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<|text|> of Steve’s cock catches on his hole.
, after all) and his hair is product free. Steve feels slightly overdressed in the dark blue button-down Natasha said matched his eyes and black slacks.
Warmth bloomed in Tony’s chest. Steve said nothing as Tony stood behind his chair and bent down to whisper into his ear. “I think you need a break.”
death experience, but he got the all-clear from SHIELD's medics themselves. If he sustains a concussion, that's on them.
“She’s been halting,” Steve had said, refusing to look Tony in the eyes. It was hard to ever since the incident at dinner. He knew the others didn’t fault him, but he couldn’t help but be embarrassed.
Steve looks ready to protest, but Clint cuts him off. "Oh, you're on," he says. "Loser has to do the other's paperwork for two weeks."
“Is that what you think?” Steve says quietly, hurt coloring his voice. “That I don’t respect you? That I don’t know what you can do? Tony, I
He ran a hand through it, hoping to get some of it out of his eyes but looking at his reflection in the glass of the elevator, all he had succeeded in doing was giving himself a cow lick. Huffing, he tried to tame his hair, yet it was futile. His hair seemed to be as stubborn as the rest of him. Steve was so busy fussing with his hair, he hadn’t even realized that he had long since passed his own floor on the tower and wandered straight into Tony’s penthouse at the same time said sleep-deprived genius shuffled into the room. They both froze, staring at each other for what seemed like centuries. The last actual conversation they had shared had been a month ago when Tony had first invited him to live in the tower. Their other interactions since then had been few and far in between; short, stilted conversations with long awkward silences.
“Clint, you’re riding with me on the Ferris wheel,” Natasha declares when everyone makes it back to their table, and Steve has successfully made Tony as red as his suit.
"So what's the plan here, Cap?" Natasha says, leaning forward in her chair. "You've got the most experience with HYDRA out of any of us."
“I just needed to know…” Steve hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Did I...did I do something wrong?”
"No," Steve said, yawning. "My father doesn't care, and the councilmen follow his lead. Bucky knows where I went and knows to stall if anyone starts asking questions."
"You've got me there," Tony says, going through the motions of measuring out cocoa powder, sugar, and vanilla. He can feel Steve's eyes on him, drinking in his every movement. Not in a hungry way for once, but almost like he's curious. In casual awe of Tony in a kitchen.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Steve groaned, breaking the kiss. Tony savored the look of Steve, his golden hair mussed, lips pink and eyes wild for the next time Steve went away. Sometimes having an eidetic memory was a blessing.
“There’s this French saying,” Tony says, | <|output|> <|example|> of Steve’s cock catches on his hole. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> "You've got the most experience with HYDRA out of any of us <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> when he pulls away. His eyes shine in the dark of the night. “Mise en place.”
“What’s going on? Fill me in,” he said, picking up the bottle of Pinot Noir. Tony’s eyes read the label quickly; it had notes of blackberry, raspberry and was that—he squinted—that was strawberry. As in the one berry Pepper was severely allergic to. Date night was already off to a
Stepping past a stray Chitauri body, Steve mounted the steps of the building ready to knock when the door opened on its own.
"Cease your fire," Thor says, wrapping an arm around Tony's waist. "We're joining the fray." And they're off. Thor's flying is different from Tony's own; Mjolnir functions as a weight, taking them into the mountain top's direction. It's completely flat on top, akin to a plateau. Every twenty feet is a gunman armed with what looks like a modified Chitauri gun. They're firing blindly, still looking out for the quinjet. "We're coming in," Tony says. "And Hawkeye, you're right. This does look like Chitauri weaponry."
"Carmen, cool it before you pop a blood vessel," he says, mentally filing away the idea to add a pole leading directly to the tower's hangar. "And I promise you can grill them when you see them at the carnival."
,” Steve’s foot pressed down cruelly on Tony’s cock and just like that, Tony was coming in his uniform.
"Then you need better friends," Tony said, finally meeting Steve's eyes. His breath caught in his chest. He had thought Tony's eyes beautiful, but the sun rays beaming through the foliage made them radiant.
, from a HYDRA goon sat on his workshop table. It operated like no weapon Tony had ever seen. Aside from his own repulsors. The energetic outputs were damn near equal.
“He invited the rest of us. His treat,” she said. “He said and I quote, ‘make sure the Capsicle knows that includes him, too.’”
Tony moaned at that, his eyes fluttering shut as he focused on bobbing his head along the cock stuffing his mouth. The vibrations traveled along the length of Steve’s cock who cursed and bucked his hips upward, shoving even more of him down Tony's throat. Tony reveled in the the cloying scent of sweat and musk that assaulted his senses.
"Besides," Steve says, leaning in close to him. "I'm gonna clean the booths out. I'm trying to beat the super spies. Can you keep him safe for me?"
With each word, Steve’s head throbbed. He felt as if he had been trampled underfoot by his horse. He was just about to dismiss Peter when something the boy said caught his attention.
and men who shrunk down to microscopic size. It sounded like something out of those comic books that used to stand outside newsstands that he and Buck used to spend their Sunday School money on. They had all had wacky titles like
Once again, the thought of calling Ross crosses his mind. Ross wants all of the Ex-Avengers of course, but if Tony gives him Steve, without a doubt the general would be jumping for joy.
a herd of deer nearby, along with an abundance | <|output|> <|example|> when he pulls away. His eyes shine in the dark of the night. “Mise en place.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Can you keep him safe for me?"
With each word, Steve’s head throbbed <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> of rabbits. Steve could see the visible change in the party, their excitement practically tangible. Nothing made noblemen happier than the thought of killing something.
Tony arches a fine, dark brow, “You? Punctual? The man who slept in the ocean for nearly seventy years?”
"I've seen your work," Tony says, latching onto the topic for what it was—a way out. "You were good."
If possible, his frown deepened. He threw back his covers and stalked behind the partition dividing his wardrobe from the rest of the chambers. Peter had laid out a simple linen tunic dyed green and brown trousers. His hunting boots stood by his wardrobe, cleaned of mud and polished to perfection.
Tony deepened his voice. “I am Iron Patriot,” he growled. “Surrender or suffer the wrath of I, the defender of truth, justice and the American way—”
“No, no it’s fine,” Chris said and set down her scissors. “There was a stray mine. We drove over it and I remembered being surrounded by fire. Fire and dust and smoke.”
Natasha must have been trailing him to learn his schedule because Steve corners him right as he’s leaving his workshop to head up to Bruce’s floor. His fellow scientist was making curry, and Tony didn’t want to miss out before the other Avengers (vultures) devoured it.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Bruce says, stifling a yawn. “Odin exiled Thor to earth when he disappointed him.”
… but I like it here. I like working with Bruce and the movie nights and the team dinners and…I like you. Once you get past all the hard assery and the spangles…you’re not that bad to be around, Winghead.”
Tony can’t look away. It’s like there’s some electric current going from him to Steve, and the second they break eye contact, it’ll cease to exist.
Tony shrugs and takes a sip of his own coffee. He had always had issues with sleep. He woke up frequently throughout the night and would only start feeling sleepy around two in the morning to the point where attempting to sleep at all felt like a waste of time. Give him a cup of coffee with four shots of espresso, and he'd be good to go.
A short, middle-aged woman answered his knock almost immediately, leading him over to a makeshift circulation desk with a kind smile. The brownstone was a two story building that been built in the earlier 20th century and remodeled about two years ago for a more contemporary look. The building was outfitted with large bay windows allowing for golden shafts of sunlight to illuminate the house and bounce off the freshly polished cherry wood floors. After signing in, he was told to take the stairs and the first room on the left was where his session would take place. Only three other people had attended the session. They all sat on the opposite side of the room, facing the doorway so Steve’s form was immediately under their scrutiny as he walked through the door.
Steve’s eyes narrow like he knows exactly where Tony’s brain went, and isn’t that a terrifying thought that Steve can already | <|output|> <|example|> of rabbits. Steve could see the visible change in the party, their excitement practically tangible. Nothing made noblemen happier than the thought of killing something. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> His hunting boots stood by his wardrobe, cleaned of mud and polished to perfection <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> The brownstone was a two story building that been built in the earlier 20th century and remodeled about two years ago for a more contemporary look <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> of rabbits <|indexes|> 2 | |
<|text|> read him so well. Steve doesn’t call him out. Instead, he kisses Tony.
Steve, bastard that he is, withdraws his fingers from Tony's entrance, and if Tony whines, that's between him and God.
Biting his lip, Tony crossed his arms in front of himself like he was trying to hold himself together. “Fine. It’s…it’s Pepper. She and I got into a fight.”
"I'd do it again," Steve says firmly. "I know we didn't speak for those two years, but I needed to talk to you. In person." Steve's arms fall at his sides, and Tony wraps his arms around Steve's neck. He knows he's giving Steve all kinds of mixed signals. Pressing up against him one moment and pushing him away the next, but Tony would have to be a heartless bastard to push him away right now.
“And you’re acting like a man child,” Tony sneers. “And that’s coming from me, the resident authority on immaturity.”
Tony loved music. He loved turning the volume all the way up until the floors were practically vibrating and the floor to ceiling windows of his workshop were quaking. Each note would sink its way into his skin, setting his blood alight and filling his head with noise until he could barely hear himself think. On days where his mind went into overdrive, drowning his thoughts out with music was a blessing. It was no secret that he loved classic rock the most; it was loud and intense and it had pissed Howard off which made it good in Tony’s book. Howard had called it delinquent music so obviously that meant Tony had to play it, full blast, at all times.
Rhodey curses, anger and frustration evident in his face. He thankfully softens when he looks at Tony, eyes roving over him for injuries like Tony might be hiding them, which given their history, was a smart move on Rhodey's part.
Steve withdrew his fingers and Tony almost whined. Naked as he was, heat still surged through him like he was caught in the midst of a wildfire. Tears of relief pricked the corners of his eyes when he heard the squelch of lube. He could practically envision Steve’s cock, long and thick, his cockhead weeping. He wanted to take Steve into his mouth, lap at the pre-come dribbling from his tip.
They were eating dinner at a little hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant. Tony was friendly with the owners and the paparazzi never thought to look for them on that side of town, so it was one of their favourite date-night destinations.
Steve didn’t want to look away from the source of the threat. Another round of fire forced him to duck behind the tray and the force of each hit shuddered up his arm. He was grateful that the bullets only dented the metal, rather than piercing through.
Steve was hitting the ground before he fully registered the echo of a gun-shot. “Everyone get down!”
He didn’t bother to glance up. He knew what he would see on Sam’s face. A mixture of concern and sympathy. It was the same expression that each of the Avengers | <|output|> <|example|> read him so well. Steve doesn’t call him out. Instead, he kisses Tony. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> They were eating dinner at a little hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant. Tony was friendly with the owners and the paparazzi never thought to look for them on that side of town, so it was one of their favourite date-night destinations. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> Steve, bastard that he is, withdraws his fingers from Tony's entrance, and if Tony whines, that's between him and God <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> ”
"I'd do it again," Steve says firmly <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> He loved turning the volume all the way up until the floors were practically vibrating and the floor to ceiling windows of his workshop were quaking <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> He could practically envision Steve’s cock, long and thick, his cockhead weeping <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> He knows he's giving Steve all kinds of mixed signals <|indexes|> 4 | |
<|text|> had worn when they came to visit. Nick and Agent Hill, too, when they stopped by to tell him that the shooters had been apprehended. Small comfort that had been.
“Tony, wake up, dammit, you can’t-” He choked, not even sure what he was trying to say or if Tony could even hear him. Desperate, he pressed down harder.
He tried to remember everything that Natasha had taught him about knife-throwing. Trajectory, distance, spin, force. Harder when he didn’t have eyes on the target.
Tony’s skin was ashen and agony was written into every line of his face, but he smiled up at Steve and squeezed his hand again.
Steve caught one of his hands in his own, even as he flattened his other palm more firmly over Tony’s injury.
This shouldn’t be happening. They weren’t on a mission. There were no aliens invading New York or supervillains trying to take over the world. It was date night and they were at their favourite restaurant. They had a table perpetually reserved for Tuesday evenings and wrangled their schedules as best they could so they would make it there more often than not. It had become something of a tradition- a routine.
Steve’s voice broke over the word and tears blurred his vision. He blinked them back and tried again. “Tony, is it alright if I hug you?”
Tony nodded jerkily. “I…believe you? I mean, there’s a whole host of reasons why you shouldn’t. I don’t even really understand why you wanted to date me in the first place. You’re you, and I’m me, and I’ve got to be the furthest possible thing from a good match for you, but you still- so I figured it couldn’t hurt, or, well, that if you changed your mind it wouldn’t hurt you too much and that’s what was important, but I never expected- I didn’t think you would ever- it doesn’t make sense.”
The important thing was that he had managed to keep those words to himself, even when Tony ended the date by pressing a quick kiss to his lips and giving him a smile that could have lit up Manhattan. Steve had stumbled out of the elevator in somewhat of a daze, but he hadn't said the words and he counted that as a win.
Steve didn’t hesitate, crossing the length of the couch and gathering Tony into his arms. The man was shuddering like he had just come in from a blizzard, and Steve willed his own warmth to soak into his skin. He cupped the back of Tony’s neck and drew his face into his shoulder, not caring that tears began to soak into his shirt. “Hey, shh, it’s alright,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into Tony’s curls. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Since Steve had told Tony about the secret code, not a day had gone by without Tony using it in a myriad of different ways. Even when they got into arguments or shouting matches, Tony’s hand tapped out a fierce rhythm of threes on whatever surface was within reach.
Even as he scooped a knife from the | <|output|> <|example|> had worn when they came to visit. Nick and Agent Hill, too, when they stopped by to tell him that the shooters had been apprehended. Small comfort that had been. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Tony’s skin was ashen and agony was written into every line of his face, but he smiled up at Steve and squeezed his hand again <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> There were no aliens invading New York or supervillains trying to take over the world <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Steve didn’t hesitate, crossing the length of the couch and gathering Tony into his arms <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> He blinked them back and tried again <|indexes|> 3 3 | |
<|text|> table and tried to calculate which direction the fire was coming from, he hoped that no one else had been hit. Normal people didn’t have the advantages of his super-serum healing abilities.
“Serum,” Steve said. He continued to stroke the knuckles of Tony’s hand, careful to avoid disturbing the I.V. He wondered at how small Tony’s hands were compared to his. Strong, though. Calloused and scarred from all the work he did, yet still elegant. Beautiful. Steve wanted to capture their beauty in his sketchbook, but he wasn’t about to let go. Not for a second. | <|output|> <|example|> table and tried to calculate which direction the fire was coming from, he hoped that no one else had been hit. Normal people didn’t have the advantages of his super-serum healing abilities. <|indexes|> 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He continued to stroke the knuckles of Tony’s hand, careful to avoid disturbing the I <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> Toni thinks, and gets the same kind of grin Rhodey would recognize, Rhodey would shudder at, Rhodey would feel a primal shock of fear at, down in the corner of his mind that echoes with the sounds of a maniacal whirring and a brutally-murdered kitchen appliance screaming its last. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> She had followed in her parents' footsteps, designing luxury clothes and even starting her own separate fashion house right here in Manhattan. <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> The town was quite small, but was full of farmers with fresh produce, gathered in the square. Before they got out of the truck, Tony slipped on some shades and a cap. Peter <|indexes|> 2 | <|example|> would be okay, but Tony couldn’t afford to be recognized, even in this small place. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> never really see the stars in New York. This is all so… magical”. Tony’s heart seized a little and his snarky smile molted into a reassuring grin. “I’m kidding, kid. You’re right, this is quite the view. Let’s go unpack. I need a shower.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> will be the first to know,” he said. “I actually wanted to ask for a favor. I know you’ve already done so much, helping Bucky—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> still alive,” he joked. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Toni thinks, and gets the same kind of grin Rhodey would recognize, Rhodey would shudder at, Rhodey would feel a primal shock of fear at, down in the corner of his mind that echoes with the sounds of a maniacal whirring and a brutally-murdered kitchen appliance screaming its last. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> She had followed in her parents' footsteps, designing luxury clothes and even starting her own separate fashion house right here in Manhattan. <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> The town was quite small, but was full of farmers with fresh produce, gathered in the square. Before they got out of the truck, Tony slipped on some shades and a cap. Peter <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 | | <|output|> <|example|> I need a shower <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> will be the first to know,” he said. “I actually wanted to ask for a favor. I know you’ve already done so much, helping Bucky—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> still alive,” he joked. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he has a beautiful ’67 Impala and we were going to see what gadgets we could deck her out with.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> for us?” <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> As greetings go, it’s not the worst one Phil’s ever gotten from her. He makes his way across the office, setting her cup carefully on her desk. “Good morning, Dr. Stark. Coffee?” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> She pulls her hand back. “Bruised your ribs on the left side. They’re going to hurt like hell for a few days.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> will be the first to know,” he said. “I actually wanted to ask for a favor. I know you’ve already done so much, helping Bucky—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> As greetings go, it’s not the worst one Phil’s ever gotten from her. He makes his way across the office, setting her cup carefully on her desk. “Good morning, Dr. Stark. Coffee?” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> He makes his way across the office, setting her cup carefully on her desk <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> for us?” <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> As greetings go, it’s not the worst one Phil’s ever gotten from her. He makes his way across the office, setting her cup carefully on her desk. “Good morning, Dr. Stark. Coffee?” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> She pulls her hand back. “Bruised your ribs on the left side. They’re going to hurt like hell for a few days.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> conquer it. Decides he doesn’t want to know, because some things are best left unexplored. He turns to the fridge and starts making himself that sandwich, hands moving mechanically in the assembly of meat and bread and cheese and veggies, thinking and thinking and thinking. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> any luck, there are home videos around. After all, why should I have to suffer alone with that memory?” Toni slides back onto his lap, wrapping an arm around his back to secure her seat and resting her head against his shoulder. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> she’s showing to an empty room. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> night’s sleep. It was <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> apartment behind. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the iris of the star itself. She blinked, and she was before him, close enough to touch him. He looked familiar, a little bit like her father, she thought, as she studied his face. There was pain in him, recent and heavy, grief weighing around his shoulders almost like a cloak, red with the blood of those he’d lost. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> suddenly overcome with the need to pace. Heedless of the fact that he’s just silenced the discussion, uncaring that all eyes are on him, he stalks towards the window at the other end of the room. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> for us?” <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> As greetings go, it’s not the worst one Phil’s ever gotten from her. He makes his way across the office, setting her cup carefully on her desk. “Good morning, Dr. Stark. Coffee?” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> He looked familiar, a little bit like her father, she thought, as she studied his face <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> any luck, there are home videos around. After all, why should I have to suffer alone with that memory?” Toni slides back onto his lap, wrapping an arm around his back to secure her seat and resting her head against his shoulder. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> she’s showing to an empty room. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> night’s sleep. It was <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> apartment behind. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the iris of the star itself. She blinked, and she was before him, close enough to touch him. He looked familiar, a little bit like her father, she thought, as she studied his face. There was pain in him, recent and heavy, grief weighing around his shoulders almost like a cloak, red with the blood of those he’d lost. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> suddenly overcome with the need to pace. Heedless of the fact that he’s just silenced the discussion, uncaring that all eyes are on him, he stalks towards the window at the other end of the room. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> any luck, there are home videos around. After all, why should I have to suffer alone with that memory?” Toni slides back onto his lap, wrapping an arm around his back to secure her seat and resting her head against his shoulder. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> apartment behind. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the iris of the star itself. She blinked, and she was before him, close enough to touch him. He looked familiar, a little bit like her father, she thought, as she studied his face. There was pain in him, recent and heavy, grief weighing around his shoulders almost like a cloak, red with the blood of those he’d lost. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> suddenly overcome with the need to pace. Heedless of the fact that he’s just silenced the discussion, uncaring that all eyes are on him, he stalks towards the window at the other end of the room. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> rolls his eyes and reaches around her to knock firmly on the door, hears the mutter of sleepy voices grumbling inside, the shuffle of bodies in motion. “Yep. I'm good.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “And I thought you needed more PT before you used the suit. Are you okay? Your legs…If you’re in pain and flew all the way here…” <|indexes|> 1 1 | <|example|> a pair of familiar eyes twinkling at him. But they belonged to a man. A man who looked only a bit older than himself. And several inches taller. But it was. It was his fairy. “Éamon?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> under him, but he wasn’t about to faint now. Jaw set and fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, he slowly turned around. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> only have one attractive blonde friend? Is that it?” Tony looked at him, eyes glinting as if daring him. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> earned her the trademark Captain America glare. Steve ignored her and continued staring across the room, blue eyes fixated on the pair of men who were currently deep in conversation. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> his own devices for a while, Tony shrugged off the hoodie he’d been wearing and set to work on modifications for his own suit. “Friday, let’s hear some music.” “Coming up, Sir.” Seconds later, the notes to Zeppelin’s ‘Rock and Roll’ blared out. “You know me so well, sweetheart,” Tony praised before losing himself in his work. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he didn’t have to worry about Steve Rogers, the Accords, or more alien attacks. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> apartment behind. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “And I thought you needed more PT before you used the suit. Are you okay? Your legs…If you’re in pain and flew all the way here…” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> “Yep <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> rolls his eyes and reaches around her to knock firmly on the door, hears the mutter of sleepy voices grumbling inside, the shuffle of bodies in motion. “Yep. I'm good.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “And I thought you needed more PT before you used the suit. Are you okay? Your legs…If you’re in pain and flew all the way here…” <|indexes|> 1 1 | <|example|> a pair of familiar eyes twinkling at him. But they belonged to a man. A man who looked only a bit older than himself. And several inches taller. But it was. It was his fairy. “Éamon?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> under him, but he wasn’t about to faint now. Jaw set and fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, he slowly turned around. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> only have one attractive blonde friend? Is that it?” Tony looked at him, eyes glinting as if daring him. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> earned her the trademark Captain America glare. Steve ignored her and continued staring across the room, blue eyes fixated on the pair of men who were currently deep in conversation. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> his own devices for a while, Tony shrugged off the hoodie he’d been wearing and set to work on modifications for his own suit. “Friday, let’s hear some music.” “Coming up, Sir.” Seconds later, the notes to Zeppelin’s ‘Rock and Roll’ blared out. “You know me so well, sweetheart,” Tony praised before losing himself in his work. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he didn’t have to worry about Steve Rogers, the Accords, or more alien attacks. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> rolls his eyes and reaches around her to knock firmly on the door, hears the mutter of sleepy voices grumbling inside, the shuffle of bodies in motion. “Yep. I'm good.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “And I thought you needed more PT before you used the suit. Are you okay? Your legs…If you’re in pain and flew all the way here…” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> Are you okay? Your legs…If you’re in pain and flew all the way here…” <|indexes|> 1 1 | <|example|> a pair of familiar eyes twinkling at him <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> only have one attractive blonde friend? Is that it?” Tony looked at him, eyes glinting as if daring him. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> earned her the trademark Captain America glare. Steve ignored her and continued staring across the room, blue eyes fixated on the pair of men who were currently deep in conversation. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> his own devices for a while, Tony shrugged off the hoodie he’d been wearing and set to work on modifications for his own suit. “Friday, let’s hear some music.” “Coming up, Sir.” Seconds later, the notes to Zeppelin’s ‘Rock and Roll’ blared out. “You know me so well, sweetheart,” Tony praised before losing himself in his work. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he didn’t have to worry about Steve Rogers, the Accords, or more alien attacks. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> had told me before everything? About Bucky? Oh, I would have thrown things, yelled, probably locked myself in the lab. But if you had been honest, I would have tried to help him. If you had loved me enough to admit that, especially since it involved your best friend, I would have tried to understand. You knew I was working on the Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing. And I would have helped you find him, too.” Tony’s voice began to shatter around the edges and it was all Steve could do not to break out from the webbing to hold him. “But I guess that’s how little you thought of me, huh?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> only have one attractive blonde friend? Is that it?” Tony looked at him, eyes glinting as if daring him. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> And I would have helped you find him, too <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> he didn’t have to worry about Steve Rogers, the Accords, or more alien attacks. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> had told me before everything? About Bucky? Oh, I would have thrown things, yelled, probably locked myself in the lab. But if you had been honest, I would have tried to help him. If you had loved me enough to admit that, especially since it involved your best friend, I would have tried to understand. You knew I was working on the Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing. And I would have helped you find him, too.” Tony’s voice began to shatter around the edges and it was all Steve could do not to break out from the webbing to hold him. “But I guess that’s how little you thought of me, huh?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> help you with that.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> boy’s stomach growled. Tony chuckled. “Come again?” Peter grinned, embarrassed. “There should be a town where we can get supplies about 40 minutes away,” Tony said. “Can you make it until then?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> they’re not gay”, except someone had photoshopped Iron Man and War Machine’s faceplates onto them. He tried to give Peter his best unamused face, but immediately proceeded to send the video to Rhodey. They were trending on Twitter the next day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> he didn’t have to worry about Steve Rogers, the Accords, or more alien attacks. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> But if you had been honest, I would have tried to help him <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> boy’s stomach growled. Tony chuckled. “Come again?” Peter grinned, embarrassed. “There should be a town where we can get supplies about 40 minutes away,” Tony said. “Can you make it until then?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> they’re not gay”, except someone had photoshopped Iron Man and War Machine’s faceplates onto them. He tried to give Peter his best unamused face, but immediately proceeded to send the video to Rhodey. They were trending on Twitter the next day. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> were armed with an assortment of fruits and vegetables, fresh eggs, cheese, basic spices, bacon and dried meats, the bread and honey, and a large portion of vegetable soup and an entire wild-berry pie a bubbly mother of five had insisted they must accept. Bless Canadians. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> That night as Steve packed up the small amount of items he had accumulated his short time in Stark Tower, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up like tiny pinpricks; He wasn’t alone. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 | <|example|> one of his bruises later as penance. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> of running his mouth.” Steve’s eyes locked onto Tony’s, practically <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> gone through, making it an official sect of the United States government. Now any and all casualties and destruction caused by both superheroes and super-villains would be cleaned up by government officials with funding from both Tony and the U.S government. It was such a grandiose gesture but what else could he expect from Tony? Had he been his 2012 self, he would have expected Tony to brag about the gesture, but he knew better now. Tony did brag, but only when he felt threatened. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> boy’s stomach growled. Tony chuckled. “Come again?” Peter grinned, embarrassed. “There should be a town where we can get supplies about 40 minutes away,” Tony said. “Can you make it until then?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> That night as Steve packed up the small amount of items he had accumulated his short time in Stark Tower, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up like tiny pinpricks; He wasn’t alone. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> “There should be a town where we can get supplies about 40 minutes away,” Tony said <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> After he finished and submitted his test, he grabbed his backpack and ran outside in a beeline towards the quite spot under the tree, in the back of the school.
why did you say that I’ll hit you? Have people hurt you because of it? Give me names and I’ll hurt them”
What he didn’t expect to see was a yellow color filling out one tooth, also that black dots would also pop up on his hand indicating a five o’clock shadow, and finally a black eye patch was added.
That’s how they spent the rest of the time, with Sherlock talking animatedly about all the things he wants to discover, and with John listening with a blinding smile on his face.
“OMG!” he shouted and finally got their attention “Are you two soul-mate?! How is that even possible?! John, you’re 16! And Sherlock! You’re just 12!”
After a minute or so the door finally opened and Sherlock strode in like he owned the place, and John slid in behind him.
Before he could react to the fact that he just talked with his soul mate, he feels more itches on the tips of his fingers, when he looks he sees on each individual finger A, B, C and D, and on his palm, he reads
John got up from his seat and strode towards the sound, which came from the microwave, ‘Of course’ thought John, ‘Of course the phone is in the microwave, along with the… wait’
John raised his head from his newspaper to see that Sherlock is still in his mind palace, ‘five hours now, I wonder how his palace is decorated’ John thought fondly, but the affectioness feeling was soon replaced with irritation when another
‘Oh right, he’s in princess mode’ chuckled John, ‘Sherlock in a dress and a tiara is not a bad picture, now, that’s something I’d like to see’ he thought with rosy cheeks. He made a mental note to ask Sherlock about the escape button that he just found, and took the beeping phone.
He didn’t appreciate them before, not properly, it’s not one color, it’s grey and blue and green and gold and…. wow, just, wow. But now it’s not the time, now he has a question he needs to ask. So, he cleared his throat and continued “What are you doing here?”
“…That’s so awesome! How long did it happen?!!! I’ve never heard of this before, that’s amazing! Do you think that we all can do it, or is it something only for the two of you? How did you discover it? How long did you two talk? Is that why you were sad before? How does it work? You two can be famous! You two would be such a cute couple! Mayb-“
John couldn’t realize why she’s drawing another bee until she finished, and then she left John giggling on his bed. Emma never felt this good in a long time.
John doesn’t know how long they sat there on the floor outside the laboratories holding hands, maybe a few hours, maybe less than 10 seconds, but when they heard Mike giggles behind the | <|output|> <|example|> After he finished and submitted his test, he grabbed his backpack and ran outside in a beeline towards the quite spot under the tree, in the back of the school. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> That’s how they spent the rest of the time, with Sherlock talking animatedly about all the things he wants to discover, and with John listening with a blinding smile on his face <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> lockers they drew apart and John felt that it wasn’t enough, like he could stay in that moment for the rest of his life, just sitting there, holding hands and stare into each other's eyes, it will be spectacular.
Doing as he’s told, he tried again “I’ve never h-heard someone c-complimenting my eyes s-so seriously”
John’s grandmother didn’t talk right away, she first learned to him, and rested her head on the palm of her hand as she raised a brow and the corner of her mouth quirked up, and a dreamy sigh escaped her lips.
Most of the times, it was Sherlock who did the drawings (even though it was mostly just the word “bored” in different fonts, colors, and styles), and because he was homeschooled, and was free most of the time to terrorize John’s arm with pens and markers.
Later that day, at half-past two in the morning, John woke his pleasant sleep to the familiar prickling feeling.
Then he remembered how Sherlock told him that sometimes when he feels needs to be alone, he sometimes breaks into the school’s labs. At that his head shot up and stared at the kid next to him, still not moving his head up.
Which is the second thing, he talked to Sherlock, his soul-mate, the most amazing person he ever met, it’s not even supposed to be possible, which adds to his excitement, they’re special, he just knows it, there’s something special about the two of them, something rare, unique. He just hopes Sherlock will find something because he has a feeling that Sherlock will not rest until he’ll get answers.
“Double date, or… wait, who else knows about it? Am I the only one?! Did you two meet because of me?!”
Sherlock started to calm down first, so he picked up his lockpicks and started again to pick the labs door
“Mike, go away” he heard Sherlock say in an annoyed tone as he got up and stood above him with a smirk and a waiting hand.
No matter how much time he dedicates to learn, no matter how many times Harry found him at 3 am with his nose in the textbook, no matter how much time he spent with his tutor. Nothing helped, he still failed every single test this semester.
“Don’t apologize, Johnny, I would never be mad at you for wanting to say happy birthday for your soul-mate.” Emma said with a knowing smirk as she grabbed his arm gently and rolled back the sleeve to see his creation “It’s very good, but such an interesting combination, bees, skulls, and smileys. Must be an interesting person”, she passed his arm back, and a mischievous look twinkled in her eyes. “I only wish that you have told me, but I guess that I understand that, you wanted to keep it to yourself as long as you could”
And John told Sherlock about himself (even though there’s not a lot to talk about, and that in John’s opinion, that it’s not very interesting). He told him about his family, Harry, his mother’s drinking problem and how he fears that Harry | <|output|> <|example|> lockers they drew apart and John felt that it wasn’t enough, like he could stay in that moment for the rest of his life, just sitting there, holding hands and stare into each other's eyes, it will be spectacular. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Then he remembered how Sherlock told him that sometimes when he feels needs to be alone, he sometimes breaks into the school’s labs <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I only wish that you have told me, but I guess that I understand that, you wanted to keep it to yourself as long as you could”
And John told Sherlock about himself (even though there’s not a lot to talk about, and that in John’s opinion, that it’s not very interesting) <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “Double date, or… wait, who else knows about it? Am I the only one?! Did you two meet because of me?!”
Sherlock started to calm down first, so he picked up his lockpicks and started again to pick the labs door
“Mike, go away” he heard Sherlock say in an annoyed tone as he got up and stood above him with a smirk and a waiting hand <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “Double date, or… wait, who else knows about it? Am I the only one?! Did you two meet because of me?!”
Sherlock started to calm down first, so he picked up his lockpicks and started again to pick the labs door
“Mike, go away” he heard Sherlock say in an annoyed tone as he got up and stood above him with a smirk and a waiting hand <|indexes|> 3 3 | |
<|text|> is going down the same way, about his thoughts to join the rugby team next year, he shared his dream of becoming a surgeon in the future.
“So… Let’s start over, I’m John and I guess that I’m your soul-mate” he said as he held out his hand to shake, and just as he hoped, it made the other snicker. Sherlock pulled his head up a little, and with a twinkle in his eyes answered
John thought as he wiped the tears that rolled down, quite pointlessly actually, since they’re just got replaced with new ones,
4. You are too (And don’t tell me you’re not, or that you have homework to do, you’ve already done them yesterday)
John stopped talking when he noticed that his grandma had shed tears. After a lot of convincing that they were happy tears, Emma decided that she’ll leave for now, mostly because she has a feeling that Sherlock will respond soon. But not before taking John’s arm and leaving a note of her own.
Yes, we know each other; we are soul-mates; we don’t know how it’s possible for us to communicate; It’s going on for about two years now; we like to think that we are somehow special; we discovered it when John was about to fail his chemistry test and needed help, it was a bet, but a good one; again, two years; I guess that I was the reason why he was bitter earlier, so, yes; It works as expected, you write something and it appears on the other’s arm; yes, you’re the only one that knows, so please, don’t tell anyone; No, you will not be a groomsman; yes, blue will complement John’s eyes; No, we will- What?”
One time he drew a yellow smiley face, a gun and dotted the smiley, repeatedly, with a red marker. Underneath it, he wrote in bold characters, with the same red marker “BORED”.
John is a nervous mess by the time he gets to the destined place where Sherlock told him to meet (At the playground near the school). He got there a little earlier than the time they set (they [Sherlock] said they’ll meet at 3 pm, but John arrived at half past two, just in case) and sat on the swings to wait for his soul-mate to appear.
Overall, they were happy, they talked and doodled, got to know each other, talked about their days, their hobbies, thoughts, everything.
When they got to the school, they laughed like old buddies, Mike with full body laugh and John with fake ones. It’s not that he didn’t find the stories funny, he just wasn’t in the right mood to laugh, but every distraction right now is welcome.
“Bloody children, all of them” Emma, the grandma grumbled as she opened John’s door the reveal her 16 years old grandson scribbling something on his arm under the bedside lamp.
Relief washed over John that this wasn’t a one-time thing, but he still felt a little bad for disturbing his soul mate
(This one made John snort in the middle of class, and the teacher was not happy about | <|output|> <|example|> is going down the same way, about his thoughts to join the rugby team next year, he shared his dream of becoming a surgeon in the future. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> After a lot of convincing that they were happy tears, Emma decided that she’ll leave for now, mostly because she has a feeling that Sherlock will respond soon <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> it, and when he answered the question of “What did you find so funny?” with “My soul-mate” at the age of 14, no one took him seriously and with an eye roll the teacher continued the lesson)
“oh I’m sorry, John this is Sherlock Holmes, I moved next door to his family. Sherlock, this is John Watson, he’s an old friend of mine”
John search the library for Moby dick while Sherlock was in his mind palace, you know, as usual, when a familiar “Ding” was heard from Sherlock phone and pulled him back to reality and snatched the phone to see if lestrade had any updates about their correct case.
, he thought grimly, going through the possible questions in his head, all the questions that he doesn’t have the answer to.
“You can sit over there,” Sherlock points at a stool near a table “I’ll fetch the equipment” and with that, he walked into the lab closet.
John never really talked with them, he never really had a reason to. This ability is supposed to appear in 17 y/o, but at 14, he’s not supposed to be able to do it.
“No problem” John answered, and watched as the kid tensed, and he thought that maybe he felt the same thing.
But, not surprisingly, Sherlock ignored him and went back to the living room while answering the messages.
He tried to say something, anything! But nothing comes out. “Oh, stop gaping John, you look like a fish, it doesn’t suit you,” she says with a frown that’s not going to convince anyone.
Sherlock’s eyes widened and he rolled his own sleeve to look at his arm. John couldn’t see from his angle anything, except the boney pale hand twitch under the kid’s intense gaze upon it. A slow smile crossed his face as he raised his arm to John’s eye level to reveal the message written there.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! WHY IN THE HELL WOULD YOU SET YOUR ALARM TO HALF PAST FIVE IN THE BLOODY MORNING?!?!”
‘The physics, the logic, the need to understand humans, all the his ‘philosophy’ (John rolled his eyes mentally at this one), it all makes sense now…’
Earlier that day, just as he set his foot in the house, he ran to his room and grabbed his new camera and snapped a photo of his arm, especially, a photo of the question that started their conversation. Afterward, he ran to the bathroom and cleaned his arm the best he could, he didn’t want anyone to know, he wanted a secret, something that was only his and Sherlock’s.
The voice shook him out of his venomous mind and he turned around to face the person who called his name.
He looked at his arm and saw that they no longer had any place on this arm, so he wrote on a patch of clean skin
This whole situation is ridiculous, this morning his plans were just to do his homework in history and afterward maybe talk Sherlock, or to catch up on Doctor Who. But then he was on his way to the playing ground that he hasn’t | <|output|> <|example|> it, and when he answered the question of “What did you find so funny?” with “My soul-mate” at the age of 14, no one took him seriously and with an eye roll the teacher continued the lesson) <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Sherlock, this is John Watson, he’s an old friend of mine”
John search the library for Moby dick while Sherlock was in his mind palace, you know, as usual, when a familiar “Ding” was heard from Sherlock phone and pulled him back to reality and snatched the phone to see if lestrade had any updates about their correct case <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He tried to say something, anything! But nothing comes out <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> John never really talked with them, he never really had a reason to <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> A slow smile crossed his face as he raised his arm to John’s eye level to reveal the message written there <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “Oh, stop gaping John, you look like a fish, it doesn’t suit you,” she says with a frown that’s not going to convince anyone <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! WHY IN THE HELL WOULD YOU SET YOUR ALARM TO HALF PAST FIVE IN THE BLOODY MORNING?!?!”
‘The physics, the logic, the need to understand humans, all the his ‘philosophy’ (John rolled his eyes mentally at this one), it all makes sense now…’
Earlier that day, just as he set his foot in the house, he ran to his room and grabbed his new camera and snapped a photo of his arm, especially, a photo of the question that started their conversation <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> He looked at his arm and saw that they no longer had any place on this arm, so he wrote on a patch of clean skin
This whole situation is ridiculous, this morning his plans were just to do his homework in history and afterward maybe talk Sherlock, or to catch up on Doctor Who <|indexes|> 6 | |
<|text|> set his foot on for at least for ten years, to meet his soul-mate. But then he turned tail and ran away only to come across Mike, an old lad who he hadn’t talked to in years, who just happened to be back in town, who just happened to start living next door to the Holmes’s, and who just happened to be going to the same place that Sherlock just happen to be in. and now here he is, in school after hours, with his soul-mate that not even half an hour ago, was too afraid to meet, whose red in the face because his old mate is now talking about their wedding, and! Wait
Every Time he thinks he’s about to find it, Sherlock suddenly appears behind him with a raised eyebrow, an amused smirk and with that something in his eyes, ‘fear? maybe’ John thinks, but he just mentally shakes his head and with defeat, he returns the phone to its owner and returns to his room to write in his notebook.
After about an hour and a half, Sherlock suddenly broke the comforting silence with the declaration that it IS, in fact, the same ink, and that he wants to do more experiments on the subject. And he looked so happy and free while he talked about it that John could not stop himself from smiling a huge toothy smile at it
“It’s not a hard question, are they cute? Adorable, charming, delightful, precious, loveable, perky, sexy,” Emma said as she wiggled her brows, and John turned another shade of red darker “well?”
“Bad luck, mate,” Lestrade winced. “Me and the missus didn’t meet until I was in my thirties, though. Could still happen for you.”
“Our friends will tell him,” Sherlock replied in a deadened monotone. “Better to warn him, in advance. You’re far more likely to be forgiven if he believes you’re forthright.”
“You probably saw that coming,” he said, blowing white smoke through his teeth. “I didn’t. Stupid, yeah, okay, I’m a right moron. She’s never been what you might call
Bill Murray used to call him “Wee Watson,” and John used to knock him around a bit when he did. Giant git. John really ought to reply to one of Murray’s emails, but he'd been avoiding anything with the
“My decision on this matter is final,” Mycroft announced, in something more like his usual tone. “Your guilt serves no function.”
, isn’t it? And Helios couldn’t be more refined. You and I suited well enough, but we aren’t matched. Did you think something like that could last forever? We should be grateful.”
“Vickie’s leaving me,” the DI announced, apropos of nothing. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“All right,” Mycroft acquiesced. “The timing seems to confirm your suspicion. I believe the name on Eurus’s hand was ‘Hadiya.’”
The word JOHN was like that. Solid. A square block of text; no messing about with JONATHAN or JOHANNES or JÁNOS. Mycroft had a János in his form at school. He was a weasley sort of fellow, and Sherlock was relieved that his name had | <|output|> <|example|> set his foot on for at least for ten years, to meet his soul-mate. But then he turned tail and ran away only to come across Mike, an old lad who he hadn’t talked to in years, who just happened to be back in town, who just happened to start living next door to the Holmes’s, and who just happened to be going to the same place that Sherlock just happen to be in. and now here he is, in school after hours, with his soul-mate that not even half an hour ago, was too afraid to meet, whose red in the face because his old mate is now talking about their wedding, and! Wait <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Bad luck, mate,” Lestrade winced. “Me and the missus didn’t meet until I was in my thirties, though. Could still happen for you.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> He was a weasley sort of fellow, and Sherlock was relieved that his name had <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “Your guilt serves no function <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Mycroft had a János in his form at school <|indexes|> 2 2 | |
<|text|> not shown up on Sherlock’s hand.
.) Sally was a bint, but she’d served a purpose tonight: it would be worth the invasion of his privacy if Lestrade saw fit to warn Molly Hooper off. Rejecting people’s sexual advances—be they man or woman—made the Consulting Detective’s skin crawl.
“I’ll be okay,” John said again. She finally looked back at him, and there was an open, fragile kind of fear in her eyes. It twisted John’s stomach as he recalled the last time he’d seen that particular look, dripping blood and snot from her freckled nose. Da did have a talent for making Harry cry. “I’ll come home,” John told her.
“Sherlock,” Lestrade sighed, looking inexplicably fond. “She fancies you. It’s obvious, even to a moron like me.”
“She’s not suicidal.” Sherlock couldn’t begin to understand Eurus’s motivations, but he knew she did not wish to die. She would never let the world off so easily.
“You are welcome to return home, either to Surrey or to the townhouse, provided you are clean and sober. I can tell from your breathing and your choice of accommodation that you are not.” Mycroft’s voice was still sneering, but Sherlock could detect the hint of pain buried underneath. “Sherlock, I can provide you with the best possible treatment. The finest facility in the country. Our parents and Anthea are so desperately worried. Let me help you.”
John closed his eyes and surrendered to it. John hadn’t surrendered much in nearly twenty years—not since he grabbed an angry, spotty, crying Harry by the hand and hauled her out the door. Put her into the backseat of his rusted-out Ford Cortina, and drove away from his father’s drunken rage. Was this what it felt like, to watch your life flash before your eyes? If so, John couldn’t decide whether he was getting the Best of John Watson, or his outtakes reel.
John smiled, flicking once more before he crawled his way up her quivering body. Dark hair, light eyes. Legs for days. John loved many kinds of women, but he had to admit that this was his favorite.
Harry grinned, and then took another pull of the flattened soda. She offered it to John, but he shook his head. His stomach was in the kind of knots you have to cut apart with a knife.
Father and Mummy glanced at each other again. They weren’t smiling. When Mycroft’s soulname came in, there had been cake and bright laughter at the dinner table. Sherlock was only four at the time, but his memory was excellent. He remembered the fond looks Mummy gave to Father then, and the taste of chocolate icing on his tongue. Mycroft refused to wrap the finger, despite the scabs.
Harry repeated the letters quietly, the way she did any time she was memorizing the look of something instead of really reading. “What’s it spell?”
. His compression bandage—self-applied, and soaked to the point of uselessness—was ripped away. The burn of quick-and-dirty cauterization, to stem the blood flow. Oh God, oooh God,
“I’ll come and get you, after things die down a bit.” John’s mother visibly wavered, rocking | <|output|> <|example|> not shown up on Sherlock’s hand. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> “I’ll come home,” John told her <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> back and forth on her sensible black heels. Her right hand gripped her left, squeezing in an unconscious rhythm.
“Won’t they?” She asked. Her eyes were dry but distant behind her big, round glasses. “He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t want me to leave. In the middle of a party.”
“Even if the fag-haters don’t string you up, they’ll still be shooting at you,” Harry murmured, still looking down.
Sherlock’s small room in Saunderites House was his home for the better part of four years. He’d spent the first two as a woefully under-aged Lower School menace. Starting his fourth form at age 10 may have made sense academically, but it turned Sherlock into a complete pariah. He reacted like a cornered alley cat—lashing out with sharp rhetorical claws, ready to rip and tear and maul. His deductions hadn’t made him many friends among his much-older classmates. The professors weren’t terribly fond of Sherlock, either, come to that.
to think he’d even mentioned the possibility—but his usual mode of dress was more formal than Victor’s. Wool trousers with a windowpane pattern. Good leather boots. Knit turtleneck to disguise the (frankly absurd) length of his pale neck. Victor’s gaze traveled over him in a way that made every part of Sherlock’s body tingle.
John had been in Afghanistan for nine brutal months. He was the kind of short you couldn’t miss, and that—coupled with the posh man’s name on his hand—meant John spent more time than most swinging his fists. He didn’t much mind.
Sherlock blinked, startled. He did not betray his unease physically, but he took the phone and turned away quickly. The phone was interesting, but it didn’t really belong to the stranger. A secondhand gift. Sherlock turned it once in his hand, observing.
John opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He could feel his nostrils flaring, but he still wasn’t getting enough air. Clara watched him for another moment before taking him by the hand and pulling him into the quiet kitchen.
“Someday, you will come to understand the power of excellent grooming,” Mycroft mused. “But I suppose you are still a child.”
“Come home?” Mycroft repeated. He must have been truly surprised, because Mycroft never repeated anyone’s words.
John turned off the radio and put on his trainers. He scrubbed a hard hand through his hair, squared his shoulders. Da didn’t usually notice their comings-and-goings, but it was a bad day when either Watson child wasn’t where Da thought they ought to be. John definitely hadn’t come in the door with Harry that day. If his sister would just
Sebastian’s blue eyes widened and his jaw stiffened. “Of course I do! What kind of question is that?”
Sherlock pressed his lips together, hard, and watched the water run clear and cold along the back of his hand. “Go. No! Look. Tell me what it says.”
If Mycroft’s mind was a supercomputer, and Sherlock’s a ravenous beast, than Eurus had a brain like a magnifying glass. She could use it to see clearly, observe closely, and then she could burn everything that came into her view to ash.
“Anthea and I will be there for | <|output|> <|example|> back and forth on her sensible black heels. Her right hand gripped her left, squeezing in an unconscious rhythm. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> John had been in Afghanistan for nine brutal months <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> Leavers’ Day. She’s looking forward to it. Do make an effort with your hair.”
“When’s the last time you had something to eat?” Sherlock shrugged. The older man sighed, “I brought you a sarnie. Eat it, and I’ll go.”
“Guess so. Her dad’s got some new business scheme; greeting card something-or-other. Looks daft as shit. The cards are in boxes all over the house.”
“I need the answers for the last few questions. My solution didn’t look right, toward the end.” Ulysses was advancing on Sherlock quickly. He had a martial glint in his eye.
Sherlock never let himself cry. The bruised cheekbone, the split lip, the bloodied knee—he wore these like badges of honor. Like a shield.
“Isn’t it?” She replied, raising one thick eyebrow. “It’s not your problem, John. You didn’t put a bottle in her hand at age twelve, and command her to
“It’s all right, John,” the taller man breathed, his other hand pressing hard on John’s neck. “It’s not a gay thing. Not really. Sometimes a bloke just has to... get off, you know? Gets boring wanking by yourself in your bunk, day after day.”
Helen smiled, but her eyes were puzzled. “Do you think he’ll mind? That you’re so... Erm. That you aren’t waiting?”
“You’ll forgive my confusion. You are, in fact, homeless. You have expensive... habits. You have no access to your trust fund, per our parents’ strict instructions—”
Harry was sitting unnaturally still, like she’d been slipped a paralytic in her clotted cream. Only her eyes moved—blinking, blinking—until she finally unstuck her jaw and scowled at John. “So what?”
Sherlock sat a long time on his bed, feeding his snarling brain. His stomach grumbled, too, but much more quietly. He ignored it. Supper was nearly over, and Sherlock had missed the deadline to deliver his chemistry lab to Ulysses for copying. Even if he went now, he'd get a
Sherlock looked down. The sharp lines of text were still angry, but the name was short and simple enough to read. In English, too, which was never guaranteed.
“Quite right,” Sebastian agreed. He narrowed his eyes, taking in Sherlock’s wan face and shaking hands. “You need a hit? I can cut you a deal on the new line. Haven’t had the chance to road test it yet, so you’ll have to be my guinea pig.”
Ulysses slouched off without a backward glance. Sherlock’s heart gradually slowed, and he could feel the ill feeling in his stomach begin to fade. He spun on his heel, away from the dining hall, and hurried back toward the dormitory, and the relative safety of his private room.
John was lifted into the air. Stretcher. At least two medics, then. Three, because someone kept pressure on his shoulder as they ran. There was a good reason that voice kept screaming at John to stay awake, but John couldn’t quite put the pieces together. He’d never been so cold. He wished someone would make him a decent cup of tea. He wished he had a soft place to sit, and maybe a fire going in the hearth. He wished he wasn’t so damn alone.
“Ah! Molly. | <|output|> <|example|> Leavers’ Day. She’s looking forward to it. Do make an effort with your hair.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He narrowed his eyes, taking in Sherlock’s wan face and shaking hands <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He ignored it <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> He spun on his heel, away from the dining hall, and hurried back toward the dormitory, and the relative safety of his private room <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Like a shield <|indexes|> 3 | |
<|text|> Coffee. Thank you.” Sherlock passed back John’s phone, seemingly distracted by the coroner’s arrival. John took the mobile with his dominant left hand. The letters SHE were clearly visible near the hamate bone.
) While Sherlock mulled it over, the persistent, itchy ache of his inner elbows faded a bit. Enough. For tonight, it was enough.
“Sherlock,” Harry said, tasting the word on her tongue, cracking the final k. “Gran’s right. Sounds like a posh git.” John checked the back windows were clear before giving her a two-fingered salute. Harry just laughed and laughed.
“Victor is no longer supporting you. And so I must assume you’ll acquire your particular vice through trade. What exactly is your trade, again?”
“Mycroft Holmes.” Mummy clenched her jaw. “Eurus is our daughter. We are not leaving her alone in that—that
felt wrong right now. At least his clothing felt familiar, and safe. Like he could armor himself every morning in layers of cotton and leather and wool.
He swung around, bringing up the Sig just as a bullet blasted into the ground near his skidding feet. He didn’t hesitate. John dropped to his knee, raised the pistol in both hands, and sighted the enemy combatant where he ducked below a distant berm. Long shot for the Sig Sauer, but manageable. Hopefully the arsehole didn’t have a GPMG hidden away over there. John waited for the first sign of movement over the obstruction.
“It’s not a danger night, Lestrade,” Sherlock muttered, not altogether truthfully. “You needn’t be here.”
Harry’s nostrils flared, but the expected sneer never came. Instead, she looked down at her breakfast and licked her lips. “Think that’s likely? A hospital like that?”
Harry attacked the barista with her unique blend of aggressive charm, and the poor man hardly had time to close the till before she was braying, “
“Oi!” John cried, stabbing Harry in the ribs with his toes. “Leave off Mum, or go to your own damn bedroom. I can’t listen to it tonight.”
John tried to smile, but there was come on his hand and James’s masculine smell in his nose. John could hear a voice in his head, so much like his father’s, hissing,
Yes, James Sholto is a Captain here. Keep in mind that he will have more than a decade to advance to Major.
, of course, to pay for sex with some sly girl under cover of darkness, but his options were limited. Unless he wanted to die a virgin, he’d be compromising himself one way or another.
She sent the younger man a hard look. “She doesn’t accept anything less than quid pro quo. Would you?”
Mycroft shook his head and turned his gaze toward the door, where Anthea had last exited. He breathed in, and then sighed between sharp teeth, “
The restaurant was close enough to campus to walk, but not a regular student haunt. Too expensive. Victor smiled at the host in a rather knowing way, and they found themselves seated in a dimly lit corner for two. Despite Sherlock’s insistence that he was not hungry, Victor ordered them a spinach dip to share. It smelled foul. One bite | <|output|> <|example|> Coffee. Thank you.” Sherlock passed back John’s phone, seemingly distracted by the coroner’s arrival. John took the mobile with his dominant left hand. The letters SHE were clearly visible near the hamate bone. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> At least his clothing felt familiar, and safe <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> was quite enough of that, but the wine went down well enough. It wasn’t advisable to drink so much on an empty stomach, Sherlock supposed. The server wasn’t inclined to care, however, and Victor certainly seemed pleased.
“No!” He could hear Mycroft draw another breath, but Sherlock cut him off: “Whatever you’ve called to tell me,
I think it's important to understand the culture in which John Watson and Sherlock Holmes came of age. Homophobia was thoroughly systemic throughout the 1980's and 90's. Gay and lesbian people could not serve openly in the UK military until 2000. The legal age of consent for sexual acts between two men was older than the rest of population until 2001. The progress in recent decades has been incredible. Today, LGBTQA+ people in the UK receive Europe's best legal and social protections, and the UK boasts the most out LGBTQA+ politicians in the world.
“Nothing happens that you don’t want,” James soothed, leaning closer. John closed his eyes and his nostrils flared. “Do you, John? Want?”
“Fine!” John finally shouted, then winced his apology to the couple sitting across the aisle. “Just calm down. Most people get quieter when they’re hungover, Harry. Doesn’t your head hurt?”
Lestrade hummed to himself—a simple, repeating stanza, most likely from the radio—until Sally Donovan approached with a sour expression.
There were the awkward strings of unasked-for information—“deductions,” Mummy said, “we shall call them
“She’ll know,” Sherlock said, breaking the silence. “She’ll read the truth on your faces, immediately. It’s no use attempting to
“Right. No.” John took a bracing gulp of Earl Grey and a deep breath. “Have you heard from Mum recently?”
. “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock.” He met John’s eyes—dark, yes, but an unusual deep blue, beautiful, golden eyelashes—and barreled on. “Sorry. Got to dash. I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”
a boy. You see?” She glanced up, and John nodded through his blush. “Never even a passing fancy. I knew I was attracted to girls, but it was easy to ignore. I just thought,
Harry hummed a little, scrunching her face up in thought. “How you going to hide it, if Gran’s seen? Think she’ll keep it secret?”
“I don’t,” Clara replied with an even, serious voice. “I don’t know. I think it must be. Not that feeling, exactly, but
the John Watson—” He cut himself off with a wince. His left hand was shaking. Mike took a sip from his coffee and glanced down, then seemed to freeze. His eyes widened. John cleared his throat.
It hurt inside John’s chest to walk away. He knew what would follow—the shouting, the swearing, the sound of things falling to the floor. He knew that, at the end of it, Mum and Da would lock themselves in their bedroom until morning. John would put his records on and try to ignore the noise. Sometimes it was awful, and sometimes... well, still awful but in a very different way. Da and Mum were soulmatched—JACK and RACHEL, their third fingers read, and arrived when then were both eleven. Of course, the names were common enough that it might not mean anything | <|output|> <|example|> was quite enough of that, but the wine went down well enough. It wasn’t advisable to drink so much on an empty stomach, Sherlock supposed. The server wasn’t inclined to care, however, and Victor certainly seemed pleased. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> ” John took a bracing gulp of Earl Grey and a deep breath <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> ” He met John’s eyes—dark, yes, but an unusual deep blue, beautiful, golden eyelashes—and barreled on <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> “Have you heard from Mum recently?” <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> I think it must be <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “Nothing happens that you don’t want,” James soothed, leaning closer <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> well, still awful but in a very different way <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> “Have you heard from Mum recently?” <|indexes|> 6 | |
<|text|> at all.
It was stupid, thinking about that right now. About SHERLOCK. About John’s own obituary. He should be thinking of ways to get out of this, to find help, to save his own stupid, useless life. But the shot went through his left shoulder. Dominant hand. Too much damage for full mobility, and that’s if the nerves survived. Odds of a full recovery: slim. So.
“Father won’t be amenable, either, but he will listen to reason. He’s shortened their visits incrementally for the last two years, upon my request. He no longer allows Mummy to visit on her own.”
Sherlock’s razor-sharp tongue saved him from the worst public school boys had to offer, but only barely. And only because now, at age 21, Mycroft Holmes’s name already had an aura of worrisome power behind it. He’d been head boy during his time at Charterhouse, and that wasn’t something people forgot. Like Sherlock, he’d come to school early. Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft had done so with quiet mastery—a skill that ensured his peers both respected and feared him. His name protected his younger brother from the kind of harm you couldn’t heal. Sherlock hated him for it.
John tried. He took a few deep breaths as James used John’s nearby towel to clean them both off. He was gentle. His face betrayed no uneasiness, no disgust. “We’re mates,” John finally whispered. James looked up at him. “You’re my best mate, over here.”
“Really?” Sherlock frowned, walking away from them (from JOHN). “I thought it was a big improvement. Mouth’s too...
“It’s not a party, Mum. It’s a funeral.” John gripped her hand, pressing two fingers against her wrist. Her pulse was quick but steady. “He’d understand.”
“What good does it do?” Mycroft said, almost to himself. “What good could possibly come from knowing the answer, Sherlock?”
Rachel Watson disappeared down the back hall with rounded shoulders and a hand pressed to the wallpaper, as if she might collapse. John watched her carefully until she slipped into her bedroom, closing the door.
Mummy froze in her seat. Father reached for one of her hands, pressing it between both of his own. Anthea’s eyes turned toward Sherlock again, careful and direct. Her ubiquitous BlackBerry was noticeably absent this evening.
Credit to Steven Moffat, Paul McGuigan, and the rest of the BBC Sherlock team for the structure and dialogue of these final chapters. I'm not making any money from this work, and intend no infringement. I also want to acknowledge the frankly astonishing work of Ariane DeVere (aka Callie Sullivan), whose transcripts of the show are incredible. I didn't really use them as source material here, but I have referenced them in the past.
“Suit yourself,” the other man shrugged. “So long as you pay for the product and stay out of my way, it’s fine with me. You can play me something, once in a while—” Sebastian nodded toward Sherlock's violin case, clutched tightly in one hand. “None of that pretentious, new school nonsense, but your Vaughan Williams is nice enough.” Sherlock didn't reply.
Harry was turning a bit red. “There’s nothing wrong with the man staying home with the | <|output|> <|example|> at all. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft had done so with quiet mastery—a skill that ensured his peers both respected and feared him <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Mouth’s too <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> I didn't really use them as source material here, but I have referenced them in the past <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” Sherlock didn't reply <|indexes|> 3 | |
<|text|> kids, you colossal pig.”
Harry took the words to heart, breathing shallowly but quietly as the flush receded from her face. She dragged a hand through her frizzing hair and gulped her coffee. The scone still sat, mostly uneaten, on her plate.
John was taken aback. “Yes, sorry, yes. Mike!” They shook hands, and John tried to stop blinking quite so much. “Hello, hi.”
“This?” James rumbled quietly, looking down at his own soulname with soft eyes. “I want to find her. I
“I’m not going to kiss you,” James whispered. John could feel his breath and smell his sweat. “Not on the lips. That’s not what this is. But I want to touch you. Can I touch you, John?”
“Will wonders never cease?” Lestrade grinned. He started to walk away, but pointed a finger over his shoulder. “My office. Tomorrow.”
Captain James Sholto was the smartest man John had ever met, and the least sociable. He was older than John by at least five years, but he had the kind of face that aged kindly. Handsome, but harsh. Their friendship had developed slowly, in a way that was unusual on the battlefield. Most men fell into friendships hard and fast overseas, where the line between
Harry slunk over to open the sash and climb clumsily onto the sill, tossing her bag out first. John kept an ear close to the door, but no footsteps were pounding down the creaking hall outside. With one more quick nod, Harry slipped away into the autumn evening.
, then. Eurus is currently maintaining at least three illicit affairs with staff on the Sherrinford grounds.”
Anthea sighed. “They fancy themselves in love, anyway. Eurus, of course, feels nothing in return. Doesn’t claim to, in fact. It’s the damndest thing.”
wishes. Her prejudices are certainly not your fault, and quite hypocritical, given the name on her own third finger.”
idiot private’s STD. Training to be a field surgeon in the actual field was a bit ludicrous, but he found he rather
Sherlock’s heart swelled automatically, before his stomach dropped hard enough to send him to the sink. He bent over, gagging.
“Why’d she even agree to go out with your type?” Da wondered aloud. John wasn’t meant to answer. “Must be some kind of desperate, to try it on with a poofter.”
. Everyone says it’s unmistakable. No matter how many ‘John’s there are in the world, only one will ever be the
John’s cane rested at a lazy angle against the edge of his desk. He rolled his injured shoulder, felt the pinch in the tight skin of the entry wound on his back. Ten months, and the damned thing still ached every morning. The stretches helped less and less in the frigid mid-winter weather.
“Glad my shoes don’t scream ‘eating for two,’” Anthea remarked dryly. “And no, Mummy, I’m so sorry. But we aren’t expecting.”
Sherlock wasn’t usually embarrassed by things he could not change. He didn’t give much thought to his family’s income, or the state of their cluttered manor home. He knew he was tall, and too thin, and his curly hair went
Lestrade and Sally turned to search the park, brows raised. | <|output|> <|example|> kids, you colossal pig.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He didn’t give much thought to his family’s income, or the state of their cluttered manor home <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> ”
“This?” James rumbled quietly, looking down at his own soulname with soft eyes <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ”
wishes <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 <|example|> Training to be a field surgeon in the actual field was a bit ludicrous, but he found he rather
Sherlock’s heart swelled automatically, before his stomach dropped hard enough to send him to the sink <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> ”
Sherlock wasn’t usually embarrassed by things he could not change <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> He rolled his injured shoulder, felt the pinch in the tight skin of the entry wound on his back <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> Most men fell into friendships hard and fast overseas, where the line between
Harry slunk over to open the sash and climb clumsily onto the sill, tossing her bag out first <|indexes|> 6 6 <|example|> With one more quick nod, Harry slipped away into the autumn evening <|indexes|> 7 7 <|example|> “They fancy themselves in love, anyway <|indexes|> 8 8 <|example|> Her prejudices are certainly not your fault, and quite hypocritical, given the name on her own third finger <|indexes|> 9 | |
<|text|> It was evening, and rather cold, but that didn’t explain the empty streets. It was a neighborhood composed of disconsolate parts—rank alleyways, chained-up schoolyards, and paycheque advance establishments. Cleared out of foot traffic at the mere whisper of police presence. Not even the usual homeless camped out on park benches. A block of government apartments rose up across the way; now and again, a shade flicked aside, revealing the silhouette of a curious onlooker.
“You want me inside you?” John confirmed. Helen made a strangled noise of consent, and then hooked a leg around his hips. John grinned, lined himself up with one hand, and then pressed himself inside her body in a long, smooth glide.
“I believe Margot would object to an arrangement of that sort,” Sherlock answered coldly, eyes flicking toward Sebastian’s left hand. “Not to mention Victor, when he found out.”
John’s shower was short but blissfully cold, and he was reluctant to pull his vest back on once he managed to get dry. Sweat was a fact of life in the desert, but it didn’t mean John liked it. There was a lot about Afghanistan that John didn’t like. Heat. Bugs. Bloody buggering
“Good. Don’t call me again at this number. I’ll let you know when we’re on our way to the airport. And Sherlock?”
I don't know how I'm meant to be writing this. I'm not a writer. Ella thought keeping a blog would help, but it hasn't. Not sure what kind of help it's meant to provide; a bit like whispering into a void, really. The black hole of the world wide web.
— Please, doctor, I already went over there and no one answered, I don’t know who to turn to. You’re my only hope of seeing him.
"Oh, Sherlock… Why don’t you open that note, dear? You’ve been sulking about it for months now… At least you’ll stop wondering, and you can move on…"
‘’Right. Yeah. Wait- no. I’m not here because I need something. I’m here because I wanted to ask if…’’ John had trouble making a sentence, his mind too focused on Sherlock’s opened button-down and all of the feelings that were coming his way now that the detective and him were together again.
The detective couldn’t look away from John, who had come here on his own. Who seemed to want to talk again. He was wondering if this was all a dream like the others he had had in the last few months, but the card and the slight touch of John’s fingers against his felt so real… He decided that even his mind couldn’t make this up.
“Shut up, Mycroft!” Sherlock was breathing hard now. Mycroft didn’t try to interject again. “It’s my decision. It’s my choice, and I choose not to know. Do you understand?”
No. No, terribly unlikely. Mycroft tried to inform Sherlock of his soulmate’s death, nearly a year ago. He had, hadn’t he? Or was that quite right? Sherlock deleted the telephone call shortly thereafter, and couldn’t pull the exact details to mind. The likelihood was slim-to-nil, really, so what was Mike playing at? Sherlock’s lab | <|output|> <|example|> It was evening, and rather cold, but that didn’t explain the empty streets. It was a neighborhood composed of disconsolate parts—rank alleyways, chained-up schoolyards, and paycheque advance establishments. Cleared out of foot traffic at the mere whisper of police presence. Not even the usual homeless camped out on park benches. A block of government apartments rose up across the way; now and again, a shade flicked aside, revealing the silhouette of a curious onlooker. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> — Please, doctor, I already went over there and no one answered, I don’t know who to turn to. You’re my only hope of seeing him. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> “Not to mention Victor, when he found out <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> gloves made texting difficult, but he found he really did not wish to remove them.
John shrugged. “Don’t know. But I want to be a surgeon, Harry. I really want to. You know we’d never be able to make that work, even with two of us. I’ll be okay. This is the best of a bad lot.”
“You know, I have a girlfriend who’s bisexual,” Helen offered with a shrug. “She’s a nurse in the RAMC. Totally butch. The name on her finger is ‘Alex,’ of all things. No idea whether it’s a man or a woman.”
Mycroft considered ignoring the question—the impulse was written all over his pinched face—but, instead, he clucked his tongue. “Our sister’s intellect is unparalleled. A once-in-a-generation genius. To ignore such a resource would be foolhardy.”
!” she gasped again. He hummed his approval, which set off a string of delicious cursing. “Fuck, John, please!
“I’m not! You think those murders out in West London went unsolved because the police were giving it their best and brightest effort? Nobody even bothered publicizing the crimes until Michael Boothe died—”
“I don’t expect I’ll ever find out,” John confessed, quietly, and then swigged his water. “Posh bloody name. Not so many of those in the Middle East.”
“What exactly are we looking to prevent here?” Sherlock demanded. “What is she capable of? From inside Sherrinford?”
He was going to die alone. Alone, bleeding out into the sand of a goddamned wasteland. He was going to die in the sand like so many soldiers before him, and John Watson could only think,
“Yeah, well,” John finally responded. “I don’t think I’ll ever have £40,000 to blow on that sort of thing. He’ll just have to muddle through, like everyone else.”
His father was an English diplomat, his mother Indian by birth, and Victor was exactly the sort of person one expected to emerge from such a union. Beautifully dark-haired and warm-skinned. Confident. Polite. Charming to a fault. Well-liked, in spite of his masculine soulmark... or, perhaps, because of it. Victor certainly wasn’t waiting for his soulmatch to explore his nonstandard inclinations.
“Mmm, I’ve sampled Victor’s castaways before,” Sebastian said with a condescending smile. “He never seemed to mind.” Sherlock was careful not to react to the crude implication. He knew Victor wasn’t faithful during their years together. Sherlock wasn’t an
“Yes, all right, John,” she finally sighed. She reached up to cup his clean-shaven cheek. “Thank you. I’ll just...”
The less he reacted like a human being, the more they left him alone. It had been a tough lesson, but one of the most important.
. It needed winding. Sherlock had subconsciously synced his breathing with that just-barely-uneven metronome tick.
“Do you think Eurus knew for certain?” Sherlock wondered. “Did Hadiya reveal her soulname, in private?”
“Yeah,” Helen nodded. “She’s from some rotten little village in Northern Ireland. Never could’ve afforded it, otherwise.”
“Gran don’t like my soulname,” John said. Harry took back the bottle and set it on the ground between them.
“It isn’t like you can help it! You’d not have a boy’s name if you could!” John appreciated that his sister could get so indignant | <|output|> <|example|> gloves made texting difficult, but he found he really did not wish to remove them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> or, perhaps, because of it <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> Harry took back the bottle and set it on the ground between them <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> The name on her finger is ‘Alex,’ of all things <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> <|indexes|> 3 | |
<|text|> on his behalf. He couldn’t muster the energy, really—not for his own sake.
I was walking in the park, and I bumped into Doctor Mike Stamford. We were sort of mates when we were students at St. Bart's. We got coffee together, and I mentioned that I wanted to move out of my bedsit. Said I wanted to stay in London, but it seemed impossible with the rents so bloody high. He said he knew of someone else in a similar situation. So we went to the labs at Bart's, and Mike introduced us.
The clock ticked. Sherlock breathed. Mycroft, it seemed, did not. Anthea practically vibrated her concern. That
Lestrade found Sherlock on the roof of the London Business School after dark—directed there, no doubt, by the British Government himself. He had a large sandwich in a paper bag and a worried expression on his face.
“You finish the chemistry lab?” The imbecile wanted to know. Ulysses Forrester. Second-year Specialist, adequate footballer, and all-around moron.
John admired the graceful arch of her back as she stretched. She caught him at, still smirking, and swung her bare legs off the edge of the bed.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft said in a voice so horribly pitying, “you are not to blame. Hadiya’s departure was
“She likes you. You can’t control a thing like that. Well, we mere mortals can’t, can we?” Lestrade rubbed his hands together and blew hot breath into his fist. “’Suppose you’ve never suffered from anything as pedestrian as an innocent
A hymn, then? What dark pit had John dragged that memory out of? Mum forcing Harry into an ironed dress and knotting John’s tie, walking them hand-in-hand down the narrow aisle of the local parish. The smell of incense, and the ache of the hard pew. Up and down—kneel and rise, kneel and rise—until John’s khakis were baggy at the knee. Mum’s little pill box hat, pinned in just so. They’d buried their mother in that hat.
“She’ll move back to London. I’ll finally take that awful banking job her father’s been trying to force on me for years. Couple of kids, maybe. Who knows?”
“All right, Bumble,” Father nodded, taking Mummy’s hand. “Let’s go down to the sitting room. I’ll ask Miss Anna to brew up a pot of tea. I imagine we’ve woken her by now, all this racket.”
A stranger followed Mike into the room. Blonde hair, crew cut. Square jaw. Tan, and more wrinkled than could be explained by age (history of sun exposure, skin damage). Short stature. Firm build—an athlete with a recent injury, gone a bit thin around the edges. Clothing a little too loose on an underfed frame. The cane was an affectation, but not one born of vanity. Psychosomatic injury, then.
I'm new to writing fanfic, and an American. I don't have a beta reader (yet). I welcome spelling, grammar, or Brit-pick corrections. Please and thank you!
“Sherlock!” Mummy cried, pulling his swollen left hand from under the running faucet. “How lovely! I did think, perhaps, any day now—”
John tried to draw even, measured breaths. Da was well into a bottle of whiskey, and the man was | <|output|> <|example|> on his behalf. He couldn’t muster the energy, really—not for his own sake. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> I’ll ask Miss Anna to brew up a pot of tea <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> I'm new to writing fanfic, and an American <|indexes|> 1 | |
<|text|> unpredictable when stone cold sober. Letting his father rile him up didn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Mum, who always got caught in the crossfire. At least Harry was out of the house. Da and Harry were like two sides of one coin, and both sides were too quick to throw a punch.
I did my best with the British military lingo and the medical particulars. I am neither a soldier nor a doctor. I welcome corrections in my inbox!
He could recall James perfectly, if he tried, but he found he didn’t really want to. Coping mechanism? Who the Hell knew? James was breaking in new recruits, reluctantly but no doubt efficiently, while John’s longest running relationship dissolved into something as distant and meaningless as everything else right now. Ran out of him like blood and piss, into the burning sand. Not that you could properly call what James gave him a ‘relationship.’
John moved, and it felt like the whole world moved with him. The world sharpened, focused, until the gun in his hands and the mud under on his feet felt like extensions of his own flesh. Like the run over boot-churned, uneven ground was what John Watson had been made for. Like he had a
Two quick knocks, which meant Mike Stamford had returned to the lab after the morning’s consultation. Unexpected. Forgot something? Mike was a competent surgeon, but less familiar with the kind of violent deaths Sherlock’s work provided. Possible he looked up the answer to that question about the fingernails.
She took his bare hand between soft-gloved fingers. Her eyes went wide and wet, which seemed in opposition to the soft smile. She looked... very pleased. It wasn’t an expression often aimed at Sherlock, but he’d seen her look just that way at his little sister, Eurus. Right before Nanny Hadiya murmured something like,
now.” It wasn’t true, but Molly still hadn’t given up on her relentless, pointless infatuation. He couldn’t abide her inept flirting in front of John.
She came hard, with a shout. The wet grasp around John’s prick was incredible. He continued moving, harder, faster, as he carried her through the shudders of her climax. Then his own body finally relented to the wonderful clench in John’s belly, and he came hard enough to stop breathing.
Maybe John could talk Alice into coming with them to church on Sunday. Da was at his best first thing in the morning, and meeting John's girlfriend might ease everyone's mind for a bit. Give Da something to brag about at work. Alice was tough, and the Watsons would be on best behavior.
John gave a perfunctory sort of bow, which warmed Harry’s expression considerably, and then stepped over the line of bottle caps meant to indicate a door. Harry had a few plastic milk crates as seating, and she was sipping at a cola that sweated in the sunshine. She passed it to John, who took a small swig.
Sebastian’s flat smelled of marijuana and unwashed laundry. Victor would never have allowed their home to get into such a state. He would have made | <|output|> <|example|> unpredictable when stone cold sober. Letting his father rile him up didn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Mum, who always got caught in the crossfire. At least Harry was out of the house. Da and Harry were like two sides of one coin, and both sides were too quick to throw a punch. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Forgot something? Mike was a competent surgeon, but less familiar with the kind of violent deaths Sherlock’s work provided <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Victor would never have allowed their home to get into such a state <|indexes|> 1 | |
<|text|> Sherlock clean the kitchen floors with his
John took a long swig of his tea, and choked down a few bites of an apple. He hadn’t eaten a real breakfast since leaving hospital; the thought of sausages and eggs turned his stomach. He’d lost a fair bit of muscle during rehabilitation, and avoided the sight of his exposed collarbones, his hipbones, his ribcage. Eating too much made his stomach clench and ache. He knew he should eat more, maybe small amounts more often, but the thought set John’s teeth on edge. Eating used to be something John did for pleasure, and the discomfort of it now was like an insult. John was
“They’re still taking fire further down,” Han said. John tucked the bite-strip between Evans’s teeth and pulled out the cauterization gun. John hated the smell of burning flesh, but he sealed up as much of the damage as he could. Evans didn’t flinch, which wasn’t a good sign.
“You’re looking for a quiet man in his late 40’s. No children. Mid-level job with limited customer service, and plenty of time to listen to himself think. Likely Caucasian, then, and unmatched. He favors his right hip when standing—old injury, likely football—and wears shoes at least two years old, but in excellent nick. He attends church services regularly and has an unhealthy attachment to his elderly aunt.”
“Anderson is an idiot. Of course your victim’s an addict. Your perpetrator is, too—he spends his time making nice with an elderly lady. Prescription drugs, probably, Prozac or oxycodon, and he doesn’t buy them on the street. He need only raid her medicine cabinet.”
“He’ll live.” When James shot him an unimpressed glance, John shook his head. “He lost the foot. Saved the knee, though. Won’t know about hypoxia until he wakes up.”
To settle down with someone outside that match meant subjecting your own soulmate to a less fulfilling future. Perhaps your partner’s soulmate, too, if they were both alive. The height of selfishness. Of course, people did make mistakes—sometimes the “Alan” you chose wasn’t your ALAN at all—but it was enough of a rarity that society gave you the benefit of the doubt. To ignore the soulname on your finger simply
Eurus was in a long cotton nightdress, with her hair plaited frizzily on each side of her head. Sherlock scowled. He didn’t particularly want Eurus to see his soulname, or to hear it spoken aloud. Sherlock hadn’t even got a look at it himself yet.
“I think you will,” Victor ruminated, pulling Sherlock’s hand up to his mouth. He pressed a lingering kiss into the back of it. “I think you’ll jump at the chance.”
Harry sipped at her seltzer water with a little frown of distaste. Then her eyes went a bit vacant as her vision snagged on something across the room. John turned to watch Harry’s soulmatch, Clara, set down another tray of smallish sandwiches. “Do you know what Clara said,” Harry asked, “first time she met Mum and Da?”
Victor was 20 years old, and behind Sherlock academically. If the younger boy weren’t trying for two concurrent degrees, he’d | <|output|> <|example|> Sherlock clean the kitchen floors with his <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Likely Caucasian, then, and unmatched <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> have graduated before ever meeting Victor Trevor. Perhaps that would have been best. The hard, compact lines of Victor’s body, his almost-unnatural calm, the flash of his white teeth when he smiled... Sherlock hardly knew what he wanted, but it seemed that Victor did. No one had ever looked at Sherlock with that kind of undisguised hunger. No one since Eurus, and this didn’t feel anything like her sort of predation. This felt hot and tight and delicious. This felt
James was right behind John when he turned around. His face was inscrutable, but his eyes were restless—running across John’s cheeks and down his chest, from shoulder to shoulder and back up to his face. John could practically
Sherlock wasn’t sure what to say. He’d managed to eat half of the bacon sandwich while Lestrade distracted him, but now his stomach was uncomfortably queasy. Sherlock really hadn’t deduced this. Lestrade was a liar, and Sherlock
, suddenly, that there was no coming back from this. John Watson wasn’t gay, but he was... well, something. Some
? Why would any man look at another bloke like this, if he was lucky enough to have a name like that on his hand? James lifted John’s left fist and stroked over the back, avoiding his third finger. John’s hand relaxed.
Despite the man’s idiocy, and knotty morality, Sebastian Wilkes was the closest friend Sherlock had left, without Victor.
All the cases of hate crimes against homosexual men which Harry references are real. Over the course of six months in 1989 and 1990, four gay men (Christopher Schliach, Henry Bright, William Dalziel, and Michael Boothe) were murdered in West London. These crimes remain unsolved, and led to mass public outcry. Colin Ireland killed five men - Peter Walker, Christopher Dunn, Perry Bradley III, Andrew Collier, and Emanuel Spiteri - and was convicted of their murders in December 1993. Several more high-profile cases followed, including the murder of Jody Debrowski, which was the first conviction for a hate crime motivated by homophobia in the UK (2006). These cases spurred a major investigation into police bias in 2007.
“That’s not true,” John argued. And it wasn’t. John didn’t know many men who had sex lives like his own. “Sure, he might not be a virgin. But he might be waiting, all the same.”
,” Mummy snarled. Mycroft’s eyes flashed wide, taken aback by her tone. Anthea laid a flat palm against the top of her soulmatch’s hand.
“You are an addict with a very unstable track record,” Mycroft retorted without pity. “But you’re nearly a year into your latest attempt at sobriety, and I’d hate for this unfortunate incident to upset your recovery.”
Harry had her disapproving scowl on—and wouldn’t she hate to know she got that look from Da?—but John didn’t know what he’d said that made her so angry this time. Insulted Charlotte’s dad, he supposed. Affectionate but aimless, the plump, smiling man had always made John uncomfortable. The silence was unexpected, and it drug on too long. The radio filled the void with weirdly upbeat electronic whining.
“It’s a good program,” John went on, as if | <|output|> <|example|> have graduated before ever meeting Victor Trevor. Perhaps that would have been best. The hard, compact lines of Victor’s body, his almost-unnatural calm, the flash of his white teeth when he smiled... Sherlock hardly knew what he wanted, but it seemed that Victor did. No one had ever looked at Sherlock with that kind of undisguised hunger. No one since Eurus, and this didn’t feel anything like her sort of predation. This felt hot and tight and delicious. This felt <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> These cases spurred a major investigation into police bias in 2007 <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “But you’re nearly a year into your latest attempt at sobriety, and I’d hate for this unfortunate incident to upset your recovery <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> “Sure, he might not be a virgin <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Lestrade was a liar, and Sherlock
, suddenly, that there was no coming back from this <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> ”
Harry had her disapproving scowl on—and wouldn’t she hate to know she got that look from Da?—but John didn’t know what he’d said that made her so angry this time <|indexes|> 4 4 | |
<|text|> he hadn’t heard. “The army will pay my fees, so long as my marks stay high, and I serve a few years after foundation school. May not even go into a combat zone. I could be stationed at a recovery hospital.”
“Yeah,” James groaned. He lined up their cocks and wrapped his hand around them, pressing them together so hard that John thought he might choke. “You’re hard for me, aren’t you? You’re hard and wet and I’m going to take you
Basic training was designed to cull the herd, and John had privately expected to end up on the chopping block. He’d played rugby in school, so John was tough enough and pretty quick. Resourceful. Decisive. A man’s man, though his father never acknowledged it. The army, though... it wasn’t a secondary school. War wasn’t a game. John wondered if the higher-ups would see some inborn
introduce us. The man knew who I was, somehow. He knew everything about me. He knew I'd served in Afghanistan, and he knew I'd been invalided. He said my wound was psychosomatic, so he didn't get everything right, but he even knew why I was there. The bedsit. The flatshare. Mike hadn't mentioned a word of it.
“I did.” It was too much. Sherlock thought he might pass out, which would be terribly lowering. He pulled his gloves off with shaking hands. His own soulmark (JOHN) was white enough to be nearly indistinguishable from the pale skin; Sherlock had tested countless lotions and whitening creams over the years. Nothing like the hyperpigmented scar standing out against John’s deep-set tan. He grabbed up his coat, abandoning the Work on the table, half-finished.
Mycroft hesitated. It was a pronounced pause, and Sherlock’s heartbeat sped up, in spite of himself. There was always
“Just out near the carpark, with Lottie and them. Lottie’s brother gave her some good hash for her birthday.”
, however, are not.” Anthea stood, resting her hand briefly on Mycroft’s shoulder. He didn’t acknowledge the action, and she didn’t seem to expect it. She left the dining room without a word. Once she’d gone, Mycroft unclenched his jaw and went on. “Eurus believes you to be her adversary. As much as I am. I, however, am boring. I visit. I give her the opportunity to...
The bedsit was chilly, with a radiator that clunked at all hours and a window that needed replacing. The draft blew right across John’s mattress while he slept; he’d been forced to wear long sleeves and sweatpants to bed every night. A far cry from sand in his sheets, sweating the night away in just his y-fronts. He’d even bought a dressing gown, for God’s sake.
He stretched out across his small, neat bed and closed both eyes. Jesus fucking Christ, he hated this. All of it. He hated soulnames and soulmates and the fairy stories of romance that kept everyone swooning over such a ridiculous lie. His own soulname—SHERLOCK—glared back at him, as if in reproach, and he buried his left hand behind his head, underneath his pillow.
John was distantly aware that he was in pain. A | <|output|> <|example|> he hadn’t heard. “The army will pay my fees, so long as my marks stay high, and I serve a few years after foundation school. May not even go into a combat zone. I could be stationed at a recovery hospital.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He pulled his gloves off with shaking hands <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> I visit <|indexes|> 1 1 | |
<|text|> lot of pain. He’d gone unpleasantly numb, though, and quite cold. The sun beating down on him did nothing to stop his shivering. He could still hear the firefight, but it was a distant sort of thing. It didn’t matter. John was a
If a person could be made for something, then John Watson was made for combat. Maybe it was his father’s blood rising up in him, or his own rough upbringing, or maybe just the strange chemistry of blood-bone-bile that settled his gut and steadied his hands. He could set a bone while machine guns blared in the background. He could stitch up a wound while bombs whistled overhead. And John could shoot a gun like he was born with it in his hand.
John flinched, and kicked Harry hard enough to send her off the bed and onto the floor. She scowled at him, and then reached up to pinch his thigh.
soulname. I should be able to know.” In fact, it was Sherlock’s policy that he ought to be able to know anything he liked. Mummy and Father indulged his endless questions, even seemed to relish the challenge of answering them. Asked and answered—that was the usual way in the Holmes manor.
That was exactly what John thought. Men like Sherlock might want to be found, but not by a lower-class, same-sex soulmate with nothing to offer. If the registry were cheaper, everyone would use it. The common people might start to use those lofty, pretentious monikers, too, in hopes of increasing their chances for a fairytale match. Never mind that a true soulmatch didn’t work like that. Hope springs eternal when you’ve nothing to lose.
that look on his skin. They were standing so close, much too close to one another. John felt the heat radiating from James’s long, lean, khaki-covered chest. His eyes were the loveliest, palest blue.
Mike waved this away with a small laugh. “I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?”
Sherlock had to get out, before John asked any of the obvious questions hovering just behind those blue eyes.
“—But Anthea impressed upon me your right to know Nanny Hadiya’s fate. It is, however, imperative that we keep the news of her death from Eurus. At any cost.”
Instead, Sherlock checked the lock on his door and traded his uniform for worn pajamas. Couldn't risk a run to the loo until after lights-out, so he told his body sternly to stop its useless complaining. The history assignment took very little time, and even less of his brain, and soon Sherlock's thoughts were left to their own devices again. It was dark outside his window, and colder than he liked, when Sherlock began the arduous process of packing Eurus away into the back of his mind. Pulling her creeping tendrils from the cage bars and locking her up tight. It was hard. It was painful. But it wasn't boring.
I had to rewrite it a bit. I had to. I changed as little as I could, but I couldn't possibly leave this blog entry in its sorry original state.
John | <|output|> <|example|> lot of pain. He’d gone unpleasantly numb, though, and quite cold. The sun beating down on him did nothing to stop his shivering. He could still hear the firefight, but it was a distant sort of thing. It didn’t matter. John was a <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> soulname <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It didn’t matter <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> His eyes were the loveliest, palest blue <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> lot of pain <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> At any cost <|indexes|> 4 4 | |
<|text|> pulled his finger free and reached toward the bedside table for a condom. He continued kissing Helen as he ripped open the packet, rolling the condom on carefully without looking. The motions were smooth and familiar, and they made John’s already hard prick jump in his hand. Helen pulled her knees up, panting, and John met her hazy eyes again before speaking.
John looked up from his feet to take in the scene. The cream pot was smashed against the far wall, little blue and white shards dripping across the lino. Mum was hunched a bit over the sink, rinsing a sponge, and she didn’t look up. Something on the stove smelled a bit burnt. Her hair was mussed, her apron twisted too far to the right. Da lounged in his usual chair at the table, sipping and sneering. John nodded, once, and took off for the door. Before he reached it though, there was another sharp
John had nine and a half years to Harry’s eight, and that made him just a bit wiser. Just enough to know what people meant when they said those sorts of things.
John buttoned himself into a blue plaid shirt, and tucked it neatly into dark denims. Harry always ribbed him about tucking his shirts, but it just felt...
“She removed it,” Mycroft said. His voice broke in a way that was, to Sherlock’s knowledge, unprecedented. “She burned her finger on the fireplace grate. Third-degree damage.”
No one could explain the exact nature of a soulname—there was a field of study devoted to it at Bart’s, though John privately thought the philosophers had a better chance at reaching a useful conclusion. One thing was universally assumed: when people matched properly, they were happier than they could have been otherwise.
The other end of the line fell silent for a long, telling moment. Then Mycroft clicked his tongue against his teeth, drawing a breath.
“I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you?” Sherlock risked a glance back at John. “Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” He smiled. It wasn’t a real smile, but his heart was a marching band inside his chest.
It's mad. I think he might be mad. He was certainly arrogant, and really quite rude, and he looks about 12 (he isn't, though, Harry, so bugger right off). He's clearly a bit public school, as expected, and... Yes, I definitely think he might be mad.
JOHN. Sherlock kept his breathing as even as he could, while the menagerie inside his head positively
) Finally, Mycroft spoke: “I understand, little brother. I don’t agree. But as you'll no doubt interpret any further information from me as a
“You’re not a good judge of that sort of thing, are you?” Da’s voice took on a dangerous edge. Mum’s face pulled thin and tight, like a rubber band—dangerously taut, stretched near to breaking. John shifted his weight to both feet and pulled his left hand into a tight fist. “You can’t help pushing out fags, and then you act so damned surprised when | <|output|> <|example|> pulled his finger free and reached toward the bedside table for a condom. He continued kissing Helen as he ripped open the packet, rolling the condom on carefully without looking. The motions were smooth and familiar, and they made John’s already hard prick jump in his hand. Helen pulled her knees up, panting, and John met her hazy eyes again before speaking. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> “I play the violin when I’m thinking <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> the names come in.”
. The mark was a kind of biochemical burn, a wound inflicted by the soul upon the body, and Sherlock woke up around three in the morning with a shout. It was terrible. His left third finger wept sticky blood on his sheets and swelled up so much that Sherlock could not bend it. His nanny was the first to come running, her hair barely tucked away under the hijab before she ducked through his bedroom door.
when she had none at all. It’s not unusual for a name to come in the teen years. Joan of Arc, famously, did not receive hers until she was eighteen. Of course, they used that as evidence of witchcraft—”
The guests might have been willing to impose their condolences on Mum, but they were (wisely) giving both Watson children a wide berth. Gossip was meat-and-potatoes around here, and Harry Watson-Clarke was still infamous for her temper, as much as her unconventional soulmatch. John’s little sister shot the mourners brave enough to approach her a tight-lipped smile, and then went back to scowling into her drink.
"Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck.
Sherlock paused at the bottom of the stairs before he walked up. "Will it be the kind of talking that only involves our mouths?"
Now it was empty, and John didn’t have to hold in the big yell that had been fighting to escape ever since Sherlock stepped into the busy street.
Sherlock staggered over, his eyes half lidded. He was quickly finding out he was more of a sleepy drunk than a partying one. John took hold of his thin wrists and pulled him over his knees with remarkable speed for a man so wasted.
Sherlock, half dazed and hardly registering what was happening, stumbled behind John. It was entirely possible that one could have too many emotions clashing all at the same time.
"I just wanted him to stop." Sherlock said softly, trying in vain to wipe away the dried blood on his face. He delicately placed his hands over his ears. His own breathing sounded too loud, flooding his mind. His heart was still thudding rapidly, a too fast drumbeat within his chest. Everything was too much. He felt bile rise up in the back of throat and struggled to swallow it.
“How’re you liking your drink?” Both Sherlock and John turned to face the other side of the countertop where a woman stood, big smile flashing at John. It was not a friendly smile. More like a “my bedroom’s upstairs do you wanna come look at it” smile.
John grabbed Sherlock’s shoulder and leaned closer, taking a deep breath. “Have you been smoking? After all this time?” The last sentence was tinged in disappointment.
"You're okay, it's okay." John said comfortingly as he wiped away the final tear with his | <|output|> <|example|> the names come in.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> Sherlock, half dazed and hardly registering what was happening, stumbled behind John <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> sleeve. "You can tell me of what you've done whenever you're ready."
When everyone could sigh in relief because they’ve successfully caught the criminal and he could now be incarcerated. If it was a really good one, a painfully difficult case that even took Sherlock some time to solve, everyone would go out for drinks to celebrate.
“I don’t know if I’ve said it enough or even at all, but I do love you Sherlock. I wouldn’t be doing all of this if I didn’t.” John was certainly never good at expressing his feelings, but this one moment, he hit the nail on the head.
John slurred a bit while he loudly counted out every light thwap to the seat of Sherlock's trousers. They were nothing more than soft taps. Lestrade and Molly joined in on the counting, their voices stumbling just as much as John's. Sherlock squirmed, his curly mop of hair bouncing.
"Of course." Sherlock said, after taking a sip of water from the glass in his hand. It was given to him so he could settle his disruptive stomach. He bit back the word "obviously".
Sherlock groaned, relenting and dropping the tools inside her outstretched palm. "Well done. Now please get rid of these animals, or I will make sure that spoon makes acquaintance with your bum." She threatened teasingly.
Sherlock and John both suffered pounding headaches the day after Sherlock's birthday. The second Mrs Hudson returned to the flat, she playfully scolded them and made them tea. John tried to help her, but his dizzying nausea drove him directly back to the sofa. He certainly wished he could drink like he could when he was young, hard and fast with few consequences. Handing the two their tea, she placed her hands on her hips and frowned
“Ah, look, there’s the bus.” Sherlock said in a monotone voice that showed absolutely no reaction to John’s words, pointing at the bus stop across the street.
“What did you think I was going to do?” John pressed, wondering what it could be that Sherlock was thinking.
John came home from the clinic holding a bag of take-away. He had grabbed some lo mein from the local Chinese restaurant for dinner. As he walked up the stairs to 221B, he could have sworn he heard some noises from 221C. He would have gone to investigate, but remembered that Mrs Hudson said she had a rodent problem down there, so he ignored it. He found Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in his blue dressing gown. He was on his laptop, his face aglow with the light of the screen as he typed away at what John assumed to be another blog post on The Science of Deduction. When John neared, Sherlock quickly closed the chat screen and switched it to his blog.
“It’s terribly sweet and besides, what’s the point if it has no alcohol?” Sherlock placed the drink on the countertop, not touching it again for the rest of the night.
Sherlock didn't reply, only nodded slowly, looking to the floor. He didn't like to hear praises come from John's lips | <|output|> <|example|> sleeve. "You can tell me of what you've done whenever you're ready." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> " Sherlock said, after taking a sip of water from the glass in his hand <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> when he knew they would soon to change to disappointed scoldings. The mess was always fun to make, but the waiting was absolutely torturous.
Still, Sherlock felt pleased with how much John smiled after the big rush of finishing a case. He liked to make John smile, especially when he was proud.
John could feel it when Sherlock landed back on earth. They were stepping out the cab and onto Baker Street when Sherlock suddenly stiffened and inhaled deeply, turning to gauge his surroundings.
His face denied everything, but Lestrade nodded anyway. He would respect Sherlock’s privacy for the moment.
John could hardly form excuses to Sarah as he bolted out the clinic. Sherlock had given him the address to an abandoned warehouse that was not too far away. Instead of wasting time looking for a cab, John ran the few blocks it was to get there. People looked at him strangely but let him pass.
"Here, lets get some din- the lo mein!" John said exasperatedly, realizing he had completely forgotten about the take-away. He found it cold with flies buzzing around it, which was more than enough to encourage him from reheating it.
, the Mycroft inside his brain sneered. Sherlock was always tempted to photograph those little glances, those tiny smiles Mycroft shot at Anthea when he thought no one was looking. It would serve the besotted bastard right.
Da watched their interaction with those dangerous eyes. John swallowed. “Sure you don’t want help? I can peel potatoes.”
“The name’s Sherlock Holmes.” John’s eyes went wide and laser-focused. “And the address is 221B Baker Street.” John opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock winked at him—
, and Helen’s raspy voice kept spinning through the air around him. It was like a drug. John wanted, and
“It shouldn’t. I’m a sick bastard.” James’s tongue was exploring John’s right shoulder, and his hand tightened around John’s twitching dick. “But you’re so goddamn
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” Harry could hardly help herself, these days. And John was no one’s charity case.
Harry scowled, her nearly-invisible brows meeting hard over a pert nose. “What are you doing out here?”
John shrugged on his coat and double-checked that he’d locked The Drawer—the desk drawer with the unloaded service pistol John still hadn’t returned. It wasn’t morbid, despite what Harry thought. It was practical. It was an option. John didn’t have a lot of those, these days.
Or would it confirm what John already knew: That life was only a series of nearly-deaths. Near-misses. That staying alive one more time meant nothing, in the scheme of things, because death was always one unlucky shot away.
Now it was John, blinking back tears and sniffing self-consciously. “Don’t be daft. I won’t take your money.”
“Oh,” his mother breathed, looking a little lost, “I couldn’t. All these people, here out of the kindness of their—”
Sherlock nodded, pulling a miserable face. He’d stopped crying, but the mirror over the sink reflected his red eyes and damp nose.
, can you imagine? And there were no inter-country records in those days! These young people have no sense of propriety.” It worked out, in | <|output|> <|example|> when he knew they would soon to change to disappointed scoldings. The mess was always fun to make, but the waiting was absolutely torturous. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> , the Mycroft inside his brain sneered. Sherlock was always tempted to photograph those little glances, those tiny smiles Mycroft shot at Anthea when he thought no one was looking. It would serve the besotted bastard right. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> It was practical <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> the end; and anyway, everyone outside the family just called her Professor Holmes.
than sex with a woman, but it was firm, and sweaty, and primal in a way John had never felt before. Raw. And James wouldn’t stop
At 12 years old, he advanced through to the Upper School. His piercing words weren’t much use against boys four years his senior. Sherlock couldn’t keep his mouth shut (truly
“Yes. And the world’s starting to loosen up—make allowances for people like us.” John choked back a little cough, thinking (guiltily) of James, and his talk of children, and the woman’s name waiting there on his left hand. The woman who wrote to him nearly every day.
The Captain wasn’t like that at all. He held himself apart from his men, and even from his fellow commanders. At first John thought it was an overdeveloped sense of propriety, but that theory went up in smoke the first time John saw him stalk naked from his bunk to the showers and back again. James was just... surly. Hard to crack. He didn’t suffer fools well, and he thought nearly everyone was a fool. It should’ve been off-putting—it was, to most people—but John had a talent for drawing out the most irascible men. He
And just then they allowed themselves to start laughing. They just couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their faces, they doubled over as their stomachs clenched and hurt, and the muscles in their faces ached from smiling so much.
“OH, shush! I’m an old fossil with nothing interesting in her life, give me something to work with! But do it while you finish your arm, we don’t want your betrothed to wake only half painted. But tell me about them, you know you want to” the corners of his eyes crinkled as she gave him a warm and encouraging smile, and he knew that she was right, he really wants to brag about Sherlock.
Sherlock accepted the sandwich silently, rolling back the paper to take a modest bite. Lestrade brought out a cigarette and lit it, offering Sherlock one from the pack. He declined in favor of chewing.
“Bad luck, that,” Gran tutted. The fingers against his hand were soft as old cotton—cool and thin and worn-smooth at the fingertips. “Name like that one... must be a toff, yeah?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes to the ceiling and groaned. “Of course Anthea isn’t pregnant. Look at her shoes, Mummy! And she had a glass of the malbec with dinner.”
“There is no such thing as true isolation. Not even in Sherrinford. I am reluctant to push her toward any more committed action.”
. He could feel the sand press hot and rough against his right cheek. And the sound wasn’t singing, or even enemy fire, but someone speaking to him in a quick, desperate tenor.
Lestrade shrugged, and dropped the spent cigarette. He ground it out with his toe against the asphalt. “She has a right to be happy, same as anyone. And I got my kid out of the deal. Can’t ask for more than that.”
. But instead of completing the sentiment, Victor sighed. | <|output|> <|example|> the end; and anyway, everyone outside the family just called her Professor Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And just then they allowed themselves to start laughing. They just couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their faces, they doubled over as their stomachs clenched and hurt, and the muscles in their faces ached from smiling so much. <|indexes|> 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> must be a toff, yeah?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes to the ceiling and groaned <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Look at her shoes, Mummy! And she had a glass of the malbec with dinner <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> “Of course Anthea isn’t pregnant <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Look at her shoes, Mummy! And she had a glass of the malbec with dinner <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> ” <|indexes|> 4 4 | |
<|text|> “I know you do. I didn’t come to Santorini to find him, you know. I’ve enjoyed our time together.”
“Don’t act as if you don’t already know.” The headache was coming back, stronger than before. Sherlock’s eyes twitched toward his own blue-spotted forearm.
. It was commanding, and not a bit unsettled. Sherlock mentally adjusted John’s military rank. First Lieutenant... no, Captain. Dear God.
A sudden light came into Sebastian’s eyes, and he laughed a little. “Right! Okay! You’ve never matched. You don’t know... well, of course you don’t, but fuck me...”
“I’m going home. Danielle has a project due tomorrow—something about tectonic plates. Got to make sure she’s dotted the I’s and crossed the T’s.”
“Hold on, Cap, you bloody bastard!” It sounded like Murray. Jesus, Bill Murray shouldn’t have to watch John die. John rolled back again toward the left; his shoulder jolted and then
“Don’t cover up on my account,” James murmured. His voice was low, and a bit smoky, and John thought, the first time he heard it, that James ought to be on the evening news.
“How did you know about Afghanistan?” John asked. He didn’t sound angry, or upset, or disturbed. He sounded... curious.
Father was usually called “the professor’s soulmatch,” but his name was Siger. Sherlock always rather liked Father’s name. It looked so solid and spare, along Mummy’s third finger.
The look that passed between his parents then was unreadable. Many such looks were, of course. Sherlock was still studying the language of face and body, and the sheer variety of data gave him headaches sometimes.
Sherlock’s chest flooded with something prickly and unpleasant. Or... mostly unpleasant. It should feel unpleasant, merely by virtue of its familiarity, because it was like the first time Sherlock ever injected cocaine—he felt energized, and loose-limbed, and suspiciously at ease. Sherlock wanted to
“Erm, here,” the stranger said, drawing a deep breath. “Use mine.” He pulled a mobile from his coat pocket, raising his brow. His eyes looked dark from across the room.
John shot Harry an unimpressed look, but didn’t turn the station. They sat together, on the edge of a real fight, long enough for John’s anger to fade. For her part, Harry’s anger never really went away.
“Yeah,” Harry snorted. “Like, ‘get well soon’ and ‘happy birthday’ and everything else. Glittery. Some of those pop-up kinds. Lottie thinks he’ll be over it before Christmas, but who the hell knows?”
The shorter man turned around, winking smugly, and Sherlock caught himself watching Victor’s backside before he slammed the door shut with a bang.
sound, loud enough to make John wince. It didn’t sound like flesh, though. He sat up and reached over to flick on the radio. John’s hands were trembling.
“Harry!” John snapped. He was blushing hot. She grinned maniacally and slid into her seat with her breakfast, but without apology. “Are. You. High?” John hissed, keeping his voice down. The rain against the window and the thumping bass line of the shop’s music provided quite a bit of privacy. Still.
. If Mycroft was a chess player, Sherlock was more interested in sleight-of-hand. “Dangerous intellects.” That’s what the headmaster said.
“Is it | <|output|> <|example|> “I know you do. I didn’t come to Santorini to find him, you know. I’ve enjoyed our time together.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> The look that passed between his parents then was unreadable <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> He was blushing hot <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|example|> “Is it <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Still <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> “Yeah,” Harry snorted <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> Sherlock wanted to
“Erm, here,” the stranger said, drawing a deep breath <|indexes|> 6 6 <|example|> John shot Harry an unimpressed look, but didn’t turn the station <|indexes|> 7 7 | |
<|text|> always like that, do you think?” John realized he’d wondered aloud, a moment too late. His cheeks felt hot and he sniffed in discomfort. “Just—you know—”
“Fine,” Sherlock said. Victor’s eyebrows shot up. “Meet me outside at seven-thirty. I’m not dressing up.”
The wealthy put quite a bit of stock into the soulname mythology. They named their children strange, unique sorts of names, in hopes of narrowing the field when it came time to search out their partners. Names like “Sherlock” were passed down through generations, usually only once the previous owner had passed on, and an international registry existed for looking up potential matches. It was expensive—the registry—so names like “John” would never be on it. He wondered if his soulmate looked anyway.
Theoretically, John was in active communication with Sholto for the year and a half that he and Sherlock lived together. Mary was aware of Sholto, and John wanted him at the wedding, so it clearly wasn't an issue of great secrecy among the rest of John's acquaintances. Sholto was most likely invalided home while Sherlock was "dead"--a series of unimaginably traumatic events for John, one on top of another. John hid their relationship, deliberately and effectively, from Sherlock both before and after his "death." This is the biggest in-canon secret John keeps from Sherlock. I'm enjoying answering the most pressing the question: Why?
James came, and moaned, and leaned into John with all of his weight. His face contorted, and his stomach contracted, and he buried his face in John’s neck. He smelled like sand and sex. His come was on John’s belly, coating his fingers—the finger with SHERLOCK scarred into it. A man’s name, and a different man’s come, and John
"You're lying. What rabbits?" John pressed, feeling pushed to do so by Sherlock's slightly alarmed reaction. It was obvious he was hiding something.
"I guess I'll have to continue where Basic French left off." John said, remembering the horrid class.
"Will you two be drinking like that again? I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper, and definitely not your nanny!" She asked, only half serious.
Sherlock stopped, hand on the door handle, turning his head briefly. “I want to go home, I’ll take the bus.” His voice was sharp and barely succeeded in masking his hurt.
Just as he said that, Sherlock darted out the men’s room. He strode with long, weighty steps. Not quite stomping but close.
“But, Sherlock, we’ve definitely gone through worse, much worse in fact.” John puzzler aloud, leaning forward and resting his chin on his palm.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "It's most likely a drunken fabrication your memory created to fill in the gaps of the events of yesterday." His voice rambled like a speeding train screeching to a sharp stop. John peered at Sherlock, thinking hard.
“Did you forget? We’re visiting your parents tomorrow morning and it wouldn’t exactly be classy if you show up with a hangover.” John leaned over on the counter, stretching his legs and cracking his neck.
"Of course." Sherlock said, eyes still glued to the screen. John smiled and leaned over, ruffling his messy hair.
“At first, you seemed so | <|output|> <|example|> always like that, do you think?” John realized he’d wondered aloud, a moment too late. His cheeks felt hot and he sniffed in discomfort. “Just—you know—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "You're lying. What rabbits?" John pressed, feeling pushed to do so by Sherlock's slightly alarmed reaction. It was obvious he was hiding something. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> I’m not dressing up <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> angry, angrier than I’ve seen in a long time, loud and yelling. Now you’re still angry, but just quieter. I thought that you punishing me could make you calm down and not want to—“ Sherlock paused, looking up to John’s eyes, debating whether or not he should voice what he really thought.
Something really bothered him about Sherlock’s manner. He was smoking again and his eyes had looked so deeply troubled. John was currently being completely and utterly blind.
Lestrade widened his eyes and nearly spilled his sloshing drink. It turns out Drunk Sherlock can remember his first name without a problem. That was definitely interesting. He promised himself to ask Sherlock about that in the future.
John felt awkward, not knowing what to say. He didn't know what the offense was, and Sherlock was already guilty. Right now, this was all about atonement. He continued spanking, Sherlock's arse turning a rosy pink color.
Everyone at 221B was drunk this late Saturday night. They were celebrating Sherlock's birthday, which John had found out about after Mycroft had sent a short text to Sherlock's phone.
"C'mon, Sherlock." John said disappointedly when he saw the state of 221C. Fluffy little bunnies still roamed the room, only there was much more mess than earlier this morning.
At least, that’s how John felt about the cases. Sherlock might be pleased when he solves a case, but the good mood soon turns foul because now there’s no more game to play. Where’s the fun in a LEGO set once you’ve completed it?
Even I’m not so sure what I’ve just written. 😅 While I was writing this, I kept going back and forth with how I was going to portray this. I suppose this felt right, and I’m kind of tempted to end the series like this. I feel it sort of wraps things up.
So instead, Lestrade turned back around and found John, who was still at the bar. The bartender now looked like she might be seconds from kissing John. Her eyes were half closed and her slender hand brushed John’s cheek.
He was surprised to hear Sherlock start crying. He hadn't been going on that long, or that hard. He was only using his hand. He had only gotten tears from these spanking a few times, and that was always at the end. It started as quiet sniffles, and turned to muffled sobs. John stopped, instead caressing Sherlock's shoulders.
They had never engaged in much physical affection that wasn’t involved with after care. So it was a bit different, but Sherlock soon returned the hug.
"We'll see." John said, and in that moment, he felt like his mother. Always saying we'll see, maybe, I'll think about it.
His breathing haggard, Sherlock struck him hard in the mouth. Moran staggered backwards, reaching up to find his mouth bleeding. He glanced at his red stained fingers and shook his head, snickering.
This was probably the longest case they’d ever had. Months and months spent on capturing this human trafficking leader. Hundreds of dead ends and red herrings.
"John!" He squawked, quickly sobering at the situation. He wriggled and turned his | <|output|> <|example|> angry, angrier than I’ve seen in a long time, loud and yelling. Now you’re still angry, but just quieter. I thought that you punishing me could make you calm down and not want to—“ Sherlock paused, looking up to John’s eyes, debating whether or not he should voice what he really thought. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> I feel it sort of wraps things up <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> face up to meet John's. His drunken mind tripped over itself as it struggled to remember what he was in trouble for this time. There were quite a few incidents, but none that John could possibly know about yet. "Not here!" Seeing that John wasn't letting up, he asked "Is this about the rabbits? I swear I'll return them by Monday." He thought he was speaking in a whisper. In reality it was barely below a normal speaking tone.
John nodded and squirmed past the crowds of people to Sherlock, who was walking towards the exit door.
Sherlock ducked and took hold of the long blonde hair, slamming his head against the wall one, two, three times. Blood started to flow, trickling down the man's tanned face.
Lestrade didn’t drink as much as everyone else did. He had custody of his sons for the weekend and he didn’t exactly want to meet his ex wife tomorrow morning with a hangover.
Sherlock watched him carefully, wondering why was it that John wasn’t grabbing a kitchen chair or ordering him upstairs.
"I hate repeating myself. I'm coming with you." John said stubbornly, seating himself inside the car and slamming the door closed.
“Alright then. You know you can talk to me if there’s any problems.” Lestrade headed towards the door of the bathroom.
Sherlock dug his face into John’s jumper, and although he would deny it, it was to hide the tears that were welling up in his eyes.
Mycroft, interrupted from his searching, looked squarely at John. "Doctor Watson, while your loyalty is admirable, there is no reason for you to go. You were not involved."
“What. The. Hell. Was that!” John tried to contain himself, but for fuck’s sake, Sherlock had been inches from being run over.
Sherlock stayed silent, watching the interaction. John was a horrible liar, but this lie slid by without hesitation. Something in John’s eyes and way he smiled at the bartender was deeply unsettling. Made his stomach hurt a little. His fingers felt tingly.
When John reached thirty-five, he kept his hand raised in the air, expectantly looking towards the spectators. Lestrade and Molly were a bit slow in realizing what to say, but eventually caught on.
Moran reached up and stroked Sherlock's sharp cheekbone with muscled hands. "He will send you...to hell. See…you…there," He spoke as his body began to weaken and lose stability. He kept his icy blue eyes trained on Sherlock's.
"Ahh!" Sherlock said, standing quickly. His face was comically flushed, although that can be blamed on both the alchohol and the birthday spanking. The rest laughed heartily and continued with their drinks for the rest of the night.
"You returned the rabbits?" John asked as he pulled out the box of noodles and opened it. He looked around for plates and saw that they were all dirty and piled up in the sink. Of course. If only Mrs Hudson actually was their housekeeper, maybe the flat wouldn't always be in a constant state of chaos.
Sherlock looked up to the ceiling as if it could give him a better lie. “It’s going to sound so much worse when | <|output|> <|example|> face up to meet John's. His drunken mind tripped over itself as it struggled to remember what he was in trouble for this time. There were quite a few incidents, but none that John could possibly know about yet. "Not here!" Seeing that John wasn't letting up, he asked "Is this about the rabbits? I swear I'll return them by Monday." He thought he was speaking in a whisper. In reality it was barely below a normal speaking tone. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> ” Lestrade headed towards the door of the bathroom <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Ahh!" Sherlock said, standing quickly <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> You were not involved <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Made his stomach hurt a little <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> His fingers felt tingly <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> Lestrade didn’t drink as much as everyone else did <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> Lestrade didn’t drink as much as everyone else did <|indexes|> 6 <|example|> Sherlock watched him carefully, wondering why was it that John wasn’t grabbing a kitchen chair or ordering him upstairs <|indexes|> 7 7 | |
<|text|> I say it out loud.” He mumbled softly.
With a gun, you shoot once and that was it. When beating a man, you could have stopped many times, but made the conscious decision to continue.
"I think you've given Jim the best birthday gift you could give him." Moran said, coughing up blood. Both eyes nearly were swollen shut, and his lip was burst. He strained to speak. "You've given him incentive to destroy you."
And so, when John came over to the bar stool, colorful drinks in hand and a grin on his face, Sherlock smiled a little too.
"You will be living in constant fear, looking over your shoulder at all times. There will be no security. From one night to the next, you will have to hop from country to country in hopes that you will not be found." Mycroft challenged, wondering just how far was this soldier willing to go for his younger brother.
"I have several wooden spoons in my kitchen, would you like me to fetch them and make use of them?" She was only bluffing, but found it hilarious at the quick way his cheeks pinked. "Or would you like me to call John?" Mrs Hudson added, catching the way his eyebrows jumped.
"Fine then. I'll take both. I have the feeling Boss'll like the soldier boy more, he's got a thing for blondes."
Sherlock just barely hid the surprise on his face. “Oh, no, let’s spare the lecture and get this over with.”
"Here's what I don't get. You knew you'd get caught. You knew you'd get punished. So why do it? I know you're clever enough to sneak and put them somewhere more conspicuous. So why make it so obvious?" John asked, trying to figure out just why Sherlock would resort to such a blatant form of misbehavior. He usually was able to get away with his trouble for weeks without John figuring it all out.
This was when Sherlock stood up and left. He felt stranger than he’d ever felt before. His stomach was turning and his heart was beating way too fast. He was certain that a glance in the mirror would tell him his cheeks were flushed like a strawberry.
She smiled. "I'm off to the shops, then. Try not to get into unreasonable trouble." She advised in a motherly tone as she left the flat.
Now they were all laughing until their sides hurt because of some asinine joke Lestrade made. The alcohol always made stupidity suddenly the funniest thing they've ever heard.
As he reentered the kitchen, John pulled out a chair and placed it in the center of the room. He seated himself down in it and crossed his arms as he met Sherlock's eyes.
“Yes, but it could be different. You met a pretty lady tonight and now you are thinking this is too much trouble for you and you’d rather marry, have kids, and do all those things that normal people like to do. Get on with rest of your life.”
"Happy 35th, brother mine." John read from the cellphone that was left on the kitchen table. "It's your | <|output|> <|example|> I say it out loud.” He mumbled softly. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> "You've given him incentive to destroy you <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> I have the feeling Boss'll like the soldier boy more, he's got a thing for blondes <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> "Fine then <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> He usually was able to get away with his trouble for weeks without John figuring it all out <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> This was when Sherlock stood up and left <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> She smiled <|indexes|> 5 | |
<|text|> birthday." He said with realization.
When he approached John, he found that he was enraptured in a conversation with the lovely bartender.
“Listen, about Steph. I’ll cancel with her. What we’ve been doing these past couple years has always been in some sort of flux. Not really certain what we were doing. But now I think I know.” John pried Sherlock from the hug, cradling his face with both his hands. “This isn’t a buffer relationship before a “real” one. This is endgame.”
Sherlock was sitting on the hard floor and looked up when he heard John entering. His face and hands were smeared with dark blood.
“We don’t usually stop to talk before. It was concerning, and I thought that you were going to say that this was too much for you. That you were ending it, ending this.” The tops of Sherlock’s cheekbones and the tips of his ears flushed pink and he looked down to the floorboards.
John chuckled, taking a sip from his own matching drink. He did grimace a bit, but nowhere near as exaggerated as Sherlock. “Not entirely certain, but was one of the few that didn’t have any alcohol.”
“Listen, Sherlock’s in the men’s room, and he’s really upset.” Lestrade began, motioning towards the door of the men’s room.
Sherlock sighed. At least it was beginning and he no longer had to wait. He was going to get what he wanted, but could still feel a pit of worry in his stomach. John ran down the stairs first, believing it was an emergency. Sherlock trailed behind him, knowing full well it wasn't.
"Sherlock, calm down. What's wrong?" John asked urgently, recognizing the sound of panic in Sherlock's voice.
"We will cover up as best we can, but it is only a matter of time before Moriarty learns of what happened and forms a plan." He had a list of jobs prepared for the night. Sherlock needed to completely change his look, receive a new passport and identity.
A car pulled up near the building within minutes after John arrived. Mycroft carefully stepped out, a grim expression on his face. Sherlock and John walked out to meet him.
Sherlock groaned, head in hands. Yes, he loved his parents dearly. He just preferred to love them from afar. They could be quite the helicopter parents.
John propped his head up with his fist, only to have it fall back down again. Damn, was he tired. Still, something was niggling him in the back of his mind, and he was struggling to remember. Finally, Sherlock's words from last night had reappeared in his memory.
Her eyes lit up. She really did have such pretty eyes, that greenish tint that contrasted so well against her tanned skin.
It was telling that no one questioned why the concealment was necessary. No one looked at Sherlock now. Even Anthea was gazing at her own folded hands.
“Do more than speak, Sherlock.” Mycroft finally opened his eyes, and they were sharp again. Cutting.
“Oh my,” Mummy cried, clasping a hand to her mouth. “I apologize. I was quite carried away, wasn’t I?”
that midterm exams were over a week | <|output|> <|example|> birthday." He said with realization. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> It was telling that no one questioned why the concealment was necessary. No one looked at Sherlock now. Even Anthea was gazing at her own folded hands. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> John ran down the stairs first, believing it was an emergency <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> What we’ve been doing these past couple years has always been in some sort of flux <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” John pried Sherlock from the hug, cradling his face with both his hands <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “This isn’t a buffer relationship before a “real” one <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> No one looked at Sherlock now <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> Not really certain what we were doing <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> “This isn’t a buffer relationship before a “real” one <|indexes|> 6 6 <|example|> ” Mycroft finally opened his eyes, and they were sharp again <|indexes|> 7 | |
<|text|> ago. Where the hell have you been?” She dropped her bag in to an empty chair and pulled off her damp corduroy jacket. Her umbrella rested, a bit drippy, near her feet. She pointed a short finger at him. “I’ve called.”
“Everyone wants to find their soulmate,” John said woodenly. “But I’ve made my peace. I’m sure he isn’t looking for me.”
John’s bark of laughter surprised them both. He wiped his face again and set the empty glass in the sink. He offered Clara his elbow.
Sebastian’s expression was horribly patronizing. “Margot’s my true soulmatch. No question. The sex with Margot is... magnificent. Unparalleled. Once you’ve been with your soulmate, watched them when they—” Sebastian shook his head, flushed. “You can’t go back. Why would you fuck someone else, when your soulmate is
James followed him back into the bunk John shared with two other low-ranking medical officers. It was small, but comparatively private, as two of the three were always on-shift at any one time.
He wondered, idly, if it was disrespectful to pray. John didn’t believe in God. John Watson didn’t believe in much of anything.
“It doesn’t happen again,” James told him, tossing the towel to the floor. “Not unless you ask me for it. Not unless you
, nothing had ever felt quite like this. James was larger than John, in height and in length, and there was something about that... It felt... It wasn’t
Sherlock nodded, as if this all sounded anything but insane. “Will you still sleep with other people?”
John couldn’t tear his eyes away from that sweet, scarred word. SHARON. Why would James be doing this, here, with
John had heard somewhere that police officers, whilst in training, had to let someone use a taser on them. It was important for officers to know what it felt like before they tried it out on anybody else. That made sense, in a perverse way. Would dying—or, he supposed,
“All covered.” She carried the cigarette and a lighter across the room, and then pushed up the window sash. A flare of light, and then a stream of white smoke. John wasn’t a fan of smoking, but he couldn’t deny that she looked dead sexy doing it.
Despite the E rating on this fic, I've deliberately avoided graphic description of Sherlock and Victor's sex life. Two reasons: 1) We learn a lot about Sherlock's life with Victor in the sequel to this fic. Some things need to be revealed later. And 2) This abusive relationship mirrors some of my own life experience; writing the sex scenes in great detail from Sherlock's present-tense perspective is personally traumatizing. Full stop.
“Sure.” John forced his smile. “We’ll come pick you up in it, you and your soulmate, and we’ll all go away for holiday. Someplace nice.”
John flushed, blinking away his discomfort. His smile felt a little forced, but Helen didn’t seem to notice. She reached out to poke at his left hand, avoiding the scarred third finger.
“Shall we get you a plaster for your hand, darling?” Mummy let Father go and began to dig through the drawers next to the sink. She | <|output|> <|example|> ago. Where the hell have you been?” She dropped her bag in to an empty chair and pulled off her damp corduroy jacket. Her umbrella rested, a bit drippy, near her feet. She pointed a short finger at him. “I’ve called.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Would dying—or, he supposed,
“All covered <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Sebastian’s expression was horribly patronizing <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ”
“Everyone wants to find their soulmate,” John said woodenly <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> It was important for officers to know what it felt like before they tried it out on anybody else <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> It wasn’t
Sherlock nodded, as if this all sounded anything but insane <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> It was small, but comparatively private, as two of the three were always on-shift at any one time <|indexes|> 6 | |
<|text|> wasn’t looking at Sherlock anymore.
It was an uncomfortable feeling, respecting Sebastian. The man was a bastard, and the worst kind of idiot, but he was sincere. Sherlock couldn’t find a single lie in that long explanation—possibly the longest conversation they’d ever had without Victor to play gatekeeper.
“I have seen our sister since I was made aware of the death,” Mycroft said. “She did not deduce it.”
Victor Trevor was the only other undergraduate chemist with a boy’s name on his finger. HELIOS, it said, which was suitably urbane. “Victor” was an embarrassingly common name, but it ran in the family and he’d been born in India. His parents never planned on returning to England so soon.
“Eurus, dear,” Hadiya called from further down the hall, in that voice reserved only for Sherlock’s sister. “Back to bed, little bird.”
“There’s no law against it,” John argued very softly, feeling his muscles quiver with tension. “Long as you keep yourself to yourself, people with names like mine still serve. It’s nobody else’s business.”
The phone call was undeniably lowering. Even the dial tone seemed to echo with disapproval. Sherlock had tried to find a way through this complete catastrophe of a situation without making the call, but... well, if there was a solution, Sherlock couldn’t see it. And Sherlock Holmes could see everything.
It felt oddly disloyal, thinking about his soulmate as he lay there. He didn’t owe James anything—they hadn’t been in the same room together for fourteen months—but it seemed like he ought to be recalling his face. His big hands. The way he laughed, almost in silence. John loved the self-conscious way he laughed.
The worst of it was that Da was right. People cheated on their soulmatches—of course they did—and there were those who’d do any manner of illicit thing to a bloke for the right price. John was in fifth form; he knew all about that now. It wasn’t what John
“For fuck’s sake.” Anthea rolled her eyes. “You are both impossible morons.” She reached across the table for Mummy’s abandoned glass of port. She finished it off in one long swallow. “Sherlock. Your brother uses Eurus to solve problems. She sees what even he cannot.”
As a writer by passion and profession, it irks me to no end that Dr. John Watson--a man more famous for his skill as a storyteller than any medical or military service--"writes" this truly terrible blog. WTF? Why wouldn't the BBC hire a skilled writer to handle this on their website? These casenotes should be RIVETING. They should be funny and fascinating (and, yes, hyperbolic), because Watson is a WRITER. The kind that gets paid. This is pretty much a requirement of his character.
It was a severe turn of phrase, and a rather spiritual one for Mycroft to utter. But then, Eurus had always been the most interested in religion, of all the genius Holmeses. Whatever quiet faith Nanny Hadiya managed to convey to young Eurus, it lit a manic spark inside her. Eurus’s prodigious intellect was always focused on picking things to pieces, unraveling the universe and the living creatures | <|output|> <|example|> wasn’t looking at Sherlock anymore. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> ”
Victor Trevor was the only other undergraduate chemist with a boy’s name on his finger <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Sherlock <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> The kind that gets paid <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Even the dial tone seemed to echo with disapproval <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> “Back to bed, little bird <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> But then, Eurus had always been the most interested in religion, of all the genius Holmeses <|indexes|> 5 | |
<|text|> within. Eurus flayed things open, poked at soft, spongy places. Religion was just another scalpel with which to cut humanity apart.
“John?” James said, with enough authority in his voice to command immediate attention. John’s eyes snapped back to meet his. “That felt bloody brilliant. Best wank in months.”
“Yes, please,” he replied. Mummy brought out a tube of antiseptic cream, along with the tin of sticky strips. She smoothed the ointment over his soulname with care, and then wrapped a pair of bandages across the name. JOHN disappeared under drab little plasters, like a secret.
John barked an unexpected laugh, and Harry grinned. “You’re the worst. You’re a nutter,” John said fondly. He stole a bit of scone as he flipped her two fingers, and she cackled like an absolute loon.
His name. Sherlock had to tell John his name. Could he distract him from it? Just a bit a longer? Draw this out, just a bit, before it all came crashing down? Sherlock went still, and refused to look away.
Harry’s soulname came in when she was nearly twelve. CLARA, it read. No chance of passing it off for a unisex moniker, at least not on this end. With any luck, Clara’s soulname read HARRY, not Harriet, and she’d be spared from the fate her soulmate was enduring. Ridicule. Scorn. Abuse. The world wasn’t kind to people with same-sex soulnames, and John knew that better than most. He’d developed thick skin and thicker calluses on his knuckles.
John smiled. Sherlock swallowed audibly. “We’ve only just met, and we’re going to go look at a flat?”
And tremendous thanks to all of you for taking the journey with me. I've included a bonus for you at the end, with my love. XOXO
“You aren’t offered any courtesies, Freak. You’re eating my food and wanking in my shower. But anyway, Margot’s on leave from St. Mary’s for another two weeks. She’s the only fuck I’ll be enjoying until she takes off again. One more year,” he murmured wistfully.
There was an amused little hum. “I will keep you informed as to Eurus’s treatment. As ever, glad to be of service, brother mine.”
“John. We’re just two blokes getting off.” John shook his head a little, but James grabbed his chin with his clean hand and held it steady. “It’s just getting off. We’re mates, and we trust each other, and we didn’t want to be alone. That’s all this is. Calm the fuck down.”
“Expensive as shit, though, isn’t it? Even for you, on a surgeon’s salary someday. You’d think those rich wankers didn’t want to be found.”
Mycroft wore a lovely, long-suffering expression, which Sherlock cherished. Anthea smoothed the fabric of her exquisitely-tailored skirt over her hips, pointedly, and then caught Sherlock’s eye. The corner of her lip tucked up—the smile equivalent of a wink. She really was too good for his brother.
“I need the results before breakfast tomorrow,” Ulysses commanded. Was he being deliberately obtuse, or was he really that dense? Sherlock sighed.
Mummy and Father were wide-eyed. They weren’t looking at Sherlock’s bare hand, but at each other. Mummy’s mouth was making | <|output|> <|example|> within. Eurus flayed things open, poked at soft, spongy places. Religion was just another scalpel with which to cut humanity apart. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> “It’s just getting off <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Mummy and Father were wide-eyed <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> ”
“Yes, please,” he replied <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Harry’s soulname came in when she was nearly twelve <|indexes|> 3 3 | |
<|text|> a small O-shaped hole.
Mike glanced back down at John’s hand. John frowned, folding it into a fist atop his thigh. “I don’t know...” Mike mused, distracted. “You could get a flatshare or something...”
century, and the people coped the only way they could: by bettering the odds. John’s parents may not have been meant for one another, but they didn’t end up alone.
“You can’t come in,” she informed him, with all the natural authority of an eight-year-old terror. “I’m the Queen in here.”
It hit Sherlock, rather suddenly. Years of his elder brother’s rules and restrictions, chafing him raw. The drugs busts. The spying. His cool aloofness with Anthea. Their stoic devotion, and their public restraint. The unclimbable monolith of Mycroft’s expectations, and the phone which was always answered no matter how often Sherlock backslid.
A van going perhaps 100 kilometers a mile zoomed right past them, directly over where Sherlock was standing a few seconds prior.
John released his hold on Sherlock’s coat as he crossed his arms, unabashedly glaring down the awkward man.
Sherlock, well, it only took a few drinks for him to start feeling the effects. He felt buzzy and warm, his mind spinning much too fast. Maybe that was because his drunken mind had decided to drown his ice cream cake in liquor before consuming it in wolfish bites. In the back of his mind, he knew this wasn't a good idea, but he couldn't remember why. Blue frosting decorated his upper lip, and, upon noticing, he wiped it off with his sleeve. The sleeve of one of his posh shirts he loves to wear. | <|output|> <|example|> a small O-shaped hole. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> A van going perhaps 100 kilometers a mile zoomed right past them, directly over where Sherlock was standing a few seconds prior. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> “I don’t know <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I don’t know <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “You can’t come in,” she informed him, with all the natural authority of an eight-year-old terror <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> <|indexes|> 3 3 | |
<|text|> <|example|> After he finished and submitted his test, he grabbed his backpack and ran outside in a beeline towards the quite spot under the tree, in the back of the school. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> lockers they drew apart and John felt that it wasn’t enough, like he could stay in that moment for the rest of his life, just sitting there, holding hands and stare into each other's eyes, it will be spectacular. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> is going down the same way, about his thoughts to join the rugby team next year, he shared his dream of becoming a surgeon in the future. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> it, and when he answered the question of “What did you find so funny?” with “My soul-mate” at the age of 14, no one took him seriously and with an eye roll the teacher continued the lesson) <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> set his foot on for at least for ten years, to meet his soul-mate. But then he turned tail and ran away only to come across Mike, an old lad who he hadn’t talked to in years, who just happened to be back in town, who just happened to start living next door to the Holmes’s, and who just happened to be going to the same place that Sherlock just happen to be in. and now here he is, in school after hours, with his soul-mate that not even half an hour ago, was too afraid to meet, whose red in the face because his old mate is now talking about their wedding, and! Wait <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Bad luck, mate,” Lestrade winced. “Me and the missus didn’t meet until I was in my thirties, though. Could still happen for you.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> not shown up on Sherlock’s hand. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> back and forth on her sensible black heels. Her right hand gripped her left, squeezing in an unconscious rhythm. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Leavers’ Day. She’s looking forward to it. Do make an effort with your hair.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Coffee. Thank you.” Sherlock passed back John’s phone, seemingly distracted by the coroner’s arrival. John took the mobile with his dominant left hand. The letters SHE were clearly visible near the hamate bone. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was quite enough of that, but the wine went down well enough. It wasn’t advisable to drink so much on an empty stomach, Sherlock supposed. The server wasn’t inclined to care, however, and Victor certainly seemed pleased. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> After he finished and submitted his test, he grabbed his backpack and ran outside in a beeline towards the quite spot under the tree, in the back of the school. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Bad luck, mate,” Lestrade winced. “Me and the missus didn’t meet until I was in my thirties, though. Could still happen for you.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> John took the mobile with his dominant left hand <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> it, and when he answered the question of “What did you find so funny?” with “My soul-mate” at the age of 14, no one took him seriously and with an eye roll the teacher continued the lesson) <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> set his foot on for at least for ten years, to meet his soul-mate. But then he turned tail and ran away only to come across Mike, an old lad who he hadn’t talked to in years, who just happened to be back in town, who just happened to start living next door to the Holmes’s, and who just happened to be going to the same place that Sherlock just happen to be in. and now here he is, in school after hours, with his soul-mate that not even half an hour ago, was too afraid to meet, whose red in the face because his old mate is now talking about their wedding, and! Wait <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Bad luck, mate,” Lestrade winced. “Me and the missus didn’t meet until I was in my thirties, though. Could still happen for you.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> not shown up on Sherlock’s hand. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> back and forth on her sensible black heels. Her right hand gripped her left, squeezing in an unconscious rhythm. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Leavers’ Day. She’s looking forward to it. Do make an effort with your hair.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> it, and when he answered the question of “What did you find so funny?” with “My soul-mate” at the age of 14, no one took him seriously and with an eye roll the teacher continued the lesson) <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Bad luck, mate,” Lestrade winced. “Me and the missus didn’t meet until I was in my thirties, though. Could still happen for you.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> Do make an effort with your hair <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> back and forth on her sensible black heels. Her right hand gripped her left, squeezing in an unconscious rhythm. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Leavers’ Day. She’s looking forward to it. Do make an effort with your hair.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Coffee. Thank you.” Sherlock passed back John’s phone, seemingly distracted by the coroner’s arrival. John took the mobile with his dominant left hand. The letters SHE were clearly visible near the hamate bone. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was quite enough of that, but the wine went down well enough. It wasn’t advisable to drink so much on an empty stomach, Sherlock supposed. The server wasn’t inclined to care, however, and Victor certainly seemed pleased. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> at all. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> kids, you colossal pig.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> It was evening, and rather cold, but that didn’t explain the empty streets. It was a neighborhood composed of disconsolate parts—rank alleyways, chained-up schoolyards, and paycheque advance establishments. Cleared out of foot traffic at the mere whisper of police presence. Not even the usual homeless camped out on park benches. A block of government apartments rose up across the way; now and again, a shade flicked aside, revealing the silhouette of a curious onlooker. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> — Please, doctor, I already went over there and no one answered, I don’t know who to turn to. You’re my only hope of seeing him. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 | <|example|> gloves made texting difficult, but he found he really did not wish to remove them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> back and forth on her sensible black heels. Her right hand gripped her left, squeezing in an unconscious rhythm. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> — Please, doctor, I already went over there and no one answered, I don’t know who to turn to. You’re my only hope of seeing him. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> ” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> It was evening, and rather cold, but that didn’t explain the empty streets <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> was quite enough of that, but the wine went down well enough. It wasn’t advisable to drink so much on an empty stomach, Sherlock supposed. The server wasn’t inclined to care, however, and Victor certainly seemed pleased. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> at all. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> kids, you colossal pig.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> It was evening, and rather cold, but that didn’t explain the empty streets. It was a neighborhood composed of disconsolate parts—rank alleyways, chained-up schoolyards, and paycheque advance establishments. Cleared out of foot traffic at the mere whisper of police presence. Not even the usual homeless camped out on park benches. A block of government apartments rose up across the way; now and again, a shade flicked aside, revealing the silhouette of a curious onlooker. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> — Please, doctor, I already went over there and no one answered, I don’t know who to turn to. You’re my only hope of seeing him. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 | <|example|> gloves made texting difficult, but he found he really did not wish to remove them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> on his behalf. He couldn’t muster the energy, really—not for his own sake. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> unpredictable when stone cold sober. Letting his father rile him up didn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Mum, who always got caught in the crossfire. At least Harry was out of the house. Da and Harry were like two sides of one coin, and both sides were too quick to throw a punch. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Sherlock clean the kitchen floors with his <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> was quite enough of that, but the wine went down well enough. It wasn’t advisable to drink so much on an empty stomach, Sherlock supposed. The server wasn’t inclined to care, however, and Victor certainly seemed pleased. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> — Please, doctor, I already went over there and no one answered, I don’t know who to turn to. You’re my only hope of seeing him. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> You’re my only hope of seeing him <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> It was evening, and rather cold, but that didn’t explain the empty streets. It was a neighborhood composed of disconsolate parts—rank alleyways, chained-up schoolyards, and paycheque advance establishments. Cleared out of foot traffic at the mere whisper of police presence. Not even the usual homeless camped out on park benches. A block of government apartments rose up across the way; now and again, a shade flicked aside, revealing the silhouette of a curious onlooker. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> — Please, doctor, I already went over there and no one answered, I don’t know who to turn to. You’re my only hope of seeing him. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 | <|example|> gloves made texting difficult, but he found he really did not wish to remove them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> on his behalf. He couldn’t muster the energy, really—not for his own sake. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> unpredictable when stone cold sober. Letting his father rile him up didn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Mum, who always got caught in the crossfire. At least Harry was out of the house. Da and Harry were like two sides of one coin, and both sides were too quick to throw a punch. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Sherlock clean the kitchen floors with his <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> have graduated before ever meeting Victor Trevor. Perhaps that would have been best. The hard, compact lines of Victor’s body, his almost-unnatural calm, the flash of his white teeth when he smiled... Sherlock hardly knew what he wanted, but it seemed that Victor did. No one had ever looked at Sherlock with that kind of undisguised hunger. No one since Eurus, and this didn’t feel anything like her sort of predation. This felt hot and tight and delicious. This felt <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he hadn’t heard. “The army will pay my fees, so long as my marks stay high, and I serve a few years after foundation school. May not even go into a combat zone. I could be stationed at a recovery hospital.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> lot of pain. He’d gone unpleasantly numb, though, and quite cold. The sun beating down on him did nothing to stop his shivering. He could still hear the firefight, but it was a distant sort of thing. It didn’t matter. John was a <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> pulled his finger free and reached toward the bedside table for a condom. He continued kissing Helen as he ripped open the packet, rolling the condom on carefully without looking. The motions were smooth and familiar, and they made John’s already hard prick jump in his hand. Helen pulled her knees up, panting, and John met her hazy eyes again before speaking. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> It was evening, and rather cold, but that didn’t explain the empty streets. It was a neighborhood composed of disconsolate parts—rank alleyways, chained-up schoolyards, and paycheque advance establishments. Cleared out of foot traffic at the mere whisper of police presence. Not even the usual homeless camped out on park benches. A block of government apartments rose up across the way; now and again, a shade flicked aside, revealing the silhouette of a curious onlooker. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> — Please, doctor, I already went over there and no one answered, I don’t know who to turn to. You’re my only hope of seeing him. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He continued kissing Helen as he ripped open the packet, rolling the condom on carefully without looking <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> unpredictable when stone cold sober. Letting his father rile him up didn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Mum, who always got caught in the crossfire. At least Harry was out of the house. Da and Harry were like two sides of one coin, and both sides were too quick to throw a punch. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Sherlock clean the kitchen floors with his <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> have graduated before ever meeting Victor Trevor. Perhaps that would have been best. The hard, compact lines of Victor’s body, his almost-unnatural calm, the flash of his white teeth when he smiled... Sherlock hardly knew what he wanted, but it seemed that Victor did. No one had ever looked at Sherlock with that kind of undisguised hunger. No one since Eurus, and this didn’t feel anything like her sort of predation. This felt hot and tight and delicious. This felt <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he hadn’t heard. “The army will pay my fees, so long as my marks stay high, and I serve a few years after foundation school. May not even go into a combat zone. I could be stationed at a recovery hospital.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> lot of pain. He’d gone unpleasantly numb, though, and quite cold. The sun beating down on him did nothing to stop his shivering. He could still hear the firefight, but it was a distant sort of thing. It didn’t matter. John was a <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> pulled his finger free and reached toward the bedside table for a condom. He continued kissing Helen as he ripped open the packet, rolling the condom on carefully without looking. The motions were smooth and familiar, and they made John’s already hard prick jump in his hand. Helen pulled her knees up, panting, and John met her hazy eyes again before speaking. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the names come in.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> sleeve. "You can tell me of what you've done whenever you're ready." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> when he knew they would soon to change to disappointed scoldings. The mess was always fun to make, but the waiting was absolutely torturous. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> , the Mycroft inside his brain sneered. Sherlock was always tempted to photograph those little glances, those tiny smiles Mycroft shot at Anthea when he thought no one was looking. It would serve the besotted bastard right. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> unpredictable when stone cold sober. Letting his father rile him up didn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Mum, who always got caught in the crossfire. At least Harry was out of the house. Da and Harry were like two sides of one coin, and both sides were too quick to throw a punch. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Perhaps that would have been best <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> he hadn’t heard. “The army will pay my fees, so long as my marks stay high, and I serve a few years after foundation school. May not even go into a combat zone. I could be stationed at a recovery hospital.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> lot of pain. He’d gone unpleasantly numb, though, and quite cold. The sun beating down on him did nothing to stop his shivering. He could still hear the firefight, but it was a distant sort of thing. It didn’t matter. John was a <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> pulled his finger free and reached toward the bedside table for a condom. He continued kissing Helen as he ripped open the packet, rolling the condom on carefully without looking. The motions were smooth and familiar, and they made John’s already hard prick jump in his hand. Helen pulled her knees up, panting, and John met her hazy eyes again before speaking. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the names come in.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> sleeve. "You can tell me of what you've done whenever you're ready." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> when he knew they would soon to change to disappointed scoldings. The mess was always fun to make, but the waiting was absolutely torturous. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> , the Mycroft inside his brain sneered. Sherlock was always tempted to photograph those little glances, those tiny smiles Mycroft shot at Anthea when he thought no one was looking. It would serve the besotted bastard right. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> the end; and anyway, everyone outside the family just called her Professor Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And just then they allowed themselves to start laughing. They just couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their faces, they doubled over as their stomachs clenched and hurt, and the muscles in their faces ached from smiling so much. <|indexes|> 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> he hadn’t heard. “The army will pay my fees, so long as my marks stay high, and I serve a few years after foundation school. May not even go into a combat zone. I could be stationed at a recovery hospital.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And just then they allowed themselves to start laughing. They just couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their faces, they doubled over as their stomachs clenched and hurt, and the muscles in their faces ached from smiling so much. <|indexes|> 2 2 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> It didn’t matter <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> the names come in.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> sleeve. "You can tell me of what you've done whenever you're ready." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> when he knew they would soon to change to disappointed scoldings. The mess was always fun to make, but the waiting was absolutely torturous. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> , the Mycroft inside his brain sneered. Sherlock was always tempted to photograph those little glances, those tiny smiles Mycroft shot at Anthea when he thought no one was looking. It would serve the besotted bastard right. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> the end; and anyway, everyone outside the family just called her Professor Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And just then they allowed themselves to start laughing. They just couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their faces, they doubled over as their stomachs clenched and hurt, and the muscles in their faces ached from smiling so much. <|indexes|> 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> “I know you do. I didn’t come to Santorini to find him, you know. I’ve enjoyed our time together.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> always like that, do you think?” John realized he’d wondered aloud, a moment too late. His cheeks felt hot and he sniffed in discomfort. “Just—you know—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "You're lying. What rabbits?" John pressed, feeling pushed to do so by Sherlock's slightly alarmed reaction. It was obvious he was hiding something. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> the names come in.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Listen, I'm going to cut to the chase here." The blonde man said when Sherlock entered the warehouse. He was tall and muscular, his hair long and pushed away from his face. He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots. An old pair of dog tags were slung from his neck. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And just then they allowed themselves to start laughing. They just couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their faces, they doubled over as their stomachs clenched and hurt, and the muscles in their faces ached from smiling so much. <|indexes|> 2 2 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> He wore a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, and combat boots <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> <|example|> the end; and anyway, everyone outside the family just called her Professor Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And just then they allowed themselves to start laughing. They just couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their faces, they doubled over as their stomachs clenched and hurt, and the muscles in their faces ached from smiling so much. <|indexes|> 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> “I know you do. I didn’t come to Santorini to find him, you know. I’ve enjoyed our time together.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> always like that, do you think?” John realized he’d wondered aloud, a moment too late. His cheeks felt hot and he sniffed in discomfort. “Just—you know—” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "You're lying. What rabbits?" John pressed, feeling pushed to do so by Sherlock's slightly alarmed reaction. It was obvious he was hiding something. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> angry, angrier than I’ve seen in a long time, loud and yelling. Now you’re still angry, but just quieter. I thought that you punishing me could make you calm down and not want to—“ Sherlock paused, looking up to John’s eyes, debating whether or not he should voice what he really thought. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> face up to meet John's. His drunken mind tripped over itself as it struggled to remember what he was in trouble for this time. There were quite a few incidents, but none that John could possibly know about yet. "Not here!" Seeing that John wasn't letting up, he asked "Is this about the rabbits? I swear I'll return them by Monday." He thought he was speaking in a whisper. In reality it was barely below a normal speaking tone. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> the end; and anyway, everyone outside the family just called her Professor Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And just then they allowed themselves to start laughing. They just couldn’t stop. Tears streaming down their faces, they doubled over as their stomachs clenched and hurt, and the muscles in their faces ached from smiling so much. <|indexes|> 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "You're lying. What rabbits?" John pressed, feeling pushed to do so by Sherlock's slightly alarmed reaction. It was obvious he was hiding something. <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 | | <|output|> <|example|> I’ve enjoyed our time together <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> He has finished the apple by the time he gets to the motel. He wipes his hands on his clothes, looks at his reflection on the window of a car and deems himself presentable enough. With a quick sniff at his clothes he thinks he doesn’t smell too bad. He hopes he is not going to be thrown out without getting a chance to talk.
He finds the main road again, and follows it trying to hitchhike a ride. It takes a long time before anyone drives by, and even longer before anyone stops. When they do, they only take him 2 miles before they reach their destination. It still helps, and Castiel still smiles and thanks them for their help.
“Fine, we’ll make a release form and a liability waiver and whatever other legal mumbo-jumbo we can find to make this not our problem. But Muriel here will have to be interrogated.”
The entire interaction is quiet, some grunts and moans, mostly on her part, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. She screams and clenches and Castiel feels his own orgasm rolling in. It is unsatisfying to say the least. The woman gets off him with a "thanks, love", and leaves. Castiel feels forlorn and lost, he feels worse than ever. The sex had been hollow, devoid of meaning and connection. And, above all, devoid of feeling. Castiel decides then that he will forget about sex. Masturbation would have to do to keep his needs in check, and only behind locked doors.
He watches Cas’s attempts to clean himself with a washcloth while spilling water everywhere and leaving dirty footprints as he moves around. He doesn’t know why he simply doesn’t shower. Or takes a long soaking bath. But looking won’t make Cas move faster, or heal his wounds, or make sure he is all right. Leaning on the door frame, he makes his presence known. "You should shower, you know? It will be much faster."
“Sir, step away from the vehicle, hands where I can see them.” The officers had arrived, and had their firearms drawn. Show time, Dean though putting on his best smile, his less aggressive expression and hoping it would be enough to fool them.
He keeps with the light kisses, switching to the other side of the neck, but letting his tongue come out more often. When he reaches the jawline he starts biting, and then sucking on the worried skin, leaving his mark. Cas starts breathing a bit harder, so Dean knows he is finally getting the appeal. As he makes his way back down the neck, Dean abandons the light kisses in favor of open-mouth, wet and dirty ones, with a few bites here and there, and exhaling into the wet skin, with hot breaths that leave Cas trembling and moaning.
Dean chuckles, and is amazed, not only at Cas making jokes, but making jokes about his mortality. And that's when it finally hits him. Cas is human. Actually human. Naked, bruised, bleeding and fully aware that a simple thing like taking a bath is filled with enough risks | <|output|> <|example|> He has finished the apple by the time he gets to the motel. He wipes his hands on his clothes, looks at his reflection on the window of a car and deems himself presentable enough. With a quick sniff at his clothes he thinks he doesn’t smell too bad. He hopes he is not going to be thrown out without getting a chance to talk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He hopes he is not going to be thrown out without getting a chance to talk <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Dean chuckles, and is amazed, not only at Cas making jokes, but making jokes about his mortality <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” The officers had arrived, and had their firearms drawn <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Castiel decides then that he will forget about sex <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> He watches Cas’s attempts to clean himself with a washcloth while spilling water everywhere and leaving dirty footprints as he moves around <|indexes|> 4 4 | |
<|text|> to kill him. And he is okay with that. The last hang-up that Dean had about him and Cas, the one that he didn't even realize was there, suddenly is not valid anymore. Because now they are equals, both human, both mortal, with no power imbalance. With no fear of angering a mythical being, a being that can smite him or punch him like he was nothing. With no guilt of having all that power at his disposal, by just asking, by just twisting the truth a tiny bit. It's a new path opened to him, with a possibility of an almost normal life.
Cas wakes once they arrive at the bunker, and Dean had made sure the short drive was extended as long as he could, to give him time to rest. But it had been as slow as he could actually drive.
"There would be no shame in that. We’ll have other opportunities to go slow." There is a question implied, even if Cas hasn't phrased it as one.
So they were following up on angel stories - although Castiel has no idea if they are having any luck or not. But he chooses to believe that it is a sign there are still angels around, and despite all, it brings a little warmth to his heart. "I know them, yes. They follow up on… strange occurrences." He had no idea what kind of story they had told this guy, but that was the gist of what Sam and Dean did everywhere they went.
Dean chuckles but he is happy to comply. He starts with the hands, kissing the palms, softly, lightly, as he moves up to the wrist. There he starts licking again, and biting. He moves up the forearm, kissing and bringing his own hands to it, stroking and grabbing along the arm, rubbing his fingers along the bite marks. Once he reaches the sleeve hem, he stops and looks at Cas, who has his eyes closed, and is obviously enjoying himself. But he has to check, because this is sudden, and unexpected. "Are you sure you are okay with this?"
Dean freezes in the spot, looking surprised. He stays still for one, two, three heartbeats and Castiel starts to think he broke him. Finally, Dean appears to have processed what Castiel has said, but still can't make a proper comeback and just stands there going through whatever it is he is thinking about saying, his entire internal monologue showing on his face.
In the kitchen he finds Sam, running clothes on, sweaty, drinking water as if he had run a marathon. Which would probably be close to the truth, knowing his brother
"That’s what I was saying, I couldn’t find it. I swear I put it in the office, with the rest of the business cards people always leave, but it isn’t there. But there is a number on their check-in form. I shouldn’t give it to you, but I mean, they gave us a card for contact, so there shouldn’t be a problem. As long as you don’t tell my boss. And you | <|output|> <|example|> to kill him. And he is okay with that. The last hang-up that Dean had about him and Cas, the one that he didn't even realize was there, suddenly is not valid anymore. Because now they are equals, both human, both mortal, with no power imbalance. With no fear of angering a mythical being, a being that can smite him or punch him like he was nothing. With no guilt of having all that power at his disposal, by just asking, by just twisting the truth a tiny bit. It's a new path opened to him, with a possibility of an almost normal life. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> But he chooses to believe that it is a sign there are still angels around, and despite all, it brings a little warmth to his heart <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Are you sure you are okay with this?"
Dean freezes in the spot, looking surprised <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> They follow up on… strange occurrences <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> " There is a question implied, even if Cas hasn't phrased it as one <|indexes|> 3 | |
<|text|> say you know them, right?"
In the end they never made it to the bunker. Dean bought a cell phone, and gave it plus whatever money he had to the angel. Muriel would live his own life, provided he didn’t start hurting people again. And when or if Dean ever found a way to get him back to Heaven he would get him there. Also, if Muriel heard from Castiel he was to contact Dean immediately.
"A hunt? What kind of hunt?” Sam's voice is hoarse and slow, like he just had woken up. He probably had.
The second angel they found turned out to be a baby. Much like when Anna had fallen, a couple that had been unable to conceive for years found themselves expecting. They left the couple alone, and marked the place where the grace had landed.
"Now, Sam!" He screams but Sam is already on it, stabbing the angel on the chest. He lights up, which they had doubts if it would happen. But if the angel had been graceless a stab is a stab is a stab.
"No, my friends are, though." Castiel figures that saying he’s from Heaven won’t do, so he decides to borrow one last thing from Jimmy. "I’m from Illinois."
After two weeks of this Dean was getting stir crazy. He had to make sure Sam was eating. He had to make sure Kevin was eating and taking breaks and actually sleeping. He had to force Crowley to take a shower when the stink became unbearable. He had to get out of there, and a grocery run was the perfect excuse.
They try to pin him down, but angels are a force of nature. Maybe they could have tried the banishment sigil, but with heaven closed they have no idea if it will work. And it doesn't seem the time for experiments.
“This is going to be like dad all over again, isn’t it? Traipsing through the country looking for clues and cold trails…” Sam mutters.
I've realized I have really no plan for this (*sorry*) - all I had was the idea for the first chapter and a probable get together scene. So, yeah, making it up as I go. But should be done in 2 (or 3 chapters) more chapters.
"You don’t have to. If you’d rather stay here trying to find something about the angels. It’s not a job. It’s just Cas."
"That’s great news," Sam says, standing up. And Dean sees the happiness in his face. On Charlie’s and Kevin’s too. All seems right at that moment, his family is getting back together. "I’m coming with you."
But soon Cas is complaining about cold water, and stepping out of the tub, into the unfolded towel that Dean holds. It's been a while since he has done that, engulf someone in a giant towel. He used to that to Sam when he was small and not the giant he turned out to be. It used to end in a mock fight. Before Sam knew about hunting he used to pretend he was a ghost, but that had been a short lived | <|output|> <|example|> say you know them, right?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> "
But soon Cas is complaining about cold water, and stepping out of the tub, into the unfolded towel that Dean holds <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "You don’t have to <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> And when or if Dean ever found a way to get him back to Heaven he would get him there <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> And Dean sees the happiness in his face <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Before Sam knew about hunting he used to pretend he was a ghost, but that had been a short lived <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> He had to get out of there, and a grocery run was the perfect excuse <|indexes|> 5 5 | |
<|text|> game.
"Do you know them? They were a weird pair, asking strange questions around town, ‘bout miracles and new people here."
"I suppose. But it wasn't just that, Dean. There was clearly something working against me getting here."
“Crowley? Half-human depressed Crowley that has been moping around the bunker? That Crowley? The one that has said a grand total of one word since we got him there and that word was
Dean wakes up to noises in the bunker and at first he is disoriented because the door is on the wrong side and something is trapping his arm. He looks down to figure out what it is only to find Cas fast asleep, snoring lightly. He smiles, realizing he must have also fallen asleep sometime during last night.
"I know." Dean sits facing him, and takes his hands, forcing his attention in him. "Listen to me, Cas. There is nothing wrong with feeling lonely. Anyone who had to go through what you did would have felt lonely at some part of the way, if not the entire way. The fact that you are still sane is a testament to your strength. I mean, I'm not sure I would be able to do it. I hadn't been hunting alone for that long, when I had to get Sam - and I can make friends in any bar I walk into. Hell, I made friends in Purgatory. And look at me, I've been dragging the kid along with me all this time, just because I don't want to be alone. So, feeling lost, confused, even if there is no spell, it's normal."
Eventually he would have to bring it up, using all the words to make sure the message was understood. He would have to or he would go mad with not being able to kiss Cas. But for now he could go on a little longer. So he would let Cas sleep. And he would make him breakfast. And then he would teach him how to drive.
“I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well.
He looked to the house behind him, where Daphne stood before the picture window, having watched the entire exchange. She smiled sadly and nodded to him, a silent consent. Draping the worn coat across his arm, he thumbed through the phone’s unfamiliar contacts until he found Dean’s name, devoid of anything but the one word. He picked up after the first ring.
So, he dutifully swipes his debit card and makes a mental note to write the grocery bill on his hand. As much as he hates to admit it, it's necessary - unless he wants to forget it later when he balances their account after getting home. Did he forget to deposit that check from his brother?
As they pass the nurse's station, Louise, one of their favorites, waves a good night, purse tucked under her arm. The three of them wave back and continue down the long hallway.
Castiel’s eyes scan the crowded bar for his roommate. Dean disappeared nearly fifteen | <|output|> <|example|> game. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> But for now he could go on a little longer <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> "I know <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Hell, I made friends in Purgatory <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> "
“Crowley? Half-human depressed Crowley that has been moping around the bunker? That Crowley? The one that has said a grand total of one word since we got him there and that word was
Dean wakes up to noises in the bunker and at first he is disoriented because the door is on the wrong side and something is trapping his arm <|indexes|> 3 | |
<|text|> minutes before, with the promise of shots sprinkled across his tight-lipped grin. And, of course, Castiel found himself waiting, barely able to mask his anticipation in front of their friends. He fears he’s being obvious, that each turn of his head holds a number count that only
right now.” And Castiel gets it. Dean doesn’t realize what he’s saying. So he goes for the less practiced, less familiar response in his arsenal. He kisses him, pulls Dean’s face up to his own, and gives it his all. Abandoning every scenario of how he thought this might go, he focuses, again, on the now. Dean’s muffled
was wrong. The man – Dean – was only seeking his services. Of course, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. His gift was miraculous and he’d seen his fair share of clients since its discovery. Daphne, unaware of the conflicting thoughts turning in her husband’s mind, invited Dean into their home while she fetched them all coffee.
“Stay here,” he tells Sam, holding a hand up when he starts to protest. If anything’s wrong, Dean’s sure as hell not bringing his brother into it. He doesn’t need to be getting fired on top of everything else.
In the small amount of time Emmanuel could recall, he had little knowledge of how quickly life can change. He’d been with Daphne for several months and was content to remain so. She was a kind-hearted, beautiful woman who saved him when he didn’t know he needed to be saved. He thanked God every day for putting her in his life. Or, in his case, putting him in hers. With that gratefulness and love aside, for the second time in a year, Emmanuel’s life changed with a single act. The doorbell rang.
Dean bites his lip, thinking back to any of the more recent conversations he’s had with his college-student brother, and recalls a quick phone call from the night before. A phone call that may or may not have taken place during his and Charlie’s weekly Dr. Sexy stream session. “Right. What’s on the menu, monkey face? Unless you want to split the carrot sticks TJ tried to bribe me with in favor of grading his nonexistent homework?”
“What’s stupid?” Sam steps back into the room, an enormous bowl of fresh popcorn situated between his moose hands, and Dean groans outwardly. Sam’s a sucker for dogs; they’re watching the damn movie.
Dean closes his eyes and counts to ten. In Latin. If there’s ever a time when he feels like punching his
Christmas. Birthdays. Easter. New Year's. All of the special days they celebrate and observe couldn't hold a candle to this moment. This day. It's the best moment of his lifetime, second only to the birth of their children. Not only are they in the clear, they can finally start toward recovery.
"What's wrong? What is it? Do you need a nurse? Ellie just took over for Louise. I'll go get her," Castiel hooks a thumb over his shoulder and starts to turn when a pair of calloused hands grab his face.
“Cas,” is all he can say, all | <|output|> <|example|> minutes before, with the promise of shots sprinkled across his tight-lipped grin. And, of course, Castiel found himself waiting, barely able to mask his anticipation in front of their friends. He fears he’s being obvious, that each turn of his head holds a number count that only <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> His gift was miraculous and he’d seen his fair share of clients since its discovery <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> If anything’s wrong, Dean’s sure as hell not bringing his brother into it <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Birthdays <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> What’s on the menu, monkey face? Unless you want to split the carrot sticks TJ tried to bribe me with in favor of grading his nonexistent homework?”
“What’s stupid?” Sam steps back into the room, an enormous bowl of fresh popcorn situated between his moose hands, and Dean groans outwardly <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> minutes before, with the promise of shots sprinkled across his tight-lipped grin <|indexes|> 4 | |
<|text|> he can think. He knew Cas would be home in two months, had been holding onto that time with a vice-like grip because two months were only sixty days and sixty days he could manage. After waiting for so long, sixty days were a
The look on the man’s face, beneath the pure shock etched across his handsome features, could only be described as one of immense relief. Confusion morphed into anger, which then slid into pain and settled on incredulity. His mouth hung slightly open, his brow creased above the light green of his eyes.
" - and Xavier races ahead in the parking lot so quickly that Castiel feels his heart drop to his toe nails. Thankfully, the lot is fairly empty for a Friday night -all vehicles parked- and Xavier is spared from any of the horrible scenarios whizzing through his dad's head.
Straightening his shirt and smoothing his slacks as best as he can, Dean walks down the hall to Missouri Mosely’s office and completely, 100% does
Xavier looks between him and the wall of buttons above his head. After pressing "four" and getting a head shake in response, he presses the "five" button and backs against the wall. Marie fusses when the doors open and they don't get off yet, but a second later, they're on Dean's floor, and all is good.
His brother stands, grabbing the beer bottles they’d thrown back throughout the film, and makes his way to the kitchen. Calling over his shoulder, Sam yells, “Thanks for the movie choice, Cas! Night, guys!”
Outside, Dean led him to a dark, vintage muscle car and opened the trunk. “These are yours,” he said and handed over a tan, folded coat, a cellphone and a wallet.
"Can you come home tonight?" The question falls out of his mouth as soon as he pulls his lips away and he wishes it hadn't. This, this news? It's already more than enough. To get his hopes up for more, he's learned, is simple masochism.
"Stay with Daddy, Xavier," Castiel takes the boy's hand in his own and shifts Marie to his right hip. Room 562. Dean's room.
Castiel’s about to apologize, his usual reservations creeping back in, when Dean breaks out into another grin.
"I'm sorry we're so late, baby. I couldn't leave campus until after six, and then when I got to Sam's, Jess wouldn't let me leave without seeing Bryce run without help, and
"Dean?" He knocks on the door and hopes if his husband is throwing up, it's not loud enough to scare the kids. "Babe, you okay?" Castiel barely hears the answering "yeah" before plowing on with his train of thought.
Dean. Warm eyes and bowed legs, carved to perfection, culminating in a considerate being who cares about the organization of their groceries. After all they'd been through, he's got a mischievous grin to excuse away his sometimes high maintenance tendencies. And while his strength isn't what it used to be, Castiel is confident it'll return soon enough. It has to. They've gotten this far, and they'll keep pushing until they no longer have to.
And, like water, | <|output|> <|example|> he can think. He knew Cas would be home in two months, had been holding onto that time with a vice-like grip because two months were only sixty days and sixty days he could manage. After waiting for so long, sixty days were a <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> And while his strength isn't what it used to be, Castiel is confident it'll return soon enough <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Straightening his shirt and smoothing his slacks as best as he can, Dean walks down the hall to Missouri Mosely’s office and completely, 100% does
Xavier looks between him and the wall of buttons above his head <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Dean <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> After pressing "four" and getting a head shake in response, he presses the "five" button and backs against the wall <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> After pressing "four" and getting a head shake in response, he presses the "five" button and backs against the wall <|indexes|> 4 4 | |
<|text|> Castiel’s savoring evaporates at the thought of what Dean might want to share with him. Perhaps he’s decided to get back together with Lisa. Or maybe he got that waiter’s number, from the hotel’s restaurant. Gabriel kept
"Daddy's on the fifth floor, baby," Castiel reminds him as they step into the parting metal doors. "Can you show me number five?" Thank you Sesame Street and the Count for teaching his four year old when he hasn't the time. Or energy. Maybe he'll write the company a letter.
Dean couldn’t have looked more perplexed if he tried - mulling over his answer, carefully choosing the words he thought she would want to hear. But then, at the last second, he seemed to change his mind. “Yes. He’s, he’s my best friend. I’ve been looking for him for quite some time now. And I can’t believe I found him.” Dean rose from his seat on the couch and pulled out his cellphone. After glancing at whatever was on the screen, he rolled his eyes and pocketed the thing. “Do you think, maybe, I could talk to Emmanuel alone, outside?”
"I'm not, I'm not, I'm not," comes the whispered reply. Finally, Castiel lets the tears spill over. Despite his quivering lip, and the full awareness of his ugly, crying face, he kisses Dean for the first time in what seems an eternity. Really, it's been about a week, but time has long since ceased progressing as it should.
"No fucking way." He clamps a hand over his mouth and blinks furiously as tears spring to his eyes. He'd been trying to limit the bad language as best as he could and even news like this wasn't worth having one of his kids repeat a certain choice word. Dean laughs and chokes a little, keeping a hand on the doorframe to steady himself.
If he had had any doubt as to the appearance of the man he dreamt of, standing before him was the physical manifestation. Clad in the same jacket as last night and jeans that were stained in oil and dirt. Spiked, dark blonde hair that looked like it had one too many hands run through it. Probably out of nervous habit.
He places the stapler on a neighboring desk and surveys his work, eyeballing his phone and willing Cas to reply faster. He knows his plane got in that morning, and he knows they’ve agreed to wait until after the school day ends to surprise Dean, but this? This gift is bigger than he could have ever given his older brother. It almost feels criminal to keep it from him for any longer.
Dean’s on him in a flash, coffee and food forgotten. “Dude, what are you doing? You can’t just leave the room; these kids are Tasmanian Devils times a trillion.”
having to admit Cas was right – Dean jumps nearly three feet at the sound of the metal door creaking open above him.
“Missouri needs to see you, Dean,” Becky breathes out, clearly flustered. Her eyes are wide, wider than normal, and if Dean cared to ask if she was | <|output|> <|example|> Castiel’s savoring evaporates at the thought of what Dean might want to share with him. Perhaps he’s decided to get back together with Lisa. Or maybe he got that waiter’s number, from the hotel’s restaurant. Gabriel kept <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Dean couldn’t have looked more perplexed if he tried - mulling over his answer, carefully choosing the words he thought she would want to hear <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> okay right now, he would. Instead, he files that observation away under the already bulging folder of Weird Things Becky Does and nods.
Sam waits until Dean leaves the classroom to text Cas. Well, okay, he waits until he’s done stapling the cute little papers Dean’s students made, but nonetheless he waits. He can’t believe his luck, if he’s being honest. When Cas had asked for his help with this little arrangement he nearly broke his phone from the excitement. Jess had to take the rest of the call because he could barely speak from the sentiment. And yeah, maybe there were a few tears, but a guy can be excited to see his brother-in-law, can’t he?
“Oh, you think that was for your birthday?” Dean hooks a thumb over his shoulder as they stroll back to the front of the bar, looking behind him in mock confusion. “I hate to break it to you, Cas, but the world doesn’t revolve around you. Your birthday was yesterday, dude.”
Dean lets go of his hand and stops walking. “You cheeky sonofabitch, using my own words against me.”
Inside, an upbeat Latin song is layered over something from the Top 40 and Castiel laughs at the absurdity of his thoughts having such a nonchalant backdrop.
Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time.
Dean looks away meaningfully, dragging his eyes across the room and fixing them in the corner, fixing them on the wooden chest resting there.
Castiel finished the massage with the base of Dean’s feet, working the sore spots until he could feel them release under his fingers. Dean was placid like this, calm like he almost never got to be in normal life. With his job and the pressures he placed on himself, this was an indulgence he almost never got, or gave himself. Cas hopes to remedy that in time but until then, he worked at making the most of these hard fought moments, let Dean unwind for now and let it all go.
“Okay, first this.” Cas reaches under the bed and pulls out the straps permanently fastened there. He flips them first across Dean’s body, checking the length and positioning. He slides them under Dean. One under his ankles, one his hips, his waist, and the last under his shoulders.
“What can I say?” John chuckled, “After bringing Dean into my life, it’s put a lot of other things into a different perspective.”
“No. No, of course you don’t do that anymore. I don’t either. Shit man that place is really fucked up. I stopped going ages ago. I just wanted you to know how happy I am to see that you’re doing okay.” He pats Dean familiarly on the shoulder, smiling at him like they share a secret or something. Dean can’t help but flinch, pull back bodily, please don’t touch me, he wanted to beg. But instead he just pulls in on himself, unable to speak, unable to run, do anything.
“Charlie? Are you | <|output|> <|example|> okay right now, he would. Instead, he files that observation away under the already bulging folder of Weird Things Becky Does and nods. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> “I hate to break it to you, Cas, but the world doesn’t revolve around you <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Castiel finished the massage with the base of Dean’s feet, working the sore spots until he could feel them release under his fingers <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Sam waits until Dean leaves the classroom to text Cas <|indexes|> 2 2 | |
<|text|> sure?” John tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Charlie was Neutral. She might know the correct information, but she had no practical experience with the sort of ‘Pure’ level protocols Castiel would be expected to abide by. Hell, almost no-one did, Pure dominants were just so rare. But that was the point he supposed, in that sense Charlie was as good as anyone.
They’re interrupted by the arrival of Cas and Jess as if called by magic (or maybe just the beeping of the oven).
One person just wasn’t capable of taking care of Dean throughout all of the estrus period. Luckily Gabe was a beta, perfect to assist as he was unaffected by their pheromones. He could keep a clear head and a steady hand when needed. His training as an Omega Nurse and history with Dean was also an essential part in making this a success. Dean needed to trust him intimately or it just wasn’t going to work.
“Dean, it’s me. We’re going to do this just like we practiced. I’m going to walk over to the bed and I want you to come with me.”
“Thank you,” Sam pushed the thick binder across the desk to him, “I know you probably won’t have time to read all this, but you might as well keep it. Some of it might be useful to you.”
“Yeah, the university sent their lawyer to go over the documents for me and they were pretty clear that to keep my job I had to sign it. There had been dozens of complaints and worried emails from students and staff. I guess they wanted to safeguard their investment.
Gabe swaps sides and has him finish off the second set of exercises and in under a minute they’re done, with Gabe wiping off his fingers on a towel and reaching for the dilators to give them a clean. He heads into the bathroom and Dean takes a moment to catch his breath.
Gabe nods, giving Cas time to climb up into the bed, to rest his hands on Dean's chest before he slips away.
He dragged over the spare IV stand that rests in the corner of the office. Dean sat gingerly on the sofa, readying himself for the process.
He woken up three weeks later, half-dead, but kept alive by machines and veins full of chemicals. Six weeks after that, once they’d pulled the tube out his throat and he could hold a sitting up position, they’d transferred to a Dynamic Treatment Centre. Later that day, Castiel would undergo a Dynamic Spectrum Assessment and find out that had an FSDS of 19.89 and a ‘Pure Designation’, which placed him at extremely high risk for Dynamic Disfunction.
Dean groans at the touch, shifting his hips against the teasing strokes, weeks of denial winning out to rush through him with desire and need.
“Eight hours since initial symptoms. He was slightly feverish at 100.4F, taken ten minutes ago, but that is to be expected. At 6:30pm he managed two cans of nutritional supplement and has since had one glass of water, 300mls. He continues | <|output|> <|example|> sure?” John tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Charlie was Neutral. She might know the correct information, but she had no practical experience with the sort of ‘Pure’ level protocols Castiel would be expected to abide by. Hell, almost no-one did, Pure dominants were just so rare. But that was the point he supposed, in that sense Charlie was as good as anyone. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> They’re interrupted by the arrival of Cas and Jess as if called by magic (or maybe just the beeping of the oven) <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> to pass all cognitive test questions and therefore initiation of the intervention phase may be delayed upon reassessment in an hour.”
“It’s me. You’re safe. I promise. You’re safe.” Cas repeats, hoping finally the words might get through.
Dean doesn’t reply, but instead snuggles down deeper into the blankets, getting comfortable. Cas takes this to mean he’s ready. He’s warmed the lube thankfully, so all Dean feels is the welcome intrusion of fingers making their way deep inside him. He bites back a little panting moan and tries unsuccessfully to think unsexy thoughts.
“Yeah, and this is just the first one.” Sam’s haggard look agreed, he knew exactly what Castiel must be thinking, “In the foster system, he was listed as a ‘problem child’, with many behavioural issues and minor run-ins with the law. Nothing serious, just getting into fights, drunk and disorderly, stuff like that. But it got recorded against his name. After he spent a couple of years on the streets, he began taking odd jobs here and there, some of it was with the wrong people and the cops started to pay attention to him. That’s how we have some records of that time.
No one believed in him like Castiel did. His belief in Dean was rock solid, nothing could shake it. Time and time again, when Dean was struggling and needed reassurance Castiel was there, telling him, showing him just how precious he was. Of how much he was capable. Of what what he could take and stand up again, against it all.
Dean growls, angrily, swinging his weight against him in a desperate effort for contact. Words might be lost to him right now, but his intent is clear, and his pain.
He doesn’t always make Dean wait for his assistance, obviously it’s impossible while either of them is at work or when they’re separated for other reasons but when they are together the expectation is that Dean will ask, will wait for him. A sure fire sign that Dean wants (or needs) to go back on the catheter is not telling Castiel when he needs to go, or more problematically going before asking assistance.
This uncomfortable tube was as close as he got, it could be excused as medically necessary, as anything really but the mark of a Dominant Alpha who loved him. He just wished he was strong enough to do more.
It goes on like this for a while, Cas occasionally praising him and continuing to work him further and further along. But eventually Dean feels it, the nothing release, the slip of liquid out of his cock and the unfulfilled ache flowing away. He still wants to come but now it’s emotional instead of physical, he can feel it easing away. He smiles privately into the blankets, trust Cas to know just what to do.
“No, he...he was a mess. Worse than usual. I don’t think I saw him sober the whole time, he… he was just so angry you know.”
“Do you know how much I’ve wanted you too? I’ve not been able to have you...” his voice is deeper than | <|output|> <|example|> to pass all cognitive test questions and therefore initiation of the intervention phase may be delayed upon reassessment in an hour.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Of what what he could take and stand up again, against it all <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> His belief in Dean was rock solid, nothing could shake it <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> He doesn’t always make Dean wait for his assistance, obviously it’s impossible while either of them is at work or when they’re separated for other reasons but when they are together the expectation is that Dean will ask, will wait for him <|indexes|> 2 | |
<|text|> usual, shaded in arousal. “Every morning, I would wake to your need. God! I wanted you so badly then and every night I would go to sleep knowing how much you wanted it.” he’s panting too, working himself so that Dean can see, his cock thick and ready.
Cas rests curled up in bed with Dean, till he can feel his breath even out with the heaviness of deep sleep. The sedatives will keep Dean under for several hours yet and the app on his tablet will allow him to monitor all his vital signs effectively.
Cas takes his own seat across from Dean, readying himself by taking a slow mouthful of coffee and considers how to start.
He pulls off Dean, walking quickly over the the chest and opens it. He eyes the contents critically and decides, in for a penny in for a pound. He reaches in, scoops out the lot.
He squinted at the CCTV feed, Cas was on top of Dean, all his weight pinning down the younger man. Only the smallest movement of Cas’s hips indicating that they were knotted. But Dean was staring up at nothing, eyes glazed over, unfocused.
Dean slept little, fitfully waking each time the slightest noise could be heard. Cas didn’t sleep well either, worry waring with frustration and easily overcoming his need for rest.
Cas liked CRP frames. He liked their function and simplicity. He liked that they provided submissives with a safe way to experience the intensity of complete immobility, while also allowing Doms with a safe restraint method through the quick release straps. They were expensive, but easy to maintain and very durable. Medically speaking they were also excellent at keeping the sub safe and calm them during necessary procedures (such as the insertion of a catheter, cannula or feeding tube etc).
“Dean. You were dreaming.It wasn’t real. Listen to me. You are in our apartment, it’s Monday the 21st of March and you are safe. You hear me? You’re safe.”
"There you go," Cas's smiling now, he can hear it in his voice. He's obviously noting the change in Dean already, "that's right, it's meant to feel good like that. You're being so good, love, enjoying it." And Dean is, enjoying it, relishing the stretch and thrust, he pants with it, wanting more and deeper. He groans, grinding his inner lips down on the smooth surface of the machine desperate for more traction, more pressure. Cas takes the hint and slips his fingers between Dean's legs, pressing and massaging his Omega glands, pleasure growing, wave after wave.
Cas is quick then, knowing he needs little prep, the hunger his his eyes burning Dean a little, he wants to look away but can’t, he’s trapped there and gasping with his own desire. It’s so immediate, he want Cas inside him now, now, now.
“You’re doing good, just two more.” Gabe reassured him, placing his free hand on Dean’s shoulder after sensing his unease.
Sam laughed, but it was bitter and short, “Oh, he definitely tried! He didn’t make it far that first night mind you. Barely made it out of | <|output|> <|example|> usual, shaded in arousal. “Every morning, I would wake to your need. God! I wanted you so badly then and every night I would go to sleep knowing how much you wanted it.” he’s panting too, working himself so that Dean can see, his cock thick and ready. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He eyes the contents critically and decides, in for a penny in for a pound <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> the Mainhouse before Michael and the security team picked him up. But he played it off, said that he was out for a midnight stroll. We gave him the benefit of the doubt. By the third attempt, after he’d almost made it over the estate walls, we stopped believing his stories. By the fifth, they brought him back biting, kicking, and screaming. By the seventh attempt, after the cops in the next town over picked him up, we realised that this was deadly serious. Dean was utterly terrified of us and trying desperately to escape.”
But now that the room is built and they can do it at home, allow themselves that small luxury, if not complete privacy.
Soon enough they were settled in for the night and had retreated to their room to ready for bed, Cas led Dean away to their room and firmly shut the door.
Dean can't meet his eyes. Cas knows that mostly he can't ask, mostly he’ll just withdraw, pretend that everything is fine, until it really isn't.
“Sure thing.” Charlie turned back to Castiel, “Do you need anything before we go down to the clinic? Lunch?”
Dean moans a little as Castiel slides the metal prongs steadily inside him, he’s much too aroused now to not respond to the intrusion, canting his hips the small amount possible against the straps. But Cas shushes him, leaning forward to pull the hip and thigh straps tighter and prevent him from moving against the speculum.
The urge was still there, that horrible need to be filled, to be mated, wasn't even close to being sated. But at the same time he was lucid enough right now to hate the thing below him, inside him. He was angry, it was illogical and yet he couldn't stop resenting that it wasn't Castiel. Just some combination of plastic and metal drilling itself inside him.
He gave a last longing look at the coffee pot before grabbing his own keys and phone. He didn’t want to be late and knew that Charlie would be waiting for him in the studio.
“Did you also know that he did his training at Harvard in the Progressive School of Dynamics? That his treatment methods aren’t going to be anything like the ones used here?”
Dean groans audibly and relieved, more bruises added to Cas’s thighs, as he fights the urge to touch, to disobey.
“Just saying, I'm sure you're students appreciate the view!” There is no way Gabriel would ever even consider seriously coming on to Dean but the banter between them remained playful and Cas doesn’t seem to mind. Trusting them both entirely.
“Not a design I am completely happy with, but since it’s only for a few more days. I think it’ll do. If this works for us, we’ll get something custom made.” Cas is playing with the device, checking there are no rough edges or sharp spots, distracted for a moment. He reaches under the table and retrieving an ice pack and shaking it casually. And then Dean isn’t so sure for a moment, the ice looking mightily cold.
“You should have seen the | <|output|> <|example|> the Mainhouse before Michael and the security team picked him up. But he played it off, said that he was out for a midnight stroll. We gave him the benefit of the doubt. By the third attempt, after he’d almost made it over the estate walls, we stopped believing his stories. By the fifth, they brought him back biting, kicking, and screaming. By the seventh attempt, after the cops in the next town over picked him up, we realised that this was deadly serious. Dean was utterly terrified of us and trying desperately to escape.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> “You should have seen the <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Did you also know that he did his training at Harvard in the Progressive School of Dynamics? That his treatment methods aren’t going to be anything like the ones used here?”
Dean groans audibly and relieved, more bruises added to Cas’s thighs, as he fights the urge to touch, to disobey <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> By the third attempt, after he’d almost made it over the estate walls, we stopped believing his stories <|indexes|> 2 2 | |
<|text|> day Dean was given his submissive designation, Dad flipped! The school brought in a Dynamic Assessor for all the kids that were missed in early childhood and Dean tested out Submissive on the 99th percentile. He was shaking all the way home, terrified of Dad finding out and of the meeting the school had wanted for the next d ay. But, they had already rung home, you know how they panic when a submissive streak that strong is identified. Anyway, by the time we got home Dad had already packed up our stuff and was waiting to leave. He ordered Dean not to tell anyone, ever.”
“Good. That’s it,” Cas used his other hand to wipe Dean’s hair back off his forehead, “You’re doing so well.”
Plus he loved when Castiel doted on him, loved it when he was the centre of Castiel’s entire focus, loved to get home from work and have him waiting there for him at home. He just wished that sometimes Castiel could demonstrate that he cared in some slightly less humiliating, physically intrusive ways and sometimes it hurt.
“Okay, first set.” He warns, before gently placing Den’s ankles against the leather, positioning them comfortably apart. He fastens the first of the ankle cuffs around Dean’s leg, checking the fit by sliding his fingers underneath it. They’re medical restrains, softly lined and designed especially for this but he doesn't want to take chances with them. The other follows easily.
Gabe nodded, meeting Cas’s gaze squarely, he knew how hard the request really was on both of them, how intimate this would be.
“Sam was there when I woke up. He’d flown down as soon as they called him. I’ve never seen him so scared.” Dean looks away, refusing to face the guilt he feels.
“Why didn’t you tell me before how hard this was for you? Why did you hide it?” the hurt and betrayal evident in his voice.
“Oh, Honey. I’m so sorry.” he pulls Dean closer, hoping to drown out the memory of their touch with his own more immediate presence.
In all the chaos of packing and sorting, he hadn’t had a moment spare to research the House itself. The only thing that he’d heard about Caladh House itself was that it was old and that it was powerful.
I started to fear that every word I spoke, every movement I made might give me away. I couldn’t talk to anyone without feeling like a fake, I wasn’t worthy of taking up their time, wasting their breath on me but I was so desperate for anything to make me feel something, I wanted it anyway. But it just made it worse. I wanted touch and affection so bad it almost killed me. But more than that I didn’t want them to find out that I really was.”
“Yeah, well where was I the next time he needed me? I’d fucked off with Jess, that’s what!” Cas can hear him swallowing raggedly in the background, obviously fighting off tears, the guilt Cas knew he held still for not being with Dean, even now. “Where was I | <|output|> <|example|> day Dean was given his submissive designation, Dad flipped! The school brought in a Dynamic Assessor for all the kids that were missed in early childhood and Dean tested out Submissive on the 99th percentile. He was shaking all the way home, terrified of Dad finding out and of the meeting the school had wanted for the next d ay. But, they had already rung home, you know how they panic when a submissive streak that strong is identified. Anyway, by the time we got home Dad had already packed up our stuff and was waiting to leave. He ordered Dean not to tell anyone, ever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> day Dean was given his submissive designation, Dad flipped! The school brought in a Dynamic Assessor for all the kids that were missed in early childhood and Dean tested out Submissive on the 99th percentile <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Oh, Honey <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” he pulls Dean closer, hoping to drown out the memory of their touch with his own more immediate presence <|indexes|> 2 | |
<|text|> when that Bastard came back?”
And Castiel is there, finally back where he belongs, back inside him, where he should have been the whole time.
He feels rather than sees the tears, Dean’s an expert at hiding his pain, but his cheek is damp where they’re pressed together. Cas knows better than to comment.
But, then something is placed over him, soothing away the cold and the pain, a warmed blanket he realizes. Cas kept them in a special cupboard for moments like this.
“Dean was raised by her? Outside of the Society?” Castiel was sure there was probably much more to the story, and he would investigate that later, but he needed to keep on topic.
He must have dozed a little himself because the next thing he knew Dean was moving in his arms, fighting against the hold he continued to maintain around him.
“Dean?” he asks hesitantly, seeing that he's roused “I know it'll hurt, but we’re going to have to talk about this eventually. I need to know what happened so I can keep you safe.”
“No, Dean. Look at me.” Cas waits, Dean does, fearful. Cas wants to reach back in time and punch John Winchester in the face, “I’m proud of you. It’ll come give it time.” Cas leans forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips.
Cas chuckles, drawing back the blanket to peek underneath. Before planting an indulgent kiss on Dean’s forehead.
Dean panted a little, refusing to give into it just yet, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible.
“It’s okay, I already know sweetheart,” Cas can only offer so much reassurance, so much comfort, but he can offer this. He’d worked it out immediately, once the truth was plain, but he wanted to be gentle about it now.
He pulls out one of the novels he'd packed, knowing he wouldn't make much progress with it but figuring it'd at least give him something to think about other than what's going on in the other room.
“I’m not sure I...” it’s getting harder for him to speak, nervousness stilling his voice, what if it’s too much?
And there it was. Cas knew it would come up eventually, the return of the infamous John Winchester, the man behind this whole mess. Because just like that, after years of nothing, like some ghost that refuses to stop haunting him, he showed up in Dean’s life again to destroy what he had built.
And Cas does, working his way up from the straps around his ankles, calves, thighs, hips, chest and neck. He even adds the wrist and upper arm cuffs for good measure before holding out the final one. It’s a little different from the others as it has a wide padded panel at the front for Dean’s forehead and an extra strap on each side to hold it on firmly. He’d added that after Dean had struggled and shifted too much once and marked himself. Although the leather was lined, it was still enough to abrade the skin lightly, and any mark was more than Castiel allowed. This modification Dean doesn’t really like, it feels | <|output|> <|example|> when that Bastard came back?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Cas knew it would come up eventually, the return of the infamous John Winchester, the man behind this whole mess <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> He’d added that after Dean had struggled and shifted too much once and marked himself <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|example|> Cas knew it would come up eventually, the return of the infamous John Winchester, the man behind this whole mess <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” Cas leans forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> I need to know what happened so I can keep you safe <|indexes|> 4 | |
<|text|> heavy-handed and a little claustrophobic, he frequently requests it be left off. This time though, he doesn’t comment, he meets Cas’s eyes and holds perfectly still for him to fasten the straps securely on each side of his head.
Through a combination of mechanical and electronic components it could be adjusted into a wide variety of shapes and configurations. Dean’s body wasn’t forced to move with the frame, in fact the the slightest resistance halted it entirely, But while it gave support, it also restrained him and once in place held tight through a wide variety of straps and harnesses, Dean could be held open and immobile in almost any position. A small collection of machines sat waiting for Dean in the corner, each could be mounted to the frame in different configurations designed to work Dean through his relentless heat. A technician had been by yesterday to check them over so Gabe didn't need to.
“He actually responds really well to heavy restraints, especially the weighted or binding varieties, like secured weighted blankets, immobilisation on his CRP Frame and restraint-jackets. Compression-Restraint-Pressure Techniques and Deep Pressure Therapy sometimes work. It’s one of the only things, outside of sedation, that we’ve found to be effective at calming him down.”
“Okay,” he’s helped up, with Charlie on one side and Cas on the other, he’d plain forgotten she was even there in the panic. But right now he half walks, half hangs off them as they guide him to the car, gently easing him into the passenger seat.
Benny nods, accepting the advice easily, “That’s easily arranged. We have a House tailor who already has Dean's current measurements, he'd be happy to create whatever you need. Is there a specific garment design you have in mind?”
Gabe pulls one of the stools over and lowers it to the perfect height to watch both the mechanisms of the machine and Dean's reactions. He activates the first program, watching carefully as the first phallus raises up inside the machine through a mechanical opening and directly into Dean's vaginal passage. Dean gasps, but doesn't try to pull away, more shocked than anything else. Once the first is fully seated but not yet moving, the second is raised, the device's inner panels sliding open to allows the second phallus to ease itself into Dean's anal passage. This time Dean does shift, the sensation of both passages being filled somewhat difficult to accommodate. He lets out a shaky, slow breath, preparing himself for what he knows is coming.
Dean doesn’t complain. Cas’s kiss is intense and hungry. He uses his hands to hold Dean’s face, and he is not ashamed of using his tongue. Dean might have gone gentler for a first kiss, taking into consideration Cas past hangups about sex. He is glad Cas took the initiate though. He moves his hands to hold on to Cas, to make sure they can deepen the kiss, that none of them are going to stop. It does bring them closer together, and it’s surprising to feel Cas’s erection pressing against his. He gasps, for air and | <|output|> <|example|> heavy-handed and a little claustrophobic, he frequently requests it be left off. This time though, he doesn’t comment, he meets Cas’s eyes and holds perfectly still for him to fasten the straps securely on each side of his head. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Dean doesn’t complain. Cas’s kiss is intense and hungry. He uses his hands to hold Dean’s face, and he is not ashamed of using his tongue. Dean might have gone gentler for a first kiss, taking into consideration Cas past hangups about sex. He is glad Cas took the initiate though. He moves his hands to hold on to Cas, to make sure they can deepen the kiss, that none of them are going to stop. It does bring them closer together, and it’s surprising to feel Cas’s erection pressing against his. He gasps, for air and <|indexes|> 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> A technician had been by yesterday to check them over so Gabe didn't need to <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> in surprise, but just for a moment, before he is pulling Cas down for another kiss.
On the grocery store the clerk had the TV on the news report. The unexplained meteor shower was still in the highlights, the scientific community was still baffled. He no longer paid attention to it. He was almost checking out when he realized that what the newscaster was reporting was very different. A man had been hit by one of the meteors and had gained superpowers, only he seemed to be out of his mind, and was harming people. Two towns over. Dean paid for the groceries, and called Sam while driving.
The first weeks after the fall they had barely left the bunker. Sam was recovering from the botched trial. Kevin was working himself into a frenzy with both tablets trying to find a way to send the angels back to heaven and closing both heaven and hell without anyone having to die. Crowley moped around, poked his nose where he shouldn't and ignored the Winchesters all together. They discovered that demon traps were still effective against him and started drawing them everywhere. Crowley no longer needed to be shackled and thrown in the dungeon and they didn't have to worry that he was going to run away. Mostly he sat around and read old magazines that he found. The oldest the better, it seemed.
Sam nods, while still drinking, managing to spill some all over the already wet clothes. Once he's done and has more or less dried his face on his shirt, he asks, "How is Cas?"
Dean knows all about physical relations, sex and pleasure. Love he keeps it at bay. Love is what always hurts him, and what makes him feel worthless. Love is reserved for family, which is the grand total of Sam, and the closest friends, which are mostly dead. And... No, he refuses to acknowledge that. Love is for family and close friends, and to be kept buried otherwise. He can do casual sex; he can do a casual fling too, even if lately he has chosen not to. He will not, however, put his heart out to be trod on.
"No, Dean. Drowning is no laughing matter," he deadpans. But there is a quirk to his lips that tells Dean otherwise.
John drops him at Burlington bus station, and since they made good time, with no hurdles, no setbacks whatsoever, Castiel decides to press his luck, and gets a ticket to the closest place to the bunker he can afford. He just hopes the luck will hold.
He never makes up his mind, though. Just sighs, picks up a tray Castiel hadn't noticed was in the desk by the door, and sits next to him, leaning on the headboard.
Dean chuckles. Despite all, he does like his brother, and knows he means well. And he supposes it's easy to spot how Dean feels about Cas. Maybe it's the lack of action that has Sam worried but there are reasons for that.
Cas blinks at the light, but he manages to get out of the car on | <|output|> <|example|> in surprise, but just for a moment, before he is pulling Cas down for another kiss. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He will not, however, put his heart out to be trod on <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> Just sighs, picks up a tray Castiel hadn't noticed was in the desk by the door, and sits next to him, leaning on the headboard <|indexes|> 1 | |
<|text|> his own. Sam and Dean help him down to the bunker. When they reach the reading room, Cas throws a hated look towards Crowley and nods to Kevin. Charlie waves, but Dean realizes they never met.
"Were you standing guard?" he asks when he realizes how fast Dean had come to his rescue. He doesn't think he had been screaming in his sleep to have woken him up. And if that had been the Cas he is sure Sam would be here as well.
His hand is on the doorknob when Cas speaks up, "Please stay. Keep me awake. It would be stupid for me to drown after all I just went through."
"No we can’t. The only lead we had has gone dry. Like I said, regroup and rethink." Dean has to be practical, and during the entire search for Cas he has to admit he has been anything but. "Charlie will probably have a way to hack into bus service servers or something and get the live feeds from stations or something. Maybe Crowley will give an input and tells us a spell to find people. I swear I don’t know why we haven’t killed him yet."
They are driving to Nebraska, checking another news report of strange lights and miracles. Dean hopes it's an angel willing to talk. Scratch that, he hopes it’s Cas. He tried praying, but he doesn’t even know if his prayers can reach him. He believes Cas is human, much like the other angels. He just hopes he hasn’t forgotten all about them again, that he hasn’t found a new wife, a new life.
"And how do you propose to do that? As for Cas, let him rest. We can then see what he wants to do." Secretly, Dean is happy Cas is human. He is happy he can finally distance his friend from the rest of the heavenly horde of douchebags. But he remembers 2014, he remembers the human Cas he met there and didn't like, the one that was so frustrated by having lost his grace, who was so depressed that he had thrown himself into drugs and sex. And he is not quite sure his Cas won't want to be an angel, given the chance. That he won't be as frustrated as that other one.
"Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face.
when he thinks about Sammy being upset over a dog dying. True, he never knew Bones, and he had little experience with the animals beyond his time acting as one. But that stupid dog Marley was a
“Hello, beloved,” Cas whispers into his ear, his arms tight around his waist, and the tears are coming faster than Dean can help.
Emmanuel listened, familiar with their story, without retaining any of the words. His gaze was fixed on Dean, who stirred disjointed images and emotions inside him. How was it possible, that almost a year of nothing but intense | <|output|> <|example|> his own. Sam and Dean help him down to the bunker. When they reach the reading room, Cas throws a hated look towards Crowley and nods to Kevin. Charlie waves, but Dean realizes they never met. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> Emmanuel listened, familiar with their story, without retaining any of the words <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> But that stupid dog Marley was a
“Hello, beloved,” Cas whispers into his ear, his arms tight around his waist, and the tears are coming faster than Dean can help <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face <|indexes|> 2 | |
<|text|> dreams, this single person could just ring the doorbell and change everything?
Cas smiles, small and quiet, and dips his head to press his lips to Dean’s. Slightly chapped and soft, they are the lips Dean kissed, seven years before, on what had begun as a grudging, blind date. They are the lips that have made him laugh until he cried, the lips that made him believe in love and hope and everything Dean had resigned himself against. They are the lips that, four years ago, he kissed before everyone – their families and friends and God, Himself – and they are the lips that hold him together, now, when it feels as if the ground is being pulled out from beneath him.
. This is better than he’s ever imagined, even more so when Dean’s hands snake around his back and dance across the bit of skin that exposed itself to the night air. Goosebumps creep along his arms and legs and if he thought his lungs didn’t work
Xavier shrugs out of the blue plastic chair and hugs Dean’s leg as he had Castiel’s in the checkout line. And once he’s gathered Marie and Dean’s packed bag, which he saw was waiting at the foot of the bed, Castiel leads his family out of Room 562 for the final time.
“I’ll see you around, Cas, er, Emmanuel. Don’t forget, my number’s in that phone of yours. Call if you need anything,” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and stepped around to the driver’s side of the beautiful black car without another word.
feel like he’s the one in trouble here. The door is closed and the sign at its center is some motivational kitten hanging from a tree. He makes a note to compliment the change in signs and knocks three times.
“This is stupid.” Dean checks his phone for the eighth time in three minutes, literally watching the door from the foot of the stairs as the box shuffles in place. Cas, having grown tired of arguing over whether the puppy would be okay in a tight, closed box, was busying himself with the laundry. Bending down to untie the stupid ribbon from the stupid box – he
. Now, everything is the same and everything is different. Now is Florida and birthdays and summer vacations. Now is the way Dean’s skin looks under the moon, both shimmery and tanned from their time spent outside.
turns into a sweet moan of surprise and something sparks in Castiel’s brain, spurring him to kiss deeper.
And damn if they don’t end the night there and then, choosing instead to run back to their motel, down the beach, for a night of perfection.
It is a statement. Not a question. Dean swallowed and looked up from the spot on the carpet he’d become interested in.
Cas steps back and brushes off his hands, surveying their handiwork. They haven’t done too terribly, for a guy and an angel with zero gift-wrapping experience between them. Before Dean can say so, the box emits a shrill whine, causing both men to seriously re-think their decision. And | <|output|> <|example|> dreams, this single person could just ring the doorbell and change everything? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> And damn if they don’t end the night there and then, choosing instead to run back to their motel, down the beach, for a night of perfection <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> It is a statement <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> They are the lips that have made him laugh until he cried, the lips that made him believe in love and hope and everything Dean had resigned himself against <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Bending down to untie the stupid ribbon from the stupid box – he <|indexes|> 3 | |
<|text|> really, if anything goes wrong, it can all be blamed on Sam. They wouldn’t even
“Well, if you don’t have anything,” Dean smiles and Castiel’s lungs forget how to process oxygen. “I have something
So when Daphne answered the door, and the responding voice was the low, gruff one from his dream, Emmanuel felt completely justified in the slight relief that fell over him. He quickly left the kitchen and joined his wife in the hall, standing just behind the door so as not to be in the way. When Daphne opened it wider, however, to reveal the caller, his heart dropped into his stomach.
Emmanuel watched as the man drove away, as the vehicle stole his one moment of clarity. He knew he couldn’t just go back to how things were. He couldn’t return to his life before Dean showed at their door. And he didn’t want to. The resounding ache that settled in his chest was evidence enough.
Dean warns the second he steps into the teacher’s lounge and watches his friend pour the last of the coffee into his #1 Gym Teacher mug. Sidling up beside him, he bumps his shoulder jovially. “If you don’t make another pot right now, I’ll fill your office with water filled condoms. Don’t think I won’t.”
Dean smiles as he sorts the American flag cut-outs the kids filled out before they broke for lunch, glad to see they actually put some thought into their responses. “Well, actually, he prefers to call me ‘honey bee,’” he replies, distracted as he pauses to read the page from Krissy Chambers thanking her aunt for her service. Ignoring the sad pull in his chest, Dean grabs the stapler from his desk and shoves the stack at Sam. “Here, make yourself useful. I’ll get us some chocolate milk.” Sam’s answering squawk is enough to make him laugh but, sure enough, he hears the stapler pang into the wall until he’s halfway to the cafeteria.
“Well,” Castiel slips an arm around his husband’s waist and adjusts the diaper bag on his shoulder before turning to their kids. “Let’s go home then.”
“No wor-?” Dean pushes past his brother and heads straight for the office, not bothering to wait for Sam. Whatever they need it better
Dean’s not paying attention when Sam lumbers into his classroom. No, he’s busy writing the next lesson on the whiteboard, grateful for the hour or so he has until the little monsters get inside from their lunch and recess slots. Teaching his fourth graders has its moments but really, he needs alone time as much as the next person. Which is why he’s only partially surprised to see his brother from the corner of his eye.
“Thanks?” Sam side-eyes him once he reaches the bottom of the steps and stops at the sight of the wrapped box. “That for me?”
Which is exactly what prompts Sam to dash out of the room, taking care to close the door in case any stray kids happen to wander inside, unsupervised. Cas is early. Cas is early and Sam has a job to do. Gotta find Dean.
In | <|output|> <|example|> really, if anything goes wrong, it can all be blamed on Sam. They wouldn’t even <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> ” Sam’s answering squawk is enough to make him laugh but, sure enough, he hears the stapler pang into the wall until he’s halfway to the cafeteria <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> And he didn’t want to <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> When Daphne opened it wider, however, to reveal the caller, his heart dropped into his stomach <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Don’t think I won’t <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> “Let’s go home then <|indexes|> 4 4 | |
<|text|> that moment, something changed. For the first time in months, he wanted to step away. It felt wrong, facing this man while in the arms of Daphne. He should be on the other side of this door, he knew part of who he once was lies in the presence of this green-eyed stranger. The man cleared his throat and looked at the ground before introducing himself.
Benny laughs but goes through the motions of refilling the machine anyway and Sarah teases him for forgetting,
Soon, he finds him around the side of the building, leaning against the railing of the veranda. Dean’s arms cross at his wrists, his elbows supporting his body against the concrete, and Castiel wonders how
It was actually really unfortunate. He was in the middle of relaying the strange dream he had the night before; Daphne always encouraged him to share as much as he could. Anything could be a helpful memory. The night before had been particularly vivid, with flashes of green eyes and pools of blood. He was afraid, truly frightened, for the person in the leather jacket but he didn’t understand why. The man wielded a large knife and seemed perfectly capable of defending himself. Still, the dream had left him unsettled and worried.
“Sammy! What brings you to our lowly elementary domain on this fine Thursday afternoon?” He caps the blue marker he’s been using and takes a step back to survey his work. Dean’s no artist but he sure as hell can draw a decent enough depiction of rock layers for their current science unit.
While Sam rolls on the floor, having happily sunk to his new pet’s level, Cas sidles up next to Dean, smelling of fabric sheets and soap.
The eldest Winchester grins and types back a hasty, “It’s Marley & Me…you don’t want to be here,” before Cas politely asks him to, “please put the phone down. It’s rude to text in the dark during a movie.”
“Honey?” Daphne’s voice broke through his thoughts and he realized he must have missed a question. He turned his face to the small woman seated beside him and tried his best to give her the attention she was seeking. However, he could see in her hazel eyes comprehension beginning to burn. She turned to Dean, quiet for a moment, before asking,
“In the words of my brother, why carry a mirror when in the constant presence of perfection?” Castiel quips back, gesturing widely to himself. He’s not sure what has him speaking so daringly – he’s usually far more reserved – but he suspects it has something to do with the margarita Gabriel had foisted upon him at dinner. Still, Dean laughs and Castiel would drink a thousand more margaritas if it meant hearing that sound even one more time.
Behind him, he can hear people cooing and taking pictures. Sam’s explaining something and Missouri has stepped around them in an act of privacy but Dean couldn’t care less.
Yet, all the stops were still very far from the bunker. He was close, but if he was going on foot, he might never | <|output|> <|example|> that moment, something changed. For the first time in months, he wanted to step away. It felt wrong, facing this man while in the arms of Daphne. He should be on the other side of this door, he knew part of who he once was lies in the presence of this green-eyed stranger. The man cleared his throat and looked at the ground before introducing himself. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Yet, all the stops were still very far from the bunker. He was close, but if he was going on foot, he might never <|indexes|> 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> Benny laughs but goes through the motions of refilling the machine anyway and Sarah teases him for forgetting,
Soon, he finds him around the side of the building, leaning against the railing of the veranda <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> He was close, but if he was going on foot, he might never <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Yet, all the stops were still very far from the bunker <|indexes|> 2 2 | |
<|text|> get there. Dean scanned the roads while driving, figuring Cas would at least stick to the main roads.
"Are you sure that Metatron hasn't been messing with your dreams?" Dean steps back and starts pacing, still worried, and Castiel can't blame him, not after Naomi had controlled him like she had the past year. Having his dreams controlled by someone who they are sure has not a single good intention in them, that was reason enough to be concerned.
"I… I don't remember any dreams. Not since last night." He had grown used to not remembering every single dream. He assumed it was a human thing and not Metatron's spell. Though from being woken so suddenly, he would have expected to remember something.
Castiel wakes in the middle of the night, or at least he supposes it’s night, from another nightmare. He is lost at first, not recognizing the place he is in, the quietness of the room, the warmth and comfort. Eventually the events of the previous day start coming to him. Being safe, the bunker, Dean. Dean, who is entering the room, looking worried.
"Uggggghhhhh…" is the only answer he gets as Cas flips down again, burying his face somewhere between the arm he is still clutching and Dean’s chest. Even for Cas this is a blatant disrespect for personal space, but Dean is not exactly bothered by it.
"No, I don’t know this Clark Kent." Castiel answers, smiling, although it’s true, that’s one reference he has yet to acquire. "But I get what you're saying. I was afraid, you know? That you wouldn’t recognize me without the coat."
Sorry for the long time without updates, RL is a bitch. No much further to go, so let's see if this can be finished before Christmas (no promises)
"I would appreciate it a lot if you did." It’s the first real break he gets, the first lead he manages to get his hands into.
Dean can’t believe what he is hearing. He thought Sam liked Cas. “Are you saying that you rather just forget about Cas? Is that it?”
Dean could join them, look into the books or past cases to find a solution. But with all the driving around, rounding up angels, he needs some alone time, with his thoughts, with his bed, with his things. Funny how before they had the bunker he could have, and had indeed, gone years on the road, from one motel to another, to nights slept inside the car, without any problem. But now he has a home, and he craves being able to just use his space, sleep in his bed, put on his records… In fact, he decides it’s time for a little music, to chase away the silence.
“Doctor Bromden, right. Are you working now?” Muriel seemed to be also listening in on the conversation. Dean hoped we wouldn’t get any ideas, and would just keep quiet and still.
The rest of the trip is filled with small talk, and John has a lot of stories to share to fill the hours. He gives hitchhikers a ride frequently, as it gives him | <|output|> <|example|> get there. Dean scanned the roads while driving, figuring Cas would at least stick to the main roads. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He assumed it was a human thing and not Metatron's spell <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> " Castiel answers, smiling, although it’s true, that’s one reference he has yet to acquire <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> get there <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Though from being woken so suddenly, he would have expected to remember something <|indexes|> 3 3 | |
<|text|> some company for the long drives, and adds to his long list of adventures.
He realizes he is staring, and blinks. "You know you can borrow, right? I mean, Sam’s clothes are obviously out, but between Kev’s and mine, we will find something that fits you."
And as his body no longer has a grace to keep needs at bay, Castiel soon enough also feels the need for sexual release. At first he thought that it was just the need for contact, but when he started to get erections for seemingly mundane actions he realized he had to do something about it. He knew the mechanics, of course, he had watched humanity before and he knew what he had to do. And he knew there was nothing wrong with what he was doing, so there was no coyness or shame about it, and as such Castiel wasn't quite prepared for the onslaught of pleasure. He dived right in to it, grabbing his erect penis, and tugging it, surprising himself with a loud moan. It was quick, almost clinical, but exhilarating too. The orgasm sated him like nothing had done since he became human.
"Sometimes when people go off meds it takes some time for their disease's symptoms to kick in. And if he took such a big hit with the meteor it's normal for things to be… well, off norm, even when off norm is not very normal." God, Dean wished Sam was there. He could spew medical drivel and platitudes so much better. But they bought it. They must have been really desperate to see the back of Muriel. He signed the forms, put the angel in the car, prayed he wouldn't kill him and drove off in the direction of the hospital. When he was sure we wasn't being followed, be started to make his way back to the bunker.
Dean is startled by the turn this speech has taken, so he moves his hands to Cas’s cheeks to make him look up and just stop going down that path. "Hey, hey, you are here now, you are safe. We’ll figure something out, we always do. Okay?" Cas nods at him, and Dean lets go of his face. "Let’s start with a bath, a good meal and good night’s sleep. Here, let me help you."
"Nightmare," Castiel explains, although the word is not enough to describe the horror of Metatron's torture and accusing stares of dead angels. But then again, no words or combination of would ever be. Dean sits by him, giving him time to get his breathing back to normal, and to collect his thoughts.
Which puts his interactions with the Winchesters into prospective. Neither was very religious, Dean had been outright against them at the start. Yet he had trusted Castiel. He had thought that maybe Dean had seen that he was a good angel, had good intentions, but it at been all about trusting. Trusting not to be betrayed, trusting that humanity wasn’t going to suffer from Heaven’s politics. And it had been a close call so many times.
Oregon turns up not | <|output|> <|example|> some company for the long drives, and adds to his long list of adventures. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> And he knew there was nothing wrong with what he was doing, so there was no coyness or shame about it, and as such Castiel wasn't quite prepared for the onslaught of pleasure <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He realizes he is staring, and blinks <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Which puts his interactions with the Winchesters into prospective <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Here, let me help you <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> But then again, no words or combination of would ever be <|indexes|> 4 4 | |
<|text|> being about an angel at all. It is some pagan god that heals women and in exchange impregnates them and then takes the child. Wacky, but all in all, easy to deal with. Dean wonders when dealing with gods has become an easy job.
Dean, however, is close to giving up the search. Because by now, Cas will be making his way through countryside, and there is no way they can cover that much ground. He figures Cas has at most two weeks headstart on them, but he has no idea how he is moving around. He doesn’t think he knows how to drive. Which is something Dean is intent on teaching him, if he is going to remain human.
"Sure? No, of course not. As human I lack that kind certainty. But it never felt like my memories were altered, beyond the confusion that seems to be a product of the spell," he tries to explain. It's hard though, because he is not even sure how Metatron managed to do that.
Castiel discovers that by company Dean means taking up more than half of the bed and talking about all the things they discovered in the bunker. Soon, he falls asleep leaning on Dean's shoulder.
He muses this as he observes a couple, possibly a recent relationship by the amount corny sugary phrases being used. He is waiting for Sam, looking at the news reports of meteor showers and miracles and strange amnesiac men.
Cas opens his eyes, and stares into Dean’s. "That was before. Before, I was in a vessel. It works differently."
“Or he could be on earth, human and glued to the ground like the rest of the angels. And you know he was really bad at taking care of himself as an angel. I don’t think he is going to be any better as a human.” It’s not like Dean hasn’t thought about this before, but he chooses to stick with hope and optimism for once in his life.
He tries to remember one of Dean’s numbers. He used to know them by heart, but his mind is coming up blank. Too blank. He realizes that Metatron did something else besides making him human: he made it impossible to contact the Winchesters. But for some reason the memory of the bunker is still there. So Castiel holds on to it.
Dean doesn’t know what they’ll do once they find him, but most likely just keep going. Searching for angels, a way to send them back to Heaven. Dean wonders if Cas will want to go back. He seemed willing to shut himself in with all the other angels before. Would Dean lose Cas again? He wasn’t sure he could go through that.
Which adds to the fact that Dean is starting to get tired of the pointed looks, the seemingly innocent remarks that have always a deeper meaning, and of Sam's unsubtle tries to get him to talk.
"Not that I am aware. And I think the confusion is not as strong in here as it was when I was alone. I think maybe it's dependent on | <|output|> <|example|> being about an angel at all. It is some pagan god that heals women and in exchange impregnates them and then takes the child. Wacky, but all in all, easy to deal with. Dean wonders when dealing with gods has become an easy job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He figures Cas has at most two weeks headstart on them, but he has no idea how he is moving around <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> not having a control group to ascertain the validity of my situation."
"Those are some pretty big words, Cas. I thought we had agreed that you wouldn't talk like a robot. Besides, all that you just said? What I get is that part of your confusion was just you being lonely."
“Ask who? Bobby is dead. Garth is missing. Every other hunter wants nothing to do with angels. Or us, for that matter.” At this point Dean is sure that they are the experts in angels - everyone else just has theoretical knowledge and a lot of assumptions.
Touch and conversation were not the only cravings he felt. Famine had awakened Jimmy's desire for food, and as an angel he had acquired a taste for some foods and beverages, though he did not actually need them. But now Castiel feels true hunger and thirst, and has had a hard time finding sustenance. He has no money, and no one to turn to.
Cas’s intensity soon threatens to overwhelm Dean, so he tries to slow down, stopping the kisses all together, just holding on to Cas, stroking him. He wants to take his time and to make the most of this, but he also wants to just dive in and have it all.
On the third day he gets to a very small town, and manages to buy some food. But the locals are wary of him. He supposes he looks dirty, broken, suspicious. He doesn’t blame them, and keeps going.
Dean feels a glimmer of hope. It’s just that, a glimmer. Because it’s probable that Sam’s idea won’t lead them anywhere. But the truth is they haven’t had any kind of info on Cas since they started finding angels. And although he tries not to think it, there is a small voice whispering, telling him that Cas is dead, and it seems to get louder every fricking day. So he’ll take anything, any harebrained idea that might work. Because he needs Cas. He has known it for so long, but had refused to admit it. But after purgatory he knows that his family won’t be complete without Cas. So he agrees with Sam, and calls Charlie, who manages to set up their plan with the minimal fuss. She even comes up with ideas to use online communities to get Cas photo to circle around.
“Wow, Dude!” Dean shouted, “Are you trying to plead insanity? Is that it? Calm down and think what you are going to say, at least in front of them. I’m here to… I’m here to help, okay?” His mind was going a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to do. The angel had already made quite a fuzz, but if he went to jail things were not going to end well. The cops were finally getting up and drawing weapons. “Play cool and no more wacky stuff. What’s your name?” He shot a quick text to Sam saying “Cuckoo’s Nest,” and hoped he would get it in time. Fishing for the appropriate ID card, he looked at the angel. “Name?”
He ponders doing the | <|output|> <|example|> not having a control group to ascertain the validity of my situation." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> not having a control group to ascertain the validity of my situation <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> same to Cas, starting by ruffling his hair and ending up in some kind of tickle fight. He is positive Cas never had one of those, and that's part of the entire being a human experience. He is also very certain that Cas is in no condition for any kind of rough play, so he just helps dry him off.
"Wai... What?" Dean is startled by the sudden question. Technically yes, but he is not sure what is brother is actually asking. Because, even forgetting about everything else, Cas was in no shape for the kind of sleeping Dean thinks is being implied.
"Now it’s just me. My body, my entire being perfectly contained within it. And you are neglecting it."
Castiel soon learns how to get out of wherever he is. He learns how to get some change. He learns that helping load and unload boxes at the backdoor of a restaurant can mean a free meal. If he cleans up somewhat he can hitch a ride in a truck. A smile goes a long way in getting things. Helping others will open them to help you.
At night he sleeps on the streets. He finds other homeless people, shares what food he has and they show him where to find shelter. They all talk about the meteor shower, how the sky was lit with thousands of shooting stars, how pretty it was. It pains Castiel to hear of his brothers’ fall in quite that way. It was not pretty. It would have been painful and devastating.
"It’s hard sometimes to get rides where I want to go. It seems like my… erm… luck is just not that good." Lack of luck is a good way to put a curse of an angel in layman’s terms.
"Pushy," he answers, but he helps Cas remove his shirt, so that he can continue kissing his arm. He makes his way with lips, tongue and teeth, until he reaches the shoulder. "So, what’s the verdict, neck or arm?"
His legs ache, and his feet are blistered. He has walked through the night. He didn’t want the brief company of another trucker and he didn’t want another night filled with nightmares. He asks himself where the angels are. He has yet to find any, though he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not. Maybe they all died. Maybe all that is left is Metatron, with an open path to become a new god. He did always loved stories, so maybe he would fashion a new mythos just for himself. Maybe they just don’t remember, like Anna hadn’t. Maybe they were all human now, starting new lives.
Dean looks inside the bathroom. Cas is barefoot and shirtless and making a mess. Dean smiles at him affectionately. He still can’t believe they just happened to find Cas. It was a good thing they did find him though, as he is thinner, much thinner, and covered in bruises and scars. He looks tired even after the impromptu nap in the car. How much longer could he have had walked to get to the bunker? | <|output|> <|example|> same to Cas, starting by ruffling his hair and ending up in some kind of tickle fight. He is positive Cas never had one of those, and that's part of the entire being a human experience. He is also very certain that Cas is in no condition for any kind of rough play, so he just helps dry him off. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Maybe they just don’t remember, like Anna hadn’t <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> How much more could those blistered feet have taken?
It doesn’t take long for Castiel to realize he has miscalculated his speed. He managed a good 20 miles on the first day, reaching the next small town. The next day he was able to walk 10 miles before he had to give up. Only he was in the middle of nowhere, and his water was running low.
He doesn’t realize but he must have fallen asleep sometime, because the clerk is shaking him. "Hey, oh sorry, didn’t realize you were actually asleep. I was gone like 5 minutes. You must be really tired."
"Touché.” Truth be told, they had had harder hunts besides Gabriel. But to Sam that hunt ranks the hardest, Dean figures. He couldn’t imagine seeing his brother die a hundred times, day after day.
“Muriel, hmm? When I worked there he went by William. William Dunn I think, but everyone called him Billy. I suspect he’s been off his meds for some time now. He was prone to delusions, I think, so… I can call my friend, he used to be responsible for his ward, he should know better.”
"Well, Mr. McMurphy, it appears you'll have to transport Muriel back to Osawatomie. Are you okay with that?"
"No mojo on him, from what I see. He looks tired, and sore, and probably wounded or at least bruised. And he stinks. I mean, really horse level man stink. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that. He is thinner, which means he also needs food now, and we saw him sleep. I haven't checked, but I'm positive he also poops now, so by all accounts he is human." He is not sure what more can he say to define being human. "I mean, he didn’t look this bad after a year in purgatory."
“Escaped 2 weeks ago, hmm? Delusional psychosis disorder?... Non-violent!? He’s far from non-violent, sir.” Dean looked at Muriel again, hoping he wasn’t getting angry again. He was. But it was silent rage in the form of glaring daggers at the man on the phone. Or possibly at the voice on the other end of the line.
"Yeah. Well, my friend dropped him at the bus station, and I gave him some money, so he could be closer to you."
Charlie dropped by, laptop, tablet and god knows what other gadgets in tow, and is typing away in her computer. Sam is cataloging the library, working in silence, and doing everything by hand. Every few hours Charlie steals his file cards and just adds them to whatever program or app she forced them to use, muttering about it being the 21st century.
"Yes, right. So, that’s the last you know of him?" Dean finds a map of Colorado, and starts searching for Burlington.
"I know. But we have a small cot in the office, for the night shift if we need some shuteye. You can use it, free of charge. You look beat, and if you are actually walking home, which is what it looks like, you should rest. Maybe I can find someone going your way, who can take | <|output|> <|example|> How much more could those blistered feet have taken? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He was <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> "Yeah <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Well, my friend dropped him at the bus station, and I gave him some money, so he could be closer to you <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Non-violent!? He’s far from non-violent, sir <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Every few hours Charlie steals his file cards and just adds them to whatever program or app she forced them to use, muttering about it being the 21st century <|indexes|> 4 | |
<|text|> you part of the way. Where is home?"
"Yes, please. I... Umm, I lost all my things, that's why I need to get in touch with them, they are friends, they can help me." The man, Castiel finally sees a name tag, upside down, Carl, nods and gets him the phone. As he expected the number is disconnected, at least it’s the message he gets.
Cas’s eyes are dark, full of lust, but there is still a spark of mischievousness. "I wouldn't know. I require hands on experience of that too."
In Purgatory, Benny used to joke that they were an old married couple that wasn't having sex. Dean’s response had always been a "Shut up, Benny", Cas would just keep on ignoring the vampire. But Benny had been right. They were just like a couple, they just weren't having sex. And Dean had never approached the subject of sex with Cas after that incident when they had been looking for Raphael because Cas had been so uncomfortable with the notion. Sure, he probably had had sex as Emmanuel, and he is pretty sure something had happened with Meg, but he still thought of the angel as mostly asexual. And Dean was anything but. He didn’t know how to deal with a relationship without the physical contact, without sex. The touching, the kissing, the caressing, the sucking, the fucking. Everything.
"Oh, I remember. What can I help you with? Did something else happen?" It had been an amnesiac angel, but he seemed to be able to cure people. They had had a talk with him, but gave nothing away. He had found his powers when he cured his wife of cancer, and had seemed a very good guy. No point in disturbing him.
“I don’t know, he might already have a new life. He might be happy not remembering.” At Dean’s sour face, Sam rushes to change the subject a bit. “But maybe we should be trying to do something about Metatron. I just feel like we’re treating the symptoms, you know? And the sooner we get to him, the sooner we can know what happened to Cas.”
Angel after angel, they were no closer to finding Cas or anything new about the curse. Dean is hoping the 20
Castiel remembers. He had just saved Dean, didn't really know him then, didn't really care to know. He had been the perfect little soldier, battling on, no questions asked. But Dean's dreamscape had been so unlike what he had expected. For someone that had just spent 40 years in Hell it was surprisingly peaceful and horror free. For someone that had been dealing with the supernatural from a very young age, it was surprisingly ordinary. For such a hardened man, it was surprisingly beautiful. That had been the first crack in Castiel very imperfect armor. There had been a resonance in those dreams, of a soldier that should have never been so.
The officer had a deep scowl by then, clearly not happy with the situation. Turning off the phone, he faced Dean.
"I mean, do we start to look into a | <|output|> <|example|> you part of the way. Where is home?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> But Dean's dreamscape had been so unlike what he had expected <|indexes|> 0 0 | |
<|text|> way to make him an angel again? Do we keep searching for angels? Can we finally get to hunt for Metatron?"
in the things he assumes Cas is, but he sees the fleeting thought on Sam’s face. "So, I was thinking, maybe we should be searching for him a little bit differently. I mean, the other angels haven’t heard of him, even the ones actively searching for him. So, maybe see if we can get Charlie to hack into Missing Persons’ databases and get Cas in there, with our number as contact. I would even go as further as newspapers’ ads. I mean, someone will have seen him by now. So if we can get at least a small trail to follow, we can find him."
He sighs, looks at the water and fruit in his hands as if they could hold the answers to his troubles. So close, and yet so far. He takes a bite out of the apple and makes his way to the motel. Maybe they are still staying there. Maybe they are working a case. Maybe they’ll come back.
"I mean it Cas. And look, you are not alone anymore. If there is still confusion, or numbness or bad dreams, you can come to us, you can come to me. And we'll figure it out. Together. Okay?"
There is breathing, but it's shallow. Sam is suddenly by his side helping him lift Cas and put him in the car.
"I don't know. You've been human longer than me, what does one normally do when they stay in bed all day?"
He is 30 miles outside Denver, exiting a mini-mart when he hears the unmistakable roar of a ‘67 Chevy Impala. He turns his head to find the source of the sound, just in time to see it turn from the parking lot of a motel and speed out of town. Castiel just stares into the distance, seeing the car get smaller and smaller. He supposes he could have tried running, hoping Dean would spot him in the rear-view mirror. But he doubts he could even muster the energy for a quick jog.
He looks at Sam, who is going through the bus plan again, and just shakes his head. "Time to give up, Sam. We’ll never going to find him this way. Let’s just regroup, and rethink our strategy. These towns have our missing person ads, they’ll call us when and if they see Cas."
“Sure, sure, officers. Is just that I used to work down in Osawatomie and Billy here was a patient there. You can imagine my shock when I saw him on the news. He shouldn’t be outside, at least not without his meds.”
Castiel nods at him. He is being very helpful, though he is expecting the phone number to be a dead end. He knows how Dean works. That phone number is going to be a fake one, as it is tied to a payment with a fraudulent credit card. He takes the small card with the number in it and just stares at it.
It's not because he feels ashamed of | <|output|> <|example|> way to make him an angel again? Do we keep searching for angels? Can we finally get to hunt for Metatron?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> "
He sighs, looks at the water and fruit in his hands as if they could hold the answers to his troubles <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> "I don't know <|indexes|> 1 1 | |
<|text|> those feelings, not that. Part has always been the fact that Cas is an angel. Or was. Sam had had relationships with monsters and other supernatural beings, but Dean had always tried to avoid it. Not always possible, true, if he missed the fact that who he was fucking was something other than human. And it had always been just that. Just sex, casual, one time things,
Dean gets up and lets go of his hands. "Now, what do you say about some food, and getting out of bed?"
"Okay. You know, it's okay." Sam says pointedly, making his message clear, as if Dean needs that assurance. So, the question had not been as innocent after all.
“Could be. He was curing people last time. Or could be another angel, maybe this one will know something.”
"It might be a fallen angel. News reports said a man was hit by one of the meteors and gained superpowers."
He is flustered, so he busies himself picking up the discarded clothes with the pretext of washing them or throwing them out or anything that will allow him to leave the bathroom without seeming like he is running away.
"Yes, I suppose. But not being actively messed up with. Just… side effects." That's the best way he can describe it to Dean.
Dean leaves Cas in the bathroom. He picks a t-shirt, boxer shorts and a pair of sweats. They will probably fit. The towels are next. He is gone about 3 minutes, but when he returns to the bathroom Cas doesn’t seem to have moved. He is still clutching the washcloth like a lifesaver. The water is still running from the sink tap.
as he says. But he knows it’s not as easy as that. "I have no money, or very little that I have to save it until to get me home. I can’t afford a room."
"Dean," he admonishes without opening his eyes. "You would know if I wasn’t okay. I am very much okay with this."
The bus ride is peaceful, and he manages to get some sleep. He remembers the last time he took a bus, running away from everything, with a tablet hidden inside himself. That had been a risk, a big gamble, but he would have done it all over again. This time he has nothing to his name but the clothes on his body, a map on his pocket and the change from Carl’s money.
He lies down, humming to himself. He is at center of the bed, he can sprawl all he wants, but he keeps his arms crossed on his chest. His mind wanders, and it’s not that strange that it wanders to Cas. It seems that all he thinks about these days is him. It’s the uncertainty maybe, the fact that he is actually running on hope, hope that Cas is alive, that he is well, that he remembers, that he wants to get back to them.
“And how do you propose we get into Heaven? Assuming that bastard is still there. Kevin is looking into it, but he’s not getting anywhere.”
"Just… today was the first | <|output|> <|example|> those feelings, not that. Part has always been the fact that Cas is an angel. Or was. Sam had had relationships with monsters and other supernatural beings, but Dean had always tried to avoid it. Not always possible, true, if he missed the fact that who he was fucking was something other than human. And it had always been just that. Just sex, casual, one time things, <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> "
He is flustered, so he busies himself picking up the discarded clothes with the pretext of washing them or throwing them out or anything that will allow him to leave the bathroom without seeming like he is running away <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He is at center of the bed, he can sprawl all he wants, but he keeps his arms crossed on his chest <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> He lies down, humming to himself <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> He is still clutching the washcloth like a lifesaver <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> He picks a t-shirt, boxer shorts and a pair of sweats <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> Dean leaves Cas in the bathroom <|indexes|> 5 5 | |
<|text|> time I heard you laugh. I… I was surprised. I still am, every time you do it."
But he smiles and says, "You should do that more." And Castiel thinks that he’ll try to do so. Laughing felt good. "Are you ready to go back to sleep again?"
Cas has questions about being human and Dean isn't sure he can answer them all. It's like having a four year old in his care all over again, only with far harder and stranger questions.
"Dean?" Cas is standing again, buck naked. Dean realizes he had been going commando. It is also unfortunate from Dean’s position kneeling on the floor. He gets up before he says something he might regret, and makes the decision to close the door. Can’t have Cas catch a cold, right? Or have someone get the wrong idea, from seeing him in that position without any context.
"Kind of. Look, you were pretty beaten up before, we actually thought you might be dead for a minute there, and Sam and I decided that maybe we should keep an eye, make sure everything is okay. Just for tonight. Just until we sure we don't have to rush you to a hospital."
He is plagued by nightmares. He dreams of the angels burning in the sky, falling, falling, crashing all around him, looking at him accusingly. Castiel is surrounded by angry angels but he does nothing. He deserves their anger and hatred. He destroyed heaven, allowed Metatron to play him. Why shouldn't they have their revenge? Every night Castiel dreams of torture at the hands of his brothers. Yet every morning he wakes up and tries to get a little closer to the Winchesters. Because he has to fix this. And if anyone can help it's the Winchesters.
He steps down from the bus, blinking in the sun. He is grateful it is warm, but he is fearing the cold of the night. He could find a room, he still has money. He could find a shelter too, the town is big enough to have one. But the goal is so close that he is unwilling to tarry.
"Thank you so much. We haven’t heard from him, so we were afraid something had happened. And thank you for helping him."
Dean smiles at Cas, not sure what to say next. He looks at the filled tub and Cas seems to get the message this time, and moves to get in. He needs a little help stepping in the tub, and Dean obliges. As he sits down he lets out a loud moan, and Dean physically takes a step back, not knowing what to do with such a sound without it being in a sexual context. Such a sound coming from Cas.
The clerk goes into a small office, and Castiel can hear the rustling of papers, pens falling on the floor and the occasional swear word. He sits on a small sofa near the door, content in giving a rest to his legs, stretching and massaging them. He is still getting used to the aches of the human body. Truth be | <|output|> <|example|> time I heard you laugh. I… I was surprised. I still am, every time you do it." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Just for tonight <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> The clerk goes into a small office, and Castiel can hear the rustling of papers, pens falling on the floor and the occasional swear word <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> "
But he smiles and says, "You should do that more <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> It's like having a four year old in his care all over again, only with far harder and stranger questions <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> "
Dean smiles at Cas, not sure what to say next <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> He destroyed heaven, allowed Metatron to play him <|indexes|> 5 | |
<|text|> told, he’s still getting used to the human body. It has been almost a month since Metatron took his grace, but everything is still very new, still very strange.
“And what, Sam? Give up on him? I’m not doing that. I will look for him until I get some answers, okay? I mean, dude’s resilient. I lost track of the times we thought he died, and the times he actually died.”
During the trip he tried to get information from the angel, while explaining what he knew about the fall. He was not happy to share, but tit for tat and all that, it was the only way to have Muriel open up. Also, there was a very strong resentment toward Dean, Sam and Cas, and explaining that who really was at fault was Metatron smoothed things out.
The fourth angel didn’t have any memories of being an angel, but everything else fit. Sam had finally gone with Dean to check that one. After a brief conversation with the ex-angel, they went away. They started a list of found angels, and state: barred from Heaven, amnesiac or baby. There was no clear pattern on why they showed these symptoms.
He checks Cas legs, and there are a lot of scratches and cuts and bruises on his chins and ankles. So he asks Cas to sit again while he cleans those, but it doesn’t take long. Soon the tub is filled, the air is warm, and there is nothing else for him to do there. So he stands up, turns off the water and stares at Cas trying to convey that he can get into the water. Cas stares at him, not showing any sign of understanding his look, but he does get up as well.
Finding Cas is not as easy as it had appeared to be. When they had arrived in Burlington, he wasn’t there, of course. Some asking around told them that he had indeed gotten into a bus. No one knew to where. The next step had been to go through all the stops along the way, all the way to Wichita to try to figure out where he could be.
“No, Dean. What I’m saying is just… Don’t get your hopes up, okay? If he is human, and he remembers, he will call. He knows our number. He knows where the bunker is. ”
Castiel misses the warmth of Dean's hands on his, and it's such a strange feeling, because he had not been craving that touch particularly. So he balls up his fists and sighs. "Yes to the first part, but can't I stay in bed all day. I understand it's something humans do."
“We damn well saw that he doesn’t respond well to restraints but what else are we to do. He was able to beat up 5 armed officers with his bare hands.”
"Dean…," he starts, looking at his hands. He looks perfectly comfortable being naked, and it isn't anything that Dean hasn't seen yet, although he is glad that this time there are no bees. But even if Cas is human, there are | <|output|> <|example|> told, he’s still getting used to the human body. It has been almost a month since Metatron took his grace, but everything is still very new, still very strange. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> It has been almost a month since Metatron took his grace, but everything is still very new, still very strange <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He checks Cas legs, and there are a lot of scratches and cuts and bruises on his chins and ankles <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> They started a list of found angels, and state: barred from Heaven, amnesiac or baby <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> So he asks Cas to sit again while he cleans those, but it doesn’t take long <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Soon the tub is filled, the air is warm, and there is nothing else for him to do there <|indexes|> 4 4 | |
<|text|> some things that will never change, and Dean feels that Cas is far too close, far closer than anyone would have been even fully clothed, or at least anyone other than Cas.
"Sleep, which is out because you're not tired. Mope, but you are not depressed or morose by character. Watch TV, or read, I suppose. But most times, there are two people involved, to keep each other company."
“Hello, can I speak with Patrick Bromden?” Dean heart was almost exploding with tension, improv was usually not a problem, but
“You know he could be dead, right? We have no idea what happened up there. Actually, he could still be up there.”
The bunker had become a way house for broken people. Even Dean fitted the bill, if he was honest with himself. He hadn't been whole for a long time. They just needed Cas and then they would have the full deck. Not for the first time he wondered where Cas was. He had tried to contact him, but the phone had been disconnected. He prayed. He just had to wait for Cas to call then. Or to drop on their doorstep.
"Yes... Well we think so, we found him in a crater, buck naked and covered in soot. The people in the farm took him in, gave him clothes and fed him. We did try to find out who he was, but no one answered our notices. Didn't think of checking the mental hospitals though. The problems only started today. He tried to set the Robertson's cat, that's the family that took him in, on fire. And then attacked Mrs. Robertson."
"I would say it was after we discovered that the hard pagan god hunt was actually an archangel." Sam says without looking up from his files and news clippings.
"Human…?" Sam asks doubtful. He probably has thought the same thing before and failed at reaching a satisfying answer.
"Did you sleep well?" Castiel nods at him, sitting up. "I found you a ride, friend of mine can take all the way to the state line. Should save you some days of walking. Do you have a map?"
Dean stops his thoughts right there, because it’s no use thinking like that, wishing for things. He focuses on the angel hunt instead. So far they've managed to track down 19 angels, none of them with answers.
He has a destination in mind. Lebanon, Kansas. Once he gets there he is sure he can find Sam and Dean. He can find the bunker. The problem with hitching rides is that no one seems to be heading where he needs to go. He thanks the drivers for the short trips, sometimes he walks through the night, until his feet are full of blisters and his clothes are ragged.
These new ideas give him that extra hope, and he supposes Sam sees right through him, with his knowing smile. But he doesn’t care. Because he can believe they are going to bring Cas home.
Kissing evolves into grinding, and Dean has the presence of mind to start removing clothing, first his shirt, then his jeans, followed | <|output|> <|example|> some things that will never change, and Dean feels that Cas is far too close, far closer than anyone would have been even fully clothed, or at least anyone other than Cas. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He thanks the drivers for the short trips, sometimes he walks through the night, until his feet are full of blisters and his clothes are ragged <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> These new ideas give him that extra hope, and he supposes Sam sees right through him, with his knowing smile <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> He probably has thought the same thing before and failed at reaching a satisfying answer <|indexes|> 2 2 | |
<|text|> by Cas’s sweats, until they both discard their underwear.
And he does. He starts by just pressing his lips, like Cas had done. He leaves light kisses along Cas's neck, and he knows Cas is not impressed. When he starts to get antsy, to the point he might complain, Dean lets his tongue flick the skin, just briefly, but it's enough for Cas to be surprised.
"We’ve got a lead on Cas. One week ago he was in Burlington, Colorado. I’m going there to figure out where he went next."
"I do, Dean. I let Metatron fool me. I should have known better than to trust him. It seems that every angel is rotten to the core, power hungry."
Castiel nods once and looks at his hands, which are still shaking. He knows he has to calm down but controlling physiological responses is much harder as a human. Dean holds his hands, which both helps and worsens his state. He is startled by the contact, much as he had been before when Dean treated his wounds, still not used to it after being so long all alone; but he also feels more grounded, and safer.
Sam simply raises his hands and leaves, and he is glad that he does not try to take the conversation further. He wants to solve the Metatron problem, he really does, but unlike Sam, that isn't a priority to him. Getting Sam well was, finding Cas was, and now getting Cas healthy again is the priority. Friends, family, whatever Cas is, they always come first.
He misses the Winchesters; the careless way they bumped and shoved and hugged; the unstated way that contact was always there. He misses their conversations too, the way they had entire exchanges filled with culture references that he had no clue about. How they would smile at his bewilderment, and he could smile in turn, knowing that they were not laughing at him, but with him. How he would sometimes pretend not to get it just so they could carry on. How sometimes he showed he understood just to see the look of pride on their faces.
But with Cas it would be something entirely different. His feelings would be the driving force. Not pleasure, not sex. Although he really hopes there can be some of that too. But he feels like a teenager again, uncertain of what to do, afraid to put his heart in the open. Because he thought he had made his point clear a number of times before. And he thought he had gotten an answer before, only to get it thrown back at his face. Only to have Cas leave, or die, or go mad, or get brainwashed, or amnesiac. Because what had the last four, almost five years, been but a long, painful, slow and turbulent way to say that they loved each other.
"Yes, most of the nights I get them. They are not all the same. Sometimes it's the angels, sometimes is Metatron, in a few occasions you and Sam."
"Still sore," it's what Dean gets, but since Cas has not lifted his | <|output|> <|example|> by Cas’s sweats, until they both discard their underwear. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> "
Castiel nods once and looks at his hands, which are still shaking <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Although he really hopes there can be some of that too <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> "Yes, most of the nights I get them <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Sometimes it's the angels, sometimes is Metatron, in a few occasions you and Sam <|indexes|> 3 3 | |
<|text|> head, it could have been something else too.
Castiel smiles the first heartfelt smile in a long time. He is glad there is still goodness in the world, and that people still help each other, despite there being angels on heaven or not, despite there being a god or not. "Kansas. I’m still very far. Thank you for the offer. I would like very much to have some rest."
Cas seems to figure out what he wants to say, or manages to find the courage he needs, so he looks up and starts again. "Dean, thank you. For helping me, for finding me. For healing me, I suppose."
Dean wasn't too happy to share a car with an angry and hostile angel, but he also needed real answers. And something to do. So he would have to be Jack McMurphy a bit longer. "Of course, officer, Billy shouldn't be out at all. I'm surprised he hurt other people and not himself. On the news they said he was hit by a meteor?"
"We now know they will not stop to listen and really want us dead." Sam says with pointed look and Dean has to admit that this was the first angel they couldn't talk out of murdering intent and revenge.
The tray is forgotten on the floor, and the bed covers are strewn everywhere. Cas is still wearing his makeshift pajamas, Dean discarded his boots long ago. They are holding hands. If anyone asked, they wouldn't be able to say when that had happened. Maybe Cas had tried to get Dean's attention and grabbed his hand. Maybe it was the other way around. But however it started they had yet to let go.
"Well, he is not dead. Should we still take him to a hospital?" Sam asks, looking at knocked out Cas.
"You are not sure either, stop trying to come up with excuses. Let’s go. We’ll stop along the way to get some supplies. And pie. I really need pie right now."
"Sorry, got a bit lost in memories. I don't think it's Metatron. The dreams feel real. Regular. It's just guilt."
Castiel sits down and weeps silently. He is tired and alone, and is starting to doubt that he should ever have started this journey. He could have done what Metatron had told him to do. Find a wife, live a life. Forget everything about angels and the Winchesters. Yet Metatron hadn’t taken his memories. So he clearly wanted him to remember, wanted him to despair, probably. And that thought itself is enough to make him stand up, and keep walking. Because he won’t give Metatron the pleasure of beating him.
Disturbed by the turn his thoughts had taken Dean gets up, intent on doing something that takes all his concentration. His phone starts ringing before he decides what.
"Hello. The two men that left, in the black Impala, are they coming back?" No time for beating around the bush or making small talk. The quicker he could find Sam and Dean the quicker he could rest and let his guard down.
"I think they said they were reporters, yeah. | <|output|> <|example|> head, it could have been something else too. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> "Dean, thank you <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> head, it could have been something else too <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Should we still take him to a hospital?" Sam asks, looking at knocked out Cas <|indexes|> 2 | |
<|text|> I should have their card somewhere, in case something else happens, they said. I can dig it up for you."
Dean thought. Going to a hospital where there was no record of the angel, or themselves was clearly not the plan.
Kevin is still translating the tablets, but he says he continues to find no clues as to send the angels back to heaven and deal with Metatron once and for all.
"Never, dude. Last time that you kept popping up, sure you had the coat, but that thing was filthy. Purgatory filthy. And I still knew it was you while I was driving. Clothes don’t make a person, never believe that. There was a rough period when Sam was 13 or 14 when he wanted to dress nice and rich to impress a girl. I don’t want to go through that explanation ever again."
"Yeah, fine. Just another day hunting, right? We've had worse. But damn, I wish we could have gotten some answers." He says, still getting his breath back.
Again with the half smile, but this one is clearly forced, trying to mask sadness and failing. "I’m tired, Dean. I ache all over, and I have no idea what to do. I had one goal and it was to get here, because you and Sam would surely know what to do. But Metatron messed with my head, I couldn’t remember how to contact you, I only remembered I had your numbers written down once I let go of the coat and was far away. I hitchhiked, but most times I wasn’t even going in the right direction. And the closer I got here, the more confused I got. When you found me I was losing hope, I was so ready to lie down on the road, let night come and just…"
"Well, it’s about to change. My friend can leave you here." He points at the junction, very close to the Kansas state line. "He has some business to take care there. I’m afraid he can’t take you further, but this should really help you."
The drive back is fast, they had already been circling back to where they started. Dean doesn’t realize he had still been scanning the side of the road until he sees him. For a moment he thinks he is going mad, that he is imagining things. That it is the return from purgatory all over again. But the mess sitting by the road side resembles Cas so little that it has to be real. It's surprising Dean recognizes him at all.
Once they leave the bathroom, Sam has sandwiches prepared for Cas, and takes his turn mothering him. It doesn't take long for him to eat, and soon enough they take him to his room to sleep.
"Sammy, I'm gonna check a possible hunt close by. Make sure no one destroys the bunker while I'm gone, and eat something."
"It isn't, they showed the picture on the news. Regular dude." As regular as they could be, by the footage on the TV. Mid 40s, a slight beer belly, going bald. He looked like someone | <|output|> <|example|> I should have their card somewhere, in case something else happens, they said. I can dig it up for you." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Mid 40s, a slight beer belly, going bald <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> who would do carpentry on the weekends, maybe build dollhouses for the daughters. Not maniacal angel bent on destruction. But then again Cas looked like a holy tax accountant, and he was anything but.
He spends a night looking at the stars, refusing to sleep despite knowing that the rest would be useful. But he also knows he is at his limit, even if his supplies can be stretched to two days, his energy can't. And if this is to be his last night, he wants to see the marvel that is the universe once more. He will look at the stars and the moon, and listen to the sounds of the night and make peace with himself.
Cas looks up, like a deer in the headlights, hand clutching the washcloth near his stomach. "I have nothing else to wear, and if I take these off, I don’t think I’ll want to put them on again." His voice seems lower than ever, if that is possible. It's quieter too. But his face, his face is full of expressions and Dean marvels at this. He sees the shame and guilt beneath the tiredness, but also a certain contentment and peacefulness.
". It’s punching and kicking and Sam running to get an angel blade from the trunk of the car and hoping the angel doesn’t get any smiting ideas.
did not include a Sam at half steam. The captain was listening to the answer, and there was no change in expression. So far, so good.
“A few things worth checking out close by. But check this one, miracle man in Oregon. I think it’s worth the drive.”
While he waits for Cas to get undressed he notices the open door, making his thought take another unexpected turn. Because an open door leaves room for escape, even if a closed one is not necessarily locked. And Dean wonders if he left it open for his sake or Cas’s. He also wonders if he should man up and just close it, make it just the two of them, closed off from the rest of the bunker. Private. Intimate, his brain supplies unbidden.
Castiel has no more words to properly thank this man, so he nods and smiles, and takes the money. He figures that this is why he always rebelled before, because in the midst of war, and pettiness, and greed, and violence, there is always this spark of goodness, of selflessness, of caring, of love, that all the angels on heaven could never understand. They followed orders, they loved because they were told to. They could never understand choosing to be this good.
"Okay, get your pants off, so I can check your legs." Cas does it without questioning or looking at Dean. Dean averts his eyes, not sure why. And also not sure why it’s so important to him to make sure every inch of Cas’s body is checked for wounds and splinters. He tries not to linger on that, although tiredness and the stress from the past week mean that he has very little control about where his mind drifts to.
He | <|output|> <|example|> who would do carpentry on the weekends, maybe build dollhouses for the daughters. Not maniacal angel bent on destruction. But then again Cas looked like a holy tax accountant, and he was anything but. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> They followed orders, they loved because they were told to <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> " Cas does it without questioning or looking at Dean <|indexes|> 1 1 | |
<|text|> tries to figure what time it is, but there are no clocks in Cas’s room. The noises are probably Sam, which could mean it's really early and he is going out for a run, or just early, and he is back.
With the few dollars he managed to earn in odd jobs and from charity he buys warmer, more comfortable clothes. The trench coat he trades for a pair of sneakers. Of all the clothing that he lets go, the coat is the only piece that he even thinks of keeping. Dean had kept it for him before, had placed a sentimental value on it, treasured it even. But sentimentality would not make the journey easier. Good shoes would.
"Yes, that would be him. He had a bit of trouble, found himself with nothing. I couldn’t find your card, so we tried the number you gave on the check in form, but no luck. I don’t know if he has already reached you, but since I found the card today I thought it was better to let you know anyway." That was the first lead they had. One week ago, Cas had been in Colorado. Just one state away. And they had been there. So close.
He learned that for two weeks the angel had been without any kind of mojo, and then suddenly, he was powerful again and the cat got caught in it. And then Mrs. Robertson. He had been unable to control the power. He had tried to return to Heaven then, but had found it barred to him.
The day goes on, and Dean doesn't know what the rest of the people in the bunker are doing or think Cas and him are doing. Maybe Sam took them all out for a road trip, Crowley included. Maybe they are all listening in, making bets. He wouldn't put it past Sam to do that. But he's not sure he cares either way.
He manages to get out from under Cas without upsetting him too much, and leaves him to sleep a bit more. He understands that the poor guy wants to sleep, wants to enjoy the comfort. He would, after walking that much and to be honest, he does exactly the same thing after a few weeks on the road.
“So they told me.” Sam sounds sad, like it’s his fault somehow, Cas could imagine the conversation he must have had with the OSP people and it couldn’t have been pretty. “I felt like such an asshole, not even thinking about what it would do to Dean going off his meds cold turkey. I was so sure that all he needed was to get away from Dad and everything would be fine, Dean could be a normal Omega finally. So fucking naive!”
And they did, easing up together and down the corridor, Dean clenched his fists and tried desperately to act normal.
“Shit, shit come on then!” he said, leaning over the bowl and bracing himself against the back wall in an attempt to hold on a little longer.
“They took me into a back room, it was | <|output|> <|example|> tries to figure what time it is, but there are no clocks in Cas’s room. The noises are probably Sam, which could mean it's really early and he is going out for a run, or just early, and he is back. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “So they told me.” Sam sounds sad, like it’s his fault somehow, Cas could imagine the conversation he must have had with the OSP people and it couldn’t have been pretty. “I felt like such an asshole, not even thinking about what it would do to Dean going off his meds cold turkey. I was so sure that all he needed was to get away from Dad and everything would be fine, Dean could be a normal Omega finally. So fucking naive!” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 | | <|output|> <|example|> He had a bit of trouble, found himself with nothing <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> So close <|indexes|> 1 | |
<|text|> obviously set up for it. And they gave me the drug. I don’t know whether I wanted them to hurt me or fuck me. But I got both.”
Gabriel was very proud of his tale, it had tragedy and redemption, heartbreak and grief, love and devotion, all the elements of a great drama. And well, if it wasn’t entirely true, it was true enough. Anyway, Gabriel reasoned, it served its purpose; now everyone was inordinately approving of, and sympathetic towards Dean, John and more even importantly, Caladh House. It was the perfect piece of political propaganda and Gabe made sure to capitalise on it.
Dean groaned again and shook his head, turning what little he could bodily away from Gabe and the tube. It was a pointless gesture, tied like they were, but Dean had never been one to take t his easy. He has no appetite while in Heat, constantly on the edge of nausea and pain. But they do all they can to keep it at bay.
Gabe’s been in here before, to restock the supplies and to go over the equipment with Cas in preparation. He was familiar with almost all the pieces already, having worked with Omegas for most of the last decade but knew it was helpful to revise some particulars anyway.
"Come on Deano, don't fight it this time buddy," Gabe holds Dean's head still and pushes his thumbs deep into Dean's mouth, forcing it open for the mouthpiece. Dean shakes and shifts to get away, knowing what's coming.
Dean starts his exercises, feeling the familiar pressure of fingers testing the muscles, measuring his internal strength. And for a moment he feels brave, brave enough to lift his hand and tell Gabe to stop.
Dean nods and leans over, hungry for a kiss. Cas straddles the bench in front of him, and kisses back desperately, as if to claim back ownership of Dean's body. Gabe can't imagine how difficult, how powerless it must make Cas feel to have to watch while machines do what his own body can't. He doesn't linger long in the kiss, but not fully pulling away either, instead he rests his hands on either side of Dean's chin, making him focus for a moment longer.
“That’s good sweetheart. Perfect. Now shut your eyes,” Gabe reached across the mattress for the blindfold and pulled it against Dean’s face, “that’s good. We’re going to get you all wrapped up and then you’re going to have a nice little nap.”
But he couldn’t let Dean die. Not only would that break John’s heart, but it would throw the entirety of Caladh House into a year-long period of mourning. All of their businesses would be affected and worse, it would deny Gabriel the right to run for Council Leader. He would need to wait another eight years and he couldn’t let that happen,
Having finished reading the small amount of information available on the topic he clicked through to the ‘Dynamic Spectrum’ page, curious to see if Wikipedia had been updated yet with the newest Scientific Research on the topic.
The Omega Support Program (OSP) had warned | <|output|> <|example|> obviously set up for it. And they gave me the drug. I don’t know whether I wanted them to hurt me or fuck me. But I got both.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> Gabe’s been in here before, to restock the supplies and to go over the equipment with Cas in preparation <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> And for a moment he feels brave, brave enough to lift his hand and tell Gabe to stop <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> obviously set up for it <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> He was familiar with almost all the pieces already, having worked with Omegas for most of the last decade but knew it was helpful to revise some particulars anyway <|indexes|> 3 | |
<|text|> him that Dean would need a firm hand and a lot of coaxing to get him where he needed to go. When Dean had almost died the second time, showing just how unable he was to care for himself, they had approached Castiel to take his guardianship contract. Chosen him specifically because he was both an Omega specialist physician but also because they knew him by reputation.
He also resisted the urge to set Dean up for a polysomnogram, although he has all the equipment for a proper sleep study. This is not the time and although it would serve to make him feel better, it would do nothing but disturb Dean’s sleep. So as tempting it would be, Cas resists. He’ll do it another time he decides, he’d planned to anyway, but not now.
“You should already know the answer to that. Isn’t it in his file?” his voice is hesitant, like he just want to avoid the topic altogether. Too painful Cas supposes.
Gabe can see that it’s working, but not enough. He grabs a second canister of Aphroxil and fits it into the other side of the mask. Setting the flow speed high. Then he prepped a sedative, readying it for a shot, but Cas stopped him, shaking his head.
Castiel gave it a try and was pleased to see that it already had Sam, John, Benny, and about a dozen other numbers already pre-programmed into the contact list. Well, at least that solved one problem.
John Winchester, the Head of Caladh House, paced back and forth across his office as he fumed at the person on the other end of the phone, “Gabriel, don’t you dare tell me to calm down!”
“No, I can. I like him. And Benny's still got three months training left in Paris. Honestly. I’d like to work on it.”
“I know. I know. It’s not fair,” Gabe soothed, running his hand up and down Dean’s back, “Just relax, that’s right. It’ll all be ok soon,”
Dean ignored him as he approached, too engrossed in his task to notice as Gabe slipped in behind him. He needed to be quick as the mask needed to be locked tight over his face before any of the pheromones could be released. There was a very real risk of Cas having an aggressive response to the rival scent if any of it escaped before the mask could be secured properly.
“Sorry?” the jumble of words and sounds barely contained any meaning though Cas can guess what Dean is wanting. He’ll have to ask though, it’s important that he expresses what he wants.
But there is little Castiel can offer for that, little relief from a regret that he too feels intensely, that it had happened that way. The chance for a better start for Dean, for them both, hangs hauntingly between them. But he pushes back the regret, conscious of his responsibility and the chance that they have now, and slips his hand down to encircle the cage resting between Dean’s open thighs.
He understood why many people sought membership as the benefits were substantial. All members were | <|output|> <|example|> him that Dean would need a firm hand and a lot of coaxing to get him where he needed to go. When Dean had almost died the second time, showing just how unable he was to care for himself, they had approached Castiel to take his guardianship contract. Chosen him specifically because he was both an Omega specialist physician but also because they knew him by reputation. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> He grabs a second canister of Aphroxil and fits it into the other side of the mask <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Well, at least that solved one problem <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Gabe can see that it’s working, but not enough <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> It’ll all be ok soon,”
Dean ignored him as he approached, too engrossed in his task to notice as Gabe slipped in behind him <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> He understood why many people sought membership as the benefits were substantial <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> “Sorry?” the jumble of words and sounds barely contained any meaning though Cas can guess what Dean is wanting <|indexes|> 5 | |
<|text|> provided with housing, employment, healthcare, education and many other advantages.
Gabe could feel the change immediately. Dean's muscles relaxed, his breath became less laboured and his eyes drifted closed. Some sort of miracle of human evolutionary reaction there, he marvelled. Dean stilled, calmed for the moment.
The ice pack is back and before he can say a word it’s pressed against him, eliciting a shout and a curse.
He stutters a little but manages to congratulate them both. Even engage them in a sort of stilted conversation about their plans for the ceremony. Sam and Jess patient and considerate of his clumsy but heartfelt attempt.
Castiel knows that for most people, whether a Dominant ‘guides’ or ‘takes’ is a nuance, it’s semantic, it’s splitting hairs. The problem is that for a tiny percentage of the population, like Nick (who couldn’t let anyone, but his wife take him down) and Dean (who likely experiences his headspace through fear and pain) the reality is that it’s a matter of life and death.
“Slowly, it’s one thing to design it and another thing completely to build it. But we’re getting there and Cas is being great about the long hours. I feel bad you know, getting home so late each night and working all these weekends.”
Dean was pacing back and forth at the end of the the bed, rubbing his palms up and down his hips in an obvious self soothing motion. Cas was sitting on the end of it, hands out trying to calm him but no longer touching him at all. The distance between them obviously painful.
Cas lunged forward, driving himself deep into Dean while at the same time locking his hands on either side of his head. His thumbs slipping into each side of Dean’s mouth as it fell open to gasp at the sudden forceful thrust. He recovered quickly though, bucking up and trying to shake off the hands holding his mouth open, but Gabe was too quick, holding the already open tube over his open mouth and squeezing the contents inside.
Cas can’t help but feel proud of Dean. It had taken a lot for him to be able to show physical affection, he still can’t with most people, but now, with those he trusts he lets himself indulge a little.
Cas hasn’t loosened his bonds though, instead, he’s got him on his back and was lying over him. Pinning him down with all of his weight.
Benny thinks for a moment, "I'm not entirely sure, but one thing I know for sure is that he doesn’t trust us. We keep forgetting he wasn’t raised here and he doesn’t understand our ways. Even before he got sick again, he kept asking me why we’re always so careful, so restrictive of him, he hid it, but I know it made him angry. He thinks things just keep getting worse and worse. Yesterday, he told me that everything now feels like it's the final time. Final walk outside, final sleep in a normal bed, final piss, final meal. We just keep taking things away from him." Benny sounded miserable. “I know | <|output|> <|example|> provided with housing, employment, healthcare, education and many other advantages. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> But we’re getting there and Cas is being great about the long hours <|indexes|> 0 | |
<|text|> Dean thinks we're cruel and I don't blame him. We have been cruel.”
Dean was looking gorgeous resting heavily amid the silk sheets on their bed. He wasn’t asleep, Cas could tell by the still tight muscles of his back and shoulders as he struggled to unwind from the day.
For a couple of hours he focussed on his own job, drilling patterned holes in sheet metal ready for her to weld. Stopping only a couple of times to suck on some ice from the fridge in the back. It was hot work and hard going on the shoulders. He was leaning back stretching his spine out from the hunched over position when Gabriel walked in carrying a cooler and whistling at him suggestively.
Cas dumps the contents of his arms on the bed beside them both, sorting through it quickly and organising his mind while he does it.
Cas and Dean were still curled up on the sofa when Gabe returned. Dean had leant back slightly against Cas, his arms relaxed at his sides and one of Cas’s hand rested high up on his chest, his eyes were shut and he was breathed steadily, too controlled to be anything but forced. He was obviously working his way through one of the breathing exercises Cas had taught him.
“And Dean? How was he?” Cas was almost afraid to ask, knowing the importance of creating a routine and firm guidelines in stabilizing him.
As they readied for bed that night, Dean tried again to talk him out of the feeding tube. Castiel bathed and prepared Dean with his nighttime dilation devices, another area that Dean had needed to grow to accept. They were significantly bigger than the daytime dilators Dean usually wore and took some getting used to, but like the feeding tube, Dean eventually grew to accept them as necessary. Dilation was something Dean was very familiar with from his time in the OSP centre. It just took Castiel being firm and consistent in his expectations.
“That’s it.” He praises, “Keep still.” the direction clear as a bell, even when spoken in Cas’s soothing voice.
“You’re the bravest person I have ever met,” Castiel whispered leaning their foreheads together, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Cas reappears,the device resting in his hand. It’s made of plastic and metal. Dean eyes it a little warily, it looks different now that it’s about to be put on him.
Cas’s ruts are mild, not unusually so but on the lower end of the spectrum. He actually requires physical contact to initiate it and it will abate within a few hours, far too short a time to satisfy even the barest of Dean's needs. A typical Omega’s heat will eventually sync with their Alpha's, abating once the Rut has passed but as usual Dean is the exception.
Dean cleared his throat roughly, it had been hard work out there and while he wasn’t technically thirsty, his mouth felt dry and a little rough. Castiel wordlessly retrieved a glass of ice chips for him and rubbed his back encouragingly.
He feigns sleep for a while, leaving | <|output|> <|example|> Dean thinks we're cruel and I don't blame him. We have been cruel.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|output|> <|example|> “And Dean? How was he?” Cas was almost afraid to ask, knowing the importance of creating a routine and firm guidelines in stabilizing him <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> He wasn’t asleep, Cas could tell by the still tight muscles of his back and shoulders as he struggled to unwind from the day <|indexes|> 1 | |