yo! i love all of your kinnporsche gifs. if you don't mind me asking, what program do you use? i make gifs too - i use photoshop - but i always wonder how other people go about things and if other programs work better haha.
thank you so much! I use Photoshop CC (paid; perk being I can GIF pretty much anywhere) and I love it dearly.
I’m one of those rare freaks that adores PS; I never get sick of experimenting and learning new techniques. I’m trying to find some time for formal classes (online) so I can really deep dive.
now if I could only get paid to sharpen and color gays for a living-
Rule 2: Answer questions the tagged set for you in their post then make 11 new ones
Rule 3: Tag 11 people and link them to your post
Rule 4: Let them know you’ve tagged them
1. Pick one historic figure to have lunch with.
Harriet Tubman, she was my hero when I was a kid and she's still one of my heroes now.
2. When was the last time you rode a roller coaster?
About 5 years ago, last time I went to Canada's Wonderland.
3. Favorite Disney character?
Depends on my mood. I love Lilo, I love Scrooge McDuck (The Don Rosa version much more than any other), I love Audrey, I have way too many characters from different mediums that are Disney's that I love.
4. How do you take your coffee or tea?
Coffee ... milk and sugar. If it's tinto, I drink it straight. Tea, I drink it straight too. Never add anything.
5. You suddenly have an infant all your own - what do you name it?
Lucifer.
6. What is the last color you painted your toenails?
It has been years ... I think it was a golden green.
7. Do you fold your laundry or use the dryer as a dresser?
Dresser.
8. Ever have surgery?
Yes. Both wisdom teeth and tonsil removal.
9. What is the best thing you cook?
Caldo de Papa con costilla.
10. What book do you absolutely hate?
One Flew over the Cuckoos nest. I had to read it for English class, I could not do it. The book made me feel like I was insane, it was garish, terrible to read. I never finished it and based everything I did on the spark notes. My teacher never noticed it.
11. Do you like your hair color?
Yes, though I would prefer getting my mother's silver hair than my dad's white.
Now, for my 11 questions:
Where would you live for a year if you had the chance? (No worries about money or job)
What is your version of fairies?
Would you ever have sex with a vampire? (Thinking more Buffy than Twilight here.) Why or why not?
If you could be any supernatural creature, what would you be?
Do you cook?
Do you read romance novels?
Favourite genre of books?
What's your favourite book right now? In the last year? Of all time?
Do you care about interior design?
Have you ever been to a convention of any sort? What type? What did you think of it?
Which type of animal would you like as a pet if there were no legal restrictions?
Here is the first chapter of the newest fic for my 50-follower-thing, with a prompt from my 300th follower, pondlifeforme.
Prompt: Would you be interested in doing a fic with Dean/Cas and Stiles/Derek? I just love them both so much and I think it would be interesting/funny if Dean was hunting Derek (maybe because of a misunderstanding? like deaths reported in beacon hills and the Winchesters think Derek’s behind it) and Stiles/Cas have the break them apart basically haha.
I started writing sometime around midnight, but I stopped for two 1hr breaks because I'm easily distracted like that, meep. But anyway, this fic is canon-divergent with SPN at 8x17, with Cas staying behind after breaking Naomi's hold on him rather than running off with the tablet. It is only canon-compliant with TW up 'til the end of S2, as I have yet to watch any of S3.
Also, please forgive any mistakes. It is now 7am, and I can't be bothered to edit this. It'll go up on AO3 sometime later today, after I've had a nap, so any mistakes will hopefully be caught then. Also also, it really has been quite some time since I watched TW, so I hope you won't be too hard on my depictions of the characters.
Oh and one last thing: Happy New Year! Hope you like it:)
----
Derek wakes to the sound of footsteps coming his way. It takes him a moment to parse them, his focus heightening as he shakes off the grogginess, and he counts two people coming his way. At least one of them is heavily injured, because the rhythm of their footsteps seems as though one is supporting the other—or they’re supporting each other. He steps over to the open window and closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling.
Pack.
“What happened?” Derek asks. He hasn’t seen them since they told him that they were leaving, and that was last week. He assumed they’d be long gone by now.
“Wolfsbane,” Erica answers, wincing as Derek reaches them.
Erica seems to be in better shape than her companion, so Derek lets her make her way up the steps on her own. He slots his shoulder underneath Boyd’s armpit and practically hauls the boy up onto the porch, guiding him into the house.
Derek slowly helps Boyd up the steps and takes them into his guest room, settling them both on the mattress. Boyd falls back almost immediately, head on the pillow, and Derek goes to pull his shoes off for him, because his relatively cool demeanor toward his pack was what drove them away, and if he wants to keep them, things have gotta change.
Erica watches wearily, holding a hand to a wound in her side that’s still steadily seeping blood. Derek goes to the bathroom and wets two hand towels—he bought a whole pack of them a few days ago because Stiles kept complaining that he had nothing clean to wipe his hands on after washing them.
He returns to the bedroom and tosses one towel to Erica before turning to Boyd. Extending his claws, Derek slices Boyd’s shirt open with a few precise tears and pats the wet towel to his wounds, trying to absorb some of the wolfsbane. Boyd’s eyes open a slit, but he doesn’t have to say a word because Derek can scent his gratitude.
“Who did this?” Derek asks as he works.
“It was a group of alphas,” Erica replies, holding the wet towel to her side. Alpha pack, Derek thinks as she continues, “We were being held by the Argents, but they let us go, and then… then the alphas came. They said they didn’t want to kill us, but they tortured us.” She pauses there, as though uncertain whether or not to continue.
“What else?” Derek asks gently.
“They forced us to kidnap four people. Last night, they made us kill them. They only just set us free.”
Shit. “Did they force you to feed?”
Erica shudders, and Boyd squeezes his eyes shut, turning his head away a little. The motion exposes a nasty-looking cut on his neck, and Derek holds his head still with a gentle hand, bringing the wet towel up to clean this wound as well.
“No,” Erica answers, thankfully. “Why did they do that? Eat uh—eat the uh—”
“Eat human hearts, you mean,” Derek finishes for her. He sighs—it’s not something he ever wanted to tell them, because knowing that it’s a possibility rouses curiosity. “Most werewolves sustain themselves on human hearts.”
“Oh god, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Erica replies, strained, and Derek’s all the more relieved for it.
“Good,” he says. “Once you’ve fed, it’ll be hard to fight the craving for more.”
It’s silent for a moment, and Derek senses eyes on him. Boyd’s still facing away, so Derek lifts his gaze and sees Erica looking at him warily. He nods minutely, permitting her to ask her questions, and of course, she asks, “Have you ever…?”
“No, I haven’t,” Derek says. “We’ve evolved over the generations. Our forefathers went against their instincts and raised their children against those instincts as well, forcing them to eat normal human food, keeping transformations strictly controlled. At this point, normal food is enough for us.”
Erica relaxes visibly, shoulders slumping a little.
“The alphas,” Boyd starts, voice hoarse, and he coughs a little.
“Hold on, let me get you a glass of water,” Derek says.
He passes the wet towel to Erica, indicating that she should deal with the wounds he hasn’t gotten to yet, before leaving the room. It takes almost no time for him to return with two bottles of water, and he nudges Erica to the side so that he can support Boyd into a sitting position, helping him drink.
“The alphas had a message,” Erica says quietly. “That’s what Boyd was going to say.”
“A message for me,” Derek guesses, tense.
Erica nods. “They uh, they just said for us to tell you to stay put.”
Derek frowns at this—why do the alphas think he would be going anywhere, anyway? Peter had said something about a territorial thing, but the alpha pack hadn’t shown their faces, and Derek hadn’t exactly gone looking for them, either.
Maybe he shouldn’t have sent Peter away—the guy would probably know a little something about the alphas’ motivations.
But no. Derek had been able to justify keeping his uncle around while he was still helpful, useful against a bigger threat, a common enemy. When the threat was eliminated, there was no reason for Peter to stay, and Derek banished him—technically, he’d already paid for Laura’s murder when Derek slit his throat, but Derek just couldn’t imagine living with his sister’s murderer day in and day out, whether or not justice had been served.
Now, though, he has no idea why the alpha pack expects him to be on the move. He needs to rebuild his pack, and leaving Beacon Hills is not the way to go about doing that.
“Derek?” Erica prods, hand stilling over one of the gashes on Boyd’s lower abdomen.
“That’s about as good as it’s gonna get,” Derek says. “They haven’t laced your wounds with enough wolfsbane to kill you—you never would’ve made it back here if they had. You’ll just have to heal on your own time.”
“Okay,” Erica says tiredly, struggling to her feet.
“No, stay,” Derek says, lowering Boyd to the bed again. “The two of you should stay the night and skip school tomorrow. It’s a Friday anyway, and you’ll need time to heal. I don’t expect you to be fully recovered ‘til Monday or Tuesday at the earliest.”
Erica fixes Derek with a look of surprise and disbelief, but all she says is, “Thank you.”
“You’re pack,” Derek answers, stepping toward her and running a hand over her hair. It’s dirty and matted from a week spent in the woods, but they’ll have time to shower tomorrow, after they’ve rested some. “Sleep,” he says.
Erica manages a tentative smile. “Thank you,” she repeats.
Derek just nods once, unaccustomed to these sorts of exchanges, and walks out of the room. When he pauses just outside the doorway and turns to look back, Erica is still watching him, eyes inquisitive. But when their eyes meet, she quickly lowers her gaze and goes to lie down next to Boyd, hissing in pain.
Derek closes their door and crosses the hall to his own room.
----
“Guys,” Stiles says as soon as he reaches the table. “Guys, I’ve got big news.”
Jackson and Lydia are still kissing, Allison is still overly focused on her sandwich, Scott is still reading his history book upside-down, and Danny is fiddling with his phone.
“Guys!” Stiles complains, slamming his tray down next to Scott’s. Scott yelps, Jackson and Lydia spring apart, and a ton of heads turn their way, but hey, they’re paying attention! So Stiles slips onto the bench next to Scott and says, “You guys won’t even believe what I heard on the police radio last night. We were on the way home from Jack in the Box, and I—”
“I don’t care what you heard on the police radio,” Jackson drawls, rolling his eyes and pulling Lydia a little closer. Apparently it’s “true love,” and Stiles doesn’t really have a snowball’s chance in hell, which might just be the suckiest thing to ever suck. But back on topic—
“They found bodies,” Stiles says before anyone can cut him off. And that definitely gets and keeps their attention, because all five pairs of eyes turn to him. “Yeah. Told you it was interesting. Those four people who went missing last week? Yeah. Dead.”
“Are you serious?” Lydia says.
Scott groans. “God, we only just dealt with our lizard problem, and now—”
Stiles elbows him before he can continue, but Danny is already leaning forward, interested. “Lizard? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Scott’s an idiot. Who knows what he’s talking about?” Jackson says with his customary douchebag air, but Stiles guesses it’s at least a little useful, because Danny chuckles and lets it go.
“Anyway, it gets better,” Stiles says, leaning forward in preparation to lower his voice. The others lean over the table too, and Stiles has the sudden urge to laugh because he’s always wanted to make a dramatic declaration like this. He manages to hold it back, because it would totally ruin the mood right now, and says, “Their hearts were missing.”
A beat of silence.
Then Allison says, “Missing.”
“Missing. Vanished. Gone,” Stiles says, leaning back in his seat with a flourish.
“You have a screwed up definition of ‘better,’” Danny comments.
Stiles just grins before turning his attention to the others. They all look a little disturbed, and Stiles would love to theorize, but Danny’s still here, and he’s not in the know yet.
“What do you think could have happened to them?” Allison asks, giving Stiles a warning look, which is totally patronizing and rude because Stiles is not an idiot. Scott is kind of an idiot, and if anyone was gonna let anything slip, it’d be Scott, not Stiles.
“I don’t know,” Stiles says. “My dad wouldn’t say anything. Obviously.”
“Maybe it’s Hannibal’s picky little brother,” Jackson jokes, and Lydia punches him.
“Not funny,” she chastises, rolling her eyes.
The conversation devolves from there, taking a turn toward a new TV show that Danny’s been forcing Jackson to watch, and Stiles stops paying attention because it’s not important. He sends a text to the other four at the table, the ones in the know: Derek’s house after school? Still nothing on Boyd and Erica.
Because yeah, those two have been missing for a week now, and no one’s heard anything from them. They know it couldn’t have been the kanima because Jackson’s a happy, healthy werewolf now—happy and healthy because he’s got Lydia, and who wouldn’t be happy and healthy in his position? Lucky bastard.
Stiles directs his thoughts away from them, because he’s spent enough time grousing mentally and verbally about how obviously unfair the difference is between Jackson’s luck and his own, and spending even more time on it isn’t gonna get him anywhere. Except depressed and angry. Well, more just depressed. And depression leads to idleness and lack of motivation, which is totally the opposite of everything Stiles believes in.
Derek, Stiles forces himself to think. Derek is a hardheaded asshole, but he wouldn’t kidnap Erica and Boyd and pressgang them into staying as part of his pack, would they? And besides, they’ve all been to his house at different times, and Scott, Isaac, and Jackson never smelled anything funny.
Wait, Isaac. “Hey, where’s Isaac?” Stiles asks. The guy is staying with Scott, so if anyone knows what’s going on with him, then Scott would. But of course, Scott’s hiding behind his book and watching Allison, because what else would he be doing, and Stiles kicks him under the table. “Scott.”
“What?” Scott says, sparing a moment to glance at Stiles.
“Where’s Isaac?”
“He’s taking a sick day,” Scott answers distractedly.
“Thank you,” Stiles says, and then he frowns, because werewolves don’t get sick, do they?
Oh, well. More to ask Derek when they see him in the afternoon. And if all else fails, research.
----
Derek has to admit he’s surprised by how natural it feels to be going out and buying groceries, putting together a list of things he can provide for his pack members to eat. It’s more than usual, because he typically only has himself to look after, but now he has two more mouths to feed, and the alpha in him is undeniably pleased with having the responsibility.
But he stops short when he walks out of the shop, because an unexpected—unwanted—visitor is parked next to the Camaro, clearly waiting for him.
Derek pushes his cart over to his car and pops the trunk, starting to put the groceries inside. “I had nothing to do with the bodies that they found last night,” he says, and it’s not even a lie.
“Is that so?” Chris Argent asks, stepping closer to him. “Because last I checked, werewolves had a tendency to rip people’s hearts out.”
“Not the Hales. You know us,” Derek says.
“But what about the ones you turn, hmm?”
“You haven’t seen Scott tearing any hearts out, have you?” Derek says, finally looking over at Chris.
The man holds his gaze, steady as always. “So you’re willing to vouch for your pack, say that none of them had anything to do with the bodies that were found in the woods last night.”
“Yes.”
“All right,” Chris says simply. “That had better be the truth.”
“It is,” Derek responds, putting the last two bags into his trunk and pushing it closed.
“Do you have any idea what might have happened—whether or not another pack might be scoping out the area?” Chris asks.
And Derek answers, honestly, “Nope, not a clue.”
----
Castiel supposes this all could have been avoided if he had just flown to Carson City and checked the authenticity of the case ahead of time, but he’s been attempting to stay “under the radar,” as they say, and flying is out of the question, if he wants to remain undetected by Naomi and the angels under her command who are no doubt looking for him.
Sam had given them the details three days ago, and they had driven out here, spent some time investigating, and agreed that there was nothing. Just a couple freak accidents. Coincidences. Dean still insists that Sam rest as much as he can, especially now that Castiel is with them and can provide backup on hunts.
“We should go to Tahoe,” Dean says suddenly, turning the music down a little.
“Why?” Castiel asks. “Kevin Tran still has yet to be moved to the bunker, which I feel would be a far more secure location for him. And once there, he’d be able to translate the angel tablet.”
“Hey, we’ve gotta stay on point, here. Gates of Hell first, and then we’ll get to your angel buddies.”
“Regardless of sequence, Kevin’s relocation takes precedence over a trip to a lake—and over any sort of a case. I still don’t understand why you thought this would be a better use of our time.”
“Look, Kevin’s comfortable where he is. And where he is, Garth can check up on him now and then. Once he’s in the bunker, all he’s gonna have are you and me because Sam’s not a hundred percent. And I wouldn’t trust you to take care of a human, like ever.”
Castiel frowns at this. “I know what a human’s basic requirements are for living. I’d only need to provide sustenance and remind him to get a proper amount of sleep.”
“Yeah well, that’s not all there is to being human.”
This makes Castiel bristle because he’s been around for thousands of years, and perhaps he has never had the full human experience, but he’s certainly come close. And he’s not stupid, as Dean seems to think, sometimes.
But before he can put vocalize any of this, Dean’s phone rings, and he digs it out of his pocket before picking up. Castiel refrains from reminding him that it is unwise to drive while holding a cell phone. The distraction would slow down his reaction time, where an emergency situation to arise. But Dean is a man who runs into danger at every turn, and Castiel doubts he worries about car crashes.
Castiel would never allow Dean to be killed by something so mundane as a car crash, anyway. Not while he was there to stop it.
“Wait, wait, wait, lemme put you on speaker phone,” Dean says, pulling his phone away from his ear and pressing a button. “Okay, repeat what you just told me so Cas can hear,” he says as he holds the phone out to Castiel.
“Oh. Hey, Cas,” Sam says.
“Hello, Sam.”
“Well, I was just telling Dean that I found something that’s definitely our sort of thing. Uh, four people with missing hearts, all in the same place at the same time,” Sam says, and it sounds like he’s reading something—a news article, most likely.
“That does indeed sound like a hunt,” Castiel confirms.
“Where is it?” Dean asks.
“Beacon Hills, California,” Sam replies.
“California is adjacent to Nevada—I don’t believe it would be much of a detour for us,” Castiel comments, looking over at Dean. But the hunter’s brow is furrowed, like he’s thinking hard.
“Wait, Beacon Hills,” he says. “Isn’t that where uh, what’s-his-name, uh—”
“Dean, don’t strain yourself,” Sam says, and Castiel is proud that he can pick up his amusement even without any visual cues.
“Argent!” Dean says suddenly, triumphant. “Isn’t that where Chris Argent came from?”
After a pause, Sam says, “Y’know, I think you’re right. You guys were pretty close, weren’t you?”
“Nah, just ran on a couple hunts together. It was a long time ago,” Dean answers, but he’s smiling a little. Whoever this Chris Argent is, Dean’s memories of him are fond.
The realization brings an unpleasant, sour taste to Castiel’s mouth, yet he knows that the chemical composition of his vessel’s saliva has not changed in the past few seconds. Strange, that he can taste something that is not there.
“Well anyway, Cas is right—Beacon Hills is probably only like a three-hour-drive from Carson City, and I figured you guys could go over and check things out. You can even stop for an hour or two at Lake Tahoe, if you want,” Sam says.
Dean grins. “Ah, Sammy. You know me too well.”
----
When Derek arrives at his house, he sees a number of cars parked outside—seems everyone in the pack is here. Before he’s even opened his trunk, his front door swings open, and Scott and Isaac emerge, followed closely by Stiles, Jackson, Lydia, and Allison.
“Wow, you were out grocery shopping?” Stiles says incredulously.
“Yes,” Derek says. “But I was only buying to cook a meal for three, so you guys should probably order a pizza, if you were planning to eat here.” He definitely doesn’t have enough food to cook for a horde of hungry teenagers.
“We’re not here for your food. We just wanna know what’s going on,” Scott says.
“Nothing is going on,” Derek responds. “Now help me get these into the house, and I’ll pay for pizza.”
No one in their right mind turns down free pizza, so Derek’s offer is extremely effective, and less than five minutes later, all the groceries are on the kitchen counter.
As Derek sorts through them—he shooed them out of the way because he needs to know where everything is, if he’s to use it all later—Stiles and Jackson argue over pizza toppings. The others don’t seem to care much about whether or not a pizza should have pineapples on it, and Derek checks out for a while, focusing on getting everything he just bought stowed away.
When he’s finished, he notes that the pizza ordering seems to have been settled, and everyone is in the living room, waiting for him. Erica and Boyd are curled up together on one of the couches, sharing each other’s strength, and Derek feels comforted by the strength of their bond. Jackson, Lydia, and Allison have taken the other couch. Scott and Isaac are leaning against a wall, and Stiles is sitting cross-legged on the ground, though he pops up to his feet when Derek walks into the room.
“Okay, can you tell us what’s really going on, now?” Scott asks. “Erica and Boyd already told us about the alpha pack.”
Of course they did, Derek thinks but doesn’t say—he doesn’t need to make them feel guilty. Besides, he never asked them to keep it a secret.
“What do they want, and what are they doing in Beacon Hills?” Allison asks.
Derek casts a skeptical eye on her. He’s been allowing her into his house because of her strong bonds with Lydia and Scott—broken up or not, their feelings for each other are obvious—but she is still a direct line for Chris, and he finds himself concerned. How much did Boyd and Erica say? He hopes they were smart enough to keep their own involvement out of the story, especially if they noticed the youngest Argent’s presence.
“I don’t know for sure,” Derek finally says, “but I have a theory.”
“Let’s hear it, then,” Stiles says.
“Well, it’s rooted in one of the oldest werewolf traditions in history,” Derek begins. “Basically, though each werewolf pack has an alpha, there is always one True Alpha, an immortal wolf that dominates over all others. The True Alpha cannot be killed or challenged by another werewolf, and anyone who tries will inevitably die. But a wolf cannot be born a True Alpha; that privilege has to be earned.”
“How come I’ve never heard of this before?” Allison asks.
“I doubt any hunters have heard of this,” Derek responds.
“Okay, so if True Alphas can’t be killed or challenged, how can another werewolf take over as True Alpha?” Jackson asks, arms folded across his chest.
“Well, every five hundred years, a Judge is born. A Judge is human, can be male or female, and is essential to werewolves everywhere because the wolf that he or she chooses to mate is the one that becomes the True Alpha for the next five hundred years or so, until the next Judge manifests,” Derek says. He remembers this well, remembers sitting on his dad’s knee as he told him about Judges and counted years with him.
“But wouldn’t there be two True Alphas, then? Do they have a fight to the death, or what?” Stiles asks.
“The previous True Alpha can either step down peacefully or challenge the new one. As far as I know, all old True Alphas have lost to the new ones. But that hasn’t been a problem for thousands of years, because the last True Alpha always found the Judge and courted him or her to keep his position. If the Judge couldn’t be courted, he just killed ‘em,” Derek says. His dad had sounded bitter about it, but Derek hadn’t really cared—still doesn’t, honestly.
“Well that’s… shitty,” Jackson says.
Lydia laughs. “Just be happy that you’re a werewolf at all, okay? Don’t be trying some shit with a Judge to turn yourself into a True Alpha. I won’t take you back.”
“Manifest,” Stiles says suddenly, eyes on Derek. “You said ‘manifest.’ What do you mean by that?”
“Oh. Judges don’t become detectable by us until they’re somewhere between seventeen and twenty years old,” Derek answers, “which brings me to why the alphas might be traveling together. The last True Alpha died two years ago—no one knows how, but we all felt him go. So those guys were probably traveling together in search of the Judge, since the time’s about right—the Judge should be about seventeen years old, now.”
“But the Judge might not show up ‘til three years from now, is what you’re saying,” Lydia says.
“Yes,” Derek confirms. Then he adds, “It explains why they wanted me to stay put, too—if Erica and Boyd mentioned their message to me.”
“Yeah, they did,” Scott says.
So Derek goes on to explain, “Well, the likelihood of a Judge choosing a non-alpha for a mate is virtually zero, so if the traveling alphas can lock down all other alphas, it’ll be easier for them to eliminate competition when they find the Judge.”
“Huh,” Isaac grunts. “But how do they know the Judge isn’t in one of the places that they pass through?”
“I guess they don’t,” Derek says. “I’m pretty sure they’re just assuming that the Judge will appear if they prowl around town for a while.”
As the group mulls that over, Stiles asks, “Do you want to be True Alpha?”
“I’m uninterested,” Derek answers. “Anyway, the alpha pack should leave this area when they’re satisfied that the Judge isn’t here—I’m pretty sure they’re gone already, seeing as they’ve let Erica and Boyd come back to us.”
“All that power, though. It doesn’t tempt you at all?” Jackson asks.
“Not really,” Derek replies. All he wants is for his pack to be whole. Anything else isn’t as important.
The doorbell rings then, and Stiles bounds for the door—“Pizza!”
----
Dean and Cas get to Beacon Hills around ten o’clock at night and pull into the parking lot of a motel. After they’ve rented a room and Cas is all set up on the laptop, Dean takes out his cell phone and decides to give Chris a call, just for old times’ sake.
“Who is this?” Chris asks when he picks up.
“I can’t believe this is still your number,” Dean says, eyes widening a little. “Hey, Chris.”
Chris just repeats, “Who is this?”
“Uh, Dean. Dean Winchester,” Dean answers with a chuckle.
“Wow,” Chris says after a beat. “It’s been a long time, Dean. God, it has to have been ten or eleven years, by now. How’ve you been?”
Dean huffs. “I’ve been all right, considering. Listen, you’ll never guess where I am.”
“Where are you?”
“Your hometown.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. I’m in Beacon Hills, California.”
Another pause, and then Chris asks, “Where are you staying?”
“Some motel,” Dean answers, because he can’t be bothered to check. One shitty motel’s just about the same as the next, anyway.
“You should stay at my place. I’ve got rooms to spare.”
“Oh, you still own a house out here?”
“I live here,” Chris says, amused.
“Oh. Oh, dude, that’s awesome,” Dean says, even as he starts to wonder. There’s no way Chris wouldn’t know about werewolf kills in his own town, so maybe he’s already looking into them…?
“So do you have a pen or something?”
“Nah, just text me your address. I’ll be over in a few,” Dean replies, and Cas looks up at him over the top of the laptop, curious.
“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Dean.”
“See you soon,” Dean echoes. He hangs up and says to Cas, “Okay, pack that up. We’re gonna go stay at Chris’s place.”
Cas shuts down the laptop without comment, and Dean is pleased that they haven’t really had any time to spread things out in the room—Cas doesn’t really have much in the way of belongings anyway, and Dean only dropped his duffel on the ground when he came in the room, didn’t even open it.
Less than fifteen minutes later, they’ve canceled the motel room and are arriving at Chris’s house.
“Dude, nice digs,” Dean says when Chris opens the door for them.
“Dean,” Chris says with a warm smile, leaning forward to get a quick hug. He steps back to let them inside, nodding to acknowledge Cas as he passes. “Who’s your friend?”
“Cas. He’s working hunts with me,” Dean replies.
“Oh. Glad you’ve got someone to watch your back,” Chris says, shaking hands with Cas. “I’m Chris.”
“Yes, I know,” Castiel replies.
“So, how are you?” Dean asks. “Are Victoria and Allison around?”
A pained look crosses Chris’s face, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek, because that means one or both of them are dead.
“Victoria passed away,” Chris says quietly. “Allison’s fine, though. She’s upstairs. Would you like to see her, see if she remembers you at all?”
“Nah, it’s fine. If we’re staying here for a few days, I figure we’ll see her eventually,” Dean says.
Chris nods and leads them farther into the house. “So, what are you doing in town? I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”
“Well, you’ve heard about the bodies they found, haven’t you?” Dean says.
“Yeah,” Chris says, and he sounds tired. “They definitely sound like the work of werewolves.”
“Did you investigate at all?” Dean asks.
“Well, the local police all kinda know me, so… it wasn’t really convenient for me to investigate,” Chris says. “I’m not exactly a full-time hunter anymore.”
“Ah, right. To afford a place like this, I figure you’ve probably got yourself a respectable job and all,” Dean says, grinning.
“Eh, close enough,” Chris responds, starting up a flight of stairs. “Anyway, it’s kinda late, so unless you’re hungry, I’ve got two spare bedrooms upstairs that you can set up in.”
“I won’t need a room,” Cas says, because of course he doesn’t know when to keep his damn mouth shut.
“We’re just more used to sharing,” Dean says in response to Chris’s raised eyebrows.
“That’s fine,” Chris says. “It took me a while to get used to living in such a big space, too.” They reach the top of the stairs, and Chris turns to his right, going down a hallway and pushing open the door at the end. “This should hopefully work,” he says.
“Yeah, it’s perfect,” Dean says, walking inside and dropping his duffel bag on the ground.
“The bathroom is just next door, and the linen closet is across the hall from it,” Chris adds.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. And you’d better not be too busy hunting to have dinner with Allison and me tomorrow night,” Chris says. “Let me tell you: I’ve picked up some skills over the years.”
“Hey, you know me. I’d never turn down food.”
“Okay, then.” Turning to Cas, Chris says, “I hope you like meat.” Cas just smiles tightly, and Chris gives Dean an odd look before backing out of the room. “Good night, then.”
“Night,” Dean says.
----
Castiel is not fond of Chris Argent.
The man seems sincere enough in his interactions with Dean, but Castiel can’t help but feel that he is trying to hide something from them. The man has a noble soul at the core, yet Castiel cannot like him, and he is no longer able to tell whether this is because of Chris’s secrecy, or because Castiel envies the man’s history with Dean.
He doesn’t think he’ll be able to sort out his feelings on the matter anytime soon, but he has all night to decide—Dean has just fallen asleep, and he will be in this state for a minimum of four hours, though now he sleeps closer to six hours a night, accustomed to a more relaxed life at the bunker.
Hola, Cas.
Castiel frowns at the voice, somehow familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Who would be praying directly to him?
I uh, don’t even know if you can hear me, you being still in Purgatory and me being a monster soul and all, but…
There’s a pause for a chuckle here, all too familiar, and even if he hadn’t had the context of the previous words, he would have identified the speaker as Benny.
Well, it helped Dean, and I guess… I guess I’m desperate, here.
Castiel looks over at Dean, lying in bed, and wonders why he’s never mentioned Benny since Castiel returned. Castiel had even begun to assume that Dean might have killed Benny, on the grounds of his species, but it is clear now that he hasn’t. This makes sense, too—Dean valued his friendship very highly.
Never really believed in God, y’know, not after finding out that my maker wasn’t as godly as he claimed to be. Never believed in angels, either, not ‘til I met—well. He ain’t my friend no more, that much he made pretty damn clear.
The pain in his voice is palpable, and Castiel simply cannot ignore it.
I just—I just need some help, here.
Castiel lands behind the vampire and finds him on his knees in the dirt, next to an old, beaten-up truck.
“I don’t know how much longer I can old out without—think I’m losin’ my mind, a little.”
“Hello, Benny,” Castiel says quietly.
Benny jerks forward and shoves a hand against the ground, propelling with his legs so that he’s lunging to his feet. He spins around, knife already in hand, lips pulled back in a snarl, and Castiel feels concerned by his near-feral state. And then the knife lowers, and Benny’s eyes widen. “Hot-wings. Didn’t know you got out,” he says.
“I was pulled out by some angels,” Castiel starts, but realizes that it’s irrelevant—he doesn’t want to talk about the mind control, in any case.
The important thing is that Castiel stopped—didn’t hurt Dean—and Dean seems to have forgiven him.
“It is unimportant,” Castiel says, waving a hand dismissively. “You prayed to me. What do you want?”
Benny turns away, but in the moment before he does, Castiel catches the unbearably sad, broken look on his face, nothing like the fierce warrior he’d fought alongside in Purgatory. “I just don’t have anyone left,” Benny says, voice raw.
Castiel frowns—this makes no sense. “What happened between you and Dean?”
“I’d rather not get into it.”
“What do you want from me, then?”
Benny is quiet for a long moment, but Castiel is patient and allows him the time to sort out his thoughts; it is difficult to imagine why a vampire would be praying to an angel.
Finally, Benny confesses, “I almost drank from a man tonight, stalked him through a dark alleyway and everything. I…” he turns toward Castiel, jaw clenched, and then continues, “I barely stopped myself from attacking him, only just managed to let him through.”
Castiel frowns. “So you… have been going against your own nature,” he infers.
“Yes.”
“But why? Just as humans need to eat, vampires need to eat.”
Benny’s eyes widen at this. “So you don’t think vampires are evil for drinking humans.”
“No. It is in their nature. It is what they need to do to survive,” Castiel responds. “Animal blood is a usable substitute, but it is not the same, and it is not what vampires were meant to drink.”
“But—Dean is a hunter. How do you justify him hunting monsters for doing what is just ‘in their nature,’ then?” Benny asks.
“You already said it: he is a hunter. He perceives vampires as monsters because they prey on his species—naturally, he would want to protect members of his own species from being fed upon,” Castiel says. “That does not, however, give him some sort of moral superiority over you.”
Benny blinks. “But we were human once.”
“You aren’t anymore.”
“So it’s really that simple to you,” Benny says. “If I went and just killed a dozen people for kicks, you wouldn’t smite me on the spot.”
“I would take you to Dean,” Castiel says. “If you killed people for fun, I would not approve. But drinking from people for sustenance—that is not wrong, in my eyes.”
“I guess it would be different for you, you being an angel and all,” Benny mutters.
Castiel nods. “I have grown very fond of humanity in my time on Earth, but I do not see the world from their perspective.”
Cas?
“Dean is calling me,” Castiel says.
Cas, where the hell are you?
Benny’s expression immediately darkens at the mention of his—former?—friend, and Castiel looks at him sympathetically. “I need to go.”
“Go ahead,” Benny says, already starting to turn away.
Get your ass back here, y’hear me?
Castiel takes two steps over to the vampire and grasps his shoulder, stopping him. “I will return, Benny. Do not give up—you are not truly alone.”
“Thanks, Cas.”
Castiel tries for a reassuring smile, and then he takes off.
----
Dean wakes up slowly, looking around an unfamiliar room. It seems nicer than the average motel room, the bed underneath him softer and the sheets nicer-smelling, without that starchy feeling to them. It takes a while for him to remember that he’s sleeping in Chris Argent’s guest room.
And then he realizes that a certain trench coat is nowhere to be seen.
“Cas?” Dean mutters, still a little groggy. He sits up and looks around the room, which is illuminated by slivers of moonlight shining in through the slats of the shutters in front of the window.
Cas really isn’t here.
“Cas?” Dean repeats, closing his eyes and making it a prayer. “Cas, where the hell are you?”
He cracks his eyes open, but Cas hasn’t appeared anywhere, and Dean shuts his eyes again.
“Get your ass back here, y’hear me?” he demands.
Dean waits a moment longer, and then there’s the telltale fluttering of wings that precedes Cas’s arrival. When he opens his eyes, Cas is standing in the room, looking strangely guilty.
“What the hell, man?” Dean says, glaring at him.
“I had some... business… to attend to.”
“You are seriously the shittiest liar there ever was,” Dean declares. “Look, was it Naomi? If it was, you’d better tell me, ‘cause I’m gonna rip that bitch apart.”
“It was not Naomi.”
“Fuck, even if it was, you’d have to say that, wouldn’t you?” Dean says, shaking his head. “Because she was controlling you, and so when we thought something was wrong with you, you just reassured you that you were fine when you weren’t—you weren’t, and we should have noticed.”
Cas’s hands come up to cup Dean’s cheeks, thumbs resting over Dean’s lips, and Dean can’t help but notice how reassuring—how good—that feels.
“Please stop, Dean. We have been over this before,” Cas says.
Dean sighs. “Fine. If it wasn’t Naomi, tell me where you went. You said that flying anywhere was risky, so why are you making midnight flights all of a sudden?”
“It was important.”
“Important enough to not tell me? Cas, you’ve gotta tell me these things.”
Cas sighs, something sad entering his eyes. “I was answering Benny’s prayer,” he says, and Dean feels all the old guilt flooding back in. Cas goes on, “He almost drank tonight, but he stopped instead and prayed to me instead. I really don’t know how much resolve he has left.”
“Damn it, Benny,” Dean mutters.
“If it is not too much trouble, I would like to know why you deserted him,” Cas says.
God, Cas is always this direct, isn’t he? “It’s a long story,” Dean says.
“We have plenty of time,” Cas answers. “It’s the middle of the night, and you do not seem much inclined to go back to sleep, anyway.”
In an attempt to redirect the topic of conversation, Dean asks, “How did he look?”
“Bad,” Cas responds, no less blunt than before. He’s still looking at Dean, waiting for an explanation, and Dean sighs again, because he knows Cas isn’t gonna let this go.
“I won’t get into the details,” Dean says, because the last thing he needs is to relive it all over again. “In the end, it just boiled down to a choice for me between Benny and Sam.”
Cas gets another sad look in his eyes and says, “It’s not your fault, Dean. Benny doesn’t blame you.”
“You can’t possibly know that. There’s no one else for him to blame but me.”
“But I do know,” Cas says, and it’s a little disconcerting how awfully certain about this he seems to be. “I know because I can sympathize. If it comes to a choice between Sam and me, I know that you will not choose me, but I will never blame you for it.”
Yo! Do you know where the info re: the sex pollen is coming from? I keep seeing people talk about it but I can't find a source. Is it just speculation right now?
it’s from spn gossip tag posted by “dot anon” but nope I haven’t seen a single person provide a link. At this pt I don’t even take enough heed of it to go check it out. lololol it’s spn gossip. It’s another set of ridiculous spoilers.
But. in what I’ve seen I feel like they say that Dean has sex but I haven’t seen anyone quote spn gossip staying “sex pollen” I think it’s speculation based on the “spoilers” so some overblown thing.
2. Answer the questions from the person who tagged you and write 11 new ones
3. Tag 11 new people and link them to the post
4. Let them know you tagged them
I was tagged by luvbyrd
1. Favorite TV show.
Ooh, an easy one! Supernatural.
2. If you could go anywhere in the world where would it be and why?
Canada, because that's where I'd like to live someday. (I also say Canada because I'm already going to England this December. :D)
3. Ever dream about your day and wonder why you got up?
If you mean precognition, I wish! If you mean waking up from an awesome dream and having to get up, all the dang time.
4. Favorite drink.
Oh lord....Vanilla Coke, right now.
5. One thing you hope to accomplish
Getting my happy ass to Canada!
6. Favorite Disney movie.
Tangled. Hands down.
7. Don’t lie did you cry while watching the fox and the hound?
I didn't really cry at movies when I was a kid, so no. I'd probably cry now though.
8. Do you own any stuffed animals? Do you have a favorite one?
Way. Too. Many. (Because dolls, like baby dolls and porcelain ones, have always freaked me out) My favorite's a stuffed bunny named Buddy, I've had him since I was five.
9. Worst hairstyle you’ve ever worn.
Well, it was basically the haircut I have now, but it was when I was 10 and still had a very square face. Was not a good idea.
10. Ice cream or frozen yogurt?
I am NOT deciding between those two.
11. Favorite childhood tv show?
Spongebob Squarepants! (Explains a lot about how I am today...)
My questions for you:
1. What's your favorite band/singer?
2. If you were to dress up this Halloween, what would you be?
3. What was your nickname when you were younger?
4. What is/was your favorite subject in school?
5. What would you do if you met your icon?
6. Do you read fanfiction?
7. Who is your favorite blogger on here?
8. If you could go to Space, would you?
9. What's your favorite holiday?
10. What book are you reading now?
11. What event are you looking forward to most right now?
(If you don't want me sending these to you anymore, just let me know.)
I replied to your submission, but I published it and then I realized you might not have wanted it published! So if you want me to take it down just let me know!! :) Also loved your submission! I mean they ARE husbands, I'm just providing the truth ;)
and you're doing it perfectly ^_^
I don't mind it being published thank for asking anyway :)
pondlifeforme replied to your post: Oh OH and since I'm think...
OH MY GOD WHYYYY. HE KNEW WHEN CAS SAID I LOVE YOU. JUST LIKE JOHN. I CAN’T. I CAN NOT. MY CRIESSSS.
heheheh - my favourite kind of reply to things I write :p (also I actually hadn't considered a connection to Dean figuring out John wasn't John cos of the way he expressed affection, UGH KUDOS!)
