he's feeling hope spreading through his system

riahchan  asked:

Jon x Sansa - 20) running away together

So this might not be what you were thinking and I had a hard time figuring out how to end it. Buuuut I hope you like it!! <3 

Thanks for the prompt! 

Run With Me

They’re not exactly running away together but they are running away at the same time. It’s semantics, really, and a hell of a coincidence considering they’re hardly even friends. Except somehow they’re on the same train heading to London and Sansa feels it’d be weirder to not sit with him when they’ve already made eye contact. She settles down into the seat beside him and drops her duffel bag on the ground at their feet.

At first, neither of them speak; neither of them even look at each other but there’s a current of awareness where their shoulders don’t quite touch. It’s the problem with Jon Snow and one she’s had since she was thirteen and starting to really notice boys in a more sexual manner. It’s hard not to. The simple truth is he’s hot. Even when she was thirteen and he was fifteen, he was hot. Scrawny, a little awkward but with unruly curls and beautiful full lips. His quiet broody manner only made him that much more attractive to people, and although Sansa never particularly liked him, she couldn’t help noticing either.

Older now at twenty-one, Jon is broad and solid and warm. His eyes have softened over the years. There’s less brooding but more contemplative silences, which Sansa thinks is actually worse. It makes him look mature and confident. Sansa’s a sucker for confident men.

But it all begs the question of why he’s on this train with her. She has to ask. She’s observant, knowing better than most when to speak and when to keep silent, but Jon is Jon and they’ve always had a mutually antagonising relationship.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not following you,” is what he answers instead, so she snorts. He must take this as disbelief because he turns a little to glance at her. “I’m not.”

“I know you’re not. Just answer the question, Jon.”

He opens his mouth quickly as if to complain but then decides better, thankfully. “Robb is thinking of following this girl he just met to Peru after we graduate. I said it was a bad idea and he’s a moron and he told me to fuck off.”

“He is a moron,” Sansa says in agreement. “But doesn’t mean you have to run away from him. You two have had worse fights.”

“He told me that just because I’m too scared to fall in love doesn’t mean he is and that maybe I’d be more sympathetic if I stopped using your family as a crutch for my failings in the love department.” Jon’s quiet after that and Sansa can only stare in horrified silence. Her brother is an ass. He’s rash and reckless, and oftentimes acts on his emotions far more than he should, but this is low even for him.

“And so you’re running…”

“I’m going to visit my father,” Jon says with a shrug. “He’s been asking me to come down for years now and I always say I have work or school. But… Robb’s right. I need to… I should go see my family.”

Sansa wants to tell him they’re not his family, that a man who claimed to be Jon’s biological father after his mum died when he was seventeen doesn’t get to hold the title of family, and that the Starks are his family. But she doesn’t because that seems too personal. They’re not really friends and it feels like overstepping.

Thankfully, Sansa doesn’t get a chance to ruminate over what to say because Jon turns the question back onto her.

“I told my mum I wanted to drop out.” Sansa sighs, feeling weary again just remembering the fight from only an hour or so ago. She could elaborate but she doesn’t quite feel up to it. To Jon’s credit, he merely nods and turns back to the book he has in his hand.


The last thing Jon bloody needs is to be sitting on a six-hour train journey to London with Sansa Stark but that’s where his life is at right now. If it was any of the other Starks, he’d be less antsy but this is Sansa and he’s always antsy around her. It’s worse now that he knows she wants to drop out of university but not the why. He can kind of guess though. Ned Stark having a heart attack two weeks before Christmas is not really the wholesome family surprise the Starks were hoping for when they all came home for the holidays. It comes at an even worse time when only two months before that Sansa gets involved in a mugging gone wrong and ends up in the hospital.

Jon has always had a strained relationship with the eldest Stark daughter but he had never felt such anger and despair in all his life. The thought of losing her had been so profound it took his breath away. It shouldn’t, he’d told himself then, because Jon lost his mum when he was seventeen and he knows about pain. Except this pain is worse and he couldn’t figure out why for the longest time. It’s stupid now in retrospect to not see the signs. The way her smile never fails to make him feel like he’s home when he doesn’t even know where home is most of the time. The way she laughs at him when he’s being especially obtuse, and instead of being aggravated by it, it just makes warmth spread through him like some kind of internal lava system. It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever done, falling in love with Sansa Stark, and it’s going to kill him one day.

But that’s exactly why Jon needs to get away from the Starks. Robb’s comments had really cemented it for him that his failing love life is because he spends every sliver of free time he has with the Starks in the hopes that Sansa will be there, and considering she is never going to return his feelings, it’s really the most unhealthy thing he can do.

But of course as luck would have it, when Jon finally gathers the good sense to leave and maybe connect with his estranged father, Sansa turns up on the same train with a lot more baggage than she has stuffed under their seats. She’s the strongest person he knows. She’s the one that got him through his mum’s death and to see her so fearful of living her life even if she won’t say it makes his heart ache.

They’re an hour into the journey and Sansa’s had her earphones in the entire time. Her head keeps nodding back and forth as she drifts in and out of sleep. It’s adorable but she looks uncomfortable, so Jon sucks up the nerve to just tap her on her shoulder. She startles, blinks the sleep from her eyes, before realising it’s him.

When she pulls one bud from her ear, he says, “you can lean on me.”


“For sleeping,” Jon clarifies because he’s not really that smooth, ever. “You can lean on me to sleep. If you want. That is.”

“Oh,” Sansa says and she gives him a sleepy smile. “Okay.” She doesn’t for a few minutes but then finally, her head lolls onto his shoulder, copper hair tickling him. It’s kind of perfect even if they’re both running away from their problems.


When Sansa wakes up, she finds herself tucked into Jon’s side, her head resting against his chest as his arm wraps protectively around her. It’s so intimate she immediately jumps back as much as she can in her seat. It jars him awake and she feels guilty at the look of puppy dog confusion on his face. Sansa doesn’t know why she was so frightened by the contact; it wasn’t as if she didn’t like it. Maybe it’s the fact that she did like it so much and that it’s the first time she wakes up from a dreamless sleep.

“Sorry,” Jon says, voice gruff from sleep. He rubs the back of his neck to ease the crick probably there. “There was a guy, uh… leering at you. I thought I’d… If he thought you were my girlfriend, I thought he’d stop and move away, which he did. And now that I’m saying it out loud, I realise how bloody sexist that sounds, right? Like just because he thinks you belong to me or something… which you don’t! It’s just… well, the world is a shitty place and I didn’t want some guy leering at you while you were trying to sleep.”

He’s adorable is all Sansa can think at first, the story completely slipping past her consciousness. Jon isn’t much of a speaker. He’s not like the guys she knows at university who love to hear themselves talk. Jon prefers to speak when it’s necessary and make small quips at opportune moments but rambling Jon? She’s never met him before and she sort of likes him.

“It’s okay,” Sansa says, placing a hand on his forearm. “It’s stupid that you have to do that at all but I get it.”

Jon nods and turns his gaze down to where her hand is still resting on his arm. She pulls back and flushes. God, she hates how much he affects her. It’s not just that he’s impossible to read but her body’s reaction to him is entirely inappropriate for a man who is supposed to be like family to her.

Once she can feel the warmth starting to dissipate from her cheeks, Sansa braves speaking again. “We’re used to it, you know? I think we learn from day one that as much as we want to stand up for ourselves and demand the respect we deserve, we have to be able to see the signs too, to know when our safety’s at risk.” She tilts her head away so she doesn’t have to see him watching her but it’s futile when she can feel his eyes on her. “Even then, sometimes it doesn’t even matter how cautious we are.”

His hand finds hers. It’s a gentle, tentative touch and Sansa turns her hand quickly before he can move way so she can grip him tightly. “I’m not like Arya. I’m not very brave.”

“That’s not true,” Jon tells her firmly, squeezing her back. “You’re brave, Sans. You always have been.”

She snorts because it’s so completely false. He doesn’t get it. No one gets it and that’s what hurts the most. It’s hard to explain to someone the why’s of your decisions when you don’t even really know yourself so you hope and you pray that there’s someone out there who knows you well enough to just understand without you having to say a word. When there isn’t that person, it’s like your whole life just shatters and you feel more alone than ever. That’s how Sansa feels right now. That’s how she’s felt for over two months now.

“I’ve always had my life planned,” Sansa continues because she doesn’t know how to stop now that she’s begun. “Go to school, become a doctor, marry a successful businessman and have 2.5 kids somewhere in London. That’s my plan. That’s always been my plan.” She laughs but it’s without humour. “It’s a stupid plan.”

“It’s not stupid. Everyone needs a plan.”

“No, it is,” Sansa insists. “I… Do you know why I wanted to be a doctor, Jon?” When he shakes his head, she answers for him. “Because it would look good. Not because I wanted to help people. I just liked the idea of being able to say that I’m a doctor at dinner parties. And it didn’t even matter who I married. I just wanted someone who looked good on paper, to fit with my lifestyle.”

She chances a glance at Jon then to see him studying her. It’s not disgust or even disappointment; it’s that strange, unnerving contemplative look that makes her feel naked and exposed.

“That’s why I didn’t like you for a long time,” Sansa admits when she can’t stand the way he’s watching her anymore. “You didn’t fit into the plan. You weren’t the charming white knight I wanted. You were moody and sullen. You were the opposite of it.”

Jon’s lips twitches. “I know.”


“Sans, you’re a lot of things but you’re not subtle about it,” he chuckles softly. “Why do you think I hated you for so long? I thought you were a spoiled, naive little princess.” He nudges her shoulder with his. “But you changed my mind.”

“How?” she asks, disbelieving.

“My mum’s funeral.” Jon slips his hand from her grip to rub his eyes and Sansa is a little disappointed by the lack of contact. But he’s talking again and she doesn’t have time to dwell on why she’s so disappointed, which is probably for the best. “You sat with me all night arguing with me about Shakespeare of all things and it was honestly… For awhile, I could pretend nothing else existed. It was nice.”

“You look like you needed it.”

“I really did,” he affirms, reaching out to take her hand again. “You’re not that girl anymore, Sans. And you’re not naive if you like to believe the good in people. That’s not a weakness of character.”

“But my plan was stupid.”

“It was.”

Sansa can’t help laughing at his indulgent little smile and she feels lighter than she has in too long. They lapse into a companionable silence for awhile and it’s nice, easy to be here with Jon. This surprises her, yet there’s a part of her that feels like this is familiar too.


“Mhmm?” he murmurs as he returns his focus back on her.

“I’m terrified of being alone,” she says softly. “Since… since it happened, I just hate it. I’m terrified all the time and I’m always alone at university.” Her eyes sting and she wills herself not to cry. “That’s why I want to move back. But I can’t tell my mum that because… it’s not just that. I just don’t want to be a doctor. I did it for all the wrong reasons.”

Jon pulls his hand back to wrap around her shoulders. He tugs her tightly into his side. “It’s okay to be terrified and it’s okay to not know what you want to do.” She feels him kiss her hair softly and in that moment, she feels safe. It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep after that.


Jon: She confided in me and fell asleep in my arms. That’s good, right?

Ygritte: You’re a bloody idiot.

Sam: Ignore her. She’s just jealous. It’s a good sign! She trusts you!

Ygritte: I’m jealous because my ex-boyfriend is an incompetent flirt? Nope.

Jon: But I got you, didn’t I?

Ygritte: I made the first move, Jon. I couldn’t wait around for you forever now, could I?

Sam: Actually, she’s right. You were pretty bad at flirting.

Jon: You guys aren’t helping me at all.

Jon: She’s waking up. Don’t text back!

He quickly pockets his phone and schools his features so it doesn’t look like he’s been freaking out for the past forty minutes while she’s been asleep in his arms. Of course the first fifteen minutes had been him getting sappy over how right she felt there but she didn’t need to know that either.

“Afternoon,” he greets her with a tentative smile. She smiles back and nuzzles into his chest, which does too many wonderful things to his body, including one very inappropriate thing he’s trying desperately not to think about.

“Sorry,” she murmurs against him. “I fell asleep on you again.”

Jon clears his throat. “It’s fine. You seemed tired.”

“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” she says, shrugging, though her movements are limited with how she’s pressed so tightly into him. Not that he’s complaining.

“Do you get much sleep most nights, Sans?” Jon can’t help asking because it doesn’t look like she does. By the way she nuzzles even more into his chest, he can guess the answer. “You should see a GP or your student centre or something. They might be able to help.”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’m… I can manage this. I’m fine.”

He wants to argue with her but he decides to hold his tongue. There’s a stiffness in the way she said it that he recognises. It’s usually how most of their fights start and he’d rather not ruin this new fragile development in their relationship. Jon can pick a fight with her later about this when he’s done enough research into how he can actually help her. Right now, he knows she’ll just dismiss him offhand. She’s always been too stubborn for her own good. It’s a Stark trait.

“Are you excited to see your dad?” Sansa asks through a yawn. It’s so bloody cute he has a hard time registering her question but when he does, he stiffens. She notices that too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You’re not,” he assures her. “And no. I don’t really want anything to do with him truth be told. But my mum asked me to forgive him before she died so I’m going to try.”

“Oh. That’s… harsh.”

Jon laughs and he shakes his head. “Yeah, it is.” An idea occurs to him then that is probably his dumbest one yet, aside from falling in love with Sansa, so of course he’s going to go through with it anyways. “Are you going back to your flat?”

“Yeah,” Sansa sighs. “I was thinking of finding a job somewhere. I don’t know.”

“Right,” Jon nods. “But… you could come stay with me. I could use the company and that way, you won’t be alone.”

She disentangles herself from him so she can look at him properly. “Won’t that be weird?”

“As weird as me staying at the house of a man I’ve only met twice in twenty-one years.” Jon shrugs, trying for nonchalant but probably spectacularly failing. “Seriously, you’d be doing me a favour.”

Sansa chews on her bottom lip in consternation and it really isn’t fair how attracted he is to her because all he wants to do right now is kiss her until they can’t see straight.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, still thinking. “They’ll think I’m your girlfriend.”

“They probably will,” Jon hedges, grey eyes searching blues. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”


“Okay what? Okay to staying with me? Or okay to not minding being my girlfriend?” Jon’s heart is in his throat and he kind of wants to be sick but he forces himself to be brave and reach out to tuck a loose strand of copper red hair behind her ear.

“Both,” she all but whispers, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth again.

Jon runs his fingers gently down her jaw and smooths her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before pressing his lips to hers. It’s soft and searching, waiting to see what she’ll do, but when he feels her fingers twist in his shirt, tugging him closer, Jon loses himself in the feel of her. He shows her just how long he’s been waiting to do this, just how much he fucking loves her and he thinks she’s doing the same by the way she’s responding to him.

It’s a long time before they resurface, and when they do, they’re both breathing heavily, lips pink and swollen in the aftermath. It’s perfect and she’s beautiful. It’s going to be the best bloody Christmas he’s ever had.

Castiel, despite his angelically perfect immune system, has contracted an illness.

He feels a buzzing under his skin, a clogged sensation in his chest, and a fog settled over his head. The symptoms are obvious, but the cause isn’t.

To prevent the sickness from spreading, he explores all possible cures.

Behind Heaven’s gates, he reads ancient angel lore in hopes that another angel has felt this before: nothing.

He asks Gabriel if he has ever experienced this illness: he simply laughs.

He employs Sam to look through the bunker’s files and take the whole day to investigate: no results.

Castiel bathes in the Red Sea (known to have healing properties for angels), eats an abundance of honey (bees create pure food), sits in the autistic man’s eternal Tuesday to soak in Heaven’s healing, converses with the stars. There is no change.

Five days after his contracted illness, Dean prays to him, asking for his help with a hunt.

Castiel appears in time to smite a demon ready to take a shot at Sam. The younger Winchester claps him on the shoulder, chest heaving from the exercise, smiling gratefully.


Castiel turns his head to see Dean make his way toward him, a wide smile cracking crinkles into his cheeks. He envelops Castiel into a warm hug. Feeling Dean’s warm body pressed against him, he feels a large breath whoosh from the thick feeling in his chest, the clouds of his mind clearing, the buzzing under his skin now tingling with a different feeling entirely.

“Thanks for saving Sam, buddy.”

“You’re welcome, Dean,” he murmurs into Dean’s shoulder, his arms looping around his waist, his wings draping to cover his hunter’s head.

Dean hugs Castiel back, not shying away from his touch, and every inch of Castiel’s body is singing.

Despite his perfect immune system, Castiel has indeed caught a sickness. But he thinks he’s found his cure.