pumpkins or gourds? black cats or crows? orange and green or black and red? Vampire or Werewolf? ghost story or murder story? Mystery Movie or Slasher Movie? haunted house or murder house? spiders or worms? Zombies or Ghouls? sweet candy or sour candy? Witches or Ghosts? Full Moon or No Moon?
Summary: Reader - Winchester family - Crowley meets the young reader for the first time and becomes an uncle for the “little bit”.
Triggers: MIA parents, presumed death
Word Count: 4818
Y/N = Your name
You’d been by yourself drawing in the library for forever as uncle Sammy and uncle Dean were busy working in the basement. Your legs not quite long enough to reach the floor from where you sat, perched on the edge of one of the wooden chairs around the large mahogany table. Leaving you to kick your feet back and forth with a look of extreme concentration painting your young features. A small pink tongue slightly visible in the corner of your mouth as you tried to capture uncle Sammy’s long princess hair with the pink crayon you held, gripped tightly in your small hand.
You had to move in with your uncles after your daddy and mommy had gone to work for a long time. They weren’t back yet, so you had to be a good girl and wait with your uncles. You didn’t really understand where they had gone to work or why they were gone so long. But what you did know was that your mommy and daddy were superheroes. Uncle Dean had said so. He said they had saved a lot of other mommies and daddies just like Superman and Spiderman did. Actually he had said Batman and Wonder Woman, but you liked Superman and Spiderman better. And Wonder Woman was kind of hard to say, so you believed your mommy and daddy were like Superman and Spiderman instead.
Carefully you put your crayon drawing of uncle Sammy on top of the one of uncle Dean and the one of your mommy and daddy with superhero capes. All the drawings were for your mommy and your daddy. They were gifts for being good and saving the world, just like how you always got gifts when you were a good girl. Looking at all your pretty drawings, you smiled proudly at how you had written your name at the top of every page. Just like your daddy had shown you to write it, in biiig pink letters.
Taking another piece of white paper from the pile your uncles had given you; you put it in front of you to draw some more. A small crease formed on your young forehead as you frowned at your crayon collection wondering which crayon to use on uncle Cassie’s big coat until you settled for blue. You didn’t have a brown crayon because brown was boring and stupid. Blue was much prettier and better, and so uncle Cassie’s coat would be blue in your picture. You loved uncle Cassie’s big coat. He let you borrow it to play superhero or detective when he was over. But it would be even better in blue.
Billie Holliday was beating the brakes off racist white boys for real in the ‘40’s. Josephine Baker was actually spying. There were Black men in the House of Representatives. Jim Crow America was segregated at home, and in church, but in the workplace and in public? That did not work the way some of you left behind children seem to think it did. Even if Black people had to sit at the back of the bus, they were on the same bus. Google exists damn it. Look up a thing or three.
(Summer starts to ease off. During the hottest days, the market is the busiest, and Crow is in a flutter. It’s a welcome distraction from the great big shadow hanging over his and Badger’s heads. Everything went on like it was, but Badger couldn’t shake off that awful night, that had started so wonderfully.
It was so selfish, but he couldn’t shake it off. Why, why? Why didn’t Crow love him? If he didn’t love him now, then he surely never would. For Badger, it came so naturally, and he tried to reason with himself that it wasn’t that way for Crow, but still, it ate away at him. He tried to keep the turmoil from his boyfriend, but it was impossible. He was even more twitchy and insecure than before. He couldn’t even mess around with Crow after that night, even though he badly wanted to, every time they got close to being intimate, his anxieties would pipe up, and they’d have to stop.
Crow must be getting sick of it. But Badger can only hear one voice in his head, an extremely venomous one.
Badger has to skip a shift, the week after, two more. He doesn’t turn up at all after that. Not even Louis knows where he is. There really is no word. The only place left to look, is his house, a place where no other black raven has been before.)
Arya did not like the way they kept surprising her. The hooded man was tall, enveloped in a larger version of the black-and-white robe the girl was wearing. Beneath his cowl all she could see was the faint red glitter of candlelight reflecting off his eyes. “What place is this?” she asked him.
“A place of peace.” His voice was gentle. “You are safe here. This is the House of Black and White, my child. Though you are young to seek the favor of the Many-Faced God.” — Arya I, A Feast for Crows.