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imaginesinthewind · 5 years

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Lazarus Rising - “I promise I will never leave you anymore”

(Y/N) is Sam and Dean’s little sister. She is 10 when Dean dies and goes to hell. She faces grief and loneliness when she is sent by Sam to live with Bobby. But after four long months, the most unexpected visitor knocks at their door.

Warnings: reader trying to cope with the death of a sibling, but so much fluff at the end, I promise!

A/N: As promised, here is my OS based on this post. I remind you that English is not my first language so there might be some mistakes here and there. Feel free to correct me if anything seems weird or wrong. Enjoy! As always, feedback is much appreciated.

Gifs are not mine, I found them on Giphy.

When you woke up that day, you wished once again that everything that had happened recently was nothing but an awful nightmare. Oh, how you wished it was...

But you knew it was real.

Nothing felt different from what your life had been for the past four months. You still had the same lump in your throat, going down your stomach and stopping you from eating anything, or going up to your eyes, making you cry for hours.

The worst part about it was that life had to go on. You had to wake up. Getting dressed. Eating breakfast. Going to school. Pretending to be listening. Going back to Bobby's. Doing your homework. Eating dinner and then going back to sleep, and doing it all over again the next day knowing that your mind was far, far away from there.

How could you get back to normal, boring life after what you had known with Sam and Dean?

But in the end, it was not the most difficult part. The worst thing you had to do was trying not to break down over and over again all the time. When you opened your eyes each morning, while brushing your teeth, while talking to your friends or while hearing from Bobby that it was going to be alright. That pain will always be there but that it will get easier with time.

“You see,” he had assured you several times in an attempt of bringing you comfort, “I know what you're going through, (Y/N). I've been through it too when I lost my wife. At the beginning, it feels like your whole world is falling apart. But life goes on. It has to. You have to get up, day after day and one day, you will notice that it hurts a tiny bit less.”

And you had waited for it to hurt less, you really had.

But there you were, four months later, with your sorrow and your sadness, and everything was reduced to a reality that you struggled to accept.

Dean was gone.

He was dead.

And dead meant... forever.

How could you cope with the idea that your favourite person in the world was... in hell?

You were only 10, but you knew what Hell implied, and you could not accept it. Dean meant everything to you. John Winchester was your genitor, but it was Dean who had taken the decision to raise you and to watch over you. And he had done so much more than just that.

He had wiped off your tears when you were sad and had hold you tight when you had nightmares, he had been there when Sam had left for Stanford, he had always been by your side to cheer you up and to constantly assure you that you were loved. Dean had been everything; a dad, a friend, a big brother. He was good and kind and if you knew anything at all, it was that he did not deserve to go to Hell. You just could not accept that, and the mere thought of it was enough for you to break down in tears.

Noticing that you were going through it all over again, Bobby sighed and put his hand on top of yours, squeezing it softly.

“Sweetie, you have to eat. You can't go to school with nothing in your belly so, try to eat a little. Can you do that for me?”

You stared at your untouched pancakes and then, your eyes met Bobby's worried ones. You smiled weakly and nodded. While you were trying as best as you could to eat without starting to weep again, Bobby smiled back and asked you, "how about we invite your brother tomorrow for dinner, hmm? It's been a little while since we last heard of him, and it could be good for you to see him."

"Sounds great," you answered him although you could not help but feel angry against Sam. Your brother had decided that it would be better for you to live a healthy and well-balanced life, away from hunting. Bobby, who was practically like a father to you, had agreed to foster you and Sam had promised to come to visit you as often as he could.

But you had heard some talks between him and Bobby. The truth was that he was not sure to be able to be there for you and he was not ready to accept the charge of raising you after... after what happened. He just could not do it.

You knew you could not be angry at him for taking that decision, and even if he tried to hide it, you knew your brother. He was suffering just as much as you. You could not imagine what it must have felt like for him to lose Dean.

But it hurt you nevertheless.

“Why does it feel like my two brothers have abandoned me?” Is what you thought before finishing your last pancake and getting mentally prepared for another day at school.

The day seemed to last forever but you finally came back to Bobby’s home. School had managed to clear your mind for a while, but now that you were all alone again, the same thoughts came to invade you.

You scanned your room, in search of a specific object, and your eyes fell upon your bedside table. Heavy hearted, you took the picture that was on it and contemplated it for what seemed to be the thousandth time. The photo was worned out, especially in the corners, but it brought a little smile on your face. It pictured a 3 years old you trying to get away from Dean’s embrace. You were obviously unhappy to be interrupted in your child’s games. Your older brother had a wild smile on his face and Sam’s arm was resting on his shoulders.

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you remembered these happier times. You held back the sob that you felt was coming and put the picture back on your bedside table.

You had to get over it.

Dean was gone.

He would never be by your side anymore, nor would he hold you in his arms again.

The realization of it struck you so hard that you collapsed on your bed and hid your face in your pillow in order to contain your sobs. Then, you cried for what seemed to be a very long time.

"Grief will never let go of me", you thought as you began to lost track of time and let yourself slip into dizziness.

You were on the verge of falling alseep when a weird noise coming from outside your room startled you. Then, you heard Bobby’s loud screams, shouts of someone else’s voice and furniture being moved. It seemed like a chair was being thrown.

Was Bobby in trouble? Even though you knew he had stopped hunting since you had moved out with him, he could still have problems.

As you kept hearing loud voices and strange noises, you decided that you could not just stay here and do nothing.

You opened your door as silently as you could and quietly walked up to the corridor. Bobby hid knives everywhere in his house, so you easily found one under a book that was put on a table. Bobby would probably be mad at you for even thinking that you could use one of his weapons, but you were determined not to let one of the few family members that you had left getting hurt, or even worse.

“You never know what kind of enemy can be on your doorstep, (Y/N). You have to be ready. All the time.”

You were determined to follow what Dean kept repeating you all the time.

As you came closer, the house was silent again. You could not see Bobby nor the stranger yet but then, you could hear their voices again and this time, very clearly.

“It’s… It’s good to see you, boy,” Bobby stammered with emotion in his voice.

“Yeah, you too,” whispered someone else that you could not identify.

“But... how did you bust out?” Bobby inquired, making you frown. What was he talking about?

“I don't know,” answered rather hesitantly the other, “I just, uh, I just woke up in a pine box and…”

Then, several things happened all at once.

You finally did recognize the stranger's voice but you thought your mind was playing a trick on you. However, at the same time, your eyes grew wide as they fell upon a person you knew very, very well.

Dean.

You opened your mouth but no sound came out. For a few seconds, you were paralyzed. Was it surprise, fear or anger? You did not really know. Maybe all three.

Then Bobby, who was turning his back on you, splashed water at Dean’s face and at the same time, you gasped loudly, putting the hand that did not hold the knife in front of your mouth.

“What... What... Dean?!” was all you managed to pronounce.

Dean, or “the thing that was Dean”, his face dripping with holy water, met your eyes and stopped the sentence he was about to let out. Several emotions crossed his eyes - surprise, relief, tenderness, and eventually, love. He ended up smiling and while approaching you, murmured, “hey, baby g-”

“What do you think you’re doing with this, girl?!” Bobby interrupted him, furious to see you with one of his knives. He was about to take it back from you but anger made you surprisingly faster. You managed to avoid him, and threw yourself on Dean without really thinking about it, your emotions speaking for yourself. You just wanted to make the monster or shapeshifter who dared taking you brother’s form pay!

Dean, even though he was surprised, disarmed you with ease. You were just a little girl after all, what could you possibly do against an adult or a possible monster? Then, he tried to take you in his arms, still moved to see you again despite what you had tried to do, but you pulled yourself away from his embrace and you exploded, “who are you and why have you taken the shape of my brother?!”

Dean instantly lifted his palms up, as if to show his good intentions, and replied with a soft voice intended to calm you down, “(Y/N), sweetheart... I know how crazy it must look, but it’s really me. It really is. Ask Bobby, he has checked and by the way,” he added, looking at Bobby, slightly annoyed, “I am not a Demon either.”

“No! You can’t be him, because my brother is dead!” You shouted. You wanted to be mad and angry, but then, your voice broke at the last word and you started to cry again.

“(Y/N...)”

Dean, saddened to see you in this state, wanted to take you in his arms once again but you stepped back.

It was too much.

Too much to handle.

You rushed out of the room, sobbing, and Dean wanted to run after you but Bobby stopped him. “Give her some time, Dean. You don’t know how hard it has been for her to lose you.”

Lying on your bed, you had been staring at the ceiling for hours without being able to find the slightest sense in what had happened. On the one hand, you wanted to believe it. You wanted it with all your heart. But you had suffered so much from Dean's loss. You could not imagine the pain that false hopes would create.

Suddenly, someone knocked on your door and, rather suspicious, you sat up. You did not answer but the door opened slowly. You frowned when Dean smiled at you.

“Hey, kiddo. Can I come in?”

You hesitated for a few seconds but then, you nodded slowly. He came closer and sat next to you on your bed. He stared at you, not knowing what to say to break the heavy silence that was settled. But after a long time, he sighed and murmured, “It really looks crazy from my point of view. I cannot imagine how it must be for you.”

You remained silent as you detailed Dean from every angle. Everything looked like him; his green eyes, his face, his hair...

“You still don’t believe me,” he commented as he noticed your gaze. “It’s alright, Princess. I wouldn’t believe it either if I were you.”

Dean’s words moved you and the usual lump got back in your stomach. Everything was so much like him, from his way of speaking to the little nicknames he used to give to you...

“Prove it,” you whispered, nervous that your voice would betray your emotions. Dean gave you a questioning look and you added, “prove me that you are really Dean and not someone else.”

“Easy,” he smirked. “To begin, your name is (Y/N) Winchester. You are 10 and your birthday is the (B/D). Your favourite dish is (F/D) and you were only two when Sam, Dad and I saved you from the gang of vampires who killed your mother. We took you to live with us that day and you were very shy at first, you did not want to let me or Sam go anywhere without you.”

You could not help but laugh as you imagined a little you hanging around Sam’s or Dean’s legs all the time. Dean smiled and started to feel relieved, for he could sense that you were starting to believe him.

“But with time, you became more and more adventurous. You broke your right arm when your were 5 and broke your left leg when you were 7. You nearly got yourself killed by a bunch of vampires when you secretly followed Sam and I. You were such a pain in the ass, you know,” he added, amused, and you had to make big efforts not to burst out laughing. “I was not!” You exclaimed, and Dean replied, “Yes you were, kiddo! But then, Sam went to Stanford, Dad became obsessed with his hunts and I was the one who... who was there to look after you and to raise you.”

Dean stopped and looked at you. A lot of emotions came across both of you, and he took your hand, squeezing it softly. His was warm and callous, and this touch alone brought back memories of Dean comforting you many times when you were the only ones left.

“And I think I did it quite well. I am proud of you, you know. You had the perfect reaction earlier.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek. Dean wipped it softly with his thumb and you stammered, “It’s... It’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’ve missed you. Come here.”

More tears followed and Dean opened his arms. You threw yourself into them almost instantly and you burst out in tears. For a few seconds, you could not say anything and Dean stood there, hugging you tight and stroking your hair. You could smell his perfume and you knew this time that it was really him.

“I... I... I couldn’t do it, Dean,” you managed to let out between two sobs.

“Do what, babygirl?”

“Living without you. It was so difficult.”

“Shhhh. It’s over now, I’m here. I promise I will never leave you anymore but please, don’t cry, okay? I can’t stand it.”

He pulled you away from him and wiped your tears again. You noticed that his cheeks were wet too and it surprised you. As far as you remembered, you had never seen Dean cry before and you thought it was something that would never happen.

“No more tears, alright?” He said, and you nodded. You got back into his arms and Dean sighed, happy to get his little sister back after everything he went through.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

@babyplutoszx2 @wendibird @elliewithcellie

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister #winchester reader #winchesters x reader

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loquaciousquark · 7 years

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Bloomingtide, date? ?

awake! and they l eft me alone, it all is pain

skewered like

like a sausage on a spit, right through and then

up so high high I could see all their faces, little moons and thousand gleaming silent starry eyes

hurts like vodi void itself tearing apart inside my ribs

lived anyway, A has me on cocktail so sotrong ste st

keep falling asleep

fuck you Kirkwall fuck you won’t kill me no matter how har hard you try, can’t save anyone else but I refuse I will not die i swear it

Bloomingtaid

head splitting so bad I can’t stop tearing up, side effect of skewer or anodyne ?

Fenris sent O for A, not here yet

said maybe this would distract me but I can’t think st

straight

iron spike through my skull, crack me in two maker maker

bloom

back on cockta il

f is alseep sleep in chair next to me

looks v tired

i do love him

late

nightmares are so muc h worse on laudanum

dumar

his head bow bounced like one of tob’s balls down the st airs

the crown fell & rolled & stopped at m

my feet as if i wanted it

F is taking my pen no I’ll bite y

11th Bloomingtide

Carver was there with the Wardens

my little brother, grown even taller than last I saw him. He looked so tired and pale and strong and stern and if it hadn’t been for Mother’s eyes I wouldn’t have known him.

He couldn’t stay. I wanted him to so badly, so much to tell him, and I think he had things to tell me too, but the city burned and his commander called him away. Could have killed the man despite his glorious mustache

I think they’ve killed something in Carver, the Wardens. But they saved him, too, and continue to save him even now. Can I hate that? I want to. I want him here

He was wearing the gloves Mother and I sent him so long ago. They fit him perfectly

Too tired for more now

13th Bloomingtide. Sky’s clear through the window, which is the only exposure to weather I’ve had for over a week

I’m lucid today and capable of holding the pen, which is so marked an improvement I think I deserve a cake. According to Anders, this is also the day he’s at last become convinced I’m thoroughly out of danger--admittedly less impressive considering I was either unconscious or on the violent side of raving for the last two weeks, and therefore quite unable to enjoy the fuss.

Doesn’t mean my gut doesn’t still hurt like the Void from navel to breastbone, even when I’m not moving a muscle. It’s as much as I can manage to remain propped upon my numerous and fluffy pillows. Ugh. I might as well be one of those fools from Mother’s stories, holding court from my bedcovers and gazing down imperiously upon all those come to supplicate at my feet.

I won’t lie, I can still feel some of Anders’s anodyne. My head’s remarkably loose ‘pon my shoulders, and I keep catching myself giving Fenris the stupidest looks.

Do I talk about him here? I feel like I should, and I also feel like the way he looked when I woke the few times during these last weeks is something so private I don’t want to share it, even with these pages.

His eyes hurt. Exhaustion and fear and a terrible worry and a banked, impotent anger that made my skin burn when I looked at him. He held my hand when the pain was worst, when my skull was trying to split itself apart and Anders wasn’t here yet, and again later when Anders had to re-mend parts of me that hadn’t knit right the first time.

He was there every time I woke, even when I wasn’t really awake. I don’t remember much, but... I remember that. Sometimes he was asleep, and sometimes he only spoke to tell me he was leaving for a while, but even when the nightmares twisted Dumar and my mother into one clear horror, I never woke alone.

A remarkable and dangerous thing, I think, to be the sole focus of that man.

He’s out, now, eating lunch with Sebastian and Donnic. Aveline is here instead, busily rearranging my sloppy bureau drawers and tutting every time I breathe wrong. I appreciate the mothering, but I am glad she’s not decided to hover. Donnic’s influence, I think. They are so sweet together despite themselves. I like him very much. I like his flatbread more. If you read this, Aveline, I demand assorted pastries posthaste. I also demand a place in the wedding, which is less negotiable. Hint.

Flames, I have all the stamina of wet paper. Only a half-hour and I’m already flagging...and here comes Fenris, home from the wars, to silently scold me with his eyebrows and take my weapon of choice from me again.

Except he’s brought me food from wherever they ate, and I can see at least two loaves of brown bread peeking out of that basket. If he’s got butter in there as well I swear I’ll kiss him.

Well. Perhaps I won’t, but I’ll wish quite hard and settle for hoping he gets the hint.

15th Bloomingtide. Slow rain with patches of weak sunshine

I had a memory this morning, or a dream of a memory. Somewhere in the first few days where I had no mind except for the pain, and all I could do was writhe about and swallow the screams as Anders tried to put my insides back together.

It was warm and sunlit...mid-afternoon, maybe, right after Anders had given me that absolutely disgusting potion for pain and healing. He’d left to get more thread for stitches, and I was lolling about in a cloud, and then Fenris came in and sat down in the chair beside the bed and took my hand.

It’s all very smeared when I try to think of it. I know he said he was sorry--for what I haven’t the faintest idea--and that he wished he could have thought of something to say to the Arishok. That he knew I’d respected the man and must have been sorry to kill him, even after everything.

I was. I hadn’t realized he’d known. It was so hard to stay awake...

I remember pulling his hand up next to my face. I remember him cupping my cheek in his other hand and closing his eyes, and at the very blurry edges I remember him leaning down close, like the parts of a dream right before you wake up.

If he did really kiss me, though, I can’t remember a damned lick about it. Clearly he should repeat

Toby’s flopping over everything and has upset the inkwell twice. I suppose I’m done for now.

17th Bloomingtide. Stormy, overcast, threat of lightning. I wish

Scare of my life today. (Aside from all the other scares, I mean.) Over two weeks confined to this bed and it never once occurred to me I might have difficulty walking by myself after. Although--to be fair, it wasn’t the collapse two steps in that frightened me so much as the excruciating pain that rocketed from my spine down both legs, followed by the tingling and then total numbness from the waist down.

For my part, I think I handled it very admirably. I did not scream, not even at the thousand flashes of my life never standing or walking on my own again, and I only very slightly hyperventilated at the thought of never again feeling Fenris’s hand on my knee. Part of me recognized that as ludicrous, but for the rest of me it remains a very real concern

Anyway, I laid there for a few minutes next to the bed getting my life in order, all the way to my last will and testament for when Anders told me I’d ruined my only chance of survival, and then the door opened and in came my shining elvhen knight who went from distracted to panicked to flat-out furious with me in a matter of about four seconds.

It turns out some people have no understanding and even less sympathy for someone about to die without a privy. Ass. Don’t put the pot halfway across the room, then, you lyrium-riddled potato.

Spent a good ten minutes afterwards arguing about my level of invalidity. Felt good to shout--won’t pretend otherwise. He didn’t, this time, but in its place he leveled that cold disdain that can freeze right down to the bones if you care for his opinion. Never have I ever felt so small as when he’s truly angry with me for doing something hideously reckless. Still, I was hot enough it rolled off me like a duck’s back, and if nothing else it made me forget how sharp the pain running down my legs was.

To make a long story less long, by the time Anders found us I was red as a beet and Fenris was wound so tightly he might have been one of Orana’s dishrags after brisket night. He listened, remained sadly unimpressed by either of us, popped me face-down on the bed and spent about twenty minutes undoing whatever it was I’d done to myself in the fall.

I’d like to pretend I was stalwart and steady throughout his work, but when Anders said it wasn’t serious I just about went to jelly in relief. Something had pinched off something else and had swelled to thunder, but nothing he couldn’t touch up given enough time. Honesty also compels me to mention my pillow may have ended up a little damp by the end of his healing, though everyone was tactful enough not to mention it.

More bitter was I to hear I’m not to even try standing for another four days without supervision. Supervision, he says. I’ve been standing on my own for almost thirty years, you pile of unsympathetic feathers. I hardly need someone holding my hand now that I know what to watch for.

I will say Fenris did make the effort to hide his vindication the moment he saw the tears I was trying to hide. A room full of stifled emotion, and none of us happy about it.

I’m so sick of this bed.

19th Bloomingtide, storming again

Two dozen steps today, Anders hovering the whole time. Still, progress.

Heard from Carver--short letter, but good. He likes Stroud as a commander. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t set him afire for taking Carver away so quickly.

Varric offered to host cards here instead of the Hanged Man since I’m housebound for the foreseeable future. Turned him down, though--with Isabela still off who-knows-where it already feels different enough. I can only handle so much change at one time.

28th Bloomingtide. Sunny, warming at last

I just realized I missed Summerday. Bethany’s favorite, naturally. I’ll go to the Chantry next week for her candles.

She’s been gone six years already. How in the world did that happen?

I wonder if Carver remembers that time she got us all in trouble for stealing pears, then innocent-eyed her way out of punishment after, leaving the two of us to do the milking before dawn for a month. I’ll write him tomorrow and ask.

3rd Justinian. Getting quite hot, I’m still mostly indoors and already wilting

Had a letter from Seneschal Bran today. Thought it was going to be a bill for damages--turns out they’re giving me a title and official recognition for the Arishok slaughter. Champion of Kirkwall, he’s calling it. As if advertising my apostitudity (?) to the entire noble caste of the city wasn’t bad enough, flaunting it in the Knight-Commander’s face will have me thrown in the Gallows’s bowels by Tuesday.

She already can’t stand people like me--unshackled and unapologetic--and this is going to make it so much worse. She looked upon me twice during the invasion and both times I thought I was going to shrivel into a husk from the animosity. Of course, the second time I was well on my way to dying, so it didn’t seem nearly as important, but still. Title aside, I was powerless enough before not to warrant her attention, even with Mother’s title. If this--Champion--thing goes through, I’ll be a threat. Not so easy to ignore that, even if I’d prefer to remain beneath her lofty notice. And yet...

There’s to be a ceremony in a month if I’m strong enough to stand for it. They underestimate me There’s also, according to the letter, going to be a ball with dancing and music afterwards. This whole thing sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, but I don’t see how I can turn it down without scorning the...I don’t know the word. Protection, maybe--the protection that the title will provide--not just for me, but for Carver and my friends. Especially Anders and Merrill, the more I think about it. Sheltering apostates is still a crime. Sebastian and Aveline skirt the edge of catastrophe close enough as it is. If Aveline lost the guard because Meredith took out her grudge against me, I think I’d walk right off one of the bluffs of the Wounded Coast into the sea and be done with it.

I don’t know what to do. I need to decide soon. I need to talk to Varric, I think.

In other less-distressing news, Merrill and I went out for tea together yesterday. We didn’t go far--there’s a tiny cafe that sells little biscuits right around the corner, and she made a surprisingly sturdy crutch for how slight she is. We had tea and cakes and these very hard little chunks of spiced bread you’re supposed to dip in your tea to soften first, but I didn’t discover that until I’d just about broken a tooth on the crust.

She’s been working on that mirror desperately. She sounds desperate when she speaks of it. Still, she’s willing to come out to things like this and she still goes to the Hanged Man every week, so I suppose I can’t worry too much. She certainly doesn’t like it when I do, anyway.

She did say one of the other families in the alienage let her help them with the vhenadahl last week. A little bit of paint touch-up and trimming some of the dead branches. Sometimes I’m overcome with wonder that something so lovely has lived so well in the city, despite everything working against survival.

The tree’s awfully pretty, too.

9th Justinian. Stormed again last night, rained so hard it knocked two of the Chantry’s trees over

Told Fenris he didn’t have to keep coming every day now that I’m well on my way to mending. He covered it well, but I saw the stark hurt that flashed across his face when I said it.

He doesn’t realize how much it’s killing me to have him here so often. I know what I wrote when I was incoherent on Anders’s potion. I meant it. I mean it now, as much as I wish I didn’t.

I was doing all right. I was, right up until today when he helped me stand from the sofa and let his arm linger around my waist, then snatched himself away with a grimace the instant I met his eyes. He moved so fast I almost fell.

I need time. That’s all. Just enough I can get a handle on this and stuff it back where it came from, where it doesn’t ache like a fist in my heart every time he moves just out of reach. We made it back into friendship before; I can conquer this and keep us there, I know it.

I will. I have to. His friendship is too important to me to lose over this. I just need time. Just a little more time, and then we’ll be back to where we were and he won’t have to flinch every time I come too close.

16th Justinian. Clear, stifling

He hasn’t come even once. I miss him so much I can’t stand myself.

22nd Justinian. Drizzling rain, lots of wind. Branches keep knocking against my window and startling me

Told him to come for weekly reading lessons if he wanted. It’s been over eight months since the last time we met.

I don’t think he needs much more help, and I don’t think that fact has escaped him either. He’s still coming day after tomorrow.

Maker, but I wish Isabela were here. I don’t know what I’m doing.

25th Justinian. Cool for the season, which means it’s still damned hot

Enough pining. I swear, that brew of Anders has made me more gloomy than Toby on bath day. I’m alive! That’s more than enough to be glad about. I faced a man four times my size in single combat and bested him with magic alone. Got run through like a spike nail through a pincushion, but I won with magic against a man-sized sword and shoulders made of mountains and the city saw it, and I, a mage, still walk free in Kirkwall despite the fact that the entire noble caste knows what I am.

I have friends here. Isn’t that glorious? A healer willing to work himself to the bone for the sake of my kidneys--a beautiful guardswoman who refuses to be ashamed of all this degenerate company. Sebastian, who understands when I need to hear the Chant and doesn’t mind the doing. Merrill, who brought me three hawk feathers just this morning because she said they made her think of me.

Dear Varric. He always remembers for me when it’s too hard to do myself. And Isabela, wherever she is--who else knows how to laugh in the worst of it? And--

And Fenris. Because I never woke alone.

I’m the luckiest apostate in Thedas. I won’t forget that again.

Later

Anders says I only have one kidney now. Hm. Good to know!

#fenris #hawke #fenris/hawke #dragon age #quark writes #hawke's journal tag #oh my goodness it's another one #what's happened to me who am i where did i go

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