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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 month ago

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Chapter 23 - You've Been Waiting to Break

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: The Princess effect. It's kicking into their universe big time. (She's speedrunning season 5). Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Mr. Blue by Catherine Feeny

Word Count: 19.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You look for leads, and Dean is very normal about everything. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 22 - Chapter 24

Read on A03!

“You’re gonna be pissed.”

You frown at Dean—drumming his hands on the edge of Baby’s wheel and watching you carefully—and shake your head. “Why would I be pissed?”

“Uh… I don’t know how to say it.” He lets out a long breath, tipping his head back to rest on the bench. “But you’re gonna be pissed. Just remember, none of us are happy about it. And- Uh- There is someone you can kill-“

“Dean-

“And overall, I think he’s doing pretty well with it. I mean, he hasn’t changed, and he’s no less valuable, still very- Y’know- Bobby-“

“Dean-“

“So if you want to kill one of us, kill Meg-“

“Who- Meg the demon?” Your eyes narrow, and your hands fly to the door. But before you can push it open, a strong arm is wrapping around your waist and tugging your back. “Fuck- Dean-“

He pins you tight against his side, and you’ve never been strong enough to really fight him before, but the exhaustion in your body isn’t doing you any favors.

You’ve slept, but only one proper night. Dean had—not so subtlety—bought snacks at the gas station and ordered you extra food when you stopped at a diner, but it’s not enough to make up for months of self-neglect. And Dean is Dean. Strong and Golden and a stubborn, overprotective asshat, who’s holding you like you’re a ragdoll. You don’t even get to think about how his hand is splayed over your stomach, or how his voice is deep in your ear and sending shivers up your spine, because you’re too busy trying to squirm out of his hold.

The Silver is silent and content in your body—it is Dean—but something’s wrong with Bobby, and Dean won’t let you go-

“Stop- Shit-“ Dean grunts in your ear, squeezing your body slightly. “Stop fucking moving, Princess-“

“Let me go-“

He shakes his head, his grip only tightening. “I’m trying to talk to you-“

“Talk to me inside-“

“Well, I want to talk to you in the car-“

“We’ve been in the car for fucking hours-“

“And I- son of a bitch.” Dean snaps your name, and suddenly he’s moving you, turning your body around until your face him, your noses bumping together and-

Fuck.

He’s so pretty. Green eyes deep on yours with his brow slightly furrowed, and he’s tanned a bit more since you left, although that might just be how he’s Golden. So fucking Golden. Smelling like cinnamon and grass, washing over you and causing a little gasp you can’t stop to escape your lips.

And he’s warm.

And his muscles are flexing around you, and there’s now a slightly stronger crook to his nose—you need to bubble wrap him, or start killing whoever’s been punching him in the face—but he’s still perfect.

And he’s real.

This is real. Not another dream or fantasy. Just Dean, pressed right against you, holding your gaze, and muttering your name in a firm, low voice that sparks a small fire in your gut.

“You gonna calm down?”

It’s too easy to shake your head. “You said I’d be angry, Winchester, you don’t get to tell me to calm down-“

“Shit, I know, just-“ He sighs, scanning over your face with a small frown. “I want you to be ready, Princess, but it isn’t that bad. Pinky promise.”

He raises his pinky between your bodies, and small, boyish grin on his face, and you sigh.

“You said there was a demon involved.”

“Yeah. That bitch that was on us when we were hunting for Dad.” He grimaces. “She kissed me.”

You can feel yourself tense, and you have no right to be pissed about that. Three kisses aren’t anything, and you’re the one who left, but if you had been there, nobody would have tried to touch Dean at all-

“I didn’t kiss her back.” He adds, and you swallow.

“I didn’t think you did.”

“Good.” His throat bobs slightly. “If you need to hit something, you can hit me.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not going to hit you, De-“

“I know. Just offering.” He grins at you, and you can’t stop yourself smiling slightly back.

He’s so close. And you’re going to kill that demon—mostly for whatever she did to Bobby, but a little for kissing your Dean, even if he’s not really yours—but later. Maybe after you’ve slept for a million years, in your own bed, with Dean tangled around you.

It would be nice if that kept going. If you kept waking up with his legs thrown over yours and his arm wrapped over you, pinning you a little between his body and the mattress.

And you want him to hold you like that in… other situations.

Like one where, instead of just dropping your head to his shoulder and taking a long, slow breath, you’re brave enough to crash your lips against his and see what he does about it. Maybe he’d carry you inside, and shout to Bobby that you’re home before marching to your room. Or he’d just press you down onto the Impala bench, and touch you here. And even without the gravitational pull that you have for him, he would want you enough to not wait. To run the hand on your lower back between your thighs or roll you on top of him, guiding you up and down his-

“You ready, Princess?” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse in your ear, and you swallow, pulling back to meet his eyes.

“How pissed am I going to be?”

He chuckles, tucking some hair behind your ear, and a small fire glows over your skin where his knuckles brush your cheek. “Call it a nine. Wait here.”

Dean shuffles away, but before he climbs out of the car, he turns back.

His jaw is clenched, brow furrowed, and his lips are in a tight line as he scans over your face. You open your mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but then he’s moving again. Crashing forward and wrapping his arms back around your body, almost suffocating you with the strength of his hug. His face buried in your hair, your leg thrown slightly over his lap to keep your body steady, and your arms flying around his torso without thought.

You can hear his heartbeat, when he’s pressing you to his chest. It’s a little fast, and his breathing is heavy around you, and you don’t ever want to move.

You’ll have to, eventually, but you don’t want to. Even if this is all you get of Dean for the rest of your life, you’ll take it. You can feel the light and iridescent color of the Spiderweb shining through your body, lighting up and casting around yours chest, almost forcing your body to melt into Dean’s.

But he’s got you.

So nothing can really be that bad at all.

“Dean.“ You whisper against his body, and he only holds you tighter.

“Missed you.” He mutters, lips brushing over the crown of your head. “So fuckin’ much. I- Son of a bitch, Princess, don’t do that again.“

“I won’t.” You mumble, praying to nothing that you’re telling the truth. You want to be. So fucking bad, you never want to leave Dean’s side again. “All the way down.”

“All the way down.” He squeezes your body three times, and he’s right.

Three times mean you’re good.

And you are good.

You’re home.

The Sky is still watching, when Dean offers you his hand to get out of the car, and you take it with a wide smile you can’t remember how to bite down. But it can fucking suck it. Right now it doesn’t matter, what Lucifer and the Blue and the Sky want from you.

You just want Dean. Want him to never let go of your hand, or let Gold fade from your body. You’re covered in it, when you stand up, and nothing ever been better. It’s not even wiping Jo’s pastel blue from your fingers, only coating over it like a shield, blocking it from ever being wiped away. And it still fucking hurts—a stabbing pain in your skull, an exhaustion heavy over your skin, and a pang in your gut that might just be hunger—but if you fall apart here, you’ll have Dean. You won’t hurt him—you’re not sure you can—and he’d never let you float too high away. He’d pull you back down, and hold you until you were only yours again.

And even when you’re not yours, you’re his.

And you haven't talked about it yet. How one second you were on a dirt road in Europe, running and running and only Silver, and then you were in Oregon. Staring at Dean and falling into him, nothing really clear except the Gold of Dean, the green of his eyes, and his voice saying your name.

But Dean hasn't asked. And if he does, you don't know what you'll tell him. You don't know how you did it. You're not sure you'll ever be able to do it again. But you'd been in pain, stretched into the emptiest corners of the universe and sunken into the darkest black holes, a small bit of you running through the feathers of birds in India and the lungs of fish in the Pacific, and then Dean had called you.

He'd called you, the rush had kicked in, and you'd gone to him. You'll always go to him. Just to be as close as he'll allow, you'll always go to Dean. You love him, and if he's asking you to stand by his side-to hold his hand and let him lead you anywhere in the world, but mostly home-you're not breaking any rules by listening.

You never should have left in the first place. If not for the taunts of Lucifer and pleas of the Blue still ringing in your ears—Sam would have held on for you, if you'd just stuck it out and stayed—for Bobby.

He's waiting for you in the entrance hall. Sitting in a-

"Shit." Your hand tightens in Dean's—now hidden behind your back, like you're a high schooler with a secret boyfriend, and Bobby's been waiting up to catch you sneaking out—and he squeezes it once as you stare down at Bobby.

He looks a little too amused by the whole situation, especially given he's the one in the wheelchair. But if he has any opinions on how close you're standing to Dean—how you're pressed to his chest, and his hand is suddenly on your hip to keep you steady—he doesn't share them. He only raises his brows and snorts at your wide features, wheeling a little closer with a dry expression.

"You gonna say hi? Or just gape at me like you ain't never seen a man sittin' down before."

"Hi." You whisper, and you want to move forward, but you’re frozen. You could move and explode and hurt Bobby more. You could try to touch him, but maybe he doesn’t want you to. Bobby, more than anyone, knows what you’re capable of. What you can do, and how little control you have, and he may be mad at you for leaving him at all-

“Fuckin’- Jesus, stop starin’ at me like I’m gonna explode.”

You swallow, and your knees feel a little weak.

Whatever happened, you could have stopped it. If you’d been here, nothing would’ve even gotten close enough to Bobby to hurt him-

Bobby grunts your name, wheeling a little closer, and the only thing keeping you upright might be Dean. Still holding your hand, still touching your hip, standing a little taller than usual behind you but firm around you. Golden and grounding and stained all over Bobby’s hallway.

And the wheelchair is already covered in Bobby’s green. Dean said it was a demon who was to blame. You would have known it was a demon immediately You could have stopped it-

“Look at me, kiddo.”

You swallow, swaying slightly on your feet, and meet Bobby’s eyes. They’re a little glossy, but just as firm as always. Just like Bobby’s soul, grounded and firm.

“You listenin’?”

You nod weakly, and Bobby sighs.

“Dean, go in the other room.”

“Uh-“ You can feel Dean shift behind you, and your hand flies to cover his on your hip. You don’t want him to leave. If Dean’s leaves, you’re going to float away, and nothing will be able to pull you back down.

“Dean-“

“I’m worried she’s gonna fall over, Bobby.” Dean mutters, and you just nod again. The Silver is silent in your body, but there’s still a lump forming in your throat. Dean can’t go away. You just got him back and the pain isn’t eased, but you don’t think you’re going to lose yourself, just as long as Dean’s here.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Bobby mutters, running a hand over his face. “Can’t believe I’m gonna encourage this.”

You can hear the frown in Dean’s voice. “Encourage what-“

“Shut it, idjit. You’re stayin’, but you ain’t here.”

“Oh- Uh, sure.” Dean’s thumb starts to rub over your hip, and he squeezes your hand one time once more.

You manage to squeeze back three times, and he relaxes behind you.

“Do I just- Should I close my eyes-“

“You pretend you’re in another room.” Bobby grunts, keeping his eyes on you. “You listenin’ to me, kiddo?”

You nod again, and Bobby wheels a little closer.

“Good. This,” he gestures to his body. “Ain’t your fault. Ain’t no one’s fault but that bitch Meg. Not your fault we’re in this mess either, so if you’re thinking of lockin’ yourself up instead of sleepin’ in your damn bed, then I’ve been doin’ your laundry for months for no fuckin’ reason-“

“Bobby.” You cut him off with a whisper, the words starting to rise like vomit in up your throat.

You need to say it. Need to tell him. Need him to know, because you’re such a shit fucking daughter but you still want him to know.

“I’m sorry.”

He scowls. “I just fuckin’ told ya-“

“For leaving.” You shake your head, your words starting to choke in your throat. “I- I didn’t even tell you, and I know you were mad at Dean but it’s not his fault. It’s- I had to- I couldn’t stay here with- With Jo-“ Your vision is starting to blur, and the only thing keeping you up is certainly Dean. “I should have called- Or just texted- And I left you with these two idiots and I’m sorry-“

Bobby mutters your name, and you stumble forward, moving down to your knees to give him a long, tight hug. It’s a little awkward with positioning, but Bobby doesn’t hesitate to return it. Squeezing you slightly as your sniff and silent tears fall down your cheeks, sighing in your ear as he rubs your shoulder.

And when he speaks, he keeps his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, kiddo. Did end up burnin’ all her other shit, just in case, but she’s buried near the waterfall, down by trail. You can make Dean take you. He ain’t gonna say no.”

You nod, squeeze Bobby once. “Thank you. Were you? Mad at him?”

Bobby sighs. “Mighta been short with ‘im, yeah.”

“Short?” You pull back, wiping your nose with your sleeve and giving Bobby a small smile. “You yelled at him, didn’t you.”

“Yelled at both of ‘em.” Bobby grunts. “Yelled at Cas, too. Feathery little shit wouldn’t say where the hell he dropped you-“

“I did ask him not to. But it was Rome-“

“Rome?!” Dean all but shouts behind you, and you turn to see him running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Fucking- I didn’t think of Rome-“

“Aren’t you supposed to be pretending you’re in another room?”

Dean rolls his eyes at you. “Well I am here, Princess, and I can hear-“

“I know, De.” You give him a teasing smile, the strain in your voice slowly softening, but he looks adorable. Somehow pacing without moving, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket as he stares at you in disbelief. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“Shut up, you were missing-“

“I called you every day-“

“Yeah, from the other side of the freakin’ planet-“

You’d be pissed about how annoyed he sounds, but you know Dean. He’s rubbing his face and glaring at the air—but not you—so he’s more furious with himself than anything else. He’ll calm down.

You just need to keep smiling at him, and he’ll probably talk himself into a reset.

“I- Shit, you don’t speak Italian, and you didn’t have any damn money-“

“I worked it out.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “You stole shit, didn’t you.”

“It’s not stealing, it’s borrowing-“

“Did you give it back?”

You flush slightly. “No.”

“Then that’s stealing, Princess. And- Shit, you were an illegal immigrant, what if you got caught-“

“I think I would’ve been fine-“

“Of course you think that.” Dean throws his hands in the air, shaking his head. “But I wouldn’t have been there to help you, and- Son of a bitch- Rome-“

“The hell would you have done if ya did think of Rome?” Bobby asks, and you’re grateful. You trying to offer Dean solutions only seems to be spiraling his freakout more. “You ain’t able to fly without goin’ catatonic, boy. Were you gonna rent a boat?”

You snort, and Dean frowns.

“Could a boat make it across the… Atlantic, right-“

“Dean.” You wrinkle your nose at him, moving fully back to your feet. “You were not going to take a boat across the ocean.”

“I could’ve-“

“Yeah? How do you rig a mast.” Bobby’s voice is dripping with the same amusement as yours, and Dean scowls.

“I’d learn as I went.”

You giggle, moving to stand back at his side. “You would’ve drowned, Deano.”

He glowers at you, even as he grabs your hand once more, his voice moving under his breath. So quiet you almost don’t hear it. “Would’ve fuckin’ swum then.”

“Swam.” You hum, and Dean blinks.

“Uh-“

Bobby coughs, the expression on his face as he looks between you and Dean entirely unreadable. “You two got a chance to eat, before you got back?”

You nod. “We stopped at a diner this morning.”

“Late lunch?” Bobby grunts, you shrug, and Dean tugs your hand slightly, jerking his head to Bobby with an almost pleading expression.

“De-“

“I’m hungry.” He mutters, and you almost laugh.

“You’re always hungry-“

“Yeah, but I want that late lunch-“

“Tell Bobby, not me.”

“I can hear.” Bobby grumbles, starting to turn in his chair. “Dean, help ‘er settle back in. Sam called few hours before you showed up, he’ll be back in the morning.”

“Can we-“

“We’ll go over everythin’.” Bobby sighs, giving you a gentle smile over his shoulder. “Welcome home, kiddo.”

You swallow, and nod. “Thank you.”

He nods, wheels away, and you’re left with Dean behind you, shifting awkwardly on his feet as you turn to him with a grin.

“Why didn’t you just ask Bobby for lunch?”

He scowls. “The offer was for you, sweetheart, not me.”

“But he’s making you the lunch-“

“Cause he knows I’m gonna give you some of it.” Dean mutters, and before you can push further, he’s tugging you closer to his side. “C’mon. You need to change.”

You frown down at your clothing. It’s not clean, but it’s far from the worst you’ve ever seen. “I don’t have anything clean-“

“Take one of my shirts.” Dean shrugs. “And I think Bobby did do your dirty shit last month, but you can take my boxers too. If you need them.”

You only just manage not to stumble at the idea. Of wearing Dean’s boxers. His shirt you’ve done before, but you’ve worn Sam’s shirt, too. Not for more than an hour at a time—and just until you can get to either your own, non-blood-splattered clothing, or Dean—but all the same, you’ve worn it.

You’ve never worn Dean’s boxers. And now all you can think about is Dean, wearing boxers, grinning down at you and holding you by your hip. Guiding you down and whispering in your ear, his eyes dancing with a tease light as you melt into him and bury your face in his bare chest-

“You called me an idiot.” Dean mumbles in your ear as you walk upstairs, his hand sliding to your lower back. “That’s pretty freakin’ rude, Princess.”

Focus.

You need to focus. And later, you’re going to have to figure out how to get those fantasies under control. It’s not like you’ve never thought about Dean like that, but it’s only growing more demanding. More distracting. More obvious, where he might say your name and you’ll moan from just the sound. That will definitely be breaking a rule. Can’t show it on your face. Can’t make this about you.

Whining whenever Dean’s fingers brush over bare skin, or gaping at him with an obvious flush and lust-blown expression—lost in your own head to thoughts of big, calloused hands shoving your knees apart and full lips kissing on your inner thigh, and you need to get a fucking grip—is going to give something away.

If it’s not that you love him, it’s that you’re a literally blushing virgin. Aching and needy for Dean without anything to offer him in return. Maybe yourself—all of you, the bits you’ve never wanted anyone but Dean to see, that so many beings seem hellbent on taking—but that’s not enough. That’s like giving someone a sick cat. It will take so much time to make them trust you, for them just to sit in your lap, and the whole time you’re never even going to know if they’ll be gone the next day.

Dean doesn’t deserve that. You know—have known—that he should be with anyone but you.

But you’re the one he’s grinning at. The one he’s guiding down the hall and touching.

And it’s not indulging if Dean touches you.

You roll your eyes, keeping your voice bored in the hope he doesn’t notice your slight gape or flush. “You’re not an idiot, De.”

His smile grows. “You’re the one who said it, sweetheart-“

“I didn’t mean it. You know that.”

Dean’s smile is impossibly wide as you push the door to your room open, and it’s never not going to be painful. Strangling the words I love you, Dean, in your throat, or watching his chest puff out at the idea that he’s smart. He is smart. You don’t know who’s been telling him he’s not—that’s a lie, you have an idea, and John should be praying in hell that the angels get to you before you get to him—but he is.

And you want to tell him everything. Not just what you have to say, but the things you’ve kept to yourself for so long. The Sky is right out the window, and you always tell him not to open the curtains because then it will watch. The Silver is volatile, but you don’t think it could hurt him if you tried. You’d make him sick, but you wouldn’t hurt him.

Dean’s soul will never leave his body.

It will only run with a little bit of Silver, because you’ve embedded into him and it’s never going to go away.

You want to tell him that, too. Even if it makes him leave, or finally look at you like the monster everyone else seems to know you are. You can’t tell him—you’re sick and vile and love him, and you never want him to leave—but you still want to.

You want to tell him about how there are Men on God, and Dean might be one of them. Maybe. But the Men of God always end up turning on the Magdalenes, and you know Dean wouldn’t do that. He stayed. He waited.

You love him.

Passing you his shirt and boxers just as promised, and waiting awkwardly on your bed as you change in the bathroom.

“I’ll- Uh, you can have dibs on laundry.” He calls your name, and you can picture him frowning at his feet. “Sammy can deal, or just wear a freakin’ blanket or towel-“

“I could wear a blanket or towel. I mean, it’s not like laundry takes a million years-“

“It’s your house first.”

“Technically, it’s Bobby’s-“

“Technically, that makes it yours too-“

“No, it doesn’t. I’m not his legal child.”

“Me and Sammy aren’t his legal children either. And you’ve lived here longer.”

Shit. “Shut up.”

Dean only laughs. “Bossy, Princess.”

You flush, arranging your hair in the mirror, and you almost don’t fully recognize yourself. It’s nothing in your features—sure you look a little tired, but you’re always a little tired—but something in your eyes. Almost a glow, or gleam that’s leaking out, over your features like an infection.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

You frown, examining every pore of your face for even a bruise or scratch, maybe a seared mark left by one of the archangels, but there’s nothing. Lucifer didn’t touch you, and if the Blue did something, Eileen would have noticed and told you.

Shit, you need to talk to Dean about Eileen, too.

Problem for later.

Dean calls your name, his voice a little firmer than before. “What’s wrong-“

“Nothing- It’s-“ There’s something. You don’t have name for it, but it’s bright, and buried right under your skin. Invisible if you’re not looking for it, but somehow clear all the same. A little like a faint star over a city, only in you. “Do I look different?”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Different from what?”

“Before.”

You don’t say I left. You don’t have to.

Dean knows.

“You looked the same to me, sweetheart.” There’s a pause before he continues. “You had a fever. Maybe it’s that.”

You sigh, turning on the water to wash your face. “Fevers don’t change how you look, De.”

“They fuck with your head though. Could be what’s happening.”

“You’re saying I’m going crazy?”

He laughs. “You’ve been crazy, Princess-“

“Hey-“

“It’s fine. I like crazy.”

He keeps just saying things. Small, little things like that, as if he doesn’t understand the fireworks they set off across the Spiderweb, or how everything goes technicolor in the aftershock of his words. He just says them, and keeps fucking talking.

“Can we watch a movie?”

“What movie?”

“I dunno. Anything.”

You really want to watch a movie with him. To curl up in Dean’s lap and lean your head back on his shoulder, letting him wrap his arms around your stomach and resting his chin on the top of your head, maybe kissing along your neck and letting his hand wander between your legs.

Fucking Christ. You need to get it together.

“We-“

“We’ve got shit to do, I know. But Sammy won’t be home until tomorrow-“

“Dean-“

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “C’mon, it’s been so fuckin’ boring without you-“

You snort. “You started the apocalypse, De.”

“Yeah, and it’s a bunch of angel family bullshit and politics. One movie.” You open the door, and he gives you the wide, boyish and charming grin, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Please, Princess. I’ll give you back the Firebird.”

"He’s my car.” You mumble, fighting down a daydream where you walk between his legs, and see what he does about it. “It was a gift, De. You have to give him back.”

“I know.” He moves to his feet, and you’re frozen in to doorway of the bathroom. “Still want you to watch a movie with me.”

You swallow, your eyes wide as he moves closer. “Can I pick what movie?”

“You gonna watch it, or read the whole time.”

“I’ll watch.”

Your voice is only a whisper now. But Dean’s stopped in front of you, and he’s so Golden, and you missed him so much. There’s too much to tell him, but all the same, not enough. Never enough you can say to properly explain what he is to you, what he does to you—smirking down at you, his shirt smelling like cinnamon and practically absorbing the heat from his body—or how much you love him.

It might be bending a rule, but you really have to find a way to tell him without saying it. Just so you don’t drive yourself insane.

Just so Dean doesn’t drive you insane.

He’s taking your face between his hands and hold your gaze on his, the tips of his fingers tangled slightly in your hair and his attention turning the Spiderweb into only a burst of furious color and light-

“Then you can do whatever you want, Princess.” He mutters, and it’s taking a lot of effort not to drool as his thumb brushes the edge of your lips. “And you look the fuckin’ same to me.”

You look the same.

You feel the same. A little more exhausted, but just as much in pain. Still sick. Still certain there isn’t a cure, but Dean makes it all so much easier.

And Dean looks the same too. Just as tired, bags under his eyes and a few new scars on his hands alone, his callouses rough on your skin, and you’d never want him any other way.

He leans down, brushing a featherlight kiss to your brow, and you all but fold into him as he murmurs onto your skin.

“Let’s get some food in you, sweetheart. Then we can start that movie.”

Dean leads you downstairs with your hands tangled together, and Bobby only rolls his eyes at the sight of you in oversized boxers and a shirt that’s pretty obviously Dean’s—mono-colored and carrying a single stain near the collar that’s probably barbecue sauce or ketchup, but has long faded into only a mark—before grunting that dinners in the kitchen, and you and Dean both got workin’ legs to go get it yourself.

It’s good that he can joke about it. It makes the gnawing in your gut feel a little less sour and painful, and your skin prickle with less shame.

You’re still going to try and fix it. Once the ease lifts—it always does—and life isn’t only this fleeting second of Dean’s elbow bumping yours as he eats and his thigh pressed against your under the table, you’re going to heal Bobby. If you had the Silver under control, you might be able to do it now.

But you don’t. And the Silver hasn’t seemed all that interested in healing things lately. But you’re still a witch. You can still find a ritual or spell or something to help Bobby.

He’s still Bobby, in the wheelchair. Talking to you about nothing as you all pretend not to feel the looming presence of the apocalypse, hanging over your heads and lying under every word. But if Bobby’s in a wheelchair, demons attack, and no one’s here to help-

You set down your fork for a few minutes. You’re already at more than you’re used to—Dean had glared at you until your plate was full, then his face had split into a wide grin as he led you to the table—and that thought is making you a little sick.

If you can’t heal Bobby, you’ll have to ward his house more. Find ways for him to fight demons and angels from the chair. You’ll leave less—you’ve already left too much—and find a way to be useful without the Silver. You have the Blade, and your mind, and that should be enough help Dean and Sam, and keep Bobby safe.

It will have to be.

You’ll make sure it is.

After the ease breaks.

Tonight, you’ll just fall a little further into Dean.

He herds you to the couch in front of Bobby’s old TV, passes you the remote with a grin, and sprawls out at your side as you flip mindlessly through the channels.

“You know what you’re looking for-“

You nod and hum, and stop on that station that always plays Scooby Doo reruns.

Dean stills as you carefully scoot closer to his side.

“I-“ He clears his throat, his voice still hoarse. “Didn’t know you liked Scooby, Princess.”

You just shrug. Your opinion on Scooby is mostly neutral.

You like how quickly Dean relaxes, how often he smiles, and the way his arm moves over your shoulders as he talks over half the show. Telling you what happening and cracking stupid jokes that still make you giggle. And it’s good he’s describing the show, because you’re not watching at all.

You’re only looking at Dean.

His jaw is sharp, and if you trace your fingers over it, you’ll be able to feel the prickle of his stubble that will be shaved by tomorrow. He should grow it out. You should hide the stupid razor, and see how hard he tries to find it. He’d look good with a beard, and even if that counts as indulging yourself, you’d really be doing the world a favor.

It would hide his face, though. And Dean has such a pretty face, and you love every single small scar and bump and freckle of it. Just as you love his voice talking about how obvious it is who’s ‘haunting’ this mansion, and you love the strength of his body around you, and you love the way he’s so trapped on the cartoon that it you can barely hear any weight in his voice. He’s swearing and asking for your opinions and keeping his arm around you, and you never want to move again.

And when he finally glances down at you, before slowly doubling back and reaiming all his focus to just you, you offer him a small smile.

“Your thingy.” You poke his chest, the haze of sleep and Dean starting to cloud your thoughts. “It’s gone.”

Dean shrugs, his gaze still locked on yours. “Cas took it. Said it’s good for finding God or some shit.”

“God?”

“Yeah, Princess. God. Hear he’s missing.”

You frown at where Dean’s amulet used to be. It’s strange. Now that you’ve seen it, you’re not going to be able to stop seeing it. The thing has always just seemed like a part of him. This is almost like he’s missing an arm. “Where’d he go?”

“Don’t know.” Dean’s grin grows. “Think that’s the missing part, sweetheart.”

You nod thoughtlessly, turning the fabric of Dean’s shirt between your fingers. “You think Cas is gonna find him?”

“Nah. I think he skipped out on us for a reason.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Cas says I look like God.”

“Well,” Dean sighs, his voice dropping to only a breath, and everything is only Golden. “Good he’s getting something right, then.”

You’re not sure you hear him right. You might just be going insane, and you’re so tired. There’s a pressure over your eyelids that’s trying to push them down. You’ve been running and running, and Dean’s always been a good place to fall down. So you yawn, your face falling into Dean’s neck, and a soft hum escapes you when his hand moves up to tangle in your hair. To hold you against him.

You know you can never tell him.

But you can have this.

Just for tonight, you can this.

“You tired, Princess?” Dean asks, his voice soft, and you nod.

You mostly just want Dean to carry you to bed.

It’s not making it about you if you don’t say anything. If Dean chuckles, pulls you fully into his arms, and carries you upstairs with only another wide yawn escaping your lips. It’s not indulging if he sets you in bed then crawls right after you, settling on his side of the mattress and watching you for a long moment in the dark.

It’s not showing it on your face if he can’t see your face.

And it’s not affecting work if you can’t do anything until tomorrow. If anything, it’s helping work. Because Dean’s hand moves back into yours, sleep pulls you under only seconds later, and for the first time since you left, you sleep peacefully and dreamlessly through the night.

Dean’s still there, when you wake up. Upright in bed on his phone, his hand still holding tight to yours. And when you mumble something that’s probably supposed to be his name, he grins and squeezes your hand once.

You don’t respond with words—rolling away with a grumble and kicking Dean’s leg when he laughs—but you do squeeze his hand back. Three times.

It’s easy to stay like that for a while. Dean not making any effort to move you, and your head spinning a little as you try to pick apart if it is a dream.

It isn’t.

You can feel the warmth of Dean’s hand, and the cotton of the sheets, stuck to your skin.

This is real.

And when you finally push off the mattress and force yourself to take your hand from Dean’s, he tightens his grip, and pulls you right back down. Your head is resting on his knee.

It’s easier not to think about it.

“De,“ you yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with your free hand. “I need to pee-“

“Yeah, just…” He trails off, scanning over you carefully, and you frown.

“Do I look different?”

“No.” He shakes his head, but doesn’t stop staring. “I- No. You want me to wait for you? Sammy’s back, and we gotta stop the x-men.”

You pause. “Apocalypse?”

He grins. “Yeah. Good, right?”

“Not your worst.”

“C’mon-“

“Dean.” You tug on his hand, pouting up at him, your eyes fluttering slightly. “Please.”

He’s staring at you again, and you can see the clench of his jaw.

He’s still not letting go of your hand.

“You- Uh-“ Dean coughs, shaking his head with a tight frown. “Need to- Gotta brush my teeth. Left my toothbrush in my bathroom. Gonna- See you downstairs.”

You blink, everything rushing too fast as Dean helps you to your feet, releases your hand like you’ve burned him, and almost bolts out of the room.

Almost.

He turns back, flies at you before you know what’s happening, and pulls you into a hug so tight your breath catches in your throat.

“I’m- Good you’re home.” He plants a firm kiss on the side of your head before drawing back and grabbing your face between his hands, his voice only a rasp. “Missed you, Princess. You’re- Thanks.”

Then he’s just gone. And you’re left standing like an idiot in the middle of the room, swaying slightly and touching your face when he’d held you.

Your fingers move away, and they’re coated in gold.

It really does seem to be preserving Jo’s blue, deeper under your skin and now almost impossible to wipe away.

And it’s a few more moments before you remember how to move, and another second before you can walk with balance. You’re moving through most of your morning in an almost drunken haze. Maybe Bobby has a gas leak, and that’s why you feel so high. Maybe there’s something in the water, and that’s why everything is technicolor. Maybe Lucifer did something to you, and that’s why your skin feels like it’s humming and electric, small shivers running up your spine whenever you dip your head, and smell the cinnamon and grass lingering on Dean’s shirt.

But it’s probably just Dean. Nobody else has ever been able to affect you like that.

Only, and always, Dean.

He’s grinning at you, as you shuffle into the kitchen. Bobby’s at the head of the table, and Sam-

You hear a soft mutter of your name, and Sam’s staring at you from the doorway, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

He doesn’t seem to be moving. And it’s moments like these, where you can see what Dean means when he calls Sam small. Because he’s taking up the whole doorframe, but his shoulders are slumped, and his head is bowed, and it looks almost as if he’s trying to shrink into himself.

And you’ve done the same thing. Countless times. But even as Sam’s body is hunching, his soul is spreading out. It’s not the odd, twisting pheromones people wave out, overwhelming you and making your head spin slightly. It’s quieter. More tentative.

All purple.

Sam’s purple again. The right purple. And there are slightly marks where the red had been creeping over him, they’re more like scars than cracks.

You wish you knew how to fix that. Magdalene’s are supposed to be connected to souls.

But you can’t control the Silver.

There’s so much to heal, but even before, using the Silver was dicey. Now it might end in disaster.

But you can still step across the room, and pull Sam into a tight hug.

He freezes for a second, but slowly wraps his arms around you, and holds you there until you open your eyes, and his purple isn’t as pained.

Sam clears his throat as you step back, his voice soft when he speaks.

“I- I’m-“

You shake your head once, and Sam swallows.

You’re not going to make him do this in front of everyone. You know Sam’s sorry. You can see it in the desperation on his face, in how he’s barely meeting your eyes and pulling his lips into a line. And you love Dean, but he can be a needy little ass. He’s already clearing his throat and reaching out to tug on your sleeve, nodding to the chair when you frown at him over your shoulder.

You roll your eyes, and look back to Sam.

“You wanna go shopping later? For groceries?”

Sam blinks at you, then nods. “Yeah, that sounds good. Please.”

You smile at him, and turn back to Dean before the man explodes.

“Why don’t I get to go shopping,” he grumbles as you drop at his side, and Bobby beats you to the answer.

“Cause I need ya doin’ your damn job, Dean. You got a day off. Lucifer ain’t offerin’ paid vacation.”

Dean scowls. “Then why does Sammy get a day-“

“He didn’t get a day. He finished the hunt.” Bobby passes you a paper and pencil, a small smile on his face as you whisper thanks, and Dean keeps pushing it.

“But-“

“No but. You want out, you’re gonna have to get past me.” Bobby narrows his eyes. “And I can still shoot, boy. So don’t think it’s gonna be easy.”

Bobby’s eyes flick to you for a second, Dean’s follow, and you frown.

You didn’t do anything. You’re just sitting here. But whatever Bobby’s implying Dean seems to understand, because he just huffs, presses his knee to yours, and leans forward with a frown.

“Anything new while we were out?”

“Nothin’ good.” Bobby mutters, and Sam drops into the chair on your other side. “Cas ain’t made progress on God, and the angels are still bein’ dumbasses and makin’ things harder than they gotta be. We still got no weapons-“

“One weapon.” Sam cuts in, frowning at the air. “Becky told me the Colt is still around. Hanging out with some demon named Crowley. She also said he was-“ Sam wrinkles his nose. “Having relations. With Lilith.”

Dean’s brows shoot up. “You mean he was fucking her, Sammy?”

“I- Uh,” Sam coughs. “Yeah.”

That should maybe surprise you more.

It doesn’t. Lilith mentioned having her own Man of God that betrayed her, when she was a Magdalene. And a demon is about as far from that as you can get.

Dean seems a little caught up on it, though.

“Demons can have sex?”

“They can eat and die.” Bobby grunts. “Seems reasonable they can fuck, too.”

“Reasonable-“

“The question is going to be how we can find this Crowley guy.” Sam talks right over Dean, and you get an adorable, sad look that you can only smile at in return.

“It’s insane that they can fuck, right.” Dean mutters under his breath. “I’m not losing my fuckin’ mind.”

“I think it would be more crazy if they didn’t.”

“Wha-“

“Lust is a sin, Deano.” You grin at him, and his eyes widen. “Which feels like a cheap shot. We all do it.”

His swallows. “We do?”

“Yeah, I’ve found Bobby’s porno magazines-“

“Hey.” Bobby snaps your name, and your gaze shoots up. “Pay attention, you two. You can go back to cuddlin’ after.”

Sam sits up in his chair. “Were they cuddling before-“

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean grumbles, shifting in his chair. “I’ll call Cas about the demon consort with our gun. Once we get it, we still need a fuckin’ plan to use it-“

“The Horsemen are working for him, right? I mean, if we can track one of the last three-“

“Last three?” You frown, and Bobby sighs.

“These two dumbasses almost killed each other when War rolled into town.”

“Hey.” Dean scowls. “We ganked him, didn’t we?”

“Barely.” Bobby mutters, giving you a flat look, and you—for Sam and Dean’s sake—bite down a smile. “But Sam’s onto somethin’. If Lucifer’s got them on a leash, we can make ‘em tug it.”

“If we can find them.” Sam adds, his attention turning to you. “I mean- They don’t have to stay in America. Neither does Lucifer-“

“Shit.” You mutter, cringing slightly, and Dean frowns

“What-“

“I sort of- Fuck.”

Deep, long breath. You have to tell them some things. And in moment you land on just about the apocalypse. The Men of God don’t matter to anyone but you, and it will only be a distraction as everyone tries to figure out who yours is, and you refuse to look Dean in the eyes.

Same with Lucifer. They need to know he visited you. That he wants to be your friend, and that the Blue thinks you’re making things change.

Nobody needs to know about the deal he offered you. To ally with him, and keep Dean.

That would be breaking a lot of rules at once.

“Archangels sort of… visited me,” you mumble, rubbing the scar on your palm as you speak. “Lucifer was one of them. He- He said he wanted to be my friend.”

Bobby’s watching you carefully, his voice far neutral. “He hurt you?”

“No.” You whisper. “Didn’t even try to, either. Just talked for a while, then left.”

“Left.”

You nod. “Yeah. Then I sort of blacked out, and woke up…”

“Back with us.” Dean finished for you, his hands fisted on top of the table. “Son of a bitch.”

Sam clears his throat, and you can see him lean forward in your periphery. “You said two archangels visited you?”

“Yeah. The other one was blue.”

“Blue?”

“I-“ You sigh, giving Sam an apologetic smile. “Blond. He was a kind of short blond guy.”

Sam exchanges one of those looks with Dean, and you frown.

“You know who I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, Princess. Think we do.”

Sam sighs, grimacing slightly. “Remember that trickster I told you about? In 2007? Right before we found you and-“ He coughs, and it doesn’t make the ache in your heart any better. “Sorry. It’s- that wasn’t a trickster. Turns out, it was the archangel, Gabriel.”

“He was fucking with us a few weeks ago.” Dean mutters. “But us in this fucked up TV thing, to try and teach us a lesson about playing our roles to get this over with.”

“Your… roles?”

They exchange another look, and if they don’t tell you, you’re just going to ask Bobby-

“Sammy and I are...” Dean’s voice are slow, and you can almost feel the weight of it in your chest. “True vessels.”

He’s almost spitting out the words, and Sam takes over without hesitation.

“Michael supposed to take over Dean. And Lucifer-“ Sam takes a heavy breath, and it click in a second.

Oh.

That explains what make Sam say yes meant. And why you’d lose Dean if Heaven won. Michael wouldn’t want you near his vessel.

And if Dean is Michael’s vessel, that definitely makes him a Man of God.

But you still don’t know why you matter, as the Magdalene. You’d rationalize it as something to do with the Apocalypse, but everyone seems really fucking pissed when you try to participate in it-

“What did he want from you?” Sam asks, his voice soft. “Gabriel?”

“He-“ Deep breath. You’re rubbing your wrists raw, but you’re allowed to say this part. It will be fine. “Apparently I’m changing things.”

Dean frowns. “Changing what.”

“I- I’m not sure.” You twist the skin on your finger, and Dean’s eyes narrow, but you can’t tell them.

Can’t say Sam would’ve turned on Ruby if you stayed. That you might have stopped the seals. That Jo might-

“He just said I needed to stop. That even just- As long as I’m alive.” You take a shaking breath, picking every word carefully. “And talking to you guys, I’m making things drag. That I needed to stop.”

“Stop what?” Dean’s tense at your side. “Talking to us?”

You nod. “I- I don’t think they’re going to stop. Heaven and Hell. And I- I can go again-“

Dean’s hand flies to your thigh, like he’s trying to pin you to your chair, but Bobby speaks first.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, kiddo.” He grunts, his eyes sharp on yours. “Less predictable we are, the better.”

“And you’re the wildcard.” Dean bumps your shoulder, and his grin makes the Spiderweb glow. “Told you we needed you here, Princess.”

He had.

He’d said he needed you.

And when you settle back into your chair, and Dean’s grin grows, you don’t care if he was lying.

As long as Dean still wants all the way down, there’s nowhere else for you to go.

It’s quick to make a plan from there.

Dean and Sam will figure out who Crowley is, and get the Colt from him. You and Bobby will lock down and try to figure out where the next horseman might be hiding, so once you’ve got the Colt, you want to move fast to get to Lucifer.

He may come if you call.

You really don’t want to find out.

Dean grumbles, when you take the Firebird keys from him.

“Cars can fit three people-“

“I’m aware.” You give him an amused look. “Are you going to survive by yourself, Deano?”

He scowls. “Sue me for not wanting you two running off alone while you’re being hunted by everything and Sammy’s prime angel meat-“

“We won’t be alone. And it’s literally the grocery store.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and before he can push further, you continue with a flat tone.

“I’m bringing the Blade, De.” You pat your jacket. “And Sam will have a gun.”

His brow furrows, but he still grumbles, “Fine.”

Sam snorts from behind you. “Can it not be fine? I want to see Dean actually try to stop you-“

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean doesn’t look away from you. “I’m gonna call Cas, get started on the Crowley shit. Be fast.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Dean grunts, and guides you outside with a hand on your lower back.

“I didn’t think he was going to let us go.” Sam says as you pull away. “I’m surprised he’s not like, hidden in the trunk or something.”

“He’s dramatic, Sam-“

“Yeah, but-“ Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Never mind. Do you know what we need?”

You nod, keeping your gaze locked on the road. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah. You guys are really bad at grocery shopping.”

“But- We had cereal-“

“You had cereal dust.” You shoot Sam a flat look. “And beer, and microwave meals. Those are not groceries.”

Sam sighs. “What are groceries?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t-“ Sam cuts himself off with a groan. “Your plan is wing it, isn’t it.”

“Yep.”

Sam groans, but you think it’s an amazing plan. Sam takes a little more convincing, but by the time you park, he’s on team wing it.

And winging it turns out to just be a lot of you and Sam wandering the aisles, trying to figure out what someone might need for more than only a few days at a time.

“What do you use olive oil for?” Sam frowns at the bottle, and you shrug.

“Olives?”

“I think they make it out of olives.”

“Oh.” You frown at him. “You lived in an apartment. Didn’t you cook?”

Sam shakes his head. “Jess did. I burn everything. I ate cafeteria food before, and Dean had always cooked for me when we were kids.”

You hum, and you can’t let it show on your face. How much you love Dean. How you’re thinking about him—in his boxers, because that seems to be tattooing itself on your brain—cooking and grinning at you and kissing you over your next before backing your up to the counter and moving his knee between your legs-

Public.

You’re in public.

You have to put the olive oil back on the shelf, and keep moving.

At some point, you and Sam split up. He heads off to dairy, and you-

You’re trapped in the skincare aisle.

Staring at the face masks.

They’re the same ones you and Jo use. They’d been in your bag that day, because hers had been full of things for the ritual.

You haven’t looked for your bag.

You should.

The packages might have little stains of pastel blue on them as well.

“Ellen.” You whisper, when Sam finds you. “She- What-“

“We haven’t heard from her.” Sam mumbles. “Dean told her. She knows you tried to stop it-“

You don’t care about that. It doesn’t matter.

You’d failed anyway.

And it’s good Sam carefully pulls you away. You might have been trapped there—thinking about Ellen crying as Dean explained what happened—for the rest of your life.

You should have told her. You were the only person there. Jo’s basically your sister. Ellen was always there for you, and you just left-

“I’m sorry.” Sam says suddenly, and you blink up at him. “You were right. And deep down I knew you were right, but I didn’t listen, and-“

“Sam.” You wait until he’s meeting your eyes, and shake your head. “I know.”

“But I should have-“

“We all should have. It’s done.”

“Dean was mad-“

“Dean’s always mad.” You offer Sam a small smile. “And it’s not like he’s never fucked up either. We’re all stupid. Better odds if we’re stupid together.”

“But I-“ “I know.” You sigh, and a new box of cereal off the shelf. “I don’t care.”

The air is lighter from there.

But Sam doesn’t know. That if you stayed, none of this would be happening. You’re telling Sam it’s not his fault. Bobby says it’s not your fault.

But you’re different.

You’re just sick. Wrong. You can finish the grocery run with Sam and joke about how stupid marketing is—giving Sam a flat look when he adds a bunch of candy for you on Dean’s orders, and ignoring Sam’s grin when you grab three pack of bacon and a store-made pie—but you’re still vile. You’re still ruining everything.

There’s only one place in the world where you’re not wrong.

At Dean’s side.

Which is why this plan sucks.

As soon as you and Sam get back, Dean says Cas thinks he knows who Crowley is. It’s only two days after that—two days of reading and reading, pretending not to notice Dean trying to get your attention and trying to act like you don’t want to throw your book across the room and crawl into his lap—when Cas finds him. And Sam and Dean have to go.

It’ll just be a day. And it’s a day you get to focus, without a Dean to stare at.

You sit with Bobby, to try and chase off the fantasies. It’s easier not to think about running your fingers through spiky, soft hair or kissing a crooked nose as he teases your over your panties when-

Bobby grunts your name, and you flush.

Shit.

“We got another omen.” He mutters, turning the laptop around for you to see. “New wave of some fuckin’ flu. If you can track the origin, maybe we can find Pestilence.”

You don’t answer. The headline of the video on the screen is doctor explains symptoms of new swine flu variant.

But there isn’t a man on the screen.

He’s green.

But not Bobby green.

Sickness green. Vomit green. Turning and buzzing and churning like bile, like a rotting mold that’s trying to eat itself and a toxic, horrible green. He looks like he’s decaying into his own green, and that’s only breeding more green. And there are poxes and rashes and boils and hives all over him that are bubbling and popping before reforming, and you have to slam the laptop closed before your breakfast comes back up.

Bobby says your name and you shake your head, letting out a long, slow breath.

“I- I think found him.”

————————

“That’s him?” Dean pointed at the screen with a frown, and She nodded.

When Dean glanced over, She was making a pretty obvious point to look anywhere but the laptop, or the video of the doctor’s interview. But it was just an old, weedy looking guy with a bald patch and sniffling nose. Sam was frowning at the guy over his shoulder, and Bobby had probably seen it a bunch before they got back.

But She wouldn’t look at it. Whenever Her gaze would wander, She’d recoil like she’d been stung.

So Dean didn’t doubt that She was right. Or that She was telling the truth. He’d know if She wasn’t, anyway. Just like how, later, he’d have to ask what Gabriel said She was changing, because Dean knew she knew.

But later.

Right now, they had a devil to hunt.

“He’s not too far from here.” She mumbled, Her attention fixed on the paper in front of Her as she scribbled in Enochian. “That video was from a local broadcast in California.”

Sam frowned. “Where in California?”

“Bay area. San Francisco.”

“Makes sense.” Bobby grunted from across the table. “High population means that the asshole will be gettin’ more hits on whatever he’s gettin’ ready for Lucifer.”

Dean paused, then shook his head. “But the Bay area isn’t the most populated. Not even in California, right?”

He looked to Her for confirmation, and She gave it with a small nod. “I think it’s Greater LA. Probably.”

“Right. So,” Dean turned back to Bobby. “Would the great red douchebag want Pestilence to get the most people?”

“Maybe, but,” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Would he be someone on the east coast, then? Like New York. And if he was really interested in population, he’d go to like, China or India.”

Dean frowned. “What’s in China and India-“

“More people. They have like, a huge population density.”

“Well, the horsemen seem to be staying local.” Dean looked back to the computer screen, and the sniveling man still on it. “And it’s easier for us that he’s in Cali. We can go to the beach after.”

Sam sighed. “Dean, we’re not going to the beach-“

“I wasn’t talking to you, Sammy.” He nudged Her foot with his own, and she looked up at him with wide, bright eyes.

Son of a bitch, She was always so beautiful.

“You wanna go to the beach with me, Princess?”

“I-“ She swallowed, shaking Her head. “I can’t swim-“

Bobby snorted. “Yeah, you can.”

“I can?”

There was genuine shock in her voice. And Dean knew She could. They’d gone swimming before.

Something was up with Her.

“Yeah, you can.” Bobby gave Her a dry look. “I taught you, kiddo.”

“You- Oh.” She blinked. “Right.”

She was colorless. And the little furrow was deep in Her brow. But Dean couldn’t just grab Her and demand to know what was wrong in front of everyone.

Instead, he said Her name, and threw her his best, widest smile. “So you wanna swim with me? Even if you forgot how to swim, I’ll make sure you don’t drown-“

Sam snorted. “How are you going to do that? You’re not lifeguard certified, Dean.”

“Neither are you, bitch-“

“Yeah, but I’m not the one promising to stop a drowning-“

“Shut up-“

“Dean.” She whispered, squeezing his hand twice, and his attention shot back over.

He didn’t remember take Her hand at all. But Her grip was iron, and he never had any plan to let go.

He squeezed it once—just to make sure he knew exactly what She was telling him—and She squeezed it twice in return.

Not good.

Shit.

Bed? He mouthed at Her, Sam and Bobby very obviously pretending they couldn’t see, and She nodded.

“Alright.” Dean squeezed Her hand three times, and turned back to the table. “We got a plan?”

Sam nodded, dragging the laptop back in front of himself with a frown. “I think so. Pestilence works in the hospital, we just need to find him and cut his ring off.”

Bobby let out a dry laugh. “You’re makin’ it sound real easy, Sam. He’s gonna have demons and defenses put up. Only hand you got on him is that he ain’t expectin’ you right now.”

“Right.” Sam said. “So we just need to get to him.”

“Is he in the ER-“

She cut Dean off with a shake of Her head, and he was pretty sure she was going to freaking crush his hand.

He still wasn’t going to let go.

“The video said he was physician. Which is… broad.”

“And vague.” Sammy muttered, and She sighed.

“Yeah. But our best bet isn’t the ER, it’s being in the hospital.”

Dean frowned. “How do we get into a hospital?”

She gave him a small smile. “I think we’ll figure it out, Deano.”

He returned Her smile without thought, and he could see the exhaustion painting Her features. She was still gorgeous—there was nothing that could make Her not gorgeous—but tired. And there wasn’t a scar or bump or bruise on Her face, but her brow was still drawn in a thin line.

It was time to get Her in bed.

She let Dean pull Her to her feet, her body almost molding into his when he tugged Her to his chest.

“Are we leaving in the morning?” She asked, Her back pressed to Dean’s chest, and he frowned.

When he glanced back to Sammy, the kid only shrugged. It wasn’t helpful.

“Make it the afternoon.” Bobby grunted. “Need to take a look at the Colt and make sure it wasn’t fucked with.”

She nodded slowly. “Do you want my help-“

“No. You three need to sleep.”

Sam frowned. “Me too?”

“You goin’ to California tomorrow, Sam?”

“Yeah, I guess-“

“Then you too.”

Sam sighed, and Dean wasn’t sticking around to hear the rest of this conversation. Keeping his hand folded into Her’s, he maneuvered Her in to stand front of him—the more he could see Her, the better—and started to herd Her out into the hall.

They didn’t really talk, as She changed in her bathroom, and Dean debated the if he should bother changing, or just sleep in his clothing. If he changed, he’d be more comfortable. If he didn’t, he’d be able to be here more. With Her. Making sure She didn’t hurt herself or start crying without Dean there to help. And that might be pushing his luck, but he had to take what he could get. If soft kisses on Her brow and long hugs and clothed, but tangled, bodies in bed where all he was allowed to have, he’d goddamn take it and worship it right into the ground. Make it feel like more than a galaxy colliding—although Dean was pretty sure that, if he ever did get to be Her shadow like that, it would maybe feel like a whole new universe was being born—and make Her feel more important that all the stars in the goddamn sky.

And he wanted to kiss Her. Every single fucking second since She’d gotten home, Dean had wanted to crash back up into Her, and see if this time, he could touch Her well enough to keep Her. Show Her that when She had an episode or something was hurting Her, She didn’t ever have to run. Dean would be there. He’d hold Her, all the way down. That was how being Her shadow worked. When She was afraid, She just had to curl into Dean. When something was hurting Her, or She needed a job done, Dean was the weapon.

He didn’t give a shit about being Michael’s sword.

She was better than Michael.

She’d said Cas thought She looked like God.

Dean didn’t have to think.

She just shuffled out of the bathroom, with shiny hair in Her face and Dean’s shirt hanging off Her frame, he just knew.

A brief, selfish image flashed through Dean’s head, as She stopped right in front of him. One where She was sprawled out on the bed behind him, Her body still covered in that shirt, and Dean’s hands were skimming over that scar on Her stomach and squeezing at Her breasts. And Her careful hands were tugging at his hair, Her bottoms long gone as he kissed on Her inner thigh-

“Dean?”

He blinked down at Her, and prayed Her gaze didn’t wander down his body. There was no reason it would. She’d never done that before.

But if it did, he’d be in trouble.

“I, uh-“ He coughed. “What’s up-“

“Are you going to get changed?”

Shit. “Nah, I’ll be fine-“

She shook Her head. “Don’t sleep in jeans-“

“I’ve slept in worse-“

“You’re not sleeping in my bed with jeans on, Winchester.”

She’d crossed Her arms over Her chest—pushing Her tits up, but that wasn’t the point—and son of a bitch, that threat shouldn’t work this well.

“Fine.” Dean rolled his eyes. “So bossy, Princess.”

“Yep.” She shoved him lightly to the door, a blinding, sweet smile on Her face. “Come back when you’re in sweatpants like a sane person.”

Dean scoffed, and it was right before he turned away that he saw it.

She wasn’t wearing pants.

Just his shirt, hanging over Her body, and women’s briefs that were riding up as She walked back to the bed-

Someone was out to get him. Maybe it was God, hiding from Cas but poking his head up just to fuck with Dean. To make him leave Her like that and change into softer clothing, and forcing him to stare at his shirt in the drawer.

She wasn’t wearing pants.

Dean didn’t need to wear a shirt. And if She mentioned it, he’d just say you took my shirt, baby, what else am I supposed to do.

And things could escalate. Maybe She’d take off her shirt, and throw it in Dean’s face. Then She’d be naked except for Her underwear, and Dean could roll Her under his body as see what made Her flush the most. See if She’d let him kiss Her and roll his hips until She moaned his name. Then he’d trace his hand up Her waist. Pinch and roll her nipple until Her back arched off the bed, and She was begging him for more.

He’d give it to Her.

Dean would give Her anything. If She wanted to roll over him and grind down onto his cock, he’d let Her. If She wanted Dean to take over—to see just how bright She could get when Dean was trying to set Her off—he could do that easy.

He’d been staring at the shirt for too long. And the sweatpants would need to stay on—he’d worked himself up, and it was going to be a few more minutes before he could return without it being awkward—but the shirt…

Dean closed the drawer, took a long breath, and shuffled back down the hall.

She was already in bed, when he opened the door. And She’d left the lamp on for him, but Dean didn’t need it. He could always find Her, even in the dark.

She was brighter anyway.

Dean dropped at Her side, staring down at Her curled-up form and trying to figure how what he was allowed to do here. Touch Her, maybe. Where he had before, on Her arms. He shouldn’t drop below Her chest, no matter how much he wanted to wrap an arm around Her body and pull her right into his side. Her hair was falling over Her face. Dean should be allowed to touch that. To tuck it behind Her ear, and maybe kiss the top of Her head.

Maybe no kissing.

Not while She was asleep. That would be creepy. Creepier than he was already being, staring at Her like a fucking weirdo stalker in the dark-

“Dean.” She mumbled, and he froze as She rolled over, wrapped Her arms around his torso, and buried her face in his side.

His bare side.

The no shirt thing had been an awesome idea.

“You smell good.” She mumbled against his skin, and Dean chuckled, carefully letting his hand glide into Her hair.

“You’re tired, sweetheart.”

“Nuh uh.”

He grinned down at Her. “Were you waiting for me?”

“No.” Her arms tightened around him. “Yes.”

“So you were waiting.”

She just grunted, shifting slightly so She was all but curled around his leg. He could feel that his was trapped between Her thighs.

There was only two, thin layers of clothing between them. And She was still snuggling closer to his side, Her face now dangerously close to where Dean could see himself twitching through his sweats.

Son of a bitch, he might be already dead. They might have found Lucifer and lost, and this was Heaven. Her starting to wiggle up his chest—it wasn’t helping the situation in his pants—until She was half on his lap, the soft sound of Her breathing near Dean’s ear, and Her fingers curled on the nape of his neck. All Her could smell was that fucking fruit, and he didn’t care if he never figured out what it was.

It was just Her. Bright and safe in his arms, half-asleep but still giving mumbled responses as Dean spoke. Her voice no less siren-like, Her beauty still more than all the stars shining outside their window.

“Are we gonna go swimming, Princess?”

She shook Her head, her words muffled in Dean’s body. “Don’t have a suit.”

He hummed. “We could buy you one.”

“Okay.”

She was way too agreeable. And Dean would be worried, if he didn’t know that She was seconds from passing out.

“Could we build a sandcastle?”

Dean grinned into the dark. “You want to build a sandcastle?”

She mumbled something he could understand, and Dean tipped his head back with a soft laugh.

He’d build Her a million sandcastles. He’d never be able to offer Her a real castle, but if She’d take one that could wash away with the ocean, he’d give it to Her. And whenever it dissolved back into mud, he’d rebuild it. Maybe they could go to those pink sand beaches, and he could make Her the castle there. Anyway from the horsemen, and Heaven and Hell. And Dean would hold Her like this every night, and touch Her whenever he was allowed.

She’d have to want him there. And if She didn’t, he’d learn to live with that.

Until then, he’d just keep holding Her like this, as long as he was allowed.

“You wanna lie down, ba- Princess?”

“Uh huh.” She was fully straddling Dean now, and he could feel Her tits, pressing against his chest.

If She was a little more awake, She might have felt Dean’s boner, pressing near Her bare inner thigh.

There was no way he was going to be able to sleep like this.

It took slow, carefully movements, but Dean shuffled down the headboard and ended up flat on his back, Her body still wrapped around him like a Koala. It took longer to shift Her around, so Dean was more on his side, and Her face was buried near his shoulder rather than his neck.

He still wasn’t sure how much of this he should be allowed to have.

But She wasn’t pulling away.

“De?”

He grunted, glancing down, and was met with bright, shining eyes on his. Fluttering slightly. A little glazed with exhaustion.

The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, every single time.

“You think it’s going to work?” She whispered, his voice calling him like a siren, every single goddamn time. “The plan?”

He wasn’t sure.

Dean hadn’t liked their odds, before She got back. And they were better now—She was something that the angels feared, and that had to mean something—but Dean still didn’t know.

All he was certain of was that, when it came down to it, he’d do anything for Her and Sammy. If Dean saying yes saved Sam from the same fate with Lucifer, he’d do it. If Michael told him that She’d live out the rest of Her life peacefully, just as long as Dean cooperated, he’d take that deal.

If Lucifer came back for Her, wanted to touch Her or take her in any way, Dean would call Michael down his goddamn self.

It was better for Her to be happy without him than miserable and hunted with him. When Dean said all the way down, he meant it more than anything. And if that ended up being Dean was alone and sunken into his own pit, but She was smiling at someone without any scars or skeletons under their bed, then that was what it had to be.

He didn’t need to concern Her with that, though. So Dean just let out a slow breath, and held Her gaze.

“Yeah. I do.” He offered Her a small grin. “We’ve got this. Lucifer’s ugly ass isn’t gonna know what fucking him until he’s already on his knees.”

She giggled. “That’s so gross, De.”

“You laughed.”

“I’m tired-“

“So sleep, Princess. I’ve got you.”

It was a good thing She didn’t know when Dean was lying the same way he knew about Her.

He did have Her. Tight against him for the rest of the night, Her soft breath warm on his skin.

But he didn’t have a fucking clue if this was going to work.

She’d been right. It was pretty damn easy to find their way into a hospital. Sam was a patient—they’d say he thought he’d broken a bone, bank on the fact that something had to have not healed perfectly—Dean was still just Sam’s brother, and She was-

“Where’d you get rings, Dean?” Sam’s grin was shit-eating as they sat in the parking lot of the hospital, and Dean scowled.

It had been two damn days of this, on the drive. Dean got Her a soda at a gas station, and Sammy smirked at him. They got to the motel and Sam dramatically offered to take the couch, knowing goddamn well She and Dean would be sharing a bed.

“Same ones we used before.“

She frowned. “When I got the blade?”

Dean nodded, passing the ring into Her hand.

That night had ended with him knocked out and Her pissed at him. She’d left the rings they’d been using on the bedside table of the motel.

Dean had glanced around to make sure She was in the bathroom, and Sammy was really checking them out of the room, then shoved them in his pocket.

They were, obviously, a good resource.

He certainly didn’t have any alternate motivations. At all.

“Why do you need rings-“

“Cause married people wearing rings, bitch.” Dean shot Sam a glare, sliding his own ring onto his finger. “Do we need alternate names-“

“Yeah- Wait-“ She looked away from Her own ring, starting to dig through Her bag. “We won’t need to change much, but for insurance-“

She frowned, and all Dean could think about was the flash of Her ring in the daylight. She hadn’t been wearing rings in a while. Dean wasn’t sure why, but whatever it was, he could try and make it better. Buy Her new rings, or bring her to a jewelry shop so She could steal them.

He’d figure it out later.

“What-“

“Got it.” She cut Sam off with a grin, sitting back up and passing out little plastic cards. “Congratulations. You have one living parent.”

Dean frowned, looked down at his own card, and saw Dean Adam Singer printed in large, bold letters. When he leaned over to look at Sammy’s, it read Samuel William Singer in the same font.

“Your Dad’s name is Robert. Your Mom’s name is Karen, and she died peacefully of cancer when you were a kid. I went to college with Sam, we met when you were visiting him, and now we’re married.”

Dean looked at Her own card, and it was almost identical to Dean’s but only with Her first name and no middle name.

“Do you have a middle name?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t elaborate, and Sam cleared his throat.

“You just, uh, have these ready to go?”

“Yep.” She grabbed Her bag, throwing Sam a grin. “Haul ass, buddy. You’ve got a broken bone to fix.”

It didn’t surprise Dean at all, that She had these. Half the reason all Her crazy plans worked so well was that She was prepared for anything, even if She wasn’t sure what anything was. It was why, after they got Sammy checked in and the doctor pulled them aside with careful words and a worried expression, Dean let Her take the lead.

She was a better actor. And all he’d have to do was stare at Her and agree with whatever She said.

Dean did that every day for no reason. He was definitely nailing it now.

“Sam is your brother, Mr. Singer. Correct?”

Dean nodded, and She let out a dramatic sigh.

“Is he okay? He’s been complaining about his leg for months, and we only just got him to agree to a hospital-“

“Yes, uh, Mrs. Singer, right?”

She nodded eagerly, dragging Dean’s hand up to rest over Her stomach, and he gulped, forcing his face to remain completely neutral.

“It might be better if your husband and I talk alone, ma’am-“

No. She could not move from in front of Dean. She was the only thing blocking his hard on from the world.

“Unless,” the doctor frowned at Dean, and his panic must be written all over his face. “He’d like you to stay?”

Dean nodded, forcing his voice to remain a grunt. “She’s family. And Sammy signed the waver about Hippo-“

“Hippa,” She whispered, Her smile when She leaned Her head back was so fucking sweet, and Dean nodded.

“That. She stays.”

“Alright.” The doctor sighed, looking between them carefully. “It seems like there’s nothing broken. But the x-rays showed a lot of poorly healed former fractures. I recommend you get Sam to a specialist, but I’m afraid there’s nothing else we can do for him without an appointment-“

“Dean.” She whispered dramatically, and he frowned down at Her.

“Princess-“

“You should tell him about the… thing.”

The doctor blinked. “What thing?”

“It’s...” She sighed, leaning fully back into Dean’s body, and he stood a little taller. “I know you can’t do anything without Sammy’s consent. But he’s a lawyer. They don’t just get broken bones like he does. And we’ve been… really worried about him. He’s been saying some really odd things, since his fiancé died.”

“Odd?”

“He thinks a demon killed her.” She gave Dean one of the most nervous looks he’d ever seen. “And he’s convinced that it’s the same demon that killed their mom, even though- It was cancer, right De?”

He coughed. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Right. And he keeps talking about how the devil is trying to take over his body, and an angel is trying to take over my husband’s, and then he told me last week that my- I have synesthesia, and he’s thinks I’m actually seeing souls. And that our friend Cas is an angel. And Cas is a great guy, he works with runaway teens, but… He’s agnostic.”

Whatever She was selling, the doctor was buying. The son of a bitch was leaning forward, hanging onto Her every word.

They got a promise to hold Sam—for his own safety or some shit—for a few more days. Just to make sure that he wasn’t a danger to himself or others. And Sam didn’t look thrilled about this, when She and Dean told him, but he only made a sour face and grumbled that it was a smart move.

“Why do I have to be the crazy one.” He mumbled. “We all have stuff-“

“Because if Pestilence hears about your case, he’s working for Lucifer. He won’t try to kill you, but he will go after Dean.” She sighed, and Dean didn’t miss the way she was rubbing Her wrist as she spoke. “And I’m probably a better candidate for crazy, but if they stick a needle in me the wrong way, I might…”

She trailed off, shrinking slightly, and Dean’s hand flew to Her lower back.

“Blow some shit up?” He offered, giving Her a winning grin, and She nodded.

“Yeah. That.”

“Fine.” Sam sighed, tipping his head back on his bed, the thing barely able to fit all his pointlessly big limbs. “I’m the crazy.”

“Sorry, Sam-“

“He’ll live,” Dean said Her name with a grin, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Do we have a plan to make sure I don’t get sent to like, a psych ward or something?”

She nodded. “Dean and I will stay at the hospital with you all day, and if they try to move you and we’re not in the room, make a big deal about needing to talk to us first. Then we’ll take rotating night shifts, just so we’re not leaving you here.”

Sam hummed, and Dean felt his lips draw into a tight line.

“Rotating night shifts.” He grunted, forcing his voice to remain neutral, and She nodded.

“I’ll stay here tonight while you get a hotel, and you’ll stay tomorrow night. We’ll switch until we work this out.”

Dean did not fucking like this plan. It meant sleeping without Her, and leaving Her in a hospital where a freaking horseman was wandering around, with a gun she didn’t know how to use.

“I don’t need the Colt.” She said, before Dean could even make that exact point aloud. “Lucifer won’t hurt Sam, and he can’t hurt me. Worst case, we lose the trail and our upper hand.”

That didn’t seem like the worst case. The real worst case was more alone the lines of Her losing it, blowing up the hospital, and running again. Sure, there were a lot ways using Pestilence to get to Lucifer could go wrong. They could all end up with the plague. Lucifer could not come at all. He could come, and Dean would miss.

But the worst scenario of all was that Dean lost Her. Again.

Dean really goddamn wished He could come up with a better plan.

He couldn’t.

So the day moved slowly. She and Dean left Sammy for about an hour to get some food, and then they all sat in the hospital and passed the time best they could. Sam had his laptop—She’d told him admit he believed that demons and monsters were out to get him, but not that he was hurting himself, because they needed a probable reason to send him to a ward and sort of crazy apparently didn’t cut it—while She rested her head on Dean’s shoulder, and he pretended to watch TV.

He was mostly watching Her.

“What’s that say?” He pointed to the paper, and She sighed.

“Imprint.” She spun Her pencil in her fingers, frowning at the words. “I’m working on something.”

“What?”

“Spell.”

“Ah.” Dean leaned a little further forward, until he was all but folded over Her.

She didn’t shove him away.

“What’s the spell for.”

“Finding things.”

Dean frowned. “Like… socks? Or weapons? Or, uh- Books? Cause I can just drive you to the freakin’ library-“

“It’s not for books, De.” She scribbled another word, and Dean tapped it.

“What’s that say.”

“Green.”

Huh. “Why? Green isn’t even that great a freakin’ color.”

She hummed, looking up at Dean with a soft smile. “I like it.”

She was so close. And smiling at him. And Dean could pretty easily reach over and cup Her face with a hand, maybe trace his thumb over Her cheek and kiss just the space between Her eyes-

“Hey,” Sammy’s said Her name, She turned away. Goddamnit. “Do you know about any omens that are specific to Lucifer?”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, things that will tell us who he is, when he shows up-“

“Oh. No. We don’t need to worry about that.”

There was a certainty in Her voice that Dean didn’t love. And now the lines were more tension. Wired, fragile tension.

“Why not.” He grunted, and She shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest.

“I- I’ll know.”

Dean muttered Her name, and She leaned into his side. She was tucked all the way into Herself—her eyes fixed on the floor and her hands rubbing over her calves—but She was leaning into Dean.

He was the shadow.

He was the one who got to wrap his arm around Her, and keep her at his side as She took a heavy breath, and continued.

“I know what he looks like.”

“Yeah, but he could have changed his vessel-“

“No, Sam. I know what he looks like.” She grimaced, and Dean tugged Her a little closer. “I can see him. His…”

She trailed off, and it hit Dean right as Sam said it.

“You can see angel’s true forms?” Sam sat up, closing his laptop. “Can you- Are you able to see Cas?”

“Yeah.” She took a slightly shaking breath. “Cas is sort of electric, and Lucifer has… a lot of teeth. And I can see Pestilence, too."

Dean didn’t have to ask what that asshole looked like. He just needed to remember Her expression, when She’d even glanced at the video.

Disgust.

And there was that fear again, that creeped over Dean every time he remembered that She could see souls. If She could look right into the goddamn core of Dean, there was no way she could want him. She’d be able to see the pit. She’d be able to see how much he fucking lusted after Her, how even now he was pathetic and weak and wanted Her in his lap rather than at his side. She’d said souls were made of things, but She never said what Dean’s was.

Maybe it was teeth.

And maybe She just ignored it. Maybe Dean was shredding Her apart and eating Her alive, and She was just letting him. She shouldn’t. Whatever was in Dean’s soul was a scarred, ugly thing mauled from being Dean. And She’d always thrown light around that gaping hole inside him, but he could just be absorbing Her like some sort of black hole. Maybe Dean was made of mud and quicksand, and he was pulling Her down. She just didn’t know how to leave, and She’d never wanted to be next to him at all.

But She wouldn’t have come back to him, then. If She didn’t like what She saw inside of Dean’s body. If he was made of teeth, or something worse.

Now wasn’t the time to ask.

Dean made Her take the first night. He distracted Her from the Lucifer thing best he could—with a conversation about colors, because it was all he could freaking think of—and then lightly suggested that he stay with Sammy the first night.

He was met with weak resistance. A soft shake of Her head and protest, all of it gone when he passed the keys of the Impala into Her hand and told Her to get the most expensive place She could find.

“Text me where, though.” He muttered, his hand resting on Her shoulder, and his body tensed with the effort not to rub the bare skin of Her arm. “If we gank Lucifer at midnight, I’m gonna need to come pick you up.”

She gave him an amused look. “I’m going to have the car, De.”

Shit. She would. “Well, maybe I’m trying to get you a pizza.”

“I can get myself a pizza-“

“Just tell me where you’re going, Princess.” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “Please.”

“Okay.” She gave him a soft smile, then walked forward. Right into Dean’s arms.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it.

He’d have to have gone more than crazy to not hug Her back.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” She whispered, and Dean chuckled.

“Never do, b- Sweetheart.”

She hummed, Her chin shifting to prop on Dean’s shoulder. “See you in the morning, Sam.”

“Sure. Yeah.”

Dean could hear the smugness in Sammy’s voice. Lucky, the kid was smart enough not to say shit in front of Her. Sam never said shit in front of Her.

But when Dean got back from walking Her to the car—they’d hugged in the parking lot too, but Sam didn’t need to know that—he didn’t have to hear the smugness. He could see it.

All over Sammy’s stupid face.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were gonna.” Dean dropped back into his chair, and tried not to think about how She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t even left the fucking city. Dean needed to get a grip. He was a grown man, and he would not spend the whole night wondering if She was safe. She would be safe. She could kill angels and demons with Her mind.

But She said that wasn’t working as reliable as before Jo’s death. And She’d been supposed to text him, when she got a room. She’d left maybe ten minutes ago, but it didn’t take that long to find a hotel-

“Oh my god, dude.” Sammy snorted, shaking his head at his laptop. “She’s fine.”

“I know that.” Dean snapped, and Sam gave him an amused look.

“Sure you do.”

“I- Shut up.”

“Uh huh.” There was a slight pause, and then. “Seriously, Dean. She faced two archangels and walked away. If anything, we’re less safe without her.”

Dean could, at least, agree with that. “I’m not a freakin’ idiot-“

“I didn’t say you were-“

“I’m just fucking worried about her. I-“ He shouldn’t keep talking. He couldn’t stop. “Son of a bitch, Sammy, she won’t talk about Jo, and she won’t say why she was MIA for two goddamn weeks, and then she just appears in front of me and passes out? And we told her to stay, but goddamnit, if she gets herself hurt for us- I don’t know what I’ll do.” His voice dropped, and it hit him right in the fucking chest.

He knew what he’d do. He’d say yes to Michael.

And Sammy seemed to know that too.

“Have you told her any of that?”

“No.”

“You should.” Sam shrugged, as if the idea was nothing. “She’s not a mind-reader, Dean. And she’s like, the smartest person I know, but you make her stupid.”

“Hey-“

“It’s not bad. It’s- I saw it when we met her, Dean. And I know you... you know.”

Sam raises his brows, and Dean frowned. He did not know.

“Don’t make me say it, man.”

“Sammy-“

“You say her name when you have sex, Dean. I heard you shout it once, while you were with some random girl and I was in the hall. And when you- Y’know.” Sam made a gesture, and Dean was frozen in his seat. “I’ve heard it. When you’re in the shower and you, uh- You forget to turn the fan on.”

Dean was going to kill someone. Probably himself. “You can’t fucking tell her-“

“Dude, I’ve kept that a secret for almost nine years.” Sam gave him a flat look. “I’m not going to break it now. But just for the record, she’s not better.”

His throat was dry. “You- does she- when-“

“No. I mean- Not that I know. She’s way better at going under the radar with that stuff. But she has this whole face that she makes, and Jo-“ Sam sighed. “Jo said she’d only ever done it for you.”

Dean swallowed, a heavy lump forming in his throat as the image of Jo’s broken body, and Her still clinging to it in the ruin of the church, flashed in front of his gaze.

“I just want you to know it, Dean.” Sam muttered. “If not for you, for her.”

Dean wasn’t sure what the hell that meant. There was nothing he could do for Her.

Nothing except be Her shadow, and he was already doing that. When She got back into the morning, Dean got Her coffee and did a quick once over make sure She really had stayed out of trouble. When She took his hand and started tugging him all over the hospital—looking for Pestilence while Sam called with Bobby—he followed right behind, the Colt tucked safely in his pants.

She could defend Herself.

She shouldn’t have to.

And Dean may do it better than anyone else, but he was also more undeserving. He’d still hurt Her in the past. He’d still lost Her, twice. He’d only found Her that first time because of Cas, and She’d found him the second time, and neither of them would tell Dean how. How to find Her.

How, in all the fucking universe, She kept coming back to Dean.

Dean, of all the pieces of shit in the world, was the one who She’d chosen to be Her shadow. He was sure other men and women would’ve thrown themselves at Her feet for the opportunity, but She’d chosen Dean. And it had to have been a choice. She’d never felt the pull. The call on something lighter than wind, the tug just to the right of Dean’s heart, that was always pulling him back to Her.

And they didn’t find Pestilence, the first day. So Dean had to sleep in the hotel, without Her.

It was just further proof that She should never know. The things Dean wanted to do for Her, to Her, were things that shouldn’t be spoken of.

Dean spent his night pacing around the room, the memory from only a week ago playing over and over in his head.

Her head on his knee as She wore his shirt and boxers, Her eyes fluttering and lips in a pretty pout. There had been a little sleep still glazed in Her eyes, and a softness to the way She said please that had made him rock hard.

In real life he’d panicked. Hell, even now he didn’t know what lines he was and wasn’t supposed to cross with Her. And he didn’t want to test them. One wrong step, and he might ruin things. Say the wrong shit, fuck everything up, do exactly what Dad had trained him to do and break things.

But in his head, he’d leaned down and kissed Her. Long and deep, with an open mouth and his tongue slowly pushing down Her throat until he could taste Her fruit again.

And She was rolling over and crawling over Dean, in his head. Her eyes were fluttering, and still glazed but now with lust. She wanted Dean like this. In his mind.

In reality, he was lying flat on his back with his hand fisted around his cock, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to picture it more clearly. Her siren-like voice in his ear, saying Dean and please as She sunk down onto him. A high whine leaving her throat as Dean grabbed Her by the waist and rutted up into Her, then Her eyes fluttering as he latched his mouth around Her nipple and sucked until She was squirming above him, and squeezing around him, and shit-

He could hear his own skin slapping, as he picked up the pace and groaned.

And the fantasy only got more vivid. Dean rolled Her over and moved his lips up to Her throat, sucking small dark marks so everyone could see that Dean got to touch Her, and fucking into Her so hard maybe she wouldn’t walk straight for a week.

If Dean fucked Her right, maybe She’d never leave. He’d gotten chicks to beg him for more, before. Had ladies tell him that he was the best of their life.

He just wanted to be the best of Her life. Because She could never just be one fleeting night. If Dean got to have Her, he’d give Her everything. She’d moan his name and scratch Her nail on his back, Dean would make Her shine below him, and he’d be Her shadow until she cut him away.

And in Dean’s head, this was far from their first time. In his head he pinched Her clit, and She shivered and squeaked below him, before She rolled Her hips and bit his shoulder as She came on his cock. And Dean knew to pull out so he could come all over Her abdomen, and then he pumped himself to the beautiful imagine of Her boneless, fucked-out form below him, covered in his cum and still whimpering his name-

Sammy’s was right.

Dean did shout Her name when he came.

“White chocolate, or butterscotch?”

Dean frowned over Her shoulder, and he wasn’t thinking about it.

How She fit so fucking perfectly, pressed back against his body. How he could smell the sugar of that body scrub thing She used, and the vanilla of Her perfume, but the fruit was still stronger. The fruit was always stronger.

And She never had to know how, when he had cum last night, he’d rolled over and realized that the bed still smelled like Her, and came again, barely an hour later.

“Neither,” he grunted, turning his attention to the drinks. Maybe he could find Her a grape drink. She loved those stupid things. “I have all my fuckin’ teeth, Princess. I don’t eat butterscotch.”

She hummed. “So it’s white chocolate.”

He said Her name with a frown, and She tipped Her head back with a smile that damn near knocked him off his feet.

“I have white chocolate.” She held up the first pudding cup. “Or butterscotch. Which one.”

He sighed, and grabbed the white chocolate. “We can tell Sammy it’s vanilla.”

“That’s mean, Deano-“

“I won’t say you knew.” He grinned down at Her. “And he’ll probably gonna throw something at me.”

She paused. “Promise?”

“What, you wanna see me get decked?”

“No, I-“

“So violent,” Dean drawled Her name as he guided Her to the cafeteria check-out, leaning down to speak in Her ear. “If you wanna hit me, you just have to ask-“

“I do not want to hit you.” She mumbled, rubbing at Her wrists, and that was the truth. “I just don’t want Sam to be mad at me.”

Dean chuckled. “Sammy won’t be mad at you. And if he is, I’ll jump him for you.”

That got a soft laugh. “Shut up.”

“Bossy.”

She rolled Her eyes, but leaned back further. Into Dean.

And his guard was down. He was only looking at Her, and how seriously she was taking the selection of candy bars. Her lip pulled slightly between Her teeth and Her body leaning into Dean’s touch, and maybe if he kissed the side of Her head, the world wouldn’t end and She’d just smile at him-

Her eyes shot up suddenly, and she took a stumbling step back. Her breath was picking up. That small furrow was appearing between Her brows, but nothing was happening-

Dean muttered Her name, and She shook her head, twisting to press Her face into his chest.

His arms shot around Her on instinct.

He still didn’t know what the hell was happening.

“Princess-“

“He’s there.” She whispered, tipping Her head back to meet Dean’s gaze with wide eyes. “He just walked in- No- Don’t look-“

Dean grabbed Her face between his hands, and shook his head. “I’m not looking, sweetheart, but-“ He ran his thumb down the bridge of Her nose, and She took a shaking breath. “I need you to tell me what’s happening-“

“Pestilence.” She breathed. “He’s here.”

Fuck.

The Colt was in his pants. She was right in front of him. Dean could deal with this.

“Okay.” He grunted, scanning over Her open features. “All we gotta do is follow the ugly bitch, and then we’ll get him to-“

“I don’t think you’ll be following anyone, Dean Winchester.”

Dean whirled around, shoving behind him and drew out the Colt, but all that was in front of him was an old, weedy man.

The same one from the TV.

Fuck.

“Listen, I’d put that away.” Pestilence nodded to the Colt. “No need for violence. And I’m not killable. Not in the way you’re used to. Only thing that’s gonna cure you of me is this, and-“ Pestilence held up his ring, then broke out into a long, heavy coughing fit.

Dean took a step back, kept Her behind him, and didn’t lower the gun.

“That’s rude,” Pestilence sighed. “I know you’re used to my brother, but I’m not nearly as violent. War has always been… needless. Angry. I’m simple. Clean.”

“You don’t look clean from where I’m standing, buddy.” Dean glanced down at the massive glob of snot, falling from Pestilence’s nose. “And I’d call this violence pretty damn needed.”

Pestilence only sighed. “You don’t get it. She does.” He leaned around, and Dean shifted to the side.

“Don’t fucking look at her-“

“I’m afraid she’s a little impossible to miss.” Pestilence grinned, and his teeth were a rotting, horrible yellow. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing. Never seen something so… pure.”

She pressed further against Dean’s back, and he could feel Her face being buried in his back. Her breathing sounded heavy.

He needed to get Her out of here.

“Listen, Dr. Mucus-“

“I’m not talking to you, rat.” Pestilence sneered. “A collar doesn’t make you any more than another human. But her. So new, but so, so sick. I can taste it. It’s like.” Pestilence smacked his lips on the air. “Oh, I remember this. The beginning. Home.” His lips curled slightly. “I hated home.”

Her voice was so soft from behind him. “What- why are you here-“

“I’ve got a job to do.” Pestilence sighed, wiping his nose with his hand. “And I can’t keep doing it until the angel brat finishes his tantrum. And you,” his eyes narrowed on Dean. “Are very lucky the girl is here, otherwise. I wouldn’t be so willing to go with his little games.”

Dean scowled, his words pushed through his teeth. “I’m not a fan of games either-“

“You’ll like this one.” Pestilence grinned. “It’s called save Sammy Winchester.”

Fuck.

They had to go with Pestilence. Dean had to keep the Colt tight in his hand and follow the coughing asshat to where Sammy might be, because She whisper that she could see Sam all over his hands.

“Dean- I-“ She was all but clinging to him as they walked down a dark stairwell. “I can’t- I’m going to- There are so many people here-“

“I know, Princess.” He pulled Her tighter into his side. “I’ve got you.”

And he’d never seen Her explode. Not in the way She’d described over the phone.

It hadn’t sounded like something small. She’s said animals and plants and souls. He didn’t know what the hell that meant.

Now didn’t really seem like the time to find out.

But if there was ever a moment for Her pupils to start glowing Silver and the world to bend into Her, it was right fucking now.

“Look! The party’s here!” A shorter, beaming man clapped his hands, and but Dean didn’t look at him for too long.

His gaze shot to Sammy, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.

“Sammy-“

“Dean,” Sam’s head shot up, and he scrambled to his feet. “I- I’m sorry- I swear I didn’t mean to, but they shot something into my arm and then I woke up here-“

“Wow, Sammy.” The man sighed. “Shot something makes it sound like I drugged you-“

“You did drug me-“

“And I healed you! Right away!” The man sighed. “I even fixed all your bones, and blew up the doctor that was going to try and send you to a psych ward! We’ve talked about this, I have to do this, but I really am trying to help-“

“I don’t want your help-“

“Dean,” She whispered in his ear, and he grunted, his gaze fixed on the man. “That’s him-“

That was all he needed to hear.

Dean raised the Colt, narrowed his eyes and took the shot.

The bullet moved right into Lucifer’s skull.

And nothing fucking happened.

Lucifer only wiped his brow, the wound vanishing in a second, and turned to Dean with a frown.

“You know, that’s pretty rude. I mean, if our princess wasn’t here, that would have really fucking hurt.” Lucifer leaned to the side, and said Her name with a drawl that made Dean’s skin itch. “Hi, doll. Wow, boiler rooms are really unlucky for you. First Johnny Winchester, now this-“

“Dean,” Sam muttered, and he’d somehow snuck his way back to their side of the room. Near the stairs.

Pestilence was long gone.

It was just them and Lucifer, in a basement.

That couldn’t mean anything good.

“Why didn’t that work.”

“Oh, Sam.” Lucifer sighed, shaking his head. “It’s really not that big a deal. I mean, half the people in this room can’t be killed by that gun. I mean,” he laughed to himself. “I’m not a person. And neither is she. But you know what I meant. Six things in all of creation, and two of us are in San Francisco. What are the odds.”

“I’d say pretty damn good.” Dean grunted. “Cause this is spelling out a trap to me.”

Lucifer sighed, and fixed him with a flat look.

Then Dean was flying away. From Her. From Sammy. Slamming into the wall with a groan and pain shooting up his spine, Her voice screaming his name somewhere over the ringing in his ears.

“I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you Dean, but you are…” Lucifer trailed off, and Dean squinted up to see him shaking his head. “I mean, really? Him? Are you sure?”

She made a small, weak sound. “I- I don’t-“

“I know you don’t.” Lucifer sighed. “I can see what you did, by the way. Nice craftsmanship.” His laugh skittered along Dean’s bones. “It might be a little bit of a problem for Mikey. I love it.”

“Lucifer,” Sammy was trying to block Her from view, just like Dean had.

Good.

Lucifer was smiling at Her too much. With comfort.

It made Dean feel fucking sick.

“Why are we here.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Why does there have to be a reason, Sam? Can’t I just be looking to talk to my two best friends-“

“We are not your friends-“

“Not yet. Hey, doll, have you-“ Lucifer sighed again. “Can you please move, Sam. I’m trying to include-“

Lucifer said a word, and it was the strangest, most entrancing thing Dean had ever heard. It was like all the stars singing and every drop of water in the world chiming like a church bell, the breeze in the summer calling him home and the rush of a shiver up his spine.

Sam was frozen too. And Lucifer wouldn’t stop fucking sighing.

“Fine. Go sit with Dean.”

Dean tried to shout for Sam, when he went flying across the room as well. The crunch against the wall was softer, though. And Sammy opened his eyes faster.

But now it was just Her and Lucifer.

Staring at each other.

“There we go,” Lucifer smiled at Her, and she was just frozen. “Y’know, it’s not a coincidence we’re in San Francisco. Pestilence actually asked for Chicago, but I said no, San Fran. Well, I didn’t say the name, but here. We had to be here. You know why?”

Lucifer raised his brows at Her, and Her voice was so fucking soft.

“It’s a vortex point.” She whispered. “It’s- It’s Kansas, Northern Canda, and-“

“San Francisco!” Lucifer beamed at Her, and her eyes flicked over to Dean.

“I-“

“No! Don’t look at him!” Lucifer’s voice dropped into something cold. “Look at me. It’s showtime, doll. We’ve got work to do.”

Dean tried to move for Her.

Lucifer just slammed him back down.

“Dean-“

“Yeah, there you go.” Lucifer took another step towards Her, Dean tried to push up again, and this time his head was slammed back into the concrete wall. “This’ll get his attention.”

The world was starting to change, slightly. Moss was growing on the walls near Dean’s hands, and even the gray of the concrete was more vibrant.

“You know, I’m not going to touch another hair on Sam’s head, but Dean,” Lucifer clicked his tongue. “You should be worried about Dean, if you don’t take my offer.”

She shook Her head, taking a step back as Lucifer took another forward. “Please- Please don’t-“

“C’mon, you can do it- Just think about Dean in hell, and all his gold on your pretty hands, and, shit- Think about Jo.”

Lucifer’s grin was manic. She was hyperventilating, but Dean couldn’t goddamn get to Her.

Every time he tried to move, stand up, to goddamn crawl, Lucifer would just slam him right back down.

“Please- I-“ Her voice was choked, and the concrete floor cracked. “Stop-“

“Can’t. ” Lucifer hummed, Dean’s head was slammed right against something with a sharp angle, and the air was starting to wave like a mirage. “You should stay down, Dean. Dying never treated you well before, did it.”

Something was happening. Her pupils were starting to glow Silver, and She was shining with all that beauty, and She was doing something.

And Lucifer was only goading Her on.

“C’mon, think about death,” Lucifer repeated that world from before, and the world shook. “You’re so close, just think about Death-“

Dean prayed. He prayed to Cas, wherever the hell he was, to come and get them. Save them.

Save Her, from whatever Lucifer was trying to do.

And Cas took his prayer. There was a rustle as a brown coat appeared above them, and then they were gone.

Landing in Bobby’s yard.

Without Her.

Dean roared Her name into the wind. They’d fucking left Her. Left Her with Lucifer, and Sam was trying to calm him down while Cas said some shit in the background, but Dean couldn’t hear it. His ears were ringing. He could still see Her face, and he couldn’t fucking lose Her again-

His elbow slammed into Sammy’s face, but before he could book it for one of the cars, something was grabbing his goddamn arm-

“Dean, you cannot go back there.” Cas muttered, and Dean twisted with a scowl.

“Let go, Cas. I still got a bullet left in this gun.”

“Dean, you are distressed, but I believe Lucifer may be trying to use her to-“

“I don’t give a goddamn fuck! We left her,” Dean ripped his arm out of Cas’ grip. “Goddamnit, Cas, she needs us, and I don’t give a shit what type of magic she’s got, she needs me.”

Cas sighed, his expression almost pitiful, and word choked in Dean’s throat.

“I- I can’t fuckin’ lose her. I can’t. I-“

The Earth shook. Wholly fucking shook.

And Dean prayed. He fucking prayed She was fine, or he’d do something really goddamn stupid like hit the devil with a car-

Sammy made a sharp sound.

And She was there.

Just like in Oregon, She was standing before Dean with silver eyes. Her hair floating around Her face. Her every feature so bright Dean was sure he should be blinded, but he wasn’t. He could never be.

He just crashed into Her, grabbed Her face between his hand, and soothed Her back down until She folded into against his chest.

And the earth could keep shaking.

Dean just needed to take care of Her.

Bobby’s eyes widened, when Dean pushed through the door.

“What the hell-“

“Death.” Cas muttered, following in right behind. “He is risen.”

“Shit-“

“Dad,” She mumbled, and they all froze.

She was twisting towards Bobby, and Dean could feel Her skin fucking burning, and shit-

“Dad- I- I don’t feel good-“ She made a choked sound, and Dean heart was being cleaved in half. “I- Dad-“

“I’m here, kiddo.” Bobby grunted, and Dean tried not look him in the eyes.

He didn’t need to feel his own pain, reflected back.

“Put ‘er in bed, Dean.”

Dean nodded, and moved. Her sheets were still tangled, but they were mostly clean. And Bobby was right behind him, delayed only by the slowness of the wheelchair stair-thing they’d had installed.

And when Bobby rolled up to Her bed side and rested his hand on Her brow, She looked like a child. Curled into her bed and mumbling about how much it hurt, tossing off the sheets then pulling them right back over Her body. She wasn’t the violent, charismatic, bright woman Dean had always known.

She was a little girl, who was hurt and sick and tired and just wanted Her dad.

It didn’t take Her long after that, to pass out. And Bobby eventually rolled away with nothing but a nod to Dean and muttered words to grab him if she called.

But Dean didn’t move. He stayed at Her side, all night. He crawled to Her side in bed and watched Her until she was shifting into him like a magnet.

He passed out a little while after. And when Dean’s eyes blinked open, She wasn’t still in his arms.

She was curled up at the headboard, Her knees folded into Her chest, and almost silent sobs shaking Her whole body.

He whispered Her name, and Her gaze slowly rose up to meet his.

Her cheeks were stained and gleaming with tears. Dean could see the pain, written all over Her every elegant feature, and maybe this was what people talked about when they said the sky feels like it’s falling. Something pressing onto Dean’s chest, a weight that was impossible to hold, a desperation to make it just a little better.

And Dean didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say.

But he could crawl up to Her side. Tug Her carefully into his side, and wrap his arms around Her.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Her head. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Her body shook with another sob, and She twisted to fold Herself fully into Dean’s lap. Her arms around his torso and Her face pressed to the top of his chest.

And nothing was alright, now.

He still squeezed Her three times.

Because he was here. Dean was goddamn here, at Her side.

And Heaven and Hell could do whatever the hell they wanted.

Nothing was going to make him leave.

End Note: Canon? We don't know her. I am God now.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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