the sun will rise and we will try again;

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not doing any fic recs currently! go ahead and check out my rec tag or bookmarks until and unless I finally refine my reading habits 📚💕

no, An Hour of Wolves is still not abandoned (update Sep 2023 - this is still true!) ✌️

is there room for one more son | kid!dean & bobby pre-series

“We really shouldn’t be here.”

Next to him, Bobby sighed, his knee jiggling up and down. “Christ, Dean. I told you, we’re not goin’ home, now shut it.”

“But Sammy – ”

“Sam’s fine, Caleb won’t let anything happen to him.”

That was true.

Dean still didn’t like it.

A nurse sped by, rushing to help an elderly woman who was coughing up a lung in the corner. Her lips were blue, eyes wide with alarm, and Dean looked away quickly. He glanced down at his own thigh instead and readjusted his achy fingers to apply more pressure. A few drops of blood squeezed out onto the floor. Dean winced; he supposed there must be blood all over the place here every day, but he still felt bad about the mess. He poked half-heartedly at it with the toe of his boot, trying to smear it into something less noticeable.

Dean looked up at Bobby out of the corner of his eye. He’d probably just tell Dean to shut up again, but Dad was really, really gonna be pissed.

“Dad says we’re not supposed to go to the hospital for gunshot wounds,” he mutters so only Bobby can hear. “They ask too many questions.”

Bobby fixed his eyes on him, jaw tightening, and Dean shrank back. “Yeah, well, your dad says a lot of things,” he said shortly.

a chest filled with diamonds and gold | post-s02e03 ed/stede

Ed keeps expecting Stede to show up at his door.

Even if Stede can’t bear to look at him, Ed thought there would at least be a fight - a discussion - about Ed commandeering the captain’s quarters for himself again.

Ed keeps waiting for the knock to come.

It doesn’t.

He considers storming out onto the deck and slapping that wide-eyed-injured-lamb look off Stede’s face, or kissing him so thoroughly he can’t breathe, or possibly shoving him overboard for the sharks.

He doesn’t.

Ed checks for the fifth time that the door is actually locked and stalks back to the window. Stalks back to the door. The window. The door…

This isn’t Ed’s fault. He had wanted to get away from all this. He had tried choosing his own happiness for once, he had planned them a way out, he had tried –

This isn’t his fault.

(He must have done something wrong. He always does.)

(What had he done wrong?)

Ed very much on purpose does not look at the gun on his desk, the pile of knives next to the destroyed sofa…

He had already chosen to come back (to come back to Stede, but Stede doesn’t want you, does he?) and he’d be a coward not to stay.

(He doesn’t want you. Why would he?)

Ed doesn’t think he much minds being a coward anymore.

-------

“Ed - Ed - come on, Edward, open your eyes for me, darling – ”

The voice is panicked. There’s fire burning up the length of his arms and a pounding in his head and a hand slapping his face insistently.

Someone is holding him.

Ed wrenches his eyes open, and Stede’s bleary, gorgeous, stupid face swims into view. That face crumples as Ed blinks the haze from his eyes, and he’s pulled closer against Stede’s chest.

“There you are, you idiot, idiot man!”

Stede nuzzles his nose into the hair at Ed’s temple and keeps muttering nonsense.

The burning in Ed’s arm flares excruciatingly. He jerks away.

“Hold still,” says another voice, frustrated and harried, and that’s when Ed realizes Frenchie is sewing up his arms with needle and thread and splashes of rum.

Ed flails and tries to scramble away, out of Stede’s arms, away from the stitching, away from all of it –

But Stede holds fast.

“Ed – Ed, stop – he’s almost done – ”

“No,” Ed snarls, kicking blindly and knocking over the bottle of rum. Past the throbbing in his ears he hears Frenchie mutter, “Well that was rude, that’s good stuff…”

“Ed, don’t,” Stede whimpers, and there are tears dripping down his chin.

Ed despises himself for letting that stab his heart straight through.

“I hate you,” he whispers. He doesn’t really know who he means it for.

“I know,” says Stede. “I’m sorry, Ed, I’m sorry, I should have been there.”

Ed growls. “Go away, Stede Bonnet,” he tells him. Or thinks he tells him anyway, it’s hard to know if his mouth is working properly.

“No,” Stede says. His chin wobbles, but then he sets his jaw and wipes his cheeks. “I’m staying this time.”

You shouldn’t, Ed thinks. And neither should I.

He closes his eyes again and holds onto Stede’s hand so tightly it makes his bones ache.