What I Take With Me

What I Take With Me by captainawesomeellie
Rating: T
Word Count: 56,300
Summary: In his head Dean understands that no one is actually leaving him, but as they pack boxes and tear down beds it sure feels that way. Sam is moving in with his fiance Jess, his best friends Cas and Benny deployed to Afghanistan, and Dean is going to live on his own for the next eight months until Cas gets back and they resume their roles as roommates.
Just before they finish loading the moving truck Dean finds a long-forgotten box under Cas’s bed crammed full of handwritten letters. Most of them are from Cas’s sister Anna, but some are labeled for Dean. He can only resist reading for so long, and once he starts he can’t stop. Each letter reveals more of Cas’s perspective on their relationship over the four years they’ve known each other, and with each one Dean finds himself changing too.

Transition from best friends to lovers is never easy. There’s always a lot to lose if the signs were read wrongly and there’s no going back to status quo no matter how mature the friend promises to be. Try to take the friendship to the next level with only help from old letters, erratic emails, a single Skype session and a lone phone call? No wonder Dean gets overwhelmed and confused and the fic is thoroughly seeped in his angst and self doubt. Add to the mix one manipulative bastard John and watch Dean spiral down into self despair and selective muteness. I really enjoyed Dean’s slow realization about his feelings towards Cas through the old letters and all the touching communication with Cas in the present day. There’s also plenty of understanding and support from Sam and Dean’s friends. But nothing is easy when you’re a Dean Winchester in love and think that you don’t deserve it. 

The Rebel and the Rose. Chapter 2.

Chapter 1


Happy Friday everyone, I hope you enjoy the next segment. As always thank you MAJORLY to @lenny9987 for all the help getting this fic to where it is now. Mwah.


Part 1: Chapter 2.

A knock at the door pulled her from her slumber, the sound rattling through the small apartment. 

“Ma'am…madam! Open up please!” She could tell they were soldiers from their intonation. Her heart picked up in pace, throbbing almost painfully. What had she done? She’d let those men into her home! Foolish, that’s what she was, and now she’d pay the price. They’d certainly be found, and she’d be arrested for harbouring fugitives! How was she going to explain this to Uncle Lamb? 

Scrambling up from the floor, she attempted to calm her riotous hair before stumbling to the door. If she just kept calm she’d be fine, she told herself.

As she pulled back the heavy door, a group of half a dozen red coat soldiers barged their way in and started pulling apart her rooms. She stood back, her eyes wide with fear.

“We have reason to believe two rebels passed this way last night, did you happen to notice anything strange; or see anyone out of the ordinary?” The tallest of the group, probably their captain, spat at her. The way he looked her up and down made her shudder. She shook her head.

“N-no, I just live here by myself, the storm was loud last night, I heard nothing but the wind.” She hadn’t wanted to say anything at all. The best idea, she’d thought, was to just stay silent, that way she wouldn’t be implicated if she hadn’t implicitly lied. But now she’d voiced that she knew she couldn’t go back. Something in her heart told her the Scots weren’t dangerous. In fact they’d been less obtrusive than the British soldiers who were supposed to protect her. As if to prove her point, the redcoat next to the assumed captain grabbed her roughly by the top of the arms, his fingers seemed to dig deep into her flesh as he pulled her close.

“You’d be wise to be honest with us mistress! Now, have you any information on the whereabouts of the missing highlanders?” His tone was brusque, demanding and not as polite as his words suggested. She gasped in pain as he shook her a little, her eyes watered but she tried not to loose it completely.

“There’s no need for brutality! I said I heard nothing!” She seethed as she attempted to yank her arms out of his vice-like grip. “You’ve been through my whole apartment, there is no-one else here, and nobody else has been here. Now; leave!”

The troop, now mostly complete with their search, stopped almost immediately, shocked by her anger.

“You would be wise to watch your tongue, mistress.” The elder soldier announced, his eyes shone with hatred as he marched up to Claire.

“We are the British army; you are a loyal citizen! We have the right to come here and search your property if necessary, and we have due cause! There are two men out on our streets selling propaganda to our citizens! Do you understand the severity of their crimes, mistress? It is treasonous! They wish to unseat our King. So, you will comply with this regiment in any way you can; do you understand?”

She finally pulled her arms away, rubbing the place where the soldiers’ hands had been, lightly, with her own.

“Yes; I understand, but my answer remains the same! I know nothing.” With that she walked to the high backed chair in the corner of the lounge, picked it off the floor where the soldiers had overturned it, and sat down with a thud.

Her eyes were hard as she stared the redcoats down. The captain, taking that as his dismissal, assembled his men and pointed them all towards the door.

“You would be wise to be cautious, mistress, when it comes to your attitude on these matters. This isn’t over.” His words left no room for argument, she’d have to be careful getting the men out of the basement. As if he could hear her thoughts he turned, eyed her up and down and tipped his hat. In threat, not in a gentlemanly gesture.

The door slammed with finality. She let out a long breath, and sunk down into the chair. Not only had she openly lied to the army, she had also antagonised them. Claire closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. How had she managed to get herself into this situation?


Here’s the flip note I made about Floweredtane. OvOb


“Why do you care, Porthos?” She wonders, removing her gloves despite the air being cold enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Where we’re from, you and me,” he answers. “It’s not as easy as right and wrong, is it? You’re marked no matter what you’ve done because of where you’re from, as a thief or a murderer…”

“Or a prostitute, or a beggar, or a prospective duchess with a salacious past…”

(what should’ve been, but wasn’t : two people who had it hard taking it easy on each other) .