#Dean almost captured the ghost

[insanesonofabitch]

This is canon now.

version of spn where dean is openly bisexual the entire time and definitely fucks a priest during a job and sam is does his judgmental little "dude" and dean is like "i already went to hell once man,, what's the worst that could happen" and everytime there's a new bad guy or apocalypse sam is like "this is bc you fucked a priest" and eventually he says it in front of Cas who does his little squint and head tilt and just

"You what?"

[artyandink]

amoralism | ten

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, description of injuries, use of firearms, a mole in the FBI, Azazel, Asmodeus, crime syndicates, (slightly), pressure, it’s a Kevin and Jo episode guys

Song Inspo: Bones by Imagine Dragons

SERIES MASTERLIST

bilingualism

THREE WEEKS AGO:

The dimly lit operations room was filled with the hum of computer monitors and the soft clatter of keyboard strokes. Kevin and Jo, both were hunched over a desk, their eyes glued to the footage playing on the screen in front of them. The grainy video showed the supposed death of Cain, a case that had puzzled them for days.

Kevin paused the video, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. "Something about this just doesn't add up," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "We've watched this footage a dozen times, and it still feels off."

Jo nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Yeah, I know what you mean. There’s something... staged about it. But I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Kevin replayed the segment where Cain was supposedly killed, focusing on the details. "Look at the way he falls. It's too clean. No struggle, no desperation. It's almost like he knew what was coming."

Jo leaned closer, scrutinizing the screen. "You’re right. And check out the angle of the camera. It’s positioned perfectly to capture the whole scene. Almost like it was set up deliberately."

Kevin's fingers flew across the keyboard, enhancing the footage and zooming in on Cain's face. "See that? He’s looking right at the camera. That’s not a look of fear; it’s... calculated."

Jo's eyes widened. "He’s playing to the audience. He wanted us to see this."

Kevin nodded, a sense of excitement building in his chest. "Exactly. But why? What’s his endgame?"

Jo frowned, leaning back in her chair. "Maybe he wanted us to think he was dead. Take the heat off him, so he could operate from the shadows."

Kevin paused the footage at the moment of Cain's supposed death. "That would explain a lot. But it also means we’ve been chasing a ghost. Cain's out there somewhere, and we’ve got no idea what he’s planning."

Jo ran a hand through her hair, her mind racing. "We need to look at this from a different angle. If Cain wanted us to think he was dead, he must have a reason. Something big."

Kevin started pulling up files on Cain, scanning through his known associates and recent activities. "Cain's always been a step ahead. If he's faked his death, he’s probably planning something major. We need to figure out what that is before it’s too late."

Jo nodded, determination hardening her features. "Right. But first, we need to confirm our theory. Let’s see if there’s any evidence that supports the idea that Cain is still alive."

Kevin brought up a series of reports, focusing on unusual activities that could be linked to Cain. "Look at this. A string of unexplained deaths in the last month. All of them have Cain’s signature—decapitation with a single clean cut."

Jo’s eyes widened. "That’s his calling card. He’s definitely still active. We need to alert the higher-ups."

Kevin hesitated, a frown crossing his face. "Wait. If we go straight to them without solid proof, they might not take us seriously. We need more than just a hunch."

Jo nodded, her jaw set. "You’re right. We need to gather enough evidence to make our case airtight. Let’s start with the footage. There’s got to be something we missed."

Kevin replayed the footage, slowing it down frame by frame. "Look here," he said, pointing to a shadow in the background. "There’s someone else in the room. They’re just out of sight, but you can see their reflection in the window."

Jo squinted at the screen, her heart racing. "That’s it. Cain had an accomplice. Someone who helped him stage his death."

Kevin enhanced the image, revealing the faint outline of a figure. "If we can identify this person, we might be able to track them down and get to Cain."

TWO WEEKS AGO:

The sun was just beginning to set as Kevin and Jo arrived at the scene of the latest decapitation. The crime scene was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, eerily quiet and shrouded in shadows. They parked their car a safe distance away and approached on foot, their flashlights cutting through the growing darkness.

Kevin’s heart raced as they reached the entrance. He glanced at Jo, who nodded in silent agreement. They needed to be cautious; if Cain was on a revenge mission, there was no telling what they might find.

They slipped inside the warehouse, the scent of decay and stale air assaulting their senses. The beam of Kevin’s flashlight fell on the chalk outline of a body and a pool of dried blood. He knelt down, inspecting the scene with a critical eye.

“Looks like the usual M.O.,” Kevin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Clean cut, no signs of a struggle.”

Jo scanned the area, her flashlight revealing the remnants of a violent encounter. “Yeah, but something feels different. This doesn’t seem random. Cain’s targeting someone specific.”

Kevin stood up, dusting off his hands. “Let’s look around. Maybe we can find something that ties this to Cain.”

They moved methodically through the warehouse, searching for clues. It wasn’t long before Jo’s flashlight caught something glinting in the shadows. She moved closer, crouching down to inspect it.

“Kevin, over here,” she called softly.

Kevin joined her, and together they examined the object. It was a medallion, intricately carved with symbols that Kevin recognized immediately.

“This is a syndicate insignia,” he said, his eyes widening. “Whoever this was, they were part of the syndicate.”

Jo’s eyes narrowed in thought. “So Cain’s not just killing randomly. He’s targeting members of the syndicate. But why?”

Kevin turned the medallion over in his hands, his mind racing. “Revenge. Cain’s on a revenge mission.”

Jo frowned. “Revenge for what?”

Kevin’s face grew grim as he pieced it together. “For the death of his wife, Collette, and his brother Abel.”

Jo’s eyes widened in realization. “Of course. Cain’s been harboring a grudge for centuries. The syndicate must have been involved in their deaths.”

Kevin nodded. “It makes sense. Cain’s always been driven by a sense of justice, twisted as it may be. If the syndicate had a hand in Collette’s and Abel’s deaths, he’d stop at nothing to make them pay.”

Jo stood up, her expression determined. “We need to find out more about this victim. If we can identify them, we might be able to connect the dots and figure out who Cain’s next target will be.”

Kevin agreed, pocketing the medallion. They continued their search, hoping to uncover more clues that would shed light on the identity of the latest victim. As they moved deeper into the warehouse, Kevin’s flashlight caught a glimpse of a piece of paper pinned to the wall.

“Jo, over here,” he called, moving towards the paper.

Jo joined him, and they examined the paper together. It was a list of names, each one crossed out except for the last two. Kevin recognized a few of the names immediately—prominent members of the syndicate who had been killed in recent weeks.

“This is a hit list,” Jo said, her voice barely above a whisper. “These are Cain’s targets.”

Kevin nodded, his heart pounding. “And it looks like he’s almost done. We need to warn the remaining targets before it’s too late.”

Jo took out her phone, quickly dialing the number of their superior. “We need to get this information to Sam and the others. They need to know what we’ve found.”

Kevin scanned the list, noting the names and locations of the remaining targets. He quickly pulled out his phone, dialling Sam.

He answered on the second ring. ‘Hey, Kevin. What’s up?’

Kevin took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Sam, we’ve got a situation. It’s about Cain."

There was a pause on the other end before Sam’s voice came through, cautious and curious. ‘Cain? I thought he was dead.’

"Yeah, that’s what we all thought," Kevin replied, glancing at Jo for support. "But we’ve got evidence that he’s still alive. And it’s worse than we expected—he’s on a revenge mission."

‘Revenge?’ Sam’s tone shifted, growing more serious. ‘For what?’

Kevin explained quickly, summarizing the events of the past few hours. "We’ve been investigating a series of decapitations, and we found out that all the victims were part of the syndicate. Cain’s been targeting them because he believes they were involved in the deaths of his wife, Collette, and his brother, Abel."

There was another pause as Sam processed the information. ‘That explains a lot. But if Cain’s alive and out for revenge, that means we’re dealing with a Knight of Hell who’s hell-bent on destruction.’

"Exactly," Kevin said. "We’ve already secured the remaining targets on his hit list, but we need to find Cain and stop him before he kills anyone else."

Jo stepped closer to Kevin, speaking up. "Sam, we’ve got a lead on his location. An abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of town. We’re gearing up to head there now."

Sam’s voice was firm, filled with determination. ‘I’m on my way. Don’t do anything until I get there. We need to handle this carefully.’

ONE WEEK AGO:

The evening sky was a wash of fading orange and deepening purple, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse with the tension of the impending confrontation. Sam led the charge, his expression grim and focused.

And hoping his hair wouldn’t fall in his face.

The intel Kevin and Jo had uncovered suggested that this dilapidated farmhouse was Cain’s hideout. After weeks of relentless investigation and countless dead ends, they were finally closing in on the man responsible for a series of brutal murders, each victim a former member of a notorious criminal syndicate. Cain’s revenge was nearly complete, and they knew they were running out of time.

Sam motioned for silence as they approached the front door, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of movement. Kevin and Jo flanked him, their weapons drawn and ready. The tension was palpable, each agent acutely aware of the stakes.

Sam took a deep breath, then kicked the door open, the sound echoing through the empty farmhouse. They moved in swiftly, clearing rooms with practiced efficiency. The air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of decay. As they reached the living room, they found Cain seated calmly in an old armchair, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Looks like you found me,” Cain said, his voice low and steady. “But you’re too late.”

Sam stepped forward, his gun trained on Cain. “Where are the others?”

Cain shook his head, his smile widening. “They’re gone. All of them. My revenge is complete.”

Kevin felt a chill run down his spine. They had been too late. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Jo’s eyes were locked onto Cain, her expression a mix of anger and frustration.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re gone’?” Jo demanded, her voice tight with barely restrained fury.

Cain leaned back in his chair, his eyes cold and calculating. “I’ve taken care of everyone responsible for Collette’s death and my brother Abel’s betrayal. Every single one of them.”

Sam tightened his grip on his weapon. “This ends now, Cain. You’re coming with us.”

Cain’s smile faded, replaced by a look of somber resolve. “You think I’m the biggest threat you’re facing? You’re wrong. There’s someone within your own ranks, someone who’s been working against you all along.”

Kevin and Jo exchanged a confused glance. Sam’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a mole in your organization,” Cain said, his voice carrying a weight of certainty. “Someone who’s been feeding information to the syndicate, undermining your every move.”

Jo’s eyes widened in shock. “A mole? Who?”

Cain shrugged, his expression inscrutable. “I don’t know their identity. But I do know they’re close. Closer than you think.”

Kevin felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. A mole within the FBI could explain the many setbacks they had faced during the investigation. But who could it be?

Sam took a step closer to Cain, his voice a low growl. “Why should we believe you?”

Cain met Sam’s gaze, unflinching. “Because I have no reason to lie. My revenge is complete. I have nothing left to lose.”

The silence that followed was heavy with tension. Sam exchanged a look with Kevin and Jo, then holstered his weapon. “We’re taking you in, Cain. You’ll have plenty of time to tell us everything you know.”

Cain didn’t resist as Sam and Jo cuffed him, his expression one of resignation. Kevin’s mind was racing, trying to process the implications of what Cain had revealed. If there truly was a mole within the FBI, they needed to find them before more lives were put at risk.

Back at the FBI headquarters, the atmosphere was charged with a mixture of frustration and determination. Cain was secured in an interrogation room, under constant watch. Sam, Kevin, and Jo convened in a conference room, the gravity of their situation weighing heavily on them.

Sam paced the length of the room, his mind clearly racing. “If Cain’s telling the truth, we have a serious problem. A mole within our ranks could explain why this investigation has been so difficult.”

Kevin nodded, his fingers tapping nervously on the table. “We need to re-examine everyone. Look at their access, their movements, any anomalies in their behavior.”

Jo leaned forward, her eyes sharp with focus. “We’ve already ruled out the usual suspects. We need to think outside the box. Consider people we haven’t scrutinized as closely.”

Sam stopped pacing and turned to face them. “We’ll need to do this quietly. If the mole realizes we’re onto them, they could cause even more damage. Let’s start with access logs and communication records. Anyone who’s had unusual access to sensitive information.”

Kevin pulled out his laptop, quickly accessing the FBI’s internal database. Jo began sifting through recent case files, looking for any discrepancies or unusual patterns.

FOUR DAYS AGO:

Kevin and Jo sat across from each other in the dimly lit interrogation room, the sterile walls echoing with their frustration. The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, reminding them of how little time they had left to uncover the mole within the FBI.

Kevin sighed, rubbing his eyes. “We’ve gone through the files a hundred times, Jo. There has to be something we’re missing.”

Jo leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. “I know, Kevin. But everyone we’ve investigated so far checks out. There’s no indication of anyone working against us.”

Kevin flipped through a thick stack of personnel files, each one meticulously marked with notes and red flags. “Let’s go over the interviews again. Maybe we missed a detail.”

Jo pulled out a notebook, the pages filled with hastily scribbled observations. “We’ve already ruled out Sam, Benny, Cas, Meg, and Ruby. They’ve all got alibis and their stories check out.”

Kevin nodded, his mind racing. “But what if the mole is someone we haven’t even considered? Someone under the radar?”

Jo tapped her pen against the table, deep in thought. “Like who? We’ve gone through everyone in our immediate circle.”

Kevin stood up, pacing the room. “Maybe it’s someone who’s not directly involved with us but has access to sensitive information. A support staff member, a janitor, someone who blends in.”

Jo’s eyes widened with realization. “You might be onto something. We need to broaden our scope. Look at everyone who’s had access to classified information, even if they’re not directly involved in our operations.”

Kevin nodded, feeling a spark of hope. “Let’s start with the cleaning crew. They’re here late at night when no one else is around. It’s possible someone could have overheard something or found a way to access our files.”

Jo jotted down a list of names. “Alright, let’s split up and start interviewing them. We need to be thorough.”

They moved with renewed determination, ready to uncover the truth.

THREE DAYS AGO:

The break room was quiet, the usual hum of chatter replaced by the soft buzz of the vending machine. Kevin and Jo sat at a small table, reviewing the cleaning crew’s schedules and backgrounds.

Kevin sipped his coffee, his eyes scanning the list. “So far, everyone we’ve talked to seems clean. No suspicious behavior, no access to restricted areas. Cleaning crew was a bust.”

Jo nodded, tapping her fingers on the table. “But we need to keep digging. There has to be a connection we’re not seeing.”

Kevin set down his coffee, leaning forward. “Let’s think about motive. Why would someone want to betray us? Money? Blackmail? Ideological reasons?”

Jo frowned, her brow furrowing. “It could be any of those. Or something we haven’t even considered. We need to think outside the box.”

Kevin’s eyes lit up with an idea. “What if it’s not about the usual reasons? What if it’s personal? Someone with a grudge against one of us?”

Jo looked thoughtful. “It’s possible. But who would have a personal vendetta against us?”

Kevin pulled out a piece of paper, jotting down names and potential motives. “Let’s make a list of anyone who’s had conflicts with our team in the past. Even minor disagreements could be a clue.”

Jo grabbed a pen, joining him in the brainstorming session. “Alright, let’s start with recent cases. Anyone we’ve crossed paths with who might hold a grudge.”

They worked in silence, their minds racing as they compiled the list. It was a long shot, but it was the best lead they had.

TWO DAYS AGO:

The FBI archives were a labyrinth of files and documents, stretching back decades. Kevin and Jo had spent hours sifting through the records, their eyes tired and their bodies aching from the constant strain.

Kevin pulled out another box of files, setting it on the table with a heavy thud. “There has to be something in here. Some connection we’ve overlooked.”

Jo flipped through a stack of papers, her fingers smudged with ink. “We’ve reviewed all the recent cases. Maybe we need to look further back. See if there’s a pattern.”

Kevin nodded, opening the box and pulling out a file. “Let’s start with cases that involved multiple agents. Larger operations where more people were involved.”

They worked in silence, the only sounds the rustling of papers and the occasional murmur of realization. Hours passed as they delved deeper into the archives, their frustration mounting with each dead end.

Jo suddenly looked up, her eyes wide. “Kevin, look at this.”

Kevin leaned over, peering at the file in her hands. It was an old case, one that had involved a large-scale operation against a powerful criminal syndicate. Several agents had been involved, including some who were still with the Bureau.

“This operation was a mess,” Jo said, pointing to the notes in the margin. “Several agents were compromised, and there were allegations of a mole even back then.”

Kevin’s mind raced. “But they never found the mole. What if it’s the same person, still operating within the Bureau?”

Jo nodded, her excitement growing. “It’s possible. We need to cross-reference these agents with the ones currently on our list.”

They worked quickly, their energy renewed by the potential breakthrough. If they could find a connection, they might finally be able to unmask the mole.

ONE DAY AGO:

The surveillance room was filled with monitors, each displaying different angles of the FBI headquarters. Kevin and Jo watched the screens intently, their eyes scanning for any sign of suspicious activity.

Kevin pointed to one of the screens. “There. That’s Agent Harris. He’s been acting strange lately, always staying late and avoiding eye contact.”

Jo nodded, making a note. “And there’s Agent Parker. She’s been spending a lot of time in the restricted areas, even when she’s not on duty.”

They continued to watch, their suspicions growing with each observation. They had compiled a list of agents who had been involved in the old operation and were now focusing their surveillance on them.

Kevin glanced at Jo, his expression serious. “We need to be careful. If the mole realizes we’re onto them, they might make a move.”

Jo nodded, her eyes never leaving the screens. “We’ll keep watching. Sooner or later, they’ll slip up.”

Hours passed, the tension in the room growing with each passing minute. They monitored every movement, every interaction, hoping for a clue that would lead them to the mole.

Suddenly, Jo’s eyes widened. “Kevin, look at this.”

Kevin leaned forward, his heart pounding. One of the agents on their list was meeting with a known associate of the syndicate— Azazel, no less, their conversation hushed and secretive.

“No way.” She whispered, grabbing her phone and rushing to make a call while Kevin stared wide eyed at the screen.

“That’s it,” Kevin whispered. “We’ve got our mole.”

NOW:

You felt numb. You felt… you didn’t know how to feel. In fact, your feet were barely carrying you towards the interrogation room, where you met Sam. He gave you a small nod, reassuring in hopes to calm the rising of bile, venom and blind fury that rose in your gut, threatening to boil over, but you shoved it down for the sake of it.

“He’s in there.” Sam nodded through the door, but stopped you before you could go in full guns blazing, pulling you in for a brief hug, his chin on your head. “Keep your cool, ok?”

“I will.” You assured quietly, and made your way in, your blood turning to ice.

There he was, at the interrogation table, cuffed to the desk. Smirk playing at his pouty lips, sandy hair slightly tousled from not having come quietly, red flannel and knowing look on his face. Green eyes following your every move, every slope of your body as you walked, tongue now tracing his upper teeth.

Dean Winchester. Dean was the mole in the FBI.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart.” He chuckled in a gravelly voice, which you ignored, taking the case file from Kevin with a small nod that said ‘well done’ to him and Jo. They’d been working the case while you were out playing a part in some badly written romance movie.

You cleared your throat, looking him in the eye. “So. It’s you. Why didn’t I see what you were doing?”

“I don’t think you were ever that perceptive, eh?” He grinned at you, clasping his hands together. “Ain’t no game that’s worth it if you ain’t the winner, am I right? But I played you good.”

“You sure did.” You replied, being cold about it the best you could. Your arms folded, jaw set and staring him dead in the eye. “But why did you do it?”

He laughed, throwing his head back before he looked back to you with a smirk. He cracked his Cheshire grin and gave you his best cocky-ass smile, one that made him look like the Devil. But there was only one thing worse than the Devil and that was the Devil in lion's clothing. “Because it’s fun.”

“You had sex with me because it was fun?” You frowned, folding your arms. “You wanted to get me this big win, is that what you wanted? Is this your idea of a big win?”

Dean smirked, leaning forward. “It’s my big win, darlin’. I said I’d get you a win, never said who’s.” Then he chuckled. “My patience’s worn thin. Adiós, sweet thing.”

His cuffs dropped from his hands, a Bobby pin clattering to the floor as the officers yelled out in surprise. Before they could react, they were knocked out with a clean few punches, and Dean had tackled you to the floor, the impact of your head hitting stone making your vision go blurry and the corners of it black.

You felt his lips on yours, further kissing what felt like the life out of you before he pulled back, hearing his footsteps disappear into the hallway along with hells and grunts that followed.

Your vision turning black.

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@cheynovak

[profoundbondfanfic]

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"Goddamned ghosts," Dean snaps, stabbing his shovel into the dirt. "Goddamned Heaven." (or: the one with the Ghost Apocalypse)

Under Construction by thestarsarefalling [General Audiences, 42k words]

Castiel's been quietly haunting the house in which he's met his untimely demise for a long time. Up until this moment, he's only had to deal with squatters and adventurous teenagers, who were easy to drive out with some spooky moans and creepy words scratched into walls. But when his building is slated to become a construction site, Castiel encounters Dean, the contractor and new owner of the home, someone who doesn't scare easy.

Winchester's Haunted House by deansmultitudes, Kitmistry [Teen and Up, 3k words]

For the Halloween evening, Dean turns his new home into a haunted house for neighboring kids. But once all the guests are gone, is when the real haunting begins.

[scoobydoodean]

might be a weird question, but youre probably like the top supernatural scholar on tumblr, at least definitely on the deangirl side, so i was wondering if you could summarise what the overall story/big bad of seasons 6 through 10 for me?

i binged the entire show in a week or two during lockdown and im definitely suffering primacy and recency bias because i cannot remember what happened in the middle seasons to save my life.

🔫 🔫 🔫 Watch Supernatural again

Season 6: Sam come back from hell but with no soul. Dean scared of and for him. Cas fighting civil war against Raphael who want to start Apocalypse Part 2 Electric Boogaloo. Dean busy worry about Sam. Cas busy worry about Raphael. Hurt feelings both sides. Crowley threaten Sam and Dean into working for him. Dean get Sam soul back but at risk Sam go crazy. Cas pretend kill Crowley. Cas actually in cahoots with Crowley. Crowstiel hungry want to open Purgatory to eat all the souls. Cas want to eat souls to kill Raphael. Crowley want to eat souls to become Big Threat. Sam and Dean and Bobby find out Cas lie. Hurt. Worried Cas get hurt. Worried Purgatory soul eating plan cause more apocalypse. Cas break Sam's brain to keep Sam and Dean from standing in way. Sam mental hurt. Cas double cross Crowley. Eat all Purgatory souls. Cas kill Raphael. Cas say he is god now and demand worship.

Season 7: Cas full of hubris. Cas kill most angels. Cas kill racists and homophobes. Cas realize pregnant with Leviathan swallowed from Purgatory on accident. Very bad. Sick. Dying. Not strong enough. Cas ask for Dean help. Team Free Will try to put all souls back in Purgatory. Leviathan do not leave Cas. Cas walk into lake not return. Dean keep trenchcoat. Sad. Drinking lots. Sam hallucinating. Trying be okay. Getting worse. Leviathan try take over world with evil sandwich. Leviathan kill Bobby. Cas turn out alive but no memory. Cas remember he Cas. Cas take Sam crazy away. Cas become crazy instead. Stay in mental health hospital. Kevin Tran find out is prophet. Get caught up in apocalypse. Sam and Dean and ghost Bobby and Crowley try to kill Dick. Need Cas help. Dean and Cas fight and make up. Cas help. Dean and Cas disappear after Dick explode. Land in Purgatory. Surrounded by gorilla wolves. Cas fly away leave Dean alone in dark. Prophet Kevin Tran kidnapped by Crowley.

Season 8: Dean come back from Purgatory with new friend cajun vampire Benny. No Cas. Dean think dead. Dean Cas and Benny join up and fight in Purgatory. Cas not escape. Dean think his fault but not. Sam hit dog and hook up with girl who call him white supremacist and force him to adopt dog. Sam leave when her husband come back from war. Sam find out Dean alive and go to him. Dean find out Sam not look for him and Cas and leave Kevin to die. Dean angry hurt. Sam and Dean go look for Kevin. Sam tell Dean to shut up and never mention hurt again. Crowley big problem. Sam Dean Kevin find out gates of hell can be closed. Crowley and other demons no longer problem then. Kevin need demon tablet to figure out how. Must go through Trials to close gates. Sam want be one to go through Trials to close gates of hell. Promise to live and save Dean from depression. Quickly forget and tell Dean to get over it. Crow,ly want demon tablet. Naomi want angel tablet. Cas show up. Not dead. No idea how back. Turn out Naomi bring Cas back. Also brainwash Cas. Cas almost kill Dean but then escape Naomi control. Fly away with angel tablet. Cas lose angel tablet. Dean upset. Sam getting sick from trials. Dean worry. Sam accuse Dean not believe in him. Sam and Dean capture Crowley as last Trial. Begin to turn him human. Cas try close gates of heaven with angel Metatron. Metatron double cross Cas and make all angels fall to earth. Crowley crying turning human. Sam want to die finish Trials. Dean remind him promise not die. Sam mad that Dean has sexy boyfriends and he does not. Dean convince Sam to not finish trials and live.

Season 9: Sam dying even though not finish trials. Dean pray for help. Angels come to beat him up looking for Castiel who made them fall. Ezekiel save Dean and say help Sam. Human Cas stranded but vouch for Ezekiel on phone. Ezekiel actually angel Gadreel but Dean not know. Ezekiel pretend to be Dean go into Sam subconscious pretend be Dean. Sam say yes Gadreel possess Sam. Sam not know possessed. Gadreel convince Dean wait to tell Sam he possessed. Cas trying survive human. Get in trouble. Sam and Dean rescue. Bring home to bunker. Gadreel threaten leave Sam die before healed if Cas stay. Dean have kick Cas out. Knight of Hell Abaddon show up. Start take over hell. Cannot easy kill. Crowley addicted to human blood because feelings. Metatron get in Gadreel ear. Promise safety and honor if do his will. Gadreel kill Kevin for Metatron. Crowley and Dean and Cas expel Gadreel from Sam. Sam mad at Dean. Say no more brothers. Just work partners. Dean accept. Dean sad. Everything bad and wrong. Cas eat angel grace. Looking for his own grace. Want stop Metatron get angels back to heaven. Abaddon come back. Crowley tell Dean First Blade is solution. Crowley take Dean to Cain. Cain give Dean Mark of Cain. Make Dean strong, but slowly make Dean need kill to survive. Dean kill Abaddon with First Blade. Dean realize turning monster. Coughing up blood not kill. Dean go face Metatron. Metatron kill Dean. Sam sad. Say lie about not brothers. Cas get Metatron arrested by angels. Dean body left in bedroom. Crowley show up invite on vacation. Dean open eyes as demon.

Season 10: Demon Dean and Crowley vacation. Sam think Dean dead but body possessed. Furious. Torture. Kill. Look for Dean body. CrowleyDean breakup. Sam manage find Demon Dean. Manage capture. Bring to bunker dungeon. Try to cure. Demon Dean not want cured. Escape try kill Sam with hammer. Cas show up stop Dean. Bring human Dean back. Cas not well. Need grace back. Dean not demon anymore but still Mark of Cain. Dean murder human traffickers. Sam and Cas say Dean getting worse. To be fair Dean do have murder trances which not very good. Everyone look for way to remove Mark of Cain. Charlie back. Cas get grace back with Metraton help. Styne family cause trouble. Stynes want Book of the Damned. Rowena want book of the damned. Sam want Book of Damned. Dean say Book of Damned evil. Demand not be used because bad. Sam use Book of the Damned secret. Charlie Cas Crowley and Rowena (against will) help Sam look for Dean cure. Find cure in Book of the Damned. Keep hearing bad idea to use. Something bad happen if use book. Charlie get killed. Dean find out Sam lie and use Book of Damned behind back. Dean angry. Dean go on murder rampage and kill all Stynes. Dean summon Death and ask to kill him so not hurt anyone. Sam show up. Beg Dean to live. Death tell Dean kill Sam. Dean kill Death instead. Rowena finish Book of the Damned spell and Mark of Cain removed. Darkness erupts from the earth as consequence of Sam removing Mark of Cain and begin apocalypse. Sam say would do again in a heartbeat because Dean back.

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Ch. 3 - Dinner and a Show

Summary: Valerie and Elvis grow closer. Note: Okay, so there is controversy over whether Elvis actually ate peanut butter and bacon on sandwiches. Some people say he ate peanut butter, bacon, and banana sandwiches all the time. Others say it was just peanut butter and banana. And some (Ginger Alden) said he didn't eat them at all. You decide. Nevertheless, I wanted to include him eating peanut butter and bacon on sesame rolls here just as a fun little Elvis tidbit for the story. Suspend your disbelief, everyone! Word count: 7,800 Warnings: Infidelity; subtle references to sex

My eyes snapped open, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Remnants of last night's fever dream clung to my skin—searing touches, smoky whispers, the ghost of a kiss that almost met my lips. Holy mother of God, did that really happen?

I fumbled for my nightstand, nearly knocking over the glass of water I never got around to drinking. There it was. The ticket to his midnight show. Glossy and real and indisputable proof that I, Valerie Pedretti, professional nobody, had somehow captured the attention of the most famous man on the planet.

Equal parts giddy thrill and sheer pants-shitting terror. Good lord, what was I thinking, playing pattycake with Elvis freaking Presley? A very much married Elvis freaking Presley. I groaned into my pillow. I needed to call Deena pronto before having a complete meltdown.

The phone only rang twice before she picked up, voice fuzzy with sleep. "Val, hon, it's ass o'clock in the morning. This better be good—"

"Trust me, Dee, it is.” I took a deep breath, suddenly unsure of where to start. “I’m not coming home just yet. I’ve decided to extend my stay here for a little while.”

That woke her up. I could practically hear her sitting bolt upright in bed, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? You get a callback for that Sinatra gig?"

I hesitated, biting my lip. Fuck it, no use lying now. 

“I maybe kind of sort of accidentally seduced a celebrity last night."

Dead. Silence. Then an earth-shattering shriek. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

I winced, holding the receiver at arm's length. "Yep. I'm in deep doo-doo, Dee."

"Deep doo-doo?! More like the motherlode! Valerie, you little minx! How'd you manage a thing like that? I want every lurid detail. Emphasis on lurid."

I laughed, flopping back against the pillows. Leave it to Deena to skip straight to the good stuff. "I can't give you all the details yet. But let's just say he's someone we've both heard of. I'll give you three clues. Very famous, very talented, and very, very handsome."

And very married. I of course neglected that little tidbit. If Deena knew, she’d blow her top. Understandably so.

She made a sound like a teakettle boiling over. "You're killing me! You can't just drop a bombshell like that and not give me a name! Landing a whale like that..." She paused, thinking. "Wait... is it Sinatra? Dean Martin? Joey Bishop? Oh honey, please don’t tell me it’s Liberace. You know he doesn't go for—"

"Sorry, Dee, my lips are sealed," I said, trying for coy and mysterious but probably missing the mark by a country mile. "Loose lips sink ships and all that jazz. And I don’t wanna jinx this. I can’t be too... eager."

Deena huffed out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, keep your secrets, you incorrigible tease. But I'm telling you, Val, when an opportunity like this falls into your lap, you gotta strike while the iron's hot, if you know what I mean."

I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing. "Why Deena Jane Lovelace, are you trying to corrupt me? I feel like I should be clutching my pearls."

"I’m serious Val, you deserve to let loose and have some fun for once in your life. Live a little! Sow some wild oats! Ride that stallion till you break the saddle!"

"Deena!" I mock-gasped, giggling like a loon. "You're terrible!"

"You mean I'm right," she shot back, a smile in her voice. "I know you. You've got a bad habit of getting in your own way when it comes to men. Always overthinking, always holding back. Always tying yourself down to some jerk who isn’t good enough for you..."

I stopped laughing and chewed my lip. 

Deena's voice gentled. "Oh honey. Are you worried about that chump again? Because I will fly to Vegas and smack you upside the head myself. That boy is staler than last week's bread and you know it."

Oof. Andy. 

In the midst of all the Elvis-induced giddiness, I'd almost forgotten about my on-again-off-again boyfriend. Luckily, right now we happened to be more off-again, which meant I was technically free to do whatever this was that I was doing. 

Unbidden, an image of him popped into my head. Sweet, goofy, going-nowhere-fast Andy. If I squinted, his Arby's visor almost looked like a crown. Almost. Andy was... well, he was Andy. A burger-flipping, belch-ripping goofball who could always make me laugh, even when I wanted to strangle him. He was comfortable, familiar, uncomplicated. As exciting as a lukewarm bath.

She wasn't wrong. Ugh.

But Elvis… Elvis was pure electricity. He made me feel reckless, alive, like I could conquer the world in heels and a push-up bra. When a man like that looks at you like you're the only woman in the room, it does things to a girl. Things that don't involve overthinking or holding back.

Sensing my hesitation, Deena gentled her voice. "Look, I'm not saying you gotta marry the guy. But would it kill you to have a little fling? To let yourself get swept off your feet, even if it's just for a little while?"

I bit my lip, considering. Maybe Deena was right. Maybe it was time to stop being so buttoned-up and boring. To take a chance on something wild and wonderful, consequences be damned. I mean, when a choice between an Andy and an Elvis falls into your lap, you'd be six kinds of stupid not to go for the Elvis, right?

"Okay, okay, you've twisted my arm," I said at last, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. "Operation Ride That Stallion is a go. But if I end up with saddle sores, I'm blaming you."

Deena's cackle was loud and wicked. "Atta girl! You just remember every gory detail so you can replay the highlight reel for me later. And Val?"

"Yeah, Dee?"

"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

“But you’d do everything…”

“That’s my point!”

After promising to give her a full debriefing later, I hung up and started tearing through my suitcase. I needed to put together an outfit that wouldn't get me laughed out of the VIP section. What does Elvis like? I wondered as I pulled out everything I owned, frowning at my decidedly lacking duds. I'd have to go full Cinderella somehow—find some fairy godmother to zap me a gown, pronto.

But before I could do that, I had to at least shower. I spent the next few hours getting dolled up like my life depended on it. Which, considering who my "date" was with, it kinda did. I took my sweet time shaving, lotioning, spritzing myself with my best perfume. Just as I was about to return to the matter of what to wear, the doorbell rung.

I opened the door—only to pratfall over a fancy box from Suzy Creamcheese, the hottest boutique in town. What in the... 

I snatched it up. There was a card taped to the top, my name scrawled across it in scratchy, masculine handwriting. My eyes widened as I scanned the short, devastating message.

"Songbird, let's make beautiful music together. Wear this tonight. I'll be the one in black. Yours, Jon Burrows"

Jon Burrows. The alias he'd used last night. Hoo boy. Hands shaking, I lifted the lid off the box and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Inside was a dress that probably cost more than my entire life savings. Glimmering, body-skimming, hotter than a fresh sin. Draped in hand beading and fashioned of the finest silk imaginable. The kind of outfit that would've given Deena an aneurysm if she knew who sent it. In all honesty, Elvis had probably bought a million dresses just like it for a million and one little chippies. Suddenly, my stomach hurt. 

But I couldn’t help but notice, nestled right next to the dress, a pair of matching stilettos, the slim spike heels flashing like a dare. 

Eh, maybe I could take a Tums.

The dress slid over my curves like liquid sin, the slinky fabric doing favors for my figure I didn't even know were possible.

I twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the way the hem flirted with my thighs. With my chestnut curls artfully tousled and my eyes rimmed in black, I hardly recognized the minx staring back at me. If Elvis's jaw didn't hit the floor when he saw me in this getup, I'd eat my hat.

Still, a niggle of guilt squirmed in my gut as I dabbed on a pat of lip gloss. I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I was pulling a fast one on Deena. She'd blow her top if she knew who I was really running off to see. Not because of the fame, of course, but because of the ring on his finger.

But then again, maybe it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Especially when permission involved a certain married megastar. What Deena didn't know wouldn't hurt her, right?

Right. Confidence bolstered, I sashayed out the door.

*

With a little more than an hour to kill before the show, I tottered down to the casino floor, the click-clack of my stilettos drawing more than a few appraising glances. 

Suddenly feeling lucky, I made a pit stop at the blackjack table. Nothing like a good old fashioned game of chance to settle the nerves. I was just doubling down when I noticed a guy giving me the hairy eyeball.

He looked to be in his fifties, paunchy and balding, with a pinky ring the size of a doorknob. A real high-roller type. And he was staring straight at me, a lewd grin stretching his thin lips.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing all by her lonesome?"

I shifted uncomfortably, wishing I'd worn a tent instead of a curve-hugging sheath. "Just playing a little cards before the big show," I muttered, looking everywhere but his face.

"Ah, you must be one of those Elvis girls," he said, nodding knowingly. "Fresh meat. Figures."

My stomach lurched. I was just opening my mouth to tell him where he could stick his fresh meat when a firm hand clamped down on my shoulder.

"Darlin', there you are! Been lookin' all over for you."

I whipped around to find a tall, gangly older man in a ten-gallon hat grinning down at me. He had a kind, pleasantly weathered face, the type of face you instantly trusted.

"Play along, sugar," he whispered, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Looked like you could use a white knight."

I almost collapsed with relief. "Oh! Yes, of course. So sorry, I got a little turned around..." I let him steer me away from the blackjack table, offering a silent prayer of thanks for chivalrous cowboys.

"Chick, at your service," he said once we were out of earshot, doffing an imaginary cap. "I’m with the International. And unless I miss my guess, you must be Miss Valerie?"

My eyes widened. "How did you...?"

Chick chuckled, shaking his head. "Let's just say, ah, Mr. Burrows ain't exactly subtle when he's sweet on a girl. I was instructed to find you and bring you to his dressing room before the show. Reckon that dress is gonna give him the vapors but good."

A pleased flush crept up my neck. Elvis had specifically summoned for me? Maybe this was more than a passing fancy to him. Maybe I wasn't just the flavor of the week...

No. Stop that. Don't go getting attached, you ninny. He's married, remember?

Chick must've noticed my wilting expression, because he gave my elbow a fatherly pat. 

"Chin up, darlin'. I know this whole thing has you tied up in knots, but trust me—that boy thinks the sun rises and sets on your pretty little head. I ain't never seen him so gaga."

I managed a wobbly smile, even as my heart squeezed. Chick was sweet to say so, but he didn't know the half of it. Falling for Elvis was a one-way ticket to heartache city.

We snaked through a labyrinth of hallways and then reached the dressing room door. Chick gave a jaunty salute. "This is where I leave you. You take a deep breath and remember—if he’s foolish enough to let you slip through his fingers, I'll be waitin' in the wings to snatch you up my own self."

I giggled in spite of myself, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the rescue, Chick."

"Anytime, darlin'." With a last wink, he disappeared into the bowels of the theater, leaving me to find my seat on shaky legs.

*

I took a deep breath, smoothed my dress, and knocked on the door, my heart hammering in my throat. This was it. The moment of truth.

The door swung open, and there he was. Elvis, looking surprisingly human in a plain white collared shirt and black slacks. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me, a genuine, almost shy thing that made my insides flutter. He looked oddly nervous, a far cry from the swaggering sex god I'd expected. It was strangely endearing.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite good luck charm!" he said, ushering me inside with a flourish. "Get in here, darlin', before someone sees you and starts a scandal. I can see the headlines now: 'Elvis Presley Corrupts Young Songstress, Film at Eleven.'"

I laughed, feeling some of my nervousness melt away in the face of his playful warmth. "I think you're overestimating my ability to cause a scandal," I said, plopping down on the couch. "The most exciting thing that's ever happened to me was winning a pie-eating contest when I was twelve."

Elvis clutched his heart, staggering back in mock-amazement. "Be still my beating heart! A pie-eating champion in my very dressing room? I'm not worthy!"

He dropped to his knees in front of me, clasping my hands in his. "Tell me, o great and powerful pie queen, what's your secret? Inquiring minds want to know!"

His antics were so unexpected, so at odds with his slick public persona, that I found myself relaxing in spite of the surreality of the situation. This was just Elvis. Just a man. A ridiculously handsome, heart-stoppingly talented man, but a man nonetheless.

We plopped down on the couch, close but not quite touching. Elvis ran a hand through his hair, tousling it even further. I giggled, swatting at him. "Stop it, you goof! You're going to make me ruin my mascara from laughing too hard."

Elvis grinned, unrepentant. "Can't have that, can we? I need you looking your absolute best out there tonight. Gotta show all those other fellas what they're missing." His appraising gaze was warm an appreciative as it swept over me. “And you do look beautiful, by the way. That dress is a knockout on you.”

I ducked my head, feeling a pleased flush creep up my neck. "You shouldn’t have, Elvis. I’m not used to such nice things.” I looked down, tapping my feet in the maroon stilettos he gifted me. Suddenly, I found myself saying things out loud I didn’t want to admit. “When I put it on, I was hoping you’d like me in it."

"Well, mission accomplished." Elvis's smile turned rueful. "Can I let you in on a little secret, Valerie?" he said, glancing at me sidelong. At my nod, he blew out a breath. "I'm nervous as all get-out about this show tonight. Like, shakin' in my boots nervous."

“You get stage fright?”

"That isn’t even the half of it," Elvis barked out a laugh, but there was an undercurrent of tension in it. "Honey, I'm about ready to shake out of my skin. I haven't played a venue this big in years, and I keep thinking I'm going to get out there and just... forget everything. Forget how to sing, forget how to move, forget my own damn name."

My heart squeezed at the very real fear in his voice. I scooted closer. "You? Nervous? But you've played hundreds of shows for thousands of people. You're a pro!"

He chuckled, but it sounded a little forced. "Yeah, well, that was before. Haven't exactly been doing a lotta live performing lately. Feels like I'm starting from scratch."

His knee started bouncing, fingers drumming a restless beat on his thigh. "Truth is, I keep thinkin' I'm gonna get out there and just... blank. Disappoint everyone. Forget all the words, miss all my cues. Make a damn fool of myself in front of everyone." His gaze cut to me, suddenly vulnerable. "In front of you."

Oh. Oh, Elvis.

"Hey," I said softly, daring to lay my hand over his. "You are not going to make a fool of yourself. You know how I know?"

His fingers curled around mine, warm and strong. "How?"

“Because I’ve seen you dance. Even if you forget the words, just do that little hips-swivel thing and no one will care what's coming out of your mouth."

Elvis stared at me for a beat, his brow furrowed, mouth hanging open. Then, like a dam bursting, he threw his head back and guffawed, the sound rich and unrestrained.

"Lordy, woman!" he managed between wheezing breaths, clutching his stomach. "You really are somethin' else, you know that?"

I grinned, inordinately pleased with myself for cracking him up. "I’m serious! Those things are lethal weapons."

He snorted, shaking his head. "You're a mess, girl. An absolute mess." But his eyes were soft, affectionate.

“No, for real. You’ll do great,” I said, giving his knee a squeeze. "The second you step out there and see all those adoring faces, all those people who love you... it's gonna click. You're gonna remember exactly who you are and why you do this."

Elvis stared at me for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "You really believe that, don't you?" he said quietly. "You really think I've still got it."

"I know you've still got it," I said firmly. "You're going to go out there and give the performance of a lifetime, and I'm going to be right there in the front row, cheering you on."

Elvis's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his eyes suspiciously bright. "What did I ever do to deserve a gal like you in my corner?" he wondered, shaking his head. "I must've been a saint in a past life."

"Well, I don't know about sainthood, but you definitely rocked a mean pair of blue suede shoes," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

It worked. Elvis threw his head back and laughed, the rich, honeyed sound wrapping around me like an embrace.

"Aw, baby, you're just too much!" He grinned at me, wide and boyish and utterly charming. "Stick with me, kid, and I'll show you a thing or two about rocking more than just shoes."

I felt my cheeks heat at the implicit promise in his words. "I'm going to hold you to that, Mr. Presley."

"You better, Miss Pedretti."

Elvis glanced at the clock and sighed, some of the laughter fading from his eyes. "Guess I better start getting into my glad rags. Show's about to start, and I've got a whole lot of hearts to break." 

I elbowed him playfully. He stood, hauling me up with him. "Walk me to the stage door?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping back into his voice. "It'd mean a lot to have you there, sending me off."

I wanted to. With every fiber of my being, naturally. But good sense won out. “I don’t think it’s the best idea, Elvis. I’m sure there’ll be photographers and—”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Elvis sighed. “Good looking out.” There was a genuine sadness in his voice.

I squeezed his hand, holding his gaze. "I'll be with you every step of the way," I promised. "In spirit, if not in body."

Elvis lifted my hand to his mouth, grazing my knuckles with a kiss that sent sparks shooting up my arm. "Knowing that's going to make all the difference, honey. You'll be my guiding light out there."

I felt like I could happily drown in those bottomless blue eyes, spend the rest of my days mapping the planes and angles of that impossibly handsome face. Emboldened, I reached up to straighten his collar, letting my fingers linger on the warm, taut skin of his neck. Elvis growled, a low, throaty sound that reverberated through my bones. He tugged me closer, until I could feel the heat of him, smell the spicy, expensive scent of his cologne. "Y’know, I've half a mind to cancel this show and..."

My pulse kicked into overdrive, desire threading through me in hot, urgent pulses. It would be so easy to let him do just that, to surrender myself to the dark promise in his eyes, propriety and common sense be damned...

A sharp knock at the door shattered the charged silence, making me jump like a scared cat. Elvis muttered a curse, his fingers flexing on my hips.

"Thirty minutes to curtain, boss," a voice called through the door.

Elvis blew out a harsh breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "Guess that's my cue," he said ruefully. He leaned in, his lips grazing my ear. "To be continued. You can bet on that."

Then, with one last scorching look, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving me weak-kneed and panting in his wake.

*

The house lights dimmed and the band struck up a familiar chord, and the audience went nuts. Shrieks and whistles drowned out the opening bars as a lone spotlight pierced the dark.

And there he was.

Elvis swaggered onstage in a black gi-style jumpsuit, his raven hair gleaming under the lights, guitar slung low around his chest. The crowd surged to its feet, but Elvis only had eyes for me. He caught my gaze and grinned, a private, knee-weakening thing that set every nerve ending aflame.

Sweet mercy. Maybe Chick hadn't been exaggerating after all.

The show was a dizzying carousel of hip-swiveling, high energy dancing, and electrifying eye contact. Elvis shimmied and crooned and thrust like his life depended on it, but every so often, he'd throw a smoldering glance my way, those bedroom eyes promising wicked, unspeakable things. The same eyes that looked over every inch of my body in his dressing room. 

During "Love Me Tender," he changed one of the lyrics ever so slightly, singing "for my songbird" instead of "for my darling." It was so subtle, I almost thought I'd imagined it. But then he caught my eye and winked, and I nearly combusted on the spot.

I spent the whole show riding a knife's edge of exhilaration and anxiety, every cell in my body attuned to Elvis's sly overtures. He was flirting with me, signaling me, making it clear I was his girl of the moment. And Lord help me, I ate it up like a starving dog.

In the back of my mind, a niggling voice of reason piped up, sounding suspiciously like Deena. "He does this with all the girls, dummy. You aren’t special. He's MARRIED, remember?"

I told the voice to can it. For one night, I just wanted to pretend this was real, that Elvis's heated promises were mine and mine alone. That maybe he really did in fact like my company. Was that so wrong?

By the time Elvis launched into “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” I was thoroughly hot and bothered, my skin humming with anticipation. Elvis took his bows, blowing kisses and reaching out to the sea of grasping hands. My own hands were stinging from clapping so hard, my face aching from grinning like a fool. He'd done it. He'd absolutely slayed. This was it. If he asked me to, I was going to go all the way. I was so keyed up, I barely noticed Joe until he materialized at my elbow, grinning like a fox in the henhouse.

Giddy and practically vibrating out of my skin, I let myself be ushered to Elvis’ suite by a cadre of burly security guards. It was already packed to the gills, a whirlwind of chatter and clinking glasses and backslapping laughter.

I recognized some of the faces from my earlier introduction to Elvis's inner circle—Red and Sonny and all the others from the Memphis Mafia, Colonel Parker looking like the cat who ate the canary, a gaggle of International execs in expensive suits. But there were plenty of new players too—starlets and hangers-on and a surprising number of little old ladies in their Sunday best, clutching Elvis albums to their heaving bosoms.

I felt a moment of panic, a minnow swimming with sharks, but then Jerry caught my eye across the room and waved me over with a wink.

"There she is!" he crowed, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Didn't our boy knock 'em dead tonight?"

I grinned up at him, letting his easy camaraderie settle my nerves. "He sure did. I've never seen anything like it. I thought that one gal in the front row was gonna faint when he smiled at her."

"Aw, that ain't nothing!" Red chimed in, swiping a flute of champagne off a passing tray. "Back in '56, we had girls dropping like flies every time he so much as moved a finger. Quite a time to be alive, let me tell you!"

We laughed and joked and traded Elvis stories, the boys folding me into their ranks like I'd always been there. It was a heady feeling, being on the inside of something so exclusive, so legendary. Even if it was just for one night.

Speaking of the man himself, Elvis was holding court on the other side of the room, surrounded by a gaggle of suits and coiffed heads. He caught my eye over their shoulders and shot me a wink, his grin electric even from a distance.

I felt that zip of connection like a physical touch, and had to duck my head to hide my flush. Good grief, the man could spark a fire in my belly from clear across a crowded room. I was in trouble.

As if drawn by some invisible thread, I drifted towards him, skirting the edges of his adoring throng. I didn't want to interrupt, but I couldn't quite keep away either.

I was just debating the merits of "accidentally" bumping into him when I felt a gnarled hand clamp onto my wrist. I turned to find myself nose to nose with a diminutive old woman in a pink pillbox hat, her rheumy eyes squinting up at me.

"Priscilla, dear, is that you?" she cooed, her voice warbling with age. "Oh, honey, I just have to tell you how much I admire you! The way you've stood by your man all these years, through thick and thin... it's an inspiration to us all!"

My stomach plummeted. She thought I was Elvis's wife. His very real, very married wife.

"Oh, no, I'm not—" I stammered, my face heating. But she was already barreling on, clutching my hand in her paper-dry grip.

"You know, my Albert and I have been married for 53 years, and I like to think we've weathered our share of storms. But you and Elvis, bless your hearts, you've been through the wringer and back! The army, those awful Hollywood starlets, all those months on the road... it's a wonder you've made it work as well as you have!"

I opened my mouth, desperate to correct her, to distance myself from the comparison. But something in her earnest, careworn face stopped me. Who was I to shatter her illusions? What harm was there in letting her believe, just for a moment, that I was his dutiful wife?

So I simply smiled and patted her hand, murmuring something about the power of commitment. She beamed at me, misty-eyed, and tottered off to accost someone else with her marital wisdom.

I sagged against the wall, feeling vaguely guilty. Borrowing Priscilla's halo, even for a few minutes, left a sour taste in my mouth. What kind of person was I, playacting at being Elvis's devoted wife when the real deal was at home, probably wondering where her husband was and who he was with? And why wasn’t she here on opening night, anyway?

Suddenly, the dressing room felt too hot, too close. I needed air. I needed space. I needed...

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you, Valley cat."

I turned to find Elvis striding towards me, his face alight with post-show elation. His jacket was gone, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his hair damp with sweat. He looked utterly edible.

I pasted on a smile, trying to shake off my guilt like a dog shedding water. This was supposed to be a magical night, remember? My one chance to live like a star, to be Elvis's girl, if only in the shadows.

"Hey," I said, hoping my voice didn't betray my inner turmoil. "If it isn't the man of the hour himself. I'd ask how it feels to kill it, but something tells me you already know."

He laughed, low and throaty, and caught my hand in his. My pulse leapt at the casual intimacy of the gesture. "Careful with the compliments, hon, or my head won't fit through the door. Then where would we be?"

"Oh, I'm not worried," I shot back, finding my footing again. "If your head gets too big, I'll just deflate it with a few choice pinpricks. I'm handy like that."

"A real Jill of all trades, aren't ya?" he drawled, tugging me closer. I stumbled a bit, thrown by his nearness, the play of muscle beneath his shirt as he steadied me with hands on my hips.

His eyes danced with mischief and something hotter, headier. "Stick around long enough and maybe you'll get to show me just how handy you can be."

Oh. Oh my. Was he implying...

Before I could parse his words, he leaned in close, his lips a hairsbreadth from my ear. "The fellas are gonna clear out the stragglers. Why don't you hang back a while, keep me company?"

My pulse thudded heavy in my throat. "O-okay," I murmured, cursing my stammer. "If you're sure I won't be imposing..."

He pulled back just far enough to meet my eyes, something softening in his gaze. "Valerie, trust me. There is nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you. Okay?"

I nodded shakily, thunderstruck by his sincerity. 

The next hour passed in a whirlwind of farewells and a few more furtive winks from Elvis as he played gracious host. The stragglers trickled out in twos and threes, some of the drunker ones being gently but firmly escorted by bulky security guards. Soon, it was just Elvis, the core crew, and me.

I perched on the arm of a velvet sofa, trying to blend into the scenery as the guys swapped tour stories and ribbed each other mercilessly. Elvis, sprawled in an adjacent chair with a tumbler of something amber and expensive, kept sneaking me these scorching sidelong glances that made me feel like I was the only girl in the room. Maybe the only girl in the world.

Eventually, Red gave a jaw-cracking yawn and hoisted himself up off the couch. "Welp, I'm about ready to hit the hay. These old bones ain't what they used to be." He shot Elvis a significant look. "Reckon y'all got things handled in here?"

Elvis's lips twitched, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah, man. I think we're good. Y'all head on to bed now. Me and Valerie here will just... clean up a bit."

There was a loaded pause, a crackle of unspoken communication between them. Then, with a chorus of goodnights and a few winks sent my way, the guys filed out.

And then there were two.

Elvis drained his glass and set it aside, unfolding from his chair like a jungle cat waking from a nap. All coiled grace and barely restrained power. I tracked his approach with my heart in my throat, my skin prickling with anticipation.

He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, the warm musk of his skin beneath the sharper tang of sweat. Close enough to touch.

He held out a hand, eyes molten in the low light. "C'mon, darlin'. Let's go somewhere a little more private, hmm?"

I slid my hand into his, letting him tug me to my feet and into the circle of his arms. I had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, my hands braced on the solid wall of his chest.

"Private sounds perfect," I breathed. "Lead the way."

His grin flashed, sharp and white in the dimness. He laced his fingers through mine and led me through a side door I hadn't even noticed, into a wood-paneled hallway lined with identical doors.

We stopped in front of one. Elvis produced a key from his pocket and unlocked it, gesturing for me to precede him. I stepped inside and stopped short, blinking in the sudden brightness. It was a suite, as lushly appointed as any I'd seen—all plush carpets and gleaming dark wood and what looked suspiciously like a gilded ceiling.

In the center of the room, a table had been set with a crisp white cloth, gleaming silver, a bottle of champagne sweating gently in a gilded ice bucket. Two place settings. Candles.

My heart did a funny little flip. He'd planned this. Planned a private, romantic dinner for two. For us.

I turned to him, stunned. "Elvis, this is... I mean, you didn't have to go to all this trouble..."

He shrugged, looking almost bashful. "It wasn't any trouble. I just thought it'd be nice to have some time, just you and me. No screaming crowds, no prying eyes." His mouth quirked. "Plus, I figured you'd probably be starving after all that excitement. I know I am."

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled loudly. We both looked down at it, then at each other, and promptly burst out laughing.

"Well, I reckon that's my answer!" Elvis wheezed, clutching his side. "C'mon, let's feed that beast before it stages a revolt."

Still snickering, he pulled out my chair with a flourish. I sank into it, expecting him to ring for room service, or maybe a harried-looking assistant to come scurrying out with silver platters.

But no. To my shocked delight, Elvis ducked into the adjoining kitchenette and returned with... a greasy paper sack?

At my raised eyebrow, he grinned. "What, did you think it'd be all caviar and champagne? Nah, that ain't my style."

He upended the sack, sending a cascade of foil-wrapped burgers and fries skittering across the fine china. The commingled scents of grease and salt and ketchup wafted up to me, and my mouth instantly watered.

"I sent Sonny out for these," Elvis said, sliding into the seat across from me. "Knew I'd be craving some post-show grease. And I figured, what's better than sharing a little taste of home with my songbird?"

Songbird. Oh. There were those damned butterflies again.

"You figured right," I managed, plucking up a fry. "There's nothing better than burgers after midnight. Although..." I squinted at the foil peeking out from beneath a sesame bun. "Is that... peanut butter?"

He flashed me a guilty grin. "Ah, you caught me. Peanut butter and bacon. A little trick I picked up in the army. It sounds crazy, but trust me, it's a revelation."

We dug into our burgers, the silence broken only by appreciative moans and the rustling of wrappers. I had to admit, the combination of peanut butter and bacon was strangely appealing. Not that I'd ever tell Elvis that. His ego was healthy enough as it was.

"So," I said, dabbing a bit of ketchup from my chin. "You were in the army?"

Elvis paused mid-bite, his eyes widening slightly. He swallowed, setting his burger down. "You really didn’t know?"

“Well,” I said, chewing carefully. “I, uh. How do I say this? I never really followed you that closely. I mean, of course, I know your music and all. But the details of your life? I didn't want to pry.” 

He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

"Hey, what’s so funny?”

“You mean to tell me I found the only girl around who doesn’t already know everything about me?”

I felt my cheeks heat. "What do you mean?"

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with a newfound intensity. "I mean, you're the first girl I've met in a long time who hasn't tried to impress me with how much she knows about me. Who hasn't been hanging on my every word, ready to agree with whatever I say just to get in my good graces."

I blinked, taken aback. "Really? That's... that's kind of sad, actually."

"Sad?" He cocked his head, curious. "How so?"

I waved a hand, trying to find the right words. "I just mean... you're a person. A real, flesh and blood man with thoughts and feelings and experiences that go beyond what the magazines print. It's sad that so few people seem to want to get to know that side of you. The real you." I paused, considering whether or not to continue. “It must be really weird meeting new people and feeling like they already know everything about you.”

“Well, what they think they know at least.” His expression softened, something warm and vulnerable stealing into his gaze. "You really mean that, don't you? You actually want to know me. Not Elvis the star, but just... Elvis."

"��Course I do," I said softly. "You think I’d be eating burgers at 4 am with just anybody I meet? I promise you I am not that kind of girl,” I winked. 

As our appetites gave way to pleasant, sleepy fullness, our conversation turned to lighter things—favorite movies (his: The Way of All Flesh, mine: anything historical), craziest fan encounters (had to give it to Elvis on that one, though my tale of a particularly persistent flasher in Boise nearly made him snort soda out of his nose), best practical jokes played on unsuspecting bandmates (we were both particularly proud of our skills with a whoopee cushion).

We grinned at each other, the air between us crackling with something warm and bright. I felt like I could happily drown in those bottomless blue eyes, spend the rest of my days mapping the planes and angles of that impossibly handsome face.

But as the laughter died down and the food dwindled to crumbs, a tension crept into the air between us. An unspoken question, hovering like a ghost at the table.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Elvis, I... I have to ask. And feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but... what about your wife?"

He stiffened, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he might shut down, might retreat behind the impenetrable wall of his public persona.

But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping as if under a great weight. "Priscilla and I... it's complicated."

I bit my lip, my stomach knotting. "You still love her?"

A long, heavy beat of silence. Then, softly: "I'll always care for Priscilla. She's been a part of my life for a long time. But love?" He shook his head, his eyes distant. "No. I don't think I do. Not anymore."

My breath caught, hope and trepidation warring in my chest. "What happened?"

He scrubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly exhausted. "We grew apart. Wanted different things. For a while now, we've been living separate lives, barely even speaking except when necessary. I think we both know it's over. That it has been for a long time."

I reached out, covering his hand with my own. "Elvis, I'm so sorry. That must be incredibly painful."

He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. "It was, at first. But now? Now it just feels... inevitable. Like we were always meant to end up here, no matter how hard we tried to make it work."

As the night wore on and the conversation lulled, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. A glance at the clock told me it was just before six in the morning. Stifling a yawn, I turned to Elvis. "I hate to say it, but I think I should be heading back to my room. It's been an amazing night."

Elvis reached over and took my hand, his eyes searching mine. "Will you come back tomorrow? I feel like we've barely scratched the surface. There's so much more I want to talk to you about."

I smiled, my heart fluttering at the thought of spending more time with him. "I'd love to."

"Great. How about—"

I held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "Why don't you call me and invite me? Properly, I mean."

His lip curled in amusement, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Etiquette, huh? Alright, I'll play by your rules. I'll call you tomorrow night, say, around five-thirty? Room 2806, right?"

I nodded, unable to suppress my grin. "I'll be waiting."

"Lamar," Elvis called out. "Would you be so kind as to walk Valerie back to her room?"

With a final squeeze of my hand and a promise to call, Elvis bid me goodnight.

The next day seemed to drag on forever. I couldn't bring myself to leave my room, afraid I might miss his call if I stepped out even for a moment. As five-thirty approached, my nerves were wound tighter than a coiled spring. When the phone finally rang, I took a deep breath before picking up the receiver.

"Hello?" I answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Could I please speak with Valerie?" The unmistakable drawl sent my pulse racing.

I couldn't resist playing coy. "Who is this?"

"Elvis."

"Elvis who?"

There was a beat of silence, followed by a low chuckle. "You're a bonehead."

The playful exchange was just what I needed to ease my nerves. Elvis proceeded to explain the arrangements he'd made—a ticket for the late show and another dinner together afterward. I hung up the phone, my heart soaring with anticipation.

Maybe staying in Vegas a little while longer wasn't such a bad idea after all.

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[nikimisery]

Season 1 Episode 4 - Phantom Traveler

                I had my head thrown back, eyes closed as I felt his lips ghost across my throat and down my neck, settling on my shoulder. His weight was comforting and safe, caging me under him. One of his hands held my wrists above my head, his hips pinning me to the bed. His free hand was running up my side, his palm skimming the side of my chest, his thumb grazing my nipple. I couldn’t stop the noise that fell from my mouth at his touch.

             “Perfect.” He whispered as he tilted his head back up, lips capturing mine in a kiss that stole the breath from my lungs. Kissing him was everything, it felt like I was flying, but it grounded me in the best way. Everything was simply… Dean.

             “Morning, sunshine.” Sam’s voice pulled me from my dream.

             “What time is it?” Dean’s voice came from behind me. When did that happen? Oh fuck, I fell asleep on his bed last night watching tv…

             “Uh, it’s about five forty-five.”

             “In the morning?”

             “Yep.” Sam replied.

             “Where does the day go?” Dean asked him as he sat up. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

             “Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours.” I sat up against the headboard of Dean’s bed, trying to pull the blankets up.

             “Dean, move your fat ass, I’m cold.” I told him. He didn’t answer me, just threw a hoodie at me, hitting me square in the face, the smell of Pine clouding my senses. I slipped it on my head, settling back down into the bed. Dean had his hand reached out to me when I looked back up, holding a drink in his hand. Chai…. This beautiful, beautiful man… He didn’t say anything or acknowledge me, turning back to Sam.

             “Liar. ‘Cause we were up at three,” he said, motioning between him and I, “and you were watching a George Foreman information.”

             “Hey, what can I say? It’s riveting TV.”

             “When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

             “I don’t know, a little while, I guess. It’s not a big deal.” Came Sam’s response.

             “Yeah, it is.”

             “Look, I appreciate your concern –“ Sam started.

             “Oh, I’m not concerned about you.” Dean snarked at him. “It’s your job to keep our asses alive, so I need you sharp.” But instead of answering him, Sam just shrugged his shoulders. “Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?”

             “Yeah. But it’s not just her. It’s everything.” He answered, handing Dean a coffee. “I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you.”

             “You can’t let it. You can’t bring it home like that.”

             “So, what? All this, it… never keeps you up at night?” Sam asked him, but he just shook his head. “Never? You’re never afraid?”

             “No, not really.” Dean replied. Sam looked at me then nodded to the pillow Dean had been laying on. I reached under it, pulling out a fairly big hunting knife, it was almost the length of my entire forearm. I held it up, waving it in front of Dean for a second before he grabbed my wrist, pulling the knife back from my hand.

             “That’s not fear. That is precaution.” He answered Sam.

             “All right, whatever. I’m too tired to argue.” The ringing of Dean’s phone cut off any further conversation. He started looking for it, picking up the clothes he was wearing the day before, but I pulled it out of the hoodie I was wearing, handing it to him.

             “Hello?” Dean answered the phone.

             “Dean, it’s, uh, it’s Jerry Panowski. You and your dad helped me out a couple years back.” I heard the voice on the other end of the phone say.

             “Oh, right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing. It’s not back, is it?”

             “No. No. Thank god, no. But it’s something else, and… uh, I think it could be a lot worse.” I furrowed my eyebrows at that.

             “What is it?” Dean asked him.

             “Can we talk in person?” I got up at that, starting to pack up our bags, setting some clothes aside so I could change before we left. Dean was hanging up the phone as I stepped into the bathroom to change, shutting the door behind me. I changed out of my sweats, into a pair of skinny jeans and had just pulled my bra on when the door opened behind me.

             “Shit, I’m sorry.” Came Dean’s voice. I had my back turned to the door, so he hadn’t seen anything… yet. I turned my head to peak at him, seeing his cheeks turning a slight pink color.

             “You act like you’ve never see a shirtless woman, Dean.” I joked, but he wasn’t listening to me, he was staring. “What?” I asked him. I was starting to get a little self conscious with how he wasn’t even blinking. Instead of answering me, he turned and shut the door behind him, turning back to face me.

             “I didn’t know you had any tattoos.” He said, his fingers running over my ribcage. I had a phoenix, starting at the top of my thigh, running up my ribs, ending on the side of my chest. He turned me, my back now facing him as he looked at the Vegvisir I had tattooed down my spine and the tattoo of Stitch I had on my shoulder blade. I also had a cross and a rose bush between my shoulder blades, a memorial to my parents and brother. “How many do you have that I can’t see?”

             “A couple.” I answered him vaguely. I had a Jurassic Park tattoo on my upper right thigh, a star on each hip bone below the line of my jeans, and a Celtic tribal tattoo on my ankle, but I wasn’t going to show him, not just yet.

             “A couple?” He asked me, backing me up against the sink. His hand came up to rest on my hip, squeezing it, before moving up to trace the phoenix.

             “Yeah, a couple.” I answered him, but before he could say anything else, a knock came at the bathroom door.

             “Come on guys, we got a few hours on the road before we get to that hanger.” Sam called out through the door. I pulled my shirt on and tried to move past Dean to open the door, but his arm blocked me in.

             “Yeah, we’re coming.” He said, turning to look at me once last time before letting me go, his gaze following me as I opened the door and stepped out. 

                “You two good.” Sam asked.

             “Yeah. Your brother was just learning something new is all.” I responded to him, gathering up my bag and walking out to the Impala to wait for the boys.  

                “Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around.” Jerry said as he led us through the hanger. “Dean and your dad really helped me out.” He directed at Sam.

             “Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” Sam spoke up.

             “Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie.” One of the workers we passed by said, overhearing our conversation.

             “He’s not wrong…” I muttered to Dean.  

             “Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking. Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?” Jerry asked Sam.

             “Yeah, I was. I’m – taking some time off.”

             “Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.”

             “He did?” Sam asked, sounding shocked.

             “Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn’t. How’s he doing, anyway?”

             “He’s, um, wrapped up in a job right now.” Dean lied.

             “Well, we’re missing the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?” Jerry asked.

“Not by a long shot.” Sam said.

 “I’m sorry, what was your name?” He directed to me.

             “Freya.” I told him with a smile.

             “How’s a pretty girl like you get roped up with these two, huh?” I chuckled a little before answering.

             “They kind of found me.” I responded vaguely.

             “Now we can’t get rid of her.” Sam sassed. I punched him, lightly, in the arm at that.

             “Dick.” I said, but he just laughed at me.

             “I got something I want you guys to hear.” Jerry told us, leading us into his office. He shut the door behind him before walking over to his desk, loading a CD into his computer. “I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley. Normally I wouldn’t have access to this. It’s the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.” He started up the recording for us to listen to as he stopped speaking.

             “Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britania 2485 – immediate instruction help! United Britania 2485, I copy your message – May be experiencing some mechanical failure…” the voice was cut off by a loud swishing, sounding like wind.

             “Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they’re saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He’s a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh… well, he’s pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault.”

             “You don’t think it was?” Sam asked.

             “No, I don’t.”

             “Jerry, we’re gonna need passenger manifests…” Sam started.

             “A list of survivors.” I finished his sentence.

             “All right.” Jerry agreed.

             “And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?” Dean asked him.

             “The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage… fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I’ve got that kind of clearance.” Jerry told us, causing a frown to grace Dean’s face.

             “No problem.” Dean responded. I could see the wheels turning in his head. He had a plan and I’m 99% sure it’s gonna be super illegal…

             “Thanks, Jerry.” I told him, following the boys out of the office and out to the car to get started. 

                “So…” Sam started. We were outside the Copy Jack waiting for Dean, leaning up against the Impala. “You and my brother, huh?”

             “Shut up.” I said, ducking my head to hide the blush.

             “No, no, I will not shut up!” Sam laughed at me. After a few seconds, his laughing had died down and he cleared his throat. “It’s okay, you know.”

             “What’s okay?” I asked, confused.

             “You and Dean.”

             “There is no ‘you and Dean’.” I told him.

             “You sure about that?” He asked me, raising an eyebrow at me. “You guys are like… I don’t know, you two tend to gravitate towards each other.” He continued. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”

             “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

             “Yeah, okay.” He said in that disbelieving tone that lets you know he really doesn’t actually believe you. He didn’t’ get a chance to say anything else, though, because Dean came out of the building holding up three new ID’s. “You’ve been in there forever.”

             “You can’t rush perfection.” Dean snarked at him, handing us each one of the ID’s.

             “Homeland Security?” Sam said, taking his ID from Dean. Yep! I knew it! Illegal! I’m going to jail today. This motherfucker is trying to get me arrested… “That’s pretty illegal, even for us.”

             “Yeah, well, it’s something new. You know? People haven’t seen it a thousand times.” Dean replied, opening the door for me to climb into the backseat. As the brothers settled into the front, Dean spoke up. “All right, so, what do you got?”

             “Well, there’s definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder.” Sam said.

             “Yeah?”

             “Listen.” He started up the tape he was editing before our conversation, while we waited for Dean to come back out.

             “NO SURVIVORS!” A voice called out over the recording.

             “No survivors”? Dean asked. “What’s that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.”

             “Got me.”

             “So, what are you thinking? A haunted flight?”

             “There’s a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers.” Sam told him.

             “Mm-hmm.”

             “Or remember flight 401?” Sam asked.

             “Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in the other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights.” Dean answered him. I remembered hearing about that when I was younger.

             “Right.”

             “Yep.”

             “So maybe we got a similar deal.”

             “All right, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?” Dean asked.

             “Third on the list: Max Jaffey.” I told him.

             “Why him?”

             “Well, for one, he’s from around here.” Sam started.

             “And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did.” I finished.

             “What makes you say that?”

             “Sam spoke to his mother. You’ll never guess where he is.”  

                Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital, that’s where we found our witness, Max Jaffey. His mother had told us where we could find him, saying he had checked himself in here after the crash.

             “I don’t understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security.” He said. He had injured his leg in the crash, he had to walk with a cane now.

             “Right. Some new information has come up. So if you could just answer a couple questions…” Dean began.

             “Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything… unusual?” Sam finished for him.

             “Like what?” Max asked.

             “Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices.” Dean explained.

             “No, nothing.”

             ‘He’s hiding something.’ She spoke in my head.

             “Mr. Joffey –“

             “Jaffey.” Max corrected him.

             “Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?” Dean asked him. ‘He knows it too.’ Max nodded at him. “Can I ask why?”

             “I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash.”

             “Uh huh. And that’s what terrified you? That’s what you were afraid of?”

             “I… I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Max cut him off.

                       ‘He’s scared. He won’t talk if he gets the feeling we won’t listen to him.’ She spoke to me.

  ‘I know. Dean is pushing too hard.’

  “See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what.” Dean pushed at him again.

  “No. No, I was… delusional. Seeing things.”

  “He was seeing things…” Dean trailed off, rolling his eyes and looking over at Sam and I.

“It’s okay.” I began, trying to soothe him.

  “Then just tell us what you thought you saw, please.” Sam finished. Good he was on the same page as me. Pushing this dude was going to get us nowhere.

  “There was… this – man. And, uh, he had these… eyes – these, uh… black eyes. And I saw him – or I thought I saw him…” Max trailed off

‘Black eyes? Demons?’ I asked her.

‘I don’t know for sure, but it sounds like demons.’ Fucking great.

“What?” Dean asked him.

  “He opened the emergency exit. But that’s… that’s impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There’s something like two tons of pressure on that door.”

“Yeah.” Dean replied, looking over at me.

  “This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asked.

  “What are you, nuts?” Max popped off at him. My whole body stiffened at that. I had to fight the urge to growl at him. Not here.

‘Calm down.’ I told her

  ‘I’m not the one who’s upset. That’s entirely you.’ Sassy, snarky fucking wolf voice, I thought to myself.

‘You’re not helping.’

  “He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.” Max informed us. Sam thanked him before we all turned to leave, Dean grabbing my elbow, pulling me away from the glare I had fixed on Max.

  “Play nice, puppy, or I’m going to leave you here with the crazies.” Dean quipped at me.

“Puppy my ass.” I growled at him, flashing my eyes at him.

  “You know, you’re kind of hot when you’re angry.” He replied, reaching down and opening my door for me. Instead of replying to him, I just rolled my eyes at him, trying to step into the car, but the hand on my arm prevented me from sitting down. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?” He asked in low voice, the same voice that made my blood burn hot in my veins.

“So what if I did? What are you gonna do about it, sugar?”

  “You’re playing a very dangerous game, princess.” He replied, leaning close to me, pressing me up against the car. I could feel his breath on my neck and his lips on my ear as he spoke. “Don’t be a brat.” I knew my breathing was heavy and my skin was flushed, but at that moment, I could honestly care less if he saw just how much he affected me, but Sam slamming the passenger door as he got into he car brought me back into focus. I pulled away from him, pushing him back slightly before running my finger up the middle of his chest, curling my hand around the back of his neck and gripping his hair. I pulled his head back just a little before I leaned up, my lips on his ear as I spoke.

“Game on.”

                “So here we are. George Phelps, seat 20C.” Sam said as the car rolled to a stop.

             “Hmmm. Man, I don’t care how strong you are.” Dean started, stepping out of the car and opening my door so I could get out. “Even yoked up on PCP or something, no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight.”

             “Not if you’re human.” Sam responded, pointing to me.

             “Yeah, I could probably do it.” I said. ‘Right?’

             ‘Most definitely.’

             “Valkyrie agrees. I could do it.” I smirked at Dean.

             “But maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form.” Sam continued.

             “Does that look like a creature’s lair to you?” Dean asked him.

             “What does a creature’s lair look like, Dean?” I asked him. “Like, where do you think I would live?” He didn’t answer, just winked at me, before leading me up to the house with a hand on my lower back. Sam had knocked on the door while we were walking up the steps. Mrs. Phelps opened the door, ushering us into her house.

             ‘I don’t smell anything funky.’ I spoke to Valkyrie.

             ‘Smells wholly human.’ Came her response. ‘Dean smells really good, though. Sit next to him.’

             ‘Thirsty bitch.’ I laughed at her, but didn’t argue when Dean pulled me down to sit next to him on the couch across from Mrs. Phelps.

             “This is your late husband?” Sam asked her, looking at a picture she had framed.

             “Yes, that was my George.”

             “And you said he was a… dentist?” Dean spoke up.

             “Mm-hm. He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…”

             “Dentists have conventions?” I whispered to Dean.

             “Apparently.” He responded before turning his attention back to the grieving widow.

             “How long were you married?” Sam asked her.

             “Thirteen years.”

             “In all that time, did you ever notice anything… strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?”

             “Well… uh, he had acid reflux, if that’s what you mean.” Mrs. Phelps told us. I covered up my giggle with a cough as I lowered my head, I could see the brother’s sharing a look over my head.

             “I think that covers all of our questions, ma’am.” I said, standing and pulling Dean up with me. “Thank you so much for your time.” We all filed out of the house, bidding Mrs. Phelps goodbye.

             “I mean it goes without saying. It just doesn’t make any sense.” Sam started, as we walked down the stairs, heading for the car.

             “A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified. You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage.” Dean answered him.

             “Okay. But if we’re gonna go that route, we’d better look the part.”

             “Wait… what?” I asked as Dean pulled the car away from the curb and into town. 

The boys were over a couple of stores down at MORT’S for style, picking up their suits while I was looking for something suitable enough to pass for Homeland Security. I had picked out several different things, but finally settled on a tight black pencil skirt that landed right above my knee, a white, long sleeve fitted button up and a black blazer. I paired it with a pair of black stiletto heels, as I made my way back out to pay. When I stepped out of the store, the boys were just walking out as well. I could hear Dean complaining as they made their way over to me.

“Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers.” He said.

“No, you don’t. You look more like a… seventh-grader at his first dance.” I laughed out at that, I couldn’t help it. Sam had some pretty good come backs. Dean glared up at me when I laughed, looking down at himself. 

“I hate this thing.” 

“Hey. You want into that warehouse or not?” Sam quipped at him and they finally reached where I was standing next to the Impala. 

“I think you look handsome.” I told him, stepping up to him to fix his tie. He stared down at me, the look in his eye was so intense, it made me shiver. His hands came up to rest on my hips as I fiddled with his tie, I refused to look up and meet his eyes. One of his hands left my hip, leaving a trail of fire up my side till it rested on the side of my neck, pushing my chin up so I had to look at him. I knew I was biting my lip when I finally glanced up at him. His thumb landed on my bottom lip, pulling it out from between my teeth. 

“Don’t do that.” Was all he said before turning me around, opening the car, and ushering me in.  

                I led the boys into the warehouse, my heels clicking against the floor as we made our way to the desk. I flashed my badge to guys at the front desk who nodded and opened the door, letting us into the warehouse.

             “Thank you, gentlemen.” I said to them as they closed the door behind us. Dean started pulling something out of his jacket, attaching headphones to it. I honestly wasn’t sure what it was that he was holding, but he seemed to know exactly what he needed to do with it.

             “What is that?” Sam asked him.

             “It’s an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.” Dean answered. Ohhh that’s what it was. Huh… I guess that would come in handy. I’ve never honestly had any need for it.

             “Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up Walkman?”

             “Cause that’s what I made it out of. It’s homemade.” Dean replied, grinning. He was so proud of himself.

             “Yeah, I can see that.” Sam sassed at him, his grin disappearing. I smacked Sam on the back of the head before turning to Dean.

             “I think it’s cute.” I told him, watching that grin grace his face again, before turning to Sam. “Be nice to your brother.” I walked away from the boys, my nose guiding me. I picked up a wiff of something that didn’t belong and I decided to follow it.

             “You got something, princess?” Dean asked, following behind me.

             “Maybe. Something smells off.”

             “Well, lets check it out.” He said, holding his EMF reader out over the wreckage as we walked past it.

             “Here, Dean. The smell is the strongest here.” I told him, he held out the EMF reader as he approached. It started going crazy when he reached me.

             “Check out the emergency door handle.” He reached up as he spoke, running a finger over the handle. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in yellow dust. “What is this stuff?”

             “My bet is sulfur.” I answered them.

             “One way to find out.” Sam said, walking over to us and scraping some off into a small bag. My ears picked up on the sound of footsteps, more than the two guys at the front desk, so I turned to the boys.

             “Guys, we need to go.” I said, pointing to my ears. Dean grabbed my wrist, pulling me with him as he ushered Sam out the emergency exit. We were walking back towards the gate when the alarm sounded. We took off running towards the fence, trying to get to the car before security caught us. Dean threw his jacket over the top of the fence, climbing up and turning around to help me.

             “Just go, I got it.” I told him, jumping up, hand on the top of the fence before I vaulted over, Dean landing right next to me.

             “Well, these monkey suits do come in handy.” He said, ripping his jacket off the fence and following Sam and I to the car.

             “We need to get back to Jerry.” I spoke up, slipping into the back seat. “Val thinks she knows what we are dealing with, but she isn’t 100% sure.”

             “Let’s go get changed then we can head there.” Sam said as Dean drove off, away from the alarms. 

                We were all sitting around Jerry’s office as he was looking at the powder we found in his microscope.

             “Huh. This stuff is covered in sulfur.” He said.

             ‘Demons. Just like I thought.’ She spoke to me.

             “You’re sure?” Sam asked him. I turned to Dean, nudging him to get his attention, pointing to my head with a shrug.

             “She was right.” I told him.

             “Take a look for yourself.” Jerry told Sam. Banging outside of the office door grabbed his attention,

             "You effin’ piece of crap…” Someone yelled from out on the floor.

             “If you fellows will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire.” Jerry explained, walking out of the office. “Hey. Einstein. Yeah, you. What the heck you doing? Put the wrench down –“

             “Hmm. You know, there’s not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue.” Dean said. “Is this what she told you?” He asked, turning to me. I nodded my head as Sam started to speak up.

             “Demonic possession?”

             “It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch.”

             “If the guy was possessed, it’s possible.”

             “This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it’s one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?” Dean said.

             “You ever hear of something like this before?”

             “Never.” Dean said, shaking his head.

             “I have…” I trailed off.

             “You wanna share with the class?”

             “My mom’s journal. She wrote about a demon who would go around to different congregations, possessing different members of the clergy. He would then convince the members to all kill themselves in the name of God.”

             “The Waco Massacre?” Dean asked me.

             “That was one of the suspected stops, yes. My mom said she hunted it down for years before she finally found it in Washington.”

             “Great. That’s just… awesome.” Dean trailed off. “Come on guys, let’s go. I’m starving.”  

             The next day, we were all sitting around the hotel room, articles and pictures taped up all around the room while we were trying to make sense of what we were up against. Dean was sitting on the bed, reading. I had my head resting on his thigh, going through my mom’s journal to see if there was anything else to help us.

             “So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it.” Sam said, looking at something on his laptop.

             “Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this.” Dean answered him.

             “Well, that’s not exactly true. You see, according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease.”

             “And this one causes plane crashes?”

             “Great. So we’re going up against the demonic Yakuza?” I snarked, sitting up.

             “All right, so, what?” Dean asked, getting up off the bed. “We have a demon that’s evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?”

             “Yeah. You know, who knows how many planes it’s brought down before this one?” Sam added. Dean let out a sound of disbelief, turning towards me, shaking his head.

             “What?” Sam asked him.

             “I don’t know, man. This isn’t our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don’t want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big.” He said, pacing. I could feel the anxiety coming off him. “And I wish Dad was here.”

             “Yeah. Me too.” Dean’s phone ringing interrupted any more further conversation.

             “Hello?”

             “Dean, it’s Jerry.” I heard him say.

             “Oh, hey, Jerry.”

             “My pilot friend… Chuck Lambert is dead.”

             “What – Jerry, I’m sorry. What happened?” Sam looked over to me, silently asking me what happened.

             “Pilot is dead.” I whispered.

             “He and his buddy went up in a small twin about an hour ago. The plane went down.” Jerry continued.

             “Where did this happen?”

             “About sixty miles west of here, near Nazareth.”

             “I’ll try to ignore the irony in that.” I let out an amused snort at that.

             “I’m sorry?” Jerry asked.

             “Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We’ll catch up with you soon.” Dean told him, hanging up the phone.

             “Another crash?” Sam asked.

             “Yeah. Let’s go.” Dean said, grabbing my jacket for me.

             “Where?”

             “Nazareth.” 

                The boys and I were sitting in Jerry’s office, having just gotten back from the crash site out in Nazareth. Sam had collected more of the yellow powder, just to confirm our theory, but I knew it wasn’t over just yet.

             “Sulfur?” Dean asked Jerry, who just nodded, looking up from the microscope. “Well, that’s great. All right, that’s two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.”

             “With all due respect to Chuck, if that’s the case, that would be good news.” Sam said.

             “What’s the bad news?”

             “Freya?” Sam motioned for me to start talking.

             “Chuck’s plane went down exactly forty minutes into the flight.” I told him.

             “And get this, so did flight 2485.” Sam finished.

             “Forty minutes? What does that mean?” Jerry asked.

             “It’s biblical numerology. You know Noah’s ark, it rained for forty days.” Dean explained.

             “The number means death.” I followed.

             “I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in.” Sam cut in.

             “Any survivors?” Dean asked.

             “No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?”

             “No survivors.” Dean said, pausing to think it over. “It’s going after all the survivors. It’s trying to finish the job.”  

                We were driving down the road, trying to reach out to all the remaining passengers of the crash. Sam was ending a call with the last one as I handed Dean back his phone.

             “Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don’t forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” He said into the phone before flipping it closed. “All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They’re not flying anytime soon.”

             “So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker.” Dean said.

             “Right. Her sister Karen told Freya her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight PM. It’s her first night back on the job.”

             “That sounds like just our luck.”

             “Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel.” Sam said, apprehension clear in his voice.

             “Call Amanda’s cellphone again, see if we can head her off at the pass.”

             “I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off.” Sam said, shaking his head. “God, we’re never gonna make it.”

             “We’ll make it.” Was all Dean said as he slammed his foot down on the gas, determined to make it on time. 

                Dean has barely slammed the car into park before we were all out and headed into the airport, rushing to find Amanda.

             “Right there. They’re boarding in thirty minutes.” Sam said, pointing up at the board showing Amanda’s flight.

             “Okay. We still have some cards to play.” Dean responded, looking around the airport. “We need to find a phone.” I grabbed him and turned him a fraction, pointing a little ways away at the phone on the wall. Rushing over, he picked it up, bringing it up to his ear.

             “Airport Services.” Comes the operators voice.

             “Hi. Gate thirteen.”

             “Who are you calling, sir?”

             “I’m trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She’s a flight attendant on flight, um… flight 4-2-4.” He responded to the operator, looking over at me for confirmation. There was a pause over the phone before I heard the overhead speakers echoing throughout the airport.

             “Amanda Walker, Amanda Walker, you have a phone call. White courtesy phone, gate thirteen.” I could hear the moment she picked up the phone coming through the speaker Dean had pressed up against his ear.

             “Come on…” He was getting impatient.

             “This is Amanda Walker.”

             “Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital.” He started. Metallica? Really? “We have a Karen Walker here.”

             “Karen?”

             “Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so – “

             “Wa – wait, that’s impossible.” She cut him off. “I just got off the phone with her.” Dean was caught off guard by that, hesitating before he responded.

             “You what?” Dummy.

             “Five minutes ago. She’s at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?” She demanded.

             “Uh, well… there must be some mistake.”

             “And how would you even know I was here?” She was getting angry at this point. Sam walked around me, putting his ear up to the phone so he could hear. “Is this one of Vince’s friends?” I started nodding my head, trying to signal to Dean that he should go with that.

             “Guilty as charged.”

             “Wow. This is unbelievable.”

             “He’s really sorry.”

             “Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?” She told him.

             “Yes, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so –“ Floundering… he was floundering…

             “No, I’m sorry. It’s too late.” I reached up and grabbed the phone from him, pulling it to my ear.

             “Amanda? My name is Freya. Vince… the guy’s a mess. Like, really. It’s pathetic.” I told her.

             “Really?” She asked me, almost sounding hopeful.

             “Oh, yeah.”

             “Look, I’ve got to go. Um… tell him to call me when I land.” She hung up the phone before I could get any other words in.

             “No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!” I yelled down the phone. “Fuck!”

             “Damn it! So close.” Dean said, taking the phone back from me to hang it up.

             “All right, it’s time for plan B. We’re getting on that plane.” Sam spoke up. The moment the words were out of his mouth, I felt the tension start up in Dean and the smell of fear wafting off of him.

             “Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second.” He spoke up, stopping any further movements from Sam.

             “Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we’re right, that plane is gonna crash.” He said to a wide-eyed Dean.

             “I know…”

             “Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through the security. Meet me back here in five minutes.” Sam instructed him, but he didn’t answer. He just kept staring at him, looking like he was going to puke. “Are you okay?”

             “No, not really.”

             “What? What’s wrong?”

             “Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh…” Dean trailed off.

             “Flying?”

             “It’s never really been an issue until now!”

             “You’re joking, right?” Sam asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

             “Do I look like I’m joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?”

             “All right. Uh, Freya and I will go.” Sam said, trying to figure out a way for this to work.

             “What?”

             “We can do this one on our own.”

             “What are you, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane’s gonna crash!” Dean told him.

             “Dean, we can do it together, or Freya and I can do it. I’m not seeing a third option here.”

             “Come on! Really? Man…”

             “Dean, come on, let’s go back out to the car. Sam…” I turned to him, “Tickets.” Grabbing Dean’s hand, I pulled him out of the airport, back to the car. “You can do this. You got this.” I told him.

             “Easy for you to say, you literally can’t die.” He sassed back at me.

             “That you know of…” I bumped him with my hip. “Come on, Sugar. You’re not scared of me, but you’re scared of flying?” I asked him.  

             “You’re not scary. Like, at all. You’re like a tiny little puppy.” He joked at me, turning to face me after he dropped his colt back into the trunk. “You get all growly when we don’t feed you. It’s cute.”

             “One of these days, I’m going to bite you.” I growled at him, picking up the rosary beads and the holy water.

             “Promise?” He asked, winking at me.

             ‘I promise.’ She growled in my head.

             ‘He’s trying to kill us. I swear. I can’t…’

             ‘I’d die a happy wolf.’ She fired back at me, filling my head with pictures from the dream I had just a couple nights ago. Dean, above me, pinning my hands above my head, his lips… FOCUS, FREYA.

             “What is Val saying?” His words pulled me out of the day dream she had put me in.

             “Huh?” I asked him.   

             “Valkyrie. What is she saying to you?”

             “How did you know I was talking to her?” I asked him, confused. He raised his hand at that, his index finger touching the spot between my eyes.

             “Your forehead scrunches together, right here, and you get a faraway look in your eye.” He told me. Does he really pay that much attention to me? “You gonna tell me what she was saying?” He asked again.

             “Why do you want to know.”

             “You were blushing.” He smirked at me.

             “I was not.”

             “Princess…” He began, hand reaching up to shut the trunk. “You blush every single time I get close to you.” He took a step closer to me, just as the trunk slammed shut, pushing me up against it. “I want to know what she said about me that had you so red.”

             “Not everything is about you, Winchester.” I sassed at him, rolling my eyes. I felt a sharp stinging on my left thigh almost immediately after.

             “What did I say about rolling your eyes at me.” He spoke to me, his tone low and dangerous. The same tone of voice he used in that damn dream.

             “That…” I trailed off, my hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling his heart beat. “that we have a case to finish and a brother waiting on us.” I finished, pushing against him. He held my gaze for a moment, heat filling his eyes before he backed off.

             “I’ll remember this.” He said, turning away and walking back into the airport.

             ‘What the hell is wrong with me? I have never acted like this with anyone.’ I asked Valkyrie.

             ‘I told you he was special. You want him. We want him. And that’s not going to change.’

             ‘Why? I’ve never wanted anyone before. Hell, I’m still a virgin, Val.’

             ‘You’ll understand soon.’             ‘You’re a pain in my ass.’ I told her, running to catch up with Dean.

                The three of us had just settled into our seats, Sam, Dean and then me.  Dean was making himself busy by reading the safety card… for the fifth time.

             “Just try and relax.” Sam said.

             “Just try and shut up.” Dean snarked back at him. The plane had just started to move, pulling out onto the runway, Dean squirming in his seat. Sam didn’t say anything else to him, just smirked over at me.          

             “Be nice, Sasquatch, or I’ll lock you down in the cargo hold with Pennywise.” I told him. Bitch face was in full effect.

             “Hey, I told you that in confidence.” Sam said to me, but I didn’t respond, just smirked back at him. Dean chuckled a little in his seat, which made both Sam and I relax a bit. I sat back, looking around the cabin as the plan started to take off. We were in the air when Sam spoke again.

             “Are you humming Metallica?”

             “Calms me down.” Dean answered.

             “Look, man. I get you’re nervous, all right? But you got to stay focused.”

             “Okay.”

             “I mean, we got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it’s possessing, anyway, and perform a full-on exorcism.” Sam explained. I could feel Dean becoming more and more tense the longer Sam spoke, so I reached over, putting my hand on his where it was sat on the arm rest, running my fingers over the back of his hand. I could feel a little of that tension dissipate.

             “Yeah, on a crowded plane. That’s gonna be easy.”

             “Just take it one step at a time, all right? Now, who is it possessing?” Sam asked him. I knew the answer to all of this, but I let Dean answer, occupying his mind.

             “It’s usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress.”

             “Well, this is Amanda’s first flight after the crash. If I were her, I’d be pretty messed up.”

             “Mm-hm.” Came Dean’s response. A flight attendant was walking by at that moment, so he leaned over me to get her attention, causing the smell of Pine and Leather to surround me. “Excuse me. Are you Amanda?” He asked her.

             “No, I’m not.”

             “Oh, my mistake.”

             “Mm-hm.” She responded, walking away.

             “All right, well, that’s got to be Amanda back there.” He said, nodding his head to a blonde flight attendant at the back of the plane.

“I’ll go talk to her, and, uh, I’ll get a read on her mental state.” I told them, standing up to head back to Amanda.

             “What if she’s already possessed?” Sam asked me

             “There are ways to test that.” Dean said, reaching into his pocket. “I brought holy water.”

             “No.” Sam said. “I think we can go more subtle.”

             “If she’s possessed, she’ll flinch at the name of God.” I told them.

             “Oh. Nice.” Dean said. I started to turn away when Sam spoke up.        

             “Hey.”

             “Yes, Sam. I’ll say it in Latin.” I told him, already knowing what he was going to say. “Yes, I know it’s ‘Christo’, I’m not an idiot.” I shook my head at him, turning away to head to the back. I could hear Dean laughing at Sam behind me. I can only imagine the bitch face is epic again.

             “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking…” I heard from the overhead speakers, but I tuned it out when I reached Amanda.

             “Hi.” I said to her.

             “Hi. Can I help you with something?” She asked me.    

             “Oh, no. My boyfriend is a bit of an uneasy flier. I was just wondering if I could get some water for him?”

             “Oh, it happens to the best of us.” She answered, working to get some water for me.  

             “I’m sure flying comes easy to you.” I said, but she just laughed.

             “You’d be surprised.”

             “Really? You’re a nervous flier?”

             “Yeah, maybe, little bit.” She said with a small smile.

             “How is it that, being a stewardess, you’re scared to fly?” I asked her.

             “Kind of a long story.”

             “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

             “It’s okay.”

             “You ever consider other employment?”

             “No.” She began, looking down at her hands. “Look, everybody’s scared of something. I just, uh… I’m not gonna let it hold me back.”

             “I admire you. That’s a good mentality to have. If only I could get my boyfriend to feel that way.” I said with a small chuckle. She just smiled at me, handing me the water. “Christo.”

             “I’m sorry?” She asked me.

             “I said thank you, I’m sorry!” I told her.

             “You’re welcome.” She responded with a smile as I turned and made my way back to the boys.

             “All right, well, she’s got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet.” I told them, sitting down and handing Dean the water.

             “You said “Christo?” Sam asked me.

             “Yep.”

             “And?”

             “There’s no demon in her. There’s no demon getting in her.” I said.

             “So, if it’s on the plane, it could be anyone. Anywhere.” Sam responded. We hit some turbulence as he finished speaking, causing Dean to choke on the water for a second, his hand shooting out and gripping my thigh.

             “Come on! That can’t be normal.” He said.

             “Hey, hey, it’s just a little turbulence.” Sam told him.

             “Sam, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I’m friggin’ four.” Dean snapped at his brother.

             “You need to calm down.”

             “Well, I’m sorry I can’t.” Sam sat up, getting ready to snap back at Dean, but I held my hand up, telling him to let me try. So I leaned closer to his ear, so only he could hear me.

             “If you calm down, when this is all over, I’ll tell you what Val said to me out at the car.” I whispered in his ear. His hand move a little higher on my thigh before tightening as I spoke to him. He turned to look at me when I leaned back a little, the heat in his eyes was back.

             “All of it?”

             “All of it.” I told him. Taking a deep, slow breath, Dean relaxed back into his seat.

             “Good.” Sam spoke up, looking from me to Dean. “Now, I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work. The Rituale Romanum.”

             “Oh, okay. Yeah. That will be fun.” I responded, immediately recognizing the name. It was in my mom’s journal. She explained in great detail how much trouble this particular exorcism has been for her.

             “What do we have to do?” Dean asked.

             “It’s two parts.” I began. “The first part expels the demon from the victim’s body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.” I said, directing my words at Sam, telling him I was definitely not following why this was the best course of action, but he just ignored me.

             “More powerful?” Dean asked me.

             “Yeah.” Sam answered him, still ignoring me.

             “How?”

             “Well, it doesn’t need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own.”

             “Oh. And why is that a good thing?” Dean asked him, voicing my thoughts exactly.

             “Well, because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all.”

             “First things first, we got to find it.” Dean said, pulling out his EMF ‘Walkman’ and putting his headphones in. He got up, stepping over me to start his inspection of the passengers.

             “The hell did you say to him to get him to relax?” Sam asked me, a playful look in his eye.          

             “When we were outside getting the supplies out of the car, Val was talking to me and he wanted to know what she said. I just told him I would let him know if he calmed down.”

             “That’s it?” he asked in disbelief.

             “That’s it.” I answered, going to stand up and follow Dean.

             “There’s got to be more to this story.” Sam continued, getting up to follow me.

             “There really isn’t.” I answered. I wasn’t about to tell him about our moment. He wouldn’t leave me alone if I did. I stopped right before I ran into Dean, reaching up to set my hand on his arm, when Sam reached around me and clapped him on the shoulder, letting out a little snicker when he jumped.

             “Man! Don’t do that.” Dean said, turning around to face us. With Sam crowding in behind me, I was almost completely pressed up against Dean, firm and hard muscle pressing into my shoulder. His arm came up around my back, his hand resting on my waist, holding me against him.

             “Anything?” Sam asked.

             “No, nothing. How much time we got?”

             “Fifteen minutes. Maybe we missed somebody.”

             “Maybe the thing’s just not on the plane.”

             “You believe that?” I asked, looking up at him from where I was standing between the two brothers.

             “Well, I will if you will.” He said with a shrug, but just as he finished speaking, the EMF meter spiked. Looking up, I locked eyes with the copilot as he headed back towards the cockpit.

             “What? What is it?” Sam asked us, looking between his brother and I.

             “Christo.” Dean spoke. The Copilot turned back around, looking right back and the three of us, his eyes were straight black.

             “Oh fuck me.” I said, watching him walk away and into the cockpit. I shared a look with Dean before turning around and heading to the back of the plane, straight for Amanda.

             “She’s not gonna believe this.” Sam spoke up.

             “Twelve minutes, dude.” Was all Dean said, following after me.

             “Oh, hi.” She began. “Flight’s not too bumpy for your boyfriend, I hope.” She said to me, my cheeks immediately flaring up bright red. I had completely forgot what I told her. I could feel Dean’s eyes on me, but he didn’t say anything about it.

             “Actually, that’s kind of what we need to talk to you about.” He spoke up to Amanda as Sam closed the curtain, separating us from the rest of the passengers.

             “Um, okay. What can I do for you?”

             “All right, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don’t have time for the whole “the truth is out there” speech right now.”

             “All right, look, we know you were on flight 2485.” Sam spoke up, cutting off Dean’s rambling. The smile that was on Amanda’s face drops as she regards us carefully.

             “Who are you guys?” She asked.

             “Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure.” Sam continued, completely ignoring her.

             “We need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Here. Now.” Dean finished.

             “I’m sorry, I – I’m very busy. I have to go back –“ She trailed off, trying to push past Dean, but he puts a hand up to stop her.

             “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? But listen to m, uh… The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He’s dead.” Subtle, Dean. Really.

             “Wait. What? What, Chuck is dead?”

             “He died in a plane crash. Now, that’s two plane crashes in two months.” He spoke, trying to get through to her. “That doesn’t strike you as strange?”

             “I –“ She trailed off, looking around.

             “Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn’t. But there’s something wrong with this flight, too.” Sam told her.

             “Amanda, you have to believe us.” Dean implored.

             “On… on 2485, there was this man. He… had these eyes.”

             “Yes. That’s exactly what we’re talking about.” I told her, encouraging her to continue speaking.

             “I don’t understand, what are you asking me to do?”

             “Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.” Dean answered her.

             “Why? What does he have to do with anything?”

             “Don’t have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?”

             “How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot –“ She began.

             “Do whatever it takes.” I began. “Tell him there’s something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

             “Do you know that I could lose my job if you –“ She began, but Dean stepping up behind me stopped her.

             “Okay, well you’re gonna lose a lot more if you don’t help us out.” He said. Hesitating only a second, she responded to him.

             “Okay.” We watched her as she left, walking up to the cockpit to get the copilot. Dean was leaning over my shoulder so he could see, speaking lowly to me.

             “Boyfriend, huh?” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

             “Shut it, Winchester.” I responded, my cheeks turning bright pink.

             “I thought it was Sugar, now it’s Winchester? Words hurt, princess.”

             “Be good, or you’ll never find out what she told me.” I whispered over my shoulder.

             “Oh you have no idea just how ‘good’ I can be.” He whispered back. I was saved from answering him by Amanda coming back, leading the copilot to us. Dean took his dad’s journal out of his pocket, handing it over to Sam, who was holding the holy water. “You ready?” He asked us.

             “Yeah, what’s the problem?” The Copilot asked, walking through the curtain. No one said a word as Dean punched him, knocking him down to the floor of the cabin. I jumped in to help, pinning his down as Dean put duct tape over his mouth.

             “Where’d you hide that?” I asked him.

             “I’m always prepared.” He said, winking at me.

             “Wait. What are you doing?  You said you were just gonna talk to him.” Amanda said, freaking out.

             “We are gonna talk to him.” Dean answered her, grabbing the holy water out of Sam’s hand and splashing it all over the copilot, causing his skin to sizzle, smoke rising off of him.

             “Oh, my god. What’s wrong with him?”

             “Sam.” I said, nodding to Amanda.

             “Look We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.” He told her, taking over for me so I could focus on the copilot.

             “Well, I don’t underst – I don’t know –“ She started rambling.

             “Don’t let anybody in, okay? Can you do that?” Sam asked her, drawing her attention to him. “Can you do that? Amanda?”

             “Okay, okay.” She answered, stepping outside and pulling the curtain closed behind her.

             “Hurry up, Sam. I don’t know how much longer we can hold him.” He said.

             “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino –“ Sam started, but the demon broke free, clipping me in the chin and knocking me back. Dean tried to get him under control again, but he kicked him off, pulling the tape off his mouth. Standing up before I could get to him, he grabbed Sam by the collar.

             “I know what happened to your girlfriend!” He taunted him. “She must have died screaming! Even now, she’s burning!” I finally got myself upright, throwing myself forward and slamming into the Demon, knocking him back down. “Mommy and Daddy must be so proud of their little angel.” The demon said to me, sneering at me as Dean joined me. Sam tried to pick up the reading again but just as he was getting started again, the demon kicked the journal out of Sam’s hand and out into the aisle, exiting the copilots body in the process.

             “Where’d it go?” Sam asked, frantically looking around.

             “It’s in the plane. Hurry up. We got to finish it.” Dean responded, the three of us searching everywhere for the journal. Sam started down the isle and Dean and I were looking under the seats in the very back of the cabin when the plane dipped suddenly knocking Dean and I back into the exit door. I heard him grunt as I landed on him. The noises he let out would have been amusing if I wasn’t convinced we were about to die. I watched as Sam found the journal and started reading again, the plane heaving up and down, throwing Dean and I up and into the ceiling, so I extended my claws, dug into the cabin walls and pushed myself up against Dean, trying to stabilize us. His arms wrapped around my stomach, gluing him to my back, holding him in place as I held my ground, keeping us in place. I could hear his words, Sam was almost done with the exorcism.

             “Hold on.” I yelled at Dean, trying to be heard over the noise around us, just as a bright light swept through the entire plane before it leveled out. I could hear everyone talking out in the cabin, but my focus was not on them. Dean’s heavy breathing was coming from behind me where he was still tightly pressed up against me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I asked him, turning around, running my hands over his chest and back, trying to locate any places that might cause him pain.

             “I’m okay, princess. I’m good.” He said, grabbing onto my hands, halting my exploration. “You need to put these away before anyone sees.” He motioned to my hands, running his thumbs over my nails.

             “Fuck. How am I going to explain this to them?” I asked, glancing to the claw marks in the walls.

             “Breathe. We will figure it out.” He responded, pushing me towards the curtain that was still separating us from the rest of the plane.

             “You good, sasquatch?” I asked Sam. He didn’t answer, his thumb shooting in the air as he collapsed in an empty seat. “Let’s go sit down.” I told Dean, nodding my head at Amanda as we passed her. 

                I was lost in my thoughts as we all stood outside the airport. The plane had gone back to the airport in Indianapolis since it wasn’t that far out. What did that demon mean? I didn’t know enough about my family to understand what it was talking about…

             “Let’s get out of here.” Dean said, nudging me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You okay?” He directed to Sam, who just stopped, turning towards us.

             “Guys, it knew about Jessica. About your parents…” He said.

             “Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. All right? That’s all it was.” He said, his hand came up to rest on my waist, the warmth providing a sliver of comfort amidst the turmoil in my head.

             “Yeah.”

             “Come on.” He said, leading us to the car. “Let’s find somewhere to sleep, then we can go see Jerry tomorrow, let him know the job is done.” 

                When we got the motel, Sam went in to get us a room. Dean climbed out of the car, opening my door, and helping me out.

             “You gonna tell me what she said now?” he asked me, leaning up against the driver’s door.  I closed mine, then leaned against it as well, next to him.

             “She was just agreeing to your question.” I told him.

             “My question?”

             “You asked me if I promised to bite you.” I said, quietly, looking down at the ground, trying to hide my blush.

             “That couldn’t have been all she said.” I could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke.

             “That’s all she said.”

             “Then what did she do?” Fuck. How did he know that?

             “Nothing……….” I trailed off.

             “Freya..” He said, drawing my name out as he stepped in front of me, forcing me to look up at him. “Tell me what she did.” The look in his eye was daring me to disobey him. Oh fuck me….

             “She reminded me of something.” I whispered.

             “What did she remind you of?”

             “A dream.” That damn smirk made it’s way onto his face again as he pressed further into me, trapping me against the car.

             “A dream…” He began, his fingers coming up to ghost against my neck. “Of me?” he asked.

             “Maybe…” I trailed off. He was so close to me now that I could feel every single line and contour of his chest against me, brushing against me with every breath. The air around us felt charged, electric, igniting my nerve endings, making me feel more alive than I had ever felt.

             “Freya…” He said, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “What are you doing to me?” He asked, leaning up and placing his lips against my forehead. I leaned into him, I couldn’t get enough of the way he felt against me.

             “I got us a room, but there are only two beds, no couch, I’m sorry Freya.” Sam’s voice cut through the fog surrounding my brain as he walked up to us. He had been looking down, so he didn’t witness the scene between his brother and I. Clearing my throat, I answered.

             “That’s okay. I can sleep on the floor.” I said, but Dean stopped me, holding his hand out towards me.

             “No, you can share with one of us. We all just got thrown around an airplane, we deserve a mattress.” He said with a shrug.

             “I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.” I told him, turning to look at Sam, but I could already see the wheels turning in his head.

             “You can share with Dean. These beds are that big and I starfish.” He said innocently, but the twinkle in his eye was anything but.

             “Oh, I don’t want –“ I started, but Dean cut me off.

             “Shut up and get inside, princess. I want a shower.”

             “Okay, fine, grumpy.” I said, getting my bag and following Sam into the room. “You better not kick me. I kick back.” I threw my bag down on the closest bed, but Dean grabbed it, moving it to other bed, to the furthest side, away from the door. “I get first shower.” I said, running towards the bathroom. I slammed the door right as Dean reached it, hearing him knock on it.

             “Bitch move, princess.” He called out, Sam laughing in the background.

             “Too slow, sugar!” I said, turning the water on. Steam started filling the room as I stripped off my clothes, climbing into the hot water, pulling the curtain closed behind me. I guess I forgot to lock it, because the door opened and in walked Dean.

             “Dean Michael Winchester.” I scolded.

             “You’re fine.” He said with a scoff. “I’m staying on my side of the curtain. I just wanted to talk to you.” His voice turning serious.

             “Are you okay?” I asked, sticking my head out from around the curtain to assess him.

             “I’m fine, princess, finish your shower.” He said, looking up at me. “I wanted to ask you if you were okay.”

             “Me? I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

             “Don’t think I didn’t hear what that demon said to you.” My silence was all the answer he needed, so he continued speaking. “Do you want to….” He paused, searching for the right words, “I don’t know, talk about it?” It was almost cute how awkward it was for him to say those words, but I so rarely got to see him like this, I didn’t want to bring attention to it.

             “I…” I began. “I have no right to feel any way about it. I didn’t know my parents. Not enough for it to upset me as much as it did.” I told him. “I don’t know what he meant, but I just…” I trailed off.

             “It’s okay to be upset about it. I was four when mom died. Trust me, I get it. I can’t even hear her name without getting upset. You don’t have to explain, not to me. Never to me.” He told me, sincerity in his voice. “Finish up and get dressed. Let’s sleep on it and if you want, we can talk about it tomorrow with Sam. He’s better at the whole… words thing.” He said, chuckling a bit as he stepped out, closing the door behind him. I could hear the brothers talking out in the room as I turned off the water and dried off.

             “Is she okay?” Sam asked.

             “She will be.” Came Dean’s reply.

             “You’re different with her.”

             “She’s different.”

             “It’s a good look on you.”

             “Shut the fuck up, Sammy.”

             I just chuckled, wrapping the towel around me. It was at that moment that I realized, in my haste to beat Dean to the bathroom, I forgot my clothes.

             “Hey, Dean?” I called out.

             “Yeah?”

             “I forgot my clothes, can you grab them for me?” He didn’t answer me, but I could hear rustling then a small knock at the door. “Thank you.” I said as I took them from him, his eyes raking over the small towel I had wrapped around me. My eyes landed on his face to see him biting his lip as he stared at me, the heat from that stare soaking into my skin, making my brain fuzzy, so I did the only logical thing I could think of. I slammed the door in his face. I could hear him laughing on the other side as he walked back to the bed. I sat the clothes down and started to get dressed, pulling on the pajama pants Dean had grabbed me. When the smell of pine and leather hit my nose, I realized the shirt he gave me wasn’t mine. It was his. One of his flannels, red and white. Smiling to myself, I pulled it on, buttoning it up, stopping right in the valley of my breasts, where he would get a good view, or so I hoped.

             “All yours, sugar.” I said, stepping out of the bathroom, drying my hair with the towel. I could feel his eyes on me as I stepped past him, hear the sharp intake of breath as I bent over in front of him to put my dirty clothes in my bag. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed his stuff and went to take a shower, but by the snicker coming from Sam’s direction, I’m guessing the look on his face was worth it.

             “Good night, sasquatch.” I told him, settling down in the bed.

             “Good night, shortcake.” He responded, flicking off the lamp. It didn’t take long for his breathing to even out, Dean hadn’t even gotten out of the shower yet, before Sam was passed out. I could feel myself drifting off when the bed dipped behind me, signaling Dean’s arrival. I felt him settle, reaching out his hand, running it down my spine before I fully drifted off.

             “Good night, princess.” He whispered. 

               It was barely light outside when I was pulled from my slumber by Sam leaving the room. He was dressed in his running gear, the freak, so I’m figured I had at least another half hour before I had to actually get up. I tried to turn, but realized I was being weighed down by something. Something being Dean’s arm. I was laying on my side, pulled back against his chest, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, his legs tangled up with mine. He was sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake him, so I laid there, quietly, just enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around me. I wish the feeling could have lasted forever, but alas, it wasn’t the case. Before too long, I could feel him start to stir, his arm tightening around me.

             “Hey.” He said, his voice still groggy.

             “Hey.” I replied, turning to face him. “Sleep okay?”

             “Better than I expected.” He responded as Sam opened and walked back in.

             “Sasquatch, you’re a freak of nature.” I told him, leaning up on my elbows, looking at him as he sat down on the bed, taking his running shoes off.

             “Why?”

             “You run for fun. That’s not normal.” I told him.

             “It’s healthy.” He argued, causing Dean to let out a snort.

             “Don’t get him started, he’ll never shut up and we still need to go see Jerry.” Dean said, letting out a chuckle at Sam’s bitch face. 

                “Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed.” Jerry spoke, shaking the brother’s hands. “Your dad’s gonna be real proud.” He gave me a hug as we went to leave, saying thank you again.

             “We’ll see you around, Jerry.” Sam said, turning to lead us out of the warehouse.

             “You know, Jerry.” Dean began, turning back around.

             “Yeah.”

             “I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway? I’ve only had it for like six months.” Dean asked him.

             “Your dad gave it to me.”

             “What?” Sam asked.

             “When did you talk to him?” Dean asked Jerry.

             “I mean, I didn’t exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call.” He said, turning to walk away before pausing, turning back to us again. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about some claw marks inside the cabin of that airplane, would you?” I froze when he asked that, I wasn’t sure what to say… How do I explain that to Jerry without giving myself away?

             “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dean answered for me, throwing his arm around my shoulders and turning us around to walk towards the car.

             “Thanks again, guys.” Jerry called after us, walking away and back into the warehouse.

             “That doesn’t make any sense, man. I’ve called Dad’s number like fifty times.” Sam began as soon as we were out of earshot. “It’s been out of service.” Dean pulled his phone out at that, dialing John’s number and putting it on speaker phone for us to hear.

             “This is John Winchester. I can’t be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. Dean and Freya can help.” Came his voice over the speaker. I was shocked to hear my name on his voicemail, but Sam was pissed, getting into the car and slamming the door shut.

             “How did he know I was with you?” I asked Dean as we climbed in the car.

             “I don’t know, princess… I don’t know.” He said, pulling the car out onto the road. “Let’s find him, so we can ask.”  

[seraphic-elysian]

@foolondahill17 have my attempt at the prompt you put about Dean sprinting to Cas. It's not perfect and I ended it without a resolution as I wanna write this as a whole ass fic but I really wanted to share this with you since your idea inspired the hell out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ It happens in a moment. A heartbeat trapped between the milliseconds of time. Dean turns in the loose grip of his brother’s hands, green eyes trained on the golden crack of light that splits their world open to another, waiting for the sign of his angel. His heart is racing within his chest, adrenaline keeping him sharp and steady, as he waits with bated breath for his angel to emerge through the light. The image of Castiel stalking toward Lucifer as Sam pulls him to the portal is burned into his eyelids. He knows that it is almost a sickening parallel of the way that he had pulled Sam from his burning apartment all of those years ago but he can only pray that Castiel will not be killed. That he will not have to suffer the same agonizing heartbreak that Sam did when Jessica died.  He refuses to entertain the thought of something happening to the angel, of him dying or being hurt while in the other world. That will not happen. 

It cannot. 

Dean steps close enough to the portal that he can hear the rushing of the wind and smell the heavy scent of gunpowder on the breeze. It pulls at his clothing in a tantalizing lure, a promise of taking him to where his angel is, but he refuses. He will not step back through the portal and waste the safety that Castiel had given him. 

Sam’s voice is nothing but a gurgle of noises behind him but he does not need to hear him to understand what he is saying. Dean knows that he is too close to the portal for his brother to feel confident that he will not go through it to find Castiel. He knows that he becomes irrational and impulsive when his angel is in danger. That he has, in the past, openly let others be hurt and killed if it meant that those he cares about will be safe. Dean also knows that he has a history of suicidal tendencies, of throwing himself in front of others to take a hit or killing himself to trade someone else's life for his own, and that Sam has been witness to him doing that several times. And while he is aware that he would not hesitate to end his life if it meant that the angel would return safe and alive, he does not feel the need to do so. Not right now. 

“Don’t be stupid, Dean! Cas is capable!” Sam nearly screams the words to him, voice only barely heard over the rushing noise in Dean’s ears. 

And of course he is. Dean knows better than anyone what Castiel is capable of and how strong and intelligent the angel is. But even having the knowledge of that will not stop him from worrying about him. It will not stop him from desperately trying to keep the angel by his side where Dean is able to keep him safe. 

After all, how can anyone act normal and as though the world is not on the verge of ending when the living personification of their heart is facing off against an archangel?

The portal flares a brilliant gold that burns his eyes and Dean’s breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as Castiel appears in front of him. There is blood stained along his trench coat, his black curls are covered in dust, and his face is streaked with dirt but Dean has never seen anything more beautiful. Exhausted blue eyes meet his own and something that Castiel sees on his face makes the angel’s brows furrow and him to step closer to Dean. They are close enough that he can feel heat radiating off of the angel and the exhalation of his breath ghosting across his face and, for the first time, Dean does not step back or snap at the angel. No, he only sways forward as he is captured by Castiel’s orbit. He surrenders to the feelings that he has in his chest, this desire to put himself out there and show the other how he feels. 

“D-” 

Castiel cuts himself off as an angel blade pierces through the bottom of his chest with a sickening squelch. The shining metal is clean as it slides through the angel’s body without resistance before it is yanked out violently. Crimson stains his white dress shirt and Castiel’s grace flares brightly through the gaping wound. Dean is moving before he can think, arms gathering the angel against his chest as he sags, and pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his back. He does not see where Lucifer goes as the angel saunters off but he knows that Sam will watch his back. Something heavy and soft curls over his arms and back, engulfing him in the scent of honeysuckles and wildflowers, but when he looks there is nothing there. The smell of Castiel’s grace slowly begins to turn acrid as his grace begins to burn and Dean collapses to his knees. 

“Get away,” Castiel whines, weak hands pushing against Dean’s chest, “I can’t hold it back anymore. Get away!” 

Dean shakes his head and tightens his grip on the angel, “No!” 

A whine escapes Castiel’s throat as the light flares up brighter and hotter, escaping from his mouth and eyes. The invisible objects that he feels against him heat up rapidly, searing his skin even through his clothing, and the heat and light reaches its apex in a wave of agony before it shatters. A pained howl leaves his lips as fire scorches him, consuming him in a decimating blaze that he cannot escape. His eyes burn even through his closed lids and he turns his face away from the sharp explosion of light. It seems as though it takes forever before it clears, taking the scorching heat with it, and Dean weakly lays Castiel’s body down. He presses his forehead down against the soft cotton of his dress shirt as he processes the hell that he just went through. 

Castiel is dead. There is no denying that, not after what he just experienced. The angel is gone in a shattering of holy light and the smell of scorched feathers. His shaking fingers come up and tangle in the rough wool of the trench coat as he raises his face, desperate to see confirmation that Lucifer has murdered Castiel. He needs to memorize the pattern of his beautiful wings that will be burned into the dirt of this little home. Sliding his eyes open slowly, he sees…nothing. An unending wall of bright white light fills his vision and does not leave no matter how much he blinks or shakes his head. He panics, sucking in a startled breath, body freezing in fear at the implications of what this means. 

Turning his head toward where he remembers his brother standing, he asks, “Sam?” 

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean!” Sam’s voice is rough with anger as he stomps up to where Dean is kneeling, “You know what happens when an angel dies. You’ve fucking seen that happen so many times! So, what the hell were you thinking being right at the center of that? Didn’t you think for a second about what that would do to you?” 

“It’s Cas, Sammy,” his excuse sounds broken as it falls through his lips. He is in agony, arms and back still burning from the blaze that had licked across his skin, “I couldn’t just-” 

“How many times has he died before and you’ve stayed back from it? How many times has he been killed like this and you’ve not put yourself at the center of his grace exploding?” Sam is yelling now, anger making him sound almost terrifyingly like John, and Dean feels far too vulnerable here on the ground, “I don’t even know how we’re going to heal that. Or if we even can. Fuck, Dean, we didn’t need this on top of everything else!”

He takes Sam’s anger without question or complaint. He knows that he messed up and that he injured himself right when they are about to be dealing with Lucifer. He knows that his vision being gone, however temporary this is, will make him a vulnerability and a liability. It is now completely up to Sam to be able to defend not only himself but Dean as well. 

“I should be able to see again in a few days,” he responds once Sam pauses to take a breath, “We just have to lay low inside of the Bunker until then. I know I messed up, Sammy, okay?”

“You can’t see?” Sam is suddenly in his space, calloused hand gripping his chin tightly, and Dean stifles a flinch. His head is tilted back and forth and he feels his brother messing with his eyelids. It is incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to see what Sam is doing but he knows that he is in safe hands, “Is it just blurry or is it fully gone?” 

“I can’t see anything,” he admits as Sam wipes something off of his cheek, “it’s nothing but white.” 

Sam sucks in a startled breath, hands stilling against his face, before he moves and cleans off his other cheek. “Okay, I…I didn’t realize that you were blind.” 

“Then what were you talking about?” 

Sam does not answer right away and Dean huffs in frustration. He hates not being able to see his brother’s face and be able to read him. He has always relied on the fact that Sam is an open book to him, that he rarely hides what he is thinking and feeling, and now having that taken away from him makes him feel as though he is lost at sea without a life raft. 

The trench coat is warm within the grasp of his fingers but he forces himself to release it, to smooth it back into place despite the shake in his hands. His palm presses against the flat expanse of Castiel’s chest and something inside of him burns at the fact that he cannot feel his heart beating or the rise and fall of his chest. That he can feel the heat dissipating from his body, leaving it cold and empty. There is something within the cavern of his chest that feels just as hollow as the body in front of him, something along his soul that screams at the idea of Castiel being gone, but he can do nothing about that. There is no cure or bandage that can heal a broken heart. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches away from it violently, “What the fuck, Sam?” 

“You know how angel wings are burned into the ground when they die?” Sam asks gently, continuing when Dean nods in confusion, “Dean…Cas’s wings aren’t…they…they’re burned into your skin, dude. From the back of your hands, up your arms, and across your back to either side of your spine.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” Dean argues weakly, “How could they have burned through that?” 

His brother exhales shakily, “Couldn’t his wings phase through things like that?” 

The fingers of his right hand skirt over to his left, drifting across the back of it, and a pained noise leaves his lips as his skin flares up in red hot pain at the touch. He shakes his head, refusing to accept what Sam is telling him. There is no way that he is carrying the shadow-burn of his angel’s wings on his body. He is not holy enough, not good enough, to carry the image of that burned onto his skin.

Castiel deserves to have something more than Dean Winchester acting as a living tombstone.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Sam's hands grip his elbows and pulls him to his feet, "Once we do that, we can get Cas and Kelly ready to be put to rest."

Dean grabs onto his brother tightly, resisting the guiding hand that is pulling him toward the house. He does not want to leave Castiel lying here, alone, on the dirt. There will need to be a pyre and Castiel's body will need to be prepped for that but he does not think he has the strength to leave him. Not anymore.

"I can't," His voice catches in his throat, "Sam, I can't leave him."

He can see the furrow of Sam's brow in his mind as his brother responds, "Why not?"

"I love him," it falls from his lips like water, easy and free-flowing, "I love him so much I don't know how the hell I'm able to breathe. I can't just..."

"Okay, yeah, I get it," Sam answers, "How long have you...?"

Dean tries to smile but it pulls at his face wrong, lips twisting into more of a grimace. He turns his face toward the ground and welcomes the white void that consumes his vision. It is much easier to be able to be this open with his brother when he is unable to see his facial expressions.

"Years," he exhales heavily, the word nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Sam does not answer him but he does help Dean back onto the ground by his angel's body. His hands are warm as they squeeze his elbows once before removing them.

"Let me go get the stuff to prepare his body, okay? You can do it here and I'll handle Kelly."

"What about Jack?"

Sam huffs, "I have no idea what we're going to do."

"We raise him. We give him the childhood we didn't have. He chose Cas as his father and I'm not going to abandon his child just because his sperm donor is Satan himself." Dean tells him, "We educate him, we tell him about the spooky shit and about the stuff that lurks in the dark. We make sure that he's able to handle himself if he ever winds up on a hunt."

"And we tell him about Cas."

He nods, hand reaching out until it lands on Castiel's arm, "Yeah, we tell him about Cas."

Sam leaves him then, footsteps trailing off toward the house. Dean is left in the dirt, surrounded by the sound of waves lapping at the shore of the lake and insects buzzing around him. It feels wrong, to experience this peaceful moment while he kneels at the side of his fallen person. Castiel should be here. He should be the one that teaches Jack about humanity and the world around them. He should be the one to choose what, if any, of the hunting world that Jack learns. He should teach him about bees and flowers and the names of the constellations in the sky.

He should be here, raising the child that he loves, instead of it falling to Dean.

But he is not. He is dead, killed because he ensured that everyone got to safety. And now it is up to Dean to raise Jack.

He spends the next hour gently cleaning Castiel's body with the warm water and cloths that Sam brought him. The dirt and blood is washed from his skin as best that Dean can while his vision is gone before Sam helps him wrap and secure his body in a soft fabric.

Together, they lift his body between them and Sam guides him to the pyre, leaving him to lay Castiel down inside of it alone. The angel is heavy in his arms and makes his wounds radiate agony as they are agitated but he does not care. There will be time for him to heal, for his wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. But not right now. Not when he is resting the love of his life inside of a tomb made of wood, waiting for him to be set ablaze.

The fire is hot on his face as he stares unseeingly in the direction of it. Jack and Sam are on the other side of the pyre, talking quietly to each other, and Dean wishes that he had the strength to go join them. To find comfort in knowing that they are mourning for the angel together. He could go to them, he knows that, but if he moves from this spot he is not sure that he will be able to keep himself from shattering. The reality of Castiel being gone has not fully hit yet and he knows that the moment the fire burns down, the moment that the only thing left of Castiel is the feathers burned into Dean's skin and the ashes on the wind, that he will he consumed by grief. That the only thing he will be able to feel is the hollow void in his chest that signifies that his angel is gone.

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dean flinches at the soft voice that speaks, turning his head in Jack's direction. He does not respond to him, too afraid that he will say something he does not mean or begin to cry if he does, so he nods his agreement. The kid steps closer to him and his hand slips into Dean's. He takes in a deep breath and squeezes that hand gently, leaving them clasped at his side.

"He loved you," Dean tells him hours later when the fire has died down to almost nothing. Sam had stepped away to handle something some time ago so it is only the two of them left by the angel's side, "You should have your parents here to raise you. You shouldn't have to grow up without them."

Jack is silent for a moment before he speaks, "I have you."

"Yeah, kid, you do."

"He loved you, too," Jack tells him, as though those words do not sends spiderweb cracks along the wall holding his emotions back.

He stays quiet, unable to respond even if he desired to, and they stand there together until Jack tells him that the fire is gone.

Today he will kneel in the ashes of his lover's pyre, gathering the remains of him with clumsy hands, as their child holds the glass jar steady for him to put the ashes in. He will seal up that jar and cling to it for the several hour long drive it will take for them to reach the Bunker.

And, when he is led to his room by his brother, letting him sit the jar down upon his nightstand, Dean will finally allow himself to break.

[saturatedsinset]

index card exercises!

here's all 20 of the indexercises i did yesterday :) i'm putting only the transcriptions here, because the pictures all look the same, and i'll include everything i did, including ones i already posted in answers to asks just so i have em all in one place.

stroke

‘stroke’ as in cat, stroke as in pet, stroke as in innuendo, stroke as in medical event, and it could be any or all or none, jack’s knees sore from carpet and stress and work, the gentle pressure of a hand petting, slooowly, stroking - there it is again - his heart aflutter and sometimes he can’t tell whether his stomach churns with butterflies or foreboding or nausea, the room quiet for hours at a time, and they’ve never told him not to speak unless spoken to but there’s a weight in the air that makes him keep his mouth

hypothesis

the scientific method. Laughable. Hypothesis, test, reflect, report. Hubristic to think we must be slaves to empiricism. the world is so much more than the sum of its parts, its processes, the dissection of the worm that keeps moving. my professor once told me: excavation is an act of destruction. to learn about the past we must destroy it. i once told my professor: excavation is an act of destruction. a scientist to a theatre major, all my anger spilling out over this - HOW DARE YOU THINK THIS IS METAPHORICAL? but we are all made of

sorry

it isn’t enough, and it never will be. the chair shot heard round the world, whatever they’re calling it now. the inescapable knowledge that even if he could go back he wouldn’t. seth’s sorry. seth wishes he was sorry. seth wakes up rotten and he still wouldn’t change it. what was it Cena says, sometime in the future? you almost ruined seth rollins, you drove dean ambrose out of the company… but it wasn’t about Roman, except for all the ways that it was. I’m sorry, he says. it’s true and it isn’t. hit me back, he says. he means it

follow

wherever you go, i will follow - he says - quietly - maybe you both know it’s a lie already - maybe he doesn’t want to dishonor truth - so brazenly - i wouldn’t ask that of you - you say - you have more to do - here - so much more - and he smiles - his eyes glitter - maybe tears - maybe laughter - he’s begging you to ask - and you can’t - and you won’t - and you both know it - wherever you go, i will follow - he says - a plea - a lie - a prayer - this is your home - you say - but he - doesn’t agree - he wilts - as he says - you are my home

step

into this, into me, toward life, toward the next step - Emilie Autumn says, one foot in front of the other foot. a step turns into a yard, a yard turns into a mile, and eventually you don’t know whether you’re running toward something or away from it. Full circle, flat circle. it ends up the same. the house is too big, and it swallows you, feet-first. the house knows you want to run away. the house is too small, and it shrinks in on you, suffocates you, inch by agonizing inch. where are you going? the house asks. you’d understand if you could

nostalgia

the moments you miss aren’t the ones you want to go back to. there’s all of the clichés, a cruel mistress, a lie, the feeling of missing home, and they capture something, but not enough. Nostalgia is a ghost. Nostalgia is a haunting. There are the ghosts of the past, our memories; there are the ghosts of the future, of dead futures, of things we’ve given up on or can no longer dream of - nostalgia is somewhere in between. a dead present. nostalgia is a personal kind of prelapsarianism. there is no call to action, just

discuss

“We need to talk,” Dean says, except he doesn’t need to, because they already know. seth already knows. he always thinks he’s being subtle, Dean, and sometimes he is, but mostly he’s the most straightforward guy Seth's ever met. he’s leaving. they know it. why insist on dealing the final blow himself? it’s what Seth would do, of course, but Seth’s always thought Dean’s better than him. known it. (except.) “I’m out,” Dean says, and what can Seth say to that? Dean knows all the reasons he should stay. but he knows all the reasons he

bittersweet

the first thought: Blood. the first sin: blood. there’s chocolate, of course, coffee, there’s the wrench in Adam’s heart whenever she touches the wall of a sleeping stadium. But blood brings power, something tangible, the stickiness of it drying on her face as she tastes it between her teeth. She misses too many people to count. that’s bittersweet too, thorns in the meadows by the creek ready to gouge whoever she brings down next. swerve is down there with her, maybe buried, maybe snoring. she hasn’t been exploring her own head as much lately.

midnight

I shall wear midnight, she says. Tiffany Aching. I never liked her books much, or at least I liked the other Discworld books more. But now the story changes: the shepherd’s crown. the last book he published before he died, more than a decade ago. I’ve still never read it. I can’t bring myself to. the back cover closes a part of my life that I’m not ready to leave yet. I shall wear midnight. It’s partially about death, did you know? there’s a door. if you walk through it, it disappears. But there is a ways back. But there is a way back. But

cylinder

A graduated cylinder is a magic wand, and other such nonsense. science is basically magic. magic is science advanced beyond our understanding. it’s an appealing thought, something beautiful about it, poetic - we are all connected; that which you think is incomprehensible is able to be learned, and that which you think is impossible may one day become possible. maybe it will. irritating little aphorism it is for now, though: you will not cast a spell. you will pu mentos in diet coke, and it will make an explosion, and a poet will call it magic. maybe i’m just a

sunshower

there are shadows. texas death. gritted teeth. the satisfaction that comes with tapping out the untouchable moxley. he doesn’t hate her, she can see that much; there’s a distance, a kind of mourning, in his eyes when he looks at her now. hypocrite, she thinks; he was always telling her she needed to get sharper. now he’s cut himself on her. maybe he should be used to that by now. it’s almost cute, how they all got scared of her once she paid off all her debts. now, adam knows exactly what she’s owed. maybe a decade around the bucks does have its

wait

stories are easy: the wanting, the waiting, and the catharsis. does he get what he wants? maybe. maybe not. but he never stops wanting. does orpheus want eurydice? does he want to sing? is he caught, paralyzed, in a single moment of eternal wait? the chair swings. orpheus turns. and in the split second before impact, a whole universe. the pendulum will always swing. orpheus will always look back. the chair will always bend around a brother’s back. the tragedy is this: we are all waiting, hungry, certain. we all want to hear the chair hit the spine. there is no

city

the city breathes. not in the way you think, millions of bodies inhaling as one - no, the city itself, its towers and chimneys, its thousand windows - the city breathes. the city hungers. the city coughs, and becomes angry. what feeds a city? the city feeds itself, its own kind of vicious cycle, blood spilled on streets, blood hosed down into drains, smoke rising as the city spreads. the city poisons. the city heals. a corner store on every block, a dozen tiny interactions a day, a cat mewing at a street corner. the city does not protect its

fish

“Why’s fish different?” Dean asks, muffled by the crunch of the pretzel stick as he scoops more mashed potatoes onto the bitten end. Roman looks kind of pale, barely poking at his own salmon. (plain salmon, boiled in the bag. Heresy, in Dean’s opinion.) Seth huffs, like this a conversation he’s even fuckin’ involved with. “He’s not even vegetarian, Dean,” Seth whines, annoyingly, like Dean ain’t just exercising his natural curiosity. “Why don’t you ask, like, Bryan?” Dean rolls his eyes, finishing his pretzel stick. Delicious. Creamy and crunchy. “Bryan don’t eat fuckin’ fish 

penitentiary

penitentiary. penitent - there’s something implied in the word, a remorse, a repentance - a prison, in a word, conceived as a place to feel guilt. the prison as an industrial-scale confession booth. protestantism engraved into the fabric of society. is this productive? does it matter? what results is the penitentiary designed to produce? Guilt, fear, ostracism - the prison is a receptacle. the prison is a depository. there is no citation. I see the word itself. penitent. thoughtful. are we to take Declan’s Corrective as instructive? the truth does not reside

diagonal

across the ring, pillar to post, buckle to buckle, you always take the hypotenuse. it feels strange to even think it now, ingrained as it is in matt’s body. there are parts of wrestling he still thinks about, but it’s not often this one. maybe he’s still avoiding thinking about who’s in the other corner, betrayal staining even the one thing he always knows. ibushi, standing where matt should be, where They should be - they’d touched again and suddenly matt was invisible. and here kenny is, pretending to play peacemaker even now. if you really didn’t want to

mustard

“c’mon,” mox jeers, throwing an elbow at the air as a demonstration. “put a little mustard on it, get real nasty.” he punctuates it with a grin - sometimes the kid still looks a little terrified that mox is gonna take a bite outta him for real. nervous like you get around a mean dog. mox guesses he can’t really blame him, on account of the biting he gave him to get here. still, nothin’ wrong with a little reassurance. Bryan’s grinning, ‘cause he’s a pervert and annoying to boot, but his lordship is nodding

elaborate

it all seems a bit elaborate, pages and pages of maps, plans, agreements. all they really need is a wedding, but adam does so love to feel cunning, christian thinks with a fond roll of his eyes. names of guards they can trust. maps of the castle they’ve been visiting every year since the girls were barely eight - a decade, now. “very good,” christian says aloud, indulgent, a little pat to adam’s shoulder so he knows it’s sarcastic. “and the rest of them? the king? i’m sure you’ve hidden a dossier around here somewhere…” adam huffs, only just, christian knows,

nightmare + cody

what nick says is: it’s not good for kenny. cody learned the hard way, not too long ago - he touches his cheek absently - there are things about the bucks he doesn’t know. secret weapons. cody flinches when he thinks about trying to find them. (again.) silence as nick looks at him evenly the ghost of a smile on matt’s lips. cody doesn’t know what they’re not saying. the table between them feels like a chasm. it feels like that locker room. cold. nick’s eyes are cold, too. it’s not good for kenny. why hitch your wagon to kenny? cody thinks

devour

the desert will devour you, if you aren’t careful. Dean knows it by now, and Rome’s known it his whole damn life, but prettyboy still has those big wide eyes that he don’t know how to shade from the sun right. have to find him some shades soon. prettyboy - seth - had been upfront enough about not havin’ a real plan when he’d snuck out. dean isn’t sure why they took him in, sometimes, what they saw in him that let them know he’d make it. But he’d brought the city-desert out here. the underground, those little jump drives of music they can barely manage to get through the speakers

[deancaspinefest]

On Wayward Tracks

Author: Followsthebees | Artist: wigglebox Posting on Monday February 27

Lawrence, Kansas. 1882. Taken in by Bobby Singer almost two decades ago, Sam and Dean Winchester earn their keep on Singer Ranch, a refuge for a number of wayward souls who work for food and board but have gained a family and community in return.

Entrepreneur Gabriel Novak moves to Lawrence to open his own brothel, proposing that his brother Castiel leave the family business in Boston and work for him. It’s a tempting offer that, along with his aching attraction for a certain green-eyed cowboy, makes Castiel wonder if he could find a true home on the range.

When outside forces threaten the existence of their way of life, Dean, Castiel, and their families are brought together in ways that they never could have imagined as they race to save their loved ones — and keep their dreams of a life together alive.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Castiel has been hard-pressed not to openly stare at the man across the saloon. He has a certain charisma that captured his attention and has kept him enthralled since he first heard that boisterous laugh and saw him burst through the swinging doors. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the man approach the bar to order drinks for his table, grinning and exchanging pleasantries with the woman behind the counter. He then produces a small wooden object from his pocket and hands it to the barkeep. The older woman visibly melts and reaches across the wooden counter to affectionately pat the man’s cheek a few times before placing it with a couple other carvings behind the bar. While he’s waiting on the round of whiskey, Castiel takes in the details of him: his sandy brown hair just pokes out from underneath the Stetson, and his face is tan from time spent in the sun. Anyone could see, judging by his dirt-clad boots and well-worn, frequently mended clothes, that he works outside, and it has made the dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks more prominent. Before he can stop himself, Castiel thinks about how far down those freckles go. Before returning to his table where he has been talking loudly and playing cards, the freckled man takes a step toward Castiel, who is still blatantly staring and wanting. The cowboy chuckles as he slides one of the glasses to him, knuckling at Castiel’s chin. "Need something to fill that mouth?" the man observes in lowered tones, undisguised hunger in his gaze, before returning to his group. Castiel closes his mouth and raises his hand to the place where the familiar ghost of the man's touch continues to warm his skin. As the man rakes in a large pot during a round of cards, he flips off the hat of a fellow player and throws his head back in laughter, his own hat falling off in the process. The redhead next to him picks it up and shoves it on his face, causing him to flail as he is blinded and knocked off balance. The whole table and a few others — including Castiel — chuckle at the antics. It’s like their own comedy routine. They are a rowdy bunch and Castiel’s eyes are drawn toward them. He is perhaps a little envious of their camaraderie but it brings him comfort just watching them interact. Besides that, the anticipation is palpable.

 [continue reading on Ao3 on Monday February 27]

[ltleflrt]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers!

Thanks for tagging me @prosopopeya 😊

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

112 (also 112 unanswered asks in my inbox, oops lol)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,998,134

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Dragon Age, Mass Effect, SPN/Destiel, Baldur's Gate 3

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Kiss the Baker (9,346)

Satin and Sawdust (8,306)

Cursed Or Not (7,797)

No Words (7,754)

Addicted To You (6,079)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! In order to conserve spoons for it, I only answer comments on my long/chaptered fics, and don't answer them on my short one-shots. Which makes me feel guilty sometimes, but setting up an exception is the only way I can manage my social anxiety about it.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

No Such Thing As Ghosts

This is a one-shot that I always answer comments on because if someone takes the time to read a MCD fic, they deserve extra gratitude, and probably milk and cookies and a box of tissues.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write romances or smutfics, they all have happy endings lol

Probably the sweetest thing I've ever written is Where The Heart Lives which was for an October writing challenge a few years ago.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

It's happened, though it's rare. There was a troll that targeted me on FFnet like 10 years ago who was so over the top with their hatred that it was actually funny. Every once in a while I'll get a comment that irritates me, but it's not really hateful stuff, just something I disagree with.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yeah, original sci-fi alien smut was a thing for me when I was a teenager. For fanfic, I loooove writing smut. Some of my short fics are just smut. My favorite kind of smut involves being in a shower or a bathtub. It might just be masturbation, or full on sexual escapades, but there's water involved.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I don't like crossovers, so no. I have a lot of ideas for fusions, but I haven't written any. I tried to do a Pacific Rim/Mass Effect fusion, but I only ever got 1 chapter, and it's the only fic I've deleted from AO3.

For reference, I consider a crossover something that includes characters from both universes in a story together, and a fusion is a story where characters from one universe live in the other universe, but there's no meeting of characters from both. Like, Dean is a Templar who knows Knight Captain Cullen in Dragon Age, vs what if Dean is the Knight Captain instead of Cullen.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of *knocks on wood*

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a few. One of them isn't on AO3 and I lost the link, which I'm sad about. But now I only give permission if it's going to be posted on AO3, so they show up under my name.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not exactly, but @jupiterjames and I have worked so closely together that it's almost co-writing. @bendingsignpost wrote a prequel to a shortfic I wrote tho... does that count? That probably counts. Here's the series:

Bookshelf Boys by bendingsignpost, Ltleflrt

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

They all feel equal in my heart, but I've written the most for Destiel, so they're probably a tiiiiny bit more important to me lol

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I'm starting to think I'm never going to finish anything ever again lol

My current posted WIPs are

Reaching Out (Dragon Age)

Shameless (SPN/Destiel)

I desperately want to finish them, but my brain is very NOPE about it. There's also the Untitled Haunted House AU I've been talking about for years now, but I've never posted any of it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Capturing character voice in dialogue. Also shower/bathtub smut 😁

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions. Of anything. People, places, emotions. I feel like I suck at all descriptions.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I like to do it, but I definitely have to get help since I'm hopelessly monolingual. And I like when other authors do it too.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Dragon Age, specifically DA2. It's what got me into reading fanfic in the first place, and eventually sparked the urge to write.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

This answer changes every time someone asks me the question lol... today's favorite is Peace because it's the most recent thing I've worked on and there are 2 people commenting on it, and I'm having a good time with it.

Tagging: @jupiterjames @mittensmorgul @slytherkins @valleydean

[the-unexplained-orb]

Case 1 : The Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum

Ever thought about spending the night in a haunted Lunatic Asylum?

Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum previously known as the Weston State Hospital was operated from the year 1864 to 1994. The changes in the treatment of mental illness and the physical deterioration of the facility forced its closure in 1994 inflicting a devastating effect on the local economy.

Standing on 26.5 acres of land with 13 buildings it is believed to be one of the most haunted asylum in the US. According to the asylum's website it was designed to house 250 souls, was open to patients in 1864 and reached its peak in the 1950’s with 2,400 patients in overcrowded and generally poor conditions.

The asylum is said to be haunted by the spirits of former patients, nurses, and doctors. Reports of screams, shadow figures, and disembodied voices have been reported in various parts of the building. One of the most commonly reported hauntings is that of an unknown woman who can be heard speaking in a strange language in the basement. The woman is identified as Jane . Other paranormal phenomenon reported include cold spots, the smell of cigar smoke, and the sound of children laughing.

“The energy of Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum because there are so much between the lobotomies and the overall treatments that they did there is a weird energy there . Its almost like u can say its the lead paint but I don't think its all it is . Its like u can feel the goosebumps . I had the goosebumps last night which I haven't got in a while ” — Kalani Smith , a paranormal investigator , who shared the live video of his ghost hunt to nearly 2 million followers on tiktok 

One of the most active site of the asylum is the bedpost murder room . It was said that the victim was a mute man who was brutally murdered by two men . The victim was identified by the name Dean . Investigators reportedly captured audio of disembodied voices and the sound of footsteps while they were conducting a full-scale investigation at the asylum . They also reported seeing shadow figures, feeling cold spots, and experiencing the sensation of being watched.

“ The Trans- Allegheny is a hauntingly beautiful place that is filled with a sense of tragedy and loss. It has seen a lot . ”

After conducting investigations by numerous paranormal researchers over the years evidence suggests that the spirits of former patients, nurses, and doctors are still lingering in the building, and that they are still trying to make their presence known.

The Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum is a place of mystery and intrigue, and has become a popular destination for paranormal investigators and ghost hunters.

The asylum now conducts Ghost Hunts last from 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. excluding the month of October . Guides will assist you in your exploration of this massive gothic asylum.

[queenmera-flightrising]

Lair Review for VariantLoki

To start your lair is so beautiful and well organized. It was a treat to read through your lore, and see the diverse art for your unique dragons. I know that you prefer Tundras but you really have an eye for apparel and accents across all breeds, so many of your dragons are XYZ but look like they were bred specifically to pair with their accents. Its inspiring!

Bear was the first to catch my attention because of his soft browns amid the more colorful dragons on your first page. I have a soft spot for babies, and love that he is a tribute to your dog irl. So sweet! His colors are perfect, and I think the ivory okapi really pulls out the wide range of browns from the chocolate ripple/stripes. The kicker is how well his background scene fits, looking like a comfortable family living room for your sweet Bear.

Trans obalisk? Trans obalisk! Thomas' soft pastels are so beautiful; he's one of the dragons to showcase your talent with pairing accents and apparel. Underneath is clothes Thomas still shines, the wine shades in his fire capsle look amazing with the shades in pearl flair. Sometimes arcane primal can look awkward but its so fitting on him. 10/10

So impressed with your page of primal eyes, I'm a sucker for gold so Skoll really stole my attention. Of course he immediately reminded me of the familiar, so I had an :O moment when it clicked that his scene looks like a wolfs den. Really well thought out. Also, amazing use of the skittering chitin breastplate to look like a bright gold mane.

Phenomenal combo of apparel and skin again!! I truly thought that Harlequin’s green sea slug cloak was apart of the skin/ He looks like a coral reef! If I were a fish, I'd want to make my home on this dragon.

I know that reference! Omg I love Claptrap, both the character and your dragon. The use of the steampunk wings looks perfect with that accent, and his goggles look exactly like claptrap's eye! Its also cool how the accent tappers off on his tail, it looks almost like Claptrap's wheel got popped.

[Spoilers for Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachet] I know this reference, too! I haven't read Good Omen's in years but Aziraphale with his angel wings and the fire halo immediately took me back to the bookstore fire! This is one of the most well done fan dragons I've ever seen on FR, his facial expression even captures Azriphale's polite whimsy.

Beautiful birthday boy! I really love the bright neon green of the emerald graspers on his purple spinner wings. Also ghost moon has those wonderful green tones which makes it look like the emeralds are casting a glow on Dean's face.

Tulip is 2 cute! She is so eye catching, and I love how the cottoncandy stained gives her a dusky lavender hue. Great use of the pink heartswirl and feathered wings. Shes a beautiful valentines tribute dragon

Dukkrat looks like a cool alien rat/wolf hybrid. Wonderful use of mandibals and the breastplate, they make the layers in his seraph and stripes genes look more angular. Then in contrast his chincilla companion gives that soft touch and makes him look like an approchable friend. I know it says he's unfinished so I'm excited to see what you'll do with him in the future! 

Its so cool and ambitious that you're collecting all of the tundra accents on the site! You have a true gift for decorating dragons, and I think Verdandi is a great example of a dragon whos mix of apparel and accent makes it look like it was all designed specifically for her. Shes a beautiful spring tribute, I love the festive touch the love's herald birds bring, it looks like they are draping her in flowers.  

Shout out to Valenteen, a beautiful XYZ kitty that inspires me.

Thank you for letting me review your lair, it is so lovely!

@crested-waveskimmer

[fanfic-corner]

10–50k Destiel Fics pt 2

Here are some more novella-length fics! Happy reading!

You can read part one here.

Such a Heavenly Way to Die by orphan_account (10k)

Castiel will soon lose his memories along with his Grace. Dean tries to cope with losing everything when he thought he finally had it.

Nightmares Lived (It'll Be Okay) by CrowleysRat (11k)

He feels like he did when he was four, scared to close his eyes, to so much as blink because if he does, the monsters will come back, but this time the only monster is death, and it's so much more real and frightening than it was before.

He knows death now, knows how silent and quick it is. Knows that it's a part of life, but not now -please not yet, he begs to a God he's not sure he believes in.

A Crash Course in Someone Else's History by Annie D (11k)

Castiel is captured inside a trapping circle of holy oil set by Dean and Sam Winchester. The brothers call him "Cas", claiming that he has amnesia and that he is obligated to help them take down Crowley to atone for his betrayal of them. It's the strangest story Castiel's ever heard, and one he doesn't have time for because he's only just raised Dean from Hell and has work to get back to.

search for tomorrow on every shore by noviembre (11k)

Dean, 24-year-old Dean, and Castiel walk into a motel room.

Heirloom by Tibbins (12k)

John is back, and Dean is angry. My take on the 300th episode.

The Beginning by Princess_Aleera (17k)

Where a mission goes horribly wrong, and Castiel gets his wings plucked off for it.

Won't You Stay? by allmystars (18k)

A week before Christmas, a weekend with his brother, and a hike into the mountains shouldn’t change a single thing about Dean Winchester’s life. It’s just a trip, just to distract Sam from everything he’s lost.

But, when a blizzard blows in, stranding the Winchesters, Sam finds a crack in the rock-face, and everything changes.

A pit, and pain, and every broken thing inside Dean, discovered by angels.

Well, one angel. One powerless, exiled angel.

Angel Recovery Project by keylimepie (20k)

An ordinary woman attempts a very extraordinary spell and brings back the wrong angel. But he's here and he needs help, from sandwiches to love advice, so what else is a girl to do?

Something Stupid by Zatnikatel (20k)

Castiel loses his faith, his mojo and his Dean, and then gets them all back again with the help of a few movie tough guys…

There's Only One Sure Thing That I Know by blinkiesays (20k)

Dean doesn't even get halfway through explaining before Bobby starts laughing. When he lets himself think about it for more than five seconds, Dean can almost see Bobby's point: he's faced down demons, witches, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, angels, and Satan himself and now he's been defeated by the God damn Midwest.

On Air by wincechesters (21k)

Cas and Dean are radio DJs who host the second most popular morning show in Lawrence. They’ve been co-hosts for years at different stations across the country, and they own a house together out of necessity, even though they’re just friends. But for some reason, a lot of their listeners and even some of their friends and family seem to think that they’re secretly in some kind of relationship, which they’re totally not (besides that one time that totally doesn’t count). In spite of that, Dean thinks he’s got everything figured out, until an ill-fated on air game of Truth or Dare turns everything upside down (and the billboards around town aren’t helping either).

Serendipity by whelvenwings (23k)

Stuck on opposite sides of the country, Dean and Cas make big sacrifices to be together at a special time of the year. However, when they realise that their joint idea of paying a surprise visit to each other's faraway home has left them still trapped miles away from each other, they have to find some way to meet in the middle - and it has to be before midnight if it's going to be perfect...

Après by imogenbynight (24k)

When the angels stop falling and Castiel makes his way out of the trees, he finds himself alone and oceans away from the Winchesters. For once, Dean flies to him.

No need for dreaming by AsphodeleSauvage (24k)

Castiel loves his job as a wedding photographer. He loves nothing more than to capture the pure love in a couple's eyes as they say 'yes' - soulmates or not soulmates, he doesn't care. Yet, he can't help wondering about his own soulmate and about the mark on his chest that promises him a love story for the ages. There is also the fact that he keeps bumping into the charming Dean Winchester at every wedding he goes to...

The Care and Feeding of Castiel by MalMuses (24k)

Dean’s quiet time in the bunker is interrupted by some stranger-than-usual behavior from his angel.

Oh, and feathers...there are a lot of those, too.

That Black Dog Ache by SaltyWords (28k)

A simple case turns Dean upside down as he attempts to deal with the effects of a particularly strange love spell.

Peace And Good Luck To All Men by KismetJeska (31k)

Christmas in the Milton household was difficult enough without the added complication of guests- and if Luke and Gabriel placing bets on who can get with Sam first wasn’t bad enough, then Cas developing a ridiculous crush on his sister’s boyfriend definitely is.

Everything Comes Back to You by VioletHaze (32k)

Dean knew better. Of course he did. But Cas seemed so charmed by the antique-filled bed and breakfast that Dean went along with it when the proprietor mistook them for a couple. Telling himself it gave them a strategic advantage to be so close to the crime scene, he agreed to the weekend special she offered them. When the case ended up being a bust, they stuck around anyhow because hey, the second night was free…

Just for the Holidays by Fallen_Angel_Meg (41k)

After going through some tough times, Jess, Castiel's best friend, decides the best thing for him to do is to get away for Christmas. She secretly signs up their shared house on a home exchange website and it doesn't take long for them to get some interest. Castiel ends up trading houses with Sam Winchester, despite his hesitations to do so. So now Castiel has to spend his Christmas alone in Lawrence, Kansas. Which isn't so bad because Castiel is looking for some alone time right now, not wanting to get romantically involved with anyone. That is, until he meets Dean Winchester and things get complicated.

Snow Place Like Home (But My Home Is With You) by almaasi (47k)

It’s Christmas Eve, and Dean, Sam and Castiel are snowed into a small town with a big festive spirit. They splurge on a fancy room in a B&B – hey, they deserve a treat. There’s a tiny plastic tree and a working TV, so they could perhaps overlook the lack of hot water and Dean having to bunk with Sam. Sleeping arrangements soon reach a happier equilibrium: Dean’s just cuddling Cas to keep him warm, he swears – the tingly feeling means nothing! Christmas Day arrives, and Cas still doesn’t have a gift for Dean. Dean doesn’t know what to give Cas, either. Sam has a few ideas, but will the other two truly understand what he means?

Gosh, there are a lot of these! I'll have to split it into one more part so that I don't clog everyone's dash, which I hope you don't mind! As always, a very big thank you to all the amazing people who have shared their fics with us! And I hope you enjoy reading :D

[ecandjamesvpjournal]

“Oh shit.” Jenny said calmly, knowing this day would come. Quickly, she grab her and lay her on the couch downstairs, quickly picking up the medkit she kept with her. While patching her up, Jenny pulled out her bluetooth headphones, and put one bud in, before tapping it. “Call, the idiot brothers.” she says to her phone. The phone starts calling a familiar duo. Using holy water and written scripts from the bible, you bind her injuries, adding various healing methods that are almost magic in nature.

Finally, she get through, “Sam, Dean, what the f**k have you been doing?” she says as he looks at her, relaxed and asleep. “What do you mean?” Dean asks. “My guardian angel is unconscious and was bleeding in my bedroom. So something happened, and I know you and your brother had something to do with it.” Jenny said, as she goes upstairs to get her uniform. “Well, it’s a bit complicated.” Dean said, adding, “I thought you were retired.” She sighed, zipping up the jumpsuit, and putting on the pads, adding, “Well I was, until this happened. Now I want you and Cas to come here and pick me up with my equipment.”

“Why would you want that?” Dean asked, as Jenny went back down, pulling from the closet a chest with a familiar Mooglie on it. “Because Dean, if something crazy is happening that spells the end of the world, who you gonna call?” she says as she pulled open the chest. It opens revealing a strange pack along with equipment to detect, detain and capture spirits, spooks, ghost, etc. Putting on the pack, she then stuck the meter device on her belt and placed the goggles on her head. She gives a heroic pose, before adding, “Besides, Cas is the only angel I know that could help me with her and what got her.” “I’m here.” Cas said, startling Jenny.

“By the Almighty, Cas!” she said, putting a hand to her chest, “Be careful will you?” she says, before looking over at her guardian angel. She’s still unconscious, wearing a robe somehow. Before anything else can happen, the meter squawks to life. Jenny picks it up and runs scans up the stairs. “There’s something here. And it’s powerful enough to take me out.” Cas says. Jenny nods, looking at the meter indicate a powerful Class 7. “Um, let’s just grab her, and get all of us to the bunker.” she says as she walks to her guardian angel. “Agreed,” he says, before grabbing her and Jenny. Before they can glimpse the creatures, if they could, the three of them disappear like a jumpcut, taken to their location.

Two minutes later, the house is clear of any paranormal presence.

You’ve always had a literal guardian angel- but she’s currently bleeding out on your bedroom floor.

[deancodedinthewater]

Bloody Mary Part 3

Charlie followed Donna into the girl’s bathroom at their school. Her shoulders were hunched and she was keeping her head down, sheepishly avoiding eye contact.

“I mean,” Donna was saying. “You bring these strangers into my house and they ask me things like that?” She turned around and scowled at Charlie.

“They were only trying to help,” Charlie pleaded, looking up at Donna with an apologetic tilt to her eyes. “Please, Donna, you have to believe me!”

Donna stopped, a mirror at her back. “What?” She snapped. “About Bloody Mary?”

“Please, I know it sounds crazy-”

“Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Donna yelled, throwing her hand out to the side and glaring at Charlie. “I mean it’s one thing for my sister to believe this crap, she’s 12. But you?” She gestured at Charlie with both hands, fingers curled as if she was going to grab her.

“Think about the way your dad died, okay?” Charlie pleaded, her own hands coming up in an almost mirror of Donna. “And the way Jill died.” Donna dropped her hands and gave Charlie the most unimpressed look she had ever seen.

“Okay so,” Donna said, shifting her weight to one foot as she turned to face the mirror. “Bloody Mary.”

“No!”

Donna continued on. “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.” She paused, eyeing the mirror. “See?” She  said, turning back to Charlie. “Nothing happened.”

“Why would you do that?” Charlie asked, eyes wide. She was practically shaking where she stood.

“Oh my God,” Donna said, pushing past her to leave the bathroom. “There really is something wrong with you.”

Charlie left a moment later. She kept her head down as she walked. Movement out of the corner of her eye had her glancing up but there was nothing there. Just a window. She kept walking and settled herself down in her Physics class.

“Elements that lose electrons,” the teacher said. Charlie hadn’t realised the class had started. She opened her compact, checking her makeup. “Which are smaller than other atoms of the same element. Therefore the ionic radius is smaller than the atomic radius.”

Something moved in Charlie’s mirror. Charlie screamed, dropping her compact and standing up.

“Charlie!” The teacher yelled.

Mary. It had to be Mary. Charlie looked at the reflection in the window and Mary was stood there. She started to say something. Charlie threw the stool she had been sitting on through the window.

“Charlie!” Her teacher yelled again. He grabbed her hand and tried to stop her. “Charlie, stop it. What’s wrong? Calm down.”

Mary was in his glasses. Charlie screamed. “Let me go!” She wrenched her arm from his grip.

“Charlie!” His voice followed her as she sprinted from the room.

-

Dean tapped on the steering wheel as he drove along, half listening to Sam’s side of the conversation.

“Oh really?” Sam said, sounding genuinely interested in whatever he had said to the guy on the other end. “Ah that’s too bad Mr Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time.” Sam paused, nodding to something on the other end. “Alright, thanks.” He snapped his phone shut and sighed.

“So?” Dean asked, glancing at him.

“So that was Mary’s brother,” Sam explained, dropping his phone in his lap. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques.” He paused, giving Dean a significant look that he would probably have been able to interpret had he not been driving. “A store in Toledo.”

Dean nodded. “So wherever the mirror goes, that’s where Mary goes?”

“Her spirit’s definitely tied up with it somehow.”

“Isn’t there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” Dean asked, dropping his right hand into his lap and turning to Sam. He glanced back at the road.

“Yeah, there is,” Sam replied. “Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn’t get trapped.” Dean rolled his hand in a ‘carry on’ gesture. “Oh. So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws her spirit in.” Sam frowned. “But how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?”

Dean shrugged. “If the mirror is the source. I say we smash it.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, pulling a face. Something between his normal frown and a confused squint. “I don’t know, maybe.” His phone rang. He answered it. “Hello?” His confused frown/squint melted into concern. “Charlie?”

Charlie’s voice is so panicked that Dean can hear it across the car. “She’s coming for me!”

-

After picking Charlie up they bundled her into their motel room and Sam started throwing sheets over anything reflective. Dean yanked the curtains closed and turned some of the as yet uncovered mirrors to the wall or floor. With everything safely covered, Sam sat down on his bed next to Charlie - who was burying her head in her knees.

“Hey, hey it’s ok,” He said, reaching a hand out and grabbing her shoulder. “Hey, you can open your eyes Charlie. It’s okay, alright?” She lifted her head slowly and Sam smiled at her. “Now listen. You’re gonna stay right here, on this bed. And you’re not gonna look at glass or anything that has a reflection. Okay?” She nodded. “And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can’t keep that up forever,” Charlie whispered, dropping her head back to her knees. “I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“No,” Sam insisted. “No. Not anytime soon.”

Dean sat down on Charlie’s otherside and she looked up at him. “Alright, Charlie,” he said. “We need to know what happened.”

Charlie took a deep breath. “We were in the bathroom. Donna said it.”

“That’s not what we’re talking about,” Sam said, shaking his head. Charlie gave him a bewildered look.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Dean continued. “In your life... a secret where someone got hurt.” Dean paused and Charlie looked at him with fear in her eyes. “Can you tell us about it?”

“I had this boyfriend,” Charlie said, her breath shuddering. “I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know?” She wasn’t looking at either of them. “And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me.” Charlie was crying now. Her words coming out in a rush of emotion that Sam thought might be helping her some. “And he said ‘Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I’m gonna kill myself.’” She looked at each of them then. “And you know what I said?”

Sam and Dean both remained quiet, waiting for her to finish.

“I said ‘Go ahead.’ And I left.” She dropped her head into her hands. “How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just... I didn’t believe him, you know?” Her arms wrapped around her legs as she dropped her face back into her knees. “I should have.”

Sam didn’t know what to say. Dean though. He wrapped an arm around Charlie and let her fall against him. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “And we are going to fix this.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, pulling a face at Dean that Charlie could not see. “We’ll- we’ll do our best.”

Pushing herself out of Dean’s awkward one sided hug, Charlie sat up properly. “Go on then,” She said, waving a hand at the door. “Go. I don’t want to be trapped in some old dude’s motel room for the rest of my life.”

Dean frowned. “I’m 26,” He defended.

“Yeah. Old.”

Sam laughed at the indignant look on his brother’s face and dragged him from the room.

“Old,” Dean grumbled as he opened the door to the Impala. “Damn teenagers.” Sam climbed in the passenger side, still laughing.

It was a little while later, darkness and rain had descended, before either of them spoke. “You know,” Dean said, quietly. “Her boyfriend killing himself, that’s not really Charlie’s fault.”

“You know as well as I do that spirits don’t exactly see shades of grey, Dean,” Sam replied. He kept his eyes on the road, despite the fact he wasn’t the one driving. The image of Jess burning flickered behind his eyelids. “Charlie had a secret. Someone died. That’s good enough for Mary.”

He could feel the side-long glance Dean gave him. “I guess.”

There was a pregnant pause and Sam really didn’t want to stew in silence with his thoughts again. Thoughts of Jess. Thoughts of secrets. Of visions. “You know,” he said, loud in the quiet of the car. “I’ve been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror.”

Dean’s eyes were back on him. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Well Mary’s hard to pin down, right?” Sam started, finally turning to look at Dean. “I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who’s to say that she’s not just gonna keep hiding in them forever?” Sam waved his hand at the window, not sure if he was indicating the wing mirror or the world in general. “So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that’s going to work?”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t. Not for sure.”

“Well who’s gonna summon her?” Dean asked.

“I will,” Sam said, before he could second guess himself. “She’ll come after me.”

“You know what, that’s it,” Dean said, jerking the steering wheel. He pulled off the road and threw the car into park. “This is about Jessica, isn’t it?” Sam didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. “You think that’s your dirty little secret - that you killed her somehow?” Dean had turned in the driver’s seat. Any further and he’d have to put his leg up on the bench. Sam refused to look at him. “Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night - it’s gonna kill you.”

He paused there as if waiting for Sam to say something. Sam stayed quiet. Dean actually did put his leg on the bench then. He shuffled a little closer, holding a hand out imploringly - it jerked in the air with aborted signs and gestures.

“Now listen to me,” Dean continued. “It wasn’t your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her.” His hand went up towards the ceiling. “Or hell, why don’t you take a swing at me? I mean, I’m the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

Sam twitched and finally looked at his brother. “I don’t blame you,” he whispered.

“Well you shouldn’t blame yourself,” Dean said, dropping his leg back into the footwell. “Because there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve warned her.”

Dean’s face distorted into some combination of confused and amused. “About what?” He asked. “You didn’t know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn’t a secret, I mean I know all about it. It’s not gonna work with Mary anyway.”

“No you don’t,” Sam said, shaking his head. He was back to avoiding Dean’s eyes. What would Dean say if Sam told him about the dreams? About how he had seen Jess- He wasn’t going to think about it.

“I don’t what?”

“You don’t know all about it,” Sam said. He shrank back into the seat, trying to avoid Dean’s eyes entirely. “I haven’t told you everything.”

“What are you talking about?” The leg was back on the seat and bouncing now.

“Well it wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, would it?” Sam reasoned, glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Dean’s eyes widened. “No,” he agreed, reluctantly. “I don’t like it. It’s not gonna happen. Forget it.”

“Dean,” Sam said, mirroring Dean’s position now. “That girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it.” He waved an arm vaguely in the direction of their motel room. “And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that! Now we’re doing this.” He gave Dean an imploring look, the puppy eyes if he was being honest. “You’ve got to let me do this.”

“I still don’t like it,” Dean said with a sigh but he pulled back onto the road and drove towards the shop.

It wasn’t a long drive. They were there and Sam had Dean’s lock pick in the door in a matter of minutes. He pushed it open and revealed a room stacked top to bottom with mirrors. And from the look of it there was more than one room full of mirrors.

“Well.... that’s transphobic,” Dean said to the mirrors, Sam rolled his eyes. He pulled out the crime scene picture with Mary’s mirror in and held it out for Sam to see. “Alright, let’s start looking.”

They split up, each with a flashlight and a crowbar, Dean going one way and Sam the other. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long. Sam swung his flashlight across the room, passing it over every mirror he could see and mentally comparing it to Mary’s. None he saw in the main room matched so he moved on to the back room.

“Maybe they’ve already sold it,” Dean called from the other room.

Sam’s flashlight passed over a mirror and he frowned. He brought the beam back over and stepped closer. “I don’t think so,” he replied to Dean. Dean rounded the corner and his flashlight joined Sam’s

“That’s it,” Dean said, holding up the printout for comparison. He sighed. “You sure about this?” Sam flipped his flashlight and passed it to Dean, who took both in one hand.

“Bloody Mary,” Sam said by way of answering, his eyes on the mirror. “Bloody Mary.” He looked over at Dean who gave him the most uncertain look he has ever seen on his brother’s face. Sam hefted his crowbar. “Bloody Mary.”

Masterpost

[profoundbondfanfic]

☆ Destiel and Ghosts fics

Because what’s Supernatural without a few ghosts here and there? Maybe it’s during a case, maybe it’s an AU filled with them. Or maybe you’re just in the mood for a fic that features a fun Halloween celebration where there’s always someone dressed up as a ghost? With these fics you have a bit of everything.

--All fic links go to our tagged reviews--

1. Featuring Ghosts:

A Ghost Story by emmbrancsxxo [Explicit, 257k words]

Castiel Novak has haunted his family’s estate for 150 years, awaiting the return of his lost love. Upon their reunion, Dean Winchester learns of his past reincarnation. After the night of Castiel’s resurrection, the two try to find out why they’ve been given a second chance. The answers may be hidden in the forgotten memories of Dean’s former life - but sometimes the truth is better left buried.

Dean Winchester is Not Afraid of Ghosts by Desirae [Explicit, 48k words]

When photographer Dean Winchester is not capturing momentous occasions like weddings and graduations with his Nikon, he is moonlighting as the cameraman for the South Shore Paranormal; a ghost hunting series on YouTube, headed by his brother Sam, and Sam’s best friend Gabriel. Despite his brother’s adamance, Dean Winchester does not believe in ghosts. And no one is going to change his mind. Certainly not a scam artist like Castiel Novak. Castiel is a self-proclaimed medium… and Gabriel’s brother. When a member of the SSP team has to leave the crew, Castiel is the replacement, much to Dean’s dismay. But the more they work together, the more Dean is drawn to Castiel, the man stirring up protective instincts usually only reserved for family. What happens when Dean realizes that Castiel is not the fake he always thought he was, but instead, a generous soul that Dean is rapidly falling in love with?

et florum magica: (And the Magic of Flowers) by wiccanstiel [Explicit, 52k words]

There’s a large, leafless tree and a road, a hand on a gnarled cane, a stoutly man in a black suit, his face scratched out. When Castiel Novak moves to the small town of Fox Hollow, he’s looking for a fresh start. Only his past seems to be–quite literally–haunting him, and even through his best efforts of settling into his new life, there’s a darkness in the shadows that he can’t seem to shake. And after meeting an otherworldly being named Dean during what was supposed to be a simple walk through the forest, he’s left with more questions than answers. But like it’s residents, Fox Hollow has some well-kept secrets, and things quickly turn to life or death when one of those secrets finally steps from the shadows and into the light.

Ghosts that we knew by dothraki_shieldmaiden [Explicit, 89k words]

Dean can’t help it. Castiel’s laugh is infectious, washing over him and sweeping him up in its tide. His throat and stomach ache with the feel of it, unfamiliar muscles worked past their endurance. He hasn’t laughed like this in weeks, maybe years. Cas doesn’t stop laughing, and Dean relishes it. It’s such a good sound, deep and throaty. It rumbles over him the same way that Baby’s engine purrs, to where he can almost feel it in his gut. Dean’s giddy, the kind of happy that hunters don’t get to feel, and if it weren’t for the ceiling, he thinks he might float away. Cas’ eyes crinkle when he laughs, and his smile goes wide and gummy. He’s so brilliant, so alive— But you’re dead, Dean thinks helplessly. But you’re dead. Castiel Novak is one of the best hunters Dean Winchester has ever worked with. He’s witty, whip-smart, and has enough knowledge about the supernatural to rival an encyclopedia. He’s got humor dry enough to put the Sahara to shame and he’s pretty easy on the eyes as well. All in all, he’s the best partner Dean could have hoped for. Too bad he’s dead.

2. Featuring Halloween:

A Samhain Night’s Dream by EllenOfOz [Explicit, 13k words]

Dean and Castiel finally get the chance to go away for a few days to the Ozark Mountains over Halloween. They arrive in town, only to discover that trick or treaters are going missing. They agree to help out, even though working this case is preventing Dean from getting into his boyfriend’s satin panties. The kids are probably just hiding somewhere, stuffing their faces with candy, right? Wrong.

Familiar Shelter by Destielshipper4Cas [Teen, 8k words]

In a world where witches are supposed to stay away from familiars, Castiel runs a secret ‘familiar shelter’ to put witches in need in contact with familiars who can help them. When none of his familiars are free to help a new witch in town, Cas takes it upon himself to help the handsome stranger out. Except helping Dean is not as easy as he’d thought when he doesn’t even seem to realize that Cas is anything other than a cat. During the day, Dean keeps going back to the animal shelter to walk the dogs. (Because they need help and Dean is a nice guy, not because of the cute owner who keeps blushing so prettily when Dean is flirting with him.) At night, this strange cat keeps bothering him. How does it keep getting in and out of his house anyway?

late july by thanks_tacos [Explicit, 26k words]

‘I would like to take in your most abused one,’ Castiel says, looking at the rows of doors in the yellow corridor. 'Give him a good home.’ After his accident, Castiel needs someone to help him around the small brick house he lives in and the bookstore he owns. So, he adopts Dean; an omega who barely survived being dumped in a ditch and left for dead. Dean doesn’t talk, but that’s fine; they learn to live together in the quaint, rainy city surrounded by a green forest. Castiel just wants to give Dean a peaceful life he deserves, and maybe also - become his mate?

Willowsbend by miss_grey [Explicit, 51k words]

In the town of Willowsbend, the Supernatural police unit went by the name of Dean Winchester. Unfortunately for Dean, the Supernatural population of Willowsbend was zero. So Dean spent the majority of his time calming paranoid housewives when their pipes rattled and chasing off wildlife that over-zealous citizens were sure must be shifters. It’s a tiring job, full of false-starts and hysterical old ladies. It’s a rare day that Dean has to deal with anything truly Supernatural. That’s about to change, and it all begins with the arrival of one Castiel Novak.