Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2025-07-01 10:32 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2025-07-01 10:32 pm
Entry tags:
- buffyverse: buffy summers,
- canon: buffyverse,
- canon: from dusk til dawn,
- canon: leverage,
- canon: october daye series,
- canon: supernatural,
- canon: teen wolf,
- canon: vampire diaries universe,
- canon: white collar,
- canon: wynonna earp,
- fdtd: kisa,
- leverage: alec hardison,
- leverage: eliot spencer,
- leverage: parker,
- october daye: gillian marks-daye,
- original: russell debrande,
- prompts: get your words out,
- ship: bela/eliot,
- ship: bonnie/kisa,
- ship: buffy/matt,
- ship: dean/elena,
- ship: derek/caroline,
- ship: derek/elena,
- ship: gillian/tyler,
- ship: hardison/parker,
- ship: jeremy/waverly,
- ship: neal/parker,
- supernatural: bela talbot,
- supernatural: dean winchester,
- teen wolf: derek hale,
- tvdverse: bonnie bennett,
- tvdverse: caroline forbes,
- tvdverse: elena gilbert,
- tvdverse: jeremy gilbert,
- tvdverse: matt donovan,
- tvdverse: tyler lockwood,
- white collar: neal caffrey,
- wynonna earp: waverly earp
badges
column g
g1 (balcony) who uses a machete to cut through red tape | leverage/white collar | 1,860
That, and he’s completely at a loss for things to do. This party is nothing more than a very obvious distraction, a chance to talk to people and get out of his own bubble, but that will not solve the problem of what to do with his time.
He doesn’t want to go back to being a full-time conman, of pretending to be a new person every day with nothing to keep him grounded. But given that he’s never held a job and, more to the point, never wants to, it’s hard to really tell where to start.
He lightly turns the glass of wine in his hand, trying to figure out what he’s going to do with himself, when a voice—a very familiar voice—pops up next to him.
“Hey.”
He turns to face her, and can’t help but smile. She’s dressed inconspicuously as waitstaff, a tray of champagne flutes in her hand. She’s giving him that small, knowing smile they always shared, letting each other know they understood without them having to explain. Usually that sits on Neal’s end, but go figure that of all people, Parker would be the one to take him faking his death in stride.
“Hey” is all he can give her in return. It feels like she’s on a job, and he doesn’t want to blow her cover for anyone who might be listening.
Her smile widens, and she takes another step closer before leaning in.
“Want to steal something?”
Neal’s face breaks into a wide smile before nodding. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“We need a new face!” explodes from her as he follows her down into a service corridor, and Neal can guess from how she says it she’s not talking to him. She’s probably talking to her crew, whoever they are these days. He’s heard rumors she’s gotten into a good one, but the FBI’s been sparse on details. “Sophie’s out and we’re all in play. We need someone the mark doesn’t know.”
“What kind of mark is this exactly?” Neal asks, wanting to get up to speed as fast as he can, and she holds up a hand for him to wait. They’ll get there. He knows if nothing else, Parker always has a plan.
“We’ll talk about this in person. We’re almost there.”
Sure enough, they emerge out onto the streets of Paris, and Parker makes a beeline for one of the catering vans sitting on the street. She pulls open the door and reveals two men sitting in the back, one a black man hanging out over a computer, and the other—
“Is that Eliot Spencer?”
“Who wants to know?” the man snaps, and Neal takes that as a yes.
“Not yet. Get in the van.” Parker waves him in, and Neal sighs before doing as he’s told.
“I hoped I was done with vans.”
Still, he settles inside, and once Parker closes the door behind them, she turns and points to him. “This is my friend Neal. He’s also a thief. Neal, you know Eliot—”
“I wouldn’t say I know him. More know of him.”
“—and this is Alec Hardison.”
Neal then turns to take in the other man, because the name, he knows. He’s just never put a face to it.
“Neal who?” Eliot snaps.
“Friend?” Hardison says simultaneously. “Since when do you have friends not us or Tara or Peggy?”
Parker frowns. “It’s from before I met you guys. He kind of went to jail, and then he was working for the FBI. It was a whole thing.”
“FBI—” Eliot turns to focus his attention back on Neal again. Neal can’t say he likes it. “You want to bring Neal Caffrey in on this job?”
“Seems my reputation precedes me.”
“Isn’t Neal Caffrey supposed to be dead?” Hardison asks, and Parker waves a hand.
“Psh. Like we don’t fake people’s deaths all the time.” Parker then places her hands on her hips. “The fact is, we need a face. We need someone to draw their focus while Hardison gets the info he needs.”
“How do we know he can do this, anyway? He went to jail and the same guy caught him like three times.”
“Can I speak in my defense here?” Neal asks, and Parker nods.
“Please.”
“Right, well, that one guy is the only person who’s ever caught me, and he had emotional leverage that’s no longer relevant.” Neal can’t tell if that’s a pro or a con, but he feels it needs to be said. “And there’s a reason in some circles I’m called a technological virtuoso.”
“A what what-you-oso?” Hardison looks almost offended by the prospect. “Are you kidding me?”
Eliot also looks like he’s about to voice an objection, but Parker raises a hand before anyone else can get any farther. “I’ve worked with Neal on jobs before. I know he’s good. I trust him. Can you trust me?”
That seems to silence the two men well enough, and after a certain period of silence Parker takes that as agreement.
“Okay. Run it so we can get Neal up to speed.”
Hardison sighs, but goes to do just that. And what he says isn’t what Neal expects. The mark is obscenely wealthy—some kind of tech mogul who’s taking advantage of their position and power to manipulate consumer data and has cost some people their homes and jobs. The game was essentially to sell them something and make off with the cash while finding the evidence of their wrongdoings and exposing it to the right people. Neal’s role in things would be to play a competing bidder, to add some validity to the scheme.
And whatever they got from the guy would go straight into the hands of some people he’s hurt so they can try to rebuild their lives.
It’s when they hit the end that Neal’s interest truly piqued. He glances over at Parker again, eyes wide.
“You’re helping people.”
“But with crime!” Parker grins. “You in?”
“Oh, I’m definitely in.”
The job goes off without a hitch. Between Neal’s unknown connections to the other three, to the entitlement and ego of the mark, it’s like he’s pouring the money into their pockets. Neal’s always enjoyed targeting the rich, but Parker let him come along when they had a video call to report their success to their client, and this feels … different. It feels like it could almost be what’s next.
“Think Hardison will let me keep this identity?”
They’re lounging on the balcony outside Neal’s flat—Neal stretched out on one of the lounge chairs while Parker perches on the railing. He’s playing with the fake ID in his hand—impressive quality for the time he’s had to make it—and then looks up at her to gauge the answer to his question.
“I have to rebuild my collection.”
Parker smirks. “No more Nick Halden?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t use anything that Peter would know to look for. Not until I’m sure he’ll be okay with this.”
“Fair enough.” She shrugs. “Don’t see why not. Especially since I have a second offer for you.”
Neal raises an eyebrow, trying to see what she’s getting at, but Parker’s never been one to play her cards before she was ready. “Oh really? What’s that?”
“I want you to run our Paris team.”
Neal’s head tips to the side, curious, before he pushes up into a sitting position. “You want me to run a team?”
“Hardison, Eliot and I are taking this global. The more they learn about us, the more the cases are multiplying, and we need more boots on the ground. We have a few potential recruits for Paris, but … they’re good people. People with skills—white hat hackers and ex-law enforcement—but they don’t have anyone who can run a con. They don’t have anyone who can show them how to get in the back door.”
“So you need someone like me.”
Parker nods. “I had you in mind from the start. I knew you weren’t dead, and I knew if you were anywhere, it was probably Paris. But I had to find you, and I had to prove to Eliot and Hardison they could trust you. This is really important to them.”
Neal can tell it’s important to her, but Parker already trusted Neal. It’s less of a hard sell for her.
“Why me?”
“I followed what you were doing with the FBI. There’s a reason they let them keep you for so long, why you let Peter keep catching you—” He opens his mouth but she cuts him off. “—And no, it wasn’t all about Kate. You enjoyed getting the bad guys. You enjoyed stopping people who were hurting people. Now you get to do that here, and you don’t have to do it on the FBI’s terms.”
He can’t say the deal isn’t a choice one. It is almost too good to be true. If it were anyone other than Parker offering it, he might have turned it down for that reason alone. But he knows Parker. Parker wouldn’t con him.
“Can I bring on Mozzie?”
“Sure,” Parker grins. “I’ve missed him.”
Neal nods again. “Thank you, Parker. I’ve been a little lost and … I think this may be just what I needed.”
“Good.” Parker slides off the railing and goes to sit next to him on the lounge. “I’ve missed you too, by the way. It was weird having you on the other side.”
“It was weird for me too,” he admits. Then he glances back and raises an eyebrow at her. “So you and Hardison—”
“He’s great, isn’t he?” Parker seems happier than Neal’s ever seen her. “I don’t think anyone other than you has ever tried to understand me, but he just … locked in.”
“Mmmm. So he doesn’t know that we used to—”
“No. Should I tell him?”
Neal laughs. “I wouldn’t advocate lying. But I’m glad you waited until after my audition was over.”
Parker smirks before pulling out her phone. “I’ll send you over the profile of the team we already have. I think you’ll like them.”
“Good. Do you want to arrange the first meeting, or should I?”
“Hardison will, just for a clean transition. But after that, it’s all yours.”
Neal nods and stands, feeling as though a weight has been lifted. “Well, I am starving. Want to stay for dinner?”
Parker smiles as she pops to her feet with a nod. “Thought you’d never ask.”
g2 (alibi) pleasing everyone isn't like you | leverage/supernatural | 2,040
“Yes, Hardison?”
“Why are there two white boys staring at us like we killed their dog?”
Her eyebrow raises at the “us” portion of that statement, and when she turns from her newspaper to look, it turns out it is the boys she expects. Of all the bars in Boston, naturally, Sam and Dean had to walk into this one. Dean glares at her like he wants to kill her—again—and none of that is surprising. But it’s Sam’s face that gives her pause. Sam is looking directly at Hardison, with a look on his face that she’s having trouble reading.
“Me, because I’ve made them quite angry in the past.” Bela frowns as she watches them. “But you…I don’t know.”
“Oh, so you know them. They aren’t some … ”
“No.” She pauses before sighing as Sam and Dean move closer to their booth, moving with purpose and intention. She places the newspaper to the side. “Just follow my lead.”
Hardison nods and inches back further in the booth on instinct.
She flashes the Winchesters a thin smile. “Hello, boys. Been a while.”
“Why aren’t you dead?” Dean, ever the one-track mind. “Why aren’t either of you dead?”
Bela glances back at Hardison brow furrowing, and he continues to look incredibly baffled. She then looks back at the Winchesters, trying to read into what this is. “Well, we know who I am. But who do you think he is?” She points to Hardison, and Sam’s jaw sets.
“I think we all know who you are, Jake.”
“Jake?” Hardison shakes his head. “Uh-uh. I have had many, many aliases over the course of my career, but none of them have ever been named Jake.”
Bela nods. “Clearly, you’ve mistaken my friend for someone else.”
“Of course he’d be friends with you,” Dean sneers.
Hardison straightens. “That doesn’t sound like I should take it as a compliment, which is real funny because, as I said, I don’t know you.”
“Your name is Jake Talley,” Sam replies sharply. “And I think I’d remember pretty well the guy who killed me.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I haven’t killed anybody. Also, if I killed you, shouldn’t you be dead?”
Bela straightens, placing herself in front of the table, and between them and Hardison. “If you have an issue with my being back, take it up with me. Even better, take it up with your good friend Crowley, as he’s the one responsible.” She can hear Hardison’s fingers flying across his keyboard, likely looking up the name he’s given. Bela keeps her focus on Sam and Dean. “But he is not who you think he is.”
“And we should just trust your word on that?” Dean snaps. “We should just trust that you’re human?”
“There a problem here?”
Eliot’s voice drifts from over Sam’s shoulder. She can’t see him, but something in her relaxes knowing he’s there.
“No problem,” Dean snaps over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t asking you.” He shifts so that Bela and Hardison can see him. “Is there a problem?”
“Just a small one,” she replies. “But nothing I can’t handle.”
“Let me guess.” Eliot moves to stand next to her, forcing Sam and Dean to take a step back. “These are the Winchesters?”
“Yes. These are the Winchesters.”
“How nice. You warned them about us.” Dean is still unhappy, and that will not be alleviated soon.
“You want to find out whether or not I’m human, then test me. Or you can, as I said, call Crowley and—”
“What the actual hell?” Hardison seems to have found what Sam and Dean were talking about. Bela feels the need to regain control of this situation, so she takes a breath.
“Why don’t you both go to your car and get your little bag of tricks, and we’ll meet you in the back room so we can do this in private?”
“And see you sneak out the back and into the wind? Uh-uh. Not happening. Until we know what’s going on here, I’m not taking my eyes off you.” Dean glances briefly at his brother, and then turns back to Bela. “Sam will go get our stuff while I stay here with you.” He tips his head back to the booth and gestures with a hand towards it. “Why don’t we all have a seat?”
Bela sighs before moving to sit in the booth across from Hardison. Eliot moves to sit next to her, but she immediately shakes her head, and tips it towards Hardison. If Eliot sits by her, that means Dean has to sit by Hardison, and from what the conversation implies, that’s not what they want. Bela at least knows what she’s getting into with Dean.
Dean shoves into the booth next to her, meeting Eliot’s eyes across the booth. “So who’s your friend here?”
Bela rolls her eyes, because of course he doesn’t listen to reason. “My friends are Eliot Spencer and Alec Hardison.”
“Alec Hardison,” Dean repeats thinly. “Sure.”
“Hardison, what did you find?”
“I think we can save that for later,” Hardison replies, with every look from Dean making him look increasingly more uncomfortable. It gets Eliot’s hackles up as well, and he leans forward, drawing Dean’s attention to him.
“Hey. I’m going to need you to stop looking at my friend like you want to kill him.” Eliot’s voice is very soft-spoken and even, but there’s an obvious threat to it, and Dean recognizes it, but in true Winchester fashion, doesn’t back down.
“Look, buddy, I’m doing you a favor. These two? You can’t trust them.”
“I trust them a hell of a lot more than I trust you.” Eliot glances to Bela. “Didn’t you tell them to talk to Crowley?”
“You know Crowley?” Dean blinks.
“Who the hell is this Crowley guy y’all keep talking about?” Hardison just looks confused, and Eliot sighs.
“Sterling is Crowley.”
“Sterling is—” Hardison looks back at Bela. “Sterling brought you back from the dead?”
“Not Sterling,” Bela explains. “The demon living inside Sterling.”
“Sterling is a demon.” Hardison shakes his head. “Always knew there was something not right about him.”
Sam returns, pulling up a chair and taking in the baffled look on his brother’s face. “What? What happened?”
“Did you talk to Crowley?” Bela asks, and he shakes his head.
“He didn’t answer.” He then passes her a silver flask. “Drink.”
Bela rolls her eyes but takes it, raising an eyebrow when there’s no reaction. Dean grits his teeth before gesturing to the other two men.
“Test all of them.”
Bela sighs before passing the flask to Hardison. He looks apprehensive, but she shakes her head. “It’s just holy water and bad whiskey.”
“Right.” Hardison takes the flask from her and takes a sip before passing it to Eliot, who does the same. Dean relaxes marginally after that, but he still looks pissed.
“Alright. So what’s this bullshit about Crowley bringing you back?”
“Crowley made me a deal. I can have my soul back if I gather a collection of supernatural items to assist you in whatever world-ending nonsense you two are currently working on. I’ve made considerable progress; I’m sure you must have noticed.”
The boys share a look, and Dean sets his jaw. “He didn’t tell us where he was getting them.”
“Likely because he assumed you might react poorly to the idea.”
Dean grits his teeth before setting his gaze on Hardison. “That doesn’t explain you.”
“Man, I told you, I’m not who you think I am. My name is Alec Hardison. I did not kill your brother, though he clearly got better, and I’m not Jake Talley. I’ve looked into Jake Talley. He’s very dead. I’m very not. I didn’t have any idea who you two were before you came in here and started ruining my day. Can’t tell you why he looks like me, but I am not him.”
“You say he killed Sam,” Bela muses quietly. “I’m assuming that’s the reason you sold your soul?”
Dean grits his teeth before nodding. “Yes.”
“And then I’m going to assume very shortly after you killed Jake Talley for his crime?”
“It was for more than that,” Sam retorts. “But yes.”
“You introduce me to such nice people, Bela,” Hardison mumbles, and Dean shoots him a look.
“You do know she’s a thief who sells people out for a living.”
“Yeah. So? You’re sitting at a whole table full of criminals.” Hardison rolls his eyes. “You don’t see me judging whatever you do.”
“Oh, Sam and Dean hunt monsters and judge people for making money at their chosen calling while they are reduced to credit card fraud and hustling pool,” Bela smirks. “They are sad, narrow-minded people.”
“I’m seeing that.”
Dean sputters. “She sold her soul to murder her own parents.”
“Already knew that too.” Hardison doesn’t provide further information than that. “Is there something else that I already know you want to tell me?”
Dean’s hand forms into a fist, and Bela places his hand on his arm. The contact is enough to startle him and break that train of thought, and he jerks away. She changes the subject. “Hardison, darling, where were you the day Jake Talley died?”
Sam blinks. “Are you asking him if he has an alibi?”
“That’s clearly what you would need to resolve this situation, isn’t it?” She raises an eyebrow. Sam doesn’t counter her, but he doesn’t seem convinced that one would be possible.
Hardison flips open the top of his laptop before a small smile crosses his face. “I do, actually. I was in jail.”
Dean blinks. “What?”
“On May 17, 2007, I was in jail. I had been arrested because I wanted to be arrested because I needed to get something from a secure police server. I was gone by morning, but if you go looking, you will find arrest records.”
“I’m sure you still have some law enforcement contacts,” Bela raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you go shake some trees and see what you find?”
The boys seem unconvinced when Sam’s phone rings. He glances down at the caller ID before answering: “Crowley.” They have a brief conversation, but when it’s done, Sam’s shoulders relax the rest of the way. “Her story checks out.”
Bela smiles. “Miracle of miracles.”
Dean grits his teeth before getting to his feet. “This isn’t over.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The Winchesters head off, and Eliot watches them carefully until they’re gone. Once the door closes behind them: “I don’t like them very much.”
“Join the club,” Bela sighs before reaching for her glass of wine again. “Are you alright, Hardison?”
“Not in the slightest.” Hardison shakes his head. “I used to think you were weird for turning down my offer of trying to track down people you used to know, but now I see why.”
“You were actually in jail, yeah.”
“Oh yeah. Mug shot and everything. I’m not this Jake Talley person, though it’s really freaking me out that he has my face.”
“A valid response in the grand scheme of things.”
Eliot pauses, tipping his head to the side. “Do you think they’ll come back?”
“If Hardison’s story checks out with their law enforcement sources, they won’t come back for him. Whether or not they come back for me?” She pauses before shrugging. “I don’t know. Dean likely has a lot of vitriol he needs to work out.”
“Should I be worried?”
“I can handle them.” Bela turns to face him. “You have bigger fish to fry. But if there’s an issue, I’ll let you know.”
“Good thing we’re heading out to San Lorenzo soon,” Hardison shakes his head. “I’ll feel better when I’m on a different continent from these guys.”
She can see the warring concerns on Eliot’s face, and she reaches to place her hand over his. “I will be fine. I’ve narrowed down the location for one of the other items, and it’s far from Boston. I’ll make it very hard for them to find me until you return.”
“Good.” He gives her hand a squeeze before relaxing back into the booth. “I don’t know about all of you, but I could use a drink.”
“Please,” both she and Hardison respond simultaneously.
g3 (relaxation) my wrath will come down like cold rain | leverage/supernatural | 1,702
Sure, she’s around now and she makes Eliot happier, but she’s a net neutral. As long as she doesn’t hurt Eliot again, she’ll stay at a net neutral. She’s not family yet, though Hardison seems fond of her, and she defended Hardison from those Winchester guys, so that has upped Bela in her estimation considerably.
Parker does not like these Winchester guys.
That they could just barge into the bar and yell at her friends, at Hardison, for something he didn’t do and not even apologize rankles at the narrowly formed sense of propriety she’s developed over her time with her crew, and Hardison is one of the best people she knows. Hardison is a genuinely good person. You don’t upset Hardison and get away with it.
She follows the Winchesters from McRory’s to the motel they’re staying at. It’s a really rundown place, with no cameras or security features. The car doesn’t even have any challenging security features for her to tackle. It’s the easiest job she’s ever pulled, but as she drives the Impala away from the motel, like a literal thief in the night, she can feel her shoulders relax.
Now she has leverage. Let’s see what they do about it.
“What’s this mean?”
Parker pushes a drawing of one symbol she’d seen in the Impala's trunk towards Bela, and she studies it for a moment before glancing up at her.
“Where’d you see that?”
Parker shrugs. “I’ve been looking into that supernatural stuff you told us about.” It’s not a lie, she has, but it’s more of a half-truth, and with the way Bela’s eyes narrow, she can see the edges of it, but she doesn’t push it.
“It’s to keep demons out.”
“Huh.” Parker nods. “Handy.”
The door to the bar blows open with a slam, and Cora snaps back with a “Hey!” but the man in question ignores her. Fortunately, he didn’t break the window. Parker would have to add that to his tab.
“Where the hell’s my car, Bela?” Dean snaps as he strides across the room towards them. He’s angry; Parker can tell that much. His face is all red, and his eyes are wide, and he’d be scary if Parker wasn’t reasonably certain she could break his arm.
Bela seems surprised, but also not surprised that she’s being blamed for this transgression. “Oh, dear. Did you misplace your beloved car again? Can’t say I know anything about it.”
“Oh really? You’re back in our lives one day and my car’s already stolen?” Dean raises his eyebrows at her before continuing. “Oh wait, ‘towed’?”
“Dean, I have much better things to do with my life than repeat the same move twice. I have no idea where your car is.”
He leans down to get into Bela’s face. If Eliot were here, he’d probably be thrown across the room by now. “I don’t believe you.”
“Then you’re wasting your…time.”
Parker can see the moment the penny drops. When Bela figures out what Parker has done. And she doesn’t seem angry about it. If anything, she seems amused as she turns to face the other woman at the booth.
“Parker. Where did you see the symbol you showed me again?”
Dean glances between the two of them, confusion coloring his features. Parker shrugs in response, not wanting to reveal it just yet, but when the smile crosses Bela’s face, she knows she’s not in trouble. At least not with her.
“Parker. Did you steal Dean’s car?”
Parker smiles in return. “It was really easy. You would think that if you’d already stolen it, they’d be a lot better with security. The motel didn’t even have cameras in the parking lot.”
Dean looks baffled. Which makes sense—he has no idea who Parker is. He has no idea what he did to wrong her. In the end, all he can force out is “Why?”
At that, Parker sets her jaw as she turns to face him. “I don’t like you.”
“So you stole my car?”
“I needed leverage, and a reason you would listen.” Parker shrugs. “And as I said, it was easy.”
Bela sighs, but still, she doesn’t seem mad. “Parker, you need to give him his car back.”
“No. Not until he apologizes to Hardison.”
“What?”
“You were mean to Hardison. And when they showed you that you were wrong, you didn’t apologize. He did nothing wrong, and he thought you were going to hurt him.” Parker knows Eliot wouldn’t let that happen, but it could have, if Eliot wasn’t there.
Bela tries to mediate, turning to face her more. “Parker, it’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.” Parker pushes up from the booth, taking her notebook with her. “Apologize to Hardison. Or steal it back. But I have a lot better security than you do.”
Parker storms off, but she can pick up the remains of Bela and Dean’s conversation over the comms as she heads back up to the office.
“She’s not serious, is she?”
“I’m learning there are very few moments where Parker isn’t serious. Especially about Hardison.”
“I need my damn car, Bela.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to man up and apologize. I thought her terms were quite clear.”
“Why should I—”
“Dean, I know it’s incredibly dangerous for your delicate worldview for you to admit when you’re wrong, but you are wrong here. Maybe not about me, but definitely about Hardison. It should be easy enough to give the man an honest apology.”
There’s a long pause before Dean emits a frustrated “Damnit” and leaves the conversation. Shortly after, Bela says more directly to the rest of the team that may be listening.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yeah,” Hardison’s voice breaks through. “I did.”
Suddenly Parker doesn’t want to be in the office anymore. Instead, she heads for the roof.
It’s about an hour before Hardison comes and finds her, staring out over the city with her. The sun sets over the buildings, and he moves to sit next to her, joining her stare over the city.
“I didn’t ask you to do that, Parker.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“No, you’re not wrong.” Hardison pauses, taking a deep breath. She knows there’s something coming, a lesson about feelings that she doesn’t particularly understand. So she cuts him off before he can get too far.
“This is what we do, isn’t it? Take people who are bad and make sure they do the right thing?”
“I don’t think the Winchesters are bad. I don’t think they’re kind, but that doesn’t make them bad. Bela explained some of it to me, and it seems like their lives are really complicated.”
“So? That doesn’t make what they did okay.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Parker turns to face him more, trying to understand what he’s trying to tell her without him having to say it. He’s usually so good at doing that with her, but she always struggles the other way around. She wants to be better at it. She wants to prove that she knows him as well as he knows her.
“Do you not want him to apologize?”
“Honestly? I’d be happy if I never had to see either of the Winchesters ever again. I wouldn’t say no to an apology. But it’s hard to really feel like it’s real if it’s just to get their car back.”
Parker nods. “I get that.”
He reaches over and takes her hand, giving it a small squeeze. “I appreciate that you were trying to help me. But I think I’d rather he have his car back and be gone than try to make things right.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “Still think he should protect his car better. I stole it in less than a minute.”
Hardison laughs. “Well, hard to best the greatest thief in the world.”
“True.” She sighs. “Alright. I’ll go get his car.”
“I’ll have Bela reach out and tell them to pick it up at the bar.” She gets up and pull away, but he keeps a hold of her hand for a little longer. “But thank you, Parker. I know it’s not working out the way you hoped, but I appreciate the gesture.”
She gives him a small smile, and she heads out to retrieve the car.
Parker pulls the Impala to a stop in front of McRory’s, and she can see Dean and Sam sitting at a table near the window. By the time she’s in park, Dean is springing to his feet and running out the door, looking over the car.
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry the mean lady took you.” He runs his hand over the hood like Parker handles her money, and she realizes she totally could have milked this for so much more. But that’s not what Hardison wants, so she will respect his choices.
Unfortunately.
Parker moves out of the driver’s side and makes her way back to the sidewalk next to Sam, and he turns to her with a nod. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Parker replies as Hardison moves to lean in the doorway. “I didn’t do it for you.”
Sam glances back over his shoulder to where Hardison is standing and gives him a small nod. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for coming in hot before.”
Hardison nods. “Apology accepted. But let’s not make this a regular thing all the same.”
Sam nods before turning further to see Bela and Eliot sitting together in the bar. He swallows hard before turning back to them. “Just … be careful about her. I know she seems trustworthy sometimes, but she’s out for herself. No one else.”
“So were we once,” Parker points out. “People can change.”
“Sure.” Sam doesn’t sound convinced. “Just be careful.”
He turns to rejoin his brother, and Hardison drapes an arm over her shoulders, and pulls her in towards the door. “Thank you,” he murmurs against her temple, and she smiles before nodding.
“Was that apology good enough to count?”
Hardison shrugs. “Guess we’ll see what happens. But for now, it’ll do.”
g4 (sword) but tonight this engine's failing | supernatural/leverage | 1,635
If she’s a betting woman, it’s probably the cursed artifact they have in their possession.
When she pulls to a stop in the driveway, however, she’s surprised to find the Impala sitting there, Dean leaning against it casually. She doesn’t know what he’s doing here, but she can’t help but sigh at her quiet little escapade to the country becoming something else entirely. She huffs before pulling herself out of the car.
“What are you doing here, Dean?”
Dean shrugs. “Crowley said this was the next one on your list. Guess I wanted to see how the magic happens.”
She doesn’t trust that for a moment, but she’s willing to play along. For now. “Where’s Sam?”
“Still in Boston. Thought this would be a good one for just us.” He tips his head to the side. “Where’s your bodyguard?”
“Not here.” Bela doesn’t want to let on how far away Eliot truly is. “What are you after?”
“I told you. I want to see how the magic happens.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, do you not trust me?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “That’s rich.”
“Dean, you haven’t exactly been subtle about your feelings regarding me. Why should I trust you not to stab me in the back as soon as you have the opportunity?”
Dean considers before shrugging. “I guess you shouldn’t.” Another bit of silence stretches between them before he huffs. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“And this couldn’t happen in Boston because …?”
“I wanted to talk to you about Hell.”
“Oh.” Even she can admit that this is not a conversation for Boston. Not in front of Sam, and certainly not in front of Eliot. The silence stretches as she tries to figure out how to respond to that, because she’s not sure she wants to talk about Hell, but fine. They can talk about Hell. “Can we work while we do that?” Hopefully, work that avoids her having to make eye contact.
“Fine.” Dean moves to fall in step next to her as they head into the house, mostly abandoned for better or worse. It’s easy enough to get inside, and no security to dodge as they make their way through the dusty rooms left in disrepair. “So what’s the deal with this place?”
“They bought a cursed sword, curse sword provided a swift end to all their lives, and the estate was essentially abandoned as no one wanted to come deal with it in person.”
“Yikes.” Dean rolls his shoulders almost as though he wants to shake off the bad juju. “Can’t blame people for abandoning it.”
“Neither can I, but their loss is our gain.” Bela glances down at the map the estate agent had provided, and then points to the staircase. “I believe what we’re looking for is upstairs.”
It’s not until they hit the second floor that Dean opens his mouth again. “So … about Hell …”
“Dean. If you’re gearing up to apologize to me for something that happened decades ago for me, I’m going to tell you that you don’t have to.”
“I tortured you.”
“You were in Hell. Everyone was torturing everyone.”
“No, I still … I made a choice. I broke a seal.”
She blinks, considering that statement for a moment, before turning to face him. “Broke a seal?”
Dean scrubs a hand over his face as he tries to find the words. He’s never been good with apologies on a good day, and today is no exception. But it appears he’s still going to try.
“There were these seals keeping Lucifer from being released. One of them is when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. It’s the first seal, actually.”
Wheels spin in the back of Bela’s mind before her eyebrow raises. “That’s why your deal was so strange. I’d always wondered. People had gotten so much more and had gotten the full ten years. It wasn’t as though you were asking for much in the grand scheme of things.”
Dean nods. “They needed me to break the first seal so they could keep the ball rolling with releasing Lucifer. But they gave me a choice. Every day, they gave me a choice, and I held off for so long, but I just … I couldn’t do it anymore. They broke me and they put you in front of me, and …”
“It was much easier than you thought it would be.”
Dean’s shoulders slump, defeated. She knows he’s not looking for forgiveness. For her forgiveness to mean anything, he’d have to forgive himself. That’s often the problem with righteous men. They fall from grace and can’t build back those pieces of themselves that they left behind.
“It wasn’t even supposed to be me. It was supposed to be my dad. He was down there for over a hundred years, and he never broke.”
Bela shakes her head before taking a couple of steps closer. “I never met your father, Dean, but you are human and they were torturing you. Everyone breaks. That’s the point.”
He looks up at her, meeting her eyes, and she can see why he came to her. She’s one of the few people who would understand. Who went to Hell and came out the other side human, for all it’s good it’s done her. She hasn’t been back topside long, still has nightmares and flashbacks, wakes up thinking that this is the dream were it not for Eliot continuing to ground her in the moment. And she can’t say she didn’t flinch the moment she saw Dean. But she’s not holding a grudge for him wanting to stop hurting.
“I don’t hate you, Dean. Not for that. Not for doing what you needed to do to survive.” She tips her head to the side with a sly smile. “If anyone would understand that, it’s me, yeah?”
Dean nods slowly, accepting the sentiment for now. They make their way back to the job at hand when Dean interrupts again. “Bela, why’d you sell your soul?”
“You know why.” This is a conversation she doesn’t want to have with him. Not now, not ever. But she knows Dean is like a dog with a bone, and there’s a reason he’s asking.
“I know what you let me believe, but I don’t think that’s the truth. Your new friends may be criminals, but given what they did to get me to give them a goddamn apology, I don’t think they would have taken too well to ‘I killed my parents for the money.’” She lets the silence sit between them, wanting to see if that’s all he has to go on. “And then I met this guy named Mick Davies, and he started asking some pointed questions about you and your death.”
She fights back the urge to groan. Of course, Mick’s bleeding heart might spill secrets she’d much rather leave in the dust. But she can’t discount his other evidence either. She can’t help but feel like she’s in a corner she would have preferred to avoid, but there’s no digging herself out of it now.
“My father was very attentive. In fact, most normal people would say too attentive.”
She lets that statement sit in the silence between them, and when the penny drops, Dean’s horrified face almost seems like vindication. Though she can’t tell if he’s more horrified at himself or at her experience.
“Why didn’t you say so back then?”
“Why would I?” Bela raises an eyebrow. “It’s not as though we were best friends, or anything even close to friendly? By the time you found out what I did, it wasn’t as though there was time to do anything else. Was pouring out my dark and dirty secrets going to change anything?”
Dean sighs, reaching up to rub his eyes. “No, probably not.” He pauses. “Your mom too?”
“My mother knew and looked the other way. They were both culpable.”
“Damn.”
“Indeed.”
“I’m—”
“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘sorry,’ I don’t want it.”
Dean pauses before closing his mouth in response, and nodding. “Got it.”
“Enough feelings.” She turns to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s just focus on the job, yeah?”
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
An hour later, they have the sword neutralized and stashed in the back of the Impala to head off to whatever project the boys are working on, and Bela is left alone in her car. She feels some of the tension she’s been holding since she realized Dean was there release and melt out of her muscles, but she doesn’t like the feelings that come with it.
Telling the story of her tragic childhood never gets any easier. Having her arm twisted for it is usually worse.
She can’t process all of this in the middle of nowhere. She should make her way back to the hotel, find herself a large glass of wine—maybe she’ll stop somewhere for a bottle—and try to do her best to relax. It helps some to realize that she’s building a life for herself. She’s pulling back together all the fragments of the things she lost.
And maybe on some level, she and Dean understand each other better.
She reaches for her keys, getting ready to start the car when her phone buzzes and she smiles at the sight of a text from Eliot.
Job done. See you soon.
Even better. Something soon to look forward to.
column y
y1 (red herring) you will never make me learn | supernatural/tvdverse | 2,523
Elena turns at the sound of her name and jogs closer towards the sound of her colleague’s voice. Edmundson rarely wastes time asking her for help if he can help it, which means something must be throwing him off his—
“Hey, get your hands off me!”
—There it is.
Standing near one gurney is a tall man in a worn leather jacket, looking furious in Edmundson’s direction. On the gurney is an even taller man, looking very pale and currently unconscious. She pushes down the first few thoughts that come to mind about blood loss—those instances have been fewer and fewer these days. But she can’t help the vampire itch that rises to the back of her mind.
Still, those days are behind her, and she is far from Mystic Falls. She hasn’t seen an honest-to-god vampire that wasn’t Caroline Forbes in years. She lives in sunny Palo Alto and breathes a sigh of relief for every day that doesn’t have a vampire in it.
“Hey, Elena.” Edmundson snaps his fingers towards the unhappy man. “A little help?”
“You know I’m an actual doctor, right? And not just a babysitter for upset family members?”
Edmundson flashes her a dry grin that's supposed to be flirting but really just irritates her every time he undermines her. “But you’re so good at it.”
She rolls her eyes, but she knows that this man’s anger will help no one, let alone the next of kin he brought in, so she just moves on. “Sir, what’s your name?”
“Dean.”
“Dean. I know this is really upsetting, but we’re going to do everything we can for him. Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know. I just found him like this.” Dean scrubs a hand over his face, the tension coming down as she treats him like an actual person instead of an inconvenience. “We hadn’t seen each other for a while. He’s at school—Stanford. I was coming to check on him, and when I got there, I couldn’t wake him up.”
Elena nods. “What was he in school for?”
“I …” There’s a pause as he tries to process the information. “I don’t know his exact major or whatever, but he said he wanted to be a lawyer.”
“Lawyer. That’s a really high-pressure school.”
Dean’s glare immediately returns. “Sam didn’t do this to himself. Someone did it to him.”
Elena holds up her hands gently. “I’m not saying—”
“No, but this asshole sure was!” Dean points to Edmundson, and the start of the conflict comes into full relief.
“Ah.” Elena nods. “Okay. I see what happened. I apologize for that. My colleague’s bedside manner leaves something to be desired.” She flashes Edmundson a glare, and he shrugs. “But these are questions we have to ask. We have to eliminate every possibility we can to make sure we find the right answers.”
Dean grits his teeth. “Not Sam. Not ever.”
“Okay. You said you hadn’t seen him for a while. Do you know any of his friends?”
Dean shakes his head. “He was kind of pissed at me, so he wouldn’t tell me much. But he mentioned something about a girlfriend he wanted me to meet?”
“Do you remember her name?”
“Anna or Ava? Something like that?”
“Okay. Do you know how to contact her?”
“Her number is probably in his phone. I think I might be able to figure out how to get in.”
Elena nods and reaches over into his brother’s personal effects and finds the phone. “Why don’t you get a cup of coffee and see if you can get ahold of her? Give us a chance to evaluate your brother’s condition and see if we have any follow-up questions.”
“Okay.” He glances over at Edmundson. “I want her in charge.”
“What?”
“You heard what I said.” He glances at the nurses. “Her. She’s the one I want making the calls on my brother.”
“Of course, Mr. Winchester,” the nurse replies with a smile, and Dean leaves the area in search of a cup of coffee.
“Kiss ass,” Edmundson snorted, pulling back. “How do you do that?”
“Actually be nice to people? I don’t know. Guess I just work really hard at treating them like people.” Elena moves to look over Sam’s chart and then Sam himself. “Sitting and waiting in a hospital is the worst. Sometimes it helps if you have something to do.”
“I think the best thing they can do is just step back and let us do our job.”
Elena resists the urge to roll her eyes again before looking up at him. “Did you notice anything?”
“Pale and unresponsive. Ordered a blood panel to check for anemia and a tox screen, but beyond that, I don’t know.”
“Okay. I’ll finish the exam and see if we need any additional labs. Thank you for getting it started.”
“My pleasure,” Edmundson rolls his eyes and exits the exam area.
Elena draws the curtain closed, and Angela, the nurse on call for this case, shakes her head. “I still don’t know how he has a job here.”
“He’s a good diagnostician. He just sucks at the actual doctoring part.” Elena begins a cursory exam, looking for any wounds or injections (or bites), but so far he seems clean. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. (Vampire blood covers a lot of sins.) “Pupils are reactive,” she murmurs as she checks his eyes. “But he won’t wake up.”
“What do you think?” Angela frowns.
“He seems to breathe on his own okay, so let’s continue to monitor. Let me know as soon as the labs come back?”
“Will do.”
Elena lets out a breath as she leaves the room and continues to puzzle things over. Something about this doesn’t feel right. She just doesn’t know what it is yet.
The tox screen comes back first. She’s not sure if she wants to take this back to his brother, who’s been sitting vigil since he got off the phone with the girlfriend, but he deserves to have all the information. She is also confused—these aren’t usually the symptoms you’d see with a Ritalin overdose. But she double-checked the labs to be sure.
She pulls back the curtain, and Dean startles awake from where he was dozing. His eyes brighten when he sees her. “Hey. Anything about what’s wrong with him?”
Elena nods. “His tox screen came back positive for a Ritalin overdose. But the presentation is strange, so we’re going to administer treatment, but we want to monitor him to see if there are any other strange symptoms.”
Dean’s shoulders slump in response. “So you really think he did this to himself?”
Elena shakes her head. “I don’t think we’ll know that for sure until he wakes up and we can ask him.” She moves through the space, beginning to prepare the treatment to administer. “Are you and your brother close?”
“Yeah. Well, we were.” Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “It was mostly the two of us, growing up. Our dad wasn’t really around, and he and Sam had a big blowout right before he left for school. We didn’t talk so much after that.”
“I know how that goes. Little brothers are a pain that way.”
He raises an eyebrow, glancing at her curiously. “You too?”
She nods. “His name is Jeremy. He’s trying to be an artist. Every so often he swings through and sleeps on my couch, but a lot of the time he’s just out in the world. Our parents died when we were young, so we’re all we’ve got.”
“That’s rough.”
“It is. But we figured it out. Once he gets better, I’m sure you and Sam will figure it out too.”
“Yeah, maybe. I didn’t think he’d ever forgive me for taking Dad’s side in it. I just wanted to keep us all together. Nothing but radio silence for three years, and then I get this weird message from him, asking me to come up.”
“Do you still have it? The message?”
Dean nods, pulling out his phone and plays it for her. “Hey, Dean, it’s Sam. Look, I’ve been thinking, maybe we should just bury the hatchet and talk. I’m graduating soon. Why don’t you come up for the weekend? I can show you around. You can even meet my girl, Anna. Let me know.”
Elena could admit it seems a little rehearsed, but given that they haven’t seen each other in a while, that could make sense. “What about it seemed weird to you?”
“That’s not how Sam talks. He certainly doesn’t leave messages this long. And the few times I have tried to reach out and offer to come up to see him, he’s left me on read.”
“But you still came?”
Dean smirks at her before raising an eyebrow. “What would you do if it were Jeremy?”
She huffs a laugh before nodding. “I would be on the next plane.” Dean nods in agreement, and she continues. “It looks like you were there when you needed to be.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He nods. “Something about it still doesn’t sit right.”
Something about it didn’t sit right with Elena, either, but there’s not much she can do there until she has more information.
“Did you get ahold of the girlfriend? Anna?”
“Yeah. She said she’d be here in a few hours.”
Elena nods again before finishing administering the treatment. “Have them page me when she gets here? I have a few questions for her.”
“Will do.”
“Dr. Gilbert? This is Dr. Rice from Hematology. I have some questions for you about this new patient of yours. Winchester?”
“Sam, right? Did you find anything?”
“Well, he’s definitely anemic. All the signs are there. But there’s also something … weird about this blood that I’m not quite sure how to put my finger on it. It’s like he was given a transfusion, but not all at the same time.”
“A transfusion?”
“Yeah. Genetically, the blood isn’t his—it’s not even his blood type. It should destroy itself, but it seems like it’s … helping? Do you think you could order another blood draw so I could have a closer look?”
“Yeah.” Elena’s voice sounds far away, as pieces click into place. “Yeah, I can do that.” Her hands fumble with the vial of vervain and the syringe she always keeps in her pocket, and she loads the syringe before making her way back towards Sam’s room. “You know what, let me go get that started for you, because I’d be very curious to know that myself.”
“Great. Thanks so much.”
“Talk soon.” Elena hangs up the phone, picking up the pace as she jogs closer to the stall, heart rate picking up as she spots the shadow of a female form speaking in the doorway.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, Dean-o. You’re going to pick up that scalpel, and you’re going to—”
The curtain flies open, and Elena lunges for the woman, not wanting her to finish that thread of compulsion if she can help it. She winds one arm around her throat and stabs the syringe into her throat, dumping all the vervain into the vampire’s system. The woman goes down hard, and Elena breathes a sigh of relief as Dean blinks his way back into awareness.
“What the—what’d you do?”
“Let me guess,” Elena frowns. “That was Anna?”
“Yeah.” Dean’s eyes narrow, and before Elena can continue, the scalpel in Dean’s hand turns on her instead. “What did you do to her?”
“Gave her a sedative,” Elena replies, trying to figure out how to play this. “She was going to make you hurt yourself.”
Dean blinks again, almost as if he was coming out of a fog. “Right. She had me locked in; it was like I couldn’t say no.” Then his expression turns shrewd. “But you knew how to handle her. Are you … on the job?”
Elena frowns. “I’m a doctor and this is a hospital, so … yes?”
“No. I mean … are you a hunter?” Elena hesitates, not sure how to play it, and he pushes further, dropping his voice. “A supernatural hunter.”
Oh. Oh.
“No.” Because she’s not, not really. “Just have a lot of experience with vampires.”
Anna can’t stay in the hospital as she is, so in a flagrant abuse of hospital resources, she and Dean load her into a wheelchair and roll her out to Dean’s car, where he promises to take care of it. He doesn’t have a lot of experience with vampires, but he has a machete, and she has a feeling Anna will be separated from her head fairly soon. Part of her feels bad, but Anna was hurting people, and when you hurt the wrong people, well. Sometimes actions have consequences.
On their way out, Dean fills her in on the Winchester side of the story, including why Anna might have targeted them. His dad recently took out a nest of vampires, and it’s possible Anna was looking for revenge. Elena then repays the favor, telling him some about her life growing up in Mystic Falls. And when she tells him that her brother’s last name is Gilbert, Dean understands even more. Apparently, they’ve crossed paths on a hunt or two.
It’s good to know that Jeremy has people looking out for him.
But by the time Dean returns from handling Anna, Sam is awake, and Elena is providing the same explanation. Sam’s likely been compelled several ways from Sunday, and she feels bad for breaking the news to him, but as the compulsion fades he mostly just feels confused and used—a feeling she knows all too well.
Once Sam is well enough to go home, Dean comes to pick him up, and he flashes her a grin. “Thanks again, Doc. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I’m just glad your brother is feeling better.” And no longer stuck in a vampire’s clutches.
“Sam’s sticking around, and I may come up to see him a bit more.” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and flashes her a grin. “If I do, I was thinking maybe I should stop in. Have you give me a physical?”
Elena laughs, and Sam groans. “Please put him out of his misery so I can go home.”
“Well, it is important to keep on top of preventative health care,” she grins. “You’ll have to let me know the next time you’re in town. Maybe I can fit you into my schedule.”
“Cool.” Dean leans in just enough to tease before pulling away and heading back to the car. “See you around, Elena.”
She nods as she waves them off before taking a deep breath and turning to head back around to the hospital. She doesn’t expect to see him again. A guy like that probably has a face in every port. But all the same, she can’t help the flutter in her that hopes maybe he will.
y2 (birthday) you're the nearest thing to heaven that i've seen | tvdverse/teen wolf | 863
“Morning. Happy birthday.”
The phrase takes him out at the knees, even though he knows Caroline doesn’t mean to. She’s trying to do something nice for him. He had completely forgotten that it was his birthday. He then thinks back on their conversations and realizes something else: they’ve never talked about his birthday.
“How’d you know today was my birthday?”
Caroline’s smile fades to something more innocent, almost as though she’s trying to get out of trouble. “I asked your cousin.”
Derek blinks again before tipping his head to the side. “Since when did Malia know when my birthday is?”
Caroline shrugs, then her eyes widen. “Wait—is this not your birthday?”
Derek glances down at his phone to check the date, and he nods. “No, today’s my birthday. I just didn’t know she knew when it was.”
She relaxes at the confirmation before nodding. “Well, still. Happy birthday.”
“You could have just asked me when my birthday was.”
“I did. But you have a habit of not responding to my texts.”
Derek winces. That is something he probably should work on. Or maybe just taking better care of his phone. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know you have your reasons for being tight-lipped about the personal details.” She’s trying not to seem hurt by the process, but he knows it hurts. That it’s a sign of trust he’s not giving, even if he trusts her.
“It’s not okay. And it’s okay for it not to be okay.” He moves to sit next to her, taking her hand and giving it a small squeeze. “I’m still getting used to having a person who actually cares about me around. And also, who cares about things like this.”
Caroline nods slowly. “I see how your previous murderous girlfriends would have neglected that.”
“And Braedan had my police file. I didn’t really have to think about it.” Derek makes a face. “I actually can’t remember the last time I celebrated my birthday beyond Cora texting me.” Occasionally, Peter leaves a mysterious message. And again, he hadn’t even known that Malia knew when his birthday was.
“So this was a true, unintentional bamboozle on my part. That makes me feel better.” Caroline flashes him a grin. “I get it.”
“That cake really looks delicious though.”
“It is. I found this bakery nearby, and their cakes are to die for.” Caroline tips her head to the side. “And for the record, I don’t have anything else planned beyond the cake. I know who I’m dating and that a surprise party would be a bit much.”
The last bit of tension flows out of his shoulders with the relief that he does not have to maneuver his way through a party later. “Thank you.”
The cake is, in fact, as delicious as promised, and between that, a movie and some more private birthday celebrations, Derek considers this a birthday well spent. As they drowse off, he turns to ask her.
“When’s your birthday?”
She blinks up at him. “October tenth.”
So already passed. But passed before they started dating. He locks that reminder away and makes a note to return the favor—hopefully he can have his relationship last that long.
He turns out luckier than he thinks. Caroline stays, and he tries to open up more, unwinding levels of trauma as they become relevant, and she shares some of hers as well. It becomes less of a fun thing and more of a serious thing, winding pieces of their lives together. Meeting her friends. Talking to her friends.
Convincing all her friends to come to Beacon Hills for her birthday.
He offers to pay for whoever needs it and arranges for places to stay. Although he may not like a surprise party for himself, he knows how to plan one. And the look on Caroline’s face when all of them shouted surprise is worth all the stress about whether he could keep it secret.
It’s a small surprise party—five guests, plus their partners is hardly a crowd, especially in Derek’s loft. But the atmosphere is warm with stories and alcohol and food. Eventually, they all trickle out, Elena and Bonnie making plans with Caroline for brunch tomorrow, leaving the two of them alone in the empty loft.
Caroline glances over at him with a smile as they put things away. “You know, I have to say, I’m impressed.”
“Are you?” he asks, smiling in return. “It wasn’t that hard. Elena made it easy.”
“Ah-hah. I was wondering how you got ahold of all of them.” She places some glasses in the sink before moving closer and winding her arms around his waist. “I think this is one of the better birthday presents I’ve gotten, though. So thank you.”
“Anytime.” He leans in to kiss her softly, tucking her into his hold. “Happy birthday, Caroline.”
Hopefully, it’s the first of many to come.
y3 (tango) you're the only one who can shine for me | tvdverse/from dusk til dawn | 1,049
She can tell when she pays the cover that she is not the usual clientele for a strip club in the middle of nowhere. The minute she steps into the room, she can feel the power emanating from somewhere below them. She can sense the lure of something vampire adjacent—multiple vampire adjacent things. They all turn their focus on her the moment she enters, and she raises an eyebrow at them in return.
If they can sense her, then they likely realize that she’s not to be trifled with. She glances at each of them, challenge in her gaze, and they all resume their evening, content to ignore her for the time being.
That’s what she thought.
She makes her way up to the bar and orders a drink, and as she settles on the stool to watch the room, they call her to the stage. The woman from her visions. The one she came all this way for. Santanico Pandemonium. She watches as the woman winds her way across the stage, a kind of sinuous dance that invokes a snake. Bonnie can’t keep her eyes off her. She can see why Santanico is the main attraction.
And she wants more than anything to speak with her.
She glances over at the bartender and leans in. “Does she give private dances?”
The bartender blinks at her, raising an eyebrow. “For you?”
“Sí. Does she?”
He studies her again more carefully before nodding. “She does. Expensive though.”
Bonnie smirks before nodding. “Don’t worry. I can afford it.”
A private dance with Santanico is something much more private than what she saw with the other girls. Spending big bucks plays to your advantage in more ways than one. Bonnie sits back on the couch, trying not to think about what may have happened on it, and waits for her dancer to arrive.
Santanico glides into the room like a queen, gaze suspicious as she meets the other woman’s eyes. “It’s not often that people can afford a dance from me.”
Bonnie nods, because she paid a considerable amount up front. “I was highly motivated.”
“Why?” The other woman winds her body in the movements of the dance, and Bonnie raises a hand to stop her.
“You don’t have to. I just want to talk.”
“We’re not as alone as you think.” She elegantly tips her head to one camera posted in the room. “They can’t hear us, but they are watching.”
Bonnie nods, familiar with this kind of tango. She leans back on the couch again and makes a show of looking appreciatively, even though it’s not really much of a show. She is beautiful.
“What did you want to talk about?”
Bonnie swallows, tipping her head to the side as she watches her. “Would you believe I saw you in a dream?”
Santanico laughs, head tipping back as she continues her seductive tango. “It wouldn’t be the first time I heard it.”
Bonnie grins. “Well, it’s true. I …” Well, she can tell the woman is some kind of vampire. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’m a witch. And dreams like that usually mean something. Especially the ones that won’t leave me alone.”
Santanico weaves closer, putting even less distance between them as she dances. “That can be a dangerous thing to reveal to something like me.”
Bonnie shrugs. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I’m stronger than I look.” She pushes up from the couch, putting her eye to eye with Santanico, fingers gently running up the edge of her arm—she wasn’t instructed not to touch. “Let me help you.”
Is she putting all of her eggs in one basket? Maybe. Is she even sure that the other woman needs help? Not really. But if it at least gets Santanico to tell her what’s going on, then at least that’s something.
The woman is silent for a long time before she answers. “It’s a long story.”
“I can pay for another dance.”
By the time Santanico gets to the end of her story, Bonnie doesn’t need more buy-in to be convinced to help. How she’s going to help remains to be seen, but there are certainly certain advantages she can provide. Santanico—or Kisa, as she prefers to be called—has other help coming for the brute force end of things, but whatever advantages Bonnie can provide are worth finding.
A few days after she hears word of the collapse of the Titty Twister, she wakes up to find Kisa sitting on her balcony in the morning sun, face tipped up towards the rays and playing with the daylight ring on her finger.
“I haven’t felt the sun in so long,” she says softly, before glancing over at Bonnie. “It’s such a relief.”
Bonnie smiles before moving to sit next to her. “I’m glad. And I’m glad I could help give that back to you.” She lets them sit in that moment briefly before asking what needs to be asked. “So what’s next?”
“The Twister is gone, but the culebra who imprisoned me are still out there. And I need to make them pay for that.” Kisa glances over to her. “I’m not sure if you’d like to help with that as well?”
Bonnie hesitates. She’s supposed to be living her life, unburdened from supernatural obligation. But this isn’t an obligation. Here, she’s being asked, and culebras involved deserve what’s coming to them. And she can’t deny the connection she’s beginning to feel with the woman in front of her.
“Let me think about it,” she finally admits. “Do you have to leave right away?”
Kisa shakes her head before turning her face back to the sun again. “I can stay as long as you like.”
“Good,” she smiles, before leaning back in the seat next to her. “Then stay.”
Perhaps they can dance this tango a little longer.
y4 (dusk) and promise not to promise anymore | tvdverse/buffyverse | 1,252
There're texts and phone calls, but having an almost-girlfriend on the opposite side of the country takes its toll, and once the Originals are run out of town, the Slayers don’t stick around. They have bigger fish to fry, and while Buffy apologizes, she has to go where she’s needed.
And maybe part of Matt always knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep her.
Things still continue to get complicated in Mystic Falls, even with the Originals gone, and the more things pile up, the more Matt just wants to wedge himself away from all of it. The only thing that holds him to the supernatural are the people he loves, but even they can’t protect him. So when the rest of his friends scatter throughout the country, Matt does the same, saving up whatever money he has and moving somewhere where he can start fresh.
New York is loud and vibrant, and Matt does his best to blend into the background. He gets a job as a bar back that pays enough for him to share an apartment with two other guys and lets him take classes during the day. He hasn’t decided what he wants to do yet, but he can handle his general education requirements at least.
Matt keeps track of his friends as best he can. Elena and Caroline head west, Bonnie south. Jeremy and Tyler practically disappear into the ether. He misses them, but they keep in touch. Matt doesn’t have anything to talk about, but he watches the pictures and texts come in and smiles at his friends moving on and doing greater things with their lives.
One day he may have things to contribute.
He’s working an earlier shift at the bar, covering a weekday afternoon, when he catches a familiar voice from over his shoulder.
“Matt?”
He turns towards the voice, brow furrowing as he can’t quite place it, but the moment he sees her he can’t help but smile. She still looks mostly the same, familiar blond hair and bubbly smile, but she’s a little older. A little more seasoned. But still alive.
“Buffy. What are you doing in New York?”
“I should ask you the same question. I at least have the excuse of being mostly mobile. I wasn’t expecting to see you in the window as I was walking by.”
Matt laughs. “I moved up here a couple of years ago. Needed to get out of town, you know?”
“I do know,” Buffy smiles. “You look good.”
“So do you.” He pauses. “How are the girls? Faith and Kendra, they’re still—?”
“All good! They’re back at the apartment we’re sharing.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
Buffy nods, drumming her fingers lightly against the bar, before looking back at him. “I know this is probably a little forward, but—”
“I get off at six. If that was your question.” Maybe he’s the one being a little too forward, but even though they haven’t seen each other in years, he can feel the magnet still drawing them together after all this time. He doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to see her if he can.
“It was. In a roundabout sort of way. Can I buy you dinner?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “I’d like that.”
“Cool,” Buffy nods with a smile. “Then I will be back here at six.”
Dinner feels like it picks up right where they left off. Brief tangents to catch up on where they’ve been and what they’ve been up to, but most of it just enjoying each other’s company. Buffy has a lot more to share in terms of recent activities, but Matt still contributes here and there.
It’s about halfway through dinner that he realizes how much he’s missed her. And by the time the summer evening is fading into dusk, he realizes he doesn’t want to let her go just yet. Still, they pay the bill and head back out onto the street.
“I’m sure you have to patrol or something,” Matt sighs as he turns to face her.
“I don’t, actually. Faith and Kendra are up. It’s my night off.”
“Lucky you.” He considers briefly what the state of his apartment is, but is fairly certain at least one of his roommates is going to be home. Inviting her back to his place isn’t really going to work unless he wants them to pry into his business.
A moment of silence lapses between them, and Buffy glances up at him. “You know, it’s kind of unfortunate we only had that one date. I definitely wanted another one.”
Matt nods in agreement. “Yeah. Me too.” He waits another beat. “Maybe we could have another—”
“Want to come back to my place?”
The question flies out of her before he can even finish his perfectly innocent attempt to ask her out and kick time alone together down the road. His eyebrows go up, and a slow smile stretches up from the corner of his mouth.
A blush creeps across Buffy’s cheeks, and she shakes her head. “Sorry. That may … I might have been jumping the gun.”
“I mean, I was going to ask for another date first,” Matt grins. “But no reason we can’t do both.”
Buffy gives him a light (for Buffy) shove for teasing her, before tentatively reaching for his hand. He lets his fingers curl around hers as she tugs him away down the street.
“C’mon. It’s not far.”
For all intents and purposes, he intends to be a gentleman. He doesn’t want to rush things, so they could just spend more time talking. But the second they’re in the door, her lips find his, and he suddenly realizes that taking things slow is not in his best interest.
Matt spends the night but tells her before they sleep that he has a class in the morning. In the end, he winds up slipping out of bed early, kissing her goodbye, and trying to leave quietly without alerting the other Slayers that he’s there. He almost makes it to the front door too, pausing just before it to finish buttoning up his shirt before—
“Hi, Matt.”
He jumps, eyes whirling around before spotting Faith on the couch, bowl of cereal in hand, looking up at him with the menace of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Why do you do that?” Matt sighs, running a hand over his face.
“Cuz it’s fun,” Faith smirks. “And it’s nice to see B having a walk of shame for a change.”
“Good to know.” He points to the door. “Well, nice seeing you. I have to get back for class.”
“Uh-huh.” Faith pops up to follow him to the door. “Was this a one and done for the nostalgia, or should we expect to see you around again?”
Matt takes a deep breath. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re having another date later this week.”
“Good.”
He blinks at first before turning to face her. “Really?”
“Yeah. I always liked you.”
“You never passed up an opportunity to give me shit.”
“Yeah, that’s how you know I like you.” Faith claps him on the back as she opens the door to help him on his way. “See you around, Matty.”
Matt makes his way out the door, and a small smile crosses his face in response. “Yeah. See you around, Faith.”
column w
w1 (chosen one) i won't go as a passenger, no | tvdverse/wynonna earp | 1,238
In some ways, he feels like he’s traveled back in time. If it weren’t for the cars and neon signs, he would assume he’s rolled into a town from the Old West, made up of wooden structures with one major thoroughfare. From there, it sprawls out with homesteads and trailers, giving people their space and giving the impression of there not being many people around. Possibly because not all of them are human.
Jeremy isn’t really sure what he’s doing here. He’s just found himself intrigued by stories of the Ghost River Triangle and its strange happenings. He’s heard something about a hunter who might be more like him in the metaphysical sense. The “Earp Heir” seems to be some kind of calling card, so he’s going to investigate. Satisfy his curiosity and hopefully not get himself into too much trouble.
He winds his way into a bar called Shorty’s, though it looks more like a saloon. He sits at the bar, considering the line of bottles on display, and almost misses the overly bright smile that moves in to greet him.
“Hi! Welcome to Shorty’s. What can I get you?”
He turns and meets eyes with a short, slight brunette with long hair and a cheery disposition that makes the edgy teenager that still lives inside him want to recoil. Instead, he offers her a small smile in return.
“I’ll just have a whiskey, thanks.”
“One whiskey, coming up.” She steps back to pour him the drink before glancing at him curiously. “Tourist or visiting someone?”
“Sorry?”
“There are usually two reasons someone makes it all the way out here. Either they want to drink where Earp drank—” She points to the sign on the opposite wall that says just that. “—or they’re coming to visit someone who lives here.”
“Ah.” Jeremy smirks. “Neither. I’m here for work.”
“Really?” She seems to be caught by surprise. “Sorry, we just don’t get a lot of business travelers around these parts.”
“Fair enough.” He pauses and then extends a hand to her. “Jeremy Gilbert.”
“Waverly Earp.” She shakes his hand. “Welcome to Purgatory.”
“Earp—Like that Earp?” Is she the elusive Earp Heir that he’s heard so much about?
“That’s the one,” she smiles. “He’s my great-great-grandfather.”
“That’s a pretty serious pedigree.” He says, knowing there’s a town just like this, far from here, where he would be accused of having a pretty serious pedigree himself. Founding families follow him wherever you go, but instead of a history of taking down outlaws, Jeremy has vampires and odd devices that aren’t really as helpful as you think.
“If there’s anything you want to know, I’m your girl! I spend a lot of my time digging into family history.” She’s eager and excited to share, clearly, but Jeremy doesn’t take the bait just yet.
“Maybe after I get some of this work stuff done. Can I usually find you here?” A casual way of getting out of giving her his number—at least not yet.
“Yep. Most nights, usually.” Waverly doesn’t seem disappointed, just nods in agreement. “Feel free to swing in whenever and I’ll give you the nickel tour.”
It’s a few days later that he meets Waverly’s sister, Wynonna, the actual Earp Heir, and you would think she would be more his speed. Damaged, disrespectful and dangerous is usually his trifecta, but when he’s taken back to Shorty’s to be stared down by a suit (Dolls, apparently), and given a lecture on revenants (mostly Waverly), he finds himself sucked in again by her eagerness, her charm, and her knowledge. She really knows her family history.
Reminds him of his dad, so eager to share the family history with the rest of the family. The legacy that they all get connected to.
But some of that eagerness deflects when Wynonna’s attention is on him, and Wynonna’s attention is … a lot. He can’t say he isn’t tempted. But it’s not quite right, and Jeremy is trying to make fewer impulsive choices. Especially when he isn’t sure how long he’s going to be here. Even though he finds himself at Shorty’s night after night, chatting up a pretty nerd who seems to be more than happy to chat with him too.
Wynonna backs off too, after that initial letting her down gently. Part of him wonders if she was looking for something, but she settles for friends instead, and despite what she thinks, Wynonna is an excellent friend.
Waverly shows up at his front door one night, looking wrecked, and he lets her in without thinking twice. She’s all dressed up, and she looks beautiful, but before he can tell her as much, she cuts him off with:
“I might not be an Earp.”
Jeremy has a history with people he loves finding out their parents aren’t who they think they are. His own parents hid Elena’s adoption from them, but at least Elena was still a Gilbert. And she had her own new, messed-up legacy to contend with.
“You’re still Waverly,” he replies softly, and she turns back to him before throwing her hands up in the air.
“Well, what good is Waverly? She’s just a girl. All the effort I put into studying our family history. All that time and energy to prove that if Peacemaker came to me, I could be a good Heir. Wasted, because I’m never going to be the Heir. I’m never going to be the one chosen, even if I should have been.”
Jeremy hesitates, not wanting to point out that in order for her to become the Heir, Wynonna would have to die, but she waves a hand at him again.
“And I know, I know, of course I don’t want Wynonna—or … Willa, I guess—to die, but … I could have been great at it.”
“You would have.” Jeremy inches closer, holding out a hand to her, which she takes, letting him pull her in. “But for what it’s worth, I think Waverly is good enough. You don’t need to be the Heir to make a difference and … trust me. Being a chosen one isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What do you know about being a chosen one?”
“I’d tell you, but it looks like you have somewhere to be.”
She glances down at her dress before shrugging and reaching up to undo her hair. “Actually, I’m coming from there, not going to.”
“Okay,” he says softly. “Then sit while I grab a drink. We’re going to need it.”
“No offense, Jer? But Mystic Falls sounds awful.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Why do you think I left?”
Three-quarters of the bottle is gone between them, along with a lifetime’s worth of secrets shared. Waverly sits on the couch in his clothes, having insisted on shedding her dress somewhere after her third drink. She shifts to tuck herself under his arm, settling in close.
“I’m glad you came here. We’re going to need you before all is said and done.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jeremy glances over at her. “Why’s that?”
“Bobo and Willa are going to open the Ghost River Triangle.”
Jeremy blinks and then glances back at the bottle they’ve almost finished.
“Well, hopefully they’ll decide to do this tomorrow.”
w2 (unreliable) you're gonna catch me | tvdverse/october daye | 1,677
(She usually laughs. He’s nice to hear Elena laugh, after everything being hard for so long.)
He makes new friends slowly. Doesn’t trust most of them with anything important just yet. Everyone except Gillian.
Gillian Marks is sharp and funny and cute. She rolls her eyes at his off-color jokes but gives as good as she gets, so it makes it easy for the camaraderie to grow. He feels himself edging closer to telling her his secrets, the closer they get to it being something more than friends. But she’s not rushing, and he’s not rushing her—for now, it’s just nice to have a friend. He’s happy to give her a place to escape her “psycho” roommate.
“What is her deal?” Tyler asks, pitching the basketball up towards the hoop in the athletic center, while Gillian lounges nearby doing homework. She rolls her eyes.
“She’s like … obsessed with my deadbeat biomom and I have no idea why.” Gillian doesn’t talk about her birthmother much, just that she disappeared for fourteen years without a word and now that she’s back she hadn’t been the biggest participant in Gillian’s life. Seems like a waste of a person to be obsessed with, but Tyler’s met Jocelyn.
Jocelyn’s weird. Being around her makes his nose itch, something ever so slightly off about her that makes him wonder if she’s human. Not vampire, and he doesn’t really think she’s a witch either, but who knows what else is out there.
“You should change rooms.”
“Tried, but there are no open spots.” Gillian shakes her head. “It’s fine, I’ll deal. I’ll get someone new next year.”
Tyler nods. “I’ve got a single, so if you ever want to hang out at mine, you’re welcome to.”
Gillian raises an eyebrow before closing her book and turning to face him. “Even if it’s just to crash? No other funny business?”
Tyler smirks. “Only funny business if you’re into the funny business, promise.”
She laughs, going to pack up her stuff and swinging one bag over her shoulder. “I’ll think about it. See you in class?”
Tyler nods and watches her go, before packing up to head back to his own dorm.
They weren’t together the night Gillian disappeared. They couldn’t have been. It was a full moon.
When he catches sight of the scene, there’s a spike of fear that hits him. There’s so much blood, he can’t help but wonder if he got out and just doesn’t remember. But he has to believe that he would know if he had killed his friend. He didn’t wake up smelling like blood, smelling like her blood, so he has to trust himself.
Trusting himself hasn’t been the easiest thing since he turned.
His second thought is a vampire, which has him wandering the wooded areas of campus, looking for a corpse, but fortunately, that hasn’t come to pass either. It’s when he’s coming out of one of those searches that two older women come up to him, and there’s something oddly familiar about them. And the way they make his nose itch.
“Tyler Lockwood?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My name’s October Daye. I wanted to ask you some questions about Gillian Marks.”
There’s a moment of pause, and his head tips to the side as he studies her. “You’re her mom. Biomom, I mean. Not Miranda.”
“She told you about me.”
“She mentioned you in the context of other things, but we weren’t having, like … deep discussions or anything. If you’re looking for Gillian—”
“She was taken. That’s why I’m here. I’ve been hired by her father and stepmother to find her.”
Tyler nods slowly as he considers that before shrugging. “So why do you want to talk to me?”
“Jocelyn, her roommate, said that you had issues? That she felt like you were stalking her.”
Tyler laughs bitterly before shaking his head. “Of course, she did. Probably to distract from her own crazy no doubt.” He sets his jaw as he faces her again. “Gillian and I were friends. I let her hang out at my place when Jocelyn was driving her up a wall wanting to talk about you.”
“Were you dating?”
“No. But I have a single and a couch, so when she has had enough, she crashes for the night. Jocelyn is … a lot. But you’ve met her, so you probably already know that.”
To his surprise, October nods with a bit of a grimace. “Yeah, she’s … something else. So I take it they’re not as close as Jocelyn tried to let on?”
“Hell no. I honestly was counting down to when she pushed it too far and Gillian punched her in the face. And I told Jocelyn as much, and she didn’t really like that, so of course she’ll put me up as a suspect.”
“Just to cover our bases, where were you last night?”
And that’s a question that Tyler can’t answer. Because it will not make him look innocent, he says the only thing he can. “I was alone in my dorm. Not the best alibi, I know.”
“Can anyone vouch for you?”
He shakes his head. “Full moon last night. Campus gets weird, I didn’t want to be in the middle of it.”
October nods. “Can I have a number to reach you, in case I need to ask you any more questions?”
Tyler nods, rattling off his number for her. She and her partner-slash-sister start to walk away, but before they can, he can’t help himself. “Does Gillian know that you’re … something?”
October freezes before turning back to face him again. She takes a deep breath through her nose, almost as though she’s sniffing for something, and he briefly wonders if she’s some kind of weird werewolf, but that doesn’t feel right. “That’s a very vague, unspecific question.”
“Well, you’re not a vampire, and you’re not a werewolf. You kind of smell like a witch, but also not human. But Gillian smells like a human through and through, so how can you be her biomom?”
The look on her face is confused, then almost stricken in response. Like she doesn’t know what to actually say to someone who has this much information. “It’s … a more complicated answer than I have time for right now. I need to find my daughter.”
Tyler nods slowly, starting to get the feeling that October’s relationship to Gillian is a lot more complicated than Gillian believes it is, but it’s not his place to get in the middle. He sets his jaw, debating whether he should just tell the truth.
Backtracking now is probably not the best idea.
“Yeah, no, I get it. It’s just … we’re going to have to have one of those conversations eventually. It’d be nice to know how she would take it.”
October nods slowly, before shaking her head. “I can’t tell you. She’s only lived in the human world.”
Tyler nods again. “Good luck, then. I’m around if you need help.” Part of him wants to go hunting himself, but given that he doesn’t really know anything about October beyond that she’s more, he’ll just sit on it.
“Thanks, Tyler,” October nods, before turning and heading back into the woods.
Gillian doesn’t come back to school right away, but she does text him to let him know she’s okay. For a while they’re catching each other in off hours, her sending him messages at three AM that he’s not awake to answer and him hitting her back in the morning. When she finally does say that she’s going to be back to Berkeley, he’s excited to see her. But he’s not prepared for the way she’s changed.
His nose itches the moment he sees her. There’s an undercurrent of saltwater and kelp to her scent that wasn’t there before. But she’s still Gillian in the ways that matter that he just plays along and pretends he doesn’t notice.
At least until she comes to the point: “Toby kind of outted you, FYI.”
Tyler raises an eyebrow as he turns to face her. “Outted me as what?”
“Something? Not … not what we are. But something?”
Tyler sets his jaw, before nodding slowly. “Do we want to just both say what we are on three and get it out of the way?”
She snorts before nodding. “One … two … ”
Her “selkie” times well with his “werewolf” and Gillian’s eyes widen in response. “Shit. Werewolves are real?”
He laughs. “Lots of things are real. Not all of them are good, but we’re out there. Did you say selkie?”
She nods. “Seal shifter. Part of … something a lot bigger that I’m not sure I’m allowed to tell you, but I can tell you that much.”
Tyler nods. “I won’t ask. I’m just glad you came back and you’re okay.”
“I’m not sure I’m okay,” she admits. “It’s … a lot. And a lot is going to have to change.”
“I’m not changing.”
Tyler Lockwood is a lot of things, but he’s loyal first. He intends to remain that for as long as Gillian wants to be his friend. She glances over at him with a smile, before shifting to rest her head on his shoulder.
“You’re a good friend, Ty.”
He’s not sure he believes that much, but he’s always going to keep trying. He’ll let them sit there, in silence, for now, and hopefully things will just get better from here.
w3 (curse) we were always a losing game | everyone lives | 2,452
She has since the day he met her, growing up on her uncle’s estate as a young child. Russell didn’t have parents or siblings. Sir Marchant has been training him in magic, trying to find his potential, but he’s a foster with no name and no provenance, and were it not for his magic, he probably would be a stable boy she never looked at twice.
But she looks at him.
She temptingly leans over railings and trails her hand against his leg under the dinner table, and leans so close that sometimes he can barely withhold himself from reaching out and closing the space between them. But he does, because he knows all too well that she is not for him to touch. That if he did, her father would slaughter him before the kiss was even broken.
The Marchants may teach him, but he won’t delude himself into believing that they are kind—which is fine. Rusty’s not kind either.
He’s walking back to the small house they allowed him to move into now that he’s an adult, when he feels the familiar brush of Celeste’s magic against his arm. He smirks, reaching a hand out to catch her before she moves too far, turning to face her.
“You shouldn’t be out here, Celeste.”
“You’re not my father,” she teases as she leans in closer, the scent of her perfume wafting up to meet him. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t know what he would say.” The cottage is only a few strides from where they’re staying. He could continue to hold on to her arm, pull her to the door, take her somewhere private, but he won’t. She isn’t his to touch.
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t pull away. “He wants to marry me off, Russell.”
The knife twists, and he tears his eyes away from her. “That is what fathers do.”
“What if I don’t want to marry the man he chose? What if I want … other things?”
His eyes fly back to her, trying to see if he’s understanding what she’s asking of him, but before he can protest, she pushes up on her toes and presses her lips to his, and from that moment, any chance of recovering his heart was lost. She offers, and he takes eagerly, craving more as she slides her fingers through his hair and pulls at his clothes.
He breaks the kiss, trying to recover his breath. “How long until you’re married?”
“Three months,” she murmurs, before taking his hand and taking the leave to the cottage. “We could get up to a lot in three months, don’t you think?”
Russell knows he’s nothing more than an instance of rebellion, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He knows how he feels about Celeste, but what Celeste feels for him remains to be seen. Russell stays on the fringes of her life once she’s married, travels and builds his mercantile business with the blessing of his benefactors. Understands the true nature of his power, that the miles he gains either on foot or by cart or by boat can be a means of advancement in magic, not just a tedium to be suffered.
And every time he returns, he returns to Celeste. He idly wonders if any of her children are actually his. Her eldest daughter, Adrienne, has his dark hair, his blue eyes. But he and Louis Melroux are of a similar coloring, so it’s hard to say for sure.
“She’s never going to choose you.”
Russell’s attention slides back to Hallewell. He’s not fond of the man. His magical experiments make his stomach turn. People shouldn’t feed off other people like vampires to extend their own lives. But he doesn’t have the clout to demand who should be in the circle and who shouldn’t. It doesn’t hurt that he and Hallewell are the odd ones out. All the others are couples—the Gainors, the Harpers, and the Melrouxs—he’s even caught Wallace and Corsair having romantic moments in the shadows, even if the two men can’t have them in the light. Add to the fact that Kirsanov and Hernandez have enough power to demand their presence be known, and Russell and Hallewell are the two that don’t quite fit.
Who are included because their power works to the rest of the Circle’s benefit.
“I don’t need her to choose me.” Except he does. Except he waits on tenterhooks for her husband to travel for business or head to court, or for her to join him in his lodging.
Hallewell snorts before taking a long sip of his ale. “Sometimes it boggles my mind that you don’t see how much of a siren she is. She will dash you on the rocks for her own amusement, and you don’t seem to care.”
Russell raises an eyebrow before leaning in to meet him. “I don’t think you’re one to judge, Hallewell. You’re the one sniffing after Brighton’s husband-to-be.”
Hallewell laughs. “I never said I was judging. Just hoping I could save someone else the misery.”
Russell snorts before his eyes eventually return to where Celeste sits on Louis’ lap. Her eyes drift across to him with a warm smile, and he smiles in return. He doesn’t need her to choose him, no.
He just needs her to continue to grace him with her light.
When the coven banishes them for reaching for a little too much power, Russell has the means to transport them to the colonies and help them rebuild their power. He loses his loose end when Hallewell’s predilections go too far, and he’s pushed out of the circle. But as he grows older, he sees the way the rest of them realize what they gave up.
No one wants to give up power, after all. Not even in death.
George is the one who suggested it first. Susannah’s erstwhile husband, who wove his way into John Gainor’s good graces by taming his wild sister, traces bloodlines, pulls on the power between them. He suggests that perhaps if they wish to ensure the success of the future generations of the Colony; they make sure that the heirs have the proper mindset.
By becoming the heirs.
Susannah’s eyes shine brightly as George explains at length the type of blood magic that would be required. (He always wondered if they were the only members of their little band who would truly choose each other, in every lifetime, in every universe, the way he would choose Celeste.) Wallace and Corsair gleam with the possibility of becoming someone new. Hernandez and Kirsanov seem ambivalent, so long as they survive. John and Elizabeth wouldn’t have allowed this to be brought forward if they didn’t already agree. Even Louis agrees.
Russell looks to Celeste, and he can see her hesitance, but she’s an older woman now. He’s seen how her vanity has suffered at the appearance of fine lines and her graying blond hair.
“You must be joking.”
The words come from him. They all snap their heads to him, confused at his response, but he can feel the wrongness in this. He thinks of Adrienne, who with each passing year he becomes more and more certain is his child. He considers asking this of her and would rather slit his own throat.
“We removed Hallewell for stealing people’s lives, and now you want to do something worse?”
“The children aren’t ready, Russell.” John’s firm, no-nonsense voice echoes across the room. “And we—I am running out of time. Perhaps if we ask them—”
“And will we ask them? To allow us to possess them like demons?”
The silence speaks volumes.
Russell looks at each of them, landing last on Celeste. “Do you truly think you could do this to your children?”
She holds his gaze before one hand reaches up to smooth across the apple of her cheek, her vanity coming into play. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to survive, Russell.”
Russell grits his teeth before shaking his head. “If this is how you would prey upon your coven, then perhaps you shouldn’t be involved. I invoke the Gauntlet.”
A similar culling had driven them from Europe all those years ago. The Gauntlet is rarely called in favor of the challenger—it hadn’t for them. But Russell had to try. Not for these people he once considered his friends, but for their children, who asked for none of this.
For Adrienne.
John’s eyes narrow. “Do not do something you will regret, Russell. This is not a fight you can win.”
Russell draws a knife from his belt and slices it across his palm. “By the spilling of my blood, I call into question your leadership. Either prove yourself with mettle and wit, or stand aside for those who will do better.”
The moment his blood touches the ground, you can feel the echo of the promise. The challenge it’s offering. And while it may be a bloodbath, while it may put him against the people who have brought him so much, he refuses to let them do this kind of harm.
“Happy hunting,” he murmurs, before using his distance magic to get himself as far away as quickly as he can. He intends to play to win.
When it’s one against ten, the odds are never really in your favor. Especially when one of them knows your greatest weakness.
A few months into this drawn-out battle, Celeste sends for him, asks him to come to her to talk. He believes foolishly that she cares for him the way he does for her. That she loves him the way he loves her. (He should have known that she never did.)
They overwhelm him quickly. He tries to cut some of them down—catches a concerning blow on Kirsanov, so perhaps he won’t be the only one not to survive the night. But the men still wrestle him into position in the middle of three spelled circles. His hands are bound behind his back, and he’s forced to his knees.
“I really wish we didn’t have to do this, old friend,” Louis sighs as he steps away, hands drawn behind his back as he studies him. “We’ve had some good times, no?”
“Even if you kill me, you’ll be found out. I left letters—”
“Letters in the house that Wallace and Corsair are burning to the ground as we speak?” Louis raises an eyebrow. “We are not stupid. How else are we going to tell them you died?”
Russell grits his teeth, looking over at each of them. “You’re really going to kill me? After all this time.”
“You would kill us,” Celeste says as she drags a dark-haired figure by the hair to the second circle. “Fair is fair, mon cher.”
He takes a moment to realize who the figure is. It isn’t until she steps into the light of the circle that he captures a glimpse of her face.
“Adrienne? What are you doing?”
“We needed a complete bloodline.” George pushes his glasses up his nose before retrieving a vial from his pocket and moving towards the first circle. “See, we’re not killing you, Russell. We’re cursing you.”
His brow furrows, confusion, and John takes over. “We think that if you give it a few lifetimes, you might come around to our way of thinking. And should you not, well. We’ll just have you start all over again.”
“But what does Adrienne have to do with—”
“Let’s not play dumb.” Louis tips his head to the side. “Did you really think I didn’t know what you were doing with my wife? It was helpful. It kept you in line … well, until it didn’t.”
Russell looks back at Celeste, and the look on her face is like a body blow. A siren determined to dash him on the rocks indeed. “Don’t worry, mon amour. She’s the only one who’s yours. George checked.”
Adrienne startles, looking up at her mother, and then back at Russell like she doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he doesn’t have an answer for her. All he can say is this:
“I’m sorry.” He tries to meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“So yes. Complete bloodline. Mother, subject, and child.” More questions spring to mind—that they found his mother, somehow, but there’s no time. He chants, the vial is poured into the ground, and Russell tries to spring to his feet and run for Adrienne, for his daughter, but he hits the wall of the spell and is thrown back to the ground.
Even if he had got past it, there wouldn’t have been time. Celeste draws the athame in her hand across Adrienne’s throat, opening the pale skin like a second smile, and red blood rushes down the front of her as the life leaves her. All the strength leaves his body, and all he can do is stare at the body as Louis moves into view, his own athame in hand.
“See you in the next life, friend. Looking forward to it.”
The blade plunges into his chest, promises of vengeance resting on the tip of his tongue.
Russell lives life after life, trying to reach the end goal of a natural death and never quite making it that far. He reinvents himself as Rusty, tries and tries to make it a little further past the finish line each time. In this life, he just wants to run a quiet coffee shop outside a chocolate-flavored theme park and hope that the Inner Circle has enough going on to leave him alone for once. He even deludes himself into thinking he might succeed until Max Melroux walks through the door.
He knows Max is Celeste’s the moment he sees him.
He shines in a similar way, with the confidence that draws him in to be the center of every room. Four hundred years, and he can still feel the hooks that want to draw closer. He knows he can’t trust it, no matter how hard he tries. Heirs who actually want to look out for their own good? Too good to be true.
But maybe he can use them for his own ends for a change. Maybe he’ll die in the end, but maybe he can take a few of his old friends down with him.
And if he uses Celeste’s prized lamb to do it, all the better.
w4 (drizzle) swear upon a heartless soul | regency au | 804
They were even more dangerous when Bonnie numbered among their group, having a third person to drizzle in confirmations or distractions. It’s not something they felt the need to do often—running around, destroying reputations is not something they enjoy, by any means. But when you grow up in court, you learn the necessary skills to survive.
After her conversation with Peter regarding young Theo Raeken, she doesn’t feel all that terrible about what she has to do. Theo has chosen to threaten her family. If he hadn’t, maybe he would have spared himself a swift and sudden social execution.
She and Caroline have set themselves on opposite sides of this particular gathering of ladies, mothers and dowager nobles. The true art of gossip is not to be the one to bring up a subject. You wait until the subject comes to you, and then you strike.
Thankfully, Liam did her quite the favor.
“Did you hear?” Lady Holmes says as she reaches for her teacup. “There’s to be an honest-to-God duel tomorrow.”
The ladies, naturally, are a titter at that. There’s nothing more exciting than a duel. She knows she should be dissuading people from bearing witness, but she lets things play out a bit first. “Duel? Between who?”
“Lord Theo Raeken and a squire. Dunbar, I think is his name? His poor knight, this is going to be quite the blow to his standing.”
Elena knows Peter has his plans, but she keeps them to herself. Instead, she simply winces. “Oh. Lord Raeken? That’s rather unfortunate.” The eyes at the table divert to her as she nurses her tea. She waits, before glancing up at their eyes and shaking her head. “I shouldn’t say anything.”
“That means you absolutely should.” Lady Rolston moves closer, eyes sparkling. “Do tell, Elena. You always have the juiciest tidbits.”
“It’s simply so tragic. The young lord was so promising but now … well, there’s rumors that he believes the Hales are monsters of some kind.”
“The Hales—your Hales?”
“Indeed. I think I of all people would know if I were sharing a bed with a demon.” It’s fortunate that the language Theo is using is demon. Werewolves are not demons, so it’s certainly not a lie. “I don’t wish to disparage the family at all. These kinds of positions can put a lot of pressure on a young man. Sometimes people simply … crack. I would hate if this diminished them in any way.”
“Oh, of course,” Lady Holmes agrees. The two women nod, before sharing a knowing glance. Elena chose these two specifically for their ability to distribute information at incredible speed. “We’ll be very careful with who we share this with. But truly did he think anyone would believe them? Derek Hale? A demon?”
“The Raekens are such a young house, as well,” Lady Rolston shakes her head. “Choosing such a longstanding house to target—” She clucks her tongue. “Not his wisest choice.”
“As I said. Most unfortunate.”
“Well, thank you for telling us, Elena.” The conversation shifts to the next morsel of gossip, and Elena glances across the room to Caroline who gives her a small wink in return.
Mission accomplished.
It’s evening by the time she retreats back to the family tents, preparing to remove her tea outfit and redress for the feast. Her husband is already present, after spending the day delivering messages for his uncle and she smiles when she sees him.
“There you are. How did things go in town?”
“Well enough. Liam should have everything he needs for tomorrow.” He leans in to kiss her, snaking one arm around her to pull her closer. “I heard some vicious rumors have been floating around.”
“They’ve reached you already? Caroline and I must have done very well.” She smiles as she tips up to look at him. “Either that or our powers of persuasion are more than we previously realized.”
He smiles, thumb brushing against the small of her back. “Simply another reminder how powerful my wife can be without having any actual superpowers to her name.”
“Oh, I don’t know about powerful. I just know how to work the system to my advantage.” She exhales slowly. “Do you think Liam will do well tomorrow?”
“I think he is properly determined.” Derek considers briefly. “We’ll just have to see if his determination meets his mettle.”
“I think it will.” Elena wants to have faith in him. “And win or not, Theo’s credibility will be nothing but shreds. Regardless, our family will be safe.”
And that is what matters. But given how fond several members of their family are of Liam, she hopes that in the end, everything works out for the best.
column o
o1 (resurrection) no, we're not doing that ~ everyone lives ~ 2,855
o2 (office) why are we doing this? ~ everyone lives ~ 2,153
o3 (blackmail) no, i'm not okay ~ teen wolf/tvdverse ~ 1,685
o4 (first kiss) this is getting ridiculous ~ white collar/csi:ny ~ 1,802