#God is a scary story told to children so hey are never without guilt

[nylonnye2]

That's so fucking funny I've already decided god is going on the same list as the tooth fairy in my household and I don't even want kids

[presents-n-pistols]

𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞  𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧  𝐚  𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞  …  Jessica Claus / Jessie Kringle was  known  as  the  friendly  &  exciteable sheriff of the North Pole with  a  reputation  for  being  a  Alexandra Breckenridge  doppelganger  .   but  now  ,  under  the  stress  of  the  war  on  the  horizon  ,  the  natural  born  hero light practicing witch  has  become  widely  known  for  being  rather  mild-tempered &  rambunctious.   let’s  see  how  long  the  seasonal realms native  will  last  during  this  war  .   after  all  they’re  only forty  /  one thousand, seven hundred and forty-nine years old .   +  she/her  &  cismale  ,  oc

Hey guys it’s jer again. Third character incoming, and surely not the last. I’ve got the fever for more cowbell. Below you can find Mrs. North’s full extensive bio, but I’ll go ahead and sum it up above the cut unless no one chooses to read:

It’s Jessica Claus Kringle North, but Ma’am works great. She also responds well to gumdrop depending on how ryan reynolds the voice sounds.

She’s spitfire in a glass mug, served with a splash of milk and warm cookies

She was born with the biggest motherly bone that just so happens to be the heart that she wears on her sleeve.

She’s a witch farm girl, entirely scared of her powers..

She’s the sheriff of the North Pole, and will literally whip out a pistol to protect her husband. Sometimes, she’s a little hasty about this and knows this, so she’ll apologize with a warm plate of cookies.

PERSONALITY

She’s a friendly, excitable cowgirl, and thrives on love. She is sassy, sweet, cute, athletic, and has a habit of speaking loudly when she is happy or excited. She is a philanthropist and humanitarian who is deeply concerned for the children of the world. Her broad outlook on life has always allowed her to see the bigger picture and too often has caused her to stubbornly shy away from minute details. She has a romantic personality that focuses more on her dreams and ambitions instead.

She cam become timid, uncertain, and ungrateful putting the blame for her troubles on others instead of realizing that they are her own. She is extremely stubborn and never backs down from a fight. She is always right, even when she’s wrong and she’ll refuse to speak to you until you tell her you were wrong. She can be quite argumentative when she’s passionate about things, and she’s not afraid to threaten anyone twice her size.

POWERS

Species: Light Practicing Pagan Witch. Pagan witches were known to have worshipped the old gods and derived their power from them. Jessie’s hometown was known to

Abilities:

Enchantment: The power to imbue a person or object with a magical capability.

Spell Casting: The power to change, manipulate and control objects, events, actions and phenomena through the use of incantations, commands, rituals, gestures or pure sheer force of will.

Warding: The power to place protection spells and wards on places and people, shielding them from harm or danger.

Portal Opening: The power to open a portal to another dimension.

AESTHETICS

a toasty winter fire in a cozy cabin on the ranch

snow flurries atop a warm bundle of fiery red hair

the smells of cinnamon, sugar, and 

chocolate coming from three separate ovens in a kitchen.

fancy doily aprons clashing with leather cowboy boots

the prettiest handwriting you've ever seen on letters stamped with love

sugar coated kisses, and chesnut roasted hugs

convienently placed mistletoe around every corner of the house

the lights of christmas spirit all year round

rosey cheeks and red tipped noses to match a perfectly placed red bandana

messages of devotion written in snow

a single barrel pointed at you if you forget your manners

a snow fort to protect the cattle just in case the snowball fight gets to rowdy

sounds of jingle bells from studds in boots

friendship that lasts longer than a cow hitch

a sheriff's badge a Colt Dragoon a spellbook and a cookbook all resting on the same shelf

HCS

She's the world's biggest pen pal, because sometimes she writes letters to children in Santa's name.

She’s the Sheriff of the North Pole and wears that badge proudly.

She’s an excellent homemaker, and big on superfoods. This year it’s Kale, last year it was quinoa, and the year before? Beets. 

She doesn’t trust the elves, and often blames anything she can on them.

She is constantly bringing reindeer home to their ranch that’s nearly overrun with cattle.

She tried teaching in the North Pole, for only a few years, though she didn’t have the patience for her students, the Yeti’s. 

She’s still scared of her magic, and only uses it when her husband is in close proximity.

She exudes toughness and is one to lay out the law plainly, but breaks her own rules for her loved ones.

She is horribly claustrophobic

She always wears bandanas. 

BIOGRAPHY

Her father was a religious man with a prodigal daughter. 

She was born with a mark that she was forced to cover up since she could remember. It was an 8 pointed star splattered on her skin in a gray ash color just below her jaw on the right side of her face. Even as a toddler the bandanas and scarves she went through irritated her skin, and made her mark feel bigger than it was. 

The first time Jessie ever used magic, she was in her late teens. It was on accident. It felt suppressed. It surprised her and everyone around her. It scared her. It felt both unnatural, yet oddly familiar, as if it was something she had within all along. It was something she felt in her heart. It was a secret guilt hidden behind every smile that was reflected towards her father. 

When his wife passed away, he thought his family would slip apart. He didn’t mean to make it so that his 8 year old daughter would piece them back together. She  tried her hardest to tend to the stables, when her father drank his pain away.  She tried her best at sewing and knitting when her brothers outgrew of their clothes. She cooked nice and warm home cooked meals for the men in her family so they wouldn’t starve over the last piece of bread from the bakery.  She learned to bake for survival. She learned to pick frowns from chins and turn them upside down. She learned how to hold a pistol to any intruder, and often did so when her father would come home in drunken fits without a penny to his name. She quit school, and became the conglomerate of every household task her late mother left behind. Despite trying so hard, she feared that she was never good enough to take that role.

She feared leaving her family, and their small little farm. 

At the tiny age of 17, those ideals had all changed. She was in love, well, she had been in love ( since, well, she couldn’t hecking remember when ) but she’d declared that it was the love she could finally accept. It was a love she would  return despite the guilt of leaving her siblings behind with their abusive father.

She was in love with the strange boy with pointy ears, fairy wings, and a magical smile that only she was able to see, and she wanted to do as he asked and spend the rest of her life with him and their unborn child.  She wanted to protect that boy, she wanted to laugh with him, and she wanted to feel safe with him always. She made a promise to him, to always be there when he needed catching even if it was from the highest tree. 

So she’d tucked her brothers into bed, told them one final story about the nice man who wold leave them presents under the pine tree if they said their final prayers every night before bed. 

She thought her father was oblivious to her escape, but that was a tender dream that turned into a horrible reality.  Her father had his own opinions about the boy. Her father protested. He believed Kris Kringle was a product of evil, and he thought that the boy was poisoning his little girl. He didn’t ever conclude that they’d fallen in love, were on their way to elope, nor would he ever wrap his head around a grandchild that he could never want.

Jessie faced betrayal for the first time that night, in herself.

She didn’t mean for it to happen. She could have sworn that she’d placed the single barrel Colt revolver on the highest shelf out of reach. She could have sworn it was unloaded, even as it was pointed at Kris.  She tried to reason on his behalf, and she tried to remain calm. She thought she was protecting her new family, but instead wounded her old one. Her father pulled the trigger, aimed it between her lover’s eyes, yet received the bullet in his own shoulder. It was magic, and for once, her father knew it wasn’t fae magic. 

Jessie’s arm extended before him, a magical barrier caused the bullet to ricochet and hit her father instead. They were all stunned as the scarlet billows painted the snow at her father’s boots.

The couple made their escape as her father’s bicep bled out, but it was the final choice she’d have to choose in picking her husband over her family. She could hear her father’s calls in the dead of the night, “ Witch” days after.

They found a cabin. They lived happily. 

She gave birth to their little girl, Noelle, and with the help of her new husband she learned to control her magic. Kris taught her how to love the ugly, and scary parts of herself, and she returned the favor. Noelle’s laughter was the hope and warmth they needed to survive those harsh winters in their cozy new home. All was right and bright until it wasn’t.

The hardest winter came with a mob three years later. Her husband hadn’t come home. Noelle lay fast asleep as Jessie peaked through heavily curtained windows in the cabin. Until she saw the pitchforks and torches. The familiar faces of her brothers and father led the angered group of citizens into her home. She watched them tear about her new belongings, as she clutched onto her daughter for safety. She pressed soft palms into her daughter’s ears as they’d explained what they did to her husband. She covered Noelle’s eyes, as they let her burn to a crisp. She squeezed her daughter in her arms as they took away what was left of her hope. She cried tears of grief as Noelle suggested she’d seen Daddy on the way to her old home. 

She was locked away for months.

Jessie’s father thought that if she repented in her darkness she would be cured and cleansed from the evil that lurked in her blood. He locked her away, and kept her child from her. He prayed with his daughter, for her and to her until Jessie found herself mindlessly muttering those same prayers back. It was working, her father would explain with a smile on his face in between supervised visits with Noelle.

Jessie would smile and nod, though, she knew in her heart they were silent prayers for her daughter’s safety and peace for her late husband. It was working well in her mind too, in an odd way. Tucking her daughter’s red locks behind her hair, she agreed to the baptism.

It was a hot summer. She remembered feeling as if her hair had set fire. Despite how thin her garment was she felt as if she were sweating. Her red haired braids felt frizzy against the hot dry air. She was told would rise from the waters a clean and pure woman. Her soul, along with baby Noelle’s would be cleansed, but she was hardly given a chance.

When she floated in the water everything changed. Eyes of horror witnessed and accused her of renouncing her baptism and entering the Devil’s service. She was held down by her arms, and sentenced by her own father to drown in that lake. She yelled for her daughter, she yelled for Kris. She shrieked in fear as her life was taken from her. Her final sight, however, was a blessing from the god’s. She watched her daughter turn away from the horror’s lead by her husband. 

The man in the moon saved her.

Or at least that’s what she’s lead to believe. He’d saved her husband, Kris. He’d saved many others. And while she couldn’t feel fully saved without any knowledge of her daughter’s whereabouts it was good enough.  She didn’t have any memory of an afterlife. She had no recollection of how much time she’d spent in that water. She didn’t know where her daughter was, but she knew to follow a star that matched her birthmark, north.

She found her husband by following a trail of wooden carved toys. She found her light, her happiness, and her meaning. 

The North Star led her way to that ranch. She was shivering, cold, and nearly discarded, but she’d felt more alive than ever as she ran into her husband’s arms. 

She lives comfortably in her home, on her ranch, with plenty of reindeer, yetis and elves. She helps spread the Christmas cheer with North. She wishes to protect her new family, find her daughter, and make sure everyone still has that hope in their hearts.

RESOURCES

https://riverdale.fandom.com/wiki/Witch

https://christmas-specials.fandom.com/wiki/Jessica_Claus

https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/annie-oakley

ADDITIONAL LINKS

https://www.pinterest.com/latinkesha/ch-bazooka-jane/

[statementends]

Prompt! Gerry is the one that slapped the book out of bby!Jon's hands

I know you don’t want Gerry as spider food, so let’s get this going.

Characters: Gerard, JonAO3: LinkPairing: None, Gerard & JonWarnings: Web typicalSummary: Gerard might claim he’s not the type to take care of strays but…

Wasn’t a whole lot in Bournemouth, surprising absolutely no one. Lots of beaches. Gerard lit a cigarette. It was nice to catch a moment alone. His mother was meeting an ‘old friend.’ She invited him along of course, but oops. They got seperated.

Not entirely by accident. Obviously.

He turned up the volume of his headphones and leaned back on the park bench. There wasn’t really anyone around to tell him off for smoking. Just a small boy engrossed in a book on the bench opposite and an older teen subtly graffiting a wall near the play area.

Gerard rolled his eyes at that. Really didn’t have anything better to do. Not that he cared about mundane laws and rules, but the teen was drawing dicks, not raging against anything. What a waste of energy…

His eyes skimmed back to the boy.

He wasn’t sure what exactly it was. Maybe the stiffness. Maybe the fear just visible in the eyes, maybe he was just used to seeing people in the lull of a Leitner.

“Shiiiiit.” He dropped his cigarette and bolted to the other side of the park. The boy hesitantly started raising his hand as if to knock on a door. Gerard used the only thing he had, his tape player which he slammed at the book in the boy’s hands making it fall to the ground. The tape player went with it, there was an awful crunch as it hit. Fuck. He had saved for that.

He grabbed at the boy’s shoulder before he could try to retrieve the book.

“Oi,” he pulled his useless headphones down.

“That’s my book,” the boy’s voice was stilted. Fuck, the Web. Gerard got a firmer grip and pulled. The boy was still trying to reach at it.

“Where the hell does a little kid get a Leitner??” He asked no one. The commotion drew the attention of the older teen who headed towards them. Christ. He tried to get to his lighter without letting go of the kid, but for a beansprout he was awfully determined. His hand was still in a fist outstretched trying desperately to touch the book again.

“You do not want the spiders to get you, snap out of it.”

“Hey, what are you doing?” The teen asked. He seemed unsure. There was unpleasant recognition on his face towards the small boy, but he didn’t know where Gerard fit in. He scanned them and then slowly down at the book on the ground. He looked amused. A nasty sort of smile.

“Little Einstein reading kiddie books?” He was obviously referring to Beansprout. He leaned down towards the Leitner.

“Don’t touch it!” Gerard warned.  The older teen didn’t hesitate. He scooped it up. His face went blank. He opened the book to the beginning.

“Damn it!”

Beanpole seemed to come out of it. He stopped struggling. Gerard let him go.

“That’s mine!” he protested still. The bully easily swatted him away and started walking.

“What’s happening?” Beansprout finally looked up at him. The kid was small, all angles. “He’s taking my book!” He added, a bit demanding as if he expected Gerard to do something about that fact.

“You don’t want that book,” Gerard told him firmly knowing it wouldn’t be much help. Even released the web still had it’s sticky threads in the boy. What  started needed to finish. The boy looked between him and the Bully and started running after the Bully.

Gerard sighed. The kid was easy enough, but a struggle with the bigger guy wouldn’t go easy. It was obviously a strong compulsion and if he got tangled…

His mother would say to leave it and not worry about strays. If they were weak enough to get trapped then so be it… but then, his mother would also want him to watch, see how it worked. Get the book if possible.

He sighed again. He had just wanted a smoke and alone time.

He followed after Beanpole as he followed after the Bully. The Bully was completely unaware that he was being followed nose stuck in the children’s book.

Gerard felt a bit queasy not for the first time wondering if the Books created themselves, or if some sick fuck had actually made a children’s storybook a nightmare.

The boy couldn’t be more than ten, but he seemed confident walking the streets by himself, even without the compulsion. He looked back at Gerard and hesitantly slowed down. His eyes looked clear now.

“You should go home,” Gerard told him.

“…Yes… but…” Beansprout wavered unsure of himself for a moment. “I…it’s pulling me… but I also…I want to know what’s happening.”

Gerard felt a shiver down his spine, the feeling of a hundred eyes on him all at once before the feeling faded.

“That will not make you feel better,” Gerard warned. “It’ll make it worse.”

The kid stubbornly shook his head. “I know… but… not knowing is worse.”

If the child was very lucky this would be his only encounter with the real world. The world of shadows and fear and monsters.

Those large dark eyes told a different story though. God, he sort of reminded him of his mother. A bit more likable–well… only because he didn’t know better.

“What’s your name?”

“Jon. What’s yours?”

“Gerard.”

They walked silently and eventually came to a suburban street. It could be anywhere in any town. He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder and pulled him to a stop.

“You should close your eyes.” He told him.

The Bully placed the book on the door and raised his fist.

Jon didn’t.

They both watched, unblinking as long hairy limbs snatched the Bully and yanked him into the house. The door slammed.

Jon gave a little cry of shock, shaking violently any calm he had had, gone. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but didn’t want to leave the safety of Gerard’s side.

“Mr. Spider,” He whispered, terrified. “That can’t be real.”

Gerard stared at the house. Through the window he saw a normal couple chatting. He doubted the door lead to the Spider’s lair anymore. The book was gone, at least for now.

He looked down, realizing Jon was clinging to his hand.

“What was that?” the kid demanded.

He should be kind. Tell him it was some sort of horrible joke, or a figment of his imagination, or that he was drugged or something, but he felt certain that the boy wouldn’t accept any kind lie he’d come up with.

“A monster,” He told him simply. “…sorry.”

The boy’s grip tightened, although he seemed to be trying to calm himself down. Trying to act braver than he was.

“Monster’s don’t exist,” The boy lied, knowing it wasn’t true but saying it anyway.

“If that comforts you then, sure,” Gerard allowed. He didn’t pull his hand away, although he sort of wanted it back. He wasn’t a babysitter.

But… well… the amount of times he wished someone would hold his hand after seeing some of the things his mother introduced him to…

Well… there was no harm in it.

He gently tugged and Jon allowed himself to be lead away from the little house.

“Are… are there other books like that?” Jon asked after a while. He had let go, but was still trailing after Gerard. Gerard took out a cigarette and took a drag.

“Yeah.”

“I like books.” Jon sounded betrayed.

“The bad ones are labeled. The Library of Jurgen Leitner. They’re rare. If you ever see that label you drop it and run the other direction.” No need to tell him about the objects or the entities. Let him think it’s just haunted books.

“You’ve seen them before. That’s how you knew to save me.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you …” Jon trailed off.

“You’re tiny. He wasn’t. There was nothing I could have done… either of us could have done.” Gerard added noticing the pensive look on the ten-year-old’s face.

“He’s mean… he doesn’t like how smart I am,” Jon said, almost to himself. Gerard snorted quietly. Not that messing with a kid half his size was right or anything, but Jon probably had more to blame than his smarts. His questioning alone was sort of annoying–well… Gerard didn’t really mind it. It was sort of nice. Usually people freak out more. Jon seemed to internalize it. Maybe he felt safe with Gerard and would break down when he was finally safe and sound at home.

But… yeah. Nice to talk about it with someone else just as freaked out as he felt deep down inside. With someone who knew it would be awful, but couldn’t look away either.

“He … I thought unkind things about him… I wished he’d get hurt,” Jon was sounding more upset. “I didn’t mean anything like that.”

Gerard stopped and crouched down to be level with Jon. “Hey. No bad wishes come

true. I’ve seen lots of shit and I can tell you that much. Wishing assholes ill doesn’t make you bad. Just means they’re assholes. I warned him, he didn’t listen. That’s what happened.”

“But I–”

“You got caught in a trap you weren’t supposed to escape from. Blame Jurgen Leitner.”

He wouldn’t take it to heart. The guilt was seeping in. It was worth trying. He stood. Jon forcefully took his hand again without meeting his eyes.

“Where am I dropping you off? Back at the park?”

“I want to know more.”

“You really, really don’t.”

“I do,” Jon argued. “I want to know what you know.

“Do you really?”

Jon nodded.

“Why?”

“…I know it will be bad… the knowing,” Jon said slowly. “It’ll probably make me even more scared…I… but… not knowing is worse! It just is. Please tell me!”

God, this kid was Monster bait. Beholding more specifically, although the Web might seek him out later. He might have broken the web, but the pieces were still stuck to him.

It wasn’t really fair. There should be safety. Somewhere there should be safety. Someone that knows something. Some good entity that protects against the bad ones.

But there wasn’t. It was just a cold dark scary world. Gerard had never met anyone that wanted to help. His mother wanted to learn, wanted power, and maybe that was sort of a protection, but… well… Gerard wasn’t naive. He couldn’t afford to be. Everyone in this life wanted power.

Maybe he had to be the one that wanted to help. No one else was doing it.

They arrived at the park. Jon was still clinging on to his hand, about to protest.

“I don’t live around here.” Gerard told him. “I live in Morden.”

“I could bus there.”

Gerard gave him a pained look. “You’re ten.” What a pain in the ass. “I’m going to give you my address. If you ever visit I will absolutely not let you in, but you can write me.”

“Like penpals?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes. Like penpals. But only if you promise not to visit. If you do I’ll stop telling you things.”

“But you will.”

“Yes, if you promise not to come.”

Jon hesitated. “Okay.” He awkwardly shook the hand he was already holding, let go, and stepped back. “Thank you Gerard.”

“Gerry,” Gerard said awkwardly. “Call me Gerry.”

Jon gave a tiny smile at that. “Okay, Gerry.”

It was weird. This was weird. The kid was five or six years younger than him, but… well he never had a penpal before. They weren’t friends. This was more of an… apprenticeship? Fuck this was a terrible idea. Jon looked less shaky though so that was something.

“You alright to get home?”

Jon nodded. “I know the way… will… will the spider come back?”

“No,” Gerard lied, forcing himself to sound certain. He had no idea. He just knew Jon was like him…

And frankly being him sucked.

He wrote down the address carefully and handed it over. Jon looked at it and then carefully folded it placing it in his pocket.

“… Thank you, Gerry…” Jon said awkwardly. “I… thank you for… for saving me.”

Gerard ruffled his hair. Jon grimace and corrected it. Gerard laughed.

[dontshootmespence]

Supernatural AU: Episode 1 - Born to Fire

Part 1 

I’m a big fan of books when I don’t have to pour over hours and hours of lore. Emerson and Shakespeare are two of my favorites. Actually, Emerson once said “the only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” Tell that to whatever cosmic entity fucked up the lives of my brothers and me. We keep deciding and ‘they’ keep knocking us off the path we ride.

Ask Sam and he’d tell you he’d make his own destiny. No one was in control but him. Ask Dean and he’d tell you destiny was bullshit.

Me on the other hand? I had to believe my brothers and I, our family, was destined for this. Whatever this even is. Otherwise I’d have no other way to justify the years of unrelenting anguish. Losing Mom. Losing Dad. Heaven. Hell. Torture. Separation. Loneliness. Guilt. So much fucking guilt. If it was destiny, it was palatable – at least for me, but without the drive of destiny behind all this…I would’ve put a bullet in my brain long ago. Boy do I wish we could go back to the good ol’ days. You know, your typical vampires, ghouls, ghosts and werewolves?

Then again, life has never been typical for us and our childhoods were lost before we’d even hit double digits. Again, if this wasn’t destiny, if this was all just happening and we have no say in anything at all, I’ll eat the butt of a gun.

I know the kind of person I want to be, but something about all this seems a little too out of my control. 

                                                           ------

November 1981

“Should we say goodnight to Sammy?” Mary asked with her fingers clasped lightly around Bobbie’s hand. The young girl pulled away and carefully but quickly climbed into the crib to place a kiss on her littlest brother’s head. He’d only been here for six months, but everyone, even the neighbors they barely spoke with could see that the five-year-old girl would already do anything for him. She was a little mother-in-training. That wasn’t to say that Dean wouldn’t do the same. He was hovering around the littlest Winchester almost as much as Mary and his older sister.

With his mother’s help, Dean leaned into the mahogany crib and pecked the top of his baby brother’s head. “Goodnight, Sammy. Love you.”

Although it took another hour, promises to take them to the park in the morning and three bedtime stories, which Bobbie and Dean fought about of course, Mary finally got her eldest two to sleep. With the kids down for the night, she was able to go sleep herself (thankfully, so necessary), waking up just hours later to the white noise from the TV downstairs mixed with the rustling of Sam’s baby monitor. How had parents survived before baby monitors?

“John?” Mary was in bed alone again. He never had been able to sleep well. It was a perfect night, cool but not cold, no wind whatsoever – only the slight rumbling of thunder far off in the distance. A little abnormal for a November night actually. There was no reason he shouldn’t have been able to sleep, but that’s how he’d always been.

As she slipped out of the bedroom, sleep still heavy in her eyes she saw a flicker of light. At the end of the hallway, the light was flaring on and off. This house wasn’t all that old and they’d just recently replaced the light bulbs so she found it a bit odd. Some poking and prodding turned the light steady, but before she could go and find John, she got distracted by a sound coming from Sam’s room.

When she opened the door, she saw her worst fear realized.

                                                            ------

Downstairs, John awoke to an ear-piercing scream in the direction of Sam’s room, but when he went to find his wife, she was nowhere to be found. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly, touching the top of the peaceful infant’s head. For a moment, he looked around for Mary before turning his attention back to his third, and final (definitely final, he was getting too old for this) child.

A small drop thudded onto the crib beside Sam’s head. It was liquid of some kind and was seeping into the sheets. Seriously? Was there already a leak in this roof?

“What?” John asked aloud as his finger dragged across the drop and the copper smell began to fill his nostrils. A pit formed in his stomach as he looked up to see Mary pinned to the ceiling, a gash across her stomach and blood staining her flowing, white nightgown. “Mary!”

Before he could process anything, fire began to bloom around her body; she was petrified in place but was all too aware of what was happening to her. He could see it in her eyes - the fear, the uncertainty, the guilt. Why guilt? An inherited family trait it seemed. Quickly, he turned toward the crib and grabbed Sam, running down the hallway to get his other two children to safety.

“Daddy!” Bobbie called. The little girl had bolted upright the second her mother had screamed. Dean followed closely behind, bewildered by the frightened look plastering his father’s face. His father was never scared. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

Without a second thought, John shoved the six-month old into Bobbie’s arms. “Take your brothers outside as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Now, Bobbie!”

She bolted down the stairs, gripping tightly onto her baby brother while glancing back over and over again to ensure Dean was still there. Her father was trusting her. She had to make sure the boys were safe. That was her job. “Bobbie, Mom and Dad?” Dean asked focusing his gaze on the steps as they moved toward the door and out into the cool November night. In his short little lifetime, he’d never seen his father or his sister more scared.

He stopped in his tracks for a second and searched for either of their parents before Bobbie grabbed him by the collar of his pajama shirt and dragged him outside. “I don’t know, but we have to go!” It was the moment her innocence was lost and she was forced to grow up before her time.

Once outside, Bobbie and Dean stopped again and stared up at the house, jarred forward when John came running up behind them. “Move!”

It was just in time. The force of the explosion propelled the family toward the front of the lawn. It was probably for the best that the children didn’t see the horror unfold. They could remember what the house looked like, what their mother…

John however looked back in horror. His wife. His home. Both gone.

“Where’s Mommy?” Dean asked. His eyes were resting on Sam who was still resting somewhat peacefully in his sister’s arms.

“She’s dead,” Bobbie said softly, taking John off guard, before she burst into tears. “Mommy’s gone!” As a neighbor emerged from next door, Bobbie ripped the cross necklace off her collarbone, threw it on the cement and ran to him. She couldn’t look at her father; he’d told her that God would watch over them and keep them safe. God was nowhere around their house. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be. The God her parents had described wouldn’t have let this happen.

Three-year-old Dean had no idea what Bobbie really meant. Mom would be back in a while. He just knew it. “Where did Mommy go? Why did she leave?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” John said, his hand shaking as he held it to his mouth. “I…I don’t know.”

                                                           ------

Present Day – 2002

“Don’t you dare sit your vamp gut covered ass in my beautiful Baby,” Dean yelled, his voice carrying through the grove of trees as Bobbie made her way toward the decades-old Impala. It was a thing of beauty, passed down to Dean, the car-lover of the three of them, but they were still no closer to finding John and after taking out a small nest of vampires on the California-Nevada border, they desperately needed a shower and a few hours sleep before heading out to get Sam at Stanford…hopefully. They really did need the extra pair of eyes.

Turning back, Bobbie sing-songed. “Oh looooook! I’m sitting down in the car! I’m covered in vamp guts. Oh, no, Baby’s gonna get so dirty.” Teasing Dean about the car was so much fun. It was astounding how much he loved this car and how he expected it to stay clean and safe and pretty given their line of work. As Dean stared her down, she flashed the cheesiest smile at him pointing at the dimples she’d never seemed to be able to lose.

In mock anger, Dean threw the car door open, silently apologizing to his one true love when the door bounced back and hit him in the ass. “I should kill you for defiling my Baby… Ass.”

“Bitch. I’d like to see you try.”

                                                           ------

Hours after checking into their crappy motel, the two elder Winchesters checked out, showered and as well rested as they were ever going to be. “You look like hell,” Dean said sarcastically as they got into the car. The beds were like cardboard and there was a couple next door that really needed to keep that shit at home. No sleep was had.

“Aww. You’re one of the sweetest little brothers anyone could ask for,” she replied, her tight –lipped smile causing Dean to snort. “I slept like shit.” She was surprised he’d actually slept, given the noise next door, but then it occurred to her that there were a few extra bottles of beer on the nightstand this morning. Apparently, he’d knocked himself out.

“Same nightmare?”

She spoke softly, almost drowned out by the roar of Baby’s engine and the gravel under her wheels. “Yea, both of them though.”

One was of the night their mother died. That much Dean knew. However, Bobbie had never shared the other with him and he knew better than to ask. She was open with him, almost to a fault and his annoyance. If she didn’t want to talk about it, there was a reason why and he didn’t want to press it. Plus, she was scary when she was pissy.

For nearly 40 miles, they sat in silence. It was hard to forget the things they went through –at least entirely. Actually, to forget it entirely was impossible, but zoning out on the open road ahead of them or the skyline of whatever city they happened to be passing through helped them to drown out the incessant noise in their heads for awhile. It was obvious to both that the other was thinking about something - something not all together pleasant – but it was Dean who broke the silence. This is why he blasted music. Silence left too much room for running thoughts, but after a mission or a case or whatever you wanted to call it Bobbie insisted on some quiet. “Why us?”

There couldn’t be a bigger question. It was always in the back of their minds but only after large swathes of silence did one of them ask the all-important inquiry. The silence took away the filter on their brains for some reason. “I don’t know, but I say it’s fate.”

“You believe in fate and destiny and all that crap?” Dean asked in surprise, shoving a slightly melted candy bar into his mouth. Bobbie was so grounded in reality, so good at getting the job done each and every time that it seemed out of the realm of reason for her to believe in something so indefinable as destiny.

Shrugging, she faced her brother, who was of course driving the car because god forbid anyone else put their hands on Baby’s wheel. She could’ve commented on the chocolate he was getting on the wheel, speaking of defiling, but she didn’t have the energy for it. “I have to Dean. If I don’t, my head gets more fucked up than it already is. If what happened to us plays some part in some bigger plan, then I can make sense of it.”

“How? How does Mom dying in the middle of the night engulfed in flames and plastered to the ceiling make sense?”

She started kneading the side of her head with her knuckle, feeling another migraine coming on. “It doesn’t, but if what happened back then leads to something else, then my brain has a course to follow. A stupid course, a totally not fair course, but there’s a path. It’s fixed in that way in my head, so in my own way I can make sense of it. If I can’t make sense of it, then I put a bullet in my brain.”

Dean nearly slammed the brakes as they came to the red light. Oops. She did tend to say things she shouldn’t, overshare if you will, when she was in pain and tired. The cranky ramblings of a deranged hunter are what she tended to call it. “You’ve…?” He asked shakily, unable to keep his voice steady. She was his rock; the thought that she’d wanted to check out even just once made him anxious.

“Thought about blowing my brains out?” She asked. “With what we’ve gone through and what we do is that really a surprise to you?”

He cocked an eyebrow as he thought about it. It was understandable. They’d been through more bullshit in less than 30 years than most did in their entire lives, but in his mind, he’d just drink and whore himself to death eventually. Or go out in a bloody battle. One or the other. Probably one after the other. “I guess not.” In an instant everything Dean thought he knew about his sister was turned on its head. “So why us. If we were destined for this, which I think is bullshit by the way, why us?”

Nearly every second of every day had been spent trying to figure that out. “I don’t know, but the Winchesters were born to fire, Dean. I’m sure of it.“

                                                           ------

A/N: I hope you like Bobbie as much as I already love her. There’s so much more in store. If you want to be added to the taglist, go here and like the post.

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[spn-ficfanatic]

The One That Got Away

Words : 3894... oops Genre: Angst Prompt: “There’s no way I’m going in there, not alive” (bolded in the story) Pairings: Not written with a pairing in mind, however if you squint really hard you could potentially see this as Dean x Reader Warnings: Some swearing, character death (permanent or temporary? Read on to find out!)

A/N/: written for @cass-trash ’​s 1000 followers challenge... congratulations and thank you for all the wonderful fics!! “Mistakes Are Made” is one of my favorite series’ at the moment and highly recommended to all my followers. Here’s her binge worthy Masterlist! xx

A/N the 2nd at the bottom of the story ;)

The guys are going to kill me for this, you thought glumly as you drove down the highway. It wasn't your style to sneak out of the bunker in the middle of the night, but the last thing you wanted was Sam and Dean joining you on this hunt... your hunt. You'd been trying to find this demon half your life and finally, FINALLY you had a lead and you weren't giving it up. This wasn't a run-in-guns-blazing deal, it was one-on-one and you knew if either of the guys knew what killing this thing entailed there was no way they'd let you do it. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel and turned up the radio, desperate to ignore the guilt niggling at the base of your skull.

You groaned as someone knocked at the door. You were positive you’d turned off your phone’s GPS so had no idea how the guys had tracked you down, and sure enough when you opened the door you were greeted with their angry faces. You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe, trying to act casual to lighten the mood.

“Well hey grumpy bums, what’s crack-a-lacking?” you asked, and immediately cringed. “God, sorry, that was terrible. Never saying that again.”

“What the hell Y/N?” growled Dean. You stepped back as he pushed himself into the room, glaring at you as he counted off his fingers. “You don’t just run off without telling us! You don’t turn off your GPS! You DON’T just leave a note for us saying “sorry guys, back soon”! And you absolutely 100% do not ignore our calls!”

While Dean was losing his cool Sam had taken a seat at the dining table, and was currently sifting through your papers and notes.

“Sam, can you not-” You started before he cut you off.

“No deal,” he snapped angrily as he put his head back down and continued reading, while Dean continued standing in the same spot as before, hands on hips and face bright red. You rolled your eyes and tilted your head toward him.

“OK, deep breaths Dean. Count to three, I hear that works,” you told him sarcastically.

“Shaddap” he exclaimed, before joining Sam at the table and your notes.

“Look guys I’m sorry, I really am. But this hunt? It’s mine. I don’t want your help on this.”

“Why not?” Sam asked a bit calmer, looking up at you, with genuine hurt in his voice. Before they could read any further, to parts you didn’t want them seeing, you pulled your notes out from under their noses. You were grateful they let you, and as you put them on your bed you sighed.

“Because this is the thing that killed my sister,” you said quietly. Dean and Sam fell silent, allowing you the chance to explain.

“I saw a news report in the paper yesterday. Family’s infant daughter and toddler killed in the same way as Y/S/N. It could have been anything but I had to investigate. So once I was settled I went straight to the coroner’s and what I saw confirmed it. It’s the same demon.”

“You never told us how she died,” Sam commented quietly. “I just saw the report from the coroner, the pictures. You didn’t tell us what happened, how you found her. That must have been… Jesus.” He ran his hand through his hair at the thought. He wasn’t wrong, the things this demon did to the children before he killed them was beyond brutal. You’d been hunting as soon as you turned 16 and in all that time you’d never come across anything as close to horrific as what you saw the night your sister died.

“So how do we gank this thing?” Dean asked, considerably more together than he was before and as anxious to finish this as you.

“WE don’t do anything. You go back to the bunker and let me finish this,” you told them firmly. They both scoffed.

“And how exactly do you plan to stop us tagging along?” Sam asked with a smirk and raised eyebrow.

“You may both be freakishly tall and intimidating but…” you started, stopping though once you realised you didn’t know how to finish that sentence. You stood there, staring at them like a fricking goldfish.

“Yes?” Dean asked.

“Yer, I got nothing,” you relented, flopping down on the bed and covering your eyes with your arm.

“S’what I thought,” he replied, grabbing your jacket and handing it out to you.

---------

The drive to the house was mostly spent in silence, with you refusing to give up much more than the basics of how to kill it… a simple incantation. You hadn’t yet checked out the house; a little recon was the next step in your hunt so it made sense to bring them along. This would be the best time to explain everything, you’d decided. Stepping out of the Impala you all admired the house, and as you started moving up the front steps with the guys close behind there was a sudden loud shriek, making you jump. Sam shouted and you felt strong arms grab your shoulders and pull you back just as a nearby flowerpot flew past your head, while all the shutters violently slammed shut. You all stood silently for a moment, before you cleared your throat.

“Well, I guess this is definitely the house,” you said nervously.

“No kidding, that damn tulip nearly took your head off,” Dean barked angrily.

“Can’t wait to get this over with,” you replied quietly.

“Uh … no. Change of plan, you are NOT going in there,” he growled in response.

 “You’re right,” you replied calmly, looking up at the house and refusing to meet his gaze. Now or never, you thought. “There’s no way I’m going in there, not alive anyway”.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam replied, with a growl to challenge his brother’s. You sighed, and finally turned to face them.

“Look, it’s obvious from your scary growls and death glares that you guys won’t like this, but there’s more to the incantation than I told you. The demon is strong and fast; the chant will kill it but…. it has to be said from the Astral plane. And the only way to GET to the Astral plane is-”

“No,” Sam and Dean simultaneously cut you off.

“Guys, I appreciate the concern. But now that you’re here one of us has to do this and it can’t be either of you. You know what Billie said, she is itching to get her claws into you and the second your heart stops beating she’ll make sure it doesn’t restart. I’m not in her bad books, you have a shot to bring me back.”

“OK, let’s for a second pretend you’re right and this is the only way,” said Dean, his arms crossed. “You want us to kill you, so you can go inside as essentially a ghost and do your mumbo-jumbo crap? And then it’s up to us to revive you? Will that even work?” He tilted his head to Sam on the latter question, not entirely sure he’d believe any answer you’d give him at that stage. Sam sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, the other on his hip.

“In theory yes, but you’d only have 4 minutes before we’d have to start CPR. After that you’re looking at brain damage and the high probability that we can’t get you back.”

“That’s great, I’d only need 2.”

“And we won’t know whether you killed it. The second that timer hits 4 minutes we start and when, WHEN, you’re back you don’t do this again. We find another way.”

“Fair enough,” you replied, unable to hide your grin as you saw Sam slowly give into the idea. Dean was always more stubborn than his brother though…

“Woah ok, I gave you a second of pretending this is the only way. Now we go back to “this is stupid and insane and you’re not doing it”” Dean yelled, pointing his finger at you.

“The hell I’m not Dean! We can’t let this thing kill any more kids. And besides, this is my demon, not yours! I’ll kill this bastard with or without your help.”

“Yer about that,” Sam interjected. “How were you planning to do this alone?”

You shrugged, looking at your feet. “I found a serum that stops my heart. Was going to call an ambulance before I drank it, pretending I’m a bystander, get an ETA and time it right for when they got here.”

“And you really think your mom would want to see this demon dead even if it meant killing yourself to do it?” Dean jumped in.

“Then I guess you’d better not let me die then!” you snapped back, and turned on your heels back to the Impala effectively ending the conversation.

With a sigh Sam patted Dean on the back and followed you back to Baby, while Dean kicked a nearby rock in frustration.

----------

2 hours later you were nervously exiting the Impala again, trying to keep a straight face. If the guys knew you were this scared there was no way they’d agree to this, and you needed this to be over if you were ever going to move on. As you looked around you were grateful the house was tucked away from the rest of the town, it was going to make the process a whole lot less complicated. You watched as Sam pulled a red bag from out of the boot, raising a questioning eyebrow. He saw you and shifted nervously.

“It’s an AED. Just in case...” he trailed off, obviously not wishing to consider that outcome, and started walking down the path with Dean by his side.

“Thanks. Um, good to be prepared I guess,” you replied, skipping to catch up with them. “And um, guys? Thanks for this. I know it’s not going to be easy for you either.”

“Yer well, kill this thing and we’ll call it even,” Dean grumbled, stopping Sam and you at a flat grassy area by the front window. Even he couldn’t ignore the threat that loomed over this house, and after several unsuccessful attempts to stop the family coming back here the following day this really did turn out to be the only option.

You stopped at their side and watched Sam pull a vial from his pocket.

“That’s it then?” you asked, you voice quivering slightly. If they noticed, they had the decency not to say anything.

Dean rolled his eyes. “No, we thought a shot of tequila would calm our nerves,” he replied sarcastically.

“While you’re not wrong,” Sam said, glaring pointedly at Dean, “yes, this is the serum. Your heart will stop pretty much instantly.”

You reached out with a shaky hand, nodding and mouthing thank you.

“I can’t stress enough how much you don’t have to do this,” Sam said, lifting the vial slightly out of your reach.

“I know. But I need to,” you replied, holding out your hand. “I’m fricking dying, there’s no way I’m not nervous or scared about that. But I can’t let this thing kill another kid, I just can’t.” Your voice broke on the last word, and the guys knew your thoughts had drifted to your baby sister. Her death alone had destroyed your mom, and your dad’s suicide only 2 weeks after sent her spiralling into insanity. You hadn’t let on to anyone that she had gone mad, so you spent your childhood caring for her while trying to get an education. She died when you were 16 from a stroke, and as sad as that was it freed you up to do what you want to do… kill the thing that took away your life.

With a shuddering breath you took the vial and held it to your chin. You took one final look at the guys, eyes tearing up before offering them an encouraging smile. “See you on the other side,” you commented, before swigging the liquid.

-------

“Did that even work?” you asked, looking down at your hands. You had expected it to hurt a little, or to at least to get a bit dizzy. But here you were, standing tall and healthy like nothing was wrong. You raised your head and were surprised to see Sam and Dean on the ground, hovering over something. You swallowed hard and leaned over to get a better look, and while it shouldn’t have been surprising you couldn’t help but gasp as you stared at your own lifeless body.

As soon as you swallowed the vial you dropped like a stone, and Sam quickly caught you and lowered you gently to the ground. Dean felt for a pulse just to be sure, and shook his head slightly to Sam as confirmation. He hit the stopwatch he’d brought along, and kneeled by your body alongside Sam. Neither spoke… what was there to say? All they could do was wait.

“Right, so, that worked” you said to yourself. You heard a shriek and turned back to the house, suddenly remembering you were on the clock, and raced up the stairs. Another heavy flowerpot flew past your head and you laughed as it went straight through. “Damn straight asshole. Try what you like, you are MINE.”

You glided through the door with ease, hoping to see some sign of the demon right away. Was it too much to ask for it to just be sitting on the stairs waiting for you? “Why is it never easy?” you asked yourself glumly. Going on instinct, you headed up the stairs to where the children’s nursery was. Photo frames on the walls shattered as you passed, and flying glass aimed itself at your face, but you paid no mind as it passed through you as you ran toward your destination. You were so focused you didn’t hear the loud thumps coming from outside.

Another flower pot flew across the front steps, smashing on the sidewalk on the other side.

“Guess we know where Y/N is,” Dean commented glumly.

He looked back down at your still body, not liking how pale your skin had already become. He held onto the stopwatch like a lifeline… the second that thing hit 2 minutes he was starting, he didn’t care what Sam said. YOU said 2 minutes was all you needed so he was going to hold you to that. He glanced at Sam, who was holding your hand in his and staring intently at it rather than your face. He reached over and patted his back comfortingly, to which Sam looked up and smiled slightly. Neither wanted to be in this situation, but they were both glad you weren’t doing it alone like you originally planned.

It all happened too fast to avoid. They heard a low chuckle, and before either could comment they suddenly found themselves being flung back from your body. Sam watched in alarm as Dean hit the side of the house, slumping into an unmoving heap in the flowerbed. Sam himself rolled back and managed to narrowly avoid hitting a nearby tree.

“Dean!” he cried out, hoping to stir his brother awake. He jumped up and ran for your lifeless body, hoping to grab you and get you to the car. He had no idea if the demon was tied to the property line but he didn’t have a chance to find out before he was once again flung into the air, this time into the side of the house also. He too slumped to the ground, unconscious next to his brother. The stopwatch lay on the ground beside you; cracked, broken and useless.

Activity from the demon had strangely stopped as you entered the nursery. It was an eerie feeling, knowing that only a couple of days ago an infant and her 3 year old brother had been torn apart in this room. The walls were still covered in spatters of blood and you knew if you’d been in your body you would have thrown up. “Benefits of being a ghost” you commented, cautiously looking around.

You nearly fell back when the demon appeared in front of you, shrieking so loud you’d have certainly gone deaf if your ears were attached to you at that moment. You stood still, watching it with curiosity, before it stopped to also stare at you. It seemed confused, and angry. It threw its hand out but it only went through your stomach, causing you to laugh.

“Sorry buddy, can’t catch me this time,” you said with a wry smile.

The demon’s face twisted in anger and the windows of the room imploded, glass flying in all directions. The demon was a blur as it to-ed and fro-ed around the room, trying to make contact with you to no avail; if you had been in your body you would have been flung around like a ragdoll and dead in seconds. You decided that it was time to start the incantation, before it realised what was happening and disappeared. You started and it cried out in pain, and as you spoke louder and with more force your confidence grew. As you spoke the final words the demon began to break, red light shining through each crack in its form before it shattered, the pieces dissipating into dust as they hit the ground.

Silence fell again and you smiled broadly, relief washing over you. You practically bounded down the stairs and jumped through the front door, only to be met with the alarming image of Sam and Dean slumped motionless in the flowerbed.

“Well shit,” you said deadpan, before running up to them. “Sam! Dean! Wake the hell up!”

You glanced around and if your heart was pounding it would have stopped at the sight of the broken stopwatch laying on the ground.

“Fucking demon!” you screamed, turning back to Sam and trying to slap his face. Useless of course, as your hand went straight through, and you cried in frustration before levelling your face with his.

“Sam! Wake up! Help me!”

Sam swore he heard your voice, and groaned as he tried to sit up. He held his hand to his head, trying to remember the events the lead to this before it all came crashing down on him like a tonne of bricks. Y/N. Dead. On the ground 5 feet in front of him.

“Fuck! Dean!” he cried, punching his brother’s shoulder to try and rouse him. Dean groaned, and Sam was confident enough he was waking to leave his side and run to yours. He took the stopwatch from the ground by your feet, and threw it across the yard when he noticed it was broken. He wondered to himself how long they’d been out, panicked at the thought.

Wasting no time he leaned over you and put his hands on your chest, starting compressions. He didn’t know if the demon was dead, and he didn’t give a rats ass at that moment. All that mattered was getting you back. You could bitch slap him all you wanted if he was too early, he was ok with that. He was too busy counting his compressions to hear Dean come up behind him, and only noticed his presence when he leaned over your head to lift your chin.

“How long?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t respond at first, too focused on keeping his rhythm. But when he did Dean’s blood ran cold. “Don’t know, knocked us both out. Damn demon smashed the stopwatch.”

His eyes widened in panic and he poised himself, ready to give a breath. Sam reached 30 and Dean sealed his lips with yours and breathed into your mouth twice, grateful to see the rise and fall of your chest as he did so. When you didn’t take a breath of your own Sam continued compressions, much to his annoyance.

“Cummon Y/N, take a damn breath,” Sam muttered. Dean held your chin up with one hand and held his other over your pulse, feeling a flutter only as Sam animated your heart on your behalf. 30 again and Dean gave you another 2 breaths, praying that this time you’d start on your own. Nothing.

“Christ sake Y/N, do some of the work would ya?” Dean growled as Sam continued to press down hard on your chest, your stomach rising with each compression he made. He felt a crack and winced, knowing he’d broken rib or two. Dean wasted no more time in grabbing the AED from the ground next to Sam’s feet, and began preparing it.

“One more chance,” Sam puffed. “Give her one more chance.”

Dean nodded, as reluctant to shock you as Sam was, and took his place once again by your head.

“Breathe” he was instructed, and he leaned over to do so. Both men stopped to watch your chest fall, praying for it to rise on its own.

-----------

You gasped, taking in a deep breath which hurt more than anything you think you’d ever experienced. You coughed hard, and felt your body being turned to its side which graciously seemed to help. You faintly heard talking in the background, but only made out a few swear words and comments about “Jesus Christ” for some reason.

“What-” you tried to start, but you couldn’t get a word in edgewise before another cough wracked your body.

“Don’t talk sweetheart, just breathe,” Dean told you with a shaky voice, running his hand through your hair.

You listened to what he said, and paid attention to your breathing to try and get it under control. In, out, in, out. All the while Sam and Dean remained silent, obviously trying to calm themselves down as well. Eventually you felt like you’d gotten yourself under control, and moved your arm to try and sit up.

“Whoa, hang on, take it easy,” Sam told you, taking your arm and gently lifting you to a sitting position. Dean sat behind you and you rested against his chest, holding his hand which sat in your lap.

“You doing ok?” Dean asked.

“Yer I think so,” you replied, your voice gravelly. “I killed it.”

Both men sighed and hung their head in relief. You rubbed your tender chest, which didn’t escape Sam’s attention.

“We’d better get your ribs seen to,” he commented quietly, voice thick with guilt which you definitely picked up on.

“Dude, you saved my life. Don’t feel bad about a few broken bones. And you,” you continued, pointing to Dean. “When was the last time you picked up a toothbrush? Seriously, I think I can taste the burrito you had two days ago!” You laughed gently and they smiled in response, the weight that had been on their shoulders noticeably less than before.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Dean replied, and you nodded in agreement.

The guys helped to gently lift you up and into the backseat of the Impala, and you watched the house slowly disappear as you began to drive away.

“So Y/N. How does it feel? Knowing it’s all over,” Dean asked you. You continued to stare out the window, and from the rear view mirror he watched as a faint smile crept over your face.

A/N the 2nd: I hope you enjoyed! So I struggled for ages debating if this Monster of the Week was a demon or spirit or something else entirely. I went with demon because that’s just how I wrote it before I even considered it; please don’t look too deeply into the finer mechanics of this (like I have for the last 2 hours) :)