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artificialqueens · 4 years

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A kinda sorta Christmas valentine (branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Started this during Christmas, it became something so much bigger than it was supposed to be, wound up finishing it on Valentine’s day. Funny coincidence, huh?

Thank you Holtz for beta-ing <3 <3 <3 Title from Christmas Valentine (lots of versions but the one that inspired this was Ingrid Michaelson & Jason Mraz).

Vanessa misses the summer.

When she looks out the window of her classroom she sees blankets of white, heavy flurries that still coming down, until nothing is particularly distinguishable from anything else on the ground. She can already tell that it’s going tol be freezing outside; never mind the fact that the heat in the school has been broken for pretty much the entire season, or that her winter coat is still wet from a slip and fall chasing some of her kids down at recess.

Just two more handwriting sheets left for Vanessa to grade (if you could call it grading, really–when you teach kindergarten, if a letter looks even vaguely like the one it’s supposed to, you praise the Lord and call it a day), and she’ll be free. Granted, transit is going to be a disaster in this weather, but even time sandwiched between fifteen strangers is better than freezing in a chalk-dusted, paint-smeared tin can that she’s spent almost eleven hours total in today.

Vanessa would have been done a lot sooner if she’d just brought the past week’s worth of grading home with her. But Riley has taken to chewing up anything he can get his greedy little paws on lately, and so the safer choice these days is to just leave things at her desk.

It doesn’t really explain why Vanessa’s left it all for a Friday night, but it’s not important. What matters is that she’s on her last sheet, and there’s a bottle of red wine and leftover Chinese in the fridge at home.

Vanessa files the last sheet away with a triumphant flourish, grinning to herself as she shimmies into her coat and gathers up her things.

The school halls are a ghost-town. It’s not entirely unexpected - even though it’s only the second week of December, things are beginning to wind down in anticipation of the holiday break. The committee meetings, late-night grading, and clubs have started to slow down significantly. Coupled with the heating situation and, well, there’s really no motivation for staff or students to stay at the school this late.

Still, there’s something eerie about the silence that greets Vanessa as she walks down the hall, her runners scuffing against the unwaxed floor (thanks to a janitorial strike, there’s a little extra grit catching in her shoes today, but hey, they really do get underpaid, so she doesn’t mind).

Almost like it’s taunting her, driving in the fact that she really is alone here.

Vanessa doesn’t have time to ruminate on it, though. Right now, she has to get home to Riley and her dinner, the Dr. Phil reruns on her PVR to help her forget the strange feeling of being alone at school after dark.

She reaches the front door and pauses for a moment to bring her hand back into her sleeve, effectively creating a sort of glove for herself before laying her hand on its frigid metal push-bar. She’s about to brace herself to actually touch it when suddenly, a pale hand darts into her field of vision, beating her to the punch.

“Oh.” Vanessa looks up to see a tall blonde woman smiling at her, green eyes not quite meeting her own and shy blush spreading on the woman’s face. “Hey, Vanessa.”

Brooke Lynn Hytes.

Vanessa’s heart skips a beat.

Brooke is the other kindergarten teacher at the school, and while she’s popular with her students and parents, she’s become controversial in the teacher’s lounge, for lack of a better word. At first it had been a sort of confusion, an inability of the other staff to make heads or tails of the woman. Whenever she had been around her kids, she was alive and outgoing, pulling faces and making exaggerated gestures and teaching them with an expert rapport. But in the teacher’s lounge, she had been well, cold wasn’t the way to put it. She was always friendly, and kind, but shy and reserved, almost flat, in a way. Didn’t talk much, except in meetings, when she was so overly-perfect with her notes and posture that it had been intimidating just to look at her. Often shirked social opportunities, giving some kind of excuse that no one could tell the actual truth of. A bit of a mystery. Still, people had put up with her most of the time, because she’s good at her job and doesn’t cause any problems.

Until this year.

Scrooge Lynn Hytes . The nickname rings in Vanessa’s ears as she thinks back to last week, all the talk about Christmas crafts and the big holiday concert. Brooke had simply shrugged and said that her class wouldn’t be participating in the concert, and at the current moment, not a single paper Santa or even a crepe-paper menorah hung in her doorway. No one really asked her why she was abstaining - still, the fact that she didn’t spontaneously offer an explanation seemed to tick people off, and so the other teachers had become as cold to her as they often perceived her to be towards them.

She thinks she’s above it.

She teaches kindergarten but won’t let any kids have fun.

Why is she working with kids if she can’t even let them make some letters to Santa? I gave her a template for one and she refused.

Ridiculous.

It’s easy enough to believe, if one listens to the rumours often enough and don’t know Brooke much more than the talk they’ve heard about her.

Only the thing is, Vanessa has trouble accepting it.

Since they teach the same grade, Vanessa often works with Brooke closer than other teachers. They spend time during lunches and after school planning lessons, check in with each other, and make sure their curriculums and approaches are in sync. Learning from each other and helping each other out. And in all of that, Vanessa can tell that she and Brooke actually have a lot in common. Like how much they love their kids, and how they love seeing the bright colours and patterns on every backpack, sweater, and running shoe that the older kids slowly stop sporting as they move towards grade five. How they were both dance majors in college, then went back to school to study teaching. How they both follow pageants, and how neither of them can stop their heads from bobbing or lips from moving softly when Rihanna is playing in the staff lounge. How they both love to teach through crafts, songs, and movement more than any other kinds of activities, and how they both like to include equity and leadership in their curriculums.

And then there are the things that make them a little different, the things that make Brooke completely unique and utterly unforgettable. Like how her voice rises about five octaves when she’s excited, or how she decorates every corner of her classroom with cat posters that are almost always new every year. How she has a dry, sarcastic sense of humour, and makes jokes that could easily be taken seriously, if you aren’t looking at her face to check for the wry smile and expectant eyes she always flashes at her audience while waiting for them to laugh. How she drinks black coffee like it’s water, and will tell kids to spit out their gum while actively chewing three pieces to mask the smell of espresso and cigarettes on her breath.

How she’s funny, and kind, and genuine, even if she can be quiet and neurotic and pragmatic to a fault.

Vanessa knows that there’s more to Brooke than the other teachers allow themselves to believe. And maybe it’s that mystery, or maybe it’s all the things she does know about Brooke, but either way, Vanessa can’t stop thinking about her. How pretty she is. How smart she is. How she wishes she had reached the door just a bit faster, so that there might have been even the smallest chance that their hands would meet.

“Hey, Miss Brooke.” Vanessa settles for a little smile and a light tone of voice instead, and even though it breaks her heart to see how Brooke lights up at the kindness, it also warms her to see the other woman smile.

“You’re here late.” Brooke blushes as she says it, almost as if she’s afraid it’ll be rude, and Vanessa suppresses a smile. Cutie.

“I left some grading until the last minute.” She shrugs. “How come you’re here this late, you a slacker too?”

To Vanessa’s relief, Brooke laughs, and not a nervous or forced laugh, either—it’s loud and genuine, one she doesn’t hide behind her hand or try to keep quiet.

“I was decorating.” Brooke shakes her head, still chuckling a little bit. But her smile fades when she looks back at Vanessa, and Vanessa suddenly realizes that she must look as surprised as she feels at the words.

“God, you don’t actually listen to Barb and those rumours, do you?” Brooke rolls her eyes, and it breaks Vanessa’s heart to see how there’s a flash of hurt on her face, a sudden hardness to her voice. “I’m working on shit with my class, it’s just winter-themed, not holiday. Pisses Barb and her library posse off, and suddenly I’m the pariah of Charles Elementary.”

“Oh.” Vanessa’s heart sinks, a feeling of guilt and regret clawing at her chest, tightening her throat. “I didn’t—Shit, I’m sorry, Brooke, I didn’t know. And I shoulda asked.”

The apology seems to reassure Brooke, or at the very least placate her, because a little bit of light returns to her eyes, and she finally meets Vanessa’s gaze.

“It’s alright, Ness.” Vanessa’s heart practically leaps at the nickname, her previous faux pas left behind by her mind as Ness echoes through it. It’s a nickname only Brooke ever uses, one that Vanessa likes to think carries warmth and affection in its one syllable. If anyone else has a nickname for Vanessa, it’s Vanjie or Vanj, a throwback to her days teaching in the inner-city. But no one calls her Ness except Brooke. And Brooke has no nicknames for anyone except Vanessa.

“Say, it’s really coming down out there–you want a ride home?” Brooke stares through the thick sheets of snow falling outside, squinting as she scans the front entrance and parking lot.

Brooke’s right - even in the maybe twenty minutes that have passed since Vanessa last looked out the window, the snow has intensified an alarming amount. Now, it’s coming down so hard that Vanessa practically can’t see through it, the flurries spinning fast in what she guesses must be some pretty bad winds. The ground, from what she can see, is glistening with packed snow and ice, stuff that probably comes up to her ankles as far as she can tell.

“Yeah,” she shudders, “A ride sounds great.”

It’s probably just her, but Brooke seems to light up at the response a little, seems to have a little extra spring in her step as she leans her weight against the door to force it open.

Then again, if the way her heart is practically dancing in her chest as she follows Brooke out is an indicator of anything, she might just be projecting.

“Holy fuck.” They trudge up to Brooke’s car only to find it buried in snow, a thick wall weighing down on its roof and windshields. The wind has clearly swept more snow onto Brooke’s car than just what’s falling, and even underneath it, there’s a sheet of wet, windswept snow that covers the ground.

“I can help you brush it all off, if you want.” Vanessa offers, and she swears the rosy blush that appears on Brooke’s cheeks is from more just than the cold.

“No, that’s okay.” Brooke shakes her head. “I have a brush in the car– Fuck. ”

“What?” Vanessa shuffles as fast as she can without slipping over to where Brooke is struggling with her door handle, grunting with frustration and and effort as she pulls with increasing strength. But it’s useless - Vanessa can see even standing just beside Brooke that the door handle is frozen over in its place, unmoving.

“Maybe if I just stay with my hand on it it’ll warm up…” Brooke starts, and that’s when Vanessa notices Brooke’s hands.

It’s not the first time Vanessa’s been fixated by Brooke’s hands. It’s not creepy–at least, she tells herself it’s not, because she doesn’t spend time thinking about what she wants them to do, she doesn’t, not that much, anyway. It’s more of a fascination, yet another thing about Brooke that Vanessa finds she can’t get out of her head. How graceful they are, and poised, how they work so efficiently and with such fine dexterity, never shaking or tripping up. How the skin seems so smooth on them, save for the veins that pop up and trace ridges and rivers over her tendons, strong and twisted and just a little blue through her pale complexion. How they fly up to comb through her hair when she’s nervous or thinking hard, how they clap and ball into excited fists when she laughs especially hard.

Now, though, all Vanessa can notice is how red and raw they seem. Because despite the terrible weather, despite how dry and frigid the air is and how searingly cold the metal car door handle must be, Brooke’s hands are completely bare.

“Oh my God, Brooke, don’t–C’mere, okay?” Vanessa doesn’t think twice before surging forward to grab Brooke’s hands in her own, rubbing the frozen fingers between her glove-clad hands and bringing them close to her mouth to blow on them a little.

Close enough to kiss, and fitting well enough into her palms to keep holding onto them forever.

Oh, God.

“I’m sorry, I–” A wave of horror washes through Vanessa as she realizes the implications of what she’s done, how intimate the action actually is, and she tries to retract her hands, but Brooke stops her, grabbing onto her hands and pulling them close again despite the nervous way she blushes and bites her lip.

“It’s okay.” Brooke smiles just a little, and Vanessa’s heart speeds up even as her anxiety subsides. “Thank you.”

They stay like that for a moment. Silent, their eyes flitting between each other and elsewhere, only catching each other’s gazes for a moment before breaking it. And maybe it’s just Vanessa, but the air seems to change for a moment, becoming warmer, thicker. Like something is growing in it, words waiting to be said and actions ready to be taken, if only one of them would move first.

Brooke is the first to break the suspense, shifting on her feet and dropping Vanessa’s hands far too soon.

“Let’s head back inside.” Brooke suggests. “I’ll call a tow truck and we can warm up a bit while we wait.”

It’s strange–as frigid as it is outside, and as much as the snow pelts them as they trudge back to the school, Vanessa can’t help but feel a little warmer as they go.

–

“They said it’ll be about two hours because of the weather.” Brooke emerges from the principal’s office about five minutes later, hands finally back to their normal hue as she slides her cell back into her coat pocket. “Apparently there’s lots of accidents right now, and that’s before they even start trying to get to us.”

Vanessa shivers thinking about all the people out on the road who haven’t been so lucky as to have their car physically stop them from trying to get anywhere. People who might have careened out of control, hit other people, skid right off the road and wound up in a ditch, trapped upside down and stuck waiting for help. Buses at a stand-still for fear of losing control, and routes cancelled because a busload of people being injured or worse just isn’t worth getting home in time for your TV program.

Suddenly, being stuck at the school doesn’t seem so bad, even if the heat is broken, the hallways are far too quiet for comfort, and there’s nothing much to do.

“Vanessa?” She snaps back to reality when she hears Brooke’s voice again, edged with a bit of concern.

“Huh?”

“I said, do you want to wait in my classroom? I have a space heater, I brought it from home last week ‘cause my kids were cold.”

Vanessa doesn’t answer, only charges down the hall in the direction of Brooke’s room, Brooke’s laughter echoing down the hall as she follows close behind.

Vanessa’s enthusiasm is only increased tenfold when she reaches the classroom and moves aside for Brooke to unlock the door. There’s an illustration of children skiing plastered over the door’s window, and when the door finally swings open, Vanessa is knocked off her feet by the sight of the room inside.

Brooke’s classroom is nothing short of a winter wonderland. It’s clear that the kids have been working hard, probably since even before December, and every decoration, every craft, seems to have a theme. In lieu of the construction-paper alphabet that usually lines Brooke’s walls, there’s a glittery string of winter-themed words, Achoo, Brrrr, Cold, and December tracing a path leading from the front of the class all the way to the door. The kids have drawn and their own mitten-shaped nameplates, leaving a rainbow of hands on every table. The windows are covered in paper snowmen and cotton-ball hills. And at the very front, attached to the chalkboard, is a poster of numbers up to 20, only instead of apples or stars, there’s clumsily-cut snowflakes that sparkle with silver glitter.

“Brooke, this is…” Vanessa trails off, unable to quite find the right word to describe it. Beautiful , maybe, or amazing. Wonderful. Jaw-dropping. Incredible.

“Holy shit.” Her words land there instead, but from the way Brooke beams at the praise, it seems that they’ve more than conveyed how Vanessa feels.

“You really like it?” Brooke brushes a piece of hair back behind her ear, blushing, and Vanessa’s heart almost breaks at how the blonde’s voice wavers, sounds so hopeful and yet still unconvinced.

She takes a deep breath, then takes a chance.

“I love it.” Vanessa grabs Brooke’s hand, still cold and red, squeezes it gently, barely holds back from bringing it to her lips.

That’s not what this is about. No matter how badly Vanessa wants it to be.

“Thank you.” Brooke breathes, and for a moment, Vanessa wonders if the look in Brooke’s eyes, the sparkle and warmth that it sends over to Vanessa, means what she thinks it does. Hopes it does.

But at the last minute, her fear comes crashing back in, and so she looks away, blushes, drops Brooke’s hand and takes a step back before she notices anything is up.

“So, um…” Vanessa scrambles for something else to say, something to fill the silence, but nothing comes to mind.

Well, something does, but she regrets it the minute she blurts it out.

“How come you won’t let your kids participate in the school concert?”

This time, it’s Brooke who takes a step back, and when Vanessa feels her face grow hot, it’s with a whole different kind of embarrassment, one that makes her want to disappear. Brooke doesn’t look hurt, per se, or even upset—just disappointed, somehow.

Fuck . Perfect, absolutely perfect. Vanessa had created a perfect moment with a beautiful woman, and now she’d ruined it.

“Brooke—“

“No, it’s okay.” Brooke sighs. “That’s just—it wasn’t what I thought you’d say, is all.”

It takes a few moments for the words to sink in, for their implication to come together in Vanessa’s mind. But by the time they do, it’s too late for Vanessa to dwell on them, to ask what Brooke thought she would say, if she was right about it.

“I didn’t stop them,” Brooke shakes her head. “They chose not to. Those two girls who are Jehovah’s wouldn’t have been allowed to participate, and when they told their friends, the whole class agreed and told me quite firmly that they didn’t want to do the concert if Jane and Annie couldn’t.”

“Oh.”

Vanessa’s an idiot, an absolute idiot. She should have known that Brooke would give her class a choice like that, respect their decision and accept their reasoning. She should have known that Brooke’s kids would propose doing something like skipping a concert to show solidarity with friends, because that’s the kind of kindness and acceptance that Brooke teaches her kids. She should have known that this is all something Brooke would not only allow, but encourage, because she herself would do the same.

“You’ve done a great job with your kids, you know that?” Brooke blushes at Vanessa’s compliment, a shy, excited smile growing on her face, and Vanessa can’t help but smile too. “Seriously—I’m… I’m sorry for believing the rumours, Brooke. You’re amazing, and you care more than any teacher I know.”

She looks up at Brooke, hoping to see the hurt dissolved from her face, but instead, when the blonde looks back at her, she’s biting her lip, chewing back that soft, brilliant smile Vanessa would give anything to see again.

“Can I show you the craft I’m gonna give my kids tomorrow?”

Vanessa’s heart speeds up, and she nods. It’s not just that Brooke is creative and a good teacher, and so Vanessa knows it’ll be a good craft. It’s that somehow, seeing something Brooke is still planning, something that makes her eyes light up despite the hesitation on her face, feels special. Like Vanessa is special. Like she’s important enough, safe enough, liked enough by Brooke for the blonde to open up to her.

It’s not easy for Brooke to do that, Vanessa knows, so the fact that she gets to be someone Brooke lets her down around is an opportunity she’s incredibly grateful for.

“I’d love to.”

Brooke lets out one of her famous happy-claps, and Vanessa feels like her heart might explode–but before it can, Brooke is leading her over to her desk, rooting through one of the doors before slapping sheets of handwriting paper down on its surface.

“Letters to loved ones.” Brooke announces proudly. “I’ve been telling my kids, winter is a time to do good deeds, ‘cause letting people know you love them warms both you and them up from the inside out.”

Vanessa isn’t sure why she does what she does next. Maybe it’s the lighting in the room, the way it glows a soft orange while still warming up, still not taking on its full fluorescent glow. Maybe it’s the snow outside, stirring some kind of romanticism within her that makes her want to get close. Or maybe it’s Brooke’s words and the meaning her voice carries when she says them, the implication they might hold.

Maybe it’s just the way Brooke’s eyes stare back at her, green and bright and shining with passion, admiration, and some kind of softness that holds a potential Vanessa is dying to explore.

All Vanessa knows is that in one breath, one moment, one flash of impulse and adrenaline, she makes her move.

“Want to write one for ourselves?” Vanessa asks, the question coming out so quickly she’s not even sure Brooke hears it. “Or, like, for someone else, I mean, but like, we write it?”

It might be just Vanessa, but there seems to be a gleam of understanding that lights up in Brooke’s eyes, and she nods shyly, blushing a little as her eyes glide to the floor.

“I’ll get out some pens.”

Vanessa writes in red and Brooke in black, both huddled on the floor in front of the space heater so close that their shoulders are practically touching. It makes Vanessa’s already-difficult task harder, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe if Brooke looks over her shoulder, sees what she’s writing, Vanessa won’t talk herself out of writing what’s really in her head.

Dear Brooke,

From the first time I met you, I knew we’d get along. And the more I got to know you, the more special you became to me. Your creativity, humour, and intelligence have always impressed me, but it’s your kindness, empathy, and quiet determination are what truly dazzle me. You love your kids so much you’ll bear any hurt on their behalf, and you love your job with a passion I wish more of the staff still had.

I can’t take my eyes off you, because your spirit burns so bright there’s nothing I’d rather watch.

Vanessa stops, her breath catching in her throat.

She can’t do it. No matter how much she wants to, she can’t say the words that her heart wants to scream. Because it’s not right, not fair to put Brooke in that position, and because if Brooke doesn’t return Vanessa’s feelings, then she doesn’t know if she can survive the heartbreak.

Vanessa is just about to cross out her last sentence when Brooke interrupts her, triumphantly announcing that she’s done before folding the paper in half and handing it over to Vanessa.

“Oh.” Vanessa feels a sinking in her chest, half hope and half preparing herself for the worst. There’s no way Brooke could return her feelings. No way she could write anything close to what Vanessa has. It’s not been enough time; if Brooke was going to write that she loved Vanessa, she would have taken more time.

Wouldn’t she?

“Um, you don’t have to read it now, if you don’t want to.” Brooke’s courage fades as the moments pass, Vanessa still unsure of what to say, what to do. “You read it later, or just throw it out, if you want…”

Vanessa whips open the letter without another moment’s hesitation.

Vanessa,

I’m not great at opening up, you know that. But you make me want to change that. You make me want to yell and laugh and clap and get excited. You make me want to be with you all the time, just so I can see you smile and smile back at you.

You might not feel the same way, in which case I’m going to be embarrassed and probably not going to be able to look you in the eye for a while. In that case, I hope you’re as patient with me as you always are.

Point is, I can’t say I love you yet, because even though I think I do, we aren’t together, so I don’t know for sure.

But I want to say it. Want to find out if I do for certain.

If you want to find out too, let me know?

XOXO,

Brooke

“I’m–I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

But Brooke’s stammering is cut off at the pass, because fuck it, why write anything in a letter when Brooke is right there, eyes hopeful and lip worried raw from biting? Why wait, when Brooke is still wearing her coat and Vanessa’s heart is pounding and there’s a perfect moment right in front of her?

She grabs Brooke by the lapels of her coat before she can stop herself, and pulls the blonde in for a kiss.

Brooke tastes like mint and cigarettes, her lips soft but commanding and body melting into Vanessa’s every touch, and in that moment, the room feels incredibly warm.

–

“They’re here!” Brooke hangs up her phone excitedly, announcing the news like it’s the best she’s heard all day. And it is, in a way–the tow truck has arrived, and they’re going to take Vanessa and Brooke home. At the same time, though, Vanessa can’t help but feel a sinking disappointment in her chest.

The tow truck has arrived to take Brooke and her home, which means that their time together is coming to a close.

The two of them had spent the remainder of the two hours together giggling and kissing and talking, the air between them lighter and filled with almost schoolgirl-like nerves and excitement. In-between embraces, they had laid in front of the heater and talked about everything under the sun, the ice between them fully broken at last as they chatted about shows they were watching, music they listened to, funny things their pets had done recently. By the time Brooke had received the tow truck company’s call, they had agreed that Vanessa had to come meet Brooke’s cats, and that Brooke would definitely need to play with Vanessa’s dog in turn.

It’s a promise that still makes Vanessa’s heart soar, one she can’t wait to realize.

“You’re not excited to get out of here?” Brooke frowns as she tosses Vanessa her coat, no doubt noting the disappointment and hesitation that Vanessa is sure she’s showing on her face.

“No, I am, it’s just–”

But before Vanessa can finish her sentence, Brooke has crossed the room again to embrace her, pull her close and tip her chin up to plant a comforting kiss on her lips.

“Let me take you out this weekend, yeah?” Brooke soothes, but her face is genuine, if not a little nervous, as if Brooke is actually doubtful that Vanessa wouldn’t jump at the chance to go on a date with her. “We can keep this going, keep getting to know each other. Without being, you know, snowed in at work.” She winks, and Vanessa giggles, nodding.

“Now, come on, Ness.” Brooke grins as they separate, sneaking in one last kiss before they do. “Our chariot awaits.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #fluff #writworm42

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tobiaskswitch · 4 years

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Finals - Blaine/Toby

Tobias comes up with a unique punishment for Blaine

Toby was kind of proud of what he'd come up with for the final, in terms of fulfilling the requirements without putting too much stress on Blaine. Having cleared everything with Sam, he borrowed a video camera to set up in his suite to record the scene. He had sent a set of instructions to Blaine the day before, including the time to show up, what to wear, and a list of things to bring. He'd specified that Blaine should wear casual clothes that could get dirty, and then asked him to bring several cleaning solutions, dusting cloths, paper towels, things to scrub a bathroom with, and so on. It was a list of probably a dozen items, which was a lot, but they were small enough they could be put in a large bag, so Toby didn't think Blaine would have an issue bringing them all. Except, of course, he might deliberately leave some behind. That was part of the plan. Blaine was supposed to chose something to disobey, thereby giving Toby a reason to punish him. All of the tasks were minor enough that Blaine would only merit a small punishment, but he wouldn't have to grapple with the idea of being punished for nothing. In addition to the time, clothes, and list of things to bring, Toby had included a list of the chores he would be expecting Blaine to complete. He knew Blaine enjoyed domestic service, so getting him to clean wouldn't be a stressor, but it also gave Blaine more options as to which task he wanted to purposely disobey. Maybe he'd show up late, or maybe he'd do everything right until deciding not to do the very last chore. The point was that Toby didn't know, so it would feel like the punishment was more organic.

While Blaine still didn't love the theme of this exam, he felt a lot better knowing Toby and Sam had talked and worked out something that met with Sam's approval. Blaine wasnt the type of sub to ever deliberately disobey orders, but he supposed for one day he could let loose just a little. Before heading over to Toby's, Blaine had carefully packed everything on the list. He knew he could leave something out, but the idea of getting there and not having something he needed was not appealing. He did, however, intentionally wait until five minutes past the agreed upon time to knock on Toby's door. Not late enough to warrant a punishment on it's own, but enough to set the tone that Blaine was not going to be following orders to the letter. It was his intention to slowly ease into it, minor slip ups here and there until he finally would disobey enough to warrant a proper punishment.

Toby wasn't at all surprised that Blaine was late. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if Blaine was waiting in the hallway watching the clock, deliberately timing his entrance just slightly late. Sure enough, five minutes after the appointed time, there was a knock on the door. Toby make sure the camera was recording and then went to answer. "Hey," he greeted, grinning at him. He didn't want to pretend to be all stern and angry. That just didn't seem fun or necessary. Toby was seeing this more as a game. "You're late," he accused as he let Blaine inside and shut the door behind him. "Now that's just rude." His tone was teasing and light.

Blaine smiled in greeting, but it faltered when Toby accused of him of being rude. He could tell the switch was teasing, but this was going to be harder than he thought. He forced himself to ignore the guilty feeling creeping in and shrugged after setting his bag of supplies down. "Sorry, Sir. I guess my watch is a few minutes behind." He lied. He wasn't wearing a watch. He wondered if Toby would catch that.

Toby was paying pretty close attention, because he knew that this could easily go poorly. Blaine had warned him, as had Sam, that Blaine had a history of reacting badly to mis-handled punishments. So Toby caught the moment when Blaine's smile froze for half a second before he covered it. Definitely needed to be careful how he teased this one, he decided. "It's all good," he assured him with a friendly smile. "Just a few minutes." He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Blaine. "Here's a list of the chores you're going to be doing for me. I want you to do the in order, starting at the top." Some of the chores even had specific directions, to give Blaine more opportunity to decide what he wanted to disobey. Underneath the chores, written big and circled so Blaine would notice it, was a note. 'Relax, have fun, it's just a game. Like you're pranking me and then I'll get you back. It's all gonna be fine.' Toby figured that the note was one of the few ways he could tell Blaine something without the Heads hearing it, since the camera was rolling.

Blaine took the list, and began by reading the whole thing. When be saw the note at the bottom, he smiled, instantly feeling better. Pranking was a good way of looking at it. "Yes, Sir." He replied, both in response to the orders and the note. He then began to work through the chores. He did the first one perfectly, but then didn't quite follow the directions on the second one. Then he moved on to the fourth listed chore, skipping the third entirely.

Toby watched as Blaine read the note, and he smiled when Blaine got to the bottom part. Definitely a good idea, it seemed. Blaine visibly relaxed, and so Toby gave him a nod and let him get to it. He had a copy of the list in his pocket, too, so he could refer to it while Blaine did the chores. He knew Blaine was going to deliberately ignore parts, and he didn't want to accidentally miss it when Blaine disobeyed. He didn't follow Blaine around, but he paid attention to what the sub was doing enough to know if he was doing the proper chore. When he moved from one to the next, Toby figured he should do at least a cursory inspection, in case Blaine had purposely done a substandard job. The first chore seemed perfectly accomplished, but on the second, which was cleaning the bathroom, it seemed that Blaine had omitted emptying the trash and wiping down the mirror. Toby went to find Blaine and point this out, only to discover that he had now skipped dusting entirely, and was now washing dishes. Toby went into the kitchen and waited for Blaine to look up at him, then raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I should have checked before we started, but you don't have trouble reading, right? Or deciphering my handwriting?" He waggled his eyebrows teasingly.

Blaine knew Toby was bound to catch up with him sooner rather than later, nad luckily had already been working on his excuses in his head. He was playing the role of a bratty sub today, even though it went completely against his natural instincts, it was kind of fun to get into character and experiment. "No, Sir." He said smoothly, "I just think it makes more sense to do the dishes before sweeping the floor, don't you think?"

Toby had to keep himself from smiling when Blaine oh so sweetly gave his reasoning, playing his part perfectly. Toby got the feeling Blaine might even be having fun with this. "Maybe, but that's not the point. I told you to follow the list. If you wanted to change the order, you should have asked me." He put his hands on his hips, giving in to the urge to be extra dramatic. "And you forgot some steps in the bathroom. So turn off the water and go finish the bathroom, and then do the chores in order. I'm not going to give you another warning, young man."

It was hard not to laugh when Toby called him "young man." But Blaine powered through it. "If you say so, Sir. But wouldn't it make more sense for me to finish the dishes now so the water doesn't get stagnant and cold?" He reasoned.

"Nope. You're doing the chores in order. And if you keep arguing with me, I'll have to punish you, you know. Remind you who's boss. It's me. I'm the boss." Toby was able to keep himself from grinning, but it was a near thing. They were definitely going to laugh about this later.

Blaine shrugged. "Okay, Boss. If you say so." He turned off the water, dried his hands, and went to grab a broom. Notably before finishing the bathroom, intentionally.

Toby watched Blaine turn to get started on the chores, and honestly almost didn't notice that Blaine wasn't following instructions again. Toby wasn't used to keeping track of little details like that, but that was the whole point of this scene. "Hold on," he said as Blaine started sweeping. "I said finish the bathroom, then do the rest of the chores. I'm beginning to think you want to be punished." He waggled his eyebrows at Blaine teasingly.

Blaine heaved a dramatic sigh, "But the bathroom is already clean! It's good enough, right?" He playfully pouted, continuing to sweep.

"Okay, that's it," Toby said, taking the broom out of Blaine's hands. "Someone doesn't want to do what he's told today. So you're going to get what's coming to you. Oh, boy, you're in for it." It was a little hard not to laugh as he grabbed Blaine's wrist and pulled him over to the kitchen table. "You're in for it now, buddy," he added, just to lay it on extra thick. He pulled a soft rope out of his pocket, since of course he'd been planning this the whole time, as he gestured for Blaine to sit. "Put your hands behind the back of the chair." He got Blaine into a position which wouldn't be too uncomfortable and tied his hands with the rope.

Blaine pouted the whole time, but he knew this was the plan and it was now that the real part of the exam would begin. He sat in the chair as indicated and placed his hands behind the chair. He breathed in as Toby tied his hands. He did a quick mental check in with himself; Sam had pre-approved this, he was safe, he had his safeword just in case. "But, Sir!" He whined, laying it on thick, "How am I ever to finish my chores now?"

"Shoulda thought of that before you were naughty!" Toby grinned at him. "Now I gotta punish you before you can finish your chores. Now sit tight, I need to go grab something." Toby was letting Blaine sit in anticipation on purpose, but he also knew better than to make him wait long and work himself up. In short order, Toby walked back into the room with his guitar, pulled out a chair facing Blaine, and sat down.

Blaine blinked as Toby left him tied to the chair. He squirmed, testing the knot around his wrists. Toby did good on that... when the switch returned with his guitar Blaine tilted his head. This didn't seem like any punishment he was used to.

Toby saw the confusion in Blaine's face and grinned. He was secretly very proud of himself for coming up with this punishment. "Alright, here's how it's going to go. I'm going to play some stuff, whatever I like, and you have to sit there, no matter what. That's all you have to do." He knew it didn't sound like a punishment yet, and he sent Blaine another knowing grin. Setting his fingers to the frets, Toby started to play, sticking to major chords. It wasn't any specific song, just a chord progression. He added a seven on top of the chord, to build some drama, and then a suspended chord to create dissonance, and then.... he stopped. He didn't play the last chord in the progression, he didn't resolve the dissonance, he just let the musical tension hang in the air.

Blaine was very confused. How was this a punishment? Toby was a lovely guitarist and Blaine had even been meaning to ask him about jamming together sometime before his guitar was lost in the storm. In fact, this was making him want to get a new one... but then Toby played that Dominant seventh, followed by a suspension and then.... nothing. Blaine waited. Still nothing. Suddenly the punishment aspect became clear and his eyes narrowed. "How very dare you, Sir...."

Toby grinned like a madman. "How dare I what? Play my guitar for you? You should be honored." He played the suspended chord again, just to be annoying. "Do you not like my song?"

"Please resolve that chord, Sir." Blaine requested, the bitterness evident in his voice. He squirmed against the ropes again, itching to grab the guitar and resolve the chord progression himself.

"I'm sorry, do what now?" Toby gave Blaine a look that said 'but I am the picture of innocence!' He played the suspended chord a third time. "That chord? You want me to do what with it?"

"Resolve it!! Please! You started in C Major, you just need to play me a root position C-E-G chord. I promise, I'll do all the chores the way you asked!" He pouted.

Toby grinned, delighted at how well his plan was working. "Oh, now, you know I never learned all that stuff, I never had any real lessons or anything, you know." Toby knew exactly what a root position chord was, and he knew exactly what he was doing, but why let the truth get in the way of a good story. "Maybe I should try again and we'll see if you like it better this time." He started the progression again from the top, playing through it slightly quicker this time, and then getting to the last suspended chord and playing it just a little louder than the rest. And then he looked at Blaine expectantly. "Is that better?"

Blaine breathed in a slow breath, knowing full well Toby knew which chord Blaine wanted him to play, so he didn't bother trying to explain it. Toby went through the progression again and Blaine sharply inhaled when he let it hang on a suspension again. "Siiiiiiiiiir." He whined, "Please!"

Toby couldn't help it, a little giggle escaped this time, and he strummed the suspended chord a few times just to rub it in. "Oh, is this unpleasant to you, Blaine? Well gosh, here I was thinking you liked music." He gave him a very evil grin. "Maybe you shoulda followed the list, huh?"

"I'll be good, Sir!!" He promised, pleading with his eyes. "I promise. I'll follow the list to the letter just resolve that chord, Sir! Please!"

Toby played the chord one more time just to be a jerk. "Ah, you see, there's definitely perks to doing what you're told, huh?" Toby grinned, and then played the original chord again, thus resolving the progression. "See? I can be reasonable." He played the whole progression again, this time not hesitating at all to complete it's resolution at the end, just to help relieve the tension by replacing it with a satisfying chord progression.

Blaine visibly sighed with relief when he heard that sweet resolution, and then Toby played the progression again - this time ending it with a satisfactory full circle back to the root chord, and Blaine relaxed a bit in his chair. "Thank you, Sir. I'm sorry. I'll do it right this time, I promise."

Toby grinned at him, satisfied with his diabolical punishment, and leaned his guitar against the table as he stood up and went to untie Blaine's hands. "That's a good boy. Tell you what. You finish the bathroom like you were supposed to, and then we'll press pause on the chores and have a little jam session. I'll play and you'll sing. Sound good?"

Blaine rubbed his wrists lightly once they were free of the rope, and nodded in response to Toby's proposition. "That sounds good, Sir. I'm sorry for not behaving before. I'll do it right this time." He promised, and he meant it.

Toby held out a hand to help Blaine up, and then pulled him into a hug. "It's okay, no harm done. And you did really good, with your punishment. I'm gonna get to tell Sam you were really good for me, hiccups aside." He wanted to really make it clear that he was happy with him, because Toby knew that Blaine wouldn't handle it well if he started to feel like he'd actually been bad.

Blaine stood, and when Toby hugged him he didn't realize until that moment how much he'd needed that reassurance. His whole body relaxed. "Thank you, Sir." He said, the doubt in his brain dissipating. He pulled back from the hug and smiled at Toby. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his chest to have this exam now done and over with, and it had gone well, in Blaine's opinion. Their grade wouldn't matter, because they'd gotten through this with no damage to anyone's mental or physical health. "You were great. Thank you." He told the Switch,m wanting to make sure he knew he'd done well also, because Toby's mental health was just as important as Blaine's.

#blaine #finals

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dacrepls-blog · 6 years

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Gav800 Week - Day Four - First Kiss

Day four of @gav800-week

This is probably my least favourite piece that I’ve written so far because it’s not at all how I planned it out to be but my inner Gavin took over and steamrolled any and all plotting that I had done.

Day One | Day Two | Day Three

“I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to remind you that the fact that you can still walk should be good enough for you but you really do need to take it easy. Just because you didn’t spend too much time in the hospital doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest.”

They’d released him from the hospital within the week and he’d spent the past three and a half weeks laid in bed. He hadn’t lost any sensation and his motor strength was still on point. The knife hadn’t hit his spinal cord or his pancreas so he was good in that respect too. With the advancement in medicine he didn’t even need any old school treatment like colostomy bags and all that shit - no pun intended.

Now it was just a case of actually letting his body recover.

Connor had came by his apartment every day to check on him and make sure he was surviving. The first day was mainly spent with Gavin having to listen to Connor go on and on about how disgusting the apartment was. He was pretty sure the android asked him about thirty times whether he’d ever heard of a vacuum or a number of other cleaning products. The rant was cut short by the appearance of Gilbert the Grey Tabby which completely distracted Connor from whatever he was talking about and amused him for hours on end until the cat got bored and ended up curled somewhere near Gavin’s head. The days and weeks that followed consisted mainly of them getting to know each other with Connor helping to change his bandages or give him the latest on whatever cases were being thrown around at work.

“You never did tell me what happened to the guy.”

It was a late Thursday afternoon, Connor had clocked out of work early to come see him and they were currently laid back on the couch, feet up on the coffee table as they watched TV. It had taken almost the entirety of the three and a half weeks for Gavin to convince Connor that it was okay and he should join him in his lounging but now he was doing it and it just felt… right. It made being stuck in the dingy little apartment way easier than it usually was.

“What?”

This, though? Where Connor avoided the topic of conversation as much as he possibly could and chose to try and distract Gavin with some random little tidbit from work? Yeah he was over that.

“The guy that stabbed me. No one ever told me whether we got him or not. I can’t really remember anything from after he got me, not surprising really.”

Connor stood from his seat beside him and grabbed the two used cups from the coffee table before heading towards the sink. “I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on talking about this. Why does it matter?”

“Because I was stabbed and I want to know that the guy didn’t get away with it. Why are you so against talking about it?”

It was getting more infuriating by the second. As much as he loved- liked having Connor there, the fact that he wasn’t actually telling him anything was just pissing him off. He didn’t like being left in the dark and he wanted to know exactly what happened. This whole ‘it’s over it doesn’t matter’ bullshit pissed him off more than anything ever could and Connor was thrown in his face a few months back when he was deep seated in a hatred for every kind of android that ever existed. He just wanted to know what had happened. It felt like he was missing out on some important details.

“I just want to know, Connor, for fucks sake.”

The sound of a mug slamming down on the counter made him, and Gilbert, jump.

“I shot him.”

Well that wasn’t what he was expecting. He looked away from Connor and towards the grey tabby, letting it climb into his lap. He tried to remember, tried to find something that would just make all the memories come flooding back but he couldn’t. Nothing he was doing was working and he hated it. He hated that him not remembering was making Connor pull away, was ruining the little atmosphere they had created since he had been home from the hospital.

Gavin wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do. He felt like saying anything would either make Connor leave or it would make him even angrier.

Slowly, Gavin pushed himself up off of the couch, crossing across the living room until he was leaning against the counter next to the android. He stood for a moment, in complete silence. He thought that being closer would give him the opportunity to come up with something to do or say.

Connor turned slowly, looking at him with a clear question wrote across his face.

Without really thinking, Gavin stepped forwards and pulled the other towards him. He wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist and held him close, resting his forehead against his shoulder. It had been a long time since he had been this close to someone willingly, or at least with no complaints coming from him. He didn’t really know why he was doing it - or maybe he did.

Maybe this was his head finally deciding to do something about that excitement, those emotions that being with Connor managed to drag out of him, even if he didn’t really understand them all himself.

“Thank you, Connor.”

There was yet another moment of silence.

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Because… because of a lot of things. I’ll tell you later.”

It seemed to be enough of a reason for the time being because Connor’s arms slowly wrapped around him in return, conveniently placed over his shoulders, as far away from his wound as he could possibly be. The emotions that hit Gavin at the movement was something that he hadn’t felt in a long while, since way before his teens back before the androids hit the streets, before he had even decided that he wanted to become a Detective.

It was coming home.

And wasn’t that ironic? The once android hater was now falling for a damn android, spent his time wondering what the android thought of him. It was stupid. Then again, Connor had never just been an android had he? He’d been the deviant hunter, created in a way to integrate with the rest of the team as well as he could. He was the one that beat the shit out of him and then infiltrated the Cyberlife tower to lead thousands of androids through the streets of Detroit.

He pulled away slightly to look up at the other, trying to figure out what the next move was going to be. It was decided for him by the android himself who looked down at him for a moment before he closed the space between them.

The first thing Gavin noted was that Connor had soft lips. They were soft, gentle, almost delicate. They were great.

Connor, apparently, wanted the kiss to be something short, something that was just a peck. Gavin wasn’t having that. As he pulled away, Gavin leaned forwards, pressing up onto his toes slightly, as embarrassing as it was, his arms tightening around the slim waist as he held him close.

Everything was suddenly making sense. It was almost like when they had managed to solve that case with the two suspects. When everything came together in the end they both felt stupid for missing something so obvious. All those emotions, thoughts, feelings were making sense and Gavin was feeling even more stupid for missing everything and not putting it together sooner. It was a shame that it took so long for him to figure it out and that it took him getting stabbed for everything to make sense but at least it had finally happened.

Eventually he knew that he had to pull away and he slowly dropped back, looking up at Connor as they parted. His arms were still loosely around the waist, keeping Connor from leaving him.

“So…”

“Your lips are stupidly soft.”

No. Wait. He wasn’t meant to say that out loud. Well fucking done, Reed.

“Well thank you,” Connor responded, breathing out a laugh. “This wasn’t where I was expecting today to end up but I’m glad this is where we ended up.”

“How long have you-”

“Since the case.”

Well at least he wasn’t the only idiot. There was a thought that struck him, a slight memory from the stabbing. It was just a couple of words, probably something that wasn’t even all that important. It may get him a slap and it may ruin the moment but he couldn’t help himself. A grin crossed his face as he looked up at him, squeezing his arms around him slightly.

“You shoulda just made a move, Tincan. You’re always right.”

#gav800 #gav800 week #convin #connor x gavin #my writing #dbh

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winchestersplusone · 7 years

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Chapter 93: Our Poor Choices

Summary: Bela has made some bad choices. And probably Dean too. But then… Ellie doesn’t always make the right call, either.

Wordcount: 3382

Warnings: None. Except angst, I guess…

A/N: WHAT?! She’s back, y’all!!! Thank god I went to All Hell Breaks Loose because I fell back down the deep deep rabbit hole of living and breathing SPN!!!

(Also, Jared Padalecki hugged me and called me “sweetie”, but that’s obviously not important at all it’s only been 3 days I can’t expect my heart rate to have gone down yet, right?)

Episode Guide: This chapter takes place during and just after 3x15.

Chapter 93: Our Poor Choices

On our way back to the motel, Dean explained what happened with Rufus. He’d given Dean the address for Bela, along with several pages of relevant documents about her past. Apparently there’s a thing you can do with IDing a person from their ear. So a friend of Rufus’ in England had a whole lot of background.

Dean had already gone through it, of course. Her real name was Abby. Her parents died when she was fourteen, and in suspicious circumstances. Their car crashed, and Police suspected the brake line had been cut, but weren’t able to prove it. And little Abby got their money. A whole lot of money.

That explained why that vengeful spirit had gone after her in Massachusetts. It targeted people who had killed a member of their own family.

“Shoulda let that spirit take her out,” Dean said, as he finished explaining.

“Cutting her parents’ brakes at fourteen,” Sam repeated. “Wow. That’s… That’s cold.”

“She didn’t cut ‘em,” Dean went on. “I noticed something in her room. Devil’s shoestring.”

“Like for warding off Hellhounds?” asked Sam. Man had a botanical encyclopaedia in his head. He was always identifying plants from name or sight alone.

“Exactly like,” Dean said. “And guess when mommy and daddy died?”

Shit. Bela had done a deal with a Crossroads demon. “Ten years ago?”

“To the day,” Dean said. “Her time’s up.”

Sam turned in his seat to look back at me. I was in the middle, again, leaning forward to perch my head between theirs. I didn’t know what Sam’s face meant. He slightly raised one eyebrow. But maybe he was looking at my expression for some reason, rather than trying to communicate anything.

“Did she tell you why?” he asked, turning back to his brother.

“Didn’t ask. We’re talking millions, Sam. Why else?”

Maybe that’s what Sam had been trying to ask me, without words. Something about this story seemed… odd. It takes a special kind of ruthlessness to murder your parents for money before you’re even out of high school. Bela was definitely cold and hard, but she didn’t seem greedy. She was incredibly shady and she sold stolen goods. She didn’t care what was done with the dangerous occult stuff she hocked. Yes, she’d shot Sam, which I’d never forgive. But she also paid us for rescuing her from that ghost ship curse. Paid us a lot.

She liked being rich, but I wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile a teenager so greedy she’d murder her parents in cold blood with a woman who casually threw twenty grand at us like it was nothing.

“Mighta been some other reason too,” I said. “I hate her, but I dunno… something just doesn’t seem right about that.”

“Okay, Shortcake,” said Dean, his tone like like a gentle, patronising pat on the head. “Bela’s just misunderstood and there’s a soft squishy marshmallow inside everyone.”

“Except you, asshole,” I said, throwing a heavy kick to the back of his seat.

“You said she didn’t have the Colt,” Sam cut in, carefully scooching the subject back on track before I tried to strangle Dean while he was driving. “So what happened?”

“Didn’t find the Colt, so I left. But she stole the motel receipt from my pocket.”

“Huh,” mumbled Sam. “So… she’s looking for us?”

“Or someone else is,” said Dean. “Either way, I’m thinking decoys in our beds tonight.”

Sam and I agreed with that, no question. Whether Bela bumped her parents off for money or not was irrelevant to our own situation. When someone pickpockets you to find out where you’re sleeping, best thing to do is not sleep there.

It was on the way back to the motel that Sam spotted a sex shop. Dean was all ready to joke about his little brother growing up or imply Sam had some weird fetish. But Sam pointed out that the place sold sex dolls, forcing Dean to agree that actually, that was a really great idea.

Two guys and a girl go into a shop and buy three sex dolls. I don’t know how that joke ends, but it sounds like a good start. At least, the man working the counter was amused.

It was dark by the time we got back to the motel. Dean had been in Canaan, so it was only Sam and I that needed to gather all our shit together. It was hard to make my decoy doll look right, lying on the floor, but we managed it. Without knowing whether it’d be Bela coming or someone else, and what they intended to do, we just had to take our best guess.

Dean was pretty convinced Bela was intending to kill us. She was trying to hold Hellhounds at bay, but rather than ask for help, she’d stolen the receipt to get our location. Sam and I agreed that it sure seemed like she was trying to cut some sort of deal. I wasn’t sure about killing us, though. Maybe her intention was just to give us up.

In any case, she probably wasn’t interested in killing me. I was merely a sidekick. A badass, super competent (and totally hilarious) sidekick. But not likely to be included in any plot against the Winchesters. Although, she hated my guts, so maybe she’d just see killing me as a bonus. Either way, I wasn’t waiting around to find out.

So we skipped, leaving the key in the room, and without telling reception. We didn’t need Bela inquiring at the desk and finding we’d checked out. With any luck, she wouldn’t turn up until very late, long after we were gone.

“Where are we going, though?” I asked, hauling my duffle into the back seat.

“As far as possible,” Dean said. “Pick a direction.”

I hesitated. Dean had three weeks left and he actually seemed willing, at this point, to talk about it. It seemed to me that this was an opportunity to go where the best resources were. We still had time to save him.

“Why don’t we go home?” I suggested. “I still think Dad’s got books I could…” I stopped, not wanting to tell Dean about my plan to ty and bring him back after death. I didn’t want him to get his hopes up. What if I couldn’t? Much better to keep looking for a better idea.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. You miss your Dad, right? I guess we can take a little trip, make you less homesick, whatta you say, Sammy?”

Sam smiled as he shut the back door on me. It wasn’t a cheerful smile, but it was genuine. Just the slightest hint of his dimples formed.

“If that’s… if it’s what Ellie needs, sure.”

And so, we were able to agree on going home to Sioux Falls, with all of us pretending it wasn’t to make a last ditch effort to save Dean before the hounds came to take him down to Hell.

We made several attempts to call our abandoned motel room from the road. Dean wanted to gloat at Bela. I was still sure there was something we didn’t know about her, but I kept my mouth shut. At least until I knew whether or not she was planning to murder us.

But it’d be nice to know whether she was the one planning to come into our room, or someone else. Maybe, if someone answered the phone, we could get some idea of what was happening.

Nearing midnight, we were somewhere in Ohio. Dean decided to have another try, and this time, he didn’t put the phone down in frustration.

“Hiya, Bela. Here’s a fun fact you may not know. I felt your hand in my pocket when you swiped that motel receipt.”

There was only the very briefest of pauses, obviously while she said something.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I understand perfectly. See, I noticed something interesting in your hotel room. Something tucked above the door. A herb. Devil’s shoestring? There’s only one use for that: holding hellhounds at bay. So you know what I did? I went back and took another look at your folks’ obit. Turns out they died ten years ago today. You didn’t kill them. A demon did your dirty work. You made a deal, didn’t you Bela? And it’s come due. Is that why you stole the Colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal, our gun for your soul?”

His sentences had mostly rolled into one another, so I guessed he’d either been interrupting her attempts to respond, or she hadn’t tried and he was just delivering a monologue. After he was done, he did leave a brief pause, during which she presumably answered.

“But stealing the Colt wasn’t quite enough, I’m guessing,” he said.

Sam looked back at me while Dean listened to Bela’s reply. It was hard to see him that well in the dark car, but I was guessing his eyes were that deep concerned brown that looked bottomless.

“Really!” Dean said. “Wow, demons untrustworthy? Shocker! That’s uh… kind of a tight deadline too. What time is it? Well, look at that, almost midnight.” Another pause. “Sweetheart, we are weeks past help.” And then again.

Was she begging him for help? After what she’d done?

“You know what, you’re right, you don’t,” said Dean. “But you know what the bitch of the bunch is? If you would have just come to us sooner and asked for help we probably could have taken the Colt and saved you.”

We would have tried, at the very least. And a promise to try from the Winchesters had to be worth more than any demon’s offer to renegotiate a contract.

Even though she’d taken the Colt, and even though she’d lied and deceived us… Even though she shot Sam, I still didn’t think Bela deserved to die. And especially not so horribly, being doomed to eternity in Hell itself.

Yeah, so she supposedly did a deal to kill her parents, but that still didn’t quite tally up to me. Stealing and lying and being ruthless were definitely connected with Bela being capable of wishing her family dead. But why? Their deaths made her incredibly rich, yet she’d still started dealing in stolen occult items. She continued to make vast sums, despite not needing it. And then she paid us a fortune when we hadn’t asked her for anything.

Greedy people don’t throw money around. So why give away her soul just to off her parents and get the cash?

I wished Dean would put her on speaker, or let me talk to her. It was too late to do anything, but I wanted to know why. It was too late to help her. But I thought she should at least get the chance to explain her motives before the hounds came.

“And who told you that?” Dean asked her. Then he questioned her further. “She? Lilith? Why should I believe you? This can’t help you, Bela, not now. Why you telling me this?”

Whatever reason she gave, Dean was done with her. “I’ll see you in Hell,” he said, hanging up, putting the phone down and getting his right hand back on the wheel.

See you in Hell, he said. And I was one hundred percent sure he meant it literally.

We drove all night, and into the next day. We took turns, one driving, one keeping them awake and one sleeping in the back. With a couple of meal stops, we made it back home to Sioux Falls in just over fourteen hours. Dean was someone who believed that speed limits are just a suggestion.

It was a little after nine o’clock when we pulled into the yard. Still early enough for some breakfast.

The super subtle roar of the Impala’s engine alerted Dad before we’d even stopped, and he was waiting on the porch for us. I was in the front, taking my turn and keeping Dean company for the last leg. As soon as the car rolled to a stop, I was out before Dean had time to put it in park.

Shut up. I loved my Dad, okay.

He retained his grumpy demeanour as I ran up the steps and launched myself at him. But his grip on me when I hugged him betrayed his real feelings.

After a couple of seconds, he let go and put his hands on my shoulders, holding me a little apart from him, so he could examine my face. He peered at me, taking in the huge bruise on my forehead.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Your head…”

I knew he was worried about my previous head wound, and I couldn’t blame him for that. I was smart enough to be cautious about bumps to the head. It was well over a year, but a cracked skull isn’t something you should be casual about. Both Sam and Dean were agreed, and always made sure to check very carefully for a concussion or other signs of damage.

Hunters tend to be reckless and live dangerously, but we’re not freakin’ stupid.

“I’m okay,” I told Dad. “I got knocked out, but it feels mostly fine now. Just a bit sore.”

“Follow my finger,” he said, and I did, as he moved it left, right, up and down in front of my eyes. Quicker and easier to just do it than argue about how I wasn’t concussed and knew what I was doing.

Sam was sitting with the back door open, yawning. He’d only woken up just as we arrived. Dean came up the stairs to stand beside Dad and me.

“She got hit with a shovel,” he said. “You wanna tell him why, Princess?”

“I was being a diversion,” I said defensively. “So Sam could get the victim out the window.”

“Uh huh,” Dean said. “Bobby, you ever seen your daughter’s diversions?”

“Dean…” I moaned.

“I usually got her on backup,” Dad said, and with what looked almost like a smile. Maybe Dean’s dobbing wouldn’t lead to an argument…

“She’s freakin’ insane,” Dean said, and I could see the proud little smile he tried to hide. “Dunno what we’d do without her, right Sammy?”

“Right,” Sam said, coming up behind me. “No one in the world as distracting as Ellie.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant it as a compliment or not, but Sam wasn’t usually inclined to insult me. “It’s a gift,” I said.

We all got straight to work. I headed to the library, with some books already in mind. Some stuff I hadn’t scanned yet, but I knew from my database that there might be something in them.

Dad had found something he wanted to show us, so he and Sam talked through that. Dean left the house again pretty much right away. There wasn’t enough beer, and going to get more was definitely a top priority.

We worked all day, stopping briefly for lunch. Then there was an afternoon of frantically rifling through books. While the others were still focusing on ways to break the contract, I focused on my own idea. Bela had revealed this demon, Lilith, was the one who held Dean’s contract, but Dad had read something different. Either way, I was still sure my back-up plan was worth pursuing.

Even if we figured out whether it was Lilith who had the contract (and why would Bela bother to lie at that point?), we still had to find her. And figure out how to get Dean free from the deal. Without triggering the clause that would end in Sam dying too.

I flipped through page after page, speed reading and searching for keywords. By the time it got dark out, it was hard to tell when my eyes were watering from strain, and when I was just crying from frustration. They’d sort of merged into one.

I gave up for the night and got up to make dinner. I decided to roast some actual vegetables, which always made Sam’s day. And Dean didn’t mind a good roast dinner either. It appealed to his secret domestic desires.

Sam thought something Dad had found might have some real potential. It was a reference to someone called the “King of the Crossroads”. After dinner, Dad sat Dean down to show him, while Sam and I did the dishes.

“Thanks,” he said, as I rolled up my sleeves to get washing.

“Thank you,” I replied. “Usually I do this on my own.”

“No, for yesterday,” he said. “With Benton. You were right.”

The whole Doc Benton scenario seemed weeks away. Had it really only been twenty-four hours since we threw him into a fridge and buried him deep as we could dig?

“Well, your heart was in the right place,” I said. “We’re all getting desperate.”

Sam took a heavy tray from me. His huge hands made it seem so much smaller and with his strength it seemed to weigh nothing at all.

“It’s my fault,” he said. “And the closer we get, the clearer that is to me. I’ve gotta…”

“Uh uh!” I scolded him, scrubbing at a plate with added vigour. “This is not your fault, Sam. Not yours, or mine, or Dad’s!”

It didn’t seem like the appropriate time to mention it. It never seemed appropriate, even quietly to myself, in the dark. But the truth was, Dean had made a choice. He was grieving and desperate and not thinking properly when he did it, but the dark, terrible circumstances behind it didn’t make it any less true. In fact, he’d made more than one choice.

He’d driven Dad and I away so we couldn’t stop him. He’d put together what he needed to make a deal. He’d driven to the crossroads. He’d summoned a demon, made a deal with her and accepted her unusually harsh terms. He’d been offered only one year and he took it.

There was a whole lot of backstory to who Dean was and why he’d made his choices. His feelings of intense protectiveness towards Sam were far more complex than my single college psychology elective could ever qualify me to comment on. Was Dean to blame for his decisions? Was he in a fit mental state to make that kind of deal? Would a desperate crossroads deal hold up in a human court of law? Surely diminished responsibility is a thing.

No. I don’t think we can ever say if Dean is to blame for what he did that terrible night. But one thing I did know.

No one else made that decision for him.

“There’s a way out of this, Ellie,” Sam said. “I know there is. And if I haven’t found it…”

“It’s not because you haven’t tried,” I reminded him. “Not knowing the solution to a problem isn’t the same as being the cause of the problem.”

He sighed, gently taking a plate from me. There was some danger of me agitatedly slamming it down in front of him. Maybe it wasn’t fair for me to get mad, but I couldn’t bear that he was putting the blame on himself.

“I know, but…”

“But nothing,” I scolded. “If a werewolf kills a man in Texas tonight, is it my fault?”

“Of course not…”

“No. Because I’m fucking miles away. You were dead Sam. And that’s a shitload further than Texas. You weren’t there when Dean made his deal, so it’s not your fault.”

“Okay,” he said.

But I could tell from his tone that I hadn’t convinced him of a damn thing. I’d just bullied him into agreeing with me to my face. I’d done nothing to heal his breaking heart, nothing to ease the suffering within.

My stupid temper. Rather than helping Sam, I’d just made him feel like I didn’t understand and that he couldn’t confide in me. And by the time we’d finished washing up, I still hadn’t figured out how to apologise for it. Then he was gone, to talk to Dad and Dean about this Crossroad King guy.

I joined them, but it was all business, and I couldn’t get Sam alone again before he went to bed.

I went up too, but I didn’t sleep at all. But then, did I really deserve to?

#spn #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural au #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean #original character #bela talbot

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