What if Jax (FTM) and Pomni (MTF) were married and decided to have a family consisting of three children? What if, instead of being set in the digital circus, they lived in a real-life setting during the early 90s? What if their relationship reaches a point of turmoil, affecting the life of their youngest child forever?
Set in Midwood, Brooklyn, NYC, a Brooklyn Technical High School Student named Andre has grown disillusioned with his mentally ill father, Jax while his mother toils away at an accounting firm to keep the family afloat. Alone, distraught, and tangled within an urban jungle, Andre struggles to make sense of a world that feels increasingly distant
The sun had overcast its dreary glow upon Midwood, seeping through the blackened rim of the rustic glass panel in my window. Reluctantly, I averted my gaze towards my left, determined to keep the light from striking my face.
It had been three days since eighth grade had ended. The remembrance of the last day of middle school and the next big step had awakened within me the prospect of enthusiasm. Sooner or later, those feelings grew lax, all washed over me, returning me to a much more laid-back mood, subsisting on boredom and defiance. For the last fifteen minutes, I was lying on my bed, counting the luminescent vinyl stars Iâd secured on my bedroom ceiling, much to my motherâs chagrin.
I lazily twirl a strand of golden hair and uncurl it from my index finger, discerning a way to entertain myself. There were my Creem magazines stacked in a pile on top of my dresser, my vinyl records haphazardly thrown in a crate, and a book describing âThe Worldâs Greatest Buildings" that I still haven't had the time to browse. An involuntary sigh heaved my chest, a physical command from my body to put my brain to use. Ultimately, I fight the urge to stay stuck in bed, and I walk over to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
This was the summer before I would start high school, but not any regular high school around Bensonhurst. I remember the renowned day when I got my SHSAT score from the NYC Department of Education. My sister Maria, and my mother were bouncing off their seats in enthusiasm. Carefully, I tore the cardstock and pulled the paper inside. The letter said that I received a score of 530 and told me I got into Brooklyn Tech, Staten Island Tech, and Bronx Science. They were prouder than Iâd ever seen them beaming in that quiet, overflowing way that made the house feel warmer, as if my score had cracked open a window to a future none of us had dared to picture too clearly. Their eyes lingered on me like they were seeing not just who I was, but every version of who I could become, all of it suddenly real and reachable. After a long, meandering family debate at the kitchen table, punctuated by my motherâs practical concerns and Mariaâs dramatic opinions, ie: âIt's near Park Slope, so Andre and Bishop are gonna have a lot of funâ, we settled on Brooklyn Tech.
Before admitted students day, my mother stood behind me, fussing with my collar in the bathroom mirror, apprising me that I was becoming a man and that with my age came new and challenging opportunities. Her voice had that mix of pride and nerves she always tried to hide, the kind that made my body erect and my conduct streamlined and robust. The school, not to mention, was huge like an army base, a towering brick, caged windows glinting like it was sizing me up.
My sister Maria is staying home for the summer after her junior year at Stonybrook. It was unlike the past few summers, when she continued to stay in the affluent suburbs of Long Island. As a pre-medical student, she would begin to prepare for the MCAT. Her goal after university was to get accepted into NYU Grossman Medical School, and after she receives her MD, she wants to be a pediatrician. Often she would volunteer as an EMT in her school's hospital so she could get clinical experience. She also would research a certain polka-dotted cancer cell, I cannot remember the name of. I was just happy that she was home because my older brother Jesse was barely there, and my mother too, because she was busy at work.
My father, on the other handâŚhe was his own specific category of unkempt fur and the miasma of Marlboro's emitted from his room.
My sister Maria would be coming out shortly after buying food at Pommegranate Supermarket. I specifically required her to buy pierogis because my mother forgot to get me them last week. I head downstairs to the kitchen, a grand table with fine Italian lace wrapped around each corner. All of Mariaâs medical notes are laid out haphazardly with eraser crumbs dusting the middle of the table.
There were diagrams of the nervous system, lymphatic system, chemical models of the physical medicine, and some physics exercises laid out. Sometimes, if I couldn't sleep, I would go down to stretch and drink some water. Overlooking the dinner table, I would see her studying, reading a hardcover textbook, flipping paper pulp pages, writing dutifully (like she always did) in a beat-up composition notebook.
I pray for her sometimes cuz god knows how much stress and time she pours into her work, trying to build herself a better future, trying to make a better future for herself.
Just like that, she is back. I see the box of Pierogies laden in plastic wrap and a bag of Wethers caramel coffee candy, the same candy that used to be served to kids outside of my momâs office at Barclays.
Maria cleared her throat and adjusted her hair.
âIs Papa awake yet?â
â...I donât know,â I answered
Maria muttered something along the lines of
âFancying that morning smoke probably,â and her face scrunched up.
How are you anyway, Andre?
âIâm fine, just woke up. Thank you for the pierogis.â
âYou're welcome! Seinfeld's playing on channel four, wanna watch?â
âSure!â
I open the packet with the pierogis, lay it on a fine china plate and put it in the microwave.
On the boxy TV, I see Kramer and Jerry with the former holding a silk shirt akin to the intricately laced blouses in my closet. Even though I have an affliction torwards that type of fashion, the way he was holding it looked kind of amusing.
âThis is gonna be a new look for the 90s. Youâre gonna be the first pirate!â Kramer said
âI donât wanna be a pirate!â Jerry exclaimed.
Maria and I giggled as the whole scene was very silly.
All of a sudden I hear Jesseâs clomping loudly, slamming the patio door and entering inside of the house. Upon sight we saw that his flannel shirt has a beer stain and he is carrying a damp paper brown bag.
Maria retorts in revulsion, âAnd where the hell were you?â
Jesse smirks and straightforwadly replies with, âAh, I was at the âNew Orderâ concert at CBGBâs.â He threw the paper bag on the dining table as if he was a wind current and turned his head to us.
Donât worry though I crashed at a friend's place at Bowery.â
Maria sighed. âMother was dialing you nonstop last night and even papa was slightly concerned.â
â Well at least I go out and I live a little unlike you consumed in your books.â
Jesse flipped through Mariaâs papers sneeringly and sat down on an old wooden chair.
âAt least Iâm not the one going to community college,â Maria scoffed.
âAh, you're so funny, sis. Just so you remember, Iâll probably get a good job before you do, even with your extended years of âhigher educationâ.â
Maria was about to say something, but she pursed her lips, glowering, as soon as she had finished, averting her head. Jesse had an upright, condescending grin, characteristic of our father, and nudged the bag towards us.
âAnyways, I got yâall a little surprise!â
Inside there were 3 Katzâs sandwiches:
One corned beef reuben, with shining gleaming red meat;
pastrami with mustard, thin brown meat piled on top of each other like layers of sedimentary rock;
And turkey on rye, smaller in size, with thin blank strips of meat coating the insides.
âOoh,â I exclaimed
âYeah, take whatever you want, it's on the houseâ
Maria took the turkey on rye, Jesse took the corned beef reuben, and I took the pastrami with mustard.â
âOh, Seinfeld is on!â Jesse remarked
We continued like that for the next two hours. It was very rare in the last three years that we actually sat together at the dining table. In part, Mariaâs graduation from Bensonhurst and Jesse starting school near Manhattan Beach. As the minutes slipped by, I found myself watching the two of them more than the TV. I noticed how Mariaâs shoulders had finally relaxed and how Jesseâs usual sharpness balmed into a calmer disposition. The house didnât feel like it was holding its breath. There were no slammed doors, no raised voices, and no one storming off to their room.
It struck me how strange it was that something so simple felt almost surreal. Like we were playing a role in a film, disconnected from the current reality. Sitting there, I realized how much I missed this. How I missed the quiet of being together without having to try. I didnât say anything out loud; of course, I just let myself sink into it. For once, we werenât three people living separate lives under the same roof. I wished, selfishly, that time would slow down, just enough for me to hold onto it a little longer.
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Complacency rules Dean and Castiel's lives, not any sort of true happiness. Both are too scared to shake things up â that is, until Dean stumbles into Castiel's sleepy Appalachian town held under the iron thumb of Cas's revivalist preacher step-father.
chapter 1: in the quiet of the night
chapter tags: referenced child abuse, fantasy elements, 90s setting, implied polyamory, meeting the family
chapter warnings: child abuse, death, mild language
word count: 3347
A/N: very much a departure from borealis lol, but i love this little family so much and i hope you will too!
Another night of disrupted sleep. 2:00am shines red from the alarm clock and from across the hall Cass can hear the sounds of muffled cries, the creak of aged bedsprings. Another nightmare, or exhaustion from the insomnia. Her heart aches as she lies in silenceâ her previous attempts to go in and offer comfort had not been accepted well. Heâs a teenager after all, a mess of hormones and confusion, and she is little more than a stranger to him.Â
When heâs not making himself small and haunting the house with his barely traceable presence, he dons a mask of blank indifference. When she brings up the nightmares in the morning he liesâ blames the sounds she hears on the wind, or her own imagination. They had decided against therapy at first, wanting to see if Keiren could bounce back with their help. Or, thatâs what they tell the doctors and social services.
 In reality, they simply cannot afford that kind of expense; taking in her estranged brotherâs newly orphaned thirteen year old hadnât been in the budget as it is, and theyâd only just closed on the cafe a couple months ago. Keirenâd seemed fineâ distant, grieving, prone to random flares⌠But fine. Or so showed the act he put on for them, which fell away each night. The sun set and the caricature of a moody, disinterested teenager dissolved to reveal a child who couldnât sleep more than a couple hours at a time, and cried out for comfort he didnât believe he deserved.
Now, Cass makes plans to use the local libraryâs computer to look for some sort of support group in their new neighborhood for the kid. The circles under his dark eyes border on black these days, and heâs having trouble staying awake throughout the day, if his tutor is to be believed. If something doesnât change soon, heâs going to end up in the hospital, the last thing he needed.Â
Another cry, this one much louder, quickly followed by a thud! Has her jumping out of bed and tiptoeing across the hall, pushing open her new housemateâs bedroom door. The bed is empty of both teenager and bedding, and when she looks down to find the aforementioned teen tangled within the blankets on the floor, she heaves a sigh. Orange light like that of a dying fire glows within the thin quilt, but thereâs no heat. Moving slowly, because she hasnât been sensed yet by the normally vigilant boy, Cass takes one edge of the blanket, pulling it away to reveal a flushed, teary face and a senseless fluff of dark curls.Â
His eyes are still clenched shut, but he stiffens when she brushes against him, flaring to feverish temps and pulling away to sit more fully against the side of the bed. Her heart constricts in response, because thisâ this is the most unexpected part of taking in her nephew.Â
They had foreseen the nightmares, the moodiness, the grief, the shaky grasp of control he held over his still developing abilities.Â
They hadnât foreseen the flinching, the fear of raised voices, the rejection of physical contact. Her brother hadnât been a kind man or a good man when she knew him, and apparently he hadnât changed that for his child. The bruises the doctors found hadnât been caused by the fire, and they hadnât been the result of rough treatment by the rescue team, but remnants of the loveless man laying in the morgue.Â
Retracting her hands, Cass sits across from him and lets him wake fully. Red rimmed eyes blink open and meet her soft gaze fleetingly, before falling to examine the faded bedspread covering his lap.Â
The orange glow fades; slow, almost tentative.
âS-sorryâŚâ he croaks, a word sheâs heard more in the last 3 weeks than she has in her entire life, sheâs sure. He apologizes for everythingâ a knee jerk reaction the moment he seems to think heâs upset her. âI just fell but Iâm fine, you can go back to bed.â That had been his explanation for the bruises, too. With that, he tries to stand, attempting to unwind the bedspread with minimal success and nearly tumbling to the ground a second time.
âOh, babyâŚâ She canât help but murmur, climbing to her feet so she can help him free his tangled limbs, laying the blanket back on the bed.Â
Standing face to face in the smallish room, with none of the distance they usually maintain during the day, she looks over the boy sheâs taken inâ all gangly limbs and awkward posture. Thirteen years old and heâs taller than her already, and yet again she is struck by the fact that she has missed her nephewâs entire childhood. A month ago she hadnât even been aware of his existence.Â
âYou know the doctor said nightmares were normal, and we have those pills for the insomnia. You donât have to hide these things from me.â But heâs already shaking his head, panic blooming in his eyes. âNo please, I donât want the pills, I canât control it when I'm taking them.âÂ
And there was the elephant in the room. Not her nephewâs abilities, but his belief that his abilities had killed his parents. He refused to even acknowledge them point blank, and sheâd only seen him really use his powers once; at the hospital when heâd been informed of his parentsâ deaths. The flames had burned intensely but hadnât struck out once; instead swirling together to form a cocoon around him. No one had been able to get through them and theyâd had to resort to calling in a hydra working in the cafeteria to douse the flames so they could sedate him.Â
Now, Keiren avoids heat like the plague; windows flung open despite the still chilly spring temps, electric fan going full speed. All he had salvaged from his old house was armfuls of eclectic sweaters, and yet he lived in the plain tank tops and t-shirts the temporary foster family provided him. He doesnât even seem to like being in the kitchen when the stove is on.Â
He cautiously climbs back into bed when she gestures for him to do so, going along without complaint when she drapes the blanket back over himâ he could do it himself of course, and heâll likely kick it off as soon as she leaves, but heâs just so heartbreaking with his shaking hands and nervous glances, and if heâs not going to sleep Cass at least wants him comfortable.
âAre you sure? We have a long day tomorrow, if you donât get at least a little sleepâŚâ She hesitates to give inâ sheâs a mother now, shouldnât she put her foot down here? He truly does need the sleepâ meeting the others is going to be rough enough for him without the added stress of a sleepless night. Her own parents would never have entertained giving her a choice to take medication or not, but her parents hadnât been in a situation like this.Â
âIâll sleep, I promise; you donât have to worry about me. I wonât ruin tomorrow for you.â He says it so earnestly, and paired with such big wet eyes that any thought of standing her ground vanishes. Heâs had enough of people poking and prodding at him to do as they bid and she wouldnât become one of them.Â
She canât let that last comment go though, and her hand makes an aborted motion to run through his hair before she reconsiders and settles it instead on her hip.Â
âYou could never ruin anything, baby.â she exhales, nodding. âYou promise youâll sleep? No books, no music?â More than once she had noticed him curled up with a flashlight and a novel, headphones firmly in place and blasting whatever the kids were listening to these days deep into the night. Keiren shakes his head again, and the exhaustion in his eyes makes her believe that he will at least try.Â
âOkay then. Sleep tight.â she offers as heâs rolling over to face the wall; a dismissal. She studies his tense form a moment longer, rubbing absently at her chilled arms before leaving.Â
Itâs the best a night like this has gone, Cass muses as she climbs back into bed. Heâs the most talkative at night, when the need for sleep has lowered his walls some, but heâs still nearly nonverbal. The conversation tonight is the most heâs said in one sitting since being discharged from the hospital. She lies still, waiting for a sign that the teenager is being assuaged by nightmares once again.Â
The night stays still and silent.Â
Hoping it is a sign of better things to come, she turns out the light and succumbs to sleep.
They arrive at the house first; the moversâ trucks pull away just as they crunch over the gravel driveway.Â
Keiren silently refuses her offer to help take his few belongings out of the car and hefts the battered book bag over his shoulder before dragging the garbage bag that contains his clothes out of the passenger side door to land by his feet. Cass grabs her own bag of last minute essentials and heads for the front door left partially ajar, hissing when her elbow catches on the knob. She sets her bag on the white kitchen counter before taking in her surroundings.
 The house is⌠bright. Late morning sunlight pours through windows accented with cheery yellow curtains, illuminating the tiny dust particles in the airâ no doubt kicked up by the movers unloading. Outside the window a flock of sprites flitter around, chasing a squirrel. Towers of meticulously labeled boxes fill each room, with newly assembled furniture standing out like islands in the sea. Itâs overwhelming and exhilarating.Â
Rubbing her hands on her jeans, Cass walks back to the front door, where Keiren stands. He looks painfully out of place; trash bag slumped by his feet, oversized t-shirt pulled off one shoulder from the weight of his bookbag, gaze focused on the yellowed smoke detector above the door. She makes a note to have them all checked and replace any faulty ones.Â
Sheâs about to show him to his room when another car crunches over the gravel; Peter.Â
Keirenâs reaction is expected, given the little she knows of himâ he freezes, panicked, eyes finding hers before he looks away, and then he just⌠vanishes. His shoulders pull inward, he steps away and turns so his back is to the wall, and drops his gaze to the ground. His hands clutch tightly at the strap of his bag, and the temperature of the room raises a bit.Â
Sheâs torn between telling him to go upstairs in order to give him a reprieve and just getting the initial first meeting out of the way, when heavy footsteps take the choice from her and the door flies open.Â
A large hand grappling for the handle stops it from making contact with the wall, and an equally large man passes through.
âShit, sorry! What kind of hinges did they put on this thing?â She canât help but roll her eyes.Â
âYouâre late.â Cass scolds, hands on hips.Â
âAh, come on babe! Not that late, and I hardly think the kid cares that much about punctuality. What teenager does?â he mutters good naturedly as he toes off his boots and drops them by the door. She clears her throat, gaining his attention and nodding towards Keiren.Â
âOh. OH! Fuck, sorry kid, I didnât even see you there. Kieren, right?â He steps forward to shake his hand, apparently deciding not to heed any of the warnings she had given him beforehand. To his credit, he doesnât just grab the kidâs hand like he usually would, instead leaves it extended for the teenager to either take or reject.Â
Sheâs prepared to intervene before any feelings can be hurt (heâs a sensitive sort of man, no matter the trucker hat and stature) but to her pleased surprise, a smaller hand slowly reaches out and takes his, shaking it once before making a hasty retreat to twist and worry the hem of his shirt.Â
Keiren doesnât speak, not that she had expected him to, but he does nod, eyes flicking up to meet Peterâs for a split second before edging carefully away and to the doorway, making his escape. Peter turns towards her with a confused yet proud expression, pointing up the stairs.
âDid you see that? I think he likes me!â And this is why, despite his gruff personality and rough appearance, he was the one she wanted Keiren to meet first. âKid was shaking like a leaf though, hope I didnât startle âim too bad.âÂ
âThatâs the warmest greeting anyoneâs gotten out of him yet,â She admits, reaching up to tug the brim of his âentirely ironicâ Madonna ballcap affectionately. âCome on, letâs go see if we can get the coffee machine unpacked. Iâm not touching these boxes without caffeine.âÂ
They do finally find the coffee machine, but the mugs are nowhere to be found. They sit on the back porch, sipping out of a ceramic measuring cup and a short vase, respectively. Keiren doesnât make another appearance but she can hear him in his room, his music âsomething guitar heavy and angryâ filtering through the screen of his open window. Heâs avoiding them, Cass knows. One backpack and a few clothes simply did not take an hour to unpack.Â
But the clock is creeping towards noon, and they havenât eaten. Heâs slight enough as it isâ teetering just on the edge of malnutrition, according to the doctor, and he canât afford to be missing meals. Finishing her last swig of black coffee (and making a note to add creamer to the shopping list), Cass stands and nudges the screen door open enough to slip through, pausing to give Peterâs shoulder a squeeze, snorting when he canât be bothered to pull his nose from his book.
Cooking meals Keiren would eat was another one of those unexpected challenges.Â
Sheâd cooked a huge meal to celebrate the adoption going throughâ roast chicken, green beans, baked potatoes, rolls. Admittedly, a meal more suited to her partners, but a good meal nonetheless. The teen had balked at the sight of the food laden table though, sitting stiffly the entire time and fiddling with a roll, nervously picking it to shreds. Sheâd heard him later that night in the kitchen, digging through the cupboard like a little mouse and scarfing down handfuls of cornflakes.Â
He held such an aversion towards casserole that heâd not even come down to eat, the one time sheâd tried. He didnât like chicken or beef. Sheâd ended up creating a mental list of the teenagerâs âsafe foodsâ: soup but not stew, plain turkey sandwiches with mustard, not mayo and never miracle whip, any and every kind of dry cereal⌠and little else. Even typical teen fare held no appeal. Pizza had gotten a few disinterested nibbles, and fast food had gotten a deluge of rejections and apologies before sheâd even pulled into the drive-thru.Â
The pantry was still empty, but luckily she found the nonperishable food box, and dug out a couple cans of chili and a bag of corn chips for herself and Peter, and a can of vegetable soup for Keiren. She quickly gets the two meals heating up on the stove, fully immersed in the task of lunch.Â
So fully immersed that she doesnât notice a second person in the kitchen until she turns to grab bowls and sees Keiren standing by the sink, filling a glass with water. Heâs changed his clothes, succumbing to the chilly temperatures and donning a faded sweater with an uncharacteristic image of a smiling sun plastered across the front. She notes his bare feet curled a little against the cold hardwood, and adds socks to that ever growing list.Â
âLunch is going to be ready in a couple minutes, sweetheart. I hope soup is okay? Itâs veggie.â A short nod, and a flash of relief that confirms her instinct that chili would be a no-go with him. He turns, presumably to go back upstairs, but seems to hesitate before turning back around.Â
âNeed help?â he asks so quickly that it takes a second for it to register. She nods belatedly, eyes wide and trying to stifle a smile, lest her excitement scare him off.
âYeah. Yeah! Here, you can set the table. Bowls are above the sink, silverware is⌠to the right âno, the leftâ of the fridge. And can you also grab a soda from the fridge for Peter?â She almost asks him to grab a beer on instinct, but heâll have to make do with pop until Keiren is settled.Â
He sets his water on the counter and goes about setting the table while she turns off the stove and gives the counter a cursory wipedown, tossing the empty cans as she does. Itâs ridiculously mundane; they donât even talk, and it's awkward maneuvering the new kitchen while also avoiding getting in each otherâs wayâ and yet itâs the happiest sheâd felt in months.Â
Between the funeral arrangements, the doctorsâ visits, the nightmares, the social services appointments, the moving⌠Itâd been impossible to find a second to breathe, and happiness has taken a backseat to surviving.Â
She hadnât even set foot in the cafe since theyâd closed; her partners had taken care of all of that down to hiring the staff and preparing for opening day. Hopefully by then Keiren would be settled enough to want to go with them. He hadnât mentioned missing any friends, and he didnât look particularly bothered to have spent so much of these months either alone or with adults, but a little social interaction would be good for him. Their neighbors had a daughter who looked around his ageâ her partners said to leave it alone, but she thought they would get along well. A housewarming party, just a casual backyard barbeque kind of thing, maybeâŚÂ
A soft throat clear brings her out of her musing, and she takes in Keirenâs work. Heâs sat her and Peter together at one end of the picnic style table and placed himself a fair distance away, just close enough to not look blatantly avoidant.Â
âYou did great, Keiren,â She decides to test this new bravery of his. âCan you go and let Peter know that itâs time to eat? I just have to dish this all up,â she adds, turning a little to indicate the food.Â
He nods slowly but not hesitantly, from what she can tell, and slips away, silently as he came.Â
She doesnât try to eavesdrop, because that would be silly. She just stands by the already open window, diligently drying a tiny wet spot on the counter. If she leans herself out the window a little to really take in the scenery and happens to also give herself a passable view of the porch, thatâs no oneâs business but her own.Â
Keiren doesnât get the jump on Peter like he had Cass; the creaky screen door prevents it. Peter looks up from his book, turning in his rocker to see the teenager, who seems to stiffen a little bit, but again, doesnât flee like sheâs seen him do with other men.Â
Keiren talks with his hands, just like his father.Â
She can't make out their words from this distance, but even so, she can tell theyâre not just talking about lunch. Peter holds up his book, apparently in answer to a question Keiren must have asked. The teen smiles. Cass nearly tumbles out the window in shock, barely righting herself and finishing filling their bowls just as the two walk in, joining her at the table. Lunch is a silent affair but for the clanking of spoons and the fizz of Peterâs soda can.Â
Keiren eats the entire bowl of vegetable soup.
Outside the sprites flutter and a distant dog barks.
Complacency rules Dean and Castielâs lives, not any sort of true happiness. Both are too scared to shake things upâthat is, until Dean stumbles into Castielâs sleepy Appalachian town held under the iron thumb of Casâs revivalist preacher step-father.
A bit of a love letter to where I grew up in Southern Appalachia, an area I think was underserved in the show and still is in fic.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
âSo. Youâre a fan of⌠pie?â
Castiel normally feels out-of-his-element (in fact, has yet to find what his element is), but Dean throws him off in a completely different way than normal, and he cringes internally at his own terrible conversation starter.
Dean laughs like heâs happy to be in on whatever joke Castiel might make. âBig fan, yup. Always have been, ever since my first taste of my momâs homemade apple pie. One bite and I was a goner. True love, you might say.â He winks.
For a handful of seconds, Castiel just stares at Dean while the other man continues to smile. All the people heâs been around, his whole life, they always seem to have a mask on, their true feelings hidden behind 50 layers of Southern manners and self-serving interests, and Castiel has always had trouble deciphering the truth behind anyoneâs words (save, perhaps, Gabriel, but Gabriel was almost too forward). Dean, however, is so⌠open. Castiel finds he canât look away from the play of emotions that are constantly moving across his face, present in every quirk of his lips and blink of his lashes, because for once he feels like maybe he doesnât need to unpeel all those layers of social convention that heâs never quite gotten the hang of and that everyone else seems to know innately.
He realizes he might be staring too much when Dean clears his throat and looks down, fiddling with some sugar packets left in the middle of the small table. Castiel watches his fingers move around the sugar packets instead. âI, uh, wanted to come by and let you know I got a room at Rufusâs,â Dean says. âThough everyone seems to know that already.â
Castiel snaps free of his thoughts and clears his throat as well. âYes. Good! Iâm glad to hear youâll be staying. Thereâs more to Shades Cove than meets the eye. It certainly warrants a closer inspection.â Heâs not entirely sure why he says thatâdoes a small town with an overhyped nature trail to an uninspiring waterfall and only one bar really call for a second look?âbut he knows, for now, that he wants Dean to stay.
Dean looks up from his organization of the sugar packets. âIâm starting to see that,â he answers.
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part one summary: tentative summary: In a world where magic is as real and mundane as taxes and laundry, Cassandra, her werewolf husband Peter, and their witch partner James have finally figured things out. They've bought a house, they've finished renovations on a charming little cafe in the heart of idyllic Evermorre, and they're even talking about looking into adoption. One freak incident throws a wrench into things, however; Cass's estranged brother and his wife die in a tragic accident leaving behind their 13-year-old son. The regular pitfalls of parenthood are magnified when paired with polyamorous new parents, evolving powers, and the well-meaning but misguided neighbors of Evermorre.
tags: queer (f/m/m, m/m), suburban fantasy, family, dual pov, 90s setting, adoption, period typical ideologies, coming of age, found family, platonic soulmates, taylor swift inspired, conan gray inspired, overprotective parents, c-ptsd, hurt/comfort, angst, wip, also i stole joyce and hopper from stranger things because they don't deserve them
content warnings: death, child abuse (implied, referenced, and explicit via flashbacks), period typical mentalities, mental health issues and discussion, sex scenes fade to black in main chapters and post separately as one shots
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