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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

The Rules

(Ok my Good Omens Lockdown fic is complete! And not at all what you were expecting! Check tags for brief TW for one of the final scenes.)

Dear Crowley.

The black ink flowed across the yellowed paper, trailing behind Aziraphale’s pen.

He frowned, and scratched it out.

My Dearest Friend.

He barely finished the final letter before crossing it out even more frantically than before.

Anthony.

Now that was just absurd. Another sharp line across the page.

Crowley.

Aziraphale all but threw the pen into the inkwell. He grabbed the paper in both hands and tore it in half – in half again – and again – and again, ink smudging and staining his fingers.

Stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

When he was finished, he dumped the confettied remains of the letter onto his desk and glared at them until they started to smolder, the first wisp of smoke twisting into the air.

Then, with a sigh, he waved his hand, returning them to a single sheet of clean parchment paper.

How long had he been in lockdown now? Six weeks? Seven? Eight?

Long enough to start coming up with foolish ideas. Long enough to begin questioning things that he knew were probably better left unquestioned and unsaid.

He took himself over to the shop’s kitchen and started the kettle boiling again. Cocoa? No, tea. And a nice slice of cake, that’s what he needed. The red velvet this time, he thought.

Crowley liked red velvet cake. Not that he admitted to it, but he never turned down an offered bite. And he would smile, just a bit, as he chewed it, eyes hovering across the top of his glasses...

When he’d gathered his treats, Aziraphale settled again at the desk, carefully restacking his books to make room for the cake and mug. He dimmed the lights around the shop, put on a soothing record, tried to find that calm center that allowed him to think clearly. He’d never actually found it before, but he’d read about it in books on meditation, and it sounded jolly useful.

Finally, with a deep breath, he carefully picked up the pen again, tapping it against the glass of the inkwell so that it didn’t drip, and tackled the paper again.

My dear Crowley,

I hope these strange new days see you well, and that you are not causing too much trouble on your side of London. Things have certainly been quiet over here, but you know that’s how I prefer it. Perhaps I should close the shop more often!

I finally had a chance to read that author you suggested, and while I couldn’t locate any of your recommended titles, I’ve found Chesterton’s “Orthodoxy” to be quite a fascinating read…

…and so I find myself with rather an overabundance of time! While the baking has been going exceedingly well, I feel that something is missing. I can’t quite put my finger on

The sound of breaking glass at the back of the shop. Aziraphale frowned. He didn’t keep anything breakable back there, just boxes of newly arrived books, supply storage, and of course the back door –

Ah. That probably explained it.

He stood up, pausing to wipe the crumbs from his face, and retrieve his favorite umbrella from the hat stand. A soft thump from somewhere in the back room put a little more speed into his step.

“Watch where you’re going,” Dru hissed, jerking his foot free of the box Tommy had knocked over. Books spilled out across the floor.

“Sorry,” muttered Tommy leaning over to restack them. They were those old books with weird hard-cloth covers, stamped with the names of dead poets he half-remembered from school. They smelt like dust. The whole shop smelt pretty gross, actually, like someone had hidden old cheese in a corner and let it sit there since Christmas.

“Don’t bother with that.” Dru kicked over the books. They slid across the floor, mixing with the broken glass. Tommy scrambled back. Dru was much bigger than him, over six feet tall, taller when he was angry. “I told you, look for the cash box. It’s gotta be back here somewhere.”

“Says who?” Jack was on his hands and knees nudging his way through more boxes towards the corner wall. “I’ve been looking forever and there’s – look, nothing again.”

“Shhh.” Tommy shrank back towards the broken window, glancing into the alley outside. He could still hear the scratchy old record playing at the front of the shop, and he didn’t think he could jump out the window quickly enough if they were caught. “This was a stupid idea, Dru. There’s someone here, and he’s going to hear us –”

“Just some old bloke,” Dru waved his hand angrily. “He’s run the shop forever, gotta be a hundred years old. You scared of him? Just find the safe.”

“What safe?” Jack crawled back out of the corner. “I told you there isn’t any bloody –”

“There’s always a safe in the back. It’s a rule.”

“I’m afraid it is not, in fact, a rule. Otherwise I would have one.” Tommy spun, and there, not ten feet away, stood the old bookseller. He was dressed in an ancient suit, hands resting on a tartan umbrella, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. “However, I’ve always though the logical place to keep money is in the till, so that’s where it is.”

Dru whipped out his knife, pointing it at the bookseller’s face. Jack followed a moment later, fumbling with the unfamiliar blade.

The bookseller just watched them, lips pursed. With a sinking feeling, Tommy realized he was nowhere near a hundred. The white-haired man looked barely older than Tommy’s dad, and at least as strong. Tommy had a good sense for when someone was not a person to cross, and this man set off every alarm bell.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly afraid the bookseller might recognize the dust from the brick Tommy threw into the window.

Dru waved his knife, trying to recover. “You just stay over there, right? We don’t want to hurt you.”

“No,” the bookseller said seriously. “You don’t.”

Jack lowered his knife and shuffled his feet.

“Shut it,” snapped Dru. “Right. We know where it is now. Tommy, go get the till.”

“Thomas do not get the till,” the bookseller snapped. His eyes flicked down, studying the mess all across the floor. When he looked up again, pulling his glasses off, his gaze pierced Tommy like a pair of blue icicles. “Did you knock over my books?”

“Yessir,” Tommy muttered, flinching away. He never liked arguing. Easier to go along with what people told him. Normally, at least, he would just agree and keep his mouth shut. But today, he felt the words bubbling inside him, fighting their way free. “And I broke the window. But Dru kicked the books over. I tried to clean, honest.”

“I see.” The blue eyes studied Dru, then drifted over to Jack. “And you?”

“I just moved the boxes, I didn’t break anything.”

“Well.” The bookseller took a step towards them. “I hope you all feel very ashamed of yourselves.” Tommy immediately did, though that wasn’t too unusual. He always felt ashamed of something. “Don’t you know there’s a lockdown going on just now? Pandemics are very serious business. You are breaking the rules – rules that are put in place to keep you safe. People could die from your carelessness, do you understand that?”

“Look,” Dru stepped forward, waving his knife a bit more urgently. “I don’t give a shit about that. You need to –”

The bookseller swung his umbrella like a sword, knocking Dru’s knife across the room. “I wasn’t finished talking. Now you go back over there and listen for once in your life. And mind your language in this shop.” Dru blinked, and shuffled back towards the wall. The bookseller’s eyes turned to Jack, who was already hastily putting his own knife back into his pocket. “Much better. Where was I?”

“People could die,” Tommy prompted.

“Right. Thank you, dear boy.” He smiled, just briefly, and for the first time in a long, long time Tommy felt that maybe there was more to the world than a steaming pile of garbage. He almost wanted to smile, too. “Now. You three being out right now is against all the rules, not to mention breaking and entering, and putting your hands – and feet – on my books. These are all very serious crimes.” He put aside the umbrella and folded his hands behind his back. “I want you to tell me what, exactly, brought you here tonight.”

“Money,” Tommy said quickly, but he could feel more words twisting their way up his throat, secrets threatening to spill across the floor.

Jack beat him to it. “Bored. Nothing to do. Just sitting at home, watching my folks grow old, and everyone gets angrier and angrier and I can’t think inside that room anymore, I don’t feel anything –”

“What are you talking about?” Dru demanded, stepping forward again. He didn’t look as confident as before, but much, much angrier. “Look, we’re here for your money, not to tell our life stories. I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull here, but just hand it over and I won’t have to get medieval on your ass.”

“Really? What a curious turn of phrase.”

“Dru always gets angry when he’s not in control,” Tommy said, not really knowing where the words came from. “I don’t know if he’s ever killed anyone but he always acts like he has.”

“Does he indeed? I’m afraid I know the type.” The look he gave Dru could have broken through a concrete wall. “And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

“That you’d better fucking watch yourself, old man.” He’d managed to get right up to the bookseller’s face, and now jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Or you’re gonna regret what comes next.”

“Yes, I’m rather afraid I will.” The bookseller turned and picked up an ancient telephone, spinning a little dial on the front. “I want you to know that I tried very hard to keep it from coming to this.”

“Who you calling?” Dru sneered. “The cops?”

Frowning, the bookseller pressed the telephone to his ear. “No, Andrew Morgan, I am calling your grandmother.”

For a moment, there was no sound in the shop but a strange, strangled noise coming from Dru.

“Ah, yes, is this Delores Morgan? Yes, I’m afraid there’s a rather angry young man in my shop. Tall, rude, really using the most atrocious language – ah, yes, I’m afraid so. Yes. With a knife. Oh, of course.” He held out the telephone. “She’d like to speak to you now.”

With a shaking hand, Dru took it from him. “Nana?”

Half an hour later, Tommy was sitting at a little round table in the back of the shop, nibbling on a scone. Jack sat next to him, dipping his own in a mug of tea, trying to eat it quickly without dripping.

“I’m not saying I don’t understand,” the bookseller started, coming over with another plate. “Sourdough?”

“Yes, please,” said Tommy, taking a thick slice.

A thump echoed from the back room. “Just stack them up neatly like they were, there’s a good lad,” the bookseller called cheerfully. Dru grumbled, but not so that they could make out the words.

“As I was saying. This is a very difficult time for all of us. Financially, yes,” he nodded to Tommy, “but it can also put a strain on our mental health. I really do think you should talk to someone.”

“Where am I supposed to find a doctor at a time like this?” Jack complained.

“I have been led to believe the Googles can provide these things.” Tommy fought back a laugh. “What? What did I say?”

“It’s…uh, it’s not called the Googles.”

“It isn’t? Oh, dear. Regardless, I’m sure you can use your computer to find what you need. There are resources. But you must follow the rules. They are here to keep you safe.” He picked up a tray of muffins and carried them back towards the hidden kitchen. “In the meantime, perhaps you should try revisiting an old hobby. What is it you like to do?”

“Dunno,” muttered Jack. He started glancing around the room for inspiration.

Tommy had already studied their surroundings pretty thoroughly. Tons of trinkets, some of them cheap looking but almost all of them old. Pieces of art, some of them framed, others carefully laying across tables. Statues. One statue wore a bit fancy medal around it’s neck. The plates of cake and pastry on literally every surface. And the books. So many books.

Granted, he’d expected those, but the shop seemed bigger inside, crammed with more books than a person could even take in, never mind read. And the titles. The other table nearby was stacked with books called Forbidden Rites: Necromancy in the Fifteenth Century or Magic: An Occult Primer.

Tommy took everything in as quickly as he could. Jack, meanwhile, seemed to stop at the strange old drawing of a dark-haired man with his hand on a book, hanging from one of the shelves. A smile flickered across his face. “I guess…I liked to draw. When I was little.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Yes, drawing is a very useful talent.” A moment later the bookseller emerged, carrying two enormous plates filled with cakes, breads, and something covered with cream and fruit, all wrapped carefully in plastic. “Now, this one is for you, Thomas, and mind you share with your sister. And this is for you.” When Jack took his tray, the bookseller placed a pile of printer paper on top, and two pencils. “And these. To get you started on your drawing again. It takes time, but I suppose that’s one thing we all have in abundance now.”

The bookseller clapped his hands and beamed at them. Jack muttered a thank you, but Tommy couldn’t even bring himself to do that, just stared at the tray, blinking back tears.

“Oh, and I’ll expect you both to bring the plates back when the lockdown is over. Not before! Remember, the rules are there to keep you safe.”

“Yessir.”

“Erm, excuse me.” They all turned to face Dru, who stood with his head bowed, and an expression Tommy had never seen him wear before. “All the books and glass are cleaned up. May I have some cake?”

“Well,” said the bookseller, pursing his lips. “I suppose one cake, now that you’re finished.” He walked back to the kitchen to start another tray.

After the lads had left, Aziraphale settled into his armchair, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. It took a lot out of him, reading people like that. Nudging them to tell their secrets. Perhaps he was just out of practice.

It had felt good, really, helping people like that. He forgot that, sometimes, how much he enjoyed giving people that little push towards solving their problems. Perhaps he should get out there and try it a little more often. After the lockdown was over, of course.

He glanced at the table, where the letter to Crowley sat half-finished. He’d quite lost his train of thought now. Oh, dear. He was sure he’d been on the cusp of something important, but his mind was too heavy. Perhaps after another glass of brandy or two…

Three days later

…It occurs to me, my dear fellow, that we’ve never exchanged letters. Not properly. And no, I will not include those ridiculous coded missives you used to send, although I did appreciate the book ciphers. But throughout our long

The pen hovered in the air, bead of ink poised to drip. Aziraphale knew the word he’d been planning to use. He could see it, trace the letters with his mind. But…

No, once again, he lost his nerve.

centuries, we’ve never used this method to simply exchange pleasantries. Well, what is this time for, if not to finally accomplish that which we had long planned to do? Research. Baking. And finally writing a proper letter to my

Another moment of panic, as his mind twisted around the one word he desperately wished to write.

Someone knocked at the back door, quick and sharp.

With a sigh, half disappointment and half relief, Aziraphale placed his pen in the inkwell and went to investigate.

Tommy wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Come on, Emmy. This is a terrible idea.”

His little sister scowled. “You kidding? He’s an old man who bakes cakes. What are you afraid of?”

“It’s not…there’s something off about him.” He shivered as she rapped against the door again. “He’s going to figure it out, as soon as he looks at you.”

“I think you’re just chicken.” She tossed her head with a grin, short fringe of dark hair hanging in front of one eye.

“Shut up, Emmy, you don’t know –”

The door opened.

The bookseller looked a little smaller by daylight. Plump, pleasant, almost harmless, except that his frown still cut sharply across Tommy’s heart. “I’m certain I told you not to return until the lockdown ended.”

“Sorry. I just –”

“You!” Emmy stepped forward, waving her finger at his buttoned-up waistcoat. “What did you do to my brother?”

The bookseller blinked. But today his gaze seemed soft, almost normal. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. He was fine before he came here, now he sits around talking about responsibility.” She gave him a dirty glare. “Tries to make me do my homework.”

“Ah. Well, you really ought to do your homework, my dear.”

“You’re joking, right? The whole world’s gone to shit and I’m supposed to be doing math problems and reading Shakespeare?”

“Oh, I love Shakespeare!” The bookseller’s eyes lit up. Tommy felt a strange wave of delight that almost loosened the knot in his stomach, before the anxiety crashed back into place again. “Such a wonderful man. Not particularly charming, but oh, he had his moments. Are you reading Hamlet? It’s my favorite, you know.”

Emmy snorted. “It’s everyone’s favorite.”

“Yes, it…it is, isn’t it?” For a moment his entire demeanor changed, eyes drifting down, face turning rather pink. “Well, I did rather hope…er, never mind. What brought you two here today?”

“Emmy thinks you put a spell on me, or cursed me or something.”

“I know you’ve got magic devil books in there. Tommy saw them last time, he told me and Dad.”

The bookseller glanced between them, smiling. “Oh, good. You told your parents what you were up to.”

Tommy shrugged, hunching his shoulders, waiting for what came next. Obviously the bookseller would see right through him. “He was really pissed off.”

“Yes, my boy, I’m sure he was upset at the time, but you’ll find that honesty is…” he trailed off as Emmy and Tommy exchanged a look. She was smirking, smug, while he just felt confused. “What? What is it?”

“I thought you knew,” Tommy muttered, shuffling his feet. “Cuz you can, y’know, read minds or whatever.”

The bookseller looked at Tommy until he was ready to burrow into the ground and die. Finally, the old man said, “I can’t…always. I think you’d better come in and explain things.”

“Whoa,” Emmy said, grabbing a slice of thick, red cake covered in icing. “I thought you were kidding about the damn cake. Look at all this!”

“Emily,” Tommy hissed. “Behave yourself.”

“At least I’m not trying to rob the place,” she pointed out, stuffing her face. “Oh, you’re right! Look at these books!” She reached for one, but the bookseller got there first, snatching it away from her frosting-covered fingers.

“That is quite enough of that. Take a seat and mind your manners or I will send you straight home.”

Tommy sat quickly at the table, putting his hands on his lap, trying to force his fingers to stay still. Emmy, however, kept staring at the book, tilting her head to study the title.

“What’ve you got a book on necromancy for?”

“You don’t even know what that is,” Tommy pointed out.

“Do too! Its magic that brings people back to life. Like zombies and stuff.”

The bookseller sighed and tucked the book onto a shelf. “It’s a treatise on fifteenth century necromancy, if you must know, and it’s rather more complicated than that. The word at the time referred to many types of magic, including divining the future using the bodies of the deceased, and spells and incantations to control demons.”

“Oh,” Emmy nodded. She grabbed a cupcake off a tray and shoved it into her mouth whole as she sprawled across a chair. “How come they don’t teach us that at school? And why do you want to control demons?”

“I don’t,” he said simply, grimacing at the crumbs she sprayed as she spoke, as if trying to track each one through the air. “And I’d like to make sure no one else can, either.”

“You got more magic books?” She reached for another that was lying nearby, but again the bookseller got their first, gently pushing it further away.

“This is a book shop. I have many types of book. But we aren’t here to talk about that.” He pursed his lips and studied Tommy, settling into a chair across the pastry-laden table. “I believe we’re lucky your sister wasn’t here the other night. She is almost worse than your loud friend.”

“Dru’s not my friend,” Tommy muttered. It still made him cringe inside to contradict an adult, even when the bookseller wasn’t angry, but he didn’t like being associated with Dru. “And Emmy was here.”

“Was she?”

“I was the look-out.” She reached for another cupcake, this time licking the frosting off so it smeared across her mouth. “You had them in here forever, then they all come out, carrying cake and things. Dru was acting like a baby. I thought he was gonna cry.”

“But you can’t be more than thirteen years old!”

“I’m not.” She jumped to her feet again. “Got any more of that angel’s food cake? Tommy ate all the stuff you sent home.”

The bookseller looked at her, and Emmy gave her winning smile, the one that never fooled Tommy for a second. With a sigh, the bookseller pointed her towards the kitchen. “Please be careful with the dishes. If you break one –”

“I’m not going to pay for it,” Emmy snorted, wandering off. “Do we look like we have money?”

The bookseller frowned, watching as she took a plate out of the cupboard and started piling it with food. “Well, I suppose that brings us back to the question at hand. You said you came here for money. Was there more to that story?”

Tommy nodded, forcing himself to stare at his hands. He didn’t have any appetite this time, even though the bookseller gently pushed a plate of bread towards him. “Yeah. Dad threatened to kick me out a few years ago. Makes me pay rent. Says I’m old enough to have a job.” He shrugged. “So I dropped out of school. Started working.”

“Ah.” The bookseller sat back, nodding slowly. “I take it you no longer have a job?”

“Closed. Cuz of the lockdown.” His knee was starting to bounce nervously. That strange calm that had come over him the first time...it was there, hovering around the edge of his mind, but he didn’t really feel it. “But Dad still wants the money.”

“How much?”

“Six hundred pounds.” Tommy stood up, leaning on the back of the chair, trying to meet the shopkeeper’s eyes. They were warm, trusting, and once again he felt that tug in his gut to say more than he wanted. “Look, I know, I could move out for that. Probably could have already if I was smart. But I’m not. And I can’t save because Dad takes everything and…” He watched as Emmy walked behind the bookseller, tearing into an enormous slice of cake with gleeful abandon. “You know. I gotta watch out for my sister.”

“And how does your father expect you to produce six hundred pounds in the middle of…ah.” The bookseller stood and walked around the table to stand next to Tommy. “He wants you to steal.”

Tommy shrugged, keeping his eyes on his feet. Trying not to meet the booksellers eyes, not to watch his sister wandering around the shelves, to ignore the awful knot inside. “We hit three other places this month. But I’m still short.”

“You needed the money, and I gave you pastries instead. I take it your father didn’t like the exchange.”

“He, uh,” Tommy tried to smile. “He wasn’t impressed.”

A soft, well-manicured hand landed on the back of the chair near Tommy’s. “Look at me, please, Thomas.”

Clenching his jaw, he looked the bookseller in the face. And gasped to see the hard, sharp glare back in those eyes.

“What brought you back here today?”

To his horror, Tommy found he couldn’t lie to the bookseller.

While he was still trying to choke out an excuse, the old man’s eyes narrowed, and he spun, grabbing Emmy by the arm. The plate clattered to the carpet.

“Oi!” She shrieked, jerking her arm, trying to pull free. “Let go of me, you pervert!”

“Put. Them. Back. Now.”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, you loon!”

“Young lady.” And though his voice didn’t get any louder, suddenly the bookseller seemed ten feet tall. Tommy scrambled back against one of the pillars. He knew he should help, should defend his sister, some instinct in him screamed to do so. But he was completely frozen in place, barely able to breathe. “That book is over two hundred years old. For that alone I would throw you out in a heartbeat. But if that drawing has one rip – one wrinkle on it, you will regret the day you ever set eyes on this shop.”

Emmy reached under her shirt and pulled out a rolled-up paper, trying to dangle it out of the bookseller’s reach. “So it’s valuable, then?”

He held out a hand, waiting. “It is priceless. And you will never find someone to pay you even a fraction of its value. Now give it back.”

Snarling, Emmy slapped it against his palm. “What the hell, old man? We need the money more than you.”

“Leave my shop.” He let go of her arm and cradled the roll of paper like it was a baby.

“Fine. Whatever.” She stalked towards the back door. “And stop hiding Tommy, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be the adult.”

“Emily.” The bookseller’s voice echoed through the shop. Shadows seemed to stretch out from every shelf and corner, reaching for Emmy. “Leave that book.”

She scowled back at him, but he wasn’t even looking in their direction. She out the ancient leather-bound book she’d tucked in the back of her trousers and started to throw it on the ground. At the last moment she seemed to lose her nerve, and tossed it onto a chair instead.

Once it was out of her hand, Tommy felt the strange grip on him vanish. The shadows snapped back to where they belonged. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath of the strange shop air. Before, he’d thought it stank. Now he thought it was charged with electricity.

“I gave you a chance, Thomas,” the bookseller said coldly. The bright blue eye looking over his shoulder seemed almost to glow. “This is how you repay me. Go. Now.”

He didn’t have to be told again.

With shaking hands Aziraphale unrolled the scroll. The five-hundred-year-old parchment felt crisp under his fingers, and he gently massaged a miracle into it, softening it, freshening it just a bit. There were no rips or bends, but to be safe, he pressed it flat against a table, weighing each corner down with a stack of books.

From the center of the paper, Crowley’s face looked back at him, smiling just a little, serpent eyes almost visible behind those glasses. Da Vinci had really captured his look. Not the face, though it was a very good likeness, but something more. The beauty mortal eyes could not quite perceive, something almost ethereal yet at the same time, quite the opposite. It hovered over the page, captured in the simple linework.

Crowley had kept this portrait, in secret, for five hundred years. Aziraphale had never known his own was part of a matched set, until a few months ago, when Crowley presented it to him, saying, “They’re a pair, you know. Supposed to be together. Displayed together. So I thought you should have this.”

He’d been too flustered to say anything at the time. He wanted to, though. He so very desperately wanted to say something.

But Aziraphale was a fool. He’d always been a fool. Trusting the wrong people. Ignoring those he shouldn’t. He’d probably never change.

Three days later

…There are many things that have stood unsaid between us. Perhaps it is our way. Perhaps it will always be our way. But for all that, I truly hope there will never again be silence between us. Conversation with you might be the thing I most miss just now, and is surely what I most look forward to when this strange time has passed.

Until then I remain,

Yours

The pen hesitated one last time. Yours what?

Yours respectfully?

Yours sincerely?

Should he try to be funny? Profound? Was there some clever play on words he could put in?

Or.

Perhaps, for once, he could let the unsaid word speak for itself.

Until then I remain,

Yours

Aziraphale

A drop of deep green wax. Was that too forward? Too subtle?

He pressed new his signet stamp against it, sealing it shut with an emblem he’d designed with such good intentions. Would Crowley see what it meant?

Too late for doubts. Too late for second thoughts. The front of the letter was already written, perfectly neat: Anthony J. Crowley, Esq. Now all he had to do was get a stamp from his desk and –

He pulled open the left drawer. Empty.

The right drawer. Nothing but pens and scraps of paper.

He dug around the endless stacks of receipts and tax documents, destroying his neat piles in a desperate search.

No stamps.

Burying his face in his hands Aziraphale said, for only the second time in six thousand years, “Oh, fuck.”

He sat like that for a long moment, then slowly lifted his gaze to stare at the telephone.

“You know, I could…hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle of…a case of…something…drinkable.”

Something rose up in Aziraphale, a terrifying fear he couldn’t begin to name.

“Oh, I-I-I-I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules. Out of the question. I’ll see you…when this is over…”

“Right. I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, Angel.”

Aziraphale set the receiver back into the cradle, trying to stop his hand from shaking. His heart – which really, didn’t need to beat at all – was doing something altogether unexpected in his chest.

No, he told himself firmly. This is the right thing. Wait out the lockdown. Like you’re supposed to.

The rules were there for a reason. They told you what to do when the world stopped making sense, when your own mind was ready to betray you at any moment. When you couldn’t trust yourself, you trusted the rules.

He’d followed that philosophy his entire existence and look where it had gotten him. A lovely shop, a home, filled with books and art and cake. And no one else. No friends. No Crowley.

Just himself, alone, bent over a telephone.

And a heavy, frantic knocking at his back door.

Tommy pounded on the door, echoing the pounding of his heart.

“I told you, this is a stupid idea,” Emmy grumbled.

“Well, we tried your way last time and look what happened.” He slammed his fist against the door again. “So just…just shut up and follow my lead.”

“I think I liked you better when you were scared of everything,” she said, trying not to smile.

“I’m still scared of everything,” he snapped. “But what else am I gonna do?”

He started knocking again, just as the door jerked open, and he nearly fell into the bookseller. The old man looked paler than before, and somehow even less happy, but maybe that was the evening light playing tricks.

His eyes weren’t gentle or sharp this time, but something new, something that made Tommy’s heart ache in his chest.

“You two. I told you to leave.”

“We did leave. And. Um. Now we’re back.” Tommy cringed but rushed ahead. “Look. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I was an ass. I shouldn’t have tried to lie. And Emmy’s sorry for everything, too.”

“Well,” she grunted, not looking at the bookseller. “I’m sorry for some of it.” Tommy shoved her arm, and she rolled her eyes. “Most of it.”

“That is something, I suppose.” The bookseller pressed his lips into a line, and settled behind the door, looking completely immovable. “But I’m afraid I’m still not going to allow you in this shop.”

“Fine, right, I understand. I just need, um, a hundred and twelve pounds.” The booksellers jaw dropped, but Tommy rushed on. “I’m not just, it’s not charity, right? I brought stuff. Here.”

Emmy handed over the backpack and he dumped it out on the ground. “There’s some books, and a couple of these weird trinkets, I saw you had some around the shop, and this jewelry…”

“This is a bookshop, not a-a-a pawn shop!” The bookseller gave them an indignant look. “And I am most certainly not a-a fence for your stolen merchandise.”

“It’s not stolen. Look.” His fumbling hands grasped the thick computer programming textbook and flipped it open. Thomas Finch was scrawled on the inside of the cover in smudged, faded ink. “I bought this a few years ago. Trying to learn enough to get a better job. Only I’m real thick and I couldn’t follow it at all. So – so you can have that, right? It cost a lot, so it’s gotta be worth something now.”

The bookseller tilted his head, a look of vague disgust on his face. “Well, I don’t really have much use for a computer book…”

“Fine.” He tossed it aside and rummaged through the pile again “Or, look. This necklace. I don’t think it’s gold-gold but it’s really nice. It doesn’t rub off or turn your skin green or anything.”

With obvious reluctance, the bookseller took the chain and studied it up close. “I suppose it does look…Is this yours, young lady?”

Emmy turned her face even further away, arms crossed over her stomach. In the evening shadows, she seemed almost to disappear. “It was our mom’s. Before she died.”

“Ah.” He held out his hand, but Tommy didn’t accept the necklace back. “I wouldn’t take such an heirloom from you,” he tried again, and his voice was surprisingly gentle.

“We don’t want an heirloom, alright?” Tommy could feel the panic rising in him, but he had to force it down, force past the tightness in his throat and the wetness in his eyes. Had to get through this. “We want a hundred and twelve pounds, by tomorrow, or my dad’s going to throw me out. In the middle of the lockdown, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m sorry, truly I am, but you’ve already tried to rob me twice.” The bookseller let the necklace fall to the ground, joining everything of value Tommy and Emmy could find. “And once again you are here, outside, breaking the rules –”

“Shut up about the fucking rules!” Emmy spun back, glaring at him from behind the fringe of her hair, swept across her eyes. “How are the rules supposed to help Tommy now? He can’t get a job, or a loan, or anything. It’s all shut down. So what’s he supposed to do?”

“Emily.” Tommy knelt down and started putting everything into the backpack again. He kept dropping things, his hands shook so bad. He was out of ideas. “Fine. You won’t help me. But, look, Emmy’s just a kid. She’s made some mistakes, but…when my dad throws me out, can she stay here?”

“What –”

“What?” Emmy shoved him so hard he nearly fell over. “That’s not the plan, shit head! You can’t just dump me on some…some random –”

“Yes, I can.” His chest ached as he tried to meet her eyes. “I’m not leaving you with Dad, and I can’t take you with me if I don’t even know where I’m going. I don’t see another option.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“You’re twelve, Emily.” Tommy stood up and put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. She wore her usual tough expression, but she trembled, fighting back tears. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” said the bookseller in an overly bright voice. Tommy started, guiltily realizing he’d forgotten the man was there. “I seem to be missing some information here.”

Tommy looked at his sister, saw all the fear that he’d been carrying for years echoed in her eyes. He took her hand, squeezed it tight.

Emmy took a deep breath, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. Showing the large, half-healed bruise on her face.

The bookseller was quiet for a long moment. “Your father did that?” His voice seemed to be very carefully balanced.

“Yeah. Um.” She cleared her throat. “I’m. I’m trans. So my dad. I guess he thinks if he hits me. Um.” Her gaze fell to the ground. “Fuck that guy, though, right?”

“Ah.” Another long silence. Tommy clutched at her hand, neither of them breathing. Emmy hated coming out to strangers, to anyone really. Lots of bad experiences. He could see her remembering them now, in the way her shoulders hitched, her jaw clenched. “And does your father hit you, too, Thomas?”

“Um. Yeah. Different reasons. But yeah.” He shrugged. “Since I was younger than her.”

“I see. Wait here.”

The bookseller stepped away from the door, disappearing back into his shop.

“I say we run,” Emmy said, reaching for the bag. “He’s probably going to call the cops on you, right?”

“I don’t know. Are you ok?”

She wiped at her eyes. He could see her jaw was still tight with tension. “I’m fine. Just. I hate telling people my shit.” She sniffed and glared at her feet. She still pretended most of the time, at school, even around their dad if she thought it would make him less angry that day.

She hated it. She pretended it was fine but watched that hate and pain eat away at her for years, just another thing he couldn’t protect her from.

“Look, Emmy, I’ll figure something out, I promise. We’ve got time. Another day, yeah? I’ll...I’ll think of something.”

“Shut up,” she shook her hair back in front of her eyes before turning her glare on him. “Just go if you have to. I’ll be fine. I’m used to being alone. I can take care of myself, and –”

“Oh, good, you waited. It’s nice to see you finally listening to me.” The bookseller stepped through the door to stand next to them, and the smile Tommy had glimpsed that first night was back on his face, warm and open. It made the evening seem just a little less miserable. “Here.”

He pressed an enormous wad of banknotes into Tommy’s hand. More than a hundred and twelve pounds. A lot more.

“That should be enough to get you started in a flat of your own. It won’t be easy during the lockdown, of course, but by some miracle there are a few places available in the north of London that should suit. Please be careful with that, it will likely need to last you some months.”

“I…” Tommy stared at the pile of money. It was more than he could have imagined such a crummy shop would hold. “Why…how…”

“I believe this is when you usually say thank you, although I’m not very good at that part myself.” Before Tommy could even find his words, the bookseller had turned to Emmy. “As for you, young lady.” He reached to put a hand on her shoulder, then quickly pulled back when she flinched, instead tilting his head down to try and meet her eyes. “I wish I had some advice for you, I really do. I don’t think I even know where to begin.”

“It’s --” Emmy started.

“Do not say it’s ‘fine,’ my dear, because it’s not.” There was a sharp edge to his tone, but it quickly softened. “It’s never ‘fine’ to feel alone. And if you’re suffering, that’s all the more reason to reach out.” There was a moment of uncertainty - Tommy saw the bookseller bite his lip, and his eyes grew distant, lost in his own thoughts. Then he turned back to Emmy and smiled, holding out a small stack of business cards. “And there are organizations you can reach out to. I’ve put the ones that specialize in teenagers on top. Support groups. Hotlines. Legal aid. Which reminds me,” his eyes shot over to Tommy again, “you should probably call the police on your father, but I’ll understand if you want a stable living situation first.”

He pressed the cards into Emmy’s hand. “I know you might not be ready to talk, but when you are...there are people ready to listen.” She stared at the cards in her hand. “You aren’t alone, my dear, and you don’t need to take care of yourself. Let the people who love you take care of you. Especially your brother.”

“I don’t…” Emmy’s fist closed around the cards. “I’m not…”

“Not quite what you need? I have a few books on gender identity. I always find that a bit of reading helps me think about what I’m going through. You’re welcome to look through them any time, under strict supervision, of course. I’ve seen the way you eat.”

“So…we’re allowed back in?” Emmy wondered.

“Yes. Any time.” He patted her hand, then stepped back. “Especially now, if you need a place to go for a few hours. Just please come to the front door next time, this alley is horrendous.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be on the streets,” Tommy mumbled, still feeling dazed. But he felt his lips twisting into a smile. “You know. Against the rules and all that.”

“Well. I suppose…sometimes the rules do sort of get in the way, don’t they? I can…make an exception.” He beamed at both of them, the sort of smile that made it impossible to think of anything except smiling back. “Well. Jolly good. Now I think you two will need a bit of time to come up with a plan. What do you say we discuss this over cake?”

Two hours later

Aziraphale pressed the phone against his ear, listening to it ring. He had only rehearsed his conversation twice this time. He hoped it would be enough.

“Now what? Don’t you know I’m trying to sleep?”

“Hello. It’s me. Aziraphale.”

“For the last…I know.”

“Er, right. Ah. I just wanted you to know. Um. That is.” Drat. He really should have rehearsed more.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice turned very serious. “Is something wrong?”

“No, w-w-well, yes, that is…” His eyes drifted over to the table, the stacks of books, the cakes, the bottle of cognac. “Yes. Dreadful emergency. I’m nearly out of brandy.”

“You’re. Are you serious?”

“I am extremely serious, Crowley.” He took a deep breath. “And what with the lockdown on. Well. I would need someone to…to break all the rules in order to get me more.” He bit his lip. “And-and possibly some Merlot, or a nice Riesling. I have ah…rather more red velvet cake than I can eat.”

A long pause, Aziraphale tugging at the cord of the phone nervously.

“I thought you wanted to wait out the lockdown.”

“I did. I just…” He started to sit down, then sprang back up again, too anxious to hold still. “I realized, well, I can take care of myself, but that…that doesn’t mean I have to. And the rules…um…they…”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted softly. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

The smile trembled across Aziraphale’s face. “Ah. Yes. Good. I have some new neighbors to tell you about, I think you’re going to like them. And. Uh.” His fingers fell on the folded-up parchment, sealed with a drop of wax, green for hope. “And I have something for you, Crowley.”

(Thanks for reading! I apologize the OCs got so much of this fic. I’m trying to work on better OC-husbands balance, though in this case I hope you can see the parallel I was going for. I’ll probably write another Lockdown fic more focused on just Aziraphale and Crowley, but I really wanted to answer the question: who were the lads who tried robbing AZ Fell’s???)

#good omens prime #good omens lockdown #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #aziraphales bookshop #ineffable husbands #who robs a book shop in the middle of quarantine #my writing #bastard angel #outsider pov #ocs #quarantine fics #Ill Omens #tw: mentioned child abuse #tw: implied transphobia #aziraphale x crowley

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theweakestthing · 3 years

Text

An Undone Bird

Chapter: 4/32

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 9,322 (incomplete)

Additional Tags: Post-Episode AU: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Fix-It, Amnesia, Road Trips, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Injury Recovery, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester Is Trying, Canon-Typical Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Literary References & Allusions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Summary:

What now?

This might be the last chance they have, so Dean's not gonna waste it.

Read it on Ao3 here

Jack sat up front with Dean, with the box of cassette tapes held in his lap, and that bright wide smile spread across his face. He filed through the tapes, walking his fingers over their cases. If Dean weren’t so distracted, he would have been chewing Jack’s ear off about his taste in music. But the only thing on Dean’s mind was getting Baby all the way to the edge of the country, and getting to Cas.

Cas, Cas who had amnesia and wouldn’t remember the confession that had shattered everything Dean understood about himself, about Cas and their relationship. Though, it wasn’t like he didn’t know already. He hadn’t been oblivious to his and Cas’ unorthodox relationship (you’d have to have the full Tommy, blind, deaf and mute to let that one slide by you), there just hadn’t been time to do anything about it, there was always something happening that kept them from crossing the void. They’d been jumping from one world ending apocalyptic disaster to the next for the last twelve years. There hadn’t been time.

But if there had been time, would he really have ever done anything about it? Would he have gotten up the nerve to do anything about the thing that everyone knew was between them? Would he have been able to get the words out? If Dean was being honest with himself, then probably not, and definitely not before Cas did.

And Cas had, but Dean still hadn’t gotten the words out (not that he really could have (there wasn’t time)), and he might have missed his chance.

There had been too many times where he’d come right up to it, fully intending to say what he meant, what Cas meant to him and what he really felt. But every single time he had stumbled at the finish line. He cringed to himself at every remembered insistence that Cas was his brother, nothing more than his best friend, his family, despite every single thing he had done that pointed to the contrary. Dean gritted his teeth against it.

He supposed it had started as a way to protect himself. Dean had never been able to handle it when a guy came onto him, and it had never been because he wasn’t interested, it was because he was interested. When he was a kid it terrified him. He had heard the way his dad and his hunting buddies spoke about those sorts of people, and he didn’t want to be one of them and find out what his dad had to say about that. And maybe all that hiding and evasion had turned into bad cracked armour that stopped him from being able to act on his feelings. Of course he’d never admit as much.

Over the years though, Dean had been working to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, his prayer to Cas from the last time they’d been in purgatory was proof of that. And now, since Chuck was out of the picture, he might be able to finally say some of those things he’d always meant to. He might as well try.

His eyes slid over to the boy sitting beside him, he checked the rearview mirror and found Sam and Eileen fast asleep, and thought that there was no time like the present.

“Jack,” Dean began, cleared his throat and rubbed his suddenly clammy hand against his thigh, and went on, “there’s a lot of things I’ve said and done that I wish I could take back, but they’re out there now and I’ve gotta own up to it.” He knew he was talking around the issue, skirting what he really wanted to say, and he hoped Jack knew well enough that this sort of thing was difficult for him. “What I mean is, is you, you are family Jack,” he stammered, eyes sliding over to Jack for just a second, “and it’s not because of all the things you’ve done for us, for everyone, it’s because we care about you,” his grip on the wheel tightened, he was suddenly reminded of a different but oddly similar declaration he’d made, he had to force the rest of the words out. “I care about you. You are family and I’m sorry that I ever told you otherwise or ever made you feel like you weren’t.”

“That,” Jack said, voice thick with emotion and Dean didn’t dare look at him, “that must have been hard to say.” The wet sniffle that followed his words made Dean’s heart pang. “But I’ve caused so much harm.”

“And you’ve a done a whole lot of good too,” Dean returned. “Look, all of us, you, me, Sam and Cas, we’ve all done things that are probably unforgivable. But we’ve all done things that we’ll never get enough thanks for too,” he added, the truth of it left him feeling raw, and his skin thrummed as he tried not to think of how it all balanced out.

“But Dean–.”

“Listen to me,” Dean cut him off, speaking fast, otherwise he might lose his nerve, “yeah, not having mom around hurts, it hurts like an open wound, and I don’t know if I’m ever completely gonna forgive you for what you did,” just saying it rocked him to his core and he had to take a moment to get his breathing under control. “But we’ve all done stuff to each other that isn’t forgivable. When Cas and me were in purgatory, the first time,” he huffed at the needed clarification, “Sam didn’t do a damn thing to find us, he just coasted and we got out on our own. Then there’s the time Cas tried to be God and nearly brought about the end of the world.”

“Yes, Cas told me about that,” Jack said, fingers noisily sliding over the cassette tapes. “He said that it was one of his biggest regrets,” he added sadly, frowning into the box.

“I’ll bet,” Dean muttered under his breath. The thought of it still stung, the betrayal and helplessness that sat deep in those memories, he swallowed it back down. “And Jack, I’ve done so much, I’ve hurt so many people. And there’s no one I’ve hurt more than the people I care about,” Dean said, blinking away the sudden sting in his eyes, he wiped his face on his sleeve. “I’ve hurt you, I’ve treated you so bad kid, and I know you’ve forgiven me every time, so how’s that any different?”

“If you weren’t driving right now, I would hug you,” Jack said, tears sliding down his cheeks, unabashed.

Dean took one arm off the wheel and held it open for Jack, and twitched his fingers to beckon him over. And in an instant Jack was plastered to his side. He squeezed Jack’s shoulder and held on for a moment before letting him go. Jack wiped his eyes as he moved back to the passenger side, Dean smiled and turned the music up a little louder, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Don’t tell Sam,” Dean warned. Jack simply smiled back at him.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Jack was just a kid. He looked like a young guy in his twenties, and not the three year old he really was, and Dean had to remind himself to actually act like the adult in the situation.

He hadn’t said enough. It would never be enough. Dean knew he didn’t deserve Jack’s forgiveness, he hadn’t done a damn thing to earn anyone’s forgiveness, but people just kept on forgiving him anyway. He might as well try to earn it.

It was only one step in the right direction, but Dean felt better for having said at least some of what he really felt, and that had to count for something. And not too far in the future, he’d have to do a whole lot more talking. He had no idea how he was going to explain everything to a memory-less Cas. Sometimes even he had a hard time believing it and he’d lived through it, remembered it well enough to be haunted by every damn second of it. Dean supposed that they’d have to cross that bridge when they came to it, which wasn’t all that different from a lot of other plans he’d had, and he was just thankful that he wasn’t alone.

Movement from the backseat pulled Dean from his thoughts. Sam sat up, blinking groggily, as Eileen stretched beside him.

“Uh, how long have we been driving?” Sam asked. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and peered out the window at the passing scenery.

“A while,” Dean replied.

“If you count driving from Lebanon to Jasper, we’ve been driving for twelve hours,” Jack said, phone in hand as he checked the time.

“And you haven’t stopped?” Sam said, sounding suddenly wide awake. His brows slid up his forehead and almost disappeared into his hairline, Dean tried not to roll his eyes.

“We’ve stopped twice.”

“What? For gas and to pick up Eileen?” Sam said, and Dean didn’t have to look in the rearview to know that Sam had that pinched look of concern plastered to his face.

“Alright grandma, you wanna drive?” Dean said derisively, and shot a look over his shoulder at Sam.

“I was thinking we could find somewhere to stop for a while, get a couple of motel rooms and have a real meal, instead of getting to South Bend completely burnt out,” Sam said, sounding like a responsible adult.

Eileen tapped Sam’s shoulder and he scrambled to explain the situation, signing as he turned to face her.

“I’d like to eat,” Eileen announced.

Dean wanted to protest, he wanted to drive straight on through to Washington and to Cas, but he knew they couldn’t do that. His egg would be completely fried by the time they got there and he needed to be on his A game if he was going to be of any help to Cas. And it was getting harder to ignore the encroaching tiredness and the aching emptiness of his stomach, Sam was right and Dean needed to stop being such a stubborn idiot.

“Alright then, find us somewhere to stop,” Dean conceded, slapping his hand softly against the wheel, he flicked his eyes to the rearview and found Sam already scrolling through his phone. Dean would have rolled his eyes but the way Sam and Eileen were leaning into each other as they both stared at the phone screen sent warmth stretching out from his chest and even he wasn’t that cynical.

“Can I put this on?” Jack asked and held up a tape for Dean to see. He didn’t really have to ask, since the cassette came from Dean’s personal collection, but Jack was polite and earnest to a fault. The tape was Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Agents of Fortune’.

“You sure can kid.”

With one night behind them and the border of Wyoming at their backs, Sam was guiding them toward another diner, while Eileen and Jack flicked through magazines in the back.

The diner sat by the roadside. Blistering late May sunlight bleached its mint finish and bounced off of the chrome accents, it almost reminded Dean of a vintage Cadillac. They all climbed out of the car. Stretching and groaning in the mid-spring heat, Dean’s joints popped and clicked, and he sighed at the small flood of relief. He really wasn’t getting any younger.

“Would you mind taking Jack and grabbing a booth,” Sam signed as he spoke to Eileen, “I just wanna talk to Dean for a second.” It seemed kinda difficult to speak and sign at the same time, and though Dean had picked up some of the language, he knew he could do better to accommodate her. It was another thing else on his long list of self-improvements.

Squinting up at Sam’s face backlit against the stark early afternoon sun, Eileen nodded and began to herd Jack into the diner with one of those wide bright smile on her face. The boy didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re pretty chipper,” Sam said, rounding on Dean in an instant, like a particularly hissy snake.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Dean returned, leaning slightly against Baby’s side, “the world’s not ending, everyone’s back, we’re not Chuck’s meat puppets anymore, Jack’s still here, Eileen’s here, and we’re on our way to get Cas,” he reeled off, counting it all with his fingers. “That’s one hell of a win, it’s the best damn win we’ve ever got Sammy,” he added, hands open as he stared back at Sam.

Sam nodded and shifted slight, boots kicking up dirt as he did.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam murmured, smiling softly, “but I dunno, you just seem kinda...different?” he hedged, brows raised slightly.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Well, you’ve suddenly gotten all touchy feely, telling Jack that he’s part of the family when last week you were chewing me out for thinking the same? And, look, I think it’s great that you’re saying what you actually mean for once but I just wanna make sure you’re okay,” Sam said, he tucked his hair behind his ear and looked expectantly at Dean.

Dean huffed, blowing air through his nose like a bull staring Sam down, of course he’d heard.

“I’m fine,” Dean muttered.

“Dean,” Sam sighed.

Dean got it, he did. Sam was just looking out for him, and he was just worried, same old Sam through and through. And it’d be damn mean of Dean to just let him worry. That and Dean had made a promise to himself, a promise not to leave everything in the dark to be dealt with at some later date but hopefully never, he had to stick to his promises and especially the ones he made to himself.

He looked out at the highway, tried to swallow his racing heart, and began.

“How many people get as many chances as we have Sam? Because I don’t think anyone else ever has, and I’ve fucked them all up, and I’ve left so much shit unsaid and undone and I’ve said shit that I don’t even mean so that maybe it won’t feel so bad when everything falls apart again, but this kinda feels like our last chance or our biggest one and I don’t wanna waste it with my usual bullshit,” Dean rambled, jaw tight, his heart was still pounding.

“Oh, so you’ve finally become self aware?” Sam asked, brows arched sharply as he stood with his hands on his hips.

“Sam, I’m trying here, cut me some fucking slack,” Dean sneered.

“No, I get it, I just,” Sam scratched at the back of his neck, dislodging some of that unruly hair, and stared down at his boots for a moment before finally meeting Dean’s eyes again, “you never really told me what happened, with Cas, and I know, with the two of you, it’s different than it is with me and him, a lot different, profound bond and all, you know, and he’s back again but this might be the last time. So, I just wanna make sure that you’re okay, I’m here Dean and you don’t gotta do this alone,” Sam said, stumbling through his thoughts, and pushed his hair back away from his face.

“Okay, that was a lot of something, but I don’t know if I got any of it,” Dean said, completely lost.

“Last time he died, you were basically suicidal and reckless and just so angry, and honestly Dean it terrified me,” Sam explained. “And this time, you got black-out drunk and wouldn’t say anything more than that he was gone. Now he’s back and he might not remember anything and it’s gonna be tough, and he might not even know who you are,” he continued, hands twisting in the air between them, “so I wanna make sure that you’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m not okay,” Dean admitted with a shrug of his shoulders, because really, when were either of them ever okay? “Cas is out there on his own with a busted skull and no memories and we’re having lunch, Sam, I’m not gonna be okay until we’ve got him, but I’m handling it,” he assured. “Let’s just get something to eat, alright?”

Sam nodded, he knew better than to push further and dean was thankful for that, and followed him into the diner. There wasn’t much more to say that wouldn’t leave Dean feeling eviscerated. No, he wasn’t okay, not even close, but he was going to do his best to keep it together. He could fall apart when he was alone with a bottle of whiskey. Instead he’d settle for a plateful of pancakes and a whole lot of coffee.

They settled into the booth with the others and ordered. Dean let the chatter wash over him as he sipped at his coffee. Sam and Jack were explaining everything that had happened between everyone being wiped from Earth and her resurrection to Eileen, alternating hands animated over the table as Jack and Sam translated for each other and Dean couldn’t help but smile at Eileen’s reaction to Lucifer calling Michael a cuck (Sam had to spell the word out and that had Dean wondering if there was a sign cuck).

“It’s not the weirdest thing Micheal’s ever been called,” Sam said, smirking slightly as he shared a look with Dean. Jack continued to sign for Eileen, though he seemed to be waiting for an opening to finish off his bacon and eggs, it was endearing.

“Oh yeah, Cas called him ‘assbutt’,” Dean said, air quotes and all, taking Sam’s cue. The memory, though part of one of the more dire situations in his and Sam’s lives, still made him smile.

“What? What does that even mean?” Eileen struggled the words out between stuttered laughter.

“I think he panicked?” Sam said, smiling as he squinted into his coffee.

“I can’t wait to see Cas,” Jack said, smiling with ketchup smeared across his lips, finishing what little was left of his meal.

“What are we going to tell him?” Dean asked. He frowned down at his pancakes, watching as the syrup slid down them and onto the plate.

“We can’t lie, it’ll come out eventually, and anyway, we don’t know anything more than that he has amnesia,” Sam said, turning slightly to sign for Eileen, making sure that she was still part of the conversation.

“So?”

“Well, while you were teaching Jack the right way to play air guitar, I was reading up on it and amnesia’s mostly a wait and see sort of thing. We won’t know what’s really going on with Cas until we get there,” Sam said, with that prissy little look on his face, as though Dean should have been doing research whilst he was driving or in his sleep or something.

Now finished with his food and face free from condiments, Jack took over signing again. And if Dean hadn’t been focused on Sam’s veiled accusation, he might have had the room to feel guilty about being the only one who couldn’t sign.

“What do you mean wait and see?” Dean said, brows pinched as he scowled. He knew he could have been looking things up at the last diner or in the motel room he’d shared with Jack, he knew that, but he also knew that he couldn’t think about what had happened to Cas for too long. It wouldn’t do to lose his shit before they’d even made it into Washington.

“In most cases people recover their full memory, but sometimes they don’t,” Sam explained.

“Oh,” Dean murmured. The thought that Cas might never remember a single thing shot through him like lightning. Even without all of his baggage around the thing between them, explaining who he was and what they’d been through together was going to be one hell of a challenge. “So, you’re telling me that I’m not gonna get my Captain America meets the Winter Solider reunion?” he tried for humour, forcing a smirk as he lifted a forkful of pancake from his plate, ignoring the way his hand shook.

#destiel #casdean #deancas #spn #spn fanfiction #mine #an udone bird

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propertyofnikkisthighs · 4 years

Text

She’s My Collar pt. 4

Tags: @nowhereiswhereibelong

I jolt awake in terror clutching my chest and looking around wildly before my eyes adjust to the dark and I remember I’m in my own room. I try to focus on calming my breathing back to a normal level and hold my head in my hands. A thin film of sweat covers my forehead and the cool air against my back is an indicator that is also covered in sweat due to my nightmare. I take a deep breath and contemplate my next move carefully before I think fuck it and decide to throw caution to the wind. I fling the covers off of my body and get up turning my lamp on so I could see properly. I look around for clothing to throw on and find a pair of shorts and one of Tommy’s shirts he had lent me after getting a beer dumped on me by a drunk asshole at a show. I slip my feet into my slippers and make my way over to the boy’s apartment.

The music flows out of the open window near their front door, which is now nailed shut from the cops kicking it down so much. The potent odor of marijuana is also spilling out of the window along with a particularly shit faced girl who runs to the railing and proceeds to spill her guts over it. I hear Tommy before I see him as I crawl through the window into the living room.

“You guys are gonna fucking freak.” I hear Tommy say and I find him just in time to catch his face going between a girl’s legs going to town.

I avert my eyes and make my way around his public show into the kitchen to try to find any of the other boys. I successfully locate Nikki in the kitchen tearing through the cabinets in search of something. He nearly falls into me turning too fast, but luckily catches himself at the last minute.

“Hey Riv!” He yells excitedly messing up my hair. “Have you seen our rubbing alcohol?”

“I don’t live here Nikki.” If he’s looking for rubbing alcohol I know he’s up to no good.

“Come on River don’t be a fucking buzz kill.” He sighs annoyed with my concern for his well being.

“Under the sink.” I roll my eyes and he gets a goofy smile on his face running to get it.

I lean against the wall and watch as Nikki tears into the living room like a bat out of hell. A man laughs, egging Nikki on as he dumps the liquid on his leather jacket clad arm and uses his lighter to cover his arm in flames. The man clearly had never been to one of their shows if this little production had him wowed. Nikki flashes a shit eating grin my way and walks towards the man little fires falling from him singeing the carpet in his wake. The man backs away seeming genuinely scared that Nikki will burn him and I know Nikki will accidentally burn him so I spray his fire with the spray bottle I kept on the fridge to discipline them.

“River what the fuck?” Nikki scoffs at me in disbelief crossing his arms like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“If you light the building on fire the band is fucked out of a living slash rehearsing space.” I say shrugging.

“You know you could at least try being less of a loser.” Nikki grumbles at me and I’m about to fire back for him to shove it when I see Vince adjusting himself in his pants coming out of the bathroom.

“Have fun? Did you enjoy the ride?” I directed him.

“I know she sure did.” Vince laughs giving Nikki a high five. “When did you get here, River? You normally say no to our invites to party with us.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I shrug.

The moans of the girl Tommy is “performing” on suddenly cut through the noise of all the millions of other things going on in the apartment. I turn to go deeper into the kitchen and look in the fridge for a beer to ignore them. The boys on the other hand go to check out the show. I take a sip of the beer and try not to cringe too much at the taste. I wasn’t a big drinker in general and I especially disliked the taste of beer, but it was the only thing the boys had in their fridge. I squeeze my eyes closed as the grand finale comes to an end in the living room and try to pretend that what was happening in there wasn’t happening. Tommy rounds the corner and catches sight of me, eyes closed squeezing a beer between two hands and stops dead in his tracks. I peek my eyes open and see Tommy stopped in front of me slowly turning a deep red shade all over his face.

“Hey.” I say cracking a smile and he smiles back, but he still looks embarrassed.

“Hey. How long have you been here?” He asks rubbing his neck nervously.

“Long enough.” I take a sip of my beer. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Can I?” He asked motioning to the fridge and I realize I’m blocking the door for him to get into it.

“Oh yeah I’m sorry.” I shuffle to the side and he cracks open his beer and chugs some of his beer leaning on the counter near me.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Just restless. I’m fine.” I lie not wanting to put a damper on his night.

“Want to take a shot with me?” He smiles wildly and I nod my head agreeing. Which was my first mistake that night. My eyelids feel as if they are a million pounds and my head feels like someone wacked me upside it with a brick. I groan and try to pull my covers over my head from the blaring light of the window only to be met with some unseeable force holding them down. That was about the time I noticed that not only was this not my cover, this was not my room at all. I sit up quickly, far too quickly and everything spins around me. I groan again and hold my head in my hands until I regain stability. I hear soft snoring next to me and look over to see Tommy laying on his stomach in just his underwear a small pool of drool next to his mouth. I look down and see I’m only in his shirt and my panties and a panic sets in my bones. Did I fuck Tommy last night?? I need to get to my apartment and quick.

I scan the messy bedroom and locate my shorts and bra discarded on the lamp in the corner and slowly make my way to them so as to not make much noise. I pull my shorts on and try to find my slippers. They seem to have been kicked haphazardly in front of Tommy’s door luckily and I slip into those before tip toeing out of the room. I close the door softly and turn to leave smacking right into Nikki’s chest.

“Well well well look who is doing the walk of shame this morning.” Nikki chuckles and I place a finger over his mouth shushing him.

“Not now Nikki. I have a killer hangover.” I whine in a whisper.

“Here come in the kitchen let a professional teach you how to treat a hangover ya big baby.” He motions for me to follow him and against my better judgement I follow him.

“How do you possibly do this all the time?” The dull thud in my brain is churning my stomach and I’m almost worried I’ll blow chunks right then and there.

“I told you, I’m a professional.” He smirks as he hands me a glass of mystery liquid. I take a drink and choke on the harsh burn of a jack and coke.

“Nikki what the fuck is your problem?!” I cough. “I’m hungover, why would you give me more alcohol?”

“Hair of the dog.” He shrugs.

“I’m going to my apartment. Where things make sense.” I storm out of their place as best as I can considering I have to crawl out of a window with Nikki calling out that he’ll see me later at the show.

Oh fuck I forgot about the show tonight. I try not to make too much noise getting to my room as Mick is sleeping vampire style on my couch, which seemed to be the new normal for us. Once I’m safely in my room I flop and the bed and shut my eyes praying when I wake up this hangover will be long gone.

The boys are rowdy as ever tonight in their favorite post show booth at The Rainbow. Tommy and Nikki have bashed each other's heads on the table more times than I can count and Vince would disappear every so often for the bathroom, but would return with pupils the size of saucers and a mouth ready to shout along with the overgrown idiots with whom he shared a band. Oh not to mention they had a girl sucking their dicks under the table. I tried to ignore the fact Tommy was struggling to keep his expression neutral as the girl gave him his “turn”.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” I announce not that any of them are really paying attention besides Mick who nods to acknowledge me.

Instead of heading to the bathroom I stand outside listening to the sounds of the strip to calm myself. There was no need to get worked up. So what if you guys might have slept together and you couldn’t remember it? He was an on the rise rockstar that was their thing right, so why did it hurt so bad? I took a deep breath and collected my thoughts again before I went back inside to face the music, but I hoped the girl had moved on to Nikki by now. To my delight (and also surprise) the table girl is gone entirely. Just as I’m about to ask where their personal dick sucking machine has gotten off to a blonde slides in next to Nikki.

“Aye River!” Nikki acknowledges me in his state of drunken friendliness. “I want you to meet Beth.”

“Hello Beth.” Vince winks her way and I can already see the cogs of his brain trying to calculate a threesome at the very least. And taking Nikki’s girl at the very most.

“Hey.” I smile trying to play nice. She seems like most of the groupies the guys regularly fuck, a rich girl that likes coming to the strip to blow guys and daddy’s money on drugs.

As the night continues on Vince and Tommy trade places with him ending up right next to me. The booth is crowded and I try not to let my mind wander everytime Tommy’s fingers brush against my knee or when he tucks his face into my hair to laugh excessively from boyish joy and alcohol mixing.

“Alright well we’re gonna move on to the next bar you coming T-bone?” Nikki slurs holding Beth’s hips against his own and sways in the spot next to the table from being intoxicated.

“Nah man someone’s gotta make sure Riv gets home safe.” Tommy tosses an arm around my shoulder and I feel my face heat up.

“Suit yourself.” Nikki shrugs and a smug smirk falls over his face. “Remember kids the only sure fire way to prevent unwanted pregnancy is to swallow.”

He’s out of my reach when I lunge up to try to whack him which only increases his enjoyment at my embarrassment. He gives me the finger as he and Vince walk away snickering with Beth calling a “nice to meet you” back to the rest of us.

“Ya coming Mick?” Tommy asks as we pile back onto the strip.

“I have to go make sure things are cool with the she-beast at home. River leave the extra key under the mat for me just in case.” He rolls his eyes walking to his car.

Tommy and I have walked home at night alone more times than I could count now and yet there was this thick awkward silence between us this time. He normally would toss an arm around my shoulder or hold my hand, but his hands are jammed in the pockets of his leather jacket and he walks a few paces ahead of me. Just as I’m about to ask him if things are okay he starts to speak.

“You left.” Is all he says softly.

“What?”

“You left this morning and didn’t say anything.”

“I was just really hungover and wanted to sleep in my own bed.” I half lie to him.

“Do you even remember what you said to me last night?” He huffs.

“Tommy I don’t really remember last night.”

“You said you always wanted to sleep in bed and wake up together.” Neither of us continue walking at that point.

“I-”

“Did you mean it?” He asks looking at the ground.

“Yes Tommy.” I admit “You’re my best friend at this point. I feel safest when I’m with you.”

“Yeah. Best friend.” He repeats.

I take the few steps to bring me right beside him and snake my arms around him to hug his middle and by the grace of god he hugs me back. The rest of the walk home is quiet, but the silence doesn’t feel heavy anymore. I convince (not that it took much convincing) Tommy to shower and sleep at my apartment instead of me sleeping in his gross apartment again. My back is to the door and I can’t see Tommy enter my room but I can smell the men’s body wash I forcibly bought for him. The mattress dips and creaks slightly as he settles in next to me and the warmth the shower brought him radiates towards me in waves. An involuntary shudder rolls through my body and the next thing I know I’m being pulled against Tommy’s warm skinny body. I glance over my shoulder to see Tommy staring down at me with an unreadable expression.

“You don’t remember any of last night?” He asks barely above a whisper.

“Nope.” I copy his tone.

“So then you don’t remember…” he trails off and brings his hand up to cup and stroke my cheek and his tongue darts out to wet his lips quickly.

“What?” My eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth and back up again.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears as the distance between us begins to shrink. My eyes flutter close and I’m sure I stop breathing when our lips ghost over each other not quite fully connecting them.

I hear the sound of shattering glass. Then I smell the fire.

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xxisxxisxxis · 5 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Eight

Part Seven

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx X OC Warning(s): Language, mentions of drug abuse, minor sexual situations Tag list: @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @allieburakovsky @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx@ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog@thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog@ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471

**Let me know if you want to be tagged**

A year and a half flew by like the speed of light, and things were starting to come together for every one of us.

I put school on hold, which Nikki didn't like because he felt it was his fault, even though he was aware I would've put school on hold anyway for Tommy. I didn't even have to tell my parents I was dating Nikki because as soon as mom found withdraw forms from Julliard in the mail, she called me dishonest, accused me of disobeying my parents, and threw me out as soon as I let her know I found somewhere else to stay. I figured she would find out about us eventually, anyway, so there was no reason for me to go out of my way to tell her why I was putting school off. After that happened, I left my house and was living with Nikki once everyone saved up enough money to move out of the crappy apartment. To Vince and Tommy we were just room mates. We knew Mick didn't fall for it because, like Tansy, he also just knew things but he never mentioned a word of it Tommy or Vince, or even confirmed to either me or Nikki that he knew what was really going on. He minded his business, like he always did.

Tansy and her mom had moved out to New York the summer after we graduated because she had been approached for a contract with some modeling agency out there and they were paying for a nice apartment for them to stay in. I was proud of her because she had always wanted to model, however, I was skeptical. She was 5'3" and back then, you had no chance of hitting a runway if you were too short. So Editorials were her only option, but I knew she would be just as happy posing in Vogue as she would be walking down a catwalk.

So with the new album, Tansy modeling, everyone moving out of the hell-hole apartment and Nikki and I managing to make it over a year tolerating each other in a relationship, everything was falling in to place. And it was only getting better.

"'Jesus is Satan?' I raise a brow as I ask, seeing Nikki and Vince smiling and laughing while explaining why one of their sound engineers fled their recording session.

"It's only backtracking, it's not like we're throwing it out there. You gotta look for it." Vince explains.

"Aren't you two just every church girl's dream?" I ask sarcastically.

"Maybe you should start cleansing my soul before I come inside the apartment. It might help exorcise whatever demon you're convinced has possessed me." He says it genuinely, but I know he's full of it from the smirk he gives me. I'm tempted to threaten to close my legs anytime he wants any, but Vince is here and he'd tell Tommy if he knew about us, so I save the threat for later, narrowing my eyes at Nikki.

"Ohh, if looks could kill you'd be a dead man." Vince hits Nikki's arm as Nikki takes a swig of his Jack.

"Whatever, I'm taking a nap." I tell them, stepping to the guest bedroom which is supposed to be my room.

"You just woke up a couple hours ago," Nikki argues.

"I don't feel good." I reply, honestly, the budding feeling of nausea resting in the pit of my stomach.

Vince leans over to Nikki, whispering something in to his ear and Nikki shakes his head, grinning.

"No, not for another week." He says to Vince, the two smiling innocently at me and I ignore them and shut the door of the bedroom, crawling in to the bed.

After a few minutes of laying on my stomach, the nausea subsides and I'm able to go back to sleep for an hour and a half before the door of the bedroom door creaks open. I already know it's Nikki coming to harass me, and the feeling of his lips touching the bare skin between my shoulder blades that's been left exposed by the tank top I'm in, just confirms it.

Another kiss is pressed to the back of my shoulder, then to my cheek and I turn over to face him, enjoying the feeling of him over me.

"I gotta go to the studio." He tells me. "I'll see you later."

"Alright." I nod, sighing as he leans down to press his lips to mine for a second, before going to leave. It's not enough for me, though, and I'm scrambling to the foot of the bed to catch his wrist in my hand and pull him back to me, reminding him some two second peck on the lips is basically an insult to me, and usually is an insult to him unless it's to avoid being late to get on stage or going to the studio.

He chuckles at my desperate effort and pulls himself closer to me by my hips as our lips, tongues and teeth meet. Before I can reach for his belt buckle, he's groaning a little and putting his hands on my arms to push me away a slightly.

"I gotta go, Viv." He breathes out with a wide smile, brushing a few strands of red hair from my face. "We can fool around when I get back." He assures me.

"You'll be wasted when you get back." I argue.

"I won't drink that much." He presses a last kiss to my cheek, patting my hip before he leaves.

One of the many things to know about Motley Crue: "we won't drink that much" = "we'll try not to drink that much...but we will drink that much, and then some, and not remember any of it". Same rule applies to drugs and sex.

He gets back twelve hours later at four in the morning, swinging the front door open and stumbling back in to it with his hand still gripping the door knob to keep him from face planting. I look up from my bible to see him do this, and set it aside to go help him.

"Hey, Viv," He greets me with a slur and I give a sympathetic smile. "I think I drank that much."

"I kind of knew you would." I reply, helping him keep his balance as he steps to our bedroom. He plops down on the edge of the bed, tugging his boots off, nearly falling off the bed as he throws them across the room.

"C'mere." He says to me while I'm standing against the door frame with my arms crossed, watching him.

I do as he says, his hands grabbing at me at pulling me to straddle him.

"You smell like a bar," I tell him, laughing as he nips and licks at my neck.

"You smell good." He replies dopily and I rest on of my hands at the back of is neck, my fingers lacing through his hair.

"It's called a shower," I say. "You should try one some time."

"Fuck you." He falls back on the bed, his arms splayed out beside his head as he closes his eyes. "You know somethin'?" He asks me and I lean forward, my body against his as I rest my elbows on his chest.

"What?"

"I wanna fuckin' tell people we're together." His words surprise me a little.

"If we do that, Tommy will find out. And he will kill you."

"If he wants to kick my ass for fuckin' his hot friend, then fine, because I'm tired of lying and telling them we're 'room mates'." He explains sloppily. "Room mates don't sleep in the same bed naked and suck each others dicks in the shower."

My brows furrow at "dicks" and even drunk, he realizes his error.

"That's not right." He complains, rubbing his tired eyes.

"I don't have a penis, Nikki." I remind him and he gawks.

"I hope not cause I've been seein' pussy anytime I look down there." He says, looking directly at me with wide eyes and I have to try my hardest not to start cackling.

"You need to go to sleep." I move off of him, gently tugging at his hand to get him to move to his side of the bed.

"I got it." He waves me off, dragging himself to his spot, not bothering with the covers before laying down.

He's asleep within a couple minutes and I exhale, getting on my side of the bed before cutting the lamp on my bedside table out and going to sleep.

The next few days are spent scrambling to put together decent Christmas plans, which include picking Tansy up from the airport after she calls and gives us a heads up she's coming to visit.

"What do you mean you won't have time, Vince?" I snap, smearing icing on a cake. "You've had since January of this year to save December 23!"

"Beth doesn't wanna come." He finally says after minutes of going back and forth over the phone about why he can't come to dinner tonight.

"Then leave Beth at home! We all agreed last year to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas together every year."

"If Beth doesn't want to come, I can't come." He explains as Nikki and Mick come in with the beer and more Vodka and Jack.

"Well, no one told you to marry the uppity bitch, Vince." I state rudely, Nikki raising his brows at my language.

"Look, I love you, but I can't make it. I'm sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." He sighs out and I stay silent for a second.

"Did I mention it's also my birthday today? Are you really gonna ditch me, you're favorite red head, on my birthday?" I ask him, in a tone that hopefully sends him on a guilt trip. He doesn't answer me for a good two minutes before groaning.

"You are fuckin’ killing me, Viv." He tells me and I smile, knowing I'm getting my way. "Fine. I'll be there."

"Thank you, Vince." I say before he hangs up. "He is way too easy." Just as I finish saying it, Nikki's digging his finger into the tub of icing and smearing it down my face.

"Nikki!" I scold loudly, grabbing a paper towel to wipe it off my face but before I can, his tongue sweeps across my cheek and I scrunch my face up, not able to hold back the laughter in my throat as he licks the mess off my face, finally giving me a paper towel when he's done. "Beth wasn't gonna let Vince come tonight."

"Oh, no. How awful." Mick pipes sarcastically.

"First of all, it's my birthday. Second of all, it's tradition." I point out o him.

"Not really. We only spent celebrated your birthday and Christmas in one night last year because we were too broke for two different occasions." Nikki says, opening a beer and I give him a look, causing him to pause, look at me, look at Mick, then back to me, and say: "That fucking bitch was about break our tradition."

"Smooth." Mick mumbles to him.

"I need someone here who actually cares about sentiment. Where's Tommy?" I ask, continuing to glop and spread icing on the cake I've just made.

"Tommy's getting Tansy." Nikki tells me. "Like you told him to do, then Tansy's gonna grab all the stuff you'll need to make dinner. It will be fine. Calm down."

"I'm calm." I argue in a not-so-calm tone.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get started on this so I can endure your bitching all day." He opens the bottle of Jack and takes a big gulp.

"Then you'll be drunk tonight and you can't be drunk tonight." I take the bottle out of his hand.

"Then I'll get stoned." He states, stepping to our bedroom. After a moment, he's coming back in to the kitchen, seeming to be pissed off. "Where the fuck is my--"

"I hid it." I say without hesitation, looking over my shoulder at his expression. "It's my birthday."

"I haven't spent one night sober since I can remember. You're not changing that all because it's your fucking birthday. Give me my stuff back, Saint Vivian."

"Mick, tell the Devil's Spawn to 'man up' because one night sober will not kill him."

"Mick doesn't get a say in it because you're still letting him drink!" Nikki exclaims, motioning to the silent man on the couch who's nursing from his vodka.

"Mick has special privileges because he's the most responsible one out of you four any other time of the year." I finally finish icing the cake, turning to face Nikki, who's staring at me.

"Mick's fuckin' stayin' outta this fight and every fight after it." Mick states, leaving no room for discussion.

"We're not fighting." I insist. "We're having a slight disagreement."

"Which will be resolved the second Mother Mary gives me back my freedom." Nikki says.

"Since when does alcohol and psychoactive drugs have anything to do with freedom?"

"Since I was able to do them freely until I started having to put up with you." He argues.

"Put up with me? You say that like you just tolerate me." I cross my arms.

"Anytime I do something you don't think is good enough for you, you give me this look like I just shot a puppy. I can't breathe the wrong way without you looking down on me."

"Probably because when you 'breathe the wrong way', you're actually breathing wrong, do to all the depressants and stimulants you load into your body simultaneously!" I outburst. "I don't look at you that way because I'm judging you, I look at you that way because I'm hoping you won't over do it and croak over, so forgive me for not wanting you snorting and drinking everything in sight tonight because I would like my boyfriend to not risk dying on my birthday but apparently that's too much to ask for, so go for it!"

I'm expecting him to give me the look he's always given me when I try to tell him not to drink, pop pills or snort anything, but he doesn't. I guess it's because it's my birthday.

Before he can answer, someone's clearing their throat, and we snap our attention to the front door, seeing Tansy.

"Welcome to hell." Mick tells her, and she looks at me and Nikki hesitantly, as if she's thinking about turning back around and leaving. I'm sure she is until Tommy pops up behind her, arms full of groceries and a wide, excited smile on his face. Completely oblivious.

"Happy Birthday!" He pipes, walking in to set the bags on the counter and hug me tightly, picking me up. Nikki and I continue to glare at each other while I'm looking over Tommy's shoulder, and when he puts me back down, the two of us put on fake smile so he won't know we're fighting.

"Hey, babe, where do I need to put this?" A man that has to be at least 30 years old is walking in to our apartment, talking to Tansy while holding a Tupperware container.

"What is it?" I ask him, thinking it's food, taking the container.

"Oh, Smack." He says casually and I'm dropping the container in a matter of milliseconds, taking a step back and looking at Nikki with raised brows.

"Vivian!" Tansy complains, picking the container up, going to put it in the fridge but I block her way. "Oh, so, what? All the things these idiots pump themselves full of, you draw the line at heroin?" She asks me.

"I am the line." I inform her. "I am not keeping some stranger's drugs in my fridge."

"It's not some random stranger, it's Sparkie." She explains to me as if that makes me and the man best friends. "My boyfriend." She continues.

"I figured that." I reply.

"Why do they call you Sparkie?" Nikki asks him, skeptically.

Sparkie was an absolute idiot. Think of what strung out, worn down, one shoot up away from being dragged to hell, looks like. He looked like a walking corpse with a peculiar hue of blue to his skin and had sleeves of tattoos to try to mask his track marks, to no avail. A few of his back teeth had rotted out and it was evident anytime he opened his mouth to speak. His bleached blonde hair had grown out to his chest and his pitch black roots were greasy due to lack of bathing. He had frown lines, crows feet, smile lines and greyed facial hair along his jaw. Tansy claimed they had met on the set of one of her photoshoots and he was the photographer's assistant and said that he told her he fell madly in love after laying eyes on her for the first time. Well, Tansy was gorgeous, but she was also naked and posing for Playboy at the photoshoot where they met, so he might've confused wanting to have sex with her with wanting to date her. I prayed he'd only be temporary, but he managed to hang around for five more years until the two of them broke up during the "Girls" tour. I was stunned when she went from dating someone like Sparkie, to dating someone like Axl Rose.

"Freebasing accident. Ether's easy to catch on fire, man." He tells him with a chuckle and I feel multiple brain cells die.

"Fuckin' awesome, right, dude?" Tommy asks as he hits Nikki's shoulder and Nikki looks at me with a smug expression, knowing it's killing me to keep my mouth shut.

"We have room in the fridge, right, Viv?" Nikki asks me innocently and I roll my jaw, looking at Tansy's perfect smile, as if she's silently begging us to like her boyfriend.

"Absolutely." I say, taking the container from Tansy and putting it in the fridge before me and her start cooking dinner.

By the time Seven o'clock is rolling around, dinner's done and Vince is waltzing through the front door.

"Hey, Viv," He comes up behind me in the kitchen while I'm washing my hands, kissing my cheek as he puts a present on the counter.

"Hey," I greet him, seeing Beth occupied with talking to Tansy.

"Who's...?" He nods in Sparkie's direction and I turn the sink off and get in his ear.

"Tansy's boyfriend, Sparkie. His White China is in my fridge and he got his name after a freebasing accident." I educate him and he raises his brows, an amused smile pulling at his lips.

"Tansy's dating him?" He whispers and I nod.

"Jesus," He mumbles, watching as she comes over to us to hug him.

"Vince!" She greets him eagerly, throwing her arms around him and he pulls her to him tightly, catching an evil look from his wife.

"Hey, Tans," He says when she pulls away.

"C'mon and meet my boyfriend." She grabs his hand and pulls him to the living room.

"Um, hey, Devil-Spawn, I need your help for a second." I tell Nikki and he looks up from his conversation with Sparkie and rolls his eyes, stepping to the kitchen.

"What?" He asks me and I drag him to the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it.

"Tansy's dating a loser." I voice out immediately and he gives me a look.

”I thought you wanted a quickie. Had I known you were just gonna bit--"

"He's a moron. 'Ether's flammable'? 'Put my smack in the fridge'?" I mock his voice.

"He didn't say the last one."

"Tansy is too naïve for someone like him." I ignore him. "She doesn't know what she's getting herself in to being with someone like that."

"I'm someone like that." Nikki reminds me and I scoff.

"Um, you don't carry a Tupperware of Smack with you, you're not burning yourself in ether explosions, you're not taking advantage of a beautiful blonde girl who just wants to make everybody happy..." I list a few things Sparkie's doing. "Look, I'm not worried about me doing anything because I have the will power of God when it comes to drugs and alcohol but Tansy will do the most ridiculous, disgusting, debasing things to make someone happy. Trust me, she's told me some of the things she felt like she had to do in order to keep some of her past boyfriends and I'm scared he's gonna get her hooked on some of his mess because he'll figure out if he asks her to do anything, she'll do it." I explain to him and he sighs.

"Maybe she's not as naïve as you think she is. I mean, it's been over a year since you last saw each other, so it's possible she's changed and knows exactly what she's doing." He tries to reassure me.

"I'd rather her be oblivious and naïve to the severity of the situation than knowingly be waltzing in to her own self-destruction." I state blankly.

"I wonder who all's gonna be saying that about you when they find out you're with me." Nikki says pointedly and I open my mouth to speak, but close it again.

"You're right. She's a big girl who can take care of herself and I'm being judgmental of Sparkie." I admit.

"You're admitting you're wrong?" He asks me in pretend shock, leaning closer to me, putting the palm of his hand flat on the door beside my head and I cross my arms and avoid looking at him.

"I guess." I mumble, not liking the fact I have to admit I'm wrong and he knows it, basking in the glory.

"Viv?" He asks and I look at the bathroom floor, still not acknowledging him. "Hey," He grabs my jaw gently, forcing me to look at his darkly lined eyes. "You have such a big heart, you worm your way in to other people's lives to try to get them to not make decisions that you wouldn't make, to protect them. But just because you wouldn't choose to do something, doesn't mean it's a wrong choice for someone else."

"Snorting coke and throwing back shots until you can't stand up, isn't a good choice for anyone." I already know what he's getting at and he sighs, stomping his foot.

"If I hear one more 'dude' from Sparkie without some kind of buffer in my system, I'm gonna knock his head into the fuckin' counter, Viv." He states, pointing his finger in the direction of the living room.

"You're doing great." I tell him, taking the hand he's pointing his finger with and hold it in both of my hands. "We only have to deal with him for a few more minutes and then everyone will be gone, and we'll have the place to ourselves," I say, taking one of the chains of his few necklaces around his neck and running it threw my fingers, pulling him to me. "And I'll let you do whatever you want."

His expression darkens at my promise, his lips pulling upward in to a crooked smile as his hands move to my hips and he guides me to the sink, picking me up and putting me on the edge of it,

He's putting himself between my open legs, his finger tips gripping at the flesh of my thigh as his other hand is hiking my maroon dress up, his tongue dancing with mine. I push the thin straps of my dress of my shoulders and his lips leave mine when he yanks the top of my dress down to expose my breasts. Just as his teeth are biting a trail down my skin, the door swings open, causing me and Nikki to scramble to get ourselves off of each other, but it's too late.

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #motley crue #douglas booth #colson baker #daniel webber #the dirt #the dirt movie

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