“Potter, I pray that this owl finds you. I know that I am in no position to ask anything of you as it is I that owes you a life debt, but I am in desperate need of help. Please help me, I beg of you
D. Malfoy”
Harry looked down at the scrap of parchment that looked as if it had been torn from a brown paper bag or the wrapping from around a parcel, then looked over to the owl that had delivered it with a demand of payment upon delivery. It was obviously a Public Post Owl and seemed rather impatient as Harry had yet to pay it.
“Give me a second to write out a reply,” he said to the bird as he pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and scribbled down his address, then cast a spell to ensure that it couldn’t be read by anyone other than who it was intended for. “Deliver this to the sender,” he instructed as he slipped more than enough coins to cover the cost into the pouch the owl wore.
The bird made a sound of acknowledgement and took wing, gliding out of the window it had entered in.
Harry stood and watched the bird disappear into the darkness of a frozen mid December evening.
Read more on A03 please. It's too large to put here on Tumblr without breaking it up.
I’m spoiling you guys. But this chapter practically wrote itself.
Read on AO3 (all other chapters can be found there)
The Stuff of Legends [5/?]
They hailed another cab once they reached street level. The forty-five minute drive from central London to Chiswick was pretty uneventful, although Rose had to confiscate the sonic again when the Doctor tried to scan the driver just to make sure he was one hundred percent positive the cabbie wasn’t under the Robo-Santa’s influence.
“You sure he’s an adult. His kind doesn’t just hatch from an egg all full grown do they?” Donna quipped, looking over at Rose. Rose laughed at the Doctor’s scandalised face, imagining him as a little boy with oversized ears and wide blue eyes. It then occurred to her that she didn’t know what his past regenerations looked like, except for the one she knew and what she saw from a photo a photo Sarah Jane shared with her. It was back when the Doctor had wild curly brown hair and the longest scarf she’d ever seen in her life.
The Doctor never really spoke in detail about what his people were like. Especially not like what they were like as children. She remembered Jack once made a joke about how he may have come from something called a loom, but the Doctor shut that line of conversation down quickly. She never got details other than he was considered a ‘High Born’. Whatever that meant.
And didn’t he once say he had been a father? He never did elaborate on that. Just when Rose thought she had the Doctor all figured out he’d drop just the tiniest detail that just drove her imagination insane.
The cab turned into the carpark of a posh looking hotel. Rose spotted a sign with Donna and Lance’s name printed in fancy looking script with an arrow pointing the way towards the reception. The Doctor fumbled with the money, probably giving the cabbie enough money to pay for a nice vacation somewhere tropical and telling him to keep the change before they all piled out.
Rose could hear a booming baseline coming from somewhere inside the building. She looked around to see if there were any other signs leading to another reception, but didn’t get far in her search before she felt the increasingly familiar tingle running up her arm when the Doctor scooped her hand up and pulled her along after Donna.
Donna seemed to be on a warpath. She stomped her way through the lobby, following the sounds of Noddy belting out the first lines of Merry Christmas Everybody when she suddenly stopped after passing through a set of double doors. The music suddenly stopped, and the Doctor and Rose jogged the rest of the way into the room after her. About seventy people dressed in formal attire had all turned to look at Donna, all with that wide eyed, deer caught in the headlights, look on their faces.
“You had the reception without me?” Donna shouted into the room. Rose felt Donna had every right to be angry at this situation. This was the lowest thing anyone could do to her. And this was her family?
“Donna, what happened to you?” Going off of Donna’s description, Rose assumed this handsome looking dark-skinned man was Lance. Donna’s fiancé, whom had appeared to be dancing pretty close with a shifty looking blonde woman.
“You had the reception without me?” Rose could hear the wobble in Donna’s voice.
“Hello, I’m the Doctor and this is Rose.” She elbowed him hard in the ribs and mouthed ‘not the time’ at him when he pouted at her. No one else in the room seemed to care about his friendly sounding greeting anyway. Donna turned towards them.
“They had the reception without me.” She explained. Poor Donna. She was so in shock she was stuck in an loop.
“Yes, I gathered.” The Doctor muttered under his breath as he rubbed at his eye with his free hand.
“Well it was all paid for. Why not?” The shifty looking blonde spoke up. Oh, Rose already had a distinct dislike for this bint. Why Donna would invite someone like her was beyond her.
“Thank you, Nerys.” Donna spat. Oh, so this was that cow Donna thought was messing with her earlier. And to think Donna thought her and the Doctor were in league with the likes of her. It made her skin crawl.
An older woman, who was dressed more formally than all the others pushed through the crowd of party goers. The mother of the bride perhaps? Maybe she should introduce her to her own mum so she could get a lesson on proper behaviour along with a few smacks upside the head.
“Well, what were we supposed to do? I got your silly little message in the end. I’m on Earth? Very funny. What the hell happened? How did you do it? I mean, what’s the trick because I’d like to know?” This line of questions led to even more questions. And soon it seemed like everyone was talking over each other, shouting to get Donna’s attention.
The Doctor took a defensive stance in front of Rose. Most likely thinking the noise was doing her head in again. Sure, it was loud, but she felt perfectly fine. Yes, she gave him a scare earlier and she was truly terrified herself, but that all passed thanks to the TARDIS. In fact, she felt better than she had in a long time, her mind feeling more focused and she had loads of energy despite skipping breakfast. She pushed on his arm to try and get him to back off. If she could stare a Dalek down it’s eyestalk, she could certainly deal with this irate crowd. Besides, she’d worked a couple Christmas Eves at Hennrick’s before and knew how to deal with a mob. But he didn’t budge. It was like his trainers were magnetized to the floor.
The voices grew louder and louder, and the crowd was slowly closing in on Donna.
Donna let out a loud sob that cracked Rose’s heart in two. She’d never seen anyone so mistreated by her family. The loud questions suddenly stopped, replaced by sounds of concern towards Donna. Lance stepped up to her and gathered her in a big hug as the crowd started to applaud. Donna maneuvered them so only Rose and the Doctor could see her face clearly. She was still loudly sobbing, but there were no tears. She winked at them.
Rose’s jaw dropped at her absolute cheekiness, and she felt an overwhelming sense of amusement just radiating off the Doctor. For a moment, she felt like she could see into his mind. He was impressed by Donna, and how she could play a room like that. He felt that Jackie was one hundred times the mother this woman was. He felt…
She felt him stiffen beside her, and he dropped her hand. There was a tiny spark up her arm, but not as intense as it was this morning when he initially ran from him. She couldn’t feel him anymore.
That’s when she knew it wasn’t her imagination. He didn’t purposefully initiate the connection like he did before to put a temporary stop to her headache. She had reached out to him. A connection to the TARDIS she could understand. But to him?
The Doctor looked down at her. She could tell he wanted to say something to her, but there were too many people around.
The music had started up again. Everyone, including Donna, were paring up and they were continuing to dance, making this the proper reception it was meant to be.
The Doctor nodded his head towards the door they came in by, turned and started walking with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. She could see the tense lines of his body and only began following him when the tails of the overcoat she returned to him earlier disappeared around the corner.
She found him standing outside, kicking at a piece of loose gravel with the toe of his shoe. His back was still to her, and he was being uncharacteristically quiet. Usually Rose would make some kind of a joke to lighten the mood. But she was coming up short.
“So, you flew the TARDIS today.” The Doctor’s voice was light and conversational. He turned part way towards her. She could only see his profile, but it was enough to see the guarded look in his eyes.
“Yeah, She… She showed me how. I can’t explain it. Just one moment, I only knew what you had taught me. Then I… I understood it all!” Why did she feel all defensive all of a sudden. She thought he’d be proud of her.
“Did I ever tell you that I failed that part of my Academy training? That I only gained the rank of Time Lord by the skin of my teeth because of it?” He shook his head, “For someone like you to…”
“What? You jealous?” Rose snapped at him. The Doctor gaped at her looking like she just slapped him across the face. Then his eyes softened. He took a small step closer.
“It was the most impressive thing I’ve ever seen in my life. And believe me: I’ve seen a lot. But… it’s also the most impossible thing.” He let out a breathy laugh. “I suppose I shouldn’t let that surprise me anymore. You, Rose Tyler, eat impossible for breakfast. And that’s why I…” He clicked his mouth shut.
Silence fell over them for what felt like an eternity. His eyes had dropped back to the ground and he was again kicking at the gravel.
“I heard you talking to mum earlier.” His eyes snapped back up to hers and she swallowed down her sudden irrational nervousness. “About us. Sounded pretty poetic, and I don’t doubt you meant it. But I don’t believe for a second that your people don’t have a word for what you feel for me. Your explanation sure as hell sounded like the absolute definition of love to me. I just think you’re afraid to say it because of that goddamn ‘Curse of the Time Lords’ bollocks you banged on about! Why are you so afraid to tell me!?!” Her heart was hammering in her chest. She almost couldn’t believe she was shouting at him over this. What did it matter? She certainly did know how he felt. She couldn’t get their kiss from the night before out of her head. She wanted nothing more for it to happen again. He was the only person she wanted to share that kind of moment with ever again. Still, his unwillingness to say it was starting to drive her spare!
“Because I don’t deserve you!” He screamed back. By the time his voice echoed off the nearby wall, his furious expression had crumbled. In that moment, Rose didn’t see him as the ancient being he was, but as a man who was so terribly ashamed of himself. She reached out a hand towards him, but he flinched away. “When your mind reached out towards mine… Rose you have no idea what that’s like. Your mind, it’s… it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve given up ever thinking I’d feel anything like that again since…” He grew silent again. Rose wrung her hands out in front of her.
“The Time War?” She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw as he nodded.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “But it’s impossible for a human to forge those kinds of connections. Your minds simply aren’t wired up like that! It’s just a biological fact. The only reason you had any kind of link with the TARDIS before was because you looked into Her heart and you became the Bad Wolf. That power was too much for you, and you nearly died.”
“I remember.” Rose said softly. “It came back to me in bits and pieces, I’m not even sure I remember everything.” She felt a blush racing up her neck. “You kissed me then.” A hint of a smile crossed the Doctor’s face.
“I couldn't resist.”
“My mind isn’t burning now. I feel better than ever. And as impossible as what happened to me is… Doctor, I… I don’t want you to feel lonely anymore.”
“I don’t feel lonely with you around. I’ve learned to live with the silence in my mind, because you’ve occupied my hearts. That’s what’s more important to me.”
“But you still don’t think you deserve to be loved?” Rose felt hot tears stinging at her eyes. “I love you, Doctor. So much. You’re not the monster you think you are. You did what you had to do for the greater good. It kills me to think about what you’ve lost. I just want to help you live again. You deserve all the love you can get. And I’ll keep giving it to you for as long as I’m able to.”
“Rose.” He breathed her name like a prayer, and that was all the warning she got before she found herself in his arms, his lips on hers in a searing kiss.
“ My Rose. ” His voice was clear in her head again as his mouth started to lay claim to hers, his tongue mapping every nook and cranny it could find leaving no corner untouched. “ I love you. I’m sorry I’ve been such a coward about actually telling you. Some things need to be said.” Rose felt part of her consciousness reaching out to him again, but he once again closed himself off slightly. He gentled the kiss slightly, giving her room to breathe now and then and allowed her the same liberties he just took. And oh yes, she took full advantage. “ Don’t think I don’t want this. ” She felt his mind caress hers in a way she hadn’t felt before and she shivered from the sheer bliss it brought her. His hands tightened around her waist, keeping her anchored to him. “I just want to find out what’s causing you to be able to do this first. ”
He broke both their kiss and their psychic connection as gently as possible.
“As soon as we’re done figuring out this mystery with Donna, we’ll go back to the TARDIS. I want to run a couple tests just to make one hundred percent sure you’re alright. Then we can go from there.” Rose nodded in agreement.
“Deal.” She leaned up and pressed a light kiss to his jaw. They stood in each other’s arms in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of music and laughter drifting out through the door. “But first, I want one dance with you.” The Doctor looked uncomfortable again.
“I… I don’t think so.”
“What, you don’t have the moves anymore?” She teased. He narrowed his eyes at her.
“I certainly do!”
“Then prove it!” She smiled up at him. He squared his shoulders, and sniffed haughtily.
“Fine. One dance.” Rose knew his complaining was all for show. She had the feeling he’d stand on his head if she asked him the right way, he wasn’t one to deny her anything. They walked hand in hand back into the ballroom. An upbeat pop song was playing, and Rose wasted no time in shimmying and bouncing to the beat. It wasn’t a song she was too familiar with, Donna’s taste in music seemed to be different than hers, so she didn’t realise the song was about to end. The lively beat was then replaced by a much slower love song. A genuine smile crossed the Doctor’s face as he tugged Rose into his arms. He held her close as they swayed together to the music.
The room was crowded, but Rose couldn’t help but feel they were the only two people there.
“We got a groovy kind of love.” He sang along with the lyrics, then wrinkled his nose. “Groovy? Eugh. Not saying that one again.” Rose laughed and rested her head in the crook of his neck. Despite his distaste for that one word in the song, he kept dancing.
“Our love isn’t groovy ?” She overemphasized the word, and she felt his laughter rumbling through his chest. She sighed contentedly when he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.
“Nah. But it certainly is one of a kind. And I wouldn’t trade it for all the riches in the universe.”
“Do you always get so soppy at weddings, Doctor?” Rose giggled.
“Well, this isn’t technically a wedding. And even if it was… maybe. Just a little bit. Don’t tell anyone.” He stage whispered that last bit. Rose laughed again, and they continued swaying to the music.
The song inevitably ended, and another love song came on, possibly to give everyone else a breather from all the more energetic dances. She expected the Doctor to stop after one song and continue to try and figure out Donna’s mystery, but he just held her a bit tighter and kept dancing.
“You said one dance, not one song.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Next time, be more specific.”
So I accidentally Avengers fic. Whoops. Set after the battle.
After the 'incident', there was the shawarma that Tony insisted they all ate. All except Loki, who refused to be handcuffed to Thor's chair and was taken away by Nick Fury for a while - nobody has been able to get to the bottom of what happened yet, but Loki didn't speak for hours afterwards. Clint suspects Justin Bieber was involved.
Clint has never been much of a drinker, partly because of his training, partly just because, so he remembers most of the night. Tasha does too, but then she's Russian and he knows for a fact that she's been drinking since she was about 14 - she could probably drink half the club under the table and still shoot an apple off his head from ten metres away.
Watching everyone else... well it's entertaining, to say the least.
Thor does alright until someone decides Absinthe is a good idea. A dozen shots later, some blonde is wearing his helmet and he's blearily leading a group of about twenty people in some Asgardian song that seems to involve a lot of innuendos about milkmaids and farmers' daughters. He passes out about an hour later. It takes four operatives to remove him from the club and get him into a S.H.I.E.L.D. car.
Tony is, of course, drunk within about half an hour. So yeah, he died earlier that day and his tolerance isn't up to scratch, but Clint has suspicions that Tony just likes to go hard and fast regardless. He doesn't seem like the type to be patient. Still, it's pretty funny watching him staggering around and plying Steve with drinks more and more frequently as the evening goes on.
Steve fends of Tony's advances pretty well for the first couple of hours, but after he drinks a couple of beers - which are apparently much improved from the 1940s - and after the fifth time a scantily clad, perma-tanned girl hits on him, he stops turning down the drinks Tony gives him. Apparently jaegerbombs weren't really around in the forties, because he's dancing after two and singing after four. He gets a lift back from Tony and Bruce - or rather, he gets a lift back with them, driven by one of Tony's many, many entourage. Tony's practically unable to stand by that point, so it's a relief to know that he's not driving.
Bruce is the only one to stop after a single beer. Clint suspects this has something to do with the whole Hulk thing and the fact that laying waste to Tony's club - and probably hurting or killing people in the process - isn't the scientist's idea of a good night. The irony is that someone gives him a joint instead of a cigarette without him realising, so Bruce spends the entire night high as a kite, laughing at everything like he's a preschool kid. It's actually kind of endearing.
They're all gone by 3am, then it's just him and Tasha, just how it always is. How it should be.
Of course she manages to get him to dance - if anyone can make him do anything, it's her. And it's easy with Tasha, because they're used to being around each other; being together. They've been on enough missions and used enough covers by now that there's nothing to be embarrassed about, or to hide. So yeah, he dances with her until the club closes and the sun's starting to peek over the horizon. Then they hail a cab and head to the nearest hotel, both crashing on the king-size bed and asleep within minutes.
----
He regrets the dancing a couple of hours later when he's woken up by a very pointy finger jabbing him in the side. Nick Fury is standing beside the bed and regarding him with a look that somehow manages to encompass unimpressed, surprised and confused all in one.
'G'mornin sir', he manages, rubbing a hand over his face and trying not to move too much because his head really hurts. And so does the rest of him. Perhaps clubbing hadn't been a good idea after several sleepless days and getting his ass kicked first by Tasha, then Loki's Chitauri army. Scratch that. It definitely hadn't been a good idea.
Nick is still staring at him. 'Barton, what the hell is this? Why are you in a hotel? Why are you in bed with Romanoff? Why are you still wearing your boots?'
'Blame Stark', Tasha mumbles from the other side of the bed. 'It's all his fault.' Clint can tell just from the tone of her voice that's she's pretty much asleep - she'd never be this informal if she was fully conscious. Still. She has a point.
'Stark insisted we go to one of his clubs. Wouldn't take no for an answer', he says, still not quite able to motivate himself to sit up.
Fury rolls his eyes. 'Yeah, I know that, wise-ass. How do you think that hulking Asgardian got a ride? What I want to know is why you are here.'
Clint nods slowly and makes a face. 'Oh. Well that... that you can blame on Tasha. Sir.'
Tasha limply raises a hand in affirmation, face pressed into the pillow. 'Guilty as charged sir', she mumbles, voice muffled. 'They had some decent vodka for a change.'
Fury actually rolls his eyes.
'Well how about the pair of you idiots get your sorry asses out of this bed, downstairs and into the vehicle waiting outside. I have things for you to do today.' He fixes Clint with a particularly stern look. 'Barton, if you and Romanoff aren't in the car in five minutes, I'm going to keep you out of the field for a month.'
Then he's out of the door, shutting it loudly behind him. Clint is entirely sure it was done on purpose. He groans.
Slowly, he turns over to look at Tasha, who is still face down in the pillow, looking for all intents and purposes like she's dead. 'How're you feeling, Tash?'
She mutters something unintelligible and then turns her head so she's facing him. 'Like shit. I mean, not really that hungover. But yesterday was intense. I'm pretty sure I have some crazy bruises. And I could really have done with a day or two of sleep.'
Clint nods. 'I know how you feel.' Groaning, he drags himself up and off the bed, stretching a hand out to her. 'Come on. Maybe we can sleep back at HQ.'
She takes his hand, shaking her head and sighing as she gets up. 'Yeah, sure.' Then, very briefly, she reaches up to cup her palm against his cheek. 'I'm glad you made it through. Things just wouldn't be the same without you.'
He nods. 'I know. But you know I owe you.'
She grins. 'Of course. I'll call in that debt when I'm good and ready, don't you worry.' She picks up her shoes, dangling them off her fingers by the straps. 'Let's go and face the music then.'
They go down together. Just like usual.
----
As it turns out, Nick was screwing with them, because the only 'work' they have to do is watch Thor and Loki head off back to Asgard and then they're sent off on leave for a fortnight.
To an island in the Pacific with white sandy beaches and wooden cabins built out over the sea.
Further exploration turned up a bar, a restaurant, locals and tourists. It also showed - once again - that Nick Fury had a fairly twisted sense of humour, as he'd booked them into the honeymoon suite. Ok, so the suite was actually a set of cabins, but still. One bed. Bottles of champagne left for the happy couple and rose petals strewn on the one bed.
Tasha just laughs. 'Well it's not like we ever really get time off from our job is it? It'd be too risky to be here without a cover.' Clint rolls eyes at her. She rolls hers back. 'Oh come on Clint, it's not like we haven't done this before. It'll be like Sao Paulo, or Rome, or Beijing. Hell we've used this cover more times than I can remember.'
'I know Tash. But it's supposed to be a holiday. I was looking forward to a double bed of my own, and being able to do whatever I want.'
She fixes him with a look. It's not a pleased look. 'Is my company so dreadful?'
'Of course not Tash. C'mon, don't tease. You know what I mean.'
She laughs and punches him in the arm, which - because it's Tasha - hurts. 'Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm just messing you around.' Then she heads over to the giant Louis Vuitton suitcase at the foot of the bed that's clearly meant for her. 'Now let's see what we're up to this week - personally, I vote scuba diving!'
----
In spite of their 'newly-wed' status and the pretence that goes with it, things go surprisingly well. Mostly they spend time by themselves, either doing one of the many activities on offer or wandering around the island. Clint doesn't end up on his own very much, but that's ok actually. He's used to spending a lot of time with Tasha, so it's not like it it's a strain.
It's more than that though. Rarely - very rarely - does a mission go as badly wrong as this one had from start to finish. And in circumstances like this, being on your own... well it isn't a good idea.
So they stick together. And if Clint notices the way Tasha looks at him sometimes, like she's checking that he's still him, well, he isn't going to mention it. After all, she hasn't commented on the fact that he's barely slept since they arrived - too scared that he might wake up different.
It's something of a relief when their 'vacation' is extended by a week. Although they haven't really spoken about it, neither of them is ready to return to work yet, that much is clear.
----
It starts spilling out towards the end of the first week, little bits and pieces slipping into the gaps in conversation. Questions asked in the dark.
'Do you remember any of the things you did? I mean, when you were under Loki's spell.' The bed is large and they're on opposite sides, hesitant to get too close. Tasha is on her side, watching him. He stares up at the ceiling and listens to the waves outside.
'Yes', he admits, long minutes later. 'I remember everything. The thing is, it's not like I was trapped inside my own head or anything. It's not like I was unwilling. I wanted to do everything Loki asked, just because he told me too.'
There's a pause, like she's thinking. Then, 'So you were brainwashed?'
He shrugs. 'Something like that I guess. I would never have done anything for him in my right mind. It's strange though - I don't regret any of the things I did. I know I should, but it's like my brain refuses to accept that what I did was wrong.'
A small hand reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. 'It's ok. Like you said, you'd never have done it if you'd been yourself. And it's not like the rest of us wouldn't have been the same, if we'd been in your place.'
'Would you Tasha? Really?' He knows she's trying to be reassuring, but even though he makes his living as an assassin, there's a part of him that can't forgive himself for this.
The silence is so long that he thinks she's fallen asleep - or worse, that's she's agreeing with him.
Then, so quiet that he barely hears it: 'I would have been worse.' And after a beat, 'He frightens me, Clint.'
He knows how much it costs her to admit that, so there's no shame in him saying, 'Me too.' Nor is there anything wrong in him rolling over and pulling her into an embrace until their heartbeats slow and they're calm enough to sleep.
----
After that, it's a little easier. They talk more freely; it feels like a boil has been lanced and now all that remains is to drain it. All the hurt, pain and fear are out in the open; it's actually almost frightening how much they share with one another. But this isn't like anything they've been through before, so the response somehow seems less unnatural.
And if they sleep curled up together now, well that's nobody's business but their own.
----
The second week is drawing to a close when they decide to take a long walk on the beach. The night air is warm, the stars are crystal clear and sparkling, and the sea washes gently against the shore. In short, it's the perfect setting for a romantic stroll and therefore, it's the perfect cover for them to talk about Loki. Still, their hands are laced together, swinging as they walk, and later Clint slings an arm around Tasha's shoulders, pulling her into his side.
They talk about Loki and the Chitauri for a bit, but they've been talking about it a lot lately and soon they move on to other topics of conversation. As always, they have millions of things to talk about; their companionship is as easy as ever.
When they reach the farthest point of the island they stop. Clint takes a seat, sinking into the soft sand and watching as Tasha finds pebbles to skim across the sea. She does well in spite of the waves, but that's no real surprise.
He continues to watch as she skips into the tide line, shrieking at the first touch of cool water, then giggling as she races the waves. It's a good fifteen minutes before she walks up the beach to him, sarong hugging her legs damply, hair tousled by the breeze. Her smile is more carefree than he's seen in a long time.
'Come on', she says, holding out a hand. 'We're going paddling.'
He rolls his eyes, but takes her hand and lets her pull him up. He turns up his trousers as he follows her out into the waves, taking her hand and running into the sea. They dash through the waves, then run away as the big ones come, breathless and laughing.
They're holding on to each other, wet to the waist and barely standing as they reach the tide line. Her eyes are sparkling in the starlight, the moon making her skin glow. She's so small; so fragile. So perfect. And so he kisses her.
It's not their first kiss, not by a long way. Hell, they've been kissing a lot these past couple of weeks just so they don’t blow their cover. But it's the first time he's ever kissed her just because he wanted to; just because he can. Her lips are everything he remembers and so much more.
----
The silence between them is charged as they walk home, hands laced together again, wet clothes clinging to them. They don't say another word as they go back to the cabin, but as soon as the door's closed, she lets him press her against it, her fingers winding into his hair.
And this, this, is new - this touching, this tasting. The peeling of clothes off wet bodies and the trailing of fingers across skin that's never been theirs to touch before. The sounds she makes as he bites softly on her pulse point and the way her breath shakes as his hand dips low across her stomach. How she lights up every nerve in his body and makes him want her so badly that it hurts.
Then it's the slip and slide of long moments that seem to stretch into an eternity of bare skin and sweat. The air seems too thin, yet too heavy. He can't breathe and oh god they should have done this a long time ago.
And suddenly, soaringly, it's over.
----
'What happens when we go back?' he asks, his arms around her, her head against his chest.
'I don't know', she says. 'I don't know.' She sighs, her finger tracing patterns against his skin. 'Can we just have this for now? Please?'
He never could refuse her a damn thing, so he kisses her hair and nods.
reaching out for something to hold (Destiel angst/fluff/smut)
So this was meant to be something entirely different, but it ran off and wrote itself like this. And I like it.
Set post 7x22. Title is from 'Reaching Out' by Nero
Dean's lying awake in the cabin when he appears with the usual rustle of feathers and sound of displaced air. He sits straight up in bed, confused.
'Cas? What the hell man? It's 3am.'
Cas shrugs, standing there in the same outfit as the last time, white mental patient pyjamas and the all-too-familiar trench coat making him look smaller than ever.
Dean frowns, rolling his eyes in a 'give me patience' kind of way, because really he's had just about enough this crap. 'Well maybe you should be sleeping too? Or at least considering that the rest of us might be?'
Cas looks at him, head tilting to one side in a gesture that makes Dean's heart ache. 'You were not sleeping, Dean.' Then he looks around the room. 'Where is Sam?'
'Out. He's taken the car and gone to talk to some hunters Bobby knew. He'll be back in a day or two.' Dean winces at the thought, knowing that now all he has to eat are vegetables, and that Sam is the only one who knows how to make them tasting like something vaguely resembling real food. Then he frowns again. 'Why are you here Cas?'
'I told you, I was bored. The bees do not -'
'Fly at night, yeah, yeah I get it. But why here? I mean, it's got to be daylight somewhere right? And it's not like Sam and me have got much for you to do.'
Cas shrugs again. 'I wanted to see you.'
Looking back on it, that should have been Dean's first indication that something was going to happen.
Instead he sighs and arranges himself against the wall, knees drawn up in front of him under the sheets. 'Ok Cas. So you've seen me. What now?'
Cas drifts over, perching on the end of the bed. 'I had thought we might talk.'
'About what? Leviathans? The weather? You?'
'About you Dean. About you.'
Dean chokes slightly, a bubble of nausea fizzing up in his belly and popping acidly in his throat. 'What about me Cas? You gonna tell me how pretty I look today?'
'You always look 'pretty' Dean, although personally I prefer the word 'beautiful'.' Cas shakes his head, ignoring Dean's stunned silence. 'No, that's not what we're going to talk about. I wanted you to explain to me what exactly you're doing in the shower all those times that you've called out my name. It's certainly not asking for my help in one of your cases.'
Dean's brain stutters and fails. How very typically Castiel to bring up something like that - something that no human being would ever talk about, or ask for an explanation.
'Well, uh, it's umm, something that I do when I'm -'
'Dean, I do not require you to tell me what you're doing. I am well aware of masturbation. As I mentioned before, I have spent many thousands of years watching the Earth. I understand the mechanics of human beings and the things they do to pleasure themselves.' He shakes his head, as if impatient. Dean's brain is short-circuiting again. 'I know you were not asking for my help.'
And here, just when Dean thought he had got about as brain-dead as possible, was the evidence to prove him wrong. Suddenly, the only thing he can think about is the thought of Cas appearing when he's in the shower. Cas pulling back the curtain. Cas pushing him against the tiled wall, trench coat getting wet as he kisses Dean savagely and reaches a hand down to jerk him off, hard and fast and oh god so good.
'Dean? Dean!'
Dean shakes his head blearily and comes back to reality like he's surfacing from unconsciousness. 'Wha?'
'I want you to tell me why, Dean. Why were you calling my name?' Cas is looking at him intently, with the laser focus that Dean remembers from their early days; days that seem a lot easier compared to today, for all that they were trying to prevent the rise of Lucifer. That Castiel was not the angel he fell in love with, but he was closer to it than the being sitting in front of Dean now.
He sighs, really wishing that he wasn't sitting in bed at 3am, rock hard erection pressing against his stomach under the sheets, body on fire with embarrassment, with a fallen angel talking to him about 'masturbation'. (Which, by the way, isn't a word he's ever used. Ever.)
He sighs again, then grits his teeth. Might as well get it over with.
'I was thinking about you, Cas. That's why I was saying your name. I guess I didn't think you'd, I don't know, hear me or whatever.'
There's a long silence, during which Dean begins to hope a Leviathan is going to burst through the door and eat him, just to put him out of his misery.
Then Cas nods. 'I see. And why did you not make these desires known to me?'
Dean chokes on his own spit.
'Say what now?'
'I said, why did you not make these desires known to me? Did you not think that perhaps that might have been wise?'
Dean looks at Cas in open disbelief. 'I'm sorry, I thought you just said to me that I should have told you about the fact that I was fantasising about you while I jerked off in the shower?'
Cas nods. 'I did.'
Dean laughs, breathless and shocked. 'Seriously? Cas, are you crazy? You're an angel. An angel of the Lord. Who pulled me out of the Pit and brought me back to life, in case you'd forgotten that bit. There was no way I was ever, ever going to tell you about that. You could have put me back into Hell. I mean, it's not like you didn't threaten to - and that was cause I wasn't showing you respect! I highly doubt you'd have thought being the star of my fantasies was respectful.' And he cannot believe he just admitted that, but right now it doesn't seem to matter. Not in the face of everything else.
Cas looks at him. 'Perhaps you are right. I might not have been so... open-minded at the beginning. But you have had plenty of time since then, and I have changed.'
'Damn right you have', Dean mutters under his breath. Cas looks at him, eyes regretful and knowing.
'You miss the older versions of myself. I know. At times, I do too.'
'You could change back', Dean says quietly, voice soft and vulnerable. Almost pleading. He can't quite look Cas in the eyes as he says it, but when he raises his gaze, the angel is looking at him with the same intensity as earlier.
'Yes, I suppose I could', he says, barely above a whisper. 'It would not be the first time I have made myself into something that you want me to be.' And the guilt is tightening in Dean's stomach at that when there's a sudden change; a shift in the air.
And Cas... Cas is different. Harder around the edges somehow; more forceful. More decisive-looking. More like the warrior that Dean loved. The familiarity strikes Dean in the chest like a fist, so strong and sudden is the ache that appears there.
'Cas?' he breathes, hardly daring to hope.
The angel that looks up at him has all the conviction and strength in his gaze that Dean remembers. 'Dean.' And there's power in that single syllable; so much that Dean wants to fall to his knees and pray.
Instead, he lets himself smile, honestly and openly. 'Cas.'
He's not sure who makes the first move - it could have been either of them really - but what he does know is that somehow they seem to surge together, meeting in the middle of the bed in a fierce press of lips that goes on and on and on until Dean can barely breathe.
They break apart briefly and he sucks in great, gasping lungfuls of air, clinging to the collar of the trench coat like it's his lifeline. Cas' hands cup his jaw, their foreheads resting together. They stay like that for a long moment, breathing the same air and watching each other. Then, slowly, so slowly, Cas moves forwards, instigating a slow slide of lips against lips that builds gently as the minutes pass. It's the most sensual thing Dean has ever experienced and it stokes the glowing coals in his abdomen, building them into a flickering flame that grows and wants.
He lets go of Cas' collar, sliding one hand to the back of the angel's neck and the other down his chest to rest on his hip. Cas makes a pleased noise into his mouth. Dean smiles messily around lips and teeth and tongue. Then he tugs the angel closer. Backwards.
Finally they rest against the pillows, the weight of Cas' body pressing against Dean in all the right ways; all the ways he'd thought about in the shower, or under the cover of darkness when he was sure Sam was asleep. He moans without thinking, hips arching up against Cas', desperate for some friction. Desperate for more.
'Cas. Cas, Cas, Cas. I need-' He breaks off as the angel's mouth comes down on his pulse point, teeth digging in bitter-sweet and pleasure-pain. A startled, strangled cry makes its way out of his mouth. 'Cas, Cas! I need, I need -'
'What do you need?' Cas says, looking down at him, blue eyes barely blue at all around his huge, dark pupils. He rocks against Dean. 'What do you need, Dean?'
'I need you', Dean finally manages. 'I want you.'
He thinks he sees Cas smiling before the angel bends to kiss him again.
From there it's nothing but giving in. Hands move; explore. Fingers dig in, or touch lightly. Cas' trench coat gets pushed off at some point, shortly followed by his top and Dean's. Dean gets lost in smooth skin he's only seen once before, when Sam spent long, awful moments carving symbols into Cas' chest. He hovers over a nipple, breath hot against bare skin before he presses a kiss there, flicking his tongue over it and the mole just beneath it. Under his hands, Cas is like an instrument, making a symphony of beautiful sounds when he touches there, or puts his mouth there. When he kisses just inside Cas' hip, the fallen angel actually cries out. Dean's pulse thuds heavily in his veins.
It goes on, time strangely slow. Long, long moments pass as they divest themselves of the last of their clothing, learning one another in the press of skin against skin and trailing fingers. Then it's nothing but the slide of two bodies slotted together, and Cas' hand pressing into the mark on Dean's shoulder until it's all too much.
It's more intense than Dean remembers it being - more intense than he remembers it being with anyone - and in the aftermath, he remembers Cas saying, 'Dean and I do share a more profound bond.' He laughs at that. Barely though - he's breathless.
'That was... wow Cas', he manages to say.
'It was, wasn't it?' The angel presses a kiss against his shoulder. 'I should go Dean. You need sleep.'
Dean nods and bites his lip, because he is not a girl and he is not going to ask Cas to stay. He's not even going to ask if there's going to be a next time, although he really hopes there is because if this is what it feels like with just the slip-slide of their bodies against each other, he can't even begin to imagine how good it would be to be inside Cas - or to have Cas inside him.
So he lies there and watches Cas get dressed, trying not to wonder about all the ifs and whens and buts that are running round and round in his head.
'Goodbye Dean', Cas says, standing beside the bed and looking more commanding than he's looked in a long time. 'I will see you soon.'
And Dean is just about to blow all his masculinity to hell by asking whether Cas means they'll be doing this again, when there's the rustle of feathers and sound of displaced air that means Dean is once again alone.
Well this just appeared out of nowhere. Anyway, in celebration of Inias, the newest angel on the block, have some sort of fluffy sort of angsty Sam/Inias interraction. Hints of Destiel (if you squint), Casias and Samias.
eosrose, this is for you! Hope you like <3
Spoilers for everything aired. Title from 'Breathe' by Faith Hill.
Dean took off not long after Cas left, claiming he 'needed to get some air'. Sam knows his brother well enough translate this as Dean having Cas-related angst, but wanting to get his sulk on elsewhere. He rolls his eyes just thinking about it. Dean can really be an idiot.
Sighing, he gets up and stretches the kinks out of his back. Sometimes he feels like he spends half his life sitting down. He's in the process of trying to get his neck to click when a familiar sound disrupts him - the rush of feathers and displaced air.
'No, not Castiel I'm afraid.' The angel standing on the other side of the room wears a vessel Sam remembers from earlier.
'You're Inias, right?' The angel seems please at the sound of his name, pale face splitting into a smile much like the one he'd given Castiel. He nods.
'Yes. I am Inias.' He steps forward, extending a hand to Sam. 'We did not get a chance to properly acquaint ourselves earlier. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam Winchester.'
Sam is shocked into silence, numbly reaching out to shake Inias' hand. The angel frowns.
'You are upset? Or confused perhaps? Why?'
Sam shrugs slightly, his eyes falling to the ground. 'No angel has ever said it was a pleasure to meet me before - except Lucifer maybe, and I'm pretty sure that doesn't say anything good about me.' He scuffs the cabin's wooden floor with the toe of his boot and shrugs again. 'It's just unexpected.' Nice, he thinks.
The quiet left behind his words lingers and when Sam musters up the courage to raise his eyes from the floor, Inias is still frowning. With his shaggy mop of hair and slanting brows, he reminds Sam of a sad dog. It's strangely endearing.
Finally, Inias speaks again. 'All humans have misfortune in their lives, but yours has been spectacular. From the moment of your conception, a weighty destiny was laid on your shoulders - a destiny that would drive most men mad. So, from the first whisper of your existence, you have been set on a path from which you have no escape. In your short years on this earth, you've experienced more suffering and loss than most people endure in their lifetime. You have been corrupted by minions of Hell, coerced by the guardians of Heaven, treated like scum by your fellow humans, and beaten by the ill-made creatures that stalk through the darkness. Even your brother lays a heavy weight on your shoulders - the burden of his love is too much for one man alone.' He pauses, and Sam wonders where exactly this speech is going. Then the angel gives a small smile. 'And yet...'
'And yet?'
'And yet you chose to stand against that destiny - to fight for what you believed in, no matter what others told you. You've failed and faltered at times, but after everything that has been thrown at you, you're here and you're still standing. You're still trying to save the world, one monster at a time. You've forgiven the brother who forced your soul back into your body; forgiven the angel who broke your mind. You continue to fight for your cause and you continue to love.'
Inias stops suddenly and shrugs, looking very human. 'Our Father's best-loved creation was human beings. Sometimes the Host forgets that. But when I see humans such as you, who do their best to help the world around them in spite of everything it throws at them... it reminds me why. So yes, it's a pleasure to meet you.'
Sam stands silently, struck speechless. A deep, old pain stirs in his chest and to his horror, his eyes start to prickle. His throat seizes up like it's full of stone, a strangled gasp tearing out of his mouth. Inias watches him, then places a firm hand on his shoulder and guides him to a chair. He sits down, the angel taking a seat beside him. Warm hands cup his face and raise it so that his blurry eyes meet the angel's.
'Only God can heal the wounds you carry. However, that doesn't mean it won't ease your suffering a little to give in to your grief. Nobody can be so strong all the time. Let go Sam.'
A gentle kiss is pressed to his forehead, like a benediction. It's accompanied by something cool settling in his veins that soothes and calms him, loosening the knotted muscles in his shoulders and draining all the tension out of him. The solid lump in his throat shatters and a sob wrenches out of him, followed by another, and another. Tears stream down his face, dripping off his chin on to the hands that hold his jaw. He gasps and chokes for air, heaving in great lungfuls that judder and jar on their way back out. His nose starts to run.
It's probably the ugliest crying anyone has ever done, Sam thinks somewhere in the back of his brain. But Inias doesn't seem to care, hands still clasped against Sam's face, his forehead resting against Sam's. It's bizarrely comforting.
When the ache in his chest has lessened and his sobs have subsided, another chaste kiss is pressed against Sam's forehead. This time, the coolness seems to chase away his sorrow, leaving him feeling strangely hollow - but peaceful too. Then Inias drops his hands and pulls away.
Sam instantly feels awkward, and searches his pocket for a tissue before blowing his nose loudly. After a moment, he meets Inias' gaze.
'Uh, I'm not sure what you did, but... thank you. A lot. I feel...better.'
The angel smiles. 'Thank you, Sam. It's rare these days for me to be able to help a human being - and it's nice to know that my grace is good for something other than smiting demons.'
Sam stares at him, shocked. 'That - that was your grace? But isn't it bad to lose grace? I mean, I thought angels only had a limited supply?'
Inias shakes his head. 'All angels and archangels who remain part of the Host have unlimited grace - although this vessel only allows me a finite supply while I wear it. Still, as an archangel, my supply is still greater than a normal angel, such as Castiel.' He sighs, his face darkening. 'Although Castiel is a poor example of an angel these days.'
Sam is once again speechless, struck dumb by the realisation he's keeping company with an archangel (and who knew Cas had been such a badass when he faced off against Raphael, leading angels and archangels alike) and by the fact that said archangel seems to mourn Cas's loss like a human being.
'Sometimes I wish we'd never met Cas', he says at last. 'He doesn't deserve any of this.' Inias says nothing and Sam gets the feeling that he agrees, but is too polite to say so. The archangel is, without a doubt, the nicest member of the heavenly host that Sam has met so far. Then a thought strikes him. 'So why did you come here?'
Inias sighs, looking particularly tired. 'I had hoped Castiel might be here - or that you might know his whereabouts.' Seeing Sam's confusion, he explains. 'Castiel is lost to Heaven's sight now. This was why we thought he was dead and why it was such a surprise to see him at the hospital. Although I admit it would have been more pleasant to find him in a different state. It is a shame than an angel who once commanded the armies of Heaven should have fallen so low.'
Sam has no words of comfort to offer, so he opts for distraction. 'What's Castiel like in Heaven? What was it like to serve with him?'
'It was an honour to serve with him.' Inias smiles. 'Castiel has always been special, since his creation. Gabriel used to call him our little sparrow, because for all that he was small and plain by comparison to the rest of us, he was quick and clever. Over the millennia, he grew into a fine warrior. Admittedly Anna's command left a lot to be desired, but his actions were always laudable, regardless. And as a commander... his vision and his faith were astonishing. Such belief is rarely found, even in the most devout. He was...inspiring...' Inias' words trail off, his eyes clouded with remembrance and warmth. Sam wonders if the archangel isn't half in love with Cas - he certainly wouldn't be the first. Cas used to have a real knack for making you want his approval and respect, once upon a time.
Sam places a hand on Inias' shoulder, squeezing gently. 'I really think Cas will come back. I don't know when or how, but I know how much God means to him - how much being part of Heaven means to him. I don't think he's left you guys for good.'
Inias looks at him, eyes lit with hope. 'You think so?' Sam nods.
'I think so.' He smiles. 'Cas doesn't forget his friends.'
The smile Inias gives him in return is blinding. Then the archangel stands, head tilted to the ceiling. 'They're calling me. I must return.' He looks at Sam, eyes kind. 'If you need my help, or simply wish to talk, you need only pray.'
Sam nods, slowly. 'I'd like that', he says softly, and he means it.
Inias inclines his head, looking pleased. 'I hope I'll see you soon Sam.' Then he's gone in the sound of wing beats.
I could be your perfect disaster (Samifer hurt/comfort)
Written for Spouse, who wanted to have Sam caring for Lucifer, who has hurt his wings. It's umm, sort of not quite like that. But yeah.
Hurt/comfort mainly. Title is from 'Ever After' by Marianas Trench. Set post 5x19.
They leave Kali at a truck stop - at her request - and head on. They stop on a quiet little road and watch Gabriel's message. Sam finds himself feeling surprisingly sad; Gabriel had been a class A dick most of the time, but he'd certainly come through for them at the end. Sam's pretty sure that the archangel's reluctance to get involved had been a combination of fear and unwillingness to fight his own family. Both sentiments are understandable.
He ends up on a quiet stretch of road not so different to the one where they'd watched the fake Casa Erotica. He gets out, leans against the bonnet and stares at the sky, mind whirring pointlessly.
'Even if I couldn't read your mind, I'd be able to hear you thinking. You should try meditation or something, Sam.'
Sam jumps, pulling out a gun on reflex. Lucifer is leaning against the bonnet, looking exactly like he did at Elysian Fields, minus the blood he'd been liberally covered in.
'How - '
'I followed you. So sue me. It took me a little while to catch up though, which is why you got to have all this time moping in peace.' Nick's face is peeling in patches, but still sharp and sarcastic. Sam wonders how much of that is actually Nick and how much of it is Lucifer.
Nick raises an eyebrow. 'Could you put that gun away? It's making this body twitchy - stupid human reflexes.'
Sam does as he's asked and files away the fact that Nick's body seems to have instincts Lucifer can override. If the worst comes to the worst, any information he has on a possessed vessel's abilities is going to be vitally important. He settles back against the hood of the Impala, deciding he might as well be comfortable if he had to hang out with his nemesis.
'Don't you have better things to do right now?' he asks, unable to keep his voice from slipping into true curiosity.
Lucifer chuckles. 'Sam, Sam, don't worry, I can spare a little time to hang out with my best guy.' He frowns a little, shifting slightly and rubbing at his back. 'Don't worry, I can still tick off all the chores on my to-do list today.' He carries on rubbing at his back. Sam cracks an eyebrow.
'Having back problems already? Your vessel doesn't old enough.'
Lucifer shoots him a glare. 'He's not. It's not his back that's the problem.'
Sam snorts. 'Let me guess - you've got a crick in your wings.'
Lucifer stops poking at his back and looks at Sam, clearly surprised. Sam looks right back, as surprised by the fact he was correct as Lucifer is.
'You really are a smart one, aren't you kid?' the archangel says softly. Sam frowns and turns away.
'What is it with you angels and calling me 'kid'? Gabriel used to do it too.'
'Gabriel...' The name comes out like a sigh and when he looks over at Lucifer, Sam is surprised to see something like sadness on his face. It makes him angry.
'Oh come on! You kill your own brother and you expect me to believe that you're upset. I saw how you were with him.'
Lucifer looks up at him, his gaze sharp, cold and crystalline. Sam is reminded forcibly that one of his names used to be Morning Star. He can see why.
'Now come on Sam', the archangel hisses. 'Use that big old brain of yours.' He stands up and winces, rolling his shoulder blades. 'Gabriel was my brother. My little brother. Just because he hasn't called himself an angel in a few centuries doesn't change the fact that I knew him for tens of millennia; that I loved him. I killed him because it seemed like he might finally have picked a side - and it wasn't mine. It was kill or be killed, so you see, I didn't have much of a choice.' He rolls his shoulders again, face a grimace. 'Tell me, why exactly have you and Dean been so resistant to saying yes? I know, I know, Apocalypse yada yada yada. I think I know the truth though - neither of you wants to be the one who kills his brother. I imagine that wouldn't change, no matter how long you were opposite teams.' He reaches a hand up to a shoulder blade and presses with a soft hiss of air. 'I loved my Father most of all, but after him, I loved the angels. My brothers and sisters. I will mourn every angel who dies in this war. I will mourn Gabriel until the end of my days.'
He turns away, the lines of his body angry and hard. His hands dig into his back and it's quite obvious that his wings are causing him pain. Sam feels an unexpected flare of sympathy, not least because Lucifer is right - no matter when or where, killing Dean would be a wound that never healed.
He stands up and walks over to the archangel, reaching out tentatively, laying gentle hands on his back. 'Where does it hurt?' he asks.
Lucifer's hands drop to his sides and he hisses slightly and Sam presses in around his shoulder blades. 'There. But it's in the wings too.'
Sam makes up his mind. 'Show me', he says. He feels Lucifer tense and his hands slip to stiff shoulders, kneading them softly until they relax. 'Show me. I know you can.'
Between one blink of the eye and the next, Lucifer's wings are made manifest. They're nothing like the black shadows that Sam has sometimes caught spreading from Castiel's back. These are like the light is being drawn from the air around them, flowing into two wings. They ripple for a moment, then the air jumps and Sam is face by two huge white wings, covered in shimmering white feathers.
A thought tugs at Sam's brain.
'Zachariah said he had six wings. Surely he doesn't have more than you?'
Lucifer chuckles. 'Have a gold star Sam. He doesn't. Zachariah's just a smug dick. Even Cas has four wings - six isn't that impressive. Personally, I have twelve.' Sam is dumbstruck and Lucifer chuckles again. 'When angels are in their true form, the mechanics are a lot less complex. I'm manifesting one pair because it's about all your brain can handle, but whatever you do to them will apply to the others - I can bend reality from my end.'
'Oh', is all Sam can really manage to say. Then, tentatively, he reaches a hand out. His fingers meet soft, crisp feathers and a sigh escapes him as he strokes the soft curve of a wing. Lucifer is patient as he runs his fingers across the immediate expanse of wing jutting out from Nick's shoulder blades.
Eventually, he remembers what he's planning to do and slides his hands down to where the wings sprout from Nick's body. Slow and soft, he massages the juncture where the top of the wing meets the body. It's a thick, heavy muscle. Sam feels the way it loosens and relaxes under his touch, much like the way his own muscles do when Dean is feeling nice and gives him a neck rub.
He takes his time working around the wing base, taking pride in the way the lines of Nick's body soften and gentle and the small sounds that slip out of Lucifer's mouth. As he moves on to the actual wings, he says, 'So what was it like? In Heaven I mean. Is it like a big family up there, or is it as military as it seems?'
There's a long pause. He wonders if he's over-stepped the line. Then Lucifer starts to speak, his voice taking on a different cadence, slipping into something older and more eloquent.
'You have to remember that angels have existed since before Earth was anything but a dark sphere hanging in space. Before humanity, things were very different. We had no need to be warriors then.' There's a sigh, so quiet Sam almost misses it. 'Our days were spent in praise of our Father. Our lives were filled with His love and joy... So yes, it was much like a family. There was a hierarchy of sorts, but that is much the same in any family, isn't it? Regardless, we all loved one another.'
There's another pause.
'We rejoiced when Earth was created, watching over long years as it grew fruitful and bounteous under our Father's hands. We sang to the land, bringing life to the plants there. We used to visit a lot - I believe Gabriel took Castiel down there a number of times. He certainly used to tell a story about some fish an awful lot.'
Sam sinks his fingers deep into the feathers, smoothing out a patch that seems particularly ruffled. Lucifer makes a contented noise.
'Grooming the wings of another angel is considered a mark of friendship; it's a sign of trust. Of familiarity. Gabriel used to do this for me, and I for him. Michael preferred Raphael's touch, but occasionally we would groom one another.'
Sam feels strangely warm at this; pleased, even. He remembers Lucifer's words the first time they spoke. "My heart breaks for you", he'd said. Sam is beginning to believe that perhaps he was telling the truth. The creature in front of him is not at all what he had imagined - more like a man than an angel. More like a brother than an enemy.
Lucifer starts to speak again. 'Things changed after Father created humans. He told us to love them, but I saw the lust in their hearts and all their petty desires too. I told Him I could not love them more than Him. For that, He cast me out - sent Michael to do His dirty work and throw me down.' There's a sharp intake of breath. 'I was the one who brought war into Heaven, with my disobedience. Because of me, angels became warriors. And then, in my jealousy and my rage, I sent the serpent to the woman and "the serpent beguiled her".' He casts a look over his shoulder, rueful and filled with regret. 'I did it just to prove a point, like a moody teenager. I corrupted Heaven and Earth, for what?'
His breath comes out shakily. 'Gabriel was right. And I killed him for it.'
Sam stops stroking his way through thick feathers, trailing a hand up to the back of Nick's neck, letting it settle there as a small gesture of comfort. Lucifer leans into the touch and Sam thinks he understands - it wasn't so long ago that he himself had got into a corner, and he'd managed to start the Apocalypse. It's not surprising that Lucifer's destruction is on a wider scale.
The strangest thing of all is that he doesn't even hate Lucifer any more. Instead, there's an ache in his chest, almost like he's feeling Lucifer's pain. There's quiet resignation too, as he slips two arms round Nick's waist and presses a gentle kiss to where his hand had been, soft skin and delicate hairs brushing against his lips.
'You are going to say yes.'
'I know.' He rests his face in the crook of Nick's shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. 'But not today.'
'Not today', Lucifer agrees, strong hands trailing up Sam's forearms. He twists in Sam's grip, wings arcing around them, encircling them like white, feathery walls. Their foreheads rest together, eyes shut and breath quiet in a simple moment of understanding. Then Lucifer kisses the top his head like a benediction. 'Thank you.'
oh wise one, if you knew the answer, why'd you ask the question? (Domestic Sabriel AU fluff/angst)
So this is to be blamed on me, Richard Speight, Jr's beard and my lovely Spouse. This is less kinky than it sounds. But only slightly. Anyway.
RSJ's beard started a domestic!Sabriel discussion, which lead to this. Sort of fluffy, sort of angsty. If people like it, I'm planning to do a sort of series.
Thanks to Spouse for the title, which comes from 'Blue Suitcase' by Erin McCarley ft. KS Rhoads. Enjoy!
Gabriel is mid-way through mixing a batch of cookie dough when his phone goes. He's half-tempted to ignore it, but he sees it's Sam and picks up with a sigh.
'I'm getting cookie dough all over my phone here, so this better be good', he warns. There's a sigh from the other end of the phone and he knows instinctively, what's coming next. He gives a sigh of his own. 'Let me guess, you can't pick up Hannah today?'
'I know. I know.' He pinches the bridge of his nose, forgetting about the dough all over his hands until it's too late. 'Fuck', he says. 'Look I'm making a real mess here so I'm gonna go. I'll pick Hannah up and I'll see you whenever you get back.' He hangs up before Sam can say anything, not sure he can deal with any more apologies right now.
As he returns to the dough, carefully mixing it with his hands, he wonders how they ended up like this. Because it was never meant to be this way. They met each other when Sam was in college; Castiel, Gabriel's younger (and favourite) brother was a TA for a module of Sam's and the two of them had become fast friends over a semester. Sam had introduced Cas to his older brother Dean and in turn, Cas had introduced Sam to Gabriel. Embarrassingly, the two pairs of brothers ended up with one another. Although Gabriel likes to think he and Sam were a damn sight quicker and less oblivious - a fact that is all the more impressive considering Sam had been straight up until then.
Anyway, long story short, Gabriel quit his job in Boston to move to California. He found another patisserie to work in and when Sam started law school they bought an apartment and moved in together. After law school, they moved to Lawrence so Sam could be closer to his parents. Sam got a good job with a local firm and Gabriel opened his own bakery. Things went swimmingly.
Then, at 28, Sam started getting broody. So broody, in fact, that Gabriel had given up trying to persuade him that this was a bad idea. The smaller man had never believed he was cut out for fatherhood. He carried on believing this until they met Hannah. Hannah, who was two years old, with the brightest smile he'd ever seen and thick brown hair. Hannah, who reminded him far too much of Sam.
From that moment, he was a goner.
Hannah was theirs by the time the Christmas after Sam turned 29 came around. Gabriel still calls her their extra special Christmas present sometimes - it really cheers her up when she's feeling down. She's six now, still smiling and getting more beautiful every day. Gabriel is still ridiculously grateful that he let Sam persuade him that adoption was a good idea.
And little Henry, currently asleep upstairs, is one of the brightest stars in Gabriel's sky. He's been theirs for a little under a year now, adopted from some poor highschool girl who'd had too many wine coolers at a party one night. He has blonde hair, big blue eyes and dimples. He is one of the happiest children Gabriel has ever seen, constantly gurgling and giggling, facing the world with a smile.
So does Gabriel regret that he has two children? No, not in the slightest. What he regrets is that from owning a popular bakery, he became a partner who worked part-time, then sold his share and became a full-time father instead. He loves being a stay-at-home dad in many ways, not least because of how much he gets to spend with his kids, but he misses the bakery. A lot. It was his first business, something that he'd built with his own two hands. It was well-liked, relatively well-known and pretty successful. He was in control.
Now, his days are spent making packed lunches, changing nappies, making the school-run and doing the shopping. For all the joys of parenting, there are equally mundane moments that making him feel like he's going to die of boredom. Even baking has lost its appeal - now it serves as a reminder of what he's given up.
And of course, it had to be him. He knew that. Sam's job is better paid, more secure, with more benefits and far less chance of disappearing if the recession keeps going. He understands that and understands why Sam works late and can't always pick Hannah up from school or drop her at ballet class. He gets it.
It's just that he's 37 and instead of being able to say he's a baker and small business-owner, he gets to say he's a full-time parent. Other parents appreciate just how much of a job that is, but still... there are days when he wishes that things were different.
Sighing, he starts setting little balls of cookie dough on a baking tray, then puts them in the oven and puts the timer to twenty minutes. He checks the clock and sees he has half an hour before he needs to leave to get Hannah. He washes cookie dough off his hands and his nose, then heads upstairs to the nursery.
Henry John Milton-Winchester (the John Milton bit had been a little joke on his part that Sam hadn't realised until much later - it was totally worth it though) is sleeping peacefully, one small thumb in his mouth, eyes closed and eyelashes fluttering. Whatever he's dreaming about, it must be good because he's peaceful, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Gabriel stands by the crib, feeling the tension washing out of him as he looks down at his son. His son. It still feels magical saying those words. He can't imagine a time when it won't.
He's still watching Henry when he hears the timer go off in the kitchen. He hurries downstairs, takes the cookies out of the oven and slides them on to a cooling rack. Then he heads upstairs again, wakes Henry up, soothes him when he starts looking like he's about to cry, grabs his car keys, slips his son into his car seat, then drives over to Mary O'Malley Elementary.
Hannah skips through the gates with her Barbie backpack and a big smile. Gabriel is leaning against the car and waves at her. She smiles even wider. 'Daddy!' Small legs pound against the concrete and you'd think he hadn't seen her all week from the way she leaps into his arms. 'Daddy, Daddy, Daddy we watched a bit of The Lion King today and I learned one of the songs and then we learned about lions and how the Daddy lions are real lazy and the Mommy lions do all the work and-'
The stream of conversation continues as he buckles her into her car seat and for about half the journey home. After that, he can get a word in every couple of sentences. What finally makes her quiet is the cookies and glass of milk he gives her when they get home. Henry sits in his high chair, eating a cookie that has been soaked in milk to make it easier for him to eat. Gabriel watches them with a feeling of contentment and finds his early bitterness has dissipated. His children tend to have that effect.
He settles Hannah down to her homework and some colouring while he makes dinner. After dinner, she's allowed to watch some tv while Henry has his bath. Then it's her turn for a bath and after that, she's tucked into bed with her multitude of fluffy animals (the Winchesters spoil her) and a story. He turns out the light with a promise to send Daddy in to kiss her when he gets home.
He heads downstairs, feeling tired. It's 7.30pm and there's no word from Sam. Sighing, he begins cooking them something to eat.
He's halfway through a plate of spaghetti when he hears a key turning in the lock and the door opening. He hears it shut, keys drop on to the hall table, a briefcase drop on to the floor and footsteps. A long pair of arms fall around his shoulders and a kiss is pressed into his hair.
'Hey.'
'Hey', he says, his voice sounding like a sigh. 'There's some spaghetti bolognese in the fridge for you.'
The arms pull back, the hands tightening on his shoulders. 'Gabe? Is everything ok?'
'Yeah, everything's fine Sam. Just get something to eat.' His tone is more brisk than he intends, but he just doesn't have the energy to be ok. He just wants to eat his food, have a shower or maybe a bath, and head to bed. He wants it to be tomorrow.
Apparently Sam has other plans, because his chair is pulled back and spun round. Sam stands back, looming down over him from the lofty heights of 6'4", looking like a very well-dressed giant.
'What is it Gabriel?' His tone is the same as the one he uses to question unhelpful witnesses and Gabriel knows there's no way he's keeping quiet. It's hard to deny Sam when he sounds like that.
He sighs again, running his hand over his beard. 'It's just been a long day Sammy. And sometimes I miss feeling like I was more than a house-husband. I miss having something that was mine. I miss the bakery.'
As soon as he's said it, he wishes he could cram the words back in his mouth. Sam looks so guilty that it actually hurts and suddenly Gabriel notices just how tired he looks. How many nights has he stayed late this last month? he wonders.
He shakes his head. 'Look, forget it Sam. It's not important. Just sit down and eat something, for God's sake.'
Sam's face hardens. 'I'm actually not hungry', he says. 'I'm just real tired, so I think I'll go to bed. See you later.'
Gabriel struggles to find words to fix this somehow; to mend what he's broken and make everything ok. He ends up nodding, saying 'Yeah, see you in a bit', and kicking himself as he watches Sam leave with shoulders slumped and exhaustion dogging his steps.
'Well that's just great', he mutters to the empty room.
Right after the phoenix ashes turn up, Castiel tries to leave. In a rare moment of total agreement, both Bobby and the Winchesters tell him to sit down and shut the fuck up. In another rare moment, Cas does as he’s told.
Five minutes later, he’s asleep.
When he wakes up and tries to rise from the sofa (where he’s been deposited and covered with a blanket) a firm hand grips his shoulder and holds him in place.
‘You know you work too hard, Cas’, a familiar voice murmurs in his ear. The angel’s skin prickles, erupting into goosebumps. By now he knows what they are but he’s still a little confused as to why they’re there. As for the sudden lance of heat in his belly, it’s somewhat familiar yet totally mystifying.
‘Dean, I have to get back. There’s a war in case you had forgotten.’ He sounds harsher than he intends and winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.’
There’s a rueful chuckle from behind him. Then Dean gets up, pulling his chair with him so he can sit beside the sofa and look at Cas.
‘No apology needed Cas. You’re right – I do forget it. I, uh… well I haven’t been very kind to you lately.’ The hunter winces. ‘Look I don’t do this chick-flick feelings crap but Sam basically told me I’ve been a dick lately. To you, I mean. And he’s right. I mean, you pulled me out of Hell dude and I’ve barely said thanks.’ He sighs and drags a hand over his face, looking tired. ‘I just thought, y’know, we’d avert the Apocalypse and maybe some of this shit would go away or something? Instead Sam goes all Robo-Cop and I fuck things up with Lisa and Ben and pretty much everyone else too. I thought things would be ok with you, man. And then you’re fighting a fuckin’ civil war upstairs. It isn’t fair.’ He stops, as if unsure what to say.
‘Dean, it-’
‘No, Cas, I need to finish.’ He sighs again. ‘I shouldn’t be such a dick to you. You’ve done a lot, not just for me, but for Sam and Bobby, hell, for the world. I drag your ass down here all the time and you barely complain – even if you do I don’t listen. So I just want to say… I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry for being such a jerk. And for not taking this whole “war in Heaven” thing seriously. This Eve thing is important, but it’s not as important as what’s going on up there.’ Dean’s voice falters, then comes out barely above a whisper. ‘It’s not as important as you.’
The silence stretches out between them. Castiel takes a while to process what’s being said; to understand the implications that seem to lie behind the words. Finally, he reaches out; places a hand on the hunter’s knee; speaks.
‘I’ll be ok Dean. You don’t need to worry about me.’
Dean hesitates for a moment, then places a hand of his own on top. ‘I worry all the time Cas’, he says quietly. ‘I guess I’m just too scared to show it, so I act like a douche instead.’ His other hand stretches out and cups the angel’s cheek. Castiel feels the goosebumps again and suddenly he understands. Dean’s eyes find his, desperate and pleading. ‘Goddamn it Cas, if anything happened to you…’ His jaw clenches. ‘Promise me you won’t die, you son of a bitch. Promise me.’
His heart wrenches as he looks at the beautiful man beside him; the man he risked his wings for down in the darkest pits of Hell. It’s a promise that he shouldn’t give. He has no way of knowing how this war will end. Yet he looks at the lost soul he’s spent so much time trying to lead home and knows he can’t deny this small piece of comfort.
‘I promise Dean’, he says, lying convincingly for the first time. The smile that breaks out on Dean’s face is worth the effort. He is glorious in his happiness.
It’s a pleasant shock when he leans forward and brushes a gentle kiss against Castiel’s lips.
‘Thank you’, he breathes between kisses. ‘Thank you.’ He sounds like a man who finds an oasis in a desert. He sounds, for once, vulnerable.
All at once Castiel understands the difference between loving someone and being in love.
So I've been watching S6 (I'm new, don't shoot) and all the Dean bitchiness and lack of Cas appreciation is making me sad. I wrote this in attempt to cheer myself up. It came out bittersweet because I live for angst.
