#sammy spent the entire time in my last visit with him with his tongue out. it wasnt cute. it was heartbreaking. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

its-monster-mash · 3 years

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Paul(The Lost Boys) X Michael’s Ex!Fem!Reader Imagine(Part 1)

Content Warnings: Vaguely Love-Triangley? (Reader and Michael are still good friends and broke up a while before Mike moved, but things are a little awkward because they were each other’s first serious relationship; so he’s more protective than he needs to be, and there might be a few hurt feelings, but I wouldn’t quite call it a love triangle), Brief Sexual Harassment

Part 2

This turned out SUPER long so I’m putting it under a readmore; also I think I’m going to make it a series because I want to go a lot further with this but I suspect I’m going to run out of space soon

• Michael Emerson had been your best friend since you were kids, growing up in Phoenix only a ten minute walk from eachother...if you knew the right shortcuts. You knew all of them, thought you knew everything when you were younger, and you got yourself and Mike into a fair amount of trouble because of it...but he had always been a good kid, and was able to temper your more destructive elements.

• It surprised exactly no one when the two of you eventually started dating, nor did it surprise them when you broke up a few years later. You had always been inseparable, and the love had always been there, but over time you just couldn’t help but feel stifled. You had spent your entire teen years with him, and so many people liked to joke that Mike tamed you...at the rate you were going it seemed like sundresses, picket fences, and a couple of kids weren’t far off in your future...and that scared you.

• Mike was heartbroken when you left him, and for the first few weeks he absolutely held it against you, but due to your shared friends and history your friendship survived. Unfortunately, his parents’ divorce separated your iconic duo once again.

• When Mike’s dad showed up on your doorstep a few days after the move, you tore him a new one for basically abandoning his sons. He set a box on your porch, Mike’s Tools...his Grandpa gave them to him when he was just a little kid and they were one of his most treasured possessions...they were forgotten in the chaos of the move...His dad thought you might visit him sometime...

• That’s what led to you hopping in your shitass El Camino and making the drive to Santa Carla. Lucy had given you their new address before they left...you knew she hoped that maybe you and Mike would get back together some day, but that just wasn’t in the cards. At the end of the day he was just too good, too normal, for you.

• Driving through Santa Carla, you can’t help but be drawn to the sheer...strangeness of it all. Looking at the people, you feel like you actually fit in here. You definitely plan on hanging around the town for a while.

• Mike isn’t home when you get to his Grandpa’s house, but his mom could not be happier to see you. It’s a bittersweet reunion for you; she had been more of a mother to you growing up than your own parents, but after breaking her son’s heart you just don’t feel like it‘s right for you to call her “Mom” like you used to. She has a million questions, and she even suggests you stay with them for a while...you politely decline.

• You didn’t tell her that sleeping in your beat-up old car was preferable to her hospitality, but it would just be too weird, with how recent your breakup was. You and Mike are still friends, but you think sleeping under the same roof might be weird for him

• You still want to see him though, so you decide to explore the town on foot for a while; maybe run into him. You’re wandering around when you hear a familiar voice coming from the open door of a comic book store.

• As soon as you walk in you see the unmistakably garish patterns of Sammy Emerson’s signature style and break into a wide smile. “Long time no see, huh kid?” Almost the second he sees you he practically knocks you over with a hug, backing away in embarrassment after a second of thought. You and Mike were already best friends by the time he was born, so Sam was almost as much your little brother as he is Mike’s.

• “Now What was that about Vampires?” You had overheard Sam and the Frog brothers when you walked into the store...Sam rolls his eyes, and the Frogs assail you with some insane story about how the town is overrun with vampires. Some imaginations these kids have.

• You bail out of there pretty quick in favor of wandering the boardwalk, seeing what Santa Carla had to offer...before you know it, the sun is starting to set

• Maybe going out alone in “The Murder Capital of The World” wasn’t your smartest decision, but you weren’t exactly known for your self preservation; that had always been Mike’s job...but he isn’t here now.

• You grimace as you notice a group of surfers take notice of you. You had wandered a bit aways from the main crowd, so you aren’t sure anyone would notice if things went south... “Hey Sweetie.”

• “Get Bent.” You sneer as they close in on you. “Awe well that’s not very polite,” the leader says, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “You should try being a little nicer.”

• You humor him with the sweetest smile you can muster as you stomp as hard as you can on his foot. He calls you a bitch and you flinch as his fist flies toward you.

• You open your eyes when the hit never comes, and are shocked to see that someone had caught the guy’s fist. You look up at him and your cheeks flush; when was the last time you saw a guy this handsome? “This guy bothering you, babe?” He asks as he squeezes the guy’s fist so tight you hear something pop. The guy falls to his knees and gasps in pain as his friends back away nervously. You smile wickedly. “Not anymore.”

• You watch the douchbags storm away with their wounded pride, shouting empty threats, only distracted when your Knight in Shining Tight-Pants tucks your hair affectionately behind your ear. “So what’s a pretty thing like you doing alone in a town like this?”

• You bite your lip, eyeing him appreciatively; now that you could get a good look at him you can tell he is definitely your type...and you hadn’t been with anyone since you broke things off with Michael. “Hoping to run into an old friend, but I haven’t seen him.”

• He grins, clearly appreciating your look. “That’s too bad, wanna make some new friends?” His eyes are fixed on you with a certain hunger, there’s a palpable danger to him; it excites you.

• You shift your stance flirtatiously, leaning into him ever so slightly. “That depends, are they all as cute as you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek with an amused grin. “Almost.”

• He takes your mischievous smirk as agreement, and throws an arm around you, leading you back to where his friends are gathered by their bikes. “This the chick you ditched us for?” The curly-headed blond asks, humor in his tone.

• “Well I for one am grateful for the timely rescue.” You grin. “How grateful?” The blond on the bike asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively; making you laugh. Your hero slaps at him playfully, and the favor is returned.

• Seemingly the leader of the group, the spiky-headed blond interrupts the roughhousing. “Paul, Marko, knock it off and let’s go.”

• Paul nods, climbing onto his bike and grinning at you seductively. “You wanna go for a ride, babe?”

• His smile is infectious, and his innuendo isn’t lost on you. Maybe it’s not your safest decision, but you climb on the back of his bike; earning a loud “HELL YES.” From him, and hooting and hollering from Marko.

• “Make sure you hold on tight babe, I’m about to take you on a ride you’ll never forget.” “Shut up and drive,” you tease as you wrap your arms tightly around his midsection.

• They all laugh deviously as they rev their motors to life, and you’re glad you’re holding on tight, nearly falling off when they take off from 0 to 100. “HOLY SHIT!” “What’s the matter sweetheart, can’t handle a little speed?”

• “That all you got?!” You ask, acting tough. It was a mistake though. “That all you got, Paul?” Marko asks, mocking you. “I dunno girl, I think that’s all he’s got.” The big brunette says, first time he’s spoken since you met the boys. “Fuck off, Dwayne!” Paul shouts. The leader gives his engine a rev, egging Paul on. You scream, forced to cling tightly to his back as his bike tears into the night. Marko pulls up next to you, mimicking you with a falsetto squeal.

• “Damn babe, already screaming for me,” Paul teases over the roar of his motor. You’d sass him back if you weren’t too busy burying your face in his back for dear life. You’d ridden on the back of Mike’s bike plenty of times before, but he was never this reckless. You’re as terrified as you are thrilled.

• By the time you start to get used to the speed, the boys are slowing down, and much to your surprise, they pull right up to Michael, who is standing with a girl you haven’t met. His eyes snap to you instantly and go wide with confusion, he hadn’t even been aware you’d come to town. “(Y/N)?”

• “This that friend you were looking for?” Paul asks. “Yeah, (Y/N), care to introduce us to Star’s new friend?” “David please.” You watch the exchange a bit uncomfortably, shifting on the bike, arms still around Paul. “Yeah...Hey Mike, I uh, your old man dropped your tools off at my place so I took them up to your mom.” Your chest feels impossibly tight. You aren’t jealous to see him with a new girl, but you had hoped that maybe he’d be a little happier to see you here...and him, the earring and that jacket...it doesn’t feel like Mike at all. Paul can feel you shrink against him.

• “Hope I’m not stepping on any toes here,” Paul says, giving your thigh an unsubtle squeeze; deliberately antagonizing Michael. You smile a bit awkwardly as Mike scratches the back of his head in discomfort. Star looks between the two of you, avoiding eye contact with David. “No, Mike and I used to date but...” “But it’s over,” Mike says, a bit too shortly, trying to cover the awkwardness with an unconvincing smile.

• David shoots him a not-all together-friendly look. “Well, you seem to be moving on well enough,” he says, gesturing to Star, who shrinks beside him. “So’s (Y/N),” Paul interjects, looking over his shoulder to smile at you. You smile back at him, despite the awkwardness.

• “We should go, Star,” David urges. Star hesitates, but climbs on the back of his bike. Michael looks mortified, and you can’t help but feel awful for him. You’re shocked when David nods his head toward Mike’s bike. “Come with us, Michael.”

• You know the look on Mike’s face; his first instinct is to back out, avoid trouble...but then he looks at you, and he looks at Star; like he’s worried what will happen to you if he doesn’t come along. “Mike,” You don’t have to come, you start to say, feeling Paul tense in your arms. “I’m coming.”

• “This is gonna be so sick,” Marko says with a practically manic grin, before Dwayne swats him upside the head. “Don’t be an ass.”

• “Don’t forget, (Y/N), hold on tight,” Paul says, side eyeing Michael a little less than subtly. Mike rolls his eyes and you shrug apologetically. This is awkward, for sure, but one way or another you want to see this through. Paul and the boys seem cool as hell, and at the very least seem like a good way to get back on the horse after getting over a long relationship.

• You squeeze Paul a little tighter, heart pounding against his back. He revs his engine. “You ready, babe?”

#Spotify #mypost #the lost boys #music tag #paul lost boys #I DID NOT EXPECT TO MAKE THIS SO LONG #I thought this would be a lot more condensed but I’m liking it a lot so I’m drawing stuff out more than originally intended #probably will do at least one more part #I LOVE Paul #and I want to have an emotional scene between Reader and Michael where Reader worries that his ‘new look’ is because she dumped him for-#-being too good of a guy #he’ll kind of joke with her like ‘No don’t worry my first love leaving me for not being a bad boy right before my parent’s divorce didn’t-#-fuck me up at all’#and then he’ll clarify that no; the breakup made him realize that he DID want to make his life more exciting and reinvent/explore himself-#-since he had to start life over in a new town #Mike is SLIGHTLY an ass in this chapter but I do want to Emphasize that he and reader were VERY close friends before they ever thought-#-about dating and are still friends now #It’s just a bit complicated now that they HAVE dated #Mike probably thought they were going to get married some day #so cut him some slack this is hard for him lol #the lost boys imagines

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bbyboybrock--archived · 4 years

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Shipped (Colby Brock Imagine)

Summary: *REQUEST* Omg your requests are open!! Can you do something about colby and reader dating in secret and she’s always hyping him up on everything and fans just think it’s cause they are best friends. But she posts a post wearing the love for hire letterman on accident and the fans connected it because Kat and Tara have it to so they figure out they are dating and go crazy (in a good way) for them 🥺❤️

Written: 2020

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: Major fluff, Swearing

Masterlist

I harassed Colby into letting me listen to their new music. Let’s just say, when you guys hear this, you’re going to be glad One Direction is on a break. Can’t help but stan L4H!! #numeber1fan

I press "send tweet" before plugging in my phone and taking a quick shower. When I get out of the shower I grab my phone and throw myself onto Colby’s bed. It’s our bed at this point. I spend more time at the trap house than I do my apartment, I might as well move in. I go and read the comments under my tweet. Most of them are good. Some fans want me to leak the boys' music, others are freaking out over mine and Colby’s friendship. Someone makes it a point to mention how cute Colby and I would be as a couple and linked an edit that they made. Someone commented that fans like them, the one that posted the edit, are the problem and the reason why Colby doesn’t have any friends who are girls. There is a whole fight going on under that comment.

I quickly try to defuse the situation between the fans before exiting twitter altogether. I take my towel off of my damp hair and walk back into Colby’s bathroom to detangle it. When I finish doing my hair I grab the first jacket of Colby’s that I see to get warm. Lucky for me, it’s his Love for Hire lettermen jacket. For whatever reason, this jacket is more comfortable than any hoodie I’ve stolen during our entire relationship, maybe it’s because it smells strongly like him. Or maybe it’s because I get to finally live out my high school dream of wearing my boyfriend’s lettermen. Either way, Colby knows that this is my jacket now and he’s going to have to fight me to the death for it back. I don’t know if it’s because I freshly showered and my hair is fluffy, or because my skin is thanking me for not putting makeup on it yet, but something is compelling me to take a selfie in Colby’s bathroom mirror.

I get up on to the counter and try to position myself comfortably. I take a few selfies, while carefully not exposing Colby’s messy counter. I do cute poses with peace signs and my tongue sticking out. I do serious “model” poses with hair looking like I’m in a photoshoot. I take a couple and post them on my Instagram story. I triple check each one before pressing send to make sure they end up on my close friends’ list and not my public story. That would be disastrous. I saw how people were acting in the comments of my tweet supporting Colby when a fan posted an edit wishing we were dating. I can’t imagine how his fan base would react if they knew we really are dating and have been for well over a year.

Well, I can imagine how they would react, I’ve been around Colby long enough to figure out how his fanbase functions. Most of his fans would be supportive. Of the majority, there would be roughly half who constantly would show their support over our relationship. The other half would keep quiet and try not to mention it directly so they don’t “jinx” it. No matter how open Colby is with his fans, there is still so much of his life that he has to keep private from the rest of his fans who wouldn’t be supportive of our relationship. The obsessive ones who think that Colby is a toy and belongs to only them. In all honesty, Colby and I probably would have been together longer if it wasn’t for them. We probably wouldn’t have been friends. There was a period in his life when he wouldn’t make any new female friends because of what his old friends had to go through. Because of that, Colby has always been protective of me.

Even though we’ve been friends since he moved to Los Angles, he only introduced me to his fandom two years ago. Even then, it wasn’t like, boom: “here’s a girl that I’m friends with, be nice!” Colby made sure I was properly acclimated to his side of internet stardom by having me appear in all of his other friends’ videos and photos first before a strand of my hair was placed in one of his videos. And then he said, “here’s a girl that I’m friends with, be nice!” Being a Youtuber myself, I have some experience with fandoms. But nothing could prepare me for his intense fans. For the first couple of months after Colby put me on his channel, I understood why Colby kept so many of girl friends in the dark or why some chose to stop being friends with Colby in general. It’s only a select few fans, but when there are so many comments of harassment and death threats it can get overwhelming.

Those comments died down after a while though. Mostly because I either mute certain words from my comments or I don’t read them. Colby and I try really hard to hide our relationship. If we’re in videos together, we don’t sit too close. We keep our hands to ourselves; even a simple hand on the shoulder can cause a frenzy. We only post our couple pictures on our actual secret Instagram accounts and close friends list. Our friends know not to post anything where we might look too much like a couple. We make it a point to bicker like siblings whenever we do work together. Hell, the reason I still have my apartment is to avoid people finding out we’re dating. If I have my own place, people just think I’m visiting the guys whenever I’m over. And it works, everyone just assumes that we’re really close friends.

“I’m back and I bring food!” Colby yells as he opens the door to the room. I plug my dying phone back into the charger before abandoning it in the bathroom to greet Colby.

“Oh thank God, I was beginning to think you were with your hoes. But then I ran into Sam, Jake, and Corey in the kitchen so I relaxed.” I give Colby a quick kiss and help him with the shopping bags in his hand. I set them on the bed and start going through them.

“I wish, but they were too busy for me. So I went and got us stuff for this weekend.” Colby sets the food down and helps me unload the bags.

“Oh that reminds me, we need to stop by my place after dinner so I can pack my things.” Te whole friend group is renting a log cabin in woods for Thursday to Monday morning for bonding and to get a few collars done. Colby went and got a few road trip snacks without me. Probably because I would get distracted at Target and we would never leave. It’s fine, he remembered to get my favorite snacks.

“Yeah, okay, I figured. We could have gone earlier but I had to let you sleep in after you spent all night watching tiktoks.” Colby walks over to the couch and starts to set up our lunch in front of the tv.

“To be fair, I’m not responsible for the time lost when I’m on the tok. Besides, I learned more dances to teach you!” I take off Colby’s jacket and set it at the foot of the bed before joining Colby on the couch.

“Of course you did. You know how much I love learning a new TikTok dance every day.” Colby jokes before kissing my forehead. He hands me my food and turns on Netflix.

A few minutes into our show, there’s a loud, rapid knock at the door. Annoyed, Colby paused the show and puts his food down.

“What?” Colby asks as he gets up to open the door. Sam stands on the other side, relieved. The last time Sam knocked on the door like that, Colby and I were busy… rearranging furniture.

“Oh Colby, you’re home. But I’m not here for you. Y/N, did you mean to post that on your story?” Colby moves aside to let Sam in.

“Haha, Sammy, I’m not falling for that one. Colby already tried that on me last week.” I go back to eating my food and ignore Sam.

“No, I’m being serious. Katrina said she kept trying to reach you but you’re not answering. Fans are freaking out on twitter.”

“Oh shit!” I quickly put down my food and grab my phone in the bathroom. There are miss calls and texts from Kat, Tara, and Devyn. I unlock my phone and open Instagram to check my story. Sure enough, I accidentally sent one of my selfies to my main story instead of my close friends. The selfie looks harmless enough, except I’m wearing Colby’s jacket and it’s very obvious that I’m in his bathroom. Jake moved in some of the cardboard Colby’s into Colby’s room and one of them faces the mirror, you can kind of see it in the selfie. Most people might think nothing of it, but earlier this week Kat and Tara posted pictures of them wearing Sam and Jake’s jackets. With that association alone, everyone is going to find out.

“I don’t get it, there’s only a selfie on here. Did you already delete it?” Colby yells from the bedroom. I slowly walk out of the bathroom with a confused look on his face.

“Please tell me you’re joking.” I open up my story and check how many people have seen it.

“What, I’m lost… Oh… Oh! Oh, fuck!” Colby finally gets it and does something on his phone.

“‘Oh fuck’ is right. So many people took screenshots that even if I deleted it now, it would be pointless.” I walk to the bed and throw myself facedown, like a teen in a movie after having a shitty day at school.

“And you guys are trending on Twitter,” Sam says. I almost forgot he was still here.

“Dude,” Colby warns.

“Not helpful, I get it. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” Sam leaves the room and I let out a scream as soon as I hear the door close. I feel the spot next to me sink as Colby sits down and starts rubbing my back.

“Hey, Y/N, these aren’t as bad as you think. I’m only seeing positive messaged. Look,” Colby gently pats my back to get my attention.

“Really? Let me see.” I sit up, sniffle, and peek at Colby’s phone as he reads.

“Are you crying?” Colby asks as he wipes my face.

“I immediately got overwhelmed. Let me read the tweets.” I take Colby’s phone scroll through the tweets. He’s right, they’re mostly positive. I haven’t seen a negative tweet yet. That’s the opposite of how I thought this would go. A few people are telling other fans to stop assuming, but even those are calm compared to the fight I saw earlier.

“See, I guess we were stressed all this time for no reason. We can do normal couple things like our friends and not go out of our way to hide everything.”

“That’ll be nice. It was getting exhausting. What do we do now? How do you want to approach this? Live stream? Youtube video?” I look at Colby and he has a big smile on his face.

“Right now, let’s just finish lunch. We can deal with this later. Now, I’m going to take this back. I don’t want you to start crying again.” Colby strokes my hair and kisses my forehead.

“I love you, Colbs,” I say softly.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

#colby brock #colby brock imagine #colby brock imagines #colby brock x reader #fluff imagine #traphouse #trap house #imagine #imagines #traphouse imagine #trap house imagine #sam and colby #sam and colby imagine #sam and colby imagines #colby x reader

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impala-dreamer · 4 years

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A New Kind Of Magic

An SPN/Magicians Crossover Fic

~Dean and Sam have some company in the Bunker but Margo and Eliot are not there for a friendly visit. Somehow, their quest keys got screwed up and sent them to another universe. Chances of getting them home seem rather nonexistent until Eliot suggests they combine their magic...and a few other things...~

Sam Winchester x Margo Hanson x Eliot Waugh, Dean Winchester, Roger Rabbit, Unnamed Bunny

3,445 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Spells and Sex and Magic and Bunnies. All the good stuff.

AN: This is my very first crossover fic, combining some of my favorite people. I haven't ever written for Margo or Eliot before, so this was a lot of fun. This challenge piece is for, and the art and title are by @idabbleincrazy. I really hope you all enjoy! EDIT: TUMBLR TOOK DOWN THE ORIGINAL POST BC THE ART WAS TOO SEXY, THE WORDS WERE TOO SEXY, THEY WERE JEALOUS OF THIS POST. HOPE YOU LIKE IT ;)

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

It wasn’t as if no one had ever crossed into their universe before, or them into another as it were, but no matter how many times it happened, Dean was never going to be used to it. Just like the time their grandfather had walked through time and into their closet door, the last week had been super weird. It wasn’t right. But it kept on happening.

Margo was hot, that’s all Dean knew. She was like this tiny firecracker of sass and sex that would blow his hand apart if he tried to touch her. And try he did. For the first two days, he used his best pick up lines on her, flashed his most flirtatious smiles, but she was having none of it. Margo barely even looked at Dean except to fire back a snide comment, and her rejection just egged him on.

Eliot was...an interesting fellow. Dean wasn’t quite sure what to make of him but he certainly did his fair share of blushing around him. Twice, Eliot commented on the pert roundness of Dean’s ass and twice, Dean had nearly giggled himself into a frenzy. His cheeks would never stop burning around the strange, curly haired man, but give in, he would not.

While Dean was busy trying to keep his pants on around the strangers, Sam was busy trying to help them get home. He spent most of his time in the Library, pouring over books and his laptop, reading until his eyes were so out of focus that they welled with exhausted tears. He was getting nowhere. An entire universe of knowledge at his fingertips, and there was not a speck of information about Fillory or quests or Magic Keys opening random doors into other universes. He was at a loss.

Closing his computer for a moment, Sam leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed at his eyes. A kaleidoscope of static and color swirled on his eyelids and he sighed, feeling that familiar tug of sleep.

Boots rushing down the short steps knocked Sleep’s hand away.

“Still nothing?”

Sam opened his eyes to find his brother standing over him, arms crossing over his jacket.

“Not a thing. You?” Sam knew the answer, but he wanted to poke Dean with a tiny bit of guilt for not helping.

“Nope.” Dean pursed his lips. “Well… There’s a case up near Spokane,” he said, tilting his head. “Four coeds found with their hearts ripped out. Gonna go check it out with Cas unless…”

Sam lifted his eyebrows, waiting for the rest of Dean’s sentence. “Unless what?”

“Unless you wanna come with? Get out of the Bunker for a bit? Get some fresh air?”

“Dean, we’re kinda in the middle of something.” He’d long ago stopped wondering how far he could roll his eyes. He knew.

“Yeah and you got it all under control.” After a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, Dean leaned down a bit, resting a hand on the back of the chair next to Sam. “Listen, I gotta get outta here. That chick is super hot and ignores me every other word and the tall guy is…” Dean sucked his teeth as he searched for the right word, but couldn’t find anything good. “I just need like five minutes alone. OK?”

Sam breathed out a laugh and nodded. “OK.”

“OK!” Dean smiled and stood up, spinning on his heel towards the door. “Check ya later, Sammy. Be good. Don’t burn the house down!”

“Leaving so soon?” Margo appeared at the top of the stairs, long hair down and shining, one of Mary’s old shirts hanging off her shoulders.

Dean startled but caught himself. “Just making a milk run, milady, nothing to worry about.” He gave her his best smile, but she lifted a brow and looked towards Sam.

“Thanks for the conditioner,” she said with a smile. “This universe is killing my hair. Never thought I could miss magic so much.” She pushed passed Dean and sank into the chair next to Sam.

“OK then,” Dean mumbled to himself. “Have fun playing beauty parlor!” He waved as he hopped up the steps and disappeared around the corner.

Sam huffed and pushed his tongue between his teeth. “Sorry about my brother. He’s…”

Margo shrugged him off and adjusted herself in the chair, half lounging, one leg slung over the arm facing Sam. “He’s harmless.”

Sam laughed. “He’s really not…”

“I could take him.”

Deep red lips pulled into a smirk and Sam’s heart raced.

“I bet you could.”

Steps scuffled on the top stair as Eliot swaggered into the archway. “What are we betting?” He lifted a flask to his lips and giggled around the cap. “Strip poker, I hope.” Margo gave him a stern look and he floated into the room, taking the seat across from Sam. “Sorry.”

Sam managed to clear the lump from his throat with a gentle laugh. “Uh, no,” he answered awkwardly. “We were just talking about my brother’s-”

“Tight little ass,” Margo grinned, winking at Sam who’s cheeks turned fifthteen shades of pink.

Eliot laughed and kicked back in his seat, crossing his long legs at the ankles beneath the table. “I could bounce a quarter off that ass,” he said in playful agreement. “Or bite it.”

Sam’s expression twisted into something reminiscent of a firefighter smelling a burnt corpse for the first time, but was soon soothed by Margo’s sexy laugh.

“El, that’s too much,” she teased, swatting her hand through the air at him. “You’re embarrassing my boy here.”

Sam took a long moment to collect himself, to pull his eyes away from her perfect lips. When he was ready, he sat up and fiddled with his laptop, trying to give his hands something to do.

“So any luck getting us home?” Eliot asked, voice turning from sex to business.

“Sadly, no.” Sam sighed heavily and shook his head. “I just can’t find anything that would work. Since your magic doesn’t work here, I can figure that our magic wouldn’t work to get you there. I can’t see that a door like this has ever been opened between our worlds before.”

“But you told us about that rift thing,” Margo reminded him, sitting up and unhooking her leg from the chair. “Maybe we could open one of those?”

A bit of hair fell into Sam’s eyes as he shook his head again. “No. Everything points to your universe being on a totally different line that ours.”

Eliot laughed in confusion. “What?”

“If you think of the universes as we’re speaking of them,” Sam explained, gesticulating with big hands as he broke it all down for Eliot and Margo. “You could imagine an infinite number of Earths on a string, all lined up, all the same yet not. Now this string would keep our universe together and theoretically, you could use the string to jump from one world to the other.”

“Right…” Margo’s dark eyes blinked wildly as Sam rambled on.

“From what I’ve read,” he went on, “it looks as if your Earth is on a seperate string.”

“So no jumping back and forth?” she asked, painted lips in a deep frown.

“No jumping,” Sam echoed in agreement.

“It’s like the bunnies,” Eliot mused, staring at Sam but looking passed him at a memory.

“Bunnies?” Sam’s voice cracked as he questioned the odd comment.

“In Fillory, we have bunnies that can talk and we can send them to Earth with messages, and visa versa.” Margo tried to explain it better than that, but it was pretty simple, actually. It was what it was.

“Ah.” Sam smiled but his curiosity was far from sated. “So tell me again about the keys?”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “We are on a quest and the keys are all...magical as fuck.”

Sam laughed. “Right. And...opening doors to different places is normal for you guys?”

“It is, but we’ve never been stuck like this...powerless and trapped underground.” Margo exhaled sadly.

“You know we’re not...holding you here,” Sam offered kindly.

She turned to face him and smiled. “Honey, even if I wasn’t hiding out in tunnels under a mountain of dirt- this is Kansas. There’s nothing to do. I might as well be trapped.”

“Oh, come on, Bambi,” Eliot cooed, sneaking in, “we can always find something to do.” His eyes turned to Sam. “Or someone.”

Sam swallowed so hard it nearly echoed. He couldn’t deny the heat in his cheeks when Eliot stared at him, or the tightness of his jeans when Margo’s hand brushed his leg accidentally, but he really didn’t have time for all that. There was research to do.

“We really should get back to work,” Sam insisted, clearing his throat for the upteenth time. His shoulders were so tight he thought they’d snap, but he had to keep his head screwed on right.

“Yeah,” Margo snipped, sarcastically waving a finger at Eliot. “No time for sex. We need to focus.”

Eliot laughed so hard the table shook, and he pulled the flask back out of his vest. He tipped his head back, going for the last swallow, and suddenly had an idea. Margo could see the lightbulb illuminate behind his eyes and she leaned close.

“Oh…”

“What is it?”

Sam hummed in question.

Eliot grinned. “Sex.”

“You need to calm your tits, sir,” Margo sassed, rolling her eyes and sitting back. “I want to go home.”

“No,” he laughed, leaning over the table. “Sex Magic.”

Margo’s face lit up and she gave a half smile. “Oh…”

Confused, Sam looked back and forth between them. “Sex Magic?”

“It’s a rarely used ritual that can produce a large amount of magical energy,” Margo explained. “But our magic isn’t working here so what the fuck, El?” She shot him a glare but Eliot was undeterred.

“No, listen. What if we combine our magic with some of Sam’s magic and see what happens.”

“Why does it have to be the fucking type?”

Eliot grinned. “Because if it doesn’t work, we’re not out anything but a couple condoms.”

Margo seemed satisfied with that and looked to Sam whose jaw was nearly on the ground.

“You in, big boy?” she asked, dropping her hand to his knee.

“I, uh… what...” Sam struggled with the new plan, but suddenly remembered something he’d read a few days ago that seemed pointless until now. “Actually… I think that could work…”

Deep in Rowena’s journals was a spell for conjuring up a large amount of magical power. Sam had skimmed it but ultimately given up the idea; he hadn’t felt ready to attempt something so powerful, but with two actual magicians by his side, Sam decided it was worth a shot.

The trio stood in Sam’s bedroom, lights dimmed, candles lit around the perimeter. It was romantic and warm, but Sam’s hands were shaking.

Eliot noticed the tremor and handed Sam his flask. “Take the edge off,” he whispered gently.

“Thanks,” Sam smiled quickly and took a sip. He winced at the strong but smooth Scotch as it ran down his throat. “My brother’s gonna bite your head off if he finds out you’re in his good stash.”

“I can take him,” Eliot winked.

Sam stared at him in awe. “You two are so…”

“Sexy?” Eliot offered.

“Confident,” Sam finished.

“Well, that too.”

“Can we get this going?” Margo interrupted, ripping the shirt off her head. Her hair fell down in perfect waves behind her back and she offered the men a nice view of her breasts. “I’m getting bored.”

The spell was impossibly simple. A bit of blood from each of them was mixed with elm ash and cloves, then rubbed over each breastbone, right above their hearts. A few words of tongue-twisting Latin and a cache of energy should begin to charge over the bowl of remaining potion.

Sam finished enchanting the mixture and held the brass bowl out to Eliot. "I guess...we can get started."

Eliot smirked and dipped two long fingers into the bowl, his dark eyes locked on Sam's. "I can't wait."

Margo shivered as Eliot smeared the tincture over her heart, gently rubbing the brownish mess into her smooth skin. She looked up at him and smiled slyly. "Love it when you massage me."

"Oh, hush," he grinned, pulling his hand away. "Your turn." He nodded towards Sam and Margo slipped away.

"Gonna need you to strip."

Sam’s stomach flipped. “Uh...what?” His tongue felt dead in his mouth as he blushed every ounce of body heat through his cheeks.

Margo gave him a smug smile and moved closer, her naked breasts bouncing slightly as she took each step. “Strip.” She popped the P and Sam’s heart skipped too many beats. “Gonna need to take those clothes off if we’re gonna do this.” Her dark eyes fell down the length of Sam’s body and he shivered.

“Yeah.” His laugh was awkward and adorable.

“Awe, he’s shy,” Eliot cooed, dropping his pants by the bed, already half hard and ready to go.

Sam chewed his lip as he pulled the old green flannel from his shoulders, held his breath as he tugged his undershirt up over his head, swallowed down a cannonball when his jeans hit the floor. He held his eyes shut, half expecting a teasing word from Eliot, but the room was oddly silent.

“Well, hot damn.”

Margo’s voice pulled Sam’s eyes open and he found both visitors staring at him with lust filled eyes. Their stares knocked away his nerves and Sam stepped forward, looking down at Margo and licking his lips.

“Go ahead,” he whispered; a wolfish grin growing upon his pink lips.

Her eyes blurred as a shudder traveled down her spine, but she snapped back quickly. “Let’s do this.”

Her touch was like fire on his chest, the potion even more so. Her fingers were so thin, so delicate, and Sam’s cock twitched as he imagined her tiny hands trying to hold on as he wrecked her against the wall.

By the time she was done, Sam was stiff and his head was swimming. Eliot came towards him, ready to be anointed. His chest was firm and warm beneath Sam’s fingers, and he lingered there, caught in the moment, marveling at how not strange it was anymore. There was something in the air, something in the spell that took away all the hesitation, flooding his brain with arousal and confidence.

Eliot smiled as Sam’s hand finally fell away. “You’re real pretty, Sam. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Hazel eyes glowed bright and his hand returned to Eliot’s chest, slowly rising to curl around the nape of his neck. “So are you.”

The same heat in the tincture was in their kiss; lips and breath on fire as Eliot kissed Sam back, pulling him closer with a firm hand on his ass. Hips pushing against hips, fingers tangling in hair. Sam’s ears were ringing by the time Eliot let him go and he whimpered under his breath, wanting the heat against his lips again.

Margo warmed him up, slipping easily between them, soft and hot, fitting herself in place. She reached up for Sam and pulled him down by some mysterious string tied around his throat, the same string that now lead him to the bed, pushed him down underneath her, held him captive as her lips traveled his body.

Eliot lit the candle by the bed and smoke filled the room. It was a mist, a thick fog of sweet perfume that rolled around and inside of them, stoked by tongues and fingers, fueled by the rolling of hips.

Sam breathed deeply as Margo lowered herself onto him, straddling his cock backwards as her lips fell to Eliot’s waiting cock. Sam cupped her ass as Eliot gathered up her hair, and they held her in place, each using the push and pull to keep her happy between them.

The louder she moaned, the brighter the mist glowed, swirling around them like something from a dream; a dorm room smoke out lit by neon, a fairy garden at midnight. Sam wasn’t sure anymore where their bodies began and ended, and after a while, he stopped trying to make sense of the moment. They lay in a heap on the bed; legs twisted together, lips never far from supple flesh, tongues always busy, hands kneading and probing.

As her pleasure crested, Margo let out a howl that cleared the fog, sending it straight up above their heads. It curled and spun into a rush of brightly colored wind that hovered over the key. It shot down inside the key as Sam came, growling loudly and digging his nails into Margo’s hips. The key glowed bright gold as Eliot followed, coating Sam’s thighs in hot white.

“Yo! Sam!” Dean turned the corner into the hall, limping a little on his left ankle. “Where you at?”

There was a loud rustle and then a slamming door. Sam emerged from his room, rushing towards Dean, his face bright pink, lips swollen, hair a mess. He fiddled with the buttons of his flannel, not realizing that, in his haste, he had miss matched the top set.

Dean eyed him suspiciously. “Everything OK?”

“What? Yeah.” Sam shook his head as if offended by such a question. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Green eyes fell downwards, zooming in on the crooked buttons. “You’re a mess. Look at you.”

Sam shrugged him off and pushed past him, walking purposefully towards the War Room as he rebuttoned his shirt. “It’s fine.”

Dean sniffed the air as Sam walked by and hobbled quickly behind him. “Did you fuck her?”

“What!” Sam skidded to a halt, pushing out a nervous laugh as he tried to ignore Dean’s darting eyes.

“You did, didn’t you! You fucked Margo!”

“That’s...just rude,” Sam snapped.

Dean gasped dramatically and covered his mouth. “You didn’t...did you fuck him too?”

Sam stood to full height, shocked. “You...what...I…”

Dean held his ground. “You stink like sex.”

“Shut up.”

“You did fuck them!”

“Just...stop it. OK?”

Dean shrugged but smirked as he turned away. “Fine.” Wincing, he shuffled to a chair by the glowing table and sat. “Where are they anyway? I’m due for a little rejection about now.”

Sam sat across the table and smiled. “They are gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yup. Found a spell in Rowena’s books, combined it with a little...magic from their world and…” He threw his hands up, empty, like the Bunker. “They’re home.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully and smiled. “Well. Good work.”

“Thank you.”

Silence fell for a bit but Dean’s head was buzzing. “What kind of magic was it?”

Sam picked at the cuff of his shirt. “It was...there...just...Some weird ritual of theirs.” He looked away, blushing at the thought and Dean caught every twitch of his face.

“You did fuck them!”

“Dude, enough, OK!”

“Fine.” Dean sat back in his seat and licked his lips smugly. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

There was a strange pressure in the air suddenly and a loud whooshing sound. Above the table, the air seemed to swirl into tiny hurricane, and the brothers looked up in awe as a small black hole opened up over their heads.

“What the fuck is that!” Dean yelped, tipping the chair back so far he almost fell.

Sam leaned in, squinting up into the darkness. “I don’t know!”

Beyond all comprehension and logic, from out of the mysterious black hole, dropped a fluffy gray rabbit. It fell to the table and took a step towards Sam.

“Thanks for the help,” it said.

Dean gawked. “Did that rabbit just talk to you?”

Sam nodded, just as shocked. “I believe it did.”

The air whirled again and another rabbit plopped down onto the table before the portal closed.

“And sex. Love, Eliot,” the second bunnie concluded.

Green eyes went huge and Dean’s smile was unstoppable. “You dirty boy! You did fuck them!”

Sam stammered. “It was a spell!”

Dean laughed, slapping the table gleefully with his hands. “You fucked ‘em! I knew it!”

Sam let him go on for a few minutes before clearing his throat. “You done?”

Dean giggled. “Yeah.”

The second rabbit wiggled its nose and hopped towards Dean who scooped him up gently. “Uh...what do we do with these?”

Sam shrugged and stood up. “No idea. But I already fixed one mess today. This one’s on you.”

Dean frowned but the bunny in his hands was too cute to ignore. As Sam walked away, he cuddled it close and whispered. “I’m gonna name you Roger.”

2020 Forever Tags: @67-chevy-baby @akhuna01 @amanda-teaches @autumnmoon @because-imma-lady-assface @blushingjared @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @classic-rock-angel @coopercharlie16 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansgirl215 @deans-baby-momma @deangirl7695 @deanwinchesterswitch @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth @eternal-elir @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @herbologystudent252 @heycasbutt @hornyandsmol @ilovefanfic86 @i-love-superhero @ilsawasanacrobat @imjustadrummer @ivvitm1109 @joseyrw @justagirlinafandomworld @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles @lessons-of-red @letsby @letsdisneythings @lonewolf471 @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @melbelle45 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @screechingartisancashbailiff @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @starboycas @stephaniecanfield96us @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @thebookisbtr @the-chocolate-moose @thehardcoveraddict @thevelvetseries @veevm @winchestersister55 @wendibird @winecatsandpizza @winterpoohbear

#spn fanfic #the magicians fanfic #sam x margo x eliot

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webcricket · 6 years

Text

An Angel’s Elegy

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 3216 (Act II)

A/N: Act II of a five-act series charting Castiel’s grief after losing the reader in childbirth. Despite her death, the reader remains an integral part of the story.

Summary: An anguishing journey about the intertwining of love and loss - adrift in a sea of grief and self-blame after losing his love, Castiel abandons hope. Leaving his newborn Nephilim daughter to the care of the Winchesters, he seeks absolution for your death at any cost. Will he ever find his way home?

Beta’d by: The Queen of Angst @willowing-love who has my everlasting gratitude for helping hone these words [and, I’m sure, a bottle or two of my tears stored on a shelf somewhere for her own personal amusement].

Miss an Act? Here’s the Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477590760/an-angels-elegy-masterlist

Act II

“Hey kiddo.” Dean pinches and massages the exposed skin of your sweat-slick neck where you sit, groaning and hunched, over a mug of tea at the bunker’s kitchen table. The piquant scent of ginger steeping in the liquid smacks his senses from where he stands and he surmises exactly where and how you spent your morning. “You still worshipping the porcelain goddess? Cause if you are, we gotta find you a new religion real fast.”

“It’s nothing,” you mumble into your sleeve. Breath reflectively reeking to fill your nostrils, stomach acid tickling your throat, you do your best to ride out a renewed wave of nausea.

“Nothing?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm,” you affirm.

Swinging a bowed leg over the seat, he settles onto the stool beside you. Perching an elbow on the tabletop, he props his chin up to objectively survey your miserable form. After the briefest of internal deliberations regarding the appropriateness of broaching the delicate topic, he dispels any qualms on the subject of the conceivably ‘no vacancy’ status of your womb and speaks, “Not to be blunt, but it’s been almost two weeks. Have you considered the notion that this may have nothing to do with the blue plate surf ‘n turf special you ate at Vinnie’s Diner? I mean, even bad shrimp isn’t this bad.”

You have considered the notion. At length. And you’ve settled firmly on denial as a plan of action – not that this strategy is necessarily working, but Castiel isn’t due back until tonight and you can’t begin to think about the scope of this properly without him. “No,” you lie. At least you’re sticking to your plan.

“Y/N-”

“It’s not possible.” You’re a hunter. He’s an angel. Both of you societal outliers in tenuous orbit around every impending apocalypse and new and improved big bad. It wouldn’t be right; no matter how wonderful the thought, or how many times you’ve dreamt of creating a family, it wouldn’t be right bringing a life into this messed up world where the path, moment to moment, is so uncertain – where everything could all come crashing down around you in the span of a single heartbeat.

“Oh honey, if the sounds Sammy and I are subjected to from behind closed doors when Castiel is around are any indication, I’d say it’s not only entirely possible but also very probable.” He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “I told the guy his angel blade doesn’t count as protection. The way you two go at it like rabbits. I’m surprised this didn’t come up sooner.” His diversional tactic doesn’t work except to demolish your hormonally fragile defenses.

You feel a prick of tears stinging your eyes. “Dean, I-,” your voice cracks, “I’m scared.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and draws you flush to his chest. Rubbing tactile reassurances into your back as you sob against him, he murmurs into your hair, “I know. I know, sweetheart. I got you though, you hear? And that stubborn pain in the ass angel? He loves you more than anything. We’re in this together. No matter what, okay?”

“Yeah?” you sniffle into his flannel shirt and peer up into his sincere greens.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you, Dean.” You peck a kiss to his cheek and exhale a relieved sigh.

Nose flaring when your morning sick breath fans his face, he grimaces. “Ugh, you smell worse than Sam does after a run!” He continues to grip you tight in spite of any repulsion for your stinky state, contemplatively musing, “Like a ginger tea porta potty.” Reaching up to collect the wetness on your cheeks with a thumb, he grins wide when you smile. “There’s my girl.”

Clutching his hand and pressing your face into his palm, you manage a hoarse giggle.

“Duma, you must allow me passage.”

The shrill laughter of Castiel’s kin rings out into the air, piercing the nighttime quietude of the playground. “Castiel,” his fellow angel sneers, “it appears you’ve developed quite the sense of humor squandering your divine purpose amongst humanity all these years.”

“I see no humor in my request.” His mouth tenses in an anxious line, tongue worrying the pale pink shell of his lower lip. He bows his head in a demonstration of contrition. Heaven’s doorstep is the last place he wants to be, and at the same time, the very place his fractured heart compels him to be.

“Really?” His sister’s unrestrained delight gleams in the grin of her vessel – lips peeled taut over her teeth in righteous ridicule. “Because it sounded to me like you just demanded safe passage into Heaven.”

“I did.” He lifts his chin and squares his shoulders, muscles stiffening in response to her disdain. Flexing his fingers into fists, he feels the bolstering weight of the angel blade tucked up his coat sleeve; a reflexive defiance narrows his gaze.

One angel will not block his path. He might bend her will; if not with persuasion, then by force. But she is not alone; two more angels maintain a wary distance when they step out from the shadows behind him.

Appearance dour, Duma’s eyes spark dangerous and dark in the dim glow of lamplight illuminating the park. “The same Heaven you decimated not so long ago?” she bristles, emboldened by the presence of her brethren. “The one you selfishly betray to serve those mortal stains, the Winchesters?”

“Yes, sister,” he growls, knowing he will gain nothing by denying the truth of the past, “the same Heaven.” The same Heaven your soul inhabits. The same Heaven he must visit at any cost. He stands before his kin in ruin, fatalistic in his desire to look upon your soul once more. Already defeated, he has nothing more to lose.

“Oh, but brother,” she tisks, intake of breath a prolonged hiss. Revolving her back to him, flouting her superior authority given the circumstance, she muses, “It isn’t the same Heaven you remember at all.”

“Duma, please.” He pitches forward, halted by a firm grip seizing his shoulder and the heel of a boot simultaneously striking his calf and bending him to one knee. White hot celestial metal threatens to split the prickly flesh of his neck if he struggles.

She glares sideways, arms crossed, coolly regarding him, judging, “You’re no angel, Castiel. Not anymore. Some of us question whether you ever were at all. There’s nothing for you in Heaven.”

But there is someone. Your name resounds in the thunderous broken beat of his heart; he feels it pulse the length of his limbs, choking his gullet as it climbs to throb at his temples and wetly pool in his eyes. He clamps his jaw to preclude himself from crying it out; the iron tang of blood coats his bitten tongue.

An astute angel, she reads his reticent reaction as a confession to the contrary and reconsiders her assertion, “Or perhaps there is?”

Gulping guilt, unshaven skin scraping on the celestially forged lethal edge of the weapon held to his throat, his eyes cast downward, instinctive in their avoidance of the painful truth.

She skulks toward him. Threading her fingers into his hair, grabbing a fistful of loose curls by the roots, she yanks his head backward, forcing him to meet her penetrating gaze. “Maybe you seek the soul of that woman? The hunter. The one you are so fond of.”

His vessel strains against the torrent of grief erupting from within at her mention of you; a reflection of firelight simmers in his irises as the vision of your lifeless body consumed by flame blazes in his mind. The raw emotion of anguish rises unbidden and uncontainable to shudder his vessel.

Holding him fast, shrewdly perceptive of his surfacing pain and vulnerability, she stokes the smoldering remnants of the seraph’s heart. “I heard the rumors. I didn’t believe them. Not until now.” Inclining so near that the heat of her breath laps at his skin as she speaks, the question glides innocent yet incisive off her tongue. “Tell me, Castiel. What happened to her?”

A flicker of anguish contorts his fascia. I happened! his mind screams out. His jaw quivers mutely. A muffled mournful mewling abrades his ears. The pungent odor of smoke and ash swirls to suffocate all else. Devastated by the rush of remembrance, the answer weakens his stoic resolve. He staggers under the weight, braced upright by the angel at his back.

Duma scrapes her nails into his scalp to compel an answer.

“I-I failed her,” he admits, telling her what she wants to hear and what he knows by the agony afflicting his heart to be true. Sadness dampens the dusky circles marring his melancholy countenance.

She snarls, “In the end you fail us all. It’s what you do.” Shoving him roughly, deeming him nonthreatening in his present state, she snaps her head, gesturing for her comrades to release him and make for the gate.

Backing off, giving him a wide berth as he fights to stand and stay balanced, the two angels circle around to the Enochian spell-etched sandbox and vanish in a spectacle of swirling purple light.

Trembling, Cas reaches out to catch Duma’s wrist as she turns to join them. “Allow me to speak to her one last time; then do what you will to me as penance for my transgressions. Imprison me, destroy me, I will atone for the wrongs I have reigned upon her and Heaven.”

A sadistic smirk twists her mouth. “Beg,” she simpers.

Expression grey and hollow, any vestiges of pride that remain disintegrating in the submission of the act, he collapses to his knees. Hands sinking into the gritty earth for support, as though he needs the handhold to keep from falling further than he already has from grace, he rocks backward. Sat suppliant on his heels, he turns up his sullied palms in surrender and peers up at her, tone somnolent. “Have mercy, sister,” he beseeches. “I’m begging you.”

Harshness softening, she extends a light touch to smooth his disheveled locks. “Look at you, Castiel. How far you’ve fallen. How fouled by humanity. How exhausted you must be by this relentless battle to yield yourself over to Heaven’s mercy.”

Eyes shimmering and wet, he feebly nods. “Please, please take me with you. Take me…home.” To her, he swallows the rest of the words that rise up, take me home, to her.

Lowering her slender frame to peer into his pallid features, a tender empathetic smile affects Duma’s face as she strokes his cheek with her fingertips. “You’ve suffered much, haven’t you, dear brother? An angel is not made to know this pain of love and loss.”

“I feel-” he professes, hesitating. “I-I feel. Father forgive me.”

“Yes, perhaps,” she relents, cupping his cheek, thumb smearing the brine of tears salting his skin. “Perhaps compassion is the correct course. Perhaps it is what Father would do.”

A shaky sigh of relief shivers his frame. Eyelids fluttering shut, your smiling mien manifests before him and can almost hear the laughter lighting up your eyes. It’s the summer day in the small park near the bunker you first said those three little words to him. The day he learned what the longing in his own heart meant. The day that forever altered the course of your lives. You materialize so near in his mind he might reach out to straighten the crooked halo of daisies ringing your wind-blown hair. Imagining you thus, he relaxes into Duma’s calming caress.

But her gentleness is false and fleeting, meant only to further wound him. “Perhaps not,” she spits, shattering his dream. Clawing at his jaw, streaks of crimson well in the wake of her nails. “This-”

Gaping in horror, the bleakness of the vacant park filling his vision, he recoils and topples backward onto the ground.

“This is your punishment!” She kicks the dirt and motions broadly around them. “To exist in exile here. Haunted by your failures. The love you feel for this woman, the pain too – it is forbidden. You break our most sacred oath, and for this indiscretion alone you deserve death. Be grateful I stay my hand, brother.” Sauntering backward into the whirling gate, she sentences him as it engulfs her, “There is your mercy, Castiel.”

Rolling to one side, he shields himself from the whoosh of leaf litter and sand smattering his fallen form as the gate seals behind her and any traces of the sigil granting access to Heaven are eradicated in her wake. Silence veils the park. Flattening his back to the ground, blues hazily filter beyond the vast black atmosphere of night. Trained toward the heaven denied him, he blinks numbly, the sting of sand and tears naught compared to the great void aching in his heart.

“I’m pregnant.”

An emotion verging on panic churns in the angel’s aspect. Color draining from his cheeks, his gaze falls from your nervous but elated smile to where your palm rests over your belly. It’s then he allows the foreboding niggling at his angelic senses this past month that something about you seemed different the acknowledgement it’s been wanting all along. “No,” he states, as if denying the life he kindled inside of you – the life consuming you – would somehow change the truth of it. No, he thinks, even as the rapid beating of your daughter’s heart assails his ears. No.

“It’s true.” Your smile falters at his disquiet reaction. You exhibit a handful of positive pregnancy tests as proof. “Dean picked them up for me today. He had a hunch. You know Dean and his hunches, right? I wanted to wait until you came home, but-,” you ramble, filling the uncomfortable vacuum between you with whatever words sprout upon your tongue, “-I suppose patience isn’t one of my virtues, is it? I’ve had morning sickness since just after you left to meet up with Jack.” In nervy compulsion, your fingertips dance across his chest and fret at the buttons of his shirt. “Cas?”

Inside, he’s crumbling. The creation of a Nephilim requires inconceivable power. Power on par with the likes of the devil and the archangels or God himself; a power Castiel did not believe he possessed as a simple seraph. He did not understand the enormous power contained in the sentiment of love – nor did he comprehend the pure and untapped potential of this love when wielded by an angel flawed by too much heart. He was careless at the cost of your life. He outstretches an unsteady hand to touch your stomach.

You catch him halfway, squeezing your fingers over his own and lifting the hem of your shirt to flatten his broad palm into the softness of your flesh.

Eyelids drooping, all he can see is the replayed memory of his tentative hand resting on Kelly’s bulging belly. Though not his progeny, Jack spoke to him then. Gave him reassurances. Settled his trepidation. Forged an unbreakable bond. Yet this child within you, his child, is silent.

For all their connection and her power, she is unable to traverse the expanding emptiness shrouding her father’s heart at the thought of losing you. She cannot reassure him this is a beginning, not an end. She cannot show him the radiant gladness and love shining upon her from within your soul. She wills you to speak for her, to give him the comfort she cannot.

Your lips part, voice quavering, “Cas, everything…everything’s going to be okay.”

Lashes heavy, his focus resolves on your anxiously searching eyes. In them he sees bravery; Kelly’s bravery, too, shone much like yours. And now she’s gone, because for all his power, love, and goodness, Jack could not save his mother from her death upon bringing him into this world and neither could the angel. It will be no different for you.

“Angel, say something. Please.”

“It’s a girl,” he says, deflecting his unquelled surge of terror with a statement meant to distract you.

“A girl!” you squeal. Joy crinkling at your nose and eyes, you leap to throw your arms around him. “Oh, my angel-”

He burrows his chin into the delicate skin of your neck. Yes, your angel. Always. As you are his; but no matter how close he holds you now, he feels you slipping away.

Gazing out the dingy windshield toward the playground and Heaven’s bolted entrance, Castiel ignores the insistent rhythmic buzz of the cell phone vibrating on the passenger seat cushion of his truck. The sky above brightens in the violet-orange hue characteristic of the dawn. He scarcely perceives this day’s light; his mind is anchored in another sunrise – your final one.

He can feel the interlocking of your fingers through his own, filling the gaps, giving him something to hold on to. He remembers the weight of your sleep-mussed head lolling to his shoulder, the warmth of your burgeoning belly and body nestled to his torso as you huddle on the roof of the bunker on a whim awaiting daybreak. He doesn’t know yet it will be your last day together.

“You ever wonder what a sunrise is, angel?”

He shakes his head as he did then, a compact smile shaping his mouth. It’s not because he hasn’t thought about it or that he dismisses the notion as trivial; rather, he delights in hearing your meditations on such topics.

“I think it’s a promise fulfilled. A beginning born from darkness. The light is hope.”

Of the opinion the bulk of his Father’s creations are rarely so complex, the angel wordlessly reasons maybe the cycle represents nothing, it being merely the revolution of a planet around a star. A star that one day will blister and die and consume the life it once nurtured. A means only to an inevitable end. Considering the optimistic smile aglow on your face, he humors you, says nothing, and simply nods.

“No matter what happens, the sun always rises. Promise me you’ll remember that, angel.”

You don’t say the words when I’m gone; he hears them nonetheless.

“Castiel, please promise me…”

A jolt judders his vessel at the vividness of the recollection. His fingers contract around the thin air. He glances to the space beside him. Growling and grabbing at the nettling cell, three letters pop up on the screen – Sam. He isn’t sure why he keeps the device turned on anymore. Or for that matter, charged. Or why he even bothers to keep it at all aside from habit. He sends the call to voicemail where Sam will be unable to leave a message in a mailbox already teeming with Dean’s collected alternating raving rants and plaintive pleas for Cas to do the right thing.

The angel briefly ponders stuffing the phone out of sight in the glovebox. Leaning across the seat to unlatch the cover, he decides instead to toss it out the open window. He no longer knows what the right thing to do is and doesn’t need to be reminded of this fact – he lost sight of this and everything else when he lost you. The only thing, right or wrong, he can concentrate on is the objective of seeing you again. If Heaven won’t help him he’ll need a back door and, cranking the key in the ignition, he knows precisely where to go knocking.

Continue reading Act III:

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