#imcgo

will: darling....

sonny: baby.....sweetheart.......

She had told no one of what tomorrow would bring, come the indubitable dawn that would spill into the world, honeyed bands of light slipping forth over the tops of trees, giving way to the opening of flowers, the spreading of branches.

It was simply that; but this was her father and that word was enough to make her tongue curl over her teeth, her head bowing unintentionally.

“On my birth certificate, it says I was born on April 2nd, but that is not so,” Oswin began, still hunched over. “I changed it to that; my birthday is tomorrow. No one knows this aside from you and my mother, and I kept it that way – kids would always say, in that way of theirs, that I was a joke.”

“But I’m telling you this, Will---father. I’m telling you this.”

“You ever miss how things were?” Her voice is petulant. This was not the future she’d planned for herself, even after Dean and Sam and Castiel ruined her life. But, of course, she’d had no choice: the Winchesters had to have their free will, and literally fucked over the whole world in pursuit of it.

‘Hey-- hey-- goodness, Will, love, it’s all right.’

[ he doesn’t shake when he has a nightmare, he convulses   like he’s been shocked. it’s the most horrible thing myrtle   will ever see, without a doubt. she reaches over, sitting up   and shaking his shoulder. ]

There’s a lot he doesn’t understand. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t keep him from making an attempt, because, the best things in this world are the rare and unusual, the strange and the unseen.

It was a transfer that sent the entire GCPD agog, the whispers beginning from 8 a.m to now, 11 a.m and apparently, the person this was all about was running late.

He asked but all he was told was that, “this is just really odd” and “she must be faking” and the cynicism of the city was immediate and an on-set that leaves him to believe people simply didn't believe in this woman’s “ability.”

Willow Graham. That was as much as he knew, and he pictured a woman with long limbs and hair that hung like the branches from a willow-tree.

“If she can help, what’s the big deal?” he asked aloud.

If there was one thing Jim Gordon hated, it was the way his house treated transfers like outsiders, like temporary sources of help.