grasping at straws… He wouldn’t say all of that later when he told Dean and Meg, the biggest naysayers of his entire plan, the
Meg rolled her eyes again as Gabriel started ordering people to gather around so he could explain the new song order to everyone. It’s not like this was the first time something had come up where the show got thrown for a loop the last minute. But this was definitely among the first time that he was pulling himself out of the entire show after the opening number so he could take his brother home and try to fix whatever had happened before he spiraled again. In the corner of his mind he heard Dean Winchester’s voice telling him that something was wrong and he fought to push it away. There was no way Dean knew his brother better than he did himself. He quickly scratched through a few lines and made some rewrites before finding Ash near the sound equipment.
Before he could press the issue any further Gabe slipped into the seat next to Sam. “Hey boys, drinks on me tonight,” he said and snapped his fingers, bringing the waitress back over near immediately with an extra beer included for Gabe. With the boss around she didn’t flirt so openly, but Dean still managed to give her a wink as a thank you that made her smile. “Finished showing him around and realized the best part of the city is the bar, huh?”
“Stop fighting me. I’ve got you.” Dean closed his eyes and looked up as the first tear fell down his cheek. Castiel remained steady on him, giving him enough room to breathe but not letting him move an inch. The human’s uneven breathing beneath him was ragged and coming out in uneven sobs as Cas remained pressed against him like a weighted blanket. He kept his own face buried in the warmth of the Winchesters neck letting his sobs come out and the man’s tears trickled onto his own cheek.
The only church he had set foot in was the one that he was raised in. While everyone had access to the bible and the teachings of God, the worship ceremonies always happened behind closed doors and felt like a very private relationship with God. Now looking at the books in front of him it was almost intimate seeing other people’s beliefs available for purchase. Or it would be if it wasn’t all blasphemous. He was very sure that the idea that you could put a spell on someone and make them love you was all sorts of against what God wanted humans to do. He found himself curious and not only touched the cover of the spell book but flipped through some pages.
“No trouble at all,” Gabe interrupted quickly not even addressing taking any money from Dean. Dean sipped at his coffee and watched Gabe and Sam begin putting things away. A quick glance over his shoulder at Cas and he could see that he was sitting on the couch, glasses on and a book in hand. Gabe peeked his head around the corner to look at his brother. “Hey, you able to write anything today?” he asked Castiel who didn’t look up from his book even though Dean would swear he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Chuck gave him a smile before turning around and grabbing what he needed and feeling more awake already.
Dean made a face and immediately left the room. He should have been pissed about what Sam said about Lisa, but he was too busy wondering if he was right about what he had said about Cas.
Sam raised his eyebrows at the sight of Cas standing on his porch. It only took a glance and seeing no car to realize that he walked here straight from the dance.
Dean walked to the front of the bar, mostly trying to clear his head from the noise and distance himself from the song. He almost felt like he preferred the loud circus act than the concert the crowd was getting tonight. At least then the bright lights and perfectly choreographed dances were a distraction from his own thoughts like the ones he couldn’t shut off tonight as he waded through the crowd headed to the bar. He had no real intention of heading back to Sam, at least not for a bit. He had been to enough of these to know that the crowd would stay glued around the stage leaving only the staff to frequent the bar to grab drinks for people. He wondered if Chuck was working. If he would be able to hear him over the speakers this far back, but when the last of the crowd split for him to check, he stopped in his tracks seeing Castiel.
"Oh my god," he stifled a laugh, still looking at Dean. "You like him." He couldn't hide the smile as he teased his brother.
The cast descended the same stairs off the stage and ran into the audience dancing and skipping around making it more like an interactive live theater event. None of the audience went up on stage but some were singing every line as if they were members of the cast.
His brother slipped into the booth next to him and Dean gave him the biggest bitch face on the planet making Sam visibly confused. Charlie and Andy joined seconds later just as the song was ending.
Something about the way Dean talked to him tonight made him feel more human than he had in a while and in a way even made him have more courage about singing on Friday, even though this was the first time he was able to talk to someone who didn't feel the need to bring it up. Not that Gabe, Sam or even Meg occasionally meant to talk about how he was doing constantly… he supposed now it was hard for them not to worry when he arrived so fucking broken. And of course, Dean had arrived after the worst of it and hadn’t seen him like that which he silently prayed a thank you for. The thought of
“No.” Dean interrupted quickly and loudly. “No not think. He’s not in my head.” Chuck stared at him stumped and decided that Dean Winchester had officially reached his cut off point. When a guy turns sad and stops making sense he’s probably close to puking. Something else he learned from years of experience.
After that conversation, they continued living their lives. Sam stopped by every now and then on which occasions countless bottles of all kinds of alcohol were opened and tales of their glory days were retold.
Dean reached out his right hand and grabbed onto Castiel's left shoulder. The same spot that Cas had left his hand print on Dean when he pulled him out of hell. Dean glanced down at the ground, then back up at Cas. A slight smile played around the corners of his mouth. “And you didn't really think I would just let you leave like that, did you? After what you told me?”
When Sam moved out of the bunker to go to college, Dean and Cas rented a nice little apartment for themselves in Lebanon. They wanted to stay close to the bunker since it held all of the hunting lore as well as their equipment for when they went on hunts but they also wanted something that was just nicer to live in. The bunker was underground after all. There was no sunlight, no view and no way to step away from the hunting life for a bit. So they found themselves a cute studio apartment with a balcony so that they could enjoy sunsets together.
“Ohh, I see.” Chuck grinned. “This is about your angel, isn't it? Pretty little Castiel. I heard what happened to him. It's a shame I wasn't the one to take him since he did always mess up my plans. But I'm not bitter. I'm just glad that he's gone.”
Castiel gave him a hunter's funeral, just like Dean had asked him to. He stood silently in front of the burning wood and watched the flames climb into the sky. He held the Gospel in his hands and clung to it as if his life depended on it. He made a promise in front of the fire to keep their memories safe and to never forget them. When the fire had ceased and the last piece of ash had cooled down, Castiel left Earth for Heaven and never returned.
Somewhere behind him, Sam was on the ground with Jack. Jack was unconscious. He had used up all of his powers to beat Chuck. Sam was beside him to take care of him. He spoke up: “What? Dean, just kill him.”
He didn't even know how many angels were left in heaven. Given how weak his powers were getting, he assumed not many. After all, heaven was powered by angels. Whenever angels died, heaven got weaker and with it, all living angels. If the remaining angels were feeling as weak as he was, they would need all the help they could get to get heaven back on its feet.
Yes, but Cas was a part of this family too. And he didn't like the thought of him leaving Dean forever at all. Dean knew now that he had messed up. He had blamed Cas for everything, even though it wasn't his fault. He had driven him away by refusing to listen to him. He had been a huge dick and now he was seeing the results of it.
Chuck was kneeling on the ground, his face beaten bloody, his chest heaving. He looked up at Dean with unspeakable pain in his eyes. “Just end it already.”
Cas tried to reciprocate but he wasn't as experienced a kisser as Dean was. He thought about all the years he had spent watching over Dean, trying to protect him from all the evil in world. Failing to protect him over and over again. Losing him more often than he could count. And always getting him back. Even here, in the nothingness of the Empty, they had found each other. A single tear rolled down Castiel's cheek.
Sam died a few years before Dean did. Losing his brother took a big toll on him. Cas did his best to try and comfort him through his grief but he was never the same. Cas could watch him grow weaker and weaker by the day. Every night, they went to bed with the fear that Dean would not wake up the next morning. And one day, that fear came true.
He spent his last years writing his memoirs, with the help of Sam of course. To be honest, Sam did most of the actual writing. When they had finished their work, they gave it to Cas as a gift. “The Winchester Gospel”, they had titled it.
Cas was still thinking about his conversation with Dean in the bunker. Had he made the right decision to just walk out like that? What if they needed him?
It made him sad to remember that they once considered each other family and that it had to end like this. But there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried talking to them, to no avail, so this was the only solution.
The problem was, the more he thought about it, the more he turned Castiel's words over in his head, he was slowly starting to come to the realisation that it might have been his own fault.
A million thoughts were running through Castiel's head. He decided to articulate them with one simple question. “Dean, what are you doing here?”
“What are you going to do when I'm gone?”, Dean had asked unprompted, while looking out over Lebanon.
So they settled down together. Neither of them were exactly the romantic type so their lives didn't change drastically. They just became official, much to Sam's joy who seemed more ecstatic about the whole thing than Dean or Cas.
To most angels, love was a foreign concept. Of course, they understood love in its general sense. “Love thy neighbour” and all that. But they didn't hold personal love for one another. They didn't understand it. Cas had once tried to explain it to another angel, how you could care about another person so deeply that you would do anything for them. Give up your entire life and devote it to them. His explanations had been met with a blank stare of confusion. So, Heaven decided that love was a human emotion that angels had no need for. Cas silently shook his head at that decision but didn't care enough to convince them otherwise. There was no point to it anyway.
Cas woke up in the by now all too familiar nothingness of the Empty. He looked around. Just darkness, as usual. Cas sighed. He knew this was all he would be seeing for the rest of his life. He resigned himself to eternity in this space.
“Oh, god, please spare me this sappiness. I'm going to throw up.” Chuck's voice cruelly ripped the two of them out of their entanglement.
He already packed and put his coat on, and he’s bolting through the elevator doors before the clock can read 5.01.
He traces each letter over and over, memorizes the different textures between ink and paper with the tip of his finger. When his lunch break ends, his sandwich is still lying untouched in its box.
Simpler days, carrying with them a different kind of excitement, but which were nothing compared to this.
Dean watches him stroll through the crowd, he has a little girl hiding behind his leg and a ring sitting on his finger. That's new. He looks at him, at Sam, at the child, back at him again, and his chest is hurting with all the things he has been missing.
On his way out, he says goodbye to Becky, who ignores him to keep reading her magazine, and high fives Joshua, who smiles at him and wishes him a “very good weekend.”
Years later, there was a storm, all lightning and shit, one so bright they thought it had destroyed this place, but when they got here in the morning, ‘t was just as they had left it, except-
The blessing sound of a cry, echoing through the street like prayer in an empty church- a dissacred one, for such tender words could only be meant for a sinner; the moon hung proud and white, brightening whatever little time they had left and moving up an inch-slightly but demanding, reminding them of how the sun wouldn't wait forever to take its rightful place, wouldn't wait for them to find a way. Their lonesome howls, turned beckoning the first time they had laid eyes on each other, painted over the stars: they had this one moment, and not even them were allowed to pry.
He did, Dean had made him one sometime ago, after complaining about his taste in music, or lack of thereof. This didn't look any different.
Castiel looks at the clock on the wall like it’s going to turn any faster if he stares at it hard enough.
Other times, though, he would talk ‘bout one of them in particular, recounting all the things that had him falling.
Cas wasn't sure if the other angels would take him back, though. He had abandoned them, chosen humanity over them and had been personally involved in all the problems that heaven had had in the last couple of years. He felt that it was at least partially his fault that heaven was as weak as it was now.
Dean could blame Cas for everything that had gone wrong in his life all day long but he couldn't deny that Cas was right. Cas knew how Dean was feeling about his mum and Jack and he tried to talk to him about it but Dean had shut him down, again and again. He had been so absorbed in his anger that he didn't stop to try and see how Cas was doing. Obviously, Cas was grieving as well. And what did Dean do to help him? Blame him for it all. Dean was starting to think that if somebody would have treated him the way that he had been treating Cas, he would have probably left as well.
Eventually, Dean stopped in front of him. His body was covered in blood, as usual, and still he was the most beautiful thing Cas had ever laid his eyes upon in all the millennia he had been alive. Dean locked his gaze with Castiel's and they just stared at each other, drowning out everything around them. Ignoring Chuck's pained groans and the Empty's upset screeching. The only thing that mattered was each other.
Cas told himself to stop thinking about them. This was the end of a chapter in his life. But it was just that, one chapter in his very long life. He tried to convince himself that he would find new friends, a new family, that would appreciate him but his hopes weren't very high.
“You know me”, Dean said with a crooked smile. Then he shook Chuck's body and scraped his skin with the scythe. “Now, what are you waiting for?”
He wanted to say more, tell this angel all about his life with the Winchesters. How much he loved Dean and how much he missed him now that he was gone. How he couldn't bare to even think about going back to Earth because everything down there reminded him of Sam and Dean. How he was wasting his existence away in Heaven because he had lost his purpose. There was a coil in his stomach that tightened whenever he thought about them. The love he had felt down there was gone and it had left an aching hole in his heart.
Cas was looking for the right words to explain to this person how strong love could be, how powerful it was and how much a person you love could mean to you. But whenever he attempted to start a sentence, he felt that his words didn't do the emotion justice. He thought about the Gospel and everything he did with the Winchesters. The bonds they build. The feelings he shared with Dean. How was he supposed to fit all of that into an explanation that this angel could understand? “It is indescribable to someone who has never experienced it”, he said in the end.
Cas was on his way to heaven's gate. Since the Winchesters clearly didn't need him anymore, he now had the time to take care of the problems there.
No, Cas reminded himself, they didn't need him anymore. Dean had made that abundantly clear. They didn't need him, didn't care about him, didn't love him. He had spent too much time already excusing Dean's behaviour and it was obvious now that Dean wouldn't change the way he treated him. It was better for everyone involved if he just walked away. So that's what he did.
Castiel's mind wandered back to all the years he spent with Dean. All the memories they made and what it felt like to be close to him. He remembered holding Dean in his arms. He remembered the scent of his clothes after a long day in the auto shop. He remembered the sound of his laughter when Cas didn't get one of his pop culture references. He remembered Dean getting really flirty with him after a certain number of drinks. He remembered watching the sunset over Lebanon together. He remembered his smile and his eyes and the way he used to look at Cas as if he was the best thing in the world. He remembered looking at Dean in the same way. “What the others say is not true. Anybody can feel it, just as long as you find the right person.”
The whole world turned black. Dean found himself in a big black nothingness, still holding Chuck in front of him with the scythe against his neck. He looked around for Cas but all he could see was endless darkness.
Cas turned around. Meg was there. Or rather, the Empty in Meg's appearance. She seemed furious. She yelled: “Why are you here?”
Now, Dean had to admit that these words might have been a little harsh when he had said them originally. But how should he have known that Cas was going to take them so seriously? And that he would remember them?
They argued back and forth like this for a while. It became tiring quite quickly. The Empty was mad that she wasn't asleep. Castiel didn't know why they were both awake either but he also didn't have a solution.
Sam looked at Dean with pleading eyes. “Dean, taking Chuck away from here is a risk we don't need to take. You don't even know if you can find him in the Empty.”
Cas remembered one conversation that they had on that very balcony many years ago. Dean had just surpassed sixty years of age but you couldn't tell from his appearance, apart from a few wrinkles next to his eyes and a couple of grey streaks in his hair.
“You don't know that”, Dean interrupted. “For all we know, I could have a heart attack tomorrow or get hit by a car or – I don't know!” He seemed anxious and exasperated.
Was this how his story was supposed to end? Everyone he cared about was dead, except for Sam, and the only person he loved that was still alive had left him because he had been a jerk to him. This wasn't how you're meant to treat your family. And after all, Cas was still family.
Castiel's eyes were still open. He didn't know what to do. He looked at Dean's face. His eyes were closed, his expression was soft. He had never seen his face so peaceful.
Life in Heaven was, in short, tedious. Cas missed his time with the Winchesters. Sure, they had been in constant danger and facing threats larger than what they could handle but there was a certain thrill in it. They had a purpose. Now, Cas had a 9-5 teaching job.
But they did live past forty. In fact, they both lived past eighty. Cas still fondly remembered the day they beat Chuck. The day they got their lives back. That was the last time they faced a danger that they feared they could not master. And that day, a weight was lifted off their shoulders that they had forgotten they were carrying.
And of course, he was mad at Chuck. He had every right to be! But did he have the right to take it out on Cas?
“No.” Dean removed the blade from Chuck's neck, much to everyone's surprise. He grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. The look of surprise on Chuck's face even exceeded the look of shock on Sam's. But before Chuck could do anything to escape his position, he found himself again with the scythe at his neck. This time, Dean was stood behind him, firmly pressing him against his body and pushing the blade of the scythe back into the wound on his neck it had previously created.
Dean felt the weight in the bed sink as Cas moved forward. His eyes flickered up to Cas’ just before the distance was closed and their mouths crashed together. It was rougher than before. Cas’ sudden movement without warning made their teeth collide before Cas plunged his tongue into Dean’s mouth, pulling a moan out of Dean. Somewhere in the back of his mind was an alarm going off screaming that this is what messed everything up before… but it got quieter as Dean wrapped an arm around Cas’ waist, fingers moving under that damn Zeppelin t-shirt and pulling him in closer.
“You seemed to be a real natural,” Dean added a little rushed and bit his cheek some hating that he sounded like some gushing fangirl. “I mean, Charlie was right. The whole room ate it up,” he declared trying to put the shift back on the majority rather than just him.
As the song continued, the other guy approached and just when you thought the first guy was going to move away, he didn’t and they all danced together for a moment leaving the impression that Balthazar would be happy being with both, maybe at the same time. “What the fuck…” Dean couldn’t help the words coming out as he watched in confused horror at the foreign language with extremely explicit dancing. Cas watched on, the shocking wearing off as he listened to the lyrics. He wouldn't doubt that all of these were real experience. Balthazar was a playboy to say the least, and he seemed to be hellbent of reminding Castiel of that.
Castiel pushed open his door and headed into the club leaving Dean sitting speechless in the car. He watched him disappear through the doors before turning back around, his heart aching with some feeling he couldn’t define. He silently thanked the God he didn’t really believe in that Cas left him alone because he was going to need more than a minute to recover.
“You think I can’t get into a locked room in my own house?” Gabe asked sounding annoyed that Dean thought he
“The drugs.” Dean cut in forcefully. “This.” He gestured to him not able to help the disgusted look on his face as he looked up and down at him in his current state.
He worried his lip some. 17 unanswered texts. What was stopping her from telling him to fuck off... Find someone else to deal with his shit… Lose her number…
Dean almost frowned at the thought, not liking or really understanding why the guy was constantly in his mind like this, but he forced the thought away, grin still on his face. “I’ve never needed a rabbit’s foot to get lucky before…” he told her and watched as her eyebrows went up curiously and an intrigued smile formed on her lips.
Dean huffed, not at all understanding what the hell was going on and too impatient with Gabriel’s cryptic back story to figure it out tonight.
“But he wasn’t supposed to be here.” Michael practically whined. Cas looked away a little uncomfortably. This rival thing between them had been going on for years though Cas never attempted to add fuel to the fire. Michael was always trying to outperform him yet hardly ever succeeded. It wasn’t his fault he had a natural talent for manipulating others.
Castiel had lost track of how long it had been since he was taken from heaven by his own brother and given to the humans as a slave, simply in exchange for loyalty. It had to be centuries now as he saw the rise and fall of the British empire, of kings and queens, the invention of technology he would never understand. Once again, his human master died, and he was tossed back into the system. There were few of them around -- some got free, some died, some joined them -- and Cas hated that he knew how much he was worth. Though, he wasn't sure if it was for his physical strength, or the beautiful body of James Novak that he chose to inhabit back when he first came to Earth. The moving van shuttered to a halt and Castiel looked up and waited until the back doors opened. He didn't bother wincing in the blinding sunlight, he just held out his hands as the handle checked his Enochian engraved shackles and then tugged him out.
“Wow, I’m missing the party.” Dean said with a chuckle as he walked up to the table seeing all four glasses empty and Cas’ face still twisted some with distaste. He hadn’t changed out of the light blue blazer and tight jeans and Dean looked over him a moment longer before averting his eyes so he wouldn’t be caught staring. That’s when he noticed all three of the others were grinning up at him stupidly. It was easy to see that he was going to be the one responsible for making sure they got home okay. Cas had composed his face and was now looking at Dean too, his mouth set in the faintest smile that Dean wasn’t sure was alcohol related or not as he looked content just gazing up at him wordlessly. Feeling nervous at Cas’ ability to look at peace simply watching him, he broke eye contact focusing instead on his bottle as he took the last drink of his beer.
It was true, Dean had hardly looked at Cas in the last couple of weeks, ever since his mum had died. But it was because he was angry, he was grieving, of course he wasn't being himself.
And then, later in life, Dean had taught him about the importance of a different kind of love. Of course, they had always had certain feelings for each other, Cas just didn't have a word for them, or a way to deal with them. So, when Dean admitted to his feelings and what that meant for their relationship, Cas knew immediately that all he wanted was to stay with Dean for the rest of his life.
“Why do you want to go to the Empty so bad? Is there something I'm missing here?” From his current position, he couldn't make eye contact with Dean so he glanced over at Sam instead.
It had been many years since Cas had last been to Earth, since he had last had a reason to go down there. He had since started a teaching and mentoring job in Heaven. Their forces were still diminished and recovering from all the apocalypses that had happened so long ago so they had started recruiting new angels. And of course, they had to be trained in morals, values and rules but also in combat. Cas mainly taught combat classes.
Dean grabbed the back of his trenchcoat with his left hand and pulled Cas closer to him. That was when Cas finally allowed himself to relax. He let go of the tension in his body and melted into the kiss. He placed his hands on Dean's hips, burying his fingers deep in the fabric of his shirt.
Instead, he opted for the mentoring position. His students loved him and looked up to him, he could tell. They did whatever he told them, were always eager to learn from him and constantly questioned him about his time on Earth. His story had become somewhat of a legend amongst angels.
Then, suddenly, Dean heard a voice. It was far away but it was unmistakeably the one he was looking for. Dean looked over at Chuck, a smile growing on his face. Chuck rolled his eyes. “Okay, it seems that you were right.”
Afterwards, they settled down. Sometimes they went out on hunts. Dean took a part-time job fixing cars. Sam enrolled in college again. And Cas, he stayed with Dean.
“Hey.” Cas moved closer to Dean and grabbed his hand. Dean looked at him. “When you pass away, whenever that may be, I will find a way to be alright. I don't want you to spend every day of your life worrying about your death and about what happens to me afterwards. Because I don't know what I will do when you're gone. And I don't want to think about it.”
It seemed that he had no other choice. Well, Dean hadn't left him with another choice. There was only so much Cas could handle and Dean had really stretched the limits of how much bad treatment Cas could take. Dean didn't want him in the bunker, so he left.
“Yes but sooner or later, I will live my last day and die. And you will still be here. And I guess my question is just, what are your plans?”
Dean and Cas pulled back from each other. Their faces were still just inches apart and their hands were still holding onto each other's bodies. Their smiles outgrew their faces.
“Okay”, Dean repeated. Cas could see a few tears collecting in his eyes but he didn't think Dean wanted him to see that. So he simply pulled him into his arms and held him close. They sat like that for a while until Dean pulled away and wiped his face.
The last thing he remembered before the Empty took him was Dean's face. Dean's tender, confused face that tried to grasp what he had told him. That tried to stop what he was doing. A sad smile spread across Castiel's face. He had given up his life for Dean, even if he hadn't wanted him to. And that was alright. He could stand spending the rest of eternity here, as long as he knew that Dean was alright. Or at least that he had given him a chance at that.
“Well, I'm sorry that you're upset but there's nothing I can do.” Castiel raised his hands apologetically.
“I understand how you feel”, Cas continued, “but I can't change the inevitable. And until then, I want to enjoy every single moment that I have with you. Okay?”
He didn't even really want to go to heaven. The place had stopped being his home a long time ago. But where else should he go? Without Sam and Dean, he had no home, no family, no purpose. So, heaven it was. | [
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John struggled to reply, his mind still riddled with thoughts of words left unsaid, “Yeah, yeah, me? Fine. I am fine.”
Mycroft stood there, in awe, wondering what to say, or do, or ask, when the door downstairs opened again causing Mycroft to flinch. John spoke calmly towards him, “Just Greg. I can sense his soul. Greg is his name, yes?”
“I’m sorry, sometimes the weight of your loss is just too much Sherlock. I just…why did you have to jump? Why, Sherlock? I could have helped. Was I not enough? Was I nothing to you?” The calls, for John, were getting too hard. He was angry and he was lost. After the sixteenth call, John decided to give it a rest and go about life.
In the silence of the countryside, pink sky rising to greet the world, and bees waking from sleep, Sherlock’s soul screamed as it was dragged down to Hell.
Luckily, Mycroft had managed to avoid the chaos that was going on outside of the room he isolated himself in. It was stale and old MRE’s were scattered on top of the desk and shoved into the drawers. He deduced that, to some degree, hunger was one of the forces driving his peers to go feral, that and the lack of societal structure.
John tried with all of his might to not depend on him in those moments of memory, but the only times that truly mattered to him featured Sherlock Holmes.
“I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you, I asked you for one more miracle, I asked you to stop being dead.”
“There’s a case here for you. Just, come back. Come back, please.” and with a broken voice, John hung up. Call five took John straight to voicemail, he supposed Sherlock's phone did have to die eventually.
Sherlock wondered - not for the first time today - what he would have done if John had not shown up at just that right moment?
Sherlock was jumping to his feet, throwing down his napkin and slamming the table with a fist in a tantrum, “What even
John wiped his eyes. He wanted to see Sherlock fully. To enjoy this moment. And not relive the tragedy that was the past few months, years of their lives, when they could have had
Few had the ability to tear themselves away when Sherlock was deducing them. Most lashed out or stormed away. John was doing neither. He just needed to collect himself.
I couldn’t be happier. These past few weeks have been the most fulfilling of my life. Knowing that you two are both safe, and sound, and whole, and
Sherlock's blog on 256 types of ash was suddenly of devout interest worldwide. John received calls once or twice daily in the month that followed.
John tried not to allow himself to succumb. He had to remain strong. He had to be the wall the waves broke upon for Sherlock. He would hurt. He would burn. If that is what Moriarty wanted out of this game he had set for them.
Her embrace securing him. Reminding him he was not alone. He had to survive. Had to keep fighting. Without saying as much, or in as many words. Simply … humming softly. Quiet confidence. Bridled strength.
“Okay. understood,” Mike conceded, being sure not to let any patronizing tones creep into his voice. Sherlock hated being talked down to ...
At the same time his left leg shot out and dropped the other man by kicking out his knees from behind and he heard a satisfying thud as the miscreant hit the pavement.
Irene had said something similar that day. To tempt Sherlock. To try and claim him. To pull him away from John. Right before his eyes. And it had scared him, then ... How much he had already felt - like Sherlock was his. How much he wanted to interrupt, and stand between them, and keep her eyes OFF of
John was strong. His pride stronger. He would fight until the last. Until he knew defeat was emminent.
All along, he had known that Moriarty could NOT be smart enough to handle all of this alone. Jim Moriarty had proven his genius, certainly. Sherlock bowed to that knowledge quickly enough to not be played by it. But this?? This smelt of Mycroft. And Mycroft alone.
John tiptoed up the last few creaking wooden steps to find himself in a dormered room. The window looking out over London.
She hadn’t eaten in hours. She was exhausted. And she was doing her best to keep them busy and distracted … no matter the reason why.
“Ta!” John replied, nodding to the bartender in thanks, as he maneuvered his way out of the enclosed space. A new wave of tourists was already pouring into the lobby.
’ - she pretend gestured the quotation marks - 'didn’t go in for that sort of thing?!' but then you don't, do you -"
The wait staff was pleasant and he could tell they wanted to be accommodating, but they were clearly busy tonight. Must be a holiday or something? ... and then it hit John.
Half term is here! John’s bags have been packed since the night before. Sherlock’s stuff is still strewn all over the room ...
He laughed at her enthusiasm. As they shoveled sweet and sour pork into their faces and talked strategy, and placement of key targets for their assassin, and plotted options …
John looked down at his hands in Sherlock’s hair, one on Sherlock’s arse … with some surprise. Sherlock looked down at one hand clutched in John’s jumper, straining at the threads with his titan grip as if he had been pulling him in closer (which he had) - the other on John’s neck, fingers splayed up into John’s golden hair … and they just … dove right back in for another kissing session. Not wanting to interrupt this fantastic moment.
Sherlock took John’s hand in his. Squeezed it, and kissed him - chastely - on the cheek before hoping back into the kitchen. Being sure to send a note with the dinner that arrived, mouthwatering delicious, and steaming, before John’s eyes.
John was hanging on his every word ... appreciating the show for what it was. Sherlock clearly appreciating a captive audience ...
Sherlock took in a deep breath. Opening his mouth to say it clearly. What he had really wanted to offer:
She pulled him into a great big hug, rubbing his back like a child, and ushered him immediately into her sanctum to recuperate. Her kitchen smelled of scones and tea.
Harry protested the insult to her character, as their hands both held on to the planchette and felt it move again. “You’re pushing it!” she charged.
Being sure to look left, right, and center in a touristy fashion, every now and again - so that the man in front of him would not feel the scrutiny of eyes boring in his back and turn to accost him. Which he felt certain this one would do if his hackles were raised …
They were interrupted from John having to answer, by a cough. Sherlock sat up straight, absolutely staring DAGGERS at the waiter as he came up behind John.
He kept waiting for the day, when Sherlock would get bored of him. The man had an insatiable appetite for new experiences. A dangerous craving for an adrenaline rush. A rapacious way of devouring knowledge. Going so far as to test the limits of scientific experiments, with chemistry and even the occasional drug (Watson had safely warned him off a few of those, by sharing his own personal experience in full detail). But he knew it was inevitable
for you to kiss me, mister cheekbones,” he tilted his head at that and brought their mouths crashing together.
Sherlock recognized it clearly now. And swore at himself for not catching the warning signs sooner ...
The man stepped a bit closer to John. A reassuring movement. As if joining John’s side against this imposter sitting across from them and said,
The realization had come rather shortly upon meeting Sherlock. It surprised him, just as much as it had surprised everyone Sherlock knew
John immediately hid his mobile screen and schooled his face, “what? Oh, nothing. Just … you know … Mary! Teasing me about girls. Stag night and all …”
The gondola at last pulled up to the hotel, and docked. Depositing them on the doorstep of a much finer establishment then John had been privy to. John was staring up at it in awe, taking Sherlock’s hand to disembark.
But Watson was not making eye contact. Stoically bearing the weight of what was happening all around them.
He made a whistling sound, "Of course he did!" alerting Sherlock to the level of awe he had inspired in John with this revelation.
John quickly dug the charger out of his pocket, holding the blunt end of it up to the man’s back, like the end of a gun barrel - and turned the bully to face his companion, now getting up from the ground, rubbing his elbow.
The ticket to Venice has been a bargain at this time of year. The plane had been comfortable. The day was clear and sunny.
Nat listened attentively. Following along with ease and asking a few pertinent questions along the way to show that she tracked, and was listening … but she seemed overall dissatisfied with
He wasn't sure of his success. But he knew that John would at least think on it. And thinking on it, would buy him some time either way …
He felt himself inclining his head towards Sherlock - closer - asking as he did so, "May I?" to his own surprise. His eyes still trained on Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock turned his face closer - as it dawned on him, just what John was asking. He had been staring down at John’s mouth also - and then - he willingly brought their lips together in agreement.
Mike seemed to reboot fast enough, stammering out, "Old friend of mine - John Watson." He flourished a hand in John’s direction.
“Hello. Fine. You aren’t who I called for, but you’ll do. Anyway, doesn’t matter,” the man was speaking so quick and biting off each word, John could hardly keep up - and hang on! ...
John felt time itself slow and pulse with his own heartbeat. Thump Thump ... Thump Thump ... Thump Thump …
He stepped up and offered his hand in greeting this time. Only regretting that he had not taken his glove off first to do so ...
Sherlock walked with as much confidence as he had ever worn. Today was the biggest triumph of his life. He was allowed a little swagger ...
"I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help - possibly because you don’t approve of his drinking - or more likely because he’s just walked out on his wife;"
Since this was a really long one!!!! I have uploaded one chapter, the next recording will be several again. Just a heads up!!
John felt disgusted with people. That anyone could do that? That anyone could just ... leave someone … ? Knowingly? In that kind of limbo ...
John came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his middle. Snuggling him tight for a moment. When something caught his eye …
"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London," he let the words roll off. No hint of rehearsal about them. He had, in fact, been moved in for weeks now, "together we ought to be able to afford it!" He had absolutely no need for help in affording it, but in that moment he was willing to empty his bank account should he be required to provide proof!
.” He was looking up at Sherlock, trying to gauge how much of this Sherlock was taking in. How deep he was listening. He forged ahead … “All I need to know, for now is … you’re here. You’re …” he sounded as incredulous as he truly was … “you’re alive?! And I have to be content with that. I couldn’t stay away,
? Sherlock looked up then, with an expression of ... ? If John had to quantify it ... he would have to call it his ‘Winning The Game’ face.
The man sat up straight. Kicking his shoes back and relieving John by redistributing his weight firmly across all
“Sherlock …” he paused, searching for the right words, and putting his hand on top of Sherlock’s where it rested on the table … “ I don’t know why you did it ... or - for that matter - how?? … you bloody managed it … but … you’re alive! You’re breathing! And I …” John was really trying not to get emotional. Not here. Not in public … “I don’t need to know
“But I thought you …?” Sherlock was confused, taking John’s hand to lift him from the wall, and stepping back.
and John's heart skipped a few beats as he silently nodded once more, grateful for the invitation, and followed …
Sherlock must have seen something else as well, in the look he gave - for he simply nodded - and then he ducked down and was kissing John. Tilting his head back and pressing into the shorter man, caught here by surprise. John found himself on tiptoe, and leaning into Sherlock as they kissed. His arms coming up to grab at the soft silk of his robe. Then reaching up and knitting his hands into Sherlock's curly, damp hair, as they continued to kiss. Deeper. Needier ... Their hands meeting midair, and fumbling. Interlacing fingers, as Sherlock's own arms met John's above his head and held him there. Then Sherlock brought both arms down and wrapped them around behind John. Pinning him by the sink. Pressing into every curve.
“Are you hurt?” John asked. Shifting into Doctor mode. Worried that the shock was a signal of something far worse … He pulled Sherlock over towards light afforded by the shop. Leaning Sherlock up against the wall. And checked his vital points for wounds, punctures? Anything …
How they had managed to smoke out the beast, was a puzzle to John. But Sherlock had figured it out. Sherlock always figured it out. In the end, it had only taken two days … three … if you counted their first night together.
He dried his curls into something more manageable and dropped a touch of scent onto his wrists and neck, before making his way casually back into the kitchen. Leaning on the doorframe. His silk robe tied loosely around his waist. Ready for the first time in his life, to offer ...
Stepping up to that door, empty handed. Until his hand was on the door handle. And it was shaking uncontrollably from the exertion and exhaustion he had been through, as he went to push it open ...
He had had this dream so many times now. Sherlock falling and disappearing mid-fall. Dissolving into ashes. Sherlock re-appearing sometimes, also mid-fall, just to crash in front of John's horrified eyes. Harder sometimes. Just pieces left of him others ... always ruined. Always lifeless. Always lost. And John always woke up screaming. Or trying to ...
Coffee was followed up with a light dessert. Again arriving before John could open his mouth to ask for the menu. A lovely tiramisu that tasted sinful and made him really wish he was here with a date. At that, he felt the misgivings in his mind as a certain ghost rewarded him with remarks:
"Jesus, Sherlock!" John was desperate, slapping Sherlock's hands away as he tried to reach out to him. Choking back a sob. As Sherlock continued relentlessly, John found himself rocking back against the counter and hugging his own arms close. Knowing this was just Sherlock's curiosity and it could not be stemmed ...
John nodded. Glad he could still conduct light for someone. Watching as the light filtered back in as if through a lens. And Nat was firing on all cylinders again.
Into the smile lines that Sherlock knew would etch themselves permanently onto their faces over time. A permanent symbol of their shared life together. He could hardly wait for the day ...
"Fifty-eight times, John Watson asked me questions about you," she grinned, "when you boys were living here."
John Watson set his shoulders and would not allow himself to show defeat. If his sacrifice would mean that at least Sherlock would get out of this alive, then it had been worth it. He could endure it.
John tried to let it slide. Let it not bore a thought into his mind, where he knew he’d never rid himself of it.
Nestled somewhere in-between ‘practical and dangerous’; and ‘functionally useless but god-damn-if-i-don’t-need-it-to-breath’; should be a ‘
Listening to the squeaks and sounds, creaks and groans, of a building older than his grandma. For some reason, a Cake song popped into his head, ‘It’s been a Long Time’ and he began humming out the tune as he stared at the starry, painted ceiling. The full moon coming in through the window and staring at him.
Sherlock appeared while John was daydreaming. He sat down on the other end of John’s reserved booth and made his way over surreptitiously. John watched him with the light dancing in his eyes.
Sherlock had not made another appearance during the whole half hour he sat eating, watching, eating, and thinking. It was odd really. Because, if asked - his thoughts had been turning around again and again - to Sherlock. They always did. He felt homesick. He felt nostalgic. He felt happy. For the first time in ... ever. He knew it wouldn't last. It was a fleeting feeling. Something to cross his palate and be enjoyed, before he had to once again swallow the pain.
. That Sherlock could cause a miracle to happen. And come get him out. Take him home. Brush him off. Check him for wounds.
you do these things … I just …” he was sounding frustrated, and rushed, and like the words couldn’t catch up with his racing thoughts … “can’t you understand that ordinary people don’t read thoughts? Like you? We’re just … just …”
John wandered the now half-empty streets of London. The pamphlets that swirled in eddies around the corner as he walked, all showed images of Thanos. Thanos. Thanos. Some were revering him as a god. Praising his decisiveness and action. Praising his ability to save the planet from its own destructive ways! Others - rightly so - posited that his act was purely selfish. A hazing mentality.
“If it’s not you … and it’s not me? Then it’s the spirits!” Harry’s eyes were bright and full of mirth as she watched John taking his careful notes. Her little brother was adorable, if a bit stupid for being eleven. It was a forgivable crime she supposed. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t make him pay for it …
- IDIOT! - He leaned back into the room. John's head coming up again to greet him. As if on a string. He hadn't gone too far then ...
… you to do … has been to help others. To fix and to save. Not to hurt. That. THAT … “ he pointed out, “is the BIG difference, Sherlock. And it is an important distinction.”
A twinge of homesickness hit John, as he remembered this being one of his mum’s favorite dishes also.
"Jesus," he whispered, covering the phone away from his ear as Mary carried on ... He was treated to a full repeat of the instructions he’d already been given TWICE today! And she seriously couldn't even trust him to get his own cab??
John laughed then. In disbelief, after they pulled apart to breathe. And Sherlock took a step back. Back to the position he had been standing in a few moments before, as Flatmate. As Friend.
Sherlock pulled John further into the room by his hand. Still held. John was not going to be letting it go, if Sherlock wasn’t …
Mike hesitated a moment, thinking about warning Sherlock off of the whole endeavor ... He didn't want Sherlock to get his hopes too high?
That the Avengers - the billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist, Tony Stark - might have a solution! A way to bring everyone back!
The look on Sherlock's face, would be forever fixed in his memory. Alongside the laughs. The smiles. The rapture. The enlightenment. The aha. The scintillating. The austere. The bored. The petty. The fierce. The chagrin. The hyperfixated. Now there was a new look to catalogue:
He kissed the top of John’s head. Holding him close. Squeezing him in. Wanting to wrap the soldier in all of the love he had had to hold back for weeks now! How it had taken the strength of Hercules to resist day after day, watching his soldier from afar ... and now he didn't have to!
"Know so," John picked up his water. Drank the rest as if the week might run dry and sat up. "So!" he slapped his knee, "when do we get to try what you've made tonight?"
than a little drunk! The laughter rumbled and spilled over to something uncontrollable, until he was holding his side - and suddenly his ale - to keep it from sloshing all over him. Before he was able to get himself under control ...
"If you didn't WANT ME - why did you … ?!!!" He shut his mouth, cutting off the rest. He couldn't say it.
He decided to ask the obvious then, after they had circled back around to the subject of Sherlock. “Why do you think this Dr. Strange sent you here? Hmm? Did he want Sherlock’s help in resolving something? Some kind of a mystery?”
“No doubt, “ Sherlock tried to reassure John now, “he would have tried it on anyway - who wouldn’t?” His eyes dancing with John's. Quietly stealing John's breath away ... like he was the handsomest temptation Sherlock had ever seen …
“Because John, he wanted to win. And as long as he was alive, he could still potentially call them off … So …” he spun around shrugging as he did so. Like it was a given. The solution. One had to shoot oneself …
Sherlock could hear the rustle of cloth even as Mike was apologizing, and forced his face to remain impassive against the grin that threatened to pull across his features ...
Sherlock’s other hand slipped out from underneath where it lay, and he used two fingers to press on John's pulse point. Between the radius and ulna - he noted, medically -
of nights with her lips on his, and her hips on his, and his clothes falling to the floor once again when he said he wouldn’t …
But no, Sherlock would never read that one. Because that one was all imagination. And Sherlock was a man of facts and figures. Not love and lust. John smiled at that thought. The thought that he could outwit Sherlock, with his own twin. A secret paramour he had never asked for. Who had come when called. When Sherlock himself, would no longer.
Before Lestrade closed the door on the patrol car, he looked up to see John watching them. The raw emotion of how much pleasure this sight alone was giving him, written all over his face.
He had needed something to do. To occupy his time now. Outside of strict working hours. Not that he needed to work now. And not that he was being any more reliable at the surgery.
“Can you read this out loud to me?” He asked, feeling incredibly stupid, but … it was better than doubting his own mind …
A note came back almost immediately, as John was digging in. He nearly had the entire dish polished off.
to see what this reclusive, wounded lion would be like when the full roaring BEAST came out from where it lie dormant within.
He signed the letter ‘Sherlock Holmes’ - after all, the writer had still assumed Sherlock was around - and went to bed at last. Ready to mail it off in the morning.
Probably rolling up his silk sleeves, and staging himself strategically. Somewhere, where he could get the best lighting on his curls within the lab. Wherever that was? He was certain Sherlock would know ...
He thought, as he shoved open the doors to leave. But then changed his mind and tromped right back in ...
"I'll make sure to get his attention and keep it. Get him talking ..." Mike replied, somewhat in awe of the expression on Sherlock's face, as the mask slipped back on, and careful calculations began anew, " ... what then?"
John sighed as he was nestled back into the waiting boat, carefully. As if he was breakable. About to ask if they knew his hotel by name - ? Dwelling on that word again with contempt as it circled in his mind.
"I thought I'd seen every expression on your face ... until I saw how you looked at John Watson," she acknowledged.
The case had been dull. Barely a three, really ... Sherlock wasn't entirely sure why he had taken it in the first place. But he was bored. And he knew he needed something to do when he was bored.
On formal stationary, writing in as elegant handwriting as he could muster … he responded with his answer.
John grinned from ear to ear. Seeing the softness in Sherlock’s eyes before him … such openness to ask for such a silly thing, had cost him dearly … he could tell. And he had never heard anything so beautiful in his whole damn life.
Sherlock’s eye dashed back to the handsome stranger … to see him deflate. Eyes downcast again. A short nod. A military-like turn … and … he carried on.
His mind still mocked him with Sherlock's voice on occasion. And John reluctantly welcomed and engaged with it at each and every opportunity. If he didn’t, he was afraid - it too, would leave him.
"No, thank you. I can't imagine needing anything else for a while." he leaned back and enjoyed a few sips before digging in.
“Oof! You recall, that man on the telly that seemed to upset you? Weather man?” She laughed heartily, ‘Told him all about the lightning storm - how you
"Ta!" John said then, again releasing the lad to his other duties, "and could I have a ... ?" He went to order a whiskey and soda; but found that the boy was already turning around with one in his hands to place on the table. Brought to him from another lad at the bar.
He ordered the Filet Mignon and sat quietly enjoying his dinner when it arrived. It was truly remarkable. Not quite what he wanted, some home cooked fare... But he had had enough remarks back and forth in his head tonight. And this was nice.
“Sherlock? Holmes? Did you say?” The man asked after a few fruitless minutes. John knew not to be too disappointed … “the detective?”
John sobered himself up and politely ignored any further dialogue or snide remarks from Sherlock. It felt humiliating to be called by a name that was not his own. Now he knew what all those girlfriends had felt like ...
And Sherlock - he could tell - had been ... so afraid to let that mask slip! Afraid also, more curious still, that the knowledge would make John Watson like him less. Or even, heaven forbid ... leave him.
A miserable bedsit? And army pension to live off of? One could hardly expect him to settle down in a
An impressive looking redhead in a black tight leather bodysuit came strolling in like she lived here ...
John's fingers flew over the keys in reply, eager to engage and keep him talking! Never so intent on holding his own in a conversation in his entire life:
He tried again to collect himself, before turning his face to be visible by Sherlock again. Lips tight. His other hand a fist on the railing.
"I like to play the violin while I'm thinking," he expressed. Making sure to show his long neck as he stretched to reach something, "sometimes I don't talk for days on end - would that bother you?" He carefully turned now, smiling - a tight smile - as if
"John," Sherlock's voice had become soft. John's head whipped up. And he eyed Sherlock with that flame of anger as if about to consume him. Sherlock though, wasn't mocking him. Sherlock was watching him intently.
"Where were you last year, when I needed you??" He accused. "Where were you months ago? Or how about weeks ago - when I stumbled out of this restaurant after embarrassing myself? Valentine's night? Huh?!! Have you been here all along? Puttering about London? ...
The way the soldier now leaned more heavily on his cane, despite the fact that his frame was now lighter -
He handed the Nokia flip phone to John. And John held it. Feeling the weight and solidity of the old piece of tech in his hands. So familiar, and yet so foreign …
John covered his face with the crook of his arm and tried to keep himself silent as he let it all out.
Sherlock appeared unharmed in his vision a moment later, when the woman was down. He hadn't realized that he had closed his eyes when taking the shot. And then he caught another look at Sherlock's face. Still fixed. On him.
... John's laptop open on the table, displaying Sherlock's hair analysis from the previous case. Work they had been doing together yesterday morning ...
John begins to get a handle on his new life at Doyle House, and even learn a bit about Sherlock the enigma.
John felt sorry for the staff that would have to deal with the mawing gap in his wake … but … well ...
John had laughed it off, making more excuses again, feeling defensive. Reminding Harry that she was ‘the best thing that had ever happened to him’ … even as the line went static with awkward silence a few moments later … He swallowed. Not sure what else to share or say?
Sherlock really was a mystery, but if this was that important to him? Mike wouldn’t let him down. "And you just want me to bring him back up here? Talk with you? That's it?"
As he stumbled out of the current ride to land smack dab in the middle of a giant puddle - he let out a curse. His trousers soaked right through.
He breathed in so deep, to steady himself. As he felt the tears well up behind the corners of his eyes. The relief. The fucking
Conspiring together, no doubt, about how they could further torture the wedding party with minutae … How far
John took in a deep breath. Sherlock clearly coming to the same realization, as the man before him … The momentousness of this occasion. They could finally go back home!
John took in a couple of shaking breaths, mind cataloguing all of the differences in this Sherlock, from the one who he had just narrowly escaped being blindsided by ... and then felt himself starting … to laugh.
Sherlock seemed to contemplate this ... within the parameters of John's previous statements - dinner for two, going out with each other to have fun ...? They did that every night before the fall ... Sherlock's brain was taking up too much time and not allowing him enough focus on kissing. So John made it stop.
Sherlock fiddled with his own hands. His fingers nervously knotting and wringing. He decided on playing with his sleeve cuff, and twisted at a loose thread there … instead.
Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised by John’s admission. And looked up at John as if he had given him much more than this battered old flip phone with a cracked screen.
Sherlock. And John was bound to come running. For Sherlock. So the trap had been set for him as well.
“Seriously though, Sherlock …” Mike continued - the thought that had been bouncing around in his mind since this whole hairbrained scheme had been suggested to him - was now coming to the forefront. He just had to know before he went! “I wouldn’t have taken you for the whole ‘love at first sight’ ... kind of … thing? … you know?”
Sherlock is dealing with his demons, and the possibility he could mess up this chance that he finally has ... a real ... friend?
The giggles turned into a low rumbling chuckle as he imagined the genius with the velvety voice - now having a yellow painted smiley face ... instead of a very 3D human one.
John woke up on a settee in the hotel lobby next door. A kind looking lady was staring down at him. "There we are! How are you feeling, Dr. Watson?" she was plastering his hand - had he cut it, somehow? And then taking his pulse, "back into normal ranges, I see. Glad of that! I think you had an attack back there. Stress induced. Are you feeling okay now?" She was looking at his eyes for dilation levels, waiting - he realized - rather anxiously to see how verbose he would be. How lucid. Ah. He might have had a stroke for all she knows? Better put her mind to rest then ...
John had forgotten how brilliant they were. How they changed with Sherlock’s surroundings. With his attire. With his mood.
Her hands swirling and twirling around the crystal ball. Muttering something unintelligible like an ancient spell. And then her eyes rolled back in her head and her voice had shifted to a deep, low rumble as she muttered, “something’s coming to me! I’m … I’m getting a name!!”
?” John’s hands were simultaneously willing Sherlock to stay put - and reaching out for the waiter as if grasping for some hold on reality, “is going on here?”
They had spent so much time together, been so engrossed in the web of deceit and trickery that was Jim Moriarty - that neither of them had seen the writing on the wall. The crime that now placed John behind bars.
She let go like one would of a feral cat, and bounced back away to the other side of the little table, picking up his teacup from where it sat now empty, and going to refill it.
Sherlock made a sound that was not entirely decent. Before giving as good as he got, "because, I need to make sure London knows you are off the market!"
Meanwhile John was standing there, arm outstretched. Looking rather self-conscious as Sherlock approached and loomed over him to accept the device.
Asking for John's inclusion again … bringing him in, the two of them on the same side, "I would take it rather kindly if you would impersonate somebody with a bit fewer brain cells next time?”
That done, he stepped back into the living room to allow her further space, and chose his timing carefully in offering a few suggestions. If her goal was to track and capture whoever this ‘Clint’ was, maybe they should be looking at major crime syndicate locations? What was next on the map? What had not yet been hit?
I'm going to be changing up the format of our postings from here on out. Posting 1 chapter at a time. As it is much easier to edit for my software - and much less likely that i will have to re-record an entire 3 hour stretch if something goes wrong with the recording or the software end, or BOTH!
Because peppered in, were happy memories of John. And happy memories of John thinking about Sherlock,
The silence was calm. Breathing in the night air, windows down. Lights streaming by and glancing off of the cab, like a mirror on a spinning carousel.
It had felt good to write something out on paper. Even if he had disguised his answer for Sherlock’s. He wondered what would pour out if he decided to put the keyboard beneath his fingers again, and let flow a conscious stream of thought?
She winked, "He asked me how much, the reptile! Like I would be bought off!" She placed a plate of scones on the table and then went to the stove to pick up the whistling kettle. "Sherlock was one-in-a-million, I told him, you can't replace that with currency. I should know, my Frank tried!"
John's tongue licked out in greeting then, and Sherlock was opening his mouth to him. Just as he had opened his home ...
“Now what are you gawping at?” Mike had wandered back over, eyeing John with a look of ‘do tell?!” as if he expected some salacious secret to be revealed.
He took a short breath, and continued … “There is one shot at this, John. If we miss anything … “ Sherlock swallowed. The thought was untenable, John could tell.
Sherlock growled, his voice deep and rumbling through John’s sternum and pelvis as he shifted to bring his point home. “In that case, DOCTOR ... I could
The waiter sighed, as if eternally bored, “I believe you meant to use the expression ‘when he fires your ass’ - a hideous euphemism in either context - but believe me, you will not be seeing any
His hand reflexively went for the small of her back as he guided her through the restaurant towards their table, following the waiter. Though he already knew where it would be. In the corner. Almost dark. By the kitchen. And thought to himself ...
He continued after a moment, “should I fail to comply with any suicide plans … Moriarty had some ...
Mike just made a ‘well-there-you-have-it!’ look in response. Opening the window between them and finally giving the driver their directions.
You boys have changed so much since I first met you. Sherlock the most. But then, I’ve known him the longest. And I want to remind you both of some very important things before I go, just in case you may need to look back and be reminded, every now and again:
“Yes! That’s right! Sherlock Holmes. Do you know him? Is he staying here?” John felt a bit like a school girl about to meet her crush, and wondered if this man could tell how desperately he wanted to hear the affirmative …
John trailed off looking over the menu handed to him. A slight flush on his cheeks now. God, he must have looked like a complete nutter there. Just sitting with a Cheshire cat grin at nothing. Nothing?
So - two more chapters have already been recorded and I am currently working on editing those - to get them online ASAP!! I'm still so bummed I couldn't get this posted ahead of the juxta bot on twitter!! It's honestly stressing me out!! AHHHHHHH!
He closed his eyes. Chopping the bow across the strings. Letting the energy sing from his fingertips. Speaking words which no language was needed to define. Out into the open space that surrounded them.
He smiled and listened politely as she talked about scented oils and naturopathy. She probably had a cute place. Lavender and eucalyptus hanging from the rafters. A bit of Scarborough Fair on the record player ... there would be a string of lights. And a tapestry or wall hanging somewhere near the bed. No bed frame. Lots of pillows. Soft.
human I am feeling right now?” Sherlock asked through a guarded expression, hurt and anger and longing and desperation and
When he realized she wasn’t leaving … he did what every Englishman does, when faced with something awkward; “Care for some tea?” he asked, resigned; sighing a little and moving towards the kitchen to turn the kettle on, not really
His head was bobbing up and down, left and right as he tried to get a good view out the window to the dark garden area. Then decided -
Sherlock had come home to the EMT’s leaving, and John put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him in for a long embrace. They stood silently staring at the leaving emergency vehicles. This time, not taking away a victim or handling any crime. Just the softest, sweetest lady that had ever lived or breathed in their world …
As they stood on the street curb waiting - Mike finally managing to wave down a sleek black vehicle - John decided to answer Mike’s earlier questions.
, had he been so happy to hear it. It was like a term of endearment when it came from Sherlock's lips.
John made sure that his internal conversation neither made its way to his actual vocal chords or to his face.
John wondered if she reminded him more of Harry in moments like this, than of Sherlock? Sherlock had not really been privy to the small anger that seemed to be bottled up inside of this woman … But he decided that the cat-likeness swung all in favour of her being more like Sherlock, every time.
pair. No one would blink twice at their being seen together. No one would hint that the other had married up - or must have a 'winning personality'.
with your people skills …” he shook his head, as if it was going to be his longsuffering fate to have to endure this future ..., “didn't give me much to go on back there at the restaurant, did you?"
John laughed despite himself then, “I suppose so. The mystery of why half the world just disappeared?” His eyebrows raised, and he shook his own head at his own idiocy, “I get it. Sorry you’re stuck with just me here, then.” John offered her a rueful smile by way of apology. Knowing he would hardly be of much help.
John set down his cup and illuminated the topic for her, so far as he had been able to gather. All of the collected data from his repeated regurgitation of the subject matter; including his chemical understanding on the nature of ash; his medical opinion from having had multiple conversations so far with noted worthies in the field with which - he realized with some surprise - had had actually held his own.
He patted the cold stone as he made his goodbyes for today. His customary, "don't be dead," slipping from his lips as he went.
At one time, John had thought he had loved her. All the ways she had impressed him. She was. Impressive. And John had felt like a wilted leaf, standing next to such a rare flower. They were two of a kind. Her - and - Him. The kind that would make
"John?" Sherlock tried again, truly worried this time. Crouching down in front of John and extending his hand to help John back up.
Sherlock’s senses were on overload, but he needed to let it all in. To count it all up and see what the tally would be …
It reminded John of Baskerville, with another small grin. He had found himself smiling more today than he expected. With his Sherlock mirror sitting there - blonde, and curved, and as un-Sherlock-like as they came, sitting across from him in Sherlock’s chair …
Sherlock dropped the phone and took that last step off of the ledge. Arms outstretched. Like he was flying ...
Sherlock doesn’t love you because you’re a lovely doctor, and a crack shot. Though you are all that and witty, to boot! He doesn’t love you because you’ve saved his life more times than that boy can count to. He probably scrubbed half his maths from his memory. He loves you because you are you. Broken bits and all. He never even has to ask you to change. And he never
And so, he managed to rasp through a deepening voice, husky with emotion, “where do we go from here?”
were not something the genius had many of, the way Sherlock had spoken. There were clearly one or two, but all seemed very much
John could feel every single point of contact where their bodies were meeting. Arms, hands, wrists, knees. Fire at the touch. Radiating energy. As if they would ignite. It was sensory overload. And yet he needed more …
He already knew - the moment he saw Sherlock again, and felt all of the old feelings come back more intensely than when he left them on the shelf - what he himself wanted. What he had
If he squinted in the right light, he could almost imagine he saw Sherlock there. Holding his violin. Playing a sad, beautiful tune ... the way he
They held each other there for a moment. Sherlock's lips were just a hair's breadth away from his neck now. Panting as they had broken away from the kiss. The hot air caressed his face and reached down the collar of his jumper. Making him shiver.
"Thank you, yes. I am better. Doctor - uh?" John asked with genuine gratitude, "lots of stress this week I'm afraid. Long hours. All that. Guess I overdid it tonight. So much … uh ... food … yeah, so - I'm fine. Thank you. All fine." He went to sit up and felt his head pounding a bit. He slouched back down promptly and then decided to flat out lay on his back for a few.
Stroking John's cheek just below his eyelash. And John thought he heard, a soft intake of air as Sherlock felt the tear touch his fingertips. His lips parting as he examined it. Like a robot confused.
Like he knew that some customs must be observed, but hadn’t quite figured out the where’s and the why’s?
"You said, ‘A bit mean springing it on you like that. Could have given you a heart attack. But in my defense, it was
John stared at the cooling black coffee in his hands, reflecting on that night. The paste-colored ceramic mug was cold under his fingers. The aluminum and Bakelite table was even colder.
Sherlock gave John all of the room he needed. Keeping a few wandering pedestrians from getting near them even, in his kindness.
Sherlock glanced his annoyance briefly at Mike. Standing up and walking over to John to accept the outstretched mobile.
John struggled up to try and remove his jumper. Sherlock misunderstood and tried to pull him back in.
He followed an errand boy with a package of some kind through the next doorway, a long narrow hallway greeting him. Finally free of the din and ruckus behind. He hadn’t realized how much his head was splitting …
“You knitted us together, always loving life, always wise, always wickedly funny, and always kind. Bye-bye you darling lady. You will always be in our hearts.” - Sue Vertue
"How long have I been in here?" he was asking as he gathered his jacket that had been laid out next to him. Wallet. Keys. Watch. All in the pockets. Intact. He breathed a sigh of relief.
He almost wanted to ask Mike to read it. To make sure he wasn't seeing things ... but he didn't want to share this.
Sherlock looked up sharply at that, "and what did you say?" he asked, almost holding his breath - afraid to hear the answer …"in reply? to ... to him?"
shoot your friend here …” John snarled menacingly, and the thief could see the real danger lurking behind his eyes. A steel that would not bend or break. An appropriate level of fear and awe crossed his face as he met John’s unflinching gaze … and transferred it to his bigger companion, before he fled.
He could no longer picture a girlfriend as a permanent thing. Nothing would be anymore. Nothing could be. He himself might float away at any moment. Life was ... fleeting. Transient now.
And she sighed and gave up, “people are saying you got cold feet and left! Do NOT embarrass me like that, again!”
He could feel John smile against his chest. And then he looked up at him. Serious again. Thanking him.
“Intuitions are not to be ignored, Mike. They represent data processed far too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend. What we call 'Love at first sight' is simply a complex series of calculations our brain has processed based on the chemical, auditory, visual, and olfactory senses it has taken in. All dissected by our subconscious mind and tallied as a good fit
"You came," Sherlock spoke softly. His deep baritone voice striking a chord that felt familiar. Welcoming. As John was reading their texts again.
To stop the careening bullet, that was now rushing towards it's intended target. And bound to hit with full deadly force upon arrival. DOA. Intent to kill. Premeditated. Murder.
It was Sherlock’s turn to look embarrassed, and John found him staring at their shoes, as he tried to apologize, “which is fine! By the way! Probably gets better reception than these … stupid …” he fumbled with putting away his own paperweight device, and thanked Sherlock by nodding a “ta.” John looked up at Sherlock. Reality meeting his gaze …
visible from either path, had to go looking for it. Can’t guarantee it will be there tomorrow if someone knows I've found it? I left some footprints in afraid, but I ...
this Doctor Strange had sent her to him? But it seemed a ridiculous question, and so he kept it to himself.
They were soldiers. And she had forgotten that for a moment. At Baker Street. John simply reminded her.
She had been receiving texts and updates regularly during her visits. They interrupted at the oddest hours. Not unlike Lestrade used to. Mostly calls from someone named Sam.
John did a double take and scowled at her. "No charge?" he said, "what do you mean no charge? I had a bill. I had a meal. Shepherd's pie. Whiskey. Tiramisu. Coffee?!" he stated, voice raising. Getting angry now.
Anderson. Sally. Their vapid warnings. Instead of turning John away from him, they seemed to have been setting fuel to the fire that was burning between them. It had lit something against bullies in John. Protective. Fierce.
“You didn’t seem to mind the concept of living with a violinist, back at the lab ...?” he eyed John with one eyebrow raised. Teasing him, “mind it
They always looked so soft, never chapped. John wondered if Sherlock wore chapstick? He had never seen him use it. Never seen it stashed about the flat. What would it taste like? Cherry? Mint? The curve of his cupid's bow was level with John's eyes. John licked his lips. His pupils dilated. He could hear his own breathing in his ears, so loud. Hear the thump thumping of his own racing pulse. He held very still. Being this close to Sherlock was like a drug ... and he could not risk the high.
John let out a breath and nodded. “That’s good. Having only recently been contracted to you. Well it’s a bit much.” He blushed and then quickly added, “Not that I’d never be interested - just -”
Sherlock blushed. Actually blushed under everyone’s gaze. John sat back and raised his eyebrows at him in question. In one fluid motion, Sherlock lay down on his stomach across John’s lap. John took a moment to take in the image of his lover like this, lithe and flushed and oh so hard, a hardness that he could easily feel digging into his thigh. The dark pants and shirt are a stark contrast to his pale skin.
“Now, this next volunteer is a special one.” The crowd hushes as John steps forward. He’s wearing a black tuxedo and smiles a bit shyly at the audience. “May I present to you Dr. John Watson. This is no ordinary doctor, ladies and gentlemen, this doctor was, not long ago, a Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. That’s right, ladies, you’re looking the genuine article – handsome, and he works well under pressure, and might I add that as a doctor, ladies, I’m sure he’s talented with his hands. As usual, you have 5 minutes to place the first bids.” The MC grins at the resulting twitter of laughter.
Around John, the second team rushed down the street and into the building. He grit his teeth, wanting desperately to run into the fray with them. But a glance at the medical backup group told him that he had a duty to them should the action move in their direction. The medical people were milling around an ambulance across the way, and John stood a bit apart from them. He carefully watched the warehouse where several well-armed policemen were stationed around the door.
“Shhh,” John replied, brushing Sherlock’s curls out of his face. “We didn’t exactly plan it out. If you’re really uncomfortable, we can leave. But not a word from you, understood?”
“I don’t know what you hope to gain from this,” Sherlock muttered as the cab pulled up in front of Mycroft and Greg’s townhouse.
“Alright ladies and gentlemen, let’s see the initial bids for our handsome military man. Ohhhh, £2,000! Looks like you’re going to be popular tonight, Dr. Watson! Shall we see if we can that a bit higher, hmm?”
Smirking, Sherlock locks eyes with John and slowly eases the boxer briefs down, leaving him naked and bare before the Holmes brothers, who are still fully clothed. John blushes even as his cock jerks at the thought. As flatmates, he and Sherlock have seen each other undressed before. But never completely naked, and he suddenly wonders if Sherlock likes what he sees.
John ran the tip of his finger over Sherlock’s lips. “I know you can hurt me. But I don’t think that you will.” When Sherlock’s lips parted, he pushed the tip inside and grazed it against one of the sharp fangs. He didn’t wince when it sliced through his skin with little pressure.
John chose not to acknowledge the near slip-up. “Right,” he said with a swallow. “Ok. Are you sure that it’s healing? It still burns. A lot.”
“Yes, it’s a stupidly simple mark. A claim if you will. For that I would merely have needed to mark you with my blood in front of the Registrar. Rather…elementary,” Sherlock said dismissively. He ran one finger along the healing mark behind John’s left ear.
Stranger: "Terrified," Sherlock smiled into his skin, licking over his Adam's apple and down his chest. "Sensitive?" He asked, moving his fingers over John's nipples and playing with them. "They're cute. Like you."
Stranger: "Aren't you warm, then?" He asked curiously, stepping closer until he was a hair's width from John's body. He reached out and felt his throat, slipping his hand over his shoulder and arm.
John pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “You need to be bred by your alpha? You need this cock, hmm?”
A fine sheen of sweat covered Greg’s body and his fingers clenched around the ropes binding him to the bed. He groaned as Mycroft paused his smacks to his arse cheeks and placed hungry open-mouthed kisses to his inner thighs.
Sherlock glared at him, and John could very well imagine that this wasn’t so much Sherlock’s choice as Mycroft’s. Or perhaps Mummy’s.
Across Holmes Manor, Doctor John Hamish Watson fidgeted as his sister hummed around him like a hyperactive bee. “Harry. Harry! Stop, please…I look fine. More than fine. This tuxedo probably cost more than I make in a month…”
In preparation for mating, an omega’s body began producing lubrication. Substantial amounts of it if the medical texts were correct. He’d never seen it first hand, but he was aroused, and he thought that by now he should be leaking from his rectum.
The vampire licked down along his jawline and neck before biting into the tender flesh. He ignored John’s soft gasp of surprise and sucked languidly, drawing it out as John’s warm life flowed into his mouth. He pulled away and said a bit too calmly. “John, I require that you be undressed. I do not wish to tear the fabric.”
Stranger: Greg winced slightly, looking up at Mycroft guiltily, "I know. Sorry. I'll wear it, swear I will." Why he couldn't keep his mouth shut around Mycroft was absolutely beyond him, it was unfair really, that Mycroft could uncoil the truth from him so easily.
Mycroft smiled and carefully untied him, unwrapped his toned legs from the silk and rolled him under the blankets. He pressed himself up against Greg’s back and pulled him close. “Let it never be known outside of this room that I cuddle.”
“I – I would hope that – I mean we have been spending substantial amounts of time in each other’s company, and it would seem appropriate to further substantiate on these relations – I mean –“
“That is correct.” He sat back slowly, leveling John with his intense gaze. “It is never untaken lightly by one of our kind because of the long-term responsibility it entails.”
“Excellent. She will be pleased.” Alessandro turned to walk away. He paused as he passed by Sherlock, who was still holding John to his chest. “"Sai, cugino, se ho posseduto un animale domestico che puzzava così, non avrei mai lasciato il mio cazzo lasciare il suo culo.”
“Alessandro came at his mother’s behest. Victoire is, well, she’s very old. Very powerful. She has a large number of vampires, thralls, and humans under her control. And she hates not knowing things. That she sent a family member instead of mere minion means that she is very…concerned. She sent him to find out whether the rumor is true that I’ve finally chosen a mate.” He decidedly did not look at Greg as he said this last part.
“I can hear your thoughts from here,” Sherlock says, eyes still closed, hands together, the tips of his long fingers just barely touching his lips.
John glances sideways at Mycroft, who is resting one arm casually along the back of the love seat and contemplatively staring at the firelight .
The vampire’s grip on his cock was hard and their movements were taking on a desperate note. Mycroft began to pump Greg’s cock fast. He was close and he could feel that Greg was, too. He held Greg close to him and urged him on letting his own climax come to a head hard and fast.
“My blood. That is half of the reason for adding my own blood. It is temporarily accentuating your natural healing process. It won’t be as fast as my own natural healing abilities, but it will augment it for now.”
Sharp blue eyes looked into his own for a moment and then Sherlock nodded. “That is…acceptable.” He stood up and got dressed swiftly. “Sleep again, John. You need your strength.” He leaned over and reached out as if to caress John’s face and then stopped and walked out the door.
“Why would you even want to bid on John? You practically kidnap him weekly to spy on me anyway,” Sherlock mutters.
“Dr. Watson,” he said, shaking John’s hand, “Good luck. You’re in good hands. The Holmes’s are a good family to be associated with. And it appears that Mr. Holmes here will…take care of you.” He winked and John tried to smile back.
You: John groaned softly and arched his neck. "That you're this gorgeous is criminal....Should I be scared?"
John’s lips breathed open with a sigh and his hands gripped Sherlock’s arms. After a minute, one moved to Sherlock’s waist and he hummed as arousal bloomed in his belly.
Sherlock laughed lowly and moved to lap at another cut, and then another, until John’s chest was whole and healed. He slithered down John’s body until he was poised over John’s crotch. “May I?” he asked.
Mycroft chose not to answer. “And you, brother? He’s right, if crude and tactless. You shouldn’t allow John to wander around unclaimed. The heart of a warrior. And strong and loyal. He is too…tempting for our kind.”
“John, for all of their bluster and bite,” they both snorted, “vampires put themselves into vulnerable situations by taking on a donor to feed from repeatedly. Sherlock was right, a vampire biting a human and feeding from him, especially regularly, is a very private and personal thing. It forms a bond. The more he feeds from you, the more you’re a part of him. And if something were to happen to you, he could get hurt. Not to mention you could always simply deny him your blood. Sure he could force you, but I hear that when that happens it doesn’t taste as good and it causes complications.”
It's been a while and life has moved on, but I did finally finish this work! I hadn't really meant to finish this but the plot bunnies danced in my head until I did. So I hope you enjoy this. Cheers.
“Congratulations,” Sherlock said, allowing his voice to warm. “I am – I am happy for you, brother. I believe that he is a good match for you. Even if he is human.”
“No,” John said softly. “I want…you – to make me yours.” He pressed his lips to the vampire’s, swallowing his answering growl.
Sherlock had already begun to stalk off towards a black sedan that had appeared at the end of the alley.
Once naked, Sherlock joined John on the bed. He grasped John’s wrist and pushed his fingers in deeper, making the human gasp. “Only two fingers,” Sherlock growled. “I want to fuck you open.”
Mycroft stilled and then, after a moment, twisted around in Greg’s arms so that he could look him in his eyes. He searched Greg’s dark brown eyes, trying to guess at the man’s emotions: hope, love, fear, nervousness, longing are all warring with each other despite Greg’s obvious attempts to remain calm. He wasn’t practiced like Mycroft in this area.
The vampire carefully placed his sigil against the blood-covered flesh behind John’s ear, ignoring the feeling of the metal burning his own skin and concentrating on holding John still. John jerked a bit as the hot metal seared into his flesh. The pain was hot and sharp and he screwed his eyes shut tightly, but this his military instincts kicked in and he held himself rigid in Sherlock’s arms.
John frowned up at his master. He rarely thought of the vampire in such terms, but it occurred to him that perhaps Sherlock Holmes needed him to approve of and agree to this as much he needed to feel that John was safe. “O-ok,” he said. He licked his dry lips nervously. “What do I need to do?’
“Enough. Both of you,” Greg said firmly. “This fighting has to stop. You’re both acting like children.”
John took the invitation and let go of Sherlock’s hands so that he could run a finger between his spread legs. There was ample lubrication. His whole body shuddered in anticipation. “Do you know how slick you are right now, Sherlock?”
“Ah, good. He’s already told John. Sherlock informed me this afternoon that he plans to take John to the Blood Registry Office tomorrow to make an official claim on him.”
Stranger: "I do believe that there is a need to celebrate my solving of this case." Sherlock pushed John down until he was laying with his back to the mattress and Sherlock loomed over him. "But remember, John. I am also the criminal," he winked, leaning down to nip over his neck.
Behind him, Sherlock smiled. “Now rest. You’ll need your energy for later.” He pulled John to him and buried his face in the crook of his neck, falling asleep enveloped in the scent of John Watson.
Stranger: Sherlock swallowed thickly and nodded. "Yes, John." He sat up and spread the blonde's legs apart, then spit in his hand. He didn't have lube because sex before meeting John didn't interest him. He smiled down at him and moved his fingers in between John's legs. "Relax for me, John."
Stranger: Sherlock moaned, pulling out, only to press back in quickly. "You're so tight." He breathed. "Fucking mine."
Greg laughed. He leaned his head back on Mycroft’s shoulder, purposefully making his neck open and inviting.
Sherlock smiled. “Yes. I assure you he has been a willing donor for years. He is simply not open about the private facts of his life.”
Greg snorted. “Definitely not. So there will be some blood drinking and sex…” he paused and frowned. “Will, um, your mother be there for that bit?”
“Hmmm, careful what you wish for. After all of my years, I can be rather….creative.” He ran his hands up to pinch a nipple before he turned the shower off. “Come, I want to take you to our bed and start my plans to ravish every inch of you.”
“Enjoyable? Are you kidding me?” John asks. He reaches for his still-hard cock and is stopped by Mycroft.
At the first smack, John couldn’t help but notice that Sherlock jumped in his arms. His hand pressed tighter on Sherlock’s flat stomach, and he idly played with Sherlock’s long neck as they watched the scene play out before them.
“Yes. Always.” The vampire attached a black leather ring around the base of Greg’s cock and balls. He paused and then attached another cock ring to himself. Greg grinned, clearly loving the effect he had on him. Mycroft smacked his inner thigh. “Cheeky.”
Sherlock flicks his blue eyes to where John is answering some ridiculous question that the MC has just asked about his favorite program on the telly. Utterly ridiculous. On Sherlock really knows John. These people have never seen how John can just jump into a situation, willing to help a friend in need. Even Mycroft has never seen John wander into the kitchen first thing in the morning, hair ruffled, feet bare as he makes tea. John. Is. His.
“Thanks. I guess I needed that,” Greg said, noting that he’d drunk nearly half the bottle in one go.
In response, Sherlock moves his hand down to the base of their cocks, pressed deliciously pressed together. He pauses and then rubs back up until he can experimentally rub his thumb over the tips. They both groan.
John laughs. Sometimes his life is simply too bizarre to believe. Having Sherlock Holmes as a flatmate has been exciting, challenging, and sometimes maddening. John thinks that now he’ll have to the word ‘pleasurable’ add to that list. He sighs happily and meets turns to meet Sherlock’s eyes.
John groaned and took two long purposeful strides towards the bed. He climbed on top, hovering over his husband. His mate.
Sherlock sat with a smirk in a plush wing back chair and crossed his legs nonchalantly. “Well, she does seem calmer than at your wedding.”
That is when Sherlock moves from his perch and swoops down on his flatmate, surprising him by sitting on the edge of John’s bed. He puts his hand on John’s knee over the blanket. John tenses but doesn’t move. He’s not wearing a shirt and, despite the fact that Sherlock has seen him shirtless before, he suddenly feels rather naked.
Mycroft rested his head on Greg’s chest, enjoying the simplicity of this moment. “Mm. Just sneak off out the back door and head to the Maldives now.”
A few minutes later, John walked into the kitchen. He blinked in surprise when he saw that there was a pot of tea already made. Sherlock never made tea. John glanced at the vampire, getting nothing but muttered mental notes that Sherlock voiced as he looked through the lens of a microscope, one hand making notes on a pad of paper.
Across the room, Mycroft was still lying over Greg’s lap. They both watched intently, Greg resting a hand on his upturned arse, a small smile playing on his lips.
Taking the smile as acquiescence, Sherlock smiles just a bit and reaches his hand out, boldly palming John through the blanket.
As the vampire leaned in, Greg tried to relax. He couldn’t quite forget that there were others watching them. He felt Mycroft maneuvering his hand and placing it over his Mycroft’s heart. It beat out strong and regular, and Greg smiled. But then he thought he could feel Mycroft touching him in a way that wasn’t physical, but he couldn’t quite describe it. He gasped softly, eyes widening at the feeling. Was this what Mycroft could feel from him? And then Mycroft was pulling away, but holding him upright as he swayed just a bit.
John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder. The sigil was a stylized lion, claws out and facing the left, with a book lying open over it. A single eye looked up from the center of the book. John smiled as he recognized what must be Sherlock’s nod to knowledge and observation. His personal sigil.
"Se il capo della famiglia Holmes ha finalmente scelto un compagno. E sembra che si ha. " He prowled towards Lestrade, but was stopped when Mycroft held up his umbrella as a barrier.
John hissed at the bite, loving the pain that swirled with pleasure and the tight feeling of Sherlock’s cock filling him. It was overwhelming and he moaned loudly, not caring who might hear. “Please….Sherlock please!”
Sherlock put away his violin and watched John intently. “It’s called reses. It enables a vampire to immobilize someone temporarily. If used lightly, it can make you slow. Someone once described it to me as ‘moving through molasses.’ If used with a heavier touch, it can completely immobilize a human, though not indefinitely.”
Stranger: Sherlock huffed and kissed over John's throat, sucking several hickeys into his skin while he thrusted harder and deeper into John.
Sherlock’s lips parted, and John could see the fangs extended. The vampire leaned down and lapped at the skin on the side of John’s neck. One hand cradled his head, and the other applied strong pressure to his stomach, pushing him down. After three long licks, Sherlock pierced the skin. John gasped, and would have arched up had he been able to.
“Yes. Their family is powerful and it is important that they be here, that one of them witness the bonding. That Victoire herself has come is an honor and will forestall any other complaints that a scion of the Holmes house is bonding with a human.” Sherlock shrugged. “At least, that is what Mycroft was kind enough to remind me of when I protested Allessandro’s presence.” He cupped John’s head and rubbed the near invisible mark behind his ear. “This at least will keep him away from you. You will be protected this time, and I will not allow him to attack you.”
Mycroft handed it to him and picked up a glass of blood. He sipped it, watching the human doctor. “Your contract began, what, three weeks ago?”
Still wrapped up with Mycroft, he doesn’t need to look down to know that the hands gently easing his legs apart are Sherlock’s. Sherlock kneels between his spread legs, hungrily intent on the large bulge in John’s boxer briefs. There’s also a small wet spot that begs to be tasted. He leans down and mouths John’s cock through the thin fabric, causing him to whimper into Mycroft’s mouth.
“If I tell you now, you won’t like it, you won’t sleep, and you’ll be agitated by the time we reach the Blood Registry Office.”
John blinks. His mind is foggy and it takes a moment to place the words. How would you know? “Ah. You mean…about – sex?” John blinks several times the way he does when he’s nervous.
“Eyes on the target, people.” Lestrade’s voice crackled over the radios, and a number of them shifted nervously.
Mycroft runs his hands up John’s thighs and spreads them further, leaving John open for him. He slicks up his cock and presses the tips against John’s open hole.
Sherlock chuckles softly, continuing his worship of John’s neck and collar bone. “My brother doesn’t lie – in this case, at least.”
Sherlock is actually surprised when he comes a second time. He rarely surrenders to the primal urges that distract other people. He is...supposed to be above such urges. Still, his body shudders in sympathy with John’s orgasm and his cock manages to spurt a bit more seed to mix with John’s on his skin.
I came up with the sigil image by looking through the internets and finding a reference to the lion as one of the Holmes family crests from Ireland: http://www.heraldicjewelry.com/holmes-crest-page.html. There's no actual image of the personal sigils I described for Mycroft and Sherlock as I can't draw worth crap.
Greg moaned but continued to lap at Mycroft’s neck. He knew he wasn’t supposed to stop until told to. It was an odd taste that washed over him. He thought he could feel Mycroft’s love and passion wash over him, too, drowning him in a wash of complicated emotions and maybe even memories.
Mycroft broke into a very uncharacteristic grin and caressed his cheek. “You don’t even know what you’re agreeing to.”
“Kiss me. It will help you feel like you have more control and therefore ease some of your anxiety over the situation in which you find yourself.”
Sherlock palms John’s cock through his pajama bottoms, steel eyes bright. “Do you want help with this?”
You: John pretended to read the newspaper, eyes flicking over to Sherlock, hoping he wouldn't be too obvious. He shifted in his seat, getting harder in his jeans. "So, no new cases?" -JW
“True, but honestly this is what the match is for.” Harry crossed her arms. “You can’t hold off of having kids. Mrs. Holmes would blow a gasket.” She stepped forward and touched John’s arm. “Is it – are you
“Thank you, John. I do have a flat in Mayfair. It’s closer to the office, but this has always been a retreat from the city. I do hope you’ll be comfortable during your stay here.”
Note: The haversack jacket that John wears in the series is described in detail on the delightfully helpful Sherlockology site: http://www.sherlockology.com/wardrobe/black-coat-john-watson
Sherlock leaned forward and settled himself over John’s prone body. He gently pushed John’s head to the side to expose his neck. The shifting of his weight had stopped the fucking, but he started up again. The thrusts weren’t as deep in this position, but it gave him access to John’s tempting neck.
much worse for wear. Now let’s see that mark…” Melbourne grasped John’s chin and, ignoring a warning growl from Sherlock at the touch, examined the wound. “Sigil is clear. Wound is clean….It looks fine. You are free to leave, Mr. Holmes.”
As Sherlock led the other witnesses into the bedroom, John politely waited for the rest to enter before him. He closed and locked the door behind him, shutting out the sounds of the wedding reception still going on downstairs. He glanced around the room and smiled at the romantic, sumptuous appearance of the room. Having been friends with Greg for a while, he knew about Mycroft’s hidden romantic streak, and was pleased to see it out in the open in honor of their bonding.
John nearly choked on the water. “Harry! We – we barely know each other! I mean, we do know each other, and he’s a nice bloke and all, but we’ve only had a handful of dates.”
Mycroft’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Give our regards to your mother for us, cousin. Tell her that if something happens, she will be the first to know.”
Sherlock smiled wryly at him from where he was doing up the buttons on the brocade waistcoat. “It is fitted perfectly for you, John. And you look utterly delectable.” he murmured.
You: "Well then what?" John asked, getting frustrated in more way than one. He stood up and stood next to the couch, looking down at Sherlock on the couch.
“You’ve been working too hard. Come, the London Broncos game is on.” Mycroft carried a tray of food and a goblet of blood into the sitting room, where they could relax on the large plush couch and watch rugby. Greg followed, slipping off his shoes and socks as he did.
“Just wanted to see if you thought it was all okay, what you did?” John asked seriously now. “No matter how many times you blow me away with your brilliance, you always manage to scare me
“Why would Strange send me, if he isn’t here?” She was musing from the other room … lost in thought.
Mycroft had made it clear he was taken care of handsomely. But John had not wanted the charity, and only reluctantly dipped into the funds on occasion. When he knew the weeks labours had not accumulated the required amount to sustain rent … and food … and entertaining. Which he was doing more and more of surprisingly.
so carelessly?” he was pulling away, “… that you have not been the influence I needed … I … “ Sherlock was scanning him now, looking him all over. Palms down on the floor. Reading him. Desperate to see some hope in John’s response.
He had to allow himself to move on. It was not like he was a widower. It was his friend. Sherlock was his friend. She reminded him. Though it pained him when she said it. Like she had no right. No right to come between him and ...
Anyway, seriously, thanks so much for bearing with me. :) I know I say this every single chapter update, but I
.” He was bouncing irritatedly on the balls of his feet, hands clasped tightly behind his back as if to keep from breaking something. “He’s not here as in GONE, gone … like half-the-bloody-rest-of-the-world!!!”
In which there is finally pizza, Sherlock wields a knife, and some witches rescue John from a pirate! It's Halloween!
Emmy eyed his plate warily as she dug into her own seafood platter. Clearly disappointed in her date’s lack of class. And someone else was chiming in on it too;
He sighed. Looking down at the row of silver cutlery and crystal cut wine glass before him. Sitting down at this posh establishment was a terrible idea. He did not fit in here.
This morning, when John came in to view, Sherlock saw a noticeable shift in his demeanor. Like the soldier had at last made a tough decision ...
"Mr. Ramsey?" John's big stupid grin came out now, as he brought his jaw back up to reasonable levels, "Gordon?" He slapped the table, Whispering excitedly to Sherlock near him, "Gordon
John lifted the cake to his mouth and opened it wide to … what was he doing? Sherlock was unzipping his pants and ... !
John felt all of Sherlock’s scrutiny and careful attention on his own fingers. It made them tingle. He tried to steady them.
And then the tension left the room. They were all jostling about. Poking ribs and laughing. "Wot you do to him, Chef? Got 'im terrified you 'ave!" "Reputation in America you haven't told us of, Chef?" "Right nutter!" “Watch that pan!”
As John watched, he shut his mouth (with a great deal of effort). And was tilting his head to the side now, like an owl (or a cat, very feline)... Thinking.
Having clearly more guts than brains, the one in John’s grip still tried to move, and John twisted hard. Feeling the horrible grunting sound as he wrenched the arm, and the would-be thief began whimpering - begging to be released. “You’ve broke my arm!” He was whining. Shaking from the pain.
He erratically raced to a familiar crossroad ahead and came screeching to a halt when he was within walking distance. He grabbed the box he had prepared from the passenger seat and exited the car with purpose. He took ten paces to the center of the crossroad and kneeled, digging furiously with leather gloves protecting his hands. Once he deemed the depth appropriate, he placed the box in its spot there and covered it with dirt and gravel, standing and clenching his fists to release the tension he felt gripping his soul.
“I’m on my fifth drink and I should probably stop, but Jesus, fuck, it hurts so much without you. Please.”
John grabbed for fabric, any sort of fabric on Sherlock’s suit and used this to leverage himself as he pushed Sherlock with all the force he had in him. John wasn’t sure if he would have ever let go of Sherlock had waiters and patrons not pried him off of the curly haired figure lying breathless on the red-and-black checkerboard tiles of the restaurant.
fallen for her. She’s pretty ordinary, nothing like you really. She gets me out of the house, but for rather domestic things, like grocery shopping and buying new shoes. I think I just like having someone to ground me, to help keep my wits about me, but if you were here, I’d avoid her. She’s the key to the cookie cutter life I feared for so long before I met you. But, perhaps it’s time to settle down.”
I meant to count on your help at all if you’re never here quite when I need you?” Despite his disappointed tone, Sherlock smiled and saw a small one on his brother's lips as well. They weren’t huggers, but Sherlock took a step out from his hiding spot and moved forward to shake Mycroft's hand, a sign more affectionate than most anything else for either of them. Mycroft turned down his disheveled, collar and approached his brother as well, meeting him halfway and grabbing his brother’s gloved hand with a stern shake.
Greg cleared his throat, even then it cracked with his attempt at forming a proper sentence, “Sher-” he paused “I know this is hard.” another pause, “I’ve got firewood at my place, I’m sure you know you’ve passed it. Mycrof-” He couldn’t finish the name, but continued despite the tears that threatened to choke him, “He’d want a proper hunter’s funeral.”
“I’m unattached if you were worried,” Sherlock couldn’t stop the compulsive words from slipping from his mouth and he turned bright red. John coughed and looked up from his position standing before his charge as those full, pink lips spread and spoke once more, “and my address is 221B Baker Street.”
Sherlock ignored the question. Wrapping his scarf around his neck. Then picking up his mobile and checking it. Forgetting it was supposed to be
Not just the troubled past, the sibling issues. The lack of friends ... or … the desperate situation of his living arrangements.
There had been some buzz in the papers about the establishment. The Landmark had taken on a highly recommended Chef of late, who had somehow managed to uncover an embarrassing embezzlement scheme ... John vaguely remembered hearing of it. Nothing to do with him. Now that Sherlock was gone, he tried to avoid that kind of thing.
“Why not just say it, John?” Sherlock’s eyes were soft with kindness. His hand cupping John’s face, as he kept himself propped up, hovering over John like a guardian angel.
Why was Sherlock saying these things? Would Sherlock ever have talked like that? John wondered. Boggled really, at where his mind was running away to...
She looked the tears that sprang up in her eyes. "Aren't you?" She asked, shaking her head, and gripping his hand tightly. She patted it, "neither am I, dear." She got a grip on herself just as quickly though and sighed, talking of curtains and repainting the basement room to rent out instead ...
The fortune teller was looking deep into her crystal ball, as colors swirled inside. A glittery fog.
He had rather hoped for the anonymity of the crowded space of a water taxi. Public transport. Mortified that he had already shown his weakness to this man TWICE.
He took Sherlock’s hand. A question written between his eyebrows. Not one he was sure he was ready to ask …
Mrs. Hudson had brought them up their tea. And offered plenty of advice on the flowers and napkins, and any other mundane details that neither of her boys could be arsed to decide on without playfully devolving into bouts of hugs or wrestling in her presence. Which inevitably had led to kisses and snogging, and Hudders carefully tiptoeing out of the room in their wake.
But John was already pushing away from the counter, coming towards Sherlock. His eyes unreadable. So dark and hooded in this harsh kitchen lighting.
He had experienced the same pain day-after-day. Waking up to an empty bed ... and an aching heart ...
John noticed the extra initials now. They had been there once before - and he made a mental note to ask what they ALL were tonight. When they were
‘Give my love to the Chef’, was inspired by a weekend of ‘Hell's Kitchen and Kitchen Nightmares’ with my friend Jill. Gordon Ramsey reminded me so much of Sherlock, with his singular focus, and his kind heart (at least in the American version) - I really didn’t get how anyone could think he was mean. The poor man can’t even look at the camera when he talks … adorable! But somehow, I still get ignorant people commenting on how mean the show is. And the same with Sherlock - what a sociopath Sherlock is - or how RUDE he is?? and I … I just think … ‘you see, but do not observe’.
of Sherlock ... He climbed into Sherlock’s lap. Their kisses were greedy. Their hands roamed, as if to make up for lost time. They could not get enough. John pressed his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth, begging it to part for him. Begging him for more with every moan and whimper that it drew from the gorgeous man … Sherlock opened willingly.
Sherlock instead of replying, took John's hand and turned it upwards. Counting his pulse. Grinning at the tally. Then he drew John closer to him again, and planted his lips on that pulse point. He kissed John's wrist, folded John's fingers into a fist and kissed again, and then laid his palm open ... and kissed again.
“I had thought of at least thirty-six ways to communicate to you that I was alive during that span of time, but they were all far too risky. I still needed the cover. And … for the most part I was not in a position to do so … being out of the country. And then, this position opened up. Coinciding with our last puzzle piece. In the heart of London again. The perfect ruse. So we took it. Even then, I needed to wait. It was beyond painful, John. The waiting …”
He smiled at another beauty, and raised his glass in salute - deciding ultimately - he should find something to eat
He gave a small cute wave to John, as if in acknowledgement of the fact that John had been expecting
He was looking up to Harry for reassurance - as she had the phonebook in her hand and was scanning through the last names under L … “No!” she replied firmly.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he finally managed, his eyes downcast in humility, "I don't deserve this warm welcome."
John often smiled at the incredulous responses it engendered from those they met. He was cocky with it. Here he was, a normal boy-next-door, running around with the most brilliant (and to be honest, the most stunningly beautiful) man in London. Him. Plain jane. Army boy. Boring doctor. John Hamish Watson. He couldn't believe his luck. He couldn't believe this was happening. To him.
The taller man was now pacing up and down the canal, looking to flag down a boat. Moving on to a more open side to the canals … John reluctantly followed him.
Sherlock’s lips were pink, and they looked soft. He was biting on his lower lip. Making it redder. John hadn't let himself look too closely before. Sherlock's lips were really quite something.
How Sherlock would bring them to John, trust them to John's care. When it was really crucial that they not be put in an institution, or behind bars yet again for a petty crime.
The gondolier began singing. An ancient song of love and loss, and love again found. And John snuggled in. Listening. Just letting it take him. The shared body heat radiating between them underneath the warm covers.
Instinct had kicked in. Taken over. Years of army training. Of defending. But in preventing one wound, he had created a much greater wound. One that might never heal. At least he had breathed a sigh of relief, Sherlock was still standing.
He knew. And he found a way to fix it. Without John protesting. Without John demuring or even … realizing he could. Without him catching on. Subtly brought him along as if this was already the plan, and John might as well take advantage of it.
Their waiter came back, barely flashing the bill towards the bright white suit as if it was perfunctory only, before snagging the proffered card and heading back into the restaurant to run it for payment. The flash of shock on Sherlock’s face was, again,
Sherlock was still in his seat. And John in his … when they pulled away. But it mattered less and less. They were
John held on tight. The 'thank you' coursing through his veins, answered by every corresponding beat of Sherlock’s pulse as their fingers knit together.
And then ... his tongue slipped out, and he licked John's palm. Watching John shiver with pleasure. John could almost see the wheels turning. The thought of, '
“So why haven’t you found Moran in this hotel then, arrested him, and come home?” John asked at last. Across the shadows in the room to Sherlock. Like it was simple. Like it should be simple. Like he expected Sherlock ... to
They sat there. Listening to the clock tick-tock-ticking away. John leaning back against the counter, casual charm. Sherlock leaning forward in his chair, brilliantly engaged. Elbows on his knees. Tea cup in his hands. Eyes locked. Scanning. Holding each other in stasis there. Not wanting to break the connection. Relishing in this moment of being able to do this very thing. Hardly daring breath. Or thought.
Long, gorgeous legs passed his line of sight. Trim, neat trousers. Striped. Wool. Hemmed. Posh heels. Polished Italian leather shoes. Glittering flats. Gucci Handbags. Gold rings. They were everywhere. He felt more underdressed than even the last time he'd come ...
“You are not the one that owes apologies, John,” Sherlock corrected, “what I did was unforgivable. There was a plan. It went wrong. I had to make do. A snap decision, one I’ve regretted daily. Trust me ... I … never meant to hurt you in the process. I wanted to include you ... it was ... just
John pressed into Sherlock with every inch that he could bring into contact. And Sherlock laid back then, bringing their bodies further into comfortable closeness. But there were layers. So many layers between
John followed. Feeling like a schoolboy playing hooky. Sneaking around the hotel in the wake of Sherlock.
"It is imperative," Sherlock was spinning around. Anxiously playing with his hands. And then fisting them into his hair as he did another loop, still thinking.
The carefully disguised layers of both of their armor, having been stripped and left lying on the ground around them. Defenseless.
The kitchen and living room, now awash with moonlight. And the soft ticking of the clock on the mantle the only pulse of sound, between breaths and a gentle snore somewhere in the room beyond ...
He had to physically resist the urge to draw the man's attention away from what was causing him pain ...
Sherlock stood up slowly, eyeing John like one would a feral cat about to start or run... as he held the teabag up by the string for John to see. Then, reaching around past John, he placed it into one of the open teacups on the counter and stepping back a pace. But as far as John could see it, he was still cornering him in the kitchen. Keeping him prisoner there.
It was the look of a genius - brilliantly, deftly, putting all of the puzzle pieces together - adding them up to their conclusion, and getting ready to impress his audience of one.
Not to have his heart constricted, at last - by this one last - barrier. This one last unreality, that had kept him from feeling like all
Mrs. Hudson bustled about the kitchen. Queen of her own domain. It was pink. And yellow. And floral down here. So very different from the dark Victorian tones of red and black and green in the somehow masculine, but still elegant, flat above ...
John was looking around and finally finding something about the environment comforting. Maybe just the fact that he had been invited in? For his next words were:
But the mask was slipping, revealing Sherlock's full face and form as he stopped contorting it to look more like an American. To stop sounding like an American. He had been playing a role. It dawned on John.
After a bit, Sherlock threw out a comment. “Interesting thing about Tuxedos … they lend distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters …”
The tune shifted, and he was swaying now, waltzing towards the window with Vivaldi at his fingertips. Eyes still firmly shut. But listening. Hearing John’s movements in the kitchen behind him as he played. The shuffle of feet as John took off his shoes. Rested against the counter to watch surreptitiously.
John watched the others' faces for a clue - as the chefs and busboys and waiters were making way for this effigy to come towards John. They were all looking to this man, the Chef for guidance, for direction as to what to do with this new kitchen nightmare??
John picked through the shelves and checked the racks, the yellow-green light in the shop making it hard to read the labels. His eyes finally landing on a familiar cord with relief … His thoughts, however, kept circling back around every two seconds as he paid and looked out the narrow door to where Sherlock was still waiting for him …
He remembered Sherlock's irregulars, his homeless network of people throughout London that could be relied upon in a pinch to find out things Sherlock needed to know quickly.
Everywhere his eye landed ... further proof that they were now so intertwined ... there was hardly a distinguishable space between where John ended ... and Sherlock began ...
It seems that a few people had taken advantage of the situation. The timing of the snap had been good for their own plans ... They had simply run away from their current life and circumstances to pursue something (or someone) else. Leaving behind their wives, children, jobs and homes. Choosing to let their families think they were gone.
The morning had consisted of two rounds of venom with Mary; One on the receiving end of a scathing review of his character as a person; The other a scathing review of his skill as a writer; and
Sherlock pressed him up against the counter, eventually deciding on sitting John on TOP of the counter and coming closer to snog him properly. Legs straddling the detective and hands in each other’s hair.
John couldn’t help the ridiculous smile forming from deep within. Something inside was uncoiling and stretching. Breathing for the first time in … he didn’t know how long?
Sherlock …?” he asked at last, expressing his relief and … pleasant surprise. Cocking his head to take a good look at him … “didn’t … uh … recognize you … ”
Yes, I suppose I had help there,” Sherlock was turning a little red himself, and staring at the sky, “you …
Sherlock tilted his head this way and that, trying to suss it out. For this man, it seemed like they were, in fact,
John held his gaze. Softening. He hadn’t meant to hurt Sherlock, or to compare them in such a light, “you’re right, Sherlock. You are
Mary’s smiling face behind him and soft touch on his shoulder seemed to invite him into this fantasy.
"John Hamish Watson, you will stop right there!" Mrs. Hudson plopped down the heavy bag she had been holding in both hands and practically ran back to meet him face-to-face. John sighed.
"Look, Sherlock," John tried at last. Sherlock cut him off by taking another step forward, still maintaining eye contact. Pinning John into place as he stared up into Sherlock's eyes.
John's taut reply, he hoped, would dissuade Sherlock from further comment this evening. Of all evenings!!! Sherlock would have a heyday if not made to
. But nothing that anyone else could hear or appreciate. Listening to a few syllables in his head - and he was off!
"I prefer to text," Sherlock popped the consonants, glancing at John quickly. Unable to resist. Then eyes back to the counter.
“Now,” Sherlock concluded, turning halfway between them, and stepping back, “would you care to continue your date with this impostor ..
His eyes wandered around the room. Now really taking in each table. Curiosity returning to him. Now that he was no longer starving. For air or attention. They had certainly paid him attention this evening. Such detail. Such care. Even if it was the wrong man they were serving. It was nice. He felt important. Wanted. Expected.
Why not go and play with some other puzzle? Something on his violin? Or get distracted by a text? Lestrade could
warm. His fingers just slightly calloused, as they knit together with Sherlock’s own. A roughness there. The texture of reality.
She slipped past them to grab something from her cupboard (herbal soothers?) and headed off to her own rooms, “I’ll just step out this way and leave you to it. Good night boys. Turn off the kitchen lights whenever you go.” She winked and shut the door behind her.
He shouted back, bringing the young man running to the table in response. "Do you have a notepad? Something I can respond on?" he asked, "I would be polite to answer." And taking up the pen and paper, he scrawled a lovely note:
Inasmuch as she hadn't named any names, John got the feeling that she was trying to hide that part of her concerns from everybody and to make light of it. Trying not to be a burden.
He hung his robe up on the hook next to shower, stepping in. Drawing the curtain behind him as the hot water began to stream out, caressing his face. Relaxing his tightly bound muscles.
While the world screamed and tore out it's hair - a blur around him - John had stepped out of time into a void. Waves crashing against the rocks. And he was the rock. He stood unmoved. White noise drowning out all ...
Tears were now rimming John's red eyes as Sherlock managed to place his hands on John's shoulders, unhindered.
He was ripped open by the invitation that had been laid at his feet. Only to be taken away. A paradise built on clouds. Fading. With every step Watson took. It was pulled further away. A void being drawn wide, that would soon engulf the world.
, John. Had to be believable! If I was going to come take over one of London's premier kitchens and ingratiate myself to its staff, unsuspecting?"
He tucked himself around the corner, pulling another swig from the bottle and knocking his head back against the wall. Breathing a deep sigh of relief.
Sherlock’s warmth was seeping through the soft denim fabric on John’s leg, like a hot compress on his skin. And John felt his leg relaxing to the touch.
Sherlock could not get the man out of his mind … and had nearly driven Mrs. Hudson out of hers! What with his violin playing and temper tantrums the last few days.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the discarded box and other detritus from the freezer explorations in the bin. All things he also would have thrown out …
And looked his fill one more time. Relief written all over his face. Subconsciously relaxing as he sat there
Sherlock did not want to force him to retreat back into it when he was succeeding so nicely on his own.
“You're at a romantic restaurant, a candle on the table, Venice, City of Lovers …" he was glancing at John. “and you are incredibly handsome ...
John couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that, “two peas in a pod!” John was mocking him, “you would have taken that pill!” He jabbed his finger at Sherlock’s crossed legs, “... just to prove a point! Back when I first met you! And here Moriarty goes and offs himself just to win the little game he started??!!” He laughed, “
He curled up into himself on the pavement rocking back-and-forth; calling, calling and calling for Sherlock by name.
It was a look Sherlock often gave John, but John had never felt so much pleasure from it ... and perhaps, because - Sherlock now knew why John had held himself like this
John was feverishly writing. Keeping one eye on Harry, and one eye on the planchette that kept moving … moving … moving …
It was no use cursing his broken shoulder for having interrupted the best thing he'd ever had. It seemed he did that rather well himself.
John tentatively reciprocated the kiss, starting forward. Softly. Barely. Registering if Sherlock made any flinch or movement? As a result of the abrasion of his own touch. And very quickly realizing that Sherlock was not minding the roughness. He was pressing in, and drawing out. Begging John for more …
In, between breaths, his and John’s. Measuring with every sensory receptor he could stretch to touch and feel and see and smell and hear - just what John’s responses were. How his eye color and iris dilation changed and deepened; the quick catch of breath, the swift rush of pulse, the heightened vibration as if geared to shift at a moment's notice; the heady scent of his sweat and aftershave; the twitch of his hands; fingers furling and unfurling as if they wanted to be put to use …
But they directed him a few blocks down where they assured him mobile accessories of every variety could be found.
Sherlock attributed it … to having John’s insight and steadying presence by his side again. His conductor of light …
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock tried after a moment of silence. Keeping his tone calm and even, when it looked like Molly was leaving.
with every snarl he bit back. What Sherlock really meant to him. No matter how much he had fought against realizing it before ...
John willed himself to step out of the shop towards Sherlock’s waiting form … just as two rather stocky individuals seemed to come out of nowhere and corner Sherlock against the canal railing. John saw a glint of something from the hand of one, and he immediately shifted into action.
He looked back in the direction of the would-be thieves and checked all four directions surrounding them, including a glance at the canal, before looking back at Sherlock. All points secure.
“I researched you,” John began, “on my way over. The uh … the 'Science of Deduction'? Interesting stuff …” He eyed the man across from him. He looked nervous for a flash of a second. And then composed himself.
An invalided soldier with prematurely greying blonde hair, a limp, and a penchant for flipping off cab drivers …
. For if Sherlock had not lived, then John would not have had a reason to go on living ... all those years ago. He might have ended it then. Serendipity. Fate. It had all happened for a reason. Made him change his entire life in a moment.
And John had found himself on the doorstep of stranger. Welcomed in. A man who knew everything about him. Could tell him all of his secrets, without him having to say a word. Like a lifelong friend. Secrets shared, unspoken. It was a relief. It was a burden lifted. The things John wandered the streets fearing someone
"When did he move out?" Sherlock tried, his voice becoming gruff with the emotion he had not allowed himself to show earlier ...
Symphonies wanting to escape their birdcage of blood and bone. Fluttering to the cadence of his lungs, and tripping to the beating of his heart on repeat.
His free hand came up, to ruffle the fringe of John’s hair from his forehead. Smoothing away the creases that had formed in John’s brow, and kissing him there. Pulling him closer.
The rain descended as they began riding in silence. “He’s in Italy,” John confessed after a moment " ... on a job right now. I think I’d go over and see if he’s really …
John waited patiently for the inevitable. Leaning up against the counter casually, as she gently knocked on the door between them, and then opened it up when John called her inside.
She also seemed to be sharing in the same pain that John was suffering from. And half the time she wandered into her - what he was calling ‘mind palace’ sessions - he was sure she was thinking of something else entirely.
Not just the gaping black hole of purposelessness, that had been left in the wake of his honorable discharge from the service that had meant everything to him until that fateful wound …
And leaned over to kiss John then, lightly, on the lips. A friendly reminder of their earlier passions shared, and a taste of what was to come … as he pulled away. His look was playful.
in mind.” He paused a moment, “and by fun, I mean of course, deaths.” He continuing rapidly, “something he could very easily arrange and, I might add - a point hammered home only too clearly to us before. The resident assassins Moriarty managed to surround us with on his first go-round,” he added, “before the pool. Call it a lay-up!!” He popped the last sound. “Three assassins. Three bullets. Three deaths.
“Say whatever you have to,” Sherlock reminded him, with instructions as he headed for the door, hands gesturing wildly, “if he mentions needing accommodations, let him know you have someone else in the market for a flatmate. If he mentions needing a job, say you know someone hiring. Anything! I don’t care. I just ... need ... a chance. To meet him. He just needs to see me. Once! GIVE. Me. That. Chance! And I will do anything you need for the next MONTH!!”
“Do you?” Sherlock stopped to look at him, but his eyes were far away. Thinking still. Extrapolating all of the possible outcomes. Mike could tell. He’d been around the genius enough by now. "Make your decisions as if his life depends on it, for it very well may ... "
John glanced back over his shoulder, having caught that last bit - and asking with some curiosity, “Strange?” He did not expect an answer. And did not get one.
He patted John's shoulders to indicate he should stay seated for a bit, and then went off into the kitchen to ask the permission of the Chef for an audience ...
John realized he had gasped a little at the crush of palm against palm. The smooth of skin and the warmth of Sherlock’s contact ...
He would begin writing on his blog again. He also decided. As his head hit the pillow that night. Too tired to think, but feeling like he had accomplished something. Which was a big step.
The bombshell hitting him with a much damage as it could. His life hanging in the balance. His future ...
He didn't expect an answer. It was an hour ahead in Italy now, and it was midnight here … so unless the man was a night owl ...
John smiled. Sherlock had clearly been living here a while. But he had not truly settled into it. Everything his eye landed on, indicated the transience of this place.
They solved few of the mysteries. And fewer of the questions floating around in John’s mind. As the weeks went on.
He should come back some time. Good food. Pleasant atmosphere. Ask for a deep corner booth next time. Feel less conspicuous. Yes. He might. This was good. Getting himself out of the house. It was good. He would come back.
“John,” Sherlock breathed his name then, looking at John’s mouth, as his tongue had darted out to lick his lips in response to the stimuli - the nearness -
Several delicious options presenting themselves immediately to John’s hungry eyes. He’d forgotten how much he LOVED Italian food …
John's stomach rumbled and he couldn't eat fast enough when the food arrived. It was so. Damn. Good.
Sherlock was thinking on John's words. On the implications of just how soon ... John had truly fallen for
He had let himself in through from the street, silently. So as not to disturb their little tête-à-tête.
No doubt the man had cleared out Sherlock's things the moment all formalities of the estate had been finalized. John was surprised it took so long. Must have been over a year? Mycroft was slipping … stuff had still been there when John left. But John really hadn't allowed himself to think about it. Now he wondered ...
“Right,” John waited. Deciding it was best to just agree. When she did not go into further detail, he ventured another question, “He sent you here to look for Sherlock Holmes?” Nodding as if he understood that much. A statement more than a question really, “Is it about the ash?”
He clucked his tongue and looked up and down Sherlock's person, to the point where Sherlock was now the one turning red. "Me and the madman. Me and Sherlock Holmes." He shook his head, as if he just couldn't believe it still ...
He turned, and took a few strides towards Sherlock. Helping him upright. Trying to assess if any damage had been done? His hand grazed Sherlock's temple, brushing aside the curls, checking for any cuts or scratches. Even a bruise … and he would hunt those men down for murder …
But that might not be the best way to make a friend ... which - in his own head, Sherlock realized - the soldier now was.
"I'll drop him off at The Landmark after we've processed this lot, and taken a full statement. Might be a bit," he said to John, apologetically.
John took one look up at the wedding hall Mary had chosen. With its tall floor-to-ceiling windows. Its creeping vines and brick façade. And thought
Sherlock wasn't sure how to read sarcasm, but he wasn't entirely sure if this was sarcasm? He decided to take it at face value, "Problem?" he asked. Genuinely concerned, but again, trying not to show it.
As he sat by the fire, sipping whiskeys neat, feeling the warmth pool and harbor deep down inside him. Where he would contain it, and keep it at bay. Store it, and bottle it up, and try not to explode when the next text came …
Sherlock was fully awake, and alerted now, and pushing himself up with one arm, he came and swathed John Watson with his whole body. “What’s the matter, John?” Sherlock asked gently, with a penetrating look, searching. The weight of his body centering John. The concern of the fate of the world, in his eyes …
His thoughts dwelt on all of these things. As he looked up and out the thin window of his cell here, at the London police station. The solid white walls. The metal cot. The iron bars. The tick of feet across the parquet floors. The MET. A place he had considered, almost friendly, as of two days ago. Where he had come so many times, in the company of Sherlock. And he was now a guest himself. He laughed a little at his own stupidity. A guest would have the option to leave ...
Sherlock reached out for John's fingers a moment too late - for he had moved just beyond the limitations of the handcuffs binding Sherlock's wrists. His anger flared up, and he yelled at the sky. In a language no tongue was needed to interpret.
Sherlock had talked him down. Held onto the children like they were precious. He handed them carefully over to John to take down to Sally Donovan and the waiting patrol car to get proper attention at hospital. Not the act of a heartless man ...
His eye automatically strayed from the other tables to the center of his own … There was a candle. His eye fixated on it for a moment. Almost wanting to reach out and ...
John swallowed the lump in his throat. There were some things he had liked about that Sherlock. No mask. No lies. No hiding. He had come out into the light. And said anything. Did anything. That came into his head.
John meandered down the street after leaving Mrs. Hudson's with a bag of scones and warm promise to return to tea again soon. He really would too. He wasn't a heartless bastard like Sherlock.
John's feet ached in a good way. His hands on his knees as he caught his breath. The alley chase was like something out of a daydream ... not something he had ever expected to have the pleasure of again.
“And what did you imagine?” The man was still being mischievous, and trying for sexy, but it was just grating on John’s nerves.
shown up to see Sherlock's flat? Gone with him to see the lady in pink? And joined him on the rooftop chase?
John sat up swiftly in his bed, throwing off the covers. He had awoken, sweating and hyperventilating. He knew that he had been screaming. Loudly. His throat felt every inch of the strain he had used in the force of it. Scratching it. Tearing the sound out as if with his bare hands to comply with his wishes ... and now his voice was hoarse.
“Hey, Mike?” John asked, hoping his voice landed on casual, and not on ‘hey-my-entire-life-is-riding-on-the-possibility-of-something-stupid-and-entirely-crazy-right-now’. He already felt like a nutter, and didn’t want to taint Mike’s response. How readily was he considering going after this Holmes fellow …? After one night of talking? Texting?
The geniuses. The greats. The truly gifted of this world, were not going to suffer the presence of the ordinary, for long. Right? But he had managed to push aside the fear. So long as Sherlock continued to look at him
He bit back the bitterness, and the irony. Deep down? John just wanted a few more months to think! A few more months to breathe and decide who
Just then, John heard the kettle beep announcing tea water was ready behind him, and he slapped at it with his hand to silence it, so that he could maintain eye contact with Sherlock.
John looked around. The unfinished living space was a mess. Sherlock had pages of newsprint and photographs pinned up with red string all over the room. Clothes strewn all over the floor. A makeshift mattress on the floor nearest the window. A good spot to sit and read, John thought. And could picture Sherlock being there many long nights. And rainy ‘off’ days when he wasn’t playing the role of head Chef downstairs.
Stealing a glance up at Emmy. He made sure to use her name correctly each time he spoke to her throughout the evening. Just because they would never go out again, didn't mean he wanted her to not feel special.
Feel free to call or text me if you have anything else I can help with? Here on my mobile. I will umm …" he looked around, thinking, "possibly be here again tomorrow, yeah? ... Probably another hour
Sherlock was slipping closer. Beside John … John could feel every nerve ending in his body singing out. Their fingertips grazed. “John, I …” Sherlock began. Once again, lacing his long, elegant hand together with John’s golden bronzed fingers, and curling them closed.
“You said Moriarty threatened us to get you to Jump?” John asked, “three friends? Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and I … to risk your life for? Seems a lot to ask. How did he know you would do it?”
He had tilted his head and adjusted his eyes to focus now on Sherlock, so close to him. So close, he could smell him. He could smell … home …
"Why did I jump?" Sherlock asked. As if standing on glass that could shatter beneath him, and drop him into a void.
“Mayhaps there is, dearie!” she crooned, soothing him with a pat on the hand, and softening her features with a gentler smile then, “let me look?”
Not even if his own body cried out and gave him a million warning signs … not when it began shutting itself down … and driving him delirious and screaming and demanding it … and forcing it!
He knew he had noticed that oatmeal jumper before, and had correctly intuited that the soldier would arrive again like clockwork.
Life imitates art --- and what's funny is --- my life has almost identically mirrored the authors (Clueda's) comments on the last few chapters --- so I will include them here paraphrased:
… Victor Trevor?" He revealed, " … of 156 Primrose Lane in Hampstead Heath?” He nodded at John, who was shaking his head, incredulously chuckling, “… or? Would you care to join me instead before we all make our way back to Jolly Old England?” His hand clamped down on Victor’s shoulder. A few policemen were making their way over to put the petty thief in handcuffs. Sherlock smiled as he waved them away.
John could hear in his head. But he did not see the fake Sherlock again … Maybe just knowing the real one was out there now, would help him to move on.
As he hung up the phone, not having been able to get another word in edgewise, he caught the pitying look in the cabbie's eye.
He couldn't bear the thought of unsolved crimes, without a Sherlock Holmes in the world to help solve them. Or a brilliant resolution ... without a genius behind it that would smile quietly at the praise John was sure to give him, for it.
He steeled himself. Noting that this took more reserves of bravery than chasing a criminal down an alleyway had ...
Sherlock dashed a looked back to her face, to see her smirk, “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do you honestly think you’re the first man to have disappeared on me? I know the difference between suicide and running away.”
He didn't NEED her hired friends, ta! Mike was FINE. This was about all the 'stag do' he could handle!
How Sherlock had laughed at the priceless look on Mycroft’s face, when he saw that there was now going to be
The hotel bar was elegantly furnished. High back chairs served as barriers between patrons in the tight space. Bodies were crushed together in the sweltering heat of the fireplace. And John was feeling nicely buzzed with a drink in his hand, and his best dress shirt on. He’d already caught several approving looks from both women, and
Sherlock had invited John for one more dinner at the Landmark, that night. Before giving up his employment. The big reveal, and all that.
"I was incurably slow on the uptake, I'll admit," Sherlock took another sip, looking anywhere but at John.
He followed her and lifted her bags easily in his hands. Carrying them for her back into the flat. The stairway stretched above him. Green. Wallpaper. That hideous glass multicolor light. Down here, the mirror. Fogged glass doors. The coat hooks ...
"Is this a normal evening for you?" He was asking, to keep the mood light, "a couple of arrests, a few light muggings …? You know … you didn't have to invite danger just to
He himself had felt so empty since the war. Like a balloon that might float away into the sky at any moment, if not tied down ...
He stepped over the stack of files spread out around him on the floor of 221b and started the kettle on to boil. Picking up the phone and dialing for some takeaway without bothering to ask. She would eat whatever showed up. He felt fairly certain, at this point.
A few guests had filtered out and been replaced by new faces while he ate. He ordered another drink and a hot coffee. He enjoyed the view. He was in no rush. And neither were the wait staff. Usually so anxious to get their tip and hustle you out to make room for the next customer ... the waiters tonight seemed to pass him as if he was one of them. Belonged here. Had rights the other PG's did not. He found himself smiling again. Good spot here. In the corner ...
John grabbed at his glass of ice water and instead of splashing it on himself, followed through with a long, deep chug. Ignoring the cold that was numbing his insides.
Maybe it would only take the right impetus to bring him out of it? If it was trauma induced? Psychosomatic. PTSD?
"Jesus," he cursed under his breath, and then to her, "thank you. I'll be off now. Where is my bill?" He was fumbling for his wallet. This was mortifying. Half an hour passed out like a schoolgirl on dissection day...
They enjoyed a few shy moments awkwardly looking away from one another. Before again meeting eyes … and again trying unsuccessfully, to keep from laughing …
- reminding everyone that Sherlock was gone now, and that the resident genius could no longer solve their fascinating cases. As much as he would like to. Unless he had something in the files that may be of use or reference from their previous work. In which case, he was willing to offer any assistance and research.
“I suppose you may not know it but … Detective Inspector Lestrade, I look up to as a father figure. He’s given me more chances than he should have … in the time that I’ve known him. And it has been … a long time. Met him when I was a teen.”
Or come up with some odd excuse to party late into the wee hours …?? Surely there must be some all night bars here? Or even a rave going on? He hardly cared …
Almost a month of Fridays had come and gone. John was feeling every inch of the walk that had taken him from the Surgery to the Landmark. But he had needed the room to clear his head. Sherlock's voice was breaking in more frequently of late. And not always in character.
Maybe he understood these super humans more than he expected he would? Having been around Sherlock Holmes for so long.
The cabbie watched him carefully from the rear-view mirror as they pulled up to the curb, and he made ready to alight. He didn't care. He was thrilled that he had been right!
intend to update more often now! I found this first chapter a little tricky, and my audio and editing software would not cooperate! which is partly why it took so long. In the end ... I had to scrub it all and re-record.
There was a cold wind shearing it's way through his thin jacket and he could not wait to reach the restaurant. He needed a nice quiet, gentle place to rest for a few hours undisturbed. Able to people watch and not look conspicuous doing so. A restaurant was ideal. As long as you kept ordering food (and paying for it) they were more than happy to oblige. John knew he would find himself staying longer and longer hours each Friday night, if he returned. Maybe he could ask the manager to set aside a table for him?
"He’s going to be rude to you. Incurably rude. But you can NOT let him push you away!! Do you understand this, Mike? Tell me you understand how important this is?!” Sherlock was taking Mike by the shoulders and spinning him around. Boring into his eyes with a fierce gaze. Mike felt rather like a mouse trapped by a python. Sherlock was being SO serious.
“Where’s the orchestra?” John half-joked, pretending to look over Sherlock’s shoulder for more musicians hiding in the wings ...
Sherlock turned and blocked out the imposter entirely, giving the whole of his attention back to John,
John stuttered in his thoughts. Two sides warring with each other in this. "SHERLOCK!!!" he was yelling into the crowd. And they would not let him through. He was being pushed back. Sneaking through as a kid to see the corpse one more time. A crowd had gathered around and they all wanted to see, and they were pushing him out of the way ... others were pulling him away ... dragging him from the gravestone … pulling him hard by his hands, his hair.. and a very alive Sherlock being buried in the open grave before that cold black stone ... "NO, no, NO!!" John was yelling as they manhandled him, “you can’t bury him!” and carried him off ... "SHERLOCK!!!" pulling at him … leading him ... away from the body ... a breathing body ...
She hung up the phone, pinching her nose and leaning against the frame of the doorway to the kitchen. Looking every bit ‘done in’.
He had read the room wrong! He spun around and went red from head to foot. Noting that he had already kicked off his own shoes in his haste … he embarrassingly picked them back up now and made for the door. At least he wasn’t naked for the walk of shame ...
As he glanced around the room, he noticed a slim white dress on soft curves and dark hair pulled up in a bun - his breath caught momentarily as she pulled her companion, another woman up to leave, arm-in-arm. John could not catch a glimpse of her face. And he knew that 'The Woman' was dead, after all ... A tinkling laugh filtered back as they made their way out of the room and John once again felt it in his core. Shaken.
"John,” Sherlock whispered in a hushed tone, almost afraid to break this reverential silence. And John settled down onto his heels again.
Watson had watched with humor, as the mask began to slip from Sherlock's stoic exterior throughout that past year. The longer he knew him. If anything, you would think this would have shattered the persona, the brilliance of Sherlock Holmes. Diminish him in some way, in Watson's eyes. But it had the completely opposite effect. It endeared him to him, so much the greater, than if he had found no flaws. No chinks in the armor. At all.
. Turn him inside out … leave him raw and bleeding internally ... to make this dying, desperate plea!
John watched as Sherlock came jogging back, grinning, “Doesn’t mind stopping at the hotel! Instead of the full tour. Quite generous really. They usually don’t make stops? Just the rounds, it appears. Interesting. Took pity on us!”
John smiled into his mouth. Huffing a laugh that filled Sherlock’s throat with John’s sweet breath. Sherlock kissed the smile and drank in his breath. He wanted to be filled with it, John gasped at the desire that action had caused, stopping the kisses just to catch his breath! Ha. “You are a madman. What? Why? Take me on a date? How many have we been on already?"
When someone wrote to 221b, asking the detective to help them find a way to explain their bad decision to their family - to protect themselves from the onslaught of public opinion and personal duress - John had thrown the letter away. Mostly unread. He had no solutions for
It licked like a fire into even the smallest hidden corners of his life. Places he had not realized Sherlock had touched, had been irrevocably changed. Altered carbon. Now ashes.
he was to play ... shortening his timelines …" Sherlock turned back around to pin the imposter in place, “can't really say I’m glad on that score ... Performance was a bit weak,
John went over to the sink then, and filled up the kettle. The slightest incline of his head registering the present awareness. He was turning it on to make tea. Enough for two, Sherlock noticed, as he got out the mugs.
“John, I need you to know three things,” Sherlock began in earnest, “One - Moriarty is dead. Of that I am certain.”
Sherlock shuffled over to the kitchen. Chuckling. Unbuttoning his dress shirt as he went, and heading towards the bedroom to change into something more comfortable for sleep attire.
name. Unlike the banks of stones that had been marked with hundreds at a time, filling the nearby plot.
The hollow sound that the door made as it hit the wall, reverberated through Sherlock's ribs and spine.
Nat seemed to catch his tension then, humming a gruff agreement, and cast her eyes down for a moment to join him in the silence. Like she understood the sentiment, but not the subject matter ...
“Well,” he decided to wrap up the inevitable, asking one more time “will you come? Harry? To the wedding?
It was something John saw time and time again in the military, and especially during the war. And he was disgusted by it as a rule. Pain does not justify further pain. An eye for an eye only makes everyone blind.
Their hands brushed a little with the exchange, and John held his hand there at the touch a moment longer than necessary. Looking up. Catching Sherlock's eye. A monumental effort to not step up into the genius' space and snog him silly for all of his antics this afternoon - and for how much he couldn't bear the space that was currently separating them …
"Your coffee, sir!" the waiter was bowing as he placed it on the table. Blocking any further inspection or desire John might have had to go after her and find out.
"Glad of it," she was saying, gathering up her things to go, "just you take it easy Dr. Watson? Perfectly understandable. You've been through a lot. Get some rest tonight." She was up and off without a name or a handshake. John didn't mind. He wanted to crawl into a hole.
John frowned. Sherlock would not have spoken like this. Beyond flirtation. Quite filthy. John colored red.
As a general rule, Sherlock was downright rude when anyone showed emotion. Emotions were messy things that complicated the facts.
"Little things ... “ she said, bustling around her kitchen as she spoke then. Never idle hands, Mrs. Hudson.
?” He asked now, incredulously. As if he half expected Sherlock to be teasing him with a hidden record player somewhere. A revealing display of his adoration for the raw talent laid before him …
come all this way. “I realize now, you probably did not mean for it to be taken in that way, but … let’s just say I was …”
“And what does the gentleman want?” the waiter asked, turning towards John. Sherlock tried to speak, grabbing at the man’s arm for attention instead, and the waiter silenced him - rudely. “I said
The young man turned around, leaving the note in John's astonished hand. As another in his wake, delivered a freshly baked tart and a Cornish pasty to John's table with a flourish. It looked like a photograph for the cover of a food magazine.
Where Sherlock's eyes had been closed a moment ago, he was now really looking him over … pinning him with those crystal blue eyes … piercing and haunted … He was mesmerizing. The snake charmer again, with his spells. Reading the signs, John was sure, as his pupils dilated, and his breath caught, and his heart sped up in response … all to Sherlock’s nearness …
But John Watson felt none of that anger in his case, nor the righteous vindication in either argument.
Sherlock was breathing half in through his mouth, and half out through his nose. Trying to steady his breaths. Striving for normality. John saw his nostrils flare a few times as he worked to tamp it down. His eye wandered to Sherlock's jawline, the curve of his delicate ear. Sherlock's hair was darker than John had remembered it ... almost raven. Dark and ... with hints of auburn in it.
- and John stepped threateningly towards him again … Before he smartly turned and shot off in the direction his friend had escaped.
! You're dead!!!" he was saying. Eyes wide with terror, looking around - could the others see him too? Is this what madness was like?
The man leaned forward, as if imparting a top secret … “very YOUNG actually.” The man seemed pleased with his answer, “no one ever suspects the young ones. I was …”
have received a call from a certain Hotel Maître d' … and of course I tried calling you … several times, but I thought, perhaps it was just that your phone was off? For your
"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you," Sherlock stepped forward to accept it abruptly as she walked up. Hoping she would then turn around. Seeing as how strangers were present, and Molly was a bit shy.
He also doubted that she had been given permission to reply anything outside of the scope of Sherlock's dismissal from the premises. And so ...
Their thighs were pressed together hip to knee, one leg threatening to overlap his own, but holding back, for some reason. And his hands, Sherlock’s beautiful hands were hovering around John's waist tentatively, as if unsure what to do …
He had shivered a little as he entered the restaurant, momentarily. Shaking off the cold and lifelessness that he had left behind in that hateful café. Sherlock must have seen. Sherlock must have been watching.
Hailing a cab had not been possible at this hour, and Sherlock rejected the waiting black vehicle that stood to receive him just outside of front doors ...
Sherlock was asking, awkwardly. Indicating the unused device still sitting in John’s upturned hand. John shook himself from his thoughts.
Sherlock allowed himself to look up then, a shock of genuine surprise written all over his features, "Oh."
The reviews had said “a dance hall to make your friends jealous with envy!” and “the best views from EVERY room!” He doubted anything about the facility was as genuine as it was imitating ...
-lose-control', sort of low growl. And Sherlock could feel the sensuality of the statement in his core. He shifted slightly closer. Bringing a bit of himself into contact. Any more than this ... and he really
The dry leaves beneath his shoes crumbled. Crunching in the earthy moss and grasses that covered the churchyard, largely untended. A few graves stood out. Well groomed, with a vase and flowers regularly standing vigil.
Statistically it was likely to start with A,J,T, or S. Last name was likely to start with D,W,M, or S.
"'I should be the one thanking you," John mustered at last. Warm breath seeping into the silk on Sherlock’s shoulder, "Sherlock?"
"I need to see ..." He struggled to get up, as the young man was physically blocking him from getting out of his seat in the booth.
John said. And flipped the menu over harshly. Reviewing all the drink options carefully. He may need a few tonight ...
Sherlock's lips brushed over John’s closed eyelids. Caressed his cheekbones. His mouth parted and he kissed down John’s jawline, and neck. Spending a moment to apply one soft kiss to his Adam's apple. Then he was taking John’s mouth to his, and really taking his time. John clung to him. Relief and passion and ecstasy pouring through his veins. A cocktail to combat the misery and monotony of their past lives alone.
Standing next to an incredibly wild looking Sherlock, all breathless and devastatingly handsome with his Belstaff restored. Coat collar and cheekbones. Winking down at him as he peered around the corner at their prey. John took his outstretched hand and they gave chase once more …
John stepped back and waved at them both - in dismissal. As they rolled away, shouting out to Lestrade, gruff with emotion, “When you get there, give my love to the Chef? Will you? And tell him
John's jaw dropped and so did his fork. He closed his eyes. Wishing Sherlock away. Something about respect to the dead playing in an endless loop in his mind.
The food was delicious. The day had not been a complete waste he supposed. It had firmly solidified two things for him. #1 - he himself
“You convinced them that I was dead. Gave me a chance,” Sherlock explained further, “They stopped following you. They stopped looking for me.”
"I really am going to have a lot to keep up with in bed, aren’t I?” John teased, seeming heartily up for the challenge presented … and Sherlock growled a low rumble. Picking John up, bodily from the counter and carrying him up the stairs.
This was John now. This was reality. An angry smile froze his face and prevented the hot stream of tears that threatened to break loose ...
Hair a silky mess of curls. Raven black and reflecting almost blue in the moonlight ... A pale, delicate complexion, almost feminine … all sharp angles and long, thin form … scholarly, and worldly, and somehow ... yet ... sheltered. With a softness to him, in hints, in his features ... that made him immediately look …
“I had been aware that Victor Trevor was in town, and to be honest, his appearance has never been a personal
as the shrapnel that lay lodged permanently in his shoulder … and the inexplicable limp he had inherited along with it, in his right leg …
John finds himself settling into a rhythm. And, strangely, against all odds, with Sherlock was increasingly at his side.
And when days, turned into weeks. And weeks, turned into months. And months, turned into a full year. And then, they had been celebrating their first ... what?
John had never really heard this tone of voice from Sherlock before. The closest he had ever come to such an attitude, had been after the old woman was killed under Moriarty’s thumb, just as she tried to reveal something about the bomber to Sherlock …
He tore at his jacket and dress suit. Stripping his garments and unbuttoning his shirt throwing it in haste ... to breathe ... just breathe ... !!! He felt his shoulders wrack with it. Shuttering in on himself as he crumpled to the floor, sobbing. Heaving breath after violent breath. His exposed back leaning against the cold doorframe like an earthquake victim, sheltering from the inevitable disaster. Even as it descended, unimpeded to wreak havoc.
He strolled as casually as he could towards John. Watching how John was registering his every movement. Tracing him with his eyes.
John had nodded and leant against the wall. He tried not to throw up. Tried to detach and think like a doctor ... to remind himself how this was
Sherlock shifted, sounding concerned. His hand reached out and smoothly started rubbing up and down John’s arm, to calm him. John covered his mouth with his hand and tried to stifle the remaining outburst. But of course ... no one ever could ...
When Sherlock stepped back inside, John in his arms ... John indicated to lower himself and stood then, upright. His first action being to then turn the tables and pin Sherlock up against the door behind him ...
John had decided by then - Sherlock realized as he looked into his eyes - that Sherlock himself could not be anything
John sipped at his black coffee. Studiously ignoring the figure that sat across from him in the darkened booth. His fork lifted again to his mouth, and the ghost again spoke as the fork touched his lips.
Would John have to relive this horrific nightmare? Watching Sherlock die all over again? This time on a table?
"You are," John stated simply, "after all - the only thing that made life worth living." Then John lifted his chin, and stood up straighter. As the police officers came and took him in arm, guiding him away.
“Hi? Hello?” he was waving down the maître d', “Hi! I was ...uh … wondering if a ‘Sherlock Holmes’ was registered to stay here tonight? By any chance?” John gave the man his winning smile, “friend of mine - said he might be here this weekend?”
Each time, John waited for the inevitable ... “It’s genius,” they would say, “absolutely brilliant. You say this guy is gone now?” Always praise for him … followed up inevitably by, “such a pity! We could have used his help!”
Not a paving stone outside of St. Bart's - still stained - that he could not help but notice with each passing.
It was busy work, mostly. Helping out with minor tasks and mysteries to be unraveled for the Avengers team. Stuff that seemed, not insultingly, but logically, beneath the scope and requirement of the skills of an avenger. John dove into it head first. Thriving on the energy of the group. Going in to the surgery less and less often as the weeks progressed.
Our protagonists wind up as roommates, and John may soon live to regret it! Who is this Sherlock Holmes?
Sherlock's eyes travelled up from their intertwined hands then, and he caught John staring openly at him. Like it was Christmas. Like
John grabbed a bottle from a crate that was moving past him and opened it up. Downing more than necessary in a few desperate gulps as he decided to sneak off and get a bit of fresh air wherever he could steal it.
John rejoined to answer her question, this time letting rudeness creep into his voice, “Yeah, you know - I thought everybody understood
If he was going to be romantically involved with someone, something he knew his obsessive personality could not DO by HALVES .... Then he needed to know - first and foremost - that they could work
into the room further with his gaze, as he casually finished his toast and swallowed those last few bites.
His brain was fizzling out gloriously as he listened to the rapid breathing of the man beneath him. Felt his erratic pulse as it raced. Knowing his own must be doing much the same thing ...
“When will he be back?” She clearly paid no attention to his attitude, and was quickly cataloguing everything in the house with a sweep of her eyes. It was an unsettlingly familiar behaviour to John, and it took him a moment to recover at the onslaught of images of Sherlock standing and spinning in place as he documented a room …
So John had to admit that it was flattering for an unknown author like him to have grabbed the attention of the most sought after publisher in town.
Sherlock asking the words that Irene threw at him that day at Battersea, made John want to retract his request. Take it all back
His eyes went back to Sherlock. “Are you … are you here for a case still, then?” John asked, again looking around with dodging eyes at the scenario. The restaurant. The hotel. The … oh
Sherlock quite agreed. As they kissed and bumbled their way into the hall. Making out against the wall there for a moment, where he pressed John against him and drew out a few delicious moans for good measure. Before John reached out behind them and killed the kitchen light. Dropping down to lead Sherlock back into
“Your date here had other plans for you,” Sherlock was rapid-firing, using every ounce of his BRILLIANCE and deductive reasoning to evidently tear this imposter to shreds! “A gigolo,
John rubbed his hand at the back of his head. Mussing up the hair a bit. In a way that made Sherlock's insides uncoil and want to pounce.
in love with Mary ... ? That I was marrying her because she was the best thing that could possibly have happened to me this past year, and I just ...” He was keeping his eye on his ale as he asked. Liquid courage extended to visual tethering as well, it appeared … but he didn’t know how to end that statement? Question? Betrayal?
Sherlock was hardly surprised at this point, when a well dressed staffer came in on patent leather high heels - handed him his coat - and told him he was free to go. At 3 a.m.
He stubbornly flipped through his phone apps and hired an Uber. Not even waiting for the blue sedan to stop a few minutes later, before hopping into it's back seat. He rolled away with a glare to the chauffeur as they passed.
They went over to a section that was clearly the highlight of the whole tangled web. A central point that zeroed in at none other than Bart’s bloody hospital … and John gasped as Sherlock pointed to it.
It was habit, John self-realized. He then felt the look from Sherlock again, another puzzle piece fitting in place. '
His face was inches from John's own. His body betraying him, even as his heart wanted to hold. He was keeping himself back from pressing any part of him closer to John, but feeling the energy sing between them.
"I am by your side, Sherlock. For what it's worth." John stated, "Just the two of us against the world." He sounded fatalistic. And Sherlock dreaded where his mind was, as he continued. "I've always wanted just to
Sherlock leaned forward to meet John's lips with his own. Immediately sealing them. Almost like … Sherlock had never kissed before? He held his lips there.
Sherlock's genius was no less brilliant in the face of actual super-humans. John knew, that what made a hero - truly - was the heart and character behind the mask.
John swallowed. Dear God. What monster had he now created? He sat up straighter. Fork in hand. He eyed it with distrust. Did he dare take another bite with Sherlock watching? He sat deliberating as he slid another slice under it's tongs. Then he looked around the room. Gauging how many people, if any, could really see him right now? If they looked? He counted. One, two, three … about a solid half-dozen. But they would have to really turn. Really try. Sherlock was right. Almost no one could see him in this corner.
The morning light woke Sherlock this time. A soft glow that radiated into his comfortable, furnished, just-stepped-into-a-time-warp-room back at 221B.
tell him ... Mrs. Hudson? And now that I’m back, I ... ” - his thoughts stuttered for once, so wrapped up in the hardest thing his mind had ever tried to comprehend - “how much was I imagining was there …? … how much of what I thought he … ? Before ... I ?” His eyes searched hers for some sort of hope. If it had been there? If he hadn’t been the only one seeing it? Even if it was
“Dunno? Just sounded like a romantic place to run off to?” Mike shrugged, “you were always a bit of a romantic, if I recall!” He waggled his eyebrows at John, and had John laughing again.
John doesn’t love you because you’re a trick pony that he can parade in front of people. He enjoys the quiet and the silence, not talking for days, and hearing you play. Just being. With you. It refills his batteries, just as much as it recharges yours. Don’t forget that. You both need away time.
“You invited me. To come?” John explained. Holding up the text. Needing to justify his visit here, and to help Sherlock understand just why exactly he
He soldiered on anyhow. Looking for a familiar landmark, grumbling under his breath about needing to find a guide, and desperately wishing that he had done some
“Nevermind. I'm arguing with a ghost!" John laughed and threw his hands up. And then took a sip of water, but looked up to realize that ...
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock shouted out, with as loud a knock of his elbow against the door as he could muster while holding his brother's legs.
The woman sucked air in between her teeth and broke the gaze that she was holding with Sherlock, “See, the King down there is not too pleased that you got out of your fate so easily. And your father, well, he pushed his luck with that last deal.” She looked back up, eye flashing red between batted eyelashes.
Sherlock just leaned into the shock of the affection and smiled into his brother’s thinning hair, “Better have been for good reason.”
in the detached tone of his brother’s voice that bounced around in his skull, Sherlock was not going to let his brother just die here.
Mycroft pulled back from the hug with a slight chuckle, “I’m the responsible one here, don’t forget that I’m the one meant to order you around, Sherlock.”
What unfolded next was a muddle of John tripping over his words while trying to bring himself back to earth and Mary’s expectant comments as she waited for the moment John would propose.
Life moving onwards was nothing new under the sun, but oh how John Watson longed for that fortune to be proven wrong like it had been on that first night he spent with Sherlock so long ago.
“Sherlock, wha-” Mycroft's eyes turned wide, and Sherlock finally saw Anderson. He was positioned, almost lunging and reaching out, weapon in hand, like a renaissance painting, behind his brother. The chair leg was at the bottom of his brother’s spine, already having traveled the length of it. Mycroft fell into the grip of his brother’s hand and the weight toppled Sherlock, who helped move his brother down gently to grip him in his lap.
But those days of estrangement and abandonment were whisked behind them, any remaining resentment being left in the dust that kicked up behind the Impala.
The sound of the door at the bottom of the stairs startled Mycroft from his sleep. He knew Mrs. Hudson was out for the day and Greg wasn’t meant to be home for at least an hour. His bones shook at the thought that it could be Moriarty, back to reclaim his soul and drag him into doing his dirty work.
Mycroft let his breathing calm and nodded while moving to resume his position at the top of the stairs waiting expectantly for Greg.
She swayed again and ran a finger down his chest, brushing over a spot of his brother’s dried blood on her way down. At this, his own blood boiled and he swiftly grabbed her wrist “What then? A year”
“John.” Sherlock spoke, more softly than he had intended, “It suits you. Fit for a military man. One of heaven that is.”
His eyes snapped up, wide and shaking with anger and fear and sorrow, to see Anderson stumble around the far corner of the hall.
At the mention of his brother, Mycroft pulled his hand from Greg’s and turned, swinging his legs over the side of the table and staring intensely into his friend’s eyes, “What did Sherlock do? Don’t you dare tell me you let him do something reckless.”
The world shuddered and gold feathers flashed around him. Sherlock’s head was spinning by the time he found his feet planted before the black door of his old home.
-know how much I loved you, thought John, his eyes shut and his head dropped a bit, anything to stop his world from spinning any faster. His stomach was turning, his heart was shattered and in that moment, he knew the words had come too late. Why couldn’t he have said it two years ago instead of letting them slip on the night he was going to propose to someone?
Lestrade had dropped off a box of Sherlock’s things; a DVD caught John’s eye. He poured himself a drink and placed the disc in the player.
What he saw was a funny, flawed, ordinary version of Sherlock that he had nearly forgotten amidst the constant tabloid talk about “the sociopathic detective.”
With Mycroft beside him now, he wrapped the Belstaff properly around his dear friend and hoisted him into the backseat as Sherlock army crawled his way under the fence as well. He was grateful that his coat had made it so he didn’t have to drag his belly along bloodied ground.
Mycroft ran his hand down his face in frustration and sucked in a tight breath, “Time to find him then. At least we’ve got ten years before he gets dragged to hell.”
Amidst the joy and the sounds of stories being passed on, Mycroft looked over to catch Sherlock’s eyes, a knowing look pasted on his face.
Sherlock, she’s still devastated. Hasn’t even touched our old rooms. Our chairs are still sat right across from one another, the dust you refused to clear away has settled in like another piece of furniture, the wallpaper is still covered in bullet holes and yellow smiley faces. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how much it hurt. I could still hear your violin playing, I could still feel your eyes watching me from your spot at the desk, I could still smell the familiar scent of your favorite soap. God Sherlock, I miss you. But, like I told Mrs. Hudson, I’m moving on.”
He smiled at the angel by his side and popped the collar of his coat before pushing gently into the flat.
The fourteenth was made on a Sunday in November. “I was walking around town, which has gotten much easier by the way, and I saw a blue scarf in the window of a shop. I think you would have liked it. I nearly went in and bought it for you, but I decided it wasn’t worth it to leave a £200 scarf on a tombstone.”
A devilish smile crept across her lips, “Your brother escaped the King of Hell. Moriarty isn’t too pleased with that. Mycroft was the only one leftover from his little...experiment. He needs someone for the job
Upon reaching steady ground and stretching up, he rubbed his forehead as a loud, sharp pain struck him, but he ignored it and began the trek to civilization.
Understanding his situation, one he would rather not have to deal with, being buried alive and all, he quickly shut the metal lid of his lighter, not wanting to waste a single more breath of oxygen on the small fire. He noticed his scarf had returned around his neck, which he promptly used to cover his nose and mouth to avoid any dirt intake, and quickly began to kick up against the end of the box, splintering the wood and letting the dirt build at his feet. When it became looser, he pushed the top of the coffin up with a huge amount of force and pushed the dirt that fell in down to his toes. Slowly, he maneuvered his body into a crouching position in the loosened dirt and stood, the brightness of the morning sky too much after such physical deprivation of light.
“I keep meaning to call Mrs. Hudson. I know you’d probably be pretty pissed at me if you knew I hadn’t phoned her. Anyways, I saw her today, from the end of an isle at the grocer’s. As soon as I saw her, I slipped away, hopefully unseen. I knew it would hurt all over again if I went to greet her.”
On December 25th the call was silent in John’s realization that Sherlock was not coming back. “Happy Christmas.”
“Sherlock’s dead,” He said with conviction, still pointing the barrel of the gun right between the eyes of the intruder.
“Give it up, Moriarty says it’s either you or me.” the man was pushing down harder against Mycroft, barely getting his words out, “I prefer the former.” Sherlock could see the man pressing his arms down with all of his strength when suddenly, Mycroft flipped the man over and pinned him down, one hand tossing the chair leg to his side and the other delivering a quick sock to the jaw.
Mycroft was smart-- too smart for his own good apparently. That was overtly clear on this particular Tuesday, as well as during the preceding week.
John noticed his calls were becoming short and casual. He couldn’t decide if it was because he was trying to distance himself from Sherlock or if he really was healing. He didn’t know how to tell the difference really, but it almost seemed like his calls were more casual now. Just an update here and a memory there, Sherlock would appreciate that, John thought.
Silence engulfed the last call of the day. John just had to hear the voice one more time before he drank himself into oblivion.
, despite incessantly blogging during the first moments of the film, was on the edge of his seat, arms hugging his knees and eyes glued to the television. After the movie had ended, he had tried to convince John he still thought the Bond films were a waste of time, but had failed miserably. John smiled at the memory but kept pouring more whiskey into his glass, almost subconsciously, as he hoped the pain of his memories would go away.
“I’ve decided to stop blogging. I think I’ve just gotten myself stuck on the past we had and not the future I have to look forward to. Of course, Sherlock, I suppose that means I should probably stop calling as well, but not quite yet, I don’t think.”
“It’s a bit gloomy out today. Not really any different.” John couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he hung up on his tenth call.
All Sherlock had ever done was hunt-- his brother had gotten out, was on his way to the top, when Sherlock,
Call fifteen was a rant. “Bloody hell, Sherlock. You knew what losing you would do to me. I’m slipping right back to where I was before you.”
May 2nd brought call thirty-two. “I went for a date. I don’t think you’d like to know that, but I suppose not all is what we’d like it to be.
He turned to face the demon. A woman stood there, stark naked, save for a pair of black heels and lips as red as cherry pie. Her hair fell against her shoulders, black as the riding crop she held in her left hand.
. Sherlock let rage carry him to the end of the hall, ignoring the tears prickling in his eyes and gripped the hilt of his weapon, pulling it from his victim's neck. He then stood straight, turned, and walked with purpose back to his brother’s body.
He let the wave of sudden emptiness crash over him as he leaned hard against the register and grabbed one of his stolen bottles to drink once more. Halfway through his second gulp, a sound like wind rushing through the forests next to his childhood home fluttered past him, and he brought himself back from drowning in the sweetness of the water.
The soothing violin of ‘Dust in the Wind’ filled all the blank gaps in Sherlock’s mind palace as he drove out, further and further from London, and into the green countrysides surrounding Sussex. When he reached the dirt path he was seeking, dawn was just beginning to stir.
John pressed his trembling hand in a fist against the wood of the table as a sort of attempt to silence the commotion whirling around him. In a suppressed whisper John spoke “Two years." A deep breath paused his words,"Two years.” John’s wide eyes fell as the realization of Sherlock's return hit him in another wave. “I thought,” though words failed him for a moment, he continued “I thought you were dead.” He let out a sound, almost prompting Sherlock to reply, but left no room for Sherlock to speak. The voice of Sherlock he knew was composed of 29 words on an answering machine. “Now, you let me grieve. How could you do that? How?” The anger caused by shock, betrayal and lost time boiled inside John and he allowed himself to let go.
John just tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hand and used his other hand to heal his forehead with a simple swipe.
The second call came when John was drunk. He’d had a bit too much whiskey as he sat on his couch marathoning James Bond movies and thinking about the night that he had convinced Sherlock to watch them with him. Sherlock had adamantly refused, but after only 15 minutes into
“-lock? Sherlock.” Lestrade’s voice pulled him out of his trance, and he realized he had been stewing all the way up to the curb in front of his and Mycroft’s flat.
“Happy Halloween, Sherlock Holmes. Don’t you dare come to my door dressed as a zombie. I’d be bloody pissed off. Though I suppose I wouldn’t really mind you returning.”
He entered the tiny station and looked around before heading to a fridge towards the back and grabbing a bottle of water, guzzling it down without regard to the liquid pouring out from the sides of his dry, pink mouth.
“Today, I saw a man who looked a bit like Anderson. You would’ve loved seeing it, Sherlock. His eyes were all bulging out of his head and his facial hair was a mess. It wasn’t him of course, Anderson’s too much of a…you know. Anyways, if it had been him, it would probably have pleased you very much. All you really wanted in life, I’m sure. So, Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes. You deserve it.”
had stomped back into his brother’s life without a care and dragged him back into the life, all to find a father who had trained them, “Don’t be a hero. You can never save anyone but yourself.”
He opened the door quietly, his hand reaching to his side to put a hand on the hilt of his knife, specially, specifically and scientifically curated to kill demons.
“I was tempted to tell Mary about it. Maybe even take her for a meal, but that’s our place, that’s our memory.”
Howls encroached on him as he stood alone and felt the fan of hot breath around his feet before searing pain overloaded each nerve in his body and he was torn to shreds by hounds of Hell.
He considered the possibilities for but a moment before deciding that he had been standing in his own grave for far too long.
The shorter man smiled fondly and Sherlock ignored the flutter that found its way into his chest, “Call me John. I have one of the more simple names in heaven,” he looked contemplative, “but I assure you I am not any less worthy of a charge than those with more, say, angelic names, such as Castiel or Gadreel.”
“Sherlock, I’ve got to make this quick, but I’m sat here while Mary’s in the restroom and I don’t know, I don’t think I can do this. I keep trying to tell myself it’ll be all right, but I’m not convinced. Not when I know, not when I know how much I lo-
“Who are you?” He shouted from the top of the staircase, hands shaking even in their hold around the gun.
He stood from where he had been slouched down, napping in Sherlock’s old chair, and wrapped a silk robe he got for Christmas around his body. He grabbed the gun that hung over the mantle and snuck around the corner to peak out of the doorframe that gave him a straight shot down the stairs.
His mind squashed down all hope, until it rose like bile as the door pushed open and there stood his brother, bright-eyed and fresh-faced. Any nicks he had from hunting completely gone, like a too perfect version of his brother.
So, he dialed Sherlock. The phone rang incessantly until finally, after what John thought seemed like hours, he heard the familiar, soft, comforting sound of Sherlock’s voice. His drunken mind allowed him to chuckle at the voicemail as it was a clear creation of Holmes himself, but, John thought, indeed a colder reflection of who the man really was. Or
On December 24th John called in the middle of a Christmas party at Mike Stamford’s. “I wish you were here Sherlock. I know Christmas was a bit of a disaster last year, but at least you were here. People are right, the holiday’s are the hardest part of loss.” John took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “ I just wish…” But John couldn’t say anymore. He hung up the phone and rejoined old friends with a painful smile on his face.
However, the brief loss of his memories and with the hyperboles of his drunken mind, John became convinced that he had forgotten the sound of Sherlock’s voice.
“Here it goes Sherlock, just two hours to dinner and the inevitable moment I’ll truly have to let go of you. I hope you’re savouring this.”
The next week, John heard about a murder case in the news. With investigators apparently ‘baffled’ and John feeling particularly lonely, he called Sherlock.
“I posted on the blog today. It’s been so long, but I just had to do it. I started writing after I dreamt of you. I need to let go, to move on with my life, and the only way I’m going to do it is by accepting that you’re gone. I think you’d like to read my blog post from today, but considering you’re gone, I’ll read it to you.
On April 5th, John awoke at 2 am, his left hand trembling and vivid images from his dream still fluttering in front of his eyes. It was the first time he had dreamt about Sherlock’s fall since the weeks after it had happened. He had tried to block it out, but there he was, 10 months later, sitting up in his bed, sobbing and trying to find a way to escape the images painted across his mind. He called Sherlock. He wasn’t sure if it would help or hurt, but he couldn’t stay away. He listened to the answering machine and felt his breath slowing and his tears subsiding. He hung up and called again. He lay back in his bed and listened to the voice of his friend seven times over until he fell asleep with his phone cradled in his hands.
It was like that sometimes, for Sherlock. The world became, all of a sudden, too loud to handle. He ached to cover his ears and curl into a ball, but his hands were wrapped around his brother and covered in blood and his body couldn’t curl any further with the dead weight in his lap. He cried out again, and in that split second heard it clearer than ever.
Greg was woken by the startling movement of a hand gripped in his and his shock didn't cease upon seeing the cause of the movement.
“Greg...” Sherlock heard Mycroft say, before hearing Greg take two steps at a time up the stairs in utter concern. Mycroft stepped back inside the living room, letting Greg follow him and take in the sight.
Once over, his wool Belfast jacket stuck with the job of straddling the chain link fence for padding, Sherlock shook out his curls and looked back to Lestrade, who was leaned against the car, waiting dutifully for Sherlock and Mycroft’s return. He gave a curt nod in the direction of the silver-haired man and headed into the complex. Despite the ringing of
Sherlock laughed and grinned as John relayed his tale of rescue to Greg and an eavesdropping Mycroft.
“It’s today, I’m proposing today. I’m finally at peace with it, with all of this. I really think it’s the right decision. Mary has turned my life around, made it bearable to survive without you, and I think that’s all I have to say on the matter.”
“Alright, I know it’s only been 6 months, but I’m not going to find anyone else, am I? I wish you were here to knock sense into me, but my God, Sherlock, I think I’m going to propose to Mary. Tell me I’m not completely insane, it just feels so good to be wanted by someone. Life is empty without you, so I might as well, right?”
I like to think you probably did that when you were bored. In a sort of twisted way, it makes me feel closer to you.”
He turned, nothing. No one. He nearly yelled out into the brightening abyss when a figure caught his eye. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, but that was to be expected next to a demon of the crossroads.
However, John did call on the 1st of April with the absurd hope that this all might be some intricate, twisted plan of Sherlock’s, but he was sent straight to voicemail and John hung up without a word. He knew it was absurd to even think that Sherlock might answer, but, he thought, what is life without hope.
Sherlock just rolled his eyes and pushed his body closer to hers, “Bring my brother back.” he breathed through clenched teeth.
“I took Mary to your grave today. She wanted to see what it was like, wanted me to open up about what’d happened. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, share you with her I mean, but life goes on, and maybe it was good for me in the end. “
“Sherlock, it’s nearly January 1st” John slurred his words, “I’d reallllly like it if you’d be my new years kiss.” He let out a little ‘humph’ and a smile in his drunken state. “Don’t tell anyone I’ve said this, but I’d realllllly like a kiss from you.” John gave his phone a little peck and hung up. When the clock struck midnight, John was alone in a sea of people locking lips.
Lestrade nodded like it was a normal occurrence, trying to ignore the pure terror he felt upon the realization that, of course, nothing that rose a man from the dead could be pure, could be without consequence.
Greg’s eyes widened and he froze attempting to patch up the wounds of what he had just said, but none of his word vomit could fix it. Mycroft knew he had been dead, and him rising, there was nothing he knew of that could do that besides--
, it had been pounded into his head his entire life. It had been pounded into his head when he got a puppy, it had been pounded into his head when he played pirates with Victor Trevor, it had been pounded into his head before every case he and his father ever went on. ‘Caring is not an advantage,’ and he knew that, but he also knew, that when it came down to life or death, he wouldn’t let Mycroft experience the latter. Sherlock knew he was flawed, that his emotions in this instance would not get him anywhere, but his brother earned a life, deserved a life.
After a few hours of tinkering, it had worked, and soon, a distraught (but grateful) Sherlock was on his way with Greg Lestrade, owner of The Scotland Junk Yard, a run-down auto repair joint, in a 1967 Chevy Impala, imported from the States and practically the only car Greg had attempted to fully restore to its former glory.
Greg just pursed his lips and stood for the first time in hours, moving to Mycroft’s position in the doorway, gazing at the torn, bloody shirt that exposed his miraculously healed back, before enveloping him in a hug with a soft, "But you're okay and that's what matters." Mycroft froze at the contact, he and Lestrade had drifted since he moved out, but this, this hug felt all too much like
The pavement felt smooth under the tires of the glistening, black car, Sherlock’s blue scarf flapping out of the window in the wind. His curls were almost too long for him to drive safely with the windows down, but Greg had insisted, with a fond pat to the side of the car, “Windows down and music blasting, that’s the way to enjoy this baby.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at that but smiled as he had lowered himself into the driver's seat before Greg could see.
The tension of city traffic began to ache in the silence of the car and he switched the tape player on, the song they had arrived at the compound playing, and then pausing, starting mid-chorus.
Once outside, Sherlock jumped into the Impala and sped off faster than he ever had. He was used to only using the car on long hunting trips while opting for cabs when working in the heart of the city.
to be saved, and so Sherlock told himself that he didn’t care, that he wasn’t worried, that he wouldn’t let pesky emotions cloud his judgment, no matter what the scene he arrived upon looked like.
It’s funny; anniversaries are so often a time for celebration, but not this one. To think that it’ll have been a yea-”
However, his thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a waiter to which he responded by asking for champagne recommendations. This was meant to be a celebration after all.
John called Sherlock again when “that cock of a chip and pin machine” gave him trouble like it always did.
It was a Tuesday when Mycroft died. The rod had sliced straight through his spinal cord like it was softened butter.
The thirty-ninth call was John reminiscing about a case he was writing up for the blog. The Inexplicable Matchbox to be exact. Unfortunately, due to state secrets, that conversation cannot be disclosed in this context.
Call twenty-one was meant to be lighthearted, but birth was, to John, just another reminder of death.
Greg looked up and to his left at nothing in particular before looking back at Mycroft, “I’m glad you’re alive.”
It was a Sunday when Sherlock came back from the dead, decidedly more human than he had ever been before.
As he pushed a pile of twenty and five dollar bills into the pocket of his jacket, (it looked new, just slightly different than the one Greg had wrapped around his brother, the gold buttons a dead giveaway to its provider--
Sherlock looked eagerly at the angel that stood before him, the one that looked so beautiful both within his soft, kind vessel and without it, in his terrifying and awe-inspiring true form.
“Can I be quite honest, Sherlock? I’d have never fallen for Mary if you were here. I’m not even sure I
“Ah, I see. So,” Sherlock gazed guiltily at the counter where he had set all of the goods he intended to steal. He cleared his throat, drawing his attention back up to the being that presented itself before him wracking his brain for what he should say in the silence, “what should I call you?"
Call eleven was a butt dial. Sherlock was pretty much the only person he’d phoned in 5 months. No one was very happy with John for that, but life goes on.
“I’d like to think, if you were alive, that we’d be together by now. I wish with every bone in my body that I had said those words before you fell. But I couldn’t. So here I am, alone. Happy Valentine’s Day, Sherlock Holmes, be mine?”
Two weeks had passed since Sherlock fell. Two weeks and John was numb. He felt empty like the void of silence he had just committed to Sherlock’s voicemail box.
The angel smirked at him, “God’s work, Sherlock. Not mine. I am but a soldier in the battle for heaven’s souls.”
Sherlock flashed seething eyes at Greg and he promptly shut up, pulling out Mycroft’s feet first, which Sherlock took, and then eased the rest of the body out, positioning himself to support the body’s neck and head.
The day after Halloween, John called again to tell Sherlock that two little boys had showed up at the door dressed up as small versions of himself and Sherlock. “I hope you don’t mind…in fact I’m sure you
The concrete walls of the first building’s entrance were letting off swirls of loose debris as soon as he opened the door.
Greg’s mind finally stopped swirling and he pushed himself back up to standing, trying to figure some way for Sherlock and- and- well, Sherlock to get back over the fence. He growled and furrowed his brow as Sherlock came closer, and caved. He stomped to the back of the Impala and opened its trunk, propping it up with the shotgun that lay on top of all their other hunting weaponry. He grabbed a pistol and cocked it, moving back to the fence and shooting at the links that connected it to the ground. When he was satisfied, and Sherlock was finally nearing the end of his trek from complex to chain link, he ripped up the bottom of the fence at its now weak links and made a human-sized hole close to the ground.
“Alright. But Sherlock, you know your brother wouldn’t want you doing anything like, well, whatever you’re going to do.”
He reached down and placed his fingers on Mycroft’s forehead and suddenly, all the chaos, the conflict, the resistance, fled from within him. He looked up with wide eyes, far too innocent looking for a man of his age, but he couldn't help himself.
moved to take his hand from its spot on his shoulder. Sherlock instinctually stopped that from happening by placing his own hand on top of John’s, caging it in.
“The fortune cookie I got tonight said ‘Sometimes a stranger can bring great meaning to your life.’ What are the odds? It triggered the memories of you, Sherlock, and I wondered how life might have been different if that’s the fortune I had gotten on that fateful night. You gave my life meaning and now you’re gone.”
He let out a frustrated, “No!” and abandoned post at his brother’s body, letting him fall gently into age-old dust. Sherlock ran so fast he nearly missed the turn and hit the wall ahead of him straight on. When he got to that particular turn, Anderson was still hobbling, nearly reaching the next turn. Sherlock took his knife out of its sheath and in one quick movement, with a reverberating ‘ching,’ flicked it full force at the man running from him. With a crack, it hit Anderson in the neck and he fell, limp, lifeless, | [
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They leave within minutes, and an hour later when the sun begins to set, they find the secluded house they’ve been searching for. It’s quiet and eerie, and it seems as though no one’s home but Dean knows better than to take a missing car in the driveway as confirmation.
The hotel room they stay at is quite big with two double beds sitting right beside each other, separated by a small, varnished Oakwood bedside table. On the other end of the room is a round table set with a vase decorated with plastic sunflowers that Cas is mindlessly fiddling with as he watches Dean undress himself behind the ajar bathroom door.
"I figuered you'd need sleep since you're human now" After a while of doing nothing Dean decides on showing Castiel what he's been working on while he was gone. They're standing at the entrance of Dean's room and Castiel listens attentively to the adjustments Dean has had to make over the weekend to make sure that the room could cater for Castiel as well.
Dean can never not be fascinated by them, they’re like a thousand ravens huddled up on the man’s back, each feather smooth and glistening like silk underneath the dim lighting.
Within a few days of driving and taking every stop they can find to rest and indulge in each other’s bodies; they finally end up back at the bunker with Sam and Jack waiting for them with a warm meal set on the dining table.
It got better and yet worse as time went by. Better because he could breathe again. He could smile without feeling guilty and he could talk about moving on, about finding a normal job and a small home where he could live with miracle. Worse because Cas was still gone and that never-ending void in his heart and his soul was still there. Nothing made it better, nothing could make it better. Cas left and took a part of Dean with him, a part of him that he could never get back. He couldn’t do much but ignore it, pretend like it wasn’t there and maybe as time goes he’d forget it was there in the first place.
His hand itches to be held again, and somewhere in the back of his head, he hopes to go back in time just a few seconds and instead of saying nothing, he’d pull Dean close and let their lips dance together.
They’re in an open field surrounded by white and bright yellow wildflowers, their petals flying off as the hunter and his angel soar through the field pretending to fly. It’s silly and it makes them laugh but they don’t stop.
He pushes himself up and launches forward to where the shotgun is, he fires, first at the ghost, to save Dean, and then at David to slow him down and keep him from doing anything stupid.
“Dean, I’m so sorry" He didn’t know what to do or where to even stand as his face contorted with guilt and pain.
The music is loud and catchy, the beat and the lyrics about being someone’s end game and first string—whatever that means— appealing to Dean, forcing him out of his seat and over to a clear space where he can move as freely as he wants. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing, if he had he wouldn’t be dancing in a room full of strangers, carefree like there’s no tomorrow. Castiel watches in complete fondness, the alcohol not working quick enough for him to join the hunter on the dancefloor.
"Dean" Castiel's hand tentatively rests on Dean's knee, getting the human to turn and face him. His eyes matches Dean's, both drenched in pain and heartache and as if everything else wasn't enough to handle Castiel has to try and convince the man he loves that he's not going to lose him again not even 24 hours after already losing him.
Dean let go and they both looked to Sam, a petrified one. He still hadn’t processed his brother slipping away a few moments ago. It was beyond traumatizing and not even Castiel’s appearance could shake it right away.
Jack disappeared and Castiel revealed himself to the Winchesters. They were struck but neither of them had the capability to react to him.
“I just wanted to check on you.” Sam says before Dean could even begin to express his agitation. He makes sure to keep his distance, wanting Dean to invite him over and willingly tell him what the matter is.
“How about we go back to our room? We’ve had a long day; I think we deserve some pizza and a movie.” Dean suggests and lets his hand fall back down to his side. The warmth his hand provided is replaced by coolness and an emptiness Castiel wishes he could tuck away.
Their clothes come off easily and before they know it, they’re making love, with Dean beneath Castiel, moaning his name into damp skin while his strong arms wrap around Castiel’s body, as if to urge him to go deeper into him.
“You don’t think we should stay here?” Cas looks around to the chaos around them. He knows there’s nothing left for them to do, but still, he can’t help but want to turn the world upside down and find this killer.
“I don’t know but Cas and I are gonna have a word with his parents.” He gives a serious answer this time and gives Castiel a pat on the thigh before standing to his feet.
They don’t know how they ended up here but they’re glad they did. This moment so pure and precious that it’s already embedded deep into their souls and that whenever they feel alone all they need to do is just close their eyes and dream.
“I love them,” Cas interjects, his words as sure as the first ones he’d offered to his fellow angels after rebuilding Dean with his own two hands.
They were in Ohio, fighting against one of the last vampires to exist on earth, they just didn’t know it yet. It was rather difficult for Cas to watch and not put himself in between the Winchesters and the fanged monsters. He just had to watch, no matter how bad it got, all he could do was watch.
They’ve contacted Sam about thirty minutes ago and he helped with the tedious work Dean refuses to do. “You won’t ever make it in this line of work.” Castiel remembers teasing when Dean picked him up and lifted him so high that it felt like he was flying again.
“How about you give me a kiss as compensation.” Dean smirks when they get to his car. They both get in and Cas doesn’t waste any more time as he hovers over the gearshift and places a soft kiss against Dean’s lips.
Castiel growls out in both pain and pleasure and a few thrusts later he feels himself pooling deep inside of Dean, the thrill sending a wave of chills down his spine. Dean follows suit and spills all over their bellies, but he couldn’t care less about the mess as Castiel’s soft lips closes around his own, muffling out his screams.
“You don’t have to be so mean to him.” Cas speaks the minute that they step out of the diner. The air around them is warm, and the sun is at its peak, greeting them with sharp and blinding rays of light.
Dean licks his lips, and Castiel stands to his feet, not caring if he’s a little too buzzed to do it on his own. He manages though, almost like every ounce of alcohol has vacated his body.
He can’t find his gun anymore, and when the ghost appears in front of him once more, he feels the air begin to leave his body. Castiel's eyes widen, and they start to look for the shotgun but before he does, David catches him off guard and shatters a glass vase over his head. If it were any other day, he’d let himself fall to the floor and writhe in pain, but not today, not when he’s sure he can still feel the last bit of grace flowing around in him, not when Dean is being killed right in front of his eyes.
“You’re whole again, Castiel" Jack spoke and Castiel frowned. He wasn’t the same Jack anymore and the angel could feel it. He would have been sad if he knew how to. He still couldn’t feel a thing, all he could do was process the information of that loss.
Dean turns his gaze from his brother and takes a second to wonder if Cas had given them away, if he told Sam about what he said this morning. It’s possible, but Dean knows that no matter what hell Castiel goes through, he’d suffer it alone if it meant keeping Dean’s secret safe. His lips almost twist up with gratitude, but they stop somewhere in the middle of it, realising the pain that Cas must be going through right now.
Miracle, could sense his sadness and it wanted nothing more than to take it away as it cuddled up against his new owner and licked his face. It brought comfort to Dean, it was the only thing that brought him comfort since Castiel died. It wasn’t the comfort and love he craved for but it numbed some of the pain and he was grateful for that, grateful that he could breathe, even when it was just for a moment. A moment felt like an eon after all.
He doesn’t say a thing as he forces Castiel to climb off of him. The air around him is thickening by the second, and he can’t seem to breathe anymore. “Cas, I—” he falters, refusing to look at him while he speaks.
It was a day well spent and despite the awkward last moment of it, it didn’t tarnish the beautiful memories they’ve made and promised to hold onto until they no longer can.
“Cas?” he tried looking at him without passing out. His head hung back heavy as he locked eyes with the angel. It was truly him. He could feel it, not only with the touch of his hand but with his soul. His broken soul felt whole again.
But even as they’re standing there, Jess starts to think. About everything—the blood, the fire, the sulphur smell she couldn’t get out of her clothes. She thinks about the hands pulling her out, the way sam looked.
She nods, however hesitant. “The nightmare. It was about Sam, you know, that night. and I was there on the ceiling thinking that shouldn’t have been me.”
It’s then, when he passes the library mirror, that he sees his reflection out of the corner of his eye. Cas’ handprint is still there on his jaw—stark red, slightly pinking around the edges. Dean’s breath catches. The handprint never fails to surprise him. He catches glimpses of it everywhere he looks—the car, the kitchen, the television screen.
Sam—well, Sam is gone. He’s gone. Jess had come back from a midnight snack run to find Sam pinned to the ceiling. All she can remember is the hot lick of flames and hands pulling her out the collapsing door. And, and there’s nothing left. Not anymore.
Cas. Covets. Dean fucking Winchester’s bread. There’s sounds coming out of Cas’ mouth that he didn’t think he could make. When he reaches for the butter, it’s the perfect combination. He needs to save some of it or else it’d be gone in under an hour.
Cas leans forward, the smell of sourdough too enticing to give up. The pattern though—it’s scored to look like a bee. The beekeeper looks up at his fellow vendor, confusion written all his face. He hadn’t expected this.
“It’s a Chinese dish I learned from my neighbor during my twenties. It’s called dàn bǐng, which means it’s egg wrapped up in a scallion pancake. Do you like it?”
But something about it doesn’t feel normal, feels safe. Everything feels unnatural, like she’s not in her own skin. Tearing herself free of her sheets, she stumbles her way over to the window, trying to get fresh air.
Cas gathers the bloody hands in both of his, examining the cuts. “I did not ask you what you wanted, Dean Winchester, I asked you what you need.” The other man hisses in pain as Cas prods the open wounds.
Cas tilts his head, a slight smile on his face. There’s a pause as he thinks for a moment before saying, “Yes, Dean. I’m good. Thank you.”
The memory stings, like so many things do. But Dean looks at Sam, then at the bowl of rice on the floor. At how he’s created something from fragments. And, god, yes he might have bastardized it, but
It’s funny, this bereftness. Dean has never believed in angels. Never believed in them watching over him. Dean believes in ancestors. It’s one of the reasons he’s clung so heavily to Mary, completing rituals with no incense and scattered rice. His ancestors protect him.
Cassie’s backing away, though she’s still facing Dean. She has to get to her next class. Dean knows this.
Dean’s eyes fly open, emotions like pain and worthlessness flitting across his face. He tries to turn away, but Castiel holds still. Makes Dean look at him.
He remembers the way he clutched the back of Sam’s jacket. And then Sam, slouching against Dean—chin to shoulder—not registering anything.
But Dean walks out of the room Cas is in, takes up residence in the part of the bunker Jack hasn’t even explored yet.
“When a temple is a place of worship,” Cas continues, “the tenderness with which we perform certain actions is tantamount. To show love, devotion. Do you understand?”
Dean taps the wheel. “Been taking care of her since I was 16 and started to drive. Fixed her up from a junk pile in my uncle Bobby’s scrapyard.”
Golden light fills the room as Cas heals Dean and suddenly the weight on Dean’s chest feels a bit lighter, his breathing less shallow from the broken ribs. The sensation makes the man rock back, eyes finally closing, as flesh knits itself back together.
Dean moves closer to Cas, eyes soft. There’s a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m going to kiss you?”
But it’s also different now. He feels Cas draw himself up into a sitting position. Fingers gently grasp his chin, directing him to look at the other person.
There’s no significant reason why Cas shouldn’t be able to respond, but he’s opening his mouth and nothing’s coming out.
There’s a sharp silence that stretches out before them—Dean pursing his lips, staunchly looking away. If only he looked back at Cas, he would see the other man’s cheeks reddening.
The beekeeper looks over at Dean, eyes wide, and back down to their clasped hands. They’re holding hands. They’re holding hands and it’s nice.
Cas is at the pantry, looking for the right type of honey. What did he give Dean last time? He reaches back to grab one of the last remaining jars.
Cas thought he would send the baker off with a couple of honey jars and hope that he used them. Exchange done, they go their separate ways; Cas takes care of Dean from a distance, like orbiting a sun, but in no danger of getting hurt.
Cas leans down to kiss either of Dean’s cheeks. It’s not something he does often, the gesture (like most things) too intimate for them in outside settings. But here, here they are safe. Here, Dean can relax.
All the honey jars are unpacked now, and Dean wanders back to his own booth, sending finger guns Cas’ way while walking backwards.
“No, we’re good,” Dean continues, shutting the menu and tugging the other from Castiel’s grip before handing it back to the waitress. He can feel Castiel’s gaze on him.
Dean is asleep on the bed, legs akimbo but hands clenching the pillow. He’s likely in the throes of a nightmare. Cas strides forward, one hand outstretched to dispel them. The angel’s hand goes so far as to sink into the short hairs at Dean’s nape before the man snaps up, a gun in hand.
Something’s changed since Cas’ death. It doesn’t look like a home. It looks devoid of light, of warmth. Dean hasn’t stepped outside his room. Every time he tries, the bunker seems too vast, too cold.
“No time. Traffic was killer on the way in. I’m about 30 minutes late in set-up.” Dean gestures to the rest of the table, bags of full loaves haphazardly tossed on top. “Look at it. It’s a disaster zone.”
The exclamation doesn’t make Dean move back in, but the shiver that runs through Cas at the next gust of wind does. It shouldn’t be this cold, but Cas figures the drive from his house to the farmer’s market chilled him more than he suspected. There’s a reason he’s always bundled up in sweaters.
Cas sets the thermos down with a massive thunk. “Did you not use the honey? Your voice still sounds like
“Not at all.” Cas fidgets before continuing with, “It’s in the kitchen if you’d like to eat it now.”
“I haven’t asked for anything.” This anger is familiar. “Not a single, goddamn thing. You angels wanted my body, wanted to dress me up like a Ken doll. You
Dean gently smiles, dragging his hands down the sleeves of the jacket one last time before moving away and rummaging for something underneath the table. After a few seconds, he pulls out an umbrella.
. In fact, he desperately wants to stab something or, at the very least, send Dean a strongly worded anonymous note to cease and desist.
But even though the heating has kicked in, Cas still feels cold. He presses his hands together, trying to get feeling back into them.
It just happens that it wasn’t hate at all. Dean Winchester is a menace, and Cas loves him for that.
There’s a silence that blankets the room, makes Dean silently wish he hadn’t said anything. Words aren’t his friend most days and today is no exception.
, but it seems more a lie than ever before. Cas sees it in the way that Dean holds his body, the way he will deny himself what he truly desires. Cas has only known the man for a year or so, but even he knows this.
They stare at each other, Cas fidgeting under Dean’s ministrations. By now, Dean has slid his hand down Cas’ arm to run his thumb over Cas’s knuckles softly. As if to soothe the other man.
“Sure!” The baker’s voice is raspy—didn’t Cas give him honey to deal with that already? “Cas, where’s your honey dipper?”
It doesn’t make it hurt any less. The nurses come in and they poke and prod, asking questions with fake smiles like they can pretend everything’s fine. Like he didn’t get electrocuted.
The realization makes the breath catch in Cas’ chest. Because just like Cas can’t tell Dean how much he covets his bread, the beekeeper can’t tell Dean that perhaps he covets the baker as well.
“When I pulled you out of Hell, it was with a purpose. When I pulled you out of Hell, it was a battle. From the moment I touched your soul, something changed. I did not come all this way, I did not start having doubts for this. To have you view yourself as this unworthy. Do you understand, Dean Winchester?”
, she’ll call him when he reaches up and clasps her face between chubby hands. There’s something about this moment that never escapes Dean, even as he forgets how she looked, the way she did up her hair.
Dean draws back, moving one hand to clasp the back of Cas’ neck. “Me? I told you, Cas, I’m fine. That half hour on your couch? Best damn sleep I’ve had in months.”
Shaking her head, she turns to look out the window, resting her head against the cool glass. Jess hears Dean clear his throat.
Dean gives a half-smile, a consolation even as he claps his hands together in anticipation. “Hey, it’s fine. Let’s see what you’ve got; I’m starving!”
The baker quickly unlocks the door, guiding Cas in and walking over to the other side. When he slides into the front seat, he’s smiling and running his hands over the steering wheel. Cas thinks the car must mean an awful lot to him, but he’s still unsure why they moved and voices his concern as such.
“We were in Jericho.” Dean is still going. “Hunting a woman-in-white. Scorned woman type of ghost. Everything was fine, though my headlight’s still busted.”
He narrows his eyes suspiciously at that. Of course Dean would be good at kissing as well. Not that Cas needed a lot of convincing.
Jess bites her lip. Looks away. She looks at Dean, at anywhere other than the man in front of her. It’s too soon to do this—to face the truth, to understand Sam's not coming back.
Dean’s speechless. There are no words for this moment, for what he can have for the rest of his life. He’s never been particularly good at words, at articulating what he feels. It’s always been easier to reach out and do things. All action, no words. It’s easier to jump into bed than deal with the consequences of his emotions.
Dean lifts his head, looking back at Castiel and the hopeful expression on his face. He likes what he sees. For some unnameable reason.
He remembers Jack rushing forward for a hug even while Cas was struggling to get into a sitting position. Sam swooping in with a blanket.
The beekeeper nods again, waiting patiently with the cup held in both hands. The cocoa’s heat makes him shiver again, and Dean places a firm hand on his back to steady him.
“Dean, please.” Neither him nor Cas are young men anymore; staying here certainly guarantees back pain when he wakes up.
But despite a general lack of awareness in regards to coats and cold weather, Dean is—well, he’s Dean. It looks like he should be brusque and burly at first glance—large shoulders and beard—but then there’s the way that his crow’s feet appear whenever he smiles, and the small grey flecks in his beard. It makes him look kinder.
“Can I try? The raspberry honey with the bread.” Another voice made them both turn around. A blonde-haired woman stood in front of the table—Cas’ first customer of the day.
When Michael appears in a flash of light, Dean’s ready. The archangel doesn’t seem frightening anymore; he just seems human. Dean looks at Adam’s face and thinks about a time where they could have all been brothers.
She cups the back of his head as he closes his eyes, relishing the contact. Dean can feel her staring at him.
It makes Dean run a hand down the sleeve before he clasps their hands together. There’s a quick glance down as Dean rubs his thumb across Cas’ bare knuckles.
She lifts her hands up to her face, trying to see what it is. Oh god—it’s blood. Red, red, red. There’s a sharp pain, like something’s tearing her apart.
Dean puts an arm around her, helping her to her feet. The gesture feels more comforting than Jess originally thought it would be.
It’s a startling thing to realize. Cas is gone. And for some reason, this feels different. Maybe it’s because it’s Chuck or this big ending or the way that their existence has been reduced down to a deity’s plaything.
Jess closes her eyes. She thinks about how her grief will swallow her whole. Are answers worth this?
Dean’s voice is too earnest. But he hasn’t felt this way before, hasn’t known that love could feel this way. The girl in front of him is amazing. She’s just Cassie. Cassie the journalism major. Cassie whose eyes he falls into every time he catches her gaze.
Cas relaxes his grip, moving his hand to cup the underside of Dean’s jaw. He steps closer still. Cas wants and wants and if given permission, he’d take. “Is this what you want? Need?”
Dean braces himself, ready to throw a punch, but they’re too many. He gets shoved, then shoved again.
So he walks, walks out of the hospital and up on stage, and even when he seems healthy again—well, the touch doesn’t stop hurting.
Cas, if he thinks about it, could probably say he’s screwed. To feel this in love with the baker and not be sure of the other man’s feelings. At least, for this moment, he’s content just being by his side.
Dean crowds closer to Cas, hands hovering over the lapels of the trench coat, about to push him out. He forgets that Castiel is only in a vessel, that the angel’s power is incomprehensible to humans.
Cas sweeps a hands out towards the other vendors and the stall. “Our communal bread. The farmer market’s bread.”
So the baker takes Cas back to the market. So he helps him secure the honey jar crate onto the back of the scooter with the bungee cords. So Cas would think that’s where it’s going to end.
The words make Cas’ eyes soften. There’s silence between them, as well as an inexplicable tiredness that drapes over their shoulders. World-weary.
They are driving back from the hellscape of the broken town, the slow rumble of the Impala’s engines a soothing lullaby. Cas is in the backseat, having decided to accompany the brothers back to Bobby’s house. Dean’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight.
Cas makes the accident of looking down at Dean’s lips. A brief thought of how they might kiss flashes through Cas’ imagination.
Dean gives the man a better look—how his hair is matted down, but still dark. The dust on his clothes, the way his shoes are broken at the seams. Something definitely happened.
Clearing his throat, Dean starts with, “Can you get me and my good friend Cas here two breakfast specials?” He looks up to make sure he’s got the waitress’ attention. “And two slices of key lime pie, please.”
His hands tremble, yearning for something to do. He glances at the bedside table, at the new beer bottle. But when he reaches up, the first thing he grabs is the joss paper.
Otherwise, days blur into days. Dean doesn’t see sunlight. He spends hours at a time in the library, reading until he’s blinking the sleep out of his eyes and still keeps going. Everything seems too desperate, and yet, he cannot stop.
All Dean can think about is the way the Empty swallowed Cas, how he could only watch, scrambling to get himself up before it was too late.
Only then can she clearly see the horrified look on his face, staring up at her. But this is wrong. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong. She should be down there.
Cas leverages himself up so he can cradle Dean’s face, thumbs swiping away the tears. “I speak only truth with you. I’ve always tried to. Believe me. You’ve done so before.”
Cas cocked his head, slightly unsettled by the words; he was unsure why Dean would say something like that.
Dean spends what seems like a lifetime digging his feet into the dirt, even though John will likely get mad when they go back to the hotel room. He’s about to call out, bored, when the thing whips past him. It shoves him, hard, and he falls, colliding with a rock.
In the few days between leaving Dean and now, Castiel has made his decision. It is, perhaps, the second one that he can claim as his alone.
A slow smile breaks out on Dean’s face. He brings the thermos up to his mouth, holding it by the lid. Cas is about to throttle him. Could he not just hold it like any other normal person? Before he can think too much about acting on it, Cas turns back to the task at hand. It’s a fair minute before he hears Dean choke and turns to the side, knuckles white around the handle.
“Can I—again.” The words are a demand. Cas steps forward this time, hands braced against Dean’s shoulder, and goes in for a second kiss.
Usually Sam’s words make him see sense, but there’s currently a bullet in him so what exactly does Sammy want him to do?
The question lingers in the air, Dean violently shuddering at the contact. His hands clench into fists. Cas grabs his wrist, pulling him around to look him in the eyes.
Cas fumbles with the crate, grasp ever more precarious. The crate leans forward, the momentum taking Cas with it.
There is no trace of the scared look on Dean’s face. He’s alert. Tired, yes, but ultimately alert, like he’s been all his life.
Dean wraps his arm around Cas as the beekeeper exits the car, drawing him in close to keep the rain off of him. They reach the porch with minimal wetness and the warmth from Dean’s body feels nice. Cas can admit that. He fumbles with his keys for a minute, letting Dean know it’s okay to put the umbrella on the porch, before opening the door and letting Dean in.
“C’mere.” Dean shrugs out of his leather jacket, stepping forward to bundle Cas in it. It’s heavy, thick, Dean’s warmth still there. The baker tugs it close, then pats Cas’ shoulders. “Better?”
What exists between them is tenuous in the fact it’s new. Dean, for all of his bravado, is scared and wanting. So much so it’s hard to say it out loud.
Cas’ heart is beating so loudly he can hear it thudding in his ears. Both from the fall and the fact that, well, Dean Winchester is holding him. Holding him. Present tense. He scrambles to push himself away—anything to make it less embarrassing—but he’s met with a firm grip and a low voice.
It’s no use. Chin, meet edge of counter. Edge of counter, meet massive amounts of blood. Cas is ready to meet his fate.
Dean remembers it as some distant memory; back when he was four years and still a child, Mary would wrap her arms around him and bundle him upstairs to the ancestor room. In those days, they still had one.
Dean looks over at Sam, all curled in on himself. His shoulders hunch, a defined slouch that Dean knows too well to dismiss. The way he looks at the incense, but turns away from it.
Jess feels so hopeless, abandoned here with a boy and a car and seemingly nothing else. She lets her head fall against Dean's chest. “Please,” she whispers.
But Cas runs a single finger across Dean’s eyebrow, then across a cheekbone, over his lips. Tucks his fingers under the man’s jaw.
It’s the singular question—the one in the whole world that Cas has avoided—come back to bite him in the ass.
Cas is a dead weight in Dean’s arms, no life to him. Dean cannot breathe, too afraid that something has happened.
She had just gone for midnight snacks. And now she’s left with the remnants of her life, all scattered in pieces around her.
Her hands fumble for the window latch, but the first burst of air that meets her face makes her breathe a sigh of relief. She closes her eyes, telling herself to be calm. It's fine. It's fine.
That’s the question that’s haunted both of them over the years—the push and the pull of turning away from each other at their lowest points. Cas walking into the lake. Dean pushing Cas out of the bunker.
“Anyway, I just wanted to drop this off. Little bit of a lull and I don’t think we’ll sell enough of these so—”, Dean trails off, kneading at the back of his neck. An almost shy look crossed his face. “Here.”
mention to anyone besides his friend Charlie, Dean actively gives him a neck massage after complaining of sleeping on it wrong.
. Cas can’t take this today. The idea that he has to interact with Dean and make coherent sentences is more terrifying than anything.
The sudden awareness is jarring. His eyes are wide, heart pounding a little. But then there is this—a hand smoothing over his hair, pressing a thumb to the soft spot behind Dean’s ear.
Cas has to laugh. Of all things—of all things to say when he can clearly see Dean fucking Winchester himself has had little to no sleep.
Before Dean knows what he’s doing, he’s striding over and pulling Castiel into a hug. It’s instinctive to tuck his face into the crook of the other man’s neck.
So Dean keeps avoiding it; if he doesn’t say anything, then it does have to mean anything. They can go back to the way it was before.
Dean grins, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards, as he pulls out a massive sourdough loaf and a slice of pie, pre-packaged with the
The halo around Jack’s neck glows in the dark. It illuminates his face, his eyes, so much so that Dean can see the glimmer of tears, the smile.
When Mary turns to say good night and cradles his face with her hand, he can’t help but follow. It’s been so long since he’s been comforted that way.
Because for a moment, he had it. For a moment, it was all he had hoped for. And he couldn’t even keep it. What good was he if he couldn’t even keep it? What good was he when the whole world was ending and all he did was stand there, too paralyzed by his own needs?
Cas’ voice is sincere in a way that makes Dean shift. He remembers that sort of feeling, can still feel the ache of it now. The loneliness. The way somebody would pay attention to him, the way he craved being seen. It’s something that Dean has always wanted.
Cas’ voice is quiet. Decisive, maybe. “Not again. Not if you promise the same thing.” He wraps a hand around Dean’s wrist, pulse point against his thumb, before leaving a gentle kiss there.
Dean watches as it alights on his pointer finger, silently waiting. Mary told him about this, when she came back—the moth is a person’s soul, the way they’re visiting the people they leave behind.
It’s gentle, this touch—a brush of fingers against Cas’ jaw; Dean tilts the beekeeper’s head up to view the damage. There’s some blood, his upper lip already swelling up. Dean winces in sympathy.
“No.” The word is final, absolute. Dean pushes away, brushing past her to look at the coffin. Hand over mouth, unbelieving.
The beekeeper stands stock still, eyes wide in shock and immersed in the comforting lull of being kissed
There’s an unsettling feeling that nestles deep in his chest, making him restless even before he’s opened his eyes. Like he already knows something’s wrong. So waking up is a gasp awake, eyes wide and staring at the bed across from him.
Cas clasps a hand around Dean’s wrist, pulls him back towards Cas. “I want you to.” There’s a tense sort of moment when Cas panics about screwing this up.
The expression must be bad for Dean to put the tea and step closer. He crouches down just enough to look Cas in the eyes.
Cas leans in, gently presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. It only lasts for a second, yet Cas draws back to look at Dean; the man follows, drawn in by touch.
They leave, and Dean sits up, trying to triage the situation. His jeans are ripped, a slight cut across the knee. He wonders if the blood will come out.
“Cas,” Dean fixes him with a stare. “No excuses, okay? I’ll drive you back later. It’ll be okay, I just want to get you out of the rain. You tend not to do well in colder weather.”
It takes him a long while to drag himself from the floor, limbs achy and slow. He feels lost. Errantly, he brushes away his tears only to wince at tender skin.
The baker starts to move away, hands slipping from Cas’. Almost immediately, Cas misses the warmth. He wants it back.
Cas shivers yet again under the intensity of the gaze. Dean fucking Winchester with his charisma, with the crinkles around his eyes.
The look on Dean’s face is too earnest. It breaks Cas’ resolve in half. He is sorely, sorely in love with Dean Winchester—a fact that makes him want to yell.
The ex-angel draws back, though not fully separating from Dean, to lay on his side. He coaxes Dean to lay on his tummy, watching how the man’s limbs splay out, vulnerable in a sense that Cas never would have seen before.
Cas really has stared at these too long. Traitorous stomach. It wouldn’t hurt to eat just a little, right?
“It’s fine,” the baker replies, “Benny’s already off-loading our stuff. Wanted to ask you how you liked the bread.”
“Hey, buddy.” Dean’s voice is rough, hoarse with use. Cas’ honey could fix that. If only Dean wants it—Cas had tried once, when he first started out, but Dean just waved him away. So Cas had learned his lesson; even if he still thinks Dean Winchester is gorgeous, he’s absolutely infuriating.
“Awesome! I’ll get you a slice next time we make it then. Just got in a batch of apples from Linda’s Orchard.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Dean doesn’t look at Cas; instead, he moves to his bed, fiddling with the bedspread. His heart is pounding so loud he’s afraid the angel can hear it.
Dean has tried to refuse, but both of them are just on the right side of stubborn that everything is a stalemate.
Dean stays. He’s always at Cas’ booth, shoves gloves his way when he sees Cas shivering in the early morning.
Castiel Novak, unfortunately, is not one of those people. It’s been a rough week with a new hive and several queens. He can’t wait to fall into bed. But he’s here. Here, at this ungodly time of day, to sell his honey. And even that mission is being hampered by Dean Winchester.
Cas is grateful for the moment alone; he needs to steel himself. He’s got this. At least, he thinks so.
“Guess that was implied.” The words leave him in a singular breath. “Does that—does that mean you’re staying?”
Embarrassment floods through Cas, so much so that he turns to go. He just isn’t expecting to hear what Dean says next.
“I’ll drive you. I can—anywhere.” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets to stop fidgeting. He looks away from Castiel, unnerved.
Dean draws Cas close, cradling him, forehead to forehead. He brushes Cas’ hair away from his forehead.
Dean looks up at the words. It’s some sort of sweet talk, this—but even as he looks back at Cas, at the sincerity in his gaze, that he means it.
Dean turns around, rummaging in his bag before turning back to Cas with tan gloves in hand. What’s next is simple, like something they’ve always done—Dean tugging the glove upwards, making sure everything’s in its proper place.
The baker raises one hand in defeat. “All right, all right. Not talking smack. I like Baby better though.”
Dean grins, a half-smile that makes his dimples show. “So, you gonna let me drive you home now? Or would you rather keep shivering to death on your tiny ass motorcycle?”
The man looks up, while his body curls up into a ball to conserve heat. It’s the eyes that strike Dean the most—a vivid, stark blue. Dean thinks he’ll remember the color of those eyes until he’s in the ground.
Cas would think that Dean hates the cold as much as he does, except the flannels are never buttoned. It doesn’t make sense!
“It’s okay, Dean. Beloved, it’s okay. Just breathe.” Cas’ voice is rough like it always is, but it’s calming, like it always is. Dean breathes out, slowly. He closes his eyes. Focuses on what he feels in the moment, like the motion of Cas carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.
A shot of light emanates from behind him. Dean and Cas are pulled back into the Bunker, covered in black ooze. Dean breathes out hard. Cas is unresponsive above him.
The other man avoids Dean’s questioning look, eyes fixated on his shoes instead. “I wouldn’t leave without saying thank you.”
Cas swallows hard. He’s torn between telling Dean or not telling him. In seconds, Cas flicks his eyes down to the carrier bag he’s stashed the gloves in. Flicks his eyes back to Dean and how he’s holding Cas’ hands.
The words are slow to start, like they always are. “媽媽,” Dean whispers, and every emotion inside of him spills out. “媽媽, 請保護我. 讓我身體健康， 滿心愛了。請不要讓我繼續帶著這份悲傷。 Mom, I’m tired. But I’m going to do this thing—I’ve got to do it because it’s Cas. It’s Cas, Mom. And I can’t leave him there. I can’t—I gotta try.”
Dean looks across the table at Castiel, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. There’s something peculiar about the guy—just a funky, little dude—in the way he takes everything so seriously. Even now, he’s staring at the menu in such concentration.
He can vaguely hear Dean talking again, so he tries to focus on that. Even now, Dean’s palm is a warmth at his back.
The look on Dean’s face is incredulous and Cas has a moment of smug satisfaction that he has made Dean Winchester speechless. As well as paid his debts. Two birds with one stone. Now he can go back to the conformable animosity that exists purely within his head. He does
Cas directs him to the kitchen, telling him to sit down. He can hear the plate being dragged across the table, but Cas is on a mission. Dean’s voice still carries that rasp and if Cas swears by anything holy, he is going to fix it, so help him.
He looks peaceful, but Cas can see the dark circles underneath his eyes. Likely a result from waking up at 4:30; after all, fresh bread doesn’t bake itself. Cas moves toward him, careful not to make any loud noises.
“Oh.” The word resonates throughout the car. It seems louder than it should be. In all this time, Cas hadn’t really thought about the possibility of Dean paying attention to him the way Cas does Dean. “You’re right.”
The breath that escapes Dean is sudden, harsh. He cannot look away from Cas, rapt with attention. He also wants to look away. Cas does not let him.
For the first time that he can remember, he’s not worried all the time. He’s not afraid that something’s going to come and snatch the people he loves most out of his hands.
“I’m glad I could help you.” Cas pauses, and he holds Dean’s eyes, unflinching. “It makes my fall matter.”
He doesn’t like being surprised. And he doesn’t like being surprised by things that remind him of bad times.
“Oomph.” Cas says when Dean falls forward onto him, face pressed against Cas’ shoulder and hand still holding his. He feels Cas’ body vibrating and thinks he might be trying not to laugh. Dean wants to tell him this isn’t a funny-drunk. He wants to say, I had to stand in the spot I let you go today. His fingers are curling into Cas’ coat and he wants to tell him, I remember the smell of this burning. He’s trying to stand and tell Cas that he relived one of the worst moments of his short life and it made him furious and how little he got to live all over again. But he can’t quite get the words out.
“It’s just… I’ve still only seen him the one time after I got here. What’s he been up to?” If Dean doesn’t know, then there’s something weird going on. Sam’s always been a little jealous at how connected Cas is to Dean, not in a horrible way, but sometimes he wonders if it’s another thing he missed out on thanks to Azazel’s interference. He shakes his head to clear out the thoughts. These are just longstanding insecurities that bubble up, he reminds himself.
… The windmill is still fucking there. It’s standing in the early morning mist, surrounded by its goddamn fairy tale greenery, just mocking him.
Sam gestures that he’s going to take a look around back and Dean reaches for the gun that should be at his waist. But of course, it’s not there. Who needs it in heaven?
Sometimes, Dean remembers who he used to be. He remembers the worthlessness that used to look back at him from his reflection, the anxiety he had around people he cared about, how every person in his life felt temporary.
Dean reaches up to clasp the hand Cas has out, and he tries not to squeeze too tightly when Cas pulls him up. He knows he’s probably mostly dead weight and he can’t quite get a handle on his legs.
He’s there now, sitting, content, the heat of the sun roasting the back of his neck, the hum of wind in the grass and bugs fluttering over the water provides a soundtrack he can fall asleep to. He hasn’t caught anything since he started doing this, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s not about the catch. It’s about turning it all off.
“I’ve never really had a space that was my own before,” Cas starts awkwardly, looking away from Dean. “But this felt right.”
“I don’t want an apology. I’m not — I’m not trying to bring up crap for the sake of what was or what shoulda been. I’m — Cas, I’m, look, Cas you saw me. I’m trying to say you spent 3 minutes with me and saw right into my damned soul.”
Sam turns to head inside, letting the door close behind him. He pauses to look back out, through the screen, at Dean opening the door to the Impala. His eyes widen when Dean jumps in surprise, and Sam sees that Cas has shown up. He’s about to shout a greeting when Cas reaches a hand up and cups Dean’s cheek.
“And you think I’m handsome, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t—” Dean stands up, grabs Cas’ hand again, and pulls him towards the house. He hears Cas’ rough laughter from behind him.
Dean can feel his cheeks heating up. He furrows his brow and looks away at the lake. He’s not used to this.
“I – Look, there’s a lot we don’t know about how all this works, that’s all I’m saying.” Sam shrugs, willing to accept mysteries more easily than Dean. He thinks it probably has something to do with Sam getting live and grow out of the need to know in a way that Dean never got to. He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore that thought. It’s not fair, and it’s something that hasn’t bothered him in a long time.
because you two idiots have to shine on a spotlight on something that just is and is fine.” Cas gives him a small, knowing smile. Sam just shrugs, unapologetic. Dean glowers and turns back around to the grill. “Now, where the hell’s the meat, Sammy?”
He resisted the urge to pull the neck of his shirt down to look for a mark — there wasn’t anything there. No scar, no shadow, no nothing. Just a phantom pain, a remnant of something that was.
He slid behind the wheel and flinched a little at the sudden sharp pain in his shoulder. It was worse today. Harder to ignore.
Now, he stares at Dean, asleep in bed next to him. His breathing is easy, his face completely devoid of worry and fear. Like so many humans, he looks younger in sleep. He is, Castiel knows, an objectively attractive man. He follows the pleasing features along Dean’s face — from his sharp jaw to his fine lips, high cheek bones and long lashed eyes. But that’s not what Castiel thinks of as beauty.
“Cas,” he says instead, “This is–” What? He’s not even sure. He and Cas have been on opposite ends of things before, but this is giving him whiplash.
“Whatever, it was funny.” He pushes the recliner back, knees popping as he stands. “Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. But we’re picking this back up tomorrow. Don’t be a bitch about it.”
“That I understood what I meant when I thought of love. You were the closest to me outside of Sam, and I had to figure out what that meant to me. But I needed a push and you gave it to me.” He takes a sip of his brew, it’s heavy and dark, just like he likes it. And he grins. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a stubborn bastard, Cas. I’m a man of habit.”
Well, he had half that, at least. He twisted the top of the bottle that had appeared in his hand and took a deep swing. It was hoppy and bitter and suited his mood.
Cas takes Dean’s hand like it’s nothing out of the ordinary and like this isn’t a monumental thing he’s doing.
“What in the hell – ” Dean rubs a hand behind his head and looks out at his backyard. It mostly looks the same as he had when he and Cas had gone to bed. There’s a pile of lumber and some wooden boards for the shed that was coming up in pieces in the front yard. His cooler is still out there, and the low chairs he had for when he wanted to fall asleep in the sun without waking up with a crick in his neck. But… he did not know what to do about the space just beyond what he thought of as his property.
Everything outside has ceased to exist, there is just Dean and Cas and whatever comes next. Dean knows that Cas will never move first, not here. And so, it’s Dean who decides and chooses and leans. It’s Dean who pulls Cas in and puts his mouth to his.
Dean fights the indignation rising in his gut. Considering it’s been a considerable amount of time… he knows they’re not wrong. But
As if summoned, Cas flutters in, already sitting in the empty chair next to Dean’s, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’d never taken to the beer, preferring a smoother tilt of a drink he’d concocted, he says, specifically for his kind.
“Real mature, man.” Sam rolls his eyes and turns on the TV. “Fine, if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it.”
“Okay, chuckles, you and me. I’ve killed things that eat you for breakfast, let’s see what you got.” He laughs at his own joke.
said anything — to each other. People who are so close, the words fall out of their mouths without hesitation because who needs hesitation when you have the confidence of love.
They get to the door, which wouldn’t open yesterday, but doesn’t seem to be an issue now that Cas is here. Inside, it’s surprisingly cozy. Dean looks around, it doesn’t not remind him of his room in the Men of Letters bunker, if cleaner and warmer. There’s a bed, a desk. Dean sees a tape deck and bites back a strange laugh.
“We both what, Cas? Have seen each other broken and beat to hell enough that little blood should be fine? What are you going to tell me next? I shouldn’t worry?” Dean rolls his eyes and turns his back, heading towards his front door.
A few days later, Dean’s in the garage next to his home, legs sticking out from under a battered old Ford. He thinks back to Cas’ question about time. Dean wanted a clock because Dean wanted normalcy, and the life he didn’t get to have on earth. That meant time, and limits, and small things going wrong. So that the good things could matter.
I'm still here! Still avoiding the real world by living in my version of Dean Winchester's slice of heaven. Thank you for all the lovely comments and for reading my writing exercises <3 <3
It’s the same reason he started working on cars again. What do you do when there’s all the time in the world, but a limited amount of action? How do you keep going?
He shrugs out of the trench, and his coat, and pulls his shirt up to show Dean that there is no cut skin. But Dean can’t stop staring at the jagged line of torn fabric with a border of blood. He can’t stop staring at the smear against Cas’ skin. He takes a step back, and then two. He lets out a broken breath and is hit with images of Cas covered in blood, memories he tries to forget. Memories he doesn’t want here, with them. Memories that spent so long wrapped around his heart when he was alive, he doesn’t need it
There were strange little ways that heaven fell into the uncanny valley. Dean didn’t get hungry anymore. But that didn’t stop him from eating as many burgers and pie as he wanted. He was at a picnic table on an incline looking over a breathtaking view. A rushing river, a waterfall, and there was an honest-to-God viewfinder like he was just a tourist on a solo road trip to find himself. Whatever the fuck that meant.
I guess this is going to be semi-interconnected one shots for as long as this show won't let me be lol.
His whisper was rough and angry. He bit his lip to stop himself. He shook his head and spoked again.
But Dean still hasn’t learned to get those thoughts out from his heart and into his head. No, instead, they go straight to his tongue to be weaponized. To be protection.
At Cas’ voice, Dean’s head whips around and he stares at the love of his very being. Cas is looking at the windmill, but he doesn’t seem horrified. He seems … happy. His eyes are crinkling, and he’s smiling that smile that Dean adores.
“Does Time have a hot sister?” This time his grin is shit-eating and he waits, but Cas just stares at him blankly.
That makes the corners of his mouth turn up. He’s glad his brother’s here. But he’s not fit for company, tonight. He waves Sam off.
“This is my ideal weekend, dude. Good beer, great movies, all day couch time? Sign me up. That’s heaven.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but only because it wasn’t… it wasn’t even in the realm of possibility for me. It’s not that I didn’t want it, I didn’t know it was there to be wanted. I think there was the beginning of something, maybe. Hell, who can say? I was a different person. You were… you were hard for me to wrap my head around. I tried to think of you as a human, and then you’d turn around and read that woman’s mind and throw the whole night to shits and giggles.”
He shifts his hand and pulls at Cas’ sleeve. Cas leans down and kisses him. Dean hasn’t quite learned to vocalize his wants, this is still all so new, but he finds ways to let Cas know. Cas straightens and looks down at him.
“I don’t know, Sam, and I’m fine. Go – this is probably like you said, just something that’ll come clear later. I’ll see you later.”
Cas nods, like he knows what Dean means, but when he replies Dean’s surprised to hear what he has to say.
Sam’s voice carries from the front, likely standing on his front porch wondering why Dean wasn’t answering the door. Dean grimaces and isn’t sure if he should answer. Not sure if he wants Sam to see –
different. Dean spends more time on the dock outside his home than in the Impala these days. There’s fishing in heaven, who knew?
Dean’s shoulder hadn’t stopped burning since he got to heaven. It was a bitch and a half, but he’d been through worse — plus, didn’t seem like heaven needed doctors so what was the point of complaining about something that couldn’t get fixed?
“I think you and I can categorically say that this is not hell, Dean. Besides, I thought you liked this place. Isn’t that why you picked it for Cas?”
Dean closed his own eyes and moved his hand lower, letting his arm fall across Cas’ chest. He inhaled a deep pocket of air and let the rhythm of Cas’ breathing lull him back to sleep.
“The patties are in that Tupperware.” Sam’s not doing a good job of hiding his laughter, but Dean is determined to ignore it. He pulls the lid off the plastic container and his eyes narrow.
.” Cas’ voice is low and urgent and he’s gripping Dean’s hand so tightly it almost hurts. Dean can’t help but lock in on those sharp blue eyes and then he’s trapped in a space they’ve lived in hundreds of times before.
Sam had showed up not too long back, or maybe really long back, who knows. But he’s got Eileen, and they live just around the corner. Sam asked him, when he got there, if he wanted to move in, and well,
Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from teasing his little brother about being whipped too badly. There was time for all that.
“Talk!” Castiel demands and then watches as he pulls a simple black necklace over his head and fiddles with the dove pendant on it, as if saying his last goodbye. He hesitates, but eventually hands it over to Dean who burns it right when the ghost appears again.
Dean quickly pulls away, his lips swollen and his cheeks red as he looks down at his one-button-less shirt. He doesn’t complain though, Castiel could ruin his whole outfit for all he cares.
The words come to him easier this time and he prays to remember them by the time he gets home. He wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t, the sight before him so captivating that he forgets everything else but the blue eyes staring back at him.
“Yahtzee!” Dean clicks his tongue, the sound and face he makes quite sexy, and if it weren’t for the urgency of catching a killer, Cas would have pushed Dean back down on that bed and stripped him naked again.
“Oh, God, thank you, now she can finally stop pouting at me.” Stevie smiles and follows Charlie to the kitchen where the drinks are.
, he thinks to himself, but he couldn’t dare say it out loud, especially not when Cas has his piercing eyes fixed on him like he’s trying to look right into his soul. For all Dean knows, he'd done it before, and he’s doing it right now.
“Seems like, all's well in paradise.” Trainor speaks, confidently. He'd already taken note of the purple marks on their throats, peaking out of their suits, and now the constant smile tugging at Castiel’s face.
“Would it make you jealous if you knew that I praised another man like this?” Castiel’s lips break into a smile.
He paced back and forth before Jack, a series of emotion flowing through him that for a moment, it suffocated him.
But Dean, as he is most days, is oblivious to the silent pleas Castiel throws at him. “It has to be a monster, some demon who enjoys tormenting kids before killing them…” perhaps he’s seen the look in Castiel eyes, but he needed to ignore it because all he can focus on right now is the five kids missing in this city, and the five dead ones they’ve already found, all he can think about is
Like a baby taking it’s first steps, Castiel spoke reluctantly. He was not sure what he would sound like, if his new voice was different from the last but it wasn’t. It sounded the same and every inch of him looked the same.
“Sam, Eileen. I know you two had to fly here all the way from Ireland, you could’ve skipped this one, but you didn’t, so, thank you.” He smiles at them, and they return his gesture. He carries on talking, mentioning Charlie, Bobby, and even Garth, and two minutes later, everyone assumes he’s done.
There was nothing but blackness, so deep and so dark that it felt endless. Along with it was pain, sorrow and regret amplified by a thousand. It felt worse than hell, far worse and Castiel couldn’t believe that he was back there. He felt almost regretful of his last choices as a living being but he knew that if given the chance he would have done it all over again, without hesitation. There was no question to what lengths he would go to save Dean Winchester. He was always willing to put the hunter’s life before his own, believing that it was his destiny, that it always was and always will be.
Eileen appears and takes a seat near Castiel as she signs something about how Charlie can’t get enough of playing with Jack. Dean signs back, slowly and carefully, not wanting to say the wrong thing like he always used to when he first started learning ASL. She chortles at his response and both Dean and Castiel joins her in laughter a second later.
Dean opens the door, and they both muster up their best smiles as they are greeted by their guests. Sam embraces Dean first, like a large puppy, and almost knocks him to the ground. They haven’t seen each other in almost a year, and Sam can’t contain how much he misses his brother.
“You can" a smile formed on Jack’s face and he glanced at Castiel for a moment before looking back to the constantly moulding scenery before him.
“Okay, I’ll be there in jiff,” Dean says, and as if Cas can tell that he’s not done speaking, he keeps the phone by his ear, breathing into the speaker to let Dean know that he’s listening. “I miss you.” The words finally come, and even if Cas tried to hide it from Trainor, he knew he wouldn’t be able to suppress the smile that Dean had put on his face.
About a few hours have passed and Dean has disappeared to the garage where he’s trying to distract himself by cleaning the place up and giving his Chevy a wash. He finishes up sooner than expected and he lets out a frustrated groan as his eyes peer to the watch on his wrist. It’s 5pm and his guests are arriving only at 6pm.
She wants to laugh. Nothing matters. Nothing. Jess doesn’t want monsters; she doesn’t want ghosts or shapeshifters. It doesn’t even seem real. An intrusive thought creeps into her head—
Cas wants to protest, but the prospect of another fall is enough for him to agree. It’s a short walk before Dean is hefting the crate on the table. But then he doesn’t leave. He starts unloading the glass jars, making sure that the labels are facing out.
Dean waits, taps his fingers on the steering wheel. Finally, the guy nods. He clambers up and into the Impala, one hand gripping a tattered backpack with a death grip.
Cas fills the silence. “I know you think you aren’t deserving, but you are.” The ex-angel wraps a hand underneath Dean’s shoulders, a way to keep him together. A slight wetness makes Cas reel back, only to find that a few tears have slipped down Dean’s cheeks.
“That’s pretty Catholic there, man. Thou shalt not covet and all that.” Dean shakes his head. “Don’t know how I’m going to compete with communal bread when I actually made you your own loaf.”
Dean fumbles for his phone, looking at his reflection in the darkened screen. He drags one hand over his left cheek, prods at the raised skin. Absent-mindedly, he thinks about the scar he still carries on his shoulder.
“Good news, Cas! Looks like it’s stopped raining. Want to head back?” Dean doesn’t even wait for an answer before heading towards the front door.
Cas looks over at Sam, asleep next to him, before blinking out and appearing next to Dean. The man is leaning heavily against the door, head bowed, knuckles already bruised and bloody. Cas lays a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder.
Cas raises an eyebrow. “Who are you to decide that? I put you back together. I know you better than you know yourself—I’ve seen all of you. Do you not think that I know whether or not you deserve it? Deserve this?”
But there isn’t time to ask, Dean already pushing away from the table and standing up. The table sways a little. Dean stops. Frowns.
Dean reaches up for another sheet of joss paper. The silence is so loud he can’t hear himself think. One lotus flower becomes two, becomes three.
Cas can feel his cheeks drain completely of blood; the tendency for his face to go completely pale after moments of embarrassment quite apparent now. He wishes he could just sink down into the middle of the Earth.
Dean keeps talking. “If you won’t take care of yourself, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” He steps forward, grips Cas’ wrist and pulls him into a hug.
He makes so much that his hands go numb. Dean drops the one he’s holding; they surround him—piled high and even higher—like they would Cas’ body, if he had anything to bury.
After a moment, he reaches out for it, trying to grasp the long neck. It wobbles, teeters on the edge. For a minute, it’s like the world stills. Dean watches it in slow motion. The beer bottle wobbles for a second more before crashing down to the ground.
Dean had started talking, just to remember how to do it at first. He wasn’t praying, per se, he was just talking. Although, he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t a prayer by default just by virtue of mentioning Cas.
Dean shakes his head. Well, when has it ever been easy? The shoe drops, and he adjusts. He grips Cas’ hand tighter.
. Cas is in and out as frequently as he wants to be, but he’s not living there. He has — Dean isn’t exactly clear on it all, angel quarters? At some point, Cas is going to have to come clean about what his life outside of Dean is like, but Dean’s not ready for that.
“I think bed might be best,” Cas says in response. He pushes Dean up and around and starts walking him away from the windows and towards the king situated on the other side of the room. When they make it close enough, Dean can’t even make himself try and he just falls face first onto the mattress. As his eyes close and he starts to leave his day behind, he can feel Cas taking off his shoes and laughing to himself.
. And you matter to me. You —” he falters, takes a quick glance at Cas and then clears his throat once. He will get this out. “I love you.” He rushes ahead then, filling the space with words before it can go all empty in the worst way. In the heaviest way. “I didn’t know what it meant, I didn’t know it was going to be you, I was so damn scared. And you? A friggin’ angel? A celestial being. What’s love to an angel? Sure you were a human for like four seconds, but what can my love mean to—”
Dean sighed and put his head back against the roof of his car. The words slipped out of his mouth unbidden.
“Hey Cas, did you base this on those gas station pies? Where’d this recipe come from? Whose grandma did you rip off?”
Dean frowns and examines the red-tinged splotches on the end of his pointer, not too bad. He turns on the sink and lets the cold water alleviate some of the burn. He rolls his eyes and looks over at the sizzling pan. Turning off the water, he picks up the spatula and glares down at the meat that’s crinkling at the edges, popping and sputtering with hot oil.
Dean’s head doesn’t hurt the next morning like it might have once. A perk, he thinks, of being dead. He blinks blearily, letting the room come into focus. Dean starts to push up from the bed and finds he’s in a black t-shirt and his boxer shorts, his jeans and flannel thrown into a laundry basket in the corner. There’s a shift and Dean looks at Cas breathing easily next to him, mouth halfway open and head cushioned on his arms above the pillow. He smiles softly before he remembers what got him drinking in the first place. He shoots up, grabs the jeans out of the laundry and shoves them on, not bothering to stop to put on his boots as he takes the steps two at time down the stairs and all but sprints to the back door.
They approach the windmill. There’s a garden nearby and Dean looks at it, incredulous. It’s in full bloom with an array of flowers, some he’s never seen before.
Sam waits, but there’s tension in his form and Dean knows he’s ready to move the second the door opens.
There was no response but a rush of wind, some leaves falling and hitting the glass in front of his face.
“This is weird, even for this place.” Sam says, following in Dean’s wake like he had nearly all of Dean’s life.
After that night, Cas had become a champion of sleep. So, now, when he comes into the kitchen, wearing — of all things — Dean’s hotdog pajama pants and a black t-shirt, Dean can’t help the smile that sticks itself to his face.
Cas’ eyes are narrowed, and his head is tilted again, and it’s like they’re back to Dean being a human puzzle that Cas needs to fit together to understand.
“I have…” there’s an awkwardness in Cas’ speech that Dean’s not accustomed to – Cas’ conversational cadence has pauses and hesitations as a rule, but they mean he’s considering the best way to move forward. This feels like something else. Dean turns his whole body towards Cas now, looking at him expectantly, but biting his tongue to give Cas whatever time he needs. Cas gives him an inscrutable look and then changes tracks entirely. “Can we go inside?”
just imagine it and make it show up on the table, but he also needs ways to spend his time, he needs to be
“I don’t know, man.” He says his tone part weariness and part frustration. He doesn’t like being surprised. And he doesn’t like being surprised by things that remind him of bad times. And as much as he’d loved the meadow, leaving Cas’ ashes there had been a bad time.
Sam knows that Dean… well, Dean had a life, which was more than Dean had expected. He wonders if he’ll ever stop being angry on his brother’s behalf. He looks out at the land in front of his house and laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just bitterness and irony, and maybe a little guilt.
here — he pulled over and got out to stretch his legs. He stood on the gravel on the edge of the asphalt, twisting his head this way and that, pulling kinks out of his joints. The quiet pops sounded loud as hell in the still of his new world. He leaned against his car and looked up at the sky that Jack had built.
“I watched Jack listening to prayers the other day – he doesn’t engage,” he says quickly, at Dean’s look, “He just listens. But it made me wonder… and not for the first time… I’ve thought a lot about why you didn’t pray for help.” He furrows his brow. “Why didn’t you?” he continues, his head tilting to the right and his eyes narrowing. Dean pulls him close again.
“In here!” he calls out to who he assumes is Cas, pleased at how steady his voice sounds. He doesn’t feel steady.
OH WE ARE VERY MUCH STILL HERE living in Dean and Cas' heaven and being happy to do so. I have a bunch of half-started one-shots set in this 'verse that I will hopefully eventually finish. But for now, have some slight angst with a happy ending. Also, this ship will never stop making me feral.
Cas doesn’t answer. Dean realizes that Cas is giving him an out. He tries again and shakes Cas a little.
“I know from experience. But, no.” He takes his hands back and Dean leans forward imperceptibly, following the lost warmth. But Cas just gestures behind them. “
, laughing at Dean’s plea for her to stay because she can stop Sam from complaining about plot holes.
Cas turns and lifts his hands to Dean’s face, his fingers rough against Dean’s skin. He cracks a grin and rubs his thumbs along the hard lines of Dean’s cheekbones.
Sam drops onto the couch, grabs one of the beers Dean brought, pops the tab and takes a sip while looking at his brother sidelong. Dean isn’t looking at him, though, and it feels deliberate.
It’s the slight tremor he hears in Cas’ voice that stops him. And he thinks. It’s been so long since he’s been afraid, truly afraid. Heaven has lulled him into a false sense of security. Cas doesn’t have the privilege of death here. His face pales and he pulls Cas towards him, so close that he can see every worry line etched into his skin. So close that if he lies, Dean will know.
“Cas is fine, he’s doing angel stuff with Jack. They’re still in the process of rebuilding the ranks, I think.”
The next time he stopped, it was near a lake. Could have been anywhere he and Sammy and stopped a million times. Some generic hole in the ground on the other side of the guardrails, with a ring of dirt and grass around it. It was probably beautiful, he thought. But less so on his own, without a beer and family to share it with.
“I don’t think you needed this level of reality, bud.” He let out a small, rueful laugh. “But I guess what’s existence without some flaws. Boring?”
, have a family, be happy, and die an old, old man. He knows that even though it wasn’t the life he thought he’d wanted… it was still a good life.
“Alright, man. Let me know if you need anything, though, okay? Is Cas coming by soon?” Sam asks, not even pretending to be subtle. Dean glares at him.
“Jack is… good.” Dean sees Cas tilt his head out of the corner of his eye, probably deciding how much he wants to share, and Dean is struck with a million memories of seeing him make that exact same gesture. He’s struck with how intensely he knows this person sitting next to him. And he knows it’s probably time.
Apparently, Dean Winchester is still in my head telling me all the shit he's doing in heaven and so here we are because I am still thinking about it.
. Castiel had had his perfect moment of happiness, he had expressed his deepest feelings to Dean Winchester and in doing so saved Dean’s life. It was the happiest he’d ever been. What else could there be?
It’s a familiar sight, something that Dean recognizes within himself—the fumbling of heritage when they should know what to do.
“We usually just cut them in half. But that reminds me—next week we’re making some biscotti. I can do that, you know.”
It’s all the permission Dean needs; he peels away and drives the rest of the way to the motel. He feels somewhat nervous, wholly unsure.
“I didn't ask what they were, I asked what they were for.” Jess’ mouth is dry. It somehow feels suffocating, everything around her like a slow vise. She can’t breathe again. “You said—you said that your dad was on a hunting trip.
Finally—that gets a response. “Do you—do you have water?” It surprises Dean. The guy’s voice is raspy, but much deeper than Dean expected.
Dean hefts Cas closer, getting his arms under Cas’ and dragging him back to where Dean came in from. Light from a small, flickering crack appears; as both of them get closer, it gets bigger, revealing Jack and Sam.
At the funeral, one of her friends slipped her a pamphlet about the five stages of grief. Jess can see them clearly—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
Impatient, Dean tugs the paper bag from Castiel’s clenched fist. Opening it reveals a singular breakfast pastry topped with glazed apple. It takes Dean a minute in his excitement to realize that it’s only
It’s a refrain Sam has repeated over the past month. But sleep is for those who can rest. Sleep is for those who don’t have nightmares.
Dean barks out a short laugh. Stares at the shattered glass. It takes a moment for the shock to settle in, hands tugging at his hair.
It's only now that Jess realizes that she’s run out in her pajamas. She looks down at her hands, expecting them to be bloody.
But Castiel goes anyway. The more he thinks on it, the more he contemplates about what has just occurred—the worthlessness that Dean feels, the events leading up to devil’s trap breaking, the way he rushed in at the first cry that made its way out of Dean’s mouth, the way
When Cas asks Dean, this is what he means. And still, there is nothing, only what can pass as silent glances between the two of them.
It should have felt right. It should have felt like a new beginning. But Dean remembers seeing Sam and Jack and Cas and how they fit well together. Like a family.
There’s the sound of thunder roaring in her ears and an acrid taste in her mouth. She turns her head to one side, wishing that it didn’t remind her of blood so much. Sounds—something like heavy-soled boots—keep her grounded. She digs her hands into the wet grass, shivering despite the warm night.
A warm, familiar weight drops onto his shoulders. It’s Dean. The baker makes sure to pat Cas’ shoulder, like he always does now.
Dean’s cheeks turn slightly red. The baker backs away, slipping his hand out from under Cas’ and picking up the thermos with a mild look of distaste.
Dean draws closer. He starts rambling, tripping over his words. “We hunt monsters. Ghosts, shapeshifters, you name it. It’s real—it’s real, all of it.”
Mostly, these sounds become songs. Led Zeppelin sometimes, Queen others, but recently it’s been Hey Jude. Dean won’t—can’t—verbalize how safe it makes him feel. | [
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"Let me tell you about myself." The pup nodded, staring down her with those intense light blue eyes. "I am thirty-three years old. And you're correct am the head of Psychiatry at John Hopkins. I have a mate Lara and a little boy named Jack. Do you want to see them?"
“The game its from May 1941. I know because I was there,” said Steve. Her gentle expression faded. The woman’s smile turned into a firm line. He rose to his feet, approaching her. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. Where am I?”
Their relationship was solid. They had their fights but they were minor in comparison to what they’d survived. His hand slid into his pocket, running his fingers over the small velvet box. It took him some time to figure out a metal would best withstand Steve's strength.
Lena smiled. She'd slipped up this time. The last thing she wanted to do was fight with him. They spent an entire day together again, each enjoying the family time they'd so been lacking. That night when they went to bed, Helmut wrapped his arm around her waist and finally asked, “how long will you stay?”
Fury could only imagine the shit show that would come with if it were to come out. Captain America begging some random alpha for a knot. There would no repair that image. Now it was officially one of his issues. Omega rights had grown immensely since Rogers’ age. There was so much the captain needed to learn. Fury already set up a team made for Steve’s adjustment to the new era.
“Fine,” he said. Tony forced himself to relax. This activity was far more intimate than he thought it would be.
The lights flickered on. He grabbed one of the punching bags leaning against the wall, and hung it up. Steve set an alarm on his phone for an hour and tucked it into his back pocket. Tonight was the night. A good work out would help him be more relaxed when the moment came. As he focused on the task, his mind began to wander. Memories of the war came flooding forward and Steve tried working through it. But his mind wouldn’t let go, as if it was trying to remind him how unworthy he was of growing life within him. With a final hit, the punching bag shot across the room.
It should be lighter. About two pounds lighter. The weight should be proportional. Piper tested its range of motion. Its purpose was more for strength and durability than flexibility. He pulled away slightly when she tried testing his upper arm range of motion. She instantly stopped.
"I didn't give you it, Steve. We made it together." Tony smirked at how sappy he sounded but it was true. He kissed Steve slowly, fully savoring his mate.
This was his odd way of comforting her. And it worked, just … not as much as either of them wanted. It would mean so much if Winter were her dad. Or if he wasn't a killer too. She couldn't believe her parents would accept her. They stood for good. What did she stand for? How could she be good if the thing inside her, that gave her strength, was bad? What if she let it out again? When she got mad?
Tony buckled Piper into her car seat, quietly shutting the door behind him. Piper slept through the noise of New York. When they got to the tower he carried her out of the car. As he entered Piper’s room Jarvis lowered the shades. Tony put Piper to bed, taking off her jacket and shoes.
"What powers did I have during the fight?" She needed to know if anything else had changed, since the last time she’d blacked out.
“I don’t want S.H.I.E.L.D. to have that information either. Only the people that need to know,” he said.
“The base is about thirteen thousand feet up,” said Clint. He hated mountain climbing, especially in the winter. Clint hated the thin air, cold, and wind. The strong winds made it all the more difficult to fire off a clear shot. The heavy clothing impeded his range of motion.
Tony checked his phone while Steve talked with the kids. Steve seemed so at ease with the pups. There was a notification from Jarvis. They were starting to gain more attention.
Steve slid off his shirt. Tony licked his lips. His hands moved the omega's hips moaning as they rocked together.
Rhodes sighed. He didn't want to drag Tony into this. But they could use his help. As long as Steve didn't find it would be fine. And that was big if. Rhodes saw what Steve could do when he was angry. He didn't want to be a target of that hormonal rage.
“Only remembering when Howard and Maria first brought you here. He was tired but so proud. The man hardly let you out of his arms the entire visit.”
"It would likely make him more protective than average alpha, but that doesn't seem to be an issue with him."
"Any idea what caused it?" asked Steve. Nothing in Howard's office should have caused that reaction from her. It was more likely to stir such a response in him than her.
Piper jumped back putting a good amount of distance between them. Her wrists were aching. She jumped at the crack of thunder. The loudness was disorienting. The lights flickered. Threads of whitish-blue electricity circled around him. When his eyes glowed white, she realized her distraction too late. He crashed into her, slamming her into the wall.
The pieces clicked together. “You're Captain America, how is this possible. You’re alive,” she gasped.
Tony nodded. There was no choice but to use a command. He locked eyes with Steve. The omega kept his gaze.
“He shouldn’t. I assessed the situation, determined it was safe enough for me to handle. I can defend myself. Winter taught me well.”
The pup apologized too much. It was a bothersome trait, but it was better than the crying. He hated it when she cried. It left him helpless on how to deal with it.
When Rumlow dared to touch him, he grabbed the alpha, throwing him through the neighboring wall. Steve got into his room, locking the door behind him. He called Tony.
“Steve.” A small, fearful whine touched his ears. Steve was tucked under a worktable, shaking. His face was hidden. How had Steve managed to squeeze himself into the small gap? “Steve,” he whispered.
“I got all I needed from you. The great Captain America begging me to mount him like the weak primitive creature you were truly meant to be. You couldn’t even save your best friend,” said Tony. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted. He'd gone too far.
Piper charged, hitting Winter with unexpected force. His back struck the wall, severely fracturing the glass. The pup hobbled back, panting heavily. The blue glow faded from her eyes as she collapsed. Alarms went off outside the cell.
He changed the channel back to the news. It was a nice change seeing mostly positive things about himself on the news. Steve woke around dinner. It was simple only pasta with the first sauce Steve found in the pantry.
A hammer slammed against his chest bringing him to the ground. He shot back at Thor, sending the god into a tree. With a kick, he sent the rival alpha all the way through. Thor raised his hammer, lighting shot from the sky, coursing through his armor. The charge was so intense he was unable to move.
Piper sat at her desk, waiting for permission to leave. Lena took Piper's notebook, flipping through the pages. The girl's doodles weren't doodles at all. They were blueprints. She was trying to figure out the mechanics of Winter's arms. So far, Lena hadn't gone into the subjects of mechanics or engineering. It wasn't something she was interested in. They were the carpentry of the sciences. She found it rather dull.
"This is between the two of us, not him," said Tony. His mask was filtering out the other alpha's scent. It was the only thing keeping in control of rage. Not at Steve but at the man so close to his omega. "Steve please."
"As I said, Ms. Pott is Sir's ex. Their relationship is strictly platonic. They stay in communication since Ms. Pott is the current CEO of Stark Industries."
"I think best to remind those under my tutelage exactly where they stand, so there is no confusion."
Steve leaned forward, feeling compelled to quick kiss against Tony's lips. He blushed and focused his attention elsewhere.
Tony swallowed Steve’s release. He trailed a path of kisses up the omega’s tone chest, pressing their lips together, letting the omega taste himself. He spread Steve's legs slightly. Carefully pushing his finger past the tight ring of muscles. He bit his lip. There was so much he wanted to do, but he had to wait, give Steve time to adjust.
There were good things too, which brought calm to the chaos. Pepper and Maria Hill got married in a beautiful ceremony - Piper was the flower girl. The couple tried for a pup. But after multiple rounds of IVF, Maria and Pepper were excited to adopt.
"You don't, but I wish you would. And there's little I can do to make you. But rather than lie to me, tell me you're just not ready to talk about it. Lying isn't a good thing, Pipes. It's a bad habit I don't want you picking up," said Tony.
"I assume this has something to do with Steve's condition," said Bruce, cleaning his glasses. A pregnant super-soldier. There wouldn't be another chance for him to study such a subject. Banner shook his head. This was a friend, not a subject.
Steve smile faded. The president looked toward him for. Steve’s jaw locked as Extremis shot up his spine gnawing at his nerves. His eyes closed. All he could do was wait.
There was only an hour left until the wedding. Guests were wondering around the ceremony area. Tony and others were dressed and ready. Natasha and Clint arrived at the same time. She wore a deep blue dress matching the colors of the wedding. Steve asked her and Clint to be groomsmen. Neither held the title of best woman or man. The honor belonged to Bucky. A seat in the front row had been left open to honor his lost best friend.
“Your birth control is 99.99% effective. I have to say likely because there’s an exceptionally slim chance of malfunction,” said Jarvis.
"I constantly reminded him I was still me. My heat didn't change that. I wasn't an omega that needed his protection. Eventually realized I still the same person," said Steve.
"Are you disappointed in me because you caught me in a lie, or that I wasn't telling you the truth?"
Steve growled, backing away from him. It was far deeper than what he expected from an omega, but his scent didn’t lie.
Under Tony’s shirt were the lines of a brace, immobilizing his shoulder. It could have been worse. A nursed escorted them to their room. Tony flinched when he laid back.
"So, I can say I understand, Piper and mean it. I know what it's like to afraid for your friend's life and to fear for your life. What it's like to be used solely for who you are, nothing more."
Steve let himself in. She performed a routine examination. Checking his heart, lungs, and blood pressure. It was a waste of both their time. His health was always perfect.
"It was a quiet night, but she'll be waking up soon enough." On cue, she jabbed against him. "Morning little one."
Jarvis played the footage. It was only a few seconds long, but it gave him an idea of what Tony saw. The darkness of space was haunting. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to experience it in person.
She nodded. He went to Steve’s room and injected the serum into his IV. The irritated orange glow extinguished. Steve relaxed.
Steve woke hours later to Tony joining him in bed. He shifted onto his side, pulling to the alpha to his chest, wrapping his arm around the man's waist to keep him close. Steve nuzzled against Tony's neck. “My alpha."
He got his feet again, bracing against the wall. Steve limped to the bathroom. A tub filled with hot water and bubble bath awaited him. He eased into the hot water, moaning at the sensation. It was terrific for his aching muscles. The jets worked out the remaining tension. Steve sunk into further into the bath.
He went to the mirror. Judging from the length of his hair, it had been four years since it was last cut. He trimmed his hair to a more reasonable length, then shaved. He took a moment to stare at his reflection. It was a face he hadn’t seen in some time. This face didn’t truly belong to him. Who was he? Did he have someone looking for him? He turned his head slightly, stretching his neck, but found no claim mark. No. No family was looking for him. That was for the best.
There was a crackle as the fire turned on. Steve went to the closet and changed into his sleeping clothes and put his sweater back on. Before returning to the living area. Christmas music was playing softly over the speakers. He settled on the floor by the fireplace warming his feet. Steve began singing along:
Steve nodded. They sped out the driveway, the gate closed behind them. Steve watched the surroundings pass by. He yawned. Tony turned down the music. When they got home he woke Steve up. The omega shot of the car speeding in the direction of the nearest bathroom.
He picked them up, balancing one on each hip. Steve carried them upstairs, tucking them into Piper's bed. He took a random book from the shelf
Bruce was amazed at what he'd gathered from the samples. Tony's cells took on some attributes from the serum when Steve claimed him. It would slow his aging, make him heal faster, not as fast Steve, but faster than the average human. He could spend months learning from these samples. What could be learned from it could change the medical field forever. In seven weeks a cell-free fetal DNA could be taken from Steve's blood it would be interesting to see what he could learn from it. He promised not to do such things. It would be a massive breach of privacy.
"Don't push yourself." She put a large cup of coffee in his hand. Tony had truly impressed her. He'd remained calm, the entire duration of the surgery. For most alphas, the situation would be impossible.
Tony followed Fury into another room. His inner alpha growled, hating being separated from such a compatible omega, ready and wanting. He pushed down the urge. Tony was unused to that side of himself. Fury tossed a large stack of a paper in front of him. It was at least five hundred pages.
Tony didn't know how to react. She was defending an assassin and rejecting her parents. The Winter soldier made no move against her. Could she not recognize them? He took off his helmet.
Steve was going to enjoy this while he could. He sat next to Tony, leaning against the alpha's side. Tony's hand carded through his hair. He began to purr. The alpha effortlessly drew the sound from him. They stay like that for the entire flight.
Genius recognized genius even in grief. His mind was trying to put together how the man created such an amazing piece of technology given the limited resources of the time.
“Howard wasn’t clear with his feelings. Letting Anthony believe he was a burden rather than telling him the truth,” said Peggy.
Natasha and Clint stripped. Steve signed and did the same. Keeping his gaze focused anywhere but his naked friends.
Tony laughed. They went to the penthouse. Tony worked on breakfast while Steve showered. Steve quickly dressed. He went into the kitchen. Steve poked at the plate of food waiting for him at the counter. He couldn’t get himself to eat. Steve settled for a breakfast of coffee. It gave him the caffeine he needed.
Tony quietly moved to her bedroom. He pulled the blankets over her. She could be a headache, but he loved her with everything in him. He hadn’t thought it was possible to feel that way. Tony didn't know what he'd do without her.
She found the nearest circuit, breaking into Jarvis's system from there. It took her about ten minutes. Jarvis's system was far more complicated than anything else she had worked on. Daddy would have to update Jarvis's firewalls. Holographic screens showing every room in the house, except the bathrooms, surrounded them.
“Its DNA is extremely adaptable. If it were reintroduced to serum the pup would absorb it and strengthen itself. Steve, what you were shot with caused your birth control malfunction. I believe those responsible for shooting you with the birth control defuser were aware of this information," said Bruce.
Steve braced against him. Tony lowered Steve into the tub. The omega purred loudly as the jets worked into his muscles. Tony sat on the edge of the tub running his fingers through Steve’s hair. He washed the omega’s hair, causing Steve to sink further into the water. The omega tilted his head back for him to rinse out the shampoo.
, he wanted to work on a project with someone else, that was a first. It could end badly, but it would show Steve he was willing to work together. He bought it.
Tony squeezed his hand. He shouldn’t allow it, but he wanted it. This would fade in time. They walked back to the lobby. Steve scowled when he saw Natasha. He wanted a few more hours with Tony.
The holographic blue image of the scene appeared before him. He walked to the center of the room, information floating around him.
Tony lazily released the embrace. He blushed when the alpha, wiped syrup from his mouth with his thumb. Tony licked the drop from his finger. Steve finished off what was on his plate, trying to forget the ideas it put in his head.
Tony rolled his eyes. “See that red lever. It will slow the rotors down long enough for me to get out. Stand by and wait for my word,” said Tony.
It was a nice thought. But she didn’t realize how unrealistic that was? Even if they did escape together, no parent would want him near their child. The two of them were forced into this situation and just happened to get along. Winter simply nodded. He wouldn’t take away the pup’s hope. So many things would be taken from her. He couldn’t steal that from her, too. She’d need it.
From outside his office, he already heard the rush to action. It would be impossible to evacuate a facility of this size. It would take hours. A destructive worm was already working its way through the computers. There would be little to nothing left to gain from them when the Avengers arrived. The staff stationed here was weak and likely crumble under interrogation. They’d have to be eliminated. He gathered his personal team of soldiers into his office.
Tony laid Piper on her back. He took a deep breath before undoing the tabs. Steve laughed when he made a gagging sound. He wasn't going throw up! He powered through it and quickly disposed of it.
"I am asking for a chance. He deserves some kind of home," said Hill. The kid had gone through enough hell.
"I went to a Russian fighting ring, specializing in fighters with mechanical limbs. Someone there just happened to owe me a favor."
Steve nodded. There was an audience of S.H.I.E.L.D agents watching them. He turned red. Steve hid his face in the crook of Tony’s neck.
“Hasn’t Winter taught you to always be aware of your surroundings? It was your responsibility to be aware,” said Lena.
"I understand it’s an uncomfortable subject, but it’s very relevant to your current condition,” said Edith.
Steve relaxed slightly when Tony left. After ten minutes, he regretted his decision. His stomach turned uncomfortably at the separation. He went to Tony’s lab. The alpha was working on one of his suits.
Winter pressed the edge of the blade into Smith's neck, sinking it in just enough to pierce the skin.
"I'm not doing anything to him. He's designed to take commands. His current state is his own doing. Winter shouldn't resist. Denying or resisting an order will only cause him further harm."
He kissed Steve on the forehead, before leaving bed. Steve instantly spread out. The omega was out moments later. He went to the lab and worked on Dumm-E and U. Their systems were simple compared to what he was used to. His mind ached for the intricacies of the armor. What if Steve went into labor and he couldn't get there in time?
Once they finished lunch they moved onto what was next on the schedule. Espionage turned out to be the worse class. She was strapped to a lie detector machine, then made to repeat the phrase the 'the sky is red' until it came off seamlessly as if it were fact. She'd failed utterly and cried through the whole endeavor.
Steve was waiting for him in the kitchen with a large first aid kit. He sat through Steve bandaging his injuries. They ate quietly.
He moved his hand away. Steve whined alluring at the absence of his touch. Tony paid the delivery boy and hurried back. He placed four large paper bags of food on the coffee table.
Tony followed, marking Steve’s stomach with his seed. The omega went weak in the knees, leaning fully against him. Tony barely kept them standing. He lowered the two of them to the ground. Slick and Steve’s cum marked in his skin. The omega rested his head against his shoulder. It had been too long since it was that intense. The intensity must be due to the potency of Steve've heat pheromones. The levels must be heightened from long-term hibernation. That has to be it.
The scientists hurriedly left them. When they were out of sight he relaxed. His preheat was making him irritable. “What happens next?” asked Steve.
"Steve, she is. I hate admitting, but she is a danger if she doesn't learn how to control her abilities. If a population outside of S.H.I.E.L.D saw what she could do, Piper would be classified as a weapon, not a person," said Tony.
He glanced at the clock. “I have to go.” Steve went to the office where he met Barny once a week. A plate of muffins was waiting for him. As much as he hated going to these sessions, he needed them.
"Bye, Barny.” Steve tucked his phone back into his pocket. "Jarvis, pull up everything you can find on Dr. Caroline Bloom and Dr. George Wong."
Piper slowly regained to consciousness. Everything was numb and heavy, her eyelids immovable. Fear was the first reaction. But paralyzation trapped her inside with every hurt, every threat encroaching on her sanity. It was too overwhelming. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. Then she caught a familiar pine mint scent, her only comfort here, Theodore. His heartbeat and breathing were calm. He must be asleep or unconscious.
Piper looked to Winter, he nodded. He accepted what was about to happen, but it didn’t feel good. The glass wall of their cell lowered and Lena stepped in, then locked the collar in place around his neck.
“Calm down,” said Steve. Under all, the bluster was fear. Tony wouldn't be acting like this otherwise. Steve had to push through it, a task that was made all the more difficult by having a stranger in their den.
Steve handed him the shield. It weighed twelve pounds. The metal itself was unscathed. Tony itched examine it further. Melt it down and remake it, but Steve would never allow him. It would be simple enough to build an electromagnetic glove. The project would take an hour at most. Applying a new coat of paint would be a short process, but it would take twenty-four hours to dry. He could add a few harmless functions that Steve wouldn’t mind.
I'm sorry this update took so long. Due to a minor concussion during a riding spill, I was unable to complete it in a timely manner. Thanks to my beta reader I believe it makes for a smoother.
“Military wedding, no patriotic patterns. I don’t need a church, but I want a Catholic ceremony," said Steve.
Steve nodded. Edith understood. The science team would be all over Steve if they found out. He’d be deprived of his privacy.
He couldn't do that to Steve and Tony. Hulk would hate it. The big guy liked Tony and saw him as a friend. In general, he didn't have many. Now he had five among them an alien, super soldier, engineering genius, and two highly trained assassins. They needed to be durable to be his friends. There was a knock on the door. He turned to see Steve with a bowl of food.
Steve was about to cry. Tony couldn't take the crying. "I'll go get some pickles is there anything else you want?"
"Mom had a habit of locking Howard out when he got on her nerves. So he kept a key here. And she let him think she didn't know. He never bothered updating the system," said Tony.
Winter was shifting on his feet. He could stand perfectly still for hours. That slight shift was enough to display his true worry. It hadn’t been that long. At least she didn’t think so.
Steve sat outside the shower listening to the sound of the water. Tony couldn’t spy on him here. He ran his fingers through his hair. His chest was uncomfortably tight. He managed to collect his breath. The water stung his skin. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there. A jolt went through when the water went cold.
There was a special on the pyramids. Tony worked while Steve watched. He worked better when he was sitting with Steve running his fingers through the omega's hair. Only looking away from it when Steve started snoring.
She smiled at the bright yellow coloring. It had been so long since she was exposed to anything but gray of her prison. She slipped on the shirt and sunflower patterned skirt, then shoved her feet into her shoes, staring helplessly at her shoelaces. Daddy knelt to tie them for her. “Einstein didn’t learn how to tie his shoes until was teenager,” he said.
Winter knew he looked horrible. His face was a mess of green-purple bruises. He'd broken several bones in his face. His nose was crooked and his eyes were blackened. By the throbbing sensation in his side, he'd broken at least four ribs.
The introduction of the two super soldiers went well. Lena just wished she’d gotten to Sergeant Barnes before Arnim Zola. Zola’s work was sloppy, treating his subject like a machine instead of human. Unlike machines, humans were flawed; that had to be taken into account. Subjects needed to be handled humanely enough to earn the proper responses.
“Piper, no. I’m not having a baby. I promise. Your father and I were in no place to have another child. Did they tell you that?”
. There were no weapons hidden in the room. Even if there were, most would be useless against Piper. But the beta exuded a confident calm, even though she was aware of Piper’s capabilities. That was terrifying.
“I put this in the records as a heat assessment, so don’t worry. First, let’s remove your birth control ring,” Edith said as soon as Steve arrived.
“I will.” The bracelet was a tracker with an emergency alert signal. That would call upon Tony and trigger the nearest suit to his aid.
He pressed a kiss against Tony’s temple. Steve quickly showered. Whatever he put scratched against his skin.
“Clark Gable saw Gone With the Wind twice because of him." Tony didn’t seem jealous, but he was smirking. That smirk left him with so many questions.
Steve nodded. He curled up on the couch. His eyes grew heavy. The smell of pizza woke him. Tony put on the news while they ate. He was starving. When done he relaxed with Tony on the couch. Steve yawned it was only nine and he was ready for bed.
Steve couldn’t believe Piper was already turning three. It felt like just yesterday she was taking her first steps. She was capable of such emotional complexity rivaling that of a teenager. Then, at the same time, she could have the naivety and childish behavior befitting her age. They’d tested her IQ when she was two. She’d earned a score of 180, breaking all previous records for someone in her age range.
“The scientists at S.H.I.E.L.D. have developed me a suppressant. They’ve already helped me cool down,” said Steve.
Steve slowly stretched out in bed. He put on a pair of sweatpants, pausing in front of the mirror. Maternity clothes had proven to be some of the most comfortable clothes he'd worn. He wanted to get back into his normal clothes, something without an elastic waistband. It would be nice not feeling like a whale. He was six-foot and nearing the end of the third term. There was nothing small about him.
Before he could think it over, he was already nodding. He moved forward, making room for Tony. Steve leaned back against Tony’s chest. The cool metal of the reactor touch against his skin, sending a small shiver down his spine.
“Fine, it’s an honor to meet. I'm not sure what's more of a surprise. You moving in or you being Captain America," said Happy.
Bruce wrapped his sweater around her, swaddling her in it, holding her tightly against his chest. “Just listen to my heartbeat. I know you can do that.”
Tony hit play. The image Steve on a ventilator appeared before him. Bandages wrapped his arms. When doctors tried tending wound tending to him, he'd jolt from the bed in an attempt to attack, before losing consciousness seconds later. Tony read through the aggression. Steve was terrified. "How did you let this happen?!"
She shook her head. Winter washed her until the scent of distress faded from her skin. After draining the tub and wrapping her up in a towel, he put her in the clean clothes had Lena brought. They were too big on the pup, but it was better than nothing. Winter tucked her into bed, hoping rest would be the answer to her condition, and took a seat in a chair beside her.
Steve nodded again. Barny handed him a large mug of chamomile tea. Steve added a spoonful of sugar and honey. He took a sip of the tea, but quickly put it down when he realized. If Barny took notice of the gesture he didn’t mention it.
“It starts off with a sickly little penguin named, Steve and his best friend Theodore. Theodore took care of Steve all his life. But Theodore had to leave him to get go to the sea. Steve waited and waited for his friend to return but he didn’t. And to did his best to become strong.”
"Why do you have to brush your teeth before you eat? It makes more sense to brush them after so food doesn't taste funny," she said.
Rhodes didn’t push further. Tony was barely hanging onto his current state of mind. Rhodes prayed his goddaughter, Steve, and Pepper's safety. Showing concerning would only agitate Tony further. He couldn't risk Tony entering alpha state.
But the alpha was clutching his left his arm, gasping. And then he was falling, backward… crashing into the cluttered work table behind him.
"A gift is something you can give back. I'm not allowed that. You've made that clear. So, stop making it sound like I have a choice."
“She’s willing to comply,” said Pierce. If the child was willing there was no need to possibly cause permanent damage to Winter.
The doctor took her leave. Tony went up to the penthouse where his mate was waiting. Steve was statute still waiting on the couch.
He was really craving sherbet, but strawberry would do. They went to the kitchen. Steve took a gallon of ice cream from the freezer, settling on the kitchen island. Watching as Tony pulled up a hologram of the tower. The damaged areas were highlighted in orange. The building's structure had held up well.
“We need them alive. How do I know they won’t kill someone we can use to get useful information?” Hill asked.
Piper agilely made her way through the minefield of toys and snuck into her parent’s room. Daddy was asleep! She pounced on him. He groaned.
Steve grabbed his shield from the front of the bed. Growling when Rumlow rudely barged into their room. His arm was in a splint and his nose was clearly broken.
Nothing. For hours he ignored her, even seeming to fall asleep again as the fluorescent light flickered off. Piper missed her parents. Someone had taken her for what she was. She’d always been warned of the risk, but it didn't seem real until now. It was all too much and Piper cried.
“For once I would love to go to a country without being injured or shot at,” said Steve. He leaned against the railing, taking in the landscape. Purring as Tony ran his fingers through his hair.
“Hey, Nat,” he said. Tony wasn’t playing fair. He bit his lip trying to keep his breathing calm as a hand traveled under his shirt.
The limited tight faced expression of grief that could be shown in war, but the true extent agony could be seen in a soldier's eyes—that anger and pure unbridled hatred at those who committed such horrendous crime against humanity.
"Nothing will happen, Tony. But I will you don't have to ask. You're just talking about the surgery." Tony nodded. “I promise.”
The weight dropped with a heavy thud. Piper was crying. Steve's shirt grew wet in response. She squirmed in Tony's hold. She'd caught the scent of milk.
Steve swallowed a growl. Too many knew! None of them were his alpha. Now it was a fact in a mission. A handicap that may affect his performance. It was never supposed to be that.
Steve quickly changed into the uniform. He changed its settings to stealth mood and latched onto his back. They got out of the jet. The climate was surprisingly warm, but it was growing dark. It was refreshing all his missions been cold.
“He’s not here.” He instantly knew that wrong thing to say. At first, it looked like she was going to cry. Then her expression changed swiftly, anger apparent. She stomped away from him. “Piper, they’d -” Winter started again, but hardly knew how to continue. Piper spun, grabbed a nearby hundred-pound plate and threw it at him. It zipped by his head.
He offered the vial to the bot. Dum-E took it carefully in its clawed hand. "Don't drop it, butterfingers."
“I know how to get what I want without killing them,” she said. Sir gave her nothing. What bullshit he spewed only serving to agitate her. Leaving was all she could do to stop herself from killing him.
Breakfast arrived but the pup was still asleep. Winter didn't move from the corner, wishing to not disturb her. She was sucking her thumb and he envied how peacefully the pup rested. He scratched at the collar locked to his neck.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. has come up with a backstory. I've made a few edits, but it's a sound story. There is one drawback," said Pepper.
Tony tensed when saw a figure in his room. He tapped on his watch face. It transformed into a gauntlet.
Killian tossed three black spheres toward him. A hologram of Steve appeared. He laid on the floor panting heavily. His skin glowed orange in certain spots as Extremis coursed through him. The muted cries of his mate played before him. All he wanted was to take away that pain. The agony of the sight threatened to call upon feral alpha wanting nothing more than to protect and mend its failure. He deep guttural inhuman sound created by the greatest anger. A zip tie snapped as he struggled forward. Killian pinned the free hand back. He snarled in tried lunging for the man’s throat.
“I need you to get to that engine control panel and tell me which relays are in overload position,” said Tony.
She was in need of a diaper change. He laid her on her back only for her to roll onto her stomach. It was her most recent accomplishment. Her limbs squirmed desperately trying to move. She whimpered. Her mind was advancing faster than her body. Piper had thrown tantrums when she couldn't move on her own to a toy or something of interest. Steve cuddled her and purred, soothing her. She snuggled against him cooing softly. It would be a few more months until she could purr.
Steve nodded. Finally, the session was over. Only ten minutes until his date. He went to his room, grabbing his shield. Steve forced himself not to run to the entrance. He smiling when Tony’s car pulled up. His heart raced. He took a breath, calming himself. It did nothing to ease the butterflies in his stomach. He was only getting his shield repaired. There was nothing more to it. The car door opened. Tony was dressed in a white blazer, purple shirt, and dark jeans.
“I look forward to your next set of reports, Dr. Zemo. What a pair those two will make,” said Pierce.
She wished she knew what Daddy did to calm Papa down. Did he have the same problem as Papa? As quietly as possible she left the covers. She sat at a safe distance from the alpha. He growled. She kept her head down and started humming a lullaby. Piper counted down thirty minutes in her head before edging ten inches closer.
Tony laughed yanking away the pillow Steve was hiding behind. "What? It's not like she walked in on us?"
They were going to John Hopkins Hospital. Dr. Wu was mentoring there for a term. Jarvis already made a hotel reservation for them.
Tony tensed when he caught his husband glaring at him. Telling Steve slipped his mind. It would not be a pleasant experience when they got back to the hotel.
Steve parked in the garage. His parking space was next to Agent Coulson’s. Lola was parked in her space. The car was in perfect shape. Steve pitied the agent who accidentally scratched the car. The poor guy ended up on Coulson’s bad side.
“You don’t know how much I wish I had,” said Steve. If he had quit, his daughter wouldn’t be missing. "I suppose it’s too late for me. Being a soldier is all I know."
That translated into twenty to thirty minutes. Jarvis would keep the water at the perfect temp for Steve. He scented the omega’s neck, checking for anything that may be wrong. Steve nosed against his neck. After half an hour he was ready to get out. Tony drained the tub and helped him out. Then helped him into a pair of shorts.
"Where are you going?" asked Tony from the bed. He pulled the omega back into bed. "What happened to wanting to keep me to yourself?"
"I can't." He already heavily scent marked the alpha before he put on the armor. Some omega or beta would seak out his boyfriend. He didn't doubt in Tony's loyalty. He just didn't like the idea of others near him. That fact had almost been enough to make him go. His arms slowly slipped away from Tony.
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back into bed. She cuddled into his chest, breathing his scent.
Piper could play for hours alone in her own little world and didn't seem to mind solitude at all. They'd tried introducing her to kids her own age but she showed little to no interest in them, preferring to be by herself. Every person invited to her birthday party was an adult.
Steve dropped his bag. He went the alpha. Steve looked into those perceptive brown eyes. Behind the fading anger were regret, pain, and guilt. He ran his fingers through Tony’s hair.
Steve came to a few hours later. Piper was quietly sleeping against his chest. He scented her. She smelled of lavender, honey, and milk. She was content. Perfectly healthy and safe. Steve sighed. This peacefulness was undeserved. How did he get his when others didn’t? She deserves better than what he could offer. He carefully got out of the nesting couch with Piper in his arm, setting her in the playpen.
The alpha only neared his bed. He grabbed Tony's arm, bringing him into a kiss. "It wasn't your fault."
He slowly got to his feet. Tony offered Steve a hand up. Steve took it but used it as an opportunity to catch him in a hug. He ran his hand down Steve’s back. Tony was still processing all that had happened in a short time. All he knew was Steve was his and their relationship managed to survive another fight.
Tony relaxed his offspring was safe. It was upsetting that Steve had fought in such a condition. How did he not put it together? It all seemed so apparent now. Steve couldn't have kept this to himself.
Steve respected Pepper. She was a nice omega. By all reason, he should like her. The bridge to friendship was denied by his inner omega. She was a rival. It was a petty dislike. He'd be polite. Her calls were always ill-timed. He pulled away from.
"I didn't need his permission. If I hadn't helped, who knows what world I would have brought my pup into," said Steve.
He took out a photo of a woman. Her light brown hair was styled in a pixie cut, and her eyes were dark brown. Her face looked so familiar, but she just couldn’t place it.
“I survive.” He was aware that at one point there may be an opponent or event that finally killed him. At times, he almost longed for it. Most often he was completely indifferent to whatever fate was assigned to him. Things had changed now that there was someone dependent on him. Winter knew there would come a day where she lacked that dependency. It could come at any point. They could freeze him and when he woke up she could be grown. And they may be strangers to each other. Winter began to understand that she was his replacement.
Steve snarled at the metal man perched outside their den. There was no scent. An empty shell. But that didn't mean he enjoyed its presence. He preferred the soft tones of their shelter. The armor's hard edges did not fit in with the rest. It ruined the level of comfort. He growled, preventing his alpha from joining him. Steve wanted it gone! Alpha shook his head. He had no intention of letting his alpha into their nest until it was out of sight. There was no swaying him on that. Maybe another approach was needed.
Steve leaned against his mate. Tony wrapped his arm around him. He followed him to the master bedroom. Tony tried setting him down on the nest but he refused. That was for after. He didn’t want to risk ruining it. Steve lowered himself to a bench the cushioned bench in the closet.
Everything about Tony was so sincere. He couldn’t find judgment in those dark brown eyes. Steve hugged him. Tony’s arms wrapped firmly around his waist. He melted into the embrace, realizing how much he missed the alpha's touch. They were slow to separate. An awkward silence built between the two of them neither of them knowing what to do next. Thankfully, Tony broke it.
“There’s nobody around here to get hurt. You did scare the hell out some pigeons though,” said the guard.
The museum came into view. It had changed dramatically since he last saw it. He was excited. Steve sat up, trying to get a better look. He grabbed Tony’s hand, practically dragging him through the door. Tony paid for their tickets.
Natasha shook her head before leaving. He locked the door behind her. She left behind a toothbrush and toothpaste. He took a breath and steadied himself. For the moment his stomach was calm. Steve brushed the taste of vomit from his mouth. Steve wandered walking ship until he found somewhere secluded. There was a small window ledge where he could sit. Bruce and Tony lodged an uncomfortable thought in his head. He yawned. Steve tried pushing it away.
"Might have well have." She seemed to be a perfect split between Steve and Stark's personalities. Fury sighed. “No, one has ever gotten this close to someone you love, Natasha.”
As the pup drew Winter cleaned. When he took a break from his task, he saw the pup was scribbling an entire world map on the wall.
Tony rejoined him, and Steve rested his head on the alpha's chest, closing his eyes. The soothing beat of his mate's heart allowed him to finally rest.
Steve went through multiple handguns at the range, but none felt right. He was tempted to ask for a version of his old weapon, but he didn’t want to be a hassle.
The secretary nearly spilled her coffee when she saw them. “Dr. Wu will be you shortly. He’s currently with a student.”
Lena’s phone vibrated, disturbing her sleep. She pulled it from under her pillow, groaning when the lab's number blinked on the screen. This couldn't be good. She snuck out of bed, going into the bathroom, and locked the door behind her.
“Fuck.” Now he had to deal with that on top of a hangover. A hangover he could handle, but a potential fight with Steve no.
Steve led Tony to the elevator. As soon as the door closed he pressed Tony against the wall, licking over his claim. Steve pulled away, realizing what he was doing. His face heated.
“My apologies a did not mean to insult your alpha status, but his stamina is beyond most human. I’m sure with your wide collection of sex toys, he’ll be fine,” said Jarvis.
“Steve!” Natasha rushed to his side. She pulling a poison-filled dart from his upper thigh. Clear liquid dripped from the needle. Steve easily got to his legs again. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m not pregnant, Tony." Steve wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He shouldn’t be laughing, but Tony’s expression was priceless.
Days passed smoothly. Steve groaned hitting the alarm. He’d slept over at S.H.I.E.L.D so he wouldn’t have to make an early morning commute. Steve yawned. He never slept well here. But staying here also let him get whatever he needed from Edith early. Steve changed into the uniform given him. He went to the hangar. Natasha waited with the quinjet.
“It’s a nice visual,” said Piper with a shrug. And it was something to do. “Do you recognize any place on here?”
Piper used a blanket stitch. After the first one, the rest weren’t so bad. Soon, there was only the cut on his forehead to stitch. Her hands trembled.
Matt caught the flutter of Steve's heart toward the end. He believed Steve fought with his boyfriend, but he’d never caught Steve’s scent here before. Matt would have remembered it.
Tony took his hand. Steve easily lifted him to his feet. They were done with the subject. Steve would likely never speak of it again. He'd gotten what he needed from the confession. Tony understood trauma. After losing his mother, he got blackout drunk state and told Rhodes of his sadness regret then buried it. Whenever such grief made a reappearance, he would drown it with drinking. Steve’s coping methods were unknown to him, but they seemed similar to his.
Tony grabbed Steve, pulling him onto the couch. He scented the omega. All traces of another alpha were wiped from his omega’s skin.
She was trying to absorb the information given to her. This would be the story of a lifetime if anyone were to get wind of it. Captain America still alive was one thing. Another thing was him being with the notorious playboy. The hero that embodied virtue with the one that embodied pride, arrogance, and indulgence. The headlines were already flashing before her mind. At some point, while she in thought, Tony snuck out of the room.
“Stay there. I’ll make you a nest,” said Tony. He gathered the extra blankets from the closet. Tony had gotten the hang of building a nest to Steve's high standards.
Tony went to the studio, carefully pushing open the door. Steve was curled up on the love seat. It always amazed him how small Steve could make himself. Tony joined him. Steve cuddled close to him. It was only nine but it looked like they were going to spend the rest of the night like this.
“You disturbed his process. I’ve seen Winter’s kills. He’s perfect, methodical and efficient. He prefers one clean headshot. This was-
"Honestly, I don't know where to start. Almost every bone is broken. His major joints have been dislocated put back in place and shot through. And that's just the preliminaries." Ballentine began listing the other multitude of injuries. “I’d say, all in all, he died of severe blunt force trauma, but it was slow. This took hours.”
Steve picked up the key from the floor and it to his apartment keys. It may not go to anything, but its sentimental value was priceless. Steve frowned. Would S.H.I.E.L.D allow him to leave? They put such stress on keeping him a secret. Living in the middle of Manhattan with Tony Stark was bound to bring attention. But he wanted this. He wanted it so badly. They could go to Malibu. It was secluded enough. He was willing to move away from the only home he'd ever known to have a life with Tony.
“Maybe.” Piper Stark was far from the average child. Those close to her seemed to forget that. It was a mistake to underestimated her. Or maybe he was overestimating her. “If anyone could get through to her, it's you. Your story could have been hers.”
“He’s perfectly healthy, sir. It’s only a matter of time. Preparations need to be made. It's been repressed for seventy years. It will be horrible for him,” she said.
Winter tossed the omega off him, then ran into the slowly gathering morning crowd. He didn’t dare look back. Those piercing blue eyes were too much for him. He felt like he was betraying something like it felt to disobey a command. But that didn’t make any sense. Not when he knew he was following orders; orders that were the only way to keep he and the pup safe.
He went through the aisle. Feeding a pregnant super soldier was a constant task. Food was delivered two to three times a week when they were at Malibu. He would have to set it up here. The omega always made sure he was well fed. He crammed the groceries into his sports car. Tony pulled into the back garage. There was always someone at the front of the tower. He grabbed as many bags as could before going up the elevator and put the bags on the counter.
Piper had enough of the tense angered voices and started wailing. Steve went rigid. Rushing to the elevator before the panic could fully take hold. The confined space was somehow comforting. His heart raced painfully in his chest. He sunk to the corner.
"We found a partial print on remains from the explosives and ran it through our data banks. There wasn't much hope for finding a match since it was so small."
He was shaking. Steve’s tight wet heat clenched around him. He was barely maintaining control. Instinct screamed for him to pound Steve into the mattress. He ran his fingers through hair. Slowly those muscles relaxed, allowing him to move forward. His thrusts were shallow. Steve’s soft whimpers transformed into pleasured purrs and gasps. Those long sturdy legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper.
Tony pulled away from him. Steve sat up. He rested his head against Tony’s chest. Steve sighed as Tony’s fingers carded through his hair. Blush still burned at his cheeks.
She spent the next few hours stewing on that thought. Had they really beaten her down so much? What had happened to her? When was she ever one to give up? The idea of escape had just seemed to fade from importance as she became preoccupied with Sir’s new routines and her new friend. Piper fell from her chair as an electric rod jabbed into her. A punishment is unjust for default in attention. She growled.
Winter simply nodded, his gaze focused forward. Piper took a worried breath, snipping the first wire, and carefully studying the others before continuing.
Piper yelped when she was shot with another tranquilizer dart at close range. The jet started rolling forward. She was not leaving without Winter. Her eyes went a glowing blue. She broke the shackles binding her.
“DO NOT THREATEN MY ALPHA!” he roared. He punched the cement wall behind her. "Never threaten him again."
The soft tone of his omega’s voice made Tony relax. He moved closer to the beauty. Tony allowed the omega to tend to his arm.
Steve was too hot to bear, putting on a shirt. He cringed as he pulled a pair of shorts on. The fabric was sandpaper against his skin. His stomach growled.
Steve became lost in the alpha's touch. The alpha’s callused hands slid underneath his shirt, stroking his skin. Steve gasped as Tony thumbed over his nipple. Those soft lips traveled down. A shaky sigh left him as Tony sucked and nibbled his neck. The touch was further intensified as the alpha’s sharpened teeth scratch pleasantly against his skin. Steve pulled away before it could go any further.
After he hung up he found it impossible to get comfortable again. The fact that he was alone made him uneasy. Maternal instinct survival instinct demanded it. Despite the fact, he was more than capable of protecting himself. Steve went to the shower. Thankfully, the hot water still worked. He took his time. Steve towel-dried and changed into a fresh set of clothes. He waited in the kitchen for Tony to come back. Rushing to the door when he heard him.
Only feet away from her, Extremis sunk into spine his spine again, bringing him down next to her. He reached and rip off her arm restraints. Another explosion ignite. Steve covered their heads with his shield. Debris fell on top of them, pinning them.
"When they woke him he went into a feral rage. Killed the team working on him with his nothing but his bare hands. It took twenty men and two days to subdue him."
And for the most part she was fine walking holding Papa’s hand. When the got to less secure area she was uncomfortable with the amount of attention being focused on her. So much so that it made her uncomfortable. She kept her eyes down, trying to ignore them, but didn't fight it this time when Papa picked her up. She hid her face in his chest. Her muscles relaxed at his comforting scent. She couldn't resist her reaction to the smell. It was so ingrained in her as something safe.
Their frustration with each other faded as the night wore on. They sunk into the comfort of their bond. Steve trembled when Tony breathed against his neck. He bared it to the alpha, gasping as the alpha’s teeth broke his skin, reclaiming him. Tony tenderly lapped the mark. The tension left Steve’s form instantly, his body going limp. He cried when he felt the alpha’s agony coursing through their bond. Steve turned so he was facing Tony. Those brown eyes were dull with grief.
Calling out was useless but he needed voice his want. Steve took hold of his arousal, rocking into his fist. Every stroke caused a pleasured friction but didn’t lessen the urge. With his free hand, he reached the slick soaked slit. He bit back moan as he played with the wet sensitized rim. Steve continued to work himself. His eyes closed as he tried picturing Tony stroking him to completion. Steve shivered as press two fingers in. He spread his leg, bringing the digits deeper, riding them. His imagination faltered. He nuzzled pillows hoping his alpha’s scent would help him reach release. Steve scissors himself open with his hand. A heat-driven fog set upon him. His fingers did nothing to fulfill the empty want. He adds another finger but it did nothing to take off the edge. There was no tricking his mind into believing his alpha was here. That knowledge only made him more desperate. He knocked Tony’s present to the floor.
Steve groaned. Tony knew the omega was underplaying it. Him mentioning meant it was bad. There was an hour until his meeting. It wasn't enough time to properly help Steve reach his needed orgasm. He could still.
Steve hadn’t thought of that. The idea of walking down it alone with all those eyes on him was uncomfortable. Most of them were strangers.
He relaxed a little when she left. Winter took the soft stuffed item from the floor. Its texture was foreign to him. It wasn't a weapon or tool. What was its purpose? It smelled wonderful. He'd encountered that scent before.
Her phone vibrated. Steve’s name appeared on the screen. It was the first time he'd contacted her since they found Piper. She didn't blame him. He had more important things to think about.
Tony closed his eyes, completely ignoring him. A silent flight with Tony Stark another first. Rhodes was almost tempted to sleep but didn’t. The first and last time he fell asleep in a private plane with Tony was when they were teenagers when he woke up; both his eyebrows were missing. Tony must have grown out of it by now. He closed his eyes, and sleep soon came.
Steve relaxed. His body was working with him to protect his baby. It was probably the reason the pup survived the Battle of New York.
Steve rolled his eyes, allowing the alpha to leave. He waited for the elevator doors to close, before going to Jarvis.
Thor launched Tony in the opposite direction. Steve didn’t react. Keeping a calm head was the answer to this.
Tony kissed both of them on the forehead before fading into sleep as well. Whining woke him only a few hours later. The smell instantly told him what was wrong with the infant. He groaned he'd been dreading this moment. When he took her from Steve, the omega's eyes snapped open. He snarled at him, tucking the pup closely to him. Several seconds went by before Steve realized it was him.
“That’s part of it. When I was young, I was so rarely allowed outside. My mother feared the pollen would cause issues with my asthma. Even after the serum, I never had a chance to enjoy weather like this."
Steve disappeared into his studio. Piper was out. The pup slept like a rock. It had been an hour. He went to check on Steve. The door was ajar. Steve had put down the underpainting. The color scheme with black and white with touches of blue. He recognized himself as the main subjection. Piper was in his arms. There was something so lifeless about it.
“Two years. Most alpha omega couples married by six or eight months? At least that was the norm during my time. Has it changed?” asked Steve.
Piper went to her room packing up her backpack. They took the subway there. Piper sighed dramatically when he dropped her off. She had her father’s sense of drama.
Hours later Steve came out of it. His head rested in Tony's lap, the alpha's fingers brushing through his hair. Steve's throat was dry and his eyes stung. He sat up. Tony was pale and looked drained. He couldn't imagine the sounds he must have been making for the alpha to look like that.
The alpha woke up. Before he had a chance to speak Tony’s lips were on his. He relaxed into the kiss, leaving his worries behind. Tony broke the kiss, letting their foreheads touch.
Piper gave placed her soft tiny hands into his large, strong ones, trusting. She watched as he wrapped them in the white athletic tape. Piper had seen Papa do this many times before. Winter did it the same exact way.
Piper was relatively cool toward them for the rest of the day. The only person she seemed warm to was Rune. It was better than no one. She went to bed with little complaint, not even requesting a story.
“I don’t know if you can tell but I’ve patterned my whole look after you. My hair doesn’t look right but there’s no product in it,” said Gary, taking off his hat.
Edith smiled. One small change to a pattern cause that much of a reaction. She pulled up the information from Stanly, sensors in the fabric having survived Piper's safety check. There was a spike in her adrenaline and norepinephrine. She needed to do a physical on Piper. For the time being, she would allow Piper to believe it was her choice.
He was foolish enough to think his alpha could actually take something seriously instead of making a joke out of it.
“Why? When so many others have died. I’ve had two chances. While some never got the chance,” he said.
"I expected the child's DNA to reflect a hybrid of human and super-soldier, but instead it's a full super-soldier. It's your body's way of protecting and granting the survival of your pup. If the pup was only half I believe there would be a high chance miscarriage,” said Bruce.
The beta took a submissive stance. He grabbed her by the neck, not tight enough to kill, but enough to bring fear. His shield grazing against her neck. She whined. He dropped her. She gasped for breath.
"She asked me to teach her about biology when I caught her not paying attention, she freaked. As if she thought I was going to hurt her."
Lena prepared her went to the observation room that looked into Winter and Piper’s cell. She started sweeping up the glass. There was a knock on the door.
“Yes, I’ve trained several agents.” He couldn't recall their names or faces, but he was sure it was something he'd done. They'd want him to pass down his skill and efficiency to others. All those others he'd taught had some baseline. The pup was a blank slate.
There was a thud on the roof. They readied for attack. Tony opened the cargo door, moving to the exit.
“Is this okay? I don’t want to make this harder than it has to be. I can go if you want,” said Steve.
“I believe the sooner, the better, but I can understand if you have reservations. Mr. Stark and I have already informed the S.H.I.E.L.D agents that will be keeping watch.”
Steve ran to him. The alpha had thrown on himself. Steve turned Tony on his side, clearing his air. He rubbed the alpha’s back. Tony threw up again.
She doodled in her notebook as Lena lectured. Only giving the woman half her attention. Lena snapped her ruler on her desk.
“I think I’m done with legos for today," said Piper, getting up from the floor. "Jarvis, is Rune awake?"
The alpha coiled back into his corner. For the first time, Piper caught the scent of distressed alpha. She was scaring him, but that didn't make sense. Each remained in their corners, processing each other.
"Steve has been suffering from morning sickness for the last three hours, but his hydration levels are fine," said Jarvis.
That's what he hoped. Then he could start a family with Peggy. It was a dream he so wanted at the time. His hand subconsciously traveled his stomach.
Steve hadn’t thought of taking Tony’s name. He didn’t think he could part with his name. His pup would carry the name Stark not him. He needed the connection to the past it gave him. “I’ll be keeping my name. May I ask you a personal question, Thor?”
The envelope was simply addressed, Steve. He traced the familiar chicken scratch handwriting. “What does it say?”
He tossed his clothes in the hamper. Tony got into the shower and sat on the bench. He spent an hour under the rain of water. When Steve fell, he was terrified by the lack of control and fear he felt at the moment. He hated that feeling way. Tony went to the bedroom. Steve was sitting, playing with the bedsheets.
She could have a home with Winter and Rune. And she’d accept them. It would be an odd misfit place, but they’d accept her no matter what. But their home wasn’t in this place. They’d find a new one.
Steve did not want to dig further into the subject. How easily Natasha could read a person could be disturbing at times. “What did you learn?”
Edith tried avoiding situations where she was left alone with Stark. She hadn't much occasion to be with him. She mostly worked with Steve and their appointments had become less frequent. Now she mostly worked as his gynecologist He only ever made an appointment with her if it were to replace the birth control implant in his arm.
"A large team will draw too much attention. It will be better to go in with a small squad. Natasha, Captain Rogers, one of my men, and I will make up that group. Rumlow you and your men will provide backup,” said Neema.
Winter's hands clenched. Remembering the many bruises, he found on the pup due to this man. The man believed it was for the betterment of the pup. His prosthetic arm creaked under the self-inflicted pressure.
Tony played with his hands unwilling to confront the conversation being held, but he couldn’t escape.
In an attempt to hurt her, Lena showed her hand. It stung and was crushing, but it gave Piper a location and that was something. Piper jumped down from the bed, carefully tiptoeing around the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. Among the wreckage, she found a few markers. She went to the wall and started drawing.
“Happy’s number. Give him a call. He’ll take you wherever you want. I’ll make sure he’ll bring you some clothes and shoes,” said Tony. He flew out the window.
"Understood." The call ended. Hill mentally put together a to-do list. A knock the disrupted her train of thought.
Steve yawned. He kissed Tony. The taste of wine lingered on the alpha's lips. “You shouldn’t drink alone.”
"It's fine, Steve go talk to your doctor. Tell me next time when you're having a bad day. I need to know things. I'm a genius but I can't read your mind."
She stuck her tongue out at him. Tony copied the motion. Breakfast went well, and soon enough it was time to leave. Tony helped Piper into a red jacket with cat ears and pawprint pockets.
“She’s alive,” said Natasha. She pulled up the footage of a fireman carrying Piper out the building and disappearing behind a fire truck.
"I'm not sure." Were these new doubts and feelings only due to a failure in his programming? Or were they how he was meant to be?
“He had a mischievous clever gaze like he always knew something you didn’t. And possessed an effortless mysterious confidence. Like even once you got to know him he could still be a complete mystery,” said Steve. He turned red, realizing just how much of a type he had. Howard and Tony fell into the category, even Peggy did to some extent. Tony was smirking.
“I know it’s a little over the top sometimes. It’s not entirely my fault; he has a tend…he's… he's a stage actor. They say his Lear was the toast of Croydon wherever that is. Anyway, the point is ever since that big dude with the hammer fell out of the sky subtly kinda had its day,” said Killian.
“Steve?” His husband pressed a kiss on Tony’s lips. He quickly welcomed the intimacy, but he had to break away. Taking in the self-inflicted damage to his lab. "I have to process that footage."
Steve's inner omega cringed at the idea of spending hours with alpha with wasn’t his mate while in heat, but with Clint’s help, they could leave sooner. “It’s fine."
“What are you doing? You’re going to break his finger. He’s injured. He’s in pain. Leave him alone,” said Tony. He was actually jealous of the armor. It was immune to the agony he was enduring.
They nodded. There was a flash of a camera. The owner seemed very proud to have served them. Tony went to pay.
"Sorry, caught in a thought, but I'll take you up on that offer. Come back here after I visit Peggy. If that's alright with you."
In the lab, Bruce and Tony studied the most recent data gathered. Bruce scanned over the cane. Tony’s mind was split in its interest. One curious of the scientist working beside him, the other with the subject he was here to study.
It hadn’t even crossed his mind as a possibility. That probably made it a perfect location. Antarctica was a wasteland, spotted with a few research facilities, and none of them capable of handling Piper.
Steve nodded, getting out his nesting couch. He followed the alpha to the lab. The three scientists were speaking rapidly in what seemed to be in a different langue.
Through all that time, she'd remained devoted to their friendship, no matter how hard he pushed her physically and mentally when they trained. How she managed to do that was beyond him. He wasn't the most personable alpha.
Steve jolted, darting to the hall bathroom. Tony followed closely behind him. Piper shrieked when he barged in his shield in hand. Relief swept through him when he saw she'd fallen into the toilet. They couldn't help laughing.
“I don’t know. They haven’t told me anything yet,” said Steve, dropping his head into his hands. Happy squeezed his shoulder.
“They were soldiers Tony they knew the risks. Mourning is normal, but you should be thankful that such men existed."
"At least I know where I stand with him. There are no mind games that leave me questioning what I should be doing. Or make me question my skills. He just has a lot of high expectations."
Eventually, Piper calmed. He sat on the floor with Piper in his arms. He sat there for two hours while she worked through her meltdown. Tony prayed she'd never have reason to make that wretched sound again. It was hallowing. Thankfully she'd found sleep. His shirt was covered snot and tears. The room stunk of distress. It was a chemical burnt floral smell.
She hadn’t realized her arms were still wrapped around his neck. Piper shook her head. Why was she doing this? They didn’t want her. Why was it so hard to let go?
A gentle round-faced omega came into the small waiting room. She had golden-brown hair tied in a high ponytail with a pink scrunchy. Her big brown doe eyes were deceivingly innocent. In her ear were small-flowered shaped earnings. It would surprise many to know she used to be one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top field doctors, before retiring from fieldwork after injury.
When the call ended, Rumlow punched a wall. How was it that crazy bitch got away with murder and was still praised, yet he was the one to get scolded?
"Yes, and they are far more relatable for a child soldier, even though Piper and Rune started their training at a far younger age than most."
“There is such a wide variety. I couldn't possibly name all of them. My favorite has always been honey balls,” said Thor.
“And shoes?” Tony picked up several pairs of shoes. Piper pointed to a pair of red sequined shoes with little flowers along the band. He slipped them onto her tiny feet. She instantly grabbed at her sparkling toes, giving a happy squeal.
“Steve wanted me to inform you that he’s watching the Wizard of Oz with Thor in the media room. You are free to join him,” said Jarvis.
“Mr. Stark, I’m about to eat honey roast ham surrounded by the agency’s finest. The president is safe on air force along with Colonel Rhodes. I think we’re good here."
“Look I don’t want to clip your wings here. We’re both a little over-excited. I got an issue I'm chasing a bad guy. I'm trying to grab a little something. Some hard creed data files. I don't have enough juice. I need you to jump on the roof recalibrate the ISDN and pump up by about forty percent,” he said.
“I handle it myself. Put my sheets in the laundry room and showered. There was no point in waking you and daddy up.”
Curiosity getting the best of her, Piper peaked around Winter’s leg, taking a good look at the woman. Her scent was gentle and welcoming. It made Piper long for the comfort of Papa's scent. Her eyes were dark brown, and light brown hair cut short. She wore a yellow shirt, khaki pencil skirt, and clogs, with a white doctor's coat on top. The woman didn't look dangerous; yet, appearances meant nothing here.
"It will be here sooner than you know and it's never too early to start teaching self-defense," said Nat.
“I was scared!” Tony’s expression softened slightly. “I was terrified of being pregnant. We've never discussed children. I thought I might lose you-
“Pull up Steve’s vital from his episode,” said Tony. They appeared in front of him. Tony had his version of a basic understanding of human anatomy. “How do his vitals compare to others with PTSD?”
And just like that, the alpha snapped out of feral state. Steve laid on his uninjured side. She numbed the area. Tony held his hand the entire time, running his fingers through his hair.
"I was five and half when Howard took me to see it. He wasn't much for rating. My mom was so angry when I woke up crying in the middle of the night talking about sharks. Howard ended up sleeping on the couch for the rest of the night."
“I don’t know but one thing I can promise is that it will be a lot better than here. So, will you help me? Or at least not tell them.”
She shook her head. Tony sighed. Getting close to what was hurting her wasn't going to be easy. Still, he felt as if he'd earned some footing with her.
Natasha nodded. Steve hesitated before leaving the mansion. His omega screamed at to stay in the sanctuary of his den and to wait for his alpha to return. With the suppressants, it was easier to resist that side of himself. He got into the car with Natasha. Steve blushed when Natasha leaned over and scented him.
Breakfast sounded good. He always had room to eat. He went to the café, filled a tray with food. The only other thing he had to do today was meet with Dr. Turner. When he finished, he went to Turner’s office. The beta was in his always-relaxed state. He took a seat on the cushy leather couch.
"No, me and Daddy used to do this all the time. He'd put fake code in Jarvis for me to breakthrough. It became a game. We're fine, Rune." If anyone were going to get in trouble, it would be her.
Natasha sat in a high-end bar, hidden from mainstream social rings. She was perched on an art deco bar stool, silently studying customers. The room smelled of big money from around the world. Bets were being placed. Liquor was flowing. At the center of the room was a caged arena. Two large alphas with prosthetic limbs sat in either corner, waiting for the bell.
Tears were streaming down his face. His muscles were tensed, and his fists were clenched. He had a white-knuckle grip on the bedsheets. Tony couldn’t let Steve suffer.
Whenever or wherever Piper was, she was safe; knowing that was enough to calm him. He was in a cell drenched in warm orange-hued light. After freezing, he was always thrown into a room like this to defrost. He always enjoyed the process, laying under the giant heat lamp for days, as the heavy stiffness faded from his limbs. Without this given time, motor function, reflexes, and thinking were slowed. The newer versions didn’t have to endure the procedure. It was their loss.
They talked for an hour before he left. For thirty minutes, he was left alone in the room. Was the next alpha coming? He frowned. The door opened. He scowled when he saw Phil.
Steve sighed. The risk was minimal. He could easily leave whenever he wanted. If he stayed out any longer he risked drawing attention to himself.
The emotion was nearly overwhelming. Tears leaked free. Tony only broke free of the shock when Steve wiped them away. Tony kissed Steve's hand.
"Pregnancy is draining, even more so when you're growing a baby super-soldier. Have you had any problem leaving home?” asked Edith.
Tony smiled. It was like seeing Steve for the first time again. Nothing could make the omega more perfect to him.
“I’m not going anywhere." The omega's hold on his hand only lessened slightly. “Ho Yinsen, a doctor kidnapped to take care of me. When I woke up as one of his Frankenstein projects. I was hooked up to a car battery. I don’t know how I didn’t die from infection, given the conditions. They wanted me to build weapons. I refused, and they tortured me."
Steve bit back his frustration. This was Tony's main deflection technique. Tony was upset with him but now wasn't the time. Their issues could be put aside while they dealt with the greater good. He needed the alpha to be serious and actually listen to him. Whatever personal issues they were having they could wait.
Tony waited for Steve to sleep. A positive side effect of Steve's pregnancy was rest came easier to the omega. He didn't so frequently suffer from night terrors. He ran a tender hand over Steve's round stomach and was greeted by a gentle kick against his palm.
"I can't." He was sure Tony's party would outdo those of his father. The party scene was not his place. At them, he was a wallflower trying that trying desperately to go unnoticed. Bucky would drag him onto the dance floor and try to get him to dance. He always retreated as soon as he could.
Steve would have been embarrassed about their current situation if it weren't so fulfilling. He moaned as Tony’s hold tightened as they worked through his second orgasm before his knot deflated. Steve whined at the separation as his pull away from him.
The next seventy-two hours were key. She’d have to keep an eye on caged pair, as leaving in them in the hands of techs would end failure. Everything was fragile. Lena sighed. She would have to remain here a bit longer. Helmut was due for leave. Part of her wished Helmut would retire but he was at the peak of his military career head of special forces unit. She would miss his return home. Lena picked up her phone. It was best to tell him sooner. Hopefully, he would be in range. The phone rang several times before he picked up.
He followed Steve’s gaze to a blonde female alpha. Tony hated the way she looked at Steve. He snarled. Was she the alpha that left their scent on his omega?!
Tony turned on the news. He always watched CNN or MSNBC. When Steve asked of other news channels he turned on FOX News to prove its idiocy after five minutes he grew frustrated and told Jarvis to block the channel. It left the alpha in a mood for a good ten minutes. Tony was the most liberal alpha he’d ever met. It was refreshing.
“Come on, there’s a lot for you to learn,” said Winter. He walked out of the room without hesitation, and waited for her in the hall. Piper froze at the doorway.
“Yeah, a little bit. Can I just catch my breath for a second?” The simple task of breathing was becoming a difficult task.
The pieces clicked together. They weren’t only after his help, but Tony’s as well. Steve remembered reading over some notes on the Avengers Initiative.
“What’s there to explain?! For the longest time, I thought Howard’s feelings were one-sided but apparently they were shared. Don’t lie to me and say they weren’t!” growled Tony.
The voices of the new casters grew annoying. He flipped through the channels until the screen became a blur of gray, white, black, enjoying the white noise it provided.
After the night he had he sleep was a great thing. His arm wrapped firmly around the alpha. He sighed as the alpha ran his fingers through his air. Steve purred.
She didn’t invade his space any further. Piper sat down waiting for him to come to her. She forced herself to be still. For two hours she remained perfectly still waiting for him to come to her. He got up offering her his arm.
They'd never taken her on a plane. The hours ticked by, and eventually, it was time to leave. Steve gingerly took Piper out of her car seat. He followed his husband onto the plane. Steve settled in the seat next to Tony. The alpha leaned over, checking if Piper was asleep. As soon as they took off, Piper's eyes snapped open. She screamed at the top of her lungs. | [
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Castiel blinked at him, and the look on his face reminded Dean of their night at the brothel—their first “last night of our lives.”
Dean had seduced and enchanted him so thoroughly and easily without even trying—from the moment Castiel had first seen him in Hell. Over the few short years they’d been together, the angel’s devotion to the “Righteous Man” had only grown exponentially—leading him to forsake his brethren, his Heaven, his life and his God just to be close.
Dean blinked. “Damn.” Cas shouldn’t say shit like that. “Uh, so,” he managed, “next time then. I’ll make it up to you.”
“Hey… you ok?” Dean reached into the back to grab his brother’s shoulder, as the angel helped him to sit up.
Castiel sighed. Dean was always changing the subject when conversations began to evoke emotions. Dean knew by now that Castiel really didn’t care how many looks ladies gave him.
Dean nursed the Impala up to the first pump and Sam bailed out before he’d rolled to a stop. “Got breakfast,” he tossed over his shoulder as he slammed the door—not before a blast of icy air filled the car again. Dean growled, watching Sam jog into the truck stop. The sun was just peeking above the horizon, and white clouds of exhaust billowed from the fleet of semis parked nearby, rumbling in the frigid dawn as their drivers loaded up on coffee and crullers.
“Dean,” Cas pleaded, calling out to his friend. “Please, please promise me you won’t blame Jack. You can’t blame Jack for this!”
, dude,” Dean finally growled, an edge of irritation to his voice. “There were strap-ons involved. Or one strap-on anyway, OK? Not something I’d recommend for your first time, though… we’re talking next-level, y’know?”
“Can I get some?” Dean blurted, instantly feeling silly—and, he realized, a little jealous. What the hell?
“Well, it ain’t. Most of the porn you see is just actors getting paid to act out some pervert’s fantasy. Real life is different.” Dean sat back and held Jack’s eye. “So listen. Most women don’t want to be treated like they’re in a porno. You need to respect them and ask for what you want like a gentleman. Sometimes they’re gonna say no, and you say ok. Sometimes they’re gonna say yes, and then you gotta be ready.” Dean leaned forward and pulled open Sam’s top drawer, fishing out the box of Trojans he knew his brother kept there, because he’d snaked a couple. He tossed the box at Jack.
“Shit… oh, shit…” Sam was hissing through his chattering teeth. With a flick of his wrist, Cas mojo-ed the door shut, but not before the car had lost every iota of heat remaining inside.
Dean sounded even more mightily annoyed, then he burst into stifled laughter. Cas wasn’t sure which was worse; it had been a long while since he’d felt more ignorant. “You
While Dean had to grudgingly admit that the kid had grown on him, he was impatient with Cas’ fixation on the boy.
“Stop it now,” Dean ordered. He inserted himself between Castiel and the sink, and put both hands on Cas’ shoulders. The angel was trembling. “Listen to me.”
“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Dean muttered, then sighed, hand on his hip. “But I don’t wanna wait that long.”
“I’m not afraid of water. And I don’t see any horses,” Cas said coolly, looking away. But he squatted down in front of Dean.
While Dean was busy talking, Cas quickly dipped his right hand between Dean’s legs, feeling the hard nub of the tick embedded in the softest part of Dean’s body
to him, more than any one-night stand—or even girlfriend—ever had… and more than he dared to admit. Even if Cas didn’t smite Dean for offering to blow him, he might just back off. He might reject Dean’s advances. He might withdraw his friendship, and…
For a moment or two, nobody moved. Sam let out a soft whimper… followed by a long, low moan. Dean stared curiously, but knew exactly what was going on. If anything could make a grown man moan like a little bitch, it was angel grace…
“I thought you’d never ask. Turn off the engine and come here,” Cas beckoned, and Dean turned the key, then slid into the middle of the seat, finding himself both eager and nervous as hell. With the engine stilled, all he could hear once again was the wind buffeting his baby. Castiel turned to face him, his knee pressing against Dean’s thigh, and suddenly Dean found himself in the angel’s arms. Cas had one hand on his shoulder, and with the other, he was unzipping Dean’s parka.
Cas thought fleetingly about the future Jack had shown him, and everything he hoped for all of them, despite the terror that likely lay ahead. He lifted his chin and gave the only logical reply.
“It can be our secret. But I refuse to forget. Last night felt… precious to me,” Cas finished softly. Something flickered across his face, and Dean thought he looked sad—just for a moment.
Cas thought up a lie and he thought it up quick. “Yes, Dean. I met some girls recently. Twins. One of them texted me tonight.”
“Jack,” he said, resting his hand on the nephilim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful tonight. I hope you understand that I’m very grateful. It’s all a bit of a shock, but I… I’ve done this before. And I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “Better than fine. You gave me a second chance. Thank you.”
Castiel began opening his tie, then unbuttoning his own shirt while Dean watched, panting, in the semi-darkness. He undid five buttons, then took one of Dean’s hands and slid it inside, against his breast. “Touch me,” the angel whispered.
Dean reached down and hauled the kid to his feet. Jack wavered, grabbing onto Dean’s arm for balance.
The Bunker was quiet. In the kitchen, Dean poked at a smoking hamburger patty while Sam mindlessly turned the pages of a well-worn dictionary.
Sam lifts his head. Lucifer does his best Irish jig right next to the vamp, making stupid faces. “Yeah, I’m Sam.”
Rowena glowed with raw power, red lips twisted in displeasure. “I want my due,” she hissed. “Since you got rid of the wisp,
“Good morning, Dean,” Cas replied amiably. “It is 8:16 a.m. and the weather report says it will be sunny.”
“Can you be ready to leave when we come get you?” Dean asks. “We’re going to break you out, then take you to the Bunker. Cas will transfer Lucifer to that vamp in the basement. Got it?”
When they finished eating, he gathered the plates into the kitchen and taught Jack how to use the dishwasher.
The drive home was short and euphoric. The stars lit up the curve of Cas’s jawline, his smile soft and genuine. Dean kept glancing at him, silently enraptured by the fact that he was
The doctor responded to Cas’s firm tone better than Dean’s desperate plea. She ushered Cas away with one of the nurses and a flurry of paperwork and allowed Dean to sit by Sam’s bed. After a myriad of blood pressure tests, pupil checks (“They already did that in the ambulance!” Dean protested), and other things that Dean had no clue the purpose of, the doctor finally gave Sam an oxygen mask and ordered everybody out. Dean had to pry Sam’s bloodless fingers off his arm to leave.
Sam climbs onto the bed, slowly. The footsteps grow louder. Lucifer watches silently, eyes shimmering amber in the moonlight.
“Hey!” Dean locked his panic away, deep inside his heart. He took a steadying breath. “What’s going on, Jack?”
Sam moved towards him. “No, Dean. Tell me,” Sam said. “You have to stop bottling things up.” He reached out, like he was going to hug Dean.
The two of them were still sitting next to each other at the table. Dean suddenly realised that they were very, very close.
The doctor looked grim. “We’ll have to run more tests in an hour or so, but here’s what we know. Your brother is having difficulty getting enough oxygen, so we have him on the mask and if his levels get low enough, we’ll have to intubate him. He’ll need stitches for the laceration of the head, and ice for the various contusions. I’d also like to x-ray his shoulder. It looks like it was dislocated recently?”
Jack looked up with mournful eyes. “You ran out of the kitchen again. I didn’t know if you were leaving or if something was wrong or…”
Sam traces the stitches, then pushes down, hard. The pain sears through Sam’s hand, sending streaks of electricity through his wrist and fingers. It’s sharp and jolting and unpleasant, but the exact opposite of the cottony feeling from the ward. It clears the fog, Lucifer flickering in and out.
“Let me sleep,” says Sam. Distantly, he thinks he’s begging, but he can’t find it in him to put much force in his voice. “Let me sleep,” he repeats.
“In a metaphorical sense,” Dean says, calming down. “He’s going to try transferring some of your—stuff—to someone else.”
“Jack,” Dean tried. His voice wobbled, betraying his calm facade. “Jack,” he said again, this time stronger. “Can you hear me? Can you tell me what’s happening?”
“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Dean soothed. He wanted to punch something. The kid had just had a terrible museum day and he needed rest, not—well,
The brothers looked over to see Jack, his hand up in a Spock-like wave. Next to Dean, Sam wiped away any evidence of crying.
“They’re very hard to catch,” Jack said. “And their meat is tough. But the other version of you was good at making chromasaurus steaks.” His voice got smaller at the end.
The walls loom above him, the bed firm below him. Everything is all white and beige, like a puppy. Trapped in the ward with the Devil, Sam shivers in his white clothes on his white sheets and ignores the clicking of bones over beige walls, beige bed rails.
“Movie night? Or you could sleep? Or talk about…stuff? Or we could read, or play a game…” Sam trailed off, keeping himself slouched over the table. “It’s up to you.”
Dean peered over Cas’s shoulder to see his little brother regain consciousness like new. He wiped away his tears; Sammy always needed Dean’s game face. But as he thought about all that had happened, he figured that Sam could see him vulnerable and gestured him over. Cas held Dean tightly as Sam added himself to their embrace; together they had defeated an enemy that no one had survived before.
The younger Winchester walked into the kitchen, grocery bags stuffed with greens. “Hey, guys,” he said, offering a smile.
The angel’s face was grotesquely eaten through by tiny white maggots. Dried blood and plasma dotted eerily discoloured skin. Dean promptly threw up in the grass. He turned away from Cas’s body, that wretched disgusting replacement that was certainly not
Dean sighed in relief. Sam wiped his brow and took a few deep breaths from the oxygen mask. He gave Dean and Cas a reassuring thumbs up. Dean was just happy that Sam’s inhales were no longer the strained, rattled drags they had been.
but there was no more burning grace, no more devouring cold… and no more blackness. The Empty had gone.
He should remain calm, he thought. He shouldn’t upset Dean. Perhaps he shouldn’t even wake him. This was Castiel’s problem, the result of his own bargain—the deal he made to bring Jack back to them the first time. The Empty had refused to take him then—it said it would wait until he was
“It’s ok, Dean… it will be alright,” he tried to soothe. “It’s not after any of you—just me. Just… stay back. It’s ok.”
But Dean couldn’t rest. Everything he’d wanted to say to Cas in the past six weeks—hell, the past six years—was bubbling up inside him. Some tiny voice on a distant shore in the back of his head was crying
Castiel often accompanied Dean to the Suds Bucket. He found he liked this simple chore—sorting the clothing, spraying the stains, operating the machines, then taking the clean clothing out of the dryer and folding it carefully again before putting it back into the baskets. It was a satisfying and peaceful task with a beginning and an end, and it was another way to care for his friends. Touching each article of dirty clothing reminded him of time spent with them, and what they had accomplished or endured or enjoyed on that particular day—whether it was blood from a successful vampire hunt splashed across Sam’s shirt collar, or mustard from a cheeseburger on Dean’s favorite blue jeans.
Cas curled his fingers around the steering wheel, wishing he could touch Dean, reassure him. But this raw openness rarely happened face to face—unless alcohol was involved. He dropped his voice another octave. “We are bonded. There is nothing to be done about that but to surrender to it. I have already surrendered. When will you?”
Dean stared into his friend’s eyes; they always held an odd, faint glow only visible in the dark. Just enough to remind him that Cas wasn’t human. Tonight, though, he seemed more human than ever, his heart pounding beneath Dean’s hand.
They stood there a moment longer, until Cas realized Dean wasn’t moving because the angel was blocking the way. He stepped back and Dean strode past him, tossing the pillow back on the bed as he did so, then bending over rather extravagantly to pick up his towel.
dick—but he knew enough to know that you didn’t play with it on the bus. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said to his brother, but he’d definitely said
Between his spread thighs, Castiel’s cock stood full and flushed, blue-veined and pink-headed and fucking magnificent, and Dean’s mouth filled with saliva.
“So last night, did we, uh… did you really…” words failed him, and Dean made a loose gesture at his crotch, blushing furiously even as he did so.
Back in his bedroom at the bunker, he closed the door behind him and turned to Cas. “Just me and you now, buddy,” he told the angel. “And it’s your turn…”
Jack was here, Sam was here, Dean had welcomed him back—they were a Family again—and perhaps, with Billie on their side, they even had a chance to win this fight. They had hope, and they had love. It was all he could have wished for, and he was… happy.
A look of consternation crept over Cas’ features. “Oh, Dean,” he murmured, “your jaw is fractured. Why didn’t you tell me you were in such pain?”
Castiel’s hands floated to his chest, as if he could feel it. Well he could certainly feel something—all these emotions. Come to think of it, he was reacting the same way Jack had after visiting the garden and getting his soul back. Like a hot human mess.
Dean turned away from the boy’s penetrating gaze, searching the room for something else to focus on. Took another bracing breath. Time to nip this in the bud. “Listen – life is complicated,” he said quietly, “you’re finding that out.” His eyes lit on Castiel’s trench coat, folded neatly on the foot of the bed. “And sex just makes things more complicated – you’ll find that out, too. Sometimes you gotta make hard choices. Sometimes… you just gotta suck it up.”
Cas lifted a hand to the back of his vessel’s neck, which seemed to be tightening up. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “A strap-on
“I’m thinking…” he still stood very close to Castiel, keeping ahold of his wrist, and his eyes wandered over Cas’ face and down his chest. “I’m thinking I wanna know what it is you’ve been watching all these years that you think you wanna do with me,” he growled softly.
. Dean could feel his dick swelling, blood rushing hot to his groin in the cool water. He couldn’t help it—he looked down at Cas’ crotch, and the sight of the angel’s cock rising, too, punched a hard breath out of him. He pulled on Cas’ hand until his friend stood up toe-to-toe with him, then Dean grabbed him tight and kissed him hard. There in the lake, covered in goosebumps, mussels beneath his pruny toes, fish nibbling his leg hair, up to his nipples in water, Sam and Jack on the other side of the dock, he kissed his best friend like there was no tomorrow—kissed him like a horny teenager, rubbed up on him like a damn dog. Cas was all about it, mouth opening under Dean’s and hands clamping around Dean’s ass until he lifted his legs and wrapped them around the angel’s waist, and Cas was the one holding Dean in the water.
Excited to start sparring, Dean leans in. “Do you know what impressed me the most about you Cas? Getting from Pontiac, Illinois to Harvard on a cross country scholarship.”
Dean’s heart squeezes, painful and sharp, but tries to smile through it. “Where does he find the time?”
Cas pushes in past the ring of muscle, the feeling of fullness seeping into Dean’s brain. Cas moves slow, splitting Dean open with his dick, whispering devotion into Dean’s skin. As he buries to the hilt he brings Dean’s calves up onto his shoulders, kissing the inside of his knee before starting long, firm strokes. Dean’s never felt so full, so complete. This is dangerous and he doesn’t even care, he wants everything Cas can give him. Cas speeds up his thrusts, pausing every few to grind and circle deep inside Dean. He finds what he’s looking for when Dean’s eyes shoot open.
Cas looks out to the water and starts pacing around Dean’s lounger. “And suppose I did run? Then what would you have? Not the painting, not the million-dollar fee, and not me.” He pauses and quickly looks up at Dean.
“I'm afraid Jim embellishes horrendously. I just did what Jim does at these fundraisers. I waved my arms in the air...and shrieked for help. Thank you.”
, windows spilling warm light onto the wrap around porch. As they curl around the shoreline, Dean sees that they are aiming for a private
“This is a warrant. We're here to conduct a legal search of these premises.” Sam pushes past the man and the team trails behind him. “Garth, give me two men upstairs, and I want two more in this room here, and check for a basement.”
“Sorry Joanna, but I got nothing to say so far. Besides, we only just got one of the suspects to talk. Calm down.”
Cas chats as they drive, and is complaining about an event he has coming up when Dean tunes back in “… She's an old friend, but it'll be like having dinner at a morgue. You know, it occurred to me, I might be able to bear it if you came with me.”
“Yes Dean, there is an event at the museum tomorrow night. I will put the painting back during the event. And then you’ll meet me at nine o’clock, at the Kirkland heliport and we’ll leave together. Or…” Cas hesitates and flicks a glance and both his cousins. “Or, you can have Sam and Garth waiting for me. I’m trusting you.”
He finishes his shower and gets ready, choosing a navy suit and snowy white button up shirt. It fits him perfectly, the jacket tailored to accentuate his…well…everything. But he needs to keep Cas on his toes and if there is one thing Dean knows, it’s how to look distracting. He leaves his top two buttons undone, puts on a his favorite watch and then works product into his hair, fluffing and tugging until it’s just right. He decides to keep the hint of five o’clock shadow.
“Aber Sie sind doch kein Staatsbürger.” Dean slowly starts to walk around the table. “Da gibt's keinen Prozess. Sie werden ganz einfach deportiert.”
Cas gives Dean a ride home and then walks him all the way to his door. Dean leans in, going for a kiss on Cas’s cheek and sneaks the keys back into his coat pocket. Drawing back, their eyes catch. Dean has no idea what it is between them, but they constantly get stuck eyefucking the shit out of each other and he can’t even be mad about it. In the back of his mind, he knows he needs to step away…close the door… cut himself off from the heady feeling of being near Cas. Dean feels himself sway closer into Cas’s space, fuck it, just one kiss. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a head duck back around the corner. He’d bet Baby its one of Sam’s goons, but it shakes him out of whatever spell Cas has him under. He jerks back blushing once again, he doesn’t think he’s ever blushed this much in his entire life, and mumbles a thank you to Cas.
He tunes back in when he realizes that Charlie suddenly stopped talking. Sam walks in and leans against the door frame.
As hipster-esque as it is, Dean is a sucker for avocado toast. He pops some bread into the toaster and starts slicing an avocado. He wanders onto the balcony; green smeared slices balanced precariously atop a steaming coffee mug, and kicks back on a patio lounger. Munching and sipping away, he watches the Sound, full of activity, and wonders if Cas would ever take him out on the catamaran. He’s jarred from his musings by the front door buzzer.
Cas is the face of the company, operating as the CEO and rubbing elbows with other wealthy elite, being in the inner circle allows him the opportunity to see, hear, or even be invited to participate in nefarious activities hidden by mass amounts of wealth.
“So are the laws of the United States... completely unknown to you?!” Sam whisper yells and starts waving his arms. “Or is it because you've been living in fucking Morocco-“
They continue to gaze at one another, the moment slowing down and quieting them. Without meaning to, Dean slowly drifts closer to Cas, caught by those cerulean orbs. Damn he wants to kiss this man.
The fog of attraction surrounding Dean instantly clears. Novak? The guy who tripped the suspect? Shit. He smoothly extracts himself from the guys hold and starts to back away. Still holding that beautiful gaze for too long before it turns towards Sam. Well fuck. He needs to shake this off, maybe get some coffee and check in with Garth if he’s here. He heads in the opposite direction of Sam and the witness and takes the stairs to the offices. Collecting his thoughts, he walks into the conference room.
They are granted a private interrogation room at the prison. Concrete walls dreary and lifeless, a gray so bland it may as well be beige. While they wait, Sam asks if Dean is ok.
“Not bad for a lanky kid from the City of Swinging Bridges, eh? But you Dean, I’m more interested in your other records. The matador? The Italian industrialist? The ambassador’s son? Your tastes vary far and wide it seems.”
Charlie suddenly being quiet is always suspicious, but Dean lets it slide as she slips around behind Sam, turning back to shoot Dean a thumbs up behind his back.
“I have lived here off and on for most of my life, and I still have never been up to the North Cascades!”
Cas hands him a second full face helmet and tosses a leg over the bike, securing his own helmet before looking expectantly at Dean.
Dean sets his bag on the table and goes over to the bar to pour a drink. He sips it slowly as he watches the boats cruise around the sound. Well, no point dwelling on the past, time for bed. He starts peeling his layers off and heads to the bedroom. As his head hits the pillow he shuts his brain off and passes out.
Walking slowly into what appears to be a study, Dean sharpens his gaze to look for any tiny anomalies, anything that could be hiding something. This room in particular feels the most like Cas. It is well lived in and shows signs of use, with papers in tidy piles on the desk, books set on chairs or side tables, and an empty glass by the chair under the window. Dean takes a deep breath; it smells like Cas and it’s doing things to him.
He plops down on one of the chairs as Cas comes to sit in the other, wineglass now in hand, staring at the burning box in bafflement. As the flames pass the point of no return, Dean cannot hold it in anymore.
He feels a hard shudder go through Cas, then is staring into those baby blues for a hot second before he is being dragged down the hallway to the bedroom. The next thing he knows he’s naked and face down on the bed.
before locking up and hopping on the elevator down. He doesn’t see Cas through the lobby windows, so he starts looking around as he pushes through the front doors and stops suddenly.
We're getting into some of the chapters I had written awhile ago so I hope you enjoy a multiple chapter upload today.
“So you think if I want paint, it just comes FedEx... and the guards just think it's therapy...while I madly copy a famous painting in my cell from the original?” the forger snarks. But then his eyes settle on the table, glued to the painting. His brow furrows a bit and something in his face changes, an expression that Dean can’t quite place, but it’s... something, so he asks.
Walking into the Roadhouse, Sam and Dean make their way to the bar. Sneaking up behind the brown-haired barkeep Dean snarks “What does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?”
“My job, Sam. He likes me. He'll keep liking me.” He fiddles with some papers on his temporary desk “…I’ll keep him right next to me.”
This is my first ever fanfic, so I apologize if it sucks. But I'm so excited to write it I know I'm not doing it justice. Maybe I'll go back one day and spruce it up. Until then...enjoy!
“There is no rest for the wicked is there? I know the feeling, and I’m glad I’m experiencing it with you.”
Deans brain is trying to mount up to a full on freak out when his phone chimes with an incoming text.
“In the works. Point of entry was a hollow statue delivered this morning. They brought it in through their own security.”
“Detective Fitzgerald, good to see you again.” Sam greets the Seattle Police Detective with a handshake.
Dean is trying to absorb all the information just dumped on him, but refocuses on Cas when he speaks up.
Dean glares at his phone. Fuck, he still needs to get this job done, still needs to recover the painting. Feeling torn and ragged he responds an affirmative.
Sam and Garth continue to mutter excitedly to one another as they reach the parking garage and get to the car. If they notice Dean’s lack of enthusiasm, they don’t say anything.
Sam is on the phone with Garth right away “Hey Garth, could you ask Castiel Novak to come in to identify the suspects in a line up and to get his statement? Thanks. Let me know when he’s on his way.”
Dean just stares at nothing as his heart seems to try and escape his body via his throat and his ears fill with white noise. Holy shit. He loves Cas. Like big time, all encompassing, chick flick level- love.
is stunning, and Dean can’t help but be impressed. He rubs elbows with some pretty swanky people, but none of them have been skilled in things the way Cas seems to be. He may have partied on a 120-foot yacht, but the guy he was tracking at the time certainly wasn’t driving the damn thing.
Bobby hollers at Sam’s disappearing back, “Yep, tell that idjit I said hi. And that he needs to come home for dinner while he’s here!”
Walking back to the car, Dean is processing his thoughts and is interrupted by Sam’s hand on his shoulder.
Dean has heard of the name, but he would bet Baby that even if she is a forger, it’s only to cover up what Dean actually knows of her… the fact that she is an elite thief of ancient and occult relics. Being in the art world is probably a way for her to hide her other shady dealings. But to each their own, she’s not hurting people as far as Dean knows, so he will keep his mouth shut about her extracurriculars.
Put out and entirely done with her basically surrogate brothers, she gets up and takes their order. Blond locks flouncing as she rushes away.
Again, Castiel thinks of plush pink lips, sandy blond hair, and adorably flushed cheeks. Maybe Gabriel has a point.
A couple of inches taller than him, those eyes belong to a face that makes him ache with how perfectly symmetrical it is. Paired with pink lush lips, sandy blond hair, a five o’clock shadow that he knows would rub his own face in the most delicious of ways, and a constellation of freckles across his nose, the man is exquisite. Stunned into awed silence he hears the green-eyed beauty’s quiet “Oh!” Even his voice is perfection- smooth, deep, with just a hint of rasp. The stranger’s eyes drop to his lips, shaking Castiel from his trance. He opens his mouth to introduce himself-
Cas is a goner. He knows it. And Dean is the reason why. However, he tries to not let his therapist know that and so… deflect.
“Then the camera can't tell between people and walls.” Hot damn, he was good. This is why Dean got paid the big bucks. “Ok, how hot did it get in the museum? Check the other cameras.”
Garth excitedly waves his hands around and answers for Sam, “The painting's borders match perfectly.”
“I must admit, that's a fair litany for a young man from Lawrence, Kansas. But the part I didn't get... I mean, it's obvious that you enjoy men... but you never keep any of them around very long either.”
The museum’s security technician pipes up with an answer. “We're upgrading to thermal imagery. So far, it's just the high value areas. But it works in the dark, and even senses body heat.”
Garth and an agent direct him towards the side door. Dean catches his gaze and once again gets lost in his eyes. Dean has to drop his eyes as his breath catches and his cheeks flush, then he takes advantage and checks out the exceptionally fine ass walking by. Ugh…even that is perfect.
Dean shrugs, no he doesn’t. Honestly, he just wants to sink into this island fantasy they have going. He wants to eat whatever smells so damn good in the kitchen, maybe make S’mores over that fancy ass fire pit, then take Cas to bed and let him do unspeakable things to him for as long as they can both stand it.
He stops as Dean’s head whips up, an intense look in his eye before growling. “Then we find the forger and nail the bastard!”
Dean can’t help but watch as the beautiful man leaves the room. Cas seems more at ease here, less big time CEO and more, dorky guy who loves bees. He would be lying if he said it felt important that he is getting to see another facet of who Cas is.
Not even a little sorry, Dean puts his hands behind his head, kicks his feet up on his desk, and winces a bit before replying with a wink.
Cas looks a little forlorn and Dean can’t stand it. He decides to just take the box out of the equation and walks over, pics it up and plops it on top of the firepit. Watching as the flames catch the wood and start moving up towards the night sky.
All three men lean forward to watch as the suspects run down a hallway shoving people left and right, only to trip on the leg of a man sitting on a bench reading a newspaper. As the first one tumbles down, the two behind him fall as well. Just in time for the security guards to come in and detain them.
“Uh, sure.” Dean steps over to Cas and then is confused and slightly panicked when Cas shuffles Dean between his arms and in front of the wheel.
Fuck yeah! He feels like Hans Gruber opening the safe at Nakatomi Plaza, and is slightly disappointed that
The next morning, Dean wakes from dreams of vivid blue and deep rumbling tones, the phantom touch of long fingers and skin sliding. As he blinks into the sun peeking through the blinds, he can’t help but smile in anticipation for the day ahead. Yes, this is just a job. It is! But that doesn’t mean that he can’t enjoying playing with Cas for the time being. Stretching his arms overhead and his toes out, he ponders what the day will hold in store. The only hint he could get from Cas was to dress casually for being outside. That could mean anything!
that morning.” He scans the video trying to absorb every detail. “Ok, go ahead and skip forward to the robbery.”
Cas feels his heart break a little, he was a fool to think he could find someone willing to put a little faith in him so he could open up about who he really is. But Dean didn't outright say no, and he will cling to that hope. There are still more moves to make. He will show Dean he can trust him, that they can have their happy ever after.
Dean watches Cas take in the scenery, hair wild and ruffling in the wind, he’s stunning. He can’t take it anymore. Overcome, Dean steps in front of Cas and kisses him desperately. Surprised yet delighted, Cas wraps his arms around Dean and kisses back. It’s hot and wet and full of passion. Crushed together from shoulders to knees, Dean can feel his heartbeat everywhere they touch. He wants more, he wants everything. Gasping for air he pulls back and groans at Cas’s dazed eyes and swollen lips. He leans back in for a gentler kiss, leaning back just enough to rest their foreheads together. He can feel his emotions swell, a tightening in his eyes, and just before he thinks he’s going to say something he will probably regret his stomach gives out a vicious growl.
Sam looks up surprised. “Next you're gonna tell me it was a horse.” At Garth’s nod, Sam huffs a laugh, “a Trojan horse?”
“Mr. Morgenstern, I am Special Agent Sam Winchester, this is Detective Garth Fitzgerald, we want to ask you about this painting.”
Standing frozen, half in half out of the door he takes in the delicious creature before him. Cas is extra casual today in well-worn jeans that fit like a second skin, a white t-shirt under a black, leather motorcycle jacket, motorcycle boots, and to top it off… Cas is leaning against a Metisse MK5 Scrambler. The motorcycle, made famous by Steve McQueen, gleams a midnight blue, the chrome shining as brightly as Cas’s eyes when he notices Dean stuck in the doorway.
“You know, that could be! These things need a ten-degree difference. If the temperature of the ambient gets within ten degrees of the bodies...” Alfie muses.
“Whenever I talk… while you're tuning out what I say... the corners of your mouth go up. You're enjoying something. It's not me. What is it?”
“But that’s not the most interesting part. We got a call this morning from Roman Enterprises. Around the same time of the art theft, their assets were robbed of almost $100 million dollars across nine of their companies.” He spins the file around and nudges it towards Sam.
“Dean!” The sharp commanding tone yanks him out of his spiral and Cas tilts his head to catch Dean’s eyes. Once he has Dean’s gaze, Dean feels those large, warm hands cup his face, thumbs brushing along his cheek bones.
As the group starts to disperse, Cas walks out of the kitchen in an apron, drying his hands on a towel. The man who answered the door hands the warrant to Cas. His calm face makes Sam nervous, and rightly so…
The view is amazing. The lake glows a bright teal, with deep green trees blanketing the mountains that tumble into the lake, all the way to the waters edge. The air is brisk, crisp, and smells of sharp pine, cold water, with just a hint of snow.
Dean drags himself into the office the next morning, mind muddled and exhausted from the implications of Cas’s words, the…possibilities. Which just brings up fears, doubts, longings, and hopes, dreams even. He jerks to a halt as his giant moose of a brother and Garth appear in front of him. Sam grabs his shoulder and spins him back the way he came.
Relief floods Cas’s face and he grasps Dean’s hands, thumb stroking soft circles across his knuckles. “I can leave here tomorrow… And so can you.”
Quickly grabbing the guy under the chin, he jerks his head back and whispers “What fun would they have with you, huh?”
He starts poking and pulling at all the knickknacks and do-dads on the mantle, yanking on books on the bookcases, and finally goes around to the huge antique desk. He feels around near the top looking for any little discrepancy in the carved molding. There. He presses the smooth round button and looks up as the businessman slowly disappears into the ceiling above, revealing the
There is that delicious smirk again, so at home on Dean’s face, “Hey man, if that’s what you want to call it…”
Sam keeps skimming the file, as Bobby says, “You’ll be teaming up with Charlie on this one, you are good with the computers, but we all know she is the genius at tracking hackers. And there is no trace so far of just where the money went.”
Cas spins towards him but keeps walking backwards. “I'd buy a print.” He winks at Dean and starts walking forward towards the general direction of the exit.
He drives on autopilot until he pulls up in front of a quaint cottage home in a quiet neighborhood. He gets out and walks, dazed and grief-stricken to the point of numbness, up the walkway and knocks on the door. The warm light inside hurts his red and teary eyes as the door opens.
Well now Sam is less sure of the ease of this investigation. From behind him a deep and amused voice startles him, though he quickly recognizes it.
“Nothing so far, still no real trace of them either. Next she’ll run facial recognition and see if anything pops up from Interpol. That can take a couple of days.”
Everything about her screams beauty, class, and sophistication, yet there is something very cold and calculating about her. It sets Dean’s teeth on edge. Luckily her sharp gaze is drawn to Sam as he introduces himself and Garth and they start asking her question about the forgery. Dean tunes in as soon as they hand over the painting to her. She sweeps her gaze over it before answering the agents.
Cas smiles, “they may be off a little here and there…but I think they’ll make do. I’ll go make dinner.”
Dean can feel himself getting pulled into Cas’s orbit, a flicker of hope igniting in his heart again. “What about you, Cas? What’s it to you?”
Cas finds him about fifteen minutes later. Looking up at Cas through his sunglasses he smiles at him.
“Then who did? Come now Mr. Morgenstern, surely someone of your renown and talent would be able to recognize another forgers work.”
Smiling down at his phone, he texts Cas his address and goes upstairs. A tingle of anticipation grows as he contemplates how he wants to play things this evening. On the drive back to the station, Dean had texted Benny and Jo asking for their help tonight. Dean would get into Cas’s house, but Sam couldn’t be involved. The plan was in place, but they would have to be careful. He was pretty sure Sam would put some FBI goons on their tail to report everything he and Cas did tonight, so he couldn’t risk them ruining his plans.
“The hacker who stole the funds from Roman Enterprises… it will never be able to be traced or connected to any of us. That money has already gone to feed the hungry, build clean water sources, and fund reforestation projects.” Charlie assures Dean, like she wasn't the one who hacked it, but if she is that sure of her skillset...
No words are said as they walk into Cas’s foyer. Dean walks ahead and stops to turn and watch Cas come through the door, quietly closing and locking it. Everything suddenly feels heavy, anticipatory, sultry, and Dean wants to take this slow. He reaches up and starts to unbutton his jacket, letting it slide slowly down his arms to the floor. He looks expectantly at Cas, then watches with lust filled eyes as Cas does the same.
“Believe me it was,” he replies with a shit eating grin and a wink at the detective. Turning back to his girl of a brother he asks, “You gonna be a bitch about this?”
“Yours. Good evening, Mr. Novak.” And with that Dean give him a wink and leaves the room, heading in the direction of the exit.
“Garth, talk to me.” They must have gotten the warrant because Sam fist pumps the air, and gives the command.. “Awesome, meet us there in half an hour, we need to catch him while he’s home.”
“Well damn Winchester, I wish I could get paid to vacation with a sexy billionaire. I am in the wrong field apparently.”
And Dean just shuts off his brain. Not thinking about work, or Sammy judging him, or Crowley, or the robbery. He just feels the rumble of the engine, the wind whooshing past, and takes in the sights around him as he chats with Cas through the headsets. He listens, fascinated as Cas excitedly describes the newly installed apiary at his home, he’s never really thought much about bees, but Cas is making them interesting. Cas asks about Baby and Dean rambles on and on about the painstaking restoration of the Impala. They both have a love for classic cars and driving just for the sake of driving. As Dean starts in on a story about a road trip through California where he swears he saw the rumored Woman in White ghost that he had heard about in the towns diner that day, when he notices the city start to slip away as they pass through Arlington.
Laughing, Dean tosses his head back and looks almost fondly at Cas. “Alright, I will seriously commit to your espresso. Excuse me a second.” Dean walks towards the restrooms, feeling Cas’s eyes on him the whole time. He gets to the hallway and Jo pops out of nowhere, startling him.
“What makes you think they failed, Sammy? Maybe it was a successful robbery. Maybe they were set up to fail!”
“Plus it’s fun as hell, Deano!” Gabe’s pronouncement is muffled by the candy bar stuffed in his cheek.
His gaze drops to Cas’s lips as his hand slides under the trench coat to snatch the keys from his coat pocket. Flicking his eyes back up, he almost drops them when he sees lust blown pupils, the blue almost completely gone, and a flush creeping up into Cas’s cheeks. The look heats his blood and goes straight to his groin. It takes two tries before he can speak.
Closing the file, Dean leans on the door handle to interrogation room 4, “Showtime” he winks as he walks through, and shuts the door behind him.
Dean looked at Sam like he grew a second head. “Are you kidding me? You think you are going to be able to get into his place? You said yourself he has connections, an entire legal team, and money up the ass, there’s no WAY you are going to be able to make that warrant stick.”
Dr. Milton contemplates Cas’s disheartened expression. “Wait a minute… are you… serious? Castiel, did you catch feelings?”
“So, I don’t read the news, sue me. Thanks Charlie!” He hops off the desk and moseys his way past Garth where he takes Castiel’s statement. Refilling his coffee at the sideboard he overhears the tail end of the conversation.
The technician skips forward and the screen pops up entirely white. Dean raises an eyebrow. “Woah, zip!”
Cas is insistent. “If the painting’s back we’re free of it all. All we have to do then is leave. The painting will be back so your job is finished, and it will no longer have been stolen, so they will stop pursuit of me.”
Dean wakes to the sound of waves lapping the shoreline and a breeze coming through the window. The breeze carries with it quiet voices. Sneaking over, Dean sees Cas sitting on the porch with two portly men in business suits. They’re speaking German, but he is only making out a few words here and there due to the wind, but he hears enough.
As he lets Cas tow him along, Dean sneaks the keys onto a pedestal holding up a small bronze statue. He knows Benny or Jo are nearby and will pick them up. Then they will go get copies made and get them back to Dean during dinner.
That bedhead tilts as Cas squints at Dean. “You don't believe it's possible that we could ever really trust each other in all things, do you?”
Cas stares down across the city, the view from Dr. Milton’s office is beautiful as always. Yet he barely sees it as he zones out thinking about Dean Winchester. Why did the man suspect him? Yes, Cas did it, but…not even the FBI suspects him. Though even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. He has the good fortune of being ridiculously wealthy, extremely well connected, and hurting absolutely no one with his boardroom takeovers. And in many cases he is saving people being abused by the wealthy. So it’s not that he’s worried about repercussions if he is caught. He could easily run, and live a comfortable lifestyle while doing so, if that were the case. He is curious what makes him so transparent to Dean, and why he is so curious about Dean. The man is infuriating, charming, and honestly… such fun to play with. Cas would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to be dining with him this evening.
They both chow down on double bacon cheeseburgers, curly fries, and milkshakes. Talking about inconsequential things and enjoying the moment. Hunger satiated, they hit the road. It’s not until Dean smells the ocean and hears the seagulls that he realizes they are still going west when at some point they should have gone south on the interstate.
The conversation gradually turns to lighter subjects and the banter continues. If Dean is honest with himself, it is straight up flirting. Cas is hilarious and slightly awkward but also unconsciously sexy, and Dean will admit he is having a great time. As their plates are taken away, they are plied with shots of espresso and soufflés. Dean takes a bite of the silky chocolate concoction and can’t help the almost pornographic moan that follows. He looks up to see Cas’s face once again flushed and his pupils dilated, spoon stopped mid air as he stares at Dean’s lips.
Cas leads Dean into the museum towards the back of the building. Not wanting Benny to lose sight of them, Dean sees a painting on the wall and stops. He laughs, it is perfect! He catches Cas’s eye and points at the painting.
“Stop the fucking car!” Dean throws open the door and Cas has to slam on the breaks to slow down fast enough. Dean storms off in the direction of the restaurant. He can hear Cas get out of the car and chase after him. He turns and yanks his elbow out of reach at Cas’s touch.
“Yeah, Sam come on in.” Bobby sits down and opens a file on his desk. “Three nights ago, Roman Enterprises reported the theft of a painting from their private museum during a black-tie party and showing. The painting that was successfully stolen is valued at 21.5 million dollars. They also tried to steal a bunch more but were unsuccessful. The culprits were caught, it looks like their plan was to load up artwork into a chopper and fly out. They’re being held down at Seattle PD headquarters since they answered the call.”
Cas laughs, loosening his hold. “Shall I feed you? As beautiful as this is, I could use some food myself.” He grabs Dean’s hand, entwining their fingers as they wander back to their ride.
For the entire first floor of the museum, Jack darted from painting to painting, pointing out tiny details and things he admired about each one. Dean thought it was the most energetic he had ever seen him. Sam trailed a few paces behind Dean, smiling and laughing at the right times. Every so often, Jack would pause nervously, almost like he expected something to happen. Dean always tried to meet him with an understanding smile.
Jack is the only character a truly truly love an am a terrible person sae whoops, also Highway 107 is mine own creation
Once both were clad in their respective outfits, washed and brushed, and decently calm, they went downstairs. Sam was still asleep on the sofa; his disrupted movement suggested that he was stuck in a nightmare. Dean reached to wake him, but his eyes flew open with a choked cry, “Jess!”
The blankets on top of him are soft and red. As Sam blinks awake, he looks groggily around to see that he is on the couch in the Bunker’s library, Dean sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a book. Cas sits next to Dean, doing absolutely nothing at all. Both of them look content.
About an hour later, when the sun was low in the clouds and the brothers were listening to Black Sabbath on the lowest volume, Jack gasped awake in the backseat. Sam startled, looking back at him.
“Let’s go!” Dean grabs Sam’s hand and tugs him up, careful to cradle Sam’s head from the window frame.
“Hey, kiddo,” Dean said, leaning into the doorway. “Wanna get some new clothes? We could go to the art store, too.”
“Probably not,” Cas said seriously. “Maybe something like, ‘we’re all in this together and we make each other stronger.’”
Dean realised that they had their magic healer angel back, which meant that Sam didn’t need him to do it anymore. “Yeah, that’s a good—that’s good,” he said. He threw the ice cube in the sink and sat down again.
Sam backed out of the room, sitting against the wall at the threshold. A small sound crept out of Jack’s throat; Dean hesitantly started to brush his fingers through the kid’s hair. Jack panted once, harshly, and sucked in a strangled inhale.
A week ago, the brothers had burnt Jack’s eyeless corpse in the middle of the night under a twinkling sky. Dean had stood there stoically, waiting, watching, and when the sun streaked the sky and the pyre was ash, he had lost his dinner in the dandelions on the side of the road. Two weeks before, he had buried Castiel in the woods, unable to face the idea of the smell of his burning corpse. He’d barely spoken a word since.
Dean felt his heart drop as the world went blurry. By the time it righted itself, Sam had slumped against the coffee table, slack in the throes of unconsciousness.
Dean scooted closer and laid a comforting hand on the kid’s shoulder. “The other you was Lucifer’s son, technically, as well,” he said. Jack looked up at him in surprise. “But he wasn’t really Lucifer’s son.” Jack tilted his head, confused. “He was ours,” Dean explained. “Mine, Sam's, and Cas.” His breath caught at Cas’s name.
shone in gold embroidered thread. Cas had overheard Sam laughing about that horrendous play, and took it quite seriously. Unfortunately for Dean, he and Sam had collaborated to create “the perfect Christmas gift.” Dean secretly liked it, but he made sure to always whine about it good-naturedly when Sam was around at the garage. If he noticed that although Dean constantly complained, Dean also constantly
Dean surprised himself with the smile that spread easily across his face. It was relieving to know that the past night had been real, that Cas was still alive and it wasn’t all just Dean’s wildly addled imagination. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed to shave. “I don’t know what to do, Cas,” he admitted. “There’s no lore to fall back on. There’s no God to pray to.”
“That’s right,” said the policeman. He was a heavyset man, with eyebrows like caterpillars and a moustache that twirled up at the ends. Dean thought it looked like a small rat, poised quiveringly over the man’s top lip.
Dean shot to his feet, hauling Jack to his feet. “Jack,” he said frantically. “That was Castiel. Remember? In the Empty?”
Dean sat down and pulled a plate across for Jack, who seated himself right next to Dean. Sam kept his eyes on his omelette, but Dean could see the slightest bit of hurt flash through them. He kicked Sam under the table good-naturedly, causing him to pause in his eating to kick Dean back. Beside them, Jack took a bite of his own omelette and smiled in innocent content. Dean barely noticed the taste of the slightly crispy egg, but Jack’s rapture brought a begrudging grin to his face.
Jack stayed where he was, eyes following Sam’s movements. Dean noticed he kept to the right of the door, almost like he was expecting something to happen. Moving closer to him, Dean settled a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, uh, me too, Sammy?” Dean stood up and put the unopened pie in the refrigerator. “I guess I could eat something healthy for once.”
Sam watches Dean and Cas slide into the front of the car, their hair mussed from the breeze. The Impala roars to life underneath Sam. He can feel the engine purr in his ribs, the bite of the tyres on potholes jarring his head as they drive at high speed down the backroad.
Dean laughs, somewhat giddy. “Okay, let’s get you both up.” He supports Cas to standing, and only comes back to Sam once he’s made sure that Cas is steady.
“I don’t blame you,” interrupts Sam. “You did your best to help. It was—it was no one’s fault, alright? And it’s
Cas stayed silent. He took Dean’s hand and traced the lines of his palm, breathing steadily. Dean closed his eyes. Cas was alive. They made each other stronger. They were doing their best.
The town of Star, Kansas, was a quiet one, barely capable of staying up past six pm, but as the ambulance blasted its way to the hospital, civilians peered out of their windows. Any injury bad enough for the hospital was an anomaly in Star, and thus when they arrived there was a full staff awaiting them.
“Let’s go,” Dean said, jerking his head towards the exit. “I can only stand modern art for so long.”
The pan clattered into the sink. Dean ran out of the kitchen, down the hall, and right to the desk in his room.
“The shadow monsters are failed demons,” Jack said. “Twisted souls that got hurt the wrong way. Their very presence is what ends worlds. But Lucifer let them out, hoping to kill the world and gain a lot of subjects.”
The three exit the dungeon, leaving the vampire in darkness and chains. Sam doesn’t even feel guilty. He feels almost…reborn. His head is so blessedly quiet, so peaceful, that he almost falls asleep while walking.
“Happy Eight-Month Homecoming, kiddo,” Dean said to Jack, raising his beer in salute. “Just in time for your first case, too!”
“Chromasaurus,” Jack said. “It’s a creature covered in reflective scales that blind its prey. Very pretty to look at. Tough to eat.”
Dean’s heart leapt in his chest. The light had hovered in front of him. It had made him feel okay for just a moment. Blue light, and a sense of peace…where had he felt that before? Dean’s precious oxygen supply
The matter settled, Sam grabbed his own jacket off the library table where he’d left it and went with Dean up the stairs and out the door. Wordlessly, they got into the Impala. The silence of the dusk was like a blanket.
Jack nodded happily and bolted off to his room. Dean went back to his own room to change out of his dead-guy robe and into jeans and a flannel. Tugging on his boots, he realised that the love letter lay out on his desk. He shoved it in a drawer, under a pile of pictures. Telling himself he’d finish it later, knowing he wouldn’t, he slid a knife into his pocket (just in case) and headed out the door to find Sam.
Dean internally sighed. He crouched down next to the kid. “I’m sorry, Jack,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I won’t do it again. I just remembered something that I had to do, that’s all.”
As he told the 911 operator the address, Sam sucked in a ragged inhale. Dean carefully moved his hair aside, checking for the source of the blood marring his brother’s face. A long cut ran from the temple to the top of his head. Thankfully, the edges were cleanly sliced. He would need nice neat stitches, and those the hospital could better provide than a seven-months-out-of-practice older brother. Dean swallowed down his rising emotions and took a steadying breath.
“Our graces can spread over a large area,” Cas explained patiently. “Sort of like your Wi-Fi network. Angelic presences acknowledge others.”
Dean looked at it for a moment, then dug into the soft soil. The pebbles in the dirt clinked against the shovel blade, a tuneless working song. Dean kept digging until the blade scraped rope. Uncovering his find, Dean stoically lifted Cas’s linen-wrapped body out of the grave. He tried to ignore the stiffness and stench of what he knew was nothing but a corpse.
Cas rested a hand on Dean’s back. “Sam Smith is our brother,” he said. “Let me fill out whatever information you require, and allow Dean to stay with him. Please, help Sam now.”
“Sure, kiddo,” Dean said. “It’ll be cool. Why don’t you go get dressed and grab some shoes and we can head out?”
Jack pressed the sequence of buttons and, when the television booted up, turned to Dean with a wide grin. It was so familiar that Dean’s heart wrenched in his chest, before he swallowed it down and smiled back. He grabbed a blanket and sat down on the couch, inviting Jack to join him.
Dean absolutely hated the sound of it. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me. I’m going to help you sit up, okay?” Dean waited for Jack to nod before gently catching his wayward elbows and sitting him upright.
Dean helped him pry open the paint can, and deposited the toolbelt on the floor. “I’m gonna call that kid and let her know it’s pretty much done.”
The brothers sat in silence all the way back to the bunker, listening to the breaths of a kid from another world.
“Sam!” Dean punctuated the word as sharply as he could, causing his brother to look up at him in surprise, then re-focus on the situation.
“The kid likes it, of course I’m watching it.” Dean smiled, clapping his hands decisively. “Okay, I’m going to do that, and you should go do whatever.”
“I missed you,” replied Cas evenly. “With all my heart. I mean, I wasn’t exactly conscious in the Empty, but once I was, I missed you terribly.”
Dean came out of his room and back into the library in half a minute. He carried a duffle bag and a jacket, his jaw set as if in stone. “I have to go,” he said. He could tell his voice had delved into its knife-edged baritone when Sam’s worried, scattered gaze snapped to attention.
Jack hadn’t stirred. Dean and Sam exchanged a glance before getting out of the car and going around to the trunk, where they conversed in low voices.
Rowena rolled down her sleeves. She took careful note of the scene before her. Dean hated how her hawk-sharp gaze flitted around the room, as if calculating the value of every possible circumstance.
Packing Sam’s duffle with the arsenal in the trunk of the Impala, the boys prepared for a fight. The demon wouldn’t go without a cause, and they were ready to give it one. Dean watched the inner Castiel emerge from the shell of Cas:
Well, what could Dean say to that? He smiled a watery smile and buried his face in Cas’s shoulder, just listening to him breathe, just taking it all in.
He got his answer soon enough. The walls of the church began to shake violently, urging the Winchesters out of the car and to the side of the building. Dean grasped at the wood, fruitlessly attempting to steady the vibrating church. The wall jumped away from his hand.
Jack had worked ceaselessly on trusting Sam, at first allowing him to be closer, then stopping the eagle-eyed watch over every move he made. On his own time, Jack learned that he was safe. Sam made sure that he never made a sudden move around Jack, but he no longer tried to hide his height; he learned not to tower over Jack or come up behind him too quietly. The kid still had the occasional bad days, but they were more for memories than Sam’s accidental oafishness. Dean was proud of both of them. The two had developed a strong bond once they learned to work with each other.
The Impala pulled up to the auto shop as the morning birds cheered in welcome. Within the shop, the Ford and the teenager’s Honda Civic were alone. There was no sign of the wisp or demon.
Cas returned his smile somewhat gratefully. “I am glad of that,” he said. “I would like to sleep, but I do not think I have need of it now.”
This whole story wis no supposit tae be sae damn long, but it really juist got away from me. Hope ye like it thus far, am really tryin.♡
“I don’t want to sleep,” stated Jack. He rubbed at an eye; the traces of bruises below his knuckle made Dean squint closer.
Cas sighed, causing Dean to lift his head. A glimmer of light from the kitchen lamp ran athwart the room, highlighting the lines of Cas’s face. He was looking at Dean, blue eyes piercing and bright.
“I’m sure you did your best, but with an x-ray we will be able to see the extent of the damage. Hopefully there is nothing too serious, but it’s possible to damage nerves, ligaments, muscles, and blood vessels if a shoulder gets shoved in recklessly.”
over with me?” In the doorway to the map room, Jack stood, wearing the new shirt that Cas had bought for the other Jack.
“Get used to it all,” Jack said, worrying the edge of the bandage around his torso. “It’s just…everyone’s too
Sam shouted in surprise, then in joy. He scrambled to open the car door, wrapping Cas in a smothering hug. “You’re alive,” he gasped.
“I guess,” said Dean finally. “His world is gone, and he seemed to know us—the other us, anyway. I don’t know what else we could do with him.”
“I imagine it is because it was Jack’s,” Cas stated. “Dressed like that, he looks exactly like our—like the first Jack.”
“Well, let’s fire it up,” Dean said, waving everyone out of the kitchen into the hallway. “Your room, mine, the Dean Cave?”
The four Winchesters sat around the kitchen table, a large pepperoni pizza in front of them. They had just come back from Jack’s first family hunt, a simple salt-and-burn that had put to rest the spirit of an angry clown. Jack had charitably given Sam the lit match, but Sam had insisted that Jack do it. And he did so happily; the ghost squeaked its red nose irritably as it faded away to nothing.
“Agents Osbourne and Gilmour, FBI,” Dean said, holding up his fake badge to the policeman at the reception desk.
It must have done, because the next thing he knows, the ward’s door is thrown open. The screech of metal against concrete fills his head. The doctor hurries in, white coat billowing like a cape. Catching Sam’s wrists from where they’ve come up to cover his head, the doctor kneels down to Sam’s sitting height. It makes him feel like a child getting told off.
Dean laughed, surprising Jack. “You and Sam,” he said, shaking his head. “You did the best you could, buddy. That shadow thing would’ve put me down easy if I didn’t have a gun. And I know we aren’t the same as the Sam and Dean from your world—”
As the moon rose high and shone over the forest, two reunited people walked out of it holding hands. An angel who was not dead, and a man who felt blessedly alive.
Dean lifted his head. Sam crouched in the corner of the room, clutching his gun in shaking hands. His wide eyes were fixated on Jack, who lay unconscious on the floor of the church.
Jack nodded with a grin and raced Dean to the exhibit, where a pile of colourful blocks lay in the centre of the room. On the walls were glossy mounted photographs, depicting a myriad of places in the Midwest. Sam wandered around the room, looking at each photo, while Jack and Dean started building a tower. Sam shook his head fondly.
Dean guessed silently. Sam had apparently reached the same conclusion, lifting his arm to dig through the kit for paracetamol. Jack flinched at the movement, leaning carefully towards Dean. Exchanging a glance with his brother, Dean very slowly took the pills from the kit and pressed them into Jack’s hand. He swallowed them dry, letting Dean strap up his ribs securely with a compression wrap.
Jack kept his eyes on the frozen screen, curled up under the blanket. “It started to fall apart,” he said. “Everything was…fine, but the shadow monsters came up from Hell and ruined it all.”
“Yes, you do,” Dean said firmly, hand returning to Sam’s hair. “Yeah, you’ve made some mistakes, but hell, who hasn’t? If anyone’s let anyone down, it’s me to you.”
Sam feels like his lungs have frozen. Lucifer smiles wickedly and, with a flourish of his wrist, drives the poker right through Cas’s chest. Blood explodes outward, splattering everywhere. Sam squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself it isn’t real. It isn’t. It
Dean let out a hoarse sob. “What if it kills everyone tomorrow? What if the whole town is obliterated and I can’t do anything about it?”
The two of them dressed and went into the kitchen, where Sam was preparing four breakfasts at the counter.
Jack wheezed alarmingly from the floor. Both brothers scooted over to kneel by him. Glowing steadily, an ice-blue light was working its way up Jack’s throat, fighting with the orange power that swirled under his skin. Jack’s eyes were wide, pupils blown bright orange and scared. Dean put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sam hovered anxiously, trying to look supportive and not intimidating, though Dean could tell he was freaking out.
Dean leaned over his shoulder. “I was thinking you could come with,” he offered. “If I’m there, you know, maybe Jack will take it easy. It’s a museum, you know? Big space. Won’t even have to look at you, if he doesn’t want to.”
“Good ol’ fashioned breakout,” Dean says, and winks. “Cas here”—he tugs the angel in from the hallway—“has got some fancy mojo thing he’s going to do and help put that wall back up a little bit.”
Dean’s eyes popped open. Cas was staring at him plaintively, his eyes glistening. He’d rolled onto his side.
Sam snatched the remote, sat down in the big recliner and kicked back, while Dean grabbed one end of the couch, and Jack perched beside him. Castiel sank down on the other end, remembering again what it took to “get comfortable.” Finding a way to sit that would keep his legs and back from becoming stiff and sore after a short time. Making sure his clothing wasn’t twisted up beneath or behind him or pinching his testicles. Being human could be such a chore. He watched Sam and Dean make their own adjustments, settling back and preparing to argue over the night’s entertainment.
“Yes, Dean. Fine. I trust you.” The angel stood up, and began peeling off his clothes. He removed his trench coat—which he wore tonight despite the heat—and folded it before laying it on the dock. Then his suit coat, his dress shirt, his trousers. Dean forced himself to swim away a few strokes, so as to give Cas a little privacy. When he turned around again, Cas was climbing slowly down the ladder, his pale ass disappearing into the water.
“Uh…” Dean leaned back and away from him, shaking his head minutely and appearing to gather his thoughts. “…Wow, Cas, I’m not sure where to even
“Should Kirk have violated the prime directive to save the planet Nibiru?” Cas asked casually, shaking the popcorn bowl so the un-popped kernels fell to the bottom. He knew the answer—he just wanted to hear Dean say it.
“You both have very proportional genitals. I just want to be clear,” Castiel said, looking from one man to the other.
Cas looked at him like a chastised child, then hung his head, the shirt hanging limply from his hand. “I’m sorry, Dean. I never should have… I lost control of my grace for a moment… are you hurt?” He looked up meekly.
“No, he already felt the shit,” Cas replied. “He just experienced the feelings more intensely. And you know how he likes to talk about feelings.”
“I mean how do you want it to go? Cause you have the classic porn threesome moves, like one sits on your face and the other on your dick—which, gotta say, it’s a classic for good reason. Or the double-team blow job. Also a classic. Or you could just do one chick at a time while the other watches. If you’re talking sisters, you probably aren’t going to see any girl-on-girl—but the upside is that it’s all about
The angel’s lips thinned. “I didn’t make you say anything, and you don’t need to be sorry or feel awkward. And no.”
He shook his head. He hoped to God Sam had really slept through it all. Then there was the dream, which he couldn’t stop thinking about from the time he bolted upright from Castiel’s lap. He really didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he had enjoyed playing the skin flute quite so much—even if just in his dreams. So much that he kept replaying the lurid scene in his head. So much that his hard-on was still persisting, 10 miles later.
Something told him he should be the big spoon tonight… but there was Sam in the next bed, and his pounding head, and… maybe Cas just didn’t want to be touched.
Sam snapped his laptop shut and stood up. “I’ll just head next door to the restaurant and let you two solve this little dilemma.” And he hustled out the door, computer under his arm.
Humans can be surprisingly alluring, Bethezriel had said to him, as they watched several young human slaves bathing in a river together one day. “Their souls are a piece of God—whom we all long to see. So bright, so beautiful. And sometimes, that soul combines with the body in such a way as to be very enticing. You want to take a vessel, to get closer, to experience matter in the way they do. But once you have a taste of human pleasures, you are likely to forget who and what you really are. You will forsake your mission, your garrison, your God… and for what?”
“So say it. It’s not too late.” Cas squeezed Dean’s shoulder, rubbing gently. His other hand still on Dean’s chest.
“What if it doesn’t work? We’re in the ditch, Dean! It’s getting dark. If we’re stuck out here tonight, we need to be visible and keep the tailpipe open so we can keep warm. We can’t get buried or we’ll be here come spring!”
Dean grasped Castiel’s arm and pulled him to his feet, staring at him hard. “How d’you feel?” he asked.
Hustling into the truck stop before his face could freeze, he knew he couldn’t just leave this thing dangling; that would make him crazy. Maybe he could grab a minute to talk with Cas. What the hell had happened last night? Did Cas really jerk him off? Did he really say the “L” word—and all that other sappy stuff?
Cas’ fingers slid to Dean’s shoulders, and Dean turned to look at him. “I don’t do hats.” Then he couldn’t help but grin. “I have
Dean relaxed a bit more, grinning and sliding his eyes up to Castiel’s. “Nice bedside manner, Doctor Assbutt.”
Dean pulled the keys from the ignition and opened his door, the wind catching it and nearly tearing the handle from his grip. “Ho!” Stepping out into the snowy ditch, he promptly sunk to his waist. He looked through the car to see Sam do the same on the other side, both of them trying to manhandle their doors closed again.
Castiel regretted his comments—he hadn’t meant to be insulting, and he’d forgotten how sensitive men could be about penises. Perhaps he could soothe Dean’s feelings.
Dean huffed. The road was fast disappearing under a blanket of white. A mile marker materialized out of the blizzard just a couple feet from the Impala’s fender, Dean tried to correct course, and the car began to fishtail.
Moments later, tucked back cleanly into his jeans, he slumped in Castiel’s lap, doing what could only be described as cuddling his best bud. Cas rubbed his back, his body warm and comforting (and rumbling like a Harley), and Dean drifted, so sweetly satisfied. He could fall asleep right here with his head on Cas’ shoulder, except…
So he did, with some urgency, lapping and twirling and licking and sucking like a porn star, following his tongue with a hand now, slurping and moaning with abandon. It was
Jack didn’t have to be asked twice; the two of them took off, loping and hopping back downhill toward the water, ducking tree branches in the darkness. Now that there was no one left to argue with, Dean knew he could either fall in line, or go sit in the car and pout—probably alone. The car was a mile down the road; the beer would just have to wait a bit. And nibbly fish and snapping turtles notwithstanding, a swim would probably feel pretty damn good.
“I watched two men in a courtyard once, late at night, bathing each other in a fountain. They touched each other so passionately, yet so reverently—I felt they’d waited a long time to be together. One man dropped to his knees and took the other’s wet penis into his mouth. It seemed to give them both such pleasure.”
“My grace is singing, Dean. It’s not like human singing, exactly. It’s… involuntary. It happens in the presence of God…”
Then Castiel’s warm hand slid inside his flannel, flattening against his t-shirt, over his sternum. The angel’s fingers spread out. “Breathe,” Castiel instructed.
Dean spiked an eyebrow as Sam removed his gloves, then slid a hand into Castiel’s hair and pulled him closer. What the ever-loving…?
He felt an odd sensation at his human feet. A coldness, as if they’d fallen asleep. It was something he hadn’t felt since being human. He frowned—he couldn’t lift his feet to see them; they seemed to be nailed to the floor. He widened his awareness, and realized that something was now reaching into his grace, too. Infiltrating his energy.
Castiel’s eyes widened, his half-hard cock twitching in a way that might have been highly arousing, had he been human.
“Hush,” Cas said to him, and Dean felt the icy-hot flush of grace spreading through his skull, flowing like a spring, healing his jaw, and seeking out his head injury…
“I… I’ll be alright,” Sam stuttered. Snow stuck to him in clumps; it looked like he’d brought half an igloo in with him, Dean thought. He turned and started the engine again, gritting his teeth at the cool air blasting from the heater.
In the house across the street, a third demon appeared, and the girl with him. Castiel sat up straighter, clenched and unclenched his left hand, feeling in the ether for his blade. Back to business. “She’s here,” he reported. “The girl.”
“Come on in, man,” Dean pled gently. “You’ll be glad you did.” He pushed himself backwards into the water, treading again. “See, it feels awesome.”
“I must, or you’ll become feverish. Let me go now,” Castiel said firmly. Backing away, he took Sam’s arms and brought them down to his sides.
Castiel sighed. He wasn’t getting quite the information he needed. He was growing frustrated; Dean, as usual, was being maddeningly obtuse.
Dean squinted back out the windshield in front of him, into the whirling snow. There were no more tire tracks to follow, no tail-lights ahead of him. Occasionally the howling wind blew fiercely enough to reveal a glimpse of pavement, before the snow quickly covered it up again. At least he was still on the highway and not heading across somebody’s back forty—but that was not going to be a given much longer.
Dean barely registered their clothes coming off, then he was bearing his friend down on his beloved memory foam bed in a tangle of naked arms and legs. They had some unfinished business—a debt Dean needed to pay—and he intended to make good.
He heard the running feet, then opened his eyes to see Jack sailing through the air, all gangly arms and legs, and splashing down like a ton of bricks. Sam swam smoothly over, plucked the boy up to the surface by an armpit, and steered him back to the dock coughing and hacking. Cas was at the edge instantly, kneeling down and grabbing Jack’s arm.
Sam had pointed out that he would not be surprised if someone had already called in a suspicious car parked on the street, or spotted the three men who had skirted a golf course through the woods, then hopped a few fences through dark yards to get to their target.
“Ha… awesome.” Dean snagged a pillow, stood up and held it in front of him as he turned around. “Let’s see.”
“Yes. We talked for some time, but he says he’d like to sleep now. I imagine he could use the rest, after what he’s been through.”
“Dean. You must know…” and Dean’s insides melted to hear Castiel’s stern angel tone again, “… that when I awoke in The Empty, my first thought was not of Jack. It was of you. I told the Keeper I needed to get back to
, he wouldn’t be such a chatterbox. But nevertheless… he planned to sit and suffer as long as he could. Maybe help would arrive before he’d need Cas’ love-touch.
Cas hummed in his throat. “I believe I did. But no one’s going to get cryogenically frozen this time.”
“Are you kidding me?!” Sam shouted, his voice torn away by the gale. The two men, followed by Castiel, waded back to the trunk. Dean tried to open it carefully, but the wind flung the trunk lid wide, the metal hinges shrieking in protest. Sam grabbed the lid to hold it while Dean leaned in, his belly cold against the metal lip, to wrestle two spades out. He handed them to Cas, and the brothers managed to slam the trunk shut.
“Michael is an ancient and very powerful being. Jack’s energy is raw, as you say—he is young, untrained, and naïve. He could never defeat Michael in a face-to-face battle. I could not let him try. I promised Kelly that I would…”
Cas watched him grab a cart and begin hauling wet laundry from the second washer, and he sighed. Dean would surely change the subject again and leave his proposal dangling painfully in the air between them. He squinted at Dean’s ass, bent over the washing machine, and wondered what Dean would do if he just walked up and palmed it. He wanted to feel the muscles flexing in his hand.
Clearing the post, the Impala tobogganed gracefully into the ditch—throwing up a spectacular snow-white explosion—and came softly and gently to rest against a barbed wire fence, its strands illuminated in her headlights.
Castiel realized that Dean’s thighs were trembling. “Are you cold?” he asked, snapping out of his reverie.
“Sam’s not going to let anything happen to him.” Dean lifted one dripping arm and flicked water Cas’ way. “C’mon, it’s time to lighten up—get in.”
“Alright, come on you assclowns—we’ve got work to do.” Dean jerked his head at Sam, who took the lead, and they all ducked around the corner and headed for the house.
Dean was looking mightily perturbed now. “Would you two get your shit together? For fuck’s sake. Some of us are show-ers and some are growers, ok?”
“Jesus, you got that right. But c’mon, Jack and Sam are gonna be along any minute. What can I do to get you off?”
And the whole Lucifer vs. Michael thing… he didn’t even want to think about the implications if they couldn’t nip it in the bud. Would the archangels be looking for Sam and Dean’s meatsuits again? What could Cas possibly do to help? Each time he’d tried to go up against an archangel, it ended very poorly. Dean couldn’t watch it happen again—he just couldn’t. But when Cas was on a mission, there was no stopping him from martyring himself, or worse.
Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll remember every word.” He resumed trying to get at Dean’s chest. “And don’t worry—what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
He stepped up to Cas and took the angel in his arms, kissing him deeply—and feeling him respond in kind. Cas seemed to melt against him, soon warm and willing, and it was only a few moments until Dean could feel it begin. Cas was purring.
“Yes… Cas, yes…” Those gentle, strong fingers wrapped around his dick, thumb smearing pre-come leaking from the head, and began to stroke.
“A large diving bird,” Cas chimed in. “Rather prehistoric—one of the few birds with solid bones. That allows them to…”
“Listen, if you think Jack brought you back to help prepare for war, maybe you need to help Jack prepare to kick some ass!”
“Stop… just…” Dean grabbed him by the back of the skull and their foreheads met with a thunk. His other hand clutched Castiel’s coat. “Just stop. Dude we can’t. We’re friends… like brothers. This shit changes everything.”
Dean avoided looking to his right. “Yeah, ok, thanks,” he mumbled. He knew he was proving Castiel right, but he just couldn’t look at his friend in the morning light; both out of shame and confusion over last night’s activities—and because Cas had left his goddamn shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his tie was crooked as hell, and that was kinda…
“Or chicks… well, unless you’re all naked, I guess… or anywhere else you’re not alone. It’s just not cool. Got it?”
“Is that so? You are powerful, but not as powerful as Emptiness.” The false Jack winked and dissolved in an instant, back into the darkness that now crept up over Castiel’s belly and chest, moving faster, sealing his fate.
“You ok, man?” Sam asked a moment later through a mouthful of banana, the delicious aroma of three coffees wafting through the car from the steaming beverage holder in his lap. “Ready to go?”
It felt so incredibly good to have Jack back again, soul and all. Castiel leaned against the wall and just reveled in the relief for a moment, the surcease of sorrow. Jack… the boy who felt like a son to them all… was back. Jack’s death had been such a bitter blow—such an unexpected grief—and at the hand of God, no less. It had nearly been at the hand of Dean, which would have been even worse. Castiel had surprised himself with his own depth of despair over all of it.
He runs out into the hallway, down the stairs, and bursts out the front door. Stopping to take a few heaving breaths, fighting tears as he fumbles with his car keys. He slides into the Impala and tears down the driveway as fast as possible in case Cas tries to follow him. Dean is not sure he would be able to break away from him again. Even now his heart and body are yearning for Cas, telling him to go back, that it is NOT what it seems and there is a reasonable explanation.
Dean’s heart plummets to his feet and ices over as the beautiful young man from the ball and the surveillance photos comes strolling through the doorway, obviously familiar with the house. He can feel the anger roll over his features like a stormfront, furious with himself for being played yet again. He rips himself away from Cas and starts towards the door, ignoring his calls.
Dean starts scanning the pages, eyes darting back and forth as he concentrates. Finding what he’s looking for, he flourishes the paper at Sam. “See anyone we know?”
Sam grabs back Dean’s copy, Garth leaning over his shoulder, skimming the page. Dean tells them anyway.
Frustrated, Sam throws his hands up “Don't piss on the bureau, okay? We're on this. Garth is getting a warrant to search Novak’s house and now we have to go in with him fully aware that he is a suspect.”
The phone rings just as Castiel walks in the door, sweaty and flushed from his run. “This is Novak.”
Unfortunately, Sam can’t argue with that. “Well, it needs to be authenticated before you start yanking yourself off in congratulations, Jerk.”
Dean can feel a ping of annoyance that Cas is still playing at wanting to spend time with him. “Tomorrow? That’s a quick turnaround.”
If Dean thought he would avoid getting turned on this early in the day, he was mistaken. “Yeah Cas, loud and clear.” Hopefully, the thrill of the ride would keep Cas from noticing the semi he was sporting from having that velvety voice mainlining into his ear canal.
If Cas notices Dean is subdued during dinner, he doesn’t mention it. Meanwhile, Dean is a ball of conflicting emotions. Bitter about Cas’s infidelity, angry at himself for getting too close, hurt that the man he loves doesn’t love him back, and extra bitter that what usually would be his idea of food heaven (perfectly cooked steak) tastes like ash in his mouth.
Checking the time, Dean realizes he needs to start getting ready. He disrobes and jumps in the shower. The thought flickers across his mind that Cas might be getting ready to shower now too. That leads to imagining what Cas’s looks like naked. All naked, and wet and gleaming, water sluicing off his body…
They arrive at the restaurant, Canlis, and are seated immediately. His good friend Hannah is the head chef and he invested in this place to help her get started, so there is always a table available to him. He walks behind Dean as they are shown their seat and he is both proud and jealous at the attention the stunning man receives as he walks by. One woman even chokes on her drink.
“Charlie will build an entire new life for us both. ID’s, bank accounts, credit history, everything…”
Dean looks up, not surprised, but remembering that his research into Castiel Novak included the guys love of classic cars. And he can’t help himself, he loves Baby too much, so he responds.
He spots Cas standing near the dance floor with a younger man. Cas has his hand on his back and is leaning his ear close, laughing at whatever it is the boy is saying.
His mind instantly focuses on an image of the green eyed Adonis he briefly crossed paths with when he went to give his statement. There was intrigue there, definitely.
Cas can’t help but smile the whole ride home. Regardless of the game they are playing, there is something real between them. Cas has never had desire for one person simmer constantly under his skin for so long before. At some point during dinner, Cas realized he was legitimately on a date with Dean, forgetting about the investigation, the robbery, all of it. Just enjoying the company of a gorgeous and desirable man. He has to adjust his slacks; he has been half hard the entire evening and replaying the moments before Dean closed the door is quickly bringing him to full mast. He grinds his palm down trying to relieve some of the aching pressure. Fuck, he’ll need to take a shower as soon as he gets home. And if he jerks off to thoughts of green eyes and bowed legs wrapped around him, who’s to know?
“Well, they don't seem to be Russian. Charlie thinks maybe Romanian, although she’s basing that on a bootleg video game she played. Says they sound exactly like the main character.”
Not having an invitation, Dean sneaks into the event through a side entrance and storms into the ball. He needs to calm down, take a breath and play this with a clear head. A waiter walks by with a tray of champagne so Dean snatches one of those and tosses it back, letting it wash his anger into a little box, deep down.
“Put your left hand on the wheel.” Dean caves and does as he says, lightly gripping the wheel like it will bite him.
Garth whips open his notepad, flipping through at least a thousand pages before stopping, “Bela Talbot, says she is a known forger and implant from the UK.”
Cole Trenton was everything Dean thought he wanted. He was head over heels, and ready to ride off into the sunset together. Until it turned out to all be a ploy to use Dean’s connections to smuggle illegal artwork and artifacts to the highest bidder. Some of whom were supplying arms to terrorist organizations and dealing in human trafficking. Furious and heartbroken, Dean vowed to never open himself up to that again. Instead, he had left an impressive run of satisfied men and woman in his rearview. There long enough to make it worth their while, but not long enough to stick.
“Not exactly Samsonite! It’s titanium. The engineer said that it'd have to absorb 15 to 20 tons to stop this gate.”
“Mr. Novak! Thank you for coming down so quickly. Special Agent Winchester, we are ready for you upstairs.”
“And if you could sign down here, please. Thank you very much Mr. Novak, these gentlemen will take you out to get your statement and finish the paperwork.”
“Dean, you wayward little shit, I missed you! Bobby said you were in town, I’m glad you finally got your ass down here to say hi. And Sam, don’t think I don’t realize that it’s been well over a month since you’ve been to visit.”
Their waiter comes over to introduce themselves and take their drink orders. Cas speaks up. “A Scotch neat for me and I guess the gentleman would like…” Dean raises an eyebrow waiting for answer… “I guess the gentleman actually likes champagne.” He knows for a fact that Dean likes champagne.
He gets his coffee and hustles to the lineup room. As he comes in from the side door he hears Sam, “Thank you again for doing this Mr. Novak.”
“Oh!” Alfie jumps excitedly as he fast forwards to later in the day on a corridor camera feed, “They were stopped by one of our best patrons.”
Standing up, Dean moves behind him and leans close into his other ear “Your government doesn't take kindly to secret police, do they.”
“But you’re not a citizen.” Dean slowly starts to walk around the table. “There won’t be a trial. You’ll just be deported.”
He looks over to find Cas staring at the painting sheepishly. “I uh, I actually do own a copy of that.”
“Damn right you’re not a cop, if you were a cop, you’d know that this won’t hold up. Don’t you want him to go up for…”
Dean’s heart jumps at the thought of a future where he is free to do what he wants, including being with Cas, but his mind responds. “You really think there's happy ever after for people like us?”
Dean’s head jerks back in confused shock. “Oh really? What are you gonna just have it hanging back up on the wall in the museum?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna call you Cas.” And with that Dean tilts his head towards the bar and walks off, expecting Cas to follow. And heaven help him, he does.
Dean yells out Cas’s name as he feels his tongue breach him, quickly followed by a wet finger. The combination of Cas’s magical tongue and an increasing number of fingers has Dean begging for Cas to fill him. The world spins as Cas flips Dean over. The world settles to just the two of them as their eyes lock and Dean pulls Cas into his arms.
They cast off from the dock and slowly cruise out of the harbor. Cas, once again in his element on the water, guides the cruiser smoothly out into the Sound. Its soothing and beautiful, something freeing about leaving land behind.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it? I love coming here. The North Cascades is one of the least visited National Parks, and it looks it. Just water and trees and wildlife.”
“Just because you have a hunch doesn’t mean it’s true Dean. We can’t confront him about anything, everything we have is circumstantial. I’m telling you again, stay away from Novak.”
Dean looks up to see exquisite blue eyes full of concern, looking at him like he is the most precious thing in the world. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
Dean’s heart breaks, he is so far gone on this man, and now he has given him one of the most beautiful cars ever made. He can’t tell what is real and what isn’t. Is it all part of the game, or does it mean more? “Nah, Cas. I’d never say anything that boring.”
Sam finishes writing and they stop at the entry to the room. The security gates are halfway closed, he ducks under the gate and then steps over the velvet rope blocking the entry. He looks around. There are construction lights shining into every nook and cranny, forensics teams busy checking for fingerprints, and crime scene tape marking out an empty space on the wall where the stolen painting used to be.
Benny and Jo had followed them as soon as they left Dean’s building. Since he didn’t know where they were going, they had to tail them. He see’s Benny casually strolling towards the ticket counter of the museum and Jo following a few yards behind.
He watches as the sailing crew jump back and forth, throwing lines and cranking wheels. Castiel is climbing up on a platform that hangs off one side, his weight holding the boat down in the water. They twist back and forth, darting between big cruise liners and spontaneously racing other boats. A huge cargo ship cuts across their path, creating a large wave. Dean sees a gleam in Castiel’s eyes as he aims straight for it, mouthing a warning before the boat launches up into the air, the wake acting like a ramp. The whole crew are holding on for dear life as Cas whoops like a maniac. The boat crashes down on the other side of the wake, bow submerging before popping back up like a cork, drenching the whole crew.
Dean walks into the office feeling fantastic, if a little (read, a lot) sore, but oh in the very best way.
There it is. That man, that beautiful fucking man. He suspects Cas stole the painting. Even the FBI doesn’t suspect he stole it! Shit! He needs to stay calm, and he needs to know more about Dean, absolutely everything. Especially his motives. Keep his head in the game.
They gather the three-man crew and everyone starts working to get the sails unfurled and up to speed. The catamaran is sleekly designed and can reach speeds of up to 50 miles per hour.
He reaches for the ignition again, but then stops to open the glove box and pulls out a thick envelope.
Dean gets home, showers, and changes into sweats and a beat up AC/DC shirt before grabbing a drink and walking out onto the balcony. He looks down at his phone, finger hovering over the call button. He tosses back the entirety of his drink for courage and hits call. It picks up after three rings.
Taking some deep breaths, he straightens back up, face back in a cool, composed expression. Straightening his tie and adjusting his cuff he cocks an eyebrow at himself and walks out of the loft.
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because he gets in the front seat, slams his door, and tosses his sunglasses on the dash before turning around.
A quick shuffle has Cas perched between his legs again, slowly stroking his cock staring down at Dean like he is the moon and stars, like everything beautiful. He leans forward and kisses Dean deeply as the head of his thick cock presses against Dean’s rim.
Dean stretches, long and languid like a cat in the sun as he blinks his eyes open and takes in the room around him. He is lying in what has to be the world’s most comfortable bed, surrounded by breathtaking art and beautiful plants surrounding the windows that look out onto the water. He’s smiling like a goof when he realizes he’s in bed alone. Looking around he see’s no sign of Cas, but does see a fluffy white bathrobe near him on the bed with a note:
“Dean, I owe you an apology. I didn’t think you would be able to see this through, but I should have known you’d never let someone close enough to play you.”
“Oh alright, I forgive you. Drinks? Food? Go ahead and take that table over there, I’ll send Jo over to you.”
“You waltz in there without even a heads up... without ONE word to me or anyone else in the department!”
His brain gets over the initial shock and forces him to follow Dean. He is able to catch up with him as the man is retrieving his coat from the coat check.
That gets a pen thrown at him. “Like 38-year-old, successful, self-involved loners. If you've found a mirror image... and think you're going to form a rewarding relationship...”
Even upset, Dean can’t help but blush at the compliment, as Cas seems the only person able to make him flush with pleasure. He turns his cheek to catch the lips Cas was aiming his way. “Thanks. Shall we?”
“Jet-lagged. Thanks.” Dean grumbles as he sets down his bag and pulls out a bottle of thick dark green-gray goo and pours it into a mug he finds on the desk. It glub-glubs into the cup in a disturbing way. He grimaces as he takes a drink and shudders as it goes down.
Knowing he scored another point in their game of intrigue, Cas gives him a satisfied smile and a simple “No.”
For some reason, Dean finds that hilarious. He doubles over laughing loudly and has to wipe a tear from his eye. Cas looks bewildered but happy as he tries to understand why Dean is in hysterics. Standing up, Dean claps Cas on the shoulder and looks into his eyes. “Don’t ever change.”
Real smooth Winchester, care to try again? His mind is blank, but his eyes get drawn down to the guy’s lips, plush with a full upper lip and looking a little chapped, Dean can’t help but flick his tongue across his own. Who is this mystery man? He looks like he is about to say something when Sam hollers across the lobby.
Once again stunned, and a little (ok a lot) turned on, Cas chases Dean outside, for some reason trying to prolong the interaction. “Can I drop you somewhere?”
Sam is trailing along, trying to look at the room with fresh eyes. “Are your Spidey senses tingling, Dean?” he teases.
“Oh excuse me!” someone bumps into Dean hard enough for him to fall into Cas’s arms. He whips his head around to scold the interloper when he sees it’s Benny. Oh, right! He’s supposed to be stealing Cas’s keys. One of Dean’s many talents is pickpocketing, and Benny was supposed to naturally find a way to bump into Dean so he could do just that. He looks back at Cas, even closer now and with his arms around Dean, and Dean almost forgets for a second time to grab the keys.
“Balthazar!” Cas hollers back towards the kitchen. A tall, blond man wearing a disturbingly low v-neck shirt saunters out from behind him. Cas hands him the warrant, “This gentleman happens to BE my attorney.”
“That was it.” And what a glorious two nights they were. Dean starts sinking back into the memories, shifting in his seat so he can feel just how glorious, when Sam interrupts his reminiscing.
The brothers glare at each other for a second before Dean cocks a smirk and winks at Sam, causing him to cave and roll his eyes and laugh. “Good to see you Dean” Sam grabs Dean in a big hug and gives him a few manly claps on the back.
Sensing Dean’s impending implosion she simply states, “Well whatever it is, I ship it.” And wanders back into the cube farm.
“I have to tell you, people like this, they might have friends. You realize they might try to make it ugly for a witness.”
There stood Dean Winchester. World traveler, lover of the ladies (and men), self-proclaimed nerd, secret genius, and security expert employed by one Fergus Crowley. He was on a plane first thing the morning after Crowley told him about the theft of the
Cas seems to struggle getting a grip on his lust before he shakes it off and steps back, hands sliding down Dean’s arms, dropping his left hand, and slotting his right fingers with Dean’s left. Good thing too, the keys were still clenched in Dean’s right hand.
After a scathing lecture from Balthazar, the search team leave the house, tails tucked between their legs as they are dismissed. Empty-handed. Sam storms back to the car, long hair bouncing with every stomp before he wrenches open the car door and gets in.
So, Cas stays right there, pounding into that same spot, over and over, punching small “hgnh…hgnh’s” out of Dean. Dean can feel himself hurtling towards the finish line but wants Cas closer, so he drops his legs off Cas’s shoulders and wraps them around his waist, sitting up and crushing their mouths together. Cas hoists Dean up onto his lap and they rock together, Cas’s surprisingly strong arms helping Dean lift and press down. With his cock now trapped between their stomachs the stimulation from all sides has Dean pulsating.
Getting ready for dinner, Dean takes extra care with his appearance. Arming himself in beautiful clothing, preparing to once again battle what is probably his greatest foe yet. The man he was foolish enough to fall in love with.
He’s pours two fingers of whiskey into a glass and just finishes sending a text to Benny when he hears the door buzzer go off. He buzzes Cas in and tosses back the drink.
Who the hell has a voice that deep? Dean feels a curl of arousal start to spread through his system once again, and takes a sip of his coffee as he looks to find the voice’s owner. He’s caught staring by Mr. Blue Eyes and Dean can’t look away until the man raises an inquiring eyebrow at him. He ducks his heads and rubs the back of his neck, trying to regain composure by sipping his coffee. Ah hell, he cannot be crushing on the witness.
Cas’s driver slows down and parks. Dean laughs as he looks up. “You brought me to the museum? Really?”
Garth starts nodding vigorously, “Kid of a great forger...who paints as well as Dad. Just hasn't been caught yet, hot damn Dean! You’re a genius.”
That sharp smile returns to her face. “Portraits. Inserting the rich into old masterpieces. The wife's face on the Mona Lisa, things like that. From Brooklyn to Greenwich in one generation... you must have the paintings to match.”
“Dean, Charlie is my cousin, and Gabe over there is my other cousin. Please sit down, we have a lot to talk about.”
Cas settles between his legs and pushes his thighs apart, hands gliding up the backs of his thighs and starts to knead the globes of Dean’s ass. “So fucking beautiful,” Cas whispers, making Dean whimper with need before being choked off in a desperate moan as he feels Cas’s tongue on his rim. Cas alternates between broad flat swipes and little kitten licks, his stubble rubbing along Dean’s skin in a maddening way.
“And what, Cas!? Just leave!? Of all the things to take with a leap of faith. How can I possibly trust you?”
Once again, Dean cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. Damn Cas is fun, he needs to be careful, he’s starting to like the guy.
“Get them things. When there’s this much money involved, it usually means I get them someone's head.”
“Ok, ok I get it. You guys are like White Collar Batman, but Cas, what does that mean for us…me.. you said something about leaving…how? What about the painting? The investigation?”
Shoving the last half of his toast into his mouth and washing it down with the dregs of his coffee, he deposits the mug in the sink on his way to grab his jacket and push the intercom.
The next morning finds Dean checking in with Charlie on Cas and his staff’s whereabouts. Cas is at work and his staff only work at the house three days a week. Luckily today is not one of those days.
Dean is pleasantly surprised when they stop at a little drive-in burger joint just a few miles down the road.
Walking in through the front doors of the FBI building, he watches his steps as he collects his thoughts, preparing for the task ahead. A few steps in, he crashes into a solid body. Quickly grasping the shoulders of his assailant, he looks up, and up until he meets the most stunning green eyes he’s ever seen.
“Right. In a chopper with a 600-pound useful load. You figure you'll wrap this by morning do ya?” He finishes smugly.
“Because you’re my second favorite cousin, and I want to see you happy. And honestly, I’m worried about what this life will do to you in the long run if you don’t have some balance. We operate in a morally grey area, but lately…you seem to crave it more. The game. I worry you will become more and more reckless. And I don’t want to lose you. I found Kali, she gets it, she understands, and she loves me regardless. If I can find someone, so can you.”
“Really Dean? Have you been living under a rock? Castiel Novak is one of the top 40 billionaires under 40. Washington native, champion of bees and sustainable agriculture, philanthropist, and known for crushing opponents in the boardroom. Really? Nothing?”
Woo! Fieldwork season is over! I am desk bound for the most part until spring so I should be able to get this finished soon. Thank you for all your patience everyone!
He picks up his phone again to make a call to his (don’t tell Gabe) and Gabe’s favorite cousin, the only person who can make people disappear with style, and requests their presence to meet Dean. He told Dean to come by the house tomorrow to discuss the possibilities, the future…
Considering the size of the lot, the smallish scale of the home makes Dean feel surrounded by nature and far from the city. Looking around he can see nothing but lush gardens, trees, and flashes of light reflecting off the waves at the shoreline. His observations are interrupted as Garth pulls up behind them, lights flashing and sirens blaring, prompting Sam to get out of the car. He turns back and ducks down, pointing a finger at Dean. “Remember, stay here! If I need you, I will text you.”
“At least four… I believe five,” Castiel answered. His grace could sense their dark energies moving around the house next door—a brick colonial-style home in a 1940s suburb. The neighborhood in Dearborn, Michigan was quiet and upscale—not a place where screaming and violence were normal nightly occurrences. It would be hard to break in and kill five vampires without rousing the neighbors and inviting police attention.
, despite it all! Why did the Empty have to be so cruel? Was this fair? He had no right to complain about fairness. Perhaps this was what he deserved, after all he’d done, all the chaos he’d sowed. But if he had no free will after all—if everything he’d been and done was just part of God’s latest novel, and not his own doing—how did he deserve to be punished for his happiness? How did any of them deserve it?
Jack had gone back out the door, and now elbowed his way in again with an armload of clothing. “We brought your clothes up, though Sam said you might not want them yet.”
Cas wasn’t sure he liked that plan as much—he’d rather be with Dean in the thick of the action. But Sam did have a point…
“You shoulda let Cas go,” Dean chastised. He turned again to see Cas laying his fingers on Sam’s cheekbones, and Sam gasping, startled at the electric icy-hot current warming his skin. Sam raised his hands and grasped onto the angel’s wrists.
Dean looked up at Cas through his eyelashes, mouth still stuffed with cock, to see the angel’s blue eyes blazing back at him. Cas tightened his hand in Dean’s hair and growled,
Twenty minutes went by, with Dean watching the Impala’s gas gauge drop below ¼ tank as the car idled. The old girl’s heater was no match for the wind and cold outside, which seeped through every seam and rivet. Pretty soon Dean couldn’t speak without stuttering and slurring, and he could feel Cas’ annoyance at his recalcitrance. He hunched down farther in the seat, wrapping his arms tighter around his quaking body. Cas had offered twice to warm him, and twice he’d said
Dean’s left hand lay open in his lap, fingers curled, and Cas reached down to brush his knuckles gently. How many times had he healed that hand? Inclining his head just an inch or two, he dared to plant a kiss in his friend’s hair. Never had he been quite so brave, or presumed to be so intimate—but it felt right. Castiel wished fervently that he could feel this closeness as a human would—Dean’s warmth, the smell of his body, the touch of his hair against Castiel’s lips. It wasn’t meant to be, perhaps—but he was at the very least thankful for what it
Jack met his eyes again, this time with an expression of mild dread. “What’s the other important thing?”
Dean snorted a little and closed his eyes, but somehow he could still feel Castiel’s gaze upon him. Could feel the warmth radiating from his friend’s body under the blankets. He tried not to think about what he’d just seen in the bathroom—though his mind wanted to go there. The lush, round curve of Castiel’s pale ass… a muscular thigh… No, not going to go there. He let his thoughts drift instead back to those nights with Cas in the bunker… and to nights he’d spent piled up with Sammy, when they were very young and alone in some strange motel room. It was nice, having someone close at night. It was the thing he missed most about being with Lisa. Well, besides the regular sex. Just having someone close. Even when he was the protector, and not the protected, there was something so comforting and soothing about another body close at hand. Was this the first time he was admitting that need to himself? Maybe he was just getting old…
Would that ever happen? he had wondered. Perhaps the Keeper was angry that he’d been there hours earlier to speak to Ruby, and escaped—had it broken the deal? Or was it here now because he was actually happy? Happy, in something so simple as his beloved friend drooling on his shirt?
Dean took a deep breath and blew it slowly out his mouth. He backed off the accelerator a bit, but he really just wanted to get off this godforsaken highway and out of Snowmageddon before dark. Without having punched Sam or Cas.
That gets a small smile from Dean, “I bet if you look, you’ll find Alex Morgenstern lives in New York.”
Unease starts to creep into Dean’s mind. He clears his throat and looks down to shuffle some papers on his desk. “Not really.”
Ash quickly and calmly removes the alarm panel cover and connects leads and wires to who-knows-what, followed by a flurry of keyboard ballet on his laptop. The clackity clack seems to be going on a little longer than Dean is comfortable with. Benny starts counting down.
Dean grabs the file from Sam when he walks back, and flips through it as he waits for the transfer. “Any new info on these douchebags yet? Did Charlie find anything?”
Castiel curls his hand around Dean’s outstretched one and shakes, noticing the calloused strength of it. Ah fuck…those hands. Is everything about this man perfect?
“Oh come on! I cut through the crap, alright? I mean, how long was it gonna take you, Sam? Weeks of wire taps, if you could get them. Guys tailing him to the bathroom… I found out in ten minutes. He did it! The smug son of a bitch did it.”
The anticipation grew and Dean couldn’t help but think of his opponent as he starts the shower. Was Cas looking forward to another round in their game of cat and mouse? Or was he nervous. Did he think he got the drop on Dean by asking him out to dinner?
Sam continues, watching Dean's gelatinous nightmare of a beverage, “We thought we'd start with the security tapes… What is that?”
The boat flies across the Sound, the wind rushing by making Castiel feel like he is flying. He has always been a little bit of an adrenaline junky. Holding on tight, he hangs out the side, one arm out cupping air like a wing, the spray of the ocean cooling the hot sun on his face. He can’t help but laugh with the utter joy of the moment, worries temporarily forgotten.
He climbs into his beloved car, a 1967 Impala that he tunes up whenever he is home, and heads out to the apartment he keeps downtown. It’s a beautiful old building near Pike Street Market that was completely redone and turned into high end lofts. His faces the Puget Sound and has a balcony that runs the full length of the building. No matter where he is, he always needs a place of peace and quiet to call his own where he can process his thoughts and relax. This particular home was his sanctuary the first and last time his heart was broken.
The sunroom is more like a very fancy greenhouse with furniture inside. One side has a small dining set where there are already plates and a silver coffee set present. Dean sets the tray down and turns back as Cas follows him in carrying a tall glass of Dean’s gray-green smoothie cure-all.
Dean wanders around poking at the art on the walls and fiddling with items on the mantle, he is reaching for what appears to be a rabbits foot when he hears a crisp British accent from the doorway, “Unless you want to have a horrendous day, I suggest you do not touch that.”
Cas leads Dean to his study, holding open the door and guiding Dean inside with a large hand on the small of his back. Inside is Gabe and—
Dean laughs out in awe and pure joy as Cas guides him up to speed and they are flying over the ocean.
Sam follows his finger down the page looking for whatever it is that has Dean excited. His finger stops suddenly, reading a name he didn’t expect:
Dean feels like he’s been kicked in the gut. What the fuck is Charlie doing here? Why is the FBI here? Is Sam here? Did Cas narc on him? What the ever loving fuc—
The bartender slides them their drinks, and Dean picks his up and clinks his glass to Cas’s as he smirks saying, “I’m in the art world.”
He shakes the pleasure he got from that statement off and follows Cas inside. As he walks through the living room, he notices a wooden cargo box leaning against the couch, the type of box that would typically be used to transport a painting. Choosing to ignore that for the time being, he finds Cas in a bedroom opening the closet doors.
“You too Sam. Now, I’m here to get the painting back, Crowley is pissed and that thing costs a pretty penny. You gonna let me in on your investigation party?”
Even distorted across the wires it makes Dean shiver. He finishes tying his laces, does a quick check…
Maybe it’s the privacy of the helmets, the close space feeling like a confessional, but he speaks his mind. “…a long time since I’ve been able to just let go, to just enjoy something without having to worry about work, or Sam, or where I’m going next. It’s almost a weird feeling, you know?”
He comes embarrassingly quickly, and he stares unfocused as his sticky cum washes away. Flushed and languid Dean smiles dopily before he realizes he just got off to thoughts of Cas.
Dean glares at Sam, but looks back at the screen. “I don’t know. Something.” He turns to leave the office. He needs to walk the scene.
A little old man wearing tweed meets them in the lab. Sam introduces them. “This is Dr. Cornelius of Manhattanville. He is the leading expert in North America and specializes in authentication. He’s going to use an x-ray magnifier to look for anomalies in the painting.”
Cas tilts his head, a slight frown on his face as if he can tell something is wrong, but he takes the keys. Dean moves around him and gets into the passenger side as Cas goes to the driver’s side and slides in, cranking the ignition and turning the radio down low. Sweet and sad classical music flows through the night air as they drive the winding roads back towards the city.
“Very good, Dean.” If Cas keeps purring into his ear Dean is going to crash this boat. “Now, place your right hand on the throttle.” Dean complies.
“BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT YOU WANTED ME TO BE!” Dean roars and it echoes in the trees. Dean stops in his tracks when he hears Cas’s response.
Dean looks smug and Cas hates it, but he needs to be clear on what Dean is saying. Keeping his face calm and raising an eyebrow at Dean,” So you….”
As they leave the restaurant, Cas turns Dean towards him and hands him a small box. Curious Dean opens it and pulls out a set of car keys, Cas looks over his shoulder and there, gleaming beautifully in the moonlight is a
Castiel hangs up the phone, his blood buzzing and his heart beating with hope. Dean wants to be taught. He didn’t exactly say that he was one hundred percent on board, but Cas will take this and run with it.
He quickly pulls a new trash bag from his jacket pocket and gently places the painting inside. Walking towards the front of the house, he hollers for everyone to get their asses back to the van.
“They do speak English!” Gloating, Dean sits down and kicks his feet up on Sam’s desk. “It was a prepackaged robbery. He picked them up in Tacoma. They were given timetables, electrical...
“Hello Dean.” Cas’s voice rumbles in his ear. “The helmets are Bluetooth enabled, am I coming through?”
She gave him a location within a block radius of Novak and he has been casually walking around trying to spot him until he sees him going into a coffee shop. Dean waits for a couple of customers to go ahead of him and then waits in line, keeping an eye on that messy bedhead and trying not to let his eyes roam along the broad shoulders and beautiful neck. Castiel acknowledges someone waving at him from a booth near the back window and he walks towards the table after ordering his drink.
Doubts still linger in Dean’s mind, Cas didn’t outright confess any feelings, the investigation is still on going, he can’t see anymore what’s real and what’s not. And it’s all tangled up in his heart beating
“We have to abide by the law Dean, not everyone can just go around doing whatever the fuck they want…” Sam’s tirade is interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He picks up.
“Nah, I have my car here, but thanks.” Dean turns and walks to his car, keys held out to him by the valet. It is a perfectly restored 1967 Chevy Impala, midnight black and lustrous.
Pfffttt…. Stay away from Novak. Is he kidding? Dean has a job, and it’s the painting, no matter what it takes to get it back. Hence why he is slightly stalking the guy the next day. Dean called Charlie early this morning to have her track Castiel down.
Cas hits the ignition and the bike roars to life before settling into a throaty purr. The vibrations are not going to help.
“You call Bobby a fancy pants and I’m sure he’ll whack you,“ Sam laughs, “also, he says Hi and that you need to be there for Sunday dinner or else Ellen will hunt you down.”
Bobby looks unamused. “Dean! Did I hear right? You just waltzed into Novak’s empty house, dug around all his shit, and stole that stolen painting from his house?!”
Almost in a trance, he raises his head as they cruise onto a bridge, it feels like it is practically floating, with water on both sides contained by soaring canyon walls covered in lush green fir trees. He can’t help but smile as he takes in the beauty of the area. Eyes ahead they climb, meandering up the side of the canyon, the lake on their left. They reach the pinnacle of the climb and slow down to pull off at the viewpoint.
Quickly grabbing the guy under the chin, he jerks his head back and whispers “Was für einen Spaß würden sie mit dir haben, hm?”
Standing up, Dean moves behind him and leans close into his other ear “Ihre Regierung nimmt die Geheimpolizei nicht freundlich auf, oder?”
Dean, chest heaving and blood thrumming in his veins can’t take it anymore and turns quickly to crush his lips against Cas’s, fisting his hand in that soft hair, mussing it up. He licks his way into Cas’s mouth, desperate to be engulfed in the flames of this lust. Cas swirls his tongue and sucks on Dean’s, driving him to higher peaks, but eventually gentles the kiss and pulls away. Dean whimpers and slowly opens his eyes to see Cas’s staring at him; the blue of his eyes swallowed by the aroused dilation of his pupils. Fuck, the picture of a rumpled and lusting Cas is burned into his brain forever…why are they not kissing right now?
Dean can feel the panic rising in his chest again, Cas must see it too because he comes over to kneel beside Dean, grabbing hold of his hands and soothing his thumbs over Deans knuckles.
Sam rolls his eyes but also can’t help being concerned about Dean. He fears his brother has gotten himself in too deep. He’ll just have to get this investigation solved so Dean can move on.
Cas hears the shower tun on, so he starts putting together a lasagna and gets it into the oven before starting a fire in the firepit. He is putting some garlic bread in just as Dean wanders out in just pajama pants with a white towel hanging around his neck. Cas’s mind goes blank as all that delicious, freckled skin is exposed, one drop of water escaping to slide down his torso. Dinner is now the furthest thing from his mind. Dean grins at Cas and wanders out to the porch off the dining room to check out the twilight
Walking through Cas’s house is a delight to the senses. Dean can’t help but admire the guy’s taste. Everything is made of luxurious materials, with an emphasis on natural stone, wood, and fibers, in neutral dark and light palettes. All of which is offset by copious amounts of natural light coming in from windows everywhere, and displays of artwork, paintings, artifacts, and statues from all parts of the world, and all times in history. Almost as if Cas purchases art that he likes instead of going for a theme.
“Wait a minute. You're telling me that for some reason... the area around that particular painting went above 90?”
Charlie is their tech genius by day and vigilante hacker by night. She can create or hide anything and everything. Charlie is technically a contractor for the federal government, not a federal employee, and in her role as FBI consultant she feeds information and evidence into the system when or if she can. However, the judicial system is clunky, inefficient, and much of the time isn’t successful in catching the real culprits, and that’s where the cousins pursue their own brand of justice.
They cruise along, Cas hugging Dean from behind and watching with his chin tucked over his shoulder, whispering directions, praise, and boat driving tips and tricks to him. Once again, the rest of the world fades away to just the two of them.
Cas is tense, eyes locked on the man before him. Dean steps close and his eyes flick down to Cas’s lips, causing Cas to unconsciously lick them. His heart skips a beat when Dean answers. “Oh, I hope so.”
“Damn, I hate being a foregone conclusion.” Dean is amused yet shaken as he is reminded that the investigation still exists, that Cas stole the painting and his little bubble of peaceful bliss pops. As they sit down and start breakfast, which is delicious and Dean is annoyed that Cas is also apparently an amazing cook, he starts back in on playing the game.
“Morgenstern” Sam and Garth turn their heads over to Dean at his interruption, likely curious about why Dean knows the name of an art forger.
He gives the gathering a small wave and as he steps down from the stage he notices the beautiful man he crashed into at the FBI office is waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. Castiel’s breath catches, his mind did not lie when it remember just how exquisite this man is. The gorgeous face matches an equally gorgeous body. Broad shoulders are complimented by muscular arms and a solid chest. The trim and muscular torso meets narrow hips and flows down to charmingly bowed legs. Castiel imagines the bow would make it so very easy for those legs to wrap around him and draw him in close. | [
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“Don’t believe a word of ‘em,” Bucky says, and Steve has to laugh at that, interrupting the weird flirtation happening at his kitchen table.
He has Steve panting and gasping by the time he finally enters. He pulls back and watches as the head of his cock pushes past the tight rim of Steve’s entrance and he feels Steve’s muscles clench—tight, so tight—and then ease.
“I’m real sorry I ruined the evening.” Steve steps out, letting the doors go. Tony stands stock still for a moment, and then spurs to action just in time to slip into the hall.
The winter air hits him crisp and bitter cold as he steps out onto the sidewalk, but the day is bright and sunny and what’s left of the snow is churning to slush in the gutter. Except for in some of the parks, snow never stays long in the city.
is Steve's outfit for the premiere. This poor boy didn't even own a tux, if you can believe that! It was a situation that needed immediate remedy.”
Bucky stays behind Tony but his touch is loose, his guidance gone. He lets Tony take control of Steve’s body, Steve’s legs dropping to Tony’s shoulders. Tony locks focus on Steve’s face, driving hard and fast until Steve’s eyes roll back into his head again and his lips part, but there is no sound. His eyelids flutter shut, long lashes wet with tears of pleasure as his orgasm wracks his body. His chest and stomach muscles contract, his legs tightening and spreading like he’s still trying to get Tony further inside. His toes curl and his fingers grapple for purchase he can’t possibly get against the smooth wood of the headboard. Everything about this makes it the most gorgeous thing that Tony has ever seen.
“Tony.” His name again. Steve has this way of saying it that sounds like both a plea and an order. Tony doesn’t know how that’s possible and he knows why most everything is possible.
The zipper fully opened, the flaps of Steve’s jeans fall open in a vee that perfectly frames his impressive erection, straining against the thin cotton of his white boxer-briefs. Tony cups his hand over the bulge, his own cock pulsing with excitement as he feels Steve’s length throb under his palm.
Natasha arches an eyebrow at Tony and taps the arc reactor through the fabric of his thin black tank as she passes by him. Tony frowns at her unspoken observation.
“Buck, we don’t have to do this now,” Steve assures him, moving closer. “We can take a moment. We can take the whole night, the whole week, if we want to. This doesn’t have to be all worked out—”
“He’s really a very lovely man,” Pepper declares, taking a seat on the oversized armchair an arm’s length away. Tony rolls his eyes and moves a pillow behind his head. “Do you want to talk about it?”
But to his surprise, Janet Van Dyne deftly stops the small rock, pinning it easily beneath the pointed toe of her bright red high-heeled shoe. She smiles at him as he looks up, lips a matching shade of red and her teeth brilliantly white.
Steve nervously pulls at the collar of his crisp white shirt and adjusts his new suit, which is made of this dark navy blue material that has this strange, near sheen to it. It seems to shimmer under the string lights. The narrow tie matches, of course, and Steve’s never worn a suit tailored so well. Besides making him feel guilty, the exorbitant cost of his clothes also makes him scared to eat or drink a thing, terrified he’ll clumsily spill.
to find out where they took him, I will do it,” He takes a step toward Tony, desperate and pleading. Hill yanks him back, pins him hard against the door with one hand. She lets him keep talking though. “I don’t care about what happens to me. I don’t care if I wind up a blubbering fool in an insane asylum, or if they have to lock me up forever. I will die for him. I will. Just figure something out.”
“Yeah. I suppose so.” They could stay there. It would be easy. It might even make sense. But not using the tower seems like a forfeit, a failure. And the more Tony thinks about moving everyone in there, the more he feels like it would be capping the year off in triumph. He’ll have won New York back. He’ll have won
Steve puts his hands on his knees, ignoring Tony’s complaint. He only ran 18 miles and at a damn near leisurely pace. He’s barely broken a sweat, so Tony’s just trying to rile him up and distract him from the matter at hand.
“So it’s probably going to matter that he doesn’t seem to like me much.” Tony observes, and Steve tilts his head.
To anyone else, the scene might seem inviting. They may not be famous but they are undoubtedly a group of attractive people, well dressed enough to be noticed but not so much as to signal intimidating riches. They are warmly lit, their body language open. They smile and laugh pleasantly, passing drinks and gossip, camaraderie practically spilling forth from them like the groundswell of an uplifting music cue.
“Who’s there?” Steve’s voice cuts through the darkness, the mattress shifting and creaking as he sits up. Tony can barely make out his shape in the shadows.
“Well…a good man once told me not to.” He shrugs. All their time together during the war, Bucky looked at him with amazement and disbelief, but not awe. It’s strange to see it on his face now. “You don’t seem all that different either, Barnes.”
He leaves for Malibu for a few days. The house is crushingly Pepper-less so he Howard Hughes’ it for as long as he can personally stand it. Fury calls him after four days and says he’d prefer Stark back in the city to keep an eye on things as Bruce and Betty set to work on Barnes, but Tony doesn’t oblige.
There’s a list of supplies they need for that afternoon’s work that everyone’s been scribbling down throughout the morning, so Steve pulls the paper from the clipboard, folds it in quarters, and slips it into his pocket. The pencil gets tucked over his right ear.
He had thought about telling Steve, once, when he got his call up and he realized he’d be going to war and might never come home. But he’d thought about doing that to Steve, putting that on him and then going off and
As much as he associates the house with his parents, he also associates the house with the flesh and blood Edwin Jarvis, and that gives him a certain sense of security. Until he’d met Rhodey and Pepper, the old man had been the closest thing to real family he had.
“Captain.” Fury greets him firmly but not without respect, and knocks twice on the metal door, signaling for Natasha to come on out. She reluctantly pulls away from her quiet conversation.
. A strip of photos catches Tony’s attention. It must be from a photo booth on the boardwalk at Coney Island, because Tony can’t imagine where else they would have found one these days. He has no idea how four people crammed into one of those tiny spaces, but they seemed like they’d had fun trying.
Steve’s mouth slants perfectly over his, tongue sliding deep and pulling him immediately into a world where only the two of them exist. Tony lets himself get lost in it, reveling in the feel of Steve’s lips, the warmth and strength of his body pressed close, the tug of his strong fingers threading through his hair.
“Dig the Beetlejuice reference, Cap. That was almost current.” Clint bumps him on the shoulder and Steve’s grateful to him for breaking the tension.
A busboy finally comes by and clears off the table, wiping it down quickly and giving Steve a word of apology that he assuredly does not need. Steve musters a smile for him and Sam pats the young man on the shoulder before he walks away.
Steve’s whole body is wound tightly again; the line of his back is tense and he’s unconsciously grinding his teeth in that way he does when he’s bottling up his feelings, holding back for fear of saying something wrong.
Steve can see it now, Tony building a small bot to clean out the inside of the pumpkin and then using the holo to project an intricate design onto the curved surface, maybe using lasers to precisely carve out an elaborate image.
“I am not familiar with this Picasso fellow, some time in the near future you must avail me of his exploits.”
“Let’s see…I was going under the knife to have the arc removed.” Tony draws an imaginary circle on his chest where the reactor used to be. “And injecting myself with a volatile virus in order to basically turn myself into the most highly advanced technology on the planet.”
“Barnes has been operating on behalf of the Russian government under the codename of Winter Soldier. Agent Romanoff had contact with him in this guise prior to her involvement with SHIELD. Before today, she was our only agent to have met the man face to face. While working through your file after your recovery, she recognized your associate Barnes as the one we now know as the Winter Soldier and has been working to locate him since that time.”
“Well tinkering happens to be a hobby of mine as well. Quite good at it, actually, the tinkering. Is this what I think it is?” Tony flicks on the work light above the table and swings it over, bending down to look more closely.
Steve sighs, looking up at Tony with patient concern. His hands smooth up Tony’s thighs before coming to rest at his waist, holding him there.
“Why am I here, Tony?” Something in the way Steve says his name gives him away; it’s in that last syllable, soft and plaintive and a little bit wounded. Tony can hear it so clearly and it makes his heart ache.
“You probably never give up, do you.” He finishes a half-formed notion that began somewhere unspoken and came out a damning accusation and an awed observation. Steve’s brow furrows and his hold tightens almost imperceptibly on the glass. Tony lets go of it and stands up.
The whole trip would’ve been a lot better if he’d been with Steve. He realizes how idiotic the sentiment is, considering he’d gone to D.C. to
He's still got his chin tucked over Steve's shoulder, and he finds himself oddly transfixed by the blurry red numbers on the digital alarm clock on their nightstand, so innocuous next to the stack of Steve's books and the art deco table lamp they'd picked out together at some flea market in Chelsea. The day they got it had been so hopelessly domestic and couple-y that Tony was sure that ten years ago he would've hated doing it—if he had even been convinced to go in the first place—but now he nearly smiles every time he turns on the damn light.
“I don’t want to have to try and explain to the authorities that you were murdered by an AI. I’d rather not spend the next 25 to life at Sing Sing.”
. It’s about this absolute lout of a guy who finds out, after his father dies, that he has an older brother who is autistic and has spent his life in a home. His dad, who was pretty much the asshole to end all assholes, actually leaves all the family money to
“Who’s funding you? All this.” Tony gestures around Bruce’s cluttered workshop. Bruce looks at him, face crinkling in confusion. He picks his small screwdriver back up, worrying it in his hands.
Tony turns, gestures back toward the party. Behind the large floor to ceiling windows, it’s easy to see everything playing out in tableaux before them. Steve searches the crowd for their friends. Bucky and Natasha are at the bar, drinking their way through a bottle of vodka. Nat’s smiling, for once not hiding her happiness. Bucky’s gaze never leaves her face.
It stings a little, once he parses Steve’s polite, detached speech and realizes that he has in essence been rebuffed as Steve’s shoulder to lean on. It should be fine, since Tony never meant to offer that shoulder in the first place. Instead it feels like the kind of rejection Tony hasn’t allowed himself to feel in years.
“You’re still angry with me.” It’s not a question, because Natasha doesn’t do that, doesn’t approach a situation unsure and fumble her way around. She has a point and she’ll make it. “I wouldn’t change what I did. I could’ve been mistaken. We might’ve been unable to bring him in. If you’d known, you might have had to hunt down and kill your own best friend. I didn’t want that for you.”
After their rushed trailer tryst that afternoon, all Tony wanted was to make long, lingering love to Steve tonight. He's so tired of having to frantically steal every moment. But taking their time is not in the cards, and that's his fault. All he can do is make Steve fall apart, as quickly and as quietly as he can.
“Just…make sure you’re not turning things down for the wrong reasons, okay? You can handle whatever comes your way, and you deserve to be successful. Your past is nothing to run from. You should be proud of what you’ve done.”
Barnes is stirring, sitting up and clutching his head. Tony stalks over to him, stands over him menacingly.
He carefully climbs into bed beside Steve, pulling the covers up and settling in. He moves close but doesn’t touch. He doesn’t ask if this is okay because he can’t risk the answer.
“Steven America is much better, you should consider a legal change. Hey, if Rhodey were here, you’d hit the trifecta, the trio, you’d collect the complete set. Pep, tell me, where is our darling James Rhodes right now?”
“Don't fidget.” Jan pulls his hands back down by his sides. “It ruins the lines. We want Tony to see how fantastic you look. Doesn't he look fantastic, Tony, dear?”
“Tony, if this is something that’s going to come out, if this is something that we need to get ahead of…” Pepper puts her hands on her hips, reclaiming her bearings and getting ready to fight. “There’s things we can do. We can manage this. Let me call Steve and we can strategize a response—”
“It’s okay, Tony.” Steve’s smile is sad and half-hearted, now. “I know what they used me for after I was gone. Heck, there were comics and film reels and all that before – I was part of it. I knew what they were using me for back when I was alive.”
Clint is warbling some circus song by the time Steve deposits him carefully onto the sofa in the communal living room. Natasha sinks down beside him, mumbling something drowsily in Russian. Steve’s a bit rusty, but he thinks she says something about wanting to go to the ballet, or maybe being in the ballet.
The double-entendres are loaded, and Steve wonders if Tony fully understands that there’s a serious undertone to all these joking words about futures.
“I’m good here.” Tony pops the last bit of crust into his mouth and starts in on another piece. He lifts his foot and rests it on one of the bars of Steve’s stool, keeping his own chair from sliding as he moves. They eat the rest of the pizza in companionable silence.
“Clint and I are gonna go out on the porch, tell Tony and Natasha to meet us out there with the candles.”
“And there was never any moment where you thought he would?” After seeing the way Bucky looks at Steve now, with Steve as he was that night Bucky last saw him at the Stark Expo, Tony can’t possibly imagine that his love for Steve wasn’t written all over his face back then, plain as day.
“And…I’ve been had.” He sighs and sets the water down on the countertop. He has to smile, because they really played a good game. He believed every second of it. Tony waits for him to explain.
He doesn’t want to leave Tony for Bucky, and the thought that maybe he doesn’t have to make a choice is revelatory. To be honest he still hasn’t wrapped his mind around it entirely. It had seemed like such an impossibility but Tony…
With his other hand, he takes one of Steve’s, twining his oil-stained fingers with Steve’s paint splattered ones. He folds their combined grasp on the top of the table between their place settings and stares at his boyfriend’s pale lips, remembering how swollen and lushly pink they’d looked last night when they’d been wrapped around his cock. He flushes with heat, thinking of Steve on his knees.
Tony knows what she must see – the same wrinkled clothes, the unshaven face, the bloodshot eyes. He’s a disaster, and her concern is written plainly all over her face.
“Jan designed all my costumes, Stark – she's seen me far less dressed than this,” Steve explains, sitting down on a nearby armchair to pull on his shoes. He's discovered it's far easier than hopping around on one foot behind the screen without a shoehorn, so he'd shifted to doing it this way ages ago.
It turns out that “just the place” is an automat on St. Mark’s called BAMN! While it’s hardly a Horn & Hordart, Steve’s tickled pink that Tony found it and thought to bring him here.
“Didn’t end up going. Buck came over for a while and then I got to painting. Haven’t had much time for that lately.”
“Yeah, it was one of the shots where the sound didn’t roll. It’s a short enough gap to fill that we’re just using the MOS we got, and the Foley guys laid down an ambient track.”
“Makes you think,” Steve replies, looking down the street at the neighboring houses, home lights on against the darkness of the night. Behind each window, everyone’s just going about their lives. “In fifty years, people will probably look back on things folks are doing now and wonder how we could all be so stupid.”
“Alright man, but I gotta go ‘cross the bridge and go up through the city rather than take the expressway and hit the tunnel. East side’s still a mess over there from all that crazy alien Avengers shit. Gonna cost you extra.”
Tony’s floor now, and Steve invited him up, it never feels right to be here when Tony is too. Maybe it’s because Tony has never done the inviting, or that he and Tony have never been alone here without Steve, but whenever Tony arrives, Bucky instantly feels like an intruder in their private space.
“If you want to see me more often, buddy, all you gotta do is ask. I miss you too.” Rhodey claps a hand to Tony’s shoulder as they duck under the wing and walk toward the front of the plane.
Steve throws his hands up against the headboard and tosses his head back against the pillows. The rosy flush of arousal is creeping from his face and neck down to his chest. His body is pulling ever more taut, muscles tensing against the onslaught of pleasure. His cock is flat against his abs, a string of come stretching from the tip to his stomach, pooling on his skin. It’s like Steve’s having a long, slow, drawn out orgasm, come forced out of him in a weak but steady stream.
“That’s not…” Tony mutters, rubbing his elbow like Steve had injured him. Steve is hyper-aware of his own strength though, and he’s sure Tony’s just being petulant. “Playing Barbara Walters isn’t the solution.”
“He wants to sit down, all three of us, tomorrow. Or, I guess today, rather.” He glances over Tony’s shoulder at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s after midnight, after all. “We didn’t settle anything. Not until we all could talk together.”
It’s actually very quiet on this vacant street, and the warmth of the sun makes him feel lethargic. The previous night's lack of sleep is hitting him now, and it's hitting him hard. He shouldn’t have sat down.
Bucky brings the cigarette back to his lips, cheeks hollowing as he breathes in deep. His face is far less gaunt than it was a month ago but his cheekbones still stand in stark relief, his face angled with shadows. He’s silent in consideration as he holds the smoke in for a moment before letting it go.
“Yeah, I don’t think even I could fake an ounce of cynical disdain now,” Tony replies. “You’ve fucking ruined me.”
But he lifts an eyebrow in challenge anyway, waiting for Tony to read his expression as the waiter departs with a small bow.
“Then why are you here?” Bucky asks, with a hint of frustration. “I mean, I know what Tony said, but I know you, Steve, this isn’t you.”
“And that never used to bother you.” Tony retorts, raising his eyebrows at Bucky. He stops beside him, facing him, and leans one elbow against the railing. “But now it does. Why.”
“And I doubt you’re someone who takes being ignored lightly,” Steve replies. Tony taps a finger to his own temple and then points at Steve like he’s got it in one. “Can’t see you taking that laying down. So, what’s your sketchbook?”
He supposes he should be upset that he cannot remember his own history, that all he knows is what he’s been told, but he simply does not care.
Steve stares at Tony, not sure what to say or how to act. Seeing Tony hurts, yes, but there’s also a strange sense of relief, like he’d been unknowingly holding his breath and now can exhale. Tony looks beautiful in the way only Tony can be beautiful, smooth but just a little bit rough, suave but just a little bit broken. Even with a short glance, Steve can see cracks in that polished veneer, the small things that make Tony gorgeous in ways well beyond his appearance. Everything would be a lot easier if Steve couldn’t see them.
Bucky pulls back and tugs his shirt off himself, clumsily getting caught in the tangle of sleeves. They both laugh as he finally frees his arms, and Bucky kisses him again even as they grin against each other’s mouths. Bucky doesn’t lower his body back down all the way though, holding himself above Steve, palms flat against the couch cushion on either side of his shoulders.
“You think I’m being overdramatic but I’m actually making an astute prediction of the months to come. Tony Stark’s gonna mess with our livelihood – hell, our
“Stark.” Natasha greets him as she rises from the mat with seemingly no effort at all. Steve gets up with considerably less grace. “Come to get some of that much-needed practice, I hope?”
“Zvvvt, zip it for one more second,” Tony holds up a finger to silence him, tugging him forward with his other hand. Steve lets himself be led into a red and yellow car, biting back his questions as Tony slams and locks the door. Despite there being room for six, their car is apparently full at two. Tony had slipped something to the operator to head an argument off at the pass, and Steve can only imagine the size of the bill.
“Actually, from what I can recall, I kinda thought he was an arrogant self-centered prick,” Bucky states, not smiling. “I’m not Steve, I don’t own a pair of rose-colored glasses.”
Tony gasps at the feel of cold porcelain against his naked skin, and they both laugh into each other’s mouths, surprised and breathlessly light. Tony’s hands grope his backside, urging him closer to rut their cocks together. Their laughter fades away into the steam as Steve reclaims Tony’s lips.
“Lovely to see you again, Mr. Stark.” His accent sounds like Falsworth’s, but not quite. In any other circumstance, Steve might have introduced himself and asked him where he once called home, but Steve’s out of place here, and its feels safer to stay silent.
Steve steps forward, carefully hitting his mark as to not cast Wanda’s face in shadow, and then wraps his hands around her slim waist to pull her closer. Just as he’s about to bend to kiss her, a 1K Fresnel blows with a loud pop and sizzle, rendering the flag that’s providing Wanda’s eye light utterly useless.
He attempts to re-focus but his previous thoughts remain a steady undercurrent to everything running through his mind now.
!” Lensherr yells from beside the camera. “Das ist doch alles Scheiße!” Various people snap into motion the second the camera stops rolling.
In the logical part of his brain and the sensible chamber of his heart, he doesn’t want to do this to Pepper. If –
Instinctively Tony lifts his hands from Steve’s shoulders, creating what space he can between them when they’re literally still wrapped around each other. He doesn’t want to let go, but he can feel embarrassment and confusion practically radiating from Steve.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tony waving Scott over to their pow-wow, taking Bruce’s place in the circle as the DP gratefully departs. Lang looks even more harried than the rest of them, his short brown hair sticking up every which way and the back of his plaid shirt dark with sweat. He and Lensherr exchange words, with the director spitting out a few choice ones in German, before Tony steps back in and pulls Scott off to the side. Lensherr glowers as they walk away.
“I’m awake,” Steve mumbles drowsily, only shifting back toward Tony slightly instead of rolling over to greet him as he usually does when Tony sneaks in from a late night in the workshop.
“Y…y-yes,” Steve stammers, forcing his eyes open to look at them both. Tony breaks rhythm with Bucky, thrusting harder. Bucky adjusts to follow him this time.
“Are you supposed to be here?” Tony counters, suspecting that they’re both where they should not be.
In this new position, Steve is practically in his lap and Tony and Bucky both hold him up, Tony’s arms wrapped around his midsection and Bucky’s metal arm firm across his shoulders. His fingers brush Steve’s neck, his jawline, his chin. Tony breaks his kiss with Bucky to turn his attention to Steve’s mouth, kissing him for all he’s worth as he starts thrusting up into Steve’s body again. Steve is looser and wetter now, his muscles quivering with exhaustion.
Bucky advances on the bed, good hand curled in a tight fist by his side. Bucky has never hit him, but it’s nonetheless clear in this moment that Bucky is holding himself back.
“It’s not…” Steve starts, and then hesitates. He leans against the railing, looking out toward the ocean. Tony mimics his stance, resting his elbows on the worn wood and bending slightly forward. “There’s just a lot about you that I don’t know yet.”
Tony’s phone starts buzzing. He hears it, but he can’t process the information, all he can think about is those six words Pepper just spoke, turning over and over in his head. He stares at Pepper, who stares back. The buzzing stops, but quickly begins again. Someone clearly wants to get a hold of him.
“Steve…” Bucky whispers reverently, already sitting up to get his hands back on him and pull him in. Steve lets himself be moved closer, but only enough to hook his fingers over the waistbands of both Bucky’s jeans and boxers. Bucky lifts his hips and Steve tugs them down over the curve of Bucky’s ass, down his thick thighs and muscular calves, and over his long, elegant feet. His cock, once free, slaps up against his flat abs, hard and leaking and beautiful.
“That was you, holding it back?” Steve laughs. Tony trails his hand down the side of his neck, stopping at the collar of Steve’s pale blue Henley.
He hasn’t been dismissed and every person in the room starts in at once to try and make him stay, but there’s nothing that anyone could say to make him do so.
Bucky is strangely breathless too, his eyes slightly wild. He’s barefoot, and his hair is down and more than a little rumpled. Tousled, like he’s been running and tugging his hands through it. His red and gray plaid shirt is untucked and unbuttoned, a loose white tee underneath with the v-neck just a little stretched, and his denims are worn soft at the knees. He looks perfect.
“I never left.” Steve corrects, surprised that Tony didn’t know that already. Tony’s face is carefully blank. Steve looks away as fast as he can, not wanting anything on his own face to be accidentally read as a challenge. “I crashed on the couch, I hope that’s okay.”
She moves like she’s going to spin a crescent kick up high and at the last second continues full circle and comes around to drop down low, sweeping Steve’s feet out from under him. He lands flat on his back with a resounding thud.
Steve also seemed designed as his exact contradiction, from the big things – Steve firmly Green Party, while Tony refused to vote on the principle that the whole system was corrupt – to the tiny things, like how Steve swore by Stereogum and Tony was diehard Pitchfork. They argued about everything.
“Never expected to be with another man, seventy years in the future?” Tony laughs breathlessly, his hands slipping on the countertop. “Can’t imagine why you didn’t see that one coming.”
to stop doing this.” He coughs, sitting up. The Hulk reaches over and shoves him back to the ground, grunting.
“Tony?” Steve is insistent on turning to face him now and Tony keeps his eyes closed against Steve’s concern. A hand goes to the side of his face and Tony is helpless to lean into the touch. “Tony, the thought’s never crossed my mind. Why would you even ask that?”
Steve chooses to ignore her. He puts the milk back without even having poured a glass and puts thoughts of breakfast aside until later. All the telltale signs of another set-up, another blind date, are in the air. Natasha’s winding up to something.
He checks with JARVIS later and finds out that Steve stayed down there alone until dinnertime, occasionally glancing up to see if Tony had returned but not budging otherwise. It’s then that Tony decides something needs to be done.
“Hello to you too, lovely,” Tony says. He imagines Bucky clutching the note in his metal fist, crushing it in his grip. “As I wrote, I’m heading out of town.” He leans against the wall of the cabin, ducking down a little to look out one of the small, thick windows at the dark clouds passing below. It will be quite late in London when he arrives, and it must just be getting dark in New York. Steve surely must have tried to talk to Bucky by now. “Have you seen Steve?”
“He’s asking for you,” he informs her quietly, sounding defeated. He holds open the door for her but looks at the ground as she passes by and into the room. The second she’s clear he lets the door close, and heads toward the exit like the place is on fire.
“Am I interrupting something?” Tony freezes halfway through stepping out the window. Steve hears Bucky heave a sigh.
. There are only a few feet between them but Tony seems miles away. He’d obviously rather be somewhere, anywhere else, his distance and distraction abundantly clear.
It hadn’t taken too much convincing, honestly. Studio execs are more forgiving of people who do damage to unions rather than strengthen them, and Steve suspected that even without his assistance, Scott’s time on the blacklist was already nearing an end. Juicers with Scott’s level of expertise in both mechanical and electrical engineering are hard to come by.
“Okay.” Steve pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, straightening his appearance. “Do I need my coat, are we going somewhere?”
“All right. At least I should get you some water. Is there any available in here or do I need to go out to Refreshments?” Steve starts to get up but Tony waves him back down.
“I may be a bit biased, however, as Tony and I go way back. We’ve been friends since we were children.” Jan explains.
“Oh lord, don’t say things like that, someone might hear you.” Tony warns him, sighing overdramatically. “I have a reputation to protect.”
The communications center, a vast cavernous space that actually rises up three stories, lays blown to pieces in front of him. There’s a huge hole in the far wall, blasted straight through to the outside. He can see the New York skyline stretching indifferently into the night.
“Check in.” Tony Stark’s a busy man – a busy man with much more important things to do than simply “check in” with someone like him.
Maybe they could have had more than stolen kisses bolstered by drunken courage. Maybe instead of Bucky reaching over, pulling him close and pushing inside him in the middle of the night, carefully quiet and hidden in the darkness, they could have made love in the light of morning, loud as they wanted to be. Maybe instead of dancing around it and pretending it meant less than it did, they could have talked about it. Named it. Stopped denying it.
“Well, what’s a few. It’s a relative term.” Tony shrugs. They’re all silent until around floor twenty-five when Barnes turns to him, sarcastically hopeful.
“A person can be more than one thing. Furthermore, the problem here isn’t my daddy issues. I’m well acquainted with those, Pepper and I have already had this talk regarding Steve.”
“It’s not that I don’t think you can take it,” Steve responds quickly. “I know you can. And I’m sure if it came down to the wire, you’re far more skilled than I am. But-“
“Just have to make whatever comes to mind, then,” he mumbles to himself, wishing that Tony had at least given him some clue as to his preferences for food. He likes planning, not guessing.
“Quite unique.” Bruce says diplomatically, taking a seat on a stool beside Thor and opening up the academic journal he’d brought down with him. He shoots a confused look at Tony, who mouths back
“No. I mean, yes, but to say he worked for my father isn’t really accurate.” Rhodey starts to cut in, not about to debate the finer points of the matter when there are clearly a lot of bigger things to discuss. Tony stalls. “Accuracy is important, I’m a scientist, you know this.”
Pepper doesn’t argue it further, mainly because it’d been a perfunctory exercise in the first place, a hopeless attempt to get him to calm down. She knows better, but dealing with his restlessness and concern when the Avengers went to battle without him is something neither of them has been handling well.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Tony whispers as they lock eyes in the mirror. Steve can see how much he means it, and all Steve can think is that he actually
“Maybe everyone will stop hitting on you now.” Tony pulls back just enough to speak. He sounds like he’s aiming for a joke but not entirely sure he’s not serious.
Instead they have this: Steve sitting what feels like a mile away and Tony with absolutely no idea what to say to him.
That reminds him, Steve had mentioned wanting to try Korean barbecue as the 7 had rattled through Flushing the other night. He makes the suggestion for post-battle lunch and Natasha cuts him off before anyone can answer.
“I do not…I…I just feel better when he’s here in L.A. working under the AMPP, that’s all. Those airshows have all the safety precautions of the Flying Wallendas, for Christ’s sake.”
is on the tip of his tongue but it won’t fall all the way over, instead remaining silent there just before the point of speech.
“You said something about breakfast?” His voice is rough and he’s not sure if it’s the usual morning gruffness or something else. Steve brings a hand to the hollow of his throat, remembering how Tony had wrapped his fingers loosely around his neck when he’d been the one flat on his back, Tony thrusting between his legs. It hadn’t been hard enough to choke, just a little extra pressure that heightened every sensation of Tony moving inside him. He’d rather liked it. He hopes Tony left a bruise.
“Are you having someone keep tabs on me?” Steve’s shocked, and Tony lets out a surprised shout of laughter.
“Call me on my cell if you need anything.” And there would’ve been the perfect opportunity to just spit it out – say
“Okay, Tony.” Steve is back to being half-asleep already, somehow soothed by the sound of Tony’s incessant prattling.
They spend the next two nights in Denver. Which is patently ridiculous, because Aspen is a stone’s throw away. He has to pick them up some decent clothes before taking Steve out on the town, and that involves a little
Tony lets Steve’s harsh words linger in the air between them for a moment before quietly leading Steve back outdoors. The moon is out but it’s just a sliver of light, barely reflecting on the night waves of the Pacific.
“He likes expensive location shooting out in the middle of the god forsaken desert. Who in their right mind likes the desert? I’ve seen enough desert to last me two lifetimes.” He arches an eyebrow at her before turning on his heel and marching onward, tossing another criticism over his shoulder. “I also hear he’s a mean old drunk.”
Tony pauses, sniffing the air as Pepper shoves a towel at his face. He grabs it and wraps it around his neck, accomplishing nothing as water from his clothes still soaks the floor.
He hurries on without a reply, clearly having a laundry list of things to still accomplish before his night is over.
Steve’s hand moves toward the tapestry, like he wants to touch that too, but he draws back before making contact.
“You want me to do one?” Bucky’s taken aback as well, but Steve thinks the surprise is pleasant. Bucky still looks at Tony like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He doesn’t sound all that sorry, but seeing as how he and Steve making out like teenagers is a recent development, he supposes he can’t rationally blame Barnes for awaiting Steve’s return.
.” She reaches up and pats him on the cheek. “You're so hopeless at flirting, Stevie, it's really quite something. If it weren't so adorable, I'd scream.”
“Thanks, Tony, that’s really nice,” Steve snorts, tilting his head and shrugging his shoulder to get a look at the damage. The pale blue fabric of his thin sweater is streaked with wet, sticky orange, Tony’s fingers leaving a smudgy mess behind.
A faint but real smile, weak from non-use, comes over Steve’s face as Tony drains half the glass and then slides it back.
“Facial hair contests are totally stupid,” Tony mutters and Steve hides his smirk, ducking his head. He has to admit it’s hilarious that Tony’s still secretly bitter that he lost the great mustache contest of ’08. His facial hair, while immaculate, has always been far too calculated and modern for any contest that usually names a 70’s porn ‘stache as the winner. Bruce had won that particular round and Steve had never been so glad as when he finally shaved that big, bushy handlebar
The bare bulb fluorescent light fixture above Steve’s head is flickering slightly; Tony can hear it buzz. It’s probably an update from the 70s by the look of it, so, really, not much of an update at all. He eyes it, eyes Steve.
“They're not on the payroll, Steve. They're not under contract. Why would you show our work to the competition?”
“It’s nice to be part of any team at all,” Steve manages to reply, pulling back a little when it becomes clear that the man doesn’t plan to leave his personal space.
“I told you not to call me that, Stark.” Carol says sternly, but the corner of her frown twitches, giving her away. “And needless to say, we’re not broadcasting this to everyone. Just our close friends.”
“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re done with …with me, or whatever it was that we were.” Steve’s voice echoes back hollowly in the large space. Tony stares at Steve’s broad back, not missing the way his shoulders hunch for one brief telling moment before he squares them again and turns around with his jaw clenched, arms folding over his chest. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t extend this evening needlessly with insincere hospitality. Make your point.”
“Pietro!” She calls as she turns from him, that smile disappearing as quickly as it’d come. Her brother is at her side immediately, carrying her two Pomeranians, Billy and Tommy, one fluffy ball of golden brown fur happily wiggling in the crook of each arm.
“Is it?” He doesn’t get the sense that it is. He may not be the most adept at reading people, but even he can see that Steve’s not okay.
“Carol, you sly temptress!” Tony kisses her sloppily on the cheek. It's a testament to her happiness that she lets him do it with barely a roll of her eyes. “You’re the one who took the plunge?”
“Tony, you need to hear me. If Steve comes to me and he wants this...I am not going to be able to say no.”
yours is brilliant.” He exclaims, looking back up at him and rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. He points a finger close to Steve’s face. “I’m stealing it. Anyone asks I totally came up with it.”
Because Steve and Bucky are going to have a talk, that much is clear. Even if tonight hadn't happened, there was no way Steve was going to let Bucky’s behavior drag on for much longer without forcing a confrontation. If Steve hadn’t spent most of the last month sick in bed, it would have happened already.
“And besides, I suppose it would be incredibly rude to lock him out considering he owns the place,” Steve allows.
“Guess you weren’t quite ready for that yet.” Tony’s grin is careful and strained. He claps his hands, shaking his head like it’s no big deal. “That’s okay, we’ll work up to it.”
“It’s already happening, Fury. So talk.” Tony’s advancing on Barnes, and he feels Bruce’s hands grasping for his shoulder, trying to get him to stop, but it’s no matter. He’s not going to attack Barnes. He only wants to hear it, whatever this man has to say. “Where did they take Steve?”
“Ok. Well.” Tony looks up and down the street, not seeing much that will be of assistance. A diner, a drug store, dentist’s office. Happy is waiting in the town car just fifty yards back, expecting to drive two passengers to the airport. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna get something to eat in that lovely little establishment over there because I need coffee and you need to eat something, and then we’re gonna find some place around here that sells motorcycles, I’m gonna pick one up and then I’m coming with you.”
Steve looks at the sculpture, considering. It kind of does look like fire. If fire were made of steel.
“Don't be a baby and get yourself all wound up over nothing. You said yourself the ending doesn't work, and it seems to me you came here looking for Steve's opinion in the first place.”
Bruce signals Tony to come over and they put the book down on the table between them, Bruce on one side and Tony on the other. As Bruce flips the cover open, a square black and white photograph slips out and onto the floor. Tony stoops to pick it up, holding it loosely between two fingers as he hands it back to Bruce.
Bucky’s fingers suddenly twine through his hair too, and Tony pauses just a moment to glance up. Bucky’s lips are forming words under his breath, speaking in a language Tony thinks is Russian.
“I want my mouth on you. Can I suck you?” Tony is too riled up to play coy. He drops to his knees even as Steve is still gasping out a yes. He pulls down Steve’s trousers and underwear in one go and takes Steve’s length in hand. There’s a loud thud above his head; Steve had slammed one hand against the door to steady himself as he nearly pitched over.
Bucky is leaning forward, hands pressed flat against the headboard on either side of Steve’s head. His rocking movements cause the sturdy wood to rattle against the wall. He rides Steve hard, but at a slow, deliberate pace that ensures Steve feels every minute movement he makes.
“Too early to call, quit the chatter.” The Captain's voice is in his ear and it feels eerily familiar. Like the man’s warm breath should be tickling his skin, lips brushing his throat.
So that someone can’t stand in the shadows and stare at you for a good long while before you even realize you have company.
Tony pretends this actually needs to be considered and weighed. Debauching Steve in the common room where anyone can see does have a certain appeal, but he’s not about to make that case to Steve. Besides, he’d like to actually complete said debauching before anyone finds out and feels the need to lecture him about besmirching a national icon. He much prefers sitting through tirades about things he’s actually done, not things he possibly might do in the future.
“Well if change is what you want, I can offer you a different setting, perhaps maybe even some new housemates. How do you feel about the upper east side?”
Tony lets him go. He hesitates for a moment, wondering if that was Steve’s abrupt, unspoken goodnight. But Steve didn’t tell him to go so that’s enough of an invitation for now. Tony follows him inside and watches as Steve crosses to the kitchen cupboard and grabs a glass. He rests his weight against the counter as he leans over the sink and fills it from the tap.
Her closet is empty, her things gone from the bathroom. She must have cleared out the second she saw the news report.
In this chapter, there is a brief scene wherein Loki attempts to blackmail Steve into sexual intercourse. He succeeds in making Steve intensely uncomfortable and upset but Tony interrupts and Loki departs. Tony is jealous at seeing Loki and Steve together and Steve angrily corrects his assumptions.
Tony pulls up the chair, taking off his suit coat and throwing it over the back. He rolls up his shirtsleeves and unlatches his wristwatch, casting it off to the side.
“Apparently twice was enough to make an impression, although honestly I can't imagine why. Your Jimmy is quite the charmer—although I suppose that could be the problem, now couldn't it. Tony's never much liked competitions he can't win.”
Even Brooklyn looks beautiful tonight. All of the lights on the bridges twinkle prettily, crisscrossing the East River, perfectly engineered threads of brick and steel stitching all of New York City together.
“At least.” Steve repeats, rising as well but with far more grace. He bends to pick up their discarded clothes from the floor, broad back and sculpted backside to Tony. When he straightens back up and offers Tony his shirt, Tony very nearly groans at the picture Steve makes, half naked and hard, open jeans barely clinging to his slim hips, the warm light from the table lamps casting soft shadows along the sharply muscled planes of his body.
“Hope you don’t mind getting a few new housemates.” Steve approaches with Sam in tow, the other man looping an arm loosely over Steve’s shoulders and introducing himself to Bruce with a far more genuine smile than that which he’d offered Tony.
. Who does he think he is, DeMille? You have to earn the right to be that much of an asshole in this town.”
rehearsals even begin." Tony assures Steve, as he knows Steve felt terrible about what had happened. Personally, he’d found it hilarious. And educational, as he never knew Asgardian theatricals usually included audience participation. "No one seemed too broken up about it. I think a member of the stage crew actually asked Thor if he'd be able to provide directed thunder and lightning for a staging of
“So, should we –” Steve gestures toward the nearest set of armchairs, about to ask Tony to sit down, when Tony steps toward the door and gestures outside.
“You know Steve fucking hates it when I smoke.” Bucky shrugs. Tony points at him. “And you know full well he hates it when you do too.”
“Oh. Well. Bruce demanded we shut down for the night and do something besides work on our little mind re-arranger. So, they’re out somewhere, ‘taking the night off’. You know, he gets his girl back and suddenly loses his work ethic.” He rolls his eyes, preparing another tirade about how close they were to cracking the Barnes problem wide open, when he suddenly realizes that none of this blathering is keeping Steve at bay. “Hey – how did you get the codes to get in here anyway, I thought…JARVIS.” Steve shrugs. “Such betrayal.”
“Yeah…that.” Steve admits, then heaves another sigh. He rubs his face, frustration and anxiety rising higher. Tony reaches over and grabs one of his hands, pulling it away from his head and toward his own chest. He also moves closer, tossing one of his legs over Steve’s, his sock-clad feet tangling with Steve’s bare, cold ones. His body anchors Steve’s into place and the weight of him calms Steve a little.
Steve nods his thanks and turns into the crowd. Nick may play like he’s a hard-nosed bastard, but he’s got a soft spot for Steve and his pals, most likely because they were patronizing his place long before the Hollywood elite sashayed in. Steve appreciates the loyalty.
It left Tony uneasy, and he downs two tumblers of scotch before gathering up the courage to follow Steve to bed over an hour later.
“I don’t…It’s there. Somewhere. But I can’t get at it.” Barnes closes his eyes for a brief moment, struggling even then to try and grasp something just out of reach. He opens his eyes to blink away tears. “I can’t remember.”
“It doesn’t matter if that’s what happened. It’s what Peter Quill says happened. They don’t call him Lord of the Stars for nothing.”
Bucky looks at him, wide blue eyes bloodshot and wild, and then his grasp tightens around Steve’s hand. Bucky’s hold feels strange, his fingers seemingly real yet not quite right.
“They say running is bad for the knees. You’ve missed it, being frozen and all, but doctors now suggest participating in more low-impact exercise. Like yoga. Or water aerobics.”
The air is beginning to warm with the day by the time he climbs the stairs to their apartment on North Hayworth; it’s going to be a hot one if the temperature is already climbing like this. Steve pauses for a moment on the landing outside the apartment door, taking time to straighten out both his thoughts and his appearance. He untucks his white and red striped tank from the tight waistband of his white running shorts and uses the hem to dry his sweaty face, then runs a hand through his hair in a poor attempt to straighten and flatten the damp strands.
Bruce has slowly been perfecting the rushed algorithm that they’d thrown together during Loki’s attack; a few more tests and the system might be ready to permanently implement.
Tony slides his hand over Steve’s shoulder as “The Nearness of You” begins – a tune he actually recognizes. He had the Glenn Miller record; he doesn’t know who’s singing this version but her voice is warm and smooth. Steve lets Tony arrange his hands back the way they were before, biting his lip to keep himself from protesting. Tony Stark should not have to teach him how to dance; this is going to be embarrassing for the both of them.
Tony still takes his first step slowly, looking around like he expects a last minute attack or an electric shock or some other kind of deterrent. He smirks, unimpressed.
He has to scramble to turn the projector off before the reel runs out; rewinding is so much easier when you don’t have to feed the film back in again. He only turns on one set of overhead lights, keeping the room dim and intimate, before going back toward where Steve sits, waiting.
Miss Van Dyne glances across the street and realizes that she’s not without an audience. Instead of ducking away, she waves good morning to him as if they know each other and then elegantly saunters inside.
“Stark, hey.” Bucky’s angled away from him, but he can see Bucky flash Tony a smile. His hand gets squeezed again as Bucky gestures back to him as if to say,
“Listen, Steve…” Tony begins, putting his hands together in front of him. He doesn’t continue right away and Steve doesn’t prompt him to. “I just…I’m sorry, okay?”
, making it sound like he’s some object being passed back and forth, but he doesn't have a better way to describe how this would work so he lets it lie. “You’d want that?”
“Steve…Steve, I’m gonna, I’m gonna come, we gotta…” Steve lets go of his ironclad grip on Bucky’s hips and Tony sees the deep purple bruises already forming there. Bucky thighs are trembling as he climbs off of Steve and kneels beside him on the bed. His hard-on is standing nearly straight up against his stomach, less thick than Steve but nearly as long. These two are ridiculous.
Steve sits up to let Tony tug his shirt over his head, and Tony pushes him back down into the cushions as soon as the fabric hits the ground. His fingers find Steve’s nipples and his lips seek out that spot on Steve’s neck that makes him arch and sigh.
But the rats down on the Manhattan-bound track are starting to scurry back to their hiding places, signaling the rumbling train approaching, so Steve reluctantly pulls back from his boyfriend.
After that, Steve loses track of time. They leave that casino only after a young woman approaches him in the lounge and strikes up a conversation. Tony’s drink has turned watery in his hand before Tony appears to extricate him from the awkward situation. He seems amused at Steve being propositioned by a prostitute, but his mood turns slightly dark for a little while afterward. Steve thinks maybe Tony expected him to be a little more mortified than he was, but mainly Steve felt saddened by such a lovely dame being in such desperate straits.
He helps Steve to his feet, hand on his hip to steady him, and uses Steve’s cast aside undershirt to wipe between Steve’s legs and down the insides of his thighs. Then he folds down the sheets and tucks Steve into bed, carefully draping the sheets and then his comforter up over Steve’s shoulders. Tony knows Steve would usually stubbornly resist such delicate treatment, but he goes easily, sinking into the mattress and pillows with a contented sigh. Steve may have been a little buzzed from the booze before, but this is different; he’s loose and languorous now in a way Tony’s never seen him. Something tells him Steve won’t be waking from any war nightmares tonight, and he wants nothing more than to crawl into bed beside him and wrap himself in Steve’s comfort.
Here he is, still dirty from last night’s activities, his mouth dry and awful, and his hair a mess. On top of it all, his face is tear-stained and his eyes surely puffy and bloodshot, his nose probably red. Bucky always told him that being a fair-skinned Irish kid certainly did him no favors when he got all upset. He doesn’t consider himself a vain person, but that doesn’t mean he likes feeling this rough.
Like most things with Steve, it paradoxically happens against his will yet is entirely his own idea. In his grand tradition of doing something at one thousand percent or not doing it all, Tony leads Steve anywhere but back to New York.
“And don’t go thinking the star on mine is for you, Barnes. It’s Cap’s shield, not that crappy emblem on your lame-ass robot arm. Your lame-ass robot arm which, by the way, would be ten times more awesome if you let me at it.”
“Yes, I was just informed of that fact. Belatedly, I might add.” He glares at nothing in particular; it’s hard to aim a withering stare at JARVIS. “Did you talk to him?”
But Tony doesn’t want to focus on that now. Right now is for good thoughts, like his best friend finally hand-in-hand with the girl of his dreams, smiling widely like he couldn’t even help himself if he tried.
“When I was a kid, I was nearly always sick in the winter. Hell, I was sick all the time, but winter especially. All the other kids were out having fun, building forts and sledding and having snowball fights…I would’ve given anything to be out there with them.”
“Since I’m up, I…I think I’ll make breakfast for everyone today. Would you like anything in particular?”
“I don’t care if she hates my guts, Steve! I meant what was with her, and the-“ She gestures in a circle around her upper body. “And the-“ She gestures toward the closed bedroom door. Steve lifts an eyebrow at her hyper behavior; he’s never seen her like this before. “And…wait.” Pepper stops, dropping her arms to her side as her brow furrows. “What did she mean,
“What exactly is going on?” Steve whispers, trying to ignore how it feels when his lips brush Tony’s ear.
“Stark is MIA,” Steve repeats. He makes a flitting gesture with his hand, a bird escaping its cage. “Gone.” He picks up his drink and stares for a moment at the clear liquid before taking a drink. “Just as well, we’re nearly done anyway. Who needs ‘im.”
“President Eisenhower,” Tony amends around a mouthful of food. “And did you actually know him? Cause even I’d have to admit that’d kinda be awesome in a Forrest Gump meets JFK kind of way.”
“I agree, but for now we need a quick solution. Tony, see if you can get him to follow you to the landing deck, he seems to like you all right. Contain him there best you can.”
Tony grabs his pillow from beside Steve’s head and wordlessly instructs Steve to lift his hips. He slides the pillow underneath Steve’s body and then parts his thighs, settling back between them.
motion with his hand, leaving Tony to fill the blank silently, not wanting to embarrass the man any further.
Things must go roughly because he gets a few late night calls from Steve, telling him with false cheer that Bucky is improving but in the same breath asking Tony to please come back home. Tony erases the voicemails and doesn’t return the calls. Steve eventually stops and Tony feels worse about that than anything else.
“Which one? How many cars do you have?” The question seems impertinent the way he asks it, which Steve automatically regrets. He doesn’t mean to be rude, even if he’s not entirely sure he wants to be here. “I mean…”
“No, that's not what I meant…” Tony’s brow furrows, like it’s just now registering how that might have sounded. “But I’m going to be insanely busy getting this thing off the ground – if you were on set everyday, wouldn’t that make ‘my seeing you’ so much easier?”
When they hit the lobby, he breathes a huge sigh of relief and some of the tension in his body eases.
“Hmm, what’s that?” Tony clearly fakes distraction, climbing up on the treadmill and fiddling with a few buttons.
The first thing that he becomes aware of as he stirs slowly is the cold. He’s freezing, and he can’t move.
“I’ll call Happy to come and get you. You can look while we wait.” Tony ambles back toward the front door, gesturing for Steve to follow him. “He’ll be just a bit; I told him to stay around the gate house.” He’d said no such thing, but Happy knows the drill.
“Before.” Tony replies, waving his hand over his shoulder like that indicates the past, behind them. “Then I got back with Pepper, then I broke up with Pepper, but he ran off with Bucky, y’know. Shit happens.”
Tony had woken up Steve a few times like this himself, rutting against him in the early morning light, and now Tony knows why Steve would always come so fast and so hard when he did it. Part of him feels hurt by this, betrayed that those quiet morning moments weren’t entirely about the two of them, but another part is aroused by the fact that in the end,
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out. Pee-Wee Herman. Look it up. No –” He shakes his head. “– On second thought, don’t. That’s a bad idea. I’m sure you’ve seen enough weird stuff as it is.” Steve exhales with a hint of desperation. He takes the glass from Tony’s loose grip and bends down in front of him.
He’s not built for standing still though, more likely to steamroll over someone and just keep going than plant his feet and face them down. So he moves. He’s a mover.
“I should like to commission a portrait from you as well, dear Steven. My Lady Jane has asked for a likeness to keep in her chambers, to remember me during our long and sad times apart.”
“Um...yes?” Steve's brow furrows and he stops in the middle of tying his shoelace. “Natasha too. You never told me I couldn't or shouldn't.”
“But that’s not really what you want, Buck.” Steve stops him before he goes any further down this path. These aren’t words he needs to hear. He doesn’t want to traffic in
“You’re always tryin’ to talk me out of things you talked me into in the first place – you realize that?”
“Having two separate relationships is one thing, all of us being in one relationship is another. They’re each challenging in their own way, but with Bucky and I…”
“Let me make it up to you,” he pleads. “I’ll cook you dinner at my place and then take you to my bed and you can just…stay.”
“Partially. I have to say carrying a nuke through a wormhole in the sky created by an alien army puts certain things in perspective. But it didn’t make me want to stop…if anything I needed to keep going; get back some control. But it wasn’t enough. The shit with Extremis and the Mandarin was too much for Pepper and because of that, it clearly became too much for me. When I was able to use Extremis to help repair my heart damage and get rid of the RT, it seemed like the universe giving me a sign to walk away.”
With Tony, nothing is impossible. That Tony is not only okay with him trying this but actively wants him to, and that he's actually here with Bucky now talking this through…well, he’s a hell of a long way from those early days when he and Tony first met and Steve had been terrified that he’d be caught out for staring too long at Tony’s wickedly gorgeous smile.
“I woke up today and he was hard, Tony,” Bucky whispers against Tony’s skin. “Still asleep, but so damn hard, hard as a rock. Underwear all damp and sticky, cock ready to burst. I sucked him off, Tony, and he screamed your name.”
The blast of Los Angeles summer heat hits him like he’s walked into a wall. It’s a different kind of heat than June in New York – less muggy here, more space and fewer people – but the pavement bakes just the same. He ducks back inside and tosses his flannel and his tool belt to the floor, just out of the way of foot traffic. His things will be safe there for a while; these few days of preparation before a shoot begins are incredibly busy but they are less hectic, and the suits won’t be around to take a look at the progress until at least tomorrow.
So he watches from afar as Steve and Tony fight with words at the farmhouse and fight with fists at the Tower. He watches as they fight together in Sokovia, and as they make up and part ways in the aftermath.
To his surprise, all of the lights are blazing and the atmospheric orchestration of Sigur Rós echoes loudly through the small apartment. There are a three empty bottles of Miller High Life on the kitchen counter that must’ve been drained by Bucky, as Steve is really into homemade microbrews right now. Stalwart standbys from the Velvet Underground, David Bowie, Elliott Smith, Arcade Fire, Radiohead, Neko Case and the Decemberists have been pulled from Steve’s crates and are laying open and scattered on the floor around the turntable, the most recent Beach House left to attract dust on the deck. The scene is surprising, as Steve’s usually more careful with his vinyl.
Natasha casually tosses a red and white striped towel over the mess. She arches an eyebrow at him as she takes a sip from her own mug, evidently choosing to keep her thoughts to herself.
It’s one of the few times Steve wonders if being his old self, 10 inches shorter and 105 pounds lighter, would actually be to his benefit. People look at him and see some brawny beefcake who built the rooms they stand in, but they forget that it all came from intricate, careful plans created in his mind and drawn in detail by his hand.
Realizing that everyone, Pepper included, is momentarily distracted, Tony slowly starts backing away from the crowd. Sufficiently convinced that no one is paying him any mind whatsoever, he turns heel and slips away as casually as he can.
love happy…that’s not a burden, Steve. I’ve never been uptight about sex, you know that. But if Bucky wants more than that with
“I want you to take me like you said you would,” Steve says, voice rough with want, deep and rumbling. His words vibrate through Tony like the aftershock of an earthquake.
"Maybe someday I'll find someone worth courting and you can witness my humiliation for free," Steve counters. He'd tell Tony to save his money and be patient, but he's beginning to doubt he'll ever find that right person. It all feels so cruel, to have lost both Peggy and Bucky, only to have Bucky back again, so close, yet entirely out of reach. He supposes it serves him right, really. He'd let Bucky push him toward Peggy, and now he's reaping what was sowed. Bucky has his own girl now.
His father always saw New York as something to be improved, his mother viewed it as something to be tamed, but Tony reveled in its dirt, its stubborn wild nature, its utter refusal of predictability. He always saw something more than they did and felt special because of it. Like the truth about this place was a secret only he understood.
Even though Steve is clearly very upset, something akin to unbridled joy wells up within Tony out of nowhere and he is overcome with what can only be termed
“Leave me alone, you evil…evil something or other.” He drops his aching head back to the mattress with another groan. “You’re my secretary, not my maid – it’s not your job to wake me up. Why are you even here.”
His eyes lift toward their bed as soon as he drops his keys in the bowl on the counter and enters the main room. The bedroom is empty, the mattress on the floor probably just as rumpled as he left it this morning.
He pauses in the foyer and attempts to capture his breath, to re-gain some sense of composure before going outside.
“I don’t like Stark. But…I quite like you. I’ve seen you at my brother’s parties before, you know, even if you didn’t notice
“It’s a helluva lot harder to share a bunk with him now that he’s double the size, triple the weight, and one of us is waking the other with our stupid nightmares every five minutes,” Bucky explains. “He’s been insisting on giving me the bed for weeks now.”
It’s drizzling a bit now, a faint mist landing on his drawing and pearling delicately across the surface of the vellum. He reaches over and closes the cover, pulls the sketchbook back onto his lap. There’s a sudden impulse to throw the whole thing out and his hand tightens on the spiral binding for just a moment, eyes seeking out the nearest trashcan, before good sense prevails.
ache – but it’s still merely one night, singular. Baring his soul seems like too much, too fast. Tony’s asking because he’s kind, but that doesn’t mean he actually wants to take on all this extra burden.
Bucky rides him through it, whispering encouragement and praise and assurances. Steve’s orgasm lasts for what seems like an oddly long time, long enough that his thrusts begin to force his own come back out of Bucky’s body as he continues to pound up into him. But even as his own body is shaking, trembling from the sheer force of his arousal, Steve eventually manages to wrap a hand over Bucky’s erection. Bucky swears and shoots immediately, sticky ropes of come pulsing from the throbbing head of his uncut cock. It ends up all over Steve’s skin, exploding messily over his chest and neck, splashes of it reaching Steve’s chin, even his lips.
, even – to make introductions.” Jane picks up her full glass of red wine from the coffee table and uses it to gesture toward her assistant. “Don’t lie to this poor man.”
Tony steps forward instead, pulling Bruce away from Betty’s lap and easily lifting him into a fireman’s carry. Tony must catch his irked look because he lets out an annoyed huff himself.
“Oh. Hey, Pete. I didn’t realize you were here.” He shoots Tony a look and the other man waves him off.
It could be that he’s wondering what this might look like to Tony. If Tony were here, if Tony were watching.
“Bruce, you can’t be okay with Tony using you as a threat.” Pepper steps in between him and Bruce as the two of them reach the elevator, keeping Bruce from joining Tony.
He meets the rest of the Avengers on the roof in less than five, because he’s efficient and brilliant like that, and Steve steps out into the bright morning sunlight not a moment after.
They’ve stopped in the set, lighting and grip department and Thomas Lowell, the poor schmuck tasked with leading him and Pepper around, is blathering about equipment and crews and other such-and-such.
“Well, Stark, you aren’t looking so great yourself,” Steve replies, and Tony falters only a split second before laughing the comment off. Despite knowing better, he’s still caught off guard by Rogers giving as good as he gets. Forty plus years of imagining the man sans a smart mouth is a hard habit to break.
He can also drink every one one of them under the table. That hasn’t stopped Clint and Bucky from trying, though it's only Natasha who really stands a chance. She may be slender and petite, but she’s got a stalwart constitution worthy of her Russian roots.
“We never...after the serum.” Steve replies to the question Tony hadn’t realized he’d asked aloud. Tony sucks in a sharp breath and pulls back, wondering what other things he might’ve said without thinking. “He thought I was better off pursuing Peggy. Couldn’t convince him otherwise.”
“Stop,” Tony whispers, pushing him back and putting an arm’s length of space between them. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
“Oh, golly no. Nothing as good as all that. Barely made enough to pay my bills. If Dr. Erskine hadn’t come along I probably would’ve had to find another line of work.”
“Even still. I don’t know if you thought this would be one last time or what I’m really doing here, Tony, but I can’t do this. I can’t fall into bed with you again and then be nothing again to you tomorrow.”
Tony also knows that he will have to face him eventually. He will have to go back to L.A. and deal with the movie. At some point. There's no avoiding that. At the very least, he's going to have to attend the premiere.
“We can’t stay in here forever, you know,” Steve comments, poking holes in Tony’s happiness, right where the weakest spots are. Tony knows he’s right but he’s not that eager to test it out. “I’m not going to change my mind once we leave the apartment, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He stares at the ceiling and just breathes. The darkness is comforting. Maybe with a little time he could get used to this city – something in its swirl of color does tug at his artistic sensibilities, even if his brain is too cluttered at the moment to sort it all out – but that’s not going to happen tonight.
“While I appreciate your philosophy on the relationship of breakfast items to overwhelming personal grief, I’d like to take a minute to remind you that while you may think everything’s a big joke, there are people who care about you. Me, for one.”
, and he doesn't want to muck anything up for Steve by putting his foot in his own mouth with Bucky.
“Well, I don’t think this was a mistake and I’m not freaking out.” Steve replies, then looks down toward the ground, considering. “And I could escape from here without breaking a sweat." He looks back to Tony. "What else you got for me?”
Tony wishes he could say he didn’t hesitate at Steve’s blunt request, but he does; the cold expression shuttering over Steve’s face feels like a punch to the gut.
“Try and take it easy, bro. You’ve been through a lot. Stark’s got everything under control for the time being.” Clint’s leaving; it takes his brain a moment to catch up with the movement. He’s at the door before Steve recognizes that the last thing he wants is to be alone right now. “You should get some sleep.”
“Usually takes you all night to get through one of these, Rogers. Now you’re on to number three.” He puts the dirty glass in the sink and picks up another tumbler from the rows of clean ones lined up like obedient soldiers in front of him. He flips it in his hand once as he continues to watch Steve carefully.
Steve arches off the floor, stomach muscles seizing. He shoves his own wrist into his mouth and bites down.
“You know…you are so Brooklyn when you talk about him.” Steve stops, confused. Tony makes a gesture up and down his own throat and around his mouth, like that somehow indicates
Tony holds his breath as Steve stares at him. It’s only a matter of seconds, but it feels like forever’s stretching out before him.
“Well, you’re hardly in the position to do that anymore.” Bucky winces at his own cruelty, wishing he could take it back. He’d never criticized Steve for his slight stature, his slim frame. Teased, maybe, but he’d been the only one growing up besides Steve’s ma who saw beyond his physical limitations, who saw his real potential.
He also knows that Steve wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d want Bruce’s gal to come first. Part of him thinks he should honor Steve by seeing things that way too, but he’s too selfish to really see that through. He’d sacrifice anything, even himself, if it meant Steve’s safe return.
“Tony, Happy’s this way.” Pepper takes him gently by the elbow and re-directs him toward the Town Car waiting just past the restaurant. Steve hadn’t even noticed it when he came outside, which makes him uneasy regarding the state of his own mind.
Tony joins him nearly every day after that, and more often than not when Steve pauses in his work he finds Tony staring at him, his expression inscrutable.
“I couldn’t handle that either.” Steve replies, relieved. “I don’t want this to be some illicit weekend. That’s not me. That’s not us.”
“I have contingencies for nearly everything. And I’m quite good at coming up with awesome shit on the fly, too.” Tony grins, waving toward his arc reactor.
“I’m not the person I was, Steve. The person I am now…whoever that is…I need to be with her. I can’t…”
As he and Tony tear into bacon cheeseburgers, Steve thinks that maybe being here, at this place where the old has crashed into the new and made something special, well…it might just be all right.
, just underground, like I said. They tore the old building down in ’63, built this monstrosity instead. You should see how bad it is during the day – at night, all lit up like right now, it actually looks kind of okay.”
“I’m coming over there and kicking your ass, Barnes.” She hands the phone to Steve and storms off. Bucky is chuckling on the other end of the line.
Steve musters a handshake for Tony and manages to kiss Susan’s hand in gentlemanly greeting but is mercifully kept from further conversation by the house lights dimming and the lush curtains parting to reveal the movie screen.
“Stark Pictures, Mr. Stark’s office. Miss Potts speaking. How may I help you?” Pepper glances at him as the person on the other end of the line speaks. “Oh, yes, Phil, hello. How are you?”
There’s a hint of desperation in his voice and Steve softens against his will. He sighs, taking a moment to consider Tony and whether or not he can unlearn the sensation of Tony’s lips on his or forget the feeling of their bodies crushing close. He doesn’t know if he can but he has to try. There’s too much else on the line.
“Steve, turn over, turn over.” Bucky’s voice is shaky. Tony doesn’t want Steve to move; he wants Steve to lay there on his back and let him run his hands through the streaks of come, rub it all into Steve’s skin. Tony wants to claim him.
He’s always been a visual person, so Steve supposes it makes sense, but there’s something different about how much he’s turned on by watching Bucky. It’s something different from when he’s with Tony. It’s like he’s partially outside himself, observing with interest the sight of two lifelong best friends becoming lovers.
“Mrs. Goldberg…” Steve sighs, laughing lightly before the rattling in his chest cuts off his breath. “Haven’t thought of her in years.”
Crossing the lobby of Caesar’s Palace, Tony’s all charm and bright smiles for the staff he knows and the few people who recognize him, but the façade abruptly crashes the second he and Steve are alone in the elevator.
Steve’s night, in contrast, now seems to be wide open. Any messages from the office would’ve been brought to his trailer, and it’s obvious now that Tony hadn’t left word himself. Maybe something had come up, or maybe he’d forgotten. Steve pushes away his disappointment.
. I saw him die. He…” Steve clenches and unclenches his other hand underneath the table, remembering reaching, straining, grasping for Bucky’s hand and finding nothing but air, watching as his best friend plummeted, screaming, to the snow and ice-covered rocks hundreds of feet below and taking so much of his heart with him. He closes his eyes against the memory but it’s useless; he can’t block out the vision of Bucky’s terrified face. “No.”
He’d been resting his head on his hand, elbow propped on his desk. In his scramble to answer, his elbow slips and he falls nearly face forward against the hard mahogany with an inelegant
The kiss is urgent and demanding. Steve gasps in surprise and Tony slips his tongue inside to deepen things fast. Steve tries to react but his mind is blank, his power to speak and to act wiped away and the space filled with thoughts of Tony and Tony alone.
“Time is of the essence here, babe.” He turns to her and gives her a distracted, placating kiss on the cheek, squeezing her hip. “A drug that affects Steve is a major red flag. JARVIS, any chance Bruce will be back before the rest of the gang?”
!” Clint exclaims when he sees them, popping up from his seat on the couch like an excited child. He’s holding a green shiny case with a cartoon ghost trapped in a red
“It’s something.” Steve retrieves a glass from the cupboard and glances toward Tony, holding it up in offer. Tony allows the conversation to be diverted elsewhere, pretty sure he doesn’t really want to get too deep into this with Steve anyway.
“It does when he built it so I would leave him alone.” He’s angrier than he’d like but of all people, he would’ve thought Pepper would understand that for Tony, building that studio was just the easiest way of getting Steve out of his hair, the path of least resistance. Money is no matter to Tony and he had others to do the work; beneath the surface of the gesture there was nothing of substance. It was merely a Stark’s version of a practical solution.
He draws in a deep breath of the night air as he steps outside. The fog in his head clears just a little. Standing at the curb, Steve tilts his face toward the inky black sky, imagining the stars that surely still exist despite being obscured by the city lights.
Bucky places his cigarette back between his lips, ceasing his tirade for a moment to stow the pack in his pocket and then flick open his silver lighter. He does all this so deftly; even though it’s been four years since the war ended, Steve never ceases to be amazed at how well Bucky’s been able to get on with the use of only one good arm. Steve’s got plenty of experience making do with a body that simply doesn’t want to cooperate, but losing a limb entirely is quite a different affair.
Instead, he goes out onto the back deck by the swimming pool and waits for Happy to show Steve in. Happy always knows where to find him; it’s a trick of his cultivated over the years and years spent by his side.
Then Steve steps away. He rubs a hand over his face, drawing in another deep shuddering breath and exhaling slowly.
Tony dips his head to look out the window, surprised to see the city in the distance. It’s lit up brilliantly against the dark night, looking downright majestic. He hadn’t realized they were this close to arriving. “Hey.”
Bucky spins on his heel toward the other door and makes his escape, ignoring the way Steve’s plaintive call of
“I was having a dream. A nightmare. The…it just woke me up, startled me, I guess. Didn’t know where I was or…” He gestures to the swanky room, to the messy bed, to his own naked body. “Or anything.”
He looks like he’s about to argue, and Tony honestly wishes he would, he wants the fight, but in the end the other man remains silent.
Steve keeps his gaze locked on the task at hand, not wanting to think about Tony getting lost at the bottom of a bottle. It’s not a thought he enjoys.
“Who, Loki? We don't exactly chat. I've only met the man once or twice in passing, if that. And people think
But he stays where he is as Tony walks over to join him, sitting down in the dark blue armchair closest to Steve’s end of the couch rather than give Steve the distance he so clearly desires.
He nudges Steve with an elbow and prompts him on with an easy grin. Out of all the Avengers, he’s known Clint the least amount of time but in his company, Steve feels more at ease than with anyone else. He hasn’t quite put a finger on it yet, but there’s something about him that brings Bucky to mind.
comes the reply, and Steve thanks God that Tony hasn’t managed to completely change his reputation. Billionaire playboys don’t ride the N train.
“We weren’t exactly kicking off 2013 with the smartest choices, were we?” Steve leans on the railing, glances toward Tony as he comes to a stop beside him.
But he just holds onto Steve more tightly, feeling the reassuring solidness of his body, and lets the wind whip by.
“Excuse me, what?” Tony kinda wishes Steve had been drinking something because that would’ve been a hell of a spit take.
“It’s good to see you again, Phil,” Steve says, shaking the man’s hand firmly. Phil’s eyes tick upward nervously, giving Steve one of those awkward smiles that only he can cause. As ever, it leaves Steve feeling equal parts amused and uncomfortable.
Steve’s body is trying to wring pleasure from him and Tony doesn’t know how he manages not to come – until he realizes that Bucky’s metal hand is tight around his cock, stopping him from shooting off. Tony outright groans in frustration, cursing Bucky and begging him to let go.
“I can’t last, Tony, I’m gonna –” Steve chokes off, releasing Tony’s hair and reaching down to grab his own cock, trying to pull out. Tony chases after him, getting his lips back around the head just as Steve starts to come.
As is his tradition, Steve places his palm against the cool concrete of the Astronomers Monument before turning to make the six-mile journey back home. Bucky made a joke once that Steve would run to the stars and back if he could, and it stuck in his mind enough that he’d made the observatory a touchtone ever since. The stars in the sky are the only stars in L.A. he’s truly comfortable with, and there’s peace to be found in climbing the hill to the park, alone, watching as they slowly fade from view in the sky.
They haven’t spoken since the day he first woke up, over a week before. His visitors since then have been limited mainly to SHIELD personnel, an endless stream of specialists and psychologists and agents who wanted to draw out as much information from him as possible. Bucky was usually allowed to see him at least once a day, and every day he looked a little worse.
“Christ, Tony.” Steve taking the Lord’s name in vain is a first; he seems shaken, his eyes lingering over the remains of the Mark VIII. “You all could’ve been-“
His hands tighten on Tony’s hips, fingers digging in to the cut of muscle, the curve of his ass. He backs Tony against the sink without really thinking about it, just wanting something hard and stable to press Tony against.
“Don’t apologize. Didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” Steve brushes Tony off with a shrug. “I certainly can’t pretend to know why you’re here, Tony, but I can imagine there are a million other places you’d rather be than babysitting me while I run away from this thing like…well, like a big baby. I'm sure it's frustrating to have to deal with this."
“Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.” Darcy winks at him, and he is actually a little shocked she
worshipped as Bucky’s strong hands intimately stroke his thighs and slip reverently over his stomach. When one of Bucky’s long fingers finally breach his body, Steve is rapt with desire, nearly dizzy with want.
“Well, you’re not me. You're supposed to be better than me." Bucky's words are harsh with disappointment.
“God, you’re too good at this, it’s unfair,” Tony groans as he bends slightly forward, rocking slightly with Steve’s rhythm.
“That’s not what I think. I don’t think that.” Tony sits up and Pepper’s hand falls away. He doesn’t look at her; he knows she’s going to have that pinched, hurt look on her face that makes him feel like the worst man on earth. He sighs. “I’m not punishing him for anything. He just reminds me of things I don’t want to be reminded of. That’s all. I’ll get over it. I’m
“Because I don’t think I ever have.” Tony forces himself to look at Steve now. He looks devastated, which Tony’s not sure he understands. “I really mean it, don’t look at me like that.”
, not even as the Cap – that he’d lifted from his father’s things. He’d burned the come-splattered picture afterward. He has tried to forget the wet dreams of his teenage years and the carefully constructed fantasies of his jerk-off sessions in college. His list of former bedmates includes only a few men, but if anyone had pointed out to him that they were all tall, blue-eyed blondes, he would’ve
with a hand over Steve’s mouth, so worried that someone will hear. He remembers thinking that he'll never get out of the war alive, but Steve will, and that he is okay with that.
Instinctively, Tony reaches out for him, but Steve is already getting up from his seat. He crosses the room, stopping at the side of the grand piano if only because it’s the first thing that lays in his path. Steve sets his broad hands on the polished black lid, his back to Tony.
“All relationships are a bargain.” Tony sits upright, hands gesturing to animate his point. “Deals, compromises, negotiations, or whatever term you want to use. Though you should consider sticking with ‘bargain’ because with behavior like this, I think the overall connotation of ‘cut rate prices’ might help you to get people to buy what you’re selling, if you ask me.”
said and definitely the most ill timed, but to his shock Steve doesn’t seem at all put off by it. In fact, his anger and dismay seem sapped, replaced by general weariness.
“If those are the right terms…” Steve tries not to feel unprepared or stupid; he knows that’s not what Tony intends. He’s just processing things aloud the way that he sometimes does. ”I was going to do some more research today.”
“I could at least read the script.” Steve shrugs, his smile turning a little sly. “See if it’s worth all this fuss you’re making.”
“That’s easy enough, because there’s really nowhere to go but forward.” Natasha leans her head on his shoulder, tucking one arm around his elbow. Steve turns his own head and buries his nose in Natasha’s hair, breathing in her warm, flowery smell. He presses a brotherly kiss to her temple and pats her hand.
Rhodey sighs. He leans against the plane just below the cockpit and stares at his friend’s profile, just waiting for the dam to break.
“I was so scared we wouldn’t still be us,” Steve whispers against Tony’s chest. Tony holds him, not speaking, as their breathing settles, as their heartbeats calm. Tony brushes his hair off his forehead and kisses him there, leaving his mouth pressed to Steve’s skin as he speaks next.
“Shows what you know, I was actually thinking that the tower is all of ours now, not just mine.” Tony sticks his tongue out at the pair of them, pleased with catching them both out in their rush to judgment. Natasha is mildly surprised by his admission.
Tony stops just inside the kitchen, taking in the sight of Steve sitting at the counter. The late morning light streams in through the windows and catches in Steve’s golden hair and makes his pale skin glow. He’s wearing one of Tony’s faded grey MIT t-shirts—Tony’s clothes fit his smaller form better than his own, now—and a pair of loose navy blue sweat pants.
“I forgot to slice the bread.” She turns on her feel and disappears into the kitchen. Steve makes a move to follow her, offer a hand, but Bucky pulls him back.
Tony knows that if Steve’s still awake and working this late at night, he’d probably like to be left alone to continue. It’s usually how it goes. But Tony wants nothing more than for Steve to come to bed with him.
“C’mon, Bucky…” Steve bats him away then tries to smooth his hair back into place. A Canarsie-bound train screeches into the station. The car doors slide open to unleash a torrent of fellow twenty-somethings onto the Bedford Ave platform.
So Steve shakes his head no, rubbing his eyes and cheeks to dry his tears. He sits up as straight as he can manage and squares his shoulders, then forces a smile to his face. It feels as fake as it surely looks.
Hands at Steve’s shoulders, he takes advantage of Steve’s surprise to back him inside the apartment, letting the door fall shut behind them.
“You could really use a sprucing up in here, cowboy. Or perhaps a complete tear down and remodel from the ground up. Either or.” Tony comments dryly as he spots the green pilled fabric on the old-fashioned love seat by the old Zenith radio –
on the bar top. A slightly blurry photograph of him and Jan getting coffee at the studio café is above the fold, under the headline:
“I’m sorry, of the two of us here, which one has been in love with Danvers since ’44 and hasn’t done a damn thing about it?”
“It’s forever, Steve.” He whispers, lips brushing Steve's with every word. “I don’t say that lightly, ironically, casually…I mean forever as forever. Yours. I couldn’t be anything else. Ever.”
,” she adds, tossing a look over her shoulder at Tony as she guides Steve toward the elevator. “And call me Pepper, please.”
After a while he pries off his shoes and pads around the place, seeking out the bathroom. The tile is cold under his bare feet. He flips on all the lights and stares at his bruised reflection in the large mirror. He’s still pale, the skin underneath his eyes shadowed purple and sickly yellow. Lifting up his t-shirt, he gingerly touches the incisions and wounds left from the Red Room’s cruel experiments. His body has been slow to heal.
Tony takes pity on Coulson and extricates Steve, but not before “accidentally” knocking Ward to the ground as he passes by.
When he slowly opens his eyes again, Tony is standing at the opposite end of the window, pulling back the curtains to peer outside.
care that you’re gay, or bisexual, or whatever label you want to slap on it, you should know I don’t.”
“I don’t know who this Barbara Walters is, but I can tell you that I’m hardly that complicated. I always say exactly what I mean, Tony.” It’s the hard truth, and one that’s gotten him into trouble more often than not. Strong opinions, an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong and a big mouth aren’t the world’s best combination. And it’s a hard truth that he’s sure sends Tony spinning back to that awful confrontation on the helicarrier. Steve can’t lie; he had meant exactly what he said. At the time. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be mistaken. I’m often mistaken. And I’ll admit it when I am.”
“I didn’t know you and Betty Ross were sweet on each other.” Tony comments and Bruce colors, shoving the photograph into the breast pocket of his rumpled plaid shirt.
“Tony—” Steve tenses up in his embrace, and Tony knows he’s only got a moment to get this out before it all goes sideways. He holds Steve close, trying to tell him with his actions that he’s not going anywhere, no matter how Steve answers what’s next.
There is a sleek black Town Car waiting for them at the curb, door held open by a young agent who seems to be struggling to keep the required frown on his face. There’s been an influx of new, eager recruits since the Battle of New York and not all of them seem to have mastered “SHIELD Stoic” as of yet. Coulson being back in action should probably help with that lapse in training.
“Don’t have much to report,” Steve replies as he starts dicing tomatoes, splitting his focus between his current company and his need to not accidentally cut his own fingers off.
He’d known Tony had been excited before by the thought of Bucky and him in the abstract, but that had been talking. What ifs. Now, Tony’s kissing and licking over the finger-shaped bruises that Bucky had accidentally left on his right hip.
“I am the first to admit that do like to stand out,” Loki replies. He turns and leans against the marble countertop, so close to Steve that the strong scent of his cologne tingles Steve’s nose. “I was hoping I would run into you, you dear thing.” He walks his fingers across the countertop and taps the back of Steve’s hand where he still leans against the sink.
“Anything I can help with?” Steve interjects before the conversation can get any more heated. Hiring Scott had been his suggestion, so he feels a certain responsibility to intervene. Scott’s vocabulary only got more colorful during his stint in prison, and it’s only a matter of time before Tony’s exposed to a whole rainbow of insults.
The room Tony has given him has a fireplace, two flat screen televisions, its own sitting area, and a bed that has to be at least seven feet wide and is half covered in pillows of all different shapes and sizes. The sleeping area can be closed in on all four sides by heavy curtains running from the ceiling to the floor. Even at a glance, Steve can see the private bath is the size of his entire apartment back in Brooklyn.
“Folks are just full of opinions today,” Steve mutters to himself, standing up and returning to his former position leaning against the piano. “I have to be on set early tomorrow, so I’m gonna head for home.”
When Bucky comes to see it, he takes a step back and turns to Steve with a hard look on his face. Steve instantly deflates.
Steve picks up the hem of his shirt and pulls it away from his body, twisting and squeezing from the fabric all the water he can before coming in.
Bruce pauses, digging into his free range, organic scrambled eggs. He swallows a bite and then continues, gesturing with his fork.
“You didn’t really want me here though.” Tony’s needling him to say something mean, and it bothers him in more ways than one.
Tony is piling on the pressure because Tony wants him to explode, to send pieces of himself viciously flying out in every direction like jagged shrapnel. Instead Steve dissolves, every part of him grinding thinner and thinner as Tony presses, until there’s nothing left but dust.
Steve nearly asks what Darcy wasn’t wrong about when Jane adjusts her grip, squeezing his arm again, the implication quite clear. His face heats and Jane giggles.
“It’s me. Bruce fell asleep in the lab last night, he’ll be late.” Steve announces. Tony rolls his eyes.
“That’s as close as you’re getting to seeing it tonight,” Natasha retorts, tossing him a taunting look as the subway rolls to a jolting stop and the doors open on the 1st Avenue platform.
Though it seems Captain America and Thor have developed quite the working relationship, their battle styles perfectly complementary, it’s when Tony heckles Steve warmly that something inside the Winter Soldier rankles. He no longer feels pride in having hacked their complicated communication signal and he switches off the feed. He leaves them to their inevitable victory.
“He and my father…had words.” Betty explains, looking guilty. “I tried talking to him; sometimes when he’s…he understands it’s me and he calms down but today it was just out of control.”
“Steve…” Tony wants to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and bury himself in Steve’s warmth, feel him seep into his bones. Steve puts a hand out to stop him, gentle but firm against his shoulder. Tony blinks at him, dazed; he feels a little inebriated himself. Steve makes his head spin without even trying, just by proximity.
“While Sourpuss here is the most patient person I know—I mean, he’s put up with me for years—” He pats Rhodey on the shoulder, giving him a hearty shake and another wide grin. “— so if you’d waited on him, I think you’d have been waiting forever, Memphis Belle.”
“Like Tony Stark carried these home. Please.” Bucky laughs, turning his pumpkin around in a circle, hands trailing over its curves and ridges. Steve hesitates before sniping back, quips not coming as easily as they once did, and Bucky’s grin falters. He points a finger to the face of Iron Man that Steve has so carefully carved.
Bucky smirks at him as he leans against the arm of the couch. Steve glares at him as he tosses some salt into the near boiling water.
“I shoot pictures, Tony.” Bruce shakes his head, already saying no before Tony even lays out an offer. Tony's too excited by the prospect to back off. Bruce may seem shy and retiring, perhaps even verging on slightly grumpy, but they might have more in common than their differing personalities would suggest. Like finds like. There’s a spark there, a promise, something about Bruce Banner that fires up Tony’s curiosity.
“Cause I stopped enjoying pointless things a long time ago and that thing’s useless.” Tony’s dark features turn darker for a moment, then he smiles, clearing it away. “At least a pool, other people can use. Forget the pond, Cap – c’mon, wanna see your room?”
Steve reaches back and gingerly touches himself there; he’s feeling a little tender, but it’s not unpleasant.
“I still don’t hear any solution, Cap.” Clint comments and Steve sighs, gesturing for Clint and Natasha to follow him to the elevator.
“Ok, I realize that half an hour at dinner isn’t exactly ‘long before,’ but still.” Tony chuckles, but Steve doesn't echo him. Tony squeezes a little at his waist, a gesture that Steve thinks is meant to be reassuring. “Come on, Steve. I
He turns in his seat and glances up toward the balcony. Bucky and Natasha are here, somewhere, having taken him up on his family tickets. If he could be up there with them to laugh over his performance, perhaps this night could be enjoyable.
Not sure what else to say that won’t be a lie, Steve turns his focus out the window, watching Sunset Boulevard slip by. Shortly after they pass the Garden of Allah, Happy signals and pulls to the right.
“God bless you, Potts,” Rhodey says, and Tony can practically see him saluting her from afar. “Take a breather, Stark.” He disconnects before Tony can say anything more.
“So.” Steve says, pulling at the frayed edge of the dirty tape on his hands. “I can go.” He gestures over his shoulder in the direction Natasha just went.
As Happy weaves them in and out of traffic on their way back uptown, Pepper manages to keep Tony’s attention focused long enough to discuss the agenda for the next day’s meetings. Tony listens and responds –
“We good?” He glances at Jones, his lead carpenter, who steps back and nods. Dugan joins Jones by his side, tucking his hammer back into his tool belt. He crosses his arms over his barrel chest and jokingly huffs with pride.
He may as well have punched Steve in the face for the reaction he gets. Steve’s visibly stunned; he stares at Tony for a long, hard moment, his wide blue eyes eventually narrowing and his open mouth closing into a frown.
Steve is standing in the doorway to the workshop, dressed in faded jeans and a grey Henley, hair immaculately combed. Despite the careful presentation he still looks like he went twenty rounds with Banner on a bad day. The sight of him makes Tony feel simultaneously nauseated and incredibly grateful.
The space is grand, with over 1,500 seats gently sloping downward to the magnificent proscenium. The house is already nearly full, so-called less famous having arrived much earlier. The walls are done up to look like limestone, with two inscribed columns on each side of the stage supporting a two-layered proscenium-arch topped by an elaborate, gold-plated sculpture at its center. An intricately decorated half-circle spreads above on the ceiling, like a mirrored sunburst. All of this decoration, meant to look like ancient Thebes, was kept over from the original 1920s architecture, now just lovingly restored to a high polish shine to welcome in the new decade.
“I know that, but the diseases festering on that thing are probably ones you’ve never heard of, old timer.”
“Stark. Come on.” Steve twists in his seat to face Tony and Tony waves a finger in a diagonal motion across Steve’s body.
“So sorry, please come in. Sorry. Pepper, let me take your coat.” He assists her in taking it off and then stands there stupidly holding it over his arm. Pepper is in business attire, white blouse, black pencil skirt, like she’s just come from the office. He hadn’t known she was in town, but then again, these days why would he. Darkly, he wonders if she and Tony have reconciled. He reminds himself quickly that it shouldn’t matter. He has no claim to Tony – he’s not even sure he wants one – and Tony’s made it pretty clear that their friendship has severe limitations.
She looks at Cap again, her gaze lingering a moment too long. Tony’s shocked to see a great deal of emotion – Regret? Longing? Sadness? – as she watches Steve, who has left the group to stare idly at the painting above the fireplace. Natasha’s strange behavior is enough to make Tony swallow the quippy brushoff on the tip of his tongue.
Natasha stares at him for a good long beat. Or at least Steve assumes that’s what she’s doing, as her sunglasses are so dark he can’t see her eyes. But her face remains impassive and unmoving long enough that he almost asks if she’s all right. Then she snaps back into motion, turning on her heel and heading off down the street.
“They’re going to try to renovate, move Madison Square and build up the station again. But not for at least ten years.”
“Maybe I was waiting to see what side of the fence you came down on," Tony puts forth uselessly, not believing it as an explanation himself. He’s Tony Stark, after all, and someone not liking him has always been a welcome challenge to convert them into the pro-Stark camp. Or at the very least, an equally welcome opportunity for some steamy hate sex.
“God, Cap, who ran you over with a Mack truck?” He bypasses Clint and Natasha, making quick time across the black and white tiled floor, and stops in front of the super soldier. Curiosity always wins out over courtesy. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to look this terrible.”
“Not near the food! Ugh!” She slaps at him again, ducking away. Bucky winks at Steve again and they rise at the same time, Bucky casually wrapping his good arm around Steve’s shoulders as they join the others.
From his inside suit coat pocket, Loki draws out a small manila envelope and holds it out to Steve. When Steve reaches for it, he teasingly snatches it away, but then hands it over.
There might be. His childhood hadn’t exactly been idyllic, and Steve’s not sure he wants to share anything so personal with Tony Stark. In spite of – or maybe even
“I...I really wish you could decide if you liked me or you hated me. It would make things a lot easier for us both.”
Bucky is absent when Steve joins the others in the living room and the open window signals where he’s gone.
“I had all those years between us, me and him against the world. No matter what anyone else took, no matter how much he shared, I was the only one who had that part of him. I was the only one alive who remembered, the only one who
They’re words. He knows that they’re supposed to be words. Sentences. It’s just that they’re not really making any sense.
Steve’s already at his side; he heard the whole thing. They exchange a long, hard look, and then Tony glances at Pepper. She nods, letting their personal matters be shoved aside as always.
Against his back, Tony can feel Steve’s heartbeat, slow and steady, and he already knows he can’t go back from this.
“Jesus,” he breathes out as he slumps over, resting his cheek against Steve’s chest, tucking under Steve's chin. Steve’s heart beats fast underneath his touch.
“That you are.” He agrees. He signals the bartender and orders Pepper a martini with three olives and another shot of tequila for himself. Tony watches Pepper’s reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar, tries to imagine what his life would be like without her. He doesn’t want to consider it.
“Try to keep me from doing anything too stupid, okay?” He knows it’s pretty silly to ask an AI for that, but a polite reminder from time to time to keep his cool might be good if he’s really going to make a go of staying here.
Bucky sits down at the opposite end, putting lots of space between them, but despite that his whole body is angled toward Steve’s.
He wonders if that’s why Natasha spent the previous night holed up with Steve in his quarters. Tony shouldn’t know about it, but he does. Being curious and having an AI monitoring everything that happens under his roof is a dangerous combination. He’d doubled down on work all day long to avoid confronting Nat over it. If he saw her, he figured it’d be two seconds before he demanded to know why she was coming out of Steve’s room at six in the morning. He wasn’t sure he wanted an answer or an explanation anyway.
“Top drawer, center. Next to the pens.” Pepper informs him as she saunters toward the desk. Tony pauses in his search to watch her move; she’s still breathtakingly beautiful, after all, even if the way her lips pull into a tight, unflattering line gets more severe as the day goes on.
business.” He lifts on tiptoe and leans in, pops a quick kiss to Steve’s mouth, then nods toward the front door.
“That was subtle.” Bucky comments as soon as he and Steve are alone. Steve smiles nervously, feeling put on the spot by all his friends abandoning him to this moment.
“Steve, hey, come on – that’s not-“ Tony starts, but Steve shakes his head and looks pointedly away until the elevator closes.
be sweating. That happens a lot, even now, after all this time – his mind at a disconnect with his body. He supposes a part of him will always believe he’s sickly, scrawny Steve, always struggling, always fighting.
Instead, he feels panicked as Darcy opens her purse and slides the card carefully into her pocketbook. It feels like he’s losing something.
“Then maybe you and I need to take a break. Take some time apart so you can think about what you really want.”
Bucky lifts one eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. His fingers flex and unflex against the metal and wood of his prosthetic, evidently itching for a fight.
“Everything all settled with your burgeoning throuple?” She’s aiming for a light tease but Tony can hear something else in her tone.
Afterward he lays in Steve’s arms with their legs tangled together, his head pillowed on Steve’s broad chest, sweat and come cooling on their bodies and sheets twisted in a mess by their feet. He doesn’t want to move, his mind and body for once perfectly at ease, contentment thrumming through his veins.
“Some?” Tony glances again to the house across the street. “Jan’s drunk as a skunk and Bucky’s blitzed; how drunk are
“Up until just now, Tony, I didn’t know how much you cared for Cap,” Bruce counters, putting both his hands on the back of the desk chair, fingers gripping tightly, digging in. “We seem to forget that we don’t actually know each other all that well.”
“Got anything stronger?” He asks, though he hardly expects Steve to suddenly pull a bottle of Jack from some secret hiding place. To his shock, Steve reaches into the small cabinet above the stove and pulls down a bottle of scotch. “Your file says that you can’t drink.”
“Our film.” Steve is the one to repeat Tony’s words now, a rueful smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I see.”
“I…” Tony hedges, slightly ashamed as he thinks back on this morning’s conversation. “I may have been a little too…
“Can I time that?” Bucky asks, extending his arm and then bending it back, looking at his own watch. “And…go.”
, you know? When we got together, you and me, we stopped hiding and obfuscating and dicking around with each other’s feelings and I…I can’t go back on that. Not now.”
He grabs his drink and downs what’s left in one uncouth gulp, then slides the empty glass back onto the marble and glass coffee table. He stands, bracing himself with his hands on his thighs.
Steve tenses involuntarily, sucking in a sharp breath. He’s a bit sore, still. His whole body aches in a pleasurable way, but between his legs is particularly tender, and maybe a little too much so. He and Bucky had gotten carried away, perhaps, and it’s not like his body can repair itself quickly like it used to.
“Christ, Steve, would you listen to what I’m actually saying? You really think – don’t you know me at all?”
“I brought wine and dessert.” Tony adds weakly, holding up a bottle in one hand and a pink bakery box in the other.
“Could’ve just asked, knucklehead.” He rights the glass, eyeing the water dripping down onto the floor. “Not that much left in there anyway.”
, really – but Steve’s not sure he’ll remember a word of it come morning. He suspects Pepper’s well aware of that probability.
“And those are just the ones we know about.” Fury adds to the unspoken statement he’s just made. Steve shifts his stance, ready to protest, defend Bucky from all of this. There’s no way. His best friend cannot possibly be this person. And yet, he is. Was. Still is? There’s no way to comprehend this.
“Uh-huh.” Steve ducks away from Tony’s efforts, slipping under his raised arm to go back to the main dressing room.
“The great tactician has no plan? What is this madness?” Tony taunts and Steve’s smile spreads full.
Bucky smiles his slightly crooked, earnest smile, and turns his head to press a kiss to Steve’s palm.
He does a furtive headcount as he descends, footsteps light and fast, and comes up two short. He knows where Bruce is but Tony is saved from asking after the Captain’s whereabouts by the opening of the front door.
“Oh, uh, yeah, I did. I think I did? Honestly, time’s been nothing but a blur this past…whatever it’s been.” He takes off his work gloves, tosses them aside. “You…you look better. In the grand scheme of things. I mean, you’re not winning Mr. Universe any time soon, but you’re upright and you’re talking, so I think we can go ahead and file it in the plus column.”
“Barnes was recovered by a team from the USSR and cryogenically frozen. That’s a little like what happened to you except absolutely intentional,” Natasha explains before he even has time to be confused by her terminology. “The Winter Soldier was first activated during the Cold War and then disappeared off the map in the early 1990s after the wall came down. Some years later, he turned up in the Middle East, Northern Africa, China. It was at this time that I first became aware of him myself. He was pretty much a legend, a bedtime story that they would tell us. The ultimate assassin.”
He doesn’t realize what’s he’s done until he’s putting on the finishing touches. He’s dropped a loosely structured column of falling glass down the center of the piece, each tiny shard connected to the others with tensile strength cord that Bruce had given him precisely for this purpose, something he got from OsCorp. The cord’s nearly invisible so it looks like the icy blue glass is suspended on its own, an explosion frozen in mid-air and trapped in the curves of the surrounding flames. The three pale blue lights he recessed inside the bottom of the sculpture illuminate each piece of glass, setting everything a shimmer.
“Hmm-hmm,” Tony nods, concentrating intently on mixing a fresh cocktail even though he could probably do this in his sleep.
“We also have to have enough money to get the picture made. We can’t do that if we can’t get beyond casting.”
There’s not really enough room on the couch for both of them to lie down beside each other, but they make it work. As he wraps an arm around Natasha’s slender waist, he can’t suppress a light chuckle. This is not how he imagined his first time sleeping with a dame would be.
Tony pulls the drawstring of Steve’s pants all the way loose and drags himself away from Steve’s kiss. He drops to his knees, stripping Steve’s only article of clothing down his strong legs. Tony doesn’t stop to look before engulfing Steve’s length, taking as much down as he can in one smooth movement. He’ll give himself a moment to appraise as soon as he brings Steve to the brink, not willing to risk a moment’s pause for Steve to doubt.
He keeps kissing Steve until his cock goes soft and slips out, then Tony moves his mouth down Steve’s body and buries his face between Steve’s legs. He eagerly plunges his tongue inside Steve’s hole, lapping up all traces of his own come. Steve lifts himself up onto his elbows and buries his hands in Tony’s hair, sighing with unexpected pleasure. While Steve does this to him often, he’s always so surprised by how good it feels when Tony returns the favor, like he didn’t know his body could react so well to someone’s mouth
“No, Tony. I can see it all over you. Everyone can. I’m okay with twelve percent of a building; I can’t make do with twelve percent of your heart.”
“Because Bucky Barnes has called you about half a dozen times in the past hour and you’ve ignored every one. Considering that he’d only call you in the event of a Steve-related emergency, I’m wondering why you’re not answering.”
…” he murmurs to himself. Below the one-inch high bold print there is a photograph of a young man, crisply posed. He has a flashy devil-may-care grin that Steve has seen before on another man’s face.
“Exactly. And I could sell ice to an Eskimo. I could talk him into seeing you, if I had the chance.”
Despite the rain, Tony is leading away from the mansion, going deeper into the park, and it occurs to Steve that he never asked Tony why he’d sought him out in the first place.
Finding out how Sam wound up in this business will take a little hacking into SHIELD that he doesn’t have the patience or time for in present company, but from his short bio, this kid sounds like someone right up Cap’s alley. The kind of hero Steve could readily relate to and accept.
“I hope you realize that now that I’m here, on top of you, on this couch, I don’t plan on moving for quite awhile.”
It’s not the same place. It’s not the hangar of HYDRA’s base in the Alps. The dimensions are different, the light is changed, and the details are off. But it’s so close to the past that when he catches a flash of the woman’s dark brown hair out of the corner of his eye, for a second he thinks she’s Peggy.
“God, I love you,” he whispers, backing up the stairs and bringing Steve with him. Steve echoes his sentiment, mouthing endearments and promises along his jawline and throat as they finally manage to find the bed.
“I want to see him.” Steve doesn’t realize he has risen from his chair until he sees all the faces around the table angling upward to look at him.
“I know what you’re worth, I’ll hold out for a better offer.” Steve glances back over his shoulder at Tony and half-smiles crookedly, a tentative thing that seems to eke out despite his efforts to hold it back. Tony practically melts even at that timid, barely-there reaction.
Tony takes the gamble and lets himself in. The click of the door closing behind him announces his presence in the quiet bedroom.
He takes a deep breath and puts his fingertips against the thick glass, resting his forehead gently between his hands and looking straight down. It’s a long drop.
, as this is all a little out of his realm of experience, but he at least wanted to look Bucky in the eyes when he, at long last, said the unsaid.
“Natasha?” Steve scoffs. “Have you ever tried to pry anything from her? She’s not going to say a word.” It never even occurred to him to try asking her, the idea is so ludicrous. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to put her in the middle of anything.”
Pepper smiles, and he’s sure it’s real this time. She raises her glass, tips it toward him in a silent toast. Steve copies the movement and clinks his rim against hers before taking a sip. The champagne is dry and crisp and the bubbles tickle his nose. It occurs to him that he’s never actually had champagne before; Tony would be amused and appalled if he knew.
This realization didn’t hit until much, much later. He didn’t immediately comprehend that he hadn’t suddenly been willing to lay down his life for the sake of the city and for the world at large. He hadn’t needed any reason on that grand a scale. He’d been willing to do it for
“I’m willing to try. If he is, that is. And if you’re willing to be patient. It’s not gonna be smooth sailing.”
“Most respectfully, I do agree with Brother Stark,” Thor states. “It seems highly irregular to inform the Captain of his comrade’s continued existence on this earthly plane to only then turn about and deny him the right to visit this dear friend.”
“No. Not at all.” It’s a confident, absolute refusal, and Tony immediately believes it. “Honestly, he’s more my brother than anything. Been living in each other’s pockets since we were kids. He’s the only family I got.”
Entering the apartment, Steve sees it with fresh eyes, wondering what it will look like to someone as fashionable as Janet. Their furniture is merely serviceable, their décor practically non-existent. Steve’s pretty sure the boring ocean landscape painting above the couch came with the place.
But perhaps it is a small comfort to know that Steve Rogers is only two steps behind him, should he ever change his mind.
Then Bucky’s face freezes for a split second, and Steve knows that he hadn’t meant to bring up Tony right now, like that. He looks instantly regretful of his choice in words.
His words trail off as he catches sight of Natasha and Clint standing up, somehow miraculously sober, and walking straight down the hallway to the elevator with unwavering steps and nary a look back. Steve lets his shoulders slump.
“Something’s wrong.” He announces, quickly pulling up the message from one of the previously unreturned calls. It’s a video from Maria Hill. There’s a large gash above her eyebrow and her usually cool eyes are wide with panic. There’s commotion behind her.
“I’ve always loved these tiles,” Steve remarks, gazing up the ceiling. Impossibly, the Minton tiles look even better than they did in his day.
,” Tony complains, frowning. What was Barnes playing at here, getting Pepper involved? Granted, maybe Tony shouldn't have ignored his calls, but his deliberate absence was designed to give Steve and Bucky
Steve’s body seems to radiate heat when they’re close like this; his skin is warm to the touch and Tony wants to get his greedy hands on more of it. He rucks up Steve’s tee, sliding his palms over the ridges of Steve’s carved muscles. The sensation makes Tony shiver, like the first time he ran his hands over the curve of a classic car or held the Iron Man helmet in his hands.
“So the brother, the autistic one, is a savant with numbers so the douche takes advantage and uses him to beat the house in Vegas. Anyway, long story short, somewhere along the way, this guy, this jerk, he finally sees past his own bullshit and he realizes what having this brother, this really special brother, means to him. How important that is. So he’s trying, and
“It’s nothing, just a business card.” Steve holds it up between two fingers, meaning to show it as nothing at all important. He didn’t expect Darcy to snatch it from his grasp, though he probably should have.
He lasts five minutes, every tick-tock of the clock taunting him with its utter slowness, before he can’t take it any longer.
“Never heard of him.” Jane nudges Steve with her elbow lightly, conspiratorially, and relief washes over him. Her gaze ticks upward to Natasha, who must signal her own approval because a small smile curls at the edges of Jane’s mouth and Natasha’s hand relaxes on his shoulder. “And did you just imply that I’m
He doesn’t frequent The Shield often enough to have any claim to a regular seat, but this spot half in the shadows at the far, curving end of the long mahogany bar is the closest he’ll ever come to one. He angles his back to the wall, his eye line toward the door, and he nurses the same scotch and soda until it becomes far too warm and watery to taste worth a damn.
Bucky gives him a quick look like he’s not entirely sure he should be saying this or that Steve wants to hear it.
“Nat, I dig your hot pink bra, by the way,” Bucky abruptly changes topic, looking down pointedly at the shock of neon color showing through her black crocheted dress.
“Not fast enough.” He turns to Pepper – he never knows what to say to her at times like these, but this circumstance feels worse than ever. A casual quip to reassure her isn’t going to cut it. Tony looks at her, waiting a beat before he speaks, wanting her to fully understand. “I love you, Pepper.”
. He doesn’t think he’s ever hung up on Pepper before, not during a real non-business related conversation. But he doesn’t want to hear any more about how he’s going to wreck Steve or how Steve’s going to wreck him. Can’t break what’s already broken.
“Well he’s doing great. The script’s a bit of a mess and that Erik…” Jan shakes her head, taking another sip of wine like she desperately needs the alcohol. “That man may be talented, and granted he is a bit of a looker, but his
to look loads better than Steve looks right now. If even just because he’s dressed better. Even Steve’s boring khakis and blue plaid shirt are rumpled rather than ironed and creased to perfection. “So, what’s up, pussycat, what’s got your star spangled self all less than super shiny?”
Tears well up behind his eyelids and he doesn’t even know why. He hurriedly wipes them away, desperate to get ahold of himself before Pepper and Tony follow him outside.
Steve had never been to L.A. before the war, and hadn’t spent all that much time here during his time as Captain America, but even he can see the difference in the air now, can feel it when he breathes. He doesn’t know if it’s his sensitive lungs or if it’s really just growing that bad, but if it gets any worse, Steve might have to figure out a way to pack his glass nebulizer to take with him during his morning exercise.
“Touching down in a minute, guys.” Clint announces from the cockpit, reaching upward to flip some switches. The Quinjet dips lower, slowly descending. The mansion was not really set up properly to have this thing land on the roof, so that’s just another reason why the tower seems like a good idea. Tony almost wishes they were going there now, and he could lay Steve out on their brand new bed in the suite he’d designed to share. He could spend all night whispering victory over every inch of Steve’s body.
He tosses it into the wastebasket without so much as looking at the headline and resolutely tries to focus on the day ahead, even if Natasha’s words niggle the back of his mind.
“I’ll grab some for you,” Steve offers the others even though they haven’t asked. When he enters the kitchen, Tony’s rustling around in the fridge, beer bottles clinking as he grabs two in one hand and turns around. Steve grabs the door to stop it from closing as Tony steps back.
“Fine.” Steve shrugs, taking a big bite of his sandwich. Tony grunts, crumpling up his napkin before shoving his own food aside.
“Tony Stark, ready for anything.” Happy states and Tony agrees without thinking, the boast as natural as breathing. It’s not until the elevator doors close on Happy’s departing figure that he stops to consider if it’s true.
“It’s only across the street, darling. Simply a hop, skip, and a jump.” Steve eases her out the door onto the landing even as she tries to hop, skip, and jump her way there.
Now it feels different. Steve’s silence isn’t passive-aggressively antagonistic or the slightest bit standoffish. Tony doesn’t even get the sense that Steve’s withdrawing, locking himself inside his head with thoughts of Bucky and other ghosts of his past. He’s warm toward Pepper, pleasant toward Tony, and the rest of the time he’s just…quiet. And calm.
Steve moves to sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at his best friend through the shag of his bed-mussed hair. He pushes the wayward strands off his forehead. He’s still dressed in last night’s clothes, rumpled and unkempt.
“This elevator is private when in use,” Tony mentions casually, as if it were merely an interesting piece of trivia and not a clear invitation. Steve’s grip tightens. Tony places a hand over his and slowly urges Steve’s arm all the way around his waist. Something close to a whimper escapes Steve’s lips when the bulge between his legs nestles perfectly against the small of Tony’s back. Just hard enough to seem purposeful, Tony rubs against him through their clothes, excited by Steve’s obvious arousal.
Steve wants to care – and part of him does, the part that had kind of hoped that he and Tony had finally found some common ground, some mutual respect, and could work together well in the future – but right now he’s too exhausted to deal with a man who had taken what had happened while fighting as an Avenger and pulled entirely the wrong lessons from it. After Tony first decided that he could handle every situation on his own, he then turned around and decided he’d rather not handle any situation at all. Both decisions seemed like the wrong call.
Tony watches her go, his brow slightly furrowed. He couldn’t have heard what she’d said, but it’s obvious the kiss and the whisper have his interest piqued.
“I met her once.” That gets Pepper’s attention back on him immediately. “She came ‘round once to see my dad. I must’ve been around nine or so.” Tony scratches his forehead with his thumb. Pepper is staring at him like this is mind-boggling news. “I told you that, I’m sure I told you that.”
“But it’s a big one,” Tony observes, flipping back through the book in the opposite direction, like he’s counting the drawings this time. “You’ve been covering quite a bit of ground.”
He ignores that for now, filing it away, and reads the assignment with as much thoroughness as he can afford when Pierce is waiting for an immediate appraisal.
The water is washing away the evidence Tony left on his skin; Steve grabs the soap and scrubs away the rest of the flaky streaks of come on his stomach, and where it had leaked from inside his body and dried on his inner thighs. Doing this only makes him harder, and by the time he’s washed his hair with the shampoo that smells like Tony, he’s on the verge of coming again.
“Uh, um, what?” Bruce blinks, head dropping forward and then jerking back up, stumbling clumsily into alertness. “Sorry, I-“
“And we should probably make out. I think the law requires that two attractive people in this position do so.”
Steve’s had to fight him for every inch of ground in this relationship, from the day they met up until right now. Steve always has been better about the honest emotions, about making the effort, about the straightforward, straight up love that has no use for ironic distance. Steve doesn’t love with the safety on.
“Could’ve at least let me say I love you too,” Tony says as Steve hits him in just the right place and he pitches forward with a moan, hands slipping on the counter. Steve slips forward with him, pressed against Tony’s sweat-slick back as Tony involuntarily clenches around his length. Steve comes with a bitten-off groan and the feel of Steve pulsing inside of him is nearly too much for Tony to take.
“Next time, Buck. Gotta sit this one out.” Steve grabs his keys and his jacket. “Pepper, I’ll let you know soon as I get to Tony. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“Not that I don't enjoy your glittering company, Tony, but what brings you here? As you've already been so kind to point out, you're hardly in need of new costumes for the film,” Jan asks, drippingly sweet.
"You know, you look younger when you smile," Steve comments, which only serves to make Tony's grin grow wider. Because of Tony’s glib refusal to take most things seriously, Steve never thought of Tony as someone who smiled rarely. But it’s something he realizes now, simply because if Tony is smiling
Tony should probably be thankful he’s being let onto the Paramount lot, that someone’s willing to talk to him about leasing him production space.
He sucks in a deep breath, considering doing it, just bringing himself off quick and dirty all over the tile, when the bathroom door opens, bringing with it a rush of cool air that flutters the shower curtain.
The first photograph is him and Tony on Tony’s balcony, standing a little too close but seemingly engaged in innocent conversation.
Steve doesn’t reply. For some reason, he knows he’s not supposed to, which is fine because he doesn’t really have anything intelligent to say.
“So, that was what I walked in on here?” She prompts him softly. “The cathartic breakfast of champions?”
Tony found Steve breathtaking since the moment they’d met, so it’s no shock that something lustful stirs deep inside of him as he looks. But something else tugs at him, something deeper that makes him wonder if it’s possible to fall in love this fast.
“And I ordered Thai curry for dinner from that place you like. I know, I know, you’re not hungry,” Tony cuts off a protest that Steve didn’t even try to make. “But it will help clear out your sinuses and I tell you, that heat actually feels good on the sore throat. You’ll see, I’m not wrong.”
“You coming?” Steve jerks his head out the door as he opens it. He and Tony entered his trailer together; they should probably leave it together. Nothing raises a red flag quicker than acting like they have something to hide.
Steve folds the paper and sets it aside before placing his hands on his knees. One would think Bucky was gunning to be the next studio head with the way he always harps on about these things. But the big honcho’s office is a lifetime away from the small little screenwriting bungalow Bucky and his partner, Natasha, share.
“He does.” Steve nods slowly, while his mind races a mile a minute trying to figure out what his next move is here. Bucky takes a step toward him. “I was…I was planning on talking to you about this. I mean, he wants us to talk about this and…”
Old, yellowing monster movie posters are tacked up crookedly on the right wall, and the wide double doors take up most of the last wall, leading out to the rest of the basement and the long, sloping ramp back up to the backlot. There are no windows, and if he hadn’t just walked in from outside, he’d have no idea of the weather or the time of day.
The inner rim of Tony’s mouth is stained dark red from the wine, and Steve wonders what he would taste like if they kissed. Steve drinks from his own glass to busy himself, letting the earthy flavor explode over his tongue.
The doctor leaves him for a moment, going to the second ‘copter and efficiently pulling wires loose from the control panels. She disappears from his view and he can only assume she’s doing the same thing to the third.
Steve seems lost in his and Tony’s kiss, and he blindly chases after Tony’s lips when Bucky grabs Tony by the shoulder and pulls him away. His muscular arms circle Tony’s slim hips, and Bucky’s flesh and blood hand, slick with lube, encircles Tony’s cock. He strokes with purpose, not teasing in the slightest.
He’d expected to hate the man if they were ever to meet. Instead, Tony wants nothing more than to see him again.
“That…is that recommended? The whole gutting and the rebuilding? Seems a little extreme.” Tony can’t help himself; he moves back in and peers down at the thin silver brackets and pronged knobs, held together with the tiniest of screws. Granted, he’s taken apart his fair share of equipment of all different types, but that’s him. He’s unsure of Banner’s skills. | [
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So much pain. So much. Words couldn't even begin to describe the amounts of suffering that Dean was going through. Painful didn't even begin to describe it. There were just no words.
Then there was the matter of The Empty. Whilst stuck in his fitful slumber, Castiel had felt it. It was oh so faint at first, but as time passed, the feeling grew. It was a feeling of pain and terror. It enshrouded Castiel's mind and it became so prominent that sometimes he forgot about his own dreams. He had no idea where it had come from, but as that pulling grew, he felt that he knew.
Dean gasped as he and Cas ran through the rift, back into Dean's bedroom. After realizing that they were alone, and ALIVE at that, Dean started laughing and wheezing and crying. Cas looked around confused, trying ot make sense of the situation at hand. He opened his mouth to say something to Dean about being back on Earth, but his words were mushed as Dean pulled him into the biggest hug of his life and he felt the warmness of Dean's lips on his own. Castiel tried to pull away, but Dean held on closer and Cas slowly processed what was happening until it clicked. When it did, he smiled against Dean's lips and wrapped his own arms around Dean, pulling themselves closer.
The three of them materialized in Sam's old room as the blazing inferno engulfed the interior and held Mary up to the ceiling as she was set alight by the cruel yellow-eyed demon, Azazel. Upon their arrival, Sam looked up to the ceiling, horrified. Castiel and Jack shared the same reaction. He held up his arms and flinched as the fire grew and ate everything in its path. Their trance was interrupted when they heard the stomping of John Winchester's feet as he arrived and was forced to witness the horrific scene before his eyes.
Well, that was if they could bring Dean back. At that hopeless moment, it seemed like an impossibility.
"You know I love you Dean. And while I don't know if you love me back... I still know that I will never stop loving you. You're beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful and I will do anything to preserve that beauty."
Laughter was common in these times. The Bunker had never seemed so full of life. Well, full of life as it could be with the issue of a nearly dead brother being possessed by an angel. Of course everyone still had the pressing issue of Dean's dormancy locked in their heads, but worrying wouldn't do any good. The best thing they could do at the time would be to remain positive and hope for the best. Besides, it was Dean. He would pull through.
He didn't know how this would affect him on the outside. When he would be reunited with Sam and... James.
"I'm feelin' peachy Sam. Just peachy. Feels like I woke up from a coma, not like that's new to us." He confidently said.
It's hard to remember that Cas is in Dean's body like,,,,,, how??? ? ? Why did I make this so confusing? Lmao I'm so sorry
"No. His body has been like this for so long that I... I fear he may go into shock or his heart may completely stop working. I've heard stories of people being forced awake after traumatic situations and immediately dying after. We can't let that happen. We have to do this very slowly. And I hate to prolong his agony, but... We just can't."
Like that one night when he had left Dean alone in that hotel room after they had a huge falling out. He had gone on a walk to blow off some steam, and that relatively worked. He decided to go back and focus on their fight later, at that moment they had to focus on their survival. Not-dying first, arguments later.
Dean slowly roused and started moving his arms. Castiel's attention snapped back to him as well as Jack and Sam's. They all waited with bated breath as they awaited Dean's awakening and assess his mental state. Would he still be emotionally unstable? Or revert back to his animalistic nature? They felt as if they would explode with anticipation. It didn't help that Dean was taking his damn sweet ass time waking up.
"You stupid feathery angel. You don't get the right to confess your love to me then just die." Dean joked after they pulled apart, but their foreheads still locked together, eyes staring into each others souls. Castiel just laughed and brought Dean's face down again, bringing him into another kiss.
He felt the crunching of teeth as bones were exposed and broken in his own body his bones were being exposed like a Christmas present
No. He wouldn't let that happen. He could never show this side of him to anyone. If he ever felt this way again, he would just have to hide it.
When he finished relishing the new feeling, a strange thought wormed its way into his head. Why could he enjoy food now? He normally couldn't in his normal vessel, so what was so different about now?
This chap isn't that accurate according to 15x20 but that's not what I was aiming for at all. I just took inspiration from the barn vamps and that's it. I couldn't bring myself to watch the episode again and look for accuracies. As far as I know, 15x20 doesn't exist and SPN ended on a cliffhanger. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
"So what's the deal Sam?" Dean questioned. "I feel fine now so what was with that little speal two days ago?" Sam put his fork down and fiddled with his napkin. He avoided eye contact with Dean and cleared his throat, much to Dean's extended exasperation.
And so The Shadow had to go to each and every single individial angel and demon and put them to sleep. The combined numbers of the two ranged in the billions and more, so it was a daunting task even for an ancient cosmic entity such as The Shadow.
So this is what humanity lived for. Huh. Well, to be honest, he could get used to this. It was infinitely better than his time with April. He felt safe and secure, sandwiched between two guys who wanted him for him.
Dean and Cas listened to the familiar clomps of feet as they left the room and headed up the stairs. Castiel sighed. He couldn't bring himself to participate in their argument. His input aligned with Sam's, so that would have ticked Dean off even more. He and Dean made eye contact for a slight moment before Dean managed to bring himself to speak again.
Surprisingly, the taste of molecules was still there, but they were considerably less noticable. In fact, if he ignored them, he could mask the taste and cover it up with the blissful taste of hamburger. And it was delicious. It tasted better than anything he had ever eaten before, perhaps even PB & J.
Castiel continued to stare at Dean. It didn't take much thought for him to say no with a stern tone.
Dean groaned. He had probably done something to piss the angel off, which was very like him, but it was so infuriating that he had no idea what. He didn't think that he had done anything wrong, but then again, his memories were a fuzzy blur and an immense blank space in his mind. He couldn't make anything out no matter how much he prodded himself. The answers he was seeking were within Castiel, Sam, and probably Jack, but they wouldn't give anything up. It was as if they thought he was angry at them. He wasn't, but godammit as time passed and he received more questions than answers he did feel a tad bit angry. Why wouldn't anyone tell him anything?
But because of his own fear, Jack was now basically powerless. Sure, he was far stronger than most angels and definitely stronger than monsters, but he still had a lot of trouble doing things he normally could. He had trouble healing Sam and Eileen when they went on hunts together. He could barely smite anything. It was almost like his grace was gone. It certainly wasn't though. His grace and power was fully intact, but all of it was stuck behind a wall, thick and immovable. His own willpower kept it there. The fear was just too great.
"Wow Cas. What's up with all this?" Sam asked, although somewhat nervously. Maybe something had possessed their angelic friend that caused his cooking skills to skyrocket to a level equal to Mrs. Butters.
Jack's eyes strayed from Castiel to the impressive stack of patties on the countertop. The hamburgers on the plate were beautifully shaped, perfectly round and equal in size. Jack was slightly surprised by this, expecting Castiel to have a little less experience than Dean. After all, he had seen the different between Dean and Cas' burgers with his own eyes. Apparently Castiel had done some practicing on his own.
When he appeared in the memory, he arrived just in time to witness his self from 8 months ago telling Dean his true feelings. He wasn't a failure. He wasn't a killer. He deserved a life where he could be happy. Castiel's mouth slightly curled up as he remembered this. It truly was his moment of true happiness, telling Dean that he loved him. Perhaps it was the only pure happiness he had felt. Well, that wasn't true. Whenever he spent time with Dean was when he was at his happiness. Everytime he made eye contact with the hunter, or hugged him, or even sacrificed his own life, he was happy. He was needed. That was all it took to make him content.
"Then I would be more than happy to oblige. But for the moment, he's content with just resting. He was hiding his mental exhaustion. Not very well I might add, but he was still doing so nonetheless. He needed a break to gather himself, and so I offered to take his place while he did so. That leaves us here. I don't know how long exactly, but I can guess it will be a while."
They stared and waited anxiously at Dean's unmoving body. They had been thrust out so abruptly that they had no idea if they had succeeded in bringing Dean's soul back up. Castiel cursed as he gained his bearings and remembered what had happened. He should have stayed, he should have comforted Dean, he should have-
NSFW WARNING: This chap has some smutty moments, but they don't lead anywhere. It's just horny Dean on main
With everyone safely secured in the Impala and their morale raised a great ton, the four disgruntled hunters headed out on their first case. Well, even if it was a case. If it wasn't, at least they would've gotten out of the building for a while and had an outing.
The love of his life was gone. The angel. His angel. The angel that had just told him that he was loved. The angel that he had loved since that fateful day in the barn, even if he tried to deny it.
He just didn't realize how strange his life would become while his best friend walked around in his brother's body.
Sam and Jack's footsteps were now gone, and the grim reality had set in for Dean. He had done something yet again to piss his brother off and look. It had gotten them nowhere except an angry Sam storming off, leaving Dean alone and in the dark.
Regardless, Castiel felt as though his decision had been right. If he had a chance, he would certainly sacrifice his life again for his love. He would do it again in a heartbeat. He hoped that Dean was living life to its fullest now and that his sacrifice wasn't for naught. He laughed at the thought of Dean dying like two days after defeating God. It would totally happen, knowing that dumbass. Castiel laughed in his mind and continued to think of the happy times he Sam, and Dean and shared. It was the only thing he could do that made him happy.
"Can you at least let me out of these stupid things?" He asked as he tugged on the arm and leg slings that restrained him. Sam and Castiel hurridly agreed and set to work untying the tight knots that bound his appendages. Dean never noticed Castiel as he was too focused on blinking the sand out of his eyes and focusing his minimal energy on that beer Jack was bringing. When they finished, Dean gingerly rubbed his wrists, seemingly unknown to the fact that his arms had long gashes on them. Sam nervously cleared his throat.
But he couldn't let them see that. It would crush them as it crushed him. They didn't deserve that. They deserved to be able to not worry about him for a while.
They did and immediately ducked as a dark shadow swooped over the heads with a loud shriek. It joined with the million other shadows flying around, like phantoms in the night sky. They were circling around a giant black cloud that was billowing like the black smoke of a demon. Its sheer mass and volume was enough to nearly cover the three hunters as they stared in terror.
"What do you know about suffering Sam? Huh? What do you know about living every day in pain and terror, not knowing if it will ever end?"
And so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He locked it away. It didn't go down without a fight, but he somehow managed to rope it in as it screamed.
"Whoa Cas, chill bud. I'm just giving you a hard time." He sighed deeply. "I guess that if you really want to go, then you can. But please take care of yourself and Dean. The last thing we need is the two of you somehow injured."
It really wasn't. From the shadows of the barn, five masked vampires emerged, led by a female. The five behind her were buff-looking, but in the end, they would all be killed the same way. But before Sam could pull the trigger of his pistol, the female introduced herself as Jenny.
"So basically Dean is like... Hibernating? And you're in the driver's seat?" He asked with some degree of alarm.
"I... I don't really know where to start Cas. There's just been so much going on that I just don't even know what
of the bottle cap as it came off. The cool and familiar rush of beer down his throat was invigorating. He knew that he would probably regret this later and should have instead drank some water, but dammit he wanted some beer. It had felt like forever since he had had one last.
Sam had tried to punch one of the monsters in a fit of intense anger, but his fist phased through the monster's head. He bit down on his tongue and fought off the tears that pricked his eyes. So goddamn much suffering and all for what? Nothing absolutely nothing except some satisfaction for a few bloodsucking monsters. He had rushed over to Dean and tried to rouse him, but of course they weren't there. This was all just memories. All of this had already passed and Dean had to endure alone, just like with dad and the panic attacks. Always alone. Always in pain.
Dean continued to lay like a deadman on the bed. Even when Sam finished restraining his appendages, Dean's eyes remained wide and open, but there was no movement other than the erratic rise and fall of his chest.
But they did get one tidbit of information that could be useful. The wife managed to get a glimpse of the perpetrators and could see that they wore clown masks.
However, upon remembering that it was Castiel that was in possession and not the psycho archangel, his worries eased up and he could think about the situation logically. Maybe this would help Dean like Gadreel had (kinda) helped Sam with his head problems after the trials.
It became so powerful that it ripped Castiel awake and left him dumbfounded as he remembered everything he had done before being taken.
At the thought of Dean, Castiel's heart felt a twang. By now, Castiel had gotten familier to this once unfamiliar feeling. It was love. He loved Dean Winchester. He didn't know when the feelings had manifested themselves, but he did know that they were there ever since he had raised Dean out of perdition. Even if he didn't know this was love at the time, it was there. The feelings for Dean were always there, but he just couldn't figure out what they were. It wasn't until Dean kissed Anna that Castiel realized this fact. When he watched their heads collide, Castiel's heart dropped and he felt a sadness like none other. It was at that moment that he realized his own feelings.
He also had no idea what to say. There was no sure answer as to why Jack felt those pulls in his head or why he felt as though he could kill someone at the blink of an eye. The most logical explanation would be that some of God's inner thoughts had merged with his and Amara's power and Jack had absorbed both... But if that was the case then how would they fix that? It wasn't like they could just extract God AND Amara's power and put it somewhere...
Sam clapped his hands together and took a deep breath. This would be their first case in a long, long time. In fact, how long had it been since they had a genuine monster case that they could just whip out and be done with? Too long it seemed. He slightly chuckled to himself. It seemed absurd to think about. The Winchester family "normal life" consisted of going on weekly monster hunts that could end with tragedy at any given moment. To any normal person, a simple event such as a hunt would be life shattering.
He abruptly let go and he and Man #1 stared expectantly at the smaller man, who was as red as a beet and as beautiful as a diamond.
"Ok, fine. This is real. Then how the hell do we get him back?" Dean sharply said, his breakfast now forgotten. "If you had known we could get him back why didn't you tell me earlier?"
But he still couldn't bring himself to release everything. That damn pull was just too strong for him to ignore.
He assembled his plate and stared down at it. The small hamburger sitting on it stared back. He slowly gulped and brought up a hamburger to his mouth. He hated the taste of the molecules, but he had to do this. He had done far, far worse for Dean's sake, so he could down a little bit of food to keep the hunter's body healthy. He swallowed again. He could ignore the taste and get it down. He made this commitment and he was going to keep it.
Jack, Cas, and Sam could only watch helplessly as John beat Dean into total submission and as he left, they were forced to listen to the crushing weight of his last words to Dean, as well as Dean's last silent words to John of that night. The night that Sam Winchester left for Stanford.
He exhaled deeply. Now with newfound determination and vigor resulting from the revelation, Dean leaned away from the hug and made hard eye contact with the angel. The angel that he loved with every fiber of his being and every nerve of his body.
"Sorry to break it to you bud, but I got this guy's angel juice right here. He held up the vial which was now on a chain around his neck. "And according to the rules, humans can't be in her. So we're gonna skidaddle." The Shadow hissed and tried to lunge at Dean, but Dean was faster and punched The Shadow right in the face with all his might. It collapsed on the ground and staggered, trying to get up, but the other angels had crowded around and were now beating on it in its human form. It hissed again and let out a burst of energy that sent all of the angels flying, but by the time it saw the rift again, it had already closed with Dean and Castiel inside it.
There were just too many questions and not any answers. Dean wasn't talking about his feelings at all, so Castiel didn't want to push it. He had decided he would hold off on any information for now until Sam and Jack returned. That way, they could organize a plan together that would hopefully have minimal side effects from Dean.
"He locked it away with all of his trauma. His soul felt the brunt of the torture, and so to cope he locked it away along with the rest of the burdens he carries. Right now he's reverted into his "soulless" state as you would call it." Jack replied in a distant tone.
As quick as it had come, the attack had stopped. In reality it had lasted about five minutes, but time seems to move faster when you experience these.
Dean's head pulsed and pounded as he tried to remember what had happened that fateful night. The painful memory of watching his best friend and his secret crush smiling as slimy ooze appeared from the wall and grabbed him, whisking him off to lands unknown. He had been completely helpless, being unable to do anything but watch and try to think of a solution, or anything to stop the deal from happening.
No. That's just another excuse and you know it. You may love Castiel, but you will never act on it. So he left you because he knew that. He knew that you would never tell him so he basically killed himself because you never told him you loved him back.
Sam tried to help, but he was also a wreck. He felt so much guilt on Dean's condition that he locked himself in his room for the majority of this time. Once in a while he and Eileen texted each other, sending words of condolence, but most of the time in his room was set in silence and grievance. He ran through every single possible scenario in his head on how he could have stopped Dean or at least convinced him to not fill his stomach full of alcohol. He should have gone with him. He should have talked to him more. He should have done something more.
Hell was a climax in Dean's life. 40 years of his soul's life was spent down there. There was no other way of describing it other than torture. Torture and pain. That was all Dean knew for 40 years until Castiel had rescued him and took care of the poor soul.
He would hold the demons there until he died. He couldn't let any of this escape. If he did, then he knew that his mind would fold in on itself and he would probably be put in the loony bin.
His head pounded again but he grabbed the thought and held onto it for dear life. The deal? What deal? Castiel made a deal with The Empty? He said he hadn't made one to return but did he make one to enter?
Upon their arrival, they were thrust into witnessing the entire capturing of Dean. From the moment he got in the Impala and started drinking his depression away, to his arriving at the abandoned town in Oregon and nearly pulling the trigger. At that point, Sam, Jack, and Cas were getting tired of being shocked at Dean's actions. To be honest, none of them were that shocked at Dean's suicide attempt. Deep in their minds, they had known that he would try to do this. It was just a matter of when. Dean was just too depressed to continue on, and even if they tried everything in their power to stop him, he would have done something drastic like this.
The angel knew that Dean's inner demons were bad, but he didn't know they were this bad. There was enough pain and trauma here to fuel anyone's nightmares for an entire lifetime, but to see it all here, condensed into one person's head, was enough to send Castiel into a depressive state. How would they ever fix this? Even if they could contain all of it, it would still be there, waiting for him to fall again. Besides, Dean had already tried that just hours beforehand, but he couldn't hold it all in.
Castiel sighed deeply again. There was just too much to discuss and fix. He just wished they could poof everything right again.
"Sam. Sammy. Please. Don't do this. Don't leave me alone with dad. You don't know what he does to me when you're gone. Please don't. Sam. You don't understand. Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sammy... Please don't leave me alone. I need you. I'm lonely." He choked out.
Dean's voice came out low and gruff, like how Castiel spoke. Jack was definitely taken aback at the abrupt change and the sudden surge of mind-boggling information, but at least it wasn't like anything world-shattering had occured. Castiel was now in control of Dean's body while Dean's soul rested. It was a perfect plan. Jack just wished that he weren't so useless at the moment. It was like he was nothing without his powers. Sam could hunt the monsters and Castiel could heal and possess Dean but all he could do would be stare and let them handle everything else.
Twice now, Dean had kissed Cas. But both times weren't made with true intent. That wasn't Dean who initiated the gesture of love. Dean would never.
Then they were teleported out of the loathsome memory and back into the pitch blackness of Dean's main headspace. The soul sighed as he watched the dark cloud rumble and grow. Castiel tried to say something, but Dean shushed him.
Upon hearing Castiel's familiar gruff voice in his ear, Dean shivered a little. He loved that voice so much that everytime he heard it he felt as if a wave of calm washed over him. Honestly, he could listen to Cas talk for hours.
His instincts screamed at him to turn tail and leave, to continue in the opposite direction and keep heading towards the light. But he knew that if he did, the repercussions would bite his ass sometime in the future, like they always did. He had to do something to that darkness so that he would never have to see it again.
was alive? How? He was literally killed right infront of him. Did Sam or Jack bring him back? But didn't he have a deal with The Empty or something? So how could he be here? Right infront of him? Very obviously alive and very Castiel-looking.
"Yeah, that's it. You sexy, sexy angel." He seemingly purred. "Just do it. Let's just forget everything for one night. Forget everything except the passion and love we have for each other. Forget all the pain and suffering. Just remember our love. One night, Cas. One night." His green eyes met with blue and his tongue creeped out, licking his dry lips lustily.
"Come on Jack. Let's just see what he wants. The worst he can do is die." Sam grumbled. He grabbed Jack by the shoulders and the two of them headed towards the main room, silently shutting the door behind him.
"A tiny bit of angel grace and some witch magic." She replied. "And without either of them, well then he dies."
Meanwhile Sam caught up to Boian. He tried shooting him, but Boian easily swatted the gun out of the way.
Sam and Cas were still staring murderous intent, but shock was written on their faces as well as Jack's.
Dean just stared at him for a good ten seconds. He then sighed and pushed Castiel off of their awkward position. He mumbled something under his breath, something so faint that even Castiel's super sensitive hearing couldn't pick it up.
Life with Dean Castiel was definitely a strange phenomenon to witness, much less get used to. To start with, it was relieving to hear an extra set of footsteps around the Bunker. Just 8 months before, there was hardly any movement and no sound other than the rustling of papers, clicking of keys, and sighs of exhaustion. The air had a dead feel to it filled with dread and fatigue. The situation at the time had seemed hopeless.
which procured a loud moan from Castiel, which was the sexiest thing Man #1 had ever heard in his life. Goddamn what did he do to land a beauty such as this? And one who was so submissive as well.
Perhaps it was at this moment that Castiel, a perfect, peerless angel of Heaven, fell in love with Dean Winchester.
Dean tried to protest, but the door slammed as Sam trudged out like John did a long time ago. The slam echoed in his head and then he was left alone in the dark motel room with a closed door and closed windows. Dean gulped and stared at the door for a long time before he approached and silently opened it, hoping that Sam would be out there, that his threat was just a bluff.
Then he felt it. It was so faint that it would be unnoticable by anyone else but himself. His eyes snapped open and he nudged Castiel.
Sam looked slightly taken aback. The question was more of why would he bring Cas along? They were going on a potentially dangerous case. He knew Eileen and Jack could hold their own, and he was there in case anything were to go wrong, but Castiel was in no shape to go along. Well, Castiel himself was, but since Dean's body was so frail at that moment, he would be putting his own life at risk along with Dean's.
The ache returned. And then it grew. A painful stabbing in his head as it cried out to him to not remember. Stop it. It's too painful you don't know what you're getting into. You don't have to remember. Just keep it locked away. You can make new memories. You don't need to know the old ones. They're gone forever. Don't try to dig them back up. You can live without them. Stop it Dean. Just stop it. They're gone.
"No. I don't know what you can do at this moment, but for now there's nothing else that you can do. Thank you for helping us Sam, but we need to help Dean now."
"I feel fine. I really do. It's not like I don't want to talk and be difficult. It's just that I honestly feel fine. Yeah, I still remember everything and I remember how much it hurt. But it's not corrupting my head or anything. It's just like when I was in Hell. It hurt, but I'll press on.
Man #2 quickly assumed his place at Castiel's mouth, waving his cock right in Cas' face, teasing the smaller man. Castiel groaned as Man #1's tongue raked past a sensitive area and nearly grabbed Man #2's dick in his mouth. He let out a gutteral moan as Castiel's warm mouth made eye contact with his sensitive skin. A beautiful pink tongue combed the head and urethra, and teeth scraped along the skin. It was obvious this blue-eyed beauty was inexperienced with his mouth, but goddamn his looks made up for it. Man #2 opened his eyes long enough to see beautiful sky blue eyes staring at him, full of wonder and lust.
And you think that hate and anger that's - that's what drives you. That's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad you have done for love.
Castiel paused and looked at Jack with wide, sad eyes. Jack returned the same. They stared at each other for a while before Castiel sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
John lifted his heavy boot off his son and picked up a half-empty beer bottle left on the rotting table. Then he opened the door and slammed it shut with so much force that it seemed like the entire room rattled in fear.
Anyways a Very Merry Belated Christmas and New Year's y'all! Hope you had a good time watching Destiel become canon for the 5th time <3 (not really)
And even if he couldn't admit it to himself, he needed help. He needed so much help that it was excruciatingly painful inside and out of his head. He wasn't fine. He was never fine. He was in such pain and discomfort and displeasure that he felt like putting a bullet in his brain at that moment. He needed Castiel's help.
3 days after his rescue and 3 days of nonstop, constant healing, Dean Winchester opened his mesmerizing sea-green eyes for the first time in 8 months.
Castiel stood up as Sam entered the map room and Jack came bursting out from the room Dean was in. Upon seeing the familiar machine, the two of them smiled as a faint glimmer of hope appeared in their minds.
Sam couldn't feel Dean's soul, but he searched fervently. He couldn't do this. He couldn't watch these monsters they usually killed with ease take their time and rip his brother apart as if he was confetti. No. He had ample opportunities to save Dean from this horrific fate, but he had ignored them. This was all his fault. Dean had run off on his watch and he had suffered here and in motel rooms and...
Jack looked confused for a moment. Where was Dean's soul? He had been so focused on healing his bodily wounds that he had completely forgotten about the very life essence of humans. An idiotic mistake on his part.
Cas obviously wore the trenchcoat for a reason. He had even heard Castiel say that he had grown to like the coat at times. He could take the trenchcoat that Castiel's vessel had on, but he decided not to and leave Jimmy's body where it was out of respect. Besides, it wouldn't kill Sam to go out and buy one that would fit Dean's body. In fact, they could just go out and buy a suit and coat that fit Dean's current form and be done with clothes for a while and also give Castiel some peace of mind with familiar attire. It was a win-win situation for everyone.
"We have no idea Cas. Like I said, after you were taken, he just... Disappeared." Sam replied wearily. He felt exhausted. He knew that this question would be asked the minute Castiel stepped in, he just didn't know the reaction would be this bad.
Also thank you all so much for the kind comments and kudos! They mean a lot to me and keep my motivation up to continue writing this mess. Smooches to all of you, my lovely comrades
Dean continued to sob for over two hours. Even when his phone rang and he saw it was Sam, he just threw it on the ground and continued to bawl like a lost child.
He pondered on it for only a few moments before the realization hit him like a truck. It was simply because he was in possession of Dean's body. And Dean was so much in love with food, more specifically hamburgers, that it trumped an angel's lack of taste.
Dean's soul wasn't there either. And Castiel wasn't sticking around to make sure. To see Dean in such depression made Castiel depressed himself.
What good was he? He had done nothing to help because he was stupidly unusable without any of his power. A useless sack of potatoes that couldn't do anything because it was too scared. And scared of what? World destruction? He would never do that.
"Oh my God... Is that really you? Castiel?" Jack said, full of raw emotion. Castiel looked up from Sam's hug and nodded. Jack's face exploded into a smile and he practically flew up the stairs and into Castiel's embrace.
He and Jack had been there for at least five hours. Just standing there, healing Dean. It was taking an obvious toll on Jack. His forehead was covered in sweat and his hands were shaking. Healing was an easy task any angel could do, even more so for Jack, but since his powers were locked away, he was stressing because he had to let the power out only a little at a time. A very taxing process. Coupled with the fact that he was sharing power with Castiel was also taking its toll.
He cursed and punched a wall, leaving a deep crater in it and shaking the room in the process. He was so stupid. He shouldn't have left. He should have talked to Dean. He should have reassured him and comforted him and done something other than just being silent and hoping that was the best course of action. How could he have been so blind and stupid?
Man #2 took the hint though, and abruptly pulled his meat out of the angel's mouth, which caused him to cry out in displeasure. Seeing that sexy face look up, betrayal etched into every line, just about sent him over the edge again. But he had to stay strong and continue this as long as possible. They hadn't even barely started and this was the best sex Man #2 had had in his life.
"Jack. I know you're listening and I know I'm doing something wrong. I have no idea what, and I'm sorry if I've pissed you off somehow. Look, I know I wasn't the most welcoming person in your life, and I'm so sorry about that. There aren't even words to describe how sorry I am. But Jack, this is my last plea to you. Just give me some sort of a hint or something to show me that he can be rescued. I need to tell him that he's not wrong. That I'm sorry. That I can't live without him." Dean's throat bobbed as the words stuck there, lodged, stuck. But he pushed them out. "That I love that stupid angel and I want. No I NEED him back. So please just show me anything."
"I'll ask one more time, you sure about this Cas? We won't be hurt at all if you decide to stay behind. You'll still helpful and you can do research for us-"
"I-I don't know. We were just healing him and then he woke up. You saw it Sam. We weren't doing anything to his head." Jack responded.
Dean tried to find words to say. Say something about how wrong that was. Say something about how he didn't ever want to be possessed ever again after Michael. Say that he hated this idea but he still wanted to do it because he wanted Castiel inside of him in a weird way like that. Say that he didn't like the feeling of being possessed but if it was Cas then he would do it in a heartbeat. So many things he wanted to say, but his mouth stayed glued shut. Just as when he watched Cas being taken by The Empty. He was still a coward. He still couldn't voice his thoughts. Even when he was here in Castiel's arms and crying his damn eyes out he still couldn't open his mouth and just say what he wanted to say.
They watched as Dean searched for Sam. They watched when he returned and sat on the bed. They watched everything that was happening, but nothing was amiss. All seemed normal and Sam began to wonder why this memory was of such importance when it started.
Thanks to @drjackandmissjo for proofreading and betaing! Much love to you my friend. Check out their works on A03 too!
Then Cas put his fingers to Dean's head next to Jack's. He concentrated a small amount of his grace into his hands and his eyes lit up in angelic blue. His grace then intertwined with Jack's, causing his blue eyes to turn the same shade of sunset yellow as Jack's. The sudden upsurge of power was staggering, but Castiel pulled through as he struggled to heal the man he loved.
Dean thought as he stewed in his mind, processing everything that had happened in just the last few weeks. It had been a few weeks since Jack had ascended up to heaven, and it had been a few weeks since he and Sam had literally defeated God himself. The Big Bad, the Antagonist, the End to all Ends. On a good day, he would feel absolutely elated and would kick back on the couch and call it a day with a cold beer in his hand and the TV remote in the other. But Dean still felt empty inside. Everyone he had ever loved albeit Sam were gone. Mom and dad were up in Heaven with Bobby, Charlie, Jack, Kevin, and all the other friends and family he had made in this years long journey of his Greater Good. Well, all the human friends. Crowley, (he still wasn't a friend, but, he did sacrifice himself to save both he and Sam.)Gabriel, Cas... They were all probably rotting away in The Empty, locked away in a deep sleep. The sheer thought of Cas dreaming of all his past regrets and hurts made Dean want to cry out in despair. His best friend, his family, were all suffering while he was here on Earth enjoying life. Sure, before Cas was taken away, he had told Dean to live life to its fullest and to be happy. But Dean WAS happy. He was happiest when he had Cas by his side. He was the happiest when he had Cas, Jack, and Sam all sitting at the table with him, enjoying a beer and just enjoying life together.
Well, Castiel had just proven his point. Dean was childish. Because of this, he lashed out and drove away. It was obvious that he did this because Cas had sacrificed himself and Dean didn't want to continue without him. Yeah, it was an obvious fact but it was so fucking stupid. Cas's whole speech was about living, and Dean just had to go and throw that away! What a fucking idiot.
His brother who abandoned him and left him with dad to go to college and left him to die and be tortured in Hell and Purgatory and who could be one of the most selfish people in the world and the person who didn't understand half of what Dean did for him and-
Dean hadn't said a single word since his heartbreaking speech not even ten minutes ago. He had just laid still on the bed. Castiel had tried to coax some more interaction out of him, but Dean was glazed over. Thankfully, he wasn't screaming anymore. The three of them couldn't come to any firm conclusions as to why he had stopped or why he had began, so they ended up dropping the subject and hoped that he wouldn't start again.
After Dean's heartbreaking speech, Sam had nearly collapsed under the guilt he had felt just then. All those times he had left and shut the door behind his back, Dean had been alone in the dark. In a conscious mindset, Dean would
life and this is the thanks I get? An ungrateful bitch who wants to run away and a disappointment who can't do anything right even after twenty years?"
He unwrapped his arms and took Dean's face in his hands. Hot tears were still actively running down the hunter's cheeks, but Castiel brushed them away with a loving motion.
In Dean's unconscious mind, the box exploded. It wasn't meant to last, even Dean couldn't deny that. It wasn't a matter of "if" it would break, but more of "when." Well, "when" was very soon. Too soon. Much sooner than Dean anticipated. There was just too much bottled up to be contained.
Dean never was the type of person to outwardly grive. That was Sam's personality, as shown when he watched Mary get incinerated and Castiel get stabbed. Sam was the one who flinched and screamed while Dean could only watch with a mournful face. But despite this, Dean was still arguably the most emotional out of the two of them. It was Dean who fell into a depression. It was Dean who prepared Castiel's body for a hunter's funeral. It was Dean who was ready to give up his life after two of the most important people in his life were brutally ripped away from his calloused hunter hands.
The others voiced their agreement. Then they quickly hushed themselves as they slowly entered the barn. Two human hunters, an angel, and a literal God child. This wouldn't be hard at all.
He was Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester wasn't supposed to have any weaknesses. He was only supposed to be the disposable weapon that everyone would use and then throw away without a second thought.
"But you don't understand. I could've stopped him. I had the power. I should've just let it out and-"
And right they were. After driving around for a couple of hours during the dead of night, they came across an abandoned barn. A perfect place for a vampire feeding ground. Everyone exited the vehicle and grabbed the necessities - bullets with dead man's blood, guns, and machetes. Somehow Sam even found a pair of ninja stars, but he tentatively set them down. Ninja stars wouldn't be that useful in a vampire hunt.
When Dean managed to find a slight chance to escape, he was very easily captured again and had his legs mangled beyond repair that they would be impossible to heal without divine intervention.
Jack nodded his head slowly, his eyes still wide and sad like a lost puppy. He was lost, and like the rest of them, he wanted answers. Castiel felt a pang of sympathy for his son. Even after the main threat of world destruction from God was over, he and Sam were still struggling to continue without Dean and himself. When would they ever be able to just rest without the world caving in on itself? It seemed that they would never get the ending that they deserved.
He looked expectantly at Castiel. Obviously this was a loaded question and one that would take a lot of thought, but he had to know. He had seen the extent of Dean's injuries and mental trauma. Even without most of his advanced angelic senses, he could still tell that Dean was fucked up in more ways than one.
But ultimately, he failed. He was too assertive, too pushy. Castiel likes slow burns, not in-your-face passion.
Castiel turned his attention back to Dean. He didn't realize how much he had been relying on Jack. Now that it was just him, the process became much more difficult. He was feeling the repercussions, and it seemed that Dean also was. His face was now recognizable, thank goodness. But now he could truly see the pain that Dean was in. He was feverish and twitching a lot. His eyebrows were knitted together in all the pain. Not a single feeling of peace radiated from his body. Only pain. Castiel set his face firmer and focused harder on healing. He couldn't pin all of this on Jack. He was mostly responsible, so he had to fix everything. He had to fix Dean himself.
Two days after Sam's few lines of dialogue, Dean was in the kitchen cheerfully cooking breakfast. He had his phone on, blasting Led Zeppelin, and he was currently waiting for Sam to return from his daily jog. As the toast popped up, Dean heard the familiar
Upon this realization, Castiel couldn't help but giggle a slight bit to himself. He had just discovered another astonishing thing about Dean. Something else that was just so adorable and lovable. Something as simple as a love of food, but because it was Dean, that love was multiplied tenfold and allowed an angel to taste otherwise tasteless items. It was almost laughable to think about, someone loving food so much that they could cause others to love it as well.
Dark shadows were flying above it and a massive black cloud was hovering over the entirety of his headspace.
But dammit it was this idiocy and passion for his family that had drawn Castiel to Dean. It was why he fell in love with the human. It was his flaws but deep love for people that made Cas fall in love. A mighty angel of the lord, in love with a mere human. It was laughable to think about, but Cas couldn't deny any of his feelings. They were there and they were staying whether he professed them or not.
The last time he saw Dean was in that room. He was confessing his true feelings to Dean and the feeling of contentment that he had at just saying it. Just telling the hunter that he had fallen in love with him was enough to bring him true happiness. A happiness that trumped the fear of The Empty. A pure and true love that had cultivated for over twelve years, ever since he gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition.
"What do you mean? I just thought that we could have a little celebration now that all of us are together again. Well, not really, Dean's still resting, but we're all here in spirit. Besides, I need to be eating a lot to restore Dean's physique to what it once was."
"Yes, you are correct. However, I felt something pulling at me. I-I was asleep and dreaming when I felt it. It was a very strong sensation and it ripped my consciousness awake. I don't really know how else to describe it." Castiel slowly replied. His brow crinkled as he tried to remember what had happened.
Sam watched expectantly as Dean's fresh eyes opened and adjusted to their surroundings. He watched as Dean slowly sat up from the bed and swiveled his head around. He watched as Dean's eyes widened in shock as he saw Castiel and Jack standing together. He just hoped that Dean's mind wouldn't be too far gone, or if it was, it would at least be able to be somewhat fixed.
Jack's self-deprecating monologue abruptly ceased as the conversation continued between the three of them. He stopped thinking about it, but he could still feel the pricks of his doubt towards himself in the back of his head.
And with that, a giant flash of light appeared. A rift. Right in front of his eyes. Dean's eyes lit up in shock but joy and he smiled towards the sky. Then, in his hands appeared a small vial and an angel blade. Dean's face grimaced as he realized what he needed to do. But that grimace would soon disappear as he stepped through the rift.
Dean straightened his arms and rubbed his legs. He would have to stretch his appendages out later. Those suckers were as tight as his ass was in a pair of shorts.
All rhyme and reason flew out the window then. Red spot danced in Man #1 and #2's eyes. Not wanting to forget this moment, Man #1 swiftly set up his camera and PornHub Live account. Castiel watched with mild interest, not caring about anything else other than ridding his body of the heat that had built up in it. They immediately they retook the same positions, Man #2 with his dick in Castiel's mouth and Man #1 at the back. But before he penetrated, he asked, "Lube?"
It had been so long since Dean had actual sanity in his head that he could barely remember anything about the "real world." Yes, he remembered Sam. Of course he remembered Sam. Sam was his brother.
It continued to spread throughout his body, warming his bones and spreading a feeling of peace to his festered mind. He sank into it and basked in its glory. Such warmth was welcoming after the biting coldness he had experienced for a lifetime.
Hot tears started streaming down his face as he made eye contact with the fake Sam in his fake world, not the real Sam in the real world.
As if to prove this point, Dean let off a mournful howl. Not a howl like a werewolf would do at the moon or a dog at a siren, no this was a howl filled with sorrow and depression that only a broken hearted person could make.
Castiel couldn't deny that he was disappointed. Years upon years of sacrifice, pining, eye-fucking, pain, and everything else lovers could go through had all passed like the snap of a finger. But Dean never noticed. He never looked at Castiel twice. It was just in his nature. Castiel had seen that in his soul. He had seen everything the man he loved had to offer. Still, it was very disappointing.
They took Dean's pistol out of his waistline and shot him repeatedly in the head and appendages, cackling in elation.
Castiel sat beside Sam in the middle and Jack on the other side. He set both of his hands to Sam and Jack's shoulders and looked at the both of them. Upon seeing their nods of approval, he let out a deep breath.
He felt the prick of needles as they pierced his skin and threaded through with string attached to them
At first, early in the night, they had been testing the waters. They had met at a gay bar by chance. Castiel was looking for some fun because he was mad at Dean, and with no other outlet to vent his anger he just wanted some angry sex with some guys. When the three of them met, sparks immediately flew. Man #1 and Man #2 were obviously no strangers to one night stands, and Castiel wasn't exactly a virgin himself, but the threat of STDs and AIDs hung over the over two, while Castiel pondered on what sex would be like with a male in his male vessel.
Not much could be concluded from seeing the crime scene that wasn't already stated in the article. The husband had been killed, the wife's tongue ripped out, and the kids taken away. The wife was traumatized beyond belief, it seemed that even thinking of the event caused her body to shut down.
Cas picked Dean up, who was still a limp ragdoll. In a gruff voice filled with sorrow he explained the situation to Sam and Jack.
Immediately, his throat loosened and he could manage to pull in giant gasps of air. He sat up and started panting hard.
Sam nodded understandingly. He was just glad that Castiel was around to help. If he hadn't mysteriously appeared a few days ago, then he and Jack would probably have had no idea how to handle Dean. But Cas knew how to perfectly, and Sam would be eternally grateful to his best friend for always being there for them through the thick and thin.
Jack and Sam nodded solemnly and they set out to fix up the spare bedroom. They feared that if they used Dean's, he would tear it up and destroy everything in it. That would crush him even more.
"So do we have any idea where these vampires might be?" He asked. "I'm sure we could take care of them rather quickly."
"Cas, come on. I'm goddamn glad you're back man, but what happened? Did you make another deal? If you did you gotta tell me. You can't hide stuff like that from us! We gotta know so we can help you."
Overcome with grief and despair, Dean couldn't handle it. It took every bit of willpower just to stand up and get in the Impala. He couldn't go on. He was so lost and depressed. Castiel was gone. Forever. Dead. No longer with him or Sam or... Anyone.
"I would advise against that. Dean locked his soul away because he knew that he wouldn't be able to face reality in a sane way. He locked it away along with all the trauma he's experienced. And I mean all of it. He's reverted back to his state of mind that he possessed over a decade ago. All the pain he's felt all these years in Hell, Purgatory, and Earth, all of that's been buried away."
"I'll be fine. Relax. I'm begging you, just ten minutes of some alone time to get my thoughts together. Then you can come in and do whatever."
Sam let the last words stretch out and opened his hands as he waited expectantly for an answer from his newly resurrected brother. This was the moment of truth. Now, they would see if their hard efforts paid off and if Dean was mentally stable again. Dean stretched out again with a loud groan, but he sputtered as he processed what his brother had just said.
The next few days passed in a quick but pleasant blur. Castiel continued to make meals for the three of them while enjoying everyone's company. After spending so long in The Empty, physical interaction that wasn't anything from a past regret was a definite welcome change. He was just glad to be out and enjoying life.
"So? There's nothing to erupt. Yeah, I got some shit to deal with, but we all do. Just because I was a monster meatbag for a while doesn't mean that I'm helpless. Listen Sam, I'm fine. Really."
Castiel agreed and he and Dean watched as Sam and Jack trudged away. The tension and anxiety in the air grew and nearly smothered the two of them. It wasn't that things were awkward, it was just that there was so much the two of them needed to talk about, but neither of them knew where to start.
Man #1 needed no more persuasion. With no holding back, he fully inserted his 7" dick in Castiel's unprepared ass, fully popping his anal cherry.
Sam dressed in his FBI suit, grabbed his and Castiel's fake badges, and they headed out on their first case.
And now? Because of his inability to process even the simplest of emotions, Cas was gone. Cas was gone and Dean had done nothing to even try to stop it or even reciprocate Cas's confession. He had done nothing. He should've reached up, taken that angel's face in his hands, and given him a giant smooch on his dry and sexy lips before he was taken. It was obvious by now that was what they both wanted, but Dean couldn't even think of doing that while Cas was being taken. He couldn't think of anything. But now that the love of his life was gone, it was all that Dean could think about.
It was silently hovering over the beaten figure of past Dean. Just a small blue speck that would have been missed by any other lower angel.
Castiel decided to skip over visiting this part of the memories. He would not invade Dean's privacy like that and drag Sam and Jack along to witness. That would be pure cruelness to them and the hunter's head. And besides, he knew that Dean's soul wouldn't be residing there. How did he know this? He had no clue. He just did.
And Gwynth was possessing the form of an average-looking brunette. But even in a vessel, Castiel instantly recognized her.
He lustily licked his lips and rubbed his meat between Castiel's ass, teasing the opening. He felt satisfied as Castiel twitched and shuddered in pleasure, but unable to say anything due to the cock lodged in his mouth.
He was so busy enjoying his new tastebuds and adoration for Dean that he didn't even notice the three fuddled hunters staring at him. When he did, he paused mid-chew from a massive bite from another hamburger, hands locked in the motion. Sam smiled and started laughing.
If you want to follow my stan Twitter and witness my ramblings and also see what I'm procrastinating on instead of doing this then go ahead
Sam's mouth was left agape. He covered it with his hand and then his other hand came up and he found he was crying. Tears leaked down his face and he sobbed as he realized what he had done that night. He had left Dean alone with dad. And dad had beaten Dean for no reason. Dean had tried to defend Sam, tell him that it wasn't Sam's fault that he wanted to leave, but John hadn't listened. All he heard was his own rage towards life and made Dean his personal punching bag.
But Dean was such a stubborn fuckhead like their father. He refused to be helped by anyone and instead forced himself to shoulder all his burdens with absolutely no assistance like a fucking idiot. It seemed at times that they were mirror images of each other. Sam wished with all his heart that Dean wouldn't have grown up to resemble John, but he couldn't deny the facts.
"While I can understand what you're implying, I really don't think that I could have sexual intercourse with a hamburger, Sam." He stated matter-of-factly, not really paying attention to his words.
The facts hit Castiel like a brick. He was the one who had caused Dean to run away and be captured and tortured by monsters. It was his fault. And all because he wanted to go out in a way that would be remembered.
They were transported into a place sometime in the future with John loading the Impala with monster hunting weapons. Dean watched with mild curiosity. Castiel and Jack hurridly pulled adult Sam up and supported his weight, but he pushed them away with a simple "I'm fine." Jack and Cas looked at each other sorrowfully, but soon went back to watching young Dean and John interact.
Castiel set the pitchers down and untied the apron from his waist. It was still pristinly white. He gently folded it up and set it back in the kitchen on its hangar. When he returned and saw Sam, Jack, and Eileen all passing the plates around and laughing joyfully, he couldn't help but feel a warm feeling spreading throughout his chest.
"Dean's mental state is extremely fragile right now. It has been since he woke up - even if he wouldn't admit it." Castiel continued.
Castiel was so lost in his thoughts that he failed to notice Dean's eyes fluttering open. He also failed to notice when Dean slowly rose from the bed and crept up behind the angel. When he finally noticed Dean, it was too late. Dean appeared in front of him with a stupid grin on his face.
To Castiel however, Dean's Hell was a familiar sight. He had seen all of Dean's memories and past regrets when he raised him from Perdition, so he knew everything Dean had experienced. But... They still hurt him so. He hated witnessing them, especially since he knew that Dean had suffered even more since these events that had happened years and years ago. It seemed that even Dean's time in Hell itself wasn't as prominent as recent events.
When he wasn't driving, he was at bars. Women came up to him, told him he looked terrible, that he needed a nice night to take the edge off his life. But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything but drink and drink and drink... Not even a woman could take his mind off the sorrow and guilt he felt.
I still want to die I had so much and I had to type it all againn...........and i forgot half of what i wrote..... So sad im literally crying im so sorry I hope it's legible I kinda wrote this in a fit of anger
Another moan escaped his throat as Man #1 began stroking his beading cock. Precum seemed to explode from it as he gasped in ectasy and black dots spotted his vision.
"I don't know how we'll even begin to fix this. But for now we need to find Dean's soul and bring him back to the surface." He stated.
Sam sighed as he and Castiel entered the Impala again. In all honesty, this didn't seem like a case at all, maybe just a deranged killer. He looked towards Castiel.
Castiel and Jack were relatively ready though, and they restrained Dean as he started to flail in the bed. Jack pressed his palm to his forehead, but Dean continued to scream murder. He pressed harder, and a faint yellow light entered Dean's head and he calmed down a little. Jack slowly removed his hand and Dean started screaming again.
He felt his consciousness rousing. Amongst the thoughts, he sighed. He knew that he wouldn't be himself. He just hoped that somehow Sam could rescue him.
He pushed the gut-wrenching pain down and focused on the conversation at hand. He would focus on his own feelings later. Right now, healing Dean and his body were priority.
They witnessed this scene unfold in silent horror as Dean began choking and hacking in the dark. He could feel the fear and pain radiating from him as he was forced to endure this terrible night alone.
It was ready, but were they? Most likely not but it's not like they had the time to mentally prepare themselves. Every second wasted was a second that Dean's soul was evaporating. There was literally no time to waste.
But Dean couldn't feel nor hear anything. All he did was continue to cry. And he did so for the remainder of the night.
Even if Castiel was in Dean's body, it still was Castiel. He was still his father and the angel that had saved his life on numerous occasions. There was no reason for him to feel uncomfortable at all.
"I think it wouldn't hurt to check out. And honestly, I'm getting a little bored from all this sitting around. Might as well do something."
Castiel gripped his head tightly, a head-splitting migraine overtook him, but Sam failed to notice once again. He was too preoccupied with the potential monsters the masked killers could be. And as soon as it started, the pain stopped.
Before she could protest, he thrusted the Angel Blade into her right eye and watched in grim satisfaction as she died, hopefully a painful death like she deserved.
about reciprocating Castiel's feelings!" Boian threw his head back and laughed a cruel, cruel laugh.
suppressing his emotions like a robot. He understood that Dean didn't want to talk about them and he understood how vulnerable it made him feel, but godammit he couldn't bury everything forever! He needed to talk or vent or do something that would make him feel better, and not just bottle all his feelings up like he usually did.
In order to get Dean back to full health and leave him with a fully functioning body, he would have to bulk up himself. He had full control over Dean's digestive system, and he knew the extent of what he could and couldn't eat. He probably should have stuck with simple foods, but he felt like he could spoil himself a little and munch on a hamburger or two. Besides, he didn't even technically have to use the bathroom as an angel. His own anatomy confused him at times, but at least it came in handy. He could eat solid foods and not suffer any repercussions like a normal human suffering from malnourishment would. Call it a luxury or a crutch, but that's what it was.
He ripped his eyes away and tried to mute out the sound of Dean's continual screaming through the thread. It was incredibly hard, but he relented and screamed at the other two.
The vampire noticed and took this chance. Using all of its mass and momentum, it punched Castiel right on the side of the temple. As the angel crumpled, it tore off its mask and sank its dagger-like teeth into the angel's neck, spewing crimson blood all over.
"Alright, I'm not even gonna ask how this happened. First of all, Cas." At the mention of the angel's name, his eyes slightly lit up in happiness. "How in the world are you alive? I... I saw you being k-killed. Right in front of me. I thought I was never gonna get you back."
Jack came up behind and peered over the angel's shoulder as they quickly scrolled through the article together. It described in vivid detail the murder of a family man, who was stabbed in the back in his own house. It also described how the wife was later found, bleeding and on the verge of death. Her tongue had also been cut off.
At first, it was only a slight hitching in his breath. Something so simple. He choked up a little, but it wasn't anything too concerning. He had been choked by both monsters and people before. He could handle a little bit of lost air.
He gently took Dean's hand in his own. The hunter's still frame flinched a little, but his face remained stoic. Castiel slowly shook his head and brought Dean's hand up to his forehead.
He loaded Castiel into the backseat and as soon as everyone else filed in, he started racing back towards the motel, cursing his incompetence all the way.
Castiel smiled back somberly and shut the door. Jack and Eileen followed suit and got in the backseat. During Dean and Castiel's absences, the two of them had gotten quite close, and even more so with their extended time together. In fact, with Jack's extensive knowledge of the universe, he found that he learned ASL very easily, and he and Eileen had in depth conversations together a lot. Sam was always overjoyed to see the two of them getting along, and he would join in sometimes, the three of them having jolly talks together about life.
Did Dean feel the same way? God, Cas wished he did. But he probably didn't. But Cas was okay with that. He was okay watching from the sidelines. As long as Dean was happy and safe, Castiel would be content.
And Jack did. Every single detail Castiel described and more, he imagined. He realized how much he missed the Impala and Dean. He missed the old days, just casually hunting, the four of them. Tears pricked his eyes as he remembered.
He put his fingers to Dean's head and felt the familiar whispers and screams of Dean's internal trauma. He cursed outloud as he realized that somehow Dean had locked the memories away to cope. He wasn't soulless, in fact he was quite himself and alright without the memories, but somehow he had easily unearthed them and was now facing the repercussions.
Man #1 started out slow, not being so mean as to make Castiel bleed on his first time having something up his ass. But the feeling of Castiel's tight ass around his bulging cock slowly made him forget about going slow. He gradually picked up the speed, balls slapping against his taint and Castiel's asscheeks. He searched for the prostate, and faintly began directing his pumps towards it.
that you know what I feel about you? Huh? Well then if you're so goddamn smart and responsible then how the fuck did your brother leave?"
When Jack and Sam left, Castiel turned to face Dean who was still sitting stupidly on the bed, a somewhat glazed look on his eyes.
Sam's exasperation grew along with his fear. Would Dean actually be stuck like this forever? When Sam was released from the Cage and Castiel let the wall down that was in his mind, Sam certainly knew what it felt like to be batshit insane from the horrific thoughts. He knew better than anyone. But he never realized how frustrating it was to be on the other side. The one who could see all of this happening to a person he loved, but yet not being able to do anything. He now understood why Dean had let Gadreel in. At the time, it seemed like he didn't have a choice.
Past Sam returned quite a while later and present Sam wanted to punch him in his stupid face so hard. Look! Your brother literally just had a panic attack and you don't give a shit! What the fuck is wrong with you just go over there and ask if he's alright. See! He's still shaking right across from you why don't you turn around you fucking IDIOT!
And so, as a memoriam, he put his handprint there. This wasn't at all necessary. He already had Dean's body rebuilt and fully functioning, all the internal scars and external bruises were gone. But he couldn't just leave the soul without leaving some sort of imprint on it. Something to remind himself and Dean that he was the one that rescued him. He was the angel that gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition. Castiel. The angel of Thursday.
"Dean, you literally said that a week ago. Look, I know you're grieving for Cas, we all are, but you're ruining your health in the process."
Sam shrugged and pulled out his phone. He texted Eileen a few key details they found out. Her response was immediate.
Sam was about to say something but his blood ran cold as he heard Dean's heartbreaking words after he had left. "I'm so lonely." He was so goddamn stupid. Why had he left? Why was he so stupid? Why couldn't he see how fragile Dean was? He had broken his own brother and hadn't even realized it.
He and Jack looked at each other in frightened panic and hastily set the bags down and ran throughout the Bunker, trying to figure out where the other two residents were and why they weren't answering.
But the shadow of his father only stared in disappointment, silent. Somehow this was even worse than being physically beaten.
The guilt filled Sam's mind. Sure, he knew that he could not have stopped Dean no matter how hard he tried. But he should have done something more. If he had just asked or pestered or done
When Sam, Castiel, and Jack found the Impala, they found that it'd been destroyed beyond recognition. Claws, bite marks, and just about anything you can imagine a monster doing had happened. Sam stifled a sob as he ran towards it.
"Well, actually... The angel can stay. I want to chat with him a bit, if ya don't mind." He winked at Castiel with his usual flirty vigor and stared daggers at Sam and Jack.
The pain came back. The burning pain that was all over his body. Then the pain became more prominent in his left lung and he felt the familiar sensation of sharp and deadly claws piercing through the flesh.
And he did. For the next 10 years and beyond, that's what he did. No matter how much it hurt, or how awkward the situation, he always hid them.
"Well, not exactly. But we can't just let all of his trauma out. That would be disasterous Sam. It would break him."
But as soon as it had happened, the darkness withdrew. Dean went back to smiling happily at them. Then his gaze shifted to Castiel. His eyebrows knitted together in thought, but then a wicked idea formed in his head and his face broadened into a grin.
"Sit. Stay." He barked out. Sam and Cas struggled, but he was too powerful. They couldn't move at all.
"Alright then, let's go right now and get you suited up. I'm sure that we can work something out with a tailor."
Sam approached with a small pair of scissors. He gently nudged Castiel away and stooped over Dean's ripped and mangled face. He gulped in fear and utter horror, but he set to work cutting off all the thread. He took great care in carefully cutting the thread and pulling it away. He started with the mouth, slowly snipping and pulling. Wet sounds emerged from the process, but Sam bit down his disgust.
The angel panicked as he recalled the events that had led up to this moment. He had been knocked out cold by a vampire after another one of those head-splitting migraines. He assumed he was still unconscious, and he was inside his and Dean's head.
Gwynth used her angel blade and carved out Dean's eyes like someone would a pumpkin. She laughed as his gurgled screams echoed in the basement. Then Boian approached with needle and thread and sewed his eyelids open so that they would never close again. They would remain gaping holes of pain and hopelessness. Then he sewed the mouth shut so that it would never scream again.
But it was like Jack was ignoring him for some reason. Dean couldn't figure out why but he just wished that he could get some sort of explanation as to what was happening. Did Sam somehow get a hold of Jack? If so why didn't he tell Dean? Dean groaned and rolled over in his bed, staring at the other lamp on the other side of the bed. The lamp that Castiel used when they would read silently together or watch a movie. Dean rubbed the empty side of the bed and smiled. It was so obvious wasn't it? It was so obvious to everyone but himself. And he hated how blind he was. He hated himself as the tears spilled from his eyes as he stared at the empty bed, the turned off lamp, and everything else that reminded him of Cas in his own bedroom. He was in love with his best friend, Castiel, and he couldn't do anything to get him back.
It was hard to tell. Castiel had never dealt with seizures before, but he couldn't tell what Dean was going through. It was very possible that he could have developed seizures during the time he was being held captive, as his brain had suffered enough damage to go through that. But if that was a seizure, then why would it occur after he and Jack had fixed his brain. Did they happen to miss a spot?
"Well, not exactly." Sam replied. "Listen Dean. I can't get into detail about this but you need to get back on your feet. Please." Sam pleaded. Dean's eyebrows squinted in confusion and he slightly tilted his head.
He searched for Dean's soul, but it wasn't there. Upon this realization, Jack started panicking. If the soul had gone up to Heaven, then he would've felt it. But it hadn't. So where was his soul now?
The old and creaky bed rattled and shuddered under the weight of the three grown men. An overhead light bounced up and down as the room jostled. A small and wet-looking picture frame fell to the carpeted ground, landing silently. Grunts of exertion and pleasure echoed throughout the sparse room. A crappy little camera lay nestled in the corner, supported by a thin tripod and hooked up to a dingy laptop, which was livestreaming to PornHub Gay.
Sam rushed forward and tried to grab his choking brother, but his hands passed through. He groaned and pulled at his hair in a death grip. How the fuck was Dean having a panic attack? He had never had one before so what the fuck had happened now? Were his abandonment issues so severe that he had developed an anxiety and panic disorder? What the actual fuck? Why did Dean have to hide everything about himself?
Dean made a promise to himself. He would return. Even if he was fucked up in the head, he would somehow make it out. After all, he had to see Cas again and ask how the fuck he was still alive.
Some time later, the Bunker's front door barged open and Jack and Sam came in, towing large grocery bags.
Castiel nodded and gently took Jack's hands into Dean's calloused ones. The feeling was oh, so strange. The once strong and handsome fingers were now taunt and thin. They had no strength to them, as if a gust of wind could easily break the bones inside. He would have to be extremely careful to not put any sort of physical exertion on Dean's broken body.
"Yes I know. I wouldn't ask if we weren't desperate, but we are. Please Jack. Just a little bit." Castiel begged.
But as soon as he said those words, his green eyes shifted to Castiel's still form, trenchcoat, tie, and all. He tried to open his mouth and form words, but only stutters of shock escaped. Cas?
Sam made a quick mental note to never let Dean's soul leave his body. That is, if he ever returned to them.
Jack took Castiel's response as an indication of him to start. He took a deep breath and started with the most burning question he had.
Sam straightened up and Cas pulled his blade out. They all ran over to Dean and Jack. All of them were very shaken up by Boian's speech, but they needed to get back to the Bunker. Castiel nodded towards Jack, unfurled his wings, and zapped all of them back.
And so Dean was forced to fall back into the darkness, but he couldn't have had the satisfaction of having Castiel. Even for just one night.
Now the three of them were standing at the foot of Dean's bed again, waiting for him to either wake up or remain like this forever. Even Jack couldn't tell what was going on inside of his head.
Sam had wanted to ask what had happened while they were gone, and why Dean and Cas were so close to each other, but he thought against it. Something had happened and they had obviously shared an intimate moment. He didn't want to break the fragile relationship, especially that they needed each other now more than ever. Logically he guessed that they had kissed or something. It was about damn time.
The three of them were hurled back into the main darkness. They stood there for a long time, trying to process what they had just witnessed. Dean? Panic attacks? Dean Winchester suffering from something as horrific as anxiety? Why hadn't they noticed sooner?
He continued to stare as more questions arose inside his head. Everytime he tried to remember something, all he pulled up was a black slate of nothing and fuzziness coupled with static images. Nothing he did gained any sort of recollection towards what had happened. No one would even tell him how long he was out of it. It could have been a week, it could have a month, hell it could've been a year and he had no idea.
To be honest, he just needed an excuse to get out. Take a drive. Take his mind off of life. Ohio was hours away, and a road trip sounded enticing.
But it left him puzzled as to how he woke up. Someone had prayed to him, someone in such grief that it had enough power to wake him up. Immediately, his mind went to the Winchester brothers and Jack.
After cutting the hair and repeating the same process as he did with the thread, Sam stood awkwardly by Jack and Castiel, who were still concentrating immensely on Dean. He nervously fiddled in the corner.
Castiel approached and ran his hands over the black exterior. He too missed the vehicle. It seemed that the majority of drama in his life happened in this small space. Heated arguments, thoughtful conversations, heartfelt apologies... Many words had been said in this space.
He did though. Remember when he left you to go off to prissy college? He left you behind with dad to continue your life without him because he didn't care. He doesn't care. He didn't care when he left you. He didn't care when dad hit you. He didn't care when he walked out of that door and you begged him to stay. He's never cared about you Dean. Just accept it.
I'm so so so s o o o ooo sorry the chapters are like not coming as often as I'd like and for the fact that this one is so late that my dad returned with the milk. A good friend of mine got into a fatal accident a month ago and I just really couldn't focus on writing. But they're fine now and everything's going smoothly regarding their health and recovery.
A haunting sound that he had hoped to hear one day. He, Jack, and Eileen were silently seated at the map table, poring over research about angels, demons, reapers, Death, and anything else relating to The Empty, all of them needing to get Cas and Dean back. This was pretty much their only routine they had been desperately trying to do ever since that drastic day 8 months ago. 8 months ago when Castiel was presumed dead and Dean ran away. 8 months with nothing but a few cases here and there and desperate spells, rituals, and just about anything else on the Earth trying to track down a dead angel and an AWOL hunter.
And with this Jack relayed everything that had happened since Castiel was taken. From the entire Earth being poofed out of existence, to Lucifer and Michael and Michael's ultimate betrayal, and finally how he absorbed God's power. Then he described the feeling of destruction in his own mind and how he needed to seal away all of his powers before he acted on them.
Jack listened as the heavy footsteps of the angel slowly faded away. His gaze shifted towards Dean and he sat down on the warm chair where Castiel had been. He stared at the man's unmoving figure and let his own thoughts flow freely.
"I need you, Cas. I need your help and I have no idea why I'm like this, but I know that I need you to help me. It's pretty obvious that something damn bad happened, even if I don't know. So I'm gonna need everything from the beginning, probably starting as to what happened with Billie."
Ever since that disaster of a love confession, and the turmoil that had followed, Dean's mindset was not in the right place. First of all, even after so much that he, Cas, and Sam had gone through, the end for Cas was just to be taken by some black slimy goo and just be a little bitch for The Empty. That was just plain wrong. Dean had realized this upon much self reflection. These past weeks had been ample time for him to process his feelings, and realize just how much Cas meant to he and Sam. Cas had been with them for years. In a way, Cas had watched Sam and Dean grow into the people they were today. Cas was with them through so much, and asked for so little in return. Sure, the little fucker had made a ton of mistakes that had dearly cost everyone, and he had been a dumbass for the majority of his life on earth, but that was Cas's charm. It was him. Everyone makes mistakes, even angels of The Lord. And even if he made more mistakes than others, those mistakes were made in the best interest of everyone. Cas never had any ill intentions when he made these decisions. Dean had just been too headstrong to see what was happening behind the layers. He now realized that he had hurt Cas so many times over the years, and never once had he uttered a word of apology. Even after The Rupture, Dean still hadn't made up to Cas, all that happened was some marriage counseling bullshit and then they were fine again.
Sam shrugged his shoulders and rapped his long fingers on the table. Ohio was quite a ways away, but it wouldn't hurt to check it out. Besides, not gonna lie, it was getting kinda stuffy. Sure, it was time for a well-needed break, and it was very fun and relaxing, but Sam needed to get out and do something. He felt antsy at times with nothing to do, and with the everlasting burden of Dean on his mind, well. He just needed a quiet distraction from their present situation. This was their only lead for a case in a while, so it wouldn't hurt to check out.
"We came to a consensus. I would possess his body and help him recover externally while he would rest and focus on healing internally."
Castiel was then seized with panic and he set his fingers to Dean's forehead, pouring grace into them and watching as Dean's panicked eyes finally relaxed and he stopped moving.
Dean continued to sip on the chicken broth Sam had bought. It definitely wasn't a burger, but he knew better than to stuff greasy food into a malnourished body. Besides, the stock was well seasoned with salt so it didn't taste too bad. And coupled with the saltine crackers? This could've been a gourmet meal it was that good.
Castiel tore his gaze from the shadows swimming above them to look at Sam and Jack, whose faces were still stuck in the sky.
He wasn't entirely wrong. Castiel easily dodged and sidestepped the vampire's movements. It was the biggest of the bunch and thus the slowest. Castiel extended his palm and was about to finish the job when it hit again. He let out a cry of pain and fell to his knees. An ear-splitting headache hit him again, at the worst moment possible. He gripped his head and grit his teeth at his vulnerability. Why was this happening? Was it Dean trying to wake up? A scream escaped his mouth as he bent over, immobilized by the sheer pain of his head.
Castiel exited the kitchen, bringing out a tall pitcher of lemonade and another of ice cold water. He looked quizically at Sam, not wondering what the problem was.
Sorry for longer chapter that's mostly filler! But I think it fit in well to the overall theme of Dean being a chaotic depressed bean so I'm keeping it in. Much love my fellow destihellers who can't escape this goddamn show <3333
Dean grabbed his head as he started to shake with the stress of remembrance. But he held on. He had to.
Well now all those points would be thrown out the window. Dean was gone now. For 8 months at that. Castiel glared at Sam, but he knew in his heart that even if Sam knew that Dean was going to go missing, despite Sam's protests and attempts to stop him, Dean would have gone anyway. If Dean wanted something, he would go to the ends of the Earth to find it. Cas hated that side of Dean, but again, it was his childish side. The side of him that was never allowed to grow up.
"But Cas you aren't useless. You're literally always there for us through the thick and thin. Hell, you're helping right now by being here for Dean. You've always been there for us, and while Dean and I don't say it all the time, we appreciate it." Sam said thoughtfully.
They arrived at the spacious garage and Sam inspected the numerous vehicles that inhabited the closeted space. He dearly missed the Impala, but it was gone with no way of getting it back. For now, he would just pick out a spacious, vintage car and have them travel in it. He was just about to pick out a vintage Cadillac before Jack stopped him.
"Its face was one of annoyance and desperation. It asked why I was awake again after it had JUST finished putting the rest of the angels and demons to sleep after Jack woke everyone up. To which I said I need to go back and find everyone. Then it tried to put me back to sleep, but I resisted." Cas paused for a moment and pricked his thoughts, trying his hardest to remember what had happened in that miserable plane of existence.
And the children? They had been kidnapped and whisked off somewhere unknown. Castiel and Jack read through the gritty story with grim faces. Was this their type of thing or just a sadistic murderer?
"What's up Space Cowboy?" He asked with that familiar smirk and the way his eyes lit up and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles and- Castiel just stared at him in shock.
Upon seeing Dean in such a submissive and pitiable state, John sighed in anger. He stepped on his son's unmoving body and growled harsh words in his ear.
Well, it was now or never. If he hesitated too long, then he would probably say no later on and regret that.
But before Cas could finish his sentence, Dean sat up and grabbed Castiel's face. Then his lips crashed into his and Dean fell on top of him and they toppled to the floor. The hunter's arms wrapped around the angel's shoulders as they were locked together in a passionate kiss.
"Thanks bud. I have no idea why you're giving me the silent treatment, but just know that I'm not mad at you at all. I'm sure you think that somehow I'm incredibly pissed, which to be honest, is normal for me. But I'm not. So you can keep being mad and silent all you want, but you don't have to be because I'm not mad."
Sam rushed over and held Castiel/Dean's face in his hands. A giant knot was forming where he was punched, and his neck was bleeding profusely.
They were plunged back into the darkness. After watching Dean spiral into a deep depression after Castiel and Mary's previous deaths, the three of them were just about ready to give up, but a thought hit Castiel. With a little vigor, he continued to sift through Dean's memories until he came across the second most recent traumatic one. Watching Castiel being taken and not being able to do or say anything. Cas gulped and headed towards it, but he thought of something. Would Dean want this? Would Dean want Castiel poking around his head and revealing his deepest, darkest secrets to everyone? Cas pondered on this for a moment but thought better of it. They were already at the point of no return. Dean would complain, but this was the only way they could fix him.
And then they evolved. They shaped and morphed into the truest regrets that he had harbored ever since he raised Dean from perdition. Abandoning Heaven. Working with demons, namely Crowley. Killing other angels, his brothers. Hurting the Winchester brothers. He had so, so many regrets that he couldn't name them all even if he wanted to. It was these regrets that had hurt his grace over all these years. Everything he had ever done had weighed down so much on his mind.
"My name is Castiel, and you're Sam Winchester. You're in love with Eileen Leahy and Jack is my surrogate son." There was a slight pause before he continued, "Dean loves old western films and one time he made me watch "Tombstone" with him. It was an enjoyable movie, just historically inaccurate."
That's not what Sam is. Sam is his brother. Sam loves him. Sam just wanted a happy life away from hunting, which he deserved. No one deserves the hunting life. Sam threw away everything to be with his brother. Sam didn't leave him. Sam is here to stay forever.
Sam stared at the same spot Castiel had punched earlier and wanted to punch it too. Why was Dean like this? He was always hiding his pain and torment from everyone else.
After Castiel had called them over to eat, the three other residents were absolutely baffled at the cuisine Castiel had procured. Sam especially, as he had rarely seen Cas even set foot into the kitchen, nevertheless cook. Apparently though, he had gotten practice somewhere, and now he could cook almost flawlessly, as shown by the delicious spread set before them.
Besides, Castiel was dead. Unless he miraculously came back from The Empty somehow, the love of his life was dead. He had seen with his own two eyes the black tendrils reaching through and pulling him in. He was dead.
The other angels parted as Dean led Castiel to the rift. Some were trying to get through, but The Shadow was blocking the way. It had manifested in the form of Dean and spoke with a jolly Boston accent.
Sure, he had his wings back, but in all honesty he was burning through his finite amount of grace at an exponential pace. When he returned from The Empty, he wasn't at his full power, and healing Dean drained him of nearly everything he had. He was using the little that remained to focus on healing Dean's body. So basically, without the wordplay, he was far from being at full power.
He could eat food now. An angel could now actually enjoy the taste and texture of human food, something that he normally couldn't even dream of.
In a nutshell, he and Cas needed each other. Cas had professed his love to Dean, and Dean, oblivious to even the smallest forms of affection, had wasted his chance. When Cas was being taken by The Empty, all he could do was watch and utter out a few words to his angel. And then after he was taken, all he could do was sit down and cry because of his stupidity and failure to recognize the situation. He should have acted. He should have done something except stand there like a dumbass. But what could he do? His best friend was being taken to be killed, all while confessing. Dean's mind had been a massive jumble of how to save Cas, how to react to this, what was happening to Sam and Jack, how could they get Billie to die, and Cas's deal that he made with The Empty? There was just so much to process at that moment that Dean couldn't do anything but just merely attempt to process anything.
more then maybe Dean wouldn't have left. Or he wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. Or just something else could have happened other than this. If only he had asked Jack to use his powers sooner or just summoned another angel or...
"If you don't mind, I would like to stay here. I would go, but I would like to do more research. Besides, I don't know Dean that well. I think he would be happier seeing all of you."
"We can't lost hope though. He's relatively stable now. I will do my best to nourish his body and improve his external health while I'm in possession of his body. You and Sam have done all you can for the moment. Now, I'm the one that has to do the rest."
Working on revising everything! Chaps 1-4 should be somewhat readable now that I'm finally a little bit sober and can coherently write (not really it's still shitty writing because I actually have the brain cell of a wet carrot but at least it gets the point across)
To be honest, Castiel had never felt so safe in his life. Here he was, no threat of angelic attacks or random Winchester accusations in sight, but instead two beefy hunks who were giving him everything he had ever wanted. What had started as a drunken triad between the three attractive dudes had quickly evolved into a boiling hot and messy threesome of wet makeouts and the sounds of slapping skin.
"You're not fine! You're the exact opposite of fine! You almost died and you're saying don't worry about it. How do you expect us to do that?"
Then that evolved into the heartbeats. They were too loud, erratic. They beat in his eardrums like gunshots. Dean covered his ears, trying to dull out the sound, but it was his own heart. He couldn't stop it.
"It finally relented and I found myself in Kansas City. I also had my wings back, which was a surprise, but a welcome one nonetheless."
That's what the memories did. They flooded his brain and overwhelmed and destroyed everything he had carefully built up in the short time period since he was awake.
Dean let out a low groan as he awoke from his slumber. He stretched while his back creaked and popped and his hands clenched. He looked up at his three friends and squinted his eyes as he processed the situation. Upon remembering a few of the things that had just happened, and feeling the rushing intensity of a hangover-like feeling, he let out another groan.
Sam poignantly recalled these points as they talked in hushed voices amongst themselves. Castiel offered some of his own thoughts as well as Jack, but they couldn't figure out why or how Dean was in that state of mind, and they certainly had no idea to relay the news of everything that had happened to him.
A sharp pulling in his own mind. A very sharp pang that had malicious intent. A pull that wanted him to snap his fingers and erase everything. It was God's power. It was God's consciousness telling him to just get rid of everything and start anew - write a new draft. Throw out the old.
EDIT: OMFG THE SCRIPTS!!!!!!!! the scripts-? THE SCRIPTS! DEAN IS STILL BEAUTIFUL AND I HAVE BEEN SENT INTO SPACE I CAN'T HANDLE THIS CASTIEL THINKS DEAN IS BEAUTIFUL I CAN"T b RE A THE
"He's here. He's definitely here. But his soul is so faint that it's almost impossible to detect." He breathed out. Castiel and Sam's faces grimaced in concern and they split up to try to find Dean Winchester. Castiel tried his damndest to detect the beautiful soul he knew so well, but he was virtually useless because he couldn't find anything. You'd think that their Profound Bond would pull them together, but Dean's soul was so faint and almost nonexistent that even Castiel couldn't detect it. It took Jack's God power to find it. That was bad.
Me? Writing this and watching the 36 minute Destiel video at the same time while chewing my nails off? More likely than you think.
The urge to do so was oh so very tempting. How easy it would be to just start a new universe - one where everyone was happy and no monsters or hunters or anything that could cause misfortune could happen. A universe where Sam and Dean Winchester don't exist-
And sorry if Dean isn't written well I have trouble with dialogue so sometimes it sounds too static and less flowy as a real person would talk. Just blame my writing class for making me write poetry for a year instead of dialogue
But Heaven nor Hell hath no fury like a pissed off angel that happens to be Castiel. Sam's there too. Castiel easily grabbed Gwynth by the hair and growled at her.
"Alright then, if that's settled, then I suggest we leave tomorrow morning. We got a long road trip ahead of us, so get your guns and clothes ready and we'll get on the road after breakfast."
"Do you think he's around here?" Sam finally asked. "Jack, could you please use just a little bit more power. Just a little. I know that's a lot to ask, but we need you. Just see if he's around here." Jack nods his head and does the same thing he did with the Impala, but this time he envisions Dean. It's harder to imagine Dean because he changes all the time, but if Jack could get a faint glimpse of Dean's soul, just a glimmer...
Sam sighed in exasperation. He understood where Jack was coming from, but he couldn't stand to see his brother suffering so. He also hated the helpless feeling that had settled in from the past three days. He needed to do something to help ease Dean's pain, even if just a little.
They smiled at each other and were about to pull each other into another kiss when they heard the familiar sound of Sam clearing his throat. Dean glared daggers but Sam just smiled and pulled Eileen and Jack to his sides.
I have a lot of homework and it's 1 am but I'm really invested in this so yeah I'm really sorry if it's poorly written
He felt the slick feeling of sticks and metal as they slid into his body, pushing through internal organs and muscles
Domestic Bunker life except Dean isn't there except he is it's just his body but he's not there there like it's not him it's actually Castiel in his body instead. What?
Over and over like a montage. A montage of Dean making his first sawed off shotgun. Another scene passed by in a blur. Dean getting bored and leaving Sam alone and then returning to find Shtriga feeding on him and John returning to cradle Sam in his arms and make Dean feel even more guilt than he already had upon himself. And Sam and John arguing about the hunting life and wanting a home while Dean watched and wanted to crawl into a hole and wish it all away. Then the scene passed with Dean giving up food to give to Sam and then Dean tried some of dad's beer and then an older Dean stealing peanut butter and jelly after betting all their food money away and sneaking off to a club to feel welcomed into society and...
"Oh, you're going to get him back eh? Because he's your "responsibility." What a joke you all are. Why don't you just leave too, you filthy parasite. You know you want to, so just take your stuff and get the fuck out of my sight!"
Castiel had literally never felt anything like this in his entire lifetime of existence. The dick in his ass filled him to the brim, brushing against all the walls of his asscave and hitting his prostate with each thrust. Unimaginable pleasure.
As if to prove his point, he unfurled his jet black wings. Jack watched in awe as the long feathers glistened under the light. Unfortunately, Sam nor Eileen could see their splendor.
And there it was. It barely brushed his fingers, but he could feel it. The warmth of the sun was on his fingertips and it was so, so comforting. It was the only happy thing that had happened to him in forever. But it was there. A bright light that he could feel.
ask you. I'm so glad you're here. Of course I'm glad. I'm so happy that you and Dean are alive and that we're all together again, er, kinda. But I can't help it that I still have questions. Questions that only you can answer."
Sam nodded and left everything on the table in case the two of them would need any supplies, even though they wouldn't. Sam then made his way to the main room and sat down at the table, exhausted.
They had broken apart long enough to quickly exit the bar and rent a room at the nearest hotel. Flushed faces met the confused hotel staff, but the pleading looks made the poor staff relent and give the three of them a room far away from the other guests. And with good reason.
"So how do we get him back?" Sam asked, ready to give up his own soul if it meant getting Dean back.
After that, one thing led to another. A silent unanimous agreement was made between Man #1 and Man #2 that they had to get this twinky beauty between the two of them. And so while Castiel was basically ripping off his undergarments, Man #1 flung the angel onto the bed and started eating out the most delicious asshole he had ever tasted in his life.
Dean had never mentioned anything like this at all. He carried it with him all his life and didn't complain a single bit. Not to Sam or Castiel. To nobody but himself.
"No. No, dad. I'm sorry I was mad I'm sorry I didn't mean to push him away I just was angry because he doesn't know what it was like down there and-"
At this realization, Sam relaxed and continued digging into the heaping pile of potato salad on his plate. Whatever Dean had taught Cas, it sure was paying off. All of the food he had prepared was absolutely delicious.
He opened his mouth to respond, offer some sort of words of encouragement, but before he could the door to the kitchen opened and Sam's hairy head poked through.
Dean is still emotionally constipated despite literally being *this* close to ascending to Heaven and still won't use his GODDAMN WORDS LIKE A BIG DUMB
He needed Cas. He needed Cas every moment he was awake and every moment he was asleep. He needed Cas by his side when they drove or ate together or just talked friendly. He needed Cas in every moment of his miserable life. He needed Cas because he loved him.
"Let me in Dean. I can help you with your mental trauma. Like what you did with Sam and Gadreel. Except this time, you don't have to hide it from anyone and I will actually help you. I can help you Dean. You just have to let me help."
"I'll explain later. But we need to go to that place now. I've wanted to avoid it, but it's inevitable." Castiel quietly said.
But he wasn't useless. He could still fight. He could help to the best of his ability. He had to prove that he was more than just his grace. He had to prove it not to just Sam and Dean, but also to himself.
Intense terror filled every part of him. Terror that was unlike a terror he had ever felt before. It was hard to describe it, but he was so goddamn terrified of
He closed his eyes and mentally pictured a dam opening and letting water flood in. Water flooding in and drowning everything that it touched. Rushing water that destroyed everything it touched and washing away everything in its path with no regard for anyone's safety. Water that was cruel and uncaring, but at the same time not having a consciousness that could feel emotions. It was just there and it had its purpose. To wash away everything.
Sam pondered for a moment then suggested against the four of them all going to the crime scene, as that would look a tad bit unusual. After an intense round of rock-paper-scissors, it was decided that Sam and Castiel would check it out and leave Eileen and Jack alone to do some research based on what they found.
In his mind, he recreated the Ma'lak box and shoved the trauma, fear, pain, and other ungodly emotions into it. It was the best he could do without outside intervention. But he was very confident that it would hold. He would force himself if it came to it. Just like Michael. He shuddered as he remembered the feeling of helplessness as Michael violated his body.
I deeply apologize if this chapter happens to be inaccurate or offensive in any way. I described mental disorders not to make fun of them, but to show the way Dean's trauma has affected him. If you have any problems or inaccuracies that you would like to point out, please do. I do not wish to harm anyone with works of fiction, so please tell me if you have any problems. Much love as always <3
Dean's long, scarred, and scrawny fingers were covered in pink meat and onions. Castiel had obviously experienced cooking before, most likely learning from Dean himself. Jack could vividly envision the two of them standing in the kitchen together, close enough to be helpful towards each other but barely far enough so that the other wouldn't think the latter was trying to get closer out of fear of rejection and thus ensuing awkwardness...
He knew that Dean was looking for answers from him. He knew that Dean was getting pissed off. He knew all of it. But he just couldn't risk triggering something that Dean's soul might have holed off. His soul was still there, but something was off. Castiel could definitely feel it. They were treading on light ground, and any sort of mistake could set off something dastardly.
Present Castiel stood infront of Dean as he watched his best friend down his fifth bottle of beer in one night. He wanted so desperately to bring his hands up to Dean's face and hold it tight, never wanting to let go. But when he reached out, his hands merely phased through.
They faintly smiled at each other. Dean's thoughts whirred as he thought of what he could do. He no longer felt angry at the suggestion, but instead he now felt like it could actually work. Well, even if it didn't, he still thought the idea of Castiel inside his body was fucking
Sam brought his legs to his chest and let his vulnerabilities spill out in oceanic waves. Jack crouched next to him and offered condolences. Even though the nephilim had never seen nor experienced any of Dean's abusive past, he still knew how much they impacted Dean's mental health as well as Sam's. Both the Winchester brothers had so much trauma built up inside of them. It just happened to be Dean that had gotten kidnapped. If the two had switched positions, Sam would definitely have been in Dean's exact position. It just happened to be Castiel who who been taken by The Empty, which sent Dean into his sullen depression.
Castiel nervously shuffled and refused to make eye contact. Dean looked confusingly at him, but Cas continued to awkwardly avoid interaction.
And when it seemed like it couldn't get any worse, it did. John raised his hands and brought them down. | [
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Couldn’t Dean simply… let Castiel give him this one thing? The only thing Castiel ever truly had to give Dean in the first place, the only thing sad, well-intentioned Castiel had that wasn’t somehow polluted by his past misdeeds: his own life in exchange for a second chance, a tiny extra burst of time snatched surreptitiously out of God’s grasp for Dean to breathe and plan and act and
So, I drew the little picture of Cas in a fit of artistic abundance; I'm not much of a visual artist but I was inspired. ::shrug::
They’ve stopped walking, paused in the long corridor leading to the bedrooms. A long moment passes with Castiel studying Dean’s face from up close, brow furrowed as it is whenever he’s working out a particularly difficult puzzle. Dean sees the moment he decides to abort mission, but Dean’s pre-caffeinated brain is kinda tired of fighting this thing that’s been simmering between them from the very beginning and has, if he’s honest, boiled over since Castiel came storming back into his life like it’s where he’s supposed to be.
But Dean didn’t get to have nice things. Cas saved him. He fell for him, and they met somewhere in the middle, only Dean was too frightened to let the parts of him he thought were delicate and vulnerable out into the light. If it was all out in the open – if he admitted it to
Dean had to also give him a nickname – approaches the box and examines the shiny coins curiously, sniffing at a nickel and giving it a tentative lick. The taste clearly doesn’t agree with him; he shakes his head vigorously and growls and Dean is sure if he could speak Cas would be swearing a blue streak.
“Cas?” Dean calls, turning to look behind him. He can’t believe he didn’t notice Castiel peeling away from the group.
Barista Cas flirts with Dean by writing his number on a napkin, Dean smears it on his face, and Cas has to fess up.
Sam nods, solemn, and hands Dean a small crystal vial, which Dean stuffs carefully into the breast pocket of his jacket. Sam gives him an angel blade next, hilt first, and Dean tucks it away in his sleeve. Finally, Dean watches as Sam hesitates before producing a small, fluffy black feather. He puts it square in Dean’s palm, then closes his fingers over it gently. Dean doesn’t even have to ask; he knows, even though he’s never seen them, this is one of Castiel’s feathers. He wonders how Sam got his hands on it, looking to his brother for any sort of clue.
things, things that are wildly inappropriate for a person to think in public at seven o’clock in the morning on a random Monday.
With a sigh, Castiel carefully folds the panties and holds them, awkward, in his hand. He gathers his courage and marches down the hall, looking for Dean, finding him in his bedroom, sitting at his desk reading with the door ajar. He knocks on Dean’s doorframe, waiting for Dean to look at him and
Speechless, Dean just stares at Cas while silently, Sam slides out of his chair, coffee mug in hand. He offers Dean an awkward smile before he excuses himself from the kitchen, to Dean’s great relief.
“Yes, you are,” Cas says in that dry way of his, and Dean laughs. He’s happy. Like, really happy, happier than he ever thought he could be, than he would even let himself
He gets back to his room, changes into comfortable clothes. It’s then he notices the cassette tape laying nice and square in the middle of his desk, innocuous.
Dean doesn’t know how much time has passed. He’s barely aware of anything at all besides the wall at his back and the ache of his body, cramped in the same position for too long. He thinks he hears something in the bunker, but the world outside this room is… so far away. He’s floating on an island of misery in an endless ocean. Hopeless.
“She really is,” Sam agrees dreamily. Dean has to literally bite his own tongue to keep himself from saying something… inappropriate. He does get it. He sees the way Sam lights up like a fucking Christmas tree any time someone even
“They all do,” Castiel continues, and his cheeks are suddenly flushed bright red. Dean licks his lips and watches Castiel’s eyes follow the motion. He leans down to kiss Castiel, but stops just short of his mouth, a light bulb suddenly coming on in his brain.
“Cas,” Dean interrupts him, exhaling against the dip under Castiel’s throat. “Shut up.” Castiel can feel the smile Dean’s hiding against his skin and decides he is going to take whatever Dean is offering.
Reality crashes in on Dean like a tidal wave, his hopes, foolishly raised, dashed to bits against this answer. He frowns at Jack across the car. “It sounds to me like you’re saying we gotta pick between you stickin’ around or us saving Cas,” he says, incredulous, “’cause I don’t see how we’re gonna get him back without some divine assistance, and no offense, kid, but–”
He loves that having Cas in his arms has taken him from absolutely wolverine-furious to powerfully affectionate in only moments. He loves that Castiel provides him peace, just by being here. Just by staying.
“What the fuck!” he yells, spilling hot coffee all over the counter, when the wriggling shape resolves itself into something resembling a miniscule white snake.
Dean looks at the tape in his hands, turns it over and over, cool plastic warming with his touch. It’s not much and maybe it’s more of Dean than Cas, but it’s still a piece and one Dean didn’t expect to get. He fishes a bottle from the six pack, crosses to his bedside table, digs through the drawer for his (ancient) Walkman and headphones, and gets settled on the bed. Pops the cap on his beer with his ring and the mixtape into the Walkman. Settles his headphones over his ears. Hits play.
Dean closes his eyes, shakes his head. “It wasn’t Billie coming after our people,” he tells them. “It was Chuck. It was Chuck all along.”
“…okay…” Dean says hesitantly, not sure if he’s relieved or terrified to have Cas in the driver’s seat for this little heart-to-heart.
of air hockey), and decided to spend their remaining tickets running through the fun house. Dean thought it was a weird choice until he got inside and saw how many dark corners there were.
“Hey,” he says, nodding over his shoulder down the hall and saying, steam-rolling right over the brain gremlins trying to stop him, “C’mon back to my room. You can sleep there for now.”
He does so now, coming up behind the witch and grabbing him around the waist, hauling him off his feet and throwing him across the room. It’s an impressive show of strength (What? Dean is allowed to notice when his bestie is flexing, sue him), and, what’s more, it breaks the witch’s hold over Dean. He sags to the floor, gasping in air as the last tendrils of magic slough off his shoulders but still on alert, still aware of the danger. He hears a scuffle off to his left and then the tell-tale prickle of magical build-up starts skittering along his arms, a rash of goosebumps following in its wake. Dean looks up in time to see the witch get off one last spell before Sam thunders into the living room and shoots the son-of-a-bitch with a witch-killing bullet.
” and then makes himself conspicuously absent for days at a time. Maybe it’s because he’s started wondering if Cas’ lips would be soft, or dry and chapped like they’ve always looked; he’s started wondering if Cas would kiss him tentative and unsure, or fiery and assertive, or so goddamn tender it’ll make Dean weak in the knees.
“C’mon,” he says, standing up and pulling Castiel after him, tightening their fingers together. “I got all the ‘somethin’ else’ you can handle down the hall.”
. He can’t remember anyone besides family ever taking such an interest in him, in being with him, and clearly wanting to
“Sounds perfect, angel,” Dean murmurs in Cas’ ear. “Sammy’ll probably throw a bitch-fit, but maybe we can get a beehive to go up in there, too.”
When Sam finally nodded at him to do it, Dean surprised even himself by first bringing the jacket stained with Castiel’s blood to his lips. He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and kissed the handprint again before chucking the whole thing into the fire. It went up in a shower of blue-white sparks and the magical energy around them exploded outward, knocking the brothers back as the fire blazed high once more before guttering out like a candle.
“Hey,” Dean says after what feels like a lifetime has gone by. Castiel hums quietly but doesn’t move, and Dean’s grateful he’s not looking Castiel in the eye right now. “You remember when you said, uh. That my, um, heart– called, it–” he coughs, nervous and embarrassed, his voice kinda shaky. He takes a steadying breath and tries again: “You said my, uh, heart called to yours?” he gets out in a rush. He watches the clouds of his breath dissipate into the snowy air.
He starts out slow, standing closer to Cas, thinking fondly of how he had tried (and largely failed) over the years to follow Dean’s guidance on personal space. He crowds into Castiel’s now whenever he can. In the kitchen doctoring their coffees, Dean stands next to Cas and lets their elbows brush. When Cas is at the table typing one-fingered on a laptop, Dean drops a hand on his shoulder and leans over, faces so close as they look at a news article that might be their kind of hinky, their noses would touch if one of them turned. At a diner on the way up to visit Jody and the girls, Dean knocks his foot into Castiel’s under the table and casually leaves it there even after Cas throws a perplexed look in his direction.
Sam looks at Cas’ pale face and shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know,” he says, apologetic. “I think, for now, he’ll be alright, but…”
for chrissake, thinking maybe he should take Sam’s comment about bowerbirds more literally (after he even remembered it and then thought to look them up). The flowers do seem to please the fickle dragon, but even though Cas deigns to take a nap in the basket on Saturday afternoon, the next morning, he’s curled up snug and sound inside Dean’s crockery.
“There’s nothing creepy about it!” Charlie looks around the coffee shop and plants her hands on her hips. “People do it all the time. This is how we live our lives, Castiel. People
The dragon’s face peers up over the rim of the mug, and it looks up at Dean through the world’s tiniest eyelashes. Dean is totally caught, stunned into silence by how his heart just stutter-stalls in his chest.
looking at Castiel, before stomping off towards their picnic blanket set under the shade of a broad oak tree.
He can feel his face turning red, heat licking at his ears, but he’s opened the door and now he’s gotta walk through it.
Dean answers the door with Cas clinging to the inside of his hoodie. When Sam comes forward to hug Dean, Cas pokes his face out of the collar and legitimately
“Mmm, yes,” Cas murmurs, sliding his hands around Dean’s back, digging his fingers in. Dean arches up into him and reaches for a handful of feathers. Cas drops his head to Dean’s shoulder with a groan.
“Cas,” Dean manages, but doesn’t know what to say, overcome by the fullness in his chest even more than the unsettling twist in his gut.
Ever since Cas had been cut off from Heaven, his grace gradually waned, until no spark of angelic æther was left in him. Usually, Dean can easily forget, because Cas is still
laying unmoving on the cold ground. Dean’s got a lump in his throat the size of his fist, and his stomach ties itself into painful knots as he looks between two pieces of the same entity.
It gets worse when Cas’ pain goes beyond the capabilities of his vessel to handle and the piercing static shriek of his true voice ricochets around the room, bouncing off the walls of the witch’s house. Dean and Sam clap hands over their ears as all the windows explode outward in a crashing shower of shattering glass. Castiel starts to blur at the edges, becoming immaterial beneath the grace eddying and swirling around him, forming fantastic shapes in the air.
When Cas steps down into the kitchen Dean glances up. Their eyes meet and Dean offers a weary smile. Castiel seems to take this as permission and sits down to join him.
“Well, basically,” Sam hedges, “it’s a mating bite. Like they, um, bite each other? And then they’re. Well.”
Didn’t matter that he was still walkin’ around. His heart stopped ticking the moment Cas disappeared from the world, smashed to bits, pieces of it scattered over every part of his life that Cas had ever touched.
Dean tries again. “Cas,” he says, dropping his head back to hang heavy between his shoulders. He licks his lip and leans up, taking in Castiel’s glassy-eyed stare, his flushed cheeks, his lips shiny and oh-so-temptingly pinked, and gets that swooping sensation in his gut again.
Decision made, Dean looks back up at the dragon clinging to the side of his house and smiles ruefully. He unlocks the back door and pushes inside, making sure to leave the door open long enough for the dragon to scurry through. When it does Dean pretends he doesn’t notice it wiggling its way down to the floor, where it promptly bolts across open space for the kitchen cabinets. By the time Dean locks up, hangs his coat, and turns back to his haul of groceries, the dragon is nowhere to be seen, but Dean is fairly confident he’ll find it in his mug in the morning.
“Cas…” Dean breathes, a barely-there sound. He clenches his fists to keep himself from reaching out again. But Castiel inches toward Dean as though compelled, and that’s about as much self-control as Dean can muster anymore; something finally gives and he steps into Cas’ space, over that invisible threshold, hands coming up to frame the other man’s face, waiting. When Castiel finally looks up at him, catches his eye, Dean leans their foreheads together, a shaking, relieved breath punching out of him.
“Dean!” Sam shouts, and it sounds like Dean’s hearing him through mounds of cotton balls stuffed in his ears. Sam leaps towards Dean as he collapses back onto the floor, Castiel sprawled out on top of him in an unsightly jumble of limbs. In the air, the inky black gateway flickers and vanishes. Dean drops his head to the concrete floor with a heavy
But Cas seems to have something else to say, now. “Dean,” he begins, treading carefully, “when… Belphagor was– was with us, you told him that Jack was our child.”
Cas pins Dean with the intensity of his stare, grace making his eyes shine in the dimmed lights. Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His voice sticks in his throat and he tries to swallow it back down, watching as Castiel tracks the motion, his whole body suddenly alight in a way it hasn’t been for years.
honest, before Cas breaks the spell with a disbelieving laugh and throws his arms around Dean, pulling him into a crushing embrace. Cas’ hands grip the back of Dean’s shirt like he’s never gonna let him go, and Dean is one hundred-percent on board with that. He turns his face into Cas’ neck and noses behind his ear, inhaling and reveling in the solid warmth of him, real and here and alive and loving.
He says this out loud as if he’s said it a hundred times before, as if Cas knows what he even means. The dragon pauses and licks delicately at his mouth, looking up at Dean with the crests above his eyes raised. Dean shrugs. “I dunno, it looks nice out today,” he mumbles, feeling suddenly awkward, and then feeling awkward for feeling awkward because, really? It wasn’t like Cas was gonna judge him.
“Good thing Sam’s a gigantor,” Dean says as he laces his fingers with Castiel’s and tugs him along through the throngs of shoppers. They wind their way over to Sam and Eileen, shoulders brushing, sometimes bodies pressed tight together as they squeeze between the oncoming crowd of people.
Castiel reaches up to cover the spot, his broad palm spread over tanned flesh, uncomfortable. He’s silent for long moments, and Dean sits, waiting, wishing he knew more about what was happening to Cas. They’ve known each other for so long, and have so much between them, but somehow Dean still doesn’t know some of the most basic things about angels in general, and Cas specifically. Though, with all that’s happened in the last year, Dean supposes the rules and regs may be different now, anyway.
Dean scowls at his brother. “Sam,” he grinds out, trying to keep his temper leashed. “Is Cas gonna be okay?”
For the most part, Cas keeps to his room, only coming out on occasion to have a snack or take a shower, small human annoyances he tackles with less grumbling than Dean expected to hear from him. It makes Dean’s blood pressure spike, knowing Cas is all fucked up because of him,
But Meg only shook her head at him again and pushed past him. “I don’t want to talk to you right now, Cas,” she growled as she went by, marching towards the front gate of the rec center. Castiel watched, shaken, as Meg mounted her bike and kicked off, out of sight down the bike path before he could even throw on his t-shirt, much less pack up his own towel and the blanket.
Dean shuffles around in the kitchen, getting himself together for a long day of holiday baking and shopping. Why he’d agreed for them to meet up with Sam and Eileen – at a craft market,
on Aaron’s Sega, and Dean thrilled at the idea that he both had a friend he’d made all on his own, and that his dad had
He’s climbed to the top of the hill on the bunker’s eastern side and sits with his arms wrapped around his knees, watching the sun sink into a cushion of oranges, reds, and purples. While he takes in the setting sun, Dean hears the crunch of boots on the frosted earth behind him, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge that anyone’s come to join him. He squeezes his knees closer to his chest.
sure Gabe didn’t dose his coffee this afternoon, but he honestly wouldn’t put it past his boss to slip a psychedelic into Dean’s drink as “payback” for him having to get all the stupid croissants ready to go by himself this morning.
Dean sits, Cas’ weight against him, as goosebumps chase each other down his body, head-to-toe. He thinks, for a minute, that he should feel more troubled by this information, because, really, how is this even a thing that could happen? What possessed Castiel to even… even
Yep, this stupid piece of rebar is the thing that’s done Dean in, and he’s hallucinating as he stands here bleeding to death.
“No!” John barked. “You know the rules in this house. You come home past curfew, you’re grounded.” His father’s eyes narrowed and Dean realized he was looking at the scrape on Dean’s shoulder. Too late, Dean’s hand flew up to cover the wound, the pressure of his hand on the tacky surface stinging. He watched as John took in his appearance, his bloody lip and scuffed knees, his father’s face darkening as the silent seconds ticked by.
The breeze tickles his hair, fluffs it, grabs some of Castiel and whisks him away. Snapping to, sniffling, Dean shakes his head and presses Castiel’s ashes into the soil in front of him. He tips the ashes from the jar one slow handful at a time, letting them sift through his fingers and into the earth, mouth set in a hard line and eyes burning with unshed tears.
“It means exactly what it sounds like, Cas,” Sam interrupts, standing. He gathers up the heavy book he’d been reading earlier. “Dean will make you wait forever while he’s figuring out what he wants.”
Gritting his teeth angrily against the threat of tears, Dean gets out of the car and breathes deep. He can hear birds chirping at each other, insects droning, the mighty yet gentle
With a groan Castiel releases his grip on the sheets and reaches for Dean, needing to touch him, to know his touch is welcome. It dawns on Castiel that he
Aaron had sat next to Dean in English class during their freshman year, and they’d done a few projects together for Mrs. Mills. A year slogging through the freshman English curriculum together had offered a rare opportunity for Dean, and he was glad to say he and Aaron were friends. They spent most of their summer days biking out to the lake to swim or hanging out in Aaron’s room, the AC cranked as high as it would go while they took turns playing
“That’s two weeks, by the way,” John added as Dean made his way up the stairs. “For breaking curfew and for fighting.” Dean clenched his left hand into a fist, nails digging into his palm. “Yes, sir,” he ground out, before he stomped the rest of the way upstairs and into the hallway bathroom. He badly wanted to slam the door but didn’t want to draw John’s attention again.
“It figures the first time I need stitches Sam isn’t here,” Castiel pants, gripping the edge of the bed, jeans ruched up and rolled to the knees. He’s incredibly busy bleeding everywhere; he’s allowed to complain about the quality of care he knows he’s about to receive, thank you very much. He loves Dean, but they all know Sam has the best bedside manner when it comes to first aid.
He knows Sam will be waiting for him with a thousand questions, but maybe if he gets good and wasted he can avoid the interrogation for a while longer. The last thing he wants to do is talk about
By the time Sam and Dean are both driving off Rainbow Road every fifteen seconds because they’d had that many beers, Castiel is sitting in Sam’s lap, curled up in the well of his legs, nose poking up over Sam’s crossed ankles. Dean smiles. He’s glad they seem comfortable with each other. It makes him feel like his little friend is an official part of his family, now, too.
“And?” Castiel says with a pinched look, his tone telling Dean in no uncertain terms he knows there’s more. Dean’s discomfited to discover Castiel maintains the ability to look at Dean as though he’s looking at the very center of him, even when he’s human.
They both glance up at the door when Sam’s hulking frame comes into view. Dean shifts in his seat, both hands wrapped in a white-knuckled grip around the tumbler of whiskey.
It would have to be enough. Settling sat like lead in his gut, but Dean convinced himself that what they had was
, can he? Won’t it be strange if he does? Or would it be more strange to hold on to them, and pretend he never saw them?
“Cas,” he says aloud, or at least he’s pretty sure he’s spoken aloud, “I’m here, I’m comin’ for you, I gotta, I can’t– shit. Help me find you, man.”
He can hear the light scrabbling of tiny claws on ceramic. The dragon sneeze-squeaks again, and Dean can see it shake its tiny head, shaking up a cloud of sugar-dust.
“Sam, stop the car,” Cas suddenly grates into the dark interior of the Impala, the first words he’s spoken in hours.
Dean’s pulse jumped in his throat. The gesture made him feel somehow even more vulnerable than the kiss they’d shared, but he didn’t pull away. He liked it, this wild, unfettered thing inside him, this feeling of endless possibility. They walked the rest of the way to the school in a friendly silence, hands held and swinging gently between them.
Sam and Dean exchange a look. Sam’s got this frown on his face that looks like it lives there, and Dean can see he’s already picking through possible longer-term solutions, but for now…
“Damn,” he finally manages, and Castiel growls warningly, “Get out!” He looks away from Dean, his wings drawing closer around him, face aflame.
inside him, in the deepest place, his most secret self. It was the kernel of consciousness, anchoring him; it was the place from which the ties that bound him in life to those he called kin sprouted and grew. Closing his eyes, going within, he turned his attention to the pull.
at Castiel. Who is, impossibly, sitting before him on his bedroom floor, a full-grown man instead of a dragon the size of a large-ish python.
“Can it, Samantha, it’s bedtime for you, too,” Dean grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet one-handed, carefully cradling Castiel against his chest as he struggles not to tip over once he’s upright. He turns slowly to Sam and offers his brother a hand; how they manage not to go down in a tangle of limbs is beyond Dean.
Cas is looking at him with his blue eyes wide and sad, and he slowly shakes his head, perhaps at himself. “I have no defense,” he rumbles miserably. “I agree that my actions have been… less than courageous.”
a big deal. Dean’s honestly kinda terrified of how Castiel showing up in the barn earlier turned his final moments from
Cas raises his head, props himself up on his elbows. Dean is still getting used to Cas smiling like this, fond and delighted, full of light, and is so distracted by it that he misses Cas’ question entirely.
A shaky breath escapes Dean, and he leans in close to Cas. “Okay. But, uh. I gotta tell you somethin’, first.”
Hands roam and teeth nip and Cas slides his knee between Dean’s legs, dipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth for the barest taste. He pulls away slowly, blue eyes dark like the nighttime ocean, and then reaches under Dean’s thighs and heaves him onto the table, pressing into the space between his legs and kissing Dean breathless.
“Yeah,” Dean tells him. “She’s around here somewhere. Lives here now.” He lets out a slow breath and continues, “Once Chuck was out of the picture, Jack– well, he sort of reset… everything. Brought everyone back like that Rapture shit never happened.”
“I don’t know,” Dean murmurs, reaching a tentative hand out to push at Cas’ shoulder. For a moment, nothing happens. Dean looks up at Sam, lost, before turning back to find Castiel blinking up at him, disoriented but awake.
Dean blinks, and his fingers flex like they wanna make a fist. “Mhmm, mhmm,” he hums, running a shaking hand over his mouth. “And when, exactly, was this? This morning? Last Tuesday?”
Clutching himself tighter, wrapped into a ball of confusion and grief and fury, Dean screams into the empty room.
before he thinks, yeah, okay. Watching Cas make himself a bowl of cereal one morning, Dean decides he’s going to test this theory. He can’t… he can’t outright
him, even — but he’d shoved Dean out of the way of danger, his very own personal guardian angel to the bitter end.
Dean is driving through Louisiana on his way to visit with friends. He stops, as he always does, at Benny’s all-night diner, and that’s the first time he sees Castiel: sitting at the counter, nursing a steaming mug of coffee at three o’clock in the morning and looking for all the world as though he’d just tumbled out of someone else’s bed, thoroughly fucked. His hair, shiny and dark as a bird’s feather, sticks up in every direction, and he gazes into the distance with eyes hooded and sultry, while Dean stands in the doorway staring, totally fucking gobsmacked.
with Castiel, murmuring in the scant space between them, warm: “‘I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true).’”
He knows eventually he’s going to have to get off this floor. He knows he still has work to do, and he is running out of time. He can’t afford to sit here forever and mourn.
The sight stirs something in him and for a moment Dean is caught up in a distant memory, one of an imaginary future in which Cas seemed always to go barefoot, communing with the earth or some shit, and a smile tugs at Dean’s lips before he remembers how things ended for those versions of Sam, Dean, and Cas.
Dean takes a long swallow of his whiskey and savors the smooth burn of it down his throat, wishing he knew what to say to make things okay between them.
Dean gets it now. He gets how important it is that no matter what, against reason, against fate, Cas has chosen him, again and again.
A tiny frown crosses the man’s face and he tilts his head to the side curiously, the move eerily reminiscent of…
So partly in the interest of time and partly because this is just the way this shook out, I combined these two prompts into one fic. Which is
“Dean, you did it. You did it!” Sam is exclaiming, shaking him on the shoulder, heedless of Dean’s injuries. He swivels his head around, eying Sammy upside-down, and then Jack, hovering uncertainly outside their little bubble, somehow
Dean goes to the fridge and takes out the milk, then sets it beside the sugar bowl on the counter, standing sentry next to the coffee machine because he can’t be fucked to ever put it away in the pantry.
“Fuckin’ nerd,” Dean accuses, before closing the last of the distance between them and pressing his mouth to Castiel’s, the final step in feeling like he’s come home.
“Right,” Dean mutters, examining the amber again. It rests against his chest, lighter than anything, but he can feel the lead weight of it pressing against his bones.
. He’s failed again, but this time he’s fucked up so stupendously he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to trust himself. An enormous pit opens up inside him, a well of misery, and Dean has no idea how to keep everything he’s feeling from spilling out.
, but let’s just say his name is Sam and he should be cautious around his shampoo for the foreseeable future.”
He says it lightly, teasing, and a tension Dean didn’t even realize he was holding onto melts from his shoulders. He sags back in his seat, relief washing cool through him like the tide, unreasonably proud of himself — for asking for something he wanted in the first place, and for being ready to ask for it
And while that is a wonderful, cozy feeling that makes his chest feel warm, Dean suddenly thinks of something absolutely
“I’d hardly call this a fight. It’s barely an argument,” Cas says in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I’ve hurt you,” he says, contrite, and Dean ignores the twinge behind his ribs at the admission. “You’ve every right to be angry.”
Right. Dean came in here with a plan, and maybe they’ve taken a slight detour, but he can get them back on track. He reaches for Cas, pulling him up and drawing him into his arms, kissing into him, sated and slow. He can taste himself on Cas’ tongue, and he lets out a whimper, impossibly pleased.
And Castiel comes along for the ride, placid, smiling sometimes when he thinks Dean’s not looking, noticeably not saying anything about Dean’s behavior and continuing to miss all of Dean’s attempts at what could now only be described as –
Dean smiles, too, as he strokes his finger down the dragon’s spine, tip to tail, and watches it arch up into the touch like a cat. “Yeah,” he says, soft and embarrassed, “maybe it’s stupid, but. I
For a few harrowing steps, they’re wandering practically blind in a cornfield in the middle of the night, stalks cut to the quick, the brittle remains of this year’s harvest crunching and clacking together beneath their feet. But then the blue-white glow of Cas’ grace grows and floods the area. It starts as merely outlines of the broken cornstalks, each line and leaf limned in a silvery sheen, before it balloons into something painfully bright in the darkness.
), Dean is combing his fingers through Cas’ dark, wet hair, an easy sort of affection so natural to him now, he can’t remember what it was like before. What
A stifled, pained sound fills the silence, and Dean turns back to Cas. He leans close to him, and he can’t stop himself from reaching out, cradling Cas’ neck, pushing fingertips into his damp, tousled hair. He manages to squash the urge to grab Cas’ hand, at least, berating himself for even having the thought, especially with his anxious moose of a brother hovering over them.
“Yeah, Cas,” Dean mutters, standing slowly and coming to stand in front of Castiel. “I said ‘they’re mine.’ Because they’re
“Uh, guys,” Sam interjects, and Dean and Cas both turn to him, belatedly remembering he’s there. “What exactly
– had the nerve to tell Dean the one thing he wanted, he couldn’t have? That being happy was just in the being, just saying it? That, essentially, Dean had spent the last few years tormenting himself about
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but don’t worry about that, either,” Anna said from somewhere near the bathroom sink. “Now let’s see your arm.”
Dean laughs again. “Yeah, I guess I do,” he agrees, rubbing at Cas behind the ears. His soft, rumbling purr fills the air as they all wander back in the direction of the kitchen in search of coffee and breakfast.
Mouth twisted into a sour frown, Castiel jerks a pen from the tin can behind the register and reaches around to the napkin dispenser, grabbing a brown rectangle and making a huge show of writing his name and number on the paper. Capping the pen, he tucks the napkin carefully into his wide apron pocket and turns back to Charlie, who gives him a triumphant smirk before getting back to her morning prep.
don’t,” Castiel says primly, pushing a hand into Dean’s hair and stroking a thumb down the side of his freckled face. “But
Dean swallows the sound that wants to crawl out of his throat. Cas died right in front of him and he
. Lucifer’s spawn, merely existing while Castiel is dead and gone. Hell, Dean’s just as likely to set himself off as anyone else.
“Well damn, Cas, tell me how you really feel,” he says, trying for humor, to keep things light, but it seems Castiel is determined not to allow the deflection.
Castiel raises one dubious eyebrow. “Given what you do for a living I find that deeply concerning,” he says, dry as the goddamn Sahara.
for their awesome love and support (and catching of grammatical errors)! Also, conversationalpurgatory introduced me to the glory that is the London Fog and all I can say is Dean is a fool for not trying it.
Looking back at Cas, chewing his lip, Dean comes to a decision. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts up to the angel. “Hey, Cas!” He can’t tell if Castiel can even hear him; the colossal creature before them doesn’t react. And hey, Dean gets it — if he were a towering alien being with wings, he probably wouldn’t pay much attention to any little insignificant humans making noises at him. They’re essentially ants to Cas right now. Maybe they always have been, Dean realizes with a sudden chill.
“But as I said, Dean. You owe me nothing. You don’t have to give me a piece of yourself in exchange for me loving you. Being
shy of 2K, so I don't know if this one will count. This may become a longer thing in the future, we shall see!
“She woulda liked you, I think,” he continues. “She was big on being kind to all creatures, big and small, you know?” If Dean had initially felt a little strange talking to a dragon just like he would talk to another person, that feeling is long since past. He tells him all about Mary Winchester as they continue through the house, searching for something Dean can try passing off as a nest, until he hears a weird gurgling noise. Looking down at the dragon, he hears it again and watches as the dragon’s tongue snakes out to lick at his own face. He looks up at Dean with nothing short of Sam-level puppy eyes as the little gurgle happens again.
“I’m not sure,” Cas says, tilting his head in contemplation. “Maybe it’s come to the surface because I am… dysfunctional at the moment.”
“I know, Sam,” Jack says, voice gentle as he crosses into the room and lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He, too, crouches beside Dean, reaching out to cover Sam’s hands, lifting them slowly away. He closes his eyes, stretches out his hand, and lays his palm over Dean’s heart. Buttery light spills out from under Jack’s fingers, soaking into Dean’s clothes. Castiel sees tendrils of glowing gold twist and twitch under Dean’s skin, flaring and receding with a steady pulse-pulse-pulse, and closes his eyes.
The little dragon is plainly thrilled by this development, circling and sniffing around the mug on the table, scampering up and into it and then immediately scurrying out and across Dean’s pillows, back and forth in wriggling joy. Cas finally settles down, curling protectively around his mug and purring, the picture of pure creature comfort. When Dean reaches out his hand to offer petting, Castiel meets him halfway, pushing his head up into Dean’s palm and rubbing against him, pleased.
Dean grunts as he pulls the back door shut behind him, wrestling with the lock and juggling his phone. “’Course not. I’ll be right there. 15 minutes,” he grunts.
“Of course,” Cas says, but Dean still sees wariness written all across his face, in the tight way he’s carrying himself. He doesn’t like it. He’s never liked it when things between him and Cas are weird. It always unbalances him, somehow.
“Jesus,” Dean breathes. He twists in his seat, laying his book on the desk, before turning back to Castiel and leaning on his elbows. His hands hang between his knees, fingers tangling apart, together, apart, together. He clears his throat, wets his lip. Looks Castiel in the eye. “Sorry, uh. Been thinkin’ about this a lot, but I guess now that you’re here…” He steadies himself, moving fluidly from awkward to confident in a way that makes Castiel’s mouth feel suddenly dry. “Damn, it’s good to see you, Cas,” he finally finishes.
“Like hell I will,” Dean growls back. “You’ve been in there alone all night, I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
be a timestamp eventually, but as it stands right now I might just have to turn it into a full-blown sequel because it turns out I can't write porn without plot. ^.^;;; In either case, more of this version of Dean and Cas is forthcoming - sometime. As soon as I can get it out of my head and to my alpha and betas, anyway.
“The bed was too cold,” Castiel complains gruffly. When he doesn’t continue Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and pushes him back, letting his gaze sweep over the other man’s face, his sleep-tousled hair, his broad chest…
Sam at least has the decency to look like maybe this is one of the weirder ideas he’s had in a while, though Dean is pretty sure they can’t entirely blame the alcohol for Sam coming up with it. “Right.”
The smug look on Cas’ face as he helps Dean to his feet is, Dean has to admit, extremely well-earned.
With a sad laugh, Dean looks back to his glass, rolling it between his palms and watching the light glint off the rim in bright flashes. “I thought I knew exactly what I was gonna say to you if I ever saw you again,” he muses, deflating. “Figures I’d just start a fight.”
Dean starts imagining all the ways Cas might finally do it. He’d seen Cas kiss Meg that one time, and boy howdy, did that passionate sort of
It’s a risk and he’s pretty sure it’s either going to make him go deaf or insane, but Dean pulls his hands away from his ears and grips the amber pendant in one hand, feather in the other. He does his best to block out the waves of sound around him and turns his focus inward, picturing Castiel’s face.
“Cas!” Dean calls, scrambling to his feet and rushing to the angel’s side. Castiel is sprawled on the floor like a rag doll, unconscious, and when Dean rolls him gingerly onto his back, he has an awful moment where he’s sent hurtling back to the lakeside in North Cove, cold damp earth soaking through the knees of his jeans and Cas’ wings burned into the ground. He shakes his head and blinks hard; no wings here. No wings.
shoot up, and Dean has to force himself not to tell Sam it wasn’t what he’s thinking, because somehow it seems like the wrong thing to say. He clears his throat and stares resolutely at his hands, waiting for Sam to say something.
“That you felt it, too. No matter what form I take, what face I wear… I will always be yours. As… you will always be mine.”
He pulls back to look Castiel in the face. “I love you, too, Cas,” he murmurs, and if he’d felt free and light in the wake of Chuck’s defeat, well. Right now he thinks if he wasn’t holding on to Cas he’d legitimately float away.
And so he had. And here he was. Alone, constrained, the glacial press of true nothingness frigid against the somehow still-substantive flesh of his vessel. The sole creature in a stygian blackness so complete, he could very well have been standing next to something or some
, for chrissake, and closes the door on Cas, who had followed him from the living room. The dragon spends the entire time Dean’s doing his business scratching frantically at the bathroom door.
“Castiel is in the Empty,” Jack intones, profoundly sad and solemn. “It took him.” He looks at Dean, looks into his eyes and
“What? What’s wrong?” Castiel asked, worried. Meg was not the go-silent type. Meg was the blow-up-in-your-face-at-the-least-convenient-time type. The I-don’t-give-a-single-fuck-who-hears-all-about-our-business type. The I-never-cry-for-any-reason type. When Castiel saw actual tears glimmering on Meg’s eyelashes, his heart leapt into his throat.
It’s not enough that he’s spent every single day of the last six months walking around like something so big inside of him was missing that he’d spend the rest of his life feeling its absence like a phantom limb. As much as Dean hates to admit it, he’s always felt that way whenever he and Cas were on the outs, and a thousand times more so any time Cas has died. And this last one — this last death — nearly destroyed him. Sure, Dean’s been getting up, going through the motions, pasting on a smile for Sam and eating as much pie as his forty-one-year-old ass can consume, but it’s all felt… empty. Hollow. The echoing insides of a tinman, gutted by grief.
Charlie appears at Castiel’s side and shoves him bodily out of the way, towards the espresso machine. “Move over, loverboy,” she crows. “I got this.” She turns to the woman waiting and gives her an apologetic smile. “What can I do for you this morning, ma’am?”
ing in mock disappointment. “Didn’t take you for a fuckin’ fairy, Winchester,” Lee Chambers said, emerging from the shadows at the side entrance to the school, flicking a cigarette butt into the dark beside him.
Dean starts finding Cas asleep all over the bunker: at the kitchen table at 2 a.m., the library table mid-afternoon, the laundry room one morning, even on the stairs leading up to the front door. It’s like he’s just nodding off wherever he happens to be when the urge strikes, an angelic narcoleptic whose grace keeps spilling out of him, taking strange forms when it’s visible to the naked human eye.
Castiel blinks and rolls his head toward the muted sound of Sam’s voice calling for his brother, sharp with panic, aiming to hold him away from the precipice of death. Colors and shapes float lazily across his vision before resolving into Sam, crouching over Dean, who is sprawled like a rag doll on the concrete. Sam’s got his hands over Dean’s heart, leans his full weight into it, looking between his brother and the open door, distraught. Castiel sees the blood staining Sam’s wrists and forearms and commands his body to cooperate, to sit up. The room spins. He collapses against the icy concrete floor, squeezes his eyes shut, swallows.
Overhead, a sound like shattering glass crashed into Castiel’s awareness, something strangely tangible in the evanescent expanse of the Empty, substantial in a way nothing else was or felt.
. Castiel was a danger to him, here. He was a danger to him because every monster in Purgatory could sense Castiel’s angelic grace and would be drawn to it like moths to a flame. And he was a danger to him in the flesh: Castiel’s latent feelings for the Righteous Man were ultimately a corruption, something deeply frowned upon. What would those feelings do to Dean, here in this place where it was impossible to be anything other than who and what they were?
For a minute, Dean stands, stunned into silence by this idea. But then it begins to make sense to him. It’s… pretty much his fault Castiel is trapped in the Empty. Yeah, Cas made the deal, but Dean is the one who gave him a reason to be happy. Just by
“Okay,” Sam says, drawing out the ‘o’ in further surprised confusion as he half-turns to leave the kitchen. “I guess– I guess I’ll just– go, then?” Dean nods, curt, and Sam goes, but not without first shooting Dean a look that practically screams
“Alright, alright,” Dean mutters to himself, chewing on his lip. He looks at Cas and reaches out to push sweaty hair off his forehead without thinking about it. They sit in silence, just existing side by side, tiny wisps of grace swirling up out of Cas only to get sucked back in moments later as he breathes. Dean can’t stop petting Cas’ hair and Cas doesn’t call him on it, lying there with his gaze fixed, thoughtful and exhausted, on Dean’s face. Feeling weirdly exposed, Dean shrugs and grunts out, “What?”
Aaron, for his part, jumped on board, draping his arms over Dean’s shoulders, a tiny noise caught in his throat as Dean swept his tongue across the other boy’s lower lip. When his mouth opened under Dean’s, a jolt of electricity stabbed into Dean’s brain and shot down his spine; butterflies swarmed in his belly. The longer it went on, the more Dean’s knees turned to jelly, but he didn’t care if they ended up on the floor because it turned out kissing a boy was
follow this prompt? I dunno, I was even watching TGBBS for inspiration and to get in the mood (and of course, now I want every baked treat known to humankind), and this is what came out.
bottles rattling against each other, jarringly cheerful. Hands shaking, he finally lets himself reach for the tape, and sure enough, his own handwriting stares back at him as tears well fresh. He digs the heel of his hand into one eye, angry. The temptation to throw the tape against the wall and watch it pop and spill its ribbony insides almost overwhelms him, but a piece of paper with Sam’s scrawl on it catches his eye, gives him pause. He pins the note to the desk with two fingers, reading:
Castiel was weary from the wanting, but it didn’t stop him from picturing irises green as tumbled sea glass, or freckles scattered like stars on sun-kissed skin. It couldn’t stop him from remembering the feeling, in Hell, that the soul he had been tasked to save was the very reason for his Father’s creation, bright and strong and shining under the thick layers of angst and shame, radiating love in even the darkest of places.
In the meanwhile, he sat atop the tumultuous ocean of pain in this place, buoyed and clinging to the love that brought him here, and remembered: Dean knew, now. He knew he was loved, and precious, and good, and Castiel was overjoyed. He gathered his joy around him like armor against the dark, and he sat, and he waited.
in their wheelhouse but they’ve figured out crazier shit than this, right? Dean knows Jack isn’t gonna step in, but if Heaven’s back online and Cas is welcome there, maybe it’ll be as simple as returning him topside for a while. He looks over at Sam helplessly, and all he finds on his brother’s face is an answering frown.
Her eyes widened and, bafflingly, a hurt look crossed her face. She looked at Castiel as though he’d done something to intentionally harm her, mouth set in a firm line, stonily silent.
” Sam says, nettled. He drops a heavy hand to Dean’s shoulder and Dean angrily shoves his brother off, twisting to glare at him. Sam raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Look. We can’t figure out what’s going on if you keep biting my head off!”
Forty-five minutes later Castiel spots Dean waiting at the back of the usual morning queue and feels butterflies swarm and take flight in his stomach.
Deciding he needs a goddamn drink for this, Dean goes to the kitchen to retrieve the first of several six-packs he dropped there on his way in earlier.
It’s such a strangely tender kiss, in direct contrast to the force Castiel had used to manhandle Dean onto the table, the aggressive press of his body against Dean’s, hands sliding down his chest to land on his hips, squeezing them and pushing Dean back flat against the backlit surface beneath him.
It’s one of those nights where Dean’s gonna be up with his thoughts no matter what, so he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen to make himself a snack. If he’s gonna torment himself about a certain blue-eyed, devastatingly handsome angel all night, he may as well enjoy some cinnamon toast while he’s at it.
“Find anything we can use?” he asks, coming up to the table and pulling out the chair opposite Sam. He flops into it and reaches for one of the ancient leather tomes, dragging it close and flipping it open.
Castiel is kissing him like he’s a guttering candle and Dean is oxygen and it’s real nice, but then Cas leans back and cups Dean’s cheeks in his hands, blue eyes searching his face, pleased but a shadow of doubt lingering there.
implied panty kink, post-series, ignores the events of 15x19 and 15x20, a fix-it of sorts I suppose, Cas POV, Dean is Bad At Words, fluff, getting together
“Heaven hasn’t been my home for a long time,” Cas goes on, reaching over to draw Dean’s hand into his. He brushes his thumb over Dean’s knuckles, tender sweeps of affection that take root and bloom in Dean’s chest, pressing against his ribs with a physical ache.
shirts is insane enough, but the glowing blue bottle of Grace dangling from Castiel’s neck sends a jolt of panic through Dean like nothing else.
Cas runs a hand up the back of Dean’s neck and into his hair, pressing him close, and Dean allows one final temptation, nipping at the skin over Cas’ thudding pulse before swallowing and moving to draw Cas’ earlobe into his mouth instead.
“You guys are gonna be so gross about this, aren’t you?” Sam says in mock distress. “I know what I want for Christmas. Noise-cancelling headphones. Or maybe a billion gallons of industrial cleaner? Oh! No, I know. Soundproofing for the bedrooms!”
“Uh, actually. Um. I dunno,” Dean stutters out. He looks down at Cas, who looks up at Dean through his eyelashes, both apologetic and possessive. He huffs up at Dean, his brows drawn down in a frown, and chirps in the direction of the phone, as if he’s offended Dean is using it right now. Dean does not know what to make of this.
There’s a sudden shuffling of footsteps in the hall outside, and Dean raises his tear-streaked face from his arms as Sam comes skidding into the room, catching himself on the doorframe.
The barista finishes his concoction and pushes it to the edge of the counter by Dean’s elbow, calling for someone to come pick it up before he turns to Dean with a raised eyebrow.
He attempts to approach it with math and logic, thinks, yes, golden and spiraling and ratios and perfection, and finds himself back where he started, loving and yearning in equal measure, but maybe it is the nature of anything time-bound; always spiraling back to what is, ultimately, immutable.
Thumbing open his phone, Dean sees the time and swears, tumbling out of bed and pulling on the nearest pair of jeans and what he’s pretty sure is a clean henley. “Gabe, shit, man,” he grumbles, voice rough with unrestful sleep. “I’m sorry, I slept like crap, didn’t even hear my alarm. I’m– I’m on my way–” He’s babbling into the phone, shoving his socked feet into his boots and striding down the hall without bothering to tie them. He comes into the kitchen, grabs his keys and his coat, and hustles out the back door. He’ll have to make a coffee at the bakery, no time right now.
Dean can hear more page-flipping on the other end of the line. “It, uh, it says here that generally, male dragons will have a colored stripe on the underside of their belly,” Sam says eventually, “and that females tend to be less colorful and even smaller than the males.”
as Castiel plunges his mouth over Dean, wringing noises out of him that are sweet and airy, and indeed a sort of unguardedness Dean had long since buried floats to the surface, loosening his limbs, turning him languid and pliant under Cas’ deliciously spit-slick lips.
A sudden noise echoes over to them from further down the hallway, and they both freeze. For several long, terrifying seconds Dean thinks they’re caught; however much he thinks he’s ready to do this thing with Cas, he doesn’t want Sam to find out by walking in on something he’d consider scandalous
“You’re thinking very loudly,” Cas observes, and Dean looks down at his hands, clenched together in his lap.
“That won’t be necessary, Dean. But thank you,” Jack says primly. “I don’t intend to stay for long.”
Sam mutters something to himself, too quiet for Castiel to hear actual words. He is clearly talking to Dean, but it’s just as clear Dean is unconscious. Castiel prays,
Castiel pulls back from Dean, and when Dean tugs gently on Cas’ hair he pulls back further still, studying Dean’s face, looking simultaneously like he can’t believe his luck and that Dean will be snatched away from him at any moment. Dean presses his thumb to Cas’ bottom lip, takes in the blue of his eyes from up close, and waits, unsure of what’s going to happen next, wandering into uncharted waters.
At the moment, his ire is directed at this particular witch who has Dean on his knees, finger twitching eagerly on the trigger of his own gun as he fights hard to pull the barrel away from his temple.
“This isn’t my fault,” he said with a frown, gesturing to the sunflowers on his shoulder, now a rich, buttery yellow, their dark centers a perfect earthy ochre. Curling, viridian leaves framed the flowers and made Castiel think of the warmth in a familiar embrace.
“‘It was supposed to end like this’?” Castiel demands, shoving Dean upright and leaving him to stand on his own quivering legs. He whirls on Sam and glares murder at him. “‘It’s okay’?” Castiel’s expression is dark; he’s a thunderstorm contained in the shape of a man. Dean is shocked the lights in the joint aren’t exploding all over them.
,” he tells Dean, some unnamed emotion in his voice that all the same makes Dean’s heart stutter in his chest. “It is how it has always been,” he adds softly, almost to himself.
“Bath time,” he says, heading down the hall to the bathroom. He runs the water in the tub until it’s just overly warm, then plugs it up and lets Cas slide into the shallow bath. Dean watches as he swim-slithers around, rolling over and using his wings to flick water up at Dean.
“You ok, Clarence?” he heard Meg ask from close by; blinking hard, Castiel turned to find her sitting on the dock’s edge next to him, kicking her legs in the water, too. There was genuine concern on her face; he wondered how many times she had tried to get his attention before he noticed.
? “He saved me, Sam,” Dean whispers, more fucking tears spilling over as he suddenly thinks Cas saved him in more ways than one today. “Billie, she– she was comin’ for me, man, and Cas–”
The floor comes up hard under Dean’s ass as his legs finally get the message from his brain to give up on being vertical. Sprawled on the ground and looking up now at his bed, he watches as Castiel sits up and gives him a look of mild concern. For the first time Dean gets a good look at Castiel and the blue tattoo on his body, narrow lines drawn from shoulder to shoulder meeting at a point right in the center of his chest and trailing down the midline of his abdomen, like a “Y”. If Dean had a shred of doubt, the tattoo erases it. He thinks of how much Castiel liked to have that stripe on his belly petted and the thought
About halfway through Dean has to stop; he recaps the jar and stands, walks away, digs fingers into his hair and grips so tight his scalp burns. At war with himself, wanting to rage against harsh reality, Dean barely keeps his anger in check, but he wants to do right by Cas, too. He knows it won’t do – laying him to rest angry. He deserves peace, Dean reminds himself. Cas was good and loyal and beautiful and brave and he. deserves. peace.
“Guess he doesn’t like you, Sammy,” Dean teases, stepping aside to let his brother in. He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, man. He’ll warm up to you.” He draws his finger down Castiel’s snout. He looks up at his brother, and if Dean were anyone else he’d admit he was feeling pretty nervous about introducing these two. “Sam, this is Cas. Cas, this is my brother Sam.”
Wake up. Zombie-shuffle to kitchen. Flip on lights. Flip on coffee. Find small dragon creature lying curled up in coffee mug. Return small dragon creature to the wild. Repeat.
“Cas,” Dean said, whispering into the unrelenting dusky gloom of the forest, face pointed at the starry sky. “Castiel, I– I hope you can hear me, man. I hope you’re here and you can hear me.”
“I needed an excuse to talk to him,” Castiel says, and Charlie squeals at him before turning on a mock frown.
okay if he’s laying on the sarcasm this thick. He can’t help the tiny relieved smile that tugs at his lips.
But eventually he does pull away, with one last, fluttering kiss to Castiel’s throat. Dean meets Cas’ eyes and is beyond pleased with himself for putting that lust-drunk look there. He licks at his lips, collecting every stray drop he can gather, and then Castiel is pushing into his space, pressing their mouths together, tracing his tongue along the seam of Dean’s lips until he gives in and opens. The noise Castiel makes when he tastes his own blood in Dean’s mouth would take Dean out at the knees if he were standing.
“I mean,” Sam hedges, tilting his head back to look up at Cas’ face high, high above them. “It’s possible that his vessel’s been made unusable.”
They’re certainly not the sort of best friends who sit around braiding each other’s hair and talking all about their feelings, so Dean thinks it’s totally possible there was nothing romantic at all in what Castiel said to him when he summoned the Empty. Just. Just a bro, telling his best bro how much he means to him before he kicks the bucket. Like the last time Cas thought he was dying. He’d said “I love you,” but then he’d said it to
Sam clearing his throat is loud in the sudden silence that falls over the kitchen, and he shifts on his chair before poking at his side-salad with a fork, eyes on the table. “You, uh, you think about what we’re gonna do about your Grace, Cas?” he asks, too casual. It’s been… not a sore subject, but not something any of them have been comfortable openly discussing.
Over Sam’s shoulder, Dean can see Jack come cautiously into the room, a deep frown on his face. His vision blurs. He’d never noticed before how much Jack looks like Cas when he frowns.
looks like for the first time on this earthly plane. “You’re incredible.” It’s an insanely private opinion to admit, but the words sneak their way out of Dean before he can snatch them back in.
Shakespeare. He thought of all the days of summer stretched out before him, empty of her presence, and felt tears threaten again.
Sam’s apologetic look instantly morphs into an epic bitchface. He turns to Castiel, presumably for backup, but Cas merely stares back at him sternly, brow furrowed.
Castiel heard, loud and clear, Dean’s unspoken fear: not that Castiel was in Purgatory, too, but that he was dead. And Castiel knew he could allay Dean’s fear in an instant, he could snap his fingers and stand before him, he could bring him hope –
quickly, focusing again on the movie. Dean wishes he could ignore the way his chest tightens as Cas leans away from him, the unpleasant roll in his gut, but they’re both so sharp and immediate it proves impossible. He spends the next twenty minutes hoping Cas will lean back in, and then the remainder of the movie berating himself for hoping anything because, c’mon, it’s
imagined it, plenty, sue him – he’d somehow never thought that kissing Castiel would feel so… normal. Like it was just an extension of who they were and how they interacted. Like they were already so deeply a part of one another that this mere brushing of lips was only a reminder that they… belonged. That, for better or worse, they were bound.
manages to turn his head to the side so he doesn’t spit beer right in his brother’s face, while Sam sputters and looks so fucking constipated Dean would laugh if he also wasn’t turning the color of a fire engine, thinking it couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“Have a nice day,” the barista tells him with a smile, and Dean actually manages to murmur a half-brained “You, too,” before escaping from
“Hey little dude,” he says eventually, tipping the mug up towards himself and peering inside. The dragon slithers over and over itself, almost tying its body into a tiny knot of scales and feathers. Dean watches, fascinated, as its scaled skin shimmers in the kitchen light, an iridescence that flashes blue to match the tiny, feathered wings and tip of its tail.
Castiel raises his eyebrows and Sam laughs when he sees Dean’s look. Shaking his head, his long legs carry him back out in the hall. “I’ll leave you two to it,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing as immediately as he came.
The string stretched between his heart and Dean’s vibrates, intense and pure, imploring Castiel to make the space between them disappear. He reminds himself that the being – the
He finds it, eventually; he isn’t sure what about the old windmill catches his eye exactly, but its red-rusted steel supports and softly spinning sails draw him in. He pulls the car off the road with a crunch of gravel and kills the engine, sitting for a minute with his hands on the wheel, chewing his lip. Dean watches the windmill turn, the blades slicing through the air. It’s quiet here. Tranquil.
Arms curling around Cas, Dean buries his fingers in the downy not-feathers at his shoulder blades and presses. Castiel lets out a positively unholy sound that ping-pongs around inside of Dean and settles warm and low in his belly, so he does it again, nibbling at Cas’ lips. He’s secretly, deeply pleased when Cas opens to him so Dean can swallow that noise and keep it for himself.
“Well, kinda, Dean,” Sam huffs. “I don’t know. It’s like… I used some scotch tape to pin down a meteor.”
“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Um. Yeah. I mean, no, I–” Dean shakes his head and laughs lightly, flustered, and surprised to find himself so. “I could stay a minute,” he finally manages, “if you wanted some company.”
There was a knock on the door, and then chilly air burst in and interrupted the glorious, steamy warmth swirling around his legs. “Cas?” he heard his sister ask, and all the adrenaline that had pushed him this far suddenly disappeared, leaving him shaky and tearful in the tub.
Nothing fancy about it. Just iced coffee. How the guy had gone from “an iced coffee, please” to “fancy tea latte thing” was beyond Dean, but luckily he realized before he got too far away from the counter and spun back to catch the guy’s attention.
“Don’t– don’t worry about it,” Dean stammers, backing away from the counter, but unable to drop his gaze.
Seriously, this is news to no-one, least of all Dean, but with the exception of Rowena, Dean would happily toss every single one of them into the Pit. Even Rowena barely gets a pass, okay, and she’s busy being the Queen of Hell now or whatever so maybe things are good for witches down there, who knows?
“Thought things were gonna be different with the kid in charge,” he says, his voice simmering with his barely-contained emotions, months of grief, of anguish, threatening to spill out all at once. “But it looks like angels are all back to being dicks, huh?”
It takes a bit more work and a great deal more of Castiel grumbling, clumsy and unhelpful, but Dean wrestles the trench coat off and drapes it over the back of the chair at the room’s lonesome desk. He pushes an unprotesting Cas onto his back and pulls the sheet up over him, willing his face to stay blank as Cas continues to stare at him.
, y’know?” He rubs a hand down his face and blows out a sigh, looks up at the ceiling and then finally over at Sam, who’s standing in the doorway with compassion written all over his face.
“Dean!” Sam exclaims, striding across the floor in three quick steps and dropping to his knees in front of his brother. He puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders and pushes him back, panic and relief warring in his eyes.
A trip to the hospital and fifty-six stitches later, Castiel lay in his bed under the eaves in the attic, right arm cradled against his chest and gaze on the stars through his window.
Dean stumbled back and lost his grip on his bike. It crashed to the ground between them and he stepped over it, shoving back. “Shut up, you shut the fuck up,” he said, failing to keep the desperation out of his voice. The last thing he wanted was for Lee to know how truly terrified Dean was of John Winchester getting even a whiff of Dean maybe, sort of, liking boys, but he couldn’t stop himself from rising to the bait.
They sit together on a well-loved quilt Dean keeps in his car, laid out in the grass on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. Dean had driven them far away from town, out into the country where the darkness was dotted only by the occasional farmhouse, for one of his favorite views of the night sky.
After a moment, Dean blows out a breath and runs his hands through his hair before grasping his glass again, thoughtful. He shakes his head at himself and keeps his eyes on the table as he speaks. “But I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised,” he says finally.
“C-Cas,” Dean manages to gasp out as Cas slides his hands, whispering ghost-like, up over Dean’s arms and chest, affection in every caress of his fingertips. He ducks in under Dean’s chin and bites down his throat, leaving a scorching kiss at the dip between Dean’s collarbones before sweeping his hands up Dean’s neck and into his hair, petting.
“I — I want you to have all of me,” Cas tells him, the braver of the two of them, as usual. “I trust you to keep me safe.”
Dean digs his fingers into his hair, scrapes his nails down the back of his neck, and tries not to let the edges of despair creep up on him. This is — well, it isn’t
Castiel gives Dean a hard stare. “Perhaps I was enamored by the… mugs, and the food. And your keys,” he adds with a small smile. “But your heart called to mine.” His gaze softens, a hopeful glint sparkling there. “And when you took my feather, when you allowed the bite, I assumed–”
come back – then that would be it. All Dean would have left of Castiel, Angel of Thursday, were his memories.
Nothingness stretched in every direction. Castiel turned a slow circle, listening, feeling the pull like the sweet ache he had come to live with tucked cozy beneath his ribs.
Dean comes home from the bakery laden down with a bag of pastries and a brooding look. Shouldering his way in through the back door, he leaves it propped open to catch the crisp October breeze while he tosses the white, grease-stained bag of baked goods onto the counter next to his coffee maker. He hangs up Baby’s keys on the empty hook closest to the sink, watching them glint in the sunlight streaming in through his kitchen window as they swing to a standstill. He shucks his green army jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair, then sinks down into it, head in his hands.
. He hadn’t read it, but the title stuck with him that night as he lay on yet another shitty motel bed, sore from getting tossed around by an angry spirit and longing for his bed back at the bunker. On the drive back to Kansas, he’d mulled over what made a bed a good one, a
“They mate for life, Dean,” Sam explains, sounding constipated. “The bites are like, the equivalent of putting a ring on it.” He pauses, and Dean senses something weighty in the silence. “I think… I think it means that Cas, uh. Castiel loves you. A lot.”
Dean freezes, mouth hovering bare millimeters from Castiel’s skin, as Cas continues, “I know you want to.” And, most quiet of all: “It’s okay.”
They’re in the middle of nowhere, someplace in the long, lonely stretches of empty Illinois cornfields outside Champaign. It’s dark; wisps of grey clouds scud across the sky, blotting and blurring the stars, a sliver of moon hanging just over the horizon. Sam drives a half a mile further and pulls off onto a dirt turnaround.
sound preceding the low electric hum of the compressor. It drags Castiel from his daze, endorphins stirring a wild exhilaration inside him.
“What happened, buddy? You forget where your bed is or somethin’?” Dean jokes, his arm sliding around Cas’ waist when the angel sways against him, clearly exhausted. Dean remembers the last time they’d come down these halls like this, holding onto each other when the world and their plans were falling apart around them, and he sobers, telling Cas in a low voice, “I got you, too.” Castiel looks at him then, his blue eyes sharp and laser-focused and way, way too awake for someone who, only moments before, was sleeping so soundly Dean thought he might’ve been
“Yes,” Castiel sighs wearily and the liminal glow of his feathers shifts in a rippling tide of twinkling lights. “This is one way it can manifest here.”
Dean nods and takes another bite of his toast, chewing nonchalantly but internally going into a tailspin at this, trying to come up with what — if anything! — could keep an angel up at night when all is, essentially, right with the world, for once. And as he sits and wonders about what keeps
He trudged to his bike and wearily unlocked it, winding the chain around the bike frame and dropping the rolled picnic blanket in the basket set between his handlebars. The wind blew suddenly ferocious and carried the smell of rain to him, and when Castiel looked at the sky it did indeed appear as though a storm was rolling in. Upset, confused, and tired, Castiel just wanted to get home. He took off and raced ahead of the storm clouds. He hoped he’d make it home before the rain.
When the last bits of Castiel’s Grace have eddied into the vial, Dean shoves the stopper in and wraps it in an old bandana he’s got in his jacket pocket before tucking it carefully away. He squeezes his eyes shut, counts to ten, and then digs his arms under Cas’ armpits and propels himself to his feet. He takes three steps back, dragging Cas’ dead weight, before he trips and crashes down in a heap of tangled limbs.
“You wanna tell me about what’s going on?” he asks, offering an ear as he’s done many times in the past.
It makes sense. It makes sense, but Dean can’t think, not with Castiel’s voice ringing in his ears and a pounding headache starting up at his temples. He looks up at Sam, frantic, and watches as Sam springs into action, striding over to a glass-doored cabinet and wrenching it open, risking his hearing by taking his hands from his ears to reach in amongst the tiny glass bottles and loose bundles of herbs inside. He grabs a few things from the shelves, inspecting them quickly, then turns and looks around, dashing to the other side of the room to retrieve a small brass bowl from the dead witch’s desk.
Loved. Each and every single piece of him, loved by this angel in his arms. He still can’t really believe it.
When he’s finally sliding the pie into the oven, Dean turns his attention to Cas, who now lies wrapped around himself, sticky from his snack. Red streaks of strawberry juice defy Castiel’s attempts to clean himself to his usual meticulous standard, and he looks mightily grumpy about it. Dean smiles and picks him up.
Castiel does so, passing it back over the counter and watching as Dean stuffs the ruined napkin into his back pocket before cradling the phone in both hands, thumbs flying over the screen. He gives the phone back to Castiel once more and nods at it.
They were well outside the entrance to the fair, the sounds muted and distant, when Aaron reached out and tentatively tangled his fingers with Dean’s.
, and laid hands on first Dean, and then Sam, healing their injuries from their (reckless) fight with Chuck.
Cas is grouchy and irritable, growling and snapping at Sam when he comes over for video games that night, giving him an unfriendly snarl when the Moose greets Dean with a hug at the door or any time he makes casual contact with his brother. Castiel spends the evening with his body curled around Dean’s throat like a living collar, alternately hissing at Sam in warning and poking his nose up into Dean’s chin, delicate tongue flicking out to barely kiss the skin there.
Dean feels a tear escape down his cheek and he angrily wipes it away, furious that his brain seems to be running a lot of background programs without his permission. “Well, yeah, Cas. C’mon, man, there’s so much shit between us now. How would we even– I don’t know, dude, I can’t just up and forgive myself like that.”
Dean swallows visibly, his jaw working as he searches for a response. Castiel waits. Pets a tentative hand down Dean’s side, takes root at his hip. Can’t ignore the pang of lust that shoots through him when Dean darts his tongue over his lips, unconsciously tantalizing.
Late that night, after unloading their goodies from the market, Dean is setting up his coffee for the next morning when Castiel comes into the kitchen carrying his hoard mug. He comes over to Dean’s side and drops a kiss to his shoulder before pushing the mug across the counter and up against the backsplash, right next to the ever-present sugar bowl. Then he reaches for the new white-and-blue mug and carefully arranges it so that it touches the green-and-blue mug, handles pointing away from one another.
“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning his forehead against Castiel’s. “I think you’re right.” Dean inhales the cold wintry air and lets the breath go slowly before he leans back and reaches into his jacket pocket. A sudden nervousness washes over him as he grasps the object inside and he catches his lower lip in his teeth. Castiel looks at Dean curiously, and Dean can feel the tips of his ears growing hot.
Still petting down Cas’ back with shaking hands, Dean winces when Cas’ tongue catches a rough edge of the bite, the sensation momentarily bleeding through the numbness. He can’t explain why his voice is shaking, too. “Not really, no.”
“Hey Cas,” Dean says softly. A beat passes and Dean can feel his smile slipping. He doesn’t have the juice to pretend right now. There are just too many things clamoring for attention in his head.
Better to keep on in their usual way, bound in each other’s orbit, drifting apart and then colliding again in a shower of sparks, Dean silently wanting, but telling himself over and over they weren’t meant for anything other than what they already had.
He closes his eyes, counts to ten, and turns, reaching for the doorknob, ready to hunt Cas down if need be so they can sit and talk about this like mature adults.
Cas’ tiny, self-satisfied smile as he turns to head into the hallway lives rent-free in Dean’s head for days.
“Yes.” Castiel gives him a sidelong glance. The corner of his mouth is tilted in a smug smile. “Something
Dean unlocks his phone and pulls up his music, setting the phone on the deep windowsill over the sink. Humming along to
Today had been utter shit. He had been the only assistant on hand for the early morning shift, which put Gabriel in a mood with a capital “M”, which put Dean in a mood as well. Then one of their ovens shit the bed and literally
It hits him like a stroke of lightning, how badly he wants Castiel. He suddenly knows he’s wanted Cas just that badly for years, and it’s all spilling out of him now, all the things he’s wanted but was too busy or too afraid to give them space to grow. Every atom in Dean’s body yearns, trapped in Cas’ orbit as surely as the planets orbiting the sun; he needs to touch Cas everywhere, needs to get his hands and his mouth and his cock all over this strange, beautiful creature as fast as possible because he’s already wasted so much time.
“Yeah,” Dean says, voice firming as he gathers up the pieces of himself shattered on the floor and tucks them back inside, slicing and pricking like shards of glass. He pushes himself slowly to his feet and finds his entire left leg has gone numb. “Sonuvabitch never stopped pulling the strings.” With a grunt, Dean stamps his left foot on the floor and feels the jangle of his prickling nerves from ankle to hip. “I don’t know how we’re gonna do it, Sammy, but we gotta take him out.”
For a few long minutes, the only sound in the library is the dry whisper of ancient book pages being turned, and that infernal clock ticking off somewhere in the stacks. Dean picks at the corner of his thumbnail, nervous, before blurting out, “Does this make me the biggest hypocrite on the planet?”
Dean parks Baby in the bunker’s garage and kills the engine. He sits, listening to the sudden silence in the cab, and runs his hands over her steering wheel, dropping his forehead to the warm leather and heaving a sigh. He maybe took a much longer drive than he originally intended when he stormed out earlier, but something about the open road has always soothed Dean when he was restless, and it had greeted him like an old friend and convinced him to stay just a little later than he’d planned. It’s well past midnight now, and there’s a good chance no one else is awake, but Dean’s still not ready to go inside and face… any of it.
“Anyway, this will hopefully make it easier to find him,” Sam murmurs. Both brothers look over at Jack, who smiles at them again and merely nods. It’s not an answer, but it somehow makes Dean feel slightly less like this is the worst idea they’ve had in a while.
Castiel watches, astonished, as Dean reaches across the bed and touches his fingers to the backs of Castiel’s. It’s a barely-there thing, the lightest pressure, but Castiel can feel the touch all the way to his toes, his whole body thrumming with a rarer and perhaps more precious happiness: the joy of coming together again, a unified whole.
He saw right away how beautiful Dean was. Broken and bleeding and ashamed, and beautiful nonetheless. Though he knew it was forbidden by his Heavenly Father and all the laws of creation, from the very first moment, loving Dean Winchester was, for Castiel, inevitable.
Dean is quiet, absorbing this hypothetical with every ounce of calm he can muster. He clears his throat and then asks, kinda terrified, “Mate?” He knows, he
When Cas doesn’t say anything, Dean chances a glance up. There’s pain written across Castiel’s face plain as day. And resignation, too, like he knew this was exactly how Dean was gonna react, and, okay, Dean can maybe see how that makes him the asshole here, actually.
Dean takes a breath and reaches out to touch the spot on Castiel’s wing that is clearly missing a feather, keeping the pressure of his fingers light. He looks at Cas’ earnest face and asks, quiet, “For me?” When Cas chirps in agreement, Dean takes up the feather Cas has offered him and turns it this way and that in the light of his bedside lamp. A minute shimmer in the blue catches the light, making the colors shift from aqua to azure to cerulean and back.
The man beside him huffs a laugh and slides his dark blue gaze in Dean’s direction. “More like a little bit late,” he says with a voice like gravel. “Haven’t slept yet.”
Clearing his throat and hoping his face isn’t on fire, Dean backs out of his own bedroom with his tail between his legs. “Uh,” he says, “gonna go get that coffee now.”
, in the passenger seat. He should be sitting there, and he isn’t and Dean is sure it’s his fault. As usual. As fucking usual. Half his drive had been spent in a total daze, true, but the other half Dean spent second-guessing every decision he’d made that culminated in building Cas a funeral pyre.
One of the vampires, a woman, broke their grapple and got a hand wrapped around Castiel’s throat; his vessel struggled to remain conscious and Castiel kicked weakly at her, trying to dislodge her but only managing to tire himself further.
And Dean… doesn’t even know what to do with that. He’s spent his whole life knowing in his bones he was unlovable, worthless. He can’t wrap his head around Castiel telling him different.
Sam continues to give him the sympathetic look for about another two seconds before rolling his eyes and wrenching the car door open. “No shit, Dean,” he says, ducking into the front seat. “I’ve lived with the two of you for
“Why?” Dean asks, dumbfounded. His mouth goes rogue again and he says, “They’re amazing, Cas. You — you’re amazing.”
The sex-haired beauty sitting beside him regards him with narrowed eyes for a long moment before taking Dean’s hand in a firm, warm grip. “Castiel,” he rumbles, mouth lifting in a tiny smile.
Maybe the next time it does come to a boil, though, he’ll think about a tranquil meadow, untroubled and languid, windmill in the distance turning slow and soothing. The place where a piece of him will stay, always, soaking up the sun and keeping Castiel company.
“Ain’t nothin’ dysfunctional about what just happened, buddy,” Dean says, huffing a low laugh, but Cas is frowning, serious and quiet.
It’s this weird dance thing they’ve got going on, right? Dean comes in swaggering and by the time he’s made his order he’s a complete mess because Mr. Stuck-My-Finger-In-An-Electric-Socket-But-In-A-Good-Way has that goddamn
, and besides, he was sleep-drunk. Or tired-drunk, whatever. All he knew was he was exhausted, his shoulder hurt like hell, and he had to be up at
bit more than he had – which is to say, not at all – but he thinks it’s probably forgivable in this instance since he was Extremely Busy off saving the world and all. But he also realizes Castiel deserves to hear the truth, so however much it feels like he’s cracking his own ribcage open and baring his insides, Dean fortifies himself and ducks his head to catch Cas’ eye.
Castiel is quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Then: “Dean. I know. I do know. I could see it on your soul like a stain as soon as I was back. Your grief. Your sorrow. I thought– I thought it was because of your mother.”
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he adds, gruff and self-conscious, and before Cas can answer, Dean turns tail and runs.
“Yeah, Cas, us,” Dean says, dropping a kiss to his hair, easy affection at odds with how difficult it clearly is for Dean to say these things. Castiel smiles fondly. He thinks about Dean’s prayer to him in Purgatory and how even a year or two ago he would never have been able to say any of it to Castiel, prayer or no. He’s made progress. He’ll keep making progress, of that Castiel is quite certain.
Too many emotions trip over themselves, vying for his attention; it’s impossible for Dean to give voice to any of them beyond what he’s already said. Dean hopes Cas understands. Understands, and knows he deserves someone looking after him, sharing some small measure of affection, after all of the unbelievable shit they’ve survived over the years.
Sam laughs again and heads for the door. “Sure, Dean. Whatever you need.” He disappears into the hallway, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts in an otherwise empty room.
Sam also rolls his eyes, but at the request or their antics it’s hard to say. He grabs the plate with all the fixin’s on it (not just bacon, jeez, Dean’s not an
“Well, give me a fucking minute here, okay!” Dean blurts out, thoroughly freaked. “You could be wearing a goddamn three-piece suit, I’m still trying to wrap my head around you even
Brushing glittering obsidian slivers from his shoulders, Castiel glanced at his feet and watched as a glowing red line materialized out of the nothingness and stretched off, sinuous, into nowhere.
“No, Sam, we don’t. But you know how we could find out? If you go talk to him.” Dean would very much like for his brother to kindly
A blush floods Castiel’s face as he smiles self-consciously, one corner of his mouth tucked up into his cheek, and shakes his head against Dean’s chest. “It was so stupid,” he says, exasperated with himself. “I don’t know
and it is way too early in the morning to be dealing with what’s happening in his pants without coffee first.
. He’s imagined a million different things to say to Cas if he ever got the chance to see him again, and now that he’s here, sitting in the kitchen as though he’d never been gone and having a drink neat as you please, Dean can’t filter out a single one of them that seems appropriate. Not even the arguments — because, of course, the glaring misconceptions in Castiel’s opinion of Dean need to be corrected — feel like they’d hold any water right now.
, he sways his hips a little as he fries up the bacon. He catches Castiel moving from the corner of his eye, the dragon bobbing up and down with Dean as he dances in his kitchen. A grin spreads across Dean’s face.
not act on his instinct to answer Dean’s prayer, and yet every molecule of him was desperate to do so.
Time and again, through meetings, and partings, and meeting again, Castiel came to realize not only was his love for Dean inexorable, it was
Dean shoves his phone back into his pocket, muttering “bitch” under his breath. He huffs out a sigh before reaching for his pen. He picks it up and the dragon gives a little hop, balancing on its hind legs and flaring its wings out to continue its vicious attack on Dean’s innocent writing utensil. Dean notices a flash of darker blue on the dragon’s underside. Curious, he teases the dragon with the pen for a minute, watching it rear up and swat playfully, before scooping the creature up and turning it carefully onto its back.
It’s the first of many, the first of a lifetime of kisses, but as Dean threads his fingers into Castiel’s hair, reveling in the newness of discovery, it feels like they’ve already done this a thousand times before, in a thousand lifetimes, on a thousand worlds. It feels like his heart is home.
to imagine what’s going on in the kid’s head. Can he even call him a kid anymore? He guesses not – however much he and Cas and Sam had had a hand in raising Jack, he’s more, now. Bigger and honed, somehow. Ineffable. Complete.
Dean strokes a long line down Castiel’s back, wondering if he ever misses his feathery wings, and drops a kiss to Castiel’s hair. “Everything okay?” he asks gently, twisting quite impressively to set his muffin behind him on the counter next to his coffee without breaking Castiel’s hold on him.
Instead, he couldn’t help but think, as he traced the outlines and secretly marveled at the colors: if they hadn’t appeared, Meg would be here right now and they’d be creating constellations and telling silly stories, or reading Shakespeare to each other because something about the meter begged for it to be read aloud, and besides, she was the only girl his age who even
acknowledge that he's done so, and bury him not only permanently, but in a place where he'll be tormented for all eternity by a being that has a personal grudge against him. Fuck you, spn showrunners.
Fortunately, he sees Castiel stopped several booths behind, completely absorbed. Dean yells over to Sam that they’ll catch up in a bit and pushes his way through the crowd back to Castiel’s side.
Dean finally looks up at Sam, still surprised by how overjoyed he is that Castiel isn’t gone. Sam is smiling, too. “At least now you know where to look for him if he ever disappears like that again,” his brother says with a nod towards Dean’s pocket, where Castiel’s nose pokes up just over the edge. He barely fits inside anymore, but is clearly content to be tied up in knots and crammed into a tight space as long as he can snuggle right up against Dean.
Dean does his best to ignore the looks Sam keeps shooting him in the rear view, distracting himself by holding Cas upright and feeling him warm and alive against his side. Every so often, Cas twitches and groans, his grace sparking, and Dean just holds him through it and doesn’t think too much about the why.
Well, shit. Dean swallows thickly. He doesn’t want Castiel walking around thinking this is his fault. Dean can give Cas an honest answer, can’t he? After everything Cas has done for them – for
Dean looks up and his eyes roam over every inch of Castiel’s face, as they often do, now. Like he’s making sure Cas is actually, physically here. Like he’s hoping this isn’t all some fucking fever dream. Castiel isn’t sure himself, sometimes. Right now, he can’t be sure he isn’t imagining the quiet hitch in Dean’s breathing, the hesitant look when their gazes clash, the way his jaw flexes as he swallows nervously.
“Sorry,” he says, soft, “sorry. Just. You’ve been actin’ weird all week. Guess I’m worried a little, is all.” Cas huffs and opens his wings, flopping over onto his side, exposing the thin blue stripe on his belly. Dean reaches out to trace it with the tip of his finger before rubbing Cas’ underside in long circular strokes. They lay on the bed in silence until Castiel’s purring softly fills the room. Dean watches his tail twitch back and forth, lazy and slow. Dean sits up, cross-legged, and lifts Cas’ pliant body into his lap. He continues petting Cas on his back, now, head to tail, and Cas sits, beatific, his face pointed up at Dean and his eyes closed, just… enjoying.
And perhaps it was that spark, that fluttering ember, which prompted Castiel to stand still and let Dean finally catch up to him. That spark, which took all of Castiel’s noble intentions and grand ideas about protecting Dean and ground them to ash.
A final nod, a last, desperate glance at Sam, and Dean stalks into the Empty, Castiel’s feather clutched tightly in his hand.
When he finally reached their picnic blanket, Meg was furiously stuffing her towel into a neon pink backpack covered in pins and patches. She threw a glare at him over her shoulder before she reached for her shorts and pulled them on over her bathing suit, movements jerky. When she bent to grab her backpack and throw it over one shoulder, Castiel saw she was still crying.
“If I return to Heaven —” Cas stops and looks cautiously at Dean’s face, an apology in his eyes, though Dean has no idea what it’s for. “If I go back, I won’t be permitted to return to Earth. I’ve already broken the rules.”
“Well,” he says at last, standing and turning the dragon back over, mindful of its blissful lethargy as he drapes it on his shoulder, “let’s see about getting you all set up, huh?” The purring continues, volume increasing, as the dragon cuddles up close to his neck and snuffs up and down the sensitive edge of Dean’s ear. He feels a tiny warm wetness and realizes the dragon’s licked him – is still licking, actually, in what feels like teeny kisses.
Dean’s shoulder burns but Cas won’t let go. Dean grits his teeth and tries to breathe through the pain and his automatic reaction, his hands around Castiel’s wiry body slowly unclenching. Long minutes pass with Dean breathing hard through his nose, reaching for patience, hoping that if he relaxes, then maybe Cas will relax, too.
“Quit your bitchin’,” Dean grumbles, diligently cleaning blood and grime from Castiel’s calf with a wet washcloth. “I’ll be careful, okay?” He glances at Castiel for a heartbeat, and the look goes straight to Castiel’s groin like a lightning rod, powerful and bright, before he hisses in pain as Dean begins his work.
Castiel rolls over on his chest, bringing Dean’s attention back to him and his exposed underbelly. With a soft hum Dean strokes a finger down the long blue stripe adorning Cas’ skin. The dragon looks up at him, eyes half-closed, and purrs louder, his little body quivering from tip to tail. Dean smiles down at Cas and says, “Thank you.” For some reason he feels like he’ll insult Cas if he puts the feather down. So Dean, carefully juggling both the delicate gift and his languid friend, leans over to turn off his lamp and settles himself under the covers.
He definitely remembers falling asleep with the white-and-blue dragon lying on his chest. He doesn’t see Cas immediately, though, so Dean looks over to his nightstand. It’s not uncommon for Cas to curl up around his mug after Dean’s fallen asleep, but when he peers over, there’s no sign of the dragon.
“You told me that good things do happen,” he says at last, glancing up at Castiel and holding his gaze. “We’ve lost so many people, so many times, I guess I’m just not used to the coming back part, still.”
I'm so thankful for this fandom and the friends I've made through it. I'm thankful for all of the stories I've read that have made me feel seen and validated. And I'm super thankful that SPN lit the fire in me to write again, and for all of you, who are taking the time and energy to read my meager offerings to the incredible extant body of work that is destiel fan fiction.
And Cas, practically transparent and arched up off the floor like a bow, suddenly snaps back into this plane of existence and collapses in a heap. The cacophony of Cas’ screams cuts off just as suddenly as it began, and Dean cautiously takes his hands away from his ears. He looks over and sees Sam’s are bleeding. Not good. They sit in the echoing silence for a moment more before terror explodes back out of Dean in a rush.
Jack smiles and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says simply. “If I’m going to stay, I have to remain… impartial.”
sparks through the air, skipping along every inch of Dean’s skin and making the hair stand up all over his body. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam shudder.
The more monsters he could draw off and fight, the safer Dean would be. The more Dean could rest and regroup perhaps meant he would survive long enough to find a way out of this place.
He gets out of the car and pulls his jacket tight around him, and heads right back out the way he came in, on foot, taking the longer walk around to the bunker’s main entrance in the chilly December night, inviting the cold snap against his face, the cloudy puffs of air swirling out in front of his mouth. He welcomes the bite of the wind, the crackling sounds of leaves and detritus under his boots, the silvered light of the moon and sprinkling of stars overhead. Welcomes them and takes comfort in their presence, or more, his being here to actually enjoy them.
Looking at Cas now, seeing how he carries this weight around with him, makes Dean’s heart ache. He knows he can’t let Cas keep carrying it alone anymore. He knows what he wants. And… and he believes that he can have it. He
Out of nowhere, the memory of Castiel’s weight slams into Dean, the way he’d felt in his arms as Dean carried him, senseless and sorrowful, into the house to lay him out on the kitchen table. A pang stabs through his gut when he thinks about how carefully he’d rolled Cas onto the wooden surface, cradling his neck so his head didn’t smack onto it; how he’d looked in the light, how Dean’s heart felt like it was being torn completely asunder as he wrapped Cas in colorful curtains because a plain white sheet just didn’t seem right.
He stomps all the way to his room, feeling the cloying tension in the library sliding over his skin, following him as he disappears deeper into the bunker, far away from Dean.
– around his neck and then mashing a hat Eileen had knitted for him down on his head. The long tan trench coat he’d picked out at their local thrift shop hangs off his frame, giving him a slightly starved look, and as much as Dean hates the thing (he’d argued that it was going to be too cold for such a light jacket soon, anyway, but Castiel had been insistent), he knows that Castiel likes it, and that’s all that matters. It turns out Castiel happens to have an eye for the strange, the weird, the discarded. Like the coat, and the mug, and Dean. | [
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Tony will forever be adamant about the fact that he did not squeal when Steve groped him. “That was rude but also kind of hot.”
Steve shook with silent laughter, shaking his head. “Take care, Tony. I’ll think of you.” And with that he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss on Tony’s lips. Tony wanted to deepen the kiss so much, but he refrained because Steve had said he wasn’t ready. He watched Steve leave and found himself wishing the soldier would be back soon.
Tony stayed quiet, observing Bruce closely while he checked his heart and such like a normal doctor would. He was swinging his tiny legs back and forth, eyes constantly darting around for any signs that he might be getting an unwanted shot.
Bucky had laid on the ground afterwards, chest heaving as he caught his breath, his eyes narrowed at Steve who’d barely broken a sweat, and kindly informed Steve that he needed to get over himself and stop letting Starks bratty attitude affect him as much as it was. He’d sat up then, punched Steve lightly in the calf and continued to explain all the ways in which Steve’s aggression skyrocketed to unhealthy levels any time he was annoyed and the others couldn’t handle the aggression fueled training sessions much longer.
“This isn’t a game,” Steve barked. “You got Pierce, that’s enough. I’ve already got one injured teammate running about recklessly, I don’t need another.”
Tony snorted and rolled his eyes. “Natasha is scary but she isn’t guilting me into anything and Barton is Barton. He really couldn’t guilt me.”
Tony gave his son a very unimpressed look. “She threatened to take away my duty as best man. We have got to go before she actually kills me.”
Bucky smirked and nudged Steve with his elbow. “That was a very nerdy fact. Be honest, how many times did Tony have to explain that to you?”
Steve never got used to it, not completely at least, being caught in the fray of a fight, bullets flying, the sounds of alarms reaching him through the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. Steve ducked and weaved to avoid each shot flying his way, kept Bucky in his peripheral whenever possible and kept moving, always kept moving lest he pause for a moment too long.
Bucky nodded, took the seat to Steve’s right and clapped him on the shoulder in greeting. “A lot of the data had already been wiped once we got there though we still were able to find a bit of information on human drug trials, a video or two recording the sessions…they weren’t pretty.” Bucky frowned, his metal hands clenching at his side.
Steve pushed himself from the table, back popping as he straightened up. He rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension that had built up there, tension that would only get worse until he could finally take a moment to relax at some point in the future. Definitely not tomorrow though, tomorrow he had to take Bucky and Natasha out with him, if for nothing more than a little hard hitting persuasion, something the both of them excelled at.
Tony rolled his eyes playfully and made his way to the onstage piano just as he was being announced. People were clapping. He pasted the patented Stark Charm smile on his face before taking a bow with a flourish and sitting on the bench. He started with his opener and knew right away it would be yet another successful performance.
“Look, Cap,” he squeezed his shoulder. “I get it. I know. But, Steve, he’s not Bucky anymore. He’s not your friend. He’s was programmed and no matter what you do, he’s never going to be the same again.”
“Well I know of a pretty good song by Elton John and Kiki Dee we could sing together if worst comes to worst.”
“Get everyone ready to head out, I’ll be down in five and then we leave.” He looked at Tony briefly. “You. Stay here.”
The wet warmth against him caught Tony by surprise and he rocked nearly off the edge. But just as he reigned himself back in Steve began to suck. Tony’s eyes clenched tighter as he felt it all coming to a close, it was like a rolling wave starting both in his toes and going up his spine. He tried to warn Steve but all he managed was getting a tight fist of Steve’s hair and then he was coming. He gasped out Steve’s name as his cock gave spurt after spurt. At some point he was pretty sure he passed out, and when he came to it was to Steve placing a kiss on his lips. Steve was smiling a little in triumph and Tony knew exactly how to wipe that smile off his face. He let a lazy smirk cross his face before reaching back down for Steve’s cock. He wrapped one hand around it and pumped up giving his wrist a twist, Steve’s smile faltered his mouth instead shaping a nice O. Tony let his other hand grasp Steve’s balls and cupped and rubbed them until Steve let out a choked off groan. Tony added a squeeze with the twist and soon Steve was barely holding back from thrusting into his hand.
“Well, technically I still am. At least as far as Obadiah is concerned.” Tony glanced between his two friends, eyes wide and serious. “I don’t want to put you guys in danger. I thought about calling earlier, when I first escaped but it wasn’t a good idea.”
“I think coffee is the last thing you—“ Steve began, interrupted when his comm alerted him. “Bucky, Thor, and Sam are on their way back from the warehouse. ETA less than five minutes.” He eyed Tony warily.
The rest of the team came running at an almost alarming speed at the noise, and Steve watched as the bots screen turned from the pleasant green it always had been to an angry shade of red that blinked in and out.
“Steve…” Tony trailed off, voice just as soft, hand reaching out to brush along the fabric at Steve’s waist when---
Thor gave the billionaire a beaming smile. “MOST WONDERFUL! I HAVE HEARD MANY GREAT THINGS OF THIS MIDGARDIAN FEAST AND I AM EAGER TO PARTAKE IN THIS RITUAL SACRIFICE.”
Steve couldn’t hear Rhodey’s reply. It wasn’t important. “Stick with him, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”
Steve frowned, opened his mouth to explain that that’s not why he brought Tony here but was stopped by voice, just a broken breath really, calling out. “Tony?”
Steve just blinked. “Right. That’s Natasha’s area. We should probably all sit down and go over everything sometime soon.”
He looked at Steve and shook his head. “No. That’s...I can’t. That isn’t me handling problems I got myself into.”
Tony quickly kissed Steve, resting a cold palm against the soldier’s warm face, his voice above a whisper. “It is. It’s perfect. I’ve never enjoyed the holiday season. This time of year. But you forced me to do the stupid Christmas traditions and I found myself enjoying them.”
Steve felt something heavy drop in his stomach at Tony’s words. “We’re not forcing you to go and we’re not forcing you to stay. Once this is all said in done, that’ll be your choice, but you should know that you haven’t hindered our ability to do our jobs in any way. You’ve been useful, Tony.”
Tony sunk into his seat. “Look. I know you went out on a limb for me today by doing this, and,” he scratched at the back of his head, “I know you didn’t have to do it, but you did anyway and that makes all the difference, so….thank you.”
Steve closed the door behind him and reactivated the security settings. “It serves several purposes. Nat and Bucky come here on occasion, just to get away. As do the others in their own time. Tight security, away from everything happening back home but close enough to show up if the call comes in; it’s a safe place.”
“It’s not...I’m the resident science guy slash medical doctor despite reminding them that I don’t actually have a degree in medicine slash therapist that I had to remind them I don’t have the temperament for slash man who makes all the calming tea when the rest of them are a bit wired. They don’t use me in the field, which is why I do it. I keep their secrets and they keep mine. And before you ask me what they are,” he said, holding up a hand when he saw Tony open his mouth to ask, “I can’t share that with you. The less people know about me, the better.”
“He almost backed out of that deal when he ordered your plane to be taken down, but it seems that plan is still in motion.”
Tony glanced around realizing that Steve was talking rather loudly at this point and that lots of people were looking. “Right. Clench up, Cap.”
The soldier wrapped his arms around Tony and breathed heavily. Tony could tell Steve was about to fall asleep.
“Fuck you, Rogers. We’ll play a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Best two out of three gets to sit here while the other gets the snow.”
Steve closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, lost in thought as he tried to figure out HYRDA’s angle this time around.
Dinner passed by with a lot less heckling from Tony than Steve expected, but that probably had more to do with the fact that he told Tony he’d be withholding part of his birthday present until a later date. That had caused the brunet to pout a bit and Steve enjoyed that a little too much.
“I was kidnapped, yeah, but I was distanced from everything that was happening here. I wasn’t entirely sure how you guys were handling things.”
“You’re only human. We all make mistakes, we do things we’re not proud of, but we learn from them don’t we?”
Steve took that as his cue to dodge out of the way, firing a magical bolt (Tony had no other word for it) from his hand that knocked Obie back, clear across and to the other side of the workshop.
Peter loved to read. He was only five but he would ask his dad to buy any type of book he was interested in, and what he couldn’t read, Tony would read to him. The ones he could read he often read aloud to his father. Hearing about a new bookstore brightened Peter’s week and begged his dad to take him. Tony couldn’t say no to him for obvious reasons (re: his child’s puppy dog eyes could rival his own).
“Bucky, are you listening to me? I have to be up early tomorrow. This can’t be an all night ordeal.”
The faceplate on Tony’s suit lifted and he peered down at the soldier. “Would you like some help with this?”
“What was the point of doing this in the first place? Do you have any idea what it must be like for Tony right now to--”
Steve smiled and held out his hand to her. “Nice to meet you, Natasha. Can you excuse us for just a moment?”
“Don’t worry about it, Pep. We’ll think of something. Just…” he let out a large breath. “Thanks. I’ll...think of something.”
“Well I would.” The blond snapped his mouth shut and waved a hand at the genius. “You know what? Forget it. I’d hate to take up anymore of your time since you obviously don’t want to spare any for me...us.”
Steve gave him a quick nod, his breathing labored as he spoke. Of all the times they’d had sex, they had never once done it face to face. Perhaps it was too intimate. Neither was sure where he stood with the other and Steve had a feeling this was probably going to change everything because they were literally going to have to face what it was they wanted. No time for anonymity. They were cold, alone and this was the moment they’d have to finally admit to themselves what their true feelings were. The thing that kept them from discussing it to this point had, in fact, been a combination of a fear of rejection or realizing that they were nothing more than a good lay and a warm body to occupy one of their beds at night.
The first HYDRA goon Steve ran into only had a moment’s warning before Steve slammed the butt of his gun into the man’s temple, causing him drop like a sack of flour to the ground. Steve ignored the instinct to wince at the sound of his head slamming into the hard cement floors and kept moving.
Tony sighed, sagging down into his seat, all traces of confidence gone as he looked down and ran his good hand through his already ruined hair. Steve watched him, saw just how shaken up the Stark heir actually was, the tremors in his hands and the bouncing of his leg almost going unnoticed, would have gone unnoticed if Steve didn’t have such a practiced eye. Steve set his face until he knew it was completely blank, he couldn’t afford to take pity on him, not until they were on the same page.
Steve could only spare a confused look before he answered to the call of another worker. He felt ridiculous being the only heavy-lifting Avenger there. They’d get the work finished even faster if Thor or Hulk or Tony...okay well Tony. If Tony showed up. Ever. And this was volunteer work. Steve understood that, but Tony’s suit caused nearly as much damage as the Hulk did and it irked the soldier that Tony didn’t seem to care about the clean-up at all.
“I guess this explains why that never panned out,” Tony mumbled, then louder, “So, you work for the mafia, huh?”
Steve shook his head in disbelief as the bot ran into the leg of the table, paused, and then zoomed around the room and in between Steve’s legs making a long drawn out ‘weeeeeeeeeeee’ as it went.
Tony turned the last corner and made his way quickly to the door he knew Obie had Pepper behind, in his own goddamn office, “Jarvis, honey, go help the good Captain in clearing up that disturbance on sublevel C you reported.”
“You’re forgiven. That was always a given though. We’re all pretty fucked up, but I guess that’s what makes us work yeah?”
“No one is going to be able to find me. I made sure of that.” He inhaled deeply. “So, to make a long story short, I found out that Obadiah Stane, current stand in CEO of Stark Industries, tipped them off toward my involvement with you bunch which led to them taking me and interrogating me, and torturing me—you know, all that fun stuff. Before you ask though-- yeah Cap, I see you with your mouth open—I have no idea what he’s getting out of this or how he’s involved with them in the first place, but, I was able to put two and two together. So this man, my—“ he spit the words out, “mentor, wanted me out of the picture so bad that he figured HYDRA would probably do his dirty work for him. At least that’s the only conclusion I’ve been able to come up with up to this point. There are still a lot of details I have to work out, hence, the reason I need everyone to think I’m dead.” He paused for breath, eyes wild. “You understand? The moment he finds out I’m still alive, the game changes. Right now he has nothing to hide with me safely out of the picture.”
Eventually the tension between all team members died down. Well mostly. Enough to matter. Steve found himself spending most of his free time with Tony and ignoring comments from his less mature teammates (that’s right Clint) about Steve and Tony sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. He hated that he was so easy to read and it took him longer than it should have (try five months) to realize that Tony’s feelings for him were mutual.
Steve shook his head, amused. “And what would be call you, oh knight in shining armor? Sir Lancelot? Iron Lad?”
Tony appeared to be watching Steve’s face and the blond couldn’t help but blush a little. Yet again. He probably needed to get that checked out. He slung the bag over his shoulder and smiled.
“Yeah. You’re probably right because this wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you hadn’t opened your goddamn mouth and told my dad all my secrets. I never wanted him to know and you fucked it all up.” Curse his fucking asshole mouth. Why couldn’t he just say what he really meant? Why did he always do this?
“Steve, if we’re going to think about pursuing a relationship, I need to know if you’re in it for the long haul. Peter loves you and I don’t know if I can watch you walk away and break his heart.”
Obadiah grabbed Tony’s chin and jerked so Tony’s eyes would be on him this time. “It’s time to focus on this, Tony.” He held the barrel of the gun, resting it right under Tony’s chin. “Just know that when I do this, it’s not personal, it’s just business.”
Tony thumped his head back against the wall and shut his eyes with an annoyed grunt. “I didn’t blow anything. Schmidt wants access to Stark Industries, access he’s not getting from Obie which means they aren’t seeing eye to eye. It’s the good thing about dealing with men too greedy and power hungry, they always look after themselves first. Obie won’t know I’m alive.”
Steve’s eyebrows drew in. “Wait, what? No.” Steve began walking toward the door. “Follow me. And don’t think for a second that we aren’t going to be talking about what you just said the second we get back home. You and Clint both.”
Steve pressed his lips to Tony’s again but didn’t kiss, instead whispering against his mouth. “I’m trying to fuck you actually, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
Steve ignored the flirtation and focused on the more important aspect which was that there was a tiny robot running amok in his home. “Why?”
“Spoken like a true artist, Steve.” Tony let his eyes bounce up to Steve’s for only a moment and he smiled. “I guess I can let this one go. Or wait until you’re not around to protect it and then take it down to my workshop for updates.”
Tony smiled, promptly pulling the soldier into a rough kiss, his fingers carding through blond hair. They both stayed together for awhile until the genius pulled back to take a breath.
Steve clasped Tony’s hand when the billionaire grabbed it as he shut the door. “Peter’s going to be wired when I get home. Natasha never listens to what I say and I don’t argue because she looks like someone who could easily kill a man.”
Steve paused at the doors threshold, back to Tony. “You know how you could be part of my team? By following my damn orders like everyone else does.”
“You’re alive and that’s what’s important. I’m just going to check a few vitals and make sure you have enough morphine. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
“As long as I have nothing on the schedule then I don’t see why not. I could always ask Natasha to bring you along.”
Steve didn’t speak, didn’t dare breathe too loud, instead waiting with baited breath until Tony was ready to clue him in.
With a sigh he looked down at the piano and smiled as the song he decided to go with came to him suddenly. He started off playing as slow as possible, taking his time on the first few notes. When he felt a presence nearby was when he started playing it in normal time and was certain his face was going to crack with the force of the smile he was trying to hold back. The one thing he knew for certain was to never play all your cards at once. Keep them close to your chest and reveal them gradually over time to maintain a sense of mystery. Part of it was also knowing that the one person you placed all your trust in, loved with all your heart, was completely capable of destroying you with the knowledge they gain from knowing you should that relationship ever go sour. So Tony told himself to hold on tightly to those cards for as long as possible.
“This was me making my intentions perfectly clear. Are they clear enough for you now?” Tony was giving Steve a challenging grin.
Steve laughed and threw his eraser at Bucky’s head. “After this conversation I’m seriously reconsidering my options.”
“Okay!” Peter jumped down from the bed and grabbed Tony’s hand, pulling on it as hard as he could. “Daaaaad,” he whined. “Get up!”
Rhodey and Pepper just nodded and followed Tony as he made his way to the dining room table where they all sat down, each bracketing Tony on both sides, bodies angled toward the genius.
“I know. I’m pretty awesome, aren’t I?” He winked at Steve. “I guess I just want to know why you’re so determined to make sure I believe it. Especially since all I did was cling to you, which by the way, I’m going to have Jarvis erase all evidence of that.”
Thor laughed at the archer. “Do not be silly, brother Barton. It is not custom for us to celebrate a holiday such as this in Asgard.”
Steve and Bucky broke off next, jogging until they reached the warehouse’s entrance. They paused at the threshold. “I’ll take the right you take the left, we’ll meet up in the middle. Keep your guns ready and—“
The thing of it is though, sometimes...sometimes Tony hated having to go to such great lengths to prove himself to others. Steve often told him that he did not have to prove anything, but Tony ignored him on that because Steve was wrong. Tony would never get to stop trying to prove himself to others. He’d screwed up one too many times in life, hurt one too many people, cost one too many people their own lives, and now he was paying the price. Words would not win this battle against himself. Against everyone else. He had accepted that before he’d even taken up the mantle of Iron Man. He’d never once deluded himself into believing that someone would change their minds after their first meeting and decide that he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Tony Stark himself did not believe it.
At this Fury grinned slightly. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Unfortunately, cognitive recalibration is not going to fix this problem.” He gave Natasha a pointed look. She arched an eyebrow and gave a slight shrug.
“You have your friends and I have mine. It just so happens that mine are better and yours hate your guts. HYDRA, Stane? Really? Did you ever think that would end well for you?”
‘C’mon, Steve. No time for teasing right now,” the genius whispered breathlessly. “I need you in me like five hours ago.”
Because you went to art school was Tony’s first thought. “Some of us are just born with innate abilities to be really awesome.”
Steve frowned. “To an extent yes. He’s told me some. I tend to ignore the things he doesn’t tell me for himself.”
Tony lifted his hands in surrender and took a step back, mimicking zipping his lips. Probably best not to piss off his only other source of heat outside of the fireplace. He wouldn’t have let Rogers win so easily in any other situation.
Tony’s eyebrows shot up at that and a few unsavory yet incredibly sexy thoughts drifted through his mind.
Sharon only laughed at him. “It’s okay, Steve. Breathe. We weren’t as involved in each others lives when you two were dating.”
He reached, stretching his arms as far as he could go, standing on one foot and balancing on his toes at this point. So close. So very fucking close. Curse this abnormally tall tree.
This particular Sunday was the Sunday before Christmas so the book Steve chose to read this time was “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” There were over twice as many children there for the reading as there were that first time they went. Word of Steve’s Story Time spread pretty fast and he’d had to add another later in the day on Sunday as well just to be able to accommodate more families. Once Peter found out about this he started wanting to go to both. Tony might have been more reluctant to let Peter have his way if it had been anyone other than Steve telling the stories. They had both made points of talking to each other every time a story was finished and families were dispersing. Steve made Tony smile and laugh in ways that Peter had never seen before. Both Aunt Pepper and Aunt Tasha had said on different occasions that Tony had a crush on Steve and that they just needed to go out on a date or something. Tony himself had never once confirmed but Peter thought his dad might enjoy being happy so he thought it was a good idea.
“Ah. I am indeed proud of this most superficial achievement. Now, brother Steve. Tell me where I might be of most help.”
Knowing what he knew now, Tony almost dreading leaving the shower and he couldn’t pinpoint why. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t tell Steve was already having random memories of times he couldn’t give a particular date to. It explained why things looked so familiar yet different. The selfish part of Tony had already started growing clingy, and Tony knew he was clingy because Rhodey never let him forget he was clingy, that part of him wasn’t sure if he’d lose a friend he was just now gaining once he found out the truth.
Tony looked up then, worried, and Steve was crying silently. “I woke up and everyone was just gone, Tony. I missed out on their lives. I just wanted to reassure myself that I could have a normal Christmas and that…”
Steve nodded and stared down at his hands. He rubbed the pad of his thumb between his eyebrows. “Barton and Romanoff are going undercover, scoping out any leads in relation to Stark Industries and Stane’s whereabouts. We’ll need to know as much as we can when it comes time to take him out. Bucky, Sam and Thor are going to be keeping a closer eye on HYDRA and pay a visit to the warehouse Tony was kept in, see if they can scavenge anything of import. In the mean time, we need to get a hold of some supplies for Stark to work with, have him make a list of what he needs and give him a space in your lab. I’ll check in in about a week. That should be more than enough time for Stark to at least have some sort of blueprints ready to show off. I’m going to need you to stay on him to make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing. I don’t need any chunk of my home blown up in an effort to escape.”
Steve could admit that he hadn’t been expecting that answer. “I’m almost tempted to go with the easy response here, but, I’m inclined to ask you to elaborate instead.”
Tony risked the brisk air to reach out for Steve’s utility belt and jerked it over before opening one of the pockets and pulling out a small bottle of lube.
to die, but if he did, at least it was because he was trying to save the world and it would have been worth it.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, Rogers. We’ll discuss the unresolved sexual tension between you and Tony later on.”
The brunet shot Steve with a smirk before clearing his throat and stretching his fingers, feeling a few of them crack. The tune he started playing was once again familiar within the first three notes. Tony was blushing a little and it made Steve feel a bit better about the fact he was too.
Steve folded his hands in front of him on the table. “So. It’s nice to officially meet you two. Tony’s talked a great deal about you all.” Steve watched a flush heat along the back of Tony’s neck and forced himself to focus elsewhere. “I’d also like to thank you for your discretion regarding today, and I hope we can agree that it would be best if things remained as private as possible from here on out.”
“Yeah yeah.” He let go of Steve and gave him a small shove out of the way to go check up on the other band members.
Tony flopped his hands on the bed and whined a little bit. “I’m tired of laying in this stupid bed with these stupid drugs. Me and Bruce are going to have words about this, just so you know.”
Tony pounced on Steve, arms wrapping around his neck, body pressed against Steve’s as he kissed him roughly. It was downright filthy the way Tony was rocking his hips against Steve’s. Steve gave just as good as he got, he and Tony both knowing that if anyone saw them, they’d probably be escorted from the club. For some reason, that seemed to turn Steve on even more.
“But you did. That’s what you have to focus on. I get it though. You have to remember the past and all that. Just don’t let yourself get stuck there, Steve. Okay?”
Obie laughed cruelly and clutched his wound, his words coming out slower than they had been, weighed, “You did something your father didn’t do. You locked away all of your designs, designs we would need when you were gone.” His eyes fluttered closed. “Just because the company is in your name doesn’t mean you get to make all the decisions, especially when you don’t know what’s best.”
He was getting ahead of himself though. He had to form some sense of a relationship with Steve before he reached that point. Meaning that he needed to become his friend first. He turned his head slowly toward the door with a smile as he began singing.
Tony was a little clingy. He could admit it even if he didn’t like to. The truth was that he had a hard time making friends and he was terrified of losing the ones he had now. His social skills sometimes left something to be desired when he wasn’t putting on a show for the reporters and camera people.
Steve mentally kicked himself. What the fuck kind of well wish was that? He managed a quick, embarrassed wave before racing from the room as fast as he could walk (not run thank you very much) and right into Bucky.
“Tony,” Steve whispered. He was placing small kisses against Tony’s temple and rocking back and forth. “Tony, you didn’t know. Don’t ever tell me again that you’re not good enough. I’m disgusted with what it did to you, but not with you.”
“I bet I could sit in your lap and fuck myself on your cock right now while all these people danced.”
He was ashamed to admit to himself that what Bucky had said to him had impacted him more than he’d ever imagined. Not Bucky though. He wasn’t Bucky. That was the whole point.
“Steve, whatever it was they did to him is going to leave him broken until the day he dies. That’s nothing you can fix.”
“We didn’t do a very good job when we realized it had to be one of us. It’s just that no one ever expected it to be you,” the brunet all but whispered.
“I know, but I figured you wouldn’t feed yourself, and you’ve been hiding for hours now. You made me a dog, the least I can do is make you dinner.”
The older man’s face shifted into a scowl and he stood, grabbing Tony by the throat as he slammed him into the wall. “You were always too arrogant for your own good, boy.”
After he was sure Steve would stay quiet, Tony pulled his hand away and took a deep breath. Steve thought Tony was about to say something but Tony walked toward the piano and took a seat in front of it. The silence was killing Steve. He was also surprised to see that Tony was actually capable of silence, but that wasn’t something to point out now.
Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve. “Schmidt has no further use for Obie and Obie is too much of a megalomaniac to exhaust one bridge to wealth. Their partnership, however long, is on the outs if HYDRA needs my help getting into SI. Or maybe Schmidt is just tired of paying for designs—either way information is not being traded willingly.”
Steve rolled his eyes and Tony turned off the car, climbing out and waving at all the cars honking behind him.
A week later, they finally got to that date because Steve, with his all too perfect timing, had blurted out the question to Tony just as the genius was leaving for a business trip on the other side of the world.
It was almost time for the Howling Commandos to go out onstage and perform again. Instead of mentally preparing himself for the roaring crowd he was lost in his own head. He wanted more than anything to fix whatever had happened, but he was honestly scared. This was new to Steve. He was certain he’d been 100% straight before he met Tony, but being with Tony for even the short of amount of time they had been together had felt so natural he wasn’t sure he could really match that again.
The redhead rolled her eyes but gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you’re home and okay. Where were you though?” She looked over at Steve again. “Vegas?”
Natasha turned out to be a good ear when Steve was struggling to hold it together on the worst of his days. In the midst of her trying to reinvent herself after spilling all of SHIELD’s, and in turn HYDRA’s, deepest secrets onto the Internet, still found time to email Steve, text Steve, call him even. She wasn’t the only one though. They all reached out to him for different reasons, but did so in order to keep him grounded.
“Open your mind! Think four, five, ten dimensions. Don’t get stuck in that three dimension space that you call your head.”
Bucky snorted. “That’s such bullshit, Steve.” Steve looked affronted but Bucky held up a hand to silence him. “You guys are the biggest idiots I’ve ever met. Look, did you consider that maybe he thinks you don’t want to talk to him?”
He will adamantly deny the fact that he squealed when the next thing he knew involved Steve putting an arm around his waist and lifting him slightly just to give him those extra inches he needed to complete his task. Star on top, he sighed when his feet were back on the ground.
Steve grimaced in pain. Tony walked over to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, placing the smaller boys arm over his own to help him walk. Steve attempted to protest, but finally gave in when it became too difficult to stand on his own. “I don’t like bullies. I’d rather it be me than anyone else getting pounded on.”
“For…getting your business together. Getting your life back. Hopefully no one will underestimate you again.”
Steve nodded, obliging despite the tent in his pants. Tony knew Steve was grateful, once again, for how dark it was as Steve trailed close behind him, hoping to divert any possible attention away from his awkward shuffle.
“What you’ve done for Bucky, it’s really been great. He’s a completely different person and you didn’t have to do that and I wanted to say thank you,” he said rather quickly.
Steve startled when Tony spoke again, had forgotten the other man was there. “Command Sergeant Major Nuts-N-Bolts is not a dog, Captain. He’s a living, breathing--well, okay, he’s not exactly living and breathing but he’s slightly sentient and using a leash would be just rude.”
Bruce laughed softly. “I was here first, Tony.” He kicked out a chair for Tony to sit in. “Can’t sleep?”
After much consideration and a little selfish moping, he finally stepped out of the shower and put on some fresh pajamas. When he found Steve, he was busy drawing. Where Steve had found a sketch pad and a pencil Tony wasn’t sure, but Steve probably popped it into existence. That seemed to be his thing.
“Wonderful.” Thor bent over and lifted two beams, carefully turning to avoid knocking anyone over. “I do enjoy a bit of hard work now and again.”
Steve removed the popcorn from Tony and set it down out of reach on the coffee table before gently shaking the brunet until he jerked awake, hands swinging uselessly in no certain direction. Tony blinked a few times, eyes hooded and confused. “Whaaa?”
When Tony found Steve, the genie was in the same position he’d been in the first time he was looking out the windows.
Tony pressed his lips together and looked away for a moment as if unsure of what to say. Steve almost thought he might look a little scared but it was only for a few seconds before it was covered up with a neat little smirk. “I haven’t seen you in weeks you know, since that charity dinner where you turned down my offer to dance. I thought I’d stop in and see how you were, catch a look at your pretty face and maybe convince you to cut a rug with me, you know, for funsies.”
The genius lifted a meat tenderizer and glared at the disgruntled machine. “I don’t care if you’re upset because no one around here knows how to properly work you, but if you don’t give me my coffee soon, so help me god…”
“We’re going to have a talk about how I had to find out from Natasha that you’re dating Steve, Tony. I’m your best friend and you can’t just keep shit like this from me. Now turn the damn camera off and get up here because I haven’t seen you in months and I’d like to hang out with you if that’s all right.”
Steve could not, for the life of him, figure out how to stick the key in the lock so he could get inside his apartment. This apparently required a bit more focus than he was capable of, so he dropped to his knees and found himself face to face with the doorknob.
“But I enjoy it, dad! Doesn’t that matter at all to you? I finally have friends and people to talk to and you’re worried it will interfere with the part of my life where I have no friends at all?”
“Don’t. Please don’t apologize. You’re the one who figured it out. I was wearing a...terribly ridiculous outfit and trying to grant wishes. Seventy years cooped up in a bottle with no memory of how I got there was enough time for me.”
“Kiddo, we need to leave soon. We have to go meet Pepper with Happy because they want to talk about wedding stuff again.”
Steve leaned his forehead down against Tony’s. “I don’t think you’re inept. I think you are brave and reckless and a genius who just so happens to also be an idiot. You’re one of mine, Tony. Of course I have to worry, of course you doing something as stupid as coming out here while still injured is something I’m going to have a problem with. I want to keep you safe. I have to.”
Tony grabbed a chair and pulled it alongside Obie before plopping down. He stared down at the older man who was very obviously not trying to show how much pain he was in. It was testament to Obie’s extreme pride that he acted as though he hadn’t just been shot, as if he himself had chosen to lay on the floor at Tony’s feet. The metallic smell of his blood pouring out, staining his shirt, was enough to make Tony’s stomach turn, but now wasn’t the time to show weakness; it would only give Obie more strength.
Steve grabbed Tony and pulled him down to the ground when a series of shots broke through the glass at the lobbies entry way. Bullets showered over their heads before letting up. Steve rolled to his feet, pulled Tony up a second later.
“But Tony, this isn’t just about doing what you think others will expect of you! This is also about pursuing your dreams, doing what you want to with your life! Taking risks and making sacrifices for your art because that’s what you’re passionate about.”
Tony chuckled and ran his fingers over the back of Steve’s sweat-slicked neck. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Ah. No. A deserted island actually but that’s something I’ll tell you when you get here. Steve isn’t...well he’s...ah, special. Don’t mention to anyone else that you’ve heard from me. I probably should have dropped by and visited you instead of calling like this.”
He side-eyed Clint. “Sorry. A little preoccupied with…” he gestured the papers in front of him. “Homework.”
Tony had been watching Steve this entire time too and he was sure that was impacting his feelings as well.
That caused Steve to laugh a little. “No. I’m going to have to watch you die. If we went the rest of our lives without fighting villains and lived in a world where we could be normal people, I’d outlive you. All of you. Except Thor. And possibly Bruce. But I’d lose you, Tony. Do you not see that? I’ve lost Bucky. I’m losing him again. And the thought that I’m going to lose you one day too scares the hell out of me.”
Tony shrugged. “He always does. He’d say I wasted my time making something that isn’t useful. It probably has a lot of flaws too. I tried to fix most, but whatever isn’t good enough I can definitely work on later.”
Tony’s eyes swiveled up to stare at Steve, brows furrowed. “It’s not…” he sighed, stood up and folded his arms across his chest. “Thank you.”
“Well it definitely wasn’t an insult, that’s for sure.” Tony looked up from the cookie again to see Steve giving him another one of those fond smiles. “Thanks, Cap.”
“Update!” Steve barked into his comm. If he couldn’t find Tony, he’d at least check in on the rest of his men. The one’s that listened to him for the most part.
Tony just grinned and sent a smiley face in reply before putting his phone away and entering the backstage area of the performance hall. He had three hours before the performance started. Pepper had already arrived with his suit. He’d insisted on and had been pestering her for weeks to let him add color to his wardrobe and she finally agreed to get him something that would work for him and hopefully Howard as well. The jacket, tie and pants were a dark navy blue, closer to being black. His favorite part was the deep maroon button down shirt he got to wear underneath it. His father, despite his history for never being satisfied, approved of this change. Small miracles.
Bucky protested but allowed Steve to pull him away, and it didn’t stop him from glancing back every few seconds to make sure she was still standing there. Steve rolled his eyes.
Steve found himself being swamped by fans looking for autographs and reporters who felt it was more important to follow up a question about how he was helping to rebuild the city with “and are you single?” It was always times like this Steve wished Tony was there to field those questions because he knew how to talk his way around every subject known to man. Steve had first hand experience with that every time he tried to talk to Tony about why he needed to fill the team in on any changes he made to battle plans.
All eyes were now on Thor. Clint lifted his finger and opened his mouth to correct the god, but he suddenly found himself unable to argue with Thor’s assessment of the holiday. Tony grinned and stood up, obviously running low on energy.
The blond was shivering despite the amount of heat he was putting out and Tony wrapped his arms and the blankets as tightly around the both of them as he could. “Can we agree to never accept a mission in this country in the dead of winter ever again?”
“That’s a long time to be having sex. Which, by the way, is how I intend to spend the rest of this weekend.”
Despite Tony’s greatest fears, Steve actually did return close to three months later. He had been tired and a little weary, but Tony had shown him the suite he’d designed for Steve and introduced him to his state-of-the-art 21st century bed. He even pretended he wasn’t insulted when Steve complained that it felt like a marshmallow.
With a heavy sigh, Tony rolled over onto his back and grabbed his far-too-excited-this-early-in-the-morning son with one arm and pulled him down, tickling his stomach mercilessly while Peter squealed with laughter. The more the child struggled to get free, the more spots Tony found to tickle. Once Peter cried “uncle” Tony finally stopped.
The blond just huffed. “I don’t think it’s going to ruin anything. I just said that I feel the same way.”
Steve sent a shot flying at something that looked important and very much electrical behind Schmidt’s head. The other man didn’t flinch, just smiled wider and laughed. “The virus is everywhere. Do you believe that shooting one server will hinder me?” He started pacing around the room. “Men like Stark. Obadiah. They are just as corrupt as we are, the only difference is they are praised for their death toll while we are shunned for ours, feared for the change we propose. They spin that fear into a guise of protection for the American people when they could harness that fear! Take it and grow! They hold the world in the palm of their hands and do nothing with it.” He sneered, “but not me.”
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll talk about it later. Thanks, Stark. Everyone dismissed.” he added with a sigh and waited as everyone but Tony shuffled out the door.
Steve smiled sadly. They had a lot of fun, a lot of memories. It didn’t stop Steve from getting beat up on a regular basis or Tony being mocked endlessly for being a genius in addition to being a “poor little rich boy.” The difference was that they were able to stand up for each other when they could and at some point they began making new friends. James Rhodes and Pepper Potts, Bucky Barnes and Peggy Carter, and eventually Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton just showed up at their lunch table one day and sat down, immediately jumping into a conversation like they had all been friends for the longest time. Bruce Banner showed up not long after. Thor Odinson had developed an interest and dragged Bruce as well as his shifty sort of step-brother Loki Laufeyson into their circle.
Steve shook his head, unwilling to push the matter for now. Not when Tony was still obviously reeling after his escape. “Think about it, let me know what you decide. We’ll do everything else you ask for as long as you get us what we want in return.”
“Because it’s a commitment that can interfere with your prior and far more important commitments. Do I need to remind you just how much your hands are insured for? Something as frivolous as playing in a band can end up doing serious damage. What would you even do with your life if you could no longer play the piano and do these performances?”
Steve, as furious as he was, found himself unable to leave the genius’ side all the way back to the house. Tony’s head rested in his lap, his body limp and his breathing so slow that Steve couldn’t help keeping his fingers on Tony’s pulse just to ease his worries. They all drove in relative silence, only a few words exchanged, though even that died down when it became clear that Steve wasn’t in any mood to respond, too busy noting every new nick and cut that adorned the brunet in his lap.
“No thanks, Captain,” Tony responded. “I think I got this. Unless you’re talking about lending a hand in a very different and specific kind of way,” he added with a leer.
“Nah. Life’s too short.” He grinned. “It’d be a crime for me to feel ashamed of what we just did. I want to do it again. Soon. Well maybe not soon. I have to leave in a few minutes. I’m going out of the country for a piano performance.”
When it was time for them to make their way to the stage, Steve looked over at his best friend and gave him a smile along with a salute which Bucky returned. At some point in their lives this had become their method for letting the other know he had his back. Bucky seemed to calm down visibly and smiled. Steve trusted Bucky more than anyone else and he knew Bucky felt the same way. So when it was time for them to walk onstage, Steve gave Bucky a pat on the back as he walked by to pick up his bass guitar. The lights came up, people were screaming and Dum Dum started them off. Steve spotted Natasha not too far from the stage so he spared Bucky a quick glance to see if he’d noticed. He had. He winked at her before he started singing which earned him an eyeroll and the tiniest of smiles. Steve was happy for his friend and happy that Bucky might possibly stop dragging him along on horrendous double dates if their relationship became serious.
What was it like to be on the opposite end of the spectrum? He knew people who struggled to make ends meet and he wondered if that somehow made them stronger or made him weaker in comparison to all of his peers. They had free time, social lives and went to parties, clubs, restaurants, took walks in the park and went to theme parks. Tony had never had much time for that. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he wasn’t living according to a schedule someone else had set for him.
Tony was not entirely sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way he and Steve grew to like each other and ultimately became friends. Great friends. Thick as thieves. The whole shebang. And it was good. Really good. So good, in fact, that Tony had to go and fuck it all up by falling for the soldier. Not just a little, but head over heels, ridiculously, wanting to sing it from the rooftops, hopelessly in love with Steve Rogers.
There was a semi-collective groan making its way around the room and Steve’s smile faltered a bit. Crap.
He pulled the goggles completely from his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess that could have gone worse.” And then he remembered he still had Cap to deal with. He supposed it was by some small miracle that Steve was nowhere to be found after that call.
Steve couldn’t figure out what that expression on her face meant, but it suggested she knew something and was amused by the fact that he was basically clueless. “Okay.”
With a satisfied smirk he dropped the blankets at Steve’s feet. "Mission accomplished. Anything else you feel like ordering me to do, Captain?”
“Rhodey is here, wants to help.” Clint’s voice came through a bit tinier as he spoke to Rhodey. “How did you find me anyway?”
Tony popped the tab on his root beer and took a sip while staring at his fellow scientist. “I guess just not as much as the whole mob life yeah?”
Tony tucked his good hand in the pocket of his borrowed hoodie and shrugged. “Yeah, well. He was bored. Heard there might be a hot blond in the kitchen and wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Don’t worry, he’s as impressed as I am. Was that shirt painted on or do you shop in the junior miss section of the GAP?”
Peter handed Steve a gift that had been tucked under the tree and the blond looked at Tony. “It’s from both of us.”
The past three months with HYDRA had taken their toll both physically and mentally on Tony. He knew as much. He felt exhaustion in his blood and his bones, from his fingertips to his toenails, yet, sleep eluded him. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling of his borrowed room in a home he wasn’t familiar with, surrounded by people who possibly wanted to kill him as much as they wanted weapons from him. He’d escaped captivity, sure, escaped the torture that came along with it but had just managed to find himself on the doorstep of another threat, another goon who wasn’t above doing the same thing to him if he didn’t comply with demands---even if this goon did provide him with a pretty comfortable bed and running water.
“Fear not, Steven. The Man of Iron cares greatly and I believe he would join us if you requested it of him.”
“So this is what it looks like to see the great Tony Stark care about someone other than himself. What would it look like to see Tony Stark lose someone he cares about then?”
“I’m fine!” Bucky gasped. “A few of Pierce’s guards. Got’em down, took Pierce out.” He groaned. “I think my fucking leg is broken though. No, wait. Yeah, definitely broken. Goddamit.”
By the end, his mood had improved a great deal and he remembered why he dedicated so much time to what he did. Yeah he hated that he was 17 and lacked any sort of social life whatsoever, but he put his talents to good use and people loved him. When he made his way back into the wings, Pepper gave him a hug like she always did after another completed concerto. He had to go to his post-show mingling thing and talk to some higher ups because this was all part of getting from point A to point B in terms of deciding where he’d take his next performance and when. He was itching to get to his cell phone though and he could not manage to escape because everyone wanted to congratulate him on another spectacular composition. He’d started to give up hope when he finally spotted an opening and made a mad dash (as fast as one could escape without making it obvious he was, in fact, trying to escape) to get outside. He pulled his phone from his pocket.
In retrospect, Steve probably should have kept a closer eye on Tony after their outing together. Instead of calming the genius like Steve had intended, the trip did nothing but make him more restless than ever. Tony threw himself into working with gusto, up at all hours of the night and day, living on loud music and caffeine alone.
“I didn’t mind. I enjoy being with you no matter how old you are. And your five-year-old self is a lot more mature than your adult self.”
The brunet smiled. “Yeah. That’s...hi, I’m Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries,” he held out his hand.
Tony rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and sighed. “At least Nuts-N-Bolts was able to warn you. He’s gonna need a promotion for that one.”
Tony was just as scared and unsure of himself because his feelings for Steve were just as strong. Yeah it was scary and it might not work out in the end, but then again it could be the only thing either of them wanted for the rest of their lives so it couldn’t be that bad to give it a try.
Sam spoke from Steve’s left. “The rooms were a mess. The explosion looks to have taken out a few of the other prisoners cells. We found charred remains that they hadn’t bothered to clean up.”
The team waited in silence and Fury opened the door for Maria Hill to enter. She was holding the hand of a child. A small child with shaggy brown hair and a look of utter boredom. He couldn’t have been more than five.
“Tony,” he says, breath coming out in harsh pants. He already looks completely wrecked. “Don’t stop,” he begs.
That caused Tony to laugh. Peter was brutally honest about things, just like he was. He was about to tell them that they really needed to leave when a man came out and took a seat in the ridiculous looking reading chair. A few children were taking seats on the tiny chairs for kids while parents stood back to watch. Peter made his way over there too.
“But I didn’t. I’m here and we’re going to wake up on Christmas morning and open presents and do all the silly things that families are supposed to do and then if you’re okay with it and I’ve stopped shivering by then I’m going to take you to bed and give you a very special, private Christmas present of your own.”
Another bullet. Another grunt. Tony tried to breathe. And then Obie was looming over Tony, crouching down next to him and sliding the barrel of the gun over Tony’s face. “You should work on breathing, Tony. This is going to get you killed before I get a chance to do it myself.”
Tony opened the folder and began reading. From what Steve could see they contained older looking documents, communications records, transactions and purchase orders. Tony swallowed roughly a few times, squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before forcing them back open to continue reading.
“Thanks. Now I’m going to ruin this touching moment by telling you that you might want to get some earplugs to wear to sleep tonight. If you know what I’m saying.”
"I hate my life right now," the genius mumbled. Which was a lie. He had Steve in his bed every night and this was the happiest he'd been in a long time.
“I feel like you’re taking your sass to new levels now that we’re actually on a date. You weren’t this sassy before.”
Tony and Steve both glance at Natasha before realizing the rest of the table seemed to be in on some secret discussion they’d missed out on. She gave Steve a pointed look before standing. “I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” As she walked by, she smacked Tony on the backside of his head.
Steve got used to sleeping in that chair, hunched uncomfortably over with his head resting lightly on the edge of Tony’s bed. While he waited, Steve would fill his time with sketching, reading, or doing what little work he could accomplish from the room, though mostly he just watched Tony.
Happy held the door open for Tony to climb in and then gave Pepper a kiss on the cheek before she climbed in the back with Tony.
Tony shrugged. “It’s time for something new, something bigger and better. Stark Resilient has been in my head for awhile now, and any employees loyal to the Stark brand are welcome to follow. I’m going to change the world Obie, and I’m going to do it my way.”
“I—“ Tony swallowed hard again, shook his head as if to clear it. He folded the drive in his fist and focused his eyes on some point over Natasha’s head. “What’s on the drive?”
“Because you were duped, just like everyone else! And I’m not saying that out of anger or any sort of hurt pride on my part, but you were led to believe that was me over and over. That thing knew everything about me when he took my form.”
Tony grinned wide. “He deserves it.” He looked between his friends again. “You know. I would be upset that you two trusted a mysterious letter with only a hint of finding me with no proper backup if I had any room to speak, but things being as they are, how about we call it a draw?”
Peggy took him back to Erskine then, where Steve only just restrained himself from attacking the other man. Instead he’d listened as Erskine explained his business, explained how he was the sort of leader of a very prominent mob rooted in the underbelly of Brooklyn. He’d talked and talked about what they stood for, why they were there in the first place, where they wanted to be in the future and at the end of it, Steve slumped back against his seat, his injuries long tended to but still throbbing under the bandages, Erskine offered Steve a place amongst his ranks.
Tony shook his head. “No. It’s still not. This was all Steve’s idea, bringing you guys here. Which…” Tony looked at Steve, a little bit confused, but mostly happy. “Not that I’m complaining, but how exactly did you guys get here anyway?”
Steve whispered curses against Tony’s lips before throwing his head back. Tony smiled and lined his own cock up with Steve’s, a sensation that had the both of them shuddering. Tony grabbed one of Steve’s hands and had the soldier wrap it around both of their cocks, helping him by starting with small strokes. Steve finally got the rhythm and Tony pulled his hand away, moving his hips slowly while Steve jerked the both of them off, loving the way the blond moaned when their dicks slid back and forth against each other.
“Tony Tony Tony,” Obie started, throwing an arm around the brunet’s shoulder and pulling him to the couch. “You should have called anyway.”
And, yeah, okay. Steve understood where he was coming from there. His attitude had maybe been a little rough around the edges this week, but, that had less to do with Stark than it had to do with his men screwing up a simple shipment. The third one this year, which was really three too many.
“So I would ask if you’re enjoying yourself, but I think your face is expressive enough to give me my answer.”
Tony crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe. I’m a busy man full of ideas and a company to run...everyone probably thinks I’m dead actually.” He scowled.
“And I have a lot of targets painted on my back. It would have been helpful to know where some of those targets might have been coming from. I might have been able to plan differently.”
“Then what, Tony? You have ties to two different mobs right now. Had you known beforehand, what would you have done differently? Your lie would have certainly been less feasible than the truth, which was that you had no idea what was going on at all. You got hurt, and I am sorry for that, I’d give anything for that not to have happened in the first place, but I still believe that you not knowing anything was for the best.”
“Most of them are still unfinished. So there are a lot of lines in there that don’t belong, so they probably look pretty odd right now, but they’ll look better when I’m finished.”
A spike of anxiety had him shooting up until he was sat ramrod straight in bed. He needed a distraction, that was it. He was good at finding those. Well, he was good at finding them when he was in his own home. He wasn’t sure what this place had to offer, nor was he sure if the good Captain would allow him to take a personal tour of the place. Considering that he had agreed to help them as far as weapons and armor went, though, he felt that maybe he could get away with wandering around just the littlest bit.
Steve felt his shoulders slump a little. “That’s not going away anytime soon, is it?” he muttered in defeat before walking out.
Steve stood up, looked at Bruce. “Get him cleaned up,” and then he looked back at Tony. “You’re negotiating with killers, Tony. We like to keep our business efficient, and that includes popping a guy who will become trouble in the future. You need to figure out what your hang up is here and how far you’re willing to go to get what you want.” Steve turned then and walked away, stopping just at the threshold of the entranceway to the hall, turning his head until his eyes locked with Tony’s. “Some of us have no choice but to get our hands dirty. You’ll do well to remember that if we’re going to work together, Stark.”
“Idiot,” Bucky said with a sigh, but Steve thought it sounded almost fond. Despite the pain, his friend seemed a bit more lighthearted now that his pain was being addressed and possibly fixed. Steve figured he might count that as a point in his Reasons To Trust Tony Stark book. Just maybe.
Steve had never intended for this to be his life. It had all happened mostly by accident, as much as you can call being in the wrong place at the wrong time-- or perhaps that wasn’t quite right, being in the wrong place at the right time was a more astute observation-- an accident.
The bartender handed the drinks over to Steve and Tony chose that moment to power on the toy. He watched with wonder as Steve’s spine stiffened and he had to make an effort not to crush the glass in his hands. Tony admired the way Steve’s ass clenched, the way his back muscles were showing through the sinfully tight shirt he was wearing. Despite the initial hiccup, Steve managed to make his way back to Tony without revealing anything had changed.
Peter wove in and out of aisles and all throughout the store and Tony had trouble keeping up with him. It was the sounds of “DAD LOOK AT THIS” that helped him locate his son again and again. Tony himself had made his way to the science section, checking out various books just for funsies when Peter came running towards him, plowing into Tony’s legs and panting.
With a hum, he turned his head and started watching the club goers dancing on the floor. His eventual goal was to have Steve out there, dancing with him while the vibrator in Steve’s ass was on its highest setting. Until then he would just bring Steve close to the edge as many times as he could before Steve would become a panting, needy mess.
“Yeah all I’m hearing is this applies to me and only me and I carry the weight of the world and all responsibilities on my shoulders.”
Steve pulled Tony to his lap and kissed him roughly again just to get him to shut up. Tony knew Steve wasn’t opposed to dirty talk. Rather, he was more concerned that the dirty talk alone was going to cause him to come, and as much as Tony knew he wanted to, he also knew that Steve got off on Tony teasing him for hours at a time.
Finally Steve got the match lit and dropped it into the fireplace, looking somewhat hopeful that he wouldn’t have to light another one anytime soon. Eventually the sound of fire crackling against wood took over and they both moved closer, reaching out their hands to warm up. Tony rubbed his hands together harshly and then wiggled his fingers to get the blood circulating again.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about! I can’t even have a serious conversation with you! I don’t mean to say that you don’t care, but you’re so flippant and you just put everything else in your life ahead of...that!”
Steve followed after him, not a word uttered between them until Steve was buckled in and preparing to back out of the driveway.
“Just so you know, you never disappoint me. You don’t mess up any more than I do. You are just as important to us as we are to you.” He walked slowly toward the bed, removing his shirt before he climbed next to Tony and pulled the tablet from his hands before throwing an arm over Tony’s stomach. “I’m not leaving you. If you think I am, you’re obviously underestimating my ability to be extremely stubborn.”
He listened closely as he heard the muted sounds of the final band getting their performance started and he hummed to himself as he stared at the keys. What did he want to play this time? He’d gotten Steve’s attention the first time because he had been playing Sinatra and decided to stick with the 40s theme of musical artists. He had a secret fondness for all of them and he didn’t necessarily hide it, but it was something he didn’t have to share with the world. Call him crazy, but it felt like the last sense of privacy he could have and perhaps that was why he had been angry with Steve initially for watching him. People had quirks and Tony wanted this to be just his. Now he found himself wanting it to maybe be theirs. If Steve came back. Would Steve think to come back there?
The blond had his hands already reaching for his phone to send out an alert when he heard the bedroom door open followed by a whirring noise that he’d recognize almost anywhere.
Tony grinned, pulling his sunglasses down slightly to peer at his friend. “You know me. I like to make an entrance, Rhodey.” He plopped down in the small space that was left next to Steve, making himself comfortable. “Besides, I had a thing and was on the phone with some ingrate who shouldn’t even be working for MIT.”
Tony smirked. "Oh yes. You can see that I'm already troubled by your idle threats. Your parents will be more than thrilled when my dad's lawyers come knocking on your door."
“Well it’s not like there was anyone else to explain every single reference in the movie to me, and you do have the innate ability to talk my ear off.”
Two months later Tony was trying very hard to make sure he wasn’t pressuring Steve into anything. Steve had started removing Tony’s shirt before the genius could register what was happening. He was being manhandled and he had to stop Steve. He actually stopped Steve while Steve was peeling his clothes off of him, just to make sure Steve was ready for this.
So that was Tuesday. At least their new comm units had worked well, not that there was any doubt since Tony had made them himself.
Tony did another circuit around Steve. “Would you go back now? Say everything was taken care of here for good, that everything was in working order and it was possible to live some normal apple pie lifestyle, would you go to her?”
“Well being still isn’t really going to help get the blood circulating again. Being still this long is really hard for me. Do something.”
Tony stood up too. “Okay. I can handle letting you borrow it. I mean if you’re coming back eventually I can part with it for a little while.”
Tony may or may not have added an extra bounce to his step and he most definitely did not walk into a wall because he was too preoccupied with looking down at his cell phone. Anyone that says otherwise is a damn dirty liar.
The blond gave a shrug. “It’s possible, but don’t hold your breath. I’d hate for you to have a brush with disappointment. Besides, maybe I’d want to play one day too.”
“Then don’t let them get to you. I’m a big boy. I’m not some fragile doll or whatever. I can take care of myself and it’s not their business to say anything otherwise. Especially if they’re implying that I’m so easy to hurt.”
The bot hit Steve’s desk for what was probably the tenth time today, jostling all of Steve’s things. He frowned down at where the bot was hiding under his desk. “A leash would probably do the trick,” he muttered to himself.
“Happy birthday, Tony Stark,” Steve whispered into the brunet’s ear, smiling. Tony smiled back, mumbling a thank you before falling asleep in Steve’s arms.
“No. I keep acting like I don’t know what anyone is referring to because I can’t get a read on you, but just…” he took a few steps back, his hands lifted. “Figure it out. Give me something to go on. But figure it out first.”
It was a time consuming process, assessing the weapons and noting pertinent information in a battered old school ledger that led to him being the butt of several ‘old man’ jokes by his colleagues, at least those close enough to ever see the ledger in the first place, but Steve was of the opinion that it was safer than using a computer to keep his records, especially when it concerned their under the table matters.
Tony paused and looked down at the floor. And there it was. For all his genius, his passion, his smiles and his arrogant demeanor, Tony was hiding his fears and insecurities.
Steve tore into the pack. “That’s an understatement.” He shoved a cracker into his mouth and handed them back to Tony. “We should probably ration these at least.”
Tony groaned as loud as possible. “Fine. We’ll just talk about it later. Whatever.” And with that, he turned and stormed off, leaving a guilty looking Steve to follow after him. Tony stomped up the stairs the entire way, too mad to talk at all. He was stupid. So stupid. One of the first things he should have told Steve was that his dad must not, under any circumstances whatsoever, know about Tony’s involvement in anything outside of his piano career. He hadn’t made that particularly clear when he had been talking to Steve about his life. He knew it was stupid but he was also partly angry with Steve for it even though Steve had no idea he needed to keep his mouth shut.
The look on Steve’s face was amused exasperation, but something clicked just as Tony was climbing into the car.
“You should get some rest, Tony. We can’t have you falling asleep during dinner tomorrow.” Bruce leveled Tony with a look that clearly said the genius would not be getting out of attending the meal by any means.
“Or else,” Pepper added on, voice steely, and Steve didn’t doubt for a minute that they meant every word.
Tony gave him a sympathetic look. This was something he sort of understood. He lost a lot of weight when he was in captivity because they didn’t find it necessary to feed him and Yinsen regularly. And considering Steve’s metabolism, he wondered how the soldier would be feeling by the time they finally did get out of this mess.
“Hello, kids! My name is Mister Steve. If you have any questions, just raise your hands but try not to talk over each other. Now, let’s make sure we have our listening ears on,” he said, grabbing his ears and pretending to turn them on. What a dork.
“What about, Spangles? The last time you told me we needed to talk was that time I crashed into a parking garage and nothing ever came of that.”
When he found Steve, the blond was standing in front of a family portrait, hands shoved into his pockets and looking every bit as intimidated as Tony feared he would once he saw the family home for the first time.
Steve had been in surgery for awhile. The super soldier serum he’d been infused with was working as fast as it should have been but it was healing the wounds over the bullets that the doctors were trying to remove quickly. He hadn’t been allowed to go into the room with Steve for a long time so he paced. Pepper reminded him that he probably should have stayed in his own hospital room a little while longer all things considered.
Tony nodded and took a cracker. “Yeah yeah.” He put them away and stood with the canteen, puzzling over how to actually get the snow without falling under an avalanche. He looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows, but pulled the door open and piled some snow into the canteen as quickly as he could and then shut the door.
“So says the man who doesn’t have to pay rent to live in a place like this,” Tony responded with a smile, mostly to show that he wasn’t holding it against any of them.
Tony smiled. “Good.” He crushed his lips against Steve’s and wrapped his arms even tighter around the man’s neck.
Tony sighed. “I don’t know. When I was in college, I wanted to create robots. I wanted to advance the technology of our time by leaps and bounds. I wanted to make dad proud but I didn’t want to become him.”
“Oh. I was just--” he pointed at Steve’s hands. “The dog. I was going to take it. What are you doing with it?”
This was it. It was over. He’d fucked it up. He’d made Steve angry. He’d hurt Steve and he knew the things he said would hurt Steve but he didn’t make himself stop. How was he ever supposed to earn Steve’s forgiveness?
“Pepper looks pretty damn amazing for someone who has had to put up with Tony Stark for over a decade, that’s for damn sure.” Clint chuckled as he stabbed his shovel into the debris around him.
He walked back onto the elevator and the doors shut, taking him on the first leg of his journey to find his best friend once again.
“That good huh? I’ve never done that to another man before.” He was now feeling a bit shy himself and wondered if he’d be leaving with a raging boner, but that thought is quickly forgotten when Tony feels Steve working open the fly of his pant. The pressure of calloused fingers wrapping around Tony’s dick and his hips buck upwards, a loud groan escaping his lips.
They eventually became distracted with food and Clint’s stories about joining the circus. They were 87% sure he was lying about going off to do that after graduation, but it was hard to tell with him. He had also tried to convince everyone earlier in the year that he was an assassin with a secret government agency and that his weapon of choice was a bow and arrow. He was most likely going to end up in a Hollywood movie with the way he managed to make up such entertaining stories. Well an 87% chance they were made up.
“My dad talks about you all the time. He thinks you’re the best. And he always goes on these trips to try and find you.”
Steve was silent for a long time, and when he did speak again it was quietly. “I thought I’d lost you, Tony. It was like losing everyone in my life all over again.”
“I’m stubborn and get myself into trouble all the time because I can’t keep my mouth shut about some things.”
Steve let a smile tug the corner of his lips up as he glanced down at his watch. He frowned when he caught sight of the time and shot a regretful look across the table. “We need to go, our time out is limited.” Steve dug in his pocket and pulled out two cards, one for Rhodey and one for Pepper. “Just…” he trailed off, unsure what to say, “be watchful. Tony will be in touch from now on.”
“Well you’re still a huge smart ass so you can’t be that nervous. I’m sure she’ll be swooning in no time at all, Bucky.”
He lifted his eyes just once to see his best friend and Natasha deep in conversation. Good. Maybe they’d found something else to talk about. He had a lot to think about, and all of his thoughts seemed to swirl around one particular person. He knew very little about Tony. They’d only met on two different occasions, and they were both rather limited in the information they had shared with each other. Tony had made it seem like music was all there was to know about him. He didn’t really mention his family or give any hints as to what his life outside of The Avengers was even like. To be fair, Steve hadn’t told Tony much more, but Tony seemed like he didn’t want to talk about himself much. Considering Tony’s lack of modesty that he only assumed came attached to a large ego, he would have expected a little more.
The driver grunted and pulled away from the curb. Steve had his hands on his knees, one leg bouncing nervously. The cabbie might have been cranky, but he definitely took Steve’s “as fast as you can” to heart because he was pushing his way in and out of traffic and his hand was practically glued to the horn. If Steve were to tell someone he wasn’t scared he’d be lying. This guy was intense. On the plus side, he did make it to the performance hall with five minutes to spare before the show even started.
JARVIS’s voice was as calm as could be, “Evacuation is complete, I have instructed rescue crews to retreat. Starting upload to mansion servers.”
Steve scowled at himself when he realized that he was just the slightest bit put out that Tony wasn’t flirting with him this time around. Definitely something he’d have to work out later, when he was preferably alone, and in the mean time he’d have to focus instead on the T-Rex chasing those kids and not on trying to guess what it was that was going on in the genius’ head.
Tony’s grin faltered. “Who said I’ll still be around when this is all said and done?” Tony muttered. “I’m not exactly a part of this whole—mob family you’ve got going on. I don’t play a part here.”
The genius gave Steve a quick peck. “You’re not.” Another peck. “I’m ready.” And another. “Don’t argue.” And one more. “Just do me already.”
Steve nodded and had Thor follow him toward the rubble of a fallen building. “We’re clearing this out. There are cranes but they’re sort of everywhere else, so that’s where we come in.”
“Stark Industries still continues their search efforts for CEO Tony Stark after the billionaire went missing in Afghanistan. Stand-in CEO, Obadiah Stane, is pushing to move the company forward and call off the search for Mr Stark while the Air Force is adamant that they keep searching. The genius disappeared almost three months ago.”
Any and all conversation was cut off when The Avengers started playing. Steve had never been so relieved in his life. He was soaking up all the awkward in the room and probably making every other person look and sound amazing by comparison. At least now he wouldn’t have to try and think of things to say because he would, without a doubt, embarrass himself and somehow Bucky too. He majored in awkward.
Zola had said they wanted access to Stark Industries, and Steve believed that much at least, but the rest—it didn’t add up. Beating Tony unconscious surely wasn’t the best way to get information. And Zola—he spoke as if he wasn’t surprised by Steve’s presence in the slightest, like he expected him, yet security hadn’t appeared to be doubled at all.
Tony opened his mouth to say that he wasn’t the one that was getting married but was cut off when his phone began ringing. That would be Pepper.
Tony watched his lover from a table several feet away. The way Steve lounged against the bar, his ass looked like it was waiting to be bitten and the muscles on his arms stood out like a beacon to anyone at the club trolling for fresh meat. He was easily the most beautiful person Tony had ever had the fortune of laying eyes on. He also had a thing for how adventurous Steve was, and well, the soldier was not disappointing him tonight in the least. He thumbed the small remote in his blazer pocket, not turning it on yet, but reminding himself it was still there.
Tony lunged for Steve’s mouth, kissing him hungrily as Steve blindly made his way toward the bedroom, his hands holding on firmly to Tony’s ass. Tony took that opportunity to grind into Steve while the taller man struggled to make it to the bed. He gently broke the kiss and deposited Tony onto the bed as he removed his own shirt. Tony was immediately back up, his hands tugging down Steve’s pants, shoving them to the ground while he latched on to one of Steve’s nipples, his tongue sliding over the bud before he gently nipped and sucked. Tongue laving over it again to soothe and pain.
Steve let his mouth drop open in exasperation. “This? This is what you’re upset about? You think we want you for only the thing you can make with your two hands?” Steve wanted to shake Tony by the shoulders until he could knock whatever it was that made the other man think so poorly of himself and everyone around him out of his head. “Maybe you were here for what you could do for us in the beginning but so was everyone else. Natasha, Clint, Sam, Thor—the only reason they were brought in was for the talents they possessed. You think that’s why they’re still walking around here today? You think they’d stay if that were the case? We care about you, Tony.”
“My friends—my family. They make me okay with it.” And it was the truth. Without them Steve would have been frozen in time and alone a long time ago.
“What am I supposed to say to him? Do you have any ideas then? Because I don’t think saying please forgive me for sleeping with the guy who was pretending to be you is a great way to start a conversation.”
She shrugged lightly. “I think you’ll succeed, but if you don’t then I guess he’ll just be pissed off for the rest of his life.”
Actions were all well and good and made a statement, but that moment proved just how much three little words can really change your life.
“Am I supposed to be falling asleep right now? If so, the plan is not working. Feel free to do what you can at this moment to thoroughly wear me out for good.”
Now all he had to do was defeat the villain, Obie, and save the girl, Pepper, who would turn around and save Tony when Steve tried to kill him for running off.
Steve scrambled toward the servers while patting his vest for the handheld EMP it carried. If he couldn’t clean the virus out he could at least shut the system down until someone else had the chance to do it. Steve yanked at the paneling, trying to find the right spot so send out the pulse when he felt a firm grip on his back, yanking him down to the ground and away from his work.
Once the excitement and thanks died down a little, Steve looked up to watch Tony casually walking toward him...well as casual as one can look walking in a suit of metal. “What next?”
Clint mimicked zipping his lips but the smirk stayed. Unfortunately Bruce, Natasha and Thor looked like they were just as eager as Clint was.
When they were finished, Tony turned Nuts-N-Bolts back on with a flourish of his hands over his keyboard and they both watched as the bot whirred back to life, chirping insistently at them both. Steve tapped his foot against the floor before grinning. “We should use him to wake up Barton. He always did hate that horse head scene from the Godfather--we should do a little re enactment.”
The other’s shuffled out of the room as if their asses were on fire, leaving just an irate Steve with an upset moody genius to handle. “What the hell crawled up your ass, Tony. Everything is fine and then—“
Steve moved to give the three space, rooting himself by the window, close enough to hear but not to intrude upon their moment.
“Oh look! Crackers!” He pulled out the pack and tossed them to Steve. “This is going to be a meal befitting a king who is trapped in a most unpleasant place.”
Tony did, eyes burning with rage beyond that of which Steve had thought the younger man capable of. “Do it.”
When Tony opened his eyes he noticed two things. It was extremely bright in his room and he was uncomfortably warm. He licked his lips and frowned at how dry his mouth was so he shut his eyes and groaned hoarsely.
Bruce was the first to speak, hand halfheartedly trying to cover up the large amount of formulas and tech design that had ended up all over the table, some of it in what Tony only realized halfway through was permanent marker. “Hey, Steve”, Bruce said. “Something up?”
Sam clipped the protective body armor Tony had made them all into place. “The robot. We found coordinates on his screen. Thor says they’re the warehouse’s coordinates. Either Tony went back there on his own or he was taken again. Either way, he’s in danger.”
Peter grabbed his father’s hand with a disappointed look on his face. “Bye, Mister Steve,” he said dully.
“What?” He found himself hugging Tony tighter, glad the kid wasn’t able to see his face right now. “Tony, I like you the way you are. If you were like me, then you wouldn’t be you. You’re wonderful.” Steve hated this. He hated it because he knew that Tony did grow up to be the very things he was scared of, never believing he was an actual hero. Nothing he said right now would change the future because this was Tony de-aged without memories, not any sort of time travel. “You have no idea how wonderful you are, Tony, but you are. I will always think you’re amazing, and I want you to remember that.”
Steve didn’t hear from Tony for four days. Maybe Tony had given up. He couldn’t possibly have hurt the man’s feelings. Right?
Fifteen minutes later, on the dot, Steve walked in. Tony took a deep breath and then smiled, and this time it was a real smile. A nervous smile, but real nonetheless and that had to count for something.
“Could you get any sappier, Cap?” That was supposed to be a joke, but the words got stuck in Tony’s throat and he looked away.
He had gone from genie clothing to a blue and white plaid shirt and a pair of chinos that no one his age in this world even wore anymore.
Steve licked at the blood on his lip and thrust his head up until it cracked against Schmidt’s, the other man startled just enough the Steve got the advantage back, rolling out of reach and jumping to his feet. He spun to face the other man who was on his feet as well, devilish smirk adorning his face even as he bled.
Tony clenched his jaw and sucked in his cheeks. “In a tiny room with only a bed, a bucket and no running water if you don’t count the constant drip from the ceiling, which, I don’t. More specifically, a warehouse out in the middle of who the fuck knows. I assume it’s only used when HYDRA needs to deal with their trash."
Neither of them was wasting much time on foreplay. Steve’s hand cupped Tony’s erection, massaging with the bottom of his palm and turning Tony into a panting mess. The brunet broke the kiss long enough just to speak one word.
“I’m not mad you, Tony. I’m not. I never will be. This isn’t your fault and I will spend as long as necessary to prove to you that I love you, that I won’t leave you over this. Just talk to me.”
“Not everything needs to be constantly improved upon. Sometimes the flaws are what makes something perfect.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t exactly prepared for that admission. Tony was never anyone’s favorite. “You’re not so bad yourself, Cap.” He picked up the cookie he’d made and held it in front of Steve’s mouth. “Eat up. Before the frosting gets nasty.”
“Oh that? Yeah they threaten me on a daily basis. It’s nothing new, but you should see how much they want to be my friend when it’s time for a big science project.” He smiled, showing his teeth, and shrugged. “I guess it helps when your father has the best lawyers ever, but I don’t really like to fall back on that much. Everyone already knows it anyway.”
“Steve, I swear to god and all these angry drivers behind me right now that if you do not get into this stupid car I will get out and scream at you until you talk to me.”
The blond gave him a smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead this time. “We’ll see. Get some sleep. It sounds like you’re struggling to say anything. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
Natasha, the ninja of all things sneaky, had at some point, grabbed hold of Steve’s iPod and was flipping through his music. “So you listen to this guy a lot?”
Not missed enough to go back, no. The thought alone shot a chill down his spine and set off a voice in his head that told him if he fell asleep he’d wake back up in that stupid warehouse surrounded by henchmen with more brawn than brain.
He needed to put Afghanistan out of his mind for now. He wasn’t ready to share that full story yet. What he’d told Pepper was vague and didn’t cover even a portion of the things he’d witnessed first hand. He hadn’t been gone very long. It was only a two week business trip, but it had taken an unexpected turn and it felt like a lifetime ago.
Rhodey nodded, expression fond. “If anyone gets to kill you, it’s going to be one of us. We’ve earned it.”
The genius smiled. “I can sense the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he said somewhat jokingly.
Steve turned his attention away from the road, trusting Clint to do whatever it took to get there, and instead began laying out a game plan for when they arrived.
Steve made a noise of protest and moved his head away, using a finger to tilt Tony’s head up. “That’s not why.” He cleared his throat. “Okay that’s not the only reason why.”
Pepper reached out and covered Tony’s hand with hers, squeezing tight. Rhodey looked murderous, hands balled up just under the table.
“Someone at Stark Industries is selling my weapons to terrorist organizations. I saw enough while I was in Afghanistan, but I wasn’t able to do anything about it at that moment. Before the plane left I did some investigating slash hacking and…” he frowned. “My weapons have been killing more innocent people than anything. They’re using them against villages where these people have no choice but to give in or die. They’re being forced to leave their homes on foot. Leave everything behind. These terrorists...they’re tearing families apart. They’re killing the ones that dare to rebel. They have executed entire families just to get any sort of information they want. They’re using Stark weapons. They’re using my weapons to scare these villagers into cooperation.” His voice becomes quieter. “You know what these weapons are capable of.”
Tony sniffled. “Only if you promise we can go inside right now. I don’t think I can feel my toes anymore.”
Steve just frowned and stayed close to the door, looking like he was ready to bolt at any given moment.
Steve smiled at Tony and rested his head on the back of the couch next to the genius. “Not so bad for an old guy huh?” he said between panted breaths.
Tony grinned and reached out to take Steve’s hand. “It’s not like a circuit board or anything, but I hope you’ll think it’s neat anyway.”
The fighting felt endless, drawn out until Steve felt almost numb to any pain, until he was bruised and bloody and his breath came in gasps. It was almost a physical relief when Skull’s next hit threw him close enough to his gun that he was able to grab it and fire, two shots, one in the leg and the other one landing somewhere between his shoulder and his chest.
Howard, since Tony had first begun playing the piano as a small child, would force Tony to sit down for two hours straight in the morning and at night just to practice. Tony had already achieved more in his life at only 17 than Howard had during his entire career as a pianist, and Howard was the best in the business. Tony just happened to be better. He knew it. Howard knew it too. He had, after all, created Tony. He’d called Tony his masterpiece and Tony wasn’t sure if that had been a hidden declaration of love for his only child or if he was telling Tony he better not ever let him down because he’s carrying on the greatness of the Stark name. So if Howard found out about Tony’s inclusion in The Avengers, Howard would probably end up going completely nuts.
“Yeah.” Tony sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “The concerts, the performances, playing the piano...this is my career and it’s my priority.”
Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing himself to calm down before speaking. “It’s fine, Steve. It’s always something with him anyway.”
Tony laughed, a crazy thing, and took the stairs three at a time, “You rock, JARVIS!” He pushed open the stairwell exit, leading back into the lobby. “Come ON, Steve. Move it!”
Tony grunted when his body hit the wall, free hand shooting up to grip at the arm Steve had pressing lightly to his throat. “Well hello to you too, Captain.”
“I AM TO UNDERSTAND WE ARE SUPPOSED TO SPEAK OF THAT WHICH WE ARE MOST THANKFUL FOR, ANTHONY. I AM THANKFUL FOR MY BROTHER DESPITE EVERYTHING AND I MISS HIM. I AM THANKFUL FOR SUCH ADMIRABLE AND HONORABLE FRIENDS HERE ON MIDGARD.”
Steve only rolled his eyes and Clint made a gagging noise that only caused Tony to smirk. “I’ll be thankful when you guys stop with the cutesy, mushy shit because the thought of Stark getting down and dirty with Cap only makes me--ow.”
“Why not? It doesn’t seem like any other time is convenient and you have been running away from me.”
Now that his head was much clearer, though, he was able to notice things that he had missed the day before. He wouldn’t be able to make enough of a shelter but it’d be something. As long as he didn’t end up going all Castaway and naming an inanimate object to be his best friend then he’d be good. He was Tony Stark after all. He’d find a way to get off the island. He wasn’t a genius for nothing.
Steve and Tony eyed each other, both unwilling to back down, until a throat cleared, breaking them from whatever that little display had been.
Tony was on top of the world. He was adored by people who didn’t know him personally, and those who did were regularly tested. Even with all of that, Steve figured it must get pretty lonely at the top. Tony was quick witted and socially awkward, but well-versed in how to handle the spotlight. It had taken awhile for everyone to actually see Tony for who he really was, and he turned out to be the exact opposite of what Steve had first assumed. Even though they were influenced by Loki’s staff, Steve still regretted the things he said. He’d tried apologizing but Tony waved him off and said it wasn’t necessary.
“Ow.” He hoped this wasn’t becoming his word of the day. He shot his own glare at the genie. “Right. I’m hallucinating a bit too hard it seems.”
The brunet looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “It’s uh...it’s nothing, dad. It really isn’t. I just…” Tony’s hands flailed a little as he tried to come up with a believable lie but had nothing. “I...I’m in a band.”
“Go back to sleep,” came the tired, half-asleep reply from Steve, whose eyes were still closed. He loosened his grip on Tony’s wrist long enough to slide his hand into the brunet’s, pulling it close to his chest. The genius frowned and bit his lip. He hadn’t exactly noticed how exhausted Steve had been, but he could see the dark circles under his eyes and realized he might have been a little unfair earlier when he’d been angry.
Steve met Tony’s eyes and shook his head slowly, he reached out a tentative hand to brush at the stitching along Tony’s forehead. “Not everything.”
Steve went next, smiling at Tony quickly before he spoke. “I am thankful for the fact that you guys have helped me find my place in this century. It’s still hard, and I am still confused most of the time, but you are okay with that. I have a home, and a family.” Steve turned his head and took Tony’s hand. “I also have Tony. I hope you realize how thankful I am for that.”
The blond shut his eyes and counted to ten in his head before giving up around 8 and speaking impatiently. “Stark.”
“That’s a no.” The billionaire held up his hands, palms out. “I just thought you’d want company. It wasn’t a come on, but don’t worry about it. We’ll talk whenever you’re in the mood to socialize or whatever. I have too many things to do anyway.”
“Never mind. We can keep pining after each other in secret if you want, but I’d sort of like to kiss you now.”
Steve just nods and whimpers, still trying to remember how his muscles work. He looks thoroughly fucked out and blissed, and Tony wishes he could capture this exact moment to look back upon later.
Steve had no idea how to respond to that. Luckily he didn’t have to as Bucky was showing them to their table. Double dates were already among Steve’s least favorite things. Double dates who were preparing to listen to a heavy metal band while drinking the night away were even further down on his list. How could this be a date? How do you get to know someone that way? Bucky had always told him he was too old-fashioned, but Steve thought there was some merit to doing things the old-fashioned way, and he was also a hopeless romantic. He wasn’t the type who was in it for a quick lay before moving on to the next girl.
Steve smiled and placed a hand on Peter’s head before holding out his hand to Tony as well. “I’m Steve by the way, but I’m sure you sort of figured that out already. I’m the owner here.”
Tony’s fingernails dug into Steve’s scalp, his other hand locating the hand next to his head, linking his fingers with the soldier’s and squeezing his hand as he began to meet Steve thrust for thrust. Their moans of pleasure, the panting, none of it was deterred even as they continued to kiss each other, two hands held together tightly.
Tony groaned again and shut his eyes, and when he finally spoke it was slowly and just a bit sluggishly. “When I got hit by that car, the only thought I had was the fact that I wasn’t supposed to go out like that. That wasn’t heroic. That was just bad luck. Maybe I’m not meant to go out as a hero. Look how easy it was for me to end up in a hospital because without the suit I’m just a frail human who can break easily. I’m not strong. Not like you or Thor or the Hulk. Even Natasha and Clint. I rely on machines to do my work for me and without them I can’t exactly walk away from being hit by a car. Not the way you could. Sort of could. Being a genius doesn’t make me any less of a human. And I hate that, you know. I hate that sometimes I feel like maybe I say I’m not a team player because I don’t like knowing that I couldn’t measure up to you guys without the suit. I don’t have the skills that Clint and Natasha have. They’re just as human as me, but I...I’m not as invincible as I like to pretend I am. Obviously. I don’t feel like a true hero though. I feel like one day you’ll realize I’m not needed or that you can put anyone in the suit and you’ll find someone who isn’t as annoying and stubborn and arrogant as me. Please make me stop talking now. Stupid medicine.”
It didn’t matter. So what if Tony ignored him? So what if it kind of really bothered him just a bit? It was...disrespectful is all. That was it. It was a much more reasonable explanation than Bucky’s theory that Steve was just upset because Tony didn’t want to ‘play’ with him. No, that was ridiculous, they weren’t children on the playground, a fact he’d made sure to let Bucky know, just before he slammed the other man to the spar mat, pinning him until he cried uncle.
At some point Steve became entirely engrossed in what The Avengers were doing. They were unlike any heavy metal band he’d ever imagined. They certainly dressed for the part, but they still managed to stand out from most heavy metal bands he’d encountered. For starters, their lead vocal looked like a freaking Viking and was built like a god. No, seriously. Even Steve would be nervous about getting into a fight with this guy. The girl, a redhead who was dressed in all black, looked like she could probably kill a man with one of those drumsticks she was using without breaking a sweat. He wasn’t surprised to see Bucky staring at her, completely ignoring the date who was desperately trying to bring his attention back on her. The guy playing bass was so far from what he’d imagined heavy metal it wasn’t even funny. Except it was. The guy, wearing a peculiar amount of purple, appeared to be focusing less on the strings and more on the audience. This was the guy who would probably jump off stage into a mosh pit just for shits and giggles. He was obviously talented as hell. They all were.
Steve had to quickly pull himself from his thoughts and shook his head. “What? Oh. Yeah she’s real…” he searched his head for an impressive word. “...swell.”
“Stop lying to me, Cap! I get it! You’re upset and brooding and you apparently can’t tell up from down or whatever phrase would apply to your current situation that would actually make sense. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, that’s fine. I won’t push it, but you owe me an explanation. You owe me that much.”
“I’m not really telling you to do either, but I’ve known him longer than you and I’m telling you what there is to know about him. There are some things he’ll have to tell you on his own, but if you want my advice, I think he’s worth it.”
“I’ve always been interested in learning the traditions of Midgardians. I, too, shall volunteer as sweater tribute.”
“In the meantime work on that armor. I think you’ve got a good idea going there. I might need a sidekick when I’m ready to get back into the game.”
Tony held out an arm. “Steve, this is also Pepper Potts, my uh...well she is the person who micromanages my life and she’s a miracle worker and next to her is Happy. He’s my bodyguard slash driver. Everyone, this is Steve.”
Steve took a seat on a nearby bench and sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as he focused on the sidewalk beneath his feet. Eventually Tony came to sit next to him.
Tony gave him a blank stare. “Oh...kay? I mean are we talking ab--but you do realize that--” Wow he was struggling.
“Nah ah ah,” Steve responded, wagging his finger. “I’m not helping you until you answer a few questions for me. I need to be able to trust you, Stark, or else this won’t work.”
So when Steve slid his hand up Tony’s shirt, he didn’t stop the blond despite knowing what he’d find there when he did it. He shut his eyes and noticed the way Steve paused when his fingers moved over the scar on his chest, but Steve’s lack of a response had him cracking an eye open. It was as if Steve didn’t notice and Tony frowned.
“Thanks.” Tony gave one last look at his holo screen, at every weapon blueprint, everything he’d spent years creating, being deleted from existence. While he wanted nothing to do with weapons anymore, it was still disheartening to see hours of hard work falling down the drain. Hours of work he was having J.A.R.V.I.S. delete from every computer and every file located within Stark Industries computers. The part he was currently struggling with the most was knowing that he had to somehow get out there and destroy the weapons with his name, the ones that were passed on illegally and being used against their intended purpose.
Bruce sipped at his tea quietly for a moment. “I guess…I guess this is something you’ll have to figure out yourself, Tony, and I trust that you will. Like you said, you’re a genius.”
What felt like only moments had turned out to be an hour because people were standing up and applauding before he knew it. Tony was bowing for the crowd and they were eating it up. Tony was turning to walk off stage and…
As it turns out, she was leading him backstage and told him he would be able to watch Tony from the right wing because his back would be facing it. He had just taken his seat at the piano when Steve finally moved to a spot where he’d be able to see. He’d heard Tony play for him before. He’d listened to Tony on his iPod not realizing it was the same Tony. All of it paled in comparison to what Tony was doing right now. He had known from the get go that Tony was amazing, but seeing this live and in person was something Steve couldn’t put into words. This was Tony in his most natural and comfortable state. This was Tony showing the world just how much of a genius he was. And all Steve could do was stare at him in awe.
Once they began playing, Steve allowed his eyes to steer toward Tony. He occasionally glanced at Natasha just so he wouldn’t have to lie about saying he watched her play. She was a killer on the drums and he was convinced she’d probably try to kill Bucky with her drumsticks at least once.
Steve Rogers, despite his stunning inability to successfully tell a believable lie, was always very good at bottling up his emotions and playing it cool when tension was bubbling just under the surface. Ever since his initial encounter with the Winter Soldier, he’d been finding ways to distract himself and let out some pent up energy. His team had been a big help in different ways.
Steve went back and forth between glaring at the genius and ignoring him completely. He gathered up the firewood that was inside the cabin because, unfortunately, they could not get the door open thanks to the four feet of snow that didn’t so much drift to the ground but rather seemed to fall all at once.
Loki scooted over enough to let the blond take a seat next to him and used the opportunity to steal half the fries from Thor’s plate.
“You do realize that by shutting down that department you’d be putting a lot of people out of jobs. People who work hard and have dedicated years of their time to the company.”
Project Rebirth had given Steve everything he’d wanted and needed to be the man he set out to be. It increased his longevity and health, and he knew he’d probably have to watch all of them die off too.
“What? Boy, this isn’t my fault,” Obie tried again, stepping closer with his hands up. “Pepper was stealing secrets from us and trying to sell them. She has them on a thumb drive—“
Steve laughed at that. He had no other reaction. He was relieved because the guy whose name he still had yet to learn wasn’t angry with him. “I’m really sorry though. I hate it when people watch me without me knowing it. You play really well though. That was uh...amazing.”
The brunet smiled against Steve’s lips, laughing softly as his hand worked out a slow rhythm on Steve’s cock. After many nights of fantasizing about holding Steve’s apparently impressive member in his hands, he was going to make sure he got this right. Steve’s soft moans and heavy breathing were not exactly helping Tony out here and he began stroking faster, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face in Steve’s neck, licking a stripe from his shoulder to his ear.
No. Tony was pretty sure he wasn’t going to die, but as he’d thought before, only an act of gods or terrorism from less than friendly aliens would take him down. That was how he was supposed to go out, but the problem with that was the fact that Tony Stark, without the suit, was only human and yes, he was good with martial arts and making weapons to defend himself out of scraps, he wasn’t necessarily prepared to be blindsided.
“I’m an art student. I work to help pay for school and joined a band to pass the time. I suppose I needed a separate hobby, but art is my real passion. It’s usually what relaxes me the most.”
The genius gave Steve a small smile. No matter how many times Steve said it, Tony always froze when it was his turn to say it back. At first he had dismissed it as him not being ready to say it, but the harsh reality was the fact that he had no idea how to say it. This shouldn’t bother him, except that it does because Steve hasn’t questioned him. Steve hasn’t demanded to know why Tony won’t say it back. Steve hasn’t threatened to leave Tony, which Tony saw as more of a miracle. Whatever he could not put into words though, he always made up for in his actions. Well, at least he hoped so. Whether it was an extra safety precaution Tony added to Steve’s Captain America suit or the fevered kisses they shared at night when they were in bed together, in Tony’s mind, he was always hoping that Steve was getting the message.
When it was time for the Howling Commandos to take the stage Tony made sure to watch. He told himself it was because he wanted to see if they were any good and that it had nothing to do with the fact that he could stare at Steve. He couldn’t even convince himself of that bullshit because Steve was the only reason he was still there. Tony didn’t think he’d see him ever again, but apparently luck was on his side. He waited around just long enough for Steve to see him. He’d smiled and waved and proceeded to make his way to the back room where he’d met Steve before. The odds of Steve finding him again were fairly slim but he was feeling pretty lucky all things considered so maybe the odds would end up being in his favor after all.
Steve looked up from the sink and gave him a big smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Tony.”
“I know you were there for awhile when Pepper practically reamed me for missing a board meeting that same day! I’m being pulled on from all sides. I’d have hoped that you would at least understand that!”
When Tony woke up, he was aware of several things at once. He wasn’t in his bed. His neck hurt. He was huddled under several blankets, very naked, and Steve’s arms were wrapped around him. So perhaps not a total fail. Then he remembered he was in Russia and that he was angry at the soldier. Seeing as he was too cold to get up, he instead rolled over so he could face Steve because he wanted the glare on his face to be the first thing the blond saw when he opened his eyes. Maybe a slap would help speed up the process of waking so he raised his hand a little just to get enough leverage but was stopped by a firm grip around his wrist. That part caused Tony to startle a bit and he sighed.
Tony smirked. “Leave this to the professionals, Cap.” His faceplate shut and he aimed a repulsor beam at the point where both pieces met and cut them in half.
Steve didn’t stop Bucky this time as he surged forward and punched Zola hard enough that Steve could hear something crack—probably a tooth, Steve guessed. Bucky held tight to Zola’s shirt, fist still ready to strike.
Obie laughed, gurgling on a buildup of spit and just a little bit of blood, “Congratulations, boy! Finally acting like a capable man. Tell me, what are you going to do next?”
“Anyway, I told Obie what I’d found. I told him we needed to have a conversation about this and I told him that I’m shutting down the weapon’s division the moment I return. Weapons were dad’s thing. I thought I was protecting people but there’s so much blood on my hands. I can’t stand behind and watch this happen and pretend like none of this is my fault.”
Steve pointed a finger and stopped him. “It doesn’t matter. That puts them in danger and puts us at risk of being found out. You’re dead and you’re going to stay dead until this plan of yours is finished. I can’t compromise what we already have going by bringing in more civilians.”
The brunet shrugged. “That’s pretty much all there is to know about me. When I’m not doing this I’m playing the piano at home and writing my own sheet music. I graduated from Juilliard with a Master of Music degree. In case it isn’t clear, the piano is more or less what my life revolves around.”
Bucky breathed a sigh through his nose, a disappointed look on his face. “No.” He took a seat next to Steve. “I think you should sit this one out.”
And now things were just weird. After a few minutes of awkward silence, both of them just picking at their food, Steve stood up. “I have to finish my art project. See you later.” He was out the door before Tony could say anything.
Tony lifted his gun and pointed it at Obadiah’s head, “Don’t fucking lie to me!” Tony yelled. “I’ve lived through enough of your bullshit to last a lifetime.”
Tony reached up to meet Steve’s lips again before pulling away slowly with a wicked smirk. “I expect you to blow my mind away again.”
The sound of relative silence was almost too much when he’d become accustomed to the sounds of footsteps patrolling, a random scream here and there, and the drip drip drip of the leak in his ceiling. That drip had driven him crazy at the time but now he sort of missed it in what was definitely some twisted version of Stockholm syndrome.
Ten minutes later he walked back into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist as he picked out something to wear for the day.
Tony tossed his suit jacket on the back of the sofa and was immediately distracted by the site of a very blond, very stunning man sitting in his recliner, tossing a ball back and forth to a robot.
Steve placed the robodog on the counter and reached up to cup Tony’s face with both hands, thumbs gently stroking over his cheekbones. He pulled Tony’s face closer to his and the genius actually moaned, hands flying up to Steve’s shoulders as he deepened the kiss.
Steve at least had the audacity to look a little embarrassed. Tony looked gleeful. Then he was gone and the rest of the team decided they’d settled Operation: Avengers Thanksgiving.
Natasha shrugged. “He’s actually kind of a narcissist but overall harmless. He’s a certified genius though so maybe it’s hard for him to be modest when he knows he’s better at something than most people will ever be. He’s also still young and on top of the world right now.”
It took another two weeks for Tony to respond, and Steve couldn’t understand why he actually missed being harassed by the man during those days.
Guilt. It hit Steve like an oncoming train. He realized he was dropping everything, including Tony, so he could leave as early as possible to track down Bucky, and while he knew Tony wanted to seem indifferent, the truth was that Steve wasn’t even taking the time to say goodbye properly and Tony was most likely taking it as a rejection.
Tony was silent this time, contemplating as to whether or not he wanted to say the next thing to Steve. He was sure Steve knew, but Tony’d never talked about it with anyone.
Tony tried so very hard to draw the line when Steve found the carousel but Steve had grabbed his hand and practically lifted him onto a horse. Tony held on to the pole and only hoped not one person recognized him while he rode the creepiest looking horse on the ride. Tony ended up not hating that nearly as much as he thought he would but he wouldn’t admit that either.
Someone had suggested all of them sit down together for a Thanksgiving dinner. Tony, who had been tinkering with a new communication device, suddenly found himself the focus of five sets of eyes and he had to pause for a moment to remember why. Oh, right. Thanksgiving.
Years ago Steve had found himself acquainted with a man who went by the name Abraham Erskine, a man he knew little about let alone his less than legal lifestyle. No, that part had come as something of a surprise, though the word ‘surprise’ wasn’t the first word to come to mind when Steve found himself tied to a metal chair with a pudgy speckled man spewing spit and badly accented questions in Steve’s face.
Steve looked up from his drawing for a moment to give Tony a smile. Tony smiled in return and perched himself on the back of the couch, leaning over to see what Steve was drawing. “Wow, that’s really good.”
Steve laughed and hoisted Tony up, wrapping the brunet’s legs around his waist. “Then I guess I won’t keep you waiting any longer.”
“You can’t do it, can you, Tony.” Obie breathed out, a pained wince finally marring his creased face. “You can’t pull the trigger.” He tsked, “Howard always said you were soft, my boy. Carried your heart on your sleeve for the whole world to see.”
Steve started after him, cursing Tony with everything he had as he ran through the labyrinth that made up Stark Industries.
Steve rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. He and Tony had stopped speaking to each other over a week ago, but he couldn’t even understand why he had been angry before. He certainly wasn’t angry with Tony now. Sure, what he said had hurt a little...okay a lot, but it was possible that he’d taken it completely out of context. It didn’t help that Tony had become angry with him just as quickly.
Steve huffed, his forehead wrinkling. Tony seemed to misunderstand this because his face shut down, and how did he already know how to do that?
Steve narrowed his eyes at Tony even as he spoke to the rest of his team. “Give us a moment, would you?”
Tony stepped right into Steve’s space and scrutinized him for a moment. Steve watched him closely. Tony’s proximity usually had a strange effect on him, and it was something he’d never told him. He wanted to lean forward and kiss him, make him believe that everything he was saying was true. No one wanted to see Tony being happy quite like Steve did, and even if Tony did not return his feelings, at least he had to know that Steve wasn’t joking. Steve thought the world of him.
Steve rubbed at his face with his hand, trying to futilely block the flush he felt heating up along his cheeks. It didn’t help when he heard Tony mutter ‘I wish” under his breath.
This wasn’t a situation they were getting out of in the next few hours. He really hated his life sometimes.
Steve was silent for a moment as he processed what he’d just heard and his eyes turned to look over at Tony who seemed to look away from the soldier quickly, almost as if he were too embarrassed to look at the soldier. Steve frowned.
“Tony. Please wake up. Please.” He pulled Tony into his lap as he sat, waiting for medical to come and get them.
“Brother Steve! I hear there is much need for assistance once again. I am saddened to see that our efforts to protect this fair city cause so much damage at the same time.”
“Sir, you have 200 new voicemails and 700 emails as well as text messages. Would you like to sort through them now?”
The trickster smirked. “Glad to know I’m still capable of surprising you lot. Not that it’s difficult, but...” He abruptly stopped speaking and looked pained, clacking his teeth together and hissing inwardly. “I’m under strict orders to turn Stark back into an adult. Thor is rather displeased, which pleases me, but no one has ever cared about what makes me happy, so why start now?”
Steve visibly relaxed once he saw Tony and he was smiling from ear to ear. “Tony! You’re back! How did it go?”
Tony held up a thumb drive. “Lots of encrypted data. Usernames. Passwords. Account information. Stealth.”
Before he knew it, it was showtime. He gave Pepper a small smile and she gave him a hug in return. “Knock ‘em dead, Stark.”
The god dropped his metal beams into the pile waiting to be taken away. “Of course he would. You have a lot more influence over him than you might realize.”
By this point Steve’s eyebrows were raised and he was just staring at Tony. He still looked confused.
Steve had a great voice. He obviously wasn’t made to be the lead singer of a punk rock band, but he definitely had the voice for this. And Tony had to admit, his guitar playing skills were pretty damn good too. He had no idea how he’d managed to luck out finding Steve the way he had, seeing Steve come back again and then again just to interact with Tony. Tony decided right then and there that Steve was the best thing to ever happen to him, and even shut up that anxious voice in his head that kept telling him it was too soon to feel this way, it should take longer to fall for someone.
He follows Tony when the genius leads him towards the dance floor, knowing anyone who looked closely at him would know something was up. Tony doesn’t take them right to the middle, but he doesn’t place them on the fringe of the crowd either. Tony wants them to be able to make a swift exit if need be.
Steve looked around, glad to see they weren’t attracting a crowd. It was hard to surprise New Yorkers. Most of them have heard and seen it all. He hung his head. “Please don’t do this. Don’t make me talk about this, Tony.”
“Fair enough. I suppose that due to my untimely kidnapping and quote unquote death that he never actually got around to holding that press conference.” Steve caught a glimpse of something in Tony’s eyes before it flickered away. “I’m trying to get SI out of the weapons business.” He paused and shook his head. “That’s an explanation for another day.”
Steve took another breath to calm himself, it was no time to let emotions cloud his judgment. “Right.” He looked around the corner briefly. “Four in the corner, two in the middle and six scattered. Twelve all together, all equipped. Quick in and out, Stark is either being held somewhere else or he’s already made his escape attempt. Either way, we need to clear out these guards to make the odds tip in our favor.”
Natasha just swatted at him. “No, I’m just saying that he’s a good guy, but he can be a little much sometimes.”
Steve followed quietly, trying to ignore the discomfort in his pants now. He wasn’t prepared for the limousine waiting when they made it outside.
The voice returned, a little louder in the confined space. “My apologies, Captain. My name is JARVIS, Mister Stark’s personal AI.”
Steve whined quietly at the praise and Tony rewarded him by raising the vibrator setting up a notch. He enjoyed the sudden jerk and loud gasp Steve made as his hand continued to move slowly over the soldier’s hardness. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to pull Steve’s cock out so he could climb under the table and suck him off. God, did that sound hot though. Apparently his own dick was just as turned on by the thought as it strained against the jeans he was wearing.
Steve nodded, had felt the same way on several occasions. “You’d be surprised how many people would. I find it’s best not to question it too much.”
The Avengers all peered up at the tree that Thor and Steve had insisted on bringing up by themselves, despite the fact that Tony’s penthouse was almost at the top of the tower.
Steve swallowed. “Well then hear this. I might as well say it and see if our friendship can even survive this. The truth is, Tony, that I sort of fell in love with you not long after we became friends. In the beginning it was easy enough to ignore, but I don’t know. We weren’t close anymore and it hurt. I hate that we keep fighting and that I’m freaking out over something as ridiculous as the fact that we have both changed. I thought you’d move on and that we’d never get the chance to have any closure if you did. It even hurt thinking that, but I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. And you can shut me up anytime because I’m sounding like a really cheesy romcom and I don’t want that.”
Steve rolled his eyes but it was obvious he was more flattered than anything. He quickly added that one last detail. Tony took it and held onto it carefully as if it was the most precious thing he’d ever held in his hands.
Steve took cautious, slow, steps until he could lean against his desk at Tony’s side. “And people like you…what do they deserve? Nothing?”
She gave him a disbelieving smile. “I’m sure you did. I was hoping you’d possibly be enjoying the evening with me, but I suppose it would have been a bit strange if you had started dating your ex-girlfriend's cousin. Thanks though. If anything it was really nice to finally meet you.”
“Can’t we stay in and order something? It’s cold outside and Pepper will have me assassinated if I don’t at least have notes that even the dumbest of the board members can follow for this meeting. Did I mention that it’s cold outside?”
“We’ll cross those bridges when we get to them. Sometimes your flaws make you better. They make you unique and maybe you should call them quirks instead of flaws. Flaws implies that you think you should correct yourself whereas quirks imply that it’s who you are and they make you stand out from the rest.”
Steve checked and loaded his gun. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to find him and then I’m going to kill him,” he said lowly.
It wasn’t until Steve cornered him in the lab one day to ask him if he was still even interested in him anymore. He’d looked so uncertain and insecure and Tony didn’t know what to do with that. He hadn’t seen that look on Steve’s face before and he didn’t want to see it again. So he answered by throwing himself against Steve and kissing him as if his life depended on it.
“Apologies, sir, but I am under strict orders by Ms. Potts to have you vacate the area for the following three days or until you speak with Captain Rogers.”
Steve crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as Tony explained to his friends how he was captured, tortured and held for three months until he finally managed to escape. He let them know about Johann Schmidt being HYDRA’s mastermind, how he went by the name Red Skull most of the time, the things he made Tony do, the way Obie was likely just another pawn in Johann’s game of chess.
Steve just shook his head. “Nah. I guess it just...sometimes I feel like Tony gets too involved in his own thing to bother helping out with something like this.”
Bucky whistled low and impressed as he walked to Steve, eyes still scanning the room. “What the fuck was that?”
Tony was grasping at the hand holding him, his feet kicking out trying to connect with a shin or something. Obadiah just laughed at Tony’s futile attempts. He let go of Tony and laughed more when he fell to the floor, holding onto his neck as he tried to breathe. That was going to hurt for a few days.
Tony made his way to the sink while Steve cleaned, standing behind the blond and wrapped his arms around his waist. “These can wait.” He moved his hand down to Steve’s groin and gave a small squeeze. “This cannot.”
“You and I both know what he’s like. We were both there when he tried to kill you. If you can’t talk to me about it at all, then who can you talk to? We’re friends, Cap.”
Steve pressed his lips together tightly and just gave Bucky what he hoped would pass for a blank look.
“Yeah. I hear you there, Tony. Loud and clear. Just give me some time. I’ll be back and then we can talk more about...us. Yeah?”
Steve nearly jumped when a hand landed on top of his sketchbook and he ripped his earbuds out to glare at his best friend, this time with a bit more malice. “What was that for?”
That caused Tony to chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He picked up his tablet, and stared at the schematics for Bucky’s arm as he worked out where to dive in. “You want me to knock you out? Then you don’t have to worry about getting bored. And really, I remember how much you whined when we were first doing this, I could do without it this time around.”
When he walked into the space he was surprised to find Tony working on Bucky’s arm. The two sat chatting about circuits and rerouting servos to produce a greater efficiency when the arm was moved in a series of quick motions. Tony prodded at a few different areas of the arm and then voice recording any reactions that came as a result of the stimuli. Steve watched the two as they moved through a set of tests until Tony gave a quick ‘ahah!’ after Bucky winced due to a jab somewhere around the wrist plates.
Tony sighed and cringed. “Did you not hear the part where I said I have a crush on you? That changes everything.”
She laughed softly. “I’ve been asked to stand here and wait for you to show up. I had an interesting talk with Natasha.”
Finally he pulled away he kissed Tony’s forehead. “You’re the one who was injured and yet you’re the one doing the comforting.”
He thought more about Steve. Steve had amazing dimples. Well he had an amazing smile too. He didn’t get a good look at Steve’s eyes but he was pretty sure those were even better up close than they were from a small distance. His hairstyle had been dorky in the most adorable way and Tony had never developed a crush on one person in less than five minutes. It was not possible. Then he thought it might just be a lust thing and he’d be over it in no time at all. He was still a teenager so not completely unfathomable in the least.
“Okay okay yeah. Bad choice. Scratch the movie,” Bucky replied. He glanced at Natasha again. “Any more ideas?”
Steve stepped out of the car and looked at Tony over the roof with a shit eating grin. “The best girl.”
And with that they were off, shooting ideas off each other, back and forth until they ended up on the subject of the practicality of an actual portal ray and the applications as well as the safety hazards that might come along with such an invention.
Obie sounded almost caring when he spoke. “You were young, Tony. Still impressionable. I had hope for you.”
The others just snorted and Steve nudged Bucky with his elbow, smiling. “You have a real way with words, Buck.”
It was probably a blessing too because that’s when Happy and Pepper showed up. He appreciated his bodyguard and Pepper was great at micromanaging his entire life as well as leaving out the part where Tony was actually in a band. She said she thought it was good for him to explore venues outside of piano concertos. So he had her on his side and Happy had no objections as long as he was able to follow Tony everywhere because what kind of bodyguard would he be if he didn’t do that?
And in that moment Obadiah was no longer on him. He was tossed onto the work table, messing up all of Tony’s current progress. On the plus side, he did seem to be in pain. And he could see Steve. He could see him pulling the gun from his hand. He could see Steve throwing Obadiah to the ground. He could see Steve pointing the gun at the man, but he didn’t shoot. He wasn’t going to shoot him. He could see the desire there, but he couldn’t. Captain America wasn’t that kind of guy. It didn’t stop him from pistol whipping the older man into unconsciousness though. He grabbed some coiled wire and threw the man onto his stomach before quickly and tightly tying his hands together. And when all was finished he was rushing over to Tony, holding onto his side where he’d been shot. Steve was there and he was kneeling in front of Tony, checking to see if his heart was still beating, brushing his hair from his face.
“This...Steve, this is amazing. Stop blushing. Wait. Forget I said that. The stop blushing part. It’s still amazing. You drew this from memory.”
Steve staggered closer using the wall of servers to hold himself up. Red Skull’s eyes fell on him, his smile covered in red. He began to laugh, gurgling on blood, choking on it. “You think you’ve won, Captain….” He trailed off, voice lost in a hacking cough. He picked back up as if he was never interrupted, voice quieter but no less smug. “Cut off the head and two more shall grow in its place.”
The genius took a deep breath only to realize even his thoughts were taking him to a place that induced panic, and all while he was kissing Steve Rogers. He opted to nod instead and buried his face in Steve’s neck while he collected himself.
Tony spluttered, a flush high on his cheeks before he coughed, face settling back into practiced calm. Not that it did anything to stop Steve from almost doubling over with laughter. “Shut up, you can’t just say stuff like that unexpectedly. That’s playing dirty-- oh ha ha. Don’t even say it.”
Steve tried to pretend he didn’t see the glistening in the Tony’s eyes, that it didn’t make him want to do something like grip the other man's shoulder, or worse, hug him.
“It’s a reminder. When I was born I had a heart defect. One that required major surgery. It kept me stuck in the house a lot, and that’s when I started playing the piano.” He rest his hand over Steve’s and pressed it closer to his heart. “I could have died. I should have died. I didn’t though and that grounded me at a much younger age than it probably should have.”
Steve let the dish he was holding drop back down into the sink and quickly drained the water before turning around, letting out a quiet groan as Tony’s hand left his pants.
He knew that if his father were still alive that he’d be just as appalled by what was happening. He had no doubts about that. His father might have been cold and distant and obsessed with his work, but he wasn’t malicious and he wasn’t a murderer. A part of him had to trust that his father might have made the same move had he been put in this position. A part of him was hoping that he’d be making his father proud of him in some way.
Steve leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Tony’s lips. “Tony Stark, don’t you dare say anything like that again. You’re important to us. To me. You’re everything you think you’re not and I’m definitely no better than you. I can’t stop thinking about how I wasn’t able to save you. I almost lost you before I even had you. You are a hero, with or without the suit and I will always admire you and everything you’re able to do. You’re amazing and I just wish you could realize that.”
“Sir, Ms. Potts is on the line and Captain Rogers is seeking entrance into the workshop as we speak.”
“Seconded,” Thor called out, laughing right before Steve heard a loud smash make its way through the com, like a hammer on stone.
“Yeah. I guess. You’re closed off now. More so than you used to be. I miss the way we used to be comfortable with each other. Now we can’t agree on anything. I’ve been trying to just deal with these last few weeks in stride, but it has been hard, Tony. I could have used the kind of friendship we used to have, but do you even know what I’ve been going through?”
He hauled Tony over to the couch in his workshop and propped him up, turning his head so the genius could see Steve on the floor, struggling and bleeding, trying to move. This had turned into a nightmare. Obadiah smirked at his handiwork on Steve before turning his attention back to Tony. “What a sight. It’s tearing you up isn’t it? You can’t do anything other than watch this.”
It was rare for people to see Steve in his punk rock attire unless he was performing and tonight wasn’t any different. The venue they were performing in that night was featuring a Metal-Punk Mash Up of various local bands and they were one of the last ones to go on stage. There were five bands total set to play two songs each and the Howling Commandos were number four on the list. Steve played bass next to Morita who talked about how much he enjoyed shredding up his guitar. Bucky was their lead singer, Gabe the keyboardist, Dum Dum on drums, Falsworth on second guitar and Jacques on third guitar.
Steve stilled at the sink, the dishes forgotten as Tony’s thumb slid over the precum that was already leaking from his dick. He shut his eyes and swallowed, letting his head drop while Tony began to slowly stroke up and down his shaft. Tony sucked on Steve’s earlobe once more before smiling into his neck as he worked Steve’s cock harder. He nipped at Steve’s neck lightly before letting go of his cock and moving down further to give his balls a good squeeze.
Clint nodded his head. “We appreciate that you put this meal in front of us. You didn’t have to. You don’t have to do a lot of things, but you do them anyway because it matters to you.”
“I’m calculating the percentages of that possibility, including the variables that will allow me to forgive sooner or hold onto that grudge even longer.”
Tony knew he would always find a way to screw things up and this time he did it without being any wiser to what was going on.
The smile on the soldier's face brightened monumentally and maybe Tony would be able to follow that light all the way through the holiday season.
The blond took a seat and lifted his guitar from its case. He strummed for a moment to make sure nothing was out of tune. With an air of finality and possibly a little bit of nervousness, Steve cleared his throat and dove right in to the song.
“We’ve been waiting for you. It’s not long before your flight leaves and you need a change of clothes. Meet us outside in no more than ten minutes.” And with that she turned around, her heels clicking loudly as she exited.
Tony gave the blond a brief smile. “I agree but we have to suffer through it anyway. We can go out for ice cream afterwards if you behave very well. You have to try on your tux though so we need to leave like five minutes ago.”
Once upon a time Tony had lived in a suite near the top of his tower which also served as offices for Stark Industries.
The AI was silent for a moment. “I am currently running his face through the entire Internet database. It would seem a match has popped up in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s records.”
Steve looked up from behind his desk, wariness turning to disbelief as Tony told him he needed to go out on his own for awhile, that he had a few things he wanted to get from his workshop in the mansion and that only he could sneak in and out undetected.
Tony began laughing and Steve wanted to glare, but he couldn’t stop his shoulders shaking from laughter himself and tossed Tony’s clothes at him. He stood up to grab his suit and lightly smacked Tony upside the back of his head when he received a wolf whistle from the genius. Once the both of them were dressed, they worked together to drag Tony’s suit out into the snow and toward the quinjet.
“Are you ready?” Steve asked as he liberally covered a finger in lube and Tony could only nod, his throat too dry to form any words. Steve just smiled and scooted back slightly, his hand sliding back between Tony’s legs. The brunet reached for a pillow to place under his hips as Steve’s finger traced around his hole once more, kissing Tony’s thigh as he gently nudged in a finger. Tony grunted and Steve looked up.
“No respect at all,” Tony grumbled, sliding down in his seat a little with his arms folded across his chest, bottom lip jutted out in a pout that was just a little too tempting for Steve to look at for too long.
“I’m staying in. Bruce can stabilize it when he gets here, but you’re not taking me out of the game.”
“Yeah.” He let out a breath. “Yeah. I just…” He took a seat on the bed and then patted the spot next to him hoping Steve would sit as well. He did.
“Good.” She smiled at him once more. “Take care of yourself.” And with that the call was disconnected.
Steve shot up in his seat, wide awake, with wide eyes. The bed was empty. Steve stood up and started frantically looking around the room, in the bathroom, in the closet, with no luck and a sense of rising panic that got caught in his throat until every breath he took seemed to be too much and too fast.
“In all seriousness, you ever notice how dark and drab it is in here sometimes? You guys need to lighten up and who better to help than an adorable robot who has an even more adorable creator? It’s really a win all around if you ask me.”
They arrived just in time to watch the first act finishing their final song and leaving the stage. Bucky wanted to get as close as possible and was using Dum Dum as his personal bowling ball to get people out of their way. This wasn’t uncommon and Dum Dum enjoyed tossing his weight around, even for a hilariously lovesick friend. They managed to find a spot where they could get a clear view of the drummer, but Steve couldn’t help it that his eyes kept moving toward the keyboard knowing he’d get to see Tony again.
Tony couldn’t even argue the point. He was cold, shivering, and his fingers were already beginning to go numb. It didn’t stop him from grumbling and cursing under his breath at Captain Bossy-Pants. Much to his amazement though he did locate several blankets and even a slightly shabby down comforter and a quilt. Whoever was here before must have left in a hurry.
She cut him off. “It doesn’t matter, Tony. Get your priorities straight. I have to go do more damage control.”
“Yes. It is.” He stood quickly from the bench and settled himself down on Steve, straddling him and pressing a remarkably chaste kiss to his mouth considering the way he was sitting on the blond.
Tony looked away, frowning deeply. “There’s nothing to say. Not about my life. It’s the usual. My dad still hates me, my mom doesn’t know what to do with me, and Jarvis is the one who is going to escort me to MIT because neither of my parents can find the time to remember that I exist, that I have a life outside of what my dad has planned for me. Is that what you were looking for?”
Steve watched as the grin on Tony’s face dimmed, catching something flash in his eyes before it was hidden away like so many other things Tony tended to hide. “Right.”
“Interesting. I mean how you know some things but not others. Sometimes it’s like you’re seeing the world for the first time and other times you’re almost jaded.”
Tony jerked a little, as if stung. “Of course I—look. I knew what I was doing, I had safety precautions in place I just didn’t expect—Nuts-N-Bolts told you where I was! Everyone—everything is fine.
“You never did. I’ve always tried to keep up with you, but you’ve always been ahead of the game. Ahead of me. And look at you now. You’re this huge deal and suddenly becoming popular and a little arrogant, and you don’t talk to me anymore. When’s the last time you told me anything about your life outside of school?”
“Let him know I’m here. Just that I need a few hours before I see anyone.” Honestly he didn’t want to see anyone at all. He didn’t want to hear their questions about how things went, to hear their apologies and see the pity in their eyes when they learn he once again failed and would probably continue to do so.
Tony raised his brow at Steve sometime around the fifth day, leaning against the open door way, Nuts-N-Bolts making laps around Steve’s office. “You know, when I made him, he wasn’t designed to become attached to one person.”
Steve opened his mouth, snapped it shut, and then opened it again, sure that he didn’t want to tell Tony and yet he heard his voice, quiet but strong, falling away from him. “She was amazing. Feisty and strong, funny, she didn’t take shit from anyone. So independent, never needed anyone else to take care of her, even me.” Steve paused, the familiar lump in his throat restricting his words just the slightest bit. “We missed our window, I guess. Or maybe there was never a window in the first place. Too many things were happening then, all at once.” Steve let his eyes fall to the compass that still sat on his bookshelf, the one that held her picture. “She eventually left, and nobody blamed her, me least of all. This wasn’t the life she had wanted for herself. It’s not the life anyone sane really wants. Peggy found a way out, lord knows you only get very few chances, and she took it. She moved back to England last I heard.”
Howard’s expression remained stony and unpleasant and then it immediately changed to mortification. “What?”
That night Tony introduced Steve to popcorn, coke and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. They were seated on the couch together but had managed to start off on opposite sides. Every time Tony had to explain a pop culture reference to Steve he ended up scooting closer to the genie.
More ash drifted over onto them. Tony pulled away completely and folded his arms. “Who even does that? Kiss me and then start an argument? What even—“ Steve smirked and kissed him again, just a firm press of his lips to Tony’s. “Also, you’re the one who went and got yourself all cut up this time—“ another kiss, longer this time. Tony sighed, spoke with his eyes closed. “I’m not inept, Steve. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Yeah. Yeah I think...I just want to wake up and see you. The real you. And know that you’re still here anyway.”
An hour later Pepper found him and told him it was time to get ready. Tony grabbed the few items he’d brought into the practice room with him and followed her out. He looked in the mirror with a wicked smile as he turned to look at himself from all angles after he put on his performance suit. He looked good. He always did. Pepper did magical things to his hair. She made it look like he spent no time at all getting ready when it actually took the better part of an hour to get it to look like that. She added a touch of makeup just to keep him from looking washed out by the stage lights.
That pulled Steve out of his quiet contemplation long enough for him to look at the genius and roll his eyes. “I mean I feel like I know it personally.”
Tony was still watching Steve’s face and smiled. “Dad will get mad at me if he sees it. So don’t tell him.”
Steve leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, smiling shyly. “I can imagine. How do you even have time for your Iron Man gig? It’s not like you guys are short on performances either.”
Tony snorted. “No. What would be helpful is a nice, hot shower, which I plan on taking the moment we get back to the tower.”
“I’m raising a tiny monster,” Tony muttered before looking back to Steve. “It was nice to meet you, but we better go before the bridezilla breathes fire on us for being late again.”
Steve gave up on telling Tony to stop calling him that. Tony told him it was just his own way of showing affection. “Better.”
Tony smiled once more just to hide the panic on his face. Dinner. Crap. “I won’t. Just make sure your stomachs are ready. I ordered half the shop. We’ll all be in tryptophan induced comas after tomorrow night. That’s a Stark promise.”
Tony presented Steve with his gift, looking hopeful. “I know it’s not perfect, but I can keep working on it until it is.”
Bucky whispered, eyes where Natasha and Clint had disappeared. “We going to blow this place sky high this time?”
“Happiness is an illusion. Use it like a cloak to cover up the rotten bits.” Tony opened the folder and Steve was surprised to see a newspaper clipping, one declaring the death of Tony’s parents. Tony’s hands gripped the page hard enough to wrinkle it at the edges, his face bone white.
Leaving Tony behind was easier said than done when part of him wanted nothing more than to stay close and keep an eye on the other man both to make sure he was resting and to make sure he didn’t get into more trouble with no supervision. He already knew Tony was no stranger to sneaking through the guards he had in place, guards that were due for a rigorous training if they’d already been breached not once, but twice by the genius.
And he was about to discard it, but there was something on it. Something that caught his attention. A symbol or writing. Well it was shiny and he liked shiny things. So he rubbed it with the sleeve of his jacket.
Howard squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re going to discuss this later. And don’t think you’re going to be getting out of this Anthony Edward Stark. This is going to have to stop. How are you going to handle it if the tabloids catch on to the fact that you’re apparently dating a man for Christ’s sake? Do you even think about that? Have you stopped to wonder if these people are using you and taking advantage of you for your money and fame?”
Steve started laughing at that. “He has a point. He gets ice cream out of this.” And then he cleared his throat and got a very serious look on his face for Tony’s benefit. “But your dad is right. You shouldn’t be making bets at this age. You should at least wait until you’re ten.”
The soldier felt his face blush a little but ignored it as he poured another very generous amount of lube over his throbbing erection, lowering himself slightly, one arm resting next to Tony’s head as his eyes searched the genius’. “I think uh…” he looked between their bodies. “We might have to just do it. This way.”
Steve had, as he figured would happen, been less than happy to see him. He hadn’t actually meant for Steve to see him just yet, had almost contemplated wherein a mask just so he wouldn’t be recognizable but ultimately scrapped that idea when the fabric irritated his stitches. He wanted to prove just how useful he could be, but from a distance. And then he heard that Pepper was with Obie and Rhodey was fighting alongside Clint and he’d made up his mind and made his way into SI and unfortunately into Steve.
Steve looked from his work up to Tony’s wide brown eyes and knew himself defeated. He pushed himself up from his desk and held out his hand for the garment.
Pepper and Rhodey both grinned, relief almost palpable in the air. Pepper whacked Tony on the shoulder. “You’re alive and you haven’t called. We’ve been worried sick and Obadiah’s been sending out search teams to try and find you and you’ve been alive this whole time, Tony! Why didn’t you come home?”
Steve followed a happy Peter inside and sat down a bag of what appeared to be a lot of presents. He took a seat next to Tony on the couch.
Tony’s smile wobbled for a moment. “Yeah. Tell Happy—tell him that I’m good and that I owe him that promotion to head of security I’ve been promising him for keeping my best girl safe while I’ve been away.”
Steve gave him one more long suck before pulling off of Tony’s cock with a pop. He looked up at Tony, licking his reddened lips and moved, climbing up on the bed. Tony scooted back to make room for him, Steve hovering over Tony’s body before leaning down to kiss him. Tony gripped Steve’s arms, his back arching again as he searched for any friction he could for his throbbing member.
Natasha and Clint were sifting through areas of metal and wood again. Both of them were exhausted and the redhead had dislocated a shoulder that medical had set back into place almost immediately. She was only helping at her own insistence because the moment Steve tried to suggest she take it easy for the rest of the day is when she implied the threat of bodily harm for even thinking such a thing. At least she did agree to work on an area that would involve less use of her shoulder.
“That’s--you just looked completely...at home while playing. It stuck with me because you don’t really see that much passion from people even when they are doing something they love.”
Steve looked in every place he could think of, in every crawl space his home had and in every nook and cranny that he thought Tony might even possibly be able to squeeze into. When each spot turned up empty, Steve rushed his way to the debrief room where the others were already waiting, anxious and ready to go.
The smile Tony gave Steve was blinding and beautiful and Steve couldn’t imagine it ever having been anyone other than Tony. Always Tony. He gave the genius one more peck on the lips.
Which is exactly what happened because Tony was apparently having one of those days. It wasn’t a heated kiss. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t desperate. If was soft and almost chaste, but it lingered and Tony wanted to make it into something so much more.
Steve arched an eyebrow. “I’m decent enough. I’ve got a partial scholarship and was able to get a grant as well.”
On the other side though, he spotted a man in a black tank who seemed to be fidgeting rather nervously. The first thing he noticed was the bright light that appeared to be coming from the center of the man’s chest, but the big brown eyes staring at him are what captured his attention.
“Whatever you say, Stark.” Bucky was quiet for a moment and then continued, more genuinely, “Thanks. Again.”
Once Steve's brain finally rebooted and his muscles began working again, he lifted his head to see Tony already staring at him, a look of what could be considered defiance in his eyes. That and a tiny hint of fear. Steve was puzzled for a moment and then he remembered what Tony had said, what he’d been chanting as his orgasm took him over.
Steve kicked the next guard he saw square in the jaw and kept moving until he reached a large open space full of HYDRA goons standing about as if they had nothing better to do with their time.
“Don’t start. I already know the spiel. Natasha threatened to castrate me with a shovel if I hurt Steve. You’ll taser me to death I’m sure. I’ve heard it all already. I hear everyone loud and clear.”
The genius laughed, amusement etched on every plane of his face, before swooping down and grabbing the bot. Tony spoke to Nuts-N-Bolts as he exited the room. “That’s enough. We have to leave. I don’t want troll to be a part of your everyday vernacular and the Captain there is a bad influence already.”
The man smiled slowly, smarmily, “Arnim Zola. No need to introduce yourselves, I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Captain. And you, Winter Soldier, what fun we had before you escaped.”
“Funny enough, that’s now how I see it, but you seem to forget that I can match you in the game of stubborn assholes.”
He walked back over to his bed and threw himself down on it, grabbing a pillow and holding it over his face to mute his frustrated scream. When he was finished he hurled the pillow across the room and stood up to pace back and forth.
Steve tried to keep his composure to see how long he could make Tony wait, but Tony is nothing if not persistent and he had no plans of giving up. He kissed Steve’s back and then pulled away for a moment to kick off his shoes and toss them into the hallway. He was pressing against Steve’s back one more, trying to entice him before he started playing dirty. A quiet laugh from Steve though and Tony resorted to giving up pretenses of a fair fight. He’d been with Steve long enough to know what left him breathless and he was going to make Steve pay attention to him.
Steve acted like he really needed to think about this. “No. Sounds like a bit of a challenge. I feel like we’ll probably end up butting heads on a few things, but what’s the fun in a relationship if we can’t challenge each other?”
The soldier smiled nervously. How do you tell a small child that his parents are dead? He was going to ask for them sooner or later. “Is that so?”
Tony continues to work Steve over for a few more minutes, enjoying the gasps and the moans that Steve is making just for him. Then he powers down the vibrator again and Steve wants to cry. He was so close again.
For four days Nuts-N-Bolts was wherever Steve looked, chasing after him to the bathroom, to stand guard as Steve showered, to watch him eat, to watch Steve work in his office or chirp at him while he worked out in the gym. The bot had even taken to sleeping at the foot of Steve’s bed after the first night where he wouldn’t stop tapping at Steve’s door until Steve gave up and let him inside where he’d remained silent until Steve woke up the next morning.
“Yeah,” Tony laughed quietly. “We are. We should fix that if you’re going to be so close by when we start college.”
“There’s more of them coming, Steve!” Bucky shouted, his own gun firing off from behind a pillar, the metal plates of his arm shifting and glinting in the dull lighting that the warehouse provided.
Tony snorted. “Yeah. I guess. Because having you around just so I can have someone to hang out with is a real hardship for me.”
That earned, at the very least, a sympathetic look from the redhead. “How’s your...whole body? I saw the footage of that crash landing you had.”
“I don’t. I just get the impression that most people enjoy the whole master aspect. I could be wrong but having absolute power over someone must be appealing to certain types.”
And then Steve had finally woken up and Tony wasted no time reaching him. He stopped long enough to see the IV and the bandages on Steve, but he was still Steve and he was fine. He hoped.
“I’m surprised it hasn’t been already,” Sam said lowly, grunting a moment later. “These guys are either very incompetent or this is some sort of trap.”
Natasha took a seat next to him and let her head rest on his shoulder. “We have your back, Steve. You know that. Tony more than anyone. You guys will work it out and until then, Tony will still support you as a friend no matter what.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you guys were waiting impatiently nearby for these presents.” Tony sorted through the box of fabric. “I guess we can consider this an early Christmas present. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.”
Pepper’s eyes were determined, if not a little hesitant. “Please be safe,” she said, pulling him into a tight hug before running out, leaving Tony alone with a down Obadiah. The man was struggling toward his gun, Tony walked over calmly and kicked it to the corner.
Clint picked up again. “It’s obvious he’s head over heels for you. I don’t know the last time we saw him this happy, if ever.”
The genie flashed Tony with a brilliant smile then and reached out to grope Tony’s chest. “Now we’re even.”
The noise level alone was enough to drive a man mad, shouts of ‘Hail HYDRA’ making their way through the mix at random intervals.
Reaching toward the drawer for the lube and a condom caused Tony to whimper as he had to move away from him momentarily.
Steve settled back into his seat, closed his eyes and tried to count to ten lest he get up to shout at Tony some more.
Steve folded his arms over his chest, “See, I just don’t buy that. This whole people like you and people like me bullshit. If you ask me, I’d say I haven’t exactly given you much kindness since you’ve been here, haven’t given you much to base this opinion that I somehow deserve anymore than you or the next fella. We all make mistakes and we all have moments where we’re selfish, that’s not something you invented, no matter how much genius you got floating around in that big brain of yours, Tony.”
Steve ducked behind a downed table and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The blond patted at the pockets in his vest until he found and object about the size and weight of a pen and a pair of noise cancelling earplugs. “Buck! Bottom left pocket! Put them in now!”
Tony shrugged. “Wasn’t is the key word.” He started looking around, and Steve noticed just how jittery and panicked he actually looked once he paid attention. “I heard on the comm. Where’s Pepper?” | [
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