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herstarburststories · 4 years

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Beautiful Ghosts [p1]

A/N: HAPPY BDAY TO ME, YAY! The first chapter of this hopefully mini series is for @alleiradayne 's 1k celebration! Congrats, hon. A mix of angst and two kinds of comfort here. I gotta admit that I started working on this months ago and kept going until I was satisfied with how it was going. Hope you guys like this one! Divider by @talesmaniac89 !

Summary: Something as tribal as death wouldn't keep you away from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Prompt: I’m not going to leave you. You’re never going to have to suffer by yourself again, I promise.

Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, you

Rating: PG 13

Word count: 2404

As always, you are in Dean's arms when the two brothers enter the bunker after a hunt. There isn’t any sound to break the silence, no raucous laughter, or even a snarky comment about today’s slain monsters. Their steps are stronger than usual, and one breath is missing.

Of course, it’s different from your usual entrance. Your arms aren't tangled with Dean's and his aren’t wrapped around your waist or shoulders. You are in his arms, yes, but you are lying still in a state of lifeless despondency. To think, he was once hopeful, stupid enough to believe that he'd only be carrying you like this when he was marrying you.

Sam is awfully quiet. He can think and organize a hundred words into speeches in his mind, but nothing comes out. The younger brother feels like a kid during a class presentation too worried to say the wrong word and receive the wrong reaction. Therefore, he chooses silence, just like the other Winchester. They both make room for the grief that way.

It's a silent agreement that you are gone for good. The spell used to bring Eileen back is no longer available, and there is no devil willing to make a pact — not that one would allow the others to do so, after all.

Dean still considers it. More than once, more than a million times between the drive back home when you laid in the backseat with your guts on the car's floor and putting your body on the couch with more tenderness he’d thought himself capable of.

He would come back to hell just to save you, even if it meant not staying to see you thrive. The agony would be more bearable if he knew that for each scream of his, there would be a grin of yours.

He has no hope now. All Dean Winchester has is anger and unprocessed grief slowly metamorphosing into sadness, hate, and bloodthirst. Even when he killed the fucking werewolf right after he laid his teeth on you, it wasn’t enough. He needed to make someone hurt as much as he did.

It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but isn’t that life with this job? It's usually supposed to be a quick thing, and then you are choking your own blood like it's tequila.

“She is in a better place now.” Sam is the first to speak, utterly doubting that his brother would make a noise if he didn't first.

Sammy was always full of faith, but this time it made Dean furious. “You don't know that.”

“Dean.”

“Don't, Sammy. Don't even fucking try. You know who we are and what Billie thinks about us. Do you think (Y/N) won't get the same destiny as we will? Alone in the empty, going crazy for years, decades!?”

“We can find a way—“

“No, we can't! We all signed her death sentence the minute we asked her to move in. And she—“ Dean cuts himself off with the sharp knife of silence, staving any hope left with harsh thoughts. The living room is maybe the most similar it’s ever been to the old glory days now: men of letters used to get frustrated there all the time, usually with a bottle of whiskey and a dead body on the floor, full of holes from experiments.

The eldest Winchester wants to scream, throw a chair, break a lamp. He’d do anything to get this heavy sensation out of his veins, as if every single drop of blood weighs 500 pounds.

Still, he doesn't fall on his knees.

An inconsistently wry smirk consumes Dean’s face, warped with grief. “I had to put her guts back in her body, you know? To carry her in the car.”

He lifts his hands. They are stained red. Sam purses his lips together, trying to find something to say that would have helped him when Jess died. Nothing but an annoying little voice saying time comes to mind. It's gonna be hard, but they will make it. They always do.

Sammy doesn't tell that to Dean, though. He isn't ready yet. And neither is Sam to vocalize the words.

We are gonna be okay because we always do. And the dead bodies end up like frightening memories and nothing else.

That would sound too cold, like most truths for hunters. If Sam says those words, it becomes real. Not even the bloodstained picture of murder is stronger than words of farewell. Besides, you were his best friend. He had to recompose and convince himself that everything would be okay before he helped Dean. For once, he had to be the brother who shut all the turmoil in to take care of the other

“I'm sorry, Dean.”

And then, Sam does the only thing that he could think of as useful for making the ache bearable. He hugs his big brother.

Dean struggles to get away from the hold, even with every fiber of his being screaming to remain there. “Let me go! Sam, I'm serious. Fucking let me go!”

“It's gonna be okay, Dean.”

“Let me go, Sammy! Now!”

“You are not alone, Dean. I'm here. She will be okay, too.”

“Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!”

Until he finally gives in, collapsing in Sam's arms like that little kid in Kansas who didn't want to cry in front of his dad after seeing his mom get killed.

There is blood on Sammy’s favorite shirt now, but he doesn’t care. He just tightens his embrace around Dean while his brother is lost into racking sobs.

His grief is just as expansive as Dean’s, their ragged souls laced with a sickening kind of sweetness that can only show up when someone you love needs help. It squirms and crawls in their guts to make a home that sticks. It’s their tiny comforts— the good feelings always show up in defiance of the ache like a plant growing on concrete. They just have to get the energy to look for them.

Everything is still the way you left it in Dean's bedroom. He didn't put your clothes away. You left your book on the shelf and kept your perfume in the wardrobe. Your pillow is still scrambled as if you had left for a couple of minutes to grab a cup of water and would soon come back to snuggle up to him. Well, it could always be from the fact that he's holding onto that piece of cotton for dear life. If he had long nails, his floor would be a complete mess now.

He's glaring at the wall, mind trying to come up with ways to cope with the growing ache in his whole body. Yes, the books and poets and films speak fondly about heartbreak, but he already threw the last glimpses of his bruised heart on the fire, burning with your body to the point no one could say it was ever in his chest to begin with. What could he do? There's always a way for the Winchesters. If Dean thinks hard enough, maybe he can defeat death. Maybe he can have you back.

Dean puts the pillow away after another sniff. The smell of your pepper shampoo is almost fading — he shouldn't have hugged it. Nonetheless, the green-eyed hunter focuses on coming up with ideas, and it's a stupid, humanly behavior when his mind goes to what desperate people usually seek.

Dean was never a pious man. The fact his mother died while angels were too busy watching over him to help her didn’t do it any good. Yet in stolen moments like these, he, like most humans, would bear his soul in a peace offering to all the holy things he doubted. The Winchester never prayed for himself, though. Who would answer his cry for help? He never deserved to be saved. So, he put his hands together and closed his eyes for who he cared about. As the Layla woman who told him to have faith or Sammy as something scandalous happened. It was rare, but Dean did that sometimes. He used to hope someone was listening. He doesn't pray anymore, not even now. Because he knows someone is listening, and he doesn't care.

Can an empty room seem crowded? Yes, when touch-starving grief is piled inside, begging to be seen. Why can't he allow himself to feel it? Why can't he cry? Why can't he just stop using anger as a comfort? Dean doesn't know. It used to be easier to cry before. He'd say he's lost his emotions, but the all-consuming anger and his ferocious barks to keep the hurt is burning proof he isn't yet.

Y/N died, and it's his fault. Y/N died, and it's his fault. Y/N died, and it's his fault.

His nostrils are opening, the wrath that swaths him as comfortable as his own skin. It’s not natural enough that he doesn't feel the burn, and you know he's going to break again. Your Dean doesn't break easily, but when he does, it's in a million little pieces that he wouldn't allow people to help pick them up. He’d rather shove them under the bed with his childhood monsters or bruising his hands as he exasperatedly tries to get them all by himself. You know he's going to shift into a storm and start breaking things. You know it's a temporary morphine, and the sickness will remain in the morning.

That's the incentive you need to try harder, to flash yourself into this plane of existence long enough to be seen. You force every fragment of yourself and light and whatever other pieces you are made of now to appear. To be heard. To show Dean he isn't all by himself again.

An image starts glitching in front of him. It’s rapid enough for Dean's reaction to come as a frown and his hand to snake around to the gun at the hem of his pants.

And then, he blinks and a heart-stopping joy hits him. He can't believe the unbreakable heaven that he's being blessed with. Every feeling that should be burrowed under his skin is fighting to come to the light, and God, he wants to. For the first time, he doesn't want to hold back because what was trying to come together finally is you.

You. You are standing right before his own green eyes. There is a soft look on your face. It’s laced with that pretty smile that’s always spread happiness to him as well. You are here, standing in his room, clean clothes and blood in your veins. Guts inside your body! He never imagined he'd be happy to think that.

Is this his heart? Oh God, it is. And it's beating. No, no. It's racing. His heart is working again and now he almost falls on his knees. The pain was never able to break him, but he had forgotten how strong happiness could be. He's relieved.

Dean's eyes burn when he looks at you. Maybe it’s because he’s too shocked to even blink or perhaps it is all the tears that were flowing. Who cares? That man would allow his entire body to collapse in flames if the smoke signaled you back home.

He takes a few steps, having the nerve to touch you — probably the most daring thing he has ever done. He is ready for you to dissipate, for that to be a dream, anything. And you don’t. You remain there. You don’t leave him too. Your usually warm body is gelid, but Dean doesn't care. It's an honest warning, yet he's happy to ignore those for once. You're here.

“Dean, I—“ Your voice. It's your voice saying his name. He recognizes the importance of a name now. For a brief moment, he's confused. What the fuck is happening? You purse your lips and Dean chortles in dismay, unable to discern his inner state of being. “I don't know what to say.”

“I thought I had lost you. I was so fucking scared, Y/N. I thought you were gone for good.” He's found the words for you, exhibiting his vulnerability so quietly. Your entire soul feels it— it's not true what they say. You don't stop feeling when you are dead. You start to feel everything deeper because after leaving your meatsuit, all that is left is your soul. And what's a soul but the patchwork of emotions? “I thought you'd never come back again. That I'd have to go on without you. I'm so sorry. It was my fault. I should have saved you.”

“No, Dean. Don't start self-loathing and all that. It wasn't your fault. What happened to us could've happened to any hunter. And if it happened to me, there is a reason for it.”

“A reason for you to be ripped apart?” He scoffs at your belief of fate. You always had a graceful heart in you, even after you met Chuck.

“I'm back, right? I told you I'd always be with you, and I'm here. Always.” You intertwine your fingers, and he watches your hands for a little while. While it’s difficult for him to grasp anything but pain nowadays, he accepts the rush of joy in his chest. Dean looks up, and you're still here, big eyes offering him a loving gaze. “I'm not going to leave you. You're never going to suffer by yourself again. I promise.”

He kisses you, and it feels like your emotions have finally found a perfect body to rest in when yours is a little bit tired — a place to call home. He kisses you, and everything is worth it. Because he kisses you. And you kiss him back.

Dean Winchester is a marvelous hunter. He should know that the cold his tongue experiences in your mouth while you two make out ferociously isn't quite right. You should feel fervid, and you are warm in every way of being but skin. He should pay attention to that. He should stop trying to make you come alive with love. Still, he can't bring his rational side to care. That man was always guided by emotion, anyway. What could matter more than you on his arms? Worries could be postponed because you did what no one else ever could.

You came back to him.

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tundrainafrica · 4 years

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Title: En Prise (Chapter 1)

Summary:

Hange already had the innate analysis skills and the quick wittedness to excel in the classroom. Chess should have come easy for her. As she processed her fifth loss to the man in front of her, she started to understand that there was more to the game than meets the eye.

College AU! Levi is a little too good at chess and Hange gets roped into studying the game further.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Links to other chapters: 2

Notes: Netflix has this new show out called "Queen's Gambit" which makes chess look like I pretty good driver for a story. Attack on Titan has its fair amount of chess motifs as well and that's when I knew a Chess AU has to exist somewhere in the fandom. With that, Levihan AU came into existence.

Chapter 1

His earliest memories comprised only three sensations --- gnawing hunger, paralyzing despondency and the reprieve of the cold hard pieces at his fingertips as he maneuvered them through the board.

Over the years, his body had tuned out everything else, justifying it to his being too young to have processed it anyway.

If anyone had asked him though about the first games he had ever played with his mother, he would have been able to replay them from opening the game with a queen's pawn to the sight of his mother's hand laying the king on the ground in defeat.

It had been ten years since his mother's death, three years since his uncle's disappearance and Levi was alone. It was just him and the last memories of his uncle and his mother immortalized in a game of strategy.

Somehow, that was what made tournaments so calming to the young adult Levi.

It was his sixth game of the tournament and Levi had ended up playing on one of the boards on the corners of the large dining hall turned tournament venue. He snuck a glance at the top boards at the stage towards the center of the room before making his first move.

"The London System. Too scared of tactics eh? Typical of beginners."

Calming yet oddly stressful. Calming yet oddly depressing. Levi thought to himself as he watched the familiar play of the London System transition into an unfamiliar position.

Of course, there are billions of possibilities. There are bound to be some I've never seen in my life.

"Hey kid, your position is just weakness after weakness. Those doubled pawns on your f file, your h3 pawn. This is just a mate waiting to happen."

Within a few moves, Levi's opponent tore through his castled king with a bishop sacrifice. Seeing that the mate was inevitable, Levi put his hand out from under him in surrender.

"This was way too easy, kid. You probably could have given me a harder time if you just didn't show up at all. Do yourself a favor and find yourself some other hobby."

There were assholes in the chess community and Levi had heard that same insult towards him countless times. He grabbed his hoodie, put it back on and made his way out of the tournament hall. On the way out, he stopped in front of the list of their latest scores.

Scores as of Round 5

He scrolled towards the bottom of the sheet, knowing his name would be there.

Levi : 0

Levi was surprised to feel a knot at the pit of his stomach as he stared at the score for a few more seconds.

Losing would hurt for anyone. He thought to himself, making sense of that odd bout of emotion.

He walked away from the tournament hall and disappeared into the crowds of the subway beneath it.

En Prise

Mens Sana in Corpore Sano.

A Sound Mind in Sound Body.

Every student was required to take eight units of physical education, spread out among the first two years of college

If Hange had read the flyer before she applied to the prestigious Eldia university, she probably would have figured it out by the fine print right under the name of the university. If she had at least opened her study plan since she got it three months ago, she probably would have seen it written in clear fine print below “General Chemistry” and “Precalculus”

She had picked her university for the Chemistry degree, the prestige and nothing else. All she had to know was that it was one of the highest ranking universities in the country and they had complete facilities for biochemistry research.

She was quick to take the test, fill out the paperwork and submit it along with her essay.

Five months after she found the results, a week before the start of classes, came enlistment. As Hange stared at her study plan during her online enlistment proper, she felt completely and utterly trapped.

Her majors were no problem since they were all pre-enlisted. Her predicament came in the form of her physical education units.

Four semesters of PE. Hange grimaced. And it's gonna be counted towards my GPA? She was not athletic at all and had hoped to avoid anything physical so she could dedicate herself to her studies.

How long will I have to do this? Hange thought to herself as she scrolled through her four year study plan that opened up in the website in front of her.

Physical Education [for enlistment]

She clicked on it and watched as the choices opened up in front of her. Around the country, hundreds of other students were enlisting and she watched as the numbers of open slots fell to zero in some classes.

It's not like I wanted to take basketball or volleyball anyway. Hange thought as she sorted it by slot. Surprisingly, the ones which were running out of slots faster were the more physical ones. She had already planned to try for anything with the least exercise.

Table tennis. Fencing. Tai Chi. Yoga.

She stared at those four for a moment as she considered those alternatives if she could not find anything less strenuous. She continued to scroll down.

Street dance. Folk dance. Chess.

Her eyes fell on the last one with twenty full slots. She had played the game many times before, having been taught by her own parents growing up. She had beaten a lot of her peers as well since she had the innate analysis skills and the quick wittedness, most people her age did not have growing up. She was confident she would have it easier in that class.

For a moment, she had considered pushing it back towards a later semester. As the numbers started to fall though on all the classes, Hange knew she had to make a decision soon.

She clicked "Chess" and a few pages later, "Confirm Enlistment."

It's gonna be my first year. The important thing is I get through it.

En Prise

A few days after enlistment, Hange moved into her dormitory room with her roommate, Rico Brzenska, a petite girl with short blond hair and glasses who looked too busy to even acknowledge the new presence in the room. She looked like she was studying the first few pages of their precalculus textbook, only offering her name in response to Hange loudly and messily emptying the contents of her suitcase on the floor next to her bed.

Hange had similar plans of reading in advance. The first day of classes was three days away though and she had wanted to see the campus at least before burying herself in study material

She looked out the window to see that the sun was starting to turn a mild orange. She had arrived in her room by 4pm. It was early autumn though and Hange guessed that it might get dark sooner than she expected.

Unpacking could wait. She wanted to see the city. Hange threw aside her suitcase, pocketed her wallet and phone, and made her way outside of the dorm.

She stepped out into the green landscape just outside the entrance to the women's dormitory. The air was starting to get cold and she almost regretted not bringing a jacket. Not wanting to waste any time though, she trudged on, making her way out of campus.

A lot of new students must have moved into the dormitories already. There were many people her age already walking the streets of the university town. Hange could see some students already inside the bars that lined the busier streets.

Even since high school though, she had never seen the appeal of bars and parties. She chose to walk on without giving them a second glance.

Hange was about to circle back into campus when along the more quiet streets, she came across a small book shop.

I walked this far already, might as well check out stuff.

The familiar musty smell of books welcomed her as she opened the store shop. She had spent years cooped up in library after library, and had developed an affinity for that scent in particular.

She had bought most of her textbooks in advance. In fact, the only subject she had not prepared for at all was her Physical Education classes. She had chosen that university for their chemistry curriculum and the fact that she had to take physical education units, left her bitter and indignant about giving it the same preparation she would have naturally given it if it were any other subject.

With time though, Hange did get curious. A day before she left for college she started playing a few games of speed chess anonymously online, winning most of them. It was an easy and straightforward game. All she had to do was make sure her pieces didn't get eaten and make sure she takes the free pieces. When she accumulated enough of an advantage, she went for a mate. All the games had been like that.

As she walked through the bookstore, she crossed a games section. The books in the store piled up all the way up to the ceilings. Hange surveyed the stack of books in the game section, only to realize that at least half of them were about chess.

Was chess this complicated of a game? Hange opened one of the books only to find paragraphs worth of explanation for one board position. She pulled books out of the shelves one by one, scanning the first few pages of each book that had caught her interest.

The Sicilian Dragon

The London System

Attack with Black

Chess Puzzles

Common Chess Mistakes

Maybe it was worth studying. Hange settled for what looked to be the most similar to a text book. It was thicker than a lot of other books but was worth as much as the others which only convinced her more that it was the best bargain.

Modern Chess Openings.

Hange was sure if she just followed the path she had taken an hour ago to the bookstore, she would have ended up safe home.

If I follow the same general direction, I'd also get home anyway. With that in mind, Hange stepped out of the main street and into one of the narrower and darker alleys, her new book safe in a paper bag by her side.

Although the streets were starting to get dark as the sun started to set below the horizon her curiosity and sense of adventure remained unwavered. It was a reckless habit and Hange's parents had told her before that it could get her killed one day.

The streets she found herself in had their fair share of bars and eateries, although not as posh as those in the main street. Her own experiences had dictated to her multiple times though that the smaller ones probably even served better food than those in the main street.

She slowed her stride, gathering in the rustic view of the alleys, the souvenir kiosks and the shabbier bars.

"That shortie is fucking hustling me! He left his knight en prise on purpose. I'm not leaving until he gives me back my money!" A middle aged man burst out of one of the bars, his face pink with what could have been anger or alcohol.

He left his knight en prise… A free piece. Having spent a good hour in the bookstore going through chess books, the lingo was still fresh in her mind.

Two men were holding him from behind, looking the same shade of pink and Hange deduced then that he was probably drunk.

"We're really sorry for the trouble we're causing you here. We left the payment on our table." Another voice said from the doorway of the bar.

As Hange approached the bar, she saw another man bowing his head in apology to what looked to be the owner by the door. The two men made space for Hange to enter as they continued to discuss the logistics of what just happened. Hange knew she would get more context on that scene if she checked it out herself.

She did not need to think much to see the cause of the ruckus. Most of the bar goers were still staring in shock at one of the tables in the corner.

On the table sat a young man who looked to be her age, counting a wad of fresh bills on his hand. In front of him was a chess board, the pieces lined up so neatly, it was unbelievable to think it had anything to do with the drunk angry man who had burst out of the bar just a minute ago.

"What's that?" Hange asked no one in particular as she approached the table. The complexity of the game had caught her eye already back in the bookshop. Getting to see it in practice so soon after that got Hange red with excitement.

"Chess," the man at the table said as if the answer wasn't so blatantly obvious. "You play?"

It was an easy and straightforward game. All she had to do was make sure her pieces don't get eaten and make sure she takes the free pieces.

All she had to do was accumulate enough of an advantage to go for a mate.

He put two of his closed fists in front of her, a pawn in each of them. She picked the one on her right which opened to a white pawn. She was slated to start first.

She opened up with her king's pawn, knowing from experience that it opened up the most pieces. He mirrored her first move, pushing his king's pawn so it was right in front of hers.

She brought out her knight, then her bishop, preparing to castle kingside.

By the start of the middle game, Hange was starting to realize that the man in front of her had completely mirrored her position. A few moves in, he left a piece en prise.

Wins were usually straightforward for those with a material disadvantage. Before taking the piece, Hange looked at the man in front of her, only to see he looked completely unbothered by the free piece.

Am I missing something? It's too early in the game. There's no attack.

Oddly enough, fifteen moves later, Hänge found herself resigning having trapped her queen in the corner of the board.

She was a knight up. She should have been able to win.

"Again."

En Prise

Five games in and Hange was out of money.

"Wait. Let's play one more."

"It's late." The man stood up and counted the cash which used to be Hange's. "Besides, I'm assuming this is all you have on hand?"

Hange stood up to look at the clock behind her and it was only then did she realize she stood a good few inches taller than him. His domineering presence on the board had somehow made him look much taller to her.

She looked to the clock behind her.

9:30

Shit. Hange had lost track of time. Her dormitory had a 10pm curfew on weekdays. She grabbed her paper bag, pocketed her empty wallet and hurried out of the bar.

Hange made her way through the narrow alleys towards the general direction of the university. Those streets were much more peaceful than their wider counterparts and that gave Hange the perfect environment to reflect on how the man had played.

She taught back to the first game. He had left his night en prise at the start of the middle game, his face completely unbothered even as Hange took it. Either way, he was a material down and she knew enough of the basics to know that the win should have been straightforward from there.

Hange could not pinpoint exactly which move proved fatal on her end. The man had slowly taken over her position, advancing his territory slowly but deftly until suddenly her queen was trapped.

At first, she thought that she had been careless but as she looked back to the five games in a row. They all started with her opponent giving a notable advantage to her, whether it be a three pawns, a free knight or a rook for a knight.

Every game, she had thought she was winning. His blunders at the opening, would have made anyone think that he was a little careless or a little too overconfident. His wins came out looking like lucky breaks. Those lucky breaks though were the reason he managed to earn from the games in the first place.

In between games, if Hange had given herself time to breathe and consider the situation, she probably would have noticed the pattern. Her frustration at her own carelessness had taken over every single time.

That man was no scatterbrain. He planned everything

She thought back to the drunk man who was dragged out of the bar.

That shortie fucking hustled me! He left his knight en prise on purpose. I'm not leaving until he gives me back my money!

That same shorty just walked away with almost half of her allowance that month.

As the realization dawned on her of what just happened, Hange found it difficult to contain her anger. "That fucking asshole!" Hange screamed as she kicked the sign that welcomed her back to university grounds.The pain that quickly spidered up her foot and the ice cold wind that brushed past her only added injury to the insult of having been duped too easily.

As Hange limped back into campus, her thoughts flew back to her opponent a while ago. He had counted the money multiple times as he waited for her to move. He kept his face expressionless with every move she had played. Those images only served to further infuriate her and Hange started to scramble for an action plan.

She had to get back at him somehow.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #levi x hanji #attack on titan fic #fanfic

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lowat-golden-tower · 6 years

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“I don’t want to feel anymore.”

Patton blinked at that, looking up from his steaming mug of tea. He was sitting at their kitchen table, a connect-the-dots activity book open before him with the current page only half done. It was a lazy Sunday morning, so he was just in his grey cat onesie instead of his usual conservative attire. Normally, Logan would have been dressed in a similar fashion, but today wasn’t a day for comforts and softness.

No, today Logan was going to have something unimportant and highly detrimental removed. Like his appendix, but in a less physical form. He’d already gotten that removed anyway, back when it nearly burst inside of him at the tender age of thirteen.

Now he was in his early twenties and fully ready to expel the emotional detritus. Yet deleting one’s emotions was not nearly so easy as slicing out a useless organ. After all, feelings were a concept, an idea; psychology was an intangible yet proven science. Logan couldn’t just reach inside his head, or his heart, and pick away the excess. This sort of self-surgery required a different approach, unless he wanted to begin experimenting with mind-numbing drugs. Unfortunately, that would defeat the point, as it would proceed to affect all other aspects of his life.

Logan wanted to stop feeling so he could accelerate his efficiency, not impede it. He’d gone over his weaknesses and flaws for long enough to draw a proper conclusion, and could confidently pin the worst of the blame on those fickle feelings. Good or bad, they always nudged him off the best course; the most heinous of distractions, beyond his control.

But there was another way. Before Logan was forced to resign himself to an imperfect state of being, there was one more option available to him. Unassuming as Patton’s appearance and bubbly personality may have been, Logan knew the truth about the other man. Well, not so much a man...

Who knew being roommates with a demon of all things would ever prove advantageous?

It had come up, when he caught Patton returning late one evening, horns arching up from his chestnut curls and a sleek tail coiling near his legs. His skin from fingers to elbows had darkened to a pitch black color, and said fingers had curved themselves into nasty looking claws. Even his teeth had grown sharper, as he shot Logan a sheepish grin after they both stood staring at each other for a solid two minutes.

Most people would have been scared out of their wits, and rightly so. Humans always feared what they didn’t understand to begin with, and all those dangerous features Patton had mysteriously obtained did nothing to fool his natural fight or flight reflex. It would have been perfectly normal and accepted for Logan to shout, or jump back, or try to run and hide. Yet he didn’t. Logan never had fit the “norms” of just about anything, be it societal aspects or otherwise.

“I can explain,” Patton had hurried out in a hushed, anxious tone, after Logan failed to speak first.

That familiar earnestness shook Logan from his initial stupor and he blinked, response slow and belated. “I would love to hear it.”

That had led to a long night of too much coffee and a lot of extrapolation on something Logan had always believed was mere superstition and myth. It took some serious convincing by Patton and himself to accept he was not hallucinating or simply experiencing a lucid dream. Patton’s horns and tail felt real. He performed feats no human should have been capable of. The coffee pot was drained several times, and by morning Logan was forced to accept his roommate had been an otherworldly being all along.

In the end, it wasn’t too big a pill to swallow. Patton’s personality didn’t change, he still performed all the duties he’d promised to take on as a responsible roommate, and he continued to try and keep Logan out of any demonic matters. He appreciated that.

Some might have seen him as crazy, or reckless. Why, Patton was a demon. A creature born in the bowels of Hell. Who was to say he wouldn’t try slitting Logan’s throat in his sleep, or draining the very soul from his body? Well, Patton hadn’t done anything of the sort before Logan knew he was a demon. Unless it was to conceal his secret, he had no reason to act so violently now. But Patton was trusting, for a demon. Somehow, he knew Logan didn’t plan on telling a soul. Perhaps for the simple fact no one would believe him, and he had zero proof.

Besides, he liked Patton. The man- demon?- was a good roommate, and a kind and generous person. Possibly a much better person than Logan himself. He had not a clue what Patton did on his outings as a demon, but he just couldn’t picture it being all that bad. Maybe he was a misunderstood soul of his kind. Perhaps he was an outlier, or an outcast. He just... didn’t fit the commonly accepted description of pure, evil hell spawn.

Which brought them to this moment. For months now, Logan hadn’t deigned to bring up Patton’s... uniqueness. He had no rhyme or reason to before, but now... now Logan was taking it upon himself to break that unspoken agreement of letting bygones be bygones.

He required Patton’s assistance.

“What... do ya mean, Logan?” There was the softest hint of a Southern twang to Patton’s accent that always seemed to tug gently at Logan’s heartstrings.

Logan sighed and adjusted his glasses a bit; more out of nervous habit than any actual need to do so. “Patton,” he clasped his hands together before him, “I have come to the conclusion my feelings and emotions are merely obstacles; detrimental to my efforts and goals. I wish to be rid of them.” “Oh.” There was a pause while Patton seemed to think this over, licking at his lips. Was that anxiety, flickering across his face? Logan couldn’t really comprehend why it would be there. “That’s... uh. That’s... somethin’, Lolo.” Even his chuckle was anxious, awkward. “Sounds like yer emotionoping pretty hard there. Do you need a hug?”

“On the contrary, Patton. I believe you know precisely why I’m coming to you in particular about this conundrum of mine. And it isn’t for a hug.” Logan stared Patton down and almost felt a twinge of guilt at how his roommate actually shrank away from his cool gaze. His icy blue eyes were rather notorious for freezing straight through to a person’s soul, or so the rumors were around the college campus. Could he help it if he had a stern look about him? He was merely a responsible, mature adult. Besides, as stated prior, Patton was a demon. He hardly had anything to fear from Logan of all people. “Feelings and emotions are hardly something I can just will away. It’s not like burning calories to lose weight or getting a haircut. I require... assistance.” It was here Logan’s voice took on a pleading tone, loathe as he was to admit that to himself. It was undeniably there.

Patton was fidgeting now, his own blue eyes dancing everywhere except Logan’s face. Unlike Logan’s, Patton’s eyes were more of a soft, powdery blue, like a clear summer sky. They were warm and overflowing with affection. Right now, however, they were filled with concern. A frown was tugging at the corner of Patton’s mouth. “...Logan, I don’t...”

“Please.” Oh, it hurt him to beg, but Logan had nowhere else to turn. “You’re the only one who can do something. I know you can. You have powers, abilities... I’m sure you’re capable of feats I could never even imagine. You have to help me. I’ll give you whatever I want. That’s how these deals work, isn’t it?”

“Logan-”

“What do you need? My soul? Surely taking it would solve the problem all on its own-”

“Logan!” The harshness in Patton’s tone silenced Logan’s next words, making his teeth clack together as his mouth firmly closed in shock. Now it was Patton’s turn to stare him down, at last, with an almost protective fire in his eyes. “Yeh can’t jus’ say that!” The emotion in his voice was thickening Patton’s accent. “Yer soul is a part of you, ‘s important, how could yeh jus’ throw it away so easily?”

Logan couldn’t help but bristle. “Why do you care?” he sniffed. “Isn’t taking souls your thing? I thought that’s what demons were after, besides tricking man into sin. I’m practically handing you mine on a silver platter, why would you...”

“‘s not always like that!” Patton snapped, actually snapped at Logan, and well that was a new experience. He huffed, sitting back some in his chair, clearly attempting to rein in his temper. He was practically pouting. “Sometimes... sometimes we don’t want a soul. ‘r a certain soul. Sometimes... we don’t wanna hurt anyone at all.” Now his voice was quiet, hinted with despondence, and he wasn’t looking at Logan anymore. As if he felt ashamed. “...I don’t want yer soul, Logan.”

Logan stared, perplexed and dumbfounded, utterly at a loss. Of all the scenarios his request could have led to, this wasn’t one he’d anticipated. What demon didn’t want a mortal soul? Was that concept truly a work of fiction and pop culture? He’d never been religious himself, but there must have been some grain of truth to those sermons. Why else would they exist? He stammered, for once, flummoxed and metaphorically grasping at straws. “But... but I don’t understand. If you don’t want my soul, what else do I have to give you? I... have nothing, besides my intellect, or my wit, or...” He smoothed down his tie, taking on the anxiety he’d witnessed in Patton earlier. His stomach twisted. He couldn’t offer those things, they were precisely the reason he was making this deal to begin with.

Patton shook his head. “Yer more’an all’a that, Lolo.” There was a subtle quirk to his lips now, as he looked back to Logan. That fondness had returned to his eyes. “Yeah, yer smart. An’ clever- cleverer than I’ll ever be. But... yer also kind,” his tone softened, “an’ carin’. Thoughtful. Yeh try ta help others, even if yeh probably won’t get anythin’ from’em back. Yeh work so hard at everythin’ yeh do, yer self-disciplin’s amazin’, an’ yeh make the very best quiche I’ve ever tasted.” Patton chuckled. “Heck, I didn’t even know what a quiche was until you. ‘s a real chew.”

“A chew?”

“Bless you.” Patton grinned cheekily and Logan’s mouth pinched into a disapproving frown.

“But... none of those things are particularly useful, or... or valuable.” Logan remained crestfallen. “Surely you want none of those....”

“Yer right. I don’t.” Patton shook his head again and stood. Honestly, he looked far too ridiculous for their current conversation in that cat onesie of his. “I don’t wanna take anythin’ from yeh, Lolo. I really don’t.”

“But then... you can’t just give me what I want for nothing. That... that’s not how a trade works. That’s not how you work... is it?”

Patton sighed. “No, yer right. I can’t jus’... do somethin’ fer ya, fulfill a desire, without gettin’ somethin’ back.”

Logan ducked his head. “Then... I truly am at a loss. I have nothing to give, even if you could remove my emotions for me.” His thoughts swirled as if caught up in a mental storm. It ripped and tore its way across his mind, calling him the fool and mocking him for thinking it would be so easy. That he would have anything of true value to offer the demon. What was left for him now? The drugs he’d been avoiding, the ones which would prove to be a double-edged sword for certain-

“Logan.”

The sound of Patton saying his name brought Logan’s gaze back up. His roommate had drawn closer, concern shining brightly in blue eyes. A hand reached out to touch his cheek and sent a jolt of warmth through him, making his hair stand on end and shooting a tingle all the way down to his toes. He suppressed a shiver as Patton’s thumb brushed along the swell of his cheek.

“Logan. I...” Patton bit his lip and looked away, as if uncertain about his next words. “...I don’t want to take yer emotions from you.” His accent had simmered back down now. “But... if ‘s really what you want, I... can make you an offer.”

Logan perked up at this. He thought Patton had claimed wanting nothing from him, but perhaps the demon had changed his mind. He reached up to grasp the hand on his cheek and gave it a squeeze, subtly urging Patton to continue. “Anything, Patton. I will provide you with anything I am able, if it means I’ll be rid of these awful emotions. Please.”

Patton bit the inside of his cheek and then sighed, finally caving in. “...here’s the deal. I won’t take your emotions away right now.” When Logan attempted to immediately protest, Patton shushed him with a finger to his lips. “But- but! I will take them away, if... if I can’t convince you that they’re good, an’ important, an’ make you change your mind. I will. That’s what you can give me in exchange, Logan. A chance. An’ if I succeed... you drop this whole idea. Forever. Deal?”

Logan sputtered softly as Patton pulled his finger away. He wasn’t sure what scrambled his composure more; that gesture, or the offer itself. Patton wanted to... show him emotions were important? That he needed, could even want, his feelings? He didn’t really need to ask why- Patton was a giant bleeding heart. He always tried to help everyone (which was why it came as such a shock the man was actually a demon). He also wore his heart upon his sleeve; he was a very emotional man- er, demon. It was completely understandable that he’d find issue with Logan’s stance on the matter and try to “fix” it. Still, he’d thought the offer of his soul or, or anything he held of value, would outweigh those notions. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes, Lolo.” A smile quirked at Patton’s lips. “But... if yeh don’t, I won’t take yer emotions away. I won’t. No hard... feelin’s.” He winked.

Logan wanted to let loose a particularly frustrated, disgruntled noise, but he managed to regain his scattered composure. He huffed, smoothing down his shirt and fiddling with his glasses again, but it was all procrastination. He was staving off the inevitable. Because of course he was going to say yes. This was his only chance to achieve his goal, and if he had to jump through a few hoops, so be it. Well... in all actuality, it would be Patton jumping through the hoops. He sighed. “...one chance to change my mind. One.” He paused, thinking it over a moment. “...what length of time constitutes as ‘one’?”

Patton was beaming at him, and in the onesie it was utterly adorable. Ugh. Thoughts like that were precisely the reason he needed to be rid of his emotions. They clouded his judgment on top of everything else. “How about... one year?”

“A year-”

“One year! Ta convince you that you need yer emotions, that they’re good fer you, that they’re an important part of yer life. And in one year’s time, if yeh still feel tha same, I’ll... I’ll take’em away. No strings attached. Promise.” Patton met Logan’s eyes, on purpose, and any shreds of doubt Logan had about trusting a demon were disintegrated.

It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose, after all. He was offering up nothing but a delay to obtain his desire, whereas Patton would be working a full year to try and achieve his own goal. It didn’t make much sense to Logan, but as the saying went, one really shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Right? What other opportunities did he have? It was this, or nothing. He had no choice but to accept. “...very well. I’ll take your deal. Please do not be upset when, in a year, we come back to this very point and all of your efforts proved to be for naught.” He extended his hand, posture the picture of business.

Patton was still beaming, though, unperturbed and confident. He eagerly shook Logan’s hand with a bit of an excited giggle. “Oh, the next twelve months are gonna be so much fun!”

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #demon au

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