hopefully they look okay

Someday I’ll break the chain of gravity
And take you to the satellite
Every sorrow and sadness will be 1/6 there
Spaceships are still far beyond us
But til I reach them
Can you old my left hand?

-1/6; Hatsune Miku

He wasn’t sure when, but at some point going to the Inquisitor’s room, to Elden’s room, at the end of the day had just become habit. Dorian didn’t even think about it, didn’t even realize, until he reached the top of the stairs and found himself standing in the dark room and staring at the empty bed. There wasn’t even a fire going but Dorian wasn’t certain the involuntary shiver that ran through him was from the chill alone. It was ridiculous. He knew the Inquisitor was only away on a mission, he would return by the end of the week, but having him gone like this for so long–

It was aggravating. Every time his thoughts strayed they always went back to Elden. He wasn’t alone, he would be safe, and yet Dorian couldn’t help but worry. If he let his thoughts wander long enough he always managed to come up with ever worse fates Elden could meet and there was nothing Dorian could do to help him.

He stared at the empty bed for a long time, unable to pull his gaze away. It just seemed so wrong. Usually Elden would still be up waiting for him, book in hand and candle lit on the bedside table. Now it was all dark and It was unsettling not even seeing a lump under the blankets where he usually slept. Truth be told Dorian had been avoiding this room since Elden had left. Sure, it was depressing returning to his tiny barely-used quarters near the library, but it was better than seeing this room so empty and without life.

He thought about leaving and returning to his own room as usual, but Dorian was gripped with such an overwhelming sense of longing that he couldn’t bring himself to go. He missed Elden so much it hurt more than Dorian thought possible. He sat on Elden’s side of the bed, lighting the fireplace with flick of his wrist. He touched the pillow, not really sure what he was doing. He shivered again and climbed under the blankets, pulling them tightly around himself.

It smelled like home and comfort and safety. It smelled like Elden. Dorian hurried and buried his face in the pillow, feeling so foolish and wondering how he had fallen so badly when he’d told himself time and time again how unwise this all was. And yet here he was, sleeping in another man’s empty bed and longing for him to return, counting down the days until he could finally touch Elden again, hold him tightly and feel his warmth, kiss him until they both ran out of air. He couldn’t help but wonder if Elden felt the same.

Doubtful. Dorian was never that lucky.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep here. He’d intended to return to his own quarters but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave, not when he was engulfed here by the memories of Elden.


Dorian woke to the feel of someone running their fingers through his hair. His first thought was of Elden, but of course he was gone. Annoyed, he readied a spell just in case as he cracked open an eye to see who had disturbed him in such an intimate way, but froze. It really was Elden. He was sitting on the edge of the bed leaning over him, covered in dust, sweaty and with his hair sticking out at odd angles. Helmet hair, Dorian thought. He wondered if Elden had come looking for him straight away but of course he remembered he was in Elden’s room, not his own.

Well. This was awkward. Sure, he had spent more nights here than not as of late, but this still felt intrusive. A half-formed protest or an explanation, he wasn’t really sure which, was about to come tumbling out but Elden spoke before he could get his mouth working.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said and Dorian felt light-headed and stunned in disbelief. “You weren’t in your room or the library; I was beginning to get worried.”

“You’ve– been looking?” Dorian repeated, his mind having trouble keeping up, sluggish from sleep as well as surprise. “What are you even doing here? I thought you weren’t due back ‘til the end of the week.”

“We may have rushed a bit,” Elden said sheepishly, an adorable blush creeping into his cheeks and Dorian berated himself for being distracted by it. “I missed you.”

And then Dorian was kissing him. He didn’t even think about it. He just pulled Elden close, overwhelmed with affection and relief and so much more that he’d rather not think about right at this moment. All that mattered was that Elden was here and that Dorian had been missed. Perhaps as much as Dorian had missed him. He feared it all might be a dream, too good to be true.

Suddenly Elden was pulling back and Dorian tried to mask his disappointment.

“Sorry,” Elden said, chuckling a bit. “I am covered in dirt. Probably some blood too. Not my own, don’t worry. Just give me a second to get cleaned up.”

“Ugh, yes, you really are a mess,” Dorian said although truth be told he didn’t particularly care at the moment.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Elden said as he quickly removed his armor and headed for the wash room. “I’ll be right back.”

Dorian watched him go, feeling a swell of affection as Elden tripped over himself slightly in his haste. This was really happening. This man was his and Dorian could hardly believe how happy he was. He reminded himself that there was still a war going on and no doubt this would all end in tragedy, but perhaps for the moment he could put that aside.

He just wanted to focus on this moment, on Elden and everything he had with this man. Dorian had been told his entire life that he would never have this, this closeness and affection, someone like Elden, and yet here he was. And Dorian still found himself constantly fearing for the worst. But then Elden would smile at him, like he was now as he returned from the other room, and his expression said more than words ever could and Dorian knew the depths of everything he felt for him. It was overwhelming and terrifying and perfect and all Dorian could do was pull him close and kiss him, hoping Elden knew that he felt the same.

Sam was four and had this habit of running when he got scared. Frankly Dean didn’t blame him because when it all started, he was just a little kid and he had overheard Dean talking on the phone with dad and dad had told Dean to lock the door, salt the windows and make sure that Sam was safe.

It was told in that same tone that always had Sam’s hair up on end when he heard it and when Dean turned to look at him, he bolted out the door, tears blinding his vision because he was four and scared and wanted his dad. He wanted his family. He wanted everyone where he could see them.

Dean found him after he found a way to end the conversation with his dad. He couldn’t just hang up because he didn’t want his dad to grow suspicious. He didn’t want dad to think that he wasn’t competent enough to take care of Sam. He didn’t want dad to show up and take Sam somewhere else, leave him in someone else’s care. Someone who didn’t know Sam like Dean did.

But he found Sam at the edge of the motel, sitting on the curb, arms curled around his legs, face hidden in his bony knees as his small body shook with tears.

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam as he sat down next to him and Sam curled into Dean, grabbing the front of his hoodie and held Dean as close to his body as he could.

Dean wanted to scold Sam for running like that. He needed to scold the kid for doing that… but he was just a kid. Four years old and he was scared and what else was Sam supposed to do.

So instead, Dean picked up his little brother and carried him back to their room and crawled into bed with him, letting Sam bury his head into Dean’s chest. They stayed like that until they heard the roar of the impala’s engine and Dean untangled himself from Sam and fell into the stoic, obedient son that his father needed him to be right now.

Sam was ten and dad thought that Sam was finally ready to come out on a hunt with Dean and him and Sam was ecstatic. He had been begging to go out with them ever since he learned how to hit a bullseye and Dean always promised that it would be the next hunt.

And it was finally here.

The hunt wasn’t that bad of one. Dad had managed to snag what seemed to be a simple salt and burn. Find the grave and burn the bones. Quickly, the excitement of being out on a hunt started to fade as Sam’s shirt became soaked with sweat as he worked to dig up the grave. His hands were starting to blister but Sam wasn’t going to complain. If he complained, dad was going to call him a child and if dad called him a child then he wasn’t going to let him out on another hunt.

So he kept his cries to himself and continued to dig with Dean and dad, waiting to hit the coffin.

Dad had warned him that they knew that they were close to the coffin when the spirit would show up, angry and willing to do anything to keep from being exposed and so Sam expected that.

What he didn’t expect was one second for dad to be right beside him and then the next, six feet to the right, groaning because his head hit one of the gravestones before he fell silent.

Dean called out his fathers name but he didn’t responded and Dean cursed under his breath. Dad was out cold.

Dean went back to digging, this time faster but Sam held onto his shovel, eyes wide as he looked at the spirit as it came after the two of them. And Sam did what he did best.

He dropped the shovel and ran, icy panic racing through his veins. He didn’t want to leave his brother back there at the grave. He knew that he needed to stay there, dig up that coffin and toss in those matches to set the damn thing ablaze but it was a spirit and it’s eyes were staring into his and all of the sudden Sam felt very, very small and he needed to get out of there.

Dean found him hiding behind a gravestone, curled in on himself. Once again Dean knew that he needed to scold his little brother for running out like that because it was dangerous. He couldn’t just leave Dean to fend for himself like that if he was going to be a hunter.

But Sam looked up at his big brother, eyes already red from crying and he only started to cry harder when he saw the gash that was bleeding above Dean’s eye. If only Sam had been a big boy, if only he wasn’t such a small child, Dean wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Maybe he wasn’t ready and when dad found out that he wasn’t ready, dad was never going to let him come on hunts with them. Ever.

Except Dean didn’t tell dad that Sam ran. In fact, Dean didn’t say anything other than that he was going to have to watch out because Dean and his little brother were going to take over the family business if he wasn’t careful.

And dad clapped Sam on the back, told him good job and was none the wiser that he was the reason why Dean now had that scar over his eye.

Sam was fifteen and now he didn’t run when he heard his dad’s voice over the phone telling him to lock the doors at night and to salt the windows.

Sam was fifteen and now his hands are hardened with callouses from digging up graves and he didn’t run when the spirit came out.

However that didn’t mean that Sam had stopped running. Sam was fifteen and had just started high school, still small for his age, and he was surrounded by his peers who all they could talk about was who they loved.

You see, Sam had started running a long time ago from the things that scared him but ever since he started to get this throb of want in the lowest part of his gut anytime Dean looked at him, ever since his skin burned whenever Dean touched him, he started running from the thing that he loved.

Dad trusted Dean enough now from him to take Sam out on smaller hunts. It wasn’t a big case and they took care of it easily and now they were sprawled out on the hood of the car, drinking beer that Dean had bought with fake id’s that dad may or may not know about, looking up at the stars above.

But Sam wasn’t looking up at the sky. Instead he was looking at the profile of his perfect brother’s face, wondering why the hell he had to be his brother when he wanted to be so much more and when Dean turned to look at him, Sam’s stomach twisted into knots because Dean’s face was right there. Right fucking there, his face shining with moonlight and all Sam could think about was how it would feel to kiss his brother.

Sam jerked away, nearly falling off the car in the process but Dean grabbed his wrist, keeping him upright.

“You alright, Sammy?” Dean asked when he saw the scared look on Sam’s face and that felt like a punch to Sam’s gut.

Sammy. It was just a reminder of what they were, what Sam was to Dean. What he would always be to Dean. He was the little brother. The little brother who skinned his knees and was always a little too skinny and was nicknamed Sammy. He was the little brother who was in love with Dean.

Sam shook his head, not able to convince himself to lie because he wasn’t alright. He never was.

“What’s wrong?”

Sam shook his head again and Dean shifted on the hood of the car, getting a better look at Sam. And it was all the wrong things to do because Sam could see him so clearly now. The smile that had settled on Deans face had all but disappeared.

“You can tell me, Sam. You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t be mad.” Dean coaxed.

And then Sam runs because he’s in love with his brother.

He runs because he’s in love with Dean he can’t say that and he’s scared and his beautiful big brother doesn’t need to know that.

Sam’s seventeen and one of his teachers pulled him over to the side one day at school handing him a heavy packet of paper, telling him that if he wants, he’s got the brain for college and she thinks that he should consider applying.

Sam’s seventeen and he’s handed an out to run from his brother and the thoughts that’s plagued his mind for years and he takes it.

15/365