#Maddie straightens her hair when she’s mentally struggling

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Eddie hair - been thinking about Eddie’s s4 & 5A hairstyle - it’s totally the hairstyle of a man trying over hard to be heteronormative isn’t it!

Like it’s the very definition of clean cut straight man (a la 1940’s captain America) and it’s super interesting in relation to the s3 ‘cut it super short in my grief’ style and the 5b queer cut we have coming up!

[heyyyalexa]

A Time Of Change - Chapter One - The Arrival

Title: A Time Of Change

Chapter: One- The Arrival

Summery: Ava Bradford is a former Behavioural Analyst of the Miami Police Department. After the events of the past force her to journey to England and take up a job away from the family she had created, she tries to start anew. At Scotland Yard, she struggles to keep to herself and her life under control, as her nightmares from her past come to haunt her once again.

Author: Alexa @alex-awesome1023

Words: 1986

Characters/Relationships: OC x Sherlock

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Past Physical Abuse, Nightmares

Author’s Notes: Ok so this is my first ever Fanfic yay!!! Im super excited for you guys to read it. I’ve had long night and worked super hard with the help of Maddy and her wonderful patience and editing, she has been a super awesome teacher through his entire thing and a great new friend. Please let me know how you guys like it and what you think. There will be an update later on in the week of the next chapter. Love you guys!!!!! 

- Alexa 

Hey guys! This is Alexa’s very first fic and we are both super excited for you guys to see it!! Please let us know what you think about it by leaving us an ask in our inbox @sherlockxreader or even just reblogging it to another blog! We love hearing what you guys think of our fics so let us know!!!

- Maddy

Original Character Ava Bradford inspired by Zoey Deutch. Enjoy!❤

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All I could hear was the pads of my feet smacking on the pavement as I ran. I felt the rain drops hit my face like daggers against my skin, the cold evening air shocking my throat and lungs as I inhale deeper, faster, harder. Holding my side, I try to stop the blood coming from the throbbing gash I had. Feeling the warm blood seep out of the exposed wound, I press my hand closer against my side to stop the free flowing surge of sticky blood, but wasn’t helping anymore. I ignore the ache in my muscles, the fog in my brain and I tell myself to keep going. I knew he was right behind me. My heart beats frantically, all or nothing. Fail and my whole body will pay the price, run and the damage is limited mostly to my shins and knees. My lungs and heart were pumping, but the air didn't seem to be enough as I sprinted forward, panic trembling into my exhausted limbs. I can hear his heavy steps pounding against the asphalt. His groans of infuriation. He's right behind me. I feel his hand on my shoulder...

You jerk awake as the train stopped. Your heart was pounding, your mind empty, clear of distractions, as if a needle of adrenaline had been emptied into your chest. You unconsciously reach for your locket around your neck, rubbing it between your forefinger and thumb.

Telling yourself that it was just a dream, you feel your breathing and heart rate begin to steady. You looked out the window, realizing where you were. Westminster, London. Your decision to move here was sudden but you were looking for something and ended up here. You had a purpose to fulfil, or at least you were trying to find one. Moving here was your first step to finding what you had been looking for a long time, what you were missing. The plus side was that there was a job opening and you had family here. Your Aunt Martha moved here after her husband faced the death penalty and you hadn't seen her in a few years so you were excited to see her.

You gathered your things and headed towards the metallic doors of the train. You stepped out of Westminster Station, filling your lungs with the London air. It was a cold, muggy and damp kind of air but it was better than the hot humidity of Florida. Determination drew itself on your face and you straighten your back and your eyes, though set, were still soft in their emerald brightness.

You pulled out the small piece of paper where you had written the phone number and street address you had gotten from your Aunt when she mentioned that one of her friends was trying to rent a flat. Even getting a special deal out of it because she had talked her friend into giving it to you half price if you could pay the first couple weeks rent up front.

With your luggage filled with the essentials, which pretty much meant that you stuffed everything you owned into a duffel bag and a rolling suitcase, you walked aimlessly around London. With your earbuds still in from the train ride you decided to turn up the volume, taking in the sights a bit and dwelling in your own little day dream for a little while. You were in London, finally. You could check it off your bucket list of places to go.

It was colder than you had expected but you found yourself relishing in the new climate. As a kid you loved the idea of winter and snow but you always got cold easily and had to bundle up in many layers to keep the weather at bay. You still do in fact. You had on your white, scoop neck t-shirt, covered by an oversized white knit sweater and your dad’s old denim jacket, which never failed to give you warmth. Paired with your thickest leggings and you favorite converse with polka dot laces, you managed not to shiver in the cool air of the city. (Picture not mine)

You had walked for a quite some time, taking pictures of everything that stood out to you in the foreign land and, when you stopped for some food at a nearby cafe, you looked to your watch, seeing that your inner wanderlust traveler had caused you to lose track of time. You began to head in the direction of where you thought you had come from, not looking at where you were walking as you used your phone as a GPS, until you were knocked over by a man running in the opposite direction. You fell to the ground and dropped your phone onto the pavement with a harsh sounding clatter.

"Ow!" You felt pain radiate from your arse and your face was twisted with it.

"Oh gosh, are you alright? I'm terribly sorry!" You heard the man ask from above you, his accent evident in his voice.

"Oh no don't be, I was the one not paying attention." You said as you stood back up looking down at your phone, facedown on the pavement. Wincing at the sight, you went to bend over to pick it up, but he beat you to it.

"Oh here, let me." He leaned down and retrieved your phone with delicate looking hands. His short brown hair was slicked back and his suit was obviously tailored expertly, the expensive fabric clinging nicely to his body. Great, I just had to walk into someone important.

"Oh um... Thanks." Your eyes narrowed suspiciously at his politeness, not quite used to people being so nice, but this was London, not Florida where the beaches were littered with cranky, old people in retirement who complain about the young folk and their habits.

He stood and looked at your phone, his dark eyes flickering to yours briefly. A feeling you weren't quite sure of stirred in your gut however you pushed that aside, anxious about the state of your phone.   

"Is it bad?" You questioned, scrunching up your nose and bracing yourself for the fact that you might have to buy a new phone, or a least repair the one you had, with the little money you had on your person.

He twisted the phone in his hands a few times before looking at you with a coy smirk upon his face. He handed you the phone.

"Not even a scratch." The Irish accent think in his voice.

"Oh thank God." Relief flooded through your body as you looked over the device and grasped the phone to your chest.

"I hope your first day in London wasn't ruined." You raised an eyebrow in suspicion. Did he find me? Already? Your eyes shifted as you felt your heart skip with anxiety but mentally, you shake your head and the thought away.

You looked down at your shoes and with a light laugh, peeked up at him through your lashes, a coy smile on your face. "Is it that obvious?"

He gestured toward your luggage. I really was stupid and paranoid for no reason, there’s no way he would have found me. Not this fast anyway. With a slightly mysterious grin and glint in his eye, he answered. "Well... I just know how to look at people."  

"Clearly. And you must be someone important, judging by your Westwood suit and uppity demeanor." You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest. You could tell he thought your comment clever by the way he raised his brow and curled his lips into a cheeky smile.

"Oh someone who knows their stuff, I like you already."

Stretching out your hand you introduced yourself. "Ava. It’s a pleasure make your acquaintance… um…"

“Jim." Taking your hand in his, he kissed your knuckles, at which you grinned and raised a brow It was obviously meant to be charming yet you saw through his mask when the corner of his lip twitched ever so slightly. So slightly that anyone else would have missed it entirely however, you weren’t just anyone else. Shaking your head, you cleared your mind. You weren’t working yet.

"Oh a lady-killer as well, uh?" You playfully ask.

"You have no idea. Are you here on business or pleasure?" He let go of your hand and stood straight again, his head cocked in curiosity. Choosing to ignore his comment you answered.

"Oh um, both I guess." You had always wanted to live here and it just so happens that there was an opening in your choice of work, but he didn’t need to know that. You heard a distant voice in your head, repeating words of advice. Remember, become anonymous as much as possible. No loose ends. Remember why you're here.

You were brought out of your thoughts when this man’s, Jim’s, phone began to play Staying Alive. His face dropped as he retrieved it from his pocket and answered the call. Putting it on hold he looked at you with a forced smile. "Well I must get going. As an important person, I'm very busy. Welcome to London." He said as he waved goodbye.

"Thank you. Bye!" You replied as you waved back and turned to walk away, curiosity getting the best of you as you kept him in the corner of your eye. You walked casually towards a nearby statue and hid behind it, peeking around the corner to see him as he brought the phone to his ear. He listened to whatever the other person was speaking about before he spoke back. Your eyes widen as you see his mask fall into an expression you can't explain. The soft and mischievous look in his eyes he had moments before had vanished, and were instead replaced with a clenched jaw and eyes as hard as the pavement below his feet, a face you had seen before in the past. Sending you to the dark corners of your mind, back to a weak, little child in a cramped, dark room, crying for her Mommy.

You closed your eyes as the memory flashes across your vision, clenching your fists as you felt your eyes begin to heat up with tears and your heart beat harder and faster. As you try to slow your breath down, you reached for your mothers necklace hanging around your neck and repeated the words like a mantra to calm the nightmares. “Stop. It’s not real, you’re fine. It’s….. Not real, not…. Anymore.” You say with a small quivering voice, tears begin to drip down your wind-bitten cheeks. You weren't in that room anymore, you are stronger than this. You weren't that little girl anymore.

Looking at your feet and taking a deep breath you felt yourself start to calm down. You put your  earbuds back in and found a song, the song, to drown out your own thoughts. You found your mother's favorite, Blackbird by The Beatles. It had always calmed you as a kid whenever you got scared or sick. Sometimes she would use it as lullaby to put you to sleep. Turning the music up as loud as you could take it, you leaned on the statue and just listened, letting your heart synchronize with the beat of the music and calming you down.

You walked towards the main road when you could breathe steadily again and hailed a taxi. You took out an ear bud as you heard the driver ask about where you were heading. Looking at the piece of paper you said the street address of where your new life was waiting to begin "Westminster Baker Street. 220B Baker Street please."

You see his eyes light up in the mirror looking at me with excitement "Oh, that's the street where Sherlock Holmes lives!"

You raise an eyebrow in question. "Who?"

[routinely-unamoosed-blog]

13x07 ~ Cravings: Part I

Summary: The boys stumble upon a case involving victims being found chained to autopsy tables. Maddie, having already begun to process the severity of the case, slips up and tries to get herself out of the case. Meanwhile, Sam starts to feel things about Maddie he hasn’t had the chance to think about it. but when the hallucinations of Toni grow unbearable, he makes a choice he’ll regret a while.

Character(s): Sam & Dean Winchester, Maddie Rayner, mystery character

Word Count: 11,935 i’m sorry

Warning(s): explicit language, beginning of smut but dean ruins it, mentions of torture, really good description of hospitals?, gore

Masterlist

She stood in the bathroom a ways from the living area of the motel room, twisting her damp hair into a braid to keep it up and out of the way. Her eyes stared at her reflection in the mirror, trailing along her jawline and nose. She tried to come up with a reason why so many people fell head over heels in love with her; she couldn’t see why.

The bathroom door moved. Maddie jumped slightly, her hands freezing in her hair that was almost finished. She tied the remainder with a hair tie and tossed it over her shoulder.

Swathed in a blanket of warmth from her shower, the bathroom was filled with cold air when she opened the door. She regretted having the air snake up her bare skin, brushing its fingers along her freshly shaven legs.

She grabbed her bracelet from the toilet, slipping it onto her wrist. Having a weapon close was always peaceful to her for protective reasons. She decided to get dressed first before investigating the noise. She emerged in an olive green tank top tied at the stomach. Ripped jeans exposed her knees and parts of her thighs, and simple boots adorned her feet.

Her strides were almost silent on the hardwood floors. She was careful about where she placed her foot after each step. She was pleased she had adopted the habit of walking everywhere to find out what parts of the floor creaked the most. She had a mental map of where those areas were, and it was in the loudest zone did the floor creak behind her.

Before she could turn, however, a fist slammed into her jaw. She almost felt the bone crack if knuckles hadn’t struck her face immediately after. Her head whipped back rather painfully, but she wasn’t prepared to feel hard floor crush her spine. Pain exploded in her back and rattled her wings, which begged to be released. A groan left her parted lips.

She would’ve laid there for a second more, chest heaving, but she rolled out of the way when her attacker’s boot went gravitating towards her head. She managed to get in a crouch, her bracelet transforming into its staff. She twirled the weapon around to grip it in a fist.

Her attacker straightened to his full height, and he was towering at that. Hazel eyes filled with anger—and lust?—stared down at her. The man’s chest heaved and a sheet of sweat shone on his brow, which was contrasted with dark hair. He’s human, that’s good, she thought.

“Who are you?” she breathed, straightening her legs slightly to get a better vantage point. She brought her arm out and rested the staff’s point to the man’s throat.

He didn’t answer. His arm swung around the staff and tilted it up, which slammed the end of the scepter into the air and missed her face by millimeters. Her head tipped back slightly in anger. She was slightly shocked that this man would try and do something as stupid as that, but she could tell he had other plans in mind for her.

Her staff was ripped from her hand. She snarled with rage when it was snapped in half by the man’s knee. He tossed the weapon aside and grinned, eyes sparkling. “Now it’s a fair game,” he commented with a rather attractive English accent.

The cross tattoos on his hands made flashbacks remind her of the three weeks trapped with Toni Bevell, a Woman of Letters all the way from Britain. She looked up at the man, realizing that Arthur Ketch himself had managed to track her down again.

She was too busy staring at him to realize how hard of a punch he threw to her cheek. Her feet slipped right from beneath her, and her face slammed against the floor. Her nose was bleeding profusely now, with waterfalls of blood dripping down her face. She struggled to get her hands beneath her to get herself to her feet.

Something sweet was shoved against her mouth and nose, causing her to automatically close her eyes for a reason unbeknownst to her. Her mind went into overdrive when she recognized the drug doused on the rag, feet kicking and fists swinging to try and get Arthur’s hand off her face. He picked her up by the hair, adding to the pain throbbing in her body.

Maddie’s eyes opened to see the door opening. Sam had left earlier to grab some dinner for the two of them, a sort of “gift” after having eight hours’ worth of sex.

She looked at Arthur sidelong and felt him look ahead of him. His arm straightened, revealing her gun in his hand aimed right at Sam’s head.

“Mads, I’m ba—”

His words were cut off when a bullet slammed right between his eyes. The bags he was carrying dropped from his arm as his body fell to the floor.

She screamed as loud as she could, sending her heel into the bastard’s bits. He dropped her with a curse, with Maddie breathing in air as the chloroform was released from her nose. She was on the verge of passing out; the room spun, swayed, and blurred beneath her. She stared at Sam’s slumped body.

The room switched from floor to ceiling. Arthur hovered above her and planted the gun to her forehead, a brooding expression blanketing his face. “Asmodeus said you could fight, but this is what you bring to the table?”

The gun twirled around his finger, the butt of the weapon staring down at her. She looked at Arthur with swimming vision. Her head hurt and felt light as air. It was hard as hell to concentrate on one thing, especially when her mind was trying to focus on Sam regardless of her current state.

She tried saying his name when Arthur whammed the gun’s butt on her forehead. The ceiling flashed to darkness.

It took the owner of the home a moment to answer the door. Sam glanced at his brother, who was fussing with his tie and an irritable expression pulling his features. Casting a glare at him, Sam faced the door when it opened. A pretty young woman with fair hair, skin, and flecks of brown in her blue eyes smiled brightly at the two Hunters, a septum piercing catching Sam off guard. She leaned against the doorframe and looked at the badges they flashed her.

A puzzled look made her smile fade. “Let me guess. FBI?” she asked.

Sam and Dean shared a confused look. “There a problem?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows in confusion. He glanced at his brother, who shrugged his shoulders as a response.

The woman jabbed a thumb back behind her. “There’s already an agent here. Her name’s, uh, Alice Cooper? She’s investigating my husband’s death . . .” Her voice trailed off as tears clouded her eyes. Sam’s heart broke for the woman.

He took a chance and leaned in to see who was already there. He caught the sleeve of a black sweater, but the woman obstructed most of his view. He swallowed lightly and took a glance in the driveway. A Grand Caravan was parked furthest from the Impala, but no other car was in sight. Who’s here? he thought.

Regardless of company, the woman invited the two brothers inside. Sam took note of the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen and another room behind the staircase, but his eyes stopped wandering when they were met with ashen ones.

Maddie sat on a plush sofa, clad in a tight-fitting sweater, a navy green pencil skirt and black stiletto heels. Black eyeshadow contrasted her face with a swipe of eyeliner and maroon lipstick. Her hair was swept over one eye, its thick appearance billowing with mock shortness.

She looked absolutely stunning.

“Could we have a minute to discuss things? There seems to be a mishap back at headquarters,” Dean blurted sweetly, flashing the attractive woman a wink and waiting for her to go upstairs before immediately taking his gun out and aiming it at Maddie’s head. His tone dropped to pure anger. “Why the hell are you here?”

Maddie simply chuckled and flashed a sour smile. “Nice to know Dean’s always playing bad cop. Can’t complain, really, you have the alcoholism and daddy issues to prove it,” she stated with a sassed eyebrow arch and crossed arms.

Dean gave her an expressionless stare. He looked emotionally drained, really. Sam cleared his throat and nodded his head towards the ceiling. He wasn’t sure that his brother would shoot Mads point blank in the head, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself.” Dean adjusted his grip on his gun.

Mads stood from the sofa and put a hand on her hip. Her hair shone against the sunlight beaming through the bay window. She chuckled again, glancing at Sam with a slightly humorous expression. It faded instantly when Dean tightened his grip on his gun and took a step closer to her.

“Easy, Dean, you don’t wanna know what happens if you pull that trigger.” Her eyes rolled upward to the ceiling and narrowed back at Sam’s brother. “There’s a grieving woman upstairs. You think it’s a good idea to shoot someone in her house? Can it and kill me later.” Her voice was filled with venom and authority. Her head moved closer to him, lips curling as she added, “I’ll enjoy tearing your head off.”

Sam let out a disappointed and worrisome sigh. He meant to keep it in, but his jaw clenched when Maddie winked at him. Instead of rolling his eyes like he usually would, he looked away from her. It was best to not let her know the far-too-obvious redness creeping up his neck was going to end up with clothes being shed.

Clearing his throat, he took charge. “Alright, Mads, why don’t you take the morgue and Dean and I can handle the vic. We can meet at whatever motel you’re staying at and talk after.”

Her face paled. She licked her lips subtly, her eyes looking around the room. She looked scared out of her wits. He brushed a finger on her elbow to get her attention back on him. He simply stared at her instead of saying any words.

She finally looked back at him. “Y’know what, why-why don’t I head back to the motel, see what we’re dealing with, do some more r-research . . . sounds good.” She turned to leave, but Sam followed her. He glanced behind his shoulder to make sure Dean wasn’t on his heels, and thankfully he wasn’t. Maddie and Dean were a deadly combination.

A cloudy sky welcomed them. Maddie’s hair whipped around her shoulders as she walked, black streaks blending in with the brown that brightened up when patches of sun slipped through the clouds. He looked at her backside for a fraction of a second; he felt disgusted with himself.

He noticed how her jacket was the one piece of clothing (that he’s seen so far) without two slashes in the back for her wings.

He reached out and touched her shoulder. She immediately reacted by rolling her arm beneath his and arming herself with her staff, the tip resting directly on his throat. Fear and anger blanketed her face. He couldn’t see any of the humor that was in her eyes only minutes ago.

Sam put his hands up to give her the sense of authority. He looked at his friend, whose chest was heaving and tears streaming down her cheeks, with sorrow. Whatever hell she went through before he met her was unbeknownst to him, but he didn’t let it faze his emotions. He kept his own tears at bay by forcing himself to look at her. His jaw clenched, though.

There was a moment of silence, save for the near-silent sobs from Maddie. The two Hunters remained like that, one with their hands raised and an emotionless expression and the other armed with a fierce and deadly weapon, until she finally put the staff down and slammed it into the concrete.

Putting his hands down, he took a small step towards her. She took a step away and covered her face with her hands. His heart broke for her, similar to the way he felt when she was with Dean all those months ago. She was scared, of course, and he felt sorry for making her feel that way.

The words he wanted to speak were sitting patiently on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say them. He feared he’d spark the boiling rage she kept under lock and key.

He merely stared at her for a moment before the staff transformed back into its bracelet form, the metal snaking up her fingers and shrinking as it got closer to its destination. He watched it finally lock into place before taking another step. Maddie didn’t move.

“Maddie,” he began calmly, only to finish his steps and wrapping his arms around her. He felt superior in this position, he found, considering her minute stature to his gargantuan size.

She shook in his arms. An overwhelming feeling of something washed over him. He didn’t know the right word to describe it, but all he knew was that he didn’t want to let her go, ever. He tightened his hold on her, burying his mouth in her hair. Coconut and sage made its way to his nose; he grew to adore that smell.

He felt her arms slowly wrap around him, too. He jumped at the contact, waiting for the hands to pale and grow veiny. He waited for the dark hair lighten to a blonde color. He was waiting for everything to fade and melt into the farmhouse in Missouri.

Nothing happened.

After moments of more silence, Sam pulled her away from him softly. His hands remained touching her, however. A warm sense of homeiness made him let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looked down at her, his own tears clouding his vision.

Sam wanted to kiss her. He begged his hands to just grab her face and smash his lips against hers. He wanted to just hold her and tell her it was okay, that nothing would hurt her as long as he was around. He wanted to protect her, even if it was against all odds and he would end up being killed for it.

He wanted her to feel like she could be herself without having to end things with a knife to someone’s throat.

The front door opened when he leaned in. He flicked his eyes up at Dean, who had a confused look on his face. Sam pulled himself away from Maddie. A blush crossed his face as he cleared his throat; it was for the best. The last thing she needs is a distraction.

Dean opened his mouth to mutter something, but the glare Sam sent made his brother snap his lips closed. Instead, he stabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Alright, turns out Ms. Giammusso, or-or whatever the crap her name is, was sleeping with someone else, a . . . Tony Venne. Vanessa says he doesn’t live too far, I figured we would go over there.”

Maddie cleared her throat and managed to find words. “S-Sam and I were planning on going to the, uh . . . to the m-morgue,” she stammered. Her eyes were scattered everywhere but his face. He could’ve sworn he saw a blush on her face, too.

His brother looked at him funny. Sam ignored it, of course, since all Dean seemed to do was look at him with a rather brooding expression. He finally shook his head and muttered, “Need a ride?”

Sam mumbled, “Yes,” and proceeded to slump to the car. He ducked into the passenger seat before Dean could say anything about Maddie riding along. He found her sitting behind Dean, which concerned him. Her face was free of any remains of tears.

The second Dean got into the front, Maddie summoned her staff and placed the handle over his throat. A simple jerk back would certainly crush his windpipe.

Her head leaned to the side as she began speaking. “Point a gun at me again, Winchester, I’ll make sure your brother never finds your body. Is that clear?” Her voice was a horrifying snarl, with truth and venom emblazoned into each word as it crossed her lips. Sam could only stare at her with widened eyes.

He watched with a slight sigh of relief when his brother nodded and the weapon was withdrawn. Dean inhaled a view gulps of air and a glower Sam’s way. He squared up in his seat and started the car, adding with slight sarcasm, “Oh, what a wonderful life it is.”

Dean had dropped her and Sam off an hour ago. Sam went right into the lobby, checking himself in as Agent Cooper and Laurens for an autopsy report. He must’ve thought she was next to him by the confused look he gave her through the double doors when he turned.

She looked at him with a nervous swallow and a shift on her feet. She still couldn’t get over how unbelievably hot he looked in his Fed suit, however she could tell he was thinking the same thing about her as he eyed her up and down as he rushed back outside. His hands were spread out in an excessive way, in her opinion.

“What are you doing? Let’s go.”

Maddie looked around again and tried to come up with an excuse to not wanting to go in. She blamed her fast metabolism and her fake hunger, but she, inevitably, failed miserably from the bitch-face Sam flashed at her. He grabbed her hand—sending shockwaves of electricity to ricochet up and down her spine—and dragged her into the morgue.

The second she took a whiff her breath hitched in her throat. Her chest seemed to stop working completely; her lungs seemed to reject oxygen and her heart started beating faster and faster. Her hand squeezed Sam’s as hard as it could. Sam pulled his hand and let it hang by his side. Tell him, her mind spat, tell him so he won’t drag you here ever again.

Sam led her toward a back office. Dark hardwood floors made her feel like the room was spinning. She caught a few passers-by in the eye, some flashing smiles or glancing at her body. The outfit she still wore made her regret choosing this shirt.

A door slid open with a soft whir. The smells were immensely strong now, enough to make nausea rise from her throat the second the door closed. She covered her mouth and darted for the trash can by the desk. She squatted and heaved her stomach contents into the bin; Sam ignored her moans.

She heard his footsteps on the tile as he began looking for the right body. She couldn’t recall the name of the victim now; she was too busy on either keeping her head in the trash can or booking it then and there, leaving Sam here to fend for himself.

You just had to come along, didn’t you, Maddie? Her brain was already pissed off at itself. She kept puking long after her stomach felt empty and only acid came. The smell didn’t really bother her. It took her mind away from the reeking smells of the medical supplies. Her fingers were turning white by the time the door slid open and someone walked in.

“Can I help you with anything?” His voice brought back memories of dark rooms and sharp objects carving into flesh.

Her heaving froze in her throat. Her eyes opened (she was unaware they were closed) and stared at her vomit. Her back tensed, her knuckles turning more white than they already were. Her stomach leaped to her throat. She felt like puking all over again despite that she was empty on stomach content.

Tears sprang to her eyes the second the man spoke. Sam, oblivious to the voice’s owner, turned on his heel and seemed to smile at the offer. “Do you know where Kevin Giammusso’s body is?”

Don’t talk to him. Don’t talk to him, don’t talk to him. Don’t you fucking talk to him!

The man’s footsteps slid across the tile. “Giammusso? He’s in chamber . . . six. Let me help you,” the man replied with a smile in his voice as well. Maddie shuddered as the politeness of this bastard seemed to reel Sam in right away.

That’s what he does. He acts nice to hide the sadistic psychopath underneath.

A body chamber opened. The door slammed against the others, making her jump and squeeze her eyes shut. Black and white stills of the same thing happening to her flashed across her eyelids; the darkness that she always knew was taken away, replaced by bright light and coldness on her back. A brief release of that coldness as she was picked up. A return of that coldness that she hated so much but couldn’t make it stop.

A corpse was laid on the autopsy table with a thud. A violent throb in the back of her head made her almost scream. She couldn’t count how many times her skull cracked by the force that slammed her on an autopsy table much like this one.

She expected to hear metal clamps strapping down the corpse. She expected to hear a calming voice that would convince others the man doing this was a good man, a harmless scientist doing his job. Her mind waited for hands to grab her by the hair, one possibly covering her mouth so she couldn’t scream as they dragged her towards the table. Her mind waited to hear a gunshot or the plunge of a knife into Sam’s heart.

Nothing happened.

Stifling a sob, she kept her head in the trash can. She felt eyes on her back. Of course, her Fed suit didn’t contain any slashes for her wings. The kinds of questions they would’ve arisen were incomprehensible.

A hand rested on her back, followed by a calming voice. “Are you alright?”

Maddie wanted to grab a gun and shoot herself in the head if it meant she wouldn’t be in this situation right now. She squeezed her eyes tighter, a few tears slipping into the trash can. She felt herself shaking. She wanted to grab a knife and stab this bastard in the neck for a slow death.

Her throat closed when she tried to speak. Words never came from her opened mouth, nor did anything from Sam to help her get out of this. She begged him to say something, ask a question, or just simply dismiss this man from the room. Sam was a fake FBI agent. He had the fake authority to overpower people of any profession.

After sitting there, head in a trash can and a bastard’s hand on her back, she finally managed to speak. “I-I’m . . . f-f-fine.” Her voice was broken and shattered with fear. The man didn’t notice as he rubbed a sweet spot on her back—right between her wings, a place that was his favorite to touch whenever she was “a good girl”—and stood.

He left. The door slid shut as she watched the man leave. She looked at the door for the first time since they entered; she couldn’t see the coroner anymore. A sigh of relief was followed by more heaving.

Sam came over and sat on the floor with her. His hand reached out to touch her back, but she swatted him away and scooted towards the wall with the trash can in her lap.

“Mads, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. A-are you okay?”

She began rocking back and forth as she put her head inside the trash can again. Her head shook profusely. She was too shaken to say anything.

How is this bastard alive? The news headline proclaiming his death was broadcasted nationwide eighteen years ago. It was the year she was finally free. It was the year she no longer had to be paranoid of what happened behind the closed doors of the CDC.

The man that just stood in this morgue was executed by lethal injection on July 21, 2000.

Moving closer to her, Sam leaned against the glass desk behind him. A computer was one of the main things on the tabletop, aside from notebooks and files on various bodies.

Her mind immediately went toward her file released by the FBI in 2006. It detailed her criminal record, a rap sheet possibly longer than Sam and Dean’s combined. She couldn’t remember all the juicy details that would catch the coroner’s attention, but she couldn’t be too cautious. Who knows how long this bastard has been back from the dead?

Perhaps Heaven had something to do with this . . .

Of course Heaven had the nerve to bring this bastard back to life. She knew they would pull something like this eventually, but she hadn’t necessarily thought it all through. She prayed she would be dead by the time Heaven did something like this.

Sammy’s head leaned towards her. His brow was upturned the slightest in concern, those little arched wrinkles making a dash of her anxiety flicker away. He stared at her, she knew, and she finally lifted her gaze back to him. She searched his face for any sign of familiarity, even if she hadn’t necessarily disclosed why she was in this state. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and returned the trash bin to its place beneath the desk.

“We-we, uh . . . we have to go,” she announced. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

A confused look crossed Sam’s face. He looked up at her when she stood. Busying herself with her hands by running them through her hair, it was the only thing Maddie could do besides wanting to blow this place up with as many bombs as she could.

The Hunter stood shortly after she began making her way towards the door. Without a second glance at the body atop the autopsy table, she held her breath as she was stepping out of the wretched morgue office.

Sam turned and rolled the doctor’s stool closer to her so he could sit. He looked up at her; it was the only time she could feel taller than him.

His words were filled with worry. “What? Maddie, what’s wrong?”

She fought tears. She tried her damnedest to keep them at bay, but she couldn’t hold it in for much longer. A toxic swirl of emotions ran through her: anger, fear, sadness, and most of all, shock. This coroner, who was supposed to be dead and rotting in Hell for eternity, was alive and kicking. Nothing was different about him at all; he was the same monster that he was before the execution.

“Maddie, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” Sam said, his words soft and somewhat quiet.

She didn’t care about that. She wanted to leave this place and leaving it in shambles. She wanted to blow this whole town up if it meant that the coroner would be dead. She didn’t care if there were innocent casualties.

She looked at the door. She tore her jacket off and let her wings free themselves from her back. It was true that this outfit was the only one without slashes in the back; she kept an “emergency” shirt beneath every piece of attire she wore.

Feathers floated towards the floor. She looked down and scooped them up, cramming them into her pocket. Molting season was close.

Her head leaned down, eyes cast to the floor as she tucked in her wings. It was a brief period of freedom for them, but she knew it would be best to keep them in as long as the coroner was aware. Hell would break loose if he found out she still had them.

She couldn’t meet his pleading eyes no matter how hard she tried. She didn’t have the heart to tell him what happened to her thirty-three years ago. She didn’t even know how to begin to explain it to him. It was too complicated, too emotional, too difficult to talk about without breaking down and becoming as vulnerable as vulnerable gets.

Maddie looked at him through the open door. He, too, looked scared. It was rare when she saw him like this. He was scared for her, yes, but she wanted to scream at him about his own problems. She wanted to yell at him for worrying about her constantly when all she did was get tortured by his brother. He had the option to not give a shit about her. He had the right option to ignore her.

So why did he take a liking to her?

She shook her head and started walking towards the main entrance. The smells were making tears slip from her eyes. Each inhale from her tight chest felt like an effort too great to be considered normal. She felt Sam stalking after her at a pace similar to a predator; slow and painstakingly cautious.

“Maddie,” he began, but his mouth shut when she ripped open the glass door. She took a deep breath of clean, purified air and stalked towards the section of trees across the parking lot. Sam stormed after her, his steps quicker than her despite his stature. He called her name, but she ignored him. Nothing was more adamant than getting the fuck out of this place.

She whirled around once she was hidden by the trees. She rolled her shoulders, wings expanding and arching to their height of seventeen feet. She saw his eyes trail towards her wings, a movement that he always did whenever she had them out. She didn’t mind. It was kind of hot, for an odd reason unbeknownst to her.

She shook her head when he inhaled to talk. “Sam, I . . . I can’t be here. That man can’t be here.”

A confused look pulled at Sam’s features. Maddie could tell he was debating on loving her or leaving her. Surely he thought she was crazy. Freaking out in a morgue on a case, especially when she was heaving her Wheaties in a fucking trash can. “What are you talking about?”

She stabbed a finger at the morgue. “We can’t be here. If he founds out that I’m a Hunter, we’re fucked.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. A hand lifted to his hip as he sighed in annoyance. “What the hell is wrong with you? You almost blew our cover, Maddie! I think you should go back to the motel.”

Scoffing, she set her tongue between her teeth. She glanced at him and flapped her wings, her hands reaching out and slamming him against the back of a tree trunk. If it weren’t for the flap backward that slowed her down, his spine would’ve broken easily. Her hand reached up and clenched his jaw.

“Don’t turn this on me. Don’t you dare say this is my fault. You dragged me here in the first place. I didn’t even wanna come to this fucking morgue!” She watched his face go through various expressions: pain, fear, anger . . . she saw it all. She could tell he was scared. He had the right to be scared; she scared pretty much everyone when she was mad.

Maddie let her hand fall to her side as she turned. It was hard to walk in grass when wearing heels, but she managed to make it a good distance before turning her head to look back at Sam. His chest heaved as he stared back at her, his Fed suit making her regret trying to intimidate him. She rolled her eyes and said, “I’m gonna do research . . . see if we can get a lead.”

Before she could take off, Sam called out to her. A part of her wanted to turn and run back to him, to embrace him like they did in Ms. Giammusso’s driveway. She longed for that contact again, that safety that washed over her when she breathed him in. Her entire body was hellbent on returning to him in tears. An apology lingered on her tongue, but she shoved it down.

“Be safe,” he muttered, “Dean might still have you on his mind.”

She muttered a soft thank you. She still felt Sam’s eyes on her as she flapped her wings, her body launching into the air. Cold air splashed across her face as she gained altitude. She glanced down at Sam, who was a little dot on the ground, and rolled her eyes when a blush warmed her cheeks.

She managed to land somewhat close to the motel she was staying at, flying in jet streams that shortened her trip to ten minutes. It was a cozy little building, standing at a single-story with pretty landscaping and scenery. A sign exclaiming an outdoor pool in the back had caught her attention. It’s been awhile since she been in a pool, yet alone a bikini.

Her hand fished in her pocket for her key. She looked up at her door and jammed the key into the lock, shoving open her door with a grunt. “Holy hell, why do I even bother with these damn rooms?” she muttered.

She tossed the key on the end table by the door. The couch looked tempting to lay on, but the case was all that was on her mind.

She had to disappear. She had to force herself to go off the map, out of sight until this case was over with. The coroner had to have her in his sights by now, asking whatever being that brought him back to life to end it now. To end this game of cat and mouse and finally bring what he created back to him once and for all.

A shudder ran through her.

“Cool it, Maddie. You’re . . . you’re fine. Everything’s gonna be fine,” she muttered to herself. She felt a tiny bit better, but the cloud of dread and fear still hung above her as she shed her clothes and got into the shower.

As the hot water cascaded down her body and wings, she braced a hand on the tile wall. Her heart was racing, her chest hurt from breathing so hard, and she couldn’t help but let tears slip down her face. Who could blame her? That bastard coroner, a person who wasn’t even medically licensed to be a coroner, was topside and having the time of his godforsaken life.

You have to kill him, her mind said. Her eyes snapped open when the words floated around in her head. Of course she had to kill him, it was the only way to make sure he wouldn’t come back.

It was the fear of gathering the courage to even step back into the morgue that made her legs nearly give out.

She considered finding an angel and demanding how the coroner was alive. It was a plausible plan, yes, and it would work out nicely; an angel would die and so did the bastard that she swore she’d forget. Her mind went elsewhere. She debated on going to an angel or even summoning a Hellhound.

Hellhound sounded much better. She could control if it tore the coroner to shreds, and she could also manage to see exactly what to do with him. She could knock him out with a single punch and tie him to a tree or something. She’d torture him as well, long and slow. She found her hands longing for blood to pour over the skin and dye it a deep crimson.

She smiled at the thought of the coroner bleeding out as he should have been seventeen years ago.

She turned the water off. She stood in the shower for a moment, looking at the droplets of water drip from the tip of her nose or hang in her lashes. Her knuckles turned white as she increased the pressure on her hand on the wall. A small stab of pain ignited beneath the skin, but she didn’t care.

Stepping out, she grabbed a pair of clothes from the duffle bag on the toilet. She slipped into the jeans, cursing slightly when they got stuck on her hips. It took a second to finally get them on, while the low-cut halter shirt looked rather dashing on her if she were judging. She pulled on a dark flannel as she gathered her old clothes reeking from the morgue.

The bathroom was blown with coldness when she opened the door. She tossed her Fed outfit on the bed left unkempt from the previous night’s tossing and turning. The case had kept her up all night, which ended up with an eight-hour phone conversation with Sam.

She smiled when she thought of him. Her tongue came to rest between her teeth, and when she turned, she almost screamed.

Sam shoved his hand over her mouth. He slipped behind her with ease, his head lowering to reach her ears. “It’s okay, it’s just me,” he whispered. Calmness was in his words, but she noticed a stab of pain.

Her hand pried his from her lips. Shifting her gaze from his, she turned and jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t do that,” she spat with a scoff. She ran a hand through her hair before shoving her old clothes into her duffle. Wasting the time of shoving them in dressers worn to dust was something only a fool would do.

“Sorry.”

Maddie loosed a sigh. She straightened, her wings expanding from her back as she stretched her arms out. Tiredness racked her system, but she shoved it aside. Cases come first, and this one was going to be a long one.

She felt eyes on her wings. She was used to it by now, but it still caught her off guard every now and then. She felt uneasy this time; she felt like a piece of prey being observed for dinner. She turned regardless. She could take Sam down in seconds. Of course, he had to have had his fair share of fights with women stronger than him, but she wasn’t anything he’d gone up against before. There was no woman, human or not, like her on this planet.

Taking him out would be easy. Letting go would be harder.

Instead of suffering in the silence that pursued, she sparked up the conversation. “Did you go back to the morgue or did you ask Dean to pick you up?”

A sigh left the Hunter. “I, uh, went back in to question the coroner, but he must’ve left after you stormed out. How’re you doing, by the way? You looked terrified of him.” She felt his caring stare on her.

Fuck his selfless conscious. Anger boiled within her, a dose of adrenaline that rushed into her veins. She wanted to slap his face and tell him to shut his mouth before she really gets mad. She wanted to tell him everything about this damned coroner, about this damned bastard that deserved to rot in the deepest part of the Pit for eternity.

But she couldn’t find the words. Words that she didn’t think she’d have to explain to anyone had crossed her mind before she met the Winchesters, before Heaven had gotten involved in this shit-show that was her life. She didn’t want to explain anything, really. She felt reality would strangle it out of her if she kept her mouth shut.

“I’m . . . I’m okay. I told you I’m not the biggest fan of hospitals, and I guess the coroner . . . I don’t know. Can we just leave it? I don’t like talking about it.” She avoided his eyes as she crossed the room to grab her gun from the bathroom counter.

He must’ve followed her, for when she pivoted on her foot, he was right in front of her. She ran into his chest. One hand lifted and landed on his chest. She expected it to sink into slightly pudgy skin, but holy shit was she wrong; solid muscle bound in years of hunting made her fingers grip his shirt slightly. It was too little of a movement to render a response from him.

She looked up at him with a stiff expression, her body fighting to hide the blush creeping to her face.

She prepared to push him away and storm toward the duffle bag on the couch. She prepared to leave the warmth that he radiated, the sense of protection and hominess that followed him around like a dog. She prepared to do something she never thought she’d do with him.

She wasn’t prepared for his hands to grab her face and his lips to mold onto hers.

Her eyes widened a bit. The gun fell to the floor with a clatter. Electricity coursed through her body, sparks of pleasure lighting up in certain parts of her body. Her breath hitched in her throat, heart thundering as Sam’s thumbs stroked her skin. His fingertips were rugged with callouses, but she didn’t care. The heat that surrounded her and the softness his lips made her never want to separate from this moment. It was bliss.

All things pointed to death, however. Surely this would get them killed. If a demon caught wind of this—hell, if Dean found out about this—they would certainly use it against both Hunter and Rayner. She knew things like this gets people killed. She’d witnessed the very thing and sworn she’d never . . . never fall in love again.

She was wrong.

Her skin ached for more contact. She deepened the kiss. Lifting onto her toes, she got closer to the Hunter. His hands slid from her face to her hips, those strong and calloused fingers taking hold of her ass and lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked toward the bed, turning and shoving her off him. Her body bounced on the mattress.

She couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering behind him. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to stop this thing that was gaining momentum and surely spinning out of control if he continued. Her mind fought to control the rising hunger in her core that begged for more of Sam Winchester; more of the man that saved her from the wrath of his brother.

What are you doing? her mind screamed as Sam grabbed her flannel and tore it off, tossing it to the floor across the bed. Maddie lifted herself up and grabbed his jacket, pulling him down on top of her and kissing him again. His hands caught himself, arms braced on either side of her. He looked down at her with a soft smile.

His expression soon darkened, eyes cast in a predatory light. She smirked, hands wrapping around his neck as he buried his face in her neck. His teeth grabbed part of her skin and bit down, hard, sucking and gnawing until pain ignited beneath. She threw her head back as her core thrived at the feeling of contact.

Her mind went to the case for a fraction of a second. She hesitated arching her hips to get closer to Sam’s girth, and she paused as her hands reached down to take his pants off. The voice in her head still screamed at her to stop whatever was happening. It warned her of the consequences if someone found out about this, but it was the kiss that Sam pressed to her lips that made her dismiss all the warning bells.

Hands fumbling with his belt, she tossed the accessory to the floor. His pants soon followed, a move she made that was somewhat surprising to Sam’s part; the look on his face was priceless.

Seconds passed and both of them were down to their underwear. Her eyes wandered the dips and curves of Sam’s chest, the solid abs and the impressive shoulders and biceps curved to perfection. She felt herself become more than pleased with the sight of Sam without a shirt on, and she prayed nothing would interrupt this beautiful moment.

She felt Sam’s eyes tracing her body. He seemed to take note of the curves of ink swirling and twirling from her neck and all the way to her ankles, the navel piercing drawing him to her stomach. He simply stared for a moment, seemingly awestruck that he had managed to capture this temple of a body in his hands.

“Don’t just stare, Sam,” she purred, licking her lips when she lifted her hands and crossed them above her as if they were bound. She rocked her hips when Sam attacked her almost bare body, teeth and tongue scraping over skin that was sending waterfalls of wetness to surge from her.

She cursed a few times, apparently to Sam’s pleasure, by how he snarled, “Say that again, baby.” She did as she was told. The words dripped from her lips like poison, drawing the Winchester in like a moth to a lamp. Her head tilted back when he crashed his lips to hers again, a monstrous move made by only the finest men she’s slept with. It was unlike any one-night stand she’d ever had . . . it made her regret leaving the poor souls to wonder what happened in the awestruck hours before.

She took her hands from above her to wrap around Sam’s face. She pulled him closer to her, her gaze staring deeply into his darkened eyes filled with lust. He didn’t seem to be affected by the sudden pause in this activity, no, for he paused his groping and stared down at her with another soft smile.

A breath left her lips. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered. Sam kissed her cheek as he slipped his hand beneath her bra. She bucked beneath him when his hand squeezed one of her breasts. She felt another volley of pleasure explode in her core.

Sam mimicked her smirk and sat up, taking her hand and lifting her up to a sitting position on the bed. Maddie rolled her shoulders, wings expanding from her back, and waited for Sam to position himself behind her. She lifted her wings so he could squeeze flush against her back. He seemed drawn to her wings, but that didn’t stop him from pressing his lips to her jawline.

His teeth nipped at the skin. He sucked and bit to her desirable pleasure, causing her head to roll back and rest on his shoulder. Sam’s hands wrapped around her frame, fingers clawing at skin and fabric until he managed to unhook her bra. It was a lacy one, both fit for hunting and recreational activities. And boy, was this recreational.

He managed to flip her over on her stomach and pin her arms to the bedsheets. She was stricken with shock for a second, but the snarl Sam spat into her ear was enough to throw her over the edge: “Gonna eat you out, just you wait.”

She didn’t really understand what he meant in the slightest. Yes, she understood that he was, indeed, going to fuck her until she couldn’t walk. She was just anticipating on the method as to how he’d fuck her until she couldn’t walk. Various positions flashed across her mind, with a few making her smile and writhe beneath Sam.

A moan left her lips. Her back arched inward, wings shuddering in the air. She felt feathers quiver in their positions, some becoming bigger than they appeared in a rather poofing sort of way.

She felt another moan leaving her lips when Sam flipped her over and clamped a hand over her mouth.

One hand still held hers above her head, sending a slight shock of fear to rush through her. She tried speaking, however the Hunter took his hands from her wrists and pressed a finger to his lips, a universal signal to be quiet.

“Sam?” The motel door closed.

“Dean,” he breathed. She yelled into his hand in protest. He jumped slightly at the sound and took his hand away. “Sorry.”

Maddie sat up, grabbing the nearest thing she could to cover herself up. A blush warmed her cheeks, eyes glued to Sam’s narrow waist as he turned to face his brother. She cocked her head a bit, perplexed as to how such a gentle and good man could be so . . . dominant.

The eldest Hunter jabbed a finger to the door. “Outside. Now.” The door opened and slammed shut, causing Sam and Maddie to jump in their skin.

Dean didn’t seem pleased at all. Of course, he just walked in on his brother almost having sex with none other than Maddie Rayner, one of the most notorious Hunters in the entire world. Sure, he wasn’t happy. And, yes, getting close to people in this life was a one-way ticket to Hell (both physically and metaphorically).

Sam grabbed his shirt and pulled it on. To her dismay, those rolling muscles beneath golden skin and arm veins that she fell for disappeared. She was saddened for a moment, but she perked up when Sam turned and said, “Stay in here . . . get dressed. I, uh, want you outta here before we’re done. There’s a window in the bathroom.”

Her heart dropped. She wanted to drop everything and run back into his arms. She wanted to forget the case, forget the coroner, forget the entire world was going ape-shit crazy and just kiss him again. Those moments they shared since the beginning had to be building up to something, something beautiful and toxic and scary. She hated to admit the fear that clawed at her soul was almost numbing. She was scared of losing him, of losing the Hunter that made an exception to monsters.

But it was for the best. She understood. Instead, she turned and trudged to the pile of clothes. She tossed him his jeans as she plucked her flannel from the floor with a sigh. She felt the floor move slightly with Sam’s steps, and before she could turn to leave, she felt his lips on hers again.

She protested softly. She didn’t break the kiss to slap him. She didn’t break the kiss at all. Who knows when the last time this could happen without consequences?

Maddie watched him step back. She watched the way he buttoned his jeans and stalk to the door in socks. Her heart broke for him, of course. It shouldn’t happen. Things like this just don’t happen to her; she doesn’t sleep with someone she’s grown to know, grown to like, grown to love.

A shudder ran through her at that word. Love. It was a gross and disgusting word. A vile, troublesome and agonizing word that plagued everybody in the world. She felt like throwing up. She felt like reaching down her throat and forcing herself to puke. It was better to not love anyone than be loveless.

She loved the art of torture. That was the way she was raised: to like that word. Loving the art of torture. Loving the sensation of blood running down flesh that was gnarled and disfigured beyond recognition.

She loved the way angels struggled against their bonds. She loved the way they screamed at her to stop, or the way they moaned in pain.

She loved the way moans left lips . . . she loved the way grunts were followed by struggling . . . the kind of struggling that sent pleasure rocketing to her core . . . the way hands ran up and down her body, tracing every curve with a sharp bite at her neck or back . . .

STOP. IT. You’re a Rayner, dammit! Act like one.

She shook her head, stooping down to grab her own jeans. She shucked them on effortlessly, wrapping herself in a blanket of warmth from her wings afterwards. She heard the boys arguing behind the door. It was to the point of a screaming match did she wander over and lean against the wall to listen.

“You need to stop whatever the fuck is going on between you two,” Dean spat.

“Dean, there’s . . . there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Really? Then what the hell did I just walk in on? Sam, you know this can’t happen. You, of all people, should know that.” Dean’s voice lowered slightly, possibly in remorse. Given Sam’s track record with women, Maddie could see why the man would say that.

“I-I know.”

“Oh, you know? Do you know what’s going to happen if Heaven finds out? What if Hell found out? How about every freakin’ monster that exists, what if they find out that you’ve just shtupped a freakin’ Rayner! Sooner or later, someone is going to find out about this and use her against you . . . I’ve seen you break before, Sammy, and it ain’t pretty. End it. Now, or I will.”

A tear slipped from her eye. She pushed herself from the wall and began walking back to the bed. She was interrupted by a slam on the wall from the outside.

“She can take care of herself, Dean. Has been her whole life.” Sam’s words were thick with poison.

Dean’s reply was silence. She listened for more words to be exchanged, however none were spoken. She jumped when the door opened, with Sam storming inside with an irritated expression on his face. He slammed the door shut as she wiped her tears.

“You okay?” she asked.

“You need to go, Mads,” he muttered behind his shoulder. He grabbed their clothes and separated them, tossing her undershirt and socks to one side of the bed and his things to the other. Maddie inhaled to protest, but he straightened and turned to face her. “I don’t want you here. Dean’s ticked off, as usual, and I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “As you said, Sam, I can take care of myself. Have been my whole life.” She lowered her voice to emulate his when quoted him. “I don’t understand why you can’t just—”

His eyes squinted a fraction as he yelled, “You can’t take care of yourself with everybody hunting you down, Maddie!” He threw his shirt into a pile by the door. She stared at him with tears in her eyes. He sighed and seemed to calm down by his softer and quieter tone. “Heaven and Hell are getting anxious. And you killing angels in your wake isn’t going to help.”

Her head turned slightly in disbelief. “How do you—”

“I’ve watched your trail, Maddie. You may be good at killing but you’re not that great at covering things up. Bury bodies, next time. Vertically. Satellites look for bodies buried horizontally, and they’ll probably notify authorities if one turns up.”

Her face softened. She wanted to drop everything and comfort him. He was stressed and frustrated and downright tired of everything, the bags beneath his eyes and exhaustion that contoured his cheeks were emblazoned on his face.

She watched him grab his boots and put them on. She stood there, helpless, staring at the man she was falling in love with. It made her sick to her stomach when she thought about that damned word. Her adoptive father, Dante, had beaten that sense out of her: nobody would love her, nobody would ever show her affection as long as she remained in this profession.

Maddie saw him go towards the door. She glanced at the clenched fists at his sides. She took a step toward him. She wanted to come with him. It was a horrible decision, yes, but she didn’t care.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I need a drink.”

She glanced at the fridge filled with beer.

It wasn’t until midnight did he finally find the place he was looking for. The gravel road and the fields surrounding it were almost therapeutic to the anguish that jolted his system. He slammed his car door shut, stalking toward the slight slope that introduced the first part of the fields.

His heart was dark with anger towards his brother, while his skin still tingled in places Maddie touched. He still ached for her embrace, the feel of feathers brushing against his back or chest.

He crouched in the grass. A cold breeze ripped through the air, sending his hair to float back off his shoulders just the slightest. He didn’t mind the sudden change. He felt like he was dying of a heat stroke anyway. He looked down at his waist, drawing Ruby’s knife and gripping it tightly in his hand.

The woman standing in the middle of the road was rather pretty. Black hair, crystal blue eyes, and a splash of freckles made up her vessel’s face, with a slim figure and a gorgeous black dress making her stand out in the night.

Eyes trailing to the human standing in front of the crossroads demon, a frail-looking man stood. His balding head caught the moonlight like a traffic sign. Dressed in a cardigan sweater was over a tan dress shirt, accompanied by matching business pants and dress shoes, he seemed rather business professional. The man resembled a teacher of some sort or even a professor at the local college.

His mind reminisced about his collegiate life. There were times during cases when he would yearn for the late night studying, or the frat parties his friends were invited to. He’d see college students out drinking one night and smile softly to himself; he wished those days were good memories and not events leading up to the love of his life’s death.

He felt the tug at his heart long before he noticed it hurt his chest. He winced faintly, features pulling back when he ran a hand along the blade’s wooden handle. He debated if he should do this again. It’s been months since he’d begun this, but the gnawing sights of the woman he despised and feared were growing too vivid. He hardly slept the night before, so why waste it trying to sleep when he could be doing more important things?

“This is new,” a British accent commented.

Sam jumped in his skin and fell to his side. He looked to his left, and the bitch herself squatted next to him. Her hair was down this time, a slight difference than the previous versions of her. A beige jacket was unzipped over a white dress shirt. Pants matching the jacket stretched down Toni’s legs, ending in black heels donning her feet.

He gazed back at the transaction in front of him. The demon was circling the man, lips moving. He was too far away to hear what she was saying, but he could tell the man was pleased with her words. The demon, stepping closer to rest her hands on the man’s chest, glanced behind him and towards the Hunter.

Her eyes were submerged in a pool of maroon. He narrowed his eyes as he stood, gripping Ruby’s knife tighter than he usually held it. He stormed up the little hill and onto the gravel road, steps long and dominating. He heard Toni’s footsteps behind him to his displeasure, but the thing he was planning on doing was going to relieve him of her presence . . . hopefully.

The demon crossed her vessel’s arms with a slight chuckle, eyeing the knife. Her expression flickered slightly but otherwise remained the same.

“Sir, you need to go,” he said to the man, pointing behind him. The man looked confused at his order, but to Sam’s dismay, he began protesting.

“She can make my dreams come true!”

“And you’d be this big-shot professor at an Ivy League school for ten years, then, what, check out and spend the rest of your days in the Basement? Go back to snorting Buds with the high schoolers.”

The man looked at the demon, who looked at him over her shoulder with an arch of her brow.

She smiled and flashed him her eyes. “Weed isn’t that bad,” she purred with a wink.

Sam caught the fear in the man’s eyes, for he turned and sprinted toward a Nissan parked down the road. The Hunter watched him go, and waited until the car was started before taking a step toward the demon.

A chuckle left her. “Nice job, Winchester, you just scared off a client,” she snapped. She uncrossed her arms and made her way towards the center of the crossroads. “Where’s that whore Rayner of yours, anyway?”

Anger spread through his veins. His fists clenched as he took a few more steps toward the demon. He was right in front of her now, and he found himself shoving the knife against her throat. His mouth twitched upward in anguish. He could end this demon right now. He could shove this knife so far down her throat she’d choke on it as she died. He’d relish in her suffering, of course. Every demon deserved to die no matter their business on Earth.

A cleared throat came from behind him. He didn’t need to look back to know it was Toni trying to pry his attention from the task at hand. He ignored her, but she spoke anyway. “Have reason, Sam. A killer doesn’t kill without a motive.”

“A killer doesn’t kill without a victim, either,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Who the hell are you—”

The demon’s words were cut off when he slit her throat. Blood spilled from the clean slice, flowing down her chest and staining her dress a darker black. He let the body fall as the demon choked on its own blood. A hand flew to pry his from the knife, but it was to no avail.

He felt that tug again. It started months ago when he had first met Maddie and his hallucinations were at their worst. Toni had killed Maddie in a dream, slicing her head off and plopping it in his lap as he was tied to that same chair in the farmhouse. The second he woke up he felt that tug. It was deep within, and it was a tug that then transformed into a hunger. He gorged on the Bunker’s food to try to satisfy the tug, but no matter how much he ate, nothing would make it go away.

It was when he confronted a demon not a month ago when that hunger strengthened to a craving.

Sam fell to his knees. He stared at the blood gushing from the demon’s throat. Toni began protesting, telling him that none of this was real. That his drinking days were over with. She screamed at him to stop whatever he was going to do, but her screaming only made him lean down and press his lips to the cut.

His tongue flicked out and grabbed as much blood as it could. He felt it filling his mouth, expanding his cheeks as he sucked the substance from the demon. He swallowed and went for another drink when the demon managed to inhale hard enough to shove her hands beneath him and shove him off.

He almost fell on his back. He caught himself as the demon got to her vessel’s feet, a fist clenched and lips drawn back in a snarl.

“You’re insane!” she screeched, one hand lifting and holding the cut in her neck closed. Blood dripped between her fingers.

A smirk lifted a corner of his mouth. He already felt the hunger fade. His exhaustion from months of sleeplessness also went with it, and he felt a new rejuvenated feeling course through him. He felt more alive than the last time he had demon blood in his system. Perhaps it was the knowledge he’d gained from the years it's been, but he wasn’t sure.

His smirk grew as he took steps toward the demon. Fear was glued to her vessel’s face as she began walking backward. “Insane? No.” He slowly extended his hand outward until he had a palm facing the demon. “Powerful is more like it.”

The demon’s eyes widened before plumes of smoke rose to her throat. Some of it seeped out of the slice in the bloodied skin, while the majority of it poured from her mouth. Choking and wheezing came from the demon next, followed by a sizzling noise as Sam slowly closed his hand into a fist.

Skin began lighting up beneath the vessel. He saw a flame ignite beneath the demon’s feet, with more of its soul pouring out its mouth. He closed his eyes then, digging deep inside himself to exorcise this demon.

He debated if he should exorcise or kill her. An incantation lay waiting on the tip of his tongue on instinct, but he swallowed it. The demon choked one more time before letting out a single scream. An explosion of fire shrouded the demon’s vessel. The heat warmed him up quite a bit despite the utility jacket he donned, but nothing prepared him for the light to fade to reveal a pile of ashes on the gravel.

He let his arm fall to his side. He glanced down at his hand, fingers curling in and out of a fist. His chest gave a single heave, and it was then that he realized his heart was racing in his chest. It’s been so long since he’s used his powers, it felt like he was just learning how to control them again.

Alas, his experience from Ruby came back to him like a slap in the face. He understood now that he had fed again, he’d have to keep his hunger satisfied for however long he wanted to keep Toni at bay. Obviously, he’d use his powers as a side job . . . Hell was still looking for Jack, so why not learn new things while he was at it?

A small chuckle made him smirk. He turned to make his way back to the car he rented but stopped in his tracks.

Toni stood, arms crossed, with a death glare. “All that effort,” she began, “for what? A trophy? No wonder that Ruby demon liked you. You’ve got all the layers of freak.” He went to charge at her, but she kept speaking. “Your addiction was bad, back then, but now? Killing demons again and again and again . . . to prove your importance in this case? In this disaster of a mission against all odds. . . if anythi—”

His hand lashed out and grabbed her by the throat. He was shocked to see her grab his hand and grip his sleeve, mangled protests leaving her lips. Sam lifted the bitch off her feet. He would give nothing more than to snap her neck, but he knew that wouldn’t make her go away for good. But the blood in his system would hopefully make her disappear for a while.

Eyes squinting and a devilish smirk pulling at his lips, he stated, “Like I said. You’re just an accent in a pantsuit.”

He dropped her back on her feet. Her hand dropped from his sleeve and went to her throat, coughing filling the chilled air. She looked up at him and inhaled to scream at him, but she disappeared with a flicker.

He stood in the middle of the crossroads, staring at empty space once occupied by the woman he feared. He felt ashamed, embarrassed, and angry at himself. He let a woman—a human woman, for that matter—get in his head and control him, manipulate his decisions until he was too in over his head to crawl out. Years ago, with Ruby, he swore he’d stick by Dean’s side no matter what. No one would get between him and his brother . . . that’s all that mattered in this trainwreck of a journey since May 2, 2005.

Tell that to Maddie, he thought. He sighed. He looked around him, waiting for the moment a screaming Toni Bevell would return to belittle and mock him for his futile efforts to make her stop. He waited for that moment he’d regret most: everything to fade behind the pages of the scripture he’s written to keep his mind off his nightmares and memories of torment.

Nothing happened. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders, finally. Sam felt his chest rise and fall heavily, a habit of his whenever he did something tedious. He glanced at his clenching fist again, pleased with the affect the blood had. Before he was working on his skills, he felt inexperienced.

Now? He felt more powerful than ever.

Sam turned back to the car he rented. It was parked down the road a ways; he mentally damned himself for parking so far away, but also thanking himself. He could use the time walking to prepare a plan on how to get himself back with Maddie.

It broke his heart to know he was pissed at her . . . but he couldn’t control his emotions back there. It felt like millions of tiny butterflies were fluttering in his stomach when he kissed her in that motel room. Millions of alarms went off, as well. He could be killed for falling in love with her. She could be killed for letting it happen.

He felt a stab of pain in his heart. He couldn’t imagine Maddie dying. She’d go down fighting tooth and nail to get the last say. She’d go down bloody with everything she had in her, no matter how battered she’d be.

“Dammit, stop it. Don’t . . . think about that shit. It hasn’t happened, it isn’t going to happen,” he said to himself. He was still a few feet from his car.

His mind wandered from Maddie to the case. He was still shaken up—despite his high on demon blood—about how freaked she looked when the coroner came into the morgue. The look of absolute horror on her face had torn his heart in two. He wanted nothing more than to crush the coroner’s face in his hands, but he knew Maddie wouldn’t take that lightly. He knew she wanted to be the one who would end the man.

He was at his car. He took the keys from his pocket, sticking them inside the handle and unlocking the door. He slid himself into the car, running his hands down his jeans. His breath still reeked of demon blood, and it took all he could to not force himself out of the car and feed again. It was only a matter of hours before he would begin to detox . . . he knew it would be beyond painful, but it was better than seeing Toni 24/7.

Sam slid the keys into the ignition. He glanced in the rearview mirror as a habit and froze when he saw someone sitting in the back seat. The coroner sat with a wicked smile

“Agent Laurens,” he greeted. Sam felt the barrel of a gun rest on the side of his head.

[midnight-circus]

miscellaneous; of

below this

Logan

He is ambidextrous - left-handed naturally, made to be right-handed throughout school. He switched back to left the moment no one was looking.

He’s dying his hair at his temples by the time he’s 40, and it encroaches more and more each year - he fights that battle for another decade before he finally admits defeat.

He does not attend his father’s funeral, and he regrets it the following day. He will never quite shed this particular guilt.

He’s a fairly accomplished pianist - it was one of the few things his mother was ever proud of, so he kept it up throughout his childhood and later teens. 

He is, as a general rule, a terrible shot - ORP and Skyrim!au are the sole exceptions to this. In FA or FARverse, he is absolutely diabolical with a gun and for this reason he never carries one. He’d rather not embarrass himself.

He fucking hates flying bugs. He’s not afraid of them, but he’d love it if they didn’t exist anywhere in his vicinity.

In FA/FARverse, he has survived three assassination attempts - a poisoning, which he vomited up, and two stabbings, the latter of which ended bloodily. He counts them as proof that his paranoia is both healthy and viable.

In a modern timeline, the scars on his mouth came from a fight with his father the night he left home - Logan started it, but Edward unfortunately finished it, and he finished it right into a glass coffee table. Unbeknownst to Logan, it is the catalyst that prompts Maddie to finally sever ties with her husband.

He finally graduates law school at age 34. He is ashamed it took so long.

He’s gay. There are no fancy additives. He refuses to be ashamed anymore.

Lucius

The dog that attacked him was a dalmatian named Penny - a family dog that they’d had from a puppy. His older brother Thaddeus was forced to kill her with a paving stone.

Thaddeus, sister Abigail and his parents were all killed on impact - his second-eldest brother Oliver lived for another week, before being removed from life support. He was seven when they died.

With no family willing to take him, he is ferried from children’s homes to young offender’s institutions until he turns 18, when he is turfed out onto the street. He remains homeless for nine years, taking drugs and mugging West End-goers to survive, until he is finally arrested for armed robbery and aggravated assault and serves five years behind bars.

He betters himself in prison and enrols in a rehab scheme, which places him in a profession when he gets out - he works for a company that charters out security for events, and he finds that he’s good at it. Turns out people are still wary of him, even when he’s not holding a knife.

He is missing his left eye and is totally deaf in his left ear - reconstructive surgery on his face pieced him back together for the most part, but he still has leftover scars.

The first night he met Morgan, he had a concussion and threw up on his shoes. At the time, he wasn’t too bothered about it.

He is covered in tattoos, most of which he regrets - two full sleeves, a large back-piece, and an accompanying chest-piece. He would like them removed, but can’t be bothered to make the effort.

Fabian

Fabian was raised around horses, and he understands them intuitively - the boys’ parents were horse-breeders, and he’s been handling them since he was old enough to hold a leadrein. Living in the city, he misses being around them dearly.

As far as his parents are concerned, he is married to a British Romani girl named Eva. He abhors having to lie about this - he is not ashamed of Bastian - but his family ties run a little too deep.

He didn’t learn to read until he was fifteen, and still isn’t entirely sure how to spell anything except his own name and the names of the flowers he works with. His writing is completely illegible.

He doesn’t fully understand Bastian’s mental health issues, but he reads articles he does not comprehend full of words he’s never heard of and he tries his best to help.

He hopes, more than anything else in the world, that Bastian will never realise that he is, and always has been, too good for the likes of Fabian Fisher.

Rowan

Rowan’s biggest hangup is crowds. Sudden noises make him jump, but he can handle them - crowds render him utterly useless until he is able to escape and calm down.

He is autistic, comorbid with OCD and panic disorder - his anxiety and panic attacks are the biggest hurdle in his life. In a modern timeline (if he existed), he struggles to leave the house most days.

Colin 

He often sits in his bedroom and wishes he was a cis girl, but he is comfortable in the body he has and is scared of the unknown - he will never fully transition, but nor will he ever stop wondering what might have happened if he had.

He has borderline personality disorder, and he is totally unaware of it.

He keeps an eye out around the youth hostels for any of his younger siblings. He knows the statistics. He knows that he is probably not the only one.

Sylvester

He will do literally anything to protect his little brother. His entire life revolves around making sure that Nico is unaware of this.

He oils his hair to within an inch of its life because he is ashamed of the way it curls. If he could bring himself to straighten it, he would.

He is demisexual, aromantic and would really rather be left alone.

Iszak

Within a modern setting, he lost his leg from gangrene, growing up in poverty in rural Moscow. Three of his five siblings are still alive, as is his mother. He visits them each year.

He is asexual and aromantic, and he is perfectly content to be so. Who needs children when you have books.

Fredrik

Without medication, his ADHD is crippling - he needs his meds to function on any sort of even keel, and tends to rely on Wallace to keep him on track.

By the time he is 50 he has visited every continent on the planet and summitted Everest. He intends to go back a second time.

Phineas

He makes little clockwork bird sculptures out of wire and watch-pieces, which he sells on Etsy under the shop name ‘CraneFlies’ - he also keeps two zebra finches as pets. Some days they are the only thing keeping him going.

His full name is Phineas Jacob Crane, and he is the son of a protestant pastor from a minuscule village two hours out of Killarney.

He’s lactose intolerant, which is a pain because he loves cheese.

His university degree was in mortuary science.

He met his wife, Caroline, at a pub called the Swallowtail on his twentieth birthday - he tried to buy him a drink, he declined because he thought she thought he was someone else, it was momentarily awkward and then they got over it. They had four further dates at the same pub before they escalated on to proper restaurants.

Sci-fi movies are his jam; he only reads non-fiction books; his favourite music is blues, swing and jazz.

Before, he would cry at the drop of a hat, weeping over sad animals commercials and Sarah McLachlan. Afterwards, he can’t seem to summon the energy anymore, unless he’s crying into his steering wheel in a Tesco carpark. The documentaries just don’t seem to cut it these days.

He is completely, totally unafraid. The worst has already happened. What the fuck does he have to be afraid of.

He still wears his wedding ring, and he’s got a little handmade birthday card from Lizzie in his wallet. Lizzie’s bedroom is totally untouched, exactly the way she left it the night before, as is Carrie’s beside table.

He will be ok. At the end of it all, when the dust has settled and time has sutured the worst of the wounds, he will be able to look at the picture on his mantelpiece (a family selfie from their one-and-only Disney trip, in which Lizzie is blurred and Carrie has red-eye and he is drunk) and be ok. 

He will never marry again.

Madeleine

Full name - Madeleine Amelia Darlington-Fairfax

She has three Yorkshire terriers (Violet, Angel and Lady), and a positively ancient African grey parrot named Morris. It adores her, and abhors both of her sons.

She has an active pilot license, and owns two planes - a Beechcraft Bonanza and a Cessna 510. This interest in aircraft is a large part of what initially drew her and Edward, an RAF man, together.

They only intended to have one child. Morgan will never know that he was an accident.

She is far, far richer than her husband. The knowledge plagues him. 

Edward

Edward Augustus Fairfax - he compromised on Maddie’s hyphenated surname by insisting that the boys only take his.