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deanwanddamons · 1 month ago

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Thank you for including me sweetheart ❤️

November 2024 Fic Recs

A list of what I've read/am reading this month. It's going to be a short one unfortunately because I haven't had much time but hopefully next month will be a little longer.

All recs underneath the cut:

Rough Around the Edges by @lila-lou (Jack Durfy x Reader)

Summary: Jack's day couldn’t have gotten any worse. Exhausted from a grueling shift under the scorching sun, he just wanted to crash at home with some wings and a football game. But his plans for a quiet night were shattered when the racket from his new neighbor echoed through the walls.

Teaser:

Jack groaned in annoyance, rubbing a hand across his face. Just great. As if the week hadn’t been exhausting enough, now he had to imagine his weekend being a noisy mess thanks to whoever was moving in. All he wanted was some peace and quiet. Instead, it seemed like his weekend would be filled with endless bangs and thuds coming from across the hall.

Another loud thud echoed through the hallway, followed by a soft “Ouchy” that made him roll his eyes. He could already picture some clueless person fumbling around with boxes, knocking stuff over, and generally making a racket. The kind of person who probably had no idea how to move without turning it into a circus.

Jack shifted the bucket of wings under his arm, debating whether or not to knock on the door. Part of him wanted to just ignore it, retreat into his apartment, and hope for the best. But the other part, the more frustrated part, was tempted to knock and tell them to keep it down. He’d had a long week, and he deserved a break, damn it.

Finally, he took a deep breath and approached the door, raising his fist to knock.

Just then, the door swung open unexpectedly, and there you were, looking frazzled and clearly unprepared for company. You were wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts and a tank top, your skin glistening slightly from the heat. Your hair, a messy bun on top of your head, looked like it had been thrown together in a hurry, and you had no makeup on, not that you needed it.

Jack blinked, momentarily caught off guard, staring at the younger woman standing in front of him.

You, on the other hand, were equally surprised to see the man standing in front of you. He had to be at least double your age, but damn, he was handsome—broad-shouldered, his shirt sticking to his body in places from what looked like a long day of work, and those tired, slightly irritated eyes that made him seem like someone who didn’t put up with much nonsense.

“Uh… hi”, you blurted, your voice a little breathless from all the moving. You glanced down at the two boxes sitting in front of your door, which you had come out to grab. “Sorry about the noise. I swear, I’m almost done”.

Jack let out a deep breath. “Yeah, I was kind of wondering if you were trying to tear the place down before you even moved in”.

You laughed, a soft, self-conscious sound, running a hand over your face. “Feels like it. I’m not exactly an expert at this moving thing. Been here all day, and I’m pretty sure I’ve destroyed more stuff than I’ve unpacked”.

Jack’s eyes flicked over you, taking in the sight of your casual shorts and tank top, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin. His gaze wasn’t lewd, but it was unmistakably assessing, like he was trying to figure you out.

Get Stuffed by @zepskies (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

Teaser:

“Aw, hell yeah,” Dean mutters. He rubs his hands together and surveys the immovable feast that’s about to get shoveled into his mouth.

This Christmas marks roughly your first year living with the brothers Winchester in the bunker, and a few months after your first anniversary with Dean.

He’s made it very clear that he enjoys your cooking, especially of Cuban food. So you’ve gone all out for Christmas: white rice and your grandmother’s recipe for black beans, boiled yuca with plenty of garlic, bread drizzled with more garlic and olive oil, and Dean’s favorite…

“What’s this part of the pig called again?” he asks. And he uses a large fork to spear into the mountain of roasted meat that you’ve already cut and piled onto a platter.

You come in from the kitchen with the bread in hand, placing it on the dinner table. You sidle up behind him, where he’s seated.

“The shoulder,” you say, squeezing both of Dean’s. He hums in interest as you press a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s called pernil. Marinated with garlic, mojo, bunch of good stuff.”

He predictably steals a juicy piece of meat, plopping it into his mouth. He grins while he chews and makes a happy sound.

“Ohoho, yeah.”

You share an amused look with Sam, who sits beside his brother. By the time you’ve found your seat on Dean’s other side, he’s already serving you and Sam the same hefty portions he serves himself.

You know for a fact you’re only going to eat about half of your plate. Sam manages to polish his off. Dean does as well…and serves himself twice more before you break out the dessert.

“Please tell me that’s a flan,” Dean says, drumming his fingers on the table.

“How the hell are you still hungry?” Sam asks.

The look on his face says he’s half entertained, half disgusted. Dean is still sucking on the crispy skin on a piece of pork. He licks the juices off his fingers.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he says. “There’s always room for dessert.”

He tosses you a wink, followed closely by a suggestive smirk.

Spicy Things by @homicidal-slvt (Russell Shaw x Reader)

Summary: Russell likes your spicy attitude.

Teaser:

You're watching this man drizzle sriracha all over his fries like some sort of hot sauce goblin. Why in the hell did you agree to go out with him? You'll never know.... Somehow that goofy smile of his charmed you into it.

"Russ.... Do you always eat like this?"

"Possibly."

With an exaggerated eye roll you take another bite of your burger.

"What can I say... I like things a little spicy."

With a wink thrown your way - you nearly choke. That was cheesy. Awful. Stupid... God damn it, you've got it bad.

Under the Montana Skies by @spnbaby-67 (Beau Arlen x Reader)

Teaser:

The air was crisp and filled with the scent of pine as you stood outside Beau Arlen's trailer in the heart of Montana. You and Beau had been friends for years, but lately, something had shifted between you two. The tension in the air was palpable, and tonight, under the starry Montana sky, it was finally time to address it.

Beau, with his rugged charm and flannel shirt, looked at you with those piercing green eyes. "You know, darlin', I've been wantin' to do this for a long time," he said, his voice a low drawl that sent shivers down your spine.

No One Will Notice by @deanwanddamons (Demon!Dean x Reader)

Summary: Y/N hopes that she sees the mysterious Dean again.

Teaser:

He had returned.

You smirked as your gaze met the emerald green eyes you would never forget.

Dean sauntered across the room towards you, his confidence oozing out of him in waves as he expertly navigated the patrons and tables that were in his way. He avoided them with ease, even though his intense stare never left your face.

When he reached the edge of the raised platform you were performing on, he dropped down onto a bar stool, still not averting his eyes from yours as you stepped forward until your stilettos were directly in line with his broad shoulders. His arrogance was obvious for all to see when, without taking any notice of the fact numerous other men were vying for your attention by waving dollars at you, he reached into his pocket and produced a wad of cash, throwing it down onto the surface in front of him.

“Go ahead. Pick it up,” he mouthed, popping the P.

A wide grin pulled at your lips as you crouched down before him, balancing precariously on your high heels, your inner thighs, and clothed mound level with his freckled face as one large hand wrapped around your hip, jerking you towards him which almost toppled you over. This action forced you to sit and scoot forward, your ass hitting the edge of the stage. Pushing his chair back, he tugged you down onto his lap, totally oblivious to or seemingly not caring about the ‘no touching’ rule the bar had in place, his calloused palm roaming over your hot skin.

“Hey, sweetheart. Remember me?” He questioned.

“How could I forget?” You whispered, your noses touching, lips only an inch apart.

Rightfully Deceived by @jessjad (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Summary: When a marriage promise forces Y/N to step up for her younger sister, she gets something she always wanted. But when the truth comes out, her new husband Dean is not so happy about the mix-up. Will she loose it all? Or will she be surprised in the end?

Teaser:

The man she was about to marry was Dean Winchester, Earl of the Winchester Clan. Rich, a lot of money to his name. Famous for his stubborn and unyielding business acumen. And devilishly good looking. Tall, broad shoulders, a voice as deep as the ocean and eyes as green as a sea of jades.

Yeah, Y/N has been in love with him since the first time she had seen him. But unfortunatly to her, he only seemed to have eyes for her younger sister, Helena.

The first time Dean visited her fathers castle, Y/N had welcomed him in and offered food and drinks. With a warm smile that made her heart flutter he accepted it. Her father appeared only minutes later and the men started a friendly conversation, resulting in Dean offering her father that he could always ask for help if needed. Since Dean had bought the land next to theirs it was the right thing to do. Not knowing then that five years later, her father would take him up on that offer.

Just when Dean was about to leave again, Helena had come in from the outside. Some hay in her hair and on her dress, indicating that she came fresh from the staples. And that was the moment Y/N saw it. The change in Dean's face. His eyes had widened a little, his mouth a little slack. Helena had smiled at him and all of a sudden he was lost for words.

That's when Y/N's heart sank to the ground. From then on it seemed as if she became invisible.

Stay by @bullet-prooflove (Colter Shaw x Reader)

Summary: Colter can never ask for you to stay.

Teaser:

It’s been three months since Colter last had his hands on you, since he made love to you in the Airstream, the sound of rain pattering on the roof. He remembers falling asleep tangled up in you, his fingers combing lightly through your hair, his heart thundering against yours.

He also remembers waking up alone, his hand smoothing over the vacant space as he sighed because he’d always been the one that left and he hadn’t realised just how bad that felt until it happened to him.

It’s over coffee that morning that he sits, watching the droplets cascade down the windows and thinks about why it’s different with you.

That's all I've been able to get through so far! Please forgive my graphics btw. Not so great with those but I wanted to put a little visual with each one.

I haven't figured out yet if I'm going to post at the beginning of each month or mid-month. I'm still trying to figure that all out, but please definitely follow this blog and set notifications for those postings if you would like to see each list when they post. All review reblogs of these works will also be posted here moving forward.

Oh, and before I forget...

Thank you!!! 💕💕

all dividers by @saradika-graphics

#I’ve been rec’d #thank you

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deanwanddamons · 1 month ago

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Incredible! Amazing mash up of Supernatural and The Last Of Us and I am so here for it!

Would love it if this became a series as I would absolutely read it ❤️

Supernatural Survival: The Last Hunt

Title – Supernatural Survival: The Last Hunt Pairings – Cannon Word Count – 6,782 Warnings – violence, monsters from The Last of Us AND Supernatural, shooting and Molotov cocktail throwing, cursing. JAcklesverseBingo Prompt – Parallel Universe AU

Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in the middle of the apocalypse—an apocalypse riddled with cordyceps and monsters they have never had to battle before. While searching for items that could help make some weapons, they run into someone who knows what hunting used to mean. She takes them under her wing, bringing them home to Jackson.

The building was in ruins, left for nature to take back after the world fell apart. The floors were filled with holes where rotted wood gave way, and broken furniture and windows littered the rooms the brothers crawled through. Sam and Dean moved carefully through the silence, kicking up dust and mold from time to time despite their planned steps.

“This is disgusting,” Dean muttered, going through the drawers of a worn desk in search of anything they could use.

“You know the deal, Dean. We search everything we come across,” Sam said quietly, his hand resting on the rifle across his chest. He kept his head on a swivel for anything that might come their way. Dean closed the drawer harder than he meant to.

“This place is picked over already. We’re wasting our time,” Dean said in a frustrated huff. The packs on their back carried everything they currently owned, so they’d have to make do with what they had. Sam glared at his older brother, his narrowed eyes being the only part of his face showing as the scarf he had covered his nose and mouth.

“Keep looking anyway,” he grunted. Dean mocked his little brother before looking through the rest of the desk drawers, finding nothing. He kicked the desk in frustration, causing birds to squawk and fly away. Sam turned to glare at Dean and was about to lecture him for his tantrum.

It was that moment of distraction that caused them trouble. One moment, they were searching through old furniture for rags and things they could use as weapons, and the next moment, they were fighting with a clicker that came out of nowhere, pinning Dean down and biting mere inches away from his face. Its claws were ripping into his skin, tearing deeper as he tried to push it away from him. He had jumped into its path when he realized it was headed toward Sam, refusing to let the creature take his brother from him.

“Stay back,” Dean growled, desperately trying to reach the machete hanging from his hip. Sam had aimed with his rifle, waiting for a clear shot to take the zombie out. Suddenly, a screech was heard behind him, and Sam swiftly spun on his feet as another clicker approached them. Without hesitation, he shot twice at the creature’s head. It dropped dead immediately.

Dean finally got a leg up and could kick the clicker away from him, and once he had a little space between them, he pulled his machete up. With a few quick slices, the head of the zombie rolled in one direction while the body fell away. Sam spun with his gun held high to his brother with narrowed eyes. Dean looked up at Sam, panting heavily, his eyes hard and cold. Seeing his brother standing, he lowered the end toward the floor.

“You get bit?” Sam asked, pulling his scarf down. Dean shook his head.

“No,” he answered, wiping sweat from his face. Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You know the drill, man,” he said quietly. Dean looked over at his brother and frowned, and after a pause, he nodded. He pulled his pack off his back and dropped it at his feet before tugging his shirt away from his chest and neck. Sam stepped closer and studied his brother’s body. There were scratches on his chest that were clearly claw marks, but other than that, his skin was bite-free. Sam nodded with relief, lowering his weapon completely. Dean nodded before buttoning his shirt back up.

“You’re lucky those scratches didn’t go through the tattoo,” Sam muttered distractedly, looking down at the now-dead clickers.

“Never thought I’d say this, but I miss when we hunted ghosts instead of these motherfuckers,” Dean muttered, bending over to pick up his pack. Sam chuckled lightly.

“At least our hunting skills come in handy,” he replied, looking back at his brother. “Nice use of the machete there.”

Dean tipped his head in thanks. “I miss the bunker,” he sighed.

“Me, too,” Sam said. “If we could make it back there, establish some way to grow our food, and get clean water, it could be a fortress against all this shit,” Sam said with a shake of his head.

“I know we could do it,” Dean agreed, hiking his bag comfortably on his back. Suddenly, a series of loud screeches echoed around them, then gunshots. The brothers turned their heads toward the open hole in the floor, eyes narrowed and guns drawn; as soon as they reached the edge, a woman lept and tried to pull herself up. Dean made his way over to her and grabbed her arm, hauling her up as Sam started shooting at the clicker that rounded on her.

As soon as she got her balance, she turned and started to fire into the floor below. Once the screeching stopped, the woman paused and stared into the hole while breathing heavily. Her light-colored eyes glanced at the two men before staring down into the hole; Sam kept his rifle pointed into the hole, and Dean had his handgun pointed at her. The three then stood there, silent. Waiting.

The woman’s eyes lifted to the men after a minute of silence. Dean noted she was young, far younger than anyone out alone should be. They stared at each other for a long moment, hearing nothing but the birds outside and a few crickets scattered around the building.

“You, uh… You hear anything?” the woman whispered timidly. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, then shook their heads. Finally, after a tense moment, she dropped her arm and stepped back. She placed her hands on her knees to draw air into her lungs, the adrenaline giving way to anxiety.

“Okay… good,” she muttered, looking between the men before her. She then noticed the two dead clickers nearby, eyes widening. “Oh, shit. Did you take those down?”

“Yeah, a little bit before you showed up. And you are?” Dean asked, his gun still trained on the young woman.

She looked over at Dean, startled when she realized he had a gun on her. She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by a scratching of static and a mumbling voice. The woman took what looked like a toy walkie-talkie out of her back pocket, making the voice slightly more precise.

“Where the hell are you, Casey?” the voice asked irritably. “I heard gunshots. Are you okay? I swear if you are dead, I’m going to kill you myself.”

“I’m fine, Y/N,” the woman – Casey – said into the ancient walkie-talkie. “I ran into trouble but found some help taking down the clickers. This building isn’t as clear as we thought it was.”

“Raiders?” the scratchy voice asked.

“Raiders wouldn’t have saved my life.”

“Famous last words. Get your ass up here.”

“On my way,” Casey said with a smirk, clicking the walkie-talkie off. She looked over at the brothers and slipped it back into her pocket.

“I’m Casey, and that was Y/N,” she said, tilting her head away from where they were standing. “I’m going to assume you aren’t going to kill me. If that’s true, then… Come on. We know a way out of here that’s a fuck ton safer than going back down through that.” Casey turned, walking down a hallway and stepping over the dead clickers. Dean moves to follow, but before he gets far, Sam stops him.

“The hell, Dean?”

“Well, I’m not gonna stay here,” Dean said.

“So, you want to follow a complete fucking stranger to God knows where?” Sam asked incredulously.

“The other option is to go back down there. I don’t want to do that. Do you?” Dean asked with a raised brow. Sam scoffed at his brother but followed when Dean walked after Casey.

By the time they reached Y/N, the brothers had found several things they could use for makeshift weapons: more rags, scissors and broken pieces of metal, some rope, and a few old glass containers. On the other hand, Casey was collecting things like pens and pencils, notepads, journals, and some clothing.

Y/N was folding what looked to be clothing into a duffle bag. She heard shuffling and was pointing a gun at the three before they even turned the corner. Casey started to whistle before turning the corner, her hands up in surrender. The brothers followed a few steps behind, their hands on their weapons. Y/N relaxed when she saw Casey walking toward her but immediately returned to the defense when she spotted the brothers.

“Who the fuck are you two?” Y/N growled, her gun back up, and pointed at the brothers as she stood.

“Put your gun down, and let’s talk about this,” Sam said calmly, his rifle pointed at her.

Y/N cocked an eyebrow. “I think not,” she muttered under her breath.

“Y/N, no! They saved my life,” Casey shouted, trying to stop her from shooting them. Y/N glanced at the girl. “They got me away from a clicker and even killed it. They killed two on their own.”

“And that makes them friendlies?” Y/N snapped quietly. Sam side-stepped while the two argued, moving to give him a better advantage. “Don’t even think about it, or I will drop you where you stand.”

“You aren’t fast enough,” Dean said, cocking his gun.

“Okay, okay… let’s all just take a breath here,” Casey said with a frown. Y/N shifted toward her. That movement caused Dean to notice something familiar on her arm.

“Wait!” Dean shouted, causing both Y/N and Sam to freeze. “Show me your forearm.”

“What?” Y/N asked incredulously. He did not just ask to see…

“Show me your arm,” he asked again, speaking slower. Y/N stared at him for a long moment before using one hand to shove the sleeve up on the arm holding the gun, exposing the anti-possession tattoo inked just near the crease of her elbow. Dean looked at it, pressing his lips in a thin line. He glanced at Sam quickly before he returned his gaze to Y/N.

In sync, like the brothers always are, they reached up to the collar of their shirts and pulled them aside, exposing their chests. There, in black ink, were identical tattoos. This caused Y/N’s expression to slacken in surprise as she cursed.

“What are you guys? Are you part of the same cult or something?” Casey asked, confusion coloring her tone. Y/N stood up straight, her arms dropping to her sides. She studied the brothers while they studied her.

“Something like that,” she said softly. Y/N pulled a silver flask from her back pocket and held it up for the two men to see. “Why don’t you humor me?” she said as she tossed it at Dean, who caught the silver item with one hand. Sam looked over at his brother, watching as Dean turned it over and looked at the etchings on the front. His brow raised as he ran his thumb over the runes.

“I applaud your rune choices, but I do wonder just how holy your water is,” he said, opening the bottle and taking a quick swig. Dean handed the flask to Sam, who also took a sip before closing it and tossing it back to her. She caught it one-handed, a harsh smirk dancing across her lips as she raised her brows at him, slipping it back into her pocket. Dean pulled out a silver blade from its hiding spot behind his back. He flung it at her with a flick of his wrist, having it land in the old wood near her feet. Y/N didn’t react, keeping her eyes on him.

“Let’s see if you can handle a real test,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Y/N nodded at him once, reached over, grasped the handle of the silver blade, and tugged it out of the wood. Her eyes dropped to look over the blade, eyeing its intricate engraving before carefully slicing a bit of her forearm open. Dean watched and glanced at Sam, who nodded when she didn’t react. Y/N flung the knife back at the brothers, the blade ending up in the wall between them. Dean scoffed as he pulled it out and returned it to its hiding place on his body.

Y/N’s entire attitude changed, with surprise and a bit of longing in her voice. “I haven’t seen another hunter in almost 20 years. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Dean. This is Sam,” Dean said, sliding his weapon back into its holster at his back. Sam waved slightly at her, his expression much more open and friendly. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, a smile playing on her lips.

“Winchester? Should have known you two would have survived,” she muttered with a shake of her head.

“You’ve heard of us?” Sam asked. Y/N scoffed, sliding her gun into the waistband of her worn jeans.

“Anyone in the business has heard of you guys,” she said, then pointed to the ground beneath her feet, a severe expression on her face. “You guys didn’t have anything to do with this apocalypse, did you?” The brothers bitch-faced the woman before sharing a glance. They went about their way, looking over the room and gathering supplies they could use while Y/N spoke to Casey.

“I’ve picked up as much as I could find on the top five floors. Add your items into the bag, and we’ll get out of here,” she said. Casey nodded, kneeling to add her scavenged items to the duffle bag. “We can check out those houses we passed back to the bus and see if anything is left behind.” A loud crash echoed distantly, followed by a screech. All four turned and lifted their weapons toward the sound, standing frozen in their places. Silence settled over them again, but Y/N wasn’t willing to wait and see what would happen next.

“We gotta get out of here,” she muttered, her eyes watching for anything that moves.

“You got an exit in mind?” Dean asked. Y/N and Casey glanced at each other, and Y/N tilted her head toward the back of the floor toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that were giving them light to see.

“Casey, take point,” Y/N said quietly, her eyes unmoving. Casey nodded as she lifted one of the duffle bags at their feet. Once it was secure across her body, she slowly walked toward the back of the room, her gun still in her hands.

“Sammy, go,” Dean muttered as he glanced behind them.

“Dean,” Sam warned.

“I’m right behind you,” he said. Sam frowned but followed Casey, watching Dean follow him. Y/N covered the back of their line with the second duffle bag over her shoulder. When Sam caught up with Casey, he saw a hole in the wall leading to a balcony. Casey was dropping her duffle bag over the side to the ground three floors below. She then propped open a slab in the metal to reveal what was left of a hidden staircase. She then dropped Y/N’s bag over the side once the group was together. One by one, the foursome made their way down to the ground. Y/N glanced up at the building once her feet hit the grass.

“This way,” Y/N muttered, picking up one of the duffle bags tossed down and throwing the strap across her body. She began leading them away from the building and into shadows cast by the overgrowth of trees, their bodies disappearing into the brush.

There was an unspoken agreement that the four would stick together, and they walked through the brush silently. After a while, the four paired off in their walking. Sam walked with Casey; Dean walked with Y/N. The silence proved too much for the younger pair, and soon they started chatting. The muted voices were almost peaceful to listen to as they walked, the older pair keeping an eye out for danger. A twig snap had the two older ones turning and raising weapons, listening to the sounds of nature surrounding them for signs of danger.

It wasn’t until they saw a rabbit scampering by that they relaxed.

“Never a dull moment,” Y/N muttered, causing Dean to chuckle.

“I can’t tell you the last time I let my guard down,” he said quietly, shaking his head. The two started walking again. Y/N glanced at him. “At least before all this clicker shit happened, I felt like I could get a few hours’ of peaceful sleep at night.”

“The only way I slept out here was in a hammock chair I found in an abandoned Home Depot back in the day, hung up in the branches of a tree off the ground at least a hundred feet,” Y/N said. “Most uncomfortable way to sleep, but I wasn’t gonna stay on the ground for nothing.”

“Sammy and I would take turns staying up at night, keeping watch and the fire burning. It never felt like a restful sleep, though. Always woke up tired no matter how long I was out,” he explained.

“Like you never rested in the first place?” Y/N asked, looking over at the older brother. He glanced at her before answering.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“I’d rather hunt a house full of vampires while on my period in cut-off shorts than deal with this shit. At least with vampires, I know what to expect. It feels like every time we turn around, we’re learning something new about these cordyceps and whatnot,” Y/N muttered with a shake of her head. Dean smirked.

“It’s been a few years since I took out anything that wasn’t human or cordyceps driven. I figured all the evil in the world has up and vanished given how humanity has all but destroyed itself,” Dean said.

A few hours later, the four walked out of the woods and up to a neighborhood filled with rundown houses that were most likely beautiful once upon a time. Now, with rotted wood and overgrown lawns, they simply looked like how the rest of the world did: abandoned and left for Mother Nature to recall as her own. With a sigh, Y/N paused and looked at the group.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m exhausted,” Y/N said tiredly. “Let’s head to the safe house. We’ll clear it and make camp for the night.”

“I think we left behind some canned food last time we were there. It’s not anything gourmet, but fifteen-year-old canned peaches and some Chef Boyardee sounds pretty damn good to me right now,” Casey said, leading the way.

“Man, you found peaches?” Sam asked, jogging to catch up with the younger woman.

“Canned peaches. I’m not promising the best-tasting fruit here,” Casey smiled.

“We can dig through more of the houses around here while we are here; we might find some good stuff while we’re at it,” Y/N said as she looked over the overgrown streets. “I don’t think anyone has been through those houses in the back. Who knows what we’ll find.”

“Okay. We did the houses on that side of the street when we came here last week,” Casey said, pointing to the houses on the left. “That means we still need to search these houses over here on the right.”

“Anyone in these homes right now?” Sam asked, looking back at Y/N as she eyed the homes. She shook her head sadly.

“This was one of the areas FEDRA came through early when they started the quarantine zones back in the day. These places were abandoned early, and being that it’s a random neighborhood in the middle of nowhere, no one has been here in years,” she explained. “Unless someone was passing through and thought to search the homes, we should be lucky to find some more canned food at least.”

“We’ll split up into twos and hit a few houses before heading to your safehouse for the night. How’s that sound?” Dean asked. Y/N looked over at him and shrugged.

“Sounds good to me. We can pull some stuff from the homes for you guys too, make some more comfortable bedding options and maybe even some clothes,” she replied. They spent the next few hours going through some of the homes and finding some canned food, a comforter, three musty pillows, a few t-shirts, and a worn pair of sweatpants. All in all, it was a good haul. The four had green beans and carrots with their Chef Boyardee and peaches that night.

“Just because we’re in the middle of the apocalypse doesn’t mean clickers are the only things we need to worry about,” Y/N snarked.

“When’s the last time you hunted anything that wasn’t riddled with cordyceps?” Dean asked, disdain dripping from his voice. Y/N shot him a glare from the corner of her eye as the four trudged through the woods.

“When was the last time we did?” Sam muttered under his breath, dodging the elbow his older brother tried to shove into his side. Casey laughed lightly at the antics while Y/N smirked at the brothers as they climbed through the trees.

“You’d be amazed at what needs killing, even now,” Y/N said. “While I haven’t actively hunted anything demonic in quite a while, I’ve been known to do quite a few salt and burn’s along the way. Even now, people need to be put to rest.”

Sam shot Dean a look and a smirk as if to say, ‘I told you so,’ which earned him an eye roll in return.

“Do I want to know what you guys are talking about?” Casey asked lightly, causing all three of them to answer in the negative. They were quiet after that, hiking through overgrown grass and ferns between tall trees that had taken back what was rightfully theirs a thousand years ago.

They had been walking for a couple of hours when it happened. The sun dipped low, throwing a beautiful sunset across the sky when a low growl echoed off the trees surrounding them. They froze in their spots, each looking out to locate the owner of the sound.

“What the hell was that?” Casey asked with apparent fear in her voice.

“That doesn’t sound like infected,” Dean muttered, slowly pulling his handgun from his thigh holster. Sam shook his head slightly, looking at their surroundings more carefully as he pulled his gun.

“It isn’t human either,” Sam said quietly. Y/N hushed them both, listening more intently to their surroundings. It had gone oddly quiet, the sounds of birds and crickets disappearing completely. Another growl echoed, this time louder and closer. All four heads swung in the direction it was coming from.

“We have a predator among us,” Y/N whispered. Dean and Sam glanced at each other before returning to studying their surroundings.

“I don’t understand what is going on,” Casey said, her gun in her hand and her wide eyes scanning the woods around her.

“Just stay between us, and you’ll be fine,” Y/N quietly told her. On instinct, the three hunters formed a protective triangle around the younger girl. Suddenly, rustling and heavy breathing disturbed the absolute silence. A guttural sound echoed close by them. The location of the sounds made them feel like they were surrounded.

“Behind,” Sam muttered, causing Dean to glance behind them. There it stood, in all its glory. The skeletal form of a wendigo, tall and skinny with razor-sharp teeth on display in its open mouth. Black beady eyes narrowed on the foursome. Its claws wiggled as if preparing to attack at any moment.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean whispered harshly. The thing screeched a violent scream that caused all of them to stumble back a few steps, pointing the weapons out, knowing they wouldn’t do anything about it.

“What were you saying about hunting during the apocalypse?” Y/N asked sarcastically to hide the fear in her voice.

“Run! Now!” Dean said, firing three rounds at the monster in front of them. Sam grabbed Casey’s hand before turning and running as fast as they could. Y/N fired a couple of rounds before she turned and ran, Dean following quickly behind her. The wendigo charged them, a violent roar escaping him that echoed off the trees. It barreled them down quickly, knocking into Dean and throwing him off his feet.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, turning back to see him. Y/N stopped and looked behind her as well.

“I’m fine! Keep going!” they heard him yell. The three turned around to start running again, only to come face-to-face with the monster. Y/N screamed in fright, causing him to toss her aside. Its claws tore her skin open, leaving behind scratches across her side. She landed against a tree and fell into a pile of ferns.

“Y/N!!” Casey screamed as Sam pulled up his rifle and shot it in the face twice to distract it. It shrieked and backed off.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Y/N groaned as Dean approached her.

“C’mon, we gotta move,” he said, trying to help her. She nodded her head but moved slowly. Sam darted over to where they were, his weapon raised and ready to fire when the wendigo showed its face again. However, the familiar screeches they heard weren’t from their monster. All four of them glanced at each other with genuine fear.

“This can’t be happening,” Sam muttered as he turned his head, looking for the clickers. The girls grabbed the brothers and yanked them down into the ferns, hiding them from sight.

“Be silent,” Casey whispered almost silently. With racing hearts and fear running through them, they watched as the clickers moved right by them. The wendigo growled somewhere nearby, causing Dean to stiffen. Y/N put her hand on his arm as a warning. The clickers turned and screeched, looking for the monster who had made so much noise, and it wasn’t moments later that they discovered their prey. The trees then erupted with the growls from the wendigo and the screeching from the clickers as the fight began.

They stood from their hiding spot and watched dumbfounded as the wendigo fought the clickers. Clawed hands were everywhere, and blood and chunks of skin were flung in different directions as each monster attacked the other, shredding each other to bits.

“Alright, now I’ve seen everything,” Dean muttered, pulling a scoffing laugh from Sam. Y/N pulled a half-filled bottle of alcohol and a torn piece of fabric out of her pack. She poured some liquid on the fabric before stuffing it into the bottle in a makeshift Molotov and holding it in front of her.

“Gimme a light,” she muttered to Dean. He looked at the bottle in her hands and smirked before digging a lighter out of his pocket. Y/N kept her eyes on the fighting monsters before her as Dean carefully lit the damp rag hanging from the top of the bottle. Once the fire was intense, Y/N reared back and threw the bottle.

Smashing glass gave way to a quiet woosh of alcohol catching on fire as it fell on the wendigo, clickers, and foliage nearby. Pain-filled cries filled the darkening sky as the flame quickly ate up the dead skin of the monsters, the loud sounds drawing the few other clickers that were nearby. Soon, they were also engulfed in flame.

Y/N smirked as she looked over at the brothers. Dean was smiling widely as he watched the monsters burn to the ground. He shared a glance with Sam, and the brothers looked relaxed for the first time in Y/N’s presence. Y/N and Casey shared a glance before watching more of the fire burn.

“Isn’t that Dina?” Y/N questioned the next day, squinting as they approached the bus. Casey turned to look in the direction Y/N was pointing, then jumped excitedly.

“It is Dina!” she exclaimed, then shouted with all her might. “Dina!!” Her voice echoed down the street of abandoned buildings and broken roads. The three other people winced as they heard it. The woman riding the horse in the distance turned around to look their way, and the noise that could only be recognized as infected started heading their way.

“Casey!” Dean growled at her, pulling out his handgun. Y/N shook her head as she walked forward, bending down to pick up what looked like what used to be a baseball bat as she did. As she stood up, she swung the bat upward, connecting with the head of a runner headed her way. The blood and bone splattered across her went ignored as she turned to swing again at the one coming right behind him.

“I’m sorry!” Casey shouted as she pulled up the rifle handed to her by Y/N miles ago. Sam was picking off infected from farther away, backing up a little to avoid hitting his partners in the fight. Dean shot a runner that was headed for her twice in the head before kicking another one in front of him.

“Duck!” he heard Sam’s voice shout, causing Dean to drop to one knee. Above him, he heard a small explosion and looked up just in time to see a body collapse behind him. Dean holstered his gun and pulled out his machete, hacking his way through two runners who started to come toward him. A loud screech caught his attention, and he noticed Y/N had a clicker coming up behind her. Before he could shout a warning, he watched as she grabbed a runner and turned with him, shoving him into the clicker. The clicker grabbed him and bit into his neck, giving her time to pull a weapon and fire on them both.

Impressive, he thought. The fight carried on for what felt like hours but was only fifteen minutes. Dina and Ellie, who were nearby, came to their rescue, firing their guns into the heads of the runners as they rode closer.

“I thought someone cleared this area,” Y/N panted, looking at Dina. She shrugged.

“It was last week. Who knows where these guys came from? We’ll have to talk to Tommy about it, though,” Dina said, with Ellie nodding. Just then, Jessie rode up to see them standing among several dead runners.

“Uh, things okay?” he asked, concerned. He eyed the brothers suspiciously before looking at Casey.

“Hey, Jessie,” she said with a wide smile. The three adults in the group rolled their eyes and turned to check on each other while the two lovebirds took a moment to get reacquainted. Dean and Sam looked each other over, ensuring no bites were visible, while Y/N chatted with Dina and Ellie for a moment.

“Uh, hey, Y/N?” Casey started.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”

“Thank you so much! I promise we’ll meet up in Jackson so I can help clean the clothing we found.”

“Go on, get out of here.”

Y/N took the duffle bag that she was carrying from her before Jessie helped get Casey on his horse. The four twenty-somethings turned and wandered off to finish their rounds as Y/N watched them with a sarcastic smirk. Once they were out of sight, she turned and looked at the brothers who were watching the scene in front of them with barely disguised amusement. Sam reached ahead, took the extra bag Y/N was carrying, and slung it over one shoulder.

“C’mon. The bus is over here.”

The sun was setting on their third day together when the old school bus appeared.

“This is yours?” Sam asked, eyeing the school bus critically. Y/N smiled slightly.

“Yep,” she replied tiredly.

“And it runs?” Dean asked, surprised, coloring his tone as he looked it over. Y/N unlocked the padlock she had on the door and shoved it open so they could board.

“Took me three years to figure out how to get the power the solar panels on the roof provide to run the engine. I took the batteries from an old Tesla and put it in the bus, making it easier,” Y/N said. Dean looked at her, impressed. “Make yourselves at home.”

Sam and Dean shared a look before climbing the bus, startled when they saw the inside. Shelves and crates to hold things she collected along the way lined one side of the bus. On the opposite side were a few mattresses with blankets and pillows. A small shelf held cooking items like the kind you would camp with. Y/N even put in what looked like those cubbies kindergartners used to keep their stuff behind the driver’s seat.

“Wow,” Sam muttered as they walked onto the bus.

“Feel free to get comfy. I’ve got some lanterns back there, matches to light them nearby. We’ll get moving in the morning,” Y/N said, letting Dean pass her. “I’ll take the first watch.”

Twenty minutes later, Sam was fast asleep on a mattress at the back of the bus. Y/N was sitting in the driver’s seat, a rifle in her hands, as she watched out the window. However, Dean seemed too wired to rest and instead was browsing the collections of items she had shelved.

“So, why are you collecting all this random shit?” Dean asked, flipping through a stack of books on one of the shelves bolted to the side of the bus. Y/N turned her head to look at what Dean was looking at, resting her head on the butt of the rifle.

“The place I live in now is a commune. We share everything and pitch in where we can do whatever needs to be done. The problem is that resources get thin quickly, and sometimes we need more. Of everything,” she explained. “And I kind of hate being in one place for a long period after living the hunter lifestyle.”

“I hear that,” Dean said with a smirk, facing her with a book. He flips through the pages as he walks to the front of the bus to sit on the couch across from her.

“Well, I head out every other month or so to find things people need,” she explained. “You’d be amazed at what people leave behind when they rush to get out, and when you are trying to rebuild a home, you need everything. Dishes to eat off, clothing to wear, books for entertainment…”

“And you just go out, find this stuff, and bring it back?” Dean asked. Y/N shrugged.

“I used to travel around the states in a 1969 Mustang, painted the prettiest blue you’d ever seen. The longest I’d ever stayed in one spot was three weeks. And that was because of a pretty bad concussion and three broken ribs. The idea of settling down isn’t appealing to me,” Y/N said.

“What were you hunting? That busted you up?” Dean asked, book forgotten.

“A rakshasa. I was hunting alone, which I know better than to do, but you do what you have to when people are dying,” she said with a wince. Dean nodded. “What about you? I’d love to hear some of those famous Winchester stories.”

Dean just smiled.

A loud whistle could be heard as the bus approached the large gate.

“Hey! Y/N’s back! Someone go get Maria and Tommy!” a voice shouted. Sam and Dean looked out the front window and watched as the gate slowly opened. Y/N pulled the bus in and parked it just inside the gate. She heaved a heavy sigh before opening the door.

A commotion happened as soon as they walked off the bus. Weapons were pointed in their direction, voices were raised, and threats were thrown; Y/N stood in front of the brothers with her arms in surrender as the brothers stood defensively.

“I don’t fucking think so, Tommy! They’re with me!” she shouted back at the pseudo-leader of the commune.

“You can’t just bring random people into Jackson! You put all of us at risk,” someone shouted.

“You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t bring just anyone in here,” Y/N answered.

“How do we know these people are safe?” another shouted.

“Get your fucking gun out of my face!” Dean growled at someone.

“Shut up and let me handle this,” Y/N bit out at him.

“Looks like you’re causing some trouble, Y/N,” Joel said, standing back with a smirk. Y/N shot him a glare.

“Y/N, what the hell are you thinking,” Tommy asked, walking up to her, a gun in his hand pointed at the men behind her.

“I thought I could bring a couple of friends with me back home without the terror squad bearing down on us,” she snapped at him. When one of the men shouting at her stepped up to make a move on them, Y/N turned to face him. “Try it, and I’ll knock you the fuck out, Aaron.”

“Calm down; they are just defensive because you brought strangers into their home,” Maria said, walking up next to Tommy. “Put your gun down, Tommy, you aren’t helping the situation.”

“Maria, these are my guys,” Y/N said with a look.

“What do you mean, your guys?” she asked.

Y/N rolled up her sleeve to show her tattoo. Sam saw her do that and pulled his shirt aside to show his, elbowing Dean in the process. While rolling his eyes, Dean pulled his shirt aside and showed his tattoo. Maria’s eyes widened, then moved to stand before the trio.

“They are welcome here, and anyone who has a problem with it can speak to me directly,” Maria announced to the growing crowd. Maria turned to look at Y/N, glanced at the bus, and frowned. “Where’s Casey?”

“She stayed behind with Jesse and the girls to help on patrol,” Y/N said. Maria smirked.

“Help on patrol or mess around with Jesse?”

“We haven’t showered in weeks, Maria. Let him have at it if that’s what he wants to fool around with.”

There was humor in their eyes as they turned to see Tommy and Sam talking while Joel and Dean seemed to be sizing each other up. The rest of the crowd dispersed after giving Sam and Dean the once-over. No one went into the bus for the things she found; they all knew once she cleaned up and washed everything, they would be dispersed appropriately: books would go to the library, food to the dining hall, games, and recreation goods to the main entrance, and everything else to the storefront she ran so people can pick through what they need. In another month or so, she would head out in another direction to find more items to bring back to Jackson to help families settle in with a list of requests from people looking for specifics if she could see them.

“Would you guys be willing to stay with Y/N until we can find you a place to live?” Maria asked Sam.

“uh…” Sam stuttered, glancing at Dean.

“Yeah, they’re with me,” Y/N said.

“Okay. We’ll get you some clean clothes. I’m sure she’s got some your size, but they most likely need to be washed. Whatever else you need, we’ll get that together too. Get cleaned up, and get some sleep. We’ll get together later and talk,” Maria said, smiling.

“I get the first shower,” Y/N said. “You boys will most likely use up the hot water.”

“You’ve got hot water?” Dean asked, longing to color his voice. Y/N smiled gently at him, recognizing they had no idea what they were brought into.

“We’ve got electricity here,” she said calmly. “So, we have hot water. We also have shampoo, soap, hot food, and many other comforts. It’s not like it used to be before the outbreak, but it's closer to home than any QZ ever was.”

Dean looked at Sam with emotion in his eyes, grabbing the back of his neck tightly. Sam stared at his brother with teary eyes and a shaky smile. Y/N glanced at Maria, who was smiling at the boys.

“We made it, Sammy,” Dean said quietly.

“C’mon. Let’s go to my place and get settled,” Y/N said, climbing back on the bus. As Sam and Dean climbed on, Y/N smiled at them. “Oh, and boys? Welcome to Jackson.”

#deanw reads #fic rec #carryonourbravehunters #support writers

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deanwanddamons · 1 month ago

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Excellent start. Very much looking forward to reading more ❤️

Rightfully deceived

Prologue

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 782

Warnings: arranged marriage, lying and some tense nerves.

A/N: Welcome to the start of this au!series. It's still fanfiction, so I'm using the freedom of it here, too. 🤭 All mistakes are mine! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

Oh god. She was really doing it.

The long red and green veil was laying heavily over her head, hiding her face and entire body. Only the little lace details infront of her eyes allowed her to see somewhat of her surroundings, but still kept her facial features away from anyone around her. A tradition her family had kept going since she can remember. It was meant to imply the furture husband to see his future wife after the reveal late at night with new eyes before consummating the marriage. He should not see just a woman from then on, he should see his future.

The chairs on her left side in the small chapel were already full with her family and basically the entire clan living here in her home with them. Her father was the Lord, but over the years the clan became smaller and smaller. Not only to certain diseases, but also because a lot of them wanted to start a new life in America. The british empire started to gain power and for some it seemed as a threath. Still, she felt her heart swell a little with warmth upon seeing them all.

On the right side of the chapel were a lot of empty chairs. Only a few men were sitting there, waiting for the wedding to start. But their heads turned in Y/N's direction as soon as the music started to play. Everyone became quiet and looked over to her, but she tried to only focus her attention on her feet. With a deep breath in she turned her gaze to the man at the end of the aisle. Now, he was looking directly at her and a small smile graced his face. But that did not help.

Yeah, Y/N has been in love with him since the first time she had seen him. But unfortunatly to her, he only seemed to have eyes for her younger sister, Helena.

That's when Y/N's heart sank to the ground. From then on it seemed as if she became invisible. After that, everytime Dean came over, he tried to spent as much time with Helena as he could. Never alone of course, but to everyone around them it was obvious that he liked her a lot. And eventhough Helena was always friendly, Y/N knew that she did not like him the same way. Her heart was already taken. But her father did not care.

Now, five years later, her father struggled to keep making money. The harvests of his few tenants had not been productive. Also he was not the best businessman out there. So he had no choice but to ask Dean for help. However, he saw his chance and asked for Helena's hand in return for his help, to which her father happily agreed.

So now, Dean was thinking he was going to marry Helena when in truth it was Y/N. She stopped in her tracks. What was she doing here? How disappointed would he be upon realizing that he married the wrong woman? And how angry would he be? Not forgetting the consequences this would entail.

But she had loved this man for years, still did to this day and she was only mere steps away from become his wife. Something her heart was yearing for for so long. But could she be that selfish?

What was she supposed to do now?

A/N: Setting the scene for you guys. Hope you like the start. 😊

@chriszgirl92 @elenasalvatore1 @laurensfangirlingsideblog @moonxlightsworld @lyarr24

@k-slla @muhahaha303 @stoneyggirl2 @ladysparkles78 @allthosepeopleilovetofangirlover

@ninii-winchester @itsdesiree86 @foxyjwls007 @jtink27

#deanw reads #fic rec #carryonourbravehunters #support writers

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deanwanddamons · 1 month ago

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Finally got around to reading again and decided to start with this, and I’m so glad I did!

You, my friend, are a superb writer and I can’t wait to read more. I absolutely loved this first chapter ❤️

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn.

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly.

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now.

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock…

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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